A/N: It's been a while. Like... seven months. And in that time I've been hibernating, sacrificing small animals, selling my soul to Abbadon, drinking the blood of my enemies... all of that so that I could cook up this bad boy.

After a Dancing with the Stars marathon I had while I was sick, I lucid dreamt this thing up. So, yeah it's kind of totally a parody of Dancing with the Stars.

It will be updating once a week. Every Sunday night, a new chapter will go live and this story will be about twenty chapters long give or take.

It can also be read on AO3! That website will be updated on Mondays instead of Sundays because the author style is harder to integrate and it takes a bit longer!

All my love,

Blue

P.S. I don't give a rat's ass if you don't like the story, honestly, I don't. I'm uploading it for my own personal enjoyment and for others whom have expressed interest. Don't like, don't read. All flames will be deleted and fed to my dog Fifi, so you might as well not waste the energy needed to bitch at me.

Raising the Barre

CHAPTER ONE: Tendu, Flex, Grands Jeté

The crowd was cheering, music was blaring, and the scene was spinning as he was being hoisted onto the shoulders of several sweaty, burly men. Fireworks were going off. Shredded blue, orange, and white papers fluttered to the ground and everybody in a hundred foot radius of him was screaming in joy. After Derek Morgan's forty foot sprint to the touchdown as the clock ran out, the Chicago Bears had just won the Superbowl by three points.

The screen on the large television flickered as the volume went down significantly and Derek turned his head from the TV just in time to see his girlfriend Jordan toss him the remote and sit gracefully on the white velvet couch close beside him in one of Derek's large white button ups. She ran a hand along his tee shirted chest and lay her long haired head onto his shoulder, looking up at him with her big brown eyes, "Hey, MVP."

Derek grinned at the sight of her and wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, "Hey, stranger."

"Are you sure you want to quit football?" she asked, "It's your passion, baby, you've told me so many times."

Derek looked down at her wearily, "Yeah, but, I'm getting up there in age. I've already won a Superbowl, played for thirteen years, and have the prettiest girl in the world on my arm. What more can I want?"

Jordan pushed her hair behind her ear, "There's always more. You're only forty."

Derek gave her a look.

Jordan corrected, "Forty-ish. All I'm saying is, you shouldn't give up. The Derek Morgan I know wouldn't hang up his cleats to go knit sweaters in a rocking chair somewhere just because someone tells him he's too old to continue living his dreams."

Derek replied, "I've already made my decision. My contract is up. I'm officially retired. As long as Modell's still sells my jersey, I'm not washed up yet."

Clooney's large feet clicked across the hardwood floor as Jordan laughed, "Derek, they sell McNabb jerseys there. Do you really trust Modell's?"

"Hell no," Derek replied, grinning as Clooney brushed his furry tan colored head against his leg, "Looks like it's time to feed my buddy."

Clooney barked and licked Derek's denim covered knee.

Derek stood and rubbed behind the dog's ears, "Come on, boy. You want Jordan's dinner? I'll give you Jordan's dinner. Yeah, you're my best friend."

Jordan called after him, "You feed that mutt my salmon and rice, I will put him in a pound. I swear to God."

"Huh? What? Give him all of it? Okay," Derek joked, continuing barefoot into the kitchen in his roomy loft as he and Clooney walked past the long stairway and that God awful Aztec mask that creeps the shit out of him, but Jordan won't for the life of her get rid of.

She added back from the living room, "You do know that I'm licensed to carry a weapon, right?"

Derek strode to the top cabinet above the silver sink and replied with a smile, "Bring it, girl. I ain't scared of you." The thing he loves most about Jordan is that she's super scrappy. She looks sweet, but underneath that caramel exterior is a sexy, smart, snarky woman whom can start clever banter with him that can go (and has gone) for days on end. They enjoy each other's company immensely, joke with each other hourly, and the sex is amazing. Well… honestly, it's subpar at best, but don't tell Jordan he thinks that.

They've been together for three years now, and it's all been great. She surprises him with her fantastic cooking, treats him well, and pays for her own shit—her being an FBI agent and all. They support each other and have exchanged "I love you's" on several occasions, just… you know… not recently. But, that's okay, because it's still relevant.

Derek's sisters adore her, and they go out once a month to get their hair and nails done together to girly bond. She's not Mrs. Morgan's favorite, but his mom will come around soon. She just hasn't seen how happy she makes Derek. Which is immensely. Did he say that already? Because he's happy. Happy, happy, happy. Fuck, Derek's so happy that sometimes he forgets altogether how happy he is and gets depressed about where his life is headed whenever he thinks of her. But, that's normal though... right?

Grabbing the big bag of dog food from the cabinet, he ripped open the reseal-able seam, walked over to the edge of the kitchen table and poured a generous amount into Clooney's bowl. The dog barked with glee again and rewarded Derek by barreling into the back of his knees. Derek nearly lost his balance and caught himself on the kitchen counter, catching a sudden glance of the kitchen television to see a long haired man dancing with a slightly inexperienced woman. He twirled her around the dance floor as if she were weightless and Derek was transfixed. He stood up straighter and leaned his forearms onto the counter to stare at their work. The man's footwork, technique, and style was past beautiful—it was art. His breath caught in his throat as he imagined himself like that. Dancing and wafting across the floor like a feather, his hard lines and strong façade traded for an effervescent decoupage or something like that.

He leaned closer to the television and watched as the man led the woman around the rectangular stage and loved every second of it. He was beautiful, crisp, smooth as shit. He led the girl around the stage with such a softness and reverence and power that she looked as if anything could happen and he'd just dance her into safety. The guy didn't seem to even have to think about it either. His moves were natural, simple, in his every cell. Wow. Look at him go. Derek wants to meet that man, Derek wants to know that man. Fuck it, Derek it wants to be that man. When they finished the dance, he found himself jerking upward and clapping in earnest along with the crowd.

Jordan shouted from the other room, "Are you done with that dog yet? It's been like an hour."

Derek ran from the kitchen and into the living room, "Jordan! Jordan! I know what I want to do now!"

Jordan rolled her eyes at him and hissed out, "Boy, if you don't calm down, I swear to God. You're yelling like the damned house is on fire. I don't want to have to beat your ass to next week."

And that's how Derek ended up here, in a large white room with a group of Olympians, musicians, and actors… waiting to get paired with a professional at the headquarters of "Dancing with the Stars".

Not all of them recognized him, thank fucking God. While his head has swelled considerably since he had become a starting quarterback in the NFL, he's gotten kind of sick of marriage proposals, sexual propositions, and babies being thrust into his face for signing. Derek will utter an "And, I love you, random citizen", but he draws the line at putting his John Hancock on an infant's skull. Isn't that unsanitary?

"So, who are you in for?" the woman sitting next to him asked.

Derek glanced over at her to get a face full of blonde hair, sparkly glasses, and pink accessories, "Um… what?"

She giggled, "Which professional dancer do you want?"

Derek shrugged, "Uh… Peta?"

"You don't seem so sure," the woman laughed.

Derek shrugged, "Well, it's not like I'm going to get Doc or anything, right? Dude would have me looking like a swan in a damned freshwater lake."

She giggled excitedly, "I wish I had the common sense to want the 'Prince of Ballroom' to dance with me, but I'm in for Gleb. He's a dreamboat, you know? But… sitting here with you, handsome, I just may change my mind."

"Well, in that case, gorgeous," sticking out a hand, he introduced himself with a flirty grin, "The name's Derek Morgan. Starting quarterback of the Chicago Bears. Well, ex-starter anyway."

She took his hand, "Penelope Garcia. I'm in the two-man band 'Pen and Kev'. It's kind of like 'Matt and Kim', but more… Quantico grunge."

Derek confessed, "I have no idea who you are."

Penelope laughed, "Oh, thank God. I don't know you either. Which baseball team are you on again?"

Derek shrugged it off, "Football, actually. I was a member of the Chicago NFL team. We won the Superbowl this year."

Penelope added, "And my band topped the charts thrice this season. How can we be so accomplished and still have not a clue who the other is?"

Derek patted her shoulder, "You wanna get a drink after and fix that?"

She whimpered, "Boy, do I. But, I'm taken…"

Derek shrugged, "Me too, but I like you too much to let that stop us. Let's be friends."

The door on the side of the room opened and everybody jumped in their seats as a large bald man in a "Dancing with the Stars" tee shirt called out, "Okay, dancers, greet your students! Stars to the side wall! Remember to look all surprised when you see them on your first rehearsal, okay? The public likes that. Shouldn't be that hard since half of you are actors."

Derek's breath caught in his throat and he started to follow Penelope to a little lazy line up. As the double doors opened, all of the stars lined up on the left side of the room and tried to look as presentable as possible. Penelope adjusted her posture and pushed her boobs up enthusiastically. Derek began to laugh and composed himself horribly, still in hopeless chuckles. Then, the door barreled open and the professionals stormed in with just enough time for him to slow his laughter and give off his most charming smile.

Whoa.

All of them we so… thin.

They commanded the room with their loose limbed strides and raised chins, the confident fuckers. Derek felt kind of small alongside them despite his looming height and generous BMI. Derek took a breath and watched as the beautiful Peta Murgatroyd walked in, third behind the ever sexy Derek Hough. Her hair shone in the fluorescent lights, her blue eyes sparkled, and he couldn't wait to hear that silky Australian accent pour from her mouth as she teaches him to Rumba or some shit.

The professionals lined up on the right side of the room. Derek made eye contact with Peta and winked. She looked at him with appreciation and he smiled candidly. Her eyes slid right past him. Fuck. She glanced down at a card in her hand and it was only then that he noticed that the professionals didn't have their choice of stars. Oh, duh. Of course the producers picked for them. That only makes sense.

Derek's stance faded a little bit when he realized that his appearance no longer mattered at the moment. Whomever was saddled with him would already see him at his worst as he pussyfooted his way through combinations and turns and shit, so, they oughta get used to it now. The professionals started to walk forward. Peta chose a man with a cowboy hat and a sexy grin. When he opened his mouth to greet her, Derek noticed a deep south accent. Yeah, she wasn't leaving that guy for Derek. No way in hell.

Having brushed up on the last season of the show over the past few weeks, Derek fancied himself an expert on the professionals and settled with Sharna as his close second. She was strong and sexy, and she walked as so. She knew the was incredible, and she should... she was. This girl could rule the world if she wanted to. Sharna kind of scares Derek too, which would definitely come in handy when time came for him to buckle down and learn his stuff. With her, he's less likely to embarrass himself on live television. She walked up to a man with a peppered hair cut into a buzz. Whatever. She always gets the failures anyway.

Penelope squealed as the tall, dark, and handsome Gleb Savchenko lifted her hand and kissed it. He said in his endearing Russian accent, "Hello, my beautiful belle. I will be your instructor."

She squealed again, "тпру!"

Well, wasn't it nice to see all of these people enjoying themselves? Derek puffed up his chest and glanced toward his feet. Lord knows who he's going to get. He doesn't remember many of the female professionals, so at this point, it's dealer's choice. He nervously bit the inside of his cheek and sighed, giving his problems to God. Please, dear Lord. Don't give me a Karina...

The steady sound of a cleared a throat appeared and said before him, "Um... are you Derek Morgan?"

Derek looked up and looked into large hazel eyes that were just barely higher than his. Derek's voice trapped in his throat as he kept eye contact. No way. No. Fucking. Way. Brown curls reached toward the soft jawline on the face of the man that he had watched sail across the dance floor months ago. This was the man that changed everything. And when Derek says everything, he means everything. After the fame wore off, Derek planned to spend the rest of his pitiful existence withering away to nothing, gaining weight on his couch and pumping out a kid or two with his hot, but mediocre, girlfriend so that his life might mean something other than the shiny trophies on his , instead of shoving Twinkies high-speed into his face, he's here.

The world renowned, unprecedented, LEGENDARY dancer smiled nervously, "Hi, I'm Doc Reid, your dance partner."

Derek pulled back for a moment and deadpanned, "You've gotta be shitting me."

Doc replied with a shrug of his small shoulders, "I wish. Apparently viewership left much to be desired last season and the production team has decided to throw in a wild card to spice up the show."

Derek paused, "And we're the wild card?"

Doc pursed his lips, "Trust me, I'm not too crazy about the idea either. Not that I have anything against you, I'm just not a fan of being used as a pawn. At least make me a knight. They have cool swords."

"Nice," Derek chuckled, "Cool chess reference by the way. You play?"

Doc nodded enthusiastically reminding Derek shallowly of a small puppy given the opportunity to jump onto the couch for the first time, "Yes! I was the president of the chess club in college."

Derek grinned in the large room as the noise swelled with dancers getting to know their partners, "So, you're a nerd?"

Doc let out a goofy laugh, "Man, you have no idea. Why do you think they call me 'Doc'?"

"That's not your first name?"

Doc shrugged inside the sweatshirt again, "No, my given name is Spencer, but no one really calls me that. You see, before I danced, I was a perpetual scholar. When news of that got out, the dancers around here called me 'Doc' because I managed to earn a few doctorates before I traded in my lab coat for tap shoes. It was a joke, but before I knew it, the name stuck."

"How many doctorates is 'a few'?"

Doc replied, "Three."

"Holy shit."

Doc scratched behind his neck, "I seem to get that reaction a lot."

"I would start to expect that, man," Derek took a big breath and confessed, "This is going to sound ten ounces of crazy bait, but... I kind of worship you."

Doc's eyebrows furrowed, "You… you do?"

Derek answered, "I loved how well you danced last season, man, it was incredible. It really was. I forced my mom to watch three seasons in a row with me. Dude, I got Hulu for you. Then, I decided, hell. I can do this too, right? How hard can it be?"

Doc started to laugh, "Once again, you have no idea."

"Bring me your worst, kid," Derek grinned, "One more question. What do you prefer to be called? Doc or Spencer?"

Doc shrugged, "Choose whichever you want. I answer to everything but, 'Hey, asshole'."

Derek laughed, "Okay. Cool. I picked a name."

Spencer asked, "Which one?"

Okay, fuck calling him Spencer.

Derek's decided to call him Satan.

This jerk is forcing him to do stretching through barre work. Of course, Derek didn't previously know what barre work was before he met Spencer. But, now, after three and a half hours, he has a decent fucking idea of what it is. His left hand is permanently fused to the waxed wood that was plastered to the mirrored walls, and, boy, does he know what barre work is now. Spencer stood opposite him and barked, "Back straight!"

Derek hissed under his breath as he corrected his posture, "I fucking hate you."

Spencer growled, "I heard that."

Derek spoke up with as much sass as he could muster, "I couldn't give three quarters of a fuck if you heard that or not."

Spencer rolled his eyes, "You seem to enjoy that particular swear word and I haven't an inkling as to why."

Derek groaned, "I don't even understand you most of the time. Why do you talk like a seventy-year-old man?"

"Straighten your knee!" Spencer snapped, "Tendu! Flex! Tendu! Flex! Tendu! Flex—watch the knee—tendu! Flex! Now rise up demi!"

Derek wobbled uncomfortably and tried to let go of the barre.

Spencer launched himself off of the barre and rushed in front of Derek to answer back, "Are you kidding me?! That was horrible! I know you can do better!"

Derek hissed, "No, I can't!"

Spencer replied, "I've see your touchdown dance, okay? You leap like a damned swan. This right here, is laziness."

Derek growled, "What? Have you been watching my games to criticize me on my movement?"

Spencer paused and looked over at Derek, "…that's an incredible idea."

Derek gasped, lifting his head seriously, "Don't you dare."

Spencer nodded, "I will. Now, come on, demi like a man! Lift that arch, raise that chin, tuck in that fat ass of yours!"

Derek sucked his teeth angrily and recalled the movement perfectly as Spencer clapped along with the dumb sounding piano music in the back ground and shouted, "One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight!"

That went on for another half hour until Derek was draped over the side of the barre, sweating, red faced and pissed. Spencer patted his sticky back with a smile, "Excellent. Soon, you'll be a regular Gioielli. Now, onward with the lesson!"

Derek panted, "Wh-what? We're not done for the day?"

Spencer laughed, "We've only been here four hours. I haven't even shown you the dance yet."

Derek asked breathlessly, sinking to the hardwood floor, "What are we doing again?"

Spencer grinned excitedly, "The Jive! My second favorite!"

Derek sighed and brought his knees up to his chest, "Why do I have the feeling this is going to suck?"

"Come on, up and at 'em," Spencer leaned forward and grabbed Derek's arm, beginning to pull him up to stand and Derek looked right up at him as he noticed that this was the first time they had touched. When they met, they didn't shake hands—Spencer said something about pathogens and bugs and genius drabble. For the past three hours and change they've been in their first meeting, Spencer just instructed. But, now, with Spencer's large, long fingered hands gripping his bare skin, Derek was feeling a bit light headed. Especially when paired with a glance in Spencer's warm, wide brown eyes.

Derek made it halfway through standing up before Spencer blinked and his eyelashes oh, so gracefully brushed against his high pale cheekbone… then Derek fell over. Unfortunately, the train wreck of his life hadn't fully crashed yet until Spencer landed on top of him, all hard lines, firm body, and warm milky skin.

This time, Derek panted for a different reason. He felt Spencer's breath on his neck as Spencer laughed and started to push himself up, bringing them face to face. The man looked down at him with mirth at the fall, loose curls mussed and grin wide.

Oh, God.

No.

No, no, no.

Spencer can't be cute. Not now. Derek can't afford for him to be cute.

Well, in all actuality, he's not doing the man justice with "cute".

Spencer is supernova, holy fire, hand-on-the-stove hot. Spencer is Jesus Christ, stop the music, gibberish-inducing sexy. Spencer is earth shatteringly, jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

Off. Spencer needs to get off of him. Now.

Pushing him up further, Derek scrambled out from underneath him in a sloppy tuck-and-roll fashion before laughing it off, "Sorry about that, man. I lost my footing."

"Yeah, no kidding," Spencer laughed from his spot on the floor.

Spencer sat across from him at the small round table outside of the privately owned coffee shop, chugging his second cappuccino like a goddamn choo-choo train. The day was bright, and the sun shone so warmly that it felt like melted butter on his skin. It was also fairly loud out, so they wouldn't be a target to potential fans. There were children running all over the place and parents running after them. Frisbees were tossed in the large green park to their left and it was all disgustingly beautiful out. Derek kind of liked it.

Spencer looked up from his baguette, cheeks full and chipmunk-like, "So, how are you enjoying it all so far?"

"You look freaking adorable right now," Derek chuckled, smile falling from his face as he realized that the sentence was meant for his thoughts and his thoughts only. Shit. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

Spencer thought nothing of it though, thank God, and gave him a puffy, closed mouthed smile.

Derek answered his question calmly, "To be honest, I'm not enjoying it. I hate it with every fiber of my being, but I think I'll stay. Paired with your talent and my stunning looks, we're going to kick some serious ass."

Spencer swallowed his large bite and took a sip of coffee, pushing a stray tendril of curls behind his ear as he replied lightly, "Your stunning looks? I thought I was adorable. That has to count for something."

Derek winked halfheartedly, "Don't let it inflate your head, kid, we can only have one self-centered dick on the team and I've already nominated myself."

Spencer added, "Technically, we're the only team that is capable of having two self-centered dicks on it seeing as we're the only same-sex team."

Derek deadpanned, "You do realize you just said 'dick' and 'sex' in the same sentence, right? Because that was all I got from you just now."

Spencer nodded enthusiastically and picked up his baguette, taking another bite, "Yeah, but I'm adorable, so… I can probably play it off pretty well."

"That's the last time I ever compliment you," Derek replied heartlessly, "Look at you… shoving those carbs in your face like a goddamned over-caffeinated Cookie Monster. There's nothing adorable about it. Matter of fact, it makes me sick just watching it. Clean yourself up. You're disgusting."

Spencer took a large bite and said with a full mouth, "You love it." Well, it actually came out like, 'Ooh uhv ih,' but who's really concerned?

Derek laughed and gazed back at his instructor with something in his eyes he hasn't felt since… hell, since he held hands with his first girlfriend Lindsay Kensington when he was ten. It's not like he's thinking about holding hands Spencer. He's not even considering dating him to be honest. Derek's just admitting that the kid was cute. Hella cute, actually. And when he was dancing, he was the sexiest thing to ever grace the Milky Way, but that's unimportant because Spencer is his professional pair dancer and is totally off limits. Besides, Derek's got a girlfriend.

He really seems to have to remind himself of this way too often.

Spencer shook his coffee cup gently to hear it empty, and stood, "Alright, I'm going to refuel, then we're heading back to the studio to work out the first combinations."

Derek called out suddenly, "How old are you?"

"Uh…" Spencer paused, adjusting his duffel strap, "Thirty-two. Why?"

Oh, thank God. Derek sighed out, "I was just wondering. You seem... young."

Spencer started to laugh and nodded, holding his empty cup loosely, "Oh, you were afraid of doing all of the sexy turns and stuff with someone half your age, weren't you? Don't worry, you've only got nine years on me."

Derek avoided his actual answer, "Am I really that transparent?"

Spencer headed into the door and poked his head out of it to reply, "Oh, yeah."

Folding his arms, Derek wondered what 'sexy turns and stuff' he was going to have to do with Spencer on live television that could get him in trouble with the cops if done with a minor. He has seen the show and knows that Jive can sometimes be hard and sensual and sexy in its combination of movements from several racy dance forms, but it's not that bad. But there are other dances. And those are... whoa sexual.

Man, he really doesn't want to be stuck playing sexy-sassy with this grown ass man on stage in front of America. His friends from the team were coming to see his first performance and cheer him on, and that could only give him a one-way ticket to being the laughing stock of Chicago. How did he not think of this before hand?!

Derek decided right this moment that there was no way in hell he was scampering around with a long haired man, no matter how cute said man was. Derek doesn't even care if it costs him the competition, his dignity is way more important than that—moreso, he doesn't want documented proof of how hard he could feel himself falling for Spencer. That was the last damned thing he wanted. The 'sexy turns and stuff' would only fuel the fire.

He's pretty sure that it couldn't get much worse than this.

Derek pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, settling on Jordan's name. All he would have to do was press on the button to talk to her, and reassure himself of the love that they felt for each other. The love that could damned well save his reputation.

Then, he felt a warm, wet finger in his ear.

Derek jumped up and yelped, "Eww! God!"

Spencer laughed hard, clutching his coffee and leaning on the back of Derek's chair to expel his laughs, face full of wide grins, closed eyes, and pink cheeks.

"Oh, you're just hilarious, aren't you? Laugh it up, kid. Imma lose on purpose and get your ass kicked out of the competition first night," Derek hissed, leaning up to wipe the inside of his ear with the bottom hem of his shirt as the dancer straightened up, dabbing a tear from his eye as his giggles slowed.

Then, it got really quiet.

Derek glanced up at him while cleaning his ear out and noticed Spencer's poor job at hiding the way his eyes grazed along Derek's bare chest before his hazel eyes snapped back up to Derek's as he replied, "We should… uh, really get to the studio."

No way.

No fucking way.

Did Derek just say it couldn't get any worse? O, ye of little fucking faith. It can.

Derek let his shirt fall to his waist and grabbed his half empty water bottle and the remains of his apple buttered bagel, head swimming with 'what ifs'. During the last three hours, Derek knows he hasn't been any kind of attractive. Sweating on the barre, grunting out complaints, and—oh, my God that sounds positively wonderful. If that were Spencer doing all that before him, he would have been so turned on, he'd cry.

Well, that was in no way his plan. Spencer nervously pushed a curly hair behind his ear for the third time in the past ten minutes and began walking in the direction of the studio. It was embarrassingly quiet. Derek couldn't think of a thing to say and every time he spared a glance at Spencer, the kid was blushing and staring at the ground. Transparent, Derek's ass. Spencer's like fucking plastic wrap. The man ran his hand through his hair again, this time at the crown of his head, pushing it all back. Of course, it fell softly through his fingers like silk. Of course.

Well, fuck that. Derek's just going to ignore it.

Leaning back on his heels, Derek decided to speak up, "So… what song are we dancing to?"

Spencer adjusted his duffel strap again and replied, "Tighten Up by The Black Keys."

Derek raised an eyebrow, "I don't know it."

Spencer pushed his hair behind his ear once more, "It's kind of… well, it's a song about trying to get a girl to like you by acting like a badass."

Derek laughed, "I can relate to that."

Spencer shuffled his foot and looked up at Derek, "Me too."

Derek asked, "You can?"

Spencer sighed with dissonance, "Yeah, there was a fellow professional dancer a couple of years ago. Lila Archer."

Derek gasped and replied, "Are you kidding me? Lila Archer?! She's crazy hot. Like unfair hot. I mean, seriously, man, her?! What were you thinking?"

"A lot of things," Spencer grinned as they stopped at a light, waiting to cross, "You may not believe me, but I played the hero and got her out of a sticky situation with a follow spot. She was really into me after that. After the show that night, she followed me like a lost puppy, but… she wasn't in love with me. She was in love with that I did for her. So, I did the responsible thing and let her go."

"Yeah... you seem like the 'high road' sort of guy." Derek replied, reaching over to pat Spencer's slender shoulder to wink, "Good on you."

Spencer smiled briefly, "I feel like an idiot sometimes, you know? I could have at least reaped some benefits from it, but my conscience is a cruel, capricious entity."

Derek took a breath as they crossed the street, "I kind of get you. I mean, I just lifted weights around this girl in the gym by my house and before I knew it, I had her hook, line, and sinker. She expected so much from me after that—she's a federal agent, so, you know, she's surrounded by men who've taken bullets for her and plunged headfirst into serial killers' traps. But, since I'm an idiot and my conscience isn't as much of a bitch, we're still dating now."

Spencer's smile faltered, "You have a girlfriend?"

Derek nodded, "Yeah."

Spencer pushed his hair behind his ear once more, which was quickly becoming his tell, "What's her name?"

"Uh… shit," Derek blanked for a moment, "Ah, Jordan! Yeah, her name's Jordan, duh."

Spencer pushed open the door of the looming studio entrance, "Well, that's reassuring."

Derek shook his head and strode through the door, "No, I totally remember it. It just took a second, that's all. Don't judge."

Spencer joked, "I'm judging you so hard right now."

Derek pleaded as they headed up the steep stairs, "Come on, man."

Spencer repeated, "So much judgment. You can't escape it."

Derek whined, "You're the worst."

A/N: Yeah, so that happened. I'd better see y'all back here on Sunday, lovers!

Hugs and kisses,

Blue