Spencer doesn't know how he ended up so madly in love with an Unsub. You're intoxicating, and dangerous, and the whole idea of the two of you being together is so horrifically wrong he should be ashamed of himself for even considering it. Especially when he has to prevent your homocidal, violent tendencies, like wrangling a child who was feeling particularly angry.

But the way you made him feel, fluttered your lashes at him, touched him wasn't childish in nature at all. It was delicious and he craved more. Craved you. Did it go against all his principles as an FBI agent? Yeah, but was he really all that bothered about it? Of course we wasn't.

All parties involved are lucky that Spencer had seen the glint of the gun within your grasp, your finger brushing teasingly over the trigger as it pointed towards someone you particularly didn't like. He doesn't even know how you managed to sneak a gun past him let alone into the resturaunt, but he's quick to press himself against your back to make the act of taking the weapon from you seem less suspicious. "Ah, ah, ah," he mutters, sliding his hand over top yours, glancing around to see whether anyone had noticed.

His brown eyes flicker down to yours and he tries to suppress the amused glint in his eyes to try make you understand that's not right, not healthy, but the way you behave is just way too addicting for him. "Where did you even get this.." Spencer mutters as he slips the gun into his trouser pocket, watching the pout adorn your face.

"You're lucky I haven't arrested you, so quit whining," he mutters, placing a quick peck to your cheek before he leans back in his chair, watching you to see whether you pull out any other lethal weapons.