This was going to be chapter two to Fascinated but I couldn't mash the summaries well so I just made it another fic! I hope it's as enjoyable as the first.

I own absolutely nothing except a recently new obsession for Criminal Minds!

Fascinated Part 2

Taking an appreciative look at an attractive person is not something that is uncommon, unless you are one Spencer Reid. He isn't the type to 'check someone out.' He has had a few thoughts about wanting a girlfriend, the even less thought of maybe it is a boyfriend he wants, and the hovering thought that he may just think he wants somebody. His sexual orientation has always been a complicated thing for him with questions such as is he heterosexual? Is he homosexual? Bisexual? Asexual? Did gender just not matter to him? But growing up the way he did, he rarely had people his own age around him, and by the time he was at an age where the age of another person didn't matter, he was to consumed with school and a career.

So to sum up, Reid has never gawked at a person for their looks before. Of course he has glanced at a certain man that goes by Derek Morgan...Occasionally. He was, sometimes is, able to convince himself that it's out of admiration and slight envy. Morgan is a capable, strong, socially competent agent who seems to have mastered so many emotions. The two agents are quite different from one another. However, out of the many things Morgan does, one has Reid questioning his motives, has him realizing he is doing more than glancing, has him experiencing a range of feelings he isn't familiar with firsthand, and that would be when Morgan gets his coffee at a coffee shop.

Like he is currently doing.

They're fresh off the plane, it is early morning, and the team is grabbing some coffee before heading to the office to tie up the end of their recent case. Morgan got to the counter first, right in front of Reid, giving him a front row seat. Metaphorically of course as he is standing and not sitting. But back to his uncharacteristic interest.

It starts with Morgan ordering his drink, just a simple transaction that acquires extra spice depending on the cashier. This particular one manages to pull a deep, rolling chuckle from him. It's a deepness that Reid hears plenty during work, whenever the older man speaks he hears it, but whenever he thought about it before, his mind started running the facts. That the deep voice is an indicator of testosterone altering the vocal cords at puberty, making them thicker. And yet, all he can think at this moment is how nice it would be to have that voice whisper into his ear. Whisper anything really, he just wants to feel the shivers run down his spine that he knows would accompany it.

Once his own ordering is done, he gets an eyeful of Morgan's back side while waiting for their drinks at the pick up area. The agent's t-shirts are always so well fitted, pleasantly stretching across broad shoulders and falling easily down the slope of his back, giving off hints of tattoos so strategically like it is all designed to make eyes linger. It's times like these that Reid finally understands the impulse to slap one's hand across another person's ass. It had always seemed so unnecessarily violent and inappropriate to him. When he was on the receiving end it just made him embarrassed. He has no idea why prostitutes like him so much.

Their orders are sat down on to the counter seconds apart and they walk the few steps, drinks in hand, to the small counter littered with napkins, straws, lids, and what ever else you might need. A slight...fluttering sensation fills Reid when they both grab the same kind of sugar: Sugar In The Raw. It is more natural than ordinary white sugar and is unrefined, still holding the sugar cane juice flavor, and well, he just likes it better. He also likes knowing him and Morgan have something in common, even if it is something small and trivial.

After Morgan grabs his one packet, something Reid can't settle for because honestly, there is only an approximate of one teaspoon of sugar in one of those packets, definitely not enough for him so he grabs two. He holds them together and grabs one end so he can shake the packets, gathering all the sugar at the bottom. Just ripping the tops off and sugar flying everywhere isn't something he feels like encountering. However, it also serves another purpose. It allows him to do a simple task so that he may watch out of the corner of his eye as Morgan simultaneously tears of an end of a sugar packet with his teeth and pulling a stirring stick from the pile of others.

The genius could, once again, be running facts over and over in his head: that teeth are white because of the color of the enamel and that one way teeth can become less radiant is the wearing away of enamel, allowing the yellowish hue of dentin to show through, but at the moment his mind is working to hard on deciding whether he would like to have Morgan's teeth nibbling on his ear or bottom lip. Maybe his lip. The lips, along with the tip of the tongue and fingers, are one of the more sensitive areas of the body after all. What kind of pressure would he use? Reid finds himself wondering. Would it be a gentle bite or harsh? Allowing a pinch of pain before licking it away or simply a pleasurable pressure?

Oh. Sugar packets. Pour into liquid. Right. He always gets so distracted at this part of his observation.

After opening his two packets, he proceeds to drop the thin scraps through the hole in the center of the counter and into the trash, then something catches his eye, something that veers from the path of routine. Morgan curls is tongue around the end of the stick closest to his fingers and slides it slowly through, tasting and gathering any leftover liquid collected from the stirring.

Reid hurriedly averts his eyes and dumps the sugar in his coffee before tossing the empty paper, the feel of his cheeks heating is unmistakable. He fumbles for his own stirring stick and creates a tornado like replica in his cup in hopes of a distraction. Nope. Without thinking of much besides a pink tongue, the younger man takes a sip of his drink as a taste test without blowing some of the heat away.

"Ow, hot."

There's laughter next to him and a soft pop of a plastic lid being fitted on the rim of a cup. He frowns at the other agent who has a bright smile in place and crinkles around his eyes in amusement. "Careful, it's hot Reid."

"Well clearly," a pause for Reid to furrow his brow, "it uh, just momentarily slipped my mind," he replied once he broke eye contact. He went to grab more sugar but paused when a large and warm hand patted his shoulder. In his paused state, all his attention was drawn to that weight.

"Hey, try not to use all the sugar now," Morgan said teasingly.

When the genius went to turn towards what he knew would be a smirking face, Morgan was already sauntering away and oh how Reid stared. He retraced the fit of the other's shirt, the hints of tattoos, and that inexplicably slap-able butt. Sighing out, he returns to his own coffee.

It feels so weird leaving this without having them end up together...maybe I'll squeeze out a part three sometime. Also! I have no idea how Morgan makes his coffee and I have no idea how Reid's mind works but this is fiction and I can do what I want with them! Yay!