Coffee Shop Soundtrack.

Spencer was distracted. He was trying to focus on the case file in his hands, trying to absorb the details about a serial killer who was literally choosing his victims at random from the phone book and even though it truly was a fascinating case, he couldn't pay attention. This never happened to him but here he was, sitting with his feet on his desk, feeling his face flush more and more. He set the folder in his lap and loosened his tie, although it was a futile gesture. Sweat was now sliding down his face and he gave up on trying to focus, tossing the file aside and resting his head on his damp hands.

"Reid, you okay?" Morgan asked, walking by with an identical folder in his hands. "You're starting to look like a lobster."

"I'm fine," he said, trying to put on a reassuring smile. "It's just a little hot in here." Morgan continued on his way and Spencer sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He could tell that it was still greasy from the night before, which only made his cheeks turn redder. The smell of sweat still faintly hung round it, although he had tried to mask it with a little more cologne than was really decent. Sitting in the middle of the room, sweating like a pig in front of the entire BAU, made him feel terribly exposed and he retreated out of the relative chaos and into the men's washroom, which was unoccupied. The temperature was slightly cooler and it felt amazing on his skin, which truly was glowing like a lobster. He only looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before going into the nearest stall and sliding to the floor, resting his head against the hard metal walls.

The cool metal against his face made the heat go away but being in the bathroom only made his stomach churn. It wasn't the churning he felt sometimes, when he was staring at a body that was just too horrific to completely block out. No; for maybe the second time in his entire life, Spencer Reid had butterflies.

He wiped his eyes and giggled, cutting the sound off as if he was afraid Hotch or Rossi has somehow snuck in and was giving him a glare through the door. Just to be sure, he peeked out from under the stall door and saw no one. He was alone and he started laughing harder, lying down so that his feet were sticking into the next stall. The tile was hard but cold underneath his back and he wished he could just... forget about everything for awhile and stay there, feeling goosebumps springing up on his still sweaty arms.

"Oh wow," he sighed, staring up at the rather boring ceiling. He felt rather like a teenage girl, he thought. Of course, he didn't really know what it felt like to be a teenage girl but he was lying on the floor of the Behavioural Analysis Unit's men's room and laughing harder than he could ever remember. When he shut his eyes, he felt heat rush through his body again, heading for a certain part that he really didn't want it to be at at the moment. At any time, one of the other agents was going to come looking for him but for a few minutes, he just wanted to act his age, to be a normal twentysomething who isn't dashing around the country and helping to solve cases that are more heinous than some people can comprehend.

So he thinks about the night before and the instant he begins to play it back in his head, he definitely feels like a normal, hormonal young person.

***

Spencer rarely went out to bars or even out in general. He wasn't a fan of the whole party scene and his alcohol tolerance was notoriously low, mainly due to his low weight. Add in the fact that after completing a case, he wanted to do nothing but sleep and Spencer was rather close to fitting the definition of a recluse. However, after the team flew back from Houston, he found himself absolutely wired, the complete opposite of his usual mood. He wanted to get out for a night, to lose himself in music and sound.

However, there wasn't a huge club community around Quantico and even if there had been, Spencer thought that he would have stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the ravers and junkies. So he chose the next best thing; the coffee shop that Garcia was always raving about. Spencer usually didn't drink coffee if he could avoid it, but he figured there was no trouble in trying to suppress the part of him that wanted so desperately to just break free with some liquid caffeine.

By the time he finally got out of the BAU's offices, it was nearly eleven o'clock at night and he was worried that the shop would be closed. However, as he rounded the corner on foot, choosing to pick up his car when he was done, the lights were still shining out, illuminating the street. There were only two other customers, both of whom were in their own little worlds. One was an older woman with smudged mascara who was sitting in a table at the corner, staring down at a single sheet of paper with her hands clenched into fists. The other was a young man, probably around Spencer's age, who was clutching a pastry in his right hand and staring out the window absently.

Spencer knew he didn't fit in. After ordering his coffee and a muffin, he sat in the middle of the room, idly picking at crumbs. The urge he'd had to try and be... normal had disappeared and now he realized that he was probably looking quite pathetic. He sipped his coffee and had to hold back a squeal as it burnt the tip of his tongue.

"Are you okay?" The man who had been sitting in the corner was now standing beside him, one eyebrow raised.

"I just burmpth my tonghe," Spencer muttered, blushing as he realized just how foolish he sounded.

"Do you want a glass of water?" Spencer nodded, probing his cheek with the tip of his tongue. His coffee no longer looked appealing at all and he pushed it to the side, nibbling on a few crumbs from his muffin. The unknown man returned, holding a glass of water that was slick with condensation. Spencer tried to inconspicuously sniff it for any kind of poison and, sensing nothing suspicious, took a small sip. The water was so cold on his burnt tongue that he couldn't hold back his squeal and he bit his lip to try and keep it quiet.

"Thank you," he said when his mouth wasn't being assaulted with the mixture of hot and cold. "I don't drink coffee very much, if you haven't noticed."

"Well, now you know for next time." The man smiled, showing slightly crooked bottom teeth and perched himself on the stool opposite Spencer.

"So, is this the first time you've been here?" he asked, propping his head up on his elbow. "I come here every day and I've never seen you."

"I don't go out very much," Spencer said, idly nibbling on the cap of his muffin. "I usually just go right home after work."

"Where do you work?"

"Uhm... FBI?" Spencer never liked admitting where he worked, although he rarely said anything other than those three initials that everyone in the world seemed to know. As soon as someone found out, he noticed they would begin to look at him in a different way, as if they were afraid he'd delve into their mind and find out the sins of their past. Things got even worse if his IQ or eidetic memory were somehow brought into the mix; after that point, there was no hope for a connection. People were alienated, when they really had no reason to be.

"Well, that's cool." The man held out his hand, which had a light dust of crumbs on it. "I'm Ian Smith."

"Spencer Reid." Conversation lulled for a moment and Spencer sipped on his water, fidgeting nervously in his chair. Ian was still gazing at him with his nose slightly crinkled, chewing on the corner of his lip with his canine tooth.

"I should probably get going soon," Spencer said, sweeping the numerous crumbs onto the floor. As he brought his hand back up onto the table, it brushed Ian's and he felt his stomach lurch slightly.

"Same here, although I usually stay until closing time." Ian ran his left hand through his wavy black hair, leaving his right on the table with his fingers still lightly touching Spencer's. Little tingles were shooting down his hand, making the hairs on his arm stand up.

"Well, if you're gonna stay for awhile, I might as well too," Spencer stammered, inwardly hitting himself for being so socially awkward. "I'm just going home to an empty house anyways." As he said this, he could see Ian's eyes twinkle and he rubbed his neck, putting his head down to hide his blush.

The coffee shop closed for the night around twenty minutes later but in that short amount of time, Spencer had managed to forge a connection with Ian. They had shared brief details of childhood, lingering more on the present. Ian worked as a part time high school art teacher, although he was due to become the full time teacher when the current one retired at the end of the semester. He lived in a small apartment literally right around the corner from the coffee shop and he knew the owners quite well. Spencer had been reluctant to share too many details about his job but managed to get by with just stating that he worked in the BAU. Ian had seemed to understand that it was a sensitive subject and backed off.

The streets were empty and when the light of the coffee shop switched off, only the moon and a lone street light remained as illumination. It was the latter that Ian and Spencer stood under, their conversation still going.

"Hey, do you want to go to my apartment for a bit?" Ian said, cutting off one of Spencer's sentences. "It's just that it's kind of creepy being out here all by ourselves." Spencer may have been a little socially awkward but he definitely wasn't completely oblivious; he could tell that Ian was flirting with him and he was trying to convey mutual interest, although he couldn't tell if he was failing.

"It's awfully late," he said, glancing down at his watch. It was already midnight and he knew that he could be called back to the BAU office at anytime. But Ian was giving him this puppy dog look, with a pooched out bottom lip and big eyes and he couldn't resist.

"Only for a bit though."

***

Ian's apartment was small but cozy, although the art supplies strewn everywhere probably made it look smaller than it was. There were two small easels set up in the living room, one on either side of the television set, which had a box of paints sitting on top of it. Pencils, pastels and charcoal littered every surface.

"You are definitely an art teacher," Spencer said, inhaling the deep waxy smell. He felt like he was in a kindergarten class.

"Sorry about the mess," Ian said, gathering up handfuls of supplies and tossing them into random drawers. "I can never find what I need if everything is hidden away."

"Don't worry about it." Spencer sat down on the couch, which squeaked rather loudly underneath his weight. Ian disappeared to the kitchen and came back with two tall glasses of red wine, which was obviously cheap but didn't taste horrible.

"I must warn you, I don't hold my alcohol very well," Spencer said, taking a miniscule sip. "So if you're trying to get me drunk, you'll easily succeed."

"I hold mine a little too well," Ian sighed. "When I was a teenager, I was so desperate to get drunk just once that I ended up with alcohol poisoning twice. You'd think I'd get drunk from a sip of vodka." He was an inch or so shorter than Spencer but just as skinny. When he took off his hoodie, tossing it onto the back of the couch, his arms were laced with muscle, evident with every move he made. Spencer couldn't keep his eyes off of them and the butterflies in his stomach grew stronger, nearly overwhelming him.

"Your apartment is perfect," he said, picking up a orange pastel from the coffee table and twirling it absently. He glanced sideways at Ian, who seemed to have scooted closer, and smiled, wiping his stained fingers on his pants.

"A perfect mess maybe," Ian chuckled, although it came out as little more than a whisper. His eyes were locked with Spencer's and it was with that that Spencer knew something was about to happen. His heart was pounding in his chest like a jackhammer and the noise rang in his ears, blocking out everything else.

Ian reached out and hesitantly laid his thumb on Spencer's bottom lip, running it over the contours of the slightly cracked surface. All Spencer could do was sit motionlessly, lips slightly parted and eyes half shut. When Ian took his thumb away, he'd barely opened his eyes before they were shut again as Ian's lips were mere hairbreadth's away. Ian's breath was sugary, with a faint hint of raspberry and, surprising himself, Spencer leaned in and kissed him, laying one hand on Ian's cheek. Faint stubble scraped against his palm.

His experience with kissing and physical intimacy in general was rather limited but Ian didn't seem to mind. His hand ran along Spencer's side, pulling his shirt out of his pants and sending little tingles through his nerves. As he leaned back on the couch, a crayon snapped underneath him and he swept it off, bringing the waxy aroma into his nose. Ian's weight on top of him was not uncomfortable; rather, it was the complete opposite. Spencer hated thinking in cliches but it was strange how... perfectly their limbs tangled together, how Ian seemed to instinctively know that Spencer loved having his hips touched. His already loose tie was flung to the floor and the top button of his shirt became undone, exposing more of his skin for Ian to run his lips along.

Up to this point, Spencer had easily been the submissive one, laying back and savouring Ian's fingers running up underneath his shirt, his lips on his neck, his hips against his. But now he timidly tried to take some of the control for his own, pushing Ian's hoodie off and running his hands along his arms. Ian's fingers worked on the rest of the buttons on his shirt and he couldn't help but wince as one of them flew across the room. It was only moments later when Spencer could feel Ian's bare chest against his own, their skin slightly damp with sweat. His stomach was churning, from both butterflies and that awful feeling of nervousness.

"Hey, are you okay?" Ian propped himself up on his arms, looking genuinely concerned. Spencer swallowed past the frog in his throat that was making it difficult to breathe.

"I'm just... nervous," he murmured, averting his eyes to the floor. "I mean, I don't really know you and we're half undressed and I haven't done this with anyone in a long time and I think I'm being really stupid-"

"Spencer, calm down." Spencer knew that when he got nervous, it was hard for him to stop talking and he forced himself to bite back the rest of his words, swallowing them down with what little spit was in his dry mouth.

"I'm sorry," Ian sighed, leaning back so that he was sitting braced against the arm of the sofa. "I really like you but I guess I let my brain take a step back to something else."

"I'm sorry too," Spencer said, bringing his knees up to his chest. "I think you sound like a pretty interesting guy and I really don't think we should make this a one-off thing." Spencer immediately started blushing; even though he'd barely said anything all, he couldn't remember ever being so forward. He glanced at his watch, which was still fastened around his wrist and winced. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning and he really didn't want to drive back to his home.

"Do you mind if I sleep on the couch for tonight?" he asked, preparing to be immediately shut down. "I mean, it's rather late and I really don't feel up to driving..."

"Take my bed, please," Ian said, standing up and disappearing down the small hallway off the living room. When Spencer followed, he found himself in Ian's small bedroom, which was surprisingly free of art supplies but crammed with books. His bed took up half the room and it was a squeeze for both of them to fit in around it and the boxes and boxes of books.

"Ian, I don't have any right to kick you out of your own bed," he said, feeling embarrassed as Ian gathered pillows up from the floor and tossed them back on the bed. "Honestly, I'm completely fine with sleeping on the couch."

"You will take my bed and that's that."

***

When Spencer awoke the next morning, the sun was shining directly in his eyes. He was wearing a strange pair of striped cotton pajama pants, although his own trousers were lying beside him on the bed, along with his shirt and tie from the previous night. He was surrounded by boxes of books that were precariously stacked on top of each other and he could smell eggs being cooked somewhere down the hall. His watch was sitting on top of his shirt and rolling over, he could see that it was 8 o'clock in the morning, much later than he usually woke up.

Surprisingly, he hadn't been paged into work yet and so he didn't bother getting dressed, wandering down the hallway, retying Ian's pajama pants since they were slightly too big on him. The smell of eggs was now mixed with that of fresh coffee and turning into the kitchen, he could see Ian at the stove, hair tousled and damp. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before and whistling as he flipped bacon over with a spatula.

"Breakfast will be ready momentarily," he said without turning around and Spencer smiled, helping himself to some of the warm coffee. He knew that there was a good chance he was going to get paged at any moment but he wanted to savour this, savour feeling normal.

It wasn't even five minutes later that Ian set down a plate heaping with eggs and bacon, all of it smelling absolutely delectable. Spencer dug in but couldn't help but notice that Ian's plate was scant in comparison to his own. However, by the time he'd finished eating, Ian had downed two cups of coffee and was working his way through a third.

"You really didn't need to do that," he said, running his tongue along the inside of his mouth to capture the last bits of taste.

"But I wanted to," Ian answered, taking one of Spencer's thin hands into his. "I mean, after fucking up gloriously last night, you deserved an amazing morning."

"You didn't fuck up," Spencer sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "I should have said something too." His ears suddenly perked up at a low, almost inaudible buzzing coming from Ian's room and he groaned, recognizing it as his pager.

"I have to go to work," he said, standing up and taking his plate to the kitchen sink. He cupped some water in his palms and tossed it at his face, hoping that it wouldn't be completely obvious that he hadn't returned home the previous night. Someone on the team would surely notice his worn clothes and the missing button on his shirt but he had to trust that they wouldn't try to tease or coax the truth out of him.

Warm arms wrapped around his stomach and he leaned back into them, eyes closed. Ian's lips rested on his shoulder, peppering him with kisses.

"Do you wanna come back tonight?"

Spencer felt like his lips were going to crack; his smile was that wide.

***

Even just remembering the morning made him smile so hard that it hurt. He'd had to tell Ian that there was a chance he wouldn't be able to see him very often but nonetheless, he knew there was something there. His entire life, he'd been afraid to even show any sort of romantic interest but with Ian, it had just come naturally. That had to mean something.

Spencer thought that he could have sat there on the floor of the bathroom all day, reminiscing and playing back every moment in his mind. However, the heavy door of the bathroom flew open and he couldn't help but groan; only Morgan could manage that.

"Reid, you in here? Hotch wants us all in the conference room."

"Be out in one minute." Spencer waited until the door was shut again before letting out a sigh, chuckling as it left his mouth. He would have to find time to thank Garcia for recommending the coffee shop; she was probably the only person he could actually trust with the news about Ian.

Reluctantly getting up off the floor, he gave himself a quick look in the mirror and saw that, even though he looked rather rumpled all over, he looked... more alive than he could ever remember. His eyes were bright and that silly smile still hadn't left his face.

He thought it was a smile he could get used to.