our bodies, possessed by light

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/65986162.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Relationship: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Characters: Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia,
Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Alex Blake (Criminal
Minds), Diana Reid, Fran Morgan, Clooney the Dog (Criminal Minds),
Emily Prentiss
Additional Tags: The BAU Team as Family (Criminal Minds), Alternate Universe - Coffee
Shops & Cafés, Derek is in the BAU, Spencer is a chef, Fluff, Domestic
Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Tattooed Spencer Reid, Canon-Typical Violence,
Bisexual Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Bisexual Spencer Reid,
Lesbian Penelope Garcia
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2025-05-28 Updated: 2025-06-04 Words: 13,953 Chapters:
2/6
 our bodies, possessed by light
by adhoori

Summary

Derek looks up to place an order only to find himself tongue tied at the cashier. Oh god. He’s
hungover, and normally being served coffee by someone at Dunkin who looks like he would
rather be in hell. Not this guy. Derek looks at him, the hint of a smile on his face, his curls
falling on his forehead, burnt honey eyes patiently looking at Derek, tattoos littered across his
forearms.

So obviously what comes out of his mouth is, “Coffee.” Jesus fucking Christ.

The guy smiles impishly, amused. “We do have coffee,” he quips.

Derek wishes the earth would swallow him up.

Notes

this fic was born out of my love for a good coffee shop and the inherent intimacy of making
food for someone! if you're someone who likes a vibe, here's a moodboard for this fic and i
don't have a playlist but i listened to the folklore long pond studio sessions near constantly
while writing this so make of that what you will lol

most importantly, i'm sending the biggest most humongous thank you to PrincessAve for her
friendship, for beta reading this fic, for leaving the most thoughtful feedback anyone could

💖💖💖
ask for, and for being someone whose enthusiasm for this AU rivals perhaps only my own ily

title is from scheherazade by richard siken. i've already written like 90% of this and updates
will be weekly!

See the end of the work for more notes

 Spring

Derek wakes up not to an alarm, but to Clooney’s insistent nudging. He groans and turns
around, face down in his pillow, head full of what feels like cotton candy. They’d finished a
big case and the paperwork yesterday, and had gone out for family dinner which led to one
too many margaritas and now here he was, head pounding, mouth dry. Maybe he’s getting too
old for this. He picks up his phone blearily, catches the time and sits up so fast he thinks he’s
going to be dizzy. Late. He’s so fucking late.

He takes Clooney for the quickest walk, apologizing to him as he puts his sunglasses on, and
texts his neighbor if he could come by around lunch and take him on a longer walk. Finn was
a college student grateful for the spare cash and Derek thanks his lucky stars someone else
had a weirder schedule than his own, it meant Finn was ready to take Clooney at all hours of
the night (and day).

Back from the walk, he opens the fridge only to find it depressingly empty save for some
takeout that was definitely not safe to eat anymore. Suddenly, the silence in his apartment
feels oppressive. Derek has always been happy in his functional apartment, it ticks all his
boxes. Still, off late he’s found himself wishing for more mayhem. He remembers his
childhood and how there was never a quiet moment in their house, something he’d
occasionally hated. Now, he thinks the quiet bothers him more than the noise ever had.

Thirty minutes later finds him driving the familiar route to work, occasionally sipping on the
water he had in lieu of forgetting his morning coffee. He hopes he’s not the only one running
late. Garcia hasn’t called him so they’re clearly case-free for now. The radio is on at a low
volume, and the familiar hum carries him through the commute.

Resigning himself to shitty office coffee, he’s about to enter the building when a small
storefront on the opposite side catches his eye. Derek makes quick work of backing out of the
gate, waving apologetically at Joe who recognizes him and throws a nod his way before
closing the gate. He parks outside what he now sees is a coffee shop, and Derek is surprised
to see one here. New coffee shops were mostly a D.C. thing, they usually only had chain
restaurants and big name cafes around here. He shoots a text to Penelope.

Baby girl how late am I?

Hotch is here, Rossi just got in, JJ, Alex and Em are all running late. I’m here obviously.
Despite having just as many drinks as some of you I might add

Derek rolls his eyes affectionately, glad he’s not the only one feeling it.

I’ll bring coffee for everyone. Maybe some pastries too, just saw a new place across from us

Nice save and also I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said you are a god and deserve to
be worshipped as such
He smiles and enters Ivy. Apt name, Derek thinks. The little cafe is in a charmingly run down
brick building, tendrils of ivy growing all over its facade. It smells like coffee and baked
goods and Derek spots tiny tables across the floor, a dining bench with pillows, and a
bookshelf, before his stomach growls embarrassingly loudly. Thankfully there’s also an old
record playing so he doesn’t think he’s embarrassed himself completely.

The menu is not extensive but it does say “ask us if you want something that’s not listed” so
Derek thinks they probably have all the classics. The counter has a wooden cake stand
covered with a glass cloche with today’s pastries. They all have hand written names next to a
sign that says baked fresh daily . He sees a a Kouignn-amann, a lemon raspberry loaf, a chive
and parmesan scone, and a plain croissant and realizes just how hungry he is.

“Good morning, how can I help you today?”

Derek looks up to place an order only to find himself tongue tied at the cashier. Oh god. He’s
hungover, and normally being served coffee by someone at Dunkin who looks like he would
rather be in hell. Not this guy. Derek looks at him, the hint of a smile on his face, his curls
falling on his forehead, burnt honey eyes patiently looking at Derek, tattoos littered across his
forearms.

So obviously what comes out of his mouth is, “Coffee.” Jesus fucking Christ.

The guy smiles impishly, amused. “We do have coffee,” he quips.

Derek wishes the earth would swallow him up. “Sorry, long morning,” he apologizes.

“Happens to the best of us. What can I get you, Agent?”

“How–”

“Just hazarding a guess. Well that, and your credentials are sticking out of your pocket,” he
admits, smiling.

Derek wills himself to form a single intelligent thought and to remember what he was here
for. “Right. Coffee,” he says, before rattling off their orders and asking for one of each pastry
on a whim.

The guy’s name is Spencer he notes, spotting the name tag as he takes Derek’s order. Spencer
looks like he fits right in here, with the old record player and the bookshelf teeming with
books, the smell of fresh coffee and the mismatched throw pillows that still looked like they
went together, like someone with an eye for that kind of thing had carefully picked every
single thing about this cafe. Not for the first time he wonders what this kind of place was
doing in Quantico.

He watches Spencer make the coffees with deft hands, often moving too fast for Derek to
comprehend what he was doing. Or maybe he was still hungover. Spencer makes shot after
espresso shot, and Derek spots the moka pot tattoo on the back of his bicep. He has the
sudden urge to trace it with his tongue. When all the coffees are placed on a carrier, and the
pastries in a brown bag, Derek is about to grab everything when his phone goes off.
“Morgan.”

Garcia tells him they have a case, and to bring his coffees for everyone straight to the briefing
room. Derek feels a lot more awake, and he grabs their breakfast in a rush before making a
beeline for his car. He thinks he hears Spencer say something but there’s a case to solve and
he’s nothing if not single minded, so he leaves.

***

When he’s listening to Garcia present the case, sipping his latte and taking the first bite of
what feels like the best croissant he’s ever had in his life, flaky layers melting in his mouth,
warm and buttery, he realizes he never paid.

“Oh my god.”

That gets everyone to pause and look at him, including Hotch with his eyebrows raised. “Do
you see something we don’t?”

“No I–, I just realized I forgot to pay for breakfast,” he groans, head in hands when he hears
everyone else break the tension with laughter.

“I’m sorry did you, a federal agent, dine and dash?”

Derek glares at Emily’s barely concealed laughter. “Not on purpose!”

“Alright, back to the case,” Hotch reminds everyone with a wry smile, and Derek forces
himself to concentrate.

Later when he’s grabbing his go bag he wonders if he should slide a check under the cafe
door, have Penelope change his name, and move to another city so he never has to face
Spencer with the tattoos again.

***

Friday finds the team in New Haven, Connecticut, drinking the sludge that was precinct
coffee, and running on fumes. They’ve been trying to figure out if the kidnappings popping
up across the city are cult related or just a copycat who liked to use religious imagery as a
forensic countermeasure, when Hotch orders everyone to go to the hotel and get a full night’s
sleep.
Derek showers quickly and reads maybe two pages of the incident report before sleep claims
him. If he wakes up half hard, having dreamt of honey and tattoos and coffee and the fall of
Spencer’s curls on his forehead, no one has to know. He just hasn’t dated in a while is all.

A night of sleep ends up refueling all of them, and Blake spots a linguistic inconsistency, a
sign he’s devolving, and they end up finding the victim alive. Not unharmed, but at least
alive. He’s learned to be grateful for that.

***

Five days after his original coffee run Derek is outside Ivy, gathering courage to go in. He
can’t believe he just left without paying, but it’s been eating at him so here he is, making it
right. It’s closer to lunch this time and there are a few people scattered across tables,
sandwiches and laptops at the ready. Derek even recognizes some of them, and honestly the
food smells pretty darn good. He eyes the counter and it’s Spencer again, so no chance of
escaping with his dignity. Before long, it’s his turn at the counter and he walks up, sporting
an embarrassed smile.

“Agent Morgan,” Spencer greets, smiling.

“You remember,” Derek says, surprised.

Spencer smiles faintly, cheeks pink. “I have an eidetic memory,” he explains. Derek nods and
wonders what the fuck he was doing as a cashier in a coffee shop with a mind like that. None
of his business, he thinks.

“About the other day,” he starts and yeah, he can tell Spencer is already amused. He hands
him cash and asks him to keep the change.

Spencer adds it to the till. “Thank you, can I get you anything today?”

Come to think of it, he is hungry and a BLT sounds really good right about now. He decides
to order one.

“Coming right up,” Spencer responds, while running his card.

Derek waits to the side while Spencer takes a couple more orders. He can’t really see the
kitchen from where he is, but it seems to have a steady hum of activity running through it.
His sandwich is out in a few minutes and Spencer bags it before bringing it to him. Derek
grabs the bag and takes the opportunity to identify more of Spencer’s tattoos. He spots a
single flower, a whisk, and a constellation Derek doesn’t know, before he crosses the amount
of time after which it was definitely too weird to keep looking. He murmurs a quick thank
you and heads back towards the bullpen, lunch in hand.
 ***

They’re on the way to Winslow having been invited after a few bodies popped up in quick
succession. Derek and Hotch profiled the UnSub as an erotomaniac and it’s quiet in the jet
now, everyone going through case documents in relative silence. Derek is sitting opposite JJ,
and when her phone rings and startles him she looks apologetic. He waves a hand, smiling,
and she nods before picking up. It’s Will, and Derek can tell Henry is sick because JJ is doing
that thing she does with her eyebrows, her face pinched in concern.

“Okay, maybe take him to urgent care if this keeps up,” she murmurs. “Love you, keep me
posted, please.”

Derek closes the file. “Everything okay?”

She shrugs, still looking more worried than he’d like. “Henry caught something at pre-
school,” she explains, smiling tiredly. “It’s every other week, or at least it feels like it. I wish
people would just keep their kids home if they’re sick.”

He nods, commiserating. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for checking. I think I’m just used to worrying about him and solving cases at
this point. I used to think I don’t know how Hotch does this, where he finds the time or the
capacity, and I can’t speak for time but it feels like I just have more room now. I can do both
somehow,” she says, her voice part humor and part disbelief.

Derek smiles kindly. He’s not sure he gets it, and watching his friends live vastly different
lives at his age is sometimes an out of body experience. He thinks of his sensible but bare
apartment, the sparse fridge, his routine, and his lack of dating life and feels a pang of
loneliness run through him. He hooks up every once in a while, sure, but he hasn’t seriously
dated in years, and it’s been fine, there’s certainly enough serial killers to occupy his time,
but the older he gets and watches his friends’ lives expand to make room for more, the more
he feels like he’s trailing behind in a race he’s not sure he signed up for. Like everyone else
has been able to figure something out that he can’t even begin to comprehend.

He thinks of Hotch going home to Jack, of Blake’s excited smile when her husband is in
town, of JJ’s open arms and easy smile when Will and Henry sometimes pick her up from
work, and feels like he’s on the outside looking in. The case file stares at him and Derek
opens it, shaking his head to clear it. He shoots a text to Penelope before he gets sucked back
in.

Movie night at my place when we’re back?

Make it mine and it’s a deal. I know your fridge looks sad as fuck right now.

Rude.

Am I wrong?
Lol no, but only because we’ve had cases back to back! Haven’t had the chance to be my
usual responsible self

Uh huh

He sends her an eye roll, unbothered by her ribbing. Still, it only proved his point. Derek gets
back to the case file not wanting to follow that train of thought.

***

They get back from Winslow and Derek has hardly slept. He doesn’t think he can forget the
severity of the murders or the deranged look in the eyes of the UnSub anytime soon and
every time he closes his eyes he sees them. Each victim dying in front of him, one by one, cut
by painful cut, his mind a mess of blood, tears and screams that he can’t stop hearing. He
wishes he’d been faster, smarter, better. Maybe they could’ve had one less body. One less
family to console. He’d been the one to make the arrest but the memory is a paltry attempt at
soothing him. Unsatisfactory. Not enough. Just like him , he thinks snidely. It’s with this
thought he pulls up at Ivy, grateful for the soft glow of the dimly lit cafe permeating the early
hour.

Derek pushes the door open, missing the Closed sign completely, and watches Spencer
working on something behind the counter.

“We’re closed, sorry!”

Of course they were. One more thing to punctuate his awful morning. “Oh. Sorry, I’ll be back
later.”

At that, Spencer turns around and greets Derek with a tired but genuine smile. “Agent
Morgan, good morning.”

Derek attempts a smile, unsure if he actually succeeds. “I’m Derek.”

“Derek,” Spencer repeats, and then, “Why don’t you come in, it’s alright.”

“Oh no I– sorry I didn’t even see the sign, I can just come back later.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” Spencer whispers conspiratorially, and Derek finds he can’t quite
bring himself to say no.

“What can I get for you?”

“A decaf latte, please,” he requests. “Thank you, again.”

“Anytime, you look like you need a pick-me-up. Rough case?”

“Something like that,” Derek says.

“How about you grab a table, I’ll bring this out for you in a minute.”

Derek thinks he should maybe feel a little bad about all this special treatment but he’s tired,
hasn’t slept, and already made the responsible choice of having decaf to avoid jitters, so he
lets it be. He grabs a seat near the window, watching the sun get brighter when Spencer sets
his coffee in front of him. Derek murmurs a thank you and pretends he doesn’t feel anything
when his fingers brush against Spencer’s.

Spencer nods and goes back behind the counter, rummaging through drawers. Derek looks
out the window and sips his coffee intermittently, letting it warm him up from the inside. He
grabs his summary report from his bag and starts filling it out, thinking he might as well get
something done having come in so early. The minutes pass in comfortable silence and Derek
works until the sun is high up in the sky. The sign on the window tells him they open in an
hour and he looks at Spencer who seems to be writing in a notebook intently, occasionally
sketching.

Maybe it’s the placebo effect of his decaf coffee but Derek feels bold and slides into the seat
opposite Spencer. “May I?”

Spencer looks up, surprised, but smiling softly. “Sure.”

Derek looks at him as he puts his pen down and closes his notebook. “You’re here early.”

“I usually come in at about four,” Spencer replies and Derek is appalled. He’d thought he was
a morning person but four is something else. Spencer huffs out a laugh at his face and Derek
feels himself slipping into an easy smile, his first in days.

“To bake,” Spencer clarifies. “I make all the pastries for the day and usually do the morning
rush before someone else takes over for the rest of the day. Unless they need a break, then I
help out.”

“You make all the pastries?” Surprise colors his voice. Not just a cashier then. A chef. Derek
tucks the information away with everything else he knows about Spencer.

Spencer smiles, looking down, face flushed at the awe in Derek’s voice. It’s so fucking cute it
makes Derek want to do something stupid like lean over and plant a kiss.

“I uh, I own this cafe with my friend Ethan. I do the pastries and the morning rush, he runs
the kitchen with the other staff the rest of the day,” he explains.

And really. Derek should’ve known. Of course the handsome barista with the curls and the
tattoos and the eidetic memory is also the pastry chef who owns this place. He briefly thinks
about his dine and dash debacle and groans internally. Somehow it had gotten more
embarrassing, a feat he hadn’t thought was possible to achieve.

“No baking today?”

Spencer frowns, a quick twist of his mouth. “Something’s up with the oven today. We’re
selling whatever is good from yesterday at half price if something strikes your fancy. I’m
about to put stuff out.”

Derek walks up to the counter with him and watches Spencer put things out before
transitioning to writing neat labels in tiny block letters with the utmost focus, lips puckered,
forearm flexing with concentration. Derek’s mouth is suddenly dry.

“I’d love the banana bread,” he requests, once Spencer is done and he nods, smiling.

“What do you do at the FBI?”

He watches Spencer warm the slice of bread up, his back to Derek, the apron resting on the
nape of his neck. When Derek doesn’t answer, he turns around, amused.

“Is it a if I told you I’d have to kill you situation?”

Derek smiles, face warm in the wake of Spencer’s grin. “No, nothing like that, I’m in the
Behavioral Analysis Unit,” he answers.

“Ah, the BAU. A profiler,” Spencer comments, handing him a small plate and a second decaf
latte he hadn’t ordered.

“On the house,” he smiles, when Derek is about to refuse.

“Thank you. And yeah, that’s me. You sound like you’re familiar with it?”

Spencer nods. “I have a few Ph.Ds, one in psychology with a focus on criminal behavior.”

Derek blinks. A few Ph.Ds? Who the fuck was this guy. Spencer continues talking as he fusses
around the display. “Did you know Agent Gideon?”

“Jason Gideon?”

“That’s him. He uh–he recruited me for the unit. Convinced me to give the FBI a shot.”

Spencer meets him back on his side of the counter and they make their way to their shared
table. Derek takes another sip of his latte as he sits down. “How’d you get to running a cafe
from almost joining the FBI?”

He wonders what it would’ve been like to work with Spencer. In another life he can imagine
them in the bullpen, Spencer’s sharp mind a weapon in their arsenal.

Derek looks at the flash of sadness and the way Spencer’s eyes tighten before he smiles
again. He notices it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“A story for another time,” he murmurs.

Derek wonders if he should apologize for overstepping, but Spencer’s phone goes off, and he
looks at it, frowning. “I should take this, sorry. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,”
he offers, and then, “and welcome to come back. Just don’t tell anyone,” he says smiling. A
real smile this time.

He smiles back, nodding. “I’m going to head to work soon anyway, thank you for the coffee.”

Spencer is already on the phone, but he nods, mouthing a quick anytime before he gets back
to his conversation. Derek packs up and heads into the office, feeling more settled than he
was this morning.

***

June slips by faster than he realizes. They solve three cases, he books his tickets home for
Christmas, Rossi throws him a birthday brunch, Clooney sprains a leg and has to be taken to
the vet, and Derek finds himself taking Spencer up on his offer three times. It’s a welcome
departure from his usual routine, a punishing but ultimately invigorating morning run, a
protein shake, some subpar coffee and eggs, and the rest of his day laid out in front of him.
Derek starts looking forward to these mornings.

He wakes up, takes Clooney on a leisurely walk around the neighborhood, showers and skips
his coffee and eggs to make it to Ivy well before they officially open. He sits at what has
become his table in his mind, sipping on his coffee and whatever pastries Spencer surprised
him with. So far, it’s been a ham and cheese croissant, flaky, buttery, savory, and everything
he didn’t know he’d needed, an orange and rosemary muffin that toed the line between sweet
and savory, and the mango danish he was having right now.

Derek bites into the puff pastry, immediately making a mess of his shirt. He watches Spencer
smile and can’t quite bring himself to care. It’s also unlike anything else he’s ever had before.
The pastry is fresh from the oven, and the tang from the cream cheese pairs perfectly with the
mango curd. Derek is no connoisseur of baked goods but even he can tell this is good. Like
better than a small cafe in Quantico should be. This feels like something that belongs in a
cafe that makes nine dollar lattes and offers macadamia nut milk or something. He closes his
eyes in appreciation, taking another small bite before setting it down.

Spencer is watching him, eyes dark, and Derek looks away, wiping his face. “That’s so
good,” he says. “What kind of mango is that? I’ve never had it before.”

He grabs the chair opposite Derek and settles in with a pleased smile. “They’re Alphonso
mangoes, they’re native to India and highly seasonal. They’re really sweet and almost
perfumed if you smell them fresh. The curd is mostly mango and a little bit of saffron for the
color. I usually go to an Indian store about an hour from here every summer and buy boxes of
this stuff, wait till they ripen, puree and freeze them to use year round.”

Derek watches him explain, animated voice and flailing arms. Spencer’s hair is longer since
he first saw him, and it should look messier but only serves to make him look more
endearing. Derek fights the urge to tuck a strand away and wills himself to listen. Spencer
tells him about the mango season in India, and how the monsoon season affects it, the way
global warming has changed it, the different varieties of mangoes, and his favorites.

Derek doesn’t think he knew there were multiple kinds, he’d grown up with the mango. Just
the one. The one you saw in grocery stores, the one he remembers buying from Mrs. Santos
with the extra tajin and chamoy she always put for him. Derek used to think of mangoes and
think of summers in Chicago as a child. Now he thinks they might always remind him of
Spencer.

***

The fifth time he’s at Ivy barely counts as a visit because Derek is about to place an order for
coffee when Penelope calls him with a cipher she’s come across in their current case.

Derek repeats the sequence to make sure he has it right. “0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8?”

Garcia says yes just as Spencer says “It’s the Fibonacci sequence.” He flushes like he hadn’t
meant to eavesdrop, and Derek is helpless against watching the heat bloom across Spencer’s
face. He hangs up once he tells Penelope he’s on his way back.

“The what?”

“The Fibonacci sequence,” Spencer repeats, embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, I
just–”

“Don’t worry about it, pretty boy, you might’ve just cracked the case for us.” Derek doesn’t
miss the way Spencer’s eyes widen at the nickname he’d just let slip, and he barely has time
to analyze what this means so he hightails it back to the office and lets it be for another day.

Penelope rattles off the information about the Fibonacci sequence in the briefing room and all
Derek can think of is Spencer’s smart mouth and maybe seeing how far that flush went. He’s
so fucked.

***

Why didn’t you tell me the barista in the new cafe was hot…the TATTOOS

Derek huffs out a laugh at the text from Penelope.

Last I checked you weren’t into men baby girl

Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate one aesthetically, have I taught you nothing. Anyway. You
should ask him out

????

Kinda seems like your type tbh and don’t think I haven’t noticed you being all cagey when
you tell me you’ve been visiting the coffee shop BEFORE it opens. I need more details about
whatever mutual pining situation you’ve found yourself in

Excuse me there is no mutual pining

Not with that attitude there isn’t

It’s not like that

Sure it isn’t

Derek needs different friends.

***

Emily looks at him. They’re tied up in opposite corners of the room while the team of unsubs
has left them alone for a few minutes. Derek tries to rack his brain and find a way to get them
out. John, the one they’d profiled as dominant, comes back and faces Emily. He traces a
finger across her face and Derek watches as Emily dissociates, her face blank, her eyes void.
He struggles against his restraints violently when John’s fingers slip under her shirt.
Something gives, and he’s about to untie himself when Daryl comes back with a metal pipe
and strikes his torso.

He hadn’t thought the subservient one of the two would have it in him, but Daryl seems to
take pleasure in watching the contusions bloom across Derek’s body. Derek feels a trickle of
blood against his forehead, his vision swimming, every muscle in his body protesting. He
can’t believe they hadn’t caught a whiff of John in time and now here he was, trapped with
his friend. He tries to focus on Emily but he can barely see and he hopes backup is on the
way.

Derek wakes on a hospital bed, his body sore beyond belief, Garcia next to him.

He clears his throat. “Prentiss?”

Penelope softens and squeezes his hand. “She’s okay, she’s just getting checked out. Backup
arrived just in time. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got beat up with a pipe,” he jokes, wincing.

She fusses over him, and Derek lets her, too tired to protest, too hurt to pretend he was fine.

***

A couple of days at home have done him good and Derek finds himself pushing the door to
Ivy open early one morning. The sound alerts Spencer and he turns around smiling before his
smile slips into something more concerned. Right. Derek forgot how his bruises were making
him look. He walks in and finds himself pinned down by Spencer’s scrutiny, his eyes flitting
over Derek’s body in poorly obscured concern.

“Derek,” he murmurs, coming to a stop in front of him. Derek watches his palm spasm, as if
Spencer had been close to touching him. Derek wants to say please, wants to lean into
Spencer’s palm and close his eyes, but he settles for a hey.

“What happened to you?”

“Work,” he quips. Spencer makes a displeased noise before ushering him to his table and
presenting him with a hazelnut latte. It’s not Derek’s usual but he likes it and he sips it
appreciatively.

“Have you had breakfast?”

Derek shakes his head and Spencer says something that sounds like wait, I’ll be back before
he disappears into the kitchen. He waits by the window, checking his phone every now and
then but otherwise content to watch the cars pull in to work, the sun getting brighter, his
coffee warming him up.

Spencer comes back with two plates, one with the fanciest omelette Derek has seen in his life
and another with fruit. Derek raises an eyebrow questioningly and Spencer sits opposite him.

“French omelette,” he explains. “We don’t sell them but they’re really fucking hard to make
so I like to practice every now and then.”

Derek tries to move past the way the words really fucking hard coming out of Spencer’s
mouth make him feel. He bites into the omelette, it’s impossibly soft, laden with butter, and
Derek thinks he tastes chives and goat's cheese. He makes quick work of it and moves on to
the makeshift fruit platter. Spencer smiles at him, a barely there quirk of his lips but his eyes
are soft and Derek feels his face warm.

“You asked me how I got here from almost being in the FBI,” Spencer says, breaking the
silence.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he offers.

“It’s fine. I’m from Las Vegas, I moved here with my mom because Agent Gideon found a
nicer facility for her than the one she was in. My mom has schizophrenia,” he explains before
continuing. “We moved here and I think he almost had me convinced, but then he quit.”

He intertwines his fingers in a nervous gesture and Derek wants to offer support, maybe hold
his hand, but he’s not sure that would be welcome so he waits for Spencer to continue.

“He left me a note telling me he needed to find his belief again. I decided to be selfish and
not lose mine,” he murmurs.

Derek waits for more but moments pass and Spencer just sips his own cup of coffee. “And
the baking?”

That makes him smile and lose some tension. “Oh, I’ve always baked,” he says. “I’m self
taught.”

“You’re incredible.” It’s true, he means it, and he can tell Spencer knows that, because he
looks at his coffee, smiling, cheeks pink.

He leaves for work with a second coffee to go and a blueberry muffin for Emily, it was her
first day back too. It’s not until he gets back to his desk that he notices his coffee cup has a
phone number on it. Along with a no pressure in Spencer’s scrawl. Derek saves the number
and shoots him a text immediately, grinning widely.
 Summer
Chapter Notes

thank you for all the lovely responses to ch 1 and happy pride!!
big thank you to PrincessAve for the beta!
💖
warnings for this chapter: there are non graphic descriptions of Derek being triggered
due to a case reminding him of his past and one line where he says he was sexually
assaulted. please take care of yourselves while reading :)

there are some food descriptions in this and future chapters that are taken from real
recipes from creators of color i like a lot, so those have been linked in the end notes for
this chapter (and will be at the end of the chapter for future chapters), go forth and bake
if you like me, got hungry reading this!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Summer takes residence in Virginia with a vengeance, the insipid humidity and sweltering
heat enough to drive anyone insane. Derek starts waking up even earlier, trying to run as
early as possible before the sun beats down on him. Sometimes he takes Clooney along but
it’s often just him, headphones on, soles crushing on the pavement, leaving him pleasantly
tired. He’s stopped counting his visits to Ivy, finding himself there more often than not.

Spencer switches out his lattes for cooler drinks, continues making him breakfast every now
and then. So far, Derek’s tried a lemongrass and ginger iced tea, an iced turmeric latte, and a
hibiscus cold brew with honey. He doesn’t think he’s ever had anything quite like them
before, but then again, he finds himself saying yes to pretty much anything Spencer ever asks
of him.

He wonders if Spencer knows this. If he knows how much sway he holds without ever trying
to. In his wildest dreams, Derek imagines him asking Can I kiss you? Yes, he thinks. Dinner?
Yes. Take me to bed? Yes. Stay? Always. Derek thinks maybe he should be more terrified of
how it feels like Spencer slots right into place in his life, but he isn’t, because this is nothing
but an unreachable fantasy, a daydream born out of proximity and his severe lack of a dating
life.

He tries not to think about how many dates he’s declined, how he pretty much never goes on
the apps these days, how Penelope hasn’t even offered to set him up with someone. It’s fine.
It’s all fine. They text most days, off and on, about anything, everything. Sometimes he gets
pictures of baked goods, captioned recipe testing , other times, of whatever book Spencer is
reading.
He’s on a case in Omaha, exhausted but unable to sleep, the images of the terrified children
seared behind his eyes, mind racing through evidence for a lead, any lead, anything he’d
missed, anything he could’ve done better– his phone buzzes and he grabs it, running a hand
over his face. It’s a text from Spencer, a photo of a pink puree looking thing.

Guava mousse :(

Looks good to me, why the sad face?

Haha everything looks good to you, it’s actually split and too watery, I need to adjust ratios.
What’re you up to?

On a case, just about to go to bed actually

Oh, sorry, I lost track of time and didn’t realize how late it was, definitely didn’t mean to keep
you up

It’s okay, this is nicer than what I’ve got going on here lol

His phone vibrates in his hand and it’s Spencer calling. Derek hesitates for a few seconds
before accepting it, surprisingly nervous.

“Hello?” Derek immediately wants to facepalm because why did he say that when he already
knew who it was.

“Hi,” Spencer says, and he can hear the smile on his face. “Is this okay?”

That’s the other thing about Spencer. Derek doesn’t know how to explain it but there’s a
gentleness in the way Spencer operates, in the way he conducts himself in the world. Always
asking, always checking in, always letting the care he felt for something bleed through in his
actions and sometimes his words. So fucking sincere all the time. Derek has never met
anyone like him. He had briefly thought it was born out of nervousness, and maybe it was in
part, but it also just seems to be how Spencer interacts with everything in his vicinity. Takes a
step, wonders if he’s allowed to, checks in, always kind, unfailingly so.

He sees so much cynicism on a daily basis it feels like night and day to be on the receiving
end of Spencer’s endless kindness. He knows he could say no right now, that this wasn’t
okay, and they’d go back to normal, back to texting, back to spending quiet mornings
together. He doesn’t know why he knows that, but he can tell. It occurs to him that he feels
safe. The realization spreads through him like sunlight making its way through the clouds at
dawn.

“Derek?”

Realizing he’s taken too long to respond, he says hi back. “And yes, it’s okay,” he confirms.

“Rough case?”
“No more than usual,” he says noncommittally while shifting positions so he’s lying down.
“It’s just– cases with kids always get to me.”

It’s not really the full truth but Derek isn’t sure he’s ready to give Spencer the full truth on the
phone at a motel in Omaha. That it’s not just kids, it’s teenagers who were sexually abused.
That they remind him of him. That he knows what it was like to feel fifteen and powerless
and in the pit of despair. That, on his worst days he never saw a way out of there. That, on his
best days, he clawed his way out, bit by bit.

“I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Tell me about your day?”

“Honestly, it was a little boring. We were closed today so I mostly tested some recipes, wrote
a letter to my mom, read Mother Night, and lost track of time so now I have a huge mess to
clean up,” he complains, making Derek smile.

“Mother Night is my favorite Vonnegut book.”

He hears the rustle of what sounds like Spencer getting comfortable. “I remember,” he says
simply. “That’s why I read it.”

Oh. Spencer continues as if Derek isn’t having some kind of Spencer induced meltdown in
his head.

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be,” he
quotes, and there it was again. He’d read the book and with surgical precision hooked on to
the one line that Derek had always felt encompassed everything about it.

“You get it,” he says, and he can hear Spencer’s pleased smile.

Sometimes Derek thinks maybe Spencer likes him as more than a friend. But he isn’t sure,
and Spencer has none of the airs of the people Derek has been with romantically in the past.
None of the cocky flirting, he’s never forward, they haven’t fallen into bed immediately, none
of the games about waiting to text or call, and Derek, well he realizes pretty quickly he hasn't
known romantic attraction outside of that.

If Derek has to pick a word it would be steady. Spencer is just there. Free with his time,
speaks his mind, makes no pretenses about wanting to talk to Derek. He wants to, so he calls.
Steady. Sincere. Disarming.

“And then, she threw her iced tea on him and left, it was so dramatic. And less messy than I
thought it’d be, it wasn't too bad of a cleanup.”

Spencer finishes his story and Derek laughs, soft but real, even though he’s definitely missed
parts of it while his mind wandered.

“Thank you for calling,” he murmurs. “This is nice.”

“Anytime, I like talking to you.”

Derek can’t believe he just keeps saying these things. He yawns, his eyelids suddenly
drooping as the day catches up to him.

Spencer yawns in response, making him smile. “You should get some sleep.”

“You’re probably right,” Derek agrees.

“Goodnight, Derek. Stay safe.”

“I will, goodnight Spencer.”

Spencer murmurs a bye and to Derek he already sounds far away. Derek lets the feeling lull
him to a dreamless sleep.

***

On the way back from Omaha Derek finds himself reclining in the seat, headphones on,
checking his phone aimlessly. JJ is next to him and Emily is on the opposite side, but it’s
quiet in the jet. The case has taken its toll on all of them and Derek finds himself exhausted
down to his bones. He feels spent, despite the gnawing slowly overtaking his insides.

After all these years, he’s learned what the feeling means. If he were to say it clinically, he’d
say he’s triggered. Triggered, he thinks. A mild sounding word for the havoc it caused on his
insides. He texts Spencer impulsively, the urge to not go back to an empty apartment
suddenly beating out any potential nervousness he might’ve felt otherwise.

Can I see you today?

Spencer replies a few minutes later. I actually took the day off today and then in quick
succession; I’d still like to see you though. My place?

Derek freezes. In his urge to not go home to an empty apartment he hadn’t considered this. If
he’s being honest with himself he knows what this is. This feeling that somehow seeing
Spencer outside the cafe would make all this real. As if it wasn’t already real. As if Derek
hasn’t been watching Spencer inch his way into his life, smile by smile, baked good, by
baked good. He realizes he’s left Spencer unanswered when his phone buzzes again.

No pressure though, sorry if its weird

Somehow watching that text come through cements Derek’s feelings on the matter. He wants
to see Spencer, he doesn’t want to deny himself that.

No, I’d like that, sorry I got distracted. Text me your address? I land at 7, sure that’s not too
late?
Yeah it’s fine, it’s my day off tomorrow anyway, thanks for checking in :)

Spencer sends his address and Derek is suddenly more nervous than ever. He realizes he
hasn’t done this in years, going over to someone’s place without any sex involved. The only
time he does that is when he hangs out with his friends and lie as he may to himself, he
knows he doesn’t think of Spencer as one.

Every time they’ve met thus far has been at the cafe. Derek, in his work clothes, fresh from
his morning run. Spencer, in his usual outfit of a button down tucked into comfortable
trousers, always alternating between his purple converse or his Doc Martens, his blue apron
covering most of his outfit. Derek feels like he’s only just learned how to get a handle on
himself every time he sees Spencer at work.

As the days grew hotter, Derek had seen Spencer roll his sleeves further up, until a while ago
when he seemed to have given up entirely and just showed up in a white t-shirt tucked into
his usual pants.

Derek remembers the morning distinctly. He sat there at his usual table, water in one hand, a
mind numbingly boring report in another. He hadn’t seen Spencer yet, he was probably in the
kitchen. He remembers filling out the report, line by line, going over his words when Spencer
had walked in, wiping his hand on a towel that he tucked into the strap of his apron around
his waist when he was finished. Hey Derek, he’d said, and Derek had looked up, smiling,
about to say hey back until he’d spotted the man and then, well, then he was lucky he got a
single coherent word out.

He remembers surreptitiously glancing at Spencer throughout their conversation, the way his
white t-shirt sat on his body, the way his sleeves were folded up the tiniest bit, the way his
wiry frame filled the fabric out, the tattoo he’d only seen half of because the other half had
been under his sleeve. Spencer talked with his hands and Derek remembers nothing of their
conversation at that moment. He remembers Spencer, arms flailing, veins trailing across
strong forearms, his shoulders broad in the shirt.

Now, in the jet, the word lamination comes to mind. Derek recalls Spencer explaining that’s
what the process that gave a croissant its flaky layers was called. He’d looked it up when he
went home, remembered the process of folding the dough in book folds, layering it up with
cold butter before folding and chilling. The cycle continued until enough layers formed. He
thinks that explains the quiet strength in Spencer’s body. The years of making dough had
made their way into him, his body seasoned from its time in the kitchen. He can hardly be
blamed if he finds himself tongue tied at the movement Spencer’s tattoo makes on his bicep
when he flexes the arm unknowingly.

He’s not sure he’s prepared to see Spencer in the comfort of his own home.

Emily’s voice makes him pause and look up as he takes his headphones off. “Hmm?”

“You okay?”

He shrugs. “More or less.”

“Blake and I are going to grab a drink when we land if you want to join,” she offers.

“Another time, I’m beat.” He smiles, appreciating the offer. His smile must’ve passed as
genuine because both JJ and Emily lose some tension in their shoulders. Derek knows her
offer wasn’t strictly altruistic, they know about his past, and as profilers probably know that
he’s more affected by cases like this than them.

He turns to JJ. “How’s Henry doing?”

“A lot better, he didn’t end up needing to go to the ER or anything, so he’s at the tail end of
whatever he caught.”

“That’s good, I’m glad the little man is doing better. How’s Will handling it?”

JJ smiles warmly. “Like a pro as always. He’s beat and hasn’t had much sleep, but he’s
always so great with Henry.”

Derek smiles back, nodding. They slip into comfortable silence and he puts his headphones
back on as he stares out the window.

***

The drive to Spencer’s apartment is quiet. Derek doesn’t bother turning the radio on, it’s not
too far from work and he makes quick work of it. Twenty minutes later finds him on
Spencer’s doorstep, strangely nervous. He’s already asked to be buzzed into the building so
he can’t stand outside his door for too long without making it weird. Derek sighs, gives up,
and knocks.

The door opens, and really, this is just unfair at this point. He looks at Spencer dumbly, he’d
been right to be apprehensive about not being prepared to see Spencer in his own apartment.
He’s in an old t-shirt a size too big, some loose pants, and he’s clearly gotten a haircut, his
hair is shorter even though his curls do still cover part of his forehead. But most of all, Derek
wasn’t prepared for the glasses.

“You– glasses,” he says, and then immediately wants to bang his head against the nearest
hard surface because what?

Spencer looks like he’s fighting a smile. “Astute,” he teases. “Any other observations,
Agent?”

Derek wonders if the word agent has always sounded like this, coming from Spencer.
Mischievous, and full of promise. Like an inside joke. He rolls his eyes affectionately as
Spencer lets him in.
The apartment is swathed in dim lighting from various lamps and Derek takes it in, tucking
the image in with all the other tidbits he’s filed away about Spencer over time. It’s bigger
than he’d thought, they enter the living room and he feels at ease immediately, something
about the soft lighting and the piles of books everywhere. The walls are a far cry from his
own sterile white ones – Spencer’s apartment is an earthy green, brown furniture sprinkled
throughout. A comfortable leather couch, some armchairs, mismatched tables, art on the
walls, and books. So many books. Derek thinks the only other place he’s seen these many
books is a bookstore, or perhaps a library.

Spencer leads him to the couch and leaves him alone for a minute while he grabs them some
water. Derek continues looking around. None of the furniture matches, he can tell Spencer
picked all of this out piece by piece. He imagines him browsing flea markets, and antique
stores, maybe the internet, although he rather likes the look of Spencer in this apartment,
untouched by the outside world and technology. There’s something charming about it, the
lack of the usual gadgets Derek has gotten used to in his own space. His gaming console that
he hardly uses anymore, a bluetooth speaker, a keurig.

This apartment is a far cry from his own, Spencer has a TV, but instead of a speaker he finds
a record player and an enviable collection of what looks mostly like classical music. The rug
beneath his feet reminds him of Persian rugs, fits right in with everything else about his
space. It smells like food, although Derek can’t really pinpoint what food exactly. He spots an
open window and a curtain fluttering in the summer breeze.

Home. Spencer’s apartment felt like Spencer’s home. Not just a functional place to put down
his things, but lived in. Loved. Carefully put together. Derek thinks if he were at the receiving
end of half the care Spencer poured into this apartment it would fix something in him. Or
maybe that’s his fatigue talking.

Spencer comes back holding a glass of water, the pads of his bare feet soft in their shared
silence. The sight in front of him somehow feels more intimate than any hookup he’s ever
had. Spencer, his feet bare, his body relaxed, the glasses that occasionally slip down his nose,
the tattoos Derek eyes, cataloging them while trying not to look deranged. He feels the
familiar gnawing sensation diffuse through his body, the case and the day catching up to
him.

The water is a welcome distraction from his thoughts and Derek gulps it down in one go
before placing the glass on a coaster on the coffee table. Spencer sits next to him, smiling.

“Hi,” he says, smiling softly. “You okay?”

Derek thinks about that. Was he okay? Was it fair to put this on Spencer? This feeling
coursing through his body, he’d come here for selfish reasons. He doesn’t want to be alone
after the case they’ve had, but he knows he’s probably not going to be good company.

I’ve noticed you have trouble seeking out care for yourself, in any form. His therapist had
said that once and he’d doubted her then. It wasn’t true, he’d always taken the required
amount of time off after a rough case, he always did his bureau mandated therapy sessions
without complaint. But do you let your friends and family offer you support the way you
support them? Part of friendship, part of love, familial or otherwise, is also letting your own
guard down. Allowing your community to be there for you. Derek has never forgotten those
words. He’d bristled back then, but years have passed since then, he’s older, and he’s begun
to think she wasn’t wrong.

The years have been kind to him for the most part, but he’s so lonely sometimes.

“Derek?”

He looks up to find a concerned Spencer and feels bad for spacing out. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s okay, just checking. Are you hurt?”

Derek shakes his head. “No, I'm fine,” and then, “Well, I don’t know about fine but I’m not
physically hurt,” he clarifies.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer apologizes, a twist to his mouth that Derek wants to kiss away. “Want to
talk about it? Or we could eat, if you’re hungry?”

He appreciates Spencer giving him an out, and he finds he’s hungry. “Want to order
something in?”

“We could,” Spencer says. “Or I have homemade chicken noodle soup, if that sounds good to
you.”

Derek’s stomach growls and he smiles, embarrassed. “That sounds great, thank you. Was
someone sick, or is this just because?”

Spencer gets up to go to the kitchen, Derek in tow. “It was for my mom, she spent the day
here, and she’s always loved my chicken noodle soup. I like to make it for her whenever
she’s over.”

“How is she?”

“It was a good day today,” Spencer replies, smiling faintly. “She was lucid and wanted to go
over my baby albums with me.”

Derek finds himself smiling at the thought of a baby faced Spencer, a mess of hair, and
wonders what he’d looked like as a kid. “I’ll have to see those sometime,” he teases.

That makes Spencer laugh as he gets the soup out from the fridge. “Absolutely not.”

“Aw come on!”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he says, grinning and Derek finds himself
laughing.

“Can I help with anything?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I’ve got it, thank you.”

He watches him portion the soup out and it smells incredible. Either that, or Derek is just
really fucking hungry. Probably both, he thinks. With the soup in the microwave Spencer
busies himself on the other side of the kitchen, unwrapping something Derek can’t see. He
returns with two biscuits.

“Jalapeño cheddar biscuits,” he explains as he cuts them open and puts them in the toaster
oven to warm up before spreading butter on them. Derek eyes them appreciatively.

Spencer hands him the bowls of soup and he makes his way back to the coffee table, setting
them down. He sits and watches as Spencer brings the biscuits out and joins him on the
couch.

They eat in silence, and Derek can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about the noise
that escapes him as he takes the first bite. The soup is delicious; warm and comforting, and
he’s brought back to Chicago winters, his sisters and him flu-ridden and huddled up in the
living room, feeling miserable. He remembers his mother bringing them chicken noodle
soup, the canned stuff, there was no way she had the time to make her own with three sick
kids. But it feels just the same, like a warm hug to his insides, reminds him of the way his
mama ran her tired fingers over their foreheads.

He follows it up with a bite of the biscuit, soft and crumbly in his mouth, practically melting
as he chewed. There’s a faint hit of spice from the peppers that’s soothed by the cheese and
Derek wolfs his meal down faster than what is probably considered polite.

“Good?” Spencer asks, as he sets his own bowl down after Derek.

“So good,” he compliments. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

He has the pleasure of watching Spencer flush, and the itch to swipe his thumb over pink
cheeks.

“Plenty. Dance, for one,” Spencer jokes. “Feel any better?”

“Much,” Derek says, and finds it’s true. “Reminds me of when I was sick as a kid. Where’d
that come from anyway?” It was mostly rhetorical but he thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised
if Spencer knew the actual answer.

“Chicken noodle soup, or well, a version of it, has been around since centuries, particularly in
Chinese and Greek cultures. It’s good for when you’re sick because it’s hydrating and has a
lot of vitamins and electrolytes that help your immune system. Over time, different cultures
adapted it and turned it into their own thing. Avgolemono, a chicken soup with lemon and
egg in the broth, is a version of chicken noodle soup, actually.”

Derek gets comfortable on the couch, leaning back, hands resting on his pleasantly full
stomach. “That’s cool,” he murmurs.

They sit in comfortable silence and he pretends he can’t feel Spencer looking at him.

“Sorry I’m not being particularly good company,” Derek apologizes.

Spencer frowns, looking at him. “You just got home from a hard case,” he reasons. “And I
don’t only like hanging out with you when we’re both perfectly fine, Derek. Do you?”

He shakes his head. It’s different if it’s me, he wants to say. Spencer looks at him patiently,
feet outstretched on the coffee table in front of them, his body a long line of warmth against
Derek’s own.

The words spill out of him of their own accord. “I lied, earlier.” He feels Spencer look at him
but he continues to look ahead.

“Which part?”

“When I said cases with kids were hard for me. They are. But that’s not the only reason,” he
says, voice hushed. He continues before he loses whatever little courage he seems to have
found. “When my dad died, it wasn’t– I wasn’t doing well. I was getting in trouble, acting
out, you name it. But then I found football, and a coach who believed in me. He got me good
enough to go to college on scholarship.”

Derek takes a deep breath and considers if he really wants to do this. He’s not quite sure he
does, but he’s tired, and he likes how Spencer makes him feel, and he knows if he doesn’t get
this out now he’s going to obsess over it until he does.

“It wasn’t for free though,” he continues. He dares a look at Spencer but his face is a
carefully neutral mask, as if he’s trying not to spook Derek.

His time in the BAU has given him ample practice saying the words that come next, although
if he were to profile himself, he thinks he comes off hesitant, using this language about his
experience. “He raped me until I got out and went to college. I practically stopped coming
home for a while. Anyway, that’s why they’re hard.”

Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The words four counts breathing in, six counts
out coming from somewhere within the recesses of his mind, advice he’d gotten after his first
panic attack.

It’s quiet for a few moments and when it's clear he’s done speaking, Spencer breaks the
silence. “Thank you for trusting me with that,” he says softly. “And at the risk of sounding
trite, I’m sorry you went through it.”

He looks at Spencer then, and finds that Spencer is being genuine. He looks troubled, but
more so by the nature of the conversation than anything else. “Thanks,” he murmurs,
suddenly drained.

Spencer looks nervous before he speaks. “What can I do for you? I’m not sure I’m very good
at saying the right thing, or offering comfort, and it helps if you can just tell me,” he says
apologetically.

Derek watches him run an anxious hand through his unruly hair and softens. “You’re doing
it,” he says. “You’re fine, but thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
It’s refreshing, Spencer’s honesty. Not many people know this part of his life, and Derek likes
that Spencer didn’t treat him any differently. He takes in the easy way in which Spencer
asked for help and wishes he could do the same. Help me help you. And he’d asked for it like
it was no big deal. Like his first priority was helping Derek in the way Derek needed to be
helped, even at the cost of admitting his own shortcoming. Derek blinks away the sting
behind his eyes.

They sit there as the minutes pass, unmoving except when Derek catches Spencer watching
him. He looks away flustered, and Derek smiles, the knot in his chest loosening.

“Want dessert?”

Derek blinks. “You’re gonna have to roll me out of here if you keep feeding me like this. But
yes to dessert.”

“I like feeding the people I care about,” Spencer says easily, standing up and heading into the
kitchen like he hadn’t just sucker punched Derek.

He’s eight all of a sudden, sitting at the kitchen table with his siblings, laughing through a
story their dad was telling them. It’s summer break so they’re allowed to stay up a little, and
Derek catches the way his father smiles when his mama brings the dessert out. Peach cobbler
and vanilla ice cream, his dad’s favorite. His mom serves dessert, smaller portions for the
kids, a heaping one for his father much to his delight.

Derek remembers the look on his father’s face, and the kiss he’d placed on his mother’s
knuckles. He remembers looking at Sarah and Desi, their noses wrinkled. Kissing was gross.
You spoil me, his dad had said and his mom had smiled, wrapping her arms around his
father’s neck. Derek remembers hearing Desi’s eewwww while he and Sarah were too
focused on their plates. He recalls his mom saying I like feeding my family, who else am I
going to spoil?

Spencer makes his way back balancing a plate of cookies in one hand and two glasses of milk
in another, his silhouette lit by two lamps, giving him a strange halo. He looks at Derek and
smiles affectionately, his eyes crinkling and Derek feels like he’s swallowed sunlight the way
he feels warmed up from the inside.

“These,” he says, setting the plate down, “are my favorite cookies. They’re brown butter
chocolate chunk cookies with walnuts. And you can’t have cookies without milk, so.”

Derek smiles, a barely there curve of lips. “Of course not, that would be blasphemous.”

“You get it,” Spencer says, half seriously, nodding before breaking into a grin.

He grabs a cookie and bites into it. It’s chewy, but not overly so, it has crisp edges. He gets a
walnut and it’s perfectly toasted, a little salty but then it’s mellowed out when he gets a
chocolate chunk, a melt in your mouth morsel of dark chocolate topped with flaky salt. Derek
thinks these might be his new favorite cookies too. He washes it down with a sip of milk and
looks at Spencer.
“I think I might commit serious crimes to eat these again.”

His unexpectedly serious tone makes Spencer laugh and Derek stares helplessly at the
column of his throat. He must have a tattoo on his shoulder too, because part of it peeks out
at the base of his neck as he laughs with his head thrown back.

Derek sinks further into the couch, trying not to react when the movement makes their thighs
touch. Spencer turns the TV on and they watch reruns while snacking on the cookies. It can’t
have been longer than half an hour, but Derek feels his head droop onto Spencer’s shoulder.
He jolts up as soon as it makes contact, flustered.

“Sorry, I just got really tired and–”

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re welcome to crash here, I have a second bedroom.”

He looks at Spencer and wills the words to come to him. He doesn’t want to be alone, not
really. What he really wants is for Spencer to stay, because he likes the way he makes him
feel. He wants to tell him that he likes him, probably more than likes him, and that he makes
Derek feel safe. None of these words make it past his lips, but Spencer seems to soften
anyway.

“Or we could– you could sleep with me,” he offers. “Just sleep,” he adds, flushing.

Derek finds himself unable to say anything, and watches in despair as Spencer’s eyes shutter,
before he schools his face back into something neutral. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,”
he adds.

It doesn’t have to mean anything. Derek wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Is that what
he thinks, that this doesn’t mean as much to Derek as it does to him. He finds he needs to
correct that misconception immediately.

“I don’t want that.”

Spencer looks at him then, something like hope unfurling across his face. Derek wants to kiss
him senseless. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, and then to make it explicit, “I don’t want it to not mean anything. It
means something to me.”

“It means something to me too,” he says, a smile making its way across his face. He gets up,
turns the TV off and offers a hand to Derek. He takes Spencer’s hand because he’s never
learned to say no to him. It feels like absolution.

He lets himself be led as they enter Spencer’s bedroom. Much like the rest of his apartment,
his bedroom too is home to piles of books and research articles.

Spencer looks at him apologetically. “It’s a little messy, sorry.”

Derek swipes a thumb over the pulse point on his wrist because he can do that now. “I like
it,” he murmurs. They separate briefly, and Derek grabs a faded t-shirt and a pair of boxers
from his go bag.

They take turns in the bathroom, and Spencer is waiting on the bed when Derek comes out,
reading a book resting on his lap. He sits next to Spencer awkwardly although it doesn’t
linger when he puts his book away and looks at Derek, smiling warmly. Derek thinks he must
look apprehensive because Spencer watches him, a furrow in his brows.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

He nods and slips under the covers, his heartbeat sounding loud in the stillness of the room.
Spencer follows suit, turning to his side and facing Derek. He scoots closer, stopping just shy
of Spencer’s body and it makes Spencer smile.

Derek feels his eyes droop and he blinks them open, not wanting to burst this little bubble
they’ve managed to create. He nods when Spencer raises his palm in a question. Spencer
closes any remaining distance until their knees touch and his palm comes to rest on Derek’s
face. He leans into it, his face warm against Spencer’s cold hand, his eyes fluttering close
when Spencer’s thumb brushes his cheek lightly.

He mirrors the movement hesitantly, cradling Spencer’s face in his palm. Spencer sighs, a
small puff of air and Derek feels his chest crack open fondly, the sound cementing its space
in the cavity.

Spencer looks at him through his lashes, impossibly beautiful, bathed in the soft yellow
lighting of his bedside lamp. “Can I?”

Derek says what he’s been wanting to say this whole time. “Please.”

He’s not sure which one of them makes the tiny wounded noise when their lips touch.
Spencer kisses like Derek imagined he would, slowly, with purpose, and with the same focus
he exhibits in the kitchen. Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of this. Spencer’s lips are soft,
and he tastes minty from his mouthwash. He pulls back, resting his forehead against Derek’s
until Derek closes the distance again, finding himself chasing the soft press of lips.

He pulls back when he feels a yawn coming, flushing when it makes Spencer smile.

“That boring?”

Derek rolls his eyes, smiling too wide for it to carry any heat. Spencer kisses him on the
forehead and Derek can feel his smile against his skin. He holds the sensation close, kissing
Spencer on his jaw.

Spencer extends his arm, and Derek accepts the invitation and rests his head on it, his arm
resting across Spencer’s waist.

“Sleep, Derek. This can wait.”

Derek nods, tucked against him. He feels a final press of lips on the top of his head before he
lets himself fall asleep.
He wakes up to sunlight streaming through the window and an empty bed. Derek rubs his
eyes open, a flash of disappointment coursing through him. Spencer’s side is cold, so he’s
been up for a while and Derek wonders if his actions hold up in the light of day. Maybe
things got a little too intense last night, he hasn’t done this in a long time, but it’d felt right.
He feels rested, and he checks his phone to see the time. It’s ten in the morning. Jesus, no
wonder Spencer is up, he’d slept for twelve hours.

Derek remembers last night in flashes, his arm around Spencer, Spencer’s back to his chest,
Derek’s face buried in his neck, Spencer’s arm curled around his wrist when they slept facing
each other. His touch, an anchor that kept him on solid ground, he can’t even remember any
nightmares and those were customary after cases like this. Still, he’s woken up alone and a
little hesitant. He gets out of bed and uses the bathroom before making his way back into bed,
unsure if he should venture out or if Spencer will inevitably come find him.

He decides on the latter and sits cross legged on the bed, checking his texts. A few minutes
later he hears the sound of Spencer making his way to the room and wonders if things would
be as they left them last night or if daybreak had changed Spencer’s mind.

“Oh! You’re up,” is the first thing Spencer says with a flustered smile and Derek fights one of
his own. “I was hoping to be done before that,” he explains, and Derek eyes him curiously.

“Done with what?”

“I made us breakfast,” Spencer says, running a hand through his already tousled hair in a
nervous gesture.

Breakfast. He wasn’t meant to wake up alone. The realization makes him feel embarrassed,
and he watches as Spencer sits opposite him, eyeing him anxiously.

“Was last night okay?”

Derek looks at him, eyes on the way Spencer is worrying his lip with his teeth. He thinks
okay is a ridiculous word for how good last night was but he feels less nervous knowing
Spencer was worried too. Maybe they were okay after all.

Maybe it’s how rested he feels, or maybe, it's the need to make sure Spencer never doubts his
presence in Derek’s life, but it makes him reach out and thread their fingers together. Spencer
looks down at their intertwined hands with a pleased smile. Derek wants to chase it with a
kiss, so he does.

They break apart and Spencer stands up, tugging their clasped hands. Derek follows him
towards the small dining table with the breakfast spread on it, feeling content.

“Bacon, egg, and cheese, with some arugula and a tiny bit of hollandaise using the biscuits
from yesterday, some fruit, and some sour cream coffee cake. Oh and coffee, of course.”
Derek looks at him incredulously as they sit down. It’s a small table, so their knees touch, but
he likes the point of contact so he doesn’t mind. “How long have you been up?”

“Since six,” Spencer replies, smiling sheepishly. “I’m used to waking up early, so I thought
I’d get a headstart on breakfast. To be fair, a lot of this was already prepped.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “You’re spoiling me, you know. I’m never going to want to make
breakfast for myself again,” Derek jokes, feeling grateful.

“I like making you things, it makes me happy.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” Derek murmurs.

Spencer adjusts his glasses self consciously. “Too much?”

“No,” he answers honestly before covering Spencer’s hand with his own. “I just haven’t done
this in a while. I like making you happy too.”

The answering smile on Spencer’s face is well worth any lingering embarrassment he feels
from his sincere response.

They eat breakfast and Spencer leads him back into bed like they’ve been doing this for
years. It feels right. Derek doesn’t ever want to leave, he likes this feeling of being
surrounded by Spencer’s things, being surrounded by Spencer himself. The outside world
blurs out of focus when Spencer kisses him like he’s something delicate, breakable. No one
has touched him like that in a long time.

Morning turns into afternoon and they read in bed, or well, Derek tries to read but ends up
watching Spencer finish a book in under ten minutes, mesmerized by the way he uses his
fingers to keep track of the lines. Why on earth was that so fucking hot.

When Spencer sets his book aside, Derek tugs him down, and he follows with an oof, smiling
as his back hits the bed. He covers Spencer’s body with his own, bracketing his head with his
arms on either side. Derek watches his eyes flutter shut when he runs his fingers through
Spencer’s hair and files it away.

Spencer curls a palm around his neck and drags him into a kiss. He melts into it before
planting open mouthed kisses on Spencer’s neck, sucking a bruise on the tattoo peeking from
under his shirt. It’s ivy, he realizes as he sees the vine spiral its way onto Spencer’s shoulder.
Spencer arches up, groaning, and licks into Derek’s mouth.

Eventually Derek pulls away to adjust, and they lie facing each other.

“So the tattoos and the reading really get you going,” Spencer notes, teasing.

Derek laughs softly, even as his face warms. “Pretty much everything you do gets me going,”
he admits, chasing the answering flush across Spencer’s face with the pad of his thumb.
They spend the day in what feels like an idyllic daydream to him – reading, mostly in bed,
where he tries to memorize the way Spencer’s lips feel against his own, the way his cold
palms run over Derek’s chest, his back, wherever he can reach, the way his body responds to
it, coming alive. He’s hard, and when he takes a look at Spencer’s ruddy cheeks and half
lidded gaze, Derek knows so is he. They don’t go much further though, they seem to have
agreed on something unspoken and Derek doesn’t push it.

It’s close to five when they officially become too hungry to stay in bed any longer. Derek
showers, and if he gets himself off embarrassingly fast, no one has to know. He offers to
make them pasta while Spencer showers, a small thank you for all the cooking Spencer’s
done. He mills around the kitchen, finding some pasta and a jar of sauce, both way fancier
than Derek’s standard fare. There’s green leaf lettuce in the fridge and Derek seasons it,
adding some cherry tomatoes and a chopped cucumber to it. It’s nothing elaborate, but there’s
something endearing anyway about how Spencer wolfs it down and says so good with his
mouth full.

The sun is setting when Derek accepts reality and says the words he doesn’t want to.

“I should get going.”

It makes Spencer look up from the cookbook he’s been reading and put it aside. “If you’re
sure,” he says hesitantly and it makes something settle in him to realize he’s not the only one
who doesn’t want this to end.

“I have to do laundry,” he grumbles, his frown dissolving into a smile when he looks at
Spencer's amused grin. “I hate laundry,” he adds.

Spencer murmurs an okay and they get off the couch. Derek peters around the apartment,
making sure he grabs everything he got out of his go bag. Spencer is in the kitchen, and when
they meet back by the front door he hands Derek a tote bag with tupperware.

“Breakfast and lunch,” Spencer explains when Derek raises an eyebrow.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t see you giving the bag back,” he teases.

“Well that would be stupid of me, considering I’ve eaten your cooking. I’m not that proud.”

Spencer smiles, pleased. He’s leaning against the front door when he slips his palm into
Derek’s and tugs him closer. Derek lets himself follow until he’s close enough that he can see
the freckles summer brings out on Spencer’s cheeks.

“At the risk of sounding juvenile,” Spencer starts, licks his lips in nervousness, smiling when
Derek tracks the motion with his eyes. “What is this? Are we together?”
It occurs to Derek that until that exact moment, that has never even been a question in his
mind. “I hope so,” he answers honestly.

Spencer’s smile is small, but no less affectionate. “Good, me too.”

***

Dating Spencer is simultaneously the most and least exhilarating thing in his life. Derek likes
discovering new things about Spencer, but for the most part, it’s also the most content he’s
ever been. He hasn’t had a serious relationship in a long time, but there’s something about the
way they fit together that just makes sense. It’s exciting, being with him, and it’s also the
easiest thing he’s ever done. He fits right into Derek’s life, like he’s had a Spencer-shaped
hole in it that he just hasn’t known about.

Derek gets ready for work, eyeing the small pile of books that has begun to make home in his
apartment ever since Spencer had started coming over. Clooney has more toys because
Spencer insists on spoiling the dog. Derek isn’t sure he’d be shocked if Clooney starts liking
Spencer more than him. There are coffee mugs littered around various surfaces, one is even
from Spencer’s apartment, and he knows someday he might need to have a talk with Spencer
because he’s starting to realize he’s neater than Spencer is and he doesn’t buy into the
“organized chaos”, as Spencer likes to call it. But Derek cleans up after him anyway because
if he’s being honest, the mess is a nice reminder that someone else occasionally occupies this
space.

He grabs his car keys as he heads out, breakfast at Ivy has become more common than not,
and Derek loves seeing Spencer before work.

Spencer walks out of the kitchen right as he enters the cafe and Derek is momentarily floored.
It’s hot outside and the kitchen is probably running hot too, because Spencer is red faced,
sweat beading at the nape of his neck, but smiling as he makes his way over.

Derek smiles back as they settle at his usual table, coffees in hand. Spencer sits next to him,
resting his head on Derek’s shoulder, pleasantly tired from his busy morning, and they make
small talk until the oven timer goes off and he has to attend to the kitchen. Derek takes the
time to make a mental note of the paperwork he has to do today. He looks appreciatively at
the plate Spencer sets down when he’s back.

Four eggs sunny side up, some bacon and some toast, all to share. They dig into breakfast,
making quick work of it.

“My beautiful genius boyfriend,” Derek compliments, wiping his mouth.

It makes Spencer laugh. “You’re so easy. It’s eggs, Derek.”

“Life saving eggs,” he says mock seriously.

Spencer rolls his eyes affectionately. “Only one of us is saving lives, and it’s not me.”

“You underestimate how much these breakfasts motivate me to do my job,” Derek jokes.

Spencer gets up smiling indulgently, and makes his way over, tipping Derek’s chin up as he
receives a toe curling kiss.

“I think you were doing just fine before you met me, Agent Morgan,” he says, with a final
press of lips on the corner of Derek’s mouth. “I do have to go back to work unfortunately, but
stay as long as you want.”

“We still on for dinner tonight?” A month into this, and they realized they’ve never been on a
date date, something Derek decided to correct immediately.

Spencer nods. “I’m excited, I’ve been meaning to try that restaurant.”

Derek gets up, coffee in hand. “I should probably get some work done too,” he replies,
stealing a final kiss. “See you later, baby.”

Spencer flushes and says see you later in return, and Derek smiles. It never fails to amuse
him that of all the things they’ve done, nicknames are where Spencer finds himself flustered.

***

The late summer thunderstorm rages as Derek knocks on Spencer’s door. He’s soaked just
from the short walk from his car to the front door and the wind hitting his body has him
breaking out in goosebumps. Still, he’s hard pressed not to smile when Spencer opens the
door. His hair is longer now, a few strands always lingering on his face. Derek can hear
Clooney barking, so Spencer must’ve picked him up. He walks in, sighing gratefully when
he’s handed a towel, laughing when Clooney damn near runs Spencer over to come jump on
Derek. He lets the dog have his moment before a full body shudder runs through him and
Spencer ushers Clooney out of Derek’s way with the promise of some peanut butter.

Derek peels off his wet clothes, leaving them in a pile in the bathroom for later. He’s drying
himself off with the towel when he feels Spencer watching.

“Hi baby,” he greets, turning around.

Spencer moves closer, says hi millimeters away from his lips before kissing him insistently.
Derek drops the towel and kisses him back, sighing when his cold hands meet Spencer’s
warm skin. He lets Spencer tug him until he’s lying on the bed, Spencer’s body a comforting
weight on his own.

“Hi,” he says again, quieter.

A kiss on his nose, and one on his forehead. Spencer sighs into the crook of his neck. “Hi.”

Derek runs his hands over Spencer’s back, under his button down. “You okay?”

“Missed you,” Spencer murmurs, pulling away to look at him.

“Missed you too,” he replies. “I have the day off tomorrow.”

He doesn’t miss the glint in Spencer’s eyes. “You got any plans?”

“Think you’re a little overdressed for the plans I had in mind,” Derek murmurs, running his
thumb across Spencer’s lower lip, groaning when Spencer takes it into his mouth. “Christ.”

“Just Spencer,” he replies, grinning, shrugging his shirt off before leaning in to kiss him
again. Derek sits up a little and Spencer adjusts, straddling him. He leaves an open mouthed
kiss over Spencer’s clavicle and leans back, watching the flush on his skin make its way to
his chest. Spencer sits up briefly and takes his pants off, leaving the two of them in their
underwear. The tattoos scattered across his chest and arms aren’t new to Derek anymore but
he likes how they look, the ink in stark contrast with Spencer’s pale skin.

Spencer seats himself on his lap again and Derek melts into another kiss, swallowing the
sound Spencer makes when his hips push up on Derek’s. He seems to have a goal in mind,
the way he kisses him, and Derek is helpless against Spencer’s sure hands and soft mouth. He
buries his fingers in Spencer’s hair, tugging just a little, making him groan. Spencer kisses
down his chest, leaving a mark that makes Derek arch up into him, the pleasure and pain
fusing, making heat pool low in his stomach.

Derek watches as Spencer hooks a finger onto his briefs and looks up, his gaze heavy, but the
question clear. Derek nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Spencer’s forehead. The
unexpected gesture makes Spencer smile and comes back up again for a fleeting kiss while he
takes his briefs off.

It’s been decades since he’s believed in anything religious, but Spencer looks at him like he’s
hallowed ground, kisses him with a reverence that cracks something open in him, and Derek
cups his face, pulling away to look him in the eyes. He thinks Spencer looks beautiful like
this, flushed with want, lips parted, hair askew, asking openly for what he wants, and the
words pour out of him. “I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said them, but it’s still new, and he gets to watch Spencer take them
in, his eyes bright. “I love you so much,” and then, because Derek has learned he’s a little bit
of an asshole, he wraps a hand around Derek’s cock and looks up. “Can I?”

He knows there’s no way Spencer doesn’t know the effect he has on him, but Derek nods
anyway, and watches Spencer take him into his mouth, sucking languidly. He’s helpless to do
anything but watch, so he curls a palm around the back of Spencer’s head, urging him on,
sounds spilling from him unabated. Derek rests his thumb on Spencer’s jaw and he eases off
with a wet sound, his palm still wrapped around Derek.
 “Thought about this while you were away,” he confesses, before taking him back in his
mouth and upping the pace. Derek leans back against the headboard, eyes closed as he gets
closer to his peak.

“I’m close, baby” he warns, but Spencer doesn’t seem to care, the only move he makes is to
take him in deeper. Derek’s hips thrust up involuntarily, and he pants a sorry , the familiar
heat building at the base of his spine when Spencer moans. He can only last so long, with
Spencer’s mouth on him, and the sight he makes, using his other hand to palm himself. Derek
looks at him, and finds Spencer looking back at him through his lashes, and he spills in
Spencer’s mouth with a groan.

Spencer takes him through it, moaning with his mouth full, and makes his way back up,
kissing him softly. Derek flutters his eyes open, breathing heavily and pulls him closer. “Let
me,” he murmurs.

“I uh, I already finished,” Spencer replies, sheepish in a way that makes Derek want to ruin
him.

He groans, curling into Spencer. “Did you finish just from getting me off?”

“Told you I’d been thinking about it,” he smiles lazily. Derek kisses him, and then kisses him
again, because he can.

Chapter End Notes

comments and kudos are always appreciated but i'm also just happy to see you here! 💖
recipes:

jalapeño cheddar biscuits by terrence bakes

sohla's favorite chocolate chip cookies from her book start here (a fantastic book for any
point in your cooking journey! in sohla we trust)
End Notes

thank you for reading, i would love to know what you thought and i'm so happy you're here!
:)

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for all the sprints and yapping <3

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