Fit for Purpose

Summary: You’re helping your boyfriend prepare for his annual fit test, but you may have an ulterior motive. Unsurprisingly, your genius boyfriend has figured you out.

A/N: it’s been such a while! I’ve been so snowed under with work recently but I desperately wanted to post something today! I hope this is okay, please let me know what you think!

MasterlistIRequests

The morning was filled with a fresh breeze, the wonderfully warming sunshine, and the increasingly distant panting of your boyfriend.

When the uneven, if still repetitive, noise of his struggle faded into obscurity beneath the subtle sound of wind rustling between the trees, you stopped your light jog. With a puff of air, you briefly raised your face to the sun before turning back to face Spencer.

“You okay back there?”

He didn’t reply, not that he seemed able to between his heaving breaths, but he gradually reached you. His lips parted as though to speak but all that managed to leave him was another struggled heave of breath as he collapsed forwards. Bent at the hips, hands on his knees, he very slowly caught his breath.

Wryly, you smiled down at him and raised a hand to rub his back. When he had regained at least some of himself you offered some water. He took the offered drink gratefully before heaving another breath and asking with a dramatic groan, “how much further?”

Twisting your lips, you decided to go easy on him. “We were gonna go another mile that way, but… we can head back now?” He nodded eagerly, eyes screwed shut in struggle, but made no move to follow your suggestion. “You need a minute?”

“Yeah,” he told you - almost deflating in relief, “yes, oh god.”

You tried not to giggle as he complained, gesturing instead for him to take a seat on a nearby park bench. Heavily he sat down, head falling back as his body all but went limp. You perched beside him, feet perching on the wood and knees hugging into your chest. Watching him, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

Itwas true that the fit tests could no longer be waived away, new policies coming in and demanding protocol be followed, but it was a slight exaggeration that Spencer had to work this hard to train to run a mile. You had every confidence that a week and a half would have been enough time to train him up to the distance and the time. However, you had a vested interest in him doing exceptionallywell.

Somehow, it had fallen that both Spencer’s and Garcia’s fit tests fell at the exact same time; a coincidence that you and Morgan had more than taken advantage of. You would do your best to train Spencer, Morgan would do his best to train Garcia, and whichever of them managed the fastest time were the winner. What did they win? Nothing. What would you win if Spencer was quicker than Garcia? A hundred bucks. It was a friendly competition and nothing more, except neither Spencer nor Garcia were actually aware of the arrangement.

In an effort to assuage your guilt over the whole clandestine affair, you spent your winnings on Spencer without fail. After all, he had earned the money and, truthfully, three straight years of Morgan’s abject confusion and frustration at how fast you could make Spencer run was prize enough.

Spencer’s breaths were beginning to slow beside you and so you turned to watch him. “It must be getting easier?” You asked lightly when he seemed coherent enough to respond.

Finally regaining the ability to speak in full sentences, he looked to you as he shook his head. “You would think so.” You expected him to say something else alongside that; some long-winded list of statistics regarding stamina, cardiovascular fitness, or whatever else, but he remained silent.

Concern filled you; Spencer had a lot to say, you didn’t like it when he was quiet. Lightly, you bumped shoulders with him, “you okay? You’re… kinda quiet.”

All of a sudden, he looked incredibly bashful. His head dropped, hair falling around him as though to hide from your view, and he shook his head. The red flush creeping up his neck made you smile. “What?” You pushed, affectionately soothing a hand through his hair.

When you had first ventured on this relationship Spencer likely would have kept his eyes down and struggled through an explanation. Now with the familiar comfort of you beside him, he lifted his gaze to yours, and smirked through his reply; “I was thinking about how much fun our mornings used to be.”

A light blush dusting your cheeks at the suggestive memories he was referring to, you smiled. Teasing lightly, you told him, “that counts as exercise too you know.”

The laugh he gave shook his shoulders even as he verbally disagreed; “well, actually,” you rested your head upon his shoulder, eyes caught on a small bird darting through swaying branches, “on average a man’s heart rate barely rises above one-thirty during sexual intercourse,” you hummed a small noise of interest, “so, really it can only be classified as light to moderate exercise.”

With a sigh, you lifted your head. “That’s a shame.” After a moment of pondering, you turned to him with a creased brow, “is that true even when it’s particularly,” your fingers walked up his thigh as you waggled your brows, “vigorous?”

You felt a surge of delicious victory as he shifted in place and his hand came to grip yours, preventing your fingers from travelling higher. “Even then, unfortunately.”

With a groan, you rose to your feet and pulled an unenthusiastic Spencer up beside you. “One more week, sweetheart.” You reassured, pulling him softly into an easy jog beside you, “then we can have our mornings back.“

He nodded with a sigh and a smile, excitement shining in his eyes, but made no response as his breath was already beginning to struggle from him.

———————————————————————

Getting back to your shared apartment you had quickly excused yourself to jump in the shower. You assumed, by the tiredness pulling at his every movement alongside the way he all but collapsed onto the sofa, that Spencer needed a minute to recuperate anyway.

Now, feeling freshened and squeaky clean, you emerged with a soft towel wrapped around you. Spencer had managed to extract himself from the sofa in the time you had taken, now laying sprawled on the bed looking almost asleep. Giggling at the sight of him, you moved to him and trailed light fingers through his hair. You smiled as he cracked open an eye to watch you.

As he returned the gesture with a smile of his own, a hand tugging playfully at your towel, he looked thoughtful for a moment before he murmured a defunct question at you. “You know I’m a genius, right?”

Eyebrows creasing, taken by surprise, you stuttered out an amused scoff. “How could I forget?”

With a groan of effort he sat upright, looking up at you as his hands lightly skittered over your hips. “For the past three years,” he began, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the cotton towel, “after every fitness test, you have bought me a present.”

Getting tongue tied, unsure where he was going with this but intent on playing it cool, you shrugged. “Well…” you struggled immediately, “I- you deserve a treat after… all that effort.”

“All the gifts have cost a hundred dollars,” you didn’t say anything, so he specified, “exactly a hundred.” Hands upon his shoulders, you steadied yourself.

“Erm…” was all you could think to give. You felt a little settled by the fact that he was still smiling up at you and still delicately massaging circles into your skin.

“Is that a coincidence?”

You bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes in a sudden burst of embarrassment. “…no…” you admitted with a grimace.

A laugh escaped him, “I knew it.”

Puzzled, expecting him to be at least a little agitated by you treating him like a horse to bet on, you couldn’t help but quietly query. “You’re not mad?”

Pulling you lightly, settling you on his lap with your thighs spread around him as your towel struggled to retain your dignity, he shook his head. “Well, I have to pass this test anyway,” his voice had dropped an octave, his finger tracing the path of a water droplet over the curve of your collarbone, “this way we both win.”

A low hum, almost a purr, escaped you and you cocked your head. Hands clasping behind his neck and eyebrow raised, you asked; “how long have you known?”

Eyes catching yours, even as his hands effortlessly relieved you of your towel, he smirked. Eventually, he gave his vague reply. “A while.”

Rolling your eyes, even as you leaned into the large hands that smoothed over your skin, you rasped out a teasing response. “So mysterious.”

A laugh shook his figure lightly as he pulled your hips closer to his with a commanding hand on your waist, the other hand falling between your thighs.

You gave a whine, eyes closing as you basked in the familiar but still enticing feel of his touch, but an errant thought sent a chuckle past your lips.

An answering laugh of his own framed his next question, “what is it?”

Hands framing his face, you ghosted your lips over his before murmuring your response. “I was thinking we should try to get your heart rate over 130 this time.”

Couch Cushions

Summary: You and Spencer have been dating for a while now and, on a rainy afternoon, you ask him if he wants you the same way you want him.

A/n: this is very much written with early seasons Spencer in mind which I think comes across! Please let me know what you think! ❤️

MasterlistIRequests

The afternoon had progressed wonderfully, in your opinion. You and Spencer had retreated to your apartment after sharing a hearty lunch, barging through the door together and sharing a laugh over the rain now dripping from the pair of you. And now, you were lounging on the couch together.

The strains of the creepy orchestral music from one of Spencer’s favourite classic horror movies were lulling through the room and the warmth of his figure beside you was chasing away the cold sting of the rain.

You couldn’t lie to yourself, you certainly had an ulterior motive in convincing him back to your apartment. You were certainlyhoping this evening would end in a… particular way. However, it had already been a fun day and you wouldn’t really complain if you didn’t get your salacious wish.

Youwere starting to get a little concerned with his general lack of response to your continued and less than subtle attempts at seduction, however. Other than outright asking him what the problem was, all you could really do was try again.

Sinking a little further into the sofa, nodding along to the excitable tinge of his voice as he explained the obscure literary reference one of the characters had just made, you sidled closer to him. Taking a settling breath, you pushed even closer, your head resting on his chest and one arm slung over him.

Alongside his obvious verbal stumble, you could hear his heart pick up in its now unsteady rhythm. Laying more heavily against him, allowing him time to relax before you made your next move, you asked a distracting follow-up question. “So,” you murmured against his still thrumming heartbeat, “this is based off that book?”

“Uh-“ he stammered, one arm quite bravely curling to wrap around you. “Very loosely, yes.”

Intrigued by such a short response from your usually wordy boyfriend, you raised your eyebrows and craned your neck to look up at him. Immediately, your gaze pulled his caramel eyes to your features. His adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “What?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You gave a smile, he really was delectable, before leaning up to kiss him. To hell with working up to this slowly, you thoughthazily, affection and attraction pushing you to act hastily. To begin with, the kiss was slow, saccharine, and sweet in a heady sort of way. Spencer had this wonderful ability to make you feel lazy, in a wonderful kind of way; with him you felt as though you had all the time in the world.

That slow, lazy feeling didn’t stop you from almost shamelessly attempting to deepen the kiss, however. One hand curling into his still damp hair and another smoothing beneath the collar of his shirt, you opened your lips beneath his. As your tongue swept over his bottom lip a small, soft, and entirely enticing noise of satisfaction fell from him.

In a quest to pull more noises from him, maybe a few that were louder and maybe a few that sounded like your name, you moved both hands behind his neck and tugged. You managed to sling one leg over his hips, and even succeeded in sliding fully beneath him, before he pulled back from you. This was as far as you had ever succeeded in getting; you were making progress at least.

But,really, it was time to ask.

Spencer babbled out a quick excuse for pulling from you, eyes not managing to meet your heated gaze and fidgeting hands awkwardly pushing his hair back into place. “D-do you want something to drink?”

You managed, just barely, to repress the laugh that bubbled through you in response to that; what an adorably strange question to ask after you had just tried so hard to get beneath him. “Sure,” you told him, pushing up into a seated position as he left the sofa entirely.

Resting your chin upon the back of the couch you watched him potter frenetically about your kitchen. “Spencer,” you called when his movements became a little less stiff, “can I ask you something?”

You watched the back of his head bob up and down in a nod, your cupboard open before him as he searched for a glass. “Of course,” he assented, clearly not realising the line of questioning he was opening himself up for.

“Do you want to…” trailing off with pursed lips, your mind searched for a way to phrase your question in a way that was less crass than ‘do you want to fuck me?’. Eventually, you finished; “do you want to sleep with me?”

A horrendous clatter sounded from him, luckily it didn’t seem as though anything actually smashed, before he turned back to face you with wide eyes. “W-what?”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly reiterated; “do you want to have sex with me? Like,” you shrugged in a show of faux carelessness, “at some point?”

Lips parting a few times, a plethora of stuttering half-finished responses clamoured to escape him. You quickly cut off this incoherent wave of noise. “Spencer, I’m just looking for a yes or a no here.” You paired those words with a smile, hopeful that something in the gesture would settle him. “Because if the answer is no… maybe we should talk about that, y’know?”

“No!” He let out quickly, hands raising in some kind of panicked clamour, before shaking his head. “I mean yes! I do want to…” he trailed off, struggling to get the sentiment out, instead he settled for “I do.”

Slowly, you nodded along to this response. Raising a brow, feeling somewhat devilish, you asked for clarification. “You do want to talk about it or you do want to have sex with me?” You were fairly confident he had meant the latter but you were desperate to hear him say it.

The red flush of his neck had reached his face at this point. “I do want to…” he made a strange gesture with his hands before giving up and quietly verbalising what he wanted, “to sleep with you.”

You grinned with a light giggle, thrilled by the prospect that Spencer really did want you in that way. Voice a little lighter with this reassurance, you let out another question. “Can I ask a follow up question?”

With great trepidation overtaking his features, he gave a single nod.

“Why haven’t you yet?“ At his answering silence, you clarified, “had sex with me, I mean. I’ve… more than given you the opportunity.” You giggled slightly at the memory of all those failed attempts.

Spencer stammered before you. “Well, I just- I…” you dramatically took a deep breath, hand raising and falling in time with the breath; he took your silent suggestion and breathed deeply alongside you. More relaxed, if only he slightly, he was able to get out; “I’m not… as experienced as you.”

Raising your brows at that, you lifted from the couch with a laugh and moved over to him. “What makes you so sure of that?”

A laugh escaped him, a short little chuckle as though he knew something you didn’t. Hands raising to generally wave over you, he told you; “because you’re… you.”

In a show that this was not a sufficient answer you cocked your head with raised brows. “And?” You prompted.

“And… you’re beautifulandcharming and kind and and…” he trailed off, seemingly frustrated with himself and his lack of eloquence in the face of awkwardness.

“Okay,” you gave, cheeks warming in response to that list of wonderful adjectives, “and you’re you.” You cupped his cheeks to find his gaze. “You’re smart - crazy smart - and handsome and kind and loving…” his lips quirked up at this list even as his eyes found his shoes, and you punctuated the words with a light kiss to his cheek. “So, I don’t really know what the problem is.”

He remained silent but seemed a little more confident, his hands now rising to rest on your upper arms in a light kind of embrace.

Taking your time to look over his features, feeling affection fill you, you lowered your tone into reassurance. “Sweetheart,” you all but cooed, “ I know this seems like a really really uncomfortable conversation that you don’t wanna have.” He nodded his immediate agreement with that sentiment, but his eyes rose to yours. “But,” you continued, “it’s not, okay? I really like you, Spencer.” The word wasn’t strong enough, and you knew it, but you weren’t ready for that admission quite yet. “So, this is just a conversation, okay?”

Finally, he nodded - his shoulders seeming to drop from their once hunched position. “Okay,” he let out, “I’m - I’m nervous that…” his voice wavered as he struggled with the words, “that you won’t… enjoy it.”

You giggled at that but very quickly explained your reaction when he seemed to sink into himself a little more. “The mere fact that you’re that concerned about my enjoyment puts you ahead of like ninety percent of other guys.”

His lips quirked up but he gave no response.

Looking over this nervous expression of his that your words could not seem to shift, you decided it was time to give him an out. “Look, Spencer, how about this?” Eyes narrowing at you, he nodded for you to continue. Smoothing your hands over his chest, you smiled. “So, option A; we sit back on the couch, forget this conversation, keep watching movies and you keep telling me all those interesting facts and you keep translating all those Russian parts for me.” He gave a relieved sort of laugh at the suggestion and, so, you doubled down. “Which would be fun and perfect and wonderful because I love being with you - no matter what we do - right?”

“Right,” he agreed, before curiosity got the better of him. “W-what’s option B?”

Smirking, you ducked your head to look up at him with doe eyes and answered. “Well, in option B you sit on the couch…” lowering your voice to a whisper, your gaze dropped to where his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I take this dress off,” you pulled open the first few buttons of the garment as though in demonstration, “and then I sit on top of you,” with a wicked smirk you added, in a thoughtful tone; “or kneel in front of you…” you made a show of shrugging, “wherever you want me.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded - a strange strained sound becoming caught in his throat. It seemed that his mind was busy thinking about something else and so he forgot to verbalise his answer.

“What’s it gonna be, doc?” You whispered close to his ear.

“Uh-“ he stuttered, hands a little tighter upon your arms than before, “um- B- definitely option B.”

Entirely thrilled by his choice, you gripped his collar to pull him along with you as you backed the pair of you back towards the couch.

Extra Credit

Summary: Reader visits Spencer at his office and inadvertently discovers that some of his students are interested in more than his seminars.

A/n: Please let me know what you think! Thanks so much for all the follows recently ❤️

MasterlistIRequests

The receptionist had been incredibly helpful, directing you to your destination succinctly and perfectly. You had allowed yourself an extra ten minutes, wanting to be on time but doubting your own ability to navigate an unfamiliar environment. The building, at least the parts of it you saw on your journey to Spencer’s office, was grandiose in a strangely cosy kind of way. Although, you thought distantly, the patter of rain upon thick windows always inspired a cosy feeling.

The corridors were rapidly emptying as you wandered against the flow of quickly exiting students. Wistfully, you remembered these days; rushing from the building on a Friday night to ignore your impending assignments in favour of some disappointing party that ended in you throwing up in your dorm room. And now, here you were all these years later, on a Friday night rushing to meet your husband.

Time really is a funny thing.

Your existential musings paused as you reached his door. The sight of his name on the door made you smile as you tapped your knuckles against the door. Spencer answered quickly. An affection softened his gaze as he recognised you and quickly ushered you inside. Behind the privacy of a closed door you smoothed your hands over his chest and raised precariously onto your tiptoes to peck his lips.

“Hi,” he gave when you dropped down to your heels, his hands lightly placed over the curve of your hips.

“I missed you,” you responded with a smile.

It was true; you had missed him terribly. Now that his presence on a case was not an inevitability that you could count on, you struggled through each day away from him with nothing but his voice on the phone to keep you company. You honestly could not understand how JJ had managed all these years.

Spencer ducked his head to kiss you, confirmation enough that he had missed you too. “How was it?” He asked quietly.

You shrugged with a sigh. He knew as well as you that your cases were never able to be summarised in a selection of light-hearted footnotes. “It was…heavy.”

He nodded his understanding, lips pursing in concern as he sent a sweeping gaze over your figure. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you told him, because you were; despite the purple-green bruise flowering over your ribs that he could not see beneath your shirt.

The air felt heavy, your reunion weighed down by the still unshared details of this last case. You tried to lighten the mood, change the topic; the case and all it’s paperwork were not going anywhere and would still be awaiting you Monday morning. “Are you not gonna give me a tour, Professor?” You asked, a teasing smile leaving you, as you sent a brief gaze over your surroundings.

Spencer laughed with a nod, stepping back from you as he looked over the space. “Sure,” he prefaced, moving to gesture at his desk. “This is my desk,” he told you, obviously.

Hiding your giggle behind the back of your hand, you moved to the chair tucked behind the desk. With the most puzzled expression you could muster, you pointed to it and asked; “What isthis?”

Lips twisting, he played along. “That is a chair.”

Tutting, you gave the chair a light push and absently watched it spin. “Aren’t you supposed to stand up more at work or something? Sitting is the new smoking, right?”

“Actually,” you smiled to yourself as you looked up to watch the lengthy explanation you were sure to receive. “Despite numerous studies into that claim, no link between sitting at work and poor overall health have ever been made.” You nodded, watching and waiting for more as you dropped into his chair. “It’s actually widely considered to be socioeconomic factors linked to when, why and how often individuals-“

An almost timid knock upon his door interrupted his spiel of impressive, if not obscure, knowledge. A little disgruntled at this interruption, you peered at the door. “Sorry,” he told you, as though the interruption were somehow his fault, moving to open the door.

Just before the door clicked open, you gave a reassuring, “it’s okay.”

From your position seated at the desk you could not see who was standing on the other side of the threshold. You ignored their conservation, attention roving instead over the finer details of his office. Books were piled on almost every available flat surface, their spines pointed towards you with names you couldn’t hope to decipher. On his desk there was a picture of the pair of you; it was almost funny, in a sweet kind of way, that he even thought to include that. Could Spencer not merely close his eyes and conjure the perfect image of you?

You were in the middle of making a mental note to ask him about that when your ears caught upon the conversation still happening in the doorway.

Spencer, strangely, sounded confused. “From what I understand, your grades are perfectly fine.”

“But,” came an oddly lowered voice, “extra-credit couldn’t hurt, right?”

Your eyes widened and mouth dropped open as you wondered if this were really happening right now. Surely, you were placing intentions on the girl’s words that were not actually there. Surely.

If Spencer had come to the same conclusion as you, he very kindly pretended that he hadn’t and offered her a way out. “I don’t think you’re actually in my class.” The way he phrased it was strangely thoughtful. He most certainly would remember if she was in his class but his act of uncertainty may save her from embarrassment. Well, you thought wryly, more embarrassment.

She did not take the offered escape route. Voice dropping even lower, sounding now as though she had a substantial cough rather than the seduction she had likely hoped for, she pushed further. “Oh, but surely there’s something I can do for you?”

Something in the way she said it made it impossible to stifle your laughter. A cough escaped you as you struggled against your fit of giggles. Realising that the conversation at the door had entirely stalled in response to your laughter, you slapped a hand over your mouth - still quietly giggling.

The girl’s voice sounded again, significantly higher in pitch. “Who’s that?” You could almost imagine the deer in headlights expression overtaking her at the prospect of being discovered in her misguided attempts to seduce a professor.

“Oh,” Spencer gave, a lightness in the tone as his head turned to look at you. “It’s just my wife.” You had risen from the chair at this point, darting around the desk to catch sight of the poor girl and sending her an awkward wave as you did so.

She looked very nice, you had to admit; she had chosen a skirt, of course, but had paired it with such a nice shirt that you almost wanted to ask where she had bought it. “Nice to meet you,” you told her instead.

“You…I-“ she stuttered out, mortification overtaking her youthful visage. Quickly, she shot out, “thanks for the help,” before almost running away down the corridor.

Spencer lingered at the doorway briefly, expression indicating that his mind was busy trying to decipher a reasonable explanation for the interaction. When he closed the door you allowed yourself laugh more fully, secure in the knowledge that the poor girl would not hear you now.

Raising your eyebrows at his lack of response, you asked; “has that happened before?”

Looking back at the door, eyes crinkled in confusion, he shook his head. “I’m not even sure whathappened.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Stepping closer, you smoothed a hand over his arm in an attempt to reassure that you were not about to get mad about a student trying so hard to seduce him. “Oh, come on, sweetheart.” You pushed.

His confusion did not abate even with your prompting.

“Really?” You asked, disbelieving. “You, an experienced FBI profiler, cannot work out what just happened?”

Your insistence seemed only to confuse him more as he looked back at the closed door once more as though it held the answer. When, somehow, his brain remained without a solution you huffed another laugh.

“God,” you began, feeling a little awkward with no understanding as to why. “I don’t know how to explain this nicely. She was…” you pinched the bridge or your nose, “flirting with you.”

At your words, he looked utterly taken aback. “Why?”

Hands smoothing over his chest, dipping beneath his blazer, you cocked your head with a smirk. “Oh, I don’t know,” you murmured wryly, “why would anyone want to flirt with their handsome, smart, sweet Professor who explains things with his large hands as much as he does with his mouth?”

Eyebrows raised, he swallowed thickly at the seduction you sprinkled into the words. “I-uh-I don’t think that’s what she was doing?”

You knew him well enough to recognise that he really was being sincere. You felt a little stab of guilt as you looked at him. He had been definitively stuck in to minds over this partial reassignment, part of him almost excitable at the prospect of academia but another part anxious to be away from cases, the team, and - of course - you. You didn’t want to ruin this positivity by informing him that at least one student was more interested in sleeping with him than his syllabus. “Well,” you started diplomatically, “maybe your wife is a little biased.”

He seemed unconvinced by this change in your words. You weren’t entirely surprised, you had been so adamant earlier and were now trying to change your tune. You really didn’t feel like spelling it out for him but he was leaving you with little choice. You decided to play it coy; you could at least have some fun with this uncomfortable discussion.

Batting your eyelashes, you ducked your head to look up at him through fluttering lashes. “Oh Professor,” you gushed, leaning into him, “there must be something I can do.” Reaching up, you loosened his tie - fingertips lightly tapping against the thrumming pulse in his neck. “There’s really nothing I can do for you to get an A?”

Arching a brow at him, hoping you managed to get your point across, you smirked as he let out an almost laughing breath. “I-uh-think I get it.”

Pressing your lips to his cheek, skin tickled by his dusting of stubble, you giggled. “I always forget you went to college at like… four.”

He laughed properly at that, “I wasn’t four,” he all but scoffed.

“Close enough,” you muttered with a shrug, redoing his tie where you had loosened it. “I do like this professor look on you though.”

His warm hands squeezed your waist as he smiled at that. Brow suddenly furrowing in what you recognised as contemplation, he quickly asked; “wait, so did you… proposition your professors?”

You giggled freely at the question. “No,” you let out between laughter, just managing to tuck his tie back beneath his blazer. “I did ask for extra credit though.”

“You did?” He asked, watching you with great interest as you smoothed his collar and pushed back his hair.

You hummed your affirmative, before adding with a wry smirk; “I didn’t come to the tail end of their office hours in a mini-skirt and with hot red lips though.” After a quick, affectionate, swipe of your thumb over his cheek, you stepped away to collect his satchel from behind his desk. “I turned up in floods of tears, mascara tracking down my cheeks, basically on my knees begging them not to fail me.”

His lips quirked up. “That’s quite an image.”

“What, me crying and hyperventilating over my shitty grades?” You asked, winking at him. “Or me on my knees and begging?”

Head falling back slightly, hands lazily slung into his pockets, he looked over your figure with a delicious gaze. His smirk was answer enough. Lithely, you slunk back to stand before him. “I like the way you think, Professor.”

You reached him, fingers walking up his chest and doe eyes blinking up at him. “Your bag,” you offered, hanging the item from his shoulder.

Greedy hands pulled you closer, arms winding around your waist as his large palms pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you flush against him. After all this time you would have thought that you would be used to kissing Spencer - but you weren’t. Butterflies still fluttered through your stomach, your heart still swooped, and your head still swam with an excited dizziness. Hands in his hair, forgetting where you were and where you were supposed to be, you opened your lips beneath his.

A sudden, unexpected vibration buzzed in the space between you and you pulled back with a breathy laugh. “And what is that, Professor?”

Reaching into his pocket, revealing his buzzing phone, he muttered an almost strained reply. “Please, stop calling me that.”

“I kinda think you like it,” you whispered as he answered the phone, “Professor,” you murmured into his other ear.

The way his eyes burned so passionately into yours told you that you would end up reaping the benefits of this game at some point in the near future. You pressed your lips softly against the hollow of his neck as he spoke into the phone.

“Uh- yeah,” he stuttered into the receiver, struggling against your ministrations. “We - uh- we’re on our way.”

He hung up quickly after that, the tinny voice on the phone getting cut off mid-sentence. “Sounds like we gotta go.”

“Unfortunately,” he eked out, sending a last set of kisses against your jaw.

“Stop distracting me, Professor,” you purred. “And let’s go.”

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!

Part One

Masterlist|Requests

“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.”

Parties, Propositions, & Panic - Part 2

Summary: After the events of your birthday party, you and Spencer are forced to talk about the past.

A/N: This is incredibly long! I didn’t wanna split into 2 parts and keep you guys hanging though! Warning that this is 18+ and there are mentions of addiction and drug use. Please let me know what you think here!

Part One

MasterlistIRequests

The air outside felt just as oppressive as the crowded room. Yet at least here you were free from those stranger’s stares, watching you with a strange excitement as your distress spiralled.

Guess they’ll have something to gossip about tomorrow, you thought distantly.

You stopped a few steps from the door, your breathing out of control as you felt sharp panic overtake you; why did you run away? Why did Alex have to ask you in front of all those people? Why did he have to ask you at all?

And why, why, did you look at Spencer?

Of course, you knew the answer to that.

It was for that same reason you always stayed late at work until he was finished. The same reason you always sat beside him on the jet. The same reason you broke away from Alex’s parents just to dance with him tonight.

Guilt tore through you; Alex was far from perfect but he deserved better.

Your name rang out, a desperate plea in the cold air, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. Why was Spencer doing this now? Your thoughts and emotions were scattered and unsure. You couldn’t trust yourself to have this conversation right now.

You turned to watch him approach you, his steps hurried and clumsy enough to make you worry he would fall. You shook your head, tears clouding your vision as your breath hitched. “Spencer,” you barely got the two syllables of his name out between heavy breaths, “I-I-“ I can’t do this right now, you wanted to say, too little air in your lungs to form the words.

Gently, but with urgency, he pulled your hands from where they harshly gripped your elbows. Smoothing his hands over your bare arms, he warmed the goosebumps from your skin. Ducking down to match your gaze he delicately cradled your face between large palms; thumbs swiping over your cheekbones as he met your gaze. “Breathe with me, sweetheart.” He told you softly, warm words misting the air as they met the cold night.

Gripping his wrist, you nodded and tried to match the steady rhythm of his breaths. The tingling in your fingertips abated slowly, the dark spots blotting your vision replaced by the clarity of his chestnut eyes, and the all-consuming panic was replaced with a barrage of other emotions.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeatedly murmured. As the ringing of your ears quietened, you realised he had been whispering these reassurances to you from the moment he caught you.

It was toosweet,too perfect. He could read you like nobody else, calm you like nothing else, and right now that was an impossible revelation to contend with. You pulled back, stumbling back a few paces.

“Spencer, I need to-“

He cut you off.

“I love you.”

The words rushed from him, as though they had been fighting to leave him for longer than just tonight. Tears shone in his eyes, his voice rough as he fought through this welling of emotion, “I love you.” He repeated, the words hanging in the air between you impossibly.

You wiped at your eyes, aggressively pressing your palms against your brow. Your voice raised in pitch as you struggled against the multitude of things you wanted to scream, shout, cry, and whisper to him.“You-you can’t do this to me right now.”

Your name fell from him again, as he staggered half a step closer. Close enough to touch you once more. Both hands gripping one of yours, he pulled you yet nearer. “I know,” he told you, a sadness pulling down his voice, “I should’ve told you a long time ago.” One hand left yours, the fingertips of his left hand raising to push your hair from your eyes. The pads of his fingers brushed tenderly against your temple at the action and you couldn’t prevent the way you leaned into the sensation. Voice hoarse, breaking as his tears fell, he told you; “I never should’ve let you go.”

Pursing your lips against the sob that tried to leave you, you dropped your gaze. You couldn’t do this now, this was the worst time for this conversation, but he was making it so hard to walk away. You pulled back, a few trembling steps to put some distance between the pair of you; anything that might clear your mind enough to think straight. His gaze could only tempt you closer but it was impossible to ignore the pull of his touch.

The new space between you did nothing to help.

The sight of Spencer felt eternally frustrating; his honey-brown eyes sparkling with expression and hair almost drooping alongside his shoulders. “You- you ended things with me?” The words rasped out, almost becoming caught in the knot swelling in your throat. “What did you expect?”

“I know,” he implored, tears threatening to spill over as he gripped his own hands in the absence of yours. “I know this isn’t fair, but… please.” His feet fumbled closer to you, hands wrenching free of one another to cup your cheeks once again. His thumbs drew circles over your cheeks, swiping away the tears you hadn’t noticed falling. “Why did you look at me?” He finally asked.

How could you answer that with anything other than the truth? You tried your best to hold onto anger, annoyance, but your next words came out flat and disaffected. “You know… I could say yes to Alex… I could marry him, have a kid, a dog, a house, whatever.” You sniffed, eyes closing against the sight of Spencer’s distress. “And I could be fine.” You shook your head, the image your words had conjured in your mind dull compared to the sight of Spencer. “But-but… it wouldn’t be enough. I looked at you because I wanted you to give me a reason to say no.” You reopened your eyes, breathless as your emotion for this man overtook you. “I looked at you because I love you.”

A whine escaped him at that, forehead pressed against yours and you let him pull you closer still. His lips pressed against yours, tentatively at first but increasingly desperate when you reciprocated his desire by tangling your hands in his hair. Your mouth opened in a gasp as his arm wound possessively around your waist - pulling you chest to chest with him.

His name fell from your lips as your mouths were forced to part in a needful gasp for air. Almost magnetically, your lips met once more, no pause for words left between you.

You could feel the heavy weight of Spencer’s longing for you in each press of his lips, each grab of his hands, each moan he let slip into your mouth.

The door you had fled from clattered once more and you jolted from Spencer with a gasp of surprise. “Alex is…” JJ broke off, eyes widening as she took in the sight before her; you and Spencer still entirely wrapped in each other, looking wide eyed and guilty at the now opened door. She cleared her throat, delicately closing the door behind her and taking a step towards the pair of you. “Alex is looking for you.” She told you, almost sternly. “It might be for the best if he doesn’t find you like this?”

Entirely guilty, you nodded with downcast eyes. What were you doing? You pulled away from Spencer, ignoring lingering hands that tried to keep you, and nodded solemnly. “You’re right,” you agreed, chastened. “I-I can’t do this right now.”

He shook his head, a string of ‘no’ and ‘please’ escaping him as he reached for you.

You grabbed the palm that reached for you, “Spencer, this isn’t a no.” You squeezed his hand, the only reassurance you could give in this moment, before pushing it back towards his figure, “I- it’s just not… not right now. Just give me some time, please?”

He nodded, lips pursing as he swallowed back tears. “Anything,” he told you thickly.

Lowering your eyes from his, finding it impossible enough to leave even without the sight of him, you called to JJ. “Can you take me home?”

———————————————————————

Days had passed since that evening but the remnants of your touch remained embedded in Spencer’s skin. His lips still tingled where they had tasted yours and fingertips still burned hot where they had traced your flushed skin.

Days had passed since that evening; but he was yet to see you, yet to hear your voice, and yet to bathe in the brightness of your gaze.

You had asked for space, for time, and he was determined to give it to you. When the weight of his memories overwhelmed him, however, he would crack under the pressure. A text here, a call there, but nothing ever reciprocated.

He tried to distract himself with work, throw himself into case files and paperwork, but every day that he sat across from your empty desk reminded him that you were not there. Had he lost his chance with you? Had he chased you away with his late show of devotion?

These harassing questions were only silenced by one, unerring, memory of that evening. You had told him you loved him, you had reciprocated his great emotion for you; you lovedhim.

But, a scratching thought remained; after all the time that he had wasted, would that be enough?

His phone vibrated suddenly upon his desk, sliding a few inches as the screen lit up with your name. Dropping the paper that he had been mindlessly ripping into smaller and smaller pieces, he snatched the phone from the desk.

Can you come over after work?

His fingers worked over the keys almost faster than his brain could tell him what to write. Luckily, his reply was short; yes.

———————————————————————

Spencer lifted his hand to rap his knuckles against the mahogany of your door but, before contact could be made, he noticed the trembling of his fingers. Retracting his hand, using it to fiddle once more with the tie around his neck, he slowly let out a long breath.

A little more settled in himself, he knocked. Your light footsteps hurried to the door and he chose to interpret your rush as a positive sign.

The door fell inwards, revealing your face peering up at him. Whatever words he had planned to say caught in his throat, tangling there and making it impossible to speak.

You relieved him of the burden of speaking first, “hi, Spencer.”

Swallowing heavily, he returned your greeting with a voice strained by a barrage of competing emotion. “Hi,” he glanced down to his right hand, clutching a peace offering in the form of a bouquet, and presented it to you as though he had just recalled they were there. “I- these are for you.” He explained, pointlessly.

Your eyes brightened as you looked over them, both hands immediately reaching for the gift, and you beamed. Still looking down at them, you murmured “My favourite…”

Your smile eased him greatly. This gesture of his, so clearly appreciated by you, reminding him of how well he knew you. How perfect you were for each other.

You took a step to the side, holding the flowers almost reverently beside you, and gestured for him to enter. He moved into your apartment, finding a light on at the end of the hall and following it to the kitchen.

You entered the room behind him, crouching at the corner cupboard and emerging with a crystalline vase. Filling the vessel with water, you softly pulled the twine bow that held the flowers together, and carefully placed the stems in the vase. Once the display was completed you paused in your movements. Your fingertip delicately traced over one of the larger petals, your head tilting as you watched the flower shift beneath your musings.

He wished, so dearly, that he could hear your thoughts in this moment. Unable to help himself, he greedily asked; “what are you thinking about?”

You turned to face him, a sigh and a melancholy frown pulling at your lips. “You know my favourite flower,” he nodded eagerly, dissecting each subtle intonation in your words. “And it’s not just that you know it… it’s that you think to buy them for me, you think to make me smile.”

“Of course.” To Spencer it seemed so obvious, so simple. Why, then, were you telling him this with such wonder?

You looked down, the angle disguising your smirk but your gentle sigh still reached him. You echoed him in a whisper, “of course.”

You moved closer to him, leaning your weight against the counter across from him. “I’m sorry.”

Spencer couldn’t discern whether his heart began to race or if it stopped completely. What could you possibly be sorry for? He was sure his attentive gaze would not have missed a ring on your finger but his eyes still darted to where your hands were folded upon the counter. Settled by the emptiness of your ring finger, he asked; “what for?”

“I should have called, or… or something.” You were wringing your hands together as you spoke, words muted as your head bowed, hiding your eyes from him. “I just…” your words trailed off as you lifted your head, eyes softening as they found his.

“You asked for space.” He reassured you, leaning against the counter in some effort to be closer to you. “I-“ he huffed a sad little laugh at himself, at his own inability to follow your simple instruction, “I tried my best.”

Your nerves were clear in the set of your shoulders, obvious in the tightness of your voice, and the sight inspired his own nerves to triple.

Almost shyly, you peeked at him as you spoke next, “I broke up with Alex.” Spencer felt as though some great weight had been lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe for what felt like the first time in years. His shoulders collapsed down and his eyes fell shut as a guilty smile painted his features. Spencer had never been particularly religious, but he was ready to fall to his knees and proclaim his everlasting thanks to whichever deity had looked so kindly upon him.

You watched this unschooled reaction with a sparkling interest in your eyes, dissecting his reaction intensely and waiting to speak once more. “Sorry,” he told you hoarsely, struggling to regain his composure after the relief that you had sent burning through his veins.

“Spencer, what do you want?”

Your words were clipped, wavering at the end of each syllable in a telling show of an emotion that you were trying desperately to chase away. Eyes narrowing at you, Spencer worked to discern this emotion. You lips were working oddly as you awaited his reply, twisting and pursing, and your hands were gripping one another almost desperately. You were scared, Spencer realised with a frown. “What?”

Eyes shining, you asked again. “What do you want?”

But,surely, you knew the answer to that. “You.” He told you, imploring. “I want you.”

You lifted your weight from the counter, increasing the distance between you as you hugged your arms. He chased you, this new distance scaring him, and leaned imperceptibly further over the counter between you.

You asked for further reassurance. “You do?” Eager to settle these fears of yours he pushed from the counter and moved to stand before you; no barrier left between you. You looked up at him, eyes shining with tears you were doing your best to hold back. “Even now that I’m-I’m available again?”

Eyebrows crunching together, hands smoothing over your arms, he answered with a voice strained by confusion. “You think I only wanted you because you were with someone else?” How could you think that?

Could you not feel the weight of his devotion for you? Could you not hear the way his thoughts spilled and spiralled into longing each time your eyes met? Could you not see the affection painting each subtle brush of his hand against yours?

Your hands were against his chest but he couldn’t discern whether the action were meant to keep him at bay or press affection into him. He hoped for the latter. “You never said anything, Spencer.” You told him, sending something in his heart twisting painfully. “Not until now.”

His eyes squeezed shut, emotion overwhelming him. Desperately, his grip tightened upon your arms; how could it still feel like you were slipping through his fingers? Eventually, he breathed out, “I know.”

“You keep saying that,” you almost whispered into the quiet air of your kitchen, “‘I know’” you parroted sadly. “I waited for you.” You admitted softly, one hand daring to frame his face. Sucking in a breath at the contact, your palm feeling electric against his skin, he opened his eyes to find your almost haunted gaze. “I waited for you to tell me that you- that all those things you said - that you didn’t mean them.”

Tears spilled from him now. The too perfect memories of the sharp words he had shot at you in some self-destructive haze of withdrawal playing tauntingly in his mind. In his minds eye he could still see your face crumpling, still hear your voice lowering into whispers, and still feel the sharp sting in his chest as he had turned from you. Afterwards, that night, he had indulged himself. Falling into a chemical high and chasing the feeling of increasingly fleeting serenity it had once afforded him; even then he was quickly realising that your absence was not something his habit could hide from him.

He had mostly sobered by the time Morgan had knocked on his door, sent to check on him at your request.

Shaking his head against the memories, having already agonised over them through enough sleepless nights, he tried to explain. To finally explain. “I couldn’t keep hurting you.” The words were cracked and frayed by the sadness dragging him down, but he continued through his tears. “I couldn’t stop and you were-you were getting dragged down with me.”

Thumb softly clearing the tears from his cheeks, you ignored your own pooling tears. “But you did so well. You’ve done so well.” Your second hand smoothed over his shoulder, fingertips grazing the stubbled skin of his neck. “I’m so proud of you,” you smiled sadly, “but even after you got clean… you didn’t say anything.” One of your hands left him, the skin of his cheek feeling cold and hollow at your absence, to instead rub over your streaming eyes.

“You know- we’ve got a pretty dangerous job,” you told him, with some kind of stuttered laugh as though you were attempting to lighten the heavy mood of the air but still struggling too much with your own sadness. “And- it’s so stupid- but every time I got hurt… Every time you hovered over me while I was getting patched up, all those times I would wake up in the hospital with you at my bedside… every single time I thought ‘this is it - he’ll tell me now - if he loves me he’ll tell me’.” You gave a light shake of your head, “and each time you said nothing. And, eventually , it didn’t matter what Morgan said, it didn’t matter what JJ said… because you didn’t say anything.”

The answering words struggled from him, his mouth dry as he just suddenly realised how his behaviour must have seemed to you. How could he blame you, for trying to move on, when he had left you with no proof of his devotion except heavy gazes and lingering touches? “I didn’t want to let you down,” you sighed as he spoke, head ducking as you sniffled, “I wanted to be sure and- and I wanted to tell you. I nearly did, but I was scared.” His words were tumbling into one another in his haste to get them out. “Fifty-eight percent of addicts relapse at least once in their recovery, I… I didn’t want to lose you forever.” Shaking his head, struggling to understand even his own logic looking back, he breathlessly finished with. “I thought I could keep waiting and making sure I that I wasn’t going to let you down. I was so sure we would just end up together somehow. And then - then you met someone else and… it was too late.”

“You could never lose me.” You reassured, eyes distant as they wandered over his shoulder. “I wish you had talked to me,” you told him solemnly, before returning an open gaze to him. “But I understand.”

Encouraged by these words, he softly placed his hands upon your waist - hoping you would allow him pull you closer. “I’ve loved you since our very first conversation.” Your hands slid around his neck, fingertips curling into the hair at his nape. “I loved you when we were together and I loved you for the entire year, nine months, and eleven days that I had to watch you with someone else.” His head ducked, forehead pressing against yours and gaze boring into yours. “I never stopped and I shouldn’t have waited this long to say it. I’m sorry.”

The words poured from him, a subtle whisper beneath the hammering of his heart. Please, he prayed to whoever would listen, please.

Tentatively, you tilted your face upwards. Lips parting, your eyes darted between both of his in a fearful search for deception or hesitation. Spencer knew that all you would find in his eyes was affection.

You kissed him. Your lips were slow against his, languid and perfect. The last time he had kissed you he had felt frenzied; it had been the first time he had been able to hold you in years and he hadn’t hidden the desperation that had filled him.

“I love you,” you murmured in the brief moment your lips were parted.

This kiss was different. This kiss could afford to be languid and slow; the promise of being together clarifying in the space between you.

Despite this allowance of steadiness, slowness, between you - neither one of you seemed able to ignore the rising need for more. One of your hands slipped from the back of his neck; lowering to tug meaningfully at his tie and the action sent a spiral of desire burning through him.

The guilty sinful memories of you had been ever-present in those lonely nights without you, but even they were nothing compared to the real thing. You had already freed him of his tie as his hands dipped beneath your shirt - the feel of your skin beneath his electrifying and leaving him desperate for more.

You pulled back suddenly, an unbearably salacious gasp pulling from you as he pulled you flush against him. “Spencer,” even his memory could not compare to the breathless way you whined his name, “I want you.”

The confirmation was all he needed, the enthusiasm within your words bolstering his confidence as he kissed you in reply. Spencer knew the layout of your apartment, knew how to steer the two of you to your bedroom using the shortest possible route, but he couldn’t wait that long. Your table, he knew, would likely withstand the weight of you.

Your hands upon his belt stalled completely as he pressed you against the table. Mouth still parted beneath his, you followed his silent instruction and perched upon the stained wood. Your legs fell open around him, the warmth of your body welcoming him to fill the space, and your hands returned clumsily to his belt.

Catching your hands, he stopped your attempt with a stern grip. As desperate as he was to fill you, to feel you stretched deliciously around him, he had to taste you first; taste one of the hardest sensations to recreate.

Still gripping one of your wrists he placed your palm flat against the table behind you, his mouth working down the column of your throat as you leaned back. Distractedly, you murmured; “is-is the table-“ you cut yourself off with a squeak as his hands smoothed under your skirt, fingertips tracing the silken skin of your inner thigh.

Pushing your skirt up, he dropped to his knees before you and answered. Although, you didn’t seem to concentrate on his answer as he pulled you to the edge of the table. “It’s fine,” his own voice was strained with desire, hoarse and barely recognisable as his own.

Despite the almost uncomfortable tightness of his slacks, he worked his mouth slowly down your thighs. Impatient whines poured from you but he was determined to re-write himself over every inch of you, determined to remind your body how he could make you feel.

When he finally tasted you, your hips jerked forwards as your back arched with a heady moan that Spencer could hear continually echoing in his mind. Hands now firmly clamped over your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, he worked on pulling more of those delicious sounds from you.

Your hands were tugging at his hair, nails scratching as his tongue flattened against you. The groan that escaped you reverberated sinfully in the air as your thighs tried to close around him. Easily, with the white knuckled grip he maintained on your thighs, he held them open.

You were shifting and twisting above him, desperate pleas leaving you breathless. Spencer knew he was teasing you; tongue lapping too lightly over your clit for any real progress to be made towards your orgasm, despite the jolting pleasure continually being sent through your figure.

Wickedly, he pressed his tongue flatly against your clit, providing the pressure you so desired, only to immediately return to his previous teasing. You gave a groan, a mix of pleasure and frustration infecting the sound, and tugged his hair more harshly. Mouth forced to leave you, he looked up at your hazy gaze and flushed cheeks. The smirk he gave at the sight of you, the sight of what he did to you, seemed only aggravate you more.

“Stop teasing me, Spencer.” He went to respond, mouth opening to claim innocence that he doubted he could really pull off with his head between your legs, but you cut him off sternly. “I know how fast you can make me cum, so do it.”

You loosened your grip on his hair and he complied immediately. Mouth dropping back down to your slick heat, he closed his lips around your clit whilst releasing your left thigh in favour of dipping a finger into you.

Soon a second, and then a third, finger slipped so easily inside of you; curling in an eager attempt to find that one spot inside of you that could make you fall apart. A long, low whine spilled from you as he found it. Mouth still working over your clit, he gave his own moan in response. The vibrato of the noise against your clit alongside his curling fingers sent you skittering over the edge.

Gripping your bucking hips with his free hand, he remained on his knees for you and worked over you as you rode out your high.

Even after your hips had stilled and your grip upon his hair had eased, he remained. The taste of you was unforgettable, irreplaceable, and he could ignore his own straining need if it meant he could taste more of you.

With some effort, you pulled him away. A haze had overtaken your gaze as he straightened before you and your lips were parted in the reverberations of your pleasure. You kissed him harshly, quickly, before sending your lips skittering and sucking down his neck. “Did that feel good?”

You nodded against him, giving a slurred “so good,” as you finally succeeded in removing his belt.

As you freed his erection, hand - slicked with your own juices - sliding over him and sending his head caving forwards, he managed to bite out. “No one else can make you feel this good.” The possessive twist of his words were surely not missed by you but, after all this time, you allowed him sink into his jealousy. “Only me.”

Second hand dropping to position him at your entrance, his own hands too busy tangled in your hair and gripping at your waist, you whispered huskily to him. “Nothing makes me feel like you do.” Your thighs squeezed over his hips, pulling him in, and your breath hitched as he entered you but still you whined out; “that’s why I belong to you.”

He had needed those words; this confirmation that you wanted to belong to him, wanted him to belong to you, and he surged forwards with a moan that spilled straight into your lips.

Your arm hooked around his neck whilst the other propped you up on the table behind you. Each slam of his hips against yours sent you forcefully backwards but his arm around your lower back kept pulling you back to meet him.

Part of him wanted to slow his movements, indulge himself entirely and take his time with you, but he couldn’t chase away the frenzied need to feel you and fill you and have you. All he could do was grip you harder, pull you closer, and selfishly keep you wrapped around him.

“Tell me how it feels.” He ordered, words strained by the moan that almost overtook them.

Your answering words came out almost staccato, stuttering out between whines and moans that you couldn’t suppress. “You feel,” a heavy whine interrupted the words, “god, Spencer, you make me feel so good. Don’t - ah - don’t stop.”

This desperate little plea of yours was entirely unnecessary, he really hadn’t planned to stop until you were an exhausted mess of pleasure beneath him.

As the building pressure of pleasure quickly approached crescendo, however, he vaguely reasoned that he had the entire night to send you spiralling into pleasure. He wanted to fuck you properly tonight, twisted in your bed sheets and with you squirming beneath his weight.

As his thrusts began to falter, he watched you fall apart all over again. Your mouth puckered and opened into a silent ‘oh’ and the hand holding you up all but failed. He caught you as you slumped into him, wrapping both arms around you and burying himself to the hilt as he met his own release.

You remained within the circle of his arms for a long moment, your heavy breaths heating the space between you, and he sent a distant, dazed hand stroking over your hair. You hummed into him, curling impossibly closer and his eyes fell shut. This was a moment he could bask in, this was a moment he had fantasised over for too long and now, finally, got to experience.

Your quiet words broke him from his peaceful reverie. “Will you stay tonight?”

Head turning, lips pressing against the sweat slicked skin of your temple, he answered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

——————————————————————

Morning washed lazily over the pair of you; the sunlight twinkling through hastily shut blinds and the distant sounds of traffic lulling him back into awareness.

A slight fear had overtaken him as he had fallen asleep; would you be here when he woke up? Would the events of this evening turn out to be nothing more than his ever hopeful mind playing out perfection for him in the guise of some hyper-realistic dream?

But, he could feel the comfortable weight you between his arms, smell the honeysuckle of your hair, hear the quiet murmur of your snore, and still almost taste the evidence of your repeated pleasure.

You turned lazily in his arms, sleepy eyes cracking open to find him. “Morning,” you croaked, settling heavily against your pillow.

“Morning,” he parroted you, smile obvious in his words.

Groaning, you pressed a hand against your eyes. “It’s way too early for you to be so cheerful.”

Smiling down at you, despite your closed eyes, he murmured, “I’ve wanted to wake up like this again for years,” you smiled into his words, nestling closer to him, but your eyes remained closed.

You nodded dreamily, humming some vague agreement before a light snore told him you were asleep once more.

Taglist

@jhiddles03 @halloween-is-my-nationality @givemeth @ametrine-lilymoon @justlivinginadaydream

(I think this is everyone who asked to be tagged - thank you!)

Crossed Wires

Summary: Reader is an IT tech and Spencer is a technophobe. Their paths are fated to cross.

A/N: This is a prequel to Bridge the Gap, linked below, but can be read as a stand alone! Please let me know what you think!

Bridge the Gap

MasterlistIRequests

The shrill and sudden ringing of the phone made you jump, so much so that you bashed your head on the desk you were currently crouched beneath. Abandoning the plug you had been attempting to find a spare outlet for, you clambered back to your feet and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

A tinny, nasal voice that you recognised but couldn’t quite place answered you brusquely; “one of the professors needs your help.”

“Really?” You asked, eyebrows raised as though she could see them. “It’s the first day of the semester.”

The woman sighed, “I know,” her voice dropped in volume as she spoke next and you had the distinct impression that she leaned closer to the phone as she spoke, “it’s a wonder they manage to get their pants on in the morning without help.”

You didn’t bother stifling the chortle of laughter that escaped you at that. Your closet of an office had space only for you, No would-be eavesdropper would bother to squeeze into the space just to hear you laughing at the alumni. Recovering yourself, you asked; “so-uh - what’s the problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know something about his printer I think.” There was a pause, and then; “it’s a new guy, Professor Reid? In…” you could hear fingers flying over a keyboard, “he’s in office 12C… the Criminal Science building.”

Eyebrows furrowing, attempting to mentally conjure a map of the campus, you nodded pointlessly. “Okay, I’ll head over now.”

“I’ll let him know to expect you,” she told you, before leaving you with a sarcastic “have fun.”

———————————————————————

Your internal map of the campus was a little less accurate than you would have hoped. In an embarrassing turn of events you were forced to awkwardly stop a student and ask for directions.

Ten minutes later than you would have liked, you found the office that you were looking for. For the sake of politeness, and because some of the older professors could be particularly pedantic about it, you lightly rapped your knuckles against the door before entering. “Um - hello?” You asked, awkwardly poking your head into the room.

A man, much younger than you had expected, turned sharply to face you. “Hi?” You blinked at him for a moment too long. In all honesty your brain had completely stalled. He was just… not what you were expecting at all; attractive, young, attractive, tall, attractive. You almost recovered yourself enough to talk but he soon shot a warm smile at you and your brain turned back to mush. “Can I help you?” He eventually prompted.

“Oh erm,” pulling yourself together, finally, you smoothed a hand over your clothes and answered with as much charm as you could muster; “I think I’m here to help you, actually.” The words came out a little more suggestive than you had intended but you enjoyed the immediate effect they seemed to produce.

His eyebrows raised, mouth fallen open as a nervous squeak escaped him, and you caught his eyes sweeping over your figure. “Oh?” Was all he managed to eke out before swallowing thickly.

“Your printer?” You offered.

“Oh! Oh, yes.” He straightened out his jacket as he nodded a little over-eagerly at you. “you- you’re here to help with the printer?”

Stepping a little further into the room, the door clicking softly shut behind you, you nodded. Normally, you would be a little more reserved with the professors. Waiting instead for them to invite you in, but Professor Reid’s awkward stuttering somehow put you at ease. “Yeah, that’s kinda my job.” You smiled plainly at him, and he returned the gesture in kind.

Pointing at you, he confirmed, “you’re the IT tech?”

“That’s me,” you affirmed, holding a hand out to him as you told him your name.

Placing his palms out before himself, he leaned back and away from your offered palm. “Oh, I don’t really shake hands.” His lips twisted almost apologetically, as he clasped his hands in front of himself. “It’s actually more hygienic to kiss.” Immediately his face flushed as he caught the innuendo too late and he rushed out a babbling explanation, “not that I- I didn’t mean-“

Feeling generous, you saved him with a wave of your hand. “It’s okay, I know what you meant.”

Sheepish, he nodded. From the twist of his lips you gathered that he was still internally chastising himself, but he eventually managed to introduce himself more appropriately. “I’m Dr Spencer Reid.”

For his sake, you breezed past this deliciously awkward introduction with a tone filled with professionalism. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Raising a brow, you looked to the computer tucked away, almost forgotten, in the corner. “What’s the problem?”

Eyes following yours and landing on the offending laptop, he gestured for you to move over to it. Following behind you, he explained. “I was trying to print out the handbook but… it’s not working.”

Leaning over his computer, you nodded with a crumpled brow. “That’s like a hundred pages, Dr Reid.” You looked back to him but he didn’t seem to get your point. “You know you don’t actually have to read all that, right? It’d take the whole day.”

Eyes averted to the floor he gave you a strange, almost cocky, little smirk, “I think I can manage it.”

The side of your lips twitched upwards as you gleaned some strange amusement from his words. He spoke them as though they were some inside joke with himself. It was oddly charming. From anyone else you likely would’ve condemned his tone to arrogance, but his demeanour was so open and strangely sweet that it was hard to tar him with such a brush. “Well,” you sighed, narrowing your eyes at the screen, “is there a reason you can’t just read it from here?”

You looked to him for a response and he visibly grimaced at the suggestion. “I prefer a more traditional medium.”

Raising an eyebrow, dissecting his words to find the truth, you smirked. “You and technology don’t get along, huh?”

Nodding confirmation with a laugh, he wryly replied; “we’re colleagues of necessity.”

You breathed a laugh, surprised by his quick wit but eager to experience more. “Okay,” you let out, leaning closer to the screen and immediately detecting the problem.

You wanted to laugh, you really did, but you had the decency to provide him his explanation first. Biting your lip, in an almost fruitless attempt to hide the amused smile pulling at your features, you turned back to face him.

His eyes widened at the sight of you. His gaze unsure whether to settle heavily on your bitten lip or respectfully on your eyes. In the end his gaze settled somewhere in the middle. A cough fell from him before he managed to ask; “what’s the problem?”

“How many times have you tried to print this?”

The corner of his eyes crinkling, he cryptically answered, “a few.”

You giggled helplessly, spurring an answering laughter from him that was interspersed with his continued questioning, “what did I do?”

Recovering yourself, you conspiratorially leaned in closer, whispering the answer to him. “You’ve sent them to print in Professor Friedman’s office. He’s a couple doors down.” A giggle interrupted your explanation, “so he’s probably got a hundred copies of that handbook printing out and no idea why.”

“Oh,” he gave, turning quickly to look at the door, as though Friedman himself were about to burst through demanding an explanation. “That’s not… ideal.”

“No,” you agreed. When you held his attention once more, you asked; “do you want me to show you how to do it right or… shall I just do it for you?”

His lips twisted and a husky laugh escaped him. That was answer enough.

“I’ll just do it for you.”

A few clicks later and his own printer had hummed into action, spitting out paper rather slowly. The pair of you watched the whirring machine for longer than was likely necessary. Every now and then it seemed Dr Reid was about to speak, face turned to you and lips parting, but each time his attempt stalled.

After the silence had stretched just a little too long, none of his attempts coming to fruition, you sighed and turned to him. Your tone was less than enthused. “Well, I guess I better get going.”

His eyebrows rose as though surprised at this turn of events where you were not able to loiter with him in his office all day. “Oh- of course…” he gestured to the door and kindly opened it for you, “I - uh-“ you were quite thrilled, really, at how flustered he was getting. This excitement dulled just slightly when he seemingly gave up on what he had been trying to say and settled instead on; “thank you.”

Stepping across the threshold of the door, you turned back to him. “Anytime, Dr Reid.”

“Spencer, call me Spencer.”

Grinning, sure a telling blush was painted over your cheeks, you affirmed. “Spencer it is.”

“There you are!” Came a booming voice from down the hall. Turning to look, your eyes widened at the sight of Professor Friedman barrelling down the hall towards you. “I’ve been calling your line for half an hour! My printer has been hijacked! It’s printing dozens of copies of some kind of handbook and it’s still going!“

Taking a deep breath, you nodded with a polite yet tight smile. “Of course, Friedman, I-“

Sternly, he interjected with an arrogant correction; “Professor Friedman, thank you.”

Spencer cut in, surprising both you and Friedman, before you could even think to apologise. “You know, I read an interesting article recently about individuals who obsess over the use of their proper titles. Especially within inappropriate social contexts,” the glint within his eye as he snuck his gaze over to meet yours was almost playful. “Apparently,” he prefaced dramatically, “the obsession with the formality is deeply rooted in a collection of physical, mental, and sexual inadequacies.”

You choked on your laugh, desperately trying to conceal your peals of laughter with unconvincing coughs. Professor Friedman said nothing, seemingly entirely blindsided and unsure how to even respond without seeming as though he were protesting a little too much against the subtle accusation.

Still fighting back your laughter, words coming out markedly more uneven than usual, you said; “That’s very interesting, Dr Reid.”

Smiling down at you, gaze filled with this secret victory the pair of you were sharing, he answered quickly. “Oh, please call me Spencer.” After a sly glance at Friedman beside him, who still looked as though he were picking through Spencer’s quick words in search of a viable response, he continued, “I’m not worried about formality.”

God, he was going to kill you.

Your face was burning hot with the effort of containing your laughter and you couldn’t even look Spencer in the eye anymore; the amused sparkle in his chocolate eyes surely enough to send you tipping over the edge into joyful hysteria.

“Well,” Friedman eventually let out, grimly, “I will wait for you in my office.” He nodded to you before sending a disdainful look of annoyance towards Spencer who, to his credit, did not seem affected in the slightest. “It was… interesting to meet you, Dr Reid.”

Spencer nodded in response, already turning to look at you as Friedman hurried away.

You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. Hurried hands pushed Spencer backwards and into his office, the door swinging shut behind you, and you entirely broke down into a fit of giggles.

You vaguely hoped the office door was enough to keep your raucous laughter from reaching Friedman’s ears but you weren’t especially concerned enough to stop. At one point you had successfully recovered yourself but, one shared glance with Spencer, and the both of you were sent spiralling once more into laughter.

Eventually, you managed to huff out; “is that- is that even true?”

Almost cheekily, he grinned with a shrug. “Not exactly.”

Straightening, having hunched over in the depths of your laughter, you wiped the tears from your eyes. “Oh god,” Spencer was still looking at you. Now that your laughter had subsided to a more reasonable level, you realised how strangely intense his attention upon you was; he was looking at you as though you were some fascinating specimen whose every move deserved his rapt attention. “That was so funny.” You eked out.

Eyes now focused on your shoes, feeling shy under his attention, you mused. “I’ve gotta go help him now, how am I supposed to look at him without laughing?”

He laughed breezily, “sorry.” Looking back up, you found his head ducked and his right hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, don’t be,” you assured lightly, a wave of your hand dismissing the apology, “that was amazing.”

He nodded, lips twisting as he shoved nervous hands into his pocket. “Good,” he told you, resolute. “I- uh- I hope to see you around?“

Hand settled on the silver door handle, ready to face Friedman with an extra spring in your step, you agreed. “Yeah, you too.”

As you walked away and down the hallway, following the sound of Friedman’s poor overworked printer and the aggrieved grumblings of the man himself, you found yourself hoping Spencer’s technology would fail him again soon.

As though the gods themselves were listening, or perhaps just because technology really did hate Spencer, the very next day you were called to fix his email.

Pressure

Summary: It’s your birthday and Spencer has a special gift for you. Despite multiple attempts, he struggles to find the perfect time to present it to you.

A/N: Slight warning for very slight mentions of blood - just a smallish cut. Let me know what you think!

Part Two

Masterlist|Requests

Your birthday was often a strange event, as were those of the entire BAU you supposed. Last year you and the team had been chasing an unsub with a penchant for collecting fingernails around Seattle and the year before had been spent liaising with the LAPD to catch a serial arsonist. It was safe to say, that this year your expectations were a little low; you were hoping for a fun drink or two with your colleagues but little else other than a full night’s sleep.

It was surprising, then, and really quite nice that you were not miles from home; for once, there had been no invitations from far away states and you and the team were merely completing paperwork. It wasn’t the most exciting thing you could be doing for your birthday, that was for sure, but you were too used to the wrong kind of excitement to care.

The clack of wheels drew your attention from the wordy document you were currently poring over. “Hey,” you greeted, a warm smile gracing your lips as you looked at Spencer. “You come to help out?” You asked, lifting your pile of yet unfinished paperwork into his eye-line.

Almost shyly, his eyes averted from yours - darting first to his wringing hands before landing on the closed door of Hotch’s office. “I’m kidding,” you gave him, cutting him off before he could awkwardly tell you that it was against some kind of rule.

Relieved he nodded with a chuckle. Spencer, in general, seemed a nervous individual. Although you always considered skittish a better word for him. His social confidence had more than improved over the years, but there were plenty of things - just like anyone else, you supposed - that still melted him back into nervousness. His show of nervousness now, therefore, was nothing particularly new. Why he was so nervous in this very moment, however, you couldn’t quite pin down.

Eyes darting down to his hands, gripping a neat parcel in his lap, you raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Own eyes jumping down to it, he stammered over a response but never quite got the words out. Garcia interrupted him before he could muster a full sentence, announcing her sudden presence with a stream of glitter and confetti pooled upon your desk. “Oh wow,” you tried to enthusiastically exclaim as she also tossed some confetti in a way that ensured it landed in your hair.

“Happy birthday!” She all but squealed as you shook your hair out.

A wry smile overtaking you, appreciating the thoughtfulness if not the gesture itself, you nodded up at her. “Er Thanks, Garcia.”

You and Spencer both leaned back as a large bouquet of flowers was heavily placed on your desk. The smell, while pleasant, was a little overwhelming. As Spencer tried to subtly cough beside you, you grinned at the flowers. There was no question that Garcia had chosen them herself; the petals were a wonderfully soft pink but the most obvious clue was the somewhat garish addition of roses that had been sprayed with gold glitter.

Moving the large vase to the corner of your desk, the flowers still overtaking the majority of the space, you thanked her. “They’re really… something.”

She beamed, not catching the amused glance you shared with Spencer, and waved a hand. “Oh it’s nothing,” leaning in to sniff one of the pink flowers, she continued. “I know you’re not a big birthday kinda person but you absolutely cannot expect me to ignore such a big day!”

Placating her enthusiasm, you stood to make a show of smelling the pungent floral fragrance. “They’re lovely, really, thank you.”

She somehow beamed a little brighter and, gripping your hand and tottering in her heels slightly with excitement, she pulled you alongside her. “There’s more!”

Gracelessly falling after her, you turned your head to shoot a wide eyed grin to Spencer who returned the gesture with a warm gaze of his own.

———————————————————————

Fingers tapping against the carefully wrapped parcel in his lap, Spencer watched you go. A little wave of disappointment crested over him but was overshadowed by what he knew would be short-lived relief. There was both an excitement and fear tied with the gift he was hoping to give you; his ever busy mind harassing him with constant questions of whether he had interpreted your behaviour objectively enough, of whether he was about to ruin your friendship forever, and more importantly whether you would understand the meaning of the gift regardless.

Somehow, he had managed to cut through that whitenoise of uncertainty and follow Morgan’s advice; “they’re being awfully patient with you but I’m telling you now, thats not gonna last forever. You better make a move sometime this century.”

The gift would be his quiet, subdued confession; one more than overdue but still nerve wracking. He loved you and in his own, perhaps cowardly, way he would tell you with this gift. That is, if he were able to ever actually give it to you.

Watching you go had therefore been disappointing but the feeling had been immediately salved as you looked back at him. The look felt like a secret, a glance shared between the two of you like whispered gossip; your thoughts conveyed perfectly only to him with such a simple gesture.

With markedly less enthusiasm, he wheeled his chair back to his own desk, deposited the gift back into his drawer, and stood to join the party now happening in the round table room.

———————————————————————

An hour and a half later, the expanse of time that Hotch was willing and able to put aside for non-work related activity, the party was reaching its close. Spencer admittedly had not been to a great many parties, but he was sure their impromptu gathering could not be accurately defined as one. Still, you seemed to enjoy it; laughing animatedly with JJ as she made some joke he couldn’t quite understand and happily licking the butter icing from the top of your birthday cupcake. The latter action sent an almost audibly sputtered breath from him as his eyes caught sight of your lapping tongue. Things only worsened when Morgan pointed out the icing smeared over your lips. In a single swipe you collected all the icing on the tip of your pointer finger and proceeded to salaciously suck the finger clean. Although, he was certain he were the only one in the room deriving such guilty pleasure from the objectively normal action. When it came to you his thoughts often derailed into either hopeless romance or crimson desire.

Normal work set in quite quickly after that. The usual routine of the office a little lighter after the celebration but the tasks still menial despite the ease Spencer found in them. Even as he flipped through the pages of his last folder, eyes zipping down the last page, he couldn’t prevent a small portion of his attention sticking fast to the gift he was yet to give you. Time was ticking by and he felt that if he didn’t do it today, he would never work up the courage again.

You were at your desk, your hunched figure almost framed by the dramatic floral arrangement still upon your desk. Hand resting upon the gift, as though the item would somehow bestow him confidence, Spencer methodically formulated a plan. He wondered if maybe he should approach under some other guise, add some forced casualness into the giving of his gift, but he couldn’t conceive of a viable option.

He considered making you a coffee, a splash of milk and one and a half sugars just as you liked, but it was past four pm. You never drank coffee after two pm, even when you were miles from home on a case filled with late nights. It was some unspoken rule of yours that he had never seen you break.

He considered bringing a file over to you and asking for help. That ruse would be see through, however. He had never asked you for help before and the mere prospect that he wouldn’t have finished by now would certainly either cause you great suspicion that he was up to something or inspire concern in you that something had happened to his brain.

His lips twitched and fingers drummed against his desk as he considered his options. It seemed, much to his chagrin, that he would simply have to approach you guiseless.

Something Spencer’s wandering mind had somehow not noticed, however, is that in all the time he had been considering his options his eyes had been fixed on you. It was little surprise, really, his gaze found you so often it was likely his eyes naturally rested upon you at this point. Unfortunately, the passive attention had not gone unnoticed. Your lips forming his forename pricked his ears and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

Focusing more intently on you, he leaned towards your desk with a question. “Sorry, what was that?”

You didn’t answer immediately, eyes wandering over his figure in some kind of assessment of his faculties. Eyebrows crinkling together when you rematched his gaze, you stood and moved closer to him. “You okay?” He nodded quietly, swallowing thickly as you stood over him. “You seem a little… lost in thought.”

Gaze dropping from you momentarily, he looked to the gift still beneath his palm. It truly was now or never. He opened his mouth to speak, lifted his hand to offer the parcel to you, but was cut off by a loud and sudden yowl from the kitchenette. The pair of you turned your heads in tandem, the yell so full of anguish it was impossible to resist, the gift hovering between you yet to be accepted.

The source of the yell was Morgan. The man was cradling his right hand as he leaned heavily against the sideboard, pain apparent on his features and continued groans escaping him.

Neither of you moved right away, assessing the situation as best you could from afar but when crimson began leaking from his clenched hand you took off with a muttered curse. Depositing the gift back upon his desk, Spencer quickly sprang from his desk to follow you.

———————————————————————

“Morgan, what happened?!” You asked, voice high pitched and frantic, as you pried his clenched fist open. A large cut was sliced across his palm and as the pressure of his fingers lifted the gory mess worsened dramatically. “Reid, hand me that paper towel.”

“Got it,” came Spencer’s reply beside you. You raised a grateful glance to him as you took the paper towel before concentrating on your task. Pressing the towel over the cut, you encouraged Morgan to use his other hand to apply significant pressure.

“Look in the sink,” Morgan gave eventually, by way of explanation. Peering into the murky depths of the overfilled sink you raised an eyebrow.

Spencer voiced the question on your mind. “I don’t see anything?”

With a huff, Morgan nodded, “exactly.” Nodding to the sink, he continued; “someone,” he stressed the word as though he knew exactly who that someone was, “left a knife in there despite me telling her every week how dangerous it is.”

Spencer grimaced at the sight of blood seeping through the paper towel and leaned closer with crinkled eyebrows. “Let me see,” he requested, frown deepening as he inspected the wound. “You’re going to need stitches,” he asserted, much to Morgan’s clear disappointment.

Morgan looked to you as though in search of a second opinion, you merely shrugged. “I’m not gonna argue with the doctor.”

Spencer gave you a little smirk. A few months ago he might have reminded you that he wasn’t actually a medical doctor but it seemed he knew you well enough by now to recognise the joke.

“I’ll take you,” you offered Morgan with a sigh, already fishing for your keys in your jacket pocket.

Spencer’s voice stilled you. “I can do it,” looking to him, you raised your eyebrows in silent question at this strangely sweet gesture. “It’s your birthday,” he pointed out needlessly, “and there’s only seventeen minutes left to work; you’re going out for drinks tonight,” you nodded in a confirmation of this fact that he didn’t really need. “enjoy your birthday, you don’t get to very often.”

A smile lifted your lips even as you felt guilt wash over you at the prospect of letting Spencer deal with this. Considering, you chewed your lip. Your lengthy consideration, however, seemed to take a little too much time for Morgan. “I’m about to bleed out over here,” you rolled your eyes dramatically at him.

“Are you sure?” You asked, attention back on Spencer, shifting in your heels in premature excitement.

“Absolutely,” he told you, resolute.

You squealed with excitement and, overcome with gratitude, sprang forward to hug the man. He responded with a surprised “oh” alongside an almost nervous chuckle.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back but still smiling up at him. The pair of you remained like that, smiling dumbly at each other, for perhaps a moment too long.

Morgan straightened and interrupted the moment with a clear of his throat. When he had gained your attention, he told you with a smile; “happy birthday, really, but my hand is gonna fall off if we don’t go soon.”

“That’s highly doubtful,” Spencer began, almost looking affronted by the outlandish suggestion, “for your hand to ‘fall off’ it would be necessary to cut through several layers of skin and muscle. Plus-“

“Reid, let’s go.”

Remembering himself, Spencer blinked rapidly a few times before nodding like a bobble head, wishing you a last farewell, and rushing off after Morgan.

Watching the pair disappear you sighed, hands wrapping around your elbows. A strange disappointment that you couldn’t quite place had overtaken you as they had left. Pulling yourself together, wanting to feel nothing but positive on your birthday, you turned your attention to the kitchen.

You cleaned up as best you could, wiping down the surfaces and carefully extracting the offending knife from the sink before draining the ruby tinged water. Within ten minutes the kitchen looked as though nothing untoward had occurred; a miracle really, considering the surprising amount of blood Morgan had produced.

With little time left until you were free to enjoy your birthday to the max, you meandered back to your desk. On the way, the forgotten parcel upon Spencer’s desk caught your attention. Changing trajectory, you stopped at his desk and delicately fiddled with the tag of the gift. Your name was scrawled upon it in Spencer’s familiar, somewhat scruffy, handwriting.

Would it be considered rude for you to take the gift and open it? After all it was clearly meant for you and he had already attempted to deliver the gift himself.

This ‘consideration’ was merely surface level; the gift was in fact already sitting upon your own desk being less than delicately unwrapped by your impatient fingers.

Slowly, a book was revealed. As you turned the tome over a gorgeous floral illustration met your gaze. Running your fingers over the somewhat raised golden lettering, you read the title; “The Secret Language of Florists.”

A few months ago you had been entirely floored to learn the secret messages that could be sent using nothing but a well designed floral bouquet. You could hardly remember what had been the catalyst for the conversation, perhaps one of the BAU’s many unusual cases, but you had been strangely fascinated by the entire concept. A sprig of purple heather to wish the recipient good luck, for example. And, your personal favourite, the inclusion of a single white daisy as a silent vow to keep a secret.

There were so many more that Spencer had entertained you with, but they had fallen from your mind amongst the plethora of white noise that daily life forced upon you.

Excited by this gift, you turned to the first page. Between the cover and the first page, a pressed flower delicately sat; it’s rich red petals striking against the ivory white of the page. As you lifted the flower, wishing to admire its preserved beauty, you inadvertently revealed more of Spencer’s scrawled handwriting upon the page.

A message from me to you.

You grinned widely to yourself, shifting so excitably in your seat that anyone watching would think you were attempting some strange dance. So, the flower was a message - one the book could help you decipher the meaning of. Feeling like a spy deciphering this secret encoded message, you looked to the flower.

Even in its flattened state the flower was clearly a chrysanthemum. Taking care not to tear any pages in your excitement, you found the double page spread devoted to the flower. An illustrated yellow chrysanthemum decorated the middle of the page, providing confirmation that you had been correct in your initial assessment, and you skimmed through the surrounding words.

White chrysanthemums were symbols of truth, apparently, but you skipped past the rest of the explanation to find the meaning behind your red chrysanthemum. As you read the words, you brought the flower close to your chest. Your lips broadened into a giddy grin and your heart felt as though it may burst with sudden fullness.

A red chrysanthemum, very simply, means ‘I love you’.

Gezellig

Summary: After a bad few days, where stress has caught up with you, your boyfriend Spencer provides words of comfort.

A/N: Tried to make the stress very non-specific so everyone could be comforted by Spencer! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist|Requests

There were often days, weeks, or months where the world felt rallied against you. It was a certainty, you were absolutely sure, that everyone experienced such targeted difficulty. Today, however, the world seemed so unfair and built up against you that it was hard to take comfort in that knowledge.

Your shoes scraped against every step as you clambered up the stairs to your boyfriend’s apartment, feet feeling so heavy it was hard to fully lift them between steps. Your hand slid along the railing, gripping the solid wood in an attempt to pull yourself up the mountain of stairs. It took an age, but eventually you reached the top step.

Heaving a deep breath, attempting to quell the storm of negativity within, you plastered a smile onto your lips. Shoulders set, expression schooled, you moved to his door and rapped your knuckles against the wood. You heard him yell through the door, indicating he was coming, and the excitement in his tone pulled a peal of happiness from you. If anything could make you feel better today, it was definitely going to be Spencer.

The door opened quickly and you were greeted with an almost goofy grin as he struggled with his over-large coat. “You ready to go?”

Trying to mirror his enthusiasm, but likely failing spectacularly, you nodded quickly even as your eyes darted to the floor. Had you been looking up to him you would have noticed the crinkle between his eyebrows as he looked over you; the gaze that swept over everything from your slumped shoulders to your wringing hands. You would have seen the stilling of his hands as a deep concern etched upon his features.

His voice pulled your gaze back to his, “I - uh - I just need to grab something,” he gestured back into his apartment with his thumb and stepped aside to allow you pass, “do you want to come in?”

“Sure,” you assented, moving past him and into the familiar space. His apartment was so cozy, comforting. Everything about it was so familiar, so very Spencer, that a small relief warmed through you.

“Is everything okay?” You started at his sudden question, having thought he had disappeared to locate whatever he had needed to grab.

“Uh-“ your mouth hung open as you looked at him in slow surprise. Blinking rapidly, you finally nodded; “yeah.” The word was so obviously a lie that it was doubtful your profiler of a partner would miss it.

Kindly, instead of calling you out on the clear mistruth, he stepped closer and lowered his tone. “It’s just, usually you aren’t on time.” A small upturn of your lips met that, an action that encouraged him continue. “On average you tend to be seven minutes and thirteen seconds late. Your lateness is always because you stopped to get coffee from your favourite shop, but you’re both on time and you didn’t stop for coffee?”

You kicked your feet against his floor, a rueful expression overtaking you. “Guess I can’t hide anything from a profiler, huh?”

Your careless response did not appear to appease his concern. He gave you a smile, one that didn’t quite crinkle his eyes, and stepped closer. Wringing his hands together, he paused for a considering moment before asking another question. “You’re not feeling great?”

It was less a question, more a statement. Spencer, of course, knew the stresses that had been piling upon you recently; he had been your shoulder to cry on through it all. So far, however, you had managed to hold it together pretty well. But, today, the line between coping and crying felt just a bit too thin.

Giving up on any pretence of pretending everything was fine, you took the few steps separating the pair of you and wrapped your arms around him. Not only was it pointless to hide your feelings from your boyfriend who literally studied behaviour for a living, you also didn’t want to. When you were young you had thought sharing your feelings of stress and difficulty a sign of weakness. Now, wrapped up in Spencer, you knew that there was no weakness in relying on someone. Especially when that someone loved you like he did.

You only noticed your tears when you tried to speak - the hoarseness of your throat warning you of the wetness of your cheeks. “It’s all catching up with me.” You croaked out.

A hand was smoothing soothing circles over your back whilst he leant his cheek upon your temple. “It’s okay,” he told you quietly, letting the warmth of his arms calm you before he gave you words that sent relief coursing through you. “We can stay in tonight?”

That sounded perfect to you, but a guilt still crept over you. “Spencer, you’ve wanted to go to this place for like… forever.” It was true, he had given you more information about this particular planetarium over the last two months than you thought possible and you couldn’t take away his chance to go.

Pulling back to look down at you, warm hands rubbing over your arms, he laughed. “It’ll be open next week, we can go then.” The sincerity and sweetness of this gesture overwhelmed you and your lip trembled as you held back fresh tears. Apparently recognising this latest emotion bomb, he quickly made you laugh with an attempted joke that wasn’t really funny at all. “If we stay in and- and look out the window,” he began gesturing vaguely to the window in question, “it’ll be like we’re in a terrarium instead.”

It wasn’t funny, not even slightly, and you could tell he didn’t think so either. But, you smiled through quiet tears and responded in kind; “the opposite of a planetarium.”

Lips quirking up, he squeezed your arms once before steering you onto his sofa. Melting into the soft upholstery, you hummed at the relief of changed plans. You loved exploring new places with Spencer, he was like your own personal tour guide wherever you ventured, but an evening in the familiar confines of his home was often unbeatable.

Spencer didn’t join you right away, moving to his kitchen and clanging about as you settled into comfort. Eyes dropping shut, you let your head fall back against the pillows and tried your best to relax the tense set of your shoulders. Spencer’s softer footsteps, his shoes now discarded likely beside the door, alerted you to his reappearance. Cracking a single eye open you broke into a smile as he handed you a mug. Steam rolled from the mug in curling waves, the vapour filling your nose with the pleasant sweetness of cocoa and you thanked him immediately. “How is it you always know how to make me feel better?”

Smiling warmly down to you, he quipped an answer that did raise a chuckle from your downturned lips. “Simple mathematics.” He paired the statement with wiggling fingers as though he had just finished some spectacular magic trick; the motion warmed you almost as much as the mug you clutched.

Patting the spot next to you, you sidled closer to him as he took direction and settled beside you. Sending a slow, cooling breath over the scalding contents of the mug, you quirked a brow at him. “Math? How does that work?”

Cupping his own mug between his hands, the small ceramic surface almost entirely disappearing beneath his grip, he settled back as he explained. “Well, over the time that we’ve known each other I’ve gathered ‘data’ about your likes and dislikes.” You twisted in your seat as he explained, letting your back rest against the arm of his sofa to allow you watch him entirely. “Over time I’ve noticed what makes you happy when you’re feeling down - it’s different depending on what’s upset you.” He lowered one hand to rest warmly over your ankle as you stretched your feet onto his lap. “Today, I knew you were feeling overwhelmed so it was a reasonable estimate that you would want to stay home.”

You sunk further into the sofa and nodded. Your returning words were caught in your throat at the fact that he had referred to his apartment as your home; a pleasant flutter of your heart meeting the sentiment. Home. it felt right. When you untangled your tongue, the giddiness still tinged your words. “In short,” you started, daring to sip the still steaming liquid before you finished, “you pay attention.”

Squeezing your ankle, he gave a hearty laugh and a sheepish nod in response. A comfortable silence settled over the pair of you then, only the cautious slurping sips of hot chocolate punctuated the pleasant companionship of quiet.

When you had drained your mug, the drink spreading a pleasant warmth through your chest, you shifted position again. Carefully, you moved your feet - aware his mug was still half full - and shifted to lean into his chest. Subtly, he shifted his own position to provide you with greater comfort. Head now leant against his chest, you smiled at the steady rhythm of his heart. “Spencer?” you asked, enjoying the way your voice seemed almost muted in the still air.

“Yeah?” His hand dropped lightly onto your hair, smoothing over it before his fingertips rubbed light circles over your temples.

“Tell me something.” You murmured, eyes falling closed against his ministrations. “Something fascinating like you always do.“

Fingertips not stalling against your request, his mind too quick to stutter, he quickly responded. “You know,” he began musingly, tone suggestive of a wandering mind, “the English language lacks quite a few adjectives.”

“Like what?” You asked, gaze settled on his features as your fingertips toyed with his shirt.

His gaze roamed over the window, the rain now battering the pane of glass more dramatically, and his lips quirked up at the edges. Looking down at you, eyes warm upon you, he murmured an unfamiliar word in the space between you. “Gluggavedur,” you raised your eyebrows in silent question, “it’s the comfort of watching bad weather from a window.”

You smiled and turned your gaze to the window. Under your breath you repeated the word, your pronunciation shaky at best, and nodded in some kind of agreement. “I like that,” you told him, tone low to match his. “Do you know any more?”

An arm curled around you, pulling you closer and you buried yourself further into his side. “Gezellig,” he told you, the word unusual to your ears but sounding sweet in his timbre.

You waited in the warm silence for him to elaborate but he seemed almost shy to. Eventually, curiosity pushed you to ask, “what does that mean?”

Head tilting, his cheek coming to rest against the crown of your head, he breathed a slow sigh before responding. “It’s the comfort of coziness with someone you love.”

The words registered in your mind, a cozy warmth spreading from your chest to the very tips of your toes. You had never considered that specific type of comfort before. He was right, unsurprisingly, there was a specific type of comfort that curled around you when you were with someone you loved. When you were with him.

Your eyes drifted back from the window to his features. His head shifted at your movement and caramel eyes met yours. Hand delicately tracing from his chest to his cheek, you moved up to softly press your lips against his. The kiss was hoped to press your gratitude into him. You pulled away, only very slightly, and whispered a response. “I like that one the most.”

He smiled down at you, a relief washing over his features as he watched the stress melt from you. “Thank you,” you murmured to him in the cozy air between you.

“For what?” He asked, genuinely unsure. How could he not know how grateful you were for every little thing he did for you?

Shaking your head lightly at his question, at the confused crinkle between his eyebrows, you kissed him again. Your stresses still existed, some problems couldn’t be solved in a day, but in this sweet moment with him the burden seemed a little less heavy

Small Gestures - Part 2

Summary: You and Spencer continue your subtle back and forth over a few days. The weather, of all things, brings the tension between you to a boiling point. Trying to keep your flirtations quiet from a team of profilers is not as simple as you had hoped.

A/N: I think there will be a part 3 of this so please let me know if you’re interested! I can’t reply to comments because this is not my primary account (tumblr is weird) but I read them all, hence this part 2!

Part One|Part Three|Masterlist

The weather had finally broken. A humidity remained but the rain barrelling against the windows of the car cooled the environment well enough. The downside of this sudden torrential downpour, however, was that you had just arrived back at the police station and you needed to head inside. The parking directly outside of the station was seemingly reserved for low-level deputies and you had been forced to park across the street. Peering out into the street through the fogged window, you grit your teeth. There seemed to be a river between you and your destination.

“I love my job,” you grumbled to yourself as you clicked the door open. The roar of the rain became almost overwhelming as you opened the door against it. Before you had even taken a step down onto the pavement you could feel your clothes sticking fast to your slicked skin, soaking through every layer in a matter of moments. The sound of your rushed steps towards the station were entirely drowned out by the hammering of the rain and you couldn’t even hear your own voice cursing against the stubbornness of the heavy front door.

The door swung shut behind you, allowing the more subtle sound of your soaked clothes drip-drip dripping against the linoleum floor to invade your ears. The noise an unnecessary reminder of how soaked through you were. You took a few steps into the building and cringed against the sound of your horribly squeaking shoes. Even your leather boots had not endured the downpour, wet toes wiggling in sodden socks.

You stopped mid-step and took a second to feel entirely sorry for yourself.

Frowning down at your, likely ruined, shoes you bent to unzip them. The combination of the wet floor, that you had so carelessly been the cause of, and your general lack of anything resembling balance became a deadly combination. You tottered to the side almost immediately, left arm shooting up in a fruitless attempt to correct yourself and you grimaced as you felt yourself begin to tip entirely to the side.

“Woah,” a pair of hands narrowly kept you from whacking your head on the side of a desk. As you let the hands right you, you sighed a grateful thanks before looking up to identify your saviour. Warm eyes met yours, in sharp contrast to the stinging chill of the rain that clung to you, and Spencer took care to not remove his hands. As much as the warmth of them did prevent you from shivering, the already thin fabric of your shirt seemed to provide no barrier between his large hand and your bare skin. The feeling inspired a need within you to find out what his hands would feel like touching you somewhere else, everywhere else.

You shivered visibly. Spencer, thankfully, seemed to attribute this motion to your current condition but truthfully you felt so suddenly warm that you barely noticed the cold press of your clothes. “Are you okay?” He asked hastily, full of an earnest concern that sent your lips twitching upwards. “You’re-“ he cut himself off instantly as his eyes dropped to your figure. Tongue swiping over his lips, he hurried out a word that likely hadn’t been his original intention; “wet.” His voice had dropped an octave from one word to the next, a raspy nature to his tone that you had never had the pleasure of hearing before, and his gaze jumped back up to yours almost guiltily.

The white shirt you had worn had, in fact, originally been for his benefit. Pairing it with a lacy black bra that you had hoped would provide him with distraction whenever you happened to be in the right lighting had been your more modest plan of action. It had worked, delectably well, and you were certain he knew that it had been purposeful.

After the third instance of catching his eyes on your figure, lips parted ever so slightly in an almost awestruck manner, he had started an assault of his own. A large palm on the small of your back as he moved past you, beckoning you over to him with a pair of crooked fingers, and even licking his thumb and forefinger before leafing through papers. Matching your gaze in silent challenge each time, of course.

But, now, the rain had seemingly decided the subtlety of the last few days should come to an end. The fabric of your shirt was now almost entirely see through, the fabric clinging to your figure in a way that Spencer clearly appreciated if the tightening of his hands upon your arms was any indication.

The frustration he had built in you over the past few days injected a boldness into your next actions. Dropping your chin slightly, you looked up at him through batting lashes, and murmured your response. “Mhm,” you assented, “I’m wet all over.”

A noise caught in his throat at your obvious implication, hand clenching and unclenching on your arm as his lips fumbled and struggled over a response he never managed to give. Before his lips could form the words he had worked so hard to find, his eyes left you completely and followed the movement of someone else.

Recognising that one of the few things that could pull his attention so entirely from you was somebody else looking at you the same way hehad been, you followed his gaze with an aggravated curiosity. Sure enough, an officer you had not even been introduced to had more than noticed the nature of your shirt. Quickly, he shrunk beneath yours and the doctor’s less than impressed attention and hurried off chastened.

Standing up straighter, Spencer moved closer to you and his eyes darted over the room to ensure that hiswas the only rapt attention upon you. You almost had to take a step back at how close he got to you, trying desperately to stifle the giggle that filled you as you realised he was trying to somehow hide you from sight with his own body. Looking down at you, expression lightening as he noted the breathless chuckle you didn’t manage to quash, he quickly asked; “do you have a change of clothes?”

Shaking your head no, you watched as he stepped back and fiddled with the hem of his sweater. Realising immediately what he was planning to do, and doubting entirely that you could physically handle being engulfed by the warmth of an item of his clothing, you immediately put your hands over his to halt him. “Reid, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to do that.”

Caramel eyes darting over your head in another sweeping check of the room, he shook his head and continued his pursuit of undressing. “It’s fine really,” the next words were muffled as the garment caught awkwardly over his head, “I don’t want you to get cold.”

You let your eyes sweep appraisingly over his lithe figure, watching him shift and move with an almost rapt fascination as he struggled, knowing those eyes stood no chance of catching you. Eventually, you moved forward to help him with gentle hands. “Let me help.”

The pair of you, working together, managed to free him. The garment was bundled in one of his large hands and he held it out for you to take. “Really it’s fine, my clothes will dry.” You half-heartedly rejected his offer, wondering if you could get him to admit the main reason he wanted to swaddle you in his sweater.

As much as you were usually able to fluster the words straight out of Spencer’s mind, this time he was surprisingly apt at holding it together. A testament to how much he wanted to ensure his welcomed gaze was the onlyone you received. “Actually, the wetness of your clothes can drop your body temperature as much as three degrees.” There was something so charming about his tone of voice when he fell into an explanation like this. Something so charming, in fact, that you took the sweater from his hand. “That might not seem like much but even the drop of a single degree can cause your body severe distress. You know most people don’t even realise it but it only takes an internal temperature drop of two degrees to cause hypothermia.”

“Huh, I didn’t know that.” Came your equally intelligent reply, your statement half muffled as you pulled the garment over your head. “You’ve convinced me, doc.”

In all of your attempts to fluster the man, all of your flirtatious looks and touches, you could never have predicted the incredible effect that the mere sight of you in his clothes would produce. There was something different in his response to you now though, instead of an intense heat behind his eyes there was something pure and joyful in his gaze. A true smile pulled his lips up, not like the smirks and grins you had earned before, his eyes crinkling in the corners with the motion.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under this new type of gaze, you pulled your hands beneath the overlong sleeves of his sweater. “Better?” You asked, sudden shyness casting your eyes to your shifting feet before you forced them back up.

Unfortunately, his likely charming response was cut off by JJ’s approaching voice. “Hey, Spence,” she started, dragging your attention from each other as she came to a stop beside the pair of you, “Hotch wanted…” she trailed off as she noticed your state of dress. Eyebrows raising as she surveyed you, she could barely fight the smirk from her face. “What happened here?”

For the life of you, you couldn’t come up with the reasonable version of the events that had led to this. It wasall perfectly reasonable in reality, but somehow it still felt too salacious to share with someone else, and you stuttered through your reply.

Ever your hero, Spencer saved you from having to answer. “What did Hotch want?” He less than subtly redirected.

Flashing him the most grateful expression you could subtly muster, you pulled the collar of his sweater over your chin as you ducked your head. JJ didn’t seem to notice your expression, separating a stack of papers from the pile in her hands, but Spencer did. Again, there was a crinkle in the corner of his eyes as he smiled down at you – the papers JJ was trying to press into his hands ignored to the point that they almost fluttered to the floor in a messy pile. JJ caught them at the last minute, sending a huffing glance to the man as she pushed them more securely into his hands.

“Sorry,” he muttered, before looking to the papers with increasing interest. “I- uh- I’m gonna take a look at this?” He almost asked, looking at you as though for permission before rushing off as you nodded with a shrug,

You watched him go, nearly running into a detective as he kept his eyes on the paper, with a smile softening your features before JJ stepped into your line of sight. A smirk pulled her lips up as she looked over you with arched brows, “I need to know the story behind this.” Alongside her request, she pointedly waved her hands over your figure.

Judging by the knowing look in her eye, it seemed clear that your denial would do nothing but amuse her further. “I was cold,” you told her, hopelessly.

“Right,” she answered, over enunciating the single word to showcase her amusement.

——

The case wrapped up in a similar frenzy to the weather. Getting increasingly intense with every tick of the clock until, eventually, the unsub was in your custody. The local pd had taken over interrogation of the suspect, leaving the team to pack up and head home.

Except, the weather had other plans.

Instead of calming it continued to become erratic and unpredictable; rain beating against the windows as wind whistled through the gaps in the bottom of the door. According to Hotch’s phone, the weather was set to settle mid-morning tomorrow but the jet would be unable to take off until then.

The fast food Hotch had bought you all had softened the blow significantly. You had nearly finished, after the long day you had almost inhaled your food and were now sipping on a soda across from Reid. You had been forced to return his sweater, quite unhappily, to instead place a bulletproof vest over your chest. The vest itself had long since been removed, but it had felt too telling to ask for the sweater back.

The scraping sound of Morgan’s chair drew you from your thoughts and you watched as the man muttered a quick “be right back,” before marching over to Hotch who had just entered the room.

“What’s he up to?” You asked, curious gaze turned on the women beside you. JJ shrugged carelessly but shared a less than subtle conspiratorial glance with Prentiss; something very fishy was going on here. You became immediately distracted from their strange interaction when you shifted in your seat, legs just happening to knock against those belonging to the man across from you. It wasn’t that unlikely, you supposed, his long legs barely fit under the table as it was and they had been encroaching on your space for the entire meal.

Immediately, you jumped on the opportunity. Turning to JJ you struck up a conversation, asking her about Henry and letting her run with the topic, whilst your left foot softly ran along the inside of the doctor’s calf. A stifled cough emanated from him as his leg twitched beneath your touch but he didn’t move away. You could feel his eyes burning into you, their intensity in your periphery earning him a cursory glance and nothing more.

Eyes fixed on JJ, nodding along to her words despite not listening to a single syllable, you allowed your foot to venture higher. As your toes roamed above his knee and towards his thigh his fingers fumbled with the sauce packet he had been struggling to open – leaving it tumbling to the carpeted floor underneath the table.

JJ trailed off as she noticed the fumbling action. Spencer’s eyes flashed over the other women as he mumbled a quick “I’ll just pick that up,” but then his eyes moved to you. The glint within them as he ducked underneath the table tensed your muscles as you realised the dropped item had been premeditated.

You held your breath as he disappeared from view, unsure what really to expect from the man now under the table. You pulled your leg back towards yourself, a nervous manoeuvre that he immediately halted with a warm hand on your ankle. “There it is,” he announced, leaning forwards to grab the dropped item. You couldn’t see him but you knew he leant forwards for it. It was obvious in the way his body shifted towards your leg, hand slowly working from your ankle to your knee in a languid sweeping motion. Your leg jerked upwards at feel of his fingers just grazing your inner thigh. The noise that caught in your throat was subtle compared to the way your knee bashed into the table and sent the whole thing jerking upwards.

Stifled laughter sent your glare towards Prentiss but her gaze quickly raised to Morgan’s returning figure. “Everything alright?”

Nodding rapidly, he turned to the freshly reappeared Reid. With a hand gripping his shoulder, rooting the doctor’s attention to him, he quickly explained his previous exit. “Reid, I-uh- just spoke to Hotch.” He began, eyes darting to the other women at the table before fixing back on Spencer, “hauling that unsub up the stairs tore my back up. I need a room to myself tonight.” Then, gaze shifting between you and the doctor, he sealed your fate. “You two alright to share for tonight?”

The two of you immediately locked eyes. Spencer’s mouth dropped open but no sound managed to escape whilst your lips remained shut but a strange stutter fought to be heard.

Pulling yourself together, with a shake of your head and by forcing your stare from Spencer, you looked up to Morgan dubiously. “You’re taking my room?” You sputtered out. It wasn’t often the team were forced to double up, but on the occasions you were you took turns to have the room to yourself. This time it had been your turn, much earned after sharing with JJ and listening to her not quite whispering down the phone to Will at 2am, and you had relished all the extra space in the previous warm weather.

The twitching of Morgan’s lips informed you that he was fighting back a laugh. “If that’s okay with you?”

Raising an eyebrow, sensing the plot behind this sudden development, you huffed out a question you already knew the answer to. “Do I have a choice?”

Hand on his chest, Morgan stepped back with an exaggerated look of faux hurt. “You want me to suffer?”

Grimacing, you fished in your jacket pocket for the cool metal of your room key. Pulling the key out by the comically large numbered keyring, you tossed it to Morgan. “Just let me get my bag,” you told him, defeated.