Chapter 3: Baby, I'm Bad News

He caught Morgan staring at his mouth yet again, which almost instinctually launched him into a nervous "lecture" regarding his behavior over the past few months, making sure to highlight the reasons he was doubting his conclusions. Spencer wasn't entirely sure where he was going with it, but he knew if he didn't say anything, he might start crying instead. Rambling came more naturally and seemed far less embarrassing.

And then, his brain stopped working.

He'd made out with other people before - mostly guys - but there were only a couple that came within the range of that good. As in, good enough that the endless supply of facts and statistics came to a screeching halt, even if only for a second. Apparently, Derek was that good.

There was nothing insecure or patient about the way Derek kissed him. No, the unbridled passion that bruised his lips told him just how hard Derek had struggled to contain his lust. Spencer's lips quickly complied with the demands of Derek's tongue and he moaned as the tongue slithered in and out of his mouth. The taste was sweet and spicy and far better than he'd imagined. He confidently ran his hands across Derek's chest and Derek broke the kiss just long enough to remove his shirt. Spencer's fingertips delicately glided over the exposed skin, circling his nipples and Derek gasped, shivering ever so slightly.

One of Derek's hand threaded itself in Spencer's hair then tugged violently, making his neck easier to access. As Derek's tongue ran the length of his neck, Spencer practically purred in delight. Suddenly, he felt the shock of Derek biting down, hard, near his ear. 'Does he want me to end up stuttering in the break room when the others inevitably tease me about having a hickey?' he wondered. That question kept him from realizing that Derek had slammed up against a wall until the pain finally caught up with his brain. He'd definitely fantasized about it before, but it hurt more than he expected. 'Did he mean to push me that hard or...?'

He didn't have time to finish that thought as Derek's needy fingers unbuttoned his sweater and partially undid the bottom of his shirt. Sturdy hands grabbed his hips and he watched as Derek kneeled in front of him. He felt Derek's tongue grazing his stomach, the skin burning from the touch. He moaned loudly as Morgan moved lower. His belt was being unbuckled and his pants easily fell to the floor.

His mind went into hyper drive. Everything was moving too fast. The roughness coming from someone who was usually his protector startled and frightened him. He needed to slow down, maybe even stop, but he was finding it rather difficult with Derek teasing multiple erogenous zones.

"Derek," he panted.

'Shit. That didn't come out right.'

Derek looked encouraged by his exclamation. He ran his tongue up Spencer's inner thigh, stopping very close to his underwear.

"Mmm...tasty," Derek growled as he nipped at the delicate skin.

"Morgan," he whined, trying to get his attention. "Please, I..."

Derek's hands slipped between the fabric and skin, tracing lines along Spencer's hips. He squeezed his eyes shut and balled his fists.

"No, I...hold on Morgan. Stop. Stop!"

He felt Derek's eyes on him and his hands left Spencer's body. When Spencer opened his eyes, he saw a face full of fear and shock.

"I just wanted..." he started, but Derek was already standing, quickly backing away; he looked horrified. As Spencer shuffled towards him, pants still around his ankles, Morgan grabbed his keys and left, apparently forgetting that he was shirtless.

'Double shit.'

Looking up at Spencer, he saw eyes clenched shut in fear and hands balled in pain. 'Isn't that what Carl saw when he abused you?' his mind taunted.

One in eight abuse victims become abusers - he knew that handy little fact, thanks to Spencer himself. He knew that occasionally his anger got the better of him and that he had a tendency towards being aggressive in the bedroom. For the most part, he was able to keep himself from doing anything he'd regret later and of the things he did regret, they generally involved regretting that he had to repair yet another hole in the walls of his house. Knowing this didn't stop him from constantly worrying that he would eventually hurt someone as badly as he'd been hurt himself.

And here was his worst fear, coming to life before his own eyes.

The numbness spread over his body as everything began to feel foreign and hazy. He realized his autopilot was still rather intact when he found himself at home. Sure, he kinda remembered leaving, but he wasn't sure if he'd said anything, and hell, he was shirtless. Still, those things didn't seem quite as important as getting home safely, so he didn't put too much thought to it.

He moved through his house in a fog, feeling thoroughly haunted by Spencer's fearful expression. After putting Clooney outside, he got in the shower. He kept adjusting the water temperature until it was nearly scalding his skin. It didn't matter that he already knew he'd never be able to wash away the past - he still scrubbed until his skin felt raw and the water turned cold.

Nothing really registered that night. He put on ESPN, but the announcers sounded muddy and far off. He hadn't slept for more than four hours before he was completely awake again, but that didn't stop him from laying in bed for most of the day. He didn't eat. He let phone calls go to voicemail and only called back when the other person was worried and wasn't Spencer; he lost track of how many times Spencer tried to reach him. Clooney had tried to snuggle up next to him a few times, but he pushed the dog away. He couldn't stand even that much contact.

Logically, he knew he was dissociating and potentially heading towards far more self-destructive behaviors.

Then he realized he was desperately hoping for JJ to call to inform him of a new case. A new case meant adrenaline and adrenaline meant focus. He didn't need to be self-destructive; he needed adrenaline. Since there was no call, he went to the gym for what was left of Saturday and almost all of Sunday. He knew he was pushing his body past its limits and that, if they were called in for a case, it could wind up putting him and the others in danger, but he couldn't stop. Every muscle ached and he didn't care - he finally felt hungry and actually slept Sunday night.

He woke up feeling that, assuming Spencer was willing, he was ready to talk. When he arrived at the Bureau, JJ told him to get into the conference room for a briefing. Everyone was there, except for Spencer. It made him nervous. 'What if I really fucked things up? Oh god, I must have...'

JJ interrupted his thoughts. "Well, I guess we can brief Spence on the plane," she offered before starting her presentation on the upcoming case.

A/N - A few things...

1) I know the "one in eight" statistic is something that Reid says when Morgan isn't around or even on the phone (it's from 02x03), but I assume Morgan would have asked him at some point, knowing that Reid would in fact know what the statistic was. In the same realm of things, I am going with the plot hole and as such, am going to pretend like "The Internet is Forever" doesn't exist. Still, I want to recognize that when they get called in during "Our Darkest Hour" it's actually night time (or extremely early morning...the windows are dark, no one is in, etc) and I'm technically not sure what day of the week it is, but I'm going to go with daytime on a Monday because well, I'm mixing two scenes together by acting like "The Internet" doesn't exist.

2) If anyone has any critiques regarding Morgan's behavior/PTSD stuff...please, please, please tell me (PMs are fine too, if you'd like privacy). The thing is...I have dealt with my own PTSD since '06 and dealt with friends with PTSD way before that, BUT...I've never had a guy friend with PTSD, so I worry that I could totally be off base. I'd rather know now so if I need to edit it, I don't need to edit the entire story. :-P

3) I'm a little surprised at how quickly I'm churning these out. I had a chapter and a bit done when I published the first one and now, in less than 48 hours, I've produced two more (2200+ words). WTF. I wish I could have written like this for WRT 305...then maybe I wouldn't have flunked it 3 times. XD (Yeah, it was never my writing cuz I'd get good enough grades on things I turned in...no, the problem was always deadlines)