A/N: This chapter ended up being over 10k... how, I don't know.
Love,
Blue
Raising the Barre
CHAPTER THREE: Your Beauty Just Bitch Slapped Me...
Derek sprinted into the ballroom looking for Spencer. He couldn't find him anywhere, and this was the one room he hadn't checked. Elimination night was upon them and Derek was there with his costume and a change of clothes in a large duffel on his back, cell phone in hand. Gotta to hand it to him; the dude was prepared. Derek has everything with him... except his partner. Make up was going to start throwing a bitch fit soon, and he had to find Spencer. Now. He had checked the dressing rooms, the bathrooms, the hallways, and the balcony. He found several co-stars and dancers, but Spencer was nowhere to be found.
The band was setting up and tuning, the lights were running rehearsal settings, and Derek should really be in his costume by now. But, the more pressing issue seems to be his missing dance partner. For now, it's going to have to be denim and a sweatshirt he tossed over his head after his shower.
Looking over the edge of the balcony, he noticed a handful of people in the audience and spotted him.
Spencer at the time was talking to a very familiar-looking woman in a yellow dress and curly red hair. Derek paused… was that his Mom? Oh, God. No. No, no, no. Every time his mother meets a friend of his, she gets all judgey. He's seen her pick grown men into a pile of snuffles and unshed tears, she does it every time. She pulls people apart in her mind fifteen times over and then decides that they're not good enough to spend time with her precious son. Then, Derek's left to pick up the pieces. His mother even did it to his girlfriend! Dear Lord did she Mama her to death when he first brought them to meet. The woman spent the whole brunch pursing her lips every time his girlfriend spoke, narrowing her eyes and taking judgmental sips of her glass of Pinot Noir. Considering the trouble he got in during middle school, it makes total sense for her to try to watch out for him, but come on now. He's a grown ass man, dammit. He's forty... ish and he damn sure can pick his own friends pretty well by now.
He jogged down the stairs and tried to stop the oncoming horror Spencer was sure to be subjected to once his mother decided that she didn't like him. I mean, Spencer is an obnoxiously brilliant, socially awkward, caffeine addict. His mother was going to tear him apart and give him a verbal ass whooping he would never forget in ten seconds flat. Soon he'll be scooping his partner off of the floor with a pot full of Ginseng tea and a sizeable Zeta-Jones movie collection.
Racing across the ballroom floor to approach them as quickly as possible, Derek made it to her side within the minute, "Mom, hey? What are you doing here so early? House opens at eight."
She set her big hazel eyes on him and wrapped him in a gentle hug, "I just had to get here as soon as I could, Derry Bear. You did so well last night! I'm so proud of you!"
Spencer chuckled, "Derry Bear?"
"Say one word about it, kid, and I promise you they'll never find your body," Derek said as his mother pinched his cheek and patted his head.
Mrs. Morgan grinned, "I was just talking to your lovely dance partner over here, and I must say that he is the most well-spoken, well-mannered, well-bred young man I've met in years."
Spencer waved off her compliment, "Oh, Fran, must you flatter me?"
"Fran?!" Derek glared at him after he got over the initial shock of his mother actually liking somebody genuinely, "You've made friends with her?"
His mother winked at Spencer and patted the side of his face, "Of course! He's coming to dinner with us after tonight's ceremony. I also brought some peach cobbler that he might be interested in. Doesn't that sound nice, Doc?"
Spencer waved his hand around, "You really don't have to invite me, it's fine. Go spend time with your son."
She pressed, "Please, I insist. Oh, you know what would be great? Call up your mother and see if she's available to come as well. I'd love to meet the woman who raised such a fine boy. We'll make a night out of it! My treat."
"Um… my mom? She's… well, she's... she can't really…" Spencer pushed his hair behind his ear nervously. His tell. He was nervous.
Derek nudged Spencer, "Oh, come on. It sounds fun. Besides, if my mom gets to grill you, it's only fair yours does the same to me."
Spencer fingered a curl on the other side of his head and filed it behind his right ear, "She can't… my mom, she's… she's inordinately indisposed."
Derek deadpanned, "In English, Spence."
Spencer's eyes darted to Derek's, pleadingly, "She's sick and she can't make it."
Oh, crap. Now he's made Spencer nervous. He didn't mean to pry—honestly. Spencer suddenly seemed as if his mother was the last thing he wanted to talk about, and there was probably much more to it that the man wasn't getting into right now. By the state of his mussed and tousled hair, Derek could tell that Spencer wanted them to drop the subject. So, Derek took the conversation in his reigns and changed it, because his mom is kind of… weak when it comes to social conscientiousness.
Derek shrugged it off, "Then, it can be just you me, and my mom going out tonight. Mildly embarrassing, but doable."
Mrs. Morgan laughed, "Just us three? Are you kidding? Des and Sare are parking the car. They're coming too."
Derek whined, "Come on, Mom, we talked about this."
"Derek's sisters adored your performance, and, Doc," she leaned forward, winking, "Sarah thinks you are quite the handsome man."
Spencer flushed and scratched the back of his neck as his newly exposed ears went red, "R-really?"
Mrs. Morgan patted his arm, "And she's very beautiful. I mean, she's my daughter so, of course she is. But, I'm just… you know, making sure you're aware that she's available."
Derek shook his head, "Must you pimp out my sister to every young man you meet?"
She chuckled and gave Derek a look, "Well, it's not like you or Des are giving me any grandkids."
Derek groaned aloud, "Mom. Could you please stop trying to coerce my dance partner into fathering children?! He's like twelve years old!"
Spencer folded his arms, "For the sixth time, Derek, I'm thirty-two. I just have a youthful face."
A very mousy looking PA with a clipboard and neatly combed hair scuttled up to them and cleared his throat, "D-Derek Morgan and Doc Reid to make up in five, Red Room in ten. We're on in twenty."
Derek grabbed Spencer's arm and tugged in the direction of the PA, "We gotta go."
Mrs. Morgan nodded, "You go have a good time, Derek. Make us proud! Smile big and keep that back straight!"
"Mama," Derek complained as Spencer started to follow him away and across the empty dance floor, "Jeez. Parents, you know?"
"Uh… yep." Spencer ran a hand through his hair. Nervous. Bad topic. Change subject.
Derek jumped quickly as they made it up the steps, "Oh! Duh. I wanted to show you our tweets. Man, we are totally not going home tonight. I mean, we're one of the top couples either way, but still. America really caught on to us!"
Spencer smiled weakly over at him as he headed up the steps, "Told you, didn't I? The 'dude buddies' tactic always reinforces feelings of kinship and brotherhood in the viewers. We definitely pulled their heart strings with the playfulness and casual banter."
Derek treaded the steps beside him, pulling his phone up to his face, getting up his twitter app, "Dude, wait until you read this. It's going to blow your mind how much everyone liked us last night. Ah, we're going to kick Will's ass with all of this love I'm seeing here. His Southern twang can't compete with that 'kinship and brotherhood' crap everybody couldn't get enough of last night. Did you check your Twitter, man?"
Spencer shrugged as they entered the balcony, "I don't have a Twitter."
Derek paused and looked over to him, "What do you mean, you don't have a Twitter?"
Spencer answered, "I don't get it."
Derek sighed, "There's not much to get, Spencer. Sixth graders tweet."
Spencer replied simply, "I'm not going to comment on that."
Derek continued along on their way out of the balcony and to the make-up room, "Alright, cool. Well, there's this thing on Facebook where you can—"
Spencer interrupted, "I don't have a Facebook."
Derek replied exasperatedly, "What are you?! Seventy?! No, scratch that. My grandma's eighty six and she has a Facebook. I've never met someone without one."
Spencer pointed to himself, "Well, today's your lucky day. Ta-da."
Derek ran his hand over his face, "Tell me you at least have an email address."
Spencer replied, "I was forced to get one in grad school, but I don't use it unless I have to."
Derek shook his head, "You see, now I'm 100% positive you're a Martian."
Spencer nodded and tapped his finger against Derek's shoulder, "And that's just it. I don't get technology. I'm not a luddite or anything, it's just... all the buttons and clickies… it's weird to me. To be honest, I wouldn't have a phone if it wasn't absolutely necessary for my job."
Derek sighed, "You're weird."
"You say that every day. Is it suddenly supposed to have more meaning now?" Spencer laughed aloud, the sound goofy and uncoordinated. Derek got chills from it.
Sometimes, Spencer hits Derek with his cute. Actually the word "hits" is an understatement, its more of a bitch slap.
He sneaks it up on him and all of a sudden, it's like bam! Cuteness! Adorableness! Overbearing hotness! Spencer really needs to learn to quit it. It's distracting. You see, after Derek gets smacked with The Cute, Spencer just digs his annoying little ass in Derek's skull and the kid's all he can think about for at least a minute or two. Then, before he knows it, Derek's envisioning holding him close, dancing into the sunset with him, and dedicating his life to making sure Spencer doesn't push his hair behind his ears anymore. Real estrogen-filled crap.
As you can see, it's an inconvenience.
With squinted hazel eyes, Spencer chuckled off his last few giggles as they headed into the make-up room that was already filled with dancers and black tee shirted people wielding brushes and eyeliner. The first time Derek set foot in there, he told them that if they touched him with eyeliner or mascara, he'd go apeshit and burn the place down. They didn't believe him. Derek had produced a box of matches from his dance pants and grabbed one, pausing it in front of the book.
They haven't touched him with the stuff since.
Spencer didn't really give a shit about the make-up. He's been on the stage so long, trying to scare him away with any form of girly shit is like shooting bullets at Superman. He'd sit back and let them smear and puff and paint whatever they wanted on him. It was disgusting… and it's also kind of cute—but it's mostly disgusting. Derek sat beside him and they patted down his face as he scrolled through his phone, "Okay, Spence, at least hear this out, okay?"
"Sure, shoot," Spencer replied with his eyes closed as a woman patted something white along his eyelids.
Derek read aloud, " derekmorgan43 we're lovin #TeamWildCard. The dance was incredible and you guys are hot-tastic. And, here's another! We need more because derekmorgan43 and Doc are it for me! I am officially on #TeamWildCard. And a third. #TeamWildCard need I say more? Last night was perfection. GracieLacie66 says: When are #TeamWildCard going to do something on the sexier side—"
Derek gasped and gave Spencer a giddy look, "You should totally choreograph a dance with a make out scene! Do you know how much Twitter's going to blow up after that?"
Spencer said with a calm expression on his face as his other eyelid was smeared, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Continue."
Derek teased, "You know you want some of this."
Spencer deadpanned, "Ignoring you, ignoring you."
Derek grinned, "Fine, whatever. You wouldn't be able to handle me, anyway. I'm a tonguer."
Spencer's jaw clenched.
Derek continued, "Loving #TeamWildCard and their Black Keys song. It was fantastic. I voted! ; So much love for #TeamWildCard who did an amazing job last night. VOTE 'EM UP America! ; Marry me Doc you're so hot—wait, sorry, that one's kind of pervy…"
Spencer made a disgusted face, "A stranger wants to marry me? Why? We've never met, union could be catastrophic."
Derek rolled his eyes, "I needed to introduce you to the Internet like seven years ago. Now, listen! I've got more. ZaynMaLICKme04 said: The awesome #TeamWildCard kicked ass last night. Tell us derekmorgan43 are you and Doc best friends now? Yep! And to my disgust, I think I just understood this person's username. Someone else wrote: Let's all get on #TeamWildCard! A two-man dance pair is an incredible addition to DWTS! Yes, yes, we are! #TeamWildCard when will you ballroom?! I have a mighty need to see you two expand and show off that talent! Spencer, that means Rumba. We need that. Were derekmorgan43 and Doc not the hottest thing since the Proxima Centauri—"
Spencer piped up with a chuckle.
Derek paused, "…what's so funny? What's a Proxima thing?"
Spencer smirked as a lady started pulling his hair into a loose ponytail, "It's one of the nearest stars to Earth at 4.243 light years away with a calculation of over 3,000 Kelvin!"
Derek added, "Okay, Geekasaurus Rex. That means..."
Spencer smiled and slowed his speech in a condescending tone, "It's really, really hot, Derek."
"Don't patronize me," Derek glared.
Spencer rolled his eyes and added, "Well, if you knew the basics of kindergarten astronomy, I wouldn't have to."
Derek winced as the make-up lady filled in his eyebrows, "Don't make me come over there and beat your skinny little ass. I'm already stressed out with all of this powder all over the place."
Spencer leaned his arm over and poked Derek on the cheek, "You won't do it."
Derek side-eyed him, "What on God's green Earth makes you think I won't pummel you back to your first dissertation?"
Spencer shrugged, "Nothing, really. Besides, I wouldn't really mind. My Bio professor was really attractive. Prescription dual glasses and therapeutic Velcro shoes included."
Derek shuddered, "Oh, no."
"Oh, yes," Spencer laughed, once more, bitch slapping Derek with his beauty again. Kid really needs to stop doing that.
Wow. Way to be assholes, Dancing with the Stars.
They sure as hell kept Derek and Spencer up in the air for long enough to scare the shit out of them. They didn't give a crap if Adam Lambert was singing his little gay heart out, or six deaf children were sponsored to dance for America. The two men were placed in the first group when they stood beside Penelope and Gleb, Will and Peta, and a couple made up of goth singer Emily Prentiss and the ever talented Derek Hough, and guess who got put under the "Uh Oh, You're In Danger" red light?
Spencer was stupid pissed off. Dude ripped a cotton ball in half backstage after the red light shone down on them.
There was just no way that they could be put up for elimination. They were at the top of the leader board, America voted them up, they got a standing "O" yesterday. This made no sense whatsoever, and every moment that Spencer got to voice it away from the camera, he did. He was seriously grumped out. His face was scrunched, his arms were folded, he served up glares so sharp that one of them managed to maim the fabric of Derek's soul.
As the other three were put in the safe zone and the red light poured down on their heads for a second time, Derek could feel Spencer tense up beside him. Derek wrapped an arm around Spencer and the man rested his head on his shoulder. The crowd cooed a long, "Aww." They were officially up for Final Elimination. And Derek smiled to himself, thinking that this was total bullshit. Team Wild Card kicked every kind of ass last night on that floor. Derek gave it his all, and Spencer was fucking flawless as usual. The song was great, their tension was hot, and the judges placed them at the top of the leader board. They should be sipping coke in a champagne glass on the balcony right about now. But, no. America must have thought that a same-sex team was too gay and voted them down, despite what was going on in Twitter land—despite the fact that it's the twenty first century and people should be fucking over all of this hatred. For their information, the sexual tension between Derek and Spencer wasn't planned at all. They just met and Spencer was so… beautiful. Derek couldn't help but get a little misty-eyed at times. It's not his fault. Don't blame him. He didn't wake up one day and decide to have a random, pulsing, slightly erotic fixation on his dance instructor. God.
They had to sit in the balcony for the rest of the night, readying themselves to be sent to the chopping block. Derek was pacing and grumbly and tense, but Spencer was this quiet, terrifying entity that just sat in the corner and waited. Groups were saved over and over again, including the god-awful pairing of racist comedian Gordinski and his unfortunate partner Sharna. Spencer's anger was gaining momentum fast and Derek wishes it wasn't as adorable as it was. Spencer, with his little pouty lip and furrowed eyebrows just sat there in the balcony not speaking to anyone. The man was furious, and since Derek has his wits about him, he didn't approach him.
It was soon their turn to go up against two other horrible pairs and do the walk of shame to the back section of the stage with the failures. In a fit of nerves, Derek nudged Spencer's shoulder as they made their way to the stage area. Spencer turned and gave him a hopeless smile, nudging him back hesitantly. Derek grinned at the motion and it took all of his will to keep from taking his hand as they stood on the stage.
Spencer spoke under his breath the second the spotlights came on their way back down the steps, "You're not leaving this competition on the first night. I won't let that happen."
Derek whispered back, "I know."
The male host called an awful pair before them and the lights drowned the stage in red. Spencer grimaced and hissed, "If they let a fantastic dancer like you go because you were paired with me, I swear to God, I'm going to give the producers a piece of my mind."
Derek gasped, "Dude, no. This is your job."
Spencer replied, "Dancing is my job. Dealing with oppression from a prehistoric group of heteronormative apes is not."
The male host paused once more for a length of time which had to count as public torture and spoke in an ominous voice, "Derek Morgan and Doc Reid."
Derek and Spencer held their breath.
"You… are…"
Spencer let out a squeak of worry.
"SAFE!"
"Hallelujah!" Derek jumped up in glee and Spencer yelped, hugging Derek tightly around the middle and pressing a hard kiss to his cheek. Right in front of America. Derek felt his ears heat up. He should have been thinking about his reputation, the slew of hate tweets, and the crowd's response, but all he could think of for that moment was, 'God… Spencer has really soft lips.' Spencer cleared his throat, pulling Derek out of his millisecond reverie, and they stepped away from each other. Derek scratched at the back of his neck and suddenly found his shoes the most interesting thing in the room, staring intently at them. The crowd laughed. Oh, thank God. They thought it was funny. Derek breathed a soundless sigh of relief.
The male host chuckled, "Well, you two sure are happy about this news, huh?"
Spencer nodded, face already red, "Yeah, you know. Another week and all. You can move on now."
The host started, "And, Doc, how do you feel about—"
Spencer spoke sharply, "Move. On."
The host raised his eyebrows and announced the failure of the team beside them and Spencer led Derek backstage to a quieter area with Pa's rushing by. Now with the other safe pair as they were, the men were no longer needed. On the other side of the curtain, the eliminated team was having their final dance, just something simple and easy to the rhythm of their first song. Spencer glanced at Derek, shame clear in his eyes, "I'm sorry I did that. I don't know what came over me, I—"
Derek waved it off, "It's fine, man, don't worry about it. I'm not sure if you remember—you probably don't even know—but me and my boy Marcus got in a little trouble with the press after we won our first NFL game together. He kissed me smack on the lips at the final touchdown."
Spencer gasped, "Holy shit."
Derek nodded, "Yeah, we nearly got pulled from first string due to the fuss it kicked up, but Marcus assured everyone that it was a 'heat of the moment' type thing."
Spencer asked, "What happened to your career? Did you come out?"
Derek shook his head vigorously, "Hell no. An openly gay National League player? I'd be signing all of my dreams away. Well… I would have. Nowadays, I guess it doesn't really matter."
"I guess it doesn't," Spencer replied easily, "But, since you have Jordan, you won't need to, right? I mean, I'm assuming she's gorgeous! And cool, and beautiful, and all... kickass Federal Agent. It's not as if you're going to be like... hooking up with some guy behind her back or anything. You won't need anyone else with all of her high-reigning awesome."
Derek inhaled sharply, "Yeah. Unfaithfulness isn't my style."
Spencer bit his lip, pushing his hair behind his ear in that telltale nervous tic of his, "Makes perfect sense."
"Why are you..." Derek paused, "Wait? Did you think that guy… would be you?"
Spencer shook his head and laughed nervously, pushing his hair back toward his ponytail, "No! No. Me? What, are you crazy? Come on, man. No."
Derek let a sly smile cross his face, "Cuz, it's totally understandable if you want me like that. I know I'm hot stuff, and sometimes we men can't control our sexual desires, so—"
Spencer glared at him, "Don't be a dick."
"Too late." Derek winked back. "Man, it's fine. I'm not going to stop being your friend or anything because of your giant crush on me."
Spencer pushed a loose hair behind his ear, nervously looking around the busy backstage to shush him, "Shut up! I don't have a crush on you."
Derek smirked and folded his arms, "See, now you're just flat out lying—which you're really bad at by the way."
Spencer hissed before storming off, "Oh, please, Derek. As if I'd have a thing for you of all people. Trust and believe, I have better taste."
Derek called to him, "No, you don't. Don't fight it, baby, you know you want this chocolate."
Spencer continued to walk, flipping him the bird from behind his head.
Derek laughed and called, "You're meeting my mom by the dressing rooms at eleven!"
Spencer yelled back without turning, "Eleven fifteen! I have to get this glitter out of my eyelashes!"
Derek screeched, "Fine! Wear something that flatters your ass, sweetheart!"
Spencer waved non-verbally.
There was a type of reassurance about the wave. Even though they could yell and scream and curse each other out (which they've done several times in the past week), they still team together regardless of how angry they were at each other. Take now for example. Spencer is a new kind of pissed at Derek right now. It doesn't matter if he had or hadn't hit the nail on the head by insisting that Spencer was infatuated with him, he wouldn't have cared either way. Spencer was still going to dinner with his mother, he was still going to entertain his family that night, and he was still going to be there bright and early Wednesday morning ready to work Derek over at the barre until they're pissed at each other all over again. Then, they'll nail whatever dance was next. Then, they'll keep winning. At best, they'll have a globe. And then what?
Derek shudders to think.
Will their friendship deteriorate at the end of the competition? God—he hopes not. Within a week, Spencer has carved himself a little hole in Derek's heart when they part ways that remains empty and bottomless until they see each other again. Even now, Derek misses him and he knows they'll see each other again in a half hour.
Wait.
He's seeing Spencer in a half hour.
A skip to his step, Derek headed up to his dressing room to change and thought of how beautiful the young man would look all dressed up. Hell, Derek's only seen him in sweats that drown his frail figure like an ant in a baby pool. Maybe he'll wear something tight, maybe he'll let his hair fall free around his ears, maybe he'll recite something. Man, Derek loves it when Spencer rants about Physics, or waxes poetic and shows off his cute little brain. He's so geeky and quirky and his many talents just slap you across the face when you get wind of how incredible he is.
Derek closed the door of his dressing room and he paced, as his thoughts and feelings for Spencer overwhelmed him. He needed to call Jordan. He needed to hear her voice.
Calling her would set everything right again. Into a world where he doesn't lust after his dance partner, and he doesn't have to out himself, and where two very handsome, very compatible, very sexually frustrated men can meet and laugh and dance with each other and not fall in love. Derek whipped out his phone and set it on speaker as he reached into his duffel for his anti-wrinkle red cable knit jumper his mother bought him last Christmas and a pair of dark jeans.
The phone rang and he tossed off his stretchy top and pulled on his sweater in an amiable attempt to stay calm as the dial tone came through.
It rang and it rang and it rang.
Derek shrugged. Maybe, she's really deep into a case at… eleven o'clock at night. Wait, no. Time difference. It's one in the morning in Illinois, and by then Jordan's in a hotel even when she's working. But, Jordan always sleeps with her phone by her bedside. Always. Just in case someone calls, or needs her. She's always reachable. Even if she's kicking someone's ass, she'll have a phone in one hand and a gun in the other. After three years, he's not once had a bounced call from her. Not once.
He furrowed his eyebrows.
Maybe it's nothing. The phone's dead. It has to be.
No. If the phone's dead, there would be no dial tone. It would go straight to voicemail. This thing is ringing.
To make sure, Derek called again as he tugged on the jeans and sat by the table. The phone was answered in a hushed tone, "Who's this?"
Derek scoffed, "It's Derek Morgan, who the fuck is this?"
The man replied with a tired sigh, "None of your damned business, man. It's one in the fucking morning on a Tuesday. What's wrong with you?"
Derek was starting to get pissed now. Who is this man on the other end of his girlfriend's cell phone at 'one in the fucking morning on a Tuesday'? Why is he even in her presence this late at night?! Isn't she supposed to be on a case, sleeping right now?! She better as hell not be fucking this guy, or Derek swears to God, Buddha, and Allah that he will set it off in this bitch right… effing… now.
Derek continued calmly, "Is this Jordan's cell phone?"
"Yeah, why do you want to know?!" he replied angrily.
Oh, this guy is way to defensive not to be boo-lovin' up on his girl. She is totally fucking this guy. Derek narrowed his eyes, his tone level, "This is her boyfriend of three years. Could you please put my beautiful, committed woman on the phone right now?"
The man paused, "Oh… shit."
Derek hissed, "'Oh, shit' is right, and you'll soon be shitting if you don't hand the phone over because I will take a plane to Illinois, find your ass, and hide you under the subway lines. Put my fucking girlfriend on the phone. Now."
The man began to laugh, "Yeah, I'm so scared."
Yelling into the phone harshly, Derek whipped, "You should be!"
"Fine," he chuckled darkly, before saying over his shoulder, "Hey… hey, hon. Some guy's on the phone for you. Says he's your boyfriend."
The phone was picked up quickly, and Jordan's slightly rough sleepy voice rushed out, "Derek?"
Derek swallowed, trying very hard not to assume anything, "Jordan. Who is this man, and why is he calling you 'hon'?"
She scrambled, "Der, it's not what it sounds like—"
Derek cut her off, "Don't you call me 'Der' right now, because it sounds bad. Now, answer the question, Jordan. Tell me what it is. I want to hear it from you. Are you or are you not?"
Jordan sighed, and he could almost see her exasperated face. The face she makes when she gets paged in the middle of dinner, the face she makes when Derek leaves his shaving cream on the bathroom counter, the face she makes when he overcooks rice. Now, it's all scrunchy for a different reason, and it's far from cute now. She answered him, "Yeah, okay, Derek? I'm fucking him. You happy?"
Derek growled, "Jordan?! What the fuck?!"
She trailed off, "I mean, you're cute and all, but I never see you enough. If I'm not on a case, you're at a game. If you're not at a game, I'm on a case. We're both always away, and we're not really worth the struggle to each other. Besides, it's not like you're all that good in bed anyway."
Derek added angrily, "Fuck you! I'm incredible in bed!"
Jordan deadpanned, "Is that all you got from it?"
"Of course not! But, you gotta admit. Last Saturday night, I had you screaming," Derek replied, "You called me 'Papi' mid-orgasm."
Jordan scoffed, "I faked it."
"Who are you, woman?!" Derek started to pace, clutching at the bridge of his nose, "How long? How long have you been going behind my back?"
She paused, "I don't know, around five months or something now."
Derek blanched, "F-five months?! Are you serious?! You've been sleeping around for five months?!"
Jordan answered, "Yeah, I have. Look, Derek. You're a nice guy. I didn't want to dump you while you were hitting your stride in your whole football thing, okay? And you won. You got the trophy, you're MVP. Aren't you happy?"
Derek leaned against the wall and held back his confusing emotion, "But, Jordan… I love you. How could you just—"
Jordan chuckled angrily, "Oh, please. You haven't meant that for months."
Derek hissed into the phone, "Who are you to tell me how I feel?"
Jordan catted back, "Because you're Derek Morgan, okay? You couldn't love anyone if you tried! You're just this big, stone, impenetrable force. And that used to be hot, but now it's just sad."
Derek's lip curled, "What, so you're—"
Jordan replied flightily, "I'm breaking up with you, yes. We're over, we've been over. Now, it's just official."
"Oh, yeah? You're breaking up with me? Fine, sweetheart. I've got my eye on your replacement right now," Derek leaned off of the wall and growled, "So, you can get your 'fake eyelash' wearing, 'crusty weave' sewing, 'last season Prada' carrying ass out of my house. Now. By the time I come back with my Mirror Ball, you'd better be gone."
She said loftily, "Whatever."
Derek added, "Or, I swear I will call the cops."
Jordan cantered, "Fine! Call the cops, Derek! Who wants your old, retired ass anyway?!"
Derek yelled back, "Obviously not you! I don't need your shit, okay? I don't definitely need you either! Now, two step it on out of my house, woman! Allons-y!"
Jordan screeched back, "What even is that?! You're such a weird-o!"
Derek growled, "Doctor Who isn't weird, you're weird!"
Jordan hung up on him, and he heard the dial tone. Derek roared and nearly threw his phone against the wall. But, that shit was expensive and his warranty was over. So, he picked up one of those cheap-ass water bottles that were all over his dressing room and launched it at the floor, watching it combust on the floor, exploding into shattered plastic and raining water.
Just like that, his relationship was over.
Three years of his life, he wasted on this bitch. Three years he would never get back.
Derek started pacing again, great. Now what was he going to do? He could afford the loft with or without her, but he'd have to make some cuts now that he's on pension. Soon, he'll have to get her off of the lease, and take her name off of Clooney's adoption sheet. Then, he'll have to get their pictures out of his house.
He'll start with his phone.
Derek unlocked his phone and found a few messages from Spencer.
[We're meeting downstairs in five.]
[Where are you?]
[Derek, I will come up there. Your mom is trying to pinch my cheeks into extinction.]
[I'm on my way.]
Derek growled and grabbed his black blazer, shoving it over his sweater. Great. Better act natural when his goddamn dance partner sees him with a smashed water bottle and eyebrows furrowed enough to cave in on themselves. How did his life become this? Just moments ago, he was joshing around with a smile on his face. Now? Now, he wanted to flip over every table in a five mile radius.
Angry, Derek clenched his jaw and headed to the door, grabbing his phone and duffel. The door opened as soon as he reached for it and Spencer hissed under his breath, pulling Derek by his sleeve, "Jeez, you primp like a woman. Come on, before we miss our reservation."
He looked over at the frantic man and felt a nearly invisible weight leave his chest. Spencer's hand was around his wrist now, warm and strong. Just like that, everything wasn't so bad after all. They rushed down the hallway past the groups of dancers, PA's, and backstage workers, Spencer talking a mile a minute about the millions of things they have to do before giving Derek a pointed look, "Are you even listening to me?"
Derek shook his head, "Nope."
Spencer rolled his eyes, forcing a curt laugh out of his throat.
So, here he was sitting with his mother, his sisters, and his dance partner at a Na'brasa. Derek's mother calmly sat beside him, ushering Desiree on his other side so that she and Sarah sandwiched Spencer. The football player was looking as uncomfortable as a man could be as his mother chatted Spencer up about Derek's diaper days with a smile on her face.
Spencer glanced over him hid his chuckle in his napkin, which was, just... so high class. Derek couldn't even be mad at the man, because of how freaking dapper he looked tonight. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, a grey waistcoat and a black tie, matching his suit jacket. Yeah, he had dark denim pants and worn Chuck Taylors on, but holy shit. Spencer could pull off a paper bag and make it look sexy, but tonight he was past stunning. He was straight up effervescent. And the napkin laugh was fucking killing Derek.
Derek looked away, reminding himself that he had a girlfriend before he remembered… he didn't have one. Sure, he was free now. But, as much as he knew he should be celebrating with alcohol and debauchery. He was mourning the future he could have had with Jordan.
He knows, he knows. She's a cheating hoe—the worst kind of hoe—but, with her, he didn't have to worry about having someone to come home to. Hell, he didn't have to worry about anything! He had a beautiful woman on his arm, he had a beautiful home with her, and most importantly, he didn't have to come out.
But, now all of that was ripped from him.
He doesn't know what to do now.
He hasn't a clue.
"… and then he came into the room with his pants around his ankles, crying and holding up an empty roll of toilet paper," Mrs. Morgan giggled.
The table laughed at his expense, and Derek barely registered it. His eyes were trained somewhere behind Spencer's head as his mind swindled into a tunnel of 'oh, God, what do I do'. He felt an arm at his side. Des. She whispered into his ear, "You do know mom just told your cute instructor about the time you went streaking along the church pews when you were four?"
Derek shrugged distractedly, "Sure."
Desiree asked, "Are you alright? Usually you act like that never even happened."
Derek replied, "Jesus and the entire congregation saw my ding dong, there's not much I can deny."
Desiree rolled her eyes, "Pay attention."
Looking over to the group, he noticed that they were all in chuckles, staring at him. Derek let out a weak smile, "I was a toddler, guys. Everyone streaks at the potty age. Like, Spencer. Didn't you do stupid shit like that when you were four?"
Spencer scratched behind his neck, "I was… too busy getting beat up in kindergarten to do something like that…"
Derek laughed, "Why would you be getting beat up in kindergarten?"
Spencer replied, "Most of the kids couldn't read, so when I went in to class with a copy of The Great Gatsby, it attracted a couple of stares. Mom said they were jealous."
Derek's jaw dropped, "Timeless American literature at four? That's gotta be bull."
Spencer shrugged, "My mom was an English professor, and I was… gifted."
Sarah laughed quickly, "Hella gifted."
Derek smiled widely, "That's kind of cool."
Spencer's eyes widened, "Really?"
Derek added with a grin, "Not many people can say they mastered middle school course requirements during nap time."
"I hated nap time," Spencer grimaced.
Derek nodded, "Me too! Only the lazy Neanderthals enjoyed that. It cut into my play time."
Spencer looked over at Derek with amusement, "I felt the same way."
Mrs. Morgan quickly cut in, "Sarah hated naptime too! Didn't you, Sarah?"
"No, it was the best thing ever," she replied.
Spencer added with a finger raised, "Naps actually increase blood flow to the brain, and allow for healing and rejuvenation that usually only takes place at night. It's highly recommended. But, to be honest, I would just rather read and take a shot of espresso."
Derek pointed over across the table to him, "No, Mom, he's serious. This man inhales coffee like it's oxygen."
Spencer replied, "Not really. Oxygen eventually kills us with all of its toxins and impurities. Coffee's caffeine is like a conversion of energy the way it—"
Derek raised a hand, "You had me at oxygen kills us."
Spencer blushed and started to laugh, pushing his hair behind his ear, "I didn't mean it's extremely lethal. Just a little bit. I was curious one day and typed 'death' into a search engine, and as a result learned some really cool stuff..."
"And you wonder why you can't get a date," Derek chuckled. God, Spencer's so strange. A smile quirked up at the edges of Derek's mouth. It's refreshing.
Desiree suddenly perked up and asked, "How's Jordan doing?"
"Oh… Jordan?" he replied.
Sarah grinned, "Yeah, how's our favorite girl?"
Derek tried to keep his expression neutral and change the subject as quickly as he could, "Yeah, she's doing just fine—Des, how's your fiancé?"
Desiree grinned, "Johnny's fine as well, crazy as hell, but fine. He took me to a play at the Ford Oriental."
Mrs. Morgan leaned across the table and took her hand, "That's just wonderful! What did you see?"
"Evita," she replied with a gleeful smile, "It was incredible. Eva Peron was spot on. Just beautiful. If you have time when we get back home, want to see it with me? I'm just dying to go again."
Her mother grinned and nodded, "That sounds great! Sarah, Spencer. Want to join us?"
`Spencer added, "I'm actually a big fan of Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber's work. I've read the musical a few times, but I never got a chance to see it. I would love to go if you'll have me."
Sarah nudged, "The dancing is right up your alley. Very traditional, classic."
Spencer glanced away from the table, "I wouldn't say my dance style was traditional. I'm probably going to end up dancing the Lambada with your brother if we keep up the good work."
Sarah asked, "What's so untraditional about the Lambada?"
Ducking his head and pushing his hair behind his ear, Spencer replied, "It's kind of... out-there, one might go far as to say risqué."
Derek raised an eyebrow, "Wait, what? Risqué? We have to get freaky?!"
Spencer rolled his eyes, "Less freaky, more… intimate."
Mrs. Morgan clapped, "Well, this is sure to be interesting!"
Desiree laughed loudly, "Derek, oh my God. That's going to look hilarious. You and Spencer? You're not serious."
A flush of anger soured up in Derek's chest, "What's wrong with me dancing with Spencer?"
Sarah raised her palms in surrender, "We don't think there's anything wrong with you as people, but… you two dancing together is a little weird. Isn't ballroom supposed to be between a man and a woman?"
Derek replied pointedly, "Whoa. Sare, why are you Mitt Romney'ing this?"
Desiree added, "We're not Mitt Romney'ing it. If you two choose to twirl around together—"
Spencer spoke, "We didn't choose this. The producers paired us unconventionally to reap benefits in the form of viewers who both can't and won't comprehend that anyone with feet and pulse can dance. Together."
Sarah started, "Well—"
Spencer continued, "The only way it would be hilarious for me to dance with Derek is if we were both horrible at it, which him and I clearly are not. Our combined talent shouldn't be based on the fact that one of us isn't a woman, but it is. So, we're going to squash adversity, squash the competition, and win ourselves this competition despite the fact that our partnership is discriminated against."
Mrs. Morgan clapped slowly, "Someone marry this man."
"Des, Sarah, and I are headed to the airport," Mrs. Morgan said as the five headed out of the restaurant as their cab pulled up. She gave him a hug outside the restaurant, patting Derek's cheek, "You need anything, baby?"
Derek replied, "No, Mama. I'm fine."
She fixed Derek's blazer and smoothed out the fabric at his shoulders, "Okay. You know you can call me if things start to get too much for you. I'll be here faster than you can say Lambada."
Derek let out a small laugh, "Mom. I'll be okay. Remember the Marcus thing? I can handle a little heat from the public."
Mrs. Morgan smiled fondly, as his sisters got into the cab, "I know you can, but you've got me."
Derek added, "And Spencer."
"And Spencer." she confirmed, glancing to the door of the restaurant to see the tall, thin man folding his arms against the night chill at the door of the restaurant, "You do know that boy has the biggest crush on you I've ever seen, right?"
Derek rolled his eyes, "Mom."
She chuckled, "His eyes were either on your face or your ass the entire night. I don't think he can tell which one he wants more, and it's kind of disturbing."
Derek pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, "Mom."
His mother added, "I actually stopped trying to fix him with Sarah halfway through the dinner. It was getting sad to even talk about it at that point since the only one he was looking at was you."
Derek yelped, glancing around his mom to steal another look at the dancer, "Mom! Please! Before he hears us!"
"It's the truth! Ain't my fault my baby's fine—actually, it is." she laughed and then added with a heatless scowl, "Tell Jordan I said, 'hi'. That is if she ever leaves that godforsaken job to spend enough time for you to do so. Lord knows, I don't know what it is you see in her."
Derek deadpanned, "Get in the cab before the girls leave you here."
Mrs. Morgan laughed, "What would be the danger in that? I'd be able to spend more time with my son."
Derek groaned, "I love you, Mama, but we both know we'd drive each other off the edge."
Mrs. Morgan gave him one last squeeze and patted his chin, "I know, I know. Get rid of that beard, boy."
Derek complained, "But, Mom."
Mrs. Morgan gave a heatless glare, "You know I can't stand it."
Derek gestured to the cab, "Goodbye."
She headed to the cab, calling to Spencer, "Doc, promise me you'll hold him down and shave that damned thing off."
Spencer laughed, shrugging, "I kind of like it."
Derek rubbed his chin, "See, its rugged. Drives 'em wild."
Mrs. Morgan got into the car and laughed to him, "I hate it so much."
Derek winked at her as the door closed and waved as the car zoomed away. With a small smile on his face, Spencer walked up to him from his spot beside the door and nudged Derek's shoulder, "I had half a glass of Scotch tonight and my car's been in the shop since last night. What's a girl gotta do to get a ride home?"
"I don't know where you live," Derek retorted.
Spencer narrowed his eyes at Derek, "You drove me home yesterday. You know exactly where I live."
"Damn, you got me," Derek held out his arm and Spencer laughed before taking it.
They pulled each other close in the slight night chill and Spencer followed Derek around the restaurant to his car, "So... what were you and your mom talking about?"
He shrugged and answered loftily, "Nothing."
Spencer asked, "That means that your mom's still trying to get me to take Sarah's hand?"
Derek chuckled, "No. She's seen the iceberg and moved on."
He let out a large breath, "Oh, thank God."
Derek looked over to Spencer with mirth as they walked arm in arm, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Spencer glanced up into Derek's eyes, "She's a beautiful woman. Intelligent, worldly, well-mannered. She's too good for me."
Derek laughed out loud, "Bullshit."
Spencer joked, "She also wasn't into me at all. That kinda has something to do with it."
Derek laughed harder, "Dude, you think?"
Spencer looked down at his chest in confusion, "I don't know why she didn't offer to take my precious virginity in the bathroom the instant she saw me, I mean, this is my best tie."
Derek smiled fondly, freeing his arm and walking around Spencer. He pulled the dancer gently by the tie with his free hand along the parking lot, "Do you have more like it?"
Spencer answered with a stronger pull, "Yeah. I'm a dressy kind of guy when I'm not prancing around in sweats. I actually have six pairs of cords."
Derek chuckled, "That's way too many."
Spencer added, "Don't even get me started on my sweater vest collection. Ethan calls it 'disgusting'."
"He's right!" Derek gasped out through his laughter, "Sweater vests? Come on, Spencer, you know better than that."
Spencer shrugged easily, "I have acute anemia. It keeps my midsection warm."
Derek smiled, leading them to his black rental car, "I kind of want to see you in one."
Spencer scratched absently behind his neck, "Hold on to your socks, because it might be too much cool for you to handle."
"Challenge accepted," Derek opened the car door for Spencer and Spencer let go of his arm, sliding into the seat.
Jogging around to the other side of the car, Derek approached the driver's side. He was eager to continue talking to Spencer. Conversations with him are unlike anything he's ever had before. The man was brilliant, sassy, quirky, and so nerdy it hurt. It was so endearing, and new, and exciting talking to him. Derek never wanted to stop. The only time he really considered it was when they were dancing, and really hitting a stride. When their bodies were moving in tandem beside each other, and their breaths hit each other's faces. Times like that, Spencer could quiet down and Derek wouldn't mind. They'd continue to speak with their eyes.
Derek was almost eagerly awaiting the Lambada.
Just the thought of them dancing such a smooth, sensual, provocative dance together was pretty much the best thing ever besides winning Superbowl's MVP award. Hell, it might even be better. If dancing just one goofy Jive with him is enough to set Derek's veins on fire, dancing the Latin dance with Spencer would pretty much kill him. The Lambada in particular was knows across the ballroom world as 'sex on hardwood'. Doing this with someone required the intensity, and emotion, and prowess of a couple with a fiery past—or at least a couple that can fake that much lust. Much unbeknownst to the American public, their dance when it comes to the Lambada won't be very hilarious. Their problem wouldn't be lust. Not at all.
Opening the car door eagerly, and sliding into the seat, Derek pulled his keys out of his pocket. Spencer started the conversation back up where it left off, "I was kidding about the cool thing. To be honest, I, uh... I'm kind of a nerd."
Derek chuckled, starting up the car, "What? Do you think that was some kind of secret?"
Spencer folded his arms, "Hey, I've never revealed my geeky side to any one of my dancers before. This is taking a lot out of me, okay?"
"I'm so sorry. You must be emotionally exhausted." Derek answered simply.
Spencer added as Derek pulled the car out of the parking spot, "Extremely so. My nerdiness is a good eighty percent of my personality."
Derek quipped jokingly, "The other twenty percent being sass?"
Spencer chuckled, "Damn right."
Derek led the car onto the road and shrugged, "Man, it's cool. I'm a closet nerd too."
Spencer laughed, "I doubt that."
"Oh, yeah?" Derek asked, "I own every season of Doctor Who on DVD—even the first one with the shaky camera work and the not-so-special special effects. Beat that."
Spencer countered, "I have a TARDIS in my house."
Derek whipped, "Which room?"
Spencer argued, "Living room."
Derek paused, "Wow, that's hardcore."
Spencer nodded, "Oh, yeah. I out-nerded you."
Derek growled, "We've barely even started. I have every Tolkien book ever written. Signed. By Tolkien himself."
Spencer one-upped, "I have an exact replica of the Ring."
Derek replied, "I have an exact replica of Harry Potter's Quittich broom hanging up in my den. Nimbus 2000, motherfucker."
Spencer glanced over at Derek, "I am fluent in the Fairy language from the Artemis Fowl series and the Elven language from LOTR. Both written Tengwar and spoken."
Derek replied, "I have a secret stash of Pokemon cards. Spoiler alert. I did catch them all."
Spencer hissed, "Impossible. Not all of them have printed cards in English."
Derek gave Spencer a haughty look, "Good thing all of mine are imported."
Spencer gasped, "Shut up."
Derek smirked, "I know. I'm the shit."
Spencer said hurriedly, "I have a Time Turner."
Derek stared over at Spencer, "No way."
Spencer looked back, "It spins too."
Derek shook his head and breathed out, "Marry me."
Spencer chuckled fondly, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear for the billionth time today, "Well, I might if you show me that extensive Pokemon collection."
Derek wiggled his eyebrows, "It's going to be quite the interesting showcase since I keep it in my bedroom."
"Oh…" Spencer blushed and glanced over at him, "You do?"
Derek added a sly wink, "Right under my memory foam mattress."
Spencer breathed, "Going to have to... get on there to retrieve it."
Derek nodded, "Oh, yeah. Just as a warning, I'm fairly territorial when it comes to my authentic Japanese cards. If you don't handle them with care, I'll have no choice but to handle you the same way."
Spencer bit his lip and visibly forced down a smile, "Derek Morgan, are you flirting with me?"
"Maybe, I am," Derek shrugged with a wink.
Spencer covered his smile with his hand, "Your girlfriend would disapprove."
Oh, right. Derek paused, staring off into the dashboard, watching the dark sky and narrow road. He'd nearly forgotten. He felt a small stab of betrayal still left over from earlier that night when he had called Jordan and found… they were over.
Spencer asked quietly, "You okay, Derek?"
"Yeah," Derek lied.
The doctor rushed out, "You've been a little off since before dinner, and I've been wondering if it were my fault because of the whole elimination thing. I really didn't mean to kiss you, honestly. I was just so excited, and I hugged you, and your face was just there, so I grabbed it. I wasn't trying to get with you like that or anything, I swear! If this makes things weird, I would like to apologize and—"
Derek whispered suddenly, eyes still fixed tersely on the road, "Jordan cheated on me."
Spencer took in the information silently, "…whoa."
At that point, the words just flowed. They poured out of Derek like an avalanche's snow and he almost couldn't stop after that. He continued, "She's been sleeping with someone else for five months now. I called her after the show and some guy picked up the phone, sounded like a real toolbag too. I just wanted to hear her voice, and I guess I did. She told me it was over."
Spencer placed his hand over Derek's, "Man, I'm so sorry."
Derek felt his heart fluttered in his chest at the touch, and kept his eyes trained on the street before him, refusing to speak. He feared that if he did, all of his emotions would come out of his mouth and strangle him dead.
He had loved Jordan once upon a time, and everything had melded into an obligatory relationship very early on. They didn't have the heart to let it go, because there was really nothing wrong with their relationship. They've just fallen out of love. Not willing to accept it, or move on, or let go of hope… the two just kept at it. They never fought, or argued, or even resented each other. The two simply weren't together in their hearts anymore.
Now, enter Spencer—worldly, handsome, brilliant-ass Spencer—and everything goes to shit. The calculator falls apart, does not compute, divides by zero, the entire world explodes, and all of a sudden Derek feels like he's never crushed on anyone in his entire life because he's never felt like this before. Spencer ruins everything and makes everything whole again just by existing, and it's annoying as fuck. All Derek wants to do is drive a damned car.
Derek turned to Spencer, "It's fine. I mean… I'll be fine. I just… man, I really loved her. Sure, time has passed and we grew apart, but I could see myself with her for a really long time and when I was out playing game after game, she was fucking around with some guy. I can't believe this, like… why?! Why didn't she just end it with me and then fuck around?! Why'd she have to break my damned trust?! I did right by her! I never so much as laid a finger on anyone else but her in three years, that b—" Derek took a breath and pounded a fist lightly on the steering wheel, "You know what? I can't even call her a bitch, because I was dumb enough to let her into my heart, man, I was dumb enough to love her. And nowadays, it feels like I never loved her in the first place. There's… I feel… someone just… someone's deep in there now, and it's not her. She's never felt to me like this, and now, I don't even know what I want... God, why am I telling you this? You don't give a shit."
Spencer tightened his grip on Derek's hand, "Are you kidding me? I give a thousand shits."
Derek choked out a laugh, "That sounded so wrong."
"Yeah, that definitely came out weird," Spencer grinned, rubbing his thumb along the back of Derek's hand before asking calmly, "You know what? Fuck her. You didn't need her anyway… wanna just go out for a drink?"
Derek paused, "Are you asking me out?"
Spencer sputtered, "I—no, no way! I'm not—oh, God, I can't—you just got out of a relationship—besides, I don't like you in that way—not at all—I mean eww—gross. Like you would even—No. No, I'm not asking you out."
Derek cracked a teasing smile, "Cuz, it sounds like you're asking me out."
Spencer fixed his hair quickly, "Well, I'm not. I just wanted to—hang out. Like, yeah. People hang out. Dude buddy friends hang out."
Derek cackled, "Dude buddy friends?!"
Spencer frowned, "Are you going to stop making fun of me long enough to answer me?"
Derek laced his fingers through Spencer's and answered, "Well, as your 'dude buddy friend', I would love to go out for drinks."
Spencer grinned over at Derek, face resembling that of an excited puppy, "Yea! We can totally get you a rebound too. I make the best wing man! We'll spend like twenty minutes in the bar at the most, dude, we won't even drink that much because you'll get women that quickly. We're going to forget Jordan tonight, okay? We're going to get you laid."
A/N: I've been hearing your comments and it's hilarious how good you guys are at predicting the plot. I wrote this all months ago and y'all are like, "Bam! Bam! Bam!" Me gusta mucho.
See you next Sunday,
Blue