Spencer.

The gesture was sweet enough for you to forget about the fireworks setting a chaotic soundtrack to the scene. For a few seconds, you felt immune to the sounds that bled through the cracks of your defenses. But then, when the music stops, you realize something else.

It is very, very strange being around a quiet Spencer Reid.

So, like all any rational person might, you pull out your phone and send a text to the man in front of you.

“Hey,” is all it says.

“Hey,” is all he returns… at first. But after another few seconds of silence, he continues, “Do you like to look at fireworks?”

You almost type your answer, but then you look up to see him staring back at you with the purest smile possible, and you nod, instead.

Spencer doesn’t type, either. He reaches out a hand and waits for you to realize he’s asking you to take it. You do, and you’re surprised to see that he’s taking you back to the room you’d emerged from moments before to answer his first call.

He guides the two of you back into the assortment of blankets that are probably too hot for July, but you aren’t going to complain if the extra heat comes from him. He pulls the blankets over your heads, casting a shadow over the two of you and successfully blocking out the very thing he’d asked you about - the fireworks raging outside of your windows.

With your ears still carefully covered, he gestures for you to come closer, still. He continues to beckon you until you are all but seated in his lap with his arms wrapped safely around you.

It isn’t until he takes out his phone that you realize what’s happening. The technophobe that you’d grown to love in such a short period of time had figured out how to pull up a livestream. Making a mental note to thank Penelope, you offer him a laugh that you almost forget he can’t hear.

But then, it’s okay. Because he laughs, too, and you realize that you can feel it. You feel his laughter as the soundtrack to the fireworks bursting. You gaze at the phone in front of you, but then find that you wish it wasn’t there. Not that you don’t love the images he’s holding on display for you, but because you want to hold his hand.

Just as the thought occurs to you, Spencer moves. It isn’t to get away from you — if anything, he almost squeezes you tighter — but it is a movement that is eerily close to your thoughts. Spencer freed one hand from his phone and set it in your lap. It’s forward enough that you don’t know what to do. Your brain is short circuiting, neurons firing in chaotic patterns much like the beautiful destruction lighting up the skies.

As the show goes on, though, you realize that the finale is fast approaching, and you want to give him something to remember. You want him to associate the show with this moment forever, to never forget the time that you sat curled up and hidden away from the world together.

You are finally ready to reach out to him. Your trembling hand twitches, but before you can make your movements obvious, Spencer’s hand is gone.

Your heart drops to your stomach, or possibly even further down to your toes. Your mind is scrambling, trying to turn back the wheels of time to grant you your chance again. You calm yourself down with the realization that you can still hold his hand — wherever it went. In all likelihood, you could probably just ask him, and he’d immediately give in to your demands.

But while you were busy dreaming of all the things that might have been and could still be, Spencer had other things in mind. Spencer was busy thinking of the present, of the finale of fireworks that had just started to crash.

You don’t realize it at first, but then you hear it. The soft rumbling of controlled demolition of manmade stars, offering the most beautiful backdrop to his voice whispering in your ear.

“I love you,” he says.

Without thinking of the logistics of two sets of noise-canceling headphones, and the fact that his lifting yours doesn’t make his any less durable, you answer him.

“I love you, too,” you say, almost forgetting that he won’t hear it.

But it’s okay because he felt it, too.

—————————————————

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More than anything, he thought about the way she whimpered out his name, and how perfect it had sounded tumbling from her lips like that. He came thinking about it, reliving the moment with one hand braced against the cool tile and another pumping along his length. With the overwhelming sensation and the hum of the shower drowning out the noise, he allows himself the softest moan of her name as he strokes himself through it.

It’s not the first time he’s gotten himself off to thoughts of her. He thinks back to the first time they’d shared a room on a case, when she unpacked her bag he saw the little satin nightdress on the bed and he almost got hard then and there. But when she came out of the bathroom wearing it, he lost all motor function, scrambling to get to the bathroom to relieve himself in an attempt to stave off the wet dream that definitely would’ve occurred in the night.

He felt awkward about it then too, but it had passed, eventually.

He tried to push all of those thoughts out of his mind as he climbed into bed next to her. She was sprawled out in the middle of the bed, he didn’t mind though, he just slid into his side as best as he could. As he tried to settle in and get some sleep he was caught off guard by the gentle weight that landed on his chest. When he opened his eyes he found her arm stretched across his chest, the rest of her body curling up next to him as she slept.

He doesn’t resist, instead he places his hand over hers on his chest and drifts to sleep to the sound of her steady breath next to him.

— — —

When she woke up it took her a minute to realize what position she was even in. Curled up on her side, but she’s warm, warmer than usual. And when she starts to move it quickly becomes apparent that the warmth is from another person.

It was honestly a miracle this hadn’t happened before. In all the times they’d shared a bed, in this apartment, on cases, never once had they woken up in each others arms. But strangely, it didn’t feel as foreign as it should. She takes a second to enjoy it before she has to peel away from his chest and avoid any ensuing awkwardness. But before she can, she’s greeted by a small, chirped, “Good morning” from above her.

“Uh— Morning” she says, without moving from her warm cocoon in his arms, “Sorry, I must’ve— um”

“Don’t worry about it! I don’t mind” he hums, tracing a hand up and down her back gently, making no movements to pull away. She finds it a little strange, but she’s just happy to have the contact either way.

“Oh thank god” she giggles, “You’re so warm Spence” she cuddles in closer to him, if it were even possible.

“Yeah, but has anyone ever told you that your feet are freezing?” he ponders, and she can feel the way he chuckles against her.

Instead of an answer she just brings one of her cold feet up and trails it along the length of his leg.

“AH! No fair!” he yelps, “I’m just trying to lend a hand here” he giggles. But she doesn’t relent, the sound of his sleepy laugh is something she’s positive she could listen to forever. So she does it again, running her toes along the bare skin that peeked out of his pajama bottoms.

But he can’t take it lying down, so his hands find their way to her sides, gently holding her at first before he starts to dig his fingers in, just enough to tickle her where he knows she’s vulnerable. When she lets out a yelp and stops teasing him, he can’t bring himself to stop just yet. Tickling her until she’s wiggling around and giggling on the mattress beneath him.

He doesn’t stop until he’s on top of her, and she’s semi-curled up beneath him, squirming away from his touch with each perfect scream, “I give! I give!”

When he finally relents, he’s resting above her, braced on is arms as she gasps beneath him, both of their chests heaving. It doesn’t feel as different from last night as it really should.

All she wants to do is reach up and kiss him. Grab his face in her hands and guide it down to her own. With no audience at all she wants to show him how she feels. But before she can do much of anything, he’s looking away with an awkward frown, clearing his throat before he rolls off of her for the second time in 12 hours.

“We— uh— we should probably get up?” he says, leaving her alone in their bed once again.

“Today’s my day off?” she says, hopeful, as if that’s what was keeping them from spending the day in bed together, wrapped in each others arms.

“Oh— I actually have to go into the university today,” he says it like he’s only just remembered it himself, “I shouldn't be home too late though”

He’s calling out the last part as he fumbles for an outfit in the wardrobe, pulling out some options.

“The purple one.” she says, climbing out of bed herself and pulling on a sweatshirt.

He just turns to her with a confused look, and she wished she didn’t find his bedhead so endearing.

“You should wear your purple shirt, you look nice in it” she pulls it from the wardrobe, handing it to him with a soft smile before leaving the room to let him get changed in peace.

She sort of hates how much she loves the domesticity of it all. But in spite of herself she does. While waiting for Spencer to come say goodbye, she makes a pot of coffee and pours some into a travel mug for him, topping it off with the comical amount milk and sugar he always required.

It’s all made worse when he comes into the kitchen, sleep still clouding his eyes, with his tie in a messy knot around his neck.

“C’mere sleepy head” she beckons him over from her perch on the counter top. And he accepts the invitation, albeit awkwardly, standing in the space between her legs as he rubs his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

“What?” he asks through a yawn.

“Your tie, it’s all over the place” she says with a light laugh, her hands coming up to undo it, re-tying it slowly to make sure it sat perfectly, and wasn’t so tight that it irritated him.

“There, perfect!” she chirps, flattening it down against his shirt before fixing his collar around it, “And here’s your coffee” she hands him the travel mug and he accepts it with a strange apprehension.

“What’s going on, what’s this for?” he asks, looking around as if there was something he was missing, taking a glance into the mug as if there might be an answer in there, but when he’s only met with coffee, exactly the way he likes it, he looks back up to meet her soft gaze.

“Nothing, I just wanted to.” she hums, and it’s the truth. She’s just leaving out the part where she also wants to pull him down by the tie and kiss him, and maybe have him call in sick so that they can spend the entire day in that exact same position.

— — —

She doesn’t know what to do with her day, so she leans into her instincts. There was something about the domestic bliss of that morning that she just wanted to hold onto a second longer. She knew deep down that this wasn’t permanent. She was going to have to ‘cheat’ again soon, and once that started it would feel like no time at all before the case was over. And their ‘marriage’ was too. So she decided to savor what she could.

Cooking him dinner is what she settles on. Going shopping and picking out the groceries, a nice bottle of wine, she even grabs a little candle for the center of the table. She feels sort of foolish, going to these lengths for some unrequited crush, but he was still her best friend, and he deserved some appreciation. That was how she rationalized it anyway.

She felt like a cartoon housewife as she pulled on her apron over her dress. Fastening it around her waist before she started cooking. The image was only compounded by the melodic classical tunes that poured out from the little radio in the corner of the kitchen. It was tuned to Spencer’s favorite radio station when she turned it on, so she just let it play while she worked on preparing the meal.

When Spencer arrives home he’s first greeted with the intoxicating smells of home cooking. That was never something he could get used to, it wasn’t even a smell that reminded him of childhood, it was just such a foreign luxury. So when he notices the classical music coming from the kitchen, his feet cant carry him fast enough.

There he finds her, kneeling up on the countertop, arms stretched to capacity reaching for the wine glasses on the top shelf. He gives himself a second or two to appreciate the sight, while it looked silly, he couldn't help but feel enamored but it. So he decides it’s time to finally help out, placing one hand gently on her lower back, and reaching the other up to grab the glasses with ease.

“Fuck!” she gasps.

“I think ‘thank you’ is the phrase you’re looking for?” he chuckles as she turns to sit on the counter top, her legs dangling off the side just as they had that morning, and he can’t help but smile.

“I didn’t hear you come in” she explains, a hand clutching at her chest, shaking her head at her unsteady heartbeat that was refusing to slow down.

“Sorry” he’s quick to apologize, “I do like this music though” he says through a smile, and something about it calms her down. She doesn’t resist the urge to pull him in this time, reaching out to grab his shoulders and bring him closer into a hug.

He takes a second to register, quickly wrapping his arms around her waist, chuckling a little to himself as they run over the bow of the apron. He takes a second to tuck his face into the crook of her neck and inhale the scent of her once again. He was sure he could never tire of it.

When they pull apart and he looks down at her she’s beaming right back up at him.

“I made dinner” she tells him, like he hadn’t pieced it together already, but the excitement in her voice is enough to make him break out in a grin.

So he helps set the table, and she lights the little candle in the centre of it. He knows this isn’t a date, but something about the ambience is telling him that it should be.

“So, what’s on the menu?” he asks, pouring each of them a glass of red wine from the bottle on the table.

“Burgers” she tells him right as she places the plate in front of him, and his heart almost melts, “I know it’s not fancy, but do you remember that time that—”

“Of course I remember” he cuts her off out of sheer excitement.

“Well good, because I’ve got Kit-Kat’s for dessert” she laughs, sitting down to her own meal.

He remembers the combination so well, because it’s one of the first meals they ever shared together, just the two of them. Crawling back to the hotel, exhausted after a case, waiting it out till their flight the following morning, Y/N found her way to Spencer’s room.

Complaining of his overwhelming hunger, but really just not wanting her to leave his room just yet, he suggested that they order room service. And so they did, eating burgers crosslegged in their pajamas on the floor of Spencer’s hotel room in practically the middle of the night.

“We should’ve gotten dessert,” she sighs, lying down flat on the floor and running her hand in circles to sooth her stomach. “Well, no we shouldn’t have, but I still want something”.

So he ponders the idea for a moment, leaping up and grabbing his wallet from his satchel.

“I’ll be back in 2 seconds” he tells her as he leaves the room, racing to the vending machine at the end of the hall. When he returns less than a minute later he’s bought her a Kit-Kat, placing it down on her stomach and sitting down next to her on the floor once again, opening his own.

“My hero” she says with a goofy grin, sitting up a little so that she can reach over give him a little hug.

“Anything for you” he replies, like it’s a joke and not the unvarnished truth.

The night never really ended, that’s why Spencer was so fond of the memory. Instead they both stayed up talking until they could barely keep their eyes open, falling asleep on top of the sheets together, too tired to even get under them. The only thing that managed to wake them the following morning was Hotch’s incessant banging on the door, shouting something about the jet leaving without them.

It would be a perfect memory if it weren’t for the suggestive glances from the rest of the team. The sly jokes, speculating on what Y/N might have gotten up to in Spencer’s room all night. And he wouldn’t have minded them so much if she hadn’t shot down the very suggestion immediately.

“You just seem awfully tired this morning…” Emily says with a raised brow and a little smirk.

“Well I didn’t get much sleep is all” he overhears Y/N say through a yawn.

“Ah, I see, because you were busy all night?” JJ chimes in with a giggle.

“It’s not like that” Y/N laughs it off, “It was only Spencer.”

He sort of wishes he’d never heard the words at all. He knew deep down that they were good friends, best friends even, and every once in a while he deluded himself into thinking that she might want him like he wants her. But those hopes would always get quashed eventually.

So he tries not to recall that last part as he thinks back on the memory now. Instead he focuses all of his energy on the unbelievable kindness of the gesture, and how pretty the woman opposite him looks by candlelight.

When dinner is over, they both try to navigate the washing up after a few glasses of wine, which results in some splashing, and an awful lot of giggling, but it gets done eventually, with Spencer placing any items on the top shelf back for her.

When they settle on the couch it’s with an air of giddy exhaustion. Collapsing next to each other in a little heap as Y/N flicked on the TV. Not necessarily to watch, more to have as background noise. While she’s distracted switching through the stations, Spencer takes the opportunity to give her another good look, drinking in the sight of her in her tipsy, giddy state. And he must be a little tipsier than he realized because the thought that was supposed to stay firmly planted in his head slips out of it’s own accord.

“You look really pretty, I like the apron” he coos, before he really notices he’s even said anything.

He expects an awkward, maybe lukewarm response at best. But instead she turns to look at him, the corners of her mouth pulled into a soft smile.

“Thank you” she says, genuine and sweet before she speaks again, “You know? You’re awfully pretty too Spence?”

He wishes he didn’t but he can feel himself turning bright pink, the flush in his cheeks burning as he avoids all eye contact. He had always been adverse to compliments, especially ones about his appearance, but when they came from her it felt like something else entirely. An odd mix of smug excitement that was offset by the ever pervasive fear that this was some sort of joke meant to hurt him.

She takes in the look of fearful embarrassment that takes over his face and immediately wants to put him at ease.

“Why are you so surprised whenever someone says you’re good looking Spence?” she keeps it a little playful, but she’s completely serious, there was no reason he needed to have such a low opinion of himself.

“Because I— I don’t know— I just…”

“You know they don’t call you Pretty Boy for nothing, I mean look at you?” she almost laughs to herself with exasperation, “You’ve got these pretty eyes, they’re so bright and excited all the time, even when you’re in your glasses. And then your hair, it’s so messy all the time, in this weird way that I genuinely believe only you can pull off” she starts to ramble, sparing no thought for his ever blushing complexion.

“And don’t get me started on your cheekbones, or your hands— or your lips! What the hell, how are they so fucking pink, all the time!”

“Really?” he finally breaks his silence, partially out of curiosity, but also out of sheer disbelief.

“Yeah really! Anyone would be lucky to have you.” she reaches out and touches his forearm gently as she says it, and it makes his stomach feel strange and a little tense. Because he doesn’t want anyone. He just wants her.

Deciding they’re both too sleepy, and too tipsy to really watch anything, they find their way to bed. And there’s just enough wine in Spencer’s system that he manages not to think too hard about what they were doing in this very bed just 24 hours ago. Instead he just surrenders to the quiet calm of their bedroom, relaxing into the mattress. But then Y/N crawls in next to him, and he wants nothing more than to curl up next to her again, but he can’t seem to make the move.

“Spence?” she hums from her side of the bed just as he starts to let his eyes close.

“Mmhmm?” he answers, rolling onto his side to face her a little better, and she’s on her side, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

“I’m cold” is all she says, but he hopes he knows what she really means.

“C’mere” he says through a yawn, lifting up the duvet and his arm to create an inviting little cave for her. An invitation that she accepts with sleepy excitement. Shifting across the mattress until she’s tucked firmly into Spencer’s chest. He knows she’s already as close as she can get, but he can’t stop himself from wrapping his arm around her and pulling her tighter against him.

“Is that better?” he asks, and he can feel her nod against him.

“It’s perfect”

— — —

Y/N’s next shift in the bar is a late one. But Spencer insists on walking her there in spite of the late hour, and the early start he was in for the following morning.

“You really don’t have to” she says, pulling on her jacket to leave, but he’s right behind her.

“But I want to” is his counter offer, and it makes her smile involuntarily.

“And besides, we’re supposed to be in a better place, it couldn’t hurt if he sees me walking you there.” he tells her as they stroll down the street towards the bar.

“You know what might help too?” she asks, but he just looks at her a little confused until she answers. Taking her hand out of her pocket she reaches for his, gripping it softly before intertwining their fingers.

“If he saw us holding hands” she elaborates. And as much as he loves the feeling, and even the idea that strangers passing them might think that she’s his, he can also feel his palm growing clammier with each step they take together.

When they reach the bar Spencer nestles into the same seat he’d sat in before. It’s quieter than it was that evening, and he doesn’t really feel guilty for trying to take up just a little bit more of her time.

“What can I get for you, Sir?” she asks, a little smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.

“Hmm, the usual?” he pretends to think for a moment before he responds, but she’s knows him too well, and she’s already prepping the ingredients.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, what brought you in here tonight?” she asks, as she lays the drink down on a cocktail napkin in front of him, leaning down on the bar a little, setting in to talk with him.

He takes a second before he responds, the little face he pulls as he pretends to think makes her giggle.

“Nothing, actually? Everything’s going pretty great for me right now if I’m being honest” he beams, taking a sip of his drink.

“Is that so?” she teases, and he nods enthusiastically.

“Mmhmm, things with my wife and I are going great at the moment. Y’know, she cooked me dinner the other evening, by candlelight and everything” he giggles. She knew he enjoyed it at the time, but it was still nice to hear the affirmation, and the look of excitement on his face just made her want to do that for him every night.

“Wow, sounds like you’ve got her wrapped around your finger” she pokes fun at herself, but Spencer just shakes his head.

“God no, it’s the other way around!” he’s quick to correct her with a laugh, “But what about you?” he flips it around, and has to think for a moment.

“Me? Well, my husband and I are doing okay I guess” she contemplates, her fingers going straight to the ring on her left hand, toying with the band.

“Oh really?” he probes, taking a long sip of his drink this time, and she can’t resist the opportunity to tease him just a little.

“Yup, he fucked me for the first time in forever the other night”

She delights in the way his eyes bulge and how he has to stifle the spit-take he was just about to do, resisting the impulse and just swallowing the drink down along with the lump in his throat.

“A-and— uh— how was— um— that?” he manages to fumble his way through the question.

“Best sex of my life” she says with a wink, and she doesn’t miss the way his cheeks flush the most perfect shade of pink.

Before she can elaborate, or tease, any further, one of the waitresses calls out for her from the back of the bar, beckoning for her help.

“Yeah, just give me two seconds!” she calls back, holding up two fingers. When she turns back to Spencer he’s getting up off his stool.

“I should get going anyway” he says with a bashful smile.

Before he can get much further away, she throws a glance out the window. There’s a car parked across the street. It might be silver, it might be a sedan, but she really doesn’t care. It’s dark, and he doesn’t have to know what she saw.

“Hey Spence?” she calls, leaning over the bar to get closer to him, curling her finger and signaling him in.

When he finally get’s close enough she grabs a hold of his tie, just like she wished she could do in their kitchen. Pulling it gently she brings him across the bar, just near enough that she can press her lips to his.

It’s not particularly heated, but that almost makes it worse. It’s lingering, and sweet. Almost as gentle as his fingers that brush against the side of her cheek. She only allows herself to kiss him for a moment, his tongue brushing against hers with a tentative softness. She can feel his nerves and she wishes they didn't make her heart beat so fast to match his.

When she can finally bring herself to pull back it’s only been a moment, but he looks completely different. His face is soft, and his lips are gently parted. His cheeks are still a little flushed, but now his neck is too.

“I’ll see you at home” she grins, and it takes him a second to even respond but when he does it’s with a wide smile and an eager nod.

— — —

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