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A few hours in, somehow, you and Spencer had ended up as drunk as a pair of teenagers. It was odd, since neither of you were looking to get drunk in the first place, but now the pair of you had been sat in the corner by your friends and were told you weren’t allowed anything else until you went home- your liver would thank you.

“Hey, Spence?” You slurred out in your drunken state, tugging on his arm for his attention. While perched in the corner with your bottles of water, you’d relied on the genius for conversation (which he provided happily, somehow his mouth ran even more while drunk). But he’d spaced out, staring at his surroundings like he was looking for someone.

“Yeah?” He turned to you with a furrowed brow. He was intoxicated too- you weren’t exactly sure what had led to the both of you becoming drunk, but you imagined it had something to do with the cheeky blonde sitting at the bar. You’d only had about 5 drinks between you, so she must’ve been buying strong drinks.

“Am I a bad kisser?” You pouted, pointing to your lips- his eyes followed your finger, and he knitted his brows still at your question.

Spencer was your best friend, in and out of work, so naturally you told and asked him everything. Not only was he a wonderful fountain of genius, but he had an unmatched ability to keep secrets. Plus he was always weirdly good at advice.

“Why would you ask me that?” He asked incredulously and you shied away dramatically. You were sure that with the way you both swang towards each other, to anyone that wasn’t drunk you looked ridiculous.

“Because Joey broke up with me and kissing is like my favourite thing for us to do together. Was.” You looked down to your shoes, sadness in washing over you like a child who dropped their ice cream.

It had been a few weeks since your boyfriend had left you, but part of it still poked at you- you’d come out to the bar hoping to feel better. Soon enough you came to the same realisation you did every time you came out- you just weren’t the type of person to hook up with a stranger in a bar. You honestly wondered how people had the guts to do it.

“Did you know that a long-lasting kiss quickens the pulse and heightens the levels of hormones in your blood so much that it shortens your lifespan by almost a minute?” He rolled off the fact just as easily drunk as he would sober.

“Really?” You looked at him in wonder and he nodded excitedly, despite the near bleakness of his statistic. “Wait, no! Not the point! Am I bad at kissing?”

“Oh.” He seemed to think for a minute, focusing on a spot on the table as he thought. “Wait- I don’t know. We’ve never kissed.”

He offered up the answer with a proud smile, like he’d just solved a hard maths equation. Your grouchy face didn’t let up.

“Then will you kiss me and tell me?” You questioned it like it was a normal request- it was hard to tell if it was the alcohol or your close friendship with Spencer that made it easy for you to ask (it was most definitely the alcohol, but you didn’t think about that).

“Isn’t that weird?” His level-head nearly poked through his inebriated state- you shrugged at him nonetheless, drunk or not he seemed to happily agree with almost anything you said or did, he was just that kind of friend. ‘Partner in crime’, Emily would say.

“No. I’m asking you to do it, so it’s fine.” He seemed to agree with your response with nowhere near as much skepticism as he probably should.

Soon enough you were kissing each other, lips running across each other’s and sharing saliva like it was nothing in the world. You could taste the alcohol that lingered on his tongue, despite the pair of you being cut off long ago. And Spencer was a surprisingly good kisser himself, even with his lack of experience and drunken state going against him.

The kiss seemed to become unintentionally more heated, the fact that it was Spencer kissing you slipped your mind, and then you were just having a really nice makeout session. He also seemed to forget that it was you that had a hand in his hair, if it wasn’t for your signature perfume filling his nose. He brushed it off anyway, it was too enjoyable for his drunken self to pass up.

Your arm found its way around the back of his neck, pulling him as close as you could. His own hands were on your hips, gripping you bruisingly hard (he’d apologise immediately the next time you spoke, he didn’t realise his strength at the time).

“Wait… am I gonna die sooner now?” You pulled away to ask the question, though your arms didn’t move from their positions. He nodded stupidly in response, his mind still focused on the kissing that had been interrupted.

“Worth it.” You whispered to yourself before kissing him again, and his lips seemed to go back to the same intensity they had before.

“What are they doing?” Emily said with a stunned luck and a surprised laugh, poking Penelope so that she turned around. Both of them stared at the sight in the corner without restrain- seeing their co-workers all over each other.

Penelope gasped and laughed too, seeing the two of you all over each other like a pair of teenagers. Most of the BAU was sure that Spencer and you harboured crushes on each other, though it wasn’t anything that seemed fruitful until they saw this. Sure, you were drunk, but wasn’t it just the truth that came out with alcohol?

They left you to your business until everyone was ushering each other into taxis to get home.

The next morning you woke up and let out an immediate groan, feeling a headache hit you like a freight train. Hangovers always seemed to be worse as you got older, so you took the painkillers that had been left out for you and swallowed them down- reminding yourself to thank whoever had gotten you home.

You turned onto your back, staring up at the ceiling (thank God for blackout curtains, or you’d be shielding yourself under the covers) and letting the will to get out of bed fill you slowly.

Hangovers usually meant one thing for you- pancakes covered in as much syrup as you owned, and drinking water like a dying man. It was your day off, luckily, but you sent Emily and Spencer a quick text before getting on with your day- a thanks for getting you home for Em, and a pitying text to Spencer, since you’d been in the same state.

The kiss didn’t cross your mind, it was lost in a haze of drunken memories.

Spencer’s morning started a similar way- groaning into his bedsheets before taking a generous amount of Advil. He hated thinking of himself drunk, he imagined it to be infinitely more embarrassing than his normal self, so he tried to start his morning without thinking back to the night before.

By the late morning he found himself on his second cup of coffee, eating only a few slices of toast to appease his appetite, and sitting on his couch and willing his mind to focus on a book. It seemed to make the headache worse, but he couldn’t be bothered to find a different activity.

His phone beeped with a text from you a few hours after he’d woken up himself, he knew you liked to spend as many hours in bed as possible when you nursed a hangover.

“God I hope your head is pounding as much as mine. I don’t know what’s in that stuff that Garcia bought us, but I’m never drinking it again :(“

For a second he considered listing the parts of the cocktail that had been ordered, but when the light of his phone screen made his eyes burn he decided against it. Instead he told you the name of the demonic drink, agreeing that his head was pounding, and wishing you a quick recovery. Then he let his phone fall down the side of his couch.

The first thing he thought of when he saw your name on his phone was the feel of his lips pressed against yours- where did that memory come from?

He flashed back to the night before, forgetting all the important details and immediately rushing to your makeout session. God, why did you do that?

Running over the events of the night, he groans into his hands, leaning forward on his couch. Sure he remembers the semi-innocent nature of the kiss, but he also remembers Penelope hitting him on the back of the head when he wouldn’t break away from it.

He doesn’t remember answering your question either, and wonders if you’d still want to know- though he imagined you didn’t remember the kiss in the first place. You’d have mentioned it, right?

Soon enough you found yourself back in the BAU bullpen, trudging your way to your desk with a hot coffee in hand. The hangover was mostly gone, but it didn’t make the first Monday back at work after a nice weekend any less sucky.

You barely glanced up when you saw Garcia, Prentiss and Reid enter the room (back to work names, you supposed), until you noticed a lot of whispering and shushing on Garcia’s part. Usually that meant she was up to something, which she must’ve been, going by the evident blush on Reid’s face.

You waited expectantly, oblivious to whatever they had discussed, as he approached your desk.

“Hey, stranger. How was your recovery day?” You asked with a smile, pretending you couldn’t see the Garcia trying to listen in. There was a reason she wasn’t a field agent, smooth was not on her resume.

“Fine. Lots of coffee, as always.” He shrugged, though he didn’t make eye contact with you. You watched as his eyes drifted back to Garcia for a moment, making you furrow your brows, before he turned back in your direction. Were you missing something? “What do you remember from Saturday night?”

The question was innocent enough, but the tone didn’t seem to match his words. You thought back for a second, but nothing seemed to stand out. Drinks, friends, stumbling home far too late. “Nothing important, why?”

He bit down on his lip at your answer, fiddling slightly with his hands. “So you don’t remember kissing me?”

Your eyes widened at his words. Kissing? Spencer? What on earth would’ve led up to you and him locking li- “Oh my god! You were the guy I made out with!”

You exclaimed far louder than you meant to, locking a hand over your mouth as soon as the words left you. Your eyes didn’t change, still wide with shock.

Spencer’s own expression didn’t register with you, though he scrunched his nose and nodded as a ‘yes’. He’d spent the last day mulling over the moment, not coming to any significant conclusion. When he’d found his way to work that morning, it wasn’t long until he had two girls tugging on his sleeve for answers.

“I wondered who that was.” You let out a small giggle, which he returned slightly, though confusion was etched on his features. “Hey! You’re a really good kisser.”

He seemed shocked at your statement, smiling and laughing much easier. There was a strange sense of happiness on your face, if only from the situation you’d found yourselves in. You remembered the kiss more vividly than anything else from that night, only for the enjoyment of it. At no point had your brain had the sense to remind you it was Spencer attached to the lips you were kissing. You didn’t mind, it wouldn’t have happened if you had the realisation.

“Actually, you asked if I’d kiss you cause you wanted to know if you were a bad kisser.” He grinned, and you immediately dropped your head, red-faced.

“No I didn’t! That’s so embarrassing.” You dropped your head into your hands, though you still giggled through them. You could still hear a few chuckles from Spencer, and in any other situation you’d be far more pleased for him to be so at ease. “Wait, why did you agree?”

“Why did you ask? We were both inebriated.” You looked up to him again, smiling and laughing at him stupidly. He returned the happy look, though there was still a clear blush on his face. You imagined you looked the same, but it didn’t matter.

“I told them the story but they didn’t believe me.” He gestured slightly to where Garcia and Prentiss were, perched on a desk and trying not to look in your direction. You looked up to them, making brief eye contact with the blonde, and offering her a small smirk. “I keep telling them we’re not dating, but they keep telling me friends don’t normally make out when drunk.”

You looked back to him, offering a silly and cute smile (Later he’d wonder why the word cute crossed his mind, but it wasn’t important right now.). You shook your head, standing up and giving him a half hug. “Mm. Only us, Spence.”

You spoke with a small giggle, and kissed him on the top of his head before heading off to where you needed to go. He spun in his chair and watched you leave, still smiling to himself. He’d tell you later that Yes, you were a good kisser.