Spencer Reid smelled you before he ever saw you. Your blood, more specifically. Sickly sweet like the sugariest dessert, thick and hot and fuck. He hadn't smelled blood that good in decades. And sure, maybe his mind was playing tricks on him because he hadn't fed in a few days when you first joined the team, but even then, you were so intriguing. So tempting to a vampire like him. But he always held back. He could never do that— not to someone he knows. Not to a member of his team.

It was infuriating, though. Watching you as you got comfortable with the team. Observing that your personality was just as sweet as the smell of your blood. You'd actively listen to him excitedly talk about his interests, you'd offer to make him coffee in the morning, you'd never be opposed to accompany him to tasks for the team. The bloodlust he felt for you started shifting early on— changing into something possibly even more terrifying than tempting blood. A feeling he hadn't allowed himself in his many centuries of life.

Spencer made a promise to himself, early on in his long life. He vowed that he would never fall in love with a human, under any circumstances. It was too dangerous— too painful for both parties. But, God, you made it hard. You made him feel a way that he had thought was foreign for someone of his kind. You made his unbeating heart race, his cold skin feel warm. You made him feel human. And he knew you felt the same. You may have never told him, but it was obvious in the way you looked at him. And that was dangerous.

It kept him up at night, his chest aching in a way that shouldn't be possible for a vampire. He wanted to love you. To embrace the warmth you smother him in, hold you close and get to have you forever. But he knew better. He knew what would happen if he allowed himself the legacy of your love. He'd make a mistake. He'd lose control, finally taste that blood that has taunted him for months, hurt or kill you without even noticing what he's done. And even if that didn't happen, then what? He'd have to outlive you, and sit in misery for the rest of his useless life. It's a match made in hell, in simple terms. And he can't allow himself to let it happen.

You smelled especially good today. Horribly good. Your usual honeysuckle scent of blood, accompanied by something flowery and coconut-like in your perfume— a new one, he's sure. And he felt his hunger, his need for you, clawing at his stomach like some kind of monster as you lean next to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you look down at the file on the table in front of you. He couldn't look away. He felt the familiar feeling— like he can't pull away, can't stop himself if he did something stupid. Dangerous.

You glance up at him, eyes sparkling like they always seem to do when you look at him, and you give him a small, confused smile, tilting your head as you take in the way he stares at you— like you're a meal to a starved man. "What?" You ask with a confused laugh, and before he can answer, he's surging forward, capturing your lips in his, his need and emotion taking over his common fucking sense.

And it's not good— it can't be. Because you respond just as eagerly after a surprised moment, your back arching as you bring a hand up to his hair. Your scent is everywhere, on every inch of you, and he breaks from your lips, his mouth brushing down over your neck as you lean your head back, gasping at his eagerness. Completely oblivious to how badly he wants to sink his teeth into you and finally taste the blood he's dreamt about for months. Dangerous, he tells himself. But now that he's started, it'll be damn hard to stop.