Chapter Text
Several more kisses are shared. Somewhere on their trek to Spencer's bedroom, with Derek's hands twisting in damp locks, Spencer finds the courage to work nimble fingers against restricting fabric; Derek doesn't stop him this time and he tastes a bit like alcohol but his beer is abandoned on the coffee table in the living room. They practically fall into Spencer's bed and he wonders if Derek is trying to chase away his remaining insecurities with his lips. If he is, he's doing a brilliant job of it. Hell, even if he isn't, it's still working and Spencer can do little more than focus on the man's touch burning against his bare skin.
It's with his eyes closed that his courage comes to him and this time when he makes a comment about Derek wearing too much, Derek admits it might be time to even the playing field. His heart is in his throat and his stomach is no longer in knots. No, it feels as if a pound of earth-worms have taken up residence there. It's cold but warm and squirming all at once and his face is a brilliant pink when Derek finally manages to rid himself of his remaining clothes. Derek is the one stripping but Spencer is the one blushing and somewhere between trying to unzip Derek's jeans and actually tugging his pants down, Spencer's fingers stopped working.
Derek only chuckles and helps him with the rest and before he can properly take in the sight that is one Derek Morgan, he's captured in another heated kiss.
Their bare bodies tangle around one another as the sheets and blankets twist around their legs.
They kiss until his lips are tingling and red and he's breathless, until his chest is heaving with strain and arousal is creeping — again — through his veins.
Derek's touch doesn't retract and instead further explores his body.
There's the occasional surge of electric heat, of sheer, tickling arousal that winds around each limb and brings with it tension, like puppeteer pulling on his strings. Nearly as soon as he catches his breath, his thoughts catch up too and the tension is no longer warm and tingling. It's raw and sore and there's a sudden knot in his throat that is hard to swallow or breathe around. Derek had used him. Even if his intentions had been good, he had used him — manipulated him — and Spencer feels strangely cheated, hurt that their moment had been born from that.
He wonders if that's all that he deserves — no.
He pushes the thought from his mind and tries focusing on the intentions behind the act. He knows Derek... and Derek isn't like that. He isn't. He might use any means necessary to prevent a friend from hurting, yes, but he's not the sort to deliberately hurt that friend himself.
It's a fine line, one with bumps and dips and sudden twists, and Spencer navigates it carefully.
He stares up at the ceiling, blinking against the burning in his eyes until it subsides and he can properly focus on how carefully Derek is exploring his body.
Even then, more kisses are peppered against his right shoulder and collarbone. A hand slides along his left side, his touch gentle, almost tickling, and Spencer tries not to squirm away from him. Sudden warmth spreads through his chest and he looks to Derek with brighter eyes. He's a brilliant distraction. The words fall on their own accord: “Are you always this affectionate?”
Derek's lips linger against a particularly sensitive spot along his right pectoral and then he's shifting, his chin settling against his skin as he peers up at Spencer.
He makes a soft, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, a single word attaching to its end: “Maybe.”
Derek's lips shift into a smile of their own and he half-sits up, moving so that he's leaning on one elbow, his palm pressed against the side of his face. His eyes are warm as he looks at him and his other hand settles against his stomach, fingers curling gently against his skin.
“...or maybe I just figured I had some making up to do.”
And as much as Spencer wants to ignore the elephant in the room, it seems to demand his attention.
He can feel the cold creeping back in.
He swallows, averting his eyes.
“Yeah... that was... pretty manipulative,” he admits.
The words are flat.
He's not mad. He's just... hurt and as much as he tries to keep the pain from coloring his features, he knows he fails miserably. A hand stirs against his stomach, Derek's fingers sweeping up so that his fingers can trace along his sternum. Spencer forces himself to look at the other.
“I know...” his lips press into a thin line, momentary and fleeting, and he searches Spencer's eyes, “and I'm sorry.”
Spencer holds his eyes with his.
“You can't do something like that again.”
Again, the words come out on their own accord. They're soft but edged, hard at their beginnings and ends, and while he knows those earlier questions had come from a good place... well, it doesn't make it any less manipulative and he can't ignore how he felt at that moment. He can't ignore the panic, the hurt, and try as he might, he can't ignore the lingering doubt that seems to have followed: the fear that this is just some sort of twisted game.
Derek's lips twitch and he nods once, arm falling so that he can shift and lean in again. He half-covers Spencer's body with his, holding his gaze the entire time. There's a crease along his brow and a frown touching his lips. “I know,” he mutters, one hand settling against the curve of Spencer's neck, the other moving to cup the side of his face. “And I know an apology only does so much... but I'll say it again: I'm sorry.” The words are soft and Spencer can hear the sincerity in his voice. It burns in his eyes and his own lips twitch. Before he can reply, Derek presses on: “I promise I won't, Spencer. I promise.”
Spencer sucks his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
He wishes he could believe his promise whole-heartedly, he really does, but he knows that's going to take time.
He only hopes that time is something he has.
His own hands twitch up to lay against a bare back, his touch tentative and shy compared to the other man's. He tries focusing on the present moment and nothing else, silently glad Derek doesn't offer a reason — an excuse. He's glad he takes the brunt of his mistake as it is instead of becoming defensive or trying to get him to understand — it further proves that it came from a good place instead of a bad one.
Spencer nods once, his fingers twitching against Derek's spine.
“Good,” he breathes.
He wants to ask Derek what this means. He wants to expand on his promise and ask if he means this, too, or if things will go back to the way they were in the morning.
But the words are heavy on his tongue and taste acidic and he's selfish and afraid. What if things do go back to how they were before? He doesn't know how he'll handle that or if he'll even be able to. And he knows it's a conversation they should have sooner rather than later but he just — he can't. He can't ruin this moment any more than he already has because if things do go back, if this really is just temporary — an after-shock of sorts of their encounter — well, he wants to hold onto it with both hands. He wants to bask in its brilliance while he can and it's not logical, not one bit, because he knows it will likely hurt more in the end but for once logic seems to escape him.
Emotion wins out.
The courage that accompanies its victory is fleeting but he tries seizing it in that moment. He leans forward and catches Derek's lips with his own. His fingers curl against Derek's bare back in a feeble attempt to draw him closer; his eyes close and he focuses on pouring everything he can into what was intended to be a simple press of lips, on mimicking earlier actions and reversing them, on drawing Derek's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking. He's rewarded with a low noise that catches in Derek's throat, a twisted sort of hum that sends heat spiraling through his stomach.
Derek's tongue dances against his and the kiss ends only when his lips are tingling again.
He opens his eyes to peer into dark brown, a sheepish smile touching his lips, one that's quickly claimed by several more lingering kisses. When they finally pull back to look at each other again, it's Derek that breaks the silence, his hand re-tangling in messy curls: “Wow.”
It's not the most eloquent of conversation starters but it works nonetheless. Spencer chuckles, face heating, and mutters, “Practice makes perfect...”
Derek snorts, a grin lighting his features. Spencer can feel his chuckle rather than hear it and his own lips twist into a small smile.
“That it does,” he muses, his eyes searching his. “And I always knew you were a quick learner.” It's light and teasing and Derek and Spencer's smile widens. The teasing is natural and the idea that things might work out after all leaves him breathless in a different way. Before he can even think of starting that conversation, however, his lips are captured in another kiss.
The kisses drag on and on and Spencer isn't complaining one bit. It isn't until he yawns half-way through one of the slow, lingering ones that they pull away and instead settle for tangling around each other. He shifts only to turn off the bedside lamp and then Derek is drawing his quilt over their bodies. The feeling of Derek's naked body pressed against his is absolutely amazing, if not a bit surreal. He can feel Derek's arousal against his hip as he's tucked against his body; he swallows thickly, his own twitching to make itself known. He half expects something to happen — again — now that the lights are off but Derek seems content with just holding him. He presses the occasional kiss to his hair and Spencer shifts, turning into his embrace.
Derek's arms tighten around him and he tucks his face in the crook of his neck, breathing the other man in. He tries focusing on his warmth, using his mere presence as a shield against any returning doubts. It works better than intended even — he closes his eyes as Derek's hand skirts over his bare back and it doesn't take long for the warmth to lull him further into exhaustion. The darkness behind his eyelids seems to intensify and his doubts are left for the morning as his breathing evens out.