honey sweet!

///

Through most of your life, the feeling was dormant. There were occasions where it would come up, of course. When you were little your mom would give you a gentle tickle to cheer you up, when you were a bit older you got into tickle fights with your friends, your first ever partner had used light tickling as a way to flirt. It had always made you happy, warm and fuzzy in that inexplicable way that people describe love to be like sometimes.

Then it all sort of…fizzled.

You broke up with your partner. You moved away to attend university. Went on a few dates here and there, but nothing really stuck. Friends were few and far between.

What finally changed was working at the BAU.

Coworkers became aquaintances, became friends, became family. You found your place in the world, and your purpose in life. Cases and travel kept you so busy that things from the past didn't really enter your mind anymore.

Until it came right to your workplace.

Emily, Penelope, and Spencer were gathered around the photocopier. They were too far across the room for you to hear exactly what they were saying. Just the light hum of their voices, telling you their conversation was casual and friendly. You rolled your pen between your fingers, listening to them idly as you filled out your case file.

The girls gasping in outrage made you look up.

Emily, mouth open theatrically in shock, reached her hand out to poke Spencer in the stomach a few times. He gave a light giggle, flinching away.

Then he retaliated, arm shooting out to deliver a fast, precise pinch to Emily's side that made her squeak. Emily and Penelope looked at him with new understanding.

"He fights back!" Emily declared, clearly not sure if she should feel more shocked or more impressed.

"Don't let Morgan see you do that." Penelope added.

All your past feelings came rushing back.

Desperate not to be caught staring, you focused your eyes back on the form on your desk.

You hadn't felt it until now. Your life was full of both the good and the bad, and practically always on the go. But now that you've been made aware of it, the abscence hit you like a truck.

You missed getting tickled.

Emily tickling someone in retaliation wasn't a surprise, exactly. She had a way about her. Professional and confident, but not afraid to get silly when a situation called for it.

But Spencer?

Tickling someone back?

That took you off guard. Spencer was usually the victim in harmless jokes and pranks. Especially with Derek. But the way he had reacted to Emily - the way he had moved to get her back - it was confident. Sharp. Like he knew exactly what to do.

You came to another startling realization.

You wanted Spencer to tickle you.

You placed your pen down with a sharp snap and pushed yourself away from your desk. Maybe your pace was a little too fast to come off as relaxed as you crossed the room, but the thought barely registered. You headed for the door.

"Hey," Emily called out to you as you passed them. "Did something happen?"

You waved a dismissive hand in her general direction. "Just need a breather."

Your eyes locked with Spencer's for a split second. You hoped he wouldn't be able to tell your source of distress.

@

Why does stimulation in certain areas provoke uncontrollable laughter, even when not humorous? Why are the ribs and soles particularly ticklish? Why do children enjoy being tickled, yet this play behavior diminishes with age?

"Well, it clearly didn't diminish in me." You muttered at your phone screen.

You were curled into the corner of the sofa, phone in hand, the screen inches from your nose. Your eyes hurt from the strain of reading.

You kept on.

Gargalesis activates a broad network encompassing sensorimotor, vocalization, and emotional regions, consistent with its intense sensations and laughter response. In contrast, knismesis predominantly recruits somatosensory pathways and prefrontal areas, aligning with its milder sensations and withdrawal responses often without laughter.

Okay, well, this wasn't anything you didn't already know. You've read some articles about the science behind tickling before, when you were an angsty teenager. The basic mechanisms behind it were familiar to you.

Nothing ever came up about people who had a fascination with it.

You locked your phone and let it fall to your lap.

"God, this is so messed up." You dragged a hand over your face.

The front door rattled open, old locks crackling, even older hinges squeaking. Spencer shuffled into the living room, satchel over his shoulder, and a plastic bag in his hand.

You leaned your elbow on the back of the sofa, and your head in your hand, trying to assume a relaxed position.

"I'm afraid I have bad news." He said in lieu of a greeting.

"What." You demanded, lifting your head.

"They were out of orange chicken -" Spencer started.

"You're kidding!" You interrupted in anguish.

"- but!" Spencer raised a hand. "I got you the next best thing."

You watched closely as he placed the bag on top of the coffee table and pulled food containers out. He straightened and handed you your meal.

"You said Thai green curry was your second favourite." He explained with a small smile.

"Crisis averted." You said, peeling back the plastic lid.

Spencer passed you a pair of chopsticks. "I'm glad to hear it."

While Spencer disappeared into the kitchen to find himself a fork, you took the opportunity to unlock your phone. You closed your research tab and cleared your search history.

Just in case.

Spencer shuffled back in, settling his long limbs onto the sofa next to you. You turned to accommodate him, folding your legs into a criss-cross. The silence that surrounded you both as you ate was what alerted you that something wasn't right. Spencer didn't even talk about what he was reading at the moment. Or any other interesting fact he stumbled across during work. While not yet ringing, the alarm bells in your head were ready to strike.

You grabbed a piece of chicken with your chopsticks.

"You left kind of abruptly at work earlier." Spencer spoke, choosing his words carefully. "Did something happen?"

The alarm bells started ringing.

"Yeah." You replied, smearing the chicken through curry. "Just got tired of looking at documents. I needed fresh air for a few minutes."

"Was it the case?" Spencer asked, pretending that he wasn't studying you closely.

"No, no." You shovelled chicken into your mouth. "I think I just need to go outside more."

Spencer lowered his fork into his food and looked at you fully. "Okay, now I know something's wrong. You hate the outside."

"Seriously, Spence." You huffed, adding rice to your already full mouth. "It's fine."

He watched you for a moment longer, then turned to his food. "Alright, don't tell me."

You sighed, sensing a petty argument brewing.

"Spencer-"

"I'll find out."

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"There's nothing to find out." You said. Spencer lowered his fork again and turned in his seat to face you properly. He watched you for much longer than you would have preferred.

You watched him right back, eyebrows raised.

"You tap your foot when you lie." He informed you, turning away and taking a bite of his noodles.

You forced your foot still against the sofa and tucked it deeper under your thigh.

"I don't." You grumbled, even though you knew it was true.

"Yeah, sure." Spencer snorted.

@

"You're gonna stir that coffee to death."

You blinked, startling back to the present. Derek stood in the doorway to the kitchenette.

"What's got you brooding like that?" He asked, slinking his way next to you and reaching into the cupboard for a mug. You pulled the teaspoon out of your coffee and dropped it in the sink.

"I'm not brooding." You denied half-heartedly, reaching into your back pocket to pull out your phone, intending to check your email.

That turned out to be a mistake, because your late night research articles were still loaded up on the screen. Derek was on you before you could react.

"'Efference copies'?" He read from your screen. "What the hell is that?"

You quickly swiped away from the search engine. "Nothing. Just something I heard online."

"Uh-huh." Derek said, unconvinced. "You know, I have a very easy way of finding out."

"What?" You understood his meaning a second too late. "Wait, don't-"

"Hey Reid!" Derek turned to call over his shoulder. "What's 'efference copies'?"

You could see Spencer's shape at his desk. He straightened from where he had been digging in his drawer, tucked stray curls behind his ear.

"It's an internal signal produced by the motor system, acting as a copy of the command sent to muscles to move. It enables the brain to predict the sensory consequences of actions—distinguishing between self-induced changes and external stimuli—and helps stabilize perception by canceling out sensory feedback from one’s own movement." He recited, unhelpfully. "Why?"

Derek turned back to you with a grin. "Well, that doesn't sound suspicious at all."

"Morgan-"

"What had you reading about 'distinguishing between self-induced changes and external stimuli', huh?"

An article on why people can't tickle themselves, you thought bitterly to yourself.

"I told you, the term came up online." You tried to deflect.

"Oh yeah?" Derek's voice turned salacious. "Trouble in the bedroom department?"

"We're done with this conversation." You announced, grabbing your coffee and stomping out of the kitchenette. You were followed by Derek's boisterous laughter.

"I'm only kidding, gorgeous!" He called after you.

Spencer's desk, unfortunately, was on the way to yours. You tried speeding past.

"Hey." Spencer caught your arm gently, mindful of the full mug in your hand.

Your brain lazer-focused on the feeling of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your upper arm. "Yeah? What's up?"

"What was that about?" His voice was hushed with concern.

"Just Morgan being himself." You rolled your eyes. Spencer's fingers flexed imperceptably against your arm. Your muscles tensed in response to the tingling zap that shot down your arm at the movement.

Spencer didn't seem too convinced.

"Don't let him bully you, he's all talk." He said, trying for a smile.

"I can handle Morgan just fine." You deadpanned, which made Spencer break out into a grin.

He released your arm. You tried not to feel loss at the action.

@

You should have been asleep about three hours ago.

Spencer had gone to his room soon after your movie night tradition. He had a migraine earlier that day, and was left tired, and a little out of it. You didn't blame him. Gradually, once it became clear that sleep would not come easy, you went back to your secret research.

Your laptop was situated on the coffee table, and you sat on the floor in front of it. The TV was still on, playing some reality show you didn't care for, so you muted it.

The anticipation of tickling engages a complex neural network, preparing the individual for an impending sensory and emotional experience.

Your eyebrow ticked up.

This made sense. You suspected the hypothalamus and prefrontal cortex were responsible for it.

In human social play, gargalic stimuli are often preceded by visual gestures and auditory cues, such as wiggling fingers -

Nope.

You got to your feet, taking a lap around the room. Even just reading about this had you feeling all fluttery.

Your brain supplied a hypothetical in which Spencer wiggled his fingers right above your sides.

You fanned your face with your hands, pausing behind the sofa. You eyed your laptop from a distance.

It sat there.

Mocking.

You huffed, and rounded the sofa. The laptop would not win.

You settled on the floor, hunched close to the screen, and read on.

These cues alone can induce anticipatory laughter, limb withdrawal, or body twisting, likely arising from -

"You're still awake?"

You froze. Spencer's voice came from directly behind you.

Slowly, you turned to look over your shoulder.

Spencer stood behind the sofa, leaning his forearms over the back of it. His eyes were soft with sleep, and his hair ruffled even though he had tried tucking it behind his ears.

He was very clearly reading the text on your screen.

Your hand shot out to shut your laptop, but you only got halfway before stopping. He reads like twenty thousand words per minute. He already knew exactly what you had been looking at.

"You're not sleeping?" You asked, aiming for casual but falling closer to spooked deer.

"I could hear you pacing." He said gently.

"Sorry." You winced. "Didn't realise I was being loud."

Spencer shook his head. "It's okay." He looked to your half-closed laptop, then back to you. "Have you figured it out yet?"

"Huh?" You said dumbly.

"I know you want me to tickle you." He said, with that same gentleness, like he didn't want you to feel cornered.

The speed at which your face heated would have been embarrassing if you had any time to think about it.

"I don't-" You stuttered, heaving a laugh. "That's not even a thing-"

"Some people like it." Spencer informed you.

You snapped your mouth shut.

"It didn't come up in your research?" His smile turned amused. You shook your head sharply to indicate the negative. You didn't trust your voice right now.

Spencer tilted his head and pursed his lips in thought. Hummed lightly.

"You know," he shifted his weight to his other leg, still leaning on the sofa. "Tickling introduces a distinctive dimension of playfulness, contributing to the emotional intricacies of intimate encounters."

You shut your eyes in mortification.

"This playfulness adds diversity to the emotional repertoire," Spencer continued. "Facilitating shared laughter, moments of vulnerability, and the exploration of sensory stimuli."

You did not want to be having this conversation with him.

"Also, there are communities of people who enjoy tickling and engage with it regularly."

You opened your eyes to look at him. "If you're just saying this to-"

"How do you think I know about it?" He asked.

"You know everything." You retorted.

Spencer didn't reply to that, but gave you a very pointed look.

"What?" You frowned.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Oh.

Oh.

You felt frozen.

"Have you considered," Spencer said, as if he didn't just upturn your entire worldview. "That you're trying to logic your way through this too much?"

That snapped you out of it.

"Are you - Spencer Reid, PhD - telling me I'm doing too much research?" You demanded.

He shrugged lightly. "Sometimes we like something. Not much else to it."

You gaped at him.

Spencer gave a huff, as if he'd settled on a decision then and there, and pushed himself off the back of the sofa. Your eyes followed him as he made his way around to where you were sitting on the floor.

"C'mere." He said, extending his hand to you.

"Somehow, I'm not sure if I should." You said.

"C'mere." He repeated with a grin, waving his fingers at you.

Giving in, you took his hand and let him help you to your feet. Your bodies were very close. You could smell Spencer's laundry detergent, and feel his body heat. It all made you feel very exposed.

Spencer placed his hands on your waist.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Gargalesis has been proposed to strengthen social ties." He said, as if he were speaking about the weather. "Our social ties are very strong, but it can never hurt to work on them, right?"

His hands squeezed. Once.

A gasp ripped itself from your lungs, hands clasping at Spencer's forearms. You braced, but he didn't move.

"Brain imagings also suggest that laughter evoked specifically from gargalesis is different from any other type of laughter." Spencer continued. "I've always wanted to test that theory."

He squeezed again, and didn't stop this time. You nearly collapsed at the feeling, stumbling backwards a little. Spencer followed your movements easily, like he had anticipated them. Like he had done this before.

Laughter stuttered out of you in short gasps.

"You sound a little wheezy." Spencer observed, unhelpfully.

You buried your face in his shoulder, eyes closing. Your fingers were still wrapped firmly around Spencer's forearms, but you couldn't bring yourself to push him away.

You hoped he wouldn't comment on it.

"I thought you'd be more of a fighter." Spencer said. "But you just melt into it."

Your face burned.

Spencer adjusted his hands to reach your lowest ribs. Your torso twisted sharply, as if his words added another layer of ticklishness to your experience. Spencer was unphased. He kept talking.

"You've gone very quiet, too." He paused, clicking his teeth. "Well. Except for the cackling."

You actually pushed this time, overwhelmed. Spencer allowed his hands to be shoved away, but didn't step back. He let you breathe against his shoulder for a moment, until your residual giggling fizzled out.

He brought his hands up over your back, thumbs rubbing soothing lines into your tshirt.

"How did you figure it out?" You mumbled, forehead still pressed into his shoulder.

"I don't kiss and tell." Spencer said, smug.

You pulled back to look at him. "You uncovered my shameful secret and you won't even give me the grace of telling me what gave it away?"

"We're gonna have to work on that 'shameful' part." Spencer said, completely ignoring your point.

"Let's just go to sleep." You huffed to cover up your embarrassment. Spencer let you step away from his embrace, but not before making sure you saw him grin in self-satisfaction.

"Sure." He agreed.

///

Through most of your life, the feeling was dormant. There were occasions where it would come up, of course. When you were little your mom would give you a gentle tickle to cheer you up, when you were a bit older you got into tickle fights with your friends, your first ever partner had used light tickling as a way to flirt. It had always made you happy, warm and fuzzy in that inexplicable way that people describe love to be like sometimes.

Then it all sort of…fizzled.

You broke up with your partner. You moved away to attend university. Went on a few dates here and there, but nothing really stuck. Friends were few and far between.

What finally changed was working at the BAU.

Coworkers became aquaintances, became friends, became family. You found your place in the world, and your purpose in life. Cases and travel kept you so busy that things from the past didn't really enter your mind anymore.

Until it came right to your workplace.

Emily, Penelope, and Spencer were gathered around the photocopier. They were too far across the room for you to hear exactly what they were saying. Just the light hum of their voices, telling you their conversation was casual and friendly. You rolled your pen between your fingers, listening to them idly as you filled out your case file.

The girls gasping in outrage made you look up.

Emily, mouth open theatrically in shock, reached her hand out to poke Spencer in the stomach a few times. He gave a light giggle, flinching away.

Then he retaliated, arm shooting out to deliver a fast, precise pinch to Emily's side that made her squeak. Emily and Penelope looked at him with new understanding.

"He fights back!" Emily declared, clearly not sure if she should feel more shocked or more impressed.

"Don't let Morgan see you do that." Penelope added.

All your past feelings came rushing back.

Desperate not to be caught staring, you focused your eyes back on the form on your desk.

You hadn't felt it until now. Your life was full of both the good and the bad, and practically always on the go. But now that you've been made aware of it, the abscence hit you like a truck.

You missed getting tickled.

Emily tickling someone in retaliation wasn't a surprise, exactly. She had a way about her. Professional and confident, but not afraid to get silly when a situation called for it.

But Spencer?

Tickling someone back?

That took you off guard. Spencer was usually the victim in harmless jokes and pranks. Especially with Derek. But the way he had reacted to Emily - the way he had moved to get her back - it was confident. Sharp. Like he knew exactly what to do.

You came to another startling realization.

You wanted Spencer to tickle you.

You placed your pen down with a sharp snap and pushed yourself away from your desk. Maybe your pace was a little too fast to come off as relaxed as you crossed the room, but the thought barely registered. You headed for the door.

"Hey," Emily called out to you as you passed them. "Did something happen?"

You waved a dismissive hand in her general direction. "Just need a breather."

Your eyes locked with Spencer's for a split second. You hoped he wouldn't be able to tell your source of distress.

@

Why does stimulation in certain areas provoke uncontrollable laughter, even when not humorous? Why are the ribs and soles particularly ticklish? Why do children enjoy being tickled, yet this play behavior diminishes with age?

"Well, it clearly didn't diminish in me." You muttered at your phone screen.

You were curled into the corner of the sofa, phone in hand, the screen inches from your nose. Your eyes hurt from the strain of reading.

You kept on.

Gargalesis activates a broad network encompassing sensorimotor, vocalization, and emotional regions, consistent with its intense sensations and laughter response. In contrast, knismesis predominantly recruits somatosensory pathways and prefrontal areas, aligning with its milder sensations and withdrawal responses often without laughter.

Okay, well, this wasn't anything you didn't already know. You've read some articles about the science behind tickling before, when you were an angsty teenager. The basic mechanisms behind it were familiar to you.

Nothing ever came up about people who had a fascination with it.

You locked your phone and let it fall to your lap.

"God, this is so messed up." You dragged a hand over your face.

The front door rattled open, old locks crackling, even older hinges squeaking. Spencer shuffled into the living room, satchel over his shoulder, and a plastic bag in his hand.

You leaned your elbow on the back of the sofa, and your head in your hand, trying to assume a relaxed position.

"I'm afraid I have bad news." He said in lieu of a greeting.

"What." You demanded, lifting your head.

"They were out of orange chicken -" Spencer started.

"You're kidding!" You interrupted in anguish.

"- but!" Spencer raised a hand. "I got you the next best thing."

You watched closely as he placed the bag on top of the coffee table and pulled food containers out. He straightened and handed you your meal.

"You said Thai green curry was your second favourite." He explained with a small smile.

"Crisis averted." You said, peeling back the plastic lid.

Spencer passed you a pair of chopsticks. "I'm glad to hear it."

While Spencer disappeared into the kitchen to find himself a fork, you took the opportunity to unlock your phone. You closed your research tab and cleared your search history.

Just in case.

Spencer shuffled back in, settling his long limbs onto the sofa next to you. You turned to accommodate him, folding your legs into a criss-cross. The silence that surrounded you both as you ate was what alerted you that something wasn't right. Spencer didn't even talk about what he was reading at the moment. Or any other interesting fact he stumbled across during work. While not yet ringing, the alarm bells in your head were ready to strike.

You grabbed a piece of chicken with your chopsticks.

"You left kind of abruptly at work earlier." Spencer spoke, choosing his words carefully. "Did something happen?"

The alarm bells started ringing.

"Yeah." You replied, smearing the chicken through curry. "Just got tired of looking at documents. I needed fresh air for a few minutes."

"Was it the case?" Spencer asked, pretending that he wasn't studying you closely.

"No, no." You shovelled chicken into your mouth. "I think I just need to go outside more."

Spencer lowered his fork into his food and looked at you fully. "Okay, now I know something's wrong. You hate the outside."

"Seriously, Spence." You huffed, adding rice to your already full mouth. "It's fine."

He watched you for a moment longer, then turned to his food. "Alright, don't tell me."

You sighed, sensing a petty argument brewing.

"Spencer-"

"I'll find out."

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"There's nothing to find out." You said. Spencer lowered his fork again and turned in his seat to face you properly. He watched you for much longer than you would have preferred.

You watched him right back, eyebrows raised.

"You tap your foot when you lie." He informed you, turning away and taking a bite of his noodles.

You forced your foot still against the sofa and tucked it deeper under your thigh.

"I don't." You grumbled, even though you knew it was true.

"Yeah, sure." Spencer snorted.

@

"You're gonna stir that coffee to death."

You blinked, startling back to the present. Derek stood in the doorway to the kitchenette.

"What's got you brooding like that?" He asked, slinking his way next to you and reaching into the cupboard for a mug. You pulled the teaspoon out of your coffee and dropped it in the sink.

"I'm not brooding." You denied half-heartedly, reaching into your back pocket to pull out your phone, intending to check your email.

That turned out to be a mistake, because your late night research articles were still loaded up on the screen. Derek was on you before you could react.

"'Efference copies'?" He read from your screen. "What the hell is that?"

You quickly swiped away from the search engine. "Nothing. Just something I heard online."

"Uh-huh." Derek said, unconvinced. "You know, I have a very easy way of finding out."

"What?" You understood his meaning a second too late. "Wait, don't-"

"Hey Reid!" Derek turned to call over his shoulder. "What's 'efference copies'?"

You could see Spencer's shape at his desk. He straightened from where he had been digging in his drawer, tucked stray curls behind his ear.

"It's an internal signal produced by the motor system, acting as a copy of the command sent to muscles to move. It enables the brain to predict the sensory consequences of actions—distinguishing between self-induced changes and external stimuli—and helps stabilize perception by canceling out sensory feedback from one’s own movement." He recited, unhelpfully. "Why?"

Derek turned back to you with a grin. "Well, that doesn't sound suspicious at all."

"Morgan-"

"What had you reading about 'distinguishing between self-induced changes and external stimuli', huh?"

An article on why people can't tickle themselves, you thought bitterly to yourself.

"I told you, the term came up online." You tried to deflect.

"Oh yeah?" Derek's voice turned salacious. "Trouble in the bedroom department?"

"We're done with this conversation." You announced, grabbing your coffee and stomping out of the kitchenette. You were followed by Derek's boisterous laughter.

"I'm only kidding, gorgeous!" He called after you.

Spencer's desk, unfortunately, was on the way to yours. You tried speeding past.

"Hey." Spencer caught your arm gently, mindful of the full mug in your hand.

Your brain lazer-focused on the feeling of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your upper arm. "Yeah? What's up?"

"What was that about?" His voice was hushed with concern.

"Just Morgan being himself." You rolled your eyes. Spencer's fingers flexed imperceptably against your arm. Your muscles tensed in response to the tingling zap that shot down your arm at the movement.

Spencer didn't seem too convinced.

"Don't let him bully you, he's all talk." He said, trying for a smile.

"I can handle Morgan just fine." You deadpanned, which made Spencer break out into a grin.

He released your arm. You tried not to feel loss at the action.

@

You should have been asleep about three hours ago.

Spencer had gone to his room soon after your movie night tradition. He had a migraine earlier that day, and was left tired, and a little out of it. You didn't blame him. Gradually, once it became clear that sleep would not come easy, you went back to your secret research.

Your laptop was situated on the coffee table, and you sat on the floor in front of it. The TV was still on, playing some reality show you didn't care for, so you muted it.

The anticipation of tickling engages a complex neural network, preparing the individual for an impending sensory and emotional experience.

Your eyebrow ticked up.

This made sense. You suspected the hypothalamus and prefrontal cortex were responsible for it.

In human social play, gargalic stimuli are often preceded by visual gestures and auditory cues, such as wiggling fingers -

Nope.

You got to your feet, taking a lap around the room. Even just reading about this had you feeling all fluttery.

Your brain supplied a hypothetical in which Spencer wiggled his fingers right above your sides.

You fanned your face with your hands, pausing behind the sofa. You eyed your laptop from a distance.

It sat there.

Mocking.

You huffed, and rounded the sofa. The laptop would not win.

You settled on the floor, hunched close to the screen, and read on.

These cues alone can induce anticipatory laughter, limb withdrawal, or body twisting, likely arising from -

"You're still awake?"

You froze. Spencer's voice came from directly behind you.

Slowly, you turned to look over your shoulder.

Spencer stood behind the sofa, leaning his forearms over the back of it. His eyes were soft with sleep, and his hair ruffled even though he had tried tucking it behind his ears.

He was very clearly reading the text on your screen.

Your hand shot out to shut your laptop, but you only got halfway before stopping. He reads like twenty thousand words per minute. He already knew exactly what you had been looking at.

"You're not sleeping?" You asked, aiming for casual but falling closer to spooked deer.

"I could hear you pacing." He said gently.

"Sorry." You winced. "Didn't realise I was being loud."

Spencer shook his head. "It's okay." He looked to your half-closed laptop, then back to you. "Have you figured it out yet?"

"Huh?" You said dumbly.

"I know you want me to tickle you." He said, with that same gentleness, like he didn't want you to feel cornered.

The speed at which your face heated would have been embarrassing if you had any time to think about it.

"I don't-" You stuttered, heaving a laugh. "That's not even a thing-"

"Some people like it." Spencer informed you.

You snapped your mouth shut.

"It didn't come up in your research?" His smile turned amused. You shook your head sharply to indicate the negative. You didn't trust your voice right now.

Spencer tilted his head and pursed his lips in thought. Hummed lightly.

"You know," he shifted his weight to his other leg, still leaning on the sofa. "Tickling introduces a distinctive dimension of playfulness, contributing to the emotional intricacies of intimate encounters."

You shut your eyes in mortification.

"This playfulness adds diversity to the emotional repertoire," Spencer continued. "Facilitating shared laughter, moments of vulnerability, and the exploration of sensory stimuli."

You did not want to be having this conversation with him.

"Also, there are communities of people who enjoy tickling and engage with it regularly."

You opened your eyes to look at him. "If you're just saying this to-"

"How do you think I know about it?" He asked.

"You know everything." You retorted.

Spencer didn't reply to that, but gave you a very pointed look.

"What?" You frowned.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Oh.

Oh.

You felt frozen.

"Have you considered," Spencer said, as if he didn't just upturn your entire worldview. "That you're trying to logic your way through this too much?"

That snapped you out of it.

"Are you - Spencer Reid, PhD - telling me I'm doing too much research?" You demanded.

He shrugged lightly. "Sometimes we like something. Not much else to it."

You gaped at him.

Spencer gave a huff, as if he'd settled on a decision then and there, and pushed himself off the back of the sofa. Your eyes followed him as he made his way around to where you were sitting on the floor.

"C'mere." He said, extending his hand to you.

"Somehow, I'm not sure if I should." You said.

"C'mere." He repeated with a grin, waving his fingers at you.

Giving in, you took his hand and let him help you to your feet. Your bodies were very close. You could smell Spencer's laundry detergent, and feel his body heat. It all made you feel very exposed.

Spencer placed his hands on your waist.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Gargalesis has been proposed to strengthen social ties." He said, as if he were speaking about the weather. "Our social ties are very strong, but it can never hurt to work on them, right?"

His hands squeezed. Once.

A gasp ripped itself from your lungs, hands clasping at Spencer's forearms. You braced, but he didn't move.

"Brain imagings also suggest that laughter evoked specifically from gargalesis is different from any other type of laughter." Spencer continued. "I've always wanted to test that theory."

He squeezed again, and didn't stop this time. You nearly collapsed at the feeling, stumbling backwards a little. Spencer followed your movements easily, like he had anticipated them. Like he had done this before.

Laughter stuttered out of you in short gasps.

"You sound a little wheezy." Spencer observed, unhelpfully.

You buried your face in his shoulder, eyes closing. Your fingers were still wrapped firmly around Spencer's forearms, but you couldn't bring yourself to push him away.

You hoped he wouldn't comment on it.

"I thought you'd be more of a fighter." Spencer said. "But you just melt into it."

Your face burned.

Spencer adjusted his hands to reach your lowest ribs. Your torso twisted sharply, as if his words added another layer of ticklishness to your experience. Spencer was unphased. He kept talking.

"You've gone very quiet, too." He paused, clicking his teeth. "Well. Except for the cackling."

You actually pushed this time, overwhelmed. Spencer allowed his hands to be shoved away, but didn't step back. He let you breathe against his shoulder for a moment, until your residual giggling fizzled out.

He brought his hands up over your back, thumbs rubbing soothing lines into your tshirt.

"How did you figure it out?" You mumbled, forehead still pressed into his shoulder.

"I don't kiss and tell." Spencer said, smug.

You pulled back to look at him. "You uncovered my shameful secret and you won't even give me the grace of telling me what gave it away?"

"We're gonna have to work on that 'shameful' part." Spencer said, completely ignoring your point.

"Let's just go to sleep." You huffed to cover up your embarrassment. Spencer let you step away from his embrace, but not before making sure you saw him grin in self-satisfaction.

"Sure." He agreed.