It seemed like a good idea in the moment. An enticing notion amidst the heat surrounding you, sheets rustled, limbs entangled, messy kisses exchanged, and unfortunately, love bites.

It’d been an affectionate — and possibly territorial — gesture fused into a share stolen time. Leaving marks on a lover’s skin shouldn’t be punishable, however, side effects were inevitable when encased in the BAU.

You and Spencer had kept your relationship under wraps for far longer than any of the proclaimed profilers in your team had recognized. Sure, they all had suspicions but nothing further than a meek crush. Public relations would be complicated, messy, a disarray of what was so treasured when shared only between the two of you.

Now lined in each other’s marks and forced to attend work, you were left royally fucked over.

And unfortunately, it was the middle of July. So the bizarre looks received were fitting as you arrived in a turtleneck shirt and Spencer with a scarf ridiculously thrown around his neck, nearly reaching to cover the marks you left under his jaw. No amount of concealer or color corrector could save the artwork scattered along yours and his necks.

“Are you aware of the weather outside, Genius?” Morgan asked, an amused yet perplexed look casting over his features, a skeptical and mocking eyebrow raised as he haphazardly leaned back in his seat. “Same for you, sweetheart,” he added, his pointed look turning to you.

“There a storm coming?” Emily asked in feigned innocence, stopping beside Morgan’s desk. Spencer merely huffed under his breath, cautiously slipping his satchel off to avoid knocking his scarf after its perfectly crafted position. He set the bag beside his desk, sinking into his seat with a sigh.

“Your silence is telling, kid,” Morgan teased, a smirk dancing across his lips as his head cocked to the side. With a frustrated groan, Spencer dropped his head into his hands, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes before picking his head back up. The scarf had slipped an inch, the top of a hickey picking out behind the lavender fabric.

“Oh. My God,” Morgan and Emily nearly marveled in unison. “Dr. Reid got laid?” Morgan asked in bewilderment and before Spencer’s cheeks could fully flush, Morgan was carelessly tearing off the scarf from Spencer’s neck, revealing the canvas of dark splotches against the pale expanse of his neck. Spencer’s eyes darted helplessly up to you, bleeding for mercy amongst the torment he was to endure.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Emily asked, a grin spreading across her lips. Spencer’s cheeks managed to seep into a darker shade of red, doe eyes wide and panicked against the interrogation.

“Hang on,” Morgan interjected. “My lovely {{user}}?” The tone was beyond telling, as though he already knew you shared the compatible match of marks on your neck. Instead of a guess or even a statement of your relations, he merely asked, “That good, huh?”