Sight

Former deputy sheriff Dixie Valentine couldn't dance. FBI Agent Spencer Reid knew this for a fact. Despite her new job as an exotic dancer in a sleazy club, after budget cuts had taken her prestigious career from her, she couldn't move to a beat of any kind. Hanging to a pole seemed more of a workout than dancing, in both of their opinions. Still, had Reid not met her during a case before hand, and had Dixie not been paying half of the rent during in Reid's current residence, he would never verbalize his opinion of her dancing to anyone. But she was absolutely horrible.

So when Reid came home from the office or from a case, to find the house quite, he knew Dixie was usually dancing. A quick search of the house and he would find her. Sure enough he'd find her in the kitchen or in another room of the house with her ipod on her hip, earphones in, and moving around the room the only way she enjoyed.

Spencer Reid knew the people found symmetry in facial structure appealing. It was theorized that was how people chose their partners. Sight was also how people based their decisions in life. How they chose their clothes, their cars, their homes. All by how appealing they are to the eyes. Reid tended to go against the appeal to the eyes, even Dixie's dancing.

Dixie, herself, was certainly appealing to the eyes of men. On the chances of seeing her out of the house in public, most eyes were on her. She was tall for a woman, averaging at five foot eight. Her body was well curved in all the appealing areas. The jeans she wears are too big for her body, men's sizes. She wears them to keep the attention off her in case anyone from the club should chancily recognize her. Her blouses though, were much too tight. But when genetics are a factor of her bust size, there isn't much she can do other than buy shirts in a larger size and pray they fit correctly.

But when she's wearing her favorite torn jeans that hang to her hips, those tight shirts she hates so much, and no one's around, she dances-or tries to. Reid watches from the safety of the doorframe while her back is turned to him. He watches as she moves her hips from side to side and rolls her shoulder. Sometimes she brings her hands up near her head and simply shakes them for no reason. She'll spin around and that's when Reid's terrified she'll see him. But she never does. She simply continues dancing in her own way to her ipod.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. And even without her perfectly framed body, her police history, and model appearing face, Reid would still find her god awful dancing the most appealing feature about Dixie Valentine. At least until he's caught watching her.

Sound

It always happened when it was completely quiet in the house. And they were always together when it happened. He would be sitting on the couch reading one of his books and she would be cooking in the kitchen, or they would be eating, whatever it was it always happened during the utter silence. She would get a hiccup attack.

The first time Reid had ever heard Dixie hiccup; he was reading one of his favorite books. Dixie was fixing one of her uniforms for work. The entire house was quiet, until he heard a small squeak. It sounded like a mouse! He looked up from his book and looked around the floor but couldn't see anything. That was when he turned to Dixie and found her with her hand on her chest hiccupping. They came within ten second of each other, sounding like a squeaking mouse every time.

Reid had been so shock, he burst into laughter right in front of her. No, laughing in front of a laid off deputy sheriff, sitting in front of a sewing machine, and still firearms certified was not a good idea. She was fully capable of hurting him with ease. But while she was sitting in her chair with her hand on her chest, hiccupping like a mouse, how could anyone not laugh.

"Oh-hic-shut u-hic-up." Dixie managed, but it only made Reid laugh harder.

Only in the most silent time times do they occur. And every time Reid can't help but smile when it does. Dixie doesn't find it quite as funny though. At least she wasn't aware he'd heard her singing. That would no doubt bring about the wrath of hell upon him…if he was lucky.

Scent

She does it every time he tells her he'll be out of state on a case. The nights he comes home and she's asleep, he always finds her wearing one of his shirts that always seem to fit her better than him. She also steals his pillow from his bed. Dixie says she steals his pillow because it's more comfortable than her own pillow. But after buying her a pillow and switching it while she was at work, she'd still stolen his while he was away. Reid wouldn't even mention why she took his shirts. It wasn't a problem. She always washed and returned his shirts before he wants to wear them. Not that Reid would ever complain. He stole her pillow when she had his. For some reason, the familiar yet unnamable scent of her pillow always managed to help him sleep, especially after a hard case.

Touch

He claims it was an accident, in truth it's not. He does it to try and figure out how she does it. He doesn't understand how it's possible. How is her skin so soft? At first he thought it was just her hand after having brushed her hand in the kitchen. But then they'd nearly collided in the hall and he touched her shoulder to find her skin just as soft and even cool.

He'd looked at the ingredients in her lotion bottle, but nothing on the list would give her skin that smooth. It had to be something else to it. So every touch he managed to take, every accident, gave him information to his question, but never the answer. Maybe that was why he offered to train with her. She may not be an officer of the law anymore, but that wasn't any excuse not to train in self defense. She always threw him on his back, but not before he managed a feel of her bare arms. He wondered how long he could keep up the ruse before Dixie accused him of something. He'd probably deserve it, but it was that or ask how she managed to have such soft skin. That seemed more dangerous than his plan…a least for now.

Taste

It wasn't an accident. At least, he doesn't think it was. Spontaneous, absolutely. Accidental…hell no. They were sitting on the couch, watching First Contact. Being a closet geek, Dixie was leaning against him, fully engrossed in the movie, just as Reid. Neither of them seemed to mind or even notice the lack of space between them. Until Dixie reached for the popcorn on the coffee table in front of them.

At first, it was her arm. Her soft, smooth skin ran over his arm as she moved forward to the coffee table. Then it was her scent, the unnamable scent that covered her pillow that always lured him. Next came her soft little hum after she'd eaten a small handful of popcorn. That soft little musical hum she kept hidden from everyone. The final nail in his coffin came when she turned toward him, having noticed him watching her. Her model featured face turned toward him. Her long auburn braid flipped over her right shoulder. Her grey eyes stared up at him.

"What?" she had.

That's when he did it. He leaned in, closing the remainder of that small gap between them. The moment his lips met hers, there was something. It was sweet, like sugar. Which couldn't have been possible as she'd just eaten popcorn. But there it was, the sugar flavor-no not sugar…caramel. The rich, smooth flavor of her lips. The flavor that completed her scent, her appearance, her voice. The flavor that sealed his fate.

okay bare with me this is my first cm fanfiction. i really have no idea where this came from