A/N: So, Corbin Bleu's Paso Doble last week was so good, it brought me to tears. Just because of that, I'm including a Paso in this story sometime later on, because this story seems incomplete without it (besides, fudgeeeee I can just see it with Morgan and Reid and it would be too perfect).

Please check it out on Hulu. You don't need Hulu Plus for it or anything, just like go to the Dancing With the Stars thing, because that Paso is so freaking incredibs.

No, seriously though. Watch that Paso, my beautifuls.

Love,

Blue

Raising the Barre

CHAPTER SIX: Turn Up the Heat

Turns out, Derek and Spencer had nothing to worry about during elimination; they were quickly given their pass to dance next week.

The main issue was the fangirls.

You see, whenever two men get relatively close to each other, the Internet cries 'gay'. Whether the men have feelings for each other or not, they are still lovingly taunted and jibbed about their budding relationship by the people on media sites, television networks, and celebrity mags—whether this so-called relationship existed or not. Let's break it down for those who aren't familiar with all this mumbo-jumbo, shall we? From the word "relationship" comes the shortened Internet term "ship", which is a verb. So, in turn, "shipping" or "to ship" means "to actively enjoy the idea of two people being in a relationship".

Then, there are ship names. Like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt's ship name was "Bradgelina", more and more ship names are bred every day and vary from pairing to pairing. According to Twitter, Derek's and Spencer's ship name was "Moreid"—a clever combination of Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid.

After yesterday's ballroom dance, attraction confession, and hand-holding fiasco, the ship was spread very quickly and within hours, Derek saw hundreds upon hundreds of tweets under #TeamWildCard hounding Derek on information about his proclaimed soon-to-be boyfriend. And with that, the tag #TeamMoreid was born.

At the sight of that new fan-made tag in his Twitter timeline, Derek let out a small smile. He thinks it suits them.

Wednesday morning came and as Derek walked into the studio, Spencer was leaning against the barre stretching. His foot was cradled on the highest of the two as he pushed against it, putting pressure on his hamstrings. Derek smiled at the sight of him and his eyes trailed down his partner's body appraisingly. It was then he realized that Spencer hadn't yet noticed him. Awesome. More time to stare. And, this was prime time for starin' because, unlike rehearsals in the past, Spencer's not drowned in a baggy sweater today. He's wearing a tee shirt. And not just any tee shirt—a nice one. It was a deep navy, nearly black with a slight v that teased at his clavicles. It was three quarter length, ending just below his elbow, and it fit his spindly frame well without seeming too clingy or cheap.

If Derek was completely honest, it seemed like quite the flirty top for a guy. It was more like something Derek would wear to the gym if he was looking to pick someone up, but still get a good workout in. His eyebrows danced and he walked toward his partner.

He tip toed, reveling in the fact that his instructor didn't know he was in the room yet. Derek inched closer and closer as the dancer stretched. Spencer switched his legs on the barre and Derek approached him, breathing into his ear, "Gimmie your wallet!"

"Ah! What the-" Spencer jumped, clearly unaware Derek was in the room prior to his announcement, and pulled his leg from the barre before turning, "Jesus, man, you scared the crap out of me."

Derek grinned and took a step back, "Hey, Pretty Boy. Extra stress on the 'pretty' today. How you doing this morning?"

"My heart is racing, you ass, I can't even hear you oversexualizing me over the furious pounding in my ears," Spencer smacked Derek's arm, hand still on his own chest as his breathing slowed.

Derek's eyebrow raised, "What did you say about furious pounding?"

Spencer glared at him, "Don't."

Derek surrendered easily, leaning his back onto the barre, "Fine."

Spencer hissed out, "Do you just not make noise when you enter a room, or did you wake up this morning planning to be even more of a dick than you usually are?"

"I'm catlike; I prefer a silent approach," Derek continued toward him, biting his lip flirtatiously as his arms reached for Spencer, "Meow."

Spencer let out a nervous laugh, "Derek, you're really weird."

Derek shrugged and pulled him into a friendly hug, "And you look extra handsome. I brought you coffee to apologize for grabbing on your butt last night. Forgive me please. I promise I'll never grope you again unless you ask for it."

"Aww, how could I not forgive you? You're like one of those dogs that's left alone at home too long," the dancer's arms curled low around Derek's waist and he pushed his face into Derek's neck.

Derek said into Spencer's hair, "Did I say you look great today? Because, woof-woof, yowza, unga-unga, Helloooo nurse. Can I wolf whistle? Because damn, girl, you's a ten."

Spencer laughed, "Yeah, don't worry, you mentioned it. Feeling more inappropriate than usual this morning, I'm guessing?"

Derek breathed quietly, "You have no idea."

"Okay! Hug's over," Spencer announced, stepping out of Derek's strong arms with very pink cheeks. He ran his hand through his chin length hair like he always does and shifted, "So… I'm gonna just change the subject and hand you this here envelope. Let's find out what we're dancing at the prom."

Derek snatched it from Spencer's thin fingered hand and grinned, ripping it open.

"Somebody's excited," Spencer chuckled, "This attitude better translate to focus today."

Derek pulled the tiny sheet of cardboard out and scanned the word before raising his eyebrow, "Huh. Argentine Tango."

Spencer jumped in glee, grabbing the paper from him and reading it over, "Ah, yes! I love this dance! I have the perfect choreography! It's going to go so well with the theme! Woo hoo!"

Derek raised his eyebrows, "Now, who's the excited one?"

Spencer grinned, "Both of us! Now, come on," he grabbed at the edge of Derek's sweatshirt, "Let's do some floorwork."

Derek bit his tongue before he could let out some sexual comment about floors and putting in work that would likely result in a slap in the face. With a huff, Derek followed his dance partner onto the floor and sat beside him with his feet stretched out. Sometimes, Spencer liked to do yoga. According to him, it helps quite a lot with muscle relaxation, grace, balance, core conditioning, and blah blah blah.

Derek decided he hated it weeks ago for seven legitimate reasons.

Reason #1: Derek is not a pretzel. He should not be convincing his limbs otherwise.

Reason #2: Derek weighs two hundred and thirteen pounds. There's no way in fucking hell he's balancing on his pinky toe without pads on. For fear of damaging the floor.

Reason #3: The blatant, unabashed thought of how flexible Spencer might be does not help his libido in any way, shape, or form. So, the blatant, unabashed sight of it, is enough to have Mr. MVP down for the count.

Reason #4: Did he just... oh, sweet Buddha.

Reason #5: Spencer can drop down into a full split.

Reason #6: Holy shit.

Reason #7: And now he's tossing his hair out of his face and shaking it behind him like *sob*

The song Spencer chose was so. Fucking. Provocative. That little shit. How dare he be so excited over a dance that is supposed to be complex and deep and then go and put on... that?! It's not like the song was all that racy. There have been racier. It was on the radio summer of 2006, but that's not the point! The point is that Derek must sit quietly and dance to a song that speaks his deepest, weirdest, most recently acquired kink and act like it's no big deal when—uh, big deal.

Spencer decided on "When You're Mad" by Ne-yo—and by 'decided on', Derek means Spencer told him that's what they were dancing to and arguing with him wouldn't be wise.

If you know the song from a handful of years ago, you're probably biting your lip and going, "Oh, crap. Bad idea." If you don't know the song, Google it, Spotify it, Youtube it, Reddit it, Tumble it, make a goddamn Pandora station centered around it because you need to understand just how Derek feels. The song's about a strained relationship that just might be strained on purpose because the main man, Ne-yo, is turned on by the reaction his object of affection gives when he angers her. There's a lyric that says verbatim: "Could it be the little wrinkle over your nose when you make your angry face. That makes me wanna just take off all your clothes and sex you all over the place."

Now, this wouldn't be as bad a subject if Spencer didn't give that same exact cute little pissed off expression whenever Derek misbehaves. Hell, it wouldn't be as bad if he and Ne-yo didn't share the same frustration. Even if all of those factors didn't come into play, it's still quite obvious that Spencer did not think this through.

Derek sighed, "This is a family show, Spencer. We can't prance around to a song that mentions oral twice."

Spencer replied easily, "The stage chorus sings it, so we'll send them safe lyrics."

Derek argued, "I don't want to send the chorus safe lyrics, Spencer!"

Spencer asked, "Why?"

Derek answered, "Because we're a dude-dude dance couple, kid! Get that through your oversized brain! It may be a new millennium, but the old prejudices still exist! I'm not Beyoncé! I'm not Kerry Washington! I'm a football player and you're a male ballroom dancer! If we dance to a song like this, we'll—"

"Freak people out? Be criticized? Get slammed by the public? Derek, I know," Spencer replied with a roll of his eyes, "I saw what happened during out first elimination. I saw how we were treated, okay, I understand that people get weirded out watching us. Man, I get weirded out watching us. But, that's only because I've lived my whole life being told that I could only dance with girls, despite who I slept with, and it messed me up. I don't want the future generation thinking like that."

Derek sighed, "What do you want them to think, Spencer?"

Spencer gave Derek an earnest look, "I want kids to watch this with their parents and ask why they were allowed to watch Will and Peta dance to Sexy Silk last week, but they get their eyes covered when Derek and Spencer do the same exact thing to Ne-yo. I want them to see what's wrong with that. I want them to wonder why we pick and choose who dances correctly, and who is judged correctly, and who loves correctly. I want them to question that. I want them to challenge that. I want them to think for themselves and not be so conditioned to be weirded out by us, Derek. That's what I want."

Derek watched him as he spoke and took a breath. Their eyes locked and Derek could feel Spencer's passion on the topic. This wasn't just a dance to Spencer. This wasn't just a partnership. This was an opportunity to make a difference, and dammit if the kid wasn't taking it.

"Three kids dropped my class after our first dance," Spencer looked forlorn, "And after I held your hand two days ago, I got seven angry phone calls and nine more children were pulled out by their parents. If this continues, I won't have any students, because these adults don't want a man who dances with another man to spend time with their children. They don't want me talking to them, teaching them, Derek, they don't want me in the same room as them. Do you know how that makes me feel? Like shit. That's how it makes me feel. So, yeah, I want to show them all that we can turn up the heat and not get burned, but most importantly, I want those kids watching to see what their parents can't. Two people. Dancing."

Closing the distance between them, Derek encased Spencer in a hug, wrapping his arms around the dancer's thin frame and pulling him into his chest. Spencer was so small and warm, yet stable and firm. He hugged Derek back—albeit hesitantly—and when he did, he fit perfectly into Derek's arms. Spencer's hands found Derek's lower back as Derek's found Spencer's upper. While the dancer was taller, it wasn't by enough to change how close their faces would be if they'd moved a fraction of an inch so that their lips brushed instead of their ears. Holding back a soft chuckle, Derek noticed that Spencer does that little thing where he presses his nose into his neck and burrows a bit. It's obnoxiously cute, and probably subconscious, but still.

Derek spoke quietly into Spencer's ear, "You're incredible."

He could feel Spencer's smile as he murmured into Derek's shoulder, "Yeah. I know."

"Cocky bastard," Derek replied into Spencer's hair. He smelled like vanilla—rich vanilla on a summer day right off of the spring orchid. That and sweat and passion and hope and Spencer.

"Strange coincidence," chuckling into Derek's neck, Spencer pushed him away gently, "Now let's Tango."

The next day arrived and Derek found his hand placed at the small of Spencer's back at their second rehearsal. They'd mastered the flicked leg—which took a solid hour, three water bottles, and fifteen sexy glares served up by Spencer himself. There was a small lift required that the two were thoroughly avoiding, but other than that, they could handle the swift movements required without the dancers getting their legs tangled and ending up in a frustrated heap on the floor. That only happened twice.

While the little leg pops were a bit difficult to master, there was this little heir to the dance that Derek was just missing completely. He could do all of the moves, albeit a little confusedly at first, but it didn't look like a tango. And that bothered Spencer to no end.

After butchering the opening measure for the sixth time in a row, Spencer pulled him aside and stopped the music. Spencer placed his hands into the pockets of his baggy sweatpants. Today, in a crimson version of the navy v-neck from yesterday, Derek could see that these little shirts were a conscious decision. They had to be. The shirts were so simple—I mean it was jersey dammit—but the way he wore them... the man's plotting something, Derek swears by it. The baggy sweatpants on the other hand could use some work. Just a little tighter would be nice. Or a lot tighter. Or no pants. Yes, no pants was a great idea.

Snapping his fingers in front of Derek's face, he brought him back to Earth, "Hey, Jolly Green, you hear a word I just said?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, "You were talking?"

"Yes, I was talking! I was talking about your walk up and first two measures!" Spencer waved his hands around enthusiastically, "You're too disconnected from me. You have the steps, but man, there's no passion. You're snapping your hips, but you're not snapping them! We're tangoing, but we're not Tangoing, you know?"

Derek gave him a blank look.

Spencer rubbed his temples, "I'm not making a lick of sense, am I?"

Derek blinked, "No, you're not."

"Let's just…" Spencer clapped his hands together and took a deep breath, "Come here."

Derek took two steps forward.

Spencer let out a laugh at the shuffling movement and held a hand out to Derek, "Closer, Derek. Here."

Moving to make a three bible distance between the two, Derek felt Spencer take his hand. He looked up at Spencer and watched as he let out a small, contented smile. Their fingers slotted together and Spencer took the other hand, interlocking it as well. His hands were soft. Firm, but soft, if that makes any sense.

"We're lovers." Spencer spoke calmly, "You took me to the prom, and hated your tie, and complained when our mothers took a billion pictures of us. I told you I loved you two months ago and you didn't respond until a week later, because what you were feeling scared you. Now, it doesn't. You say it every day. I tutor you in Math, you pick me up from school, and every Friday we watch stupid slasher movies in your living room while your sisters make kissy noises as they pass the couch. The sex is amazing, but we waited. We waited a long time, and when we finally did it, we wondered why we hadn't started sooner. But, we have issues—we fight. We fight about little things… big things… lots of things in between, but we never fall asleep angry at one another. We won't allow it. So, when I ask you to prom—"

"Whoa, whoa," Derek interjected, "I ask you."

Spencer laughed, "Fine, you ask me to prom."

Derek smiled fondly, "There you go."

Spencer shook his head and continued, "I say yes, and we go, and you decide to tease me because you're bored and you like my reaction to annoyance. I know you don't mean a word you say, and it barely even stings until some girl walks by and you decide to dance one song with her. I'm furious at you. I'm overprotective, territorial, very testy. Somebody had the fucking nerve to dance with my man, and now I'm nearly unreasonable. You got what you wanted. I'm pissed at you. Now, seduce me back into your arms, Derek. Make me so lost in desire that I forgive you immediately. Don't just dance with me. Tango."

"You made up that whole backstory just for me?" Derek said with a teasing glint in his eye.

Spencer replied, "Yeah."

Derek smiled fondly, "Thanks."

Spencer squeezed his hand, "No problem."

Derek winked, "Now, how awesome was the sex again?"

Spencer ran his thumb against the back of Derek's hand, "Let's just say you're not breaking up with me any time soon. I've got a couple of tricks up my sleeve."

"And me?" Derek asked.

Spencer shrugged, "You were a virgin. I taught you well."

"What? No fair!" Derek laughed and tugged on Spencer's hand, "This backstory is seriously slanted towards you."

Spencer responded easily, "Well, I want you to show the crowd what you can do. Seduce me; seduce them as well."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a genius?"

Spencer grinned, "You have no idea."

"Now, Spencer, you're sure you want to do this?" Derek spoke into the back of Spencer's neck as he gripped the dip of Spencer's waist. They stood very close. Spencer stood in front of Derek, barefoot on the hardwood with his woodsy vanilla scented hair pressed into Derek's face. He looked at Derek through the mirror on that Saturday afternoon and said sternly, "Yes. I've never been lifted before… if you drop me… I will kill you."

Derek scoffed, "I'm not going to drop you. Please, what are you, eighty pounds soaking wet?"

Spencer rolled his eyes, "For your information, I'm 147."

Derek glanced down at Spencer's body, "I don't see it. Where is this 147?"

"My ass," Spencer hissed, "Now, lift me before I lose my faith in you."

Derek chuckled, "I've lifted you and a half on a bad day, man. Bring it."

Spencer gave him the count, "On eight. Five, six, seven—aughh!"

Derek pulled Spencer off of the ground and lifted him as high as his arms were able before holding him to the side, allowing Spencer to lift one leg high and hold it parallel to his head for a few moments, and letting him down gently. Spencer's feet hit the ground softly and barely made a sound as he clutched his chest and let out a big breath, "Oh! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

Laughing, Derek pulled him close, "Aww, there we go. Good job."

Spencer whimpered, eyes plastered to the ground, "That was really high up."

Derek rubbed calming circles into his back, "I've got you, Spence. I won't ever drop you. But, if it makes you feel better, we can do without the lifts—"

Spencer hissed, "Derek Hough always does lifts in his Argentine Tangoes! He scores higher than me in it every single time and for that, I hate his guts. You're lifting me, the end."

Derek chuckled, "Whoa, do we have a little trouble in Alpha Male Paradise?"

Spencer pushed out of the hug gracefully, "No. I'm better than him. He just doesn't know it yet."

Derek added, "Your arrogance is startlingly refreshing."

Spencer blushed and plastered himself to Derek's side, "Five, six, seven, eight."

Derek yawned as he rose a half hour later, scratching his head and pushing the sheets away hesitantly. They were very warm today. Then again, they were very warm every time Derek rose in the morning, but that didn't make waking up that much easier. He shrugged off the memory of how easy it was to greet the morning beside Spencer, raging hangover or no raging hangover.

What was he about to do?

Oh, yeah. Bathroom.

Derek stood up, and turned on the TV at the end of his bed for background noise as he padded over to the in-room hotel bathroom in his socks and sweats. He yawned again as he closed the door and relieved himself. Finishing that, he washed his hands and grabbed his toothbrush out of the holder, putting it into his mouth. He rifled inside the mirror compartment until he found a half empty tube of toothpaste and popped open the cap. Derek squeezed some onto the brush and stuck it into his mouth again, opening the bathroom door and heading for his closet.

Hmm, clothes, clothes, clothes…

He grabbed a red tee shirt and a clean pair of black sweatpants, tossing them on the bed and scrubbing at his teeth. God, he loves this competition. There's no other way he could get away with wearing sweats every day. He shuddered at the thought of dancing in jeans, especially ballroom. Yikes.

Derek checked absently to see if the shirt was too wrinkled to wear, and after an assessment of two seconds, the answer was yes. He headed back to the closet after hearing his name from the television at the edge of the bed. He glanced back to it curiously. ESPN is on. There sat two interviewers he's sat beside before laughing loudly.

"Yes, it's true. Derek Morgan of the Chicago Bears is now a contestant on Dancing with the Stars!" a blonde man said.

The elder brunette beside him shrugged, "Well, that's nothing new. There was a player on a season or so ago. Jacoby Jones, wasn't it? He placed third."

The blonde added, "Yes, but, he wasn't dancing with a man."

The brunette paused, "Wait. Derek Morgan is dancing with a man? Is that even allowed?"

"It is now," he replied, "We don't know if he asked to dance with him or not, but those two are getting real close despite the circumstances. Too close if you ask me."

The brunette man sighed, "Well, knowing Derek Morgan, I wouldn't be surprised. After that whole scandal with Marcus Townsel, I wouldn't put it behind him. Just can't keep his hands off these men, can he?"

Derek grimaced. First of all, Marcus kissed him. He didn't kiss Marcus! And it was just a freaking peck at the winning touchdown of their first major game! Besides, they discounted the whole thing several times. Sure, they fucked around for a few months after the event, but no one knew that. Did they? They couldn't. The two players were very secretive about it. They'd only hooked up in Marcus's windowless den, and on occasion in the locker room's ball closet if running plays with each other got them so hot that they couldn't wait. But, no one knew about that. Derek's mom didn't even know about that, and she knew everything.

The blonde laughed, "They held hands after last week's dance. Held hands! What is he, his boyfriend?"

A picture popped up of the two of them receiving their scores. Lo and behold, their fingers were interlocked and Spencer's head was on his shoulders. Okay, this must be magic film, because that picture totally made it look like they were together. Derek might even venture to say committed. What was so funny about it was how fucking different the two men were! In the picture, it seemed exaggerated. They were so unalike. Derek was strongly built with determination in his eyes, skin brown and head cleanly shaved, he looked like he didn't take no tea for the fever. Spencer, on the other hand, was tall and thin, all lithe musculature, soft pale skin, and long curls—a fucking David statue carved from pure sexiness instead of marble. Not to mention, he held himself with so much confidence and self-assuredness, it was crazy (and in that suit with that goofy grin he had plastered on his face, eyes cast up toward Derek's? Yes. Derek wants this picture for his own). Yet, all things considered, they didn't look out of place at each other's sides. Their hands were interlocked—Derek's strong and dark, Spencer's sturdy and pink—and within their difference, it all just… fit.

The brunette shook his head, "Well, would you look at that. That's just disgusting. My children watch this show. I'd hate to have them seeing these two flaunting around every week."

The blonde added, "Apparently during last week's dance, they got very romantic."

The brunette rolled his eyes, "You mean very gay. Damned homosexuals, that's what they are."

Derek's lip curled. Asshole.

"The last thing we need is this on television. It's not even dancing. It's just an excuse to push their gay agenda on us. We don't want to see that," the blonde spoke, "This isn't the traditional ballroom that the viewers asked for, this is two men twirling around."

The brunette chuckled, "God, I wonder who the woman is when they pair dance. It's probably Morgan himself," he laughed, "Imagine that!"

"I barely can! Who would have guessed that the NFL's most recent MVP would become a dancing queen? No one, I'll tell you that. I don't understand it. He works so hard in a respectable sport to… what, frolic around like a fairy with that flowery excuse of a man that he's probably having an affair with? I mean, it's a mess. It's a trashy mess," said the reporter.

The brunette joked, "That man is quite girly looking, isn't he?"

The blonde laughed, "Hell, with a couple of drinks in me, he'd look like my wife!"

The brunette reporter cackled, "Ah, it's funny because it's probably true. I mean, look at that hair! Does he curl it like that?"

"You know what, those are natural curls!" Derek hissed and picked up the remote, turning the television off. Staring at the little thing in his hand, he pitched it forward across the room. As it hit the wall, the back of it came flying off with a crack! The batteries flew out and Derek sucked in a breath, yelling out, "Fuck you, ESPN!"

It was true.

ESPN could well and truly go fuck itself for all Derek knew. Derek wanted to dance, and he knew that it was no big deal when Jacoby Fucking Jones went for it and made it to the finale. But, Derek dances with a man, and all of a sudden, he's a flaming homosexual flailing around like a fairy. Really, ESPN? Really?

Either way, who cares if Derek is a flaming homosexual?! It's none of their business anyway who he's fucking, be it man or woman or other! For their information, Spencer and Derek are incredible dancers, and when they dance together, there's magic. It's like their hands were made to fit in each other's and their steps were crafted to match. So, when the cameras are off and the two dancers are away, no one has the fucking right to judge them whether Spencer and Derek are pounding each other until they black out or not! In every way imaginable, what they do is no one's business and as time goes on, it will continue to be no one's business.

They have no right to criticize Derek on his morals based on who he's dancing with. They have no right to say what is okay for children to watch. And, fuck if they have the right to tell Dr. Spencer Reid-the goddamn Prince of Ballroom-what counts as ballroom and what falls under "fairy twirling". Besides. So what if Derek's having an affair with him? No one even knows of his abysmal crush on Spencer, and no one needs to know. Why? Because it's of no consequence to them. And they are in no way pushing a "gay agenda" by dancing together. They're two people. Who can Jive like it's in their bones. That's all.

This is bullshit.

And you know what?

Derek is pissed the fuck off.

But, you know what? That's press.

A/N: Darn ESPN. Stay tuned next week, because boy, do things change for the better in M/R Land. Next Sunday is their Prom. And we all know what happens at Prom~ *eyebrow wiggle*

Love,

Blue

P.S. Nothing happened on my prom though. During the slow dances, my date was conquering a persistent bowel movement. During the after-prom, I was the "purse watcher". And during the after-after-prom, we went to my friend's house and I fell asleep cuddling one of my female buddies. Pictures were taken and it ended up on Facebook. Sorry Norah. I had a bad night, and you were very soft.

I did succeed in kicking Creepy Patrick off of the couch though, and made me feel a little better.