#whahw

Spencer Reid had always been different. His genius nature had ensured a childhood that was anything but normal. How could he, when he was applying for colleges before he had finished puberty? His high school experience was tumultuous at best, and he was also smart enough to know any girl who may have caught his eye was too many years his senior to consider as a partner. That’s how Spencer was about things– analytical. He crunched numbers, he ran probabilities and searched statistics in his ever expanding brain. Being different was something Spencer Reid was no stranger to. 

However, when you joined the BAU, Spencer Reid had come to the realization that something within him was now different in an entirely new way.

You had joined the BAU, not as another profiler, or a new liaison under JJ’s wing, but as Hotch’s assistant. The scope of Hotch’s job was infinite,  and he was often burdened by mountains of paperwork. Since Hailey’s untimely passing, the Bureau, which was normally incredibly unforgiving and less than charitable, decided it might be a good idea to pay someone to take things off Hotchner’s plate, if not for his own sake, then for Jack’s. Before Hailey’s passing, Hotch was expected to book hotels, check in, and communicate when the jet would be needed. He would have to mark all of the expenses made by the team and why the money was spent, filling out a ledger that oftentimes took over an hour to complete, over three if the team spent longer in one location than normal. Hotch took care of plenty of large tasks every day, but it was the million little tasks that kept him until the wee hours of the morning some weeks. With a young son, that was too much to ask.

So the Bureau hired you. You, whose task it was to pick up all of the little things before Hotch even thought of them. Fortunately for everybody, you were excellent at your job. You followed the rules your mother had taught you, who was a secretary years before you. You never left before Hotch did, even if that meant spending hours after hours, after long weeks of grueling work. You were constantly busy, but you never overburdened yourself, and you were always happy to help. You came to the bullpen every morning with a smile on your face and a shining gloss on your lips, and a chipper hello to share to all of your coworkers. You walked with a bounce in your step, and a seemingly never ending supply of pocket butterscotch to hand out to anyone who wanted one. Your task book, perfectly organized and personalized, was never far from your reach. You were regarded as the office sweetheart, and everyone but you knew it. You did your best every day, and were happy when you went home every night.

It was because of this absolute purity that Spencer knew there must be something very, very wrong with him. Because despite your innocence, your unwavering ability to bring joy to every room you entered, Spencer’s mind began to plunge into dark, dark places when you were around. Not that Spencer assumed you were some sort of celibate nun, nor that he assumed you didn’t have a sensual streak. You were a grown woman, and a beautiful one at that. He assumed that you had your pick of partners and chose them accordingly, and frequently.  But even then, there was a goodness within you that Spencer felt move in the air around you. It was in your voice, it was in your perfume.

Spencer wished he could say he used to be normal about you. That he wasn’t always this way– but he had always been enamored, even upon your first meeting.

-

It was in the briefing room where he met you. Hotch moved aside to introduce you and you flashed your ever-bright smile, and Spencer felt something inside his heart twist. His palms grew sweaty, and his mouth parted slightly. Your white button up was tucked neatly into a knee length pencil skirt. Sheer black tights with not a single tear covered your legs, and a pair of sensible black heels were on your feet. Your hair was tousled just so, like you’d styled it, but not like you had obsessed over it. Everything about you radiated effortless beauty, and Spencer swallowed hard. Something was different about you, something other than the divergent ways Spencer was rebuffed from his peers. Something special, something that had his heart racing. 

You met Spencer’s gaze in the room that day, saw the look on his face and felt the corner of your mouth twitch. You looked him up and down, and carefully took note of what you saw. A patterned tie tucked into a simple, cozy-looking cardigan. Fluffed, unstyled curls atop his head– and what must have been the cutest button nose you’d ever seen. His gaze was like a deer caught in headlights, and it made you want to giggle. You hadn’t seen a guy look at you like that since you TA’d a freshman class your senior year at university, and you had been dressed far less professional than today. You tossed him a wink and tilted your head just so.

Spencer finally seemed to register that you saw him staring, and as soon as you winked at him, something terrible happened to him. 

His cock twitched in his slacks.

Spencer’s eyes went wide and immediately tried to play it off, giving you an awkward, flat half-smile before tearing his eyes away. Looking away from you felt like getting out of a warm bed before work– leaving the most comforting place in the world to face reality. His dick throbbed, stirring in his pants, the visage of that wink burned in his eidetic memory. Somewhere in that same memory floated reminded of pupillometry, studies suggesting the reason why a wink is disarming in relation to staring. Staring is a nonverbal threat, and by closing one eye and effectively breaking the gaze, the threat is mitigated, not to mention the social connotations of a wink. Should he have winked back? Did you register his gaze as a threat? All of these thoughts bounced around in Spencer’s head as his length continued to grow in his pants. All of a sudden, the gravity of the situation collapsed onto his psyche and all but one thought left his head. 

He had a boner. For his new coworker, in a room full of his closest friends and his boss. His stomach dropped and he swallowed again. 

You, of course, in all of your kindness noticed only the change in his face to pure discomfort and began to worry. You didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable– what a terrible first impression to make! You couldn’t see his cock below the table, which was jumping as it was trying to make a run for it. Just before you were about to say something, Spencer sat up straight and said, “Excuse me,” in a strangled tone, turning around in his spinning chair and walking straight out of the conference room. Your heart sank and brow furrowed. He hated you, you were sure of it, and you worried about the implications this would have on your relationship with Spencer as members of the same team. Meanwhile, Hotch looked out the door, face stony as ever, but glossed with concern. 

“Is he okay?” You asked, unsure if this was typical behavior during a briefing. You hoped it was, feeling incredibly guilty. 

Emily, the woman who had just introduced herself to you moments before, waved a hand. “I’m sure he’s okay. Weird of him to just get up and leave like that though,” she said. You frowned, and Derek cut in.

“He probably just realized he washed his hands two times instead of three after pressing the elevator button,” He said teasingly. The man named Rossi smirked. The meeting was almost over anyways, and Hotch soon released you to attend to your matters before the next case arose.

-

“Excuse me,” Spencer said, his tie suddenly feeling far too tight before trying to turn as fast as possible, not wanting anyone to get the slightest clue of what had him leaving in such a hurry. He stood and walked out the door, tugging down his cardigan as far as possible, anxious. He was practically jogging by the time he reached the single-stall restroom and locked the door behind him. Frantic, he panted while his back pressed against the door. What in the world was wrong with him? The image of your smile, your body, replayed in his mind and he buckled as he throbbed again. He took a deep breath, trying to think of anything else but you. His heart filled with guilt, which helped curb the continuation of any growth below. Was he so pathetic, so lonely, that a perfectly normal interaction had him running off to make sure he wouldn’t look like a pervert in front of all of the people he held closest? His face burned, and he moved to the sink to wash his hands and splash his face. The shame that now lived had successfully ceased the blood flowing to his clearly neglected cock. He dried his face and brushed his hair from his eyes. 

He didn’t understand what had just happened. Well, physiologically, of course he did. But psychologically, he had no clue why you had such an affect on him, and he sighed deeply. He needed to get laid. Or to kiss someone, or jerk off more or literally anything if a beautiful woman paying him half a second of attention caused him to spiral in this way. He straightened his clothes and turned to unlock the door, praying this experience was singular.

When Spencer returned to the bullpen, he knew he had to rectify the situation post-haste. He probably freaked you out, and the thought of killing whatever professional relationship you could’ve had immediately after greeting you made him genuinely sad. Despite the strange display his body decided to throw at him moments ago, Spencer was a thoughtful man. He wanted to get to know you, find out things about you, become friends. He just hoped he hadn’t ruined his only shot.

You were sitting at your desk, now moved in just across Spencer’s, scribbling something into a to-do list when he approached you. You felt a pang of anxiety flow through you, remembering how uncomfortable he had seemed at your gesture earlier. You turned to face him, and tried to read his body language. He was obviously still nervous. He picked at his cuticles and would only meet your gaze for a few seconds before looking away.

“Uhm, hi,” he said, his throat dry. “I’m, uh, sorry for my behavior earlier. It- I was… nauseous. I tried a new bagel place this morning, and I guess it’s just not for me… Food poisoning is often associated with vomiting, but it can actually manifest in a plethora of ways due to improper food storage for an extended period of time?” His statement came out more like a question, as if he was asking you for verification of the plausibility of his story in correlation with is infodumping. 

You gave him a confused smile and stood. “Okay… that’s good. Not good! I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but I was really worried at first that I’d made a poor first impression. I have a habit of flirting, kinda. Not on purpose. And if I did make you uncomfortable, again, I apologize. It wasn’t my intention– I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Your kind confirmation made something in Spencer’s heart ache. For just a split second, his brow furrowed. He didn’t know why– he knew you were being polite. But Spencer’s feelings were hurt anyway. Not that he wanted you to mean something by it, but it might’ve been nice…

Spencer blinked and smiled back. “No! Not at all- it was just terrible timing. Digestion and all.” His awkward comment made you giggle to yourself and he felt his insecurity creep in once more. 

“Of course,” you replied. You decided now was a good time to try a reintroduction. You stuck out your hand and told him your name. Spencer’s arm twitched, like it was trying to stay by his side. Of course, that moment is when Emily decided to look over and saw your mistake before you did. 

“Oh! Sorry, but Spencer doesn-” Emily was cut off by the abrupt arrival of Spencer’s hand into yours, and he shook it firmly. Emily blinked as her mouth hung open. Spencer shot her a subtle look and she snapped it shut before turning back. “...Nevermind,” she mumbled. 

You were confused, but glad to see Spencer smiling back at you. His heart raced, both at the contact with you just moments after his incident, and at the thought of the germs. Thankfully, however, he didn’t notice any abnormal pulsing going towards unwanted places. He exhaled and smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, but you can just call me Spencer. Or Reid. It’s all the same to me.” 

You released his hand and Spencer felt the absence deeper than he should’ve. Your hand was soft, and warm, and even though he was sure his hands were clammy he wished you hadn’t let go. You gave him one more bright smile before sitting again. 

“I’m excited to work with you,” You said finally before turning back to your notebook. 

Spencer flushed a little. “I am, too,” he said, knowing all too well that some parts of him were far more excited than others.

–

That night when Spencer arrived at his apartment, he shouldered off his satchel and kicked off his shoes. He headed straight for his bedroom to lay down before remembering he still needed to shower. He huffed, and went to the bathroom to turn on the water. Once the water was hot enough, he stripped down and hopped inside. Spencer relished the feeling of the water– it almost burned him, it was so hot, but it was the only way he’d shower. He wasn’t the most built guy out there, and oftentimes, he found himself just barely too cold. The droplets quickly warmed him, and he tipped his head back to let it cascade down his curls. As the room filled with steam, he began recounting the day in his head. Despite its… unconventional start, the rest of his work went by smoothly. No cases that day, so he spent the time catching up on paperwork and organizing his desk. When he went for coffee at the break station, he ran into you again. You’d had a very pleasant conversation about his interests, how he got his start at the BAU, what he did in his free time. The whole time, even when he rambled on and on about statistics that most people would’ve ended up tuning out, he came to the realization that you hung on his every word. You asked follow up questions, met his passion with curiosity. He felt full of pride and appreciation after. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually listened to him for that long. He, of course, asked you questions in return. He found out you liked to shop and accessorize, and that your career choice was influenced by your mother. However, you did actually enjoy what you did, and didn’t feel overly pressured. You smiled as you recounted your university days, and how you preferred cats over dogs because of their self sufficiency. Spencer found himself entranced by you, eager to learn all he could. He wanted to know everything you had to tell him, and was in utter disbelief that you seemed to feel the same way. He hoped you’d become friends, and stay that way for a long time. 

Once Spencer had finished scrubbing his scalp, he realized that at some point during his shower, his length began to grow again. The memories of you must have triggered something subconscious to revisit from this morning, and he groaned slightly. He was all at once disgusted with himself and hazy with lustful thoughts of the other things he had noticed about you. The way your clothes clung tightly to your figure, how your heels caused your hips to sway when you walked. Spencer took the base of his cock in a firm grasp and let out a low moan. He dragged his hand along his length. He knew it was unethical to be jerking off to his new coworker when they'd only met that day, but he convinced himself it was because he hadn’t been jerking off that he was so riled up. It had nothing to do with the way your perfume had etched itself into his nose, or how you were able to make professional attire as alluring as lingerie. Beads of precum dribbled from his tip as he stroked himself faster. He whimpered and brushed a thumb over his sensitive tip, the heat from the shower making the air feel thick. He pumped his dick over and over, taking on a punishing pace. He braced himself with his other hand against the shower wall when his knees began to buckle in the pleasure.

His moans began to break, whines that sounded strangely like your name. “Please…” he croaked out, before feeling his orgasm take over. He blinked rapidly as he painted his shower floor with thick ropes of cum. He typically wasn’t the masturbation type, as it was few and far apart when he found things worth fantasizing over. 

Spencer panted as he rode out his high, his mind flooding with dreams of you being in the shower beside him. When he opened his eyes, he felt a pang of guilt and turned to scrub his body, trying to wash away the guilt he felt for his actions alongside it. 

-

Thankfully for Spencer, in the weeks that followed, things were normal at work. Well, as normal as they could be. After your first real conversation by the coffee pot, there was some sort of silent agreement formed to meet there every day to talk. You liked Spencer– he was kind. He was a great listener, if a little ramble-y. Not that you minded, in fact, you’d told him once before you thought it was sweet. Spencer had gone red at that, and it made you smile. He was a cutie, and you weren’t fool enough to ignore the feelings you felt building for him. 

Spencer would hold the elevator for you, as how work was going, listen as you groaned. You’d always worn your heart on your sleeve, and were acutely aware of how Spencer made your heart flutter. However, you also were smart enough to know that the BAU wasn’t necessarily the place to form a relationship. You didn’t want to wreck the team dynamic when you had only just joined, and decided to just let your crush comfort you in the quiet moments in that break area, content to keep it to yourself.

Well, content may not have been the right word. The first time you heard about the times Spencer had won women’s hearts during cases when you stuck behind at the police station made your heart ache. Apparently, when he was younger, he’d even made out with a witness under his protection after only 48 hours of knowing her. Lucky bitch, you found yourself thinking. You blinked. You weren’t usually so venomous about these things, and you could practically hear your mother’s voice chiding you in your ear.

“Green is not your color sweetie, don’t let it become your signature look.” She’d say. You frowned, and tried to push away the thought. For her information, you actually looked fantastic in green. But you knew the sentiment was right. It wasn’t like you to be so.. bitter. Spencer was changing you in ways you didn’t know how to handle. 

Spencer, too, was going through his own kind of metamorphosis. He found himself yearning for things that he’d had no interest in previously. When he’d shook your hand upon your reintroduction, it caused him to picture what it’d be like to just hold it— walk in stride, comforted by each other’s contact. He wanted to know what it’d feel like to have your hands on his body, how your touch would roam over his chest, his shoulders… lower, too.

He wished he knew how to turn off the switch you’d so easily flipped in his brain. That he could get himself to think about anything else when you were around besides your smile made of sunshine. Wanted to redact the uncontrollable desire he had for you that was slowly encroaching in his life. 

You wished you could read him easier. That you could see, clear as day, where the line was drawn in the sand. Sometimes, when you made small remarks that resembled flirting, Spencer was able to smile along and reply, bantering like you’d known each other for years. Other times, you’d make yourself less discreet, and his face would heat and he’d begin to ramble barely related statistics, like he was trying to distract you. A push, a pull. A growing tension that neither of you wanted to ignore. 

A growing desire to see just how far you could go before the line was washed away by the tide.

You prayed for a tsunami.

────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────

taglist: @mistiemoon @lolaffection @halparkebitch @amobigode @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @veoaidez

Your bedroom was always too cold. 

You’d dropped seventy dollars on a french duvet– feather downs covered your bed and your closet was chock-full of cozy pajama sets. And yet, every night, you found yourself holding tightly to the stuffed animal you’d had as long as you could remember, and tried to tuck yourself in as closely as possible so you’d heat yourself. There was something terribly empty about your bed. Like all of the unused space was there just to remind you of who you wanted to join you there. There was one way to warm yourself up. Your fingers tried desperately to coax your orgasm from your body, a release becoming increasingly more imminent. Images flashed in your mind– Spencer’s jawline, his plush looking lips. His insanely slutty waist that you’d tried (and failed) to ignore whenever he was around. He was so statuesque, perfectly sculpted. You imagined his heat, enveloping you as he brought you to the brink of orgasm. Your body shuddered and you called out his name as your climax crested over you. You lay twitching for a moment before feeling yourself finally drift off, dreaming of Spencer beside you still, keeping you close. 

-

Ever since becoming your friend, Spencer had decided that he needed to find a way to release the stress you were causing him. He loved being in your company, but every time you flirted with him, even habitually, had his body flushing panic in his veins, the memory of his humiliating first impression never allowing him to rest. He tried to avoid the chance of something so embarrassing ever happening again, and despite how many times he fisted his cock to the thought of you in the night, he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. 

Spencer Reid had to get laid.

The problem? He didn’t have eyes for anyone but you.

You and Emily had grown extremely close in the months you had joined their team, and would frequently go on nights out, dancing and singing till the sun came up. Spencer knew this, and was always invited by the small group you were forming, but almost always turned the offer down. He didn’t drink very much, knowing the odds of replacing one addiction in the phases of early recovery was anywhere from 20-50%, and while he wasn’t in early recovery anymore, he tried to keep it light just in case. Besides, alcohol tasted like shit most of the time anyways, and since he mostly only drank at bars, it was incredibly expensive. It was the end of a long case week, and the hotel managers you had to convene with had been so rude. They normally didn’t give you any issue, on account of your team being from the FBI, and your preparedness not giving them any reason to be. But this time, for seemingly no reason, they were just so bitchy.  It had caused you a lot of grief, and the case wasn’t easy on the team either. Everyone was in a pretty terrible mood, and no one wanted to remain in the rut the case had caused. Upon arrival back at Quantico sometime around noon, Emily had turned to the group and offered up a night out.

“What do you guys say that after a long nap and some food, we all have some fun tonight? Head out, grab some drinks?” She smiled and you returned her gesture.

“Absolutely,” you said. “That case was such a pain in my ass. I’d love to get out.” 

Derek seconded your reply and called Penelope to ask her. Hotch declined, wanting to get home to his son, and Rossi also turned the offer down. JJ said she’d come out, but that she might turn in earlier than normal. In the small commotion of the planning, you turned to Spencer with your very best doe eyes. 

Please? You mouthed to him, jutting out your bottom lip for extra assistance in persuasion. Spencer gave a soft laugh and looked at the ground. You were irresistible, and it cost him a lot of money on vending machine candy so far. Besides, he desperately needed to get tangled with a stranger, preferably one who was magnetizing enough to make him forget how badly he needed you. 

He had a sneaking suspicion there was no such person.

“Okay, fine.” He said, still smiling, bashful at giving in so easily. Your eyes went wide and you ran and grabbed his arm, jostling him in excitement. 

“Really?!” You squealed, and the rest of the team looked over. They saw you clinging to his arm, looking at him like he’d hung the moon. 

“No way– pretty boy, coming out to the bar?” Derek said, and gave Spencer a devious grin. “I wonder what convinced him.” Your back was turned, but Spencer saw the very obvious look he tossed your way, and Spencer blushed. Emily noticed too, and turned to JJ for a silent conversation that involved a LOT of eyebrow movement.

Spencer felt instinct clawing at him to push you away, but he didn’t want you to let go. He swallowed his pride and let himself distracted by the feeling of you holding onto him. You stayed clung to him as you walked, not wanting this moment to end. When everyone came to their desks in the bullpen, you stopped, still not letting go. You finally released him when you had to gather your things, ready to head home. Everyone else left, and yet, Spencer was waiting up for you, not wanting you to feel alone. You noticed, and your heart did a little squeeze. You turned to face him, tilting your head. 

“You don’t have to wait for me. I’m a big girl now, I can walk to my car allll by myself.” You flashed him your dazzling smile, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile back. 

“I know that. But we’re friends, and everyone else left together. You shouldn’t have to go alone just because you have more paperwork to carry. Besides, uh… I had a question?” He became ever so slightly more flushed as he spoke, and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies. Was he going to ask you out? Your hands were in your hair, giving it a gentle comb before he spoke. Now you froze, completely struck by the possibility of Spencer asking you on a date.

“Yes?” You said, wetting your lips as you searched his eyes. The way your gaze saw straight to his soul had him looking away. Your eyes were breathtaking, and he already had enough problems being nervous around you as is. Every beat of his silence had your heart pounding in your ears. Your face was hot, and you twirled your hair in your hand to fidget some of the suspension away.

“W… what should I wear tonight?” He asked, and you felt your heart sink. If Spencer didn’t know better, he would’ve said you looked disappointed at his question. That didn’t make any sense, though. What did you think he was going to ask? 

Just as quickly as your face fell, you blinked your sadness away and looked around, a habit of yours when you were thinking– like you were imagining the options surrounding you, like you could see them in the air. You looked back at him and smiled, an idea forming in your head. 

“I don’t really have a full grasp of what you have in your closet… maybe I could come over and take a look?” you asked, playing coy. Spencer suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room, he was out of breath. His eyes went wide for just a moment as mouth opened, looking for words. “Yeah… yeah, you can come over.” You lit up and grabbed your purse, and his face became the color of strawberries. He was so flustered, and so confused about how he found himself in this position. Once you had all of your items, you casually snaked your arm around his once more, and walked toward the elevator. Spencer’s whole body felt like it was on fire. When he made it inside his car, he sped home as fast as possible to make sure everything was spotless.

-

This was not a date. You told yourself, over and over, that it was not a date. That there was no reason to be freaking out over the way your hair looked, or to decide whether or not red was your color. You were going as a group, Spence didn’t get out much, so he needs help with his outfit. But for who was he dressing up for? You felt the familiar feeling of jealousy settle in your gut, like a snake curling around your intestines. Your room was a mess, clothes askew and accessories littering every surface. You’d settled on a little black number you’d worn out a million times– but that wouldn’t matter tonight, because there was one person who hadn’t seen it. You had set a time to head to Spencer’s, at first suggesting an hour before you’d head to the bar, and Spencer was surprised. You then remembered the lack of effort men had to put into their appearances, and compromised to a 30 minute rendezvous.

Spencer was in his living room, pacing, unable to sit still. He’d cleaned top to bottom, although there wasn’t much to clean. He was a fairly well kept man by nature, but he’d wiped the counter tops, made his bed, and cleaned the bathroom. He glanced at his watch repeatedly, hoping somehow the minutes would move faster. He shot up with a jolt at the sound of his door, a knock startling him out of his trance. 

He moved to the door and looked through the peep hole, surprised to see you standing, looking down the hall. He opened the door and checked his watch one more time before speaking. “You’re fifteen minutes early,” He said, and you gave him a flat expression before replying.

“Hello to you too, Spence. Why, I’d love to come inside! Thank you Spencer.” You said, sarcastically mocking his impolite greeting. He flushed slightly. “I figured if I came early you’d be ready.”

“But we agreed–”

“Are you gonna let me in, or did you want me to pick out your outfit from the hallway?” You raised an eyebrow, and Spencer let out a defeated sigh. At this, you smiled and walked yourself inside. When he shut the door, you stood in the doorway, pausing a moment. 

“Shoes off?” You asked, and Spencer nodded. 

“Please, thanks. It avoids bringing in hundreds of thousands of bacteria further indoors– e.coli, staphylococcus aureus… you get it.” You gave him a sweet smile and nodded, happy to oblige. Once your shoes were off, you stepped inside and gestured forward.

“Lead the way!” You said, and it seemed like Spencer remembered there was a reason you were here, and he began walking you to his bedroom. You scanned his place as you went, admiring the homely qualities it held. He’d truly made it his safe space– clean and absolutely drowning in books. It was like he lived in a library. When you made it to the bedroom, he flicked on the light inside a small walk in closet. Inside was a decent sized dresser and more patterned shirts than you thought there were in the tri-state area. You stepped past him inside to explore.

“Wow. It’s… colorful.” You were in shock, and Spencer felt his face heating. You must’ve thought him such a dunce, his fashion sense abhorrent. That was until you turned around with a huge grin on your face, lips glossy from your choice of the evening. Spencer’s mind wandered somewhere that involved finding out the flavor, before you interrupted his train of thought. “I love it!” 

He looked at the ground and wet his lips, hands in his pockets. “You don’t have to lie.”

You pouted and furrowed your brow. 

“I don’t take kindly to accusations of perjury.” You stated, and flicked your hair over your shoulder as his head shot back up to give you an incredulous look, just a hint of a smile on his face. He threw up his hands in defeat and decided that this wasn’t a battle he was strong enough to fight. 

“So, what do I… what do I wear? I don’t get out much. A-and every time I do, they always say I’m too dressed up.” You hadn’t yet experienced Spencer Reid’s casual lifestyle, and were unaware of the grandpa-like nature of his clubbing outfits. 

“Well, what do you normally wear to the bar?” You asked, and he gestured down at his body– trousers, button up, a sweater vest, and a tie. Your eyes went wide and you smiled, letting out a soft giggle.

“Seriously?” His insecurity crept in once more and he shyly defended himself.

“I don’t… know what else I’d wear. I like these clothes, I like the way I dress.” Your heart sank a little at his apparent sadness and instantly you felt guilty. You walked towards him and brushed an invisible hair from his shoulders. 

“I do too.” You said matter-of-factly, for the second time. “But it’s a little too put together for a bar. People are getting hammered and the floors are sticky… a tie and vest just seem kind of tightly wound,” you said.

“I am tightly wound!” You giggled at his joke and tilted your head. You didn’t want to strip him of his identity, nor what made him feel comfortable, and thought about the ways you could elevate his look. Finally, an idea came to you, and your face portrayed your excitement.

“I know what to do,” you said, before turning to rummage in his drawers. “You don’t have anything naughty in one of these drawers you want me to avoid, do you?” You joked, and his face went bright red. He coughed before shyly shaking his head no. You giggled- he was cute when he was nervous.

“Relax, pretty boy. I’m messing with you.” You pointed around you, gesturing to the button ups that surrounded.

“Do you know which one of these fits you tightest?” You asked.

“Tightest?” A sliver of insecurity wavered in his voice.

“Fine, fits you best. However you want to put it.” Spencer swallowed thickly and went to find the black button up he only wore for special occasions, and held it up. You smiled and nodded. “Perfect.” From his drawers you pulled a pair of black slacks, and slid one of his belts off of the rack above the drawers. You glanced at the organized shoes on the shelves above your head, and picked out a pair of well-worn red converse. You handed your findings to Spencer and walked past him, so he could change in the closet. He eyed your choices in his hand. It seemed so… bland.

“That’s… that’s it?” He asked, glancing at his watch. You shrugged with a prideful smile.

“What can I say? I should’ve been a fashion designer.” Spencer pursed his lips before smiling back. He shut the door, and you took a step further into his bedroom to sit on his bed. It was then you became acutely aware that you were just a door away from a mostly naked Spencer, sitting on his bed. You were alone. You took a deep breath in your nose and found his distinct smell is what filled your senses. It was intoxicating. It was clean, and comforting. It made you… so, so horny.

You were gnawing on your bottom lip when Spencer opened the door. He had tucked the shirt in and buttoned it all the way to the top, as if he was preparing for a tie to join the ensemble. You looked him up and down. He hadn’t put on the shoes, and he was wearing his classic mismatched socks. It made you smile. You stood up, and grabbed his shoulders. 

“You look good,” you said, and Spencer felt like he was on top of the world. “But if we do this…” You trailed off, gently pinching whatever fabric wasn’t clinging to his skin and pulled, untucking the shirt. Spencer felt his body heat up. You smoothed the sides back down once the shirt was free, but you would never be free from the sight of the happy trail you glimpsed. Determined to not make things weird, both you and Spencer tried to act normal despite the obvious tension building. It was only made worse when you moved to unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt, and you glanced up at him through those gorgeous lashes of yours. Spencer thought he might pass out. You thought you might just keep going, see how many buttons you could undo before he took you on the bed, then and there. You gave him an awkward smile and Spencer burned the image of you unbuttoning his shirt as deep into his brain as possible. He knew if he didn’t act fast, he’d end up with a dick imprint practically pressing into your leg due to the proximity. After what seemed like forever, you backed up just a step, ruffling his hair before having him look in the mirror. 

“...If we do this, you look even better.”

If there was anything that could turn Spencer off the fastest, it was the sight of himself. He scrunched his face at the sight of himself, and turned to face you again. 

You were looking at him like you might pounce on him, blinking back into reality once he spoke. 

“I look like I’m going to a funeral where the dress code was disrespectful.” His comment rocked you so badly you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. You threw your head back, and he found himself smiling too. 

“You look great. But you’re right, something’s missing…” You paused, before throwing your hands up in realization. “Oh! Of course!” You walked over to him again, taking his arms from his sides and unbuttoning the cuffs on his wrists. You folded them over and slid them up his arms, exposing his forearms. The sight of him dressed this way was beginning to make you sweat. 

“There,” you said. “Now you look like the dress code was disrespectful and sexy.” 

His shock turned into a high pitched, choked laugh. He was blushing like crazy, but some sense of normalcy returned as you both reigned in the beasts raging inside of you. You said you were done, and he checked his watch again.

“...We still have 30 minutes before we have to leave.” He said. You cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“Well, Doctor, aren’t you going to offer me the grand tour?”

-

The tour only took about ten minutes total, even with all of your questions that were surely meant to stall him, in order for you to properly profile his place. Habitually, you profiled nearly everyone you met, but you took specific details in and stored them away for later. It was darker than you’d imagined, the deep green walls making the space feel smaller than it was. The blinds were open now, but you imagined that if they were closed, it’d be completely necessary to have every small lamp he had on just to see. It was extremely stylish all things considered, and every piece of decor he had seemed well thought out in order to fit the space. 

“You’ve done a really lovely job on the aesthetics of this place, Spence.” You said, and Spencer beamed. He took a lot of pride in his space, as he often spent a lot of time alone, so he wanted his space to be somewhere he enjoyed being. 

“Thank you!” He said earnestly, and it made you smile. You still had 20 minutes before you had to go, and the end of the tour had brought you back to the front room. He glanced, again, at his wrist, but you grabbed it and covered the watch before he could.

“Just can’t wait to get away from me, huh, genius?” Spencer’s face was full of surprise, and he stuttered.

“W-what? No! No- quite… quite the opposite actually. I’m not eager to head out. I like hanging out with you,” he admitted, and you felt a blush grow across your cheeks, not expecting such honesty. You gave another pout at his kindness, and went to hug him.

“Aw, Spence!” You embraced him and looked up at him. He wondered if his face would ever return to its natural shade. He nervously let his arms wrap around you and thought about how physical you’d been with him lately. He liked it.

“I like hanging out with you, too. Do you want to go get food before we go? There’s this small food truck on the way, and their food is to die for.”

Spencer agreed, and gestured to the door. 

“Lead the way,” he bade you, and internally mourned the loss of you from his arms. -

Once you’d stopped for food, it was finally time to head to the bar. You stood in the short line outside, preparing your ID’s, where you ran into Penelope and Derek. 

“Hello my beloveds!” Penelope chirped, and you grinned widely. She was wearing a purple polka dot ensemble, and you cherished the sight of it. Penelope had this innate ability to make life seem like it was worth taking advantage of, and you’d grown quite fond of her in the months you’d worked with her. Derek was in a v-neck tee and dark wash jeans. Penelope suddenly gasped, and you looked around to see what had piqued her attention.

“Oh my goodness, you’re matching! That’s so cute!” Your eyes went wide and your head whipped to Spencer. In picking out what would easily make Spencer look incredible, your mind had slipped the fact that you were also wearing black, your jewelry the same tone metal as Spencer’s belt buckle. His red shoes matched your red lips, and your jaw dropped. 

“Looking good, my man,” Derek smiled, and clapped Spencer on the shoulder. Spencer’s face was one of confusion, but he didn’t look embarrassed. You turned to Spence, ready to apologize, but he spoke before you could.

“Yeah, I guess we are matching. She picked out my outfit because you’re always saying I’m… what was it? Hopelessly fashion illiterate, I believe it was?” Penelope laughed, and despite the statement being teasing, Spencer’s face was light. He really loved his friends, and you swooned a little at his ability to let the comment bounce off of him, both about your matching and his lack of style. 

“I did say that, didn’t I? But you look good now!” Penelope said, and you smiled. - You were inside the bar, music loud and the place crowded. You met up with Emily and JJ inside, who had come early to snag seats before all of the booths were taken. You thanked them, and tried not to notice the look they gave each other as they saw you and Spencer approaching. Emily and JJ sat next to each other in the middle of the corner booth, Penelope and Derek to JJ’s left, and you and Spencer to Emily’s. You kissed Emily’s cheek, and she grinned at the mark it left. JJ and Penelope then both proclaimed they were jealous, and so you kissed their faces as well. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Derek asked, and you rolled your eyes. You moved across the table to kiss his cheek as well, and soon, Spencer was the only one without a mark. 

“C’mon, Spence, don’t you want to match?” JJ teased, and he went red. 

“Oh, that’s okay, she doesn’t have to–” He was cut off by you grabbing his face, planting a red mark square on his cheekbone. He laughed, and so did the group. You were proud of your work, and dug inside your purse for your digital camera. 

“Everyone, turn your heads so the kiss is in the frame!” You said, and the group leaned in, eager to get in the photo. You all jeered when the photo was taken, as it turned out absolutely adorable. Your heart was filled with joy at being around your friends, and soon, shots were being ordered. 

Spencer felt his heart going a million miles a minute, eager for the shots to come to the table. The “liquid courage” his coworkers seemed to be huge fans of now seemed more appealing than ever. You were by his side, arm to arm in the crowded booth, and your touch was dizzying him. He was having a good time, all things considered, and he contributed it all to the fact that you were here with him. About two shots, Spencer decided he’d probably had enough, and you and the girls were getting up to hit the dance floor. You tugged on his sleeve, already feeling slightly tipsy and begged him to dance with you.

“Pleeaaaseeeeee,” you moaned, and he laughed at your pleading. 

“No! I don’t dance. Not in public like this, anyways.” You frowned at him and huffed past him.

“Fine. Then you have to watch my purse.” You dropped it in his lap, and left with the girls and Derek to go dance. He felt a small swell of pride that you’d trust him with your things, and he went up to the bar to ask for a ginger ale, carrying your bag in his other hand. 

While waiting for his drink, he felt a hand drag along his shoulder to his right side. He assumed it was you, and turned with a smile on his face to speak with you. Only, it wasn’t your face he was met with. A woman he didn’t know, but who clearly wanted to know him sat in the barstool next to him. She was dressed scantily, her cleavage practically pouring out of her top. Spencer startled as his smile dropped, and he jerked his shoulder away from the woman.

“Relax, handsome. I just want to get to know you,” She purred, and Spencer shifted in his seat uncomfortably. This was what he wanted, right? Someone to take his mind off you, to get laid? But right now, the last thing he wanted was to get any closer to this woman. She wore so much perfume it gave him a headache. His ginger ale was placed in front of him, and he thanked the bartender before looking back at her.

“I, uh… I’m.. thank you? F-for calling me handsome. But I… sorry, I don’t think I’m interested.” The lady’s face twisted into an amused smile, and walked her fingers across the table towards him, trying to come into contact with the hand that held his glass.

“C’mon sexy, will a little conversation hurt?” Spencer squirmed in his seat. Maybe it was immature, but he felt incredibly uncomfortable and was itching to get away. He didn’t know how to get himself out of this situation– he didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn't have wanted her less. She began to reach her hand up to brush an errant curl out of his eye when her hand was suddenly swatted out of the air. 

“Yes, it will. He said he’s not interested.” You appeared beside him, face dark and eyes filled with rage. You’d been watching from afar, your body language expertise allowing you to understand every word said even though you were out of earshot. The stranger’s face turned sour as she glared at you.

“Buzz off honey, I think he can speak for himself.” She replied.

“He can. And he did. And he said no. You can go now,” you bit back, a sarcastic saccharine smile plastered across your face. Spencer watched in awe as you defended him, feeling eternally grateful.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” She asked, and you glowered.

“I’m the girl who gave him this,” you said, your hand suddenly grasping his chin to turn his head so the lipstick that remained on his face, which was previously facing away from her view. Spencer looked up at you as you manhandled his face.

“His girlfriend. So fuck off,” you raised your voice slightly on your last word. You grabbed your purse from his hands, slinging it over your shoulder before lacing his hand through yours and pulling him behind you back to the booth. 

The rest of the team had reconvened at the booth as well, and they watched the entire altercation go down. JJ’s jaw was open and Derek took specific note of your hand in his. Emily and Pen just grinned. 

“Fucking bitch,” you muttered when you sat down. Spencer still hadn’t said a word, and upon climbing into the seat next to you, he still hadn’t released your hand.

“...Thank you.” He said finally, ears hot pink and warm. You looked at him with a sweet smile. “Don’t mention it! You’d do the same for me.” Your grin made him reciprocate, but all he could think about was the fact that he wished your statement had been anywhere close to real.

-

That night, after making sure you reached your car safely, Spencer made it back to his apartment and threw his wallet and keys in the bowl near his front door. He beelined straight for his bedroom, not caring about germs anymore. The second you got into your car and drove away, Spencer felt all of the night’s tensions begin to throb in his pants. He rushed into the elevator, practically breaking down his own door. He kicked his shoes off with expert speed and was now in his room, throwing his clothes on the floor, grabbing his aching cock and fisting it with the same hand you’d held in the bar. Some ten minutes away, you, too, were naked in bed. You grabbed a vibrator from your bedside drawer and clicked it on, pressing it to your clit, desperate for relief. You thought about grabbing Spencer’s face, the way he looked up at you with those big doe eyes. Despite yourself in the moment, you thought about what his eyes would look like filled with tears. How he’d sound if he was brought to the brink, over and over while you asked him whose dick was in your hand. You bucked your hips into the air and whined, needier than ever. Spencer’s tip was weeping, salty precum beading at the top as he relentlessly jerked his length to the thought of you. When you had his face in your hand, your thumb was so close to his mouth. It took every ounce of self restraint in his body to not wrap his lips around it, take it into his mouth and see how you’d taste. He felt himself close already, and he whimpered as he pumped his hand faster.

You were bordering your orgasm now, babbling dirty nothings into the night. You remembered untucking Spencer’s shirt earlier, the happy trail you saw. And to your absolute shame, that was what undid you. 

Spencer’s mind flashed images of you in the dress you’d worn. How you’d dressed him to match him. He was sure it was an accident, but what wasn’t an accident was when you called him sexy in front of the mirror, just feet away from where he was now. He came with a shuddering groan, hips twitching as his climax covered his stomach. 

-

The next day, you and the girls were in Penelope’s lair when Emily decided she had to know.

“So…” she said, and your eyes flicked to her over your coffee cup. “You and Spencer, huh?” 

You choked on your coffee, and Spencer, who had been on his way to deliver paperwork Hotch had asked him to give Garcia, paused outside the doorway.

He shouldn’t eavesdrop. It was bad manners. It was rude. He remembered how he had cried your name as he came on himself the night before.

Maybe he was past manners now.

You brushed the sprayed coffee from your face with your sleeve and blinked.

“Sorry, what?” 

JJ rolled her eyes and cocked her head. “Oh, come on. You were matching at the bar, not to mention that move you pulled with the kiss mark on his face when you were talking to that lady. More than that, you grabbed his hand.” 

You were perplexed. “What’s weird about me grabbing his hand?” Emily pursed her lips and gave a sly grin.

“Spencer doesn’t shake or hold hands with anyone. Anyone… except you. That first day, when you shook his hand? I haven’t seen him do that with anyone in a long time. It’s his germaphobia, he says it's statistically safer to kiss.”

You were silent for many moments and Spencer wished he could see your face. Were you angry he hadn’t told him? Finally, you spoke, and Spencer suddenly wished he’d left when he had the chance.

“She called him sexy. The only person I need calling him sexy is me.” The girls squealed and laughed, and you felt a blush creep onto your face, though you felt anything but coy. 

“He doesn’t know it yet, but that man is mine.” You said, and Spencer bit his lip to stifle the whimper that almost escaped him at the possessiveness in your voice. Then, a fate he thought he’d escaped since meeting you finally caught up to him. His cock began to stiffen, and again, his blood froze. Well, it froze everywhere but where he needed to cease its flow. He was hot, and he began to sweat. He needed to give Penelope the paperwork, but his dick was growing at an alarming rate as he replayed your words over and over in his mind. To his saving grace, Derek was passing in the hall at that exact moment, and his… situation wasn’t yet visible. Once Derek was past the doorway, Spencer thrust the papers into his arms and pointed at Penelope’s door before darting away. Derek looked around puzzled before stepping into the doorway, holding up the papers. 

“I… think these are for you?” 

-

Spencer made it to the bathroom once more, shutting the door and feeling an intoxicating mix of lust and humiliation fill his head. Did you want him to ask you out? Did you only want him sexually? Did you want him sexually at all? Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head this time, too high on the feeling of knowing you felt something about him, he unzipped his trousers and pulled them down just so his cock could spring free. It was twitching uncontrollably, and he whimpered when he ran his thumb over the head. There, in the family bathroom of the BAU at FBI headquarters, Spencer fucked his hand to the thought of you. He was bucking his hips at the sentiment of being totally consumed by you, being yours, and he ran his hand along his length until he was spurting hot ropes of cum into a gathered handful of toilet paper, biting his lip until it bled to stop himself from calling out for you right there. 

He was so fucked.

....::::**•°✾°•**::::....

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