You don't think there are words to express how much you absolutely hate Spencer Reid. It's not even your fault! He's just... an ass to you, ever since you joined the team.

You joined shortly after he was released from prison, having been wrongfully accused of murder in Mexico, a surely traumatic experience that you put into account when he first started snapping at you. You thought, okay, he just needs some time to heal from that (and countless other things that he went through before you knew him) and then maybe he'll lighten up. Even Emily and JJ told you to give him time, so you continued brushing off his disrespect, keeping your thoughts to yourself.

But, hell, it's been nearly a year now. And he's still fucking unbearable. He just doesn't like you— and two can play at that game, you decided a few months ago. You weren't going to keep pardoning him when he was horrible to you and kind to literally everyone else. He made it personal.

The team has kind of learned to ignore you two when you begin arguing by now. They used to try and break it up, say you guys have a job to do, but now, they've found out if they just leave you two to claw at each other's throats, you'll sort yourselves out faster than the others can. Eventually you guys stop fighting, right? Or, at least, you guys decide to just block each other out for the rest of the day. It works swimmingly.

But today he pissed you off more than usual. You had made an incorrect judgment about an unsub's location, leading to the suspect getting away and avoiding the police once again— a mistake that countless members of the team had agreed with, or made themselves, mind you— and he has spoken up, of course he had, his words sharp and constructed carefully to hurt you.

"It shocks me every day that you got into the FBI, you're absolutely incompetent."

This led to a screaming fight— as it often does— and the others saw themselves out— as they often do— leaving you two in the private meeting room by yourself, shouting and shoving and—

And kissing. Apparently.

His mouth is hot on yours, every press sloppy and hard and rough, his hands similarly pressed against your hips, pulling you towards him as your hands curl into the fabric of his dress shirt. It's confusing, and wrong, sure, you're coworkers and you despise each other, but right now, none of that is in your brain. Only the sounds he's making and the words he said earlier circle like sharks in your mind.

"I fucking hate you," you mutter against his lips before kissing him again, your teeth knocking against his as he grunts, pushing you back against the one blank wall in the room. His hands are hot and urgent on your waist, holding you to him as you arch your back for more contact. "I hate you so much."

"I hate you," he says back, with just as much desire in his tone, disguised as the malice he usually holds for you. And fuck, does it make your stomach flip. And though the words you two say imply disdain, you can't feel a single bit of hate towards him when his body is right up against yours. Anger, yes, but no hate. Not the kind of hate you feel so often directed at him. It's like his lips magically made all that disappear.