#drreidxreader

As his confidence grew his hands grew more insistent. One curled into your hair, tugging with a perfect delicious pressure that you weren’t sure he was fully aware of, whilst the other gripped your waist and pulled you closer.

You couldn’t help but want to tease him. You pulled away sharply and smirked devilishly as he needily followed after your lips. Curling both hands into the now crumpled collar of his shirt, you moved your lips to his ear. “Sit down, Spencer.”

Eager to please, he nodded jerkingly and sat on the couch. He was sat so awkwardly it was almost too sweet to look at. He was perched at the very edge of the seat, fingers thrumming awkwardly against his thighs as he shifted uncomfortably against the tightness of his trousers.

You almost took pity on him, concerned he was beginning to get overwhelmed in a bad way, but then he looked up at you with those flushed cheeks. His right hand rose to merrily grasp your wrist and he made a pointed gesture for you to join him on the sofa.

Licking your lips, more for his reaction than any physical need to, you twisted your wrist from his grip. You caressed his cheek, tucking an errant lock of hair back into place, before flattening your hand upon his chest and pushing him meaningfully backwards.

Following your silent command he leaned back, shuffling into a more comfortable position, his eyes never leaving yours. It took all of your restraint not to succumb to your own desires and straddle him immediately, but you desired a continued confirmation.

Fingers gliding through his hair, nails scratching lightly over his scalp, you gripped his hair to keep his head tilted towards you. He gulped. In a low voice, you asked. “Do you want me?”

He nodded, as much as your grip on his hair would allow, before stuttering out a yes.

You pushed further; it was impossible to not enjoy these confessions of his after so many months with no indication of his interest. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Breaths coming quicker, his eyes dropped over your figure before returning to yours with a renewed excitement to them. “Yes, I-I want to fuck you.”

You smiled, exceptionally pleased that he had broken through his own awkwardness and said it out loud. You rewarded him by leaning closer, his neck craning to keep eye contact with you, before swinging one leg over him and straddling him.

You shifted your hips lightly, under the pretence of finding a comfortable position but really just relishing the way his hands gripped your thighs at the friction, and kissed his jaw.

You hummed against his skin, tilting his head with a hand in his hair in order to kiss over his neck, before murmuring. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” one of his hands was inching further up your thigh as you spoke, “do you think about me?”

As you asked you lifted your head to meet his gaze and watched him nod. You removed his hands from your thighs, moving them to the buttons of your dress, and prompted him. “I want to know what you think about,” he managed the first two buttons but faltered slightly on the third as you began to return the favour, “tell me.”

“I-I want.. I-“ after a few stuttered attempts it became clear he needed a little more pushing. You had managed to fully unbutton his shirt whilst he had only half succeeded in undressing you so far.

You worked your hips once more, biting your lip against the slight friction you produced, and you all but purred in satisfaction at the groan he gave. “Do you picture me on top of you?” You asked lowly, your last buttons finally coming undone, “beneath you?” You continued to press, freeing your arms from your dress and leaving your torso bare to him. “Knelt before you?”

The pictures you were putting into his head were clearly overwhelming, his breaths coming in short panting gasps. His hands had moved to grip your hips, whether to still your movement or encourage yet more they couldn’t seem to decide. A few words seemed scattered between his whines and groans but you couldn’t decipher any real answer.

Removing one of his hands from your hips you led his palm slowly up your thigh, further and further and further until his fingertips met the lacy fabric of your underwear. You leaned into his touch, hand squeezing his - in reassurance or restraint you weren’t sure - as you continued to murmur low words to him. “You can have me however you want,” you promised, a shaky breath escaping you as he curled his fingertips beneath the waistband of your panties. “But you have to tell me how you want me.” Delicate hands over his jaw pulled his lips to yours but you didn’t kiss him. You whispered once more to him, your lips ghosting over his with each syllable as you encouraged, “use your words.”

Your underwear had been pushed to the side at this point, his fingers exploring the wet heat between your legs with a delicious fervour. He really did want to please you. As his fingers swiped over your clit you gripped his forearm harshly, nails likely leaving soft marks there as you sucked on a breath.

The smirk you could see upon his features was paired with an increasing confidence that you were eager to encourage and explore. Having found the one spot that could make you come alive and fall apart all at once, he doubled down his efforts. Fingers circling your clit, gathering wetness there, and pressing deliciously at an almost perfect frequency he watched your anticipation build. You were mewling on his lap, hips bucking in an attempt to chase the orgasm so suddenly approaching.

You were almost there, eyes fallen shut and mouth wantonly open as you almost ground yourself down into his hand. A broken exclamation of “fuck” whined from you, throaty and animalistic, a sure sign that your peak were fast approaching. Spencer removed his hand and used it instead to still your hips completely. You whined immediately, eyes falling to glare at him as you continued your attempt to work your hips.

Looking almost calm in comparison to his previous appearance, although still with a flush to his cheeks and a well-ruffled askew look to his hair, he finally gave a coherent response. “I-I think about you on your knees.”

You grinned, already forgetting the anticipation of your stolen orgasm as a new excitement built in you. It was impossible not to enjoy the increase in his confidence, and so quickly, alongside the evidence of his sizeable desire for you straining against his trousers and shaking through his voice.

Kissing him, starting at his lips and working down, you slid from his lap to kneel before him. The clink of his belt buckle giving way beneath your fingers sent another shock of excitement through you and you revelled at his sharp intake of breath as you gripped him and pulled his erection free.

You had been waiting long enough, you were not about to waste any time. Raising on your knees just slightly, you licked your lips before stretching them over the already weeping head. He groaned as you swirled your tongue over him, taking your time and teasing him with your slowness.

Dipping your head further until you had swallowed most of him, you let your wide eyes look up to his. When you found his gaze he seemed entirely enthralled by the sight of you and, in a manoeuvre you hadn’t expected but entirely enjoyed, he brought both hands to tangle in your hair.

As you worked your mouth over him you kept your eyes raised to catch his gaze. Enjoying the sight of him unravelling beneath you, you moaned around his length and took him entirely into your mouth. The vibrato of your moan against his length seemed to send a shudder through him and his hands insistently tugged your hair. Following his direction, you released him but caused a discontented groan to sound from him when you sat back on your heels.

Looking up at him through batting lashes you made a show of licking your lips. Whining at your unfairness, he leaned forwards and towards you. Moving to meet him halfway you let your hands wander up his heaving chest and asked; “you liked that?”

In absence of a properly verbalised affirmative he gave a low whine and nodded enthusiastically. His attentive eyes seemed unable to remain in one place, his focus pulled from your lips to your legs and to your wandering hands all at once.

Slowly, you rose to your feet. As you reached your full height he fell back against the sofa, Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked up at you with just parted lips. His hands were less passive, reaching to your hips and pulling you greedily to him. You complied easily, your stomach coiling with a delightful heat that you were impatient to satiate.

Straddling him, sucking in a breath at the feel of him now completely against you, you more delicately pulled his lips to yours. Pouring sweetness into your kiss, wanting this first time between you to be memorable in every way, you manoeuvred him to your entrance.

Kiss more fervent between you, his tongue boldly parting your lips, you sank down onto him. The sharp sting of his blunt nails gripping your hips paired deliciously with the building pleasure of him filling you. Lips pulling from his, your head fell back with a groan and back arched as he filled you completely.

Eyes squeezed shut, lips open in a silent gasp, you shifted your hips. A wanton moan escaped you and you clutched his shoulders as you struggled to remain upright. “Fuck,” you gasped, head falling to meet his eyes.

Spencer’s hooded gaze devoured every inch of you as you began to move; bucking your hips against him and revelling in the feeling of being so very full. Large hands gripped your waist, fingernails leaving half-moons on your delicate skin, as he attempted to quicken your movement.

Following this silent request you shifted your legs around him, granting you a blend of increased balance and intense pleasure, and quickened your pace.

Feeling increasingly frenzied, the peak that Spencer had stolen from you earlier swiftly returning, you pulled his mouth to yours. His mouth parted beneath yours immediately, his panting breaths mixing with yours in the small space between you, and his hand raised to your hair in an effort to keep you close.

“Spencer,” you whined, the name almost a plea as it poured from you. His name became the only word you could say and the only thought in your mind as you toppled into bliss. Your hips continued to buck, rhythm lost as you succumbed to your orgasm, but Spencer was quick to follow you over the edge.

Coming down from your high was a lazy descent; the warmth of Spencer’s arms now tightly wrapped around you alongside the slow kisses he peppered over your temple made you want to loiter in this moment of afterglow forever.

The trembling of your legs, however, forced you to move. Sliding from his lap, your arms remained around his neck and you curled into his side. Spencer shifted, hands massaging and soothing one thigh before moving to gently work over the other.

Eventually, you regained enough of your facilities to ask in a hoarse voice; “so, did you like that?”

An abashed smile lifted his lips even as his chin dropped the expression away from you. Softly curling a hand into his hair, you watched him with affection warming your chest. Perhaps slightly emboldened by the pleasure the pair of you had just shared, Spencer broke from his usually stuttering shyness and met your gaze as he more resolutely responded. “I’m not sure like is a strong enough word.”

Ducking your head, in a poor attempt to hide the heat rising on your cheeks, you peered down the right hand corridor. Decision made in a sudden spur of decisiveness, you gripped his hand and pulled him down the right turn. He fumbled some strangled words and you felt his fingers flex beneath yours. As you came across the first painting of this particular exhibit, realisation struck you. Embarrassed, you quietly cursed and quickly dropped his hand. Wide eyed, you looked up to him. “Sorry,” you told him sincerely, “I completely forgot.”

Hand still outstretched where you had so suddenly dropped it, he shook his head with a faraway gaze indicative of deep thought. “I-“ eyebrows creasing together, he looked to you with a grin, “I don’t mind.” As if to prove this fact, he stepped towards you and softly took your hand back in his.

Voice dropping to a breathy tone, you squeezed his fingers and asked; “are you sure?”

He was swift with his assurance, “completely.”

Lost in the warmth of his gaze, you almost forget where you were. That was, until a disgruntled gentleman pointedly cleared his throat beside you. Jumping in surprise, you sent a wide eyed stare to the stranger before quickly stepping out of his way. “Sorry,” you mumbled to the man, garnering no response but an aggravated glance as he moved past you. Lips twisting, you glanced up to Spencer with a stifled giggle. “Oops.”

Heartily, he laughed alongside you before his gaze raised over your head and surveyed the room. Thumb stroking over the back of your hand, he stepped further into the centre of the expansive space. “Shall we?”

Following his lead, you looked over the paintings displayed against the pristine and light walls. A contemplative hum escaped you as you processed the almost disturbing images. “These are…” you trailed off, searching for a word that described the feeling that this morbid collection inspired, “intense.”

You looked to him to gauge his reaction and found that dissecting gaze of his looking over the array of artworks. Eyes still stuck on the paintings, he tilted his head towards you and launched into his awaited explanation. “You know, this particular set are supposedly some of the last paintings of Spanish artist Francisco Goya.” You nodded along to his words, pulling him closer to one particularly large and intense painting. “After his death these, so-called, ‘black paintings’ were found painted over the walls of his French home.”

Eyebrows raising, you clicked your tongue. “He had these on his walls?”

Spencer nodded the affirmative before providing extra detail. “This particular piece was found in his dining room.”

Dramatically, you gave a shiver; “imagine this guy staring at you while you ate.” Your lips twisted at the thought of it, “no, thank you.” He gave a chuckle.

There were other paintings to see, certainly, but something about this one was incredibly hard to look away from. “What-“ you stumbled over the question as you struggled to discern what you even wanted to ask, “what’s it even… about?” You could look to the accompanying plaque but you were sure Spencer’s explanation would surpass anything written.

Immediately, he provided your answer. “Actually, this particular black painting is called ‘Saturn devouring his son’.” He wiggled his free fingers dramatically as he provided the title, earning an amused giggle. “It depicts the Roman titan eating his child in a futile attempt to prevent his own overthrow.” He paused briefly in his explanation, before adding. “The painter had suffered through his share of failed revolution.”

You hummed absently as you listened, watching the painting with a renewed vigour in an attempt to discern why it made you feel so… well, that was the real question; what did it make you feel? Again, almost automatically, you looked to Spencer for an answer. “How does it make you feel?”

Unusually, his reply was not instantaneous. You allowed him a few moments but when his silence persisted past the minute mark, you looked up to find a pinched, thoughtful, expression had overtaken him. Lightly, you tugged on his hand as you softly called his name. “Spencer?”

He jerked slightly as he recovered himself. Looking down to you with wide eyes, he admitted almost sheepishly; “I’m not sure.”

“No?” You asked, surprised you had encountered a question that he did not know the answer to. “I’m not sure either,” you mused, turning back to the canvas, “there’s a desperation in his eyes,” you gave absently, “I think it’s tragic, in a way.” Eventually, you gathered your feelings. “Once you get past the intensity… it kinda makes me sad.”

“That’s…” he trailed off, the fingers interlaced with yours flexing as he sought words. “That’s an interesting assessment.

Huffing, you rolled your eyes. “Okay, Dr Genius, no need to make fun of me.” You smirked up to him in a reassuring show that you were merely joking.

“No,” he protested, turning fully to face you, “I mean it!” He looked so earnest, his free hand raising to take yours, as he spoke. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

As was often the case, the doctor was unsure how exactly to respond to your playfulness. This time he settled into a serious response – seemingly taken aback by your request, he looked at you with a crinkled brow. “It’s not something you can learn in ten minutes,” he tried to reason.

One hand on the back of his chair, you peered over his shoulder. “C’mon,” you murmured close to his ear, “indulge me, doc.”

As you had anticipated, he obliged you quickly.

To begin with, he had simply talked you through how it worked. You were surprised by how much verbal explanation was apparently required but you had always been happy to listen to him ramble on about anything and everything. After the stress that had bunched your shoulders due to your excessive paperwork, it was relaxing to listen to his voice.

Eventually, he moved onto a practical demonstration. And that was when disaster struck.

It had always been fairly obvious to you that you found Spencer attractive. Your eyes would often linger a little too often, albeit more subtly than his, and your heart often fluttered when you looked at him. The way that he often looked at you, unable to stop himself despite the obvious heaviness in his gaze, never bothered you. If some small town local detective ever looked at you with that same, subtle longing, you would immediately make it clear you were not interested. Those kind of looks felt uncomfortable because you didn’t want them. But with Spencer, it was entirely different. You almost revelled in how hard he clearly found it to keep his eyes off you.

You had always felt as though you held the power in your not-quite-relationship with him, able to pull his gaze to you whenever you craved it but always in control of your own reactions to him.

Until this fateful afternoon, at least.

The lithe finger that slid down the page took entirely too much of your attention, your mind wandering over all the possibilities attached to his large hands. Tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips, you felt the hand gripping the back of his chair tightening as your mind wandered a little too far from the very professional workplace you were currently occupying.

Of course, he noticed the change in your demeanour. “Are you okay?”

Delayed, your brain struggled over a response. “Uh…” you let out dumbly before forming a more coherent response that was still filled with stuttered pauses. “Yeah, I’m fine… J-just trying to – uh – keep up.”

Confusion crimpled his features briefly before he nodded offhandedly and continued his instruction; once again drawing your eyes to his fingers and sending your thoughts scattering in a salacious direction once again. How you were supposed to keep your composure, in this situation you had placed yourself in no less, you weren’t sure.

Luckily for you, your job very rarely allowed long periods of relaxation and the pair of you were quickly interrupted by Garcia’s clacking heels. “We’ve got a case, kids!” Her voice whizzed past the two of you, almost trailing behind her as she tottered past you.

Strangely, instead of jumping into action as you normally would, the pair of you paused. Eyes catching one another, a moment of silence stretched between the two of you. Eyes ducking shyly from yours after only a more extended gaze, he closed the book slowly and placed the heavy tome back on his desk. “We should get going,” the words were less than enthusiastic and he made no immediate attempt to move away from you.

Although, neither did you. Instead, you met his gaze once more.

You were forced to move, however, when Morgan appeared behind the two of you. “You two not hear the woman?” he asked, a grip on your shoulder grounding you into reality. “Let’s go,” he encouraged, a hand gesturing for you to move.

Spencer very quickly came to his senses and jumped up from his chair, sending it skittering backwards on its wheels in his haste to escape. He spared you a final glance before rushing away entirely.

Your thoughts threatened to spiral over his hands once more but Morgan unknowingly pulled you back. “He alright?”

Too quickly, you responded with an aggressive nod. “Think so,” you muttered before rushing to the meeting room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As days went by, your ability to concentrate around Spencer diminished at an alarming pace.

The first time it happened again, the pair of you were discussing case details in the cramped spare office of a police station in rural Louisiana. The room was hot, to put it mildly. You had popped loose the top few buttons of your shirt, your modesty mostly covered by a black camisole you wore underneath but even that barely allowed you relief. It was almost hard to look at Reid, with all his layers of clothing still firmly in place, the mere appearance of his sweater vest almost infuriating in this heat. How could he still be wearing that?

The air conditioning unit stuttered uselessly in the corner as you fanned yourself with a crudely folded paper fan. He faltered in his words, mouth opening as if to say something else but clicking back shut when he thought better. “What?” You asked, suddenly impatient.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted in his seat, eyes darting back up to your eyes when he noticed your gaze. You felt some relief when you wondered over where exactly those eyes had darted up from. Although that thought sent an entirely new heat stifling through the room.

“Well,” he started slowly, before launching into a very in character explanation. “Fanning yourself is only going to make you warmer.” Immediately believing him, even without the imminent explanation, you tossed your poorly made fan back onto the table. “The contraction of your muscle actually creates heat in your body and therefore actually warms the air around you even more-so.”

You grumbled incoherently in response.

“Sorry,” he gave you, sheepish.

Perplexed, you leaned further over the table. “Why? You’re stopping me from overheating.” He nodded, eyes returning unseeingly to the papers before him. “Although,” you injected enough playfulness into your tone that he immediately looked back up with that perfect mix of excitement and trepidation. “You could fan me, huh? Then I wouldn’t get too hot.” You gave him an obvious wink, letting him know you weren’t really expecting him to perform such a service for you.

Still, in a pedantic show of dramatics, you slid the fan over the table towards him. You were gifted a lopsided grin as he leaned forward to take the outstretched object from you. Just briefly, the pads of his fingers brushed against yours before he pinched the folded paper from your grip.

Too obviously, you sucked in a heavy breath at the contact but he seemed too distracted by the dimensions of your fan to notice. “You know if you wanted to make this more effective you should actually fold it more like this.” Slender fingers turned the paper over, creasing it multiple times and presenting the finished product to you with a grin. “See?”

You would have replied, surely, were you not so distracted. His hands worked so quickly, effectively – every movement almost exactly calculated to complete his task. It was almost impossible not to consider other tasks he could complete with similar dexterity and efficiency.

You weren’t entirely sure what was wrong with you. It wasn't like you to get so stuck on something so simple, but it was beginning to severely impact your ability to think around the man.

The second time it happened was immediately afterwards, except there were far too many witnesses for you to come away unscathed.

The rest of the team rapidly bundled into the small room, their body heat causing you to almost melt into your chair but you kept your groan of aggravation to yourself. Prentiss almost collapsed into the chair beside you; the pair of you sharing an overheated look of similar distress.

Quickly, Hotch directed the group to summarise what details had been gathered about the case. Morgan and Prentiss quickly confirmed they had found nothing of particular interest from the victim’s home; Rossi explained that the crime scene indicated high levels of aggression; and JJ gave a rundown of her conversation with the wife.

When it was time to talk through the geographical profile, you were more than happy to let Reid jump up and explain your work to the team. It seemed far easier than peeling yourself out of the chair and sweating through an explanation that Spencer would enjoy delivering far more than you. Although your plan failed almost immediately.

Spencer had always been expressive with his hands, but you swore there was something different about how he used them in this explanation. His fingertips slid over the circles he had marked onto the map as he described… something… to the team. You reassured yourself that it didn’t really matter if you didn’t listen; you had worked up this profile with him so you could afford a little distraction.

In resistance to biting your bottom lip, you chewed on the end of your pencil in a mock show of thoughtfulness. But then, something strange happened. With his fingers still running along the lines of the map and his mouth still working to explain his train of thought, his honey eyes flickered over to yours. It was a quick little look, something strange sparkling in his eyes, but he didn’t stumble in his words as he usually would and he looked away so quickly you could forgive yourself for considering it a mere glance.

That was until he looked back at you. It was subtle enough that no one else seemed to notice, and his lips quirked up slightly before he looked away and continued with his explanation. He tapped one particular spot on the map with a pair of fingers before circling them around the spot once and moving on to do the same with two other locations. By the time his fingers had moved off the board entirely your eyes narrowed as you stared him down. He couldn’t know what he was doing to you, surely he couldn’t.

Hotch's voice quickly commanded the attention of the room. Well, all except for yours and the doctor's. Boldly, Spencer caught your gaze again and at the sight of your intensity trained on him he was forced to stifle a gleeful yet breathy laugh. Internally, you cursed him.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Luckily, you managed to tune back into the conversation in time to hear Hotch’s orders. Thankfully, you weren’t expected to move from this room. Unfortunately neither was Spencer. The two of you tasked instead with narrowing down the location even further.

Your pencil was still caught between your teeth, eyes refusing to leave the back of Spencer's head. He had turned to look at the board again, leaving himself free from your dissecting gaze as the others quickly left the room.

"Looks like the heat's getting to you, huh?" The unexpected voice beside you pulled a yelp from you and sent the abused pencil clattering against the table.

Eyes darting to face him, narrowing in a glare this time, you scolded him. "Jeez, Morgan, you scared the shit outta me."

"Not my fault you're so distracted," he told you. The wickedly amused smirk he paired with the words made you sink several centimetres in your chair. Of course Morgan noticed your obvious distraction at the hands of Reid.

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you sent him a half-hearted glare. “Bite me,” you bit out, grumbling as he chuckled and left the room.

Eyes following Morgan from the room, Spencer quickly approached you as the door clicked closed. Instead of taking the chair he had previously occupied, he dropped into the one directly beside yours. Raising an eyebrow at him, you tried to follow his example and concentrate on the board in front of you. That clearly was not where he desired your attention, however, as he quickly began thrumming his fingers against the desk.

They caught your eye, as he had likely calculated they would, but you resolutely decided it was time to take control of this situation. He had enjoyed this for far too long.

You stood up quickly. With a single, huffed iteration of his name you managed to gain all of his attention. He gave a curious hum in response, eyes darting to you and immediately shining with that addictive mix of excited trepidation at your approach. You turned his chair for him, leaving him looking up at you and you revelled in the way his Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he craned his neck.

“It’s like a thousand degrees in here, Reid.” You began, softly untucking his tie from his vest. You moved slowly, ensuring he knew he could pull away if that’s what he really wanted. If anything he shifted imperceptibly towards your hands. “Let’s loosen this tie a little, hm?”

“Uh-“ he struggled, squirming as your fingers brushed his neck, “sure.”

Loosening the already wonky tie was too quick, you wanted him to suffer a little longer. Tucking the loosened tie back into his vest you tapped his chest lightly as you wondered over what your next move should be. His top button was rarely done up and today was no exception but the button below it was tightly secured.

Slowly, you walked your fingers up his chest and towards this button. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as your fingers stopped over your target. You looked up to his eyes as though to ask permission and he tilted his head to the side, eyes trained so steadily on yours. You felt his hand close over your wrist, two fingers swiping over your hammering pulse. At the sensation, he shot you a smirk filled with pride.

Maybe he was still winning in this strange game of yours. It didn’t really matter, you were enjoying yourself too much to continue keeping score.

With one hand, you skilfully undid the button. Hooking one finger beneath the fabric, allowing your knuckle to brush against the skin you had just revealed, you pulled the fabric open by mere millimetres. It was doubtful anyone else in this situation would find such a small reveal so intensely satisfying, but the idea that he was letting you do this in only a semi-private space sent your heart pounding just a little more. Something he clearly noticed, given the widening of his grin as his fingers pressed slightly over your pulse.

Distantly recalling that the pair of you were actually at work right now, you flattened your palm against his chest and pushed him back slightly in his chair. “Much better,” you lamented, softly pulling your wrist free and turning back to your own chair.

“Shall we get back to work?” You asked, as you dropped into the chair, the playful tone never quite escaping your voice.

Now, after another two shots of tequila and a mojito, you were even more willing to gush. “For Spencer,” you sighed almost dreamily.

Garcia dramatically placed a hand over her forehead and imitated a swoon. “Oh! But how could we forget?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, with a roll of your eyes, “maybe we should break in?” You considered as you aggressively tried the door handle once more.

“Oh yeah,” JJ agreed sarcastically beside you, before snorting with laughter and continuing. “Three FBI agents getting arrested for theft is a great way to declare your undying love.”

You grumbled a response, “theft is with a weapon, this would be a burglary.”

JJ laughed at your dramatically disaffected correction. “Oh you’re right!” She hummed a faux show of consideration. “I do think burglary sounds more romantic than theft.”

“Ooh!” Garcia chimed in, “you could use your one phone call to talk to him! That would be soo cute!”

You pushed away from the door. The idea of calling Spencer from jail having been arrested for drunkenly breaking into a florists at midnight with JJ and Garcia clumsily following after you, on your birthday no less, was less than appealing.

“Okay,” you sighed, “maybe we need a plan B.”

Garcia passed you the almost empty bottle and you took a large swig, convinced it would aid your creative process. When the alcohol tasted like breaking into the florists however, you hastily handed it back to Garcia.

JJ, in what seemed to be a sudden stroke of genius, stopped mid-stride and she grasped your arm. “Why don’t you just draw it?”

“Huh?“ you asked, dumbly.

Shaking your arm in her excitement at what she clearly thought was a fantastic plan, she clarified. “Draw a picture of the - the flower you wanted. Right?“ She nodded disjointedly and, somehow, it made her idea sound better so you nodded too. “He’s a smart guy he can use that brain to like imagine what the real one would look like.”

You yelled your response, excited by this breakthrough. “That’s a great idea!” Your voice echoed through the night as Garcia rummaged in her bag.

Fluffy pens, key rings, and a hot pink pair of tweezers scattered the sidewalk as she dug through the purse. The objects lay forgotten in the street as she brandished a notepad at you.

———————————————————————

Your head was beginning to spin. God, you thought hazily, this place has so many stairs.

When you reached the peak of the stairs, you clutched the bannister and looked all the way back down to the bottom. JJ and Garcia smiled up at you. Garcia gave you an enthusiastic double thumbs up whilst JJ waved at you to keep going.

Realising, in a moment of greater clarity than you had achieved all evening, that Spencer may not appreciate eavesdroppers, you violently gestured for them to leave. They giggled, attempting to be quiet but the noise only coming out more high pitched as a result, and scurried from the building’s small lobby.

Taking a deep breath, you shuffled to Spencer’s door. You raised your hand to knock but, in another startling moment of clarity, realised it was far too early in the morning to be knocking on someone’s door. The sound may awaken one of Spencer’s neighbours.

Rifling through your pockets you successfully located your phone and swiftly opened your contacts. You scrolled quickly through the s section, eyebrows furrowing as you struggled to locate his name, but quickly realised his name would be listed under r. Finally finding his name you wasted no time in pressing call.

It rang and rang and rang until, finally, the call connected and his markedly groggy voice rang through the phones tinny speaker. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you whispered into the phone, giving nothing in the way of explanation as to why you were calling so late.

There was a pause over the phone, some rustling, before a more concerned tone of voice sounded. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m outside.” You told him, crowding closer to his door.

“Where outside?”

Eyebrows furrowing, unsure why he didn’t understand what you had meant, you more loudly explained; “outside your apartment.”

“You’re-“ he cut himself off, increased rustling sounding from both the receiver and behind the door.

A few moments later and the door opened before you. Phone still pressed to your ear, you beamed at him. “Hi, Spencer!”

Looking at you and then quickly down to the phone in his hand, he ended the call. Running a hand through his hair, almost nervously, he quickly asked; “are you okay? It’s seventeen minutes past one, what happened?”

Leaning against the door jamb, bashfully curling your hair around your finger, you shook your head. “I’m fine, Spencer, nothing’s wrong!”

Concern still etched upon his features, he sent an assessing gaze over your figure. You were hopeful the sight of your legs at least, only adorned with a blue mini-skirt, would send some heat spooling through him. Much to your chagrin, the only change you could discern was a widening of his eyes and an apparent doubling of his concern. “You’re shivering! It’s only twenty-six degrees outside!”

Taken aback, you looked down at yourself. Oh, you thought distantly, he’s right. Now that you were thinking of it, you noticed the chattering of your teeth. “I’m cold.” You told him distantly, having just come to the conclusion yourself.

Maybe, your alcohol slowed brain finally warned you, just maybe this was not a good idea.

You had no time to think further on it, Spencer already ushering you inside of his apartment and leading you to the sofa. You felt a little bad, his face had scrunched into a mess of concern and worry as he softly told you to sit down.

You weren’t exactly sure where Spencer disappeared to but before you knew it he had returned with a large, ruby coloured, cable knit blanket. With a careful flourish he laid the material over your legs and proceeded to hand you one of his large cardigans. You took the fabric greedily, sitting forward to pull your arms through the sleeves but your cold fingers were too stiff to do up the buttons.

Watching your poor attempt he finally let a smile lift his lips. Bending to help you, he gently moved your hands out of the way and methodically buttoned the cardigan up for you. With his eyes so distracted by the task at hand, you shamelessly watched him. You adored the chocolate curl of hair that fell across his brow, the narrow of his caramel eyes as they concentrated, and the almost timid smile he held.

When you were safely buttoned up, his eyes raised and caught yours. Even your dazed mind discerned that he had stopped breathing, a sharp intake of breath followed by silence indicating nothing else. You reminded him softly, “Breathe, Spencer.”

Flustered at being caught, he awkwardly straightened and moved from your line of sight. Head lolling backwards, you closed your eyes against the swirling of the ceiling. Feeling incredibly stupid, if still not entirely sober, you huffed out “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” He called to you, still somewhere off behind you.

You laughed, amused that he was acting as though your drunken arrival at his doorstep in the early hours of the morning were a usual occurrence. “Im drunk,” you gave, as though it explained everything.

A laugh reached you as he returned to your line of sight. “I deduced that,” you smiled warmly at him, pleased he wasn’t entirely annoyed with you, and took the offered cup.

Squinting at the steaming contents, you raised a brow. “What is this?”

He sat precariously on a footstool across from you and clasped his hands before himself. “It’s chamomile tea. It’s incredibly effective in calming the mind to the point that some doctors prescribe it as a sleep remedy.”

Eyebrows pulling together, you frowned down at the cup. “I thought alcohol helps you sleep?”

He shook his head with a wry smile. “Actually that’s a myth, small amounts of alcohol can have a sedative effect but recent studies have shown that imbibing copious amounts of alcohol before going to bed can actually lengthen the time it takes to fall asleep.” As he spoke you nodded along, brain only slowly processing his rush of information. “In fact, even if you do fall asleep quickly, the slow metabolism of alcohol makes restless sleep almost unavoidable.”

You blinked slowly a few times. The alcohol induced slowness of your mind was making it significantly harder than usual to follow his intelligence.

He seemed to take this slow, dumb blinking of yours as something akin to discomfort and ducked his head shyly. “Sorry,” he let out through a breath.

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, and the room started spinning wildly around you. “No,” you reassured through this daze, “no, it’s… I like when you do that.” Your brain had the awareness to at least blush at this admittance but, still, you managed a coy smile. When his neck flushed red and no answering words made it through his fumbling stutter, you more confidently added; “it’s attractive.”

“Uh-“ he struggled, eyes darting to and fro over his wringing hands, “you - er - you think so?” His voice rose in pitch as he asked, nerves seeming to get the better of him.

Confidence bolstered by both the alcohol in your veins and his sweet, nervous disposition, you nodded adamantly. “Intelligence is sexy, Dr Reid.”

The red flush of his cheeks alongside his inability to form a coherent response to that was as sweet as it was exciting.

A sudden burst of excitement distracted you from his nervous timidity; “oh my god!” As you let this exclamation loose your hands flapped exuberantly before you as your gaze searched the area. “Where’s my bag?”

“I’ll grab it,” he told you, eyes alight with something saccharine at the sight of your excitement. He stood to retrieve your bag and was only missing from your line of sight for a few seconds before he reappeared with your bag in an outstretched hand.

Snatching the item from him quickly, you muttered a brief “thanks,” and began to rifle dramatically through it. A grin split across your features as you found the crumpled and ripped slip of paper and held it out to him. In a conspiratorial whisper, you prompted him. “This is for you.”

Bemused, he gently took the paper from you before sitting across from you once more. “What is it?” He asked, brow raised at you.

You giggled, for no real reason other than inebriation, and sat up straighter. “Open it!”

Following your instruction dutifully, he delicately unfolded the scrap of paper. You watched with bated breath, excitement causing you to practically vibrate in anticipation, but no dawning realisation crossed his features. Quizzically, he looked back to you and apparently gave up. “What… what is this?”

Entirely shocked that he could not decipher the scratched drawing you had made using JJ’s back to lean on, you crinkled your brow in consternation. “Well, what does it look like?”

Lips raising in a lopsided grin, he dropped his amused gaze from yours to narrow his eyes at the paper. “I … really don’t know.”

Pressing forward suddenly, you indelicately snatched the paper from him. Turning it over a few times to find the correct orientation, but struggled entirely to figure out what the correct orientation even was, you squinted at the splodge of ink. “Huh,” you let out curiously, “I really thought this looked better… I was proud of myself.”

“Could you tell me what it was meant to be?”

Feeling a little silly now, and like this was maybe - just maybe - nothing more than a stupid idea you had come up with whilst drunk, you lowered your gaze. “It was meant to be a rose,” for clarity that you doubted he needed, you added, “a red one.” And, because you were apparently turning into Spencer, you continued explaining. “Red, specifically, because, y’know, I opened the present you left on your desk.” He was watching you very closely as you struggled out this long winded verbal storm of unnecessary detail. “And it was so sweet, I reallly loved it, and I even managed to decipher the note you left me.” He nodded some subtle encouragement; a type of excitement you were still too tipsy to decipher shining in his gaze as he watched you ramble. “And so, after I had had a drink, I wanted to find like a florists or or something.” Spencer huffed a laugh but you continued, ignoring it. “But they were all shut? Which seems… silly. Anyway,” you waved a hand in the air as you struggled to focus your little speech, “I decided to draw the flower that I - uh - wanted to reply with…” you awkwardly trailed off before panicking slightly that he hadn’t caught the meaning and adding, “because it means-“

He cut you off, finally, with gentle words spoken almost to himself. “It means I love you too.”

“Yeah,” you whispered with a nod, “it does… I do.”

A small, yet bright, smile pulled at his lips.“You do?”

Leaning forward to clumsily take his hand in yours, you confirmed. “I love you too.”

Warm hands turning in yours, Spencer’s fingertips grazed the hammering pulse at your wrist. Pressing your forehead to his, hoping the tequila on your tongue were not too obvious, you leaned forwards to finally kiss him. You pouted when he quickly turned his face away, a breathy laugh falling from him as he caught your suddenly unbalanced figure. “What’s wrong?”

One large hand cradling your face, the other hand pushing your hair from your eyes, he looked you over apologetically yet with amusement. “You are very drunk,” he stressed.

“Uh-huh…” you nodded distantly, unsure what your inebriation had to do with anything. “And?”

“And,” he began, still sporting a mirthful smile, “it wouldn’t be right to kiss you when you’re this inebriated.”

God, you thought almost dreamily, he’s so sweet. The barrier between your thoughts and your words simply did not exist in this moment and, so, you told him this fact. “You’re so sweet,” you giggled as you spoke, feeling like a school girl who just admitted to having a crush. Voice almost trembling with hopefulness, you asked; “Will you kiss me in the morning?”