A/N: I'm currently going through the whole packing and moving back into my dorm biz right now, so this chapter is barely edited. Please bear with me during this time of holy shitness.


Raising the Barre 2: The Tipping Pointe

CHAPTER TWO: Vista

Pulling the sticky cab door closed beside him, Derek glanced to Spencer as he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and fastened his seatbelt across his chest.

Derek scoffed, "You actually carry a handkerchief?"

Spencer shrugged, "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, it's not 1720, for one." Derek replied sassily.

"Fine. Whatever. Touch these seats with your bare hands, then. Have fun getting Cholera," Spencer answered sassily, leaning forward and asking the cabbie, "Could you take us to Vista, please, sir?"

The cabbie croaked back through the hazy window, "You got it, dude."

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, "Vista? …where's Vista?"

Spencer smiled cynically, "More like, what's Vista."

"You're being mysterious again," Derek folded his arms across his chest, moodily. He is quite relieved that Spencer no longer hates his guts, but this whole turn around just isn't sitting right with him. Everything worked out too quickly. One moment, Spencer's trying to get him jealous, flinging curses and middle fingers, and after one speech, Derek's back on his good list? Please. Spencer is more complex than the fourth season of Torchwood. One bared heart can't break through his tightly weaved coding… can it? No. No, it can't. Derek's not taking the bait. The other shoe is going to drop. Derek just doesn't know when.

So, he needs to be ready. Yeah, he can do that. Derek's guard was officially up.

As the car sped through the town, Derek gazed out of the window. The city was kind of crazy looking at night. It's all lights and billboards and signs. Nothing like Chicago. It's almost blindingthe flashing bulbs. Spencer's probably used to it, being from Vegas and all, but Derek's kind of finding it uncomfortable. These larger than life buildings, herds of people, millions of perfumes, billions of ideas clashing onto one strip of land… it makes him feel smallirrelevant almost; like he could do anything at all and it wouldn't matter. But, there's this undercurrent to it that's almost comforting. Everyone who was here was here for a reason. They weren't stuck here, held down, or suppressed. The main point of L.A. was to follow your dreams and become something amazing, despite your past. There was so much drive and promise here. He could feel it in the breeze, all of the hope and passion and love.

Derek asked, "What brought you here?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow, "Where?"

Derek solidified, "Los Angeles."

Spencer shrugged, "Work. If I didn't have to be in this place, trust me, I wouldn't. I hate it here."

Derek nearly jerked back in surprise, "Wait, what? You hate it here?"

"Yeah," Spencer replied, looking out of his side of the window, "…doesn't snow."

Derek replied, "But you're from Nevada. It doesn't snow there either."

Spencer started to chuckle softly, "Doesn't mean I don't like it."

Derek wrinkled his nose, "It's cold. Kind of disgusting too when it like halfway melts or gets stuck in your socks."

Spencer glanced over at Derek, "But, you get to bundle up and drink coffee at any time and no one will judge you. And everything smells like cinnamon and your cheeks get all red and it looks… so beautiful when you wake up and look out of the window and there it is. All over the trees and the ground."

Derek added, "And your dashboard..."

Spencer laughed, "I love it."

Derek snorted, "I hate it."

"Wow, look at us," Spencer said with a smile, "You know, 62% of divorced couples found most of their disagreements were about money, children, and the weather."

Derek replied, "Huh. Good thing we're not married. We've got enough to worry about."

Spencer started to laugh, "I'm not so sure about that."

Derek raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

Spencer answered, "With gay marriage legalized in California in 2013, it's not impossible. Plus, we're biracial which is a backdoor tax discount, and you'd be new to the state which would be a discount on top of that discount, and you're close to 50, which would give us senior benefits as well."

"Excuse you, I'm 41. I'm nowhere near 50. Senior benefits, my ass." Derek said.

Spencer chuckled, "I don't even think you want to know how incredible our tax breaks would be. We'd save so much money, it would almost be like stealing from the government. I kind of want to do it, just to see what happens."

Derek gave Spencer a worried stare, "You'd marry me for a tax break?"

"Not just that," Spencer replied, "We get along okay, the sex would be phenomenal, and you cook a mean breakfast. Plus, you'd be good with children. It would be kind of bumpy at times, but we'd figure it out."

Derek asked, "You want kids?"

Spencer smiled wistfully, "One day. A girl, preferably. I don't know if I'd be a good dad, but… I want to be there for a kid. Watch her grow up, keep her safe. Dry her tears and be there for her, you know? I'd try to anyway. Gosh, I don't know."

Derek shook his head, "Shut up."

Spencer glanced at Derek, "Why?"

"You'd be an amazing dad. Shitty boyfriend though," Derek shrugged and Spencer paused, scooching over the seats to rest his head on Derek's shoulder. Derek glanced down at the dancer as he snuggled into his shirt, "Dude."

Spencer breathed out, "I was a jerk to you. All week. And for what? Because I didn't understand you-didn't give you a chance to communicate with me? You have every right to be mad at me right now."

Derek answered, "I'm not."

Spencer paused, "Really?"

"I'm fucking afraid of you, actually." Derek admitted.

Spencer looked back at Derek with heartbroken disappointment in his eyes, "Seriously?"

Derek nodded.

Spencer hissed, "Shit!" more frustrated with himself than Derek's ever seen him before. He pushed off of Derek's shoulder angrily and leaned against his side of the car, staring out of the window and shaking his head, "That's… I didn't want that at all."

"No," Derek replied, "It's good. Hopefully, I've seen you at your worst and it's something I hope I'll never have to witness again."

Spencer sighed, "You never will. I promise. I just feel so bad, man, you don't even know. I want to make it up to you, but I don't know where to start."

Derek let out a soft smile, "You don't have to do a thing for me, Pretty Boy. This whole mess would have been avoided if I explained myself that night. I hurt you. I did. And, I deserved most of the shit you flung at me for it."

Spencer turned to Derek, eyes large and full of regret, "No, you didn't. You wouldn't have said any of those things if I didn't lash out at you. We could have been happy. I ruined that, Derek! I'm just… fuck! I'm wishing you didn't feel anything for me, because all I do is hurt people. And, I don't want to hurt you! You're the last one I want to hurt!"

"Hell, I'm glad you yelled at me that day! If you didn't, I would have been blindly following after you, letting you deny me over and over again. Dude, I would have given you everything I had and wouldn't think to question it no matter how many times you told me 'no'," Derek said, "You need time. You do. You're different from me, and there's nothing wrong with that! We feel things on a completely polar scale and I didn't accept that. But, now I do."

Spencer asked warily, "You sure about that?"

Derek chuckled easily, "Yeah. I kind of have to be. You're Dr. Spencer Reid from Las Vegas and I'm Derek Morgan from Chicago. We have nine years between us. I grew up with race wars and you grew up a prodigy. We've had different struggles and trials, our outlooks on life couldn't be more diverse if God wrote them that way! I mean we don't even share the same nationality! Man, I don't even know if you're Jewish or not! Do you celebrate Christmas?"

Spencer shrugged, "Depends on the year."

Derek answered, "Seriously? If I don't show up at my Mama's house by the Eve every year, I'm going have to pick my damn switch. I actually had to two years ago when I showed up on Christmas day."

Spencer's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Pick a switch? What does that mean?"

Derek replied, "That means I go outside, find a tree branch, and bring it to my mom so she can whoop my ass with it. Your mama never beat you with a stick?"

Spencer gave Derek a strange look, "No."

"See! This is the kind of shit I'm talking about," Derek sighed exasperatedly, "We were even brought up different. It's my fault for expecting more of you than you were willing to give, alright? It's my fault for assuming that we're going to feel things the same way at the same time. Where I see love, you see fear. I get that now. And I'm going to do everything I can to make love something good for you. I am still a firm believer that you can be happy for more than two days without it all crashing down on you," Derek took a breath, "I'm not afraid to love you. I'm not. I was before, but, you know what? Fuck it. I didn't choose it, but it happened. I care about you. A lot. And I know you care about me too."

Spencer smiled quietly, "I do."

Derek glanced down at Spencer, "Good. So, the rest, we can figure out."

Spencer moved his head up, locking eyes with Derek, "Yeah, we can."

Derek smiled softly and Spencer leaned closer to Derek's, pressing a kiss dangerously close to his lips and turning his head to the side to seal the deal before Derek leaned back, "…not yet. We kind of have to be on the same... level first."

Spencer's eyes narrowed in a glare.

Derek spoke, "Are you about to throw another tantrum?"

Spencer mumbled, "…no."

Derek chuckled, "You sure?"

"Yeah," Spencer replied, "I don't need your body like that."

Derek smirked, "You totally do."

The cabbie leaned back, saying through the little window with his scratchy voice, "We've been stopped for two minutes now. You guys going to get out or…"

Spencer pushed at Derek's shoulder noncommittally, "Yeah, we were just leaving."

Derek reached into his back pocket, pulling his leather-bound wallet out of it and flipping it open, glancing at the ticker at the front of the cab to check the price. He leafed through it despite Spencer's protests and handed the money over to the driver through the window plus tip. They made their way out of the cab and when Derek stepped out, his vision nearly blurred from all of the flashing lights. They were on the Sunset Strip and in the midst of tourists, Spencer pointed to the building ahead of them which had the word VISTA plastered all over the front of it in giant, lit bulbs, "You got cab fare, so I'm paying for the tickets."

"Tickets for what?" Derek asked.

Spencer tugged on the arm of Derek's sweater, pulling him toward the long line, "The Vista Theatre. It's been here since the 1940's. The architecture here is so sound, it's insane and when no one's in the lobby, it echoes."

Derek paused, "Wow. Cool. Why are we here?"

Spencer shrugged, "Why not be here?"

Derek narrowed his eyes at his partner, "I. Don't. Know. Is this a trick?"

Spencer cockled his head to the side, confusion in his eyes, "No. Why would it be a trick?"

Derek answered, "Because, there's no way in hell Spencer Reid would take me out. He's said that before. Several times."

"What? You think this is a date?" Spencer started to laugh, "Please. I just wanted to show you something cool, you know? Get your mind off of the next challenge. Side by side is always the hardest."

Derek rolled his eyes, "Please, man. I'm not scared of no professional. I already look bad enough next to you. Add another and it's just gravy."

Spencer grinned, "Bull. You're scared to dance with two professionals next week. Admit that and I'll call it a date."

Derek glared at Spencer, "No, you won't."

Spencer chuckled, "Alright, I won't, but still. It's healthy. Get it off your chest. You're scared. Scared as a churchmouse in Hell."

Derek replied easily, "I will admit it if you go on a date with me."

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head, "No."

Derek folded his arms, "Ugh! Why not?"

Spencer grinned, "Shutting you down has become more entertaining than giving in."

"Yeah, back when you were getting the milk for free," Derek said under his breath.

Spencer asked, "What does that mean?"

Derek blinked, "You've never heard that phrase? 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free'?"

Spencer shook his head, "No."

Derek asked, "What hole have you been living in? I need to know."

Spencer folded his arms, "I'm not living in a hole!"

Derek looked around to see if anyone was listening before exploding out, "Sex is milk and buying the cow refers to a relationship! You know?"

"Oh… I get the analogy," Spencer replied with a look of realization on his face as he nodded slowly, "But, you're not a cow. You're a handsome man."

Derek sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples, "You know what"


The theatre was playing Mary Poppins and Spencer shelled out the money for them, ushering them into a gigantic lobby with high ceilings. Yeah, Derek bets his ass that the echo in here is sick as fuck. The floors were marbled and the gold painted columns lining the room in a way that made it seem like it was the only thing holding the insides up. Derek felt a shudder go through him. It probably was. The building was all brick on the outside. The interior was filled to the brim with people, bodies clustered around the paintings, movie listings, and celebrity photos. Spencer nudged him briefly, "You get the seats. I'll get the popcorn."

Derek worried aloud, "There are a lot of people in here. Are you sure you don't want me to get it?"

Spencer glanced at Derek fondly, "I went into West Hollywood and let a scuzzy guy that smelled like piss and cocaine cut off a lock of my hair for drugs. I think I can handle a concession line."

Derek felt sick to his stomach at the visual that provided, closing his eyes and nodded, "You've got a point."

"I know," Spencer replied, patting Derek's shoulder before heading off into the crowd of people. Derek watched him walk, head high, stride determined. Dude knows what he's doing. He should, I mean, this is his territory. If he knows anything, it's the Los Angeles tour crowds. Spencer pushed through the bustling knot of people, but Derek didn't lose him. Not yet. He let his eyes travel down for a moment, settling on the man's rear. Derek whistled. God did a good job on that one, a 10-out-of-10, pat-you-on-the-back, hit-the-showers kind of good job. It looks just as plump and perky as he remembers. Flashes of memories brushed by him as his palms itched at the feeling of that butt under his hands. Derek remembers when Spencer first let him touch his butt. Spencer had arched into his chest, leaning back to let Derek kiss at his neck as his thin, agile legs straddled Derek into his couch. Then, his ex-boyfriend woke up and bitched Spencer out until he cried. Then, Derek had to follow Spencer into his room to pick up the pieces. Then, right there in that room, they'd spilled everything to each otherbared their souls. Derek felt himself fall for Spencer. He watched it all happen. For that one night, they were so happy. They had each other, they leaned on each other, dried each other's tears, swallowed their troubles with kisses and soothed their pain with laughter. Why did he let that slip away? Why, why, why?

Because they were on two different levels of emotional intimacy, that's why. Derek was on a 5 and Spencer was on a 3, and a team is only as strong as its weakest link.

Derek spared another glance at Spencer's butt. That ass came with a high cost. It really did. But, Derek would pay it again. Just… you know, after Spencer and he are emotionally equal. Which will happen. Eventually. Right? Right. Hopefully. And when Spencer finally jumps that wall he's built himself and admits his feelings, Derek's going to give it to him. He's going to give it to him so hard. He'll push Spencer into the bed and pound the living shit out of him. Shake the bed, crack the headboard, scratch the floorboards with how rough he was going to… fuck… it's been so long since he's had sex. Too long. Well, it was a month and a half, give or take a few days. At this point two months ago, he had ass on the regular. Ass on tap. More ass than he knew what to do with. Mind you, it was a cheating ass, but it was ass nonetheless. He was used to getting sex whenever he wanted it. That's just the way Derek's life was.

Then, came Spencer—King of the Cockteases. And within a few weeks, Spencer was stripping for him nice and slow, grinding on him, throwing it back like an overpaid whore, making sure he was the key feature in every naughty thought Derek's mind could possibly scrounge up. And now, Derek has to walk by him every day and withstand the temptation to toss him onto the nearest flat surface and rock his little over-read world. Spencer's fucking insane. He's in love with his job, he takes things way too seriously, he's afraid of technology, he's passionate about everything, and whenever he walks into a room every single person shuts the fuck up and watches him stride as their brains scream, "Damn, you fine." You don't get over a guy like that quickly. You just don't. And Derek doesn't want to. He glanced back down to Spencer's rear. Shit. Now that is an ass.

There was a sudden buzz in his pocket and Derek pulled his phone out, unlocking it and scrolling to the notification. It was a text message from Spencer. It read [Stop staring at my butt, you perv]. Derek sucked his teeth angrily. How does he always know?! He typed back quickly [i wasnt staring ok it was in my eye line and i glanced at it sue me for having sight].

Derek shook his head of his previous thoughts, making his way into the theatre. It was big in there. And Derek means huge. There were seats everywhere, and they had some serious leg room which is fantastic for a man breaking six feet, but Derek didn't really see a screen. It looked like there was a stage in the front. Weird. Are they actually playing Mary Poppins, or is this going to be one of those strange-ass musical stage adaptations that take three hours of your life away. Yeah, that sounds like something Spencer would like. Singing Nazis. Mr. Ph.D enjoys the shit out of deep, psychological crap like this. Derek rolled his eyes, sighting a few free seats. He had to choose carefully. Front of the theatre means "I actually want to watch this boring-ass play". Middle of the theatre means "I'm mildly interested in the play, but I'm also mildly interested in you". And the back of the theater is certified make out row. There's no way Derek could choose anything back there. That's pretty much an invitation to sex. But, the front is an invitation to friendship, and that's not exactly what Derek's going for either.

Middle row it is!

Derek rolled his eyes and politely edged his way around a few people to score a seat in row 19. He sat down and wrapped his arm around the chair to his left, getting comfortable as he sunk into the fabric. It was strange in the way that it was surprisingly easy to melt into. The seats are filled with some sort of soft feathery downy type thing and throughout the whole sitting down situation, Derek felt like his ass was being cradled in a pillow. He shifted uncomfortably. No. This is not okay. Spencer had better be back soon, or Derek swears to God that he'll—

"Oh, my God… is that Derek Morgan?" a quiet voice whispered in the bustling theater.

Derek's ears piqued at the sound of his name. Crap. He's been spotted. No, no. He still has a fighting chance to stay under the radar. He'll just fiddle with his phone a bit, keep his head down, and they'll think he's just guy who looks like Derek Morgan. Derek quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and started messing with something on it, pulling up old text messages and scrolling mindlessly until he heard:

Another voice, female, whispered back, "No, it's just some black guy."

Nice to know his ethnicity comes into play.

The male voice muttered back, "That is definitely Derek Morgan. I know my players. He won MVP this year. Played for the Bears for over a decade. Dude's a damned legend."

Derek tried not to smile and succeeded. Whomever this is is correct. He is a legend. Thank you for noticing. Derek scrolled through his mother's text messages. She'd texted him two nights ago, reminding him to floss. Ugh.

The woman whispered, "Well, if you're so sure, then why don't you say something to him? He seems nice."

"Eww, no," the guy hissed, "He's a fucking faggot."

Derek gritted his teeth as the guy continued, "He's been loving up on some andro-looking dude in this ballroom show he's doing. It's all over the news. It's disgusting. But, I mean, the other guy seems sweet enough. Got the long hair and big eyes and shit. It's easy to forget he has a dick."

Derek's fist clenched in his pocket, as he chanted a calming mantra to himself. He can't hit him. He legally cannot hit him. Derek has a black belt in jujitsu. His hands are considered a lethal weapon. If he strikes, it will be considered assault and battery and he will go straight to prison. Derek clenched his fist harder, nails digging into his palms as the woman defended them, "That's not true! They're friends. Good friends. It's quite nice actually, two men being close like that, unafraid of same-sex intimacy because of how secure they are in their masculinity."

The man chuckled quietly, "Please. I hear they're doing it like bunnies when the camera's away, but they're not fooling anybody. You see the way they look in those pictures? Queers."

The woman replied, "That's not nice. And even if they are involved with each other, it's no business of yours anyway. Why do you care?"

"I don't," the man added, "But, it's being shoved in my face because of how surprised everyone is that this butchy football dude is now a cock sucking, fudge packing, lady boy, fag—"

"I got no butter or salt on it, because its gross when it gets all drippy," Spencer slid into the seat next to him, idly leafing through the bucket for a handful and glancing over at Derek, "You alright?"

Derek nodded distractedly as he heard the man laugh, "Oh, shit! There he is. Look at them on their little date, those fucking queers."

Spencer shoved a few popped kernels into his mouth, "You know, in the 1960's when this movie first came out, there was an uproar over Julie Andrews, but when it came time for the Broadway adaption, she wasn't even considered to play the role on stage in New York! I mean, the nerve of them, right?! She's like the best thing to ever happen to the big screen and—mmh!" Derek grabbed Spencer's face and pressed his lips to his partner's soft, warm, plush ones in a hard, determined kiss. He pulled Spencer's face close and really let him have it as Spencer's accepting lips opened pliably underneath his. The faint sound of the paper bowl hitting the floor was followed by the pip-pip of popcorn skittering around their feet. Spencer's hand came up to press against the side of Derek's neck impatiently as he deepened the kiss with a soft, breathy moan at the base of his neck. Spencer's eager tongue came in, running it along Derek's all warm and delightfully probing. Damn, this kid was into it. Whoa. Now his stubble it rubbing against his cheek nice and slow. Fuck. Mmm. Yeah. That's nice. That's really nice. That's fucking… hnnn… that's enough!

Derek pulled away and ran his thumb along his lower lip to catch the moist condensation caused by their mixed breaths. Yeah, he thinks he made his point.

Spencer breathed out a surprised laugh, gazing up at him through hooded eyes, "What was that for?"

"Jerk two rows up," Derek panted, "Called me a faggot."

Spencer asked, "And you kissed me because…"

Derek replied easily, voice raising a bit so the man could hear them, "Because I'm not ashamed of being attracted to another man. And the word faggot is demeaning. Especially to a professional quarterback with lots of money who could probably fuck another man's girlfriend better than he can."

Spencer snapped his fingers and chuckled, "Okay?"


It was chilly out two mornings later. The sky was dark and ominous, clouds thick and air muggy with the Pacific drift. Derek zipped his grew sweatshirt up a few inches of his collar and almost regretted wearing a tank top out of his house-almost. He would fully regret it, but the ego stroke he gets when Spencer's eyes run down his body in appreciation and blush that runs across his face as he looks away in embarrassment is pretty worth fifteen minutes of minor chill in the car on the way to the studio.

By the grace of God and God alone, they didn't get kicked out last week. Spencer's choreo was pretty intense emotionally and contributed to their low score, but since it was such a tear-jerker (and got the show a metric shit-ton of tweets and publicity), they were swept along with the winners. It was close, but their partnership pulled through. Derek felt the side of his lip quirk up in a small smile and rolled up the driver's side window against the wind, driving into the parking lot behind the building and sliding into the parking space beside Spencer's ancient off-grey Saturn. The dusty rear lights of the car flicked off as the engine wheezed out a silencing cough and Spencer wrenched the door open, hopping out and bopping his head. As he turned to lock the car door, Derek saw two white cords handing from the side of his face. He shook his head up and down and his shoulders swayed while he jimmied the key in the lock. Derek chuckled to himself. Dude was rocking the fuck out all by himself.

Derek opened up the door of his rental car and locked it behind him with the electronic lock, stuffing the keys in his pocket. Spencer was still jamming, pulling the key out of the sticky old lock. Derek knocked on the roof of Spencer's car to get his attention and Spencer jumped, pulling one of the cords out of his ear, "God, you're like a ghost these days! Jeez. This is twice now."

"I told you before, man, I'm part cat," Derek winked and folded his arms over the roof of the old clunker as he gazed back at his partner, "Meow."

Spencer replied, "No."

Derek nodded with a grin, "Yes."

Spencer said easily, "If I'm not allowed to feel you up during break, you're not allowed to make animal noises at me. It counts as seduction without means to an end and I refuse to accept it."

"What?" Derek scoffed, "That's not a rule."

Spencer folded his arms over the driver's side of the car, "It is now."

Derek chuckled, "It's a bullshit rule then."

Spencer combatted, "You're a bullshit rule."

"That made no sense," Derek rebutted.

Spencer rolled his eyes, "Whatever. You owe me $7.50 for that popcorn you wasted last night."

Derek argued, "$7.50?! I gave you a free kiss! Do you know how much that's worth? I was on Ellen once, and you would be fucking surprised the dough people would cough up just to taste this chocolate."

Spencer pushed off of the car and headed away from it, "Well, it's overrated. And I expect my $7.50 by tomorrow at the latest, okay, cheepskate?"

"Imma pay you back in all pennies, just you watch," Derek replied, raising a finger, "Or, you know what? Maybe I'll write you a check!"

Spencer groaned, "You are a major pain in my ass, you know that. I hope this other professional reams the crap out of you."

The two men walked into the studio together chatting animatedly. Spencer was wearing that pair of Derek's basketball shorts he stole and another one of those cute little black shirts that hug his slender midsection. Derek himself was in a pair of sweats and a flat rimmed Snapback. It was clear pretty quickly who was dressing up for who. As they strode into the studio, Spencer asked him how Derek would feel about a second dancer nudging their way into their little Team Wild Card man-cave. Derek was indifferent about it at first mention. Walking behind him, complaining about the lack of concentration that was sure to end them, Spencer grabbed Derek's hat off of his head and placed it on his own the complete and total wrong way.

Derek turned to him and shifted it around his head until the brim was facing the back. Spencer looked up at Derek, "What?

"You were wearing it wrong," Derek furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head and moving it again so that the brim faced front, "Well, that's not right either."

Spencer let out a sneeze and the hat flopped down his forehead. He pushed it over his brow and Derek tried to hard not to crush him in a hug. He was so cute in it. Hell, kid could have it if he wanted to. Spencer sniffed from under the hat, "Nevermind the hat. Are you sure you're ready for another professional in here? You sounded cocky a couple of nights ago, but you can change your mind. We can work something out if you're not okay with it."

Derek laughed, "Dude, are you? I can't imagine you giving up the reins of control in the studio."

Spencer rolled his eyes, "Oh, please. I'm still the head choreographer. I'm still in charge, and you're still my bitch. I was just worried about your capability to share my attention."

Derek shoved Spencer playfully, "Fuck you, I share awesomely. I'm a pro at it."

"Mainly because you were the youngest of the Morgan clan, correct?" Spencer laughed back, ducking as Derek swatted at him.

Derek headed over to the barre, leaning against it, "Age meant nothing. I'm the man of the family, so everything gets approved by me. Besides, I'm not possessive like that. I don't get jealous over stupid shit."

Spencer followed him and stood in front of Derek with his hands in his pockets, "Then, what's the issue?"

Derek replied, "The obvious. I'm dancing with two professionals, I mean, jeez. That's some serious pressure to hold my own out there."

Spencer placed a hand at Derek's cheek, staring into his eyes soulfully, "Hey, come on. You're going to be great. You're a good dancer, Derek. Might even venture to say incredible."

Derek stared back at Spencer with a small smile, "Well, yeah, you'd think so. You 'molded' me."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, "That sounds vaguely dirty, but okay."

Derek clipped Spencer's chin, "You're the one that called me clay before our first show."

Spencer patted Derek's cheek, letting his hand fall, "That, I did. It was kind of mean now that I'm thinking about it, sorry."

"Are you kidding? It gave me hope. I thought I was only going to make it to second week, maybe third with divine intervention. And here we are. Week Six, Side by Side challenge," Derek claimed, resting his hands on the barre behind him, "You're a miracle worker. Albeit, one with a great ass and a more than your fair share of attitude, but a miracle worker nonetheless."

Spencer nudged Derek with a shy smile, "Quit it."

Derek tugged his partner in by the edge of his shirt and wrapped his arms around him, "No. You're my cute little Spencer. You're so adorable. Look at that face, good God. You're almost disgusting."

"Derek, ugh! Come on, man," Spencer squirmed out of the hug and glared at him, face red with blush as he hissed under his breath with a wagged finger, "Cameras."

Derek pouted, "What, I can't hug you now, cutie? You're all for it on stage."

"No, I'm not! You're just clingy and I put up with it," Spencer rolled his eyes as Derek strangled him into another embrace, glancing at the clock on the wall, "Aaaaaaand, it's 8:47. He or she is late."

Derek winked, "Then, we're probably working with a female, Mr. Subject Changer."

Spencer raised his eyebrows, "Hey, you never know. He could be one of those guys that had no physical sense of time, ring any bells, Derek?"

"First of all: I'm never late. Everyone else is simply early." Derek shrugged, "Secondly: I'm kind of hoping we get to work with a woman. No offense, but if I have to deal with any more sweaty, smelly testosterone-covered balls in this room, I'm going to spontaneously combust."

Spencer folded his arms and added, "Unlike you, I have no preference."

Derek laughed, "I know."

Spencer reached out and smacked Derek on the arm, "I didn't mean like that. I meant like-"

The door opened and Derek and Spencer turned and watched a pair of mile long legs sheathed in black leggings ending right before the slender ankle and tipped with character shoes. Derek followed up her form as she entered the room. She was wearing a tight red spaghetti strap camisole under a fuzzy pink dance sweater cropped right above the waist. Designer Dolce sunglasses covered nearly half of her face, but left her large lips upturned in a smile as she took them off, revealing large green eyes.

Wow. She was gorgeous. And they were dancing with her. She grinned broadly, "Hey, Doc!"

The smile slipped right off of Spencer's face, his eyes widening comically as he breathed out, "Ah… Lila."

And right then, in that moment, Derek felt more than heard the thumping sound. Something heavy and thick, hitting the wooden floor hard and fast. Yep. That would be unmistakable sound of the other shoe dropping.


A/N This chapter ending is going to be completely rewritten by tomorrow afternoon. I didn't have time to perfect it. Once again, I'm sorry. I suck. Please continue to throw rotten fruit at me for the horrible build up.

Love,

Blue