✓ | sick of losing soulmates [SPENCER REID]

12.3

12.3
( doubt. )

☆ ★ ☆

iris

The kiss is deeper than the first they shared so long ago, chests brushing together as Spencer stands, hands daring to roam, Iris whining from the back of her throat because, damn, Spencer's kisses are far from what she expected. She expected timid, tentative — but he's not. He's sure of himself.

Of course he is, she thinks, a little amused and achingly happy. When is he not?

At first, she can hardly believe what's happened, eyes still open and hands fluttering around his shoulders like an idiot, unsure of what to do or what he's thinking (seriously, though — kissing her at work?). And then a switch flips in her brain, and her body moves without needing a command from her mind, and she's kissing back.

As her hands slide up his chest, over his neck, making him shudder, and then into his hair, she feels the burn of his touch, of his hands, sliding down the curve of her waist, thumbs skirting across her ribs, and she's unable to stop from breathing heavily into him. His tongue slips into her mouth and, God, it feels like her bones are melting away to nothing.

Pulling away from him is practically more painful than ripping her own arm off (as morbid as that sounds, it's the only comparison that meets the standard), but she manages; she just can't open her eyes for a few moments afterward, mouth open, breathless.

"Iris," Spencer breathes, voice hoarse, and she opens her eyes when she feels his thumb trace across her swollen lower lip. His forehead is pressed to hers, nose slipping along her own, and he's so close, closer than he's ever been, close enough that she can marvel at the swollen redness of his lips as they curve into a content smile.

Before he can say anything else, the two of them jump apart when Morgan, Rossi, Garcia and JJ enter. Inhaling sharply, Spencer looks up, straightening up and placing his hands in his pockets. "You get anything with Doyle?" he asks, voice a little choked up and strangled.

Iris hurriedly fixes her hair, ignoring the glances her red cheeks and swollen lips earn from JJ and Garcia.

"We asked about Richard Gerace," Morgan says. "Doyle doesn't think Gerace has the guts to do anything."

"But that's definitely Gerace on the tape," Garcia says, rounding the table to take a seat by the screen.

Behind them, Hotch enters, earning a warm welcome and a small smile from Morgan. "Thanks," he says, in his familiar monotonous voice. "Everybody have a seat."