#drreidxreader
Indescribable
Summary: Spencer and reader enjoy their first date in a museum, discussing facts and feelings. (Soft-Prequel to World-Lines)
A/N: it’s been so long, I’m sorry! I’ve been so bogged down with uni I’ve struggled to find the time to sleep, let alone write! But I’m caught up now so will hopefully be a little more regular on here. I don’t think the paintings described here are displayed in America but let’s pretend. Let me know what you think!
The warm, ambient atmosphere of a museum had always been a comfort to you. The low orange lights, calming classical decor, and high ceilings creating a restrained, yet peaceful, atmosphere. Cavernous rooms allowed musing thoughts space to grow whilst hardwood floors sent your footsteps echoing throughout the halls. This delicate balance of ambient background noise and quiet reflection had been somewhat offset on this particular visit by your enthusiastic partner.
Whilst Spencer’s somehow endless spiel of information and factoids had changed the museum experience somewhat, you found yourself pleased with this change - invigorated almost. Listening to his, always expert, opinion in that comforting timbre of his was a much more enjoyable way to learn about the exhibits than their accompanying uninspired plaques; even if your brain was beginning to feel overful with new information. How he could keep so much stored in that brain of his was beyond you.
The pair of you had meandered to an intersection of sorts. The left, more well-lit, turn appeared to lead to a hall filled with more modern and minimalist sculptures. You could appreciate the form of modern artistry, however the pieces never seemed to quite strike you in the same way as more classical works. Looking up to Spencer beside you, you stepped closer and asked, “which way?”
He smiled down at you, appearing briefly distracted before his gaze swept over the two options. Unable to choose, it seemed, he returned the decision to you. “I’ll follow you,” he whispered, almost conspiratorially.
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.”
You still were not entirely convinced that you had somehow provided the genius doctor with a unique and fresh take on something so high brow, but you appreciated his attempt and so you merely nodded with a smile. With both hands now cradled by his substantially larger palms, alongside the bright and affectionate way in which he looked at you, you were unable to prevent the heat burning in your cheeks. Entirely sure that your face were shining a rosy red, you ducked your head and prompted. “Shall we move on?”
Pressure - Part 2
Summary: After birthday drinks, you come up with what seems like a great idea to respond to Spencer’s message.
A/N: Took a while to get this part 2 out, but I think this is a cute little sequel. Let me know what you think!
“Garcia, this is important!” Your words were framed with a hiccup as you pulled her along with you.
JJ had the decency to stumble after you of her own accord, but even she complained. “What’s more important than drinking right now, it’s past midnight?” pinching the bridge of her nose as she swayed after you, she added, “let’s go back to the bar, I’m starting to sober up.”
You shook your head adamantly, still stumbling determined down the sidewalk. “It’s soimportant,Jennifer.” You told her, likely cattier than you really needed to be as you stopped before a darkened shop.
You moved to the door, that was displaying an overly cheerful ‘we’re closed’ message, and stomped your feet unhappily. Groaning and lightly tapping your forehead against the locked door, you whined into the night. “Why are they all closed?!”
Garcia, swigging from a bottle she had nabbed from the last bar, giggled at your show of annoyance. “Maybe ‘cause no one in the world wants to visit a florist in the middle of the night.”
You stamped your feet like a child as you continued to peer into the shop. “I do!”
Stepping beside you, following your lead and peering into the darkened shop, JJ asked, “and why is that again?” Her smirk told you she knew the answer. Of course, you knew that she did. After six tequila shots you couldn’t help but gush about the Doctor and his gift.
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?”
Matching your gaze, nodding rapidly, Spencer let out an immediate verbal response. “Of course.”
Bridge the Gap
Summary: After dinner turns into talk about children, reader starts to panic that their older boyfriend Spencer will not want to wait for them to be ready. He reassures them that this couldn’t be further from the truth.
A/N: I think I’m going to do an unofficial prequel to this about how Spencer and reader met! Thanks so much to the anon that requested this :) please let me know what you think!
The clink of cutlery was barely audible over the chatter of conversation. The dinner itself had been delicious, you had been reliably informed that Savannah had certainly not made it, and the wine had been perfectly paired. Meeting Spencer’s best friend had felt like such a big, scary step but Morgan had made you feel so welcome it was hard to see why you had been so nervous.
As the plates had emptied, Spencer so kindly offered to help Savannah with the dishes and incidentally left you fend for yourself with his best friend. His hand squeezed your shoulder as he passed behind you, encouraging eyes warm as he left you in your seat. Suddenly awkward, despite the amicable air, you smiled down at your hands instead of trying to make conversation. The age gap between you and the rest of the group was not striking but it was at least noticeable and you were terrified of saying something that could label you as childish.
Luckily, Morgan was social enough for the both of you. “So, how’d you meet pretty boy?”
Smiling at the memory, you took a sip of your merlot before responding with a wistful smile. “Well, I’m one of the IT techs at the university-“ you cut yourself off as he immediately began to laugh.
When he recovered himself, he asked with a smirk and a raised brow. “Let me guess… you got called to help Dr Technophobe with his email?”
You laughed noisily as you nodded, although you managed to add the detail; “the first time it was his printer actually.”
“The first time,” he repeated, eyebrows raised, “how many times are we talking?”
Eyes darting to the kitchen door as Spencer reappeared, you responded quietly as though your boyfriend wouldn’t hear. “The first week I think I saw him eight or nine times.”
Immediately catching onto the conversation, he sighed and corrected you despite Morgan’s laughter drowning him out. “Actually it was ten times.” In an attempt to defend himself against Morgan’s lighthearted ridicule, he continued, “and the last time I didn’t even need your help I just wanted to see you.”
“You didn’t need my help?” You asked dubiously, “when the photocopier was making that emergency alert noise?” Morgan’s laughter doubled.
Spencer’s voice raised in pitch as he defended himself, “that was the ninth time and that definitely wasn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t even know copiers could make that noise, Spencer, it must have been your fault.”
Waving a hand in the air, he dismissed that statement and you rolled your eyes with a giggle. “Anyway,” he stressed, “the tenth time there was nothing actually wrong - I told you I was struggling with my email but really I just wanted to ask you for coffee.”
Your cheeks took on a red glow as you remembered that day, “oh yeah.”
Morgan seemed entirely amused and proud all at once. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Dr Reid.”
In response, Spencer merely shoved his hands in his pockets with a shrug but sent an almost shy smile your way.
This jovial atmosphere remained throughout dessert, the house never falling silent due to the laughter bouncing off the walls. You were surprisingly at ease. To begin with, concern had flooded you that you would have nothing to say and would come across as just some naive girl making doe eyes at an older man. But Spencer had silently reassured you throughout, encouraged you to join in the conversation, and made you feel like you belonged there.
You felt fantastic, entirely relieved, the night had gone smoothly with no hiccups. Well, until the pair of you were at the door saying your goodbyes at least.
The baby monitor crackled suddenly into action, a whining cry sounding through the static making you jump. Morgan and Savannah shared a tired yet humoured look. “Your turn,” Morgan told her, dipping his head closer to her with a smirk.
Savannah, with a huffing laugh, rolled her eyes with a “yeah, yeah.” Turning to you and Spencer, she gave you with a smile and a warm “thanks so much for coming! It’s nice to have some adult company once in a while.”
You thanked her but you doubt she heard you over Morgan’s dramatic scoff. “Woman, I’m an adult.” He pointed at his chest as though to specify who he was talking about.
She gave him a long look, a pout pulling at her expression before she broke into a laugh. “Sure you are, Derek.” A last smile to you and Spencer, and she rushed off to allay the now screaming child.
You winced as a particularly high pitched cry squeaked through the monitor. “Better get used to that sound,” Morgan told you off-handedly as he held the door open, “that’s gonna be you two next.” He laughed as though you should laugh alongside him, and so - for the sake of politeness - you did. It was more a squeak than a laugh as the sound caught in your throat as you processed what he had said.
You were terrified to look up at your boyfriend’s reaction. What if he were jovially agreeing with his friend’s words, what if a spark of excitement had lit up his gaze?
Of course you already knew that Spencer wanted kids, you had been together long enough to have delved into that particular discussion. You had assured him that you wanted them too and so, realising you were in agreement, the pair of you hadn’t spoken on it any further. You realised now, all of a sudden in Derek Morgan’s doorway of all places, that you had never thought to discuss a timeline with Spencer.
He was older than you, in an entirely different phase of his life, surely he would want them sooner rather than later.
Finally, the pair of you escaped the house. Waving a goodbye to Morgan, you rushed to the car and fumbled with the keys as you tried to open the door. The keys jangled musically before thudding dully to the pavement.
A light touch on your arm stilled your jerking motion to pick them up. “I got it,” Spencer told you, already half crouched to collect the keys. “I can drive?” He offered lightly.
“Thanks,” you nodded, breathless in your quiet panic.
The drive itself was quiet. Silence was no stranger to you and Spencer, but it was usually a silence bathed in comfort and quiet belonging. This silence was entirely different; heavy with your insecurities and punctuated by the gnaw of your nails between your teeth.
Spencer, the behavioural analyst that he was, clearly noticed your agitation. A warm hand settled upon your thigh as you came to a stop at a red light. His thumb swiped lightly over the skin there and pressed just enough comfort into you to allow your thoughts return to coherency.
Fixing your gaze upon him, you felt the usual affection bubble through you as your eyes traced the wash of neon red light bathing his features. You loved this man, more than you had ever thought possible. You wanted everything with him, kids included, but… just not yet.
Noticing your fixation upon his features, he turned a brief gaze to you despite the light bathing him now turning green. Softly, as though worried he would scare you off, he asked; “you okay?”
You lips parted, a sullen and dishonest ‘yes’ forming on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You felt so lucky to have Spencer and to begin with you had continually hidden your fears and feelings from him in fear of somehow pushing him away. You had quickly learnt that this made neither you nor Spencer very happy. In aid of that past epiphany, you told him the truth. “No, not really.”
Spencer didn’t get angry, didn’t get annoyed or offended, didn’t hold anything against you. Instead, Spencer nodded calmly, pulled into an empty parking lot, clicked the car into park, and looked to you patiently.
He didn’t push you to tell him everything instantly, he sat calmly with an open expression and waited. Taking a deep settling breath, you sorted through your thoughts and started to speak. “I love you, Spencer.” You assured him. Considering the way his eyebrows pulled together and fear twisted his expression you realised it was probably the worst way to start. It sounded like the beginning of a breakup which was the opposite of your intention. “I’m not breaking up with you!” You almost shouted in your hurry to calm his fears. Relief settled his shoulders instantly and he nodded for you to continue.
Your hands were wringing together in your lap as you continued. “It’s just… what Morgan said.”
One hand on the wheel, he turned as much as the car allowed to face you. “About having kids?”
Nodding emphatically, entirely relieved that he knew exactly what was on your mind, you twisted in your seat towards him. “I just… I’m only 26.”
“I know.” He told you, with a strange little laugh indicating he wasn’t entirely sure why that detail was relevant.
“Well… I do want kids, Spencer, you know I do but… I’m only26.”
It was a quiet for a long while as his gaze settled on the middle distance. Tone filled with uncertainty, he tried to confirm what exactly was bothering you. “Are you… worried I’m not going to want to wait for you to be ready?”
You didn’t verbally reply, afraid to confirm this out loud, but you nodded with your gaze stuck on your lap.
His fingers drummed against the wheel and you couldn’t help your gaze from darting to the motion. From there, it was impossible to keep your gaze from his features. Thoughtfulness had overtaken them, eyebrows pulled together as he looked over you. Eventually, he carefully formulated his response. “Honestly,” you gulped in response, “I would love to have kids now or-or soon at least.” You almost shrunk back into your seat in disappointment but you tried your best to remain strong. “But,” he added in a slight panic, watching the badly hidden sadness quickly overtake you, “what I would love more is for you to be their mother.”
Looking at him through your lashes, you whispered out; “are you sure?”
“Yes.” He told you simply but, because it was Spencer he couldn’t help but to add; “the physical and social impact of pregnancy and child rearing is significantly greater for mothers than fathers. On average it’s estimated that women who give birth before-“
You cut him off with an almost panicked giggle and a hand gripping his. “Spencer, maybe stop before I decide against having kids altogether.”
A hearty laugh met yours and the air of the car felt instantly lighter. How easy things were to deal with when you simply communicated with each other. Spencer was so open with you about your worries, fears, and feelings. It was entirely refreshing. You had come to realise that it was exactly what a relationship shouldbe.
A realisation came to him suddenly, you could tell in the way his eyes widened and mouth dropped open as though to immediately say whatever had sprung to mind. He quickly stopped himself and awkwardly cleared his throat as though that would distract you. It didn’t work. “What?” You asked, lightheartedly.
“It’s nothing.” Dubiously, you raised your eyebrows and sternly crossed your arms. It did not take long for him to relent. “It’s… how do you-um-feel about marriage?”
He said the last word so quietly that you were forced to strain to hear it. You weren’t even certain you had heard him correctly. “Marriage?” Nodding, he scratched the back of his neck and avoided your searching gaze. Suspicion spawned in you. “I’m not… averse to marriage.” You told him honestly.
Only partially settled, he awkwardly stumbled out another question. “But is- are you - do you want to wait for that as well?”
Warmth spilled through your chest as you worked out what Spencer was trying so very hard not to tell you. “Are you gonna ask me soon?”
Spencer was an incredibly talented man, but one thing he could never seem to do was lie to you. “No!” He squeaked out, an obvious mistruth, “I’m just asking. I’m curious.”
You gave him a knowing smile that did nothing to hide your obvious excitement. Almost bouncing up and down in your seat you asked; “Is it gonna be soon?”
Dramatically, he shook his head. “No! No, I just-“ he cut himself off as he looked at your excitable expression. Shoulders dropping, realising the cat was well and truly out of the bag, he grumbled despite his smile. “Just act surprised when it happens, okay?”
You practically lit up, cheeks almost aching as you beamed at him. “So it is happening?”
“Let’s go home?” Was his unsubtle attempt to redirect your thoughts. With a wry grin, he clicked the car back into drive but replaced his hand upon your thigh. You slipped your fingers beneath his, taking his hand from your leg and instead squeezing it between both of yours.
Small Gestures
Summary: After a reading lesson with your favourite colleague, you become entirely distracted with his hands. To begin with, it doesn’t seem like he’s noticed but things aren’t always what they seem.
A/N: I wasn’t kidding when I said multi-fandom! I’ve been binging Criminal Minds and couldn’t resist.
It had all started so innocently.
It had been a quiet few days, strangely so for the BAU, but unfortunately for you that also meant that paperwork had become the top priority.
Weighed down by the compact text you were trying your best to skim through, you quickly gave up and slapped the heavy file onto your already cluttered desk. Groaning, you rubbed the heels of your hands over your tired eyes.
“You okay?” Came a familiar voice from your left.
Swinging your chair to face Spencer, you gave him a lazy smile – the kind you knew made his eyes dart down to your lips, as much as he always clearly tried to stop himself. Smile widening into a full grin as he did exactly as you anticipated, you decided to take pity on him with a distraction.
Pushing the discarded file further from yourself on the desk, you looked to his uncluttered workspace and felt an envy burn through you. “How come you don’t have any paperwork?” Your whined question had been paired with a childish pout of your lips, something that had pulled his eyes straight back to them. Looking down to your hands, you wryly considered the fact that you weren’t doing a particularly fantastic job of distracting his easily diverted attention.
When he recovered himself, attention finally seeming to focus on the question you had posed, he shook his head as though to clear it before answering. Tapping his pen against the desk in an almost nervous manoeuvre, he twisted his lips with the words; “well, about eighty percent of all paperwork is simply reading. So, it doesn’t take me that long and…” He trailed off at the squeaking sound of your chair’s wheels shifting – eyes darting to you as you stood and moved to his desk.
“Teach me,” you requested playfully.
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.
