Just a little sketch I wrote this morning. One sided H/R. Slash! Gasp!
Spencer Reid got his car into gear with frustration, pulling out of the FBI parking lot far too fast for safety. He jabbed one long, thin finger at the buttons on the radio.
He's everything you want, he's everything you need-
He slapped the steering wheel angrily and changed the station.
Why can't you see-ee-ee, you belong with me-e-e, you belong-
He jabbed at the button again.
I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you-
Another slap to the steering wheel. He turned on the CD player instead. Muse began playing where they'd left off last.
You'd feel like heaven to touch, I want to hold you so much-
He gave up on driving home then. He pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store. Had the radio suddenly gained telepathic powers? What cruel force of fate had let him pause the CD at that exact point in the morning? Why couldn't he just slip into his car, turn on the radio and lose his thoughts to music, like he could any other day? Was the universe determined to make him lose his mind? He could never, ever act on these emotions. He would lose the only thing left to him- his career. He needed to distance himself from them if he couldn't stop them entirely.
He also needed to stop imagining Hotch's lips on his own. That might help.