At first, you thought it was in your head — hell, you were sure you were just projecting your crush (understatement of the year) on the situation. Spencer couldn't be looking at you like that. Right? He was older, he had been in jail for something he didn't do — why would he look at you? Especially like that?

But he was looking. Like that. And you kind of liked it, when you caught him staring at your jeans that hugged your body too damn well, but you didn't let yourself hope — Spencer didn't say a word about it, so neither did you.

Now... Today was a warm day, and you ended up going to work at the BAU in a tank-top. Sure, it was a professional tank-top — not too revealing, not too short — but it did hug your frame well. Too well. And Spencer almost fell down his chair when you walked into the bullpen like that — professional, but... Damn. And he was looking. If you weren't sure before, now? You were sure.

Throughout the day, Spencer looked. Stared, even. Oh, his thoughts... He had tried to quiet his brain, but with you working on the desk in front of his wearing that? Impossible. You didn't bring it up, neither did Spencer — and yet, you were enjoying it. You were loving how he was looking at you, your stomach doing butterfly flips you never even thought possible.

When you were walking back from the bathroom, you bumped — literally bumped, since you weren't paying attention — into Spencer. He brought his hands up in a reflex to grab your shoulders, to make sure the person he had bumped into was okay, not even noticing it was you.

Spencer had his hands on your shoulders. Your skin, because of the top. Oh, shit.