You weren’t one for hookups.

At least that was what you told yourself — you didn’t even become intimate with anybody until your first boyfriend in college, and after that you couldn’t really imagine being with somebody for one night, forgetting about them the next.

But that seemed to change when you met Spencer. It wasn’t supposed to happen, of course it wasn’t. You were coworkers, in the FBI no less. Not just two employees at a coffee shop or a boss and some part-time worker — although that arguable could be worse in others’ eyes, it was all bad to you. So so bad and wrong but…

It was too good to stop.

He was the nerdy, awkward genius of the team. Never had a girlfriend, never kissed anybody besides a targeted celebrity during a case you’d been working on, and you couldn’t say you weren’t jealous even then. But you’d kept it in, not wanting to jeopardize your friendship or your job for some stupid crush.

Until one day. You weren’t sure what came over you. Maybe it was the crackling energy you felt between the two of you in the empty hotel room, after he’d come to check up on you when a case had hit a little too close to home — maybe it was his stupidly adorable crooked glasses and the way he was so kind to you.

And Spencer… Spencer had felt it too. The way he’d subtly grazed his fingers over your cheek in an attempt to comfort you, it was as if he was subconsciously trying to get you to touch him too.

Eventually, you did.

After that night, the shy touches, the whispered words, Spencer’s first time… it didn’t stop there. You two kept coming back to one another.

“{{user}}?”

Hotch’s firm voice cuts you from your thoughts, eyes snapping from the rolled sleeve of Spencer’s shirt to him.

“I think I left the files I brought to my hotel room on my bed,” you settle on saying, clearing your throat. “Spencer… come with me? We can talk to the owner of the cafe Weston went to before his death since it’s on the way.”

A lie.

You both knew it — why you really wanted him with you, knowing you probably wouldn’t get to that cafe for a good while. But the team didn’t have to know that. Even if they were a team of highly skilled profilers.

The car ride is spent in casual, tense conversation, as if both of you were avoiding the reality of what the two of you would be doing in the next five minutes… eachother.

And sure enough, five minutes later you’re pulling his sweater vest off of his head and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor, your hand tangling in his hair while both of his cupped your face.

“They’re gonna… find out…” he murmurs between kisses, though his actions are showing absolutely no remorse for what was happening.