Echos of a Genius | Spencer Reid

Paratiton

Stephie

"I wish you'd mentioned dinner earlier!" I call out from the bedroom, rifling through my closet for something—anything—that feels appropriate for Rossi's dinner.

"I forgot, it slipped my mind!" Spencer shouts back from the bathroom, sounding just as frantic as I am. I can hear him fumbling around in there, probably making just as much of a mess as I am.

"What could possibly be so important that you forgot this?" I mutter, staring at my reflection in the mirror. After a moment of frustration, I toss aside my clothes with a sigh. We're out of time. I grab the first outfit I see and decide it'll have to do.

As I head into the bathroom, I find Spencer in front of the mirror, struggling with his tie. Or rather, failing miserably to tie it. I can't help but huff in exasperation.

"Just give it to me," I mutter, dropping my bag to the floor and stepping up to him. I take the tie from his hands, quickly and efficiently looping it into a perfect knot.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the smirk forming on his face.

"What?" I ask, pausing for a second, irritated but curious.

"Nothing," Spencer says, but that smirk stays firmly in place.

"Spence," I warn, tightening my grip on the tie. "What is it?"

He chuckles softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You're just..." He pauses, glancing at my hand still holding his tie, pulling him close. "Really hot when you're mad."

I narrow my eyes at him, but I can't stop the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. He always knows how to diffuse my frustration. "You're impossible," I mutter, giving the tie one last tug before letting go.

"Maybe," he says, still smiling. "But you love it."

"Lucky for you," I reply, not moving at all, our lips still inches apart. The tie slips from my fingers as Spencer reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips linger on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I feel his breath, warm and shallow, against my cheek as he leans in closer, his hand sliding to the small of my back, pulling me against him.

There's an electricity in the air, a tension between us that's suddenly palpable, and my heart pounds in response. My hands instinctively move to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse beneath the fabric of his shirt. The room feels smaller, quieter, the ticking clock forgotten.

His lips hover dangerously close to mine, teasing, and for a moment, he just stays there, not moving. But then, in one swift movement, his mouth is on mine, soft yet urgent, tasting of mint and something else I can't quite place. I feel his hand tighten at my waist, guiding me backward until the cool surface of the bathroom counter presses into me.

I don't pull away. Instead, I deepen the kiss, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he groans softly in response, the sound reverberating through me. His free hand slides up my back, fingers tangling in my hair, and I gasp as his lips move to my neck, trailing fire along my skin.

The way he touches me, the way his body moves with mine, it's all-consuming. Every inch of space between us disappears as I feel his hands explore, deliberate and teasing, setting my skin ablaze wherever they land.

His mouth finds mine again, more demanding this time, and I'm lost in him, lost in the moment. Nothing else matters—the dinner, the rush, the world beyond this room. It's just us, and the heat building between us, a pull that's impossible to resist.

We break apart for air, both of us breathing hard, but neither of us willing to stop. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against me, matching my own erratic breaths. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw before he leans in again, pressing his lips to mine once more, slow and languid, as though we have all the time in the world.