No own. Applies to all my things.
Penelope felt the depression on the bed behind her.
"Hey kitten."
"Kitten?" Morgan retorted, putting on a hurt tone to his voice.
"Tiger?" He laid down on his stomach as well, perpendicular to her towards the end of the bed.
"Mmmmm. Better." He glanced over her shoulder. The only light in the room was generated from the screen of the computer. "What are you working on?"
The tap of the keys was soothingly rhythmic.
"Just writing."
"Writing what?"
"To my brother."
"Dan?"
"Yes. He's the only one that I really talk to."
"What are you telling him about?"
"Things. Saying that I got the pictures of Ty that he sent."
"Mmmhmmm." Derek hummed lowly. Her bare legs were splayed out behind her, kicking absently along to the tapping.
"And….Work. Nothing classified or anything."
Derek made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. His ring finger hovered over the soft skin behind her knee, brushing against it with a twitch of his hand.
"The usual. Friends and such. JJ and Reid and Emily and all that. He likes to know that I'm doing okay here." There was a smile in her voice that covered the implications of overprotectiveness.
"Anything about me in there?" Derek murmured. The pad of his finger ran softly along the line of her leg to the knee, the back of his hand gently leading back down.
"Nothing much." Penelope couldn't stop the curve of her mouth. The tickling touch on her leg made her cringe at its almost unbearable sweetness.
"Should I be worried?" His voice was low and reverberated in his chest.
"No, it's just words couldn't do you justice."
His hand slowed, his thumb running along her skin before pausing.
"I guess I'll just have to meet him someday then."
Penelope closed her laptop with a faint click, not speaking. She pushed it to the head of the bed, letting it slide under one of the pillows where it often stayed overnight.
"Come here." She turned onto her hip. Derek moved, turning and lying alongside her.
Penelope moved into him, resting her forehead against his collarbone. One arm folded to support his head, and the other slid his hand to the space between her shoulder blades.
She shifted, finding the most comfortable angle against him. She rested her chin against his chest, warm and softly spicy. She pressed soft kisses against the fabric of his t-shirt. His fingers flexed pressure along her spine in response. With the soft hum from his throat, she rested against him, focusing on the cyclical path his finger ran over her skin.