"It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it." Daisy Whitney

"C'mon." Reid murmured, grabbing Morgan's behind as the man moved between his legs, kissing up his neck to his mouth. He squeezed and pushed his hips up against Morgan's, snaking his tongue out against the other's, as the broader man supported himself on one strong arm while the other moved between their bodies, gripping their hard cocks together.

They'd got in from work late, had takeout dinner and Reid had decided on a less direct tactic than simply asking if Morgan wanted to have sex. He'd done a quick search of the internet and found the first gay porn clip he could, and played it with the volume up as Morgan did the dishes and fed the dog. It had been ridiculous; all "ooh daddy"s and "come on slut boy"s and "fuck me 'til I can't walk"s, but Reid had kept a straight face, avoiding Morgan's gaze when he came back into the room. It hadn't lasted long, as Morgan had taken the laptop and closed it, and growled out a sound Reid understood.

Kissing had started in the hall and they'd stopped half way up the stairs to push against each other, finally reaching the bedroom and stripping off all their clothes, both quickly aroused and needy.

"Are you going to fuck me until I can't walk?" Reid asked in a hushed murmur. If it had sounded ridiculous in the porno, it was even more so from Reid's mouth. The slender man gave a breathless laugh at Morgan's groan, exasperated and aroused. Spencer had realised early on how powerful his voice was in stimulating Derek.

"Am I going to be your slut.. boy..?" he hesitated a little, the words making him feel awkward because they were so uncharacteristic. Derek had called him a slut once, jokingly, but he'd caught himself and seemed angry, apologizing despite Spencer understanding it was jest and not feeling offended. Morgan laughed again against his neck, thumb flicking torturously slow over the tip of Spencer's cock, wondering if Spencer could keep up imitating the porno for long before the stimulation pushed him back to his usual fare of babbling facts or descriptions of the feelings he was experiencing, and subtly commanding Morgan to stimulate him just so.

"C'mon." Spencer pushed his hips up into Derek's slow-moving hand. "C'mon daddy." He sniggered at the ridiculousness of the endearment during the scenario, considering Freud's theories quickly in his head. "Fuck me, daddy."

In the second he dropped his head back against the pillow, laughing, Morgan stilled. Then his movement was sudden; he pushed himself off Reid without saying a word, picking up his boxers on the way to the door, almost falling over as he pulled them on, but apparently unwilling to stop.

"Derek?" Reid said, too surprised to move for a few seconds. He blew upwards, making the hair over his forehead dance around, and then he draw a hand through it, pushing it back as he got up. He found his own briefs and pulled them on over his considerable arousal, following the sound of his lover downstairs.

"Derek?" he said again, entering the kitchen where the man was sitting at the counter island with a glass of water. Reid got the sense he shouldn't get too close, so he pulled up a stool opposite Morgan, resting his arms on the counter and looking at him with a knotted brow. Through the dim light coming in from the hallway – Morgan hadn't turned the kitchen light on – he could see the man considering him over the rim of his glass as he took a long drink.

"Buford." Morgan said, setting the glass down and leaning on his forearms.

"What?" Reid said before his brain had caught up, and suddenly he was almost sure he knew what Morgan was going to say, and he wanted the ground to swallow him up with shame. Instead he sat silently, waiting for Morgan to speak again.

"When he used to-" Derek lifted his glass and took a sip of water, and Spencer knew the words he was avoiding: "when he used to rape me..." He couldn't recall ever hearing Morgan say aloud 'rape' in relation to what Buford had done to him, nor 'molested' or even 'touched'. It wasn't required for Reid to understand, and he certainly wasn't going to force Morgan to say it.

"-he used to make me call him 'daddy'." Morgan said, with a great effort to maintain eye contact.

Reid fought the urge to groan at his own mistake; it hadn't even crossed his mind that the ridiculous sentiment in the porn clip might not be suitable in jest in such an intimate moment.

"And I did." Morgan nodded to himself, gaze falling away from Reid's. "Every time he told me to. Even after.. the first time I thought it would make him stop. Appease him, y'know? It didn't. But I still called him 'daddy' while he f-"

Both of the men jumped as the glass Morgan had in his hand shattered under pressure, glass falling with a wet musical rattle onto the countertop.

"Derek!" Reid jumped up, rushing around the counter as Morgan held his hand aloft, digressing from his route to reach out and hit the light switch. The kitchen was suddenly flooded with light, and they both narrowed their eyes against it.

Strong nimble fingers took Derek's hand, exposing a small cut on the palm, blood bubbling to the surface. Spencer leant in close to inspect it, to see if any glass remained in the wound, but from the state of the fragments it had shattered rather cleanly. He manipulated the skin unnecessarily with his thumbs, edging closer to the man sitting on a stool.

"There's no glass in it." he murmured, and then he brought the hand up to meet his mouth, gently pulling a kiss against the little wound. Derek's fingers brushed the man's jaw, watching with a sad smile as he continued to put little kisses against the palm.

"You did what you had to do to get through it." he said softly, waiting to Morgan to meet his eyes again. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry." Morgan cupped the other's face, thumb tracing gently across his bottom lip, stained just a little red from Morgan's cut. "You couldn't have known."

"I know, but I should have thought better of it. It's loaded language anyway, Freud – although largely debunked – theory can be-"

"Please, Spencer." The words were a little strained, and the tone made Reid's throat tighten; Morgan rarely sounded so drained, so on edge. He lifted both his hands and mirrored Morgan's action, framing his jaw with them, thumbs brushing reassuringly against his cheeks. Morgan let his hand fall, and instead rested them around Reid's waist.

Reid studied the man's face; dark and smooth under his thumbs, strong cheekbones and a solid jaw covered with stubble. Full lips that looked so soft in the light, a wide nose and strong brows that curved up a little at the innermost, making him always look a little intense. Then there were his eyes; almond shaped, almost cat-like, and a heady rich brown, one pupil offset by a few millimetres with his mild strabismus. He was beautiful, and he was in pain, and Reid felt responsible.

"Just-" Morgan swallowed hard. "Just use my name."

"Derek." Reid lent forward and put a gentle kiss on the man's mouth. "Derek."

"I strongly believe that love is the answer and that it can mend even the deepest unseen wounds. Love can heal, love can console, love can strengthen, and yes, love can make change." - Somaly Mam