A/N: Hope you all had a great holiday! Onward to Part Two!

Love,

Blue

Raising the Barre 2: The Tipping Pointe

CHAPTER ONE: Folie a Deux

...

'DWTS' PRESENTS THE MOST SHOCKING PAIRING TO DATE-"TURNING HEADS AND RAISING RATINGS" OR "SENDING THE SHOW TO ITS DOOM"

by Blue Oleandar | The L.A. TIMES | 11:27am

...

The ancient ballroom drama, Dancing With the Stars, was slowly slipping out of pop culture and their listings were dropping by the season… until they pulled out a sudden, massive Wild Card during this year's Fall season that quickly reversed their fate: a same-sex pairing.

Dr. Spencer Reid (fondly referred to as Doc) has been the sweetheart of competitive American ballroom ever since he debuted on the show in 2007. He's been known to take risks with his choreography, and his unique style and featured performances in an international ballet troupe have been his claim to fame. Just two years ago when he had collected his first Mirror Ball with Canadian supermodel Coco Rocha, she was re-tweeted all across the nation when quoted calling him the Prince of Ballroom. America agreed, gaining the Internet-shy dancer lots of media attention. While innovative, "the Prince" has held a very constant traditional style of dance… so, when we all flipped on our televisions five weeks ago, his graceful partner walk down the ballroom steps during the season premiere provided the gasp heard 'round the world.

On Doc's arm, was a man—and not just any man. Derek Morgan.

If you need your memory jogged, we'll help you out a bit. Derek Morgan is starting quarterback of the Chicago Bears and this year's NFL Champion. You probably know him from his most recent accomplishments, seeing as every sports channel in the country cheered when he was awarded current title holder of MVP (Most Valuable Player) after running forty feet to score the winning touchdown for his state during the Super Bowl. Yet, his talent doesn't end on the field. A model for Sports Illustrated, past spokesperson for the Humane Society, and three-time nominee for Sexiest Man Alive, he's found his place both on the football field and in every girl's heart. Seeing as he is the current face of the "All-American man", Derek Morgan was pretty much the last person on Earth who'd agree to dance competitive ballroom with another man! Yet, lo and behold… the world's most unexpected ballroom twist on the history of Dancing With the Stars found Derek Morgan beside the elusive Dr. Spencer Reid.

Millions tune in each year for the premiere, but this year's online views skyrocketed after news got out of their unconventional partnership. Reviewers went wild. On one hand, you had the crazy-liberal, Pro-Change reporters whom cheered Reid and Morgan on the moment they set foot on stage. On the other hand, you have the crazy-conservative Anti-gay reporters whom saw their pairing as a sign of the second coming of Satan. Personally, both of them need to calm down. It's just too men dancing together—quite well, if we might add. It's not like they're making out on stage, waving a rainbow flag, and flipping off Prop 8. Or… are they?

The steady numbers of views for the show have been climbing by the day, and one of the main reasons why is not only Reid and Morgan's unconventional pairing, but the pure addiction America has for their hilarious relationship with one another. They couldn't be more different! At 6'1'', Doc has always been the gentle giant. He's a scholar with a passion for dancing, culture, and education. With his soft features and bashful smile, he's known as ballroom's sweetheart for more than one reason. He's so friggen cute, you just want to put him in your pocket and take him with you. Derek Morgan is almost a complete 180 from that man. He's proved many times that he has a personality bigger than his biceps, and Morgan has no time to sugar coat things. In his interviews, he's straightforward and says exactly what's on his mind no matter how is comes out sounding. He is, to put it bluntly, the muscle-bound bad boy of the football field. Charming, sexy, and quick-witted, he's easily met his match in the young doctor.

And, it is just so much fun to watch them grind each other's gears.

They barely seem to have anything in common, most rehearsal time is spent hissing at each other, and a twitter counter has noticed that the two men let out more swear words at each other than any other pairing in the entire show for the last six years.

Yet, that's not what keeps us watching.

Surprisingly, what we've had our eyes on since day one was the way that they toed around each other. Reid has been blushing non-stop since Week Two and recently, Morgan has been flirting with him so hard that it could have been an Olympic Sport. The sexual tension between them is through the roof, and we're pretty sure than no one saw it coming—including the two men. Their sharp banter is countered by soft hugs and stolen glances, and we're pretty sure there's something that we're missing going on behind the scenes.

While their candid moments of teasing and subtle flirtation provides for an entertaining show, the two men surprised America once again three weeks into the competition with an extremely sensual Argentine Tango performed to the sexy song "When You're Mad" by popular recording artist Ne-yo. Their faces were held close as their hips swayed and the viewers were all raised eyebrows and gasps, despite their stance on the unconventional pair. Reid even allowed himself to be lifted at some point of the dance, which is a strictly feminine move in professional dance and has never before been achieved by a man on a live competitive dance show.

Reid's choreographed dances have never before been as racy as they have been with the addition of his new partner, and the pairing has been performing closely beside each other since then. Even their sharp, stylized Viennese Waltz was tinged with a little something extra as they sailed across the floor last Monday.

As we all cross our fingers for another wonderful performance as the two of them head into Latin Week, the couple seems to be going on strong. Sources say the two have been seen together less and less often since their Waltz, and we fear that there might be trouble in paradise. But, a couple this strong can only be as fantastic as they've shown so far.

Break a leg, guys!

blueoleandar93

The cavernous room was pitch black and fiercely quiet.

So quiet that it was almost roaring, pushing into negative space and filling it up with the ear-bursting shouts of nothingness. Derek lay on a soft bed, looking up at a dark ceiling, the sheets around him loose and easily escapable. Beside him was Spencer. The man was leaning away from him, dressed in nothing but an oversized oxford that brushed against his sheet-covered thighs and pair of blue boxers. He was so soft, so beautiful, so close to him. If Derek reached out a hand, it would graze across his lover's arm as soft as a whisper without even having to move so much as a few inches. Yet, he felt so far away. It's been days since their last kind word to each other, even longer since their last kiss. They could barely look at each other nowadays. Their dynamic was shattered when Derek had brought their physical relationship to an end.

He did it for their own good, but… he was waiting for it to come—the peace, the friendship, the sharp scraping of his broken heart to stop its thrumming in his ribcage. It never really did. All that came of it was an endless tunnel of awkward and anger and wrongness. Being so close to the man he had fallen for while held at arm's length hurt while they were together, but it hurts even more now. All Derek wants to do is grab the dancer in his arms and never let him go. But, ever since Derek left him alone in his bed, they only touch when they dance together. It's all that he can feel to remind him of what they were. The joy they felt in each other's arms is still there, just held back fiercely with all that both of the men have. He knows that he can't love Spencer. He mustn't. It's ruining him. Even now, it's tearing him apart.

Derek reached out a finger and traced one of Spencer's curls with his finger. It was just as soft as he remembers. He still smells like pine vanilla, and his body is still so warm as it lies beside him. Derek's heart ached for him. It ached so badly, each beat sore and weak. He wants so badly—with all that he is, he wants. But, he cannot have. Not anymore. Self-indulgence got him where he is now, and there's no way he's going to damn himself to a relationship with the bruised and tormented soul beside him. Not again. The next time is going to hurt so bad. He can almost hear the words now: "I don't trust you", "I don't believe in us", "we won't last".

Soft music came out of somewhere. It was a man singing in a sensual, raspy French tongue. The room grew light, or so it seems, and Derek sat up quickly at the same time Spencer did. It was morning. They'd spent the night together again, damn them. Damn Spencer's kisses and his soft grip and the passion of his nicotine-riddled tongue. He's addictive, but Christ, he's poison at the same time. Spencer looked back at him with messy curls and glasses, placed sloppily on his nose. With just a bit of stubble along the lower half of his face that he greets every morning with. He's sharply handsome when he wakes, but he can't do this. He can't fall for him again. He can't end up where he once was, alone and untrusted and unworthy of Spencer's heart.

Why did he spend the night him? Why?!

Derek scoffed. He knows why, cursing himself as he lay there in nothing but a baggy pair of sweatpants.

They can't help themselves, that's why. Their pull to each other is so fierce, so strong that sometimes they can barely pull away. Hours of hissing angry swears at each other build their tension to a fever pitch and before they know it, they're pressing into each other's bodies, whispering "I hate you" into sweaty necks and warm mouths, climaxing hard all over searing hot skin and puffs of wet breath. They're like two sides of a magnet, one positive and one negative. They repel, they repel, they repel until they can't anymore and rush together like it's all that they were made to do.

Derek pressed a hand to Spencer's leg to soothe him, but his hand was pulled off with an answering glare. Trying again, Derek placed both hands at his shoulders before Spencer shrugged him away. They pushed themselves out of bed and stared each other down at the same exact time. The two men looked away from each other and stole glances as the Frenchman continued in the background.

"Assis sur les banc de la vie. A apprendre le mien et l'oubli…"

Spencer made his way away from the bed, fixing his shirt and hair as quickly as he could. Derek followed him and grabbed his arm, pulling him close and Spencer followed him for a moment as the singer stalled, eyes locked on his with hope in them before the dancer shook his head and pulled away. As Spencer made his way away from him, Derek mirrored his movements, blocking him from the door with his body. Don't leave, Spencer. Please don't leave me. Against his better judgment it seemed, Spencer wrapped him in his arms and buried his face into his neck as the singer stalled once more. Derek pushed him off of him and they glared each other down. The two men walked around each other, stalling for a moment with the voice and continuing the circling.

The two stepped around each other quickly and came together with matching powerful stances, refusing to touch as they circled each other close, eyes boring into the other.

"Ici l'amour est laid, ici l'amour est sale y a des branches de rosier pour t'essuyer les larmes."

They raised their hands beside their heads and clapped twice as they walked around each other even faster.

"Alors fais comme les autres tu sais à Amsterdam."

They stepped back and clapping twice again.

"Pour t'èponger le coeur, prends-la avec du charme."

There, Derek followed him as Spencer stomped back to the center of the room, clapping behind him as Spencer fanned his oversized shirt to the side like a matador's cape. The music picked up and they started on a sudden chase around the room, Spencer pulling away as Derek tried to make his way back to him. Derek grabbed their hands together and they sashayed around each other as the Frenchman's voice hastened. They raised them to clap thrice and leaned in, grabbing each other closer and closer in the throes of passion. He smiled against Derek's chest as their legs tangled and they fell back into bed together.

The music slowed immensely and Spencer pushed Derek down until he was straddling him. The singer paused. He yanked Derek back up and they wrapped their arms around each other. The singer paused again. Derek flipped them around and straddled Spencer. The singer paused a third time. Derek grabbed Spencer's collar from where he was and loosened a button. The music slowed even further and the singer paused again. Spencer pushed him away. The singer paused once more. Derek pushed him back down. Spencer shoved him away and hopped off of the bed, quickly making his way away from Derek, lifting his hands to shake loose his messy curls.

Derek ran after him and pulled him back, Spencer sashaying with him passionately as the music picked up.

"Ici l'amour est laid, ici l'amour est sale y a des branches de rosier pour t'essuyer les larmes."

They raised their hands beside their heads and clapped twice as they danced around each other even faster.

"Alors fais comme les autres tu sais à Amsterdam."

They stepped back, clapping twice again.

"Pour t'èponger le coeur, prends-la avec du charme."

The chorus of the song was repeated and the two moved against each other, Derek raising his hands to clap as Spencer fanned the edge of his shirt again. They followed one another and stepped in time, eyes forever locked as they stared down their pasts and tried to see through their foggy futures together. Would they ever get over this pain? Would they ever graduate out of the lust they feel for each other? Would Spencer ever tell Derek how he truly feels about him, or will Derek watch him destroy the both of them with his denial? Would they ever love like they did again? Did they ever really love at all?

The Frenchman's voice sang to a halt and the music ended with Spencer thrown and alone on the bed and Derek making his way out of the door, the exact same way he had left him the week before.

The blinding house lights raised and the crowd's sudden applause sounded like a million separate claps of thunder, jerking Derek out of his reverie.

Derek made his way back onto the other side of the prop door as the crowd started to howl and scream. Spencer slipped off of the bed and buttoned up his shirt, padding over to Derek barefoot and patting his partner's shoulder noncommittally. The two men headed to the judges desk and prepared themselves to be judged on their performance that was way too personal for Derek's liking.

But, he had no choice in the matter.

Spencer was the choreographer and when he thought up this dance for Latin Week, Derek suffered through the very public telling of their story. All of the passion and tension and sex they'd worked up over the past five weeks crashed together on stage and bled through every move of their Paso Doble. There were no crazy colors, no capes, no fanfare. It was simply them at their rawest. Derek's lust and Spencer's guard; Spencer's need and Derek's listening ears. Truth be told, Derek was terrified as hell to even do this with Spencer, nevertheless with a national crowd. But, Spencer insisted that it was an incredible idea, and it's not like Derek had a vote.

David Rossi, Jennifer Jareau, and Aaron Hotchner all stared back at them with the same exact expression of blatant shock on their faces. The host patted Derek on the back and stated, "Wow. That was one, uh… interesting dance you two did there. Any comments?"

Derek and Spencer glanced over at him breathlessly, saying at the same time, "No."

They'd done alright as far as scoring goes. They didn't receive a ten this week due to the fact that each judge thought that the choreograph was a little too much emotionally. Derek hazarded a glance at his partner and tried with all of his might not to roll his eyes toward the Heavens. That's what he had been telling Spencer all week—well, mostly shouting, but you get the idea. It was apparent that the team had put their hearts out on that stage, and so they were rewarded with nines, but they remained as elusive with the camera as they could be without striking up suspicion. Or, so they thought. They didn't talk, hold hands, or maintain eye contact for longer than necessary. Derek sat with Emily and Penelope and Spencer sat with his dancer friends.

The distance between the men quickly grew awkward, but thankfully it wasn't as tense as the last week had been. All they'd been able to do is this odd tango between careful whispering and angry hisses of contempt. Spencer actually called Derek a butthead last week. Seriously, he couldn't make this up. Spencer threw a towel at Derek's face and called him a "butthead that couldn't Paso". Derek let it go, the same way he had let go every other horrible thing Spencer had said to him over the course of the last few days.

Kid is pissed at him and Derek means pissed. On top of being sexually frustrated as all hell, Spencer blames Derek for what had happened between them. He can see it in Spencer's big brown eyes whenever he looks at him. Yes, their split was partially Derek's fault. He was the one who officially ended things, but Spencer drove him to the edge. Derek's heart was on the line and Spencer actively didn't believe they would work out as a couple, voicing his opinion every time Derek got comfortable with him. Derek's been pushed away, pushed around, and pushed to the limit by the clever dancer; he knew continuing down this road with Spencer would mean nothing but heartbreak for the both of them. Yet, not for the same reasons as Spencer does. Spencer didn't even give them a shot. Derek on the other hand sees how hard it is for Spencer to admit his feelings, and knows that if they can't be honest with each other, they can't have anything—not even friendship. It's simply not possible.

Spencer pushed past him to the dressing rooms and Derek watched his partner's lithe form swish by in his costume, remembering the times when Spencer climbed up the sheets toward Derek wearing a similar outfit and a sly grin as he kissed away their problems and licked at their wounds. But, this isn't that outfit. That shirt on Spencer's body isn't one lazily shrugged into from the day before and the boxers weren't Derek's. It's a costume—a mockery of their relationship and all of the soft-spoken confessions they had shared with each other in that whirlwind of a fortnight.

It's all gone, what they had. And all that's left is the hurt.

There was a knock on Derek's dressing room door fifteen or so minutes later. Derek had already dressed. He was sitting in the room avoiding the mirror, eating his feelings in the form of expensive Greek Yogurt, and waiting out the usual time it takes for Spencer to change. He doesn't want to run into him. Not while he still looks like that. Not while he wears those clothes. Derek can hardly take it. He raised the spoon to his lips and took another large mouthful of cold, white goo.

Yep.

He's going to die alone.

The knock on the door was becoming persistent, so Derek sighed angrily, rose, and wrenched it open to be greeted by his two girl friends, Emily Prentiss and Penelope Garcia—goth singer and band frontrunner respectively. Instead of the gleeful tugs and shrieks of fun, they gave him worried looks. Both in clubwear much like the dresses they had worn the week before, Penelope leaned against the door, "Hey, Chocolate Thunder. How are you holding up?"

Derek raised his large cup of yogurt, "Well, this Chobani ain't half bad, so… there's that."

Emily wrinkled her nose, "That's like you're third cup of yogurt tonight."

Derek shrugged, "Fourth, actually. Carpe Diem."

"That's 400 calories of pure dairy!" Penelope reached forward and took the cup from Derek, ignoring his whines as she stated, "If you keep eating this crap you're either going to break out or shit a lot, and both of those options don't sound cute."

Derek replied, "I don't need to be cute. What for? Who for? Not Spencer. He hates me," Derek sniffed, looking down, "And I'm bloating. And I'm old. And Spencer doesn't love me. Give me the cup. I still have feelings in there that I need to eat," Derek snatched at the yogurt and sniffed again, brushing at his eyes, "And I'm not crying, okay? I'm not going to take this break up like a bitch! I'm going to beat the shit out of it with strawberries and peaches."

"Listen up, Black Beauty! You're going to wipe your face, put this yogurt down, throw on a sexy top, and head out with us. This is pathetic and we're not taking no for an answer this time." Penelope ordered.

Derek sighed sluggishly, "I just want to go bed and eat and watch soaps and pretend not to cry. Can I just do that instead?"

"No. You can't. Because this?" Emily shook her head and grabbed the half-empty yogurt from him, "The moping and the sleeping and the yogurt? That's getting you nowhere. You need to forget Spencer for a second. You need to let loose! You need to have fun and remember what it's like to be hot, sexy Derek, okay? You don't need no man to define you! And you know what, mister?"

Derek whined, "What?"

Emily reached up and took the Snap Back off of Derek's head, "You need to burn this hat. It's stupid."

Derek mumbled under his breath, "Spencer said I look sexy in it."

Penelope replied, "Well, he used you and treated you like shit. Do you really want to value his opinion?" Penelope grabbed Derek's hand and tugged him out of the dressing room, "Now, we're going to stop by your hotel, you're going to get gorgeous, and we're going to have the time of our lives, alright? Move 'em on, head 'em out, rawhide!"

Derek's been to a lot of questionable places in his lifetime, but Club Bey-otch was fucking insane. I mean... it was named Club Bey-otch. That was a sign, in Derek's eyes. It was packed wall to wall with writhing, sweaty, glittery bodies. The bass of the music was shaking the floor, so loud that he could feel it thrumming in his ribcage. It was very dark—nearly too dark to see, saved by soft tinted pulsing bulbs that flicked on and off as they hung from the glass ceiling. The bar was lined with neon fairy lights, the tenders were in black muscle shirts, and the waitresses walked around in bunny ears and short skirts. As Derek looked up and around, he noticed that most of the club patrons were two decades younger than him and the ladies on his arm as Schoolboy Q's "Collard Greens" blasted through the speakers. Within only a moment in the club, Derek could feel himself loosening up a bit. A couple of months ago, Derek would have been all over this shit, but he'd have to admit; he didn't think he would be up for this today. Truthfully, he probably wasn't.

Emily and Penelope at his side, both bubbly and charismatic in their little black dresses, were nearly more excited about partying then the clubowner was. He watched as the two talked animatedly by his side along with the pulsing music pressed into their bodies. They paid the bouncer and grooved together, yanking Derek by his hands into the group. Penelope's curls bounced and Emily's cat-like eyes glistened in the slow strobes and invited him in. Derek wanted to dance. He really, truly did. But once he started moving his hips, all he could think of was the way Spencer pushed the hip-hop out of them when he taught him to Tango. Derek took a breath and nodded towards the girls, reassuring himself more than he was them. He can do this. He can have fun. He can throw all of this out of the window, and he can let loose and party. All he has to do is make sure he doesn't dance too much. Or think about Spencer. Or drink. Or go home too late. Or maintain eye contact with anyone with soft curls, a lanky form, and big brown eyes. Should be simple.

Raising her slender hand quickly, Emily handed Derek a twenty, "Could you get me an iced tea? Please and thank you."

Derek shrugged and took the bill, "Sweetened or unsweetened?"

Emily chuckled, "Oh, you're so cute. Long Island, honey."

Penelope asked suddenly with a chipper smile, "Oh! Can I have one too? Seven Up instead of Coke, please."

Derek leaned over and kissed her cheek, "Do I look like I have a towel on my arm, girls?"

The two girls waved him off and Derek headed over to the bar, wading through the packs of sweaty dancing young adults. He rolled his eyes as one scantily clad redhead bumped right up onto his front, spilling her drink dangerously close to his vintage custom Adidas. She giggled and swayed drunkenly at his side. Derek pushed his way past her. His head was too heavy to care. Even if she had spilled that acidic girly cup of sprinkles on his shoes, it would have slipped his mind moments after it had happened. His heart was heavy with love and regret. Hell, Derek probably deserved it for the way he had left Spencer. Alone. Cold. Naked. Derek deserves worse and Spencer deserves so much better.

He had approached the tender with a small glance, waiting in line for a stool for minutes before he finally got one. Settling down on top of the small, red cushion, Derek raised his hand easily to hail to bartender and a tall, slender, brown eyed man wearing a black tee shirt made his way toward him from the other side of the bar, wiping the edge of a tumbler with a clean towel as he flicked his short brown bangs away from his forehead with a nod, "What'll it be, dude?"

Derek's heart stopped. The bartender didn't really look much like his dance instructor at all. They just shared minor traits. The tender's nose was smaller, his eyelashes weren't as long. His arms had less definition in them, almost serpent-like, and not to mention his hair was cut into this short, fashionable muss that rivaled Spencer's long, naturally tousled locks. But, in the right light, under the right amount of alcohol, he could definitely turn Derek's head. As of now, he just looked enough like Spencer to further his heartache. Just another painful reminder.

The bartender sighed, placing his elbows onto the counter and leaning back onto them lazily as he glanced into Derek's eyes, "Wanna take a picture, cutie? I guarantee it'll last longer, because I don't look this cute this long for free."

Yeah. Definitely not Spencer. Derek shook his head and waved him off, "I'm sorry. You just look a lot like someone I know."

The bartender laughed with his mid-west twang and a flirty bite of his lip, "More like someone you fucked with the way you were staring me down, dude. I appreciate the sudden appraisal, but alas… I'm a man, not a steak."

Derek added wistfully, "Him too. A good man. A little wet behind the ears, but still good."

"I'd bet he wasn't boyfriend material then, huh?" the eager-eyed bartender said.

Derek replied, "Let's go with that."

He answered back, giving Derek an appreciative nod, "At least you tried. Hell, I never did. Ain't had a boyfriend before. What's it like?"

"I wouldn't know…" Derek gave him a long glance after the probing question, "No offense, but, aren't you supposed to be making drinks?"

The bartender shrugged with an airy shrug, "Yeah. I'm five glasses behind, but you're hot and nice and I really dig your vibe."

Derek chuckled, "You 'dig my vibe'?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

Derek asked, "How old are you, kid?"

"Twenty-two," the bartender winked, "And a half."

Derek scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Okay, jailbait. I'm going to stop this train right here. I could easily be your dad. Two long island iced teas. One with Coke, one with Seven Up."

The bartender added, a slow smile creeping up onto his face, "First off, my name isn't Jailbait, it's Matt. And secondly, I don't give not one damn about your age. I've never really had a father figure before. You could be my Papi if you're kinky like that."

Derek shook his head, changing the subject quickly, "Drinks. Now, please."

"Fine, fine. I get it. I'm a spry, little Ford and you're a sleek, sexy Jaguar. You couldn't handle me anyway, grandpa," Matt the bartender replied, pulling out two long glasses from underneath the bar, "Just know that the one with the Seven Up isn't technically considered a Long Island anymore. It's called an Adios Mother Fucker."

The kid turned his back to the bar and started again on his drinks and Derek nearly laughed aloud. That was a pretty good blow off. Could have been better, but it's a Monday night. Derek won't fault him for that. He watched as the younger man made his way through the drinks, pouring them with skill, tossing in garnishes, and dropping in ice. The tender handed off the drinks, keeping tabs of his full bar on the screen beside him. This kid clearly knew what he was doing, but even Derek could tell that this is the last place he wanted to be. He had dreams just like everybody else. He was young, full of hope, and in LA of all places. So, yeah, he was pouring drinks and flirting with older men in tight clothing, but his mind wasn't really here. It was on its own frequency.

When the bartender had finally gotten to Derek's order, he placed the two drinks in front of them and raised a brow when Derek asked, "Matt isn't your real name, is it?"

Matt let out a mysterious smile, "Cute and smart."

"What brings you to LA? Major in mixology?"

"Doubled in Filmmaking and poetry, actually. I graduate next semester," Matt replied.

Derek grinned back. It's good that he's in school. "Alma mater?" he inquired.

Matt laughed and leaned back on his heels, "NYU, actually."

Derek's eyebrows raised, "Seriously?"

"I know, right?" he added with a smile, clearly proud of his school, "What's an east coast boy like me doing in a place like this?"

Derek guessed, "Scenery?"

Matt replied, smirking and leaning across the bar with a confident glint in his eye that reminded Derek so much of his instructor, "Wouldn't you like to know, Papi?"

Oh, this kid was flirting hard. Way too hard for a Monday. He knows something, Derek can tell. What Derek doesn't know is what. Derek added, "I kind of would."

"Well, I get off at one," Matt spoke, pressing up on his elbows to lean in further until his breath was against Derek's ear, "You could be getting off at one fifteen… if you catch my drift."

Derek started to laugh nervously, taking the two drinks in hand and shaking his head, "I'm sorry kid. I just…"

Matt nodded in understanding, "Mr. Boyfriend Material still got you his hand on your collar?"

Derek answered, "Yeah. That and... you are ridiculously young. Like seriously. Chris Hanson young."

"Your loss," Matt winked, turning back to his post.

"Touché." Derek left the twenty on the counter and took the drinks, about to start making his way through the crowd back to the girls before he paused, "… can I get a strawberry yogurt?"

The bartender paused and reached under the counter, giving him a wary look before tossing it Derek's way. Derek took the sealed cup and smiled at the comfort provided by the cold dairy. He shoved it into his pocket and started to push through the crowd of undulating partiers. He found himself squeezed in close by their heat and sweat and drunkedness, and Derek took comfort in the fact that he was tonight's designated driver. He would hate to have ended up as sloppy and morally gray as the people currently invading his space.

The girls were quite hard to find, especially since they weren't where he'd left them before. He could blame the long line or the flirty bartender for his tardiness, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel slightly jilted. Derek raised his chin, grateful for his six foot stature as he peeked around the strobing lights and sweaty bodies for red curls and black eyeliner. They were almost nowhere to be found, and Derek found himself worrying a bit as he wondered where they'd gotten to.

There was a hand tugging him sharply into the corner by the arm and before he could react, he heard Emily's voice hissing in his ear, "We gotta go. Now."

Derek asked, quickly glancing around the club for a reasonable threat, "What? Why?"

Emily pushed his face back to hers, black lined eyes serious, "No reason. Pen is across the street at a different bar. She didn't like the energy here."

"Pen likes the energy everywhere. What's going on?" Derek narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Uh..." Emily sighed, hanging her head and pointing behind Derek, "Three o'clock."

Derek glanced back toward where she was pointing and his heart dropped to the floor as he took it all in, "Fuck. What the hell is he even doing here? He doesn't club."

"Apparently he does now," Emily answered easily, glancing around him, "With her."

Derek glared down that section of the club and in that moment, he didn't care about anyone else in the room except that guy. A flash of anger zipped its way down his spine as he watched this man be pulled onto the center of the crowded dance floor by a flirty looking brunette woman. Dressed in stylish denim and a designer Henley, the man acted bashful for just long enough to cause a moment of surprise as he held the woman close and started to sway with her to the heavy bass of a Jay-Z song. He moved with confidence and seemed to care none about who was looking at him. No one but Derek it seems. His large brown eyes flitted up, catching Derek's as if he knew he was being watched. Challenging with fire in his glance, Spencer stood, swaying with this beautiful stranger.

He didn't even know that he was moving forward with the means to strike out before he felt a forceful, long fingered hand on his chest holding him back. Emily glanced up to him, surprise in her eyes as she pushed him into the wall with power that he didn't even know she had, "Don't be that guy, Derek. He's testing you. Look at him."

"I see him! That's why I'm going to walk over there and start a reasonable conversation, starting with the topic of why he's touching that five-cent whore over there," Derek whipped out, locking his gaze with his partner's.

Emily growled, "I oughta slap you for saying that. You don't know that girl. You don't know what she is to him."

Derek's jaw clenched as he watched Spencer's hands dip low on the woman's back as he pulled her closer, spitting out, "I think it's pretty obvious what she is to him."

Emily answered, "Well, it doesn't matter. You're not his boyfriend, you have no jurisdiction. Back off, sweetheart, because he can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants."

Derek puffed out his chest with a scoff, looking back at his friend with an angered hiss, "Just let me talk to him for a second."

"No. That's what he wants. To rile you up. Come on. We'll go somewhere else," she started to tug at Derek's arm in the direction of the door.

Derek hissed back, "What? And let him win?!"

Emily replied impatiently, "You can't win a break-up, Derek! It's not a competition! Just because you're miserable doesn't mean he has to be!"

"I don't want him to be miserable!" Derek exploded out, "I want him to love me, but he doesn't because I'm not good enough for him!" Derek's hand flew up to cover his mouth and he worried as everything he internalized all week just forced its way out of his mouth in one simple sentence. He doesn't care that there are plenty of fish in the sea. He wants that fish right there; the angry, vengeful fish with the hurt in his large brown eyes.

Emily was right. There was no way to win this. Spencer was livid, he was furious, and he had something against Derek now. So, he's acting out. He's doing things he otherwise wouldn't just to get Derek's attention. He wanted Derek to know how upset he is at him for shattering his heart, he was obsessed with it. Every moment he had for the past week to let Derek in on his contempt, he did. So, now, this goody-two shoe ballet dancer is running around with some woman, shoving his sexuality in Derek's face trying avidly to express just how over him he was. It was childish, and to be completely honest, Derek wasn't in the mood for all this little boy shit. He wasn't. He told Spencer expressly that he was going to keep their physical relationship at a flatline until he could get what he needed from Spencer emotionally first. And what did Spencer do? He threw a tantrum. Like a fucking twelve-year-old. And this right here? This is his version of flipping out in the cereal isle of K-Mart.

He felt the woman beside him pat his back and rest her head on his shoulder, "Are you sure you want him? He's kind of weird."

Derek sighed, "I know."

She spoke, "And strange-looking."

Derek replied, "Just a little bit."

Emily added with a laugh, "And he always smells like cake icing."

"It's pine vanilla, actually," Derek answered.

Emily glanced back at the vengeful man, "He can get a little mean sometimes too."

Derek held back his smile, "He just needs to grow up, that's what it is."

Emily pushed at Derek's shoulder, "You're an idiot for falling for him."

"Falling? Girl. I tripped, slammed into a fifteen-story window, and hurtled through it to my death. Falling is an understatement." Derek's eyes cast downward.

She leaned against him and patted his hand, "To me, it sounds like you jumped. And he just didn't catch you."

"Damn right, he didn't." Derek replied, lifting the glass of AMF and taking a shallow sip. It was sharp to the taste, tangy and bubbly with carbonation. He could almost feel the rusted aftertaste of the alcohol, hitting him with a delayed reaction to the face as he watched Spencer dance up on some woman. Derek glanced over at Emily as the song changed from rap to a slow, seductive tune, "He wants to shove shit in my face, fine. How about you and me raise a little hell?"

Emily tossed him a wicked grin, pulling his arms around her and pressing her back up against his chest with ease, "You want to make him jealous? That, I can do."

Derek moved against her, slow and serpentine, watching as Spencer's gaze grew firey. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "He's not mad enough."

Emily locked eyes with Spencer as she pressed a kiss to Derek's cheek, "Oh, honey. He will be. Take my waist."

Derek placed his hands gently at the cut of her hips, well-defined in the tight tube dress she had on. Thank God for it too, because her shoulders looked alabaster in their soft strength. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in straight dark lines, outlining her face and swaying around it as Derek pressed his hips against hers. She glanced up at Derek and gave him a black lipped smile. "Now, watch his face when I do this," Emily said, sliding her way down Derek's body with her hand buried in her hair, shaking it out as she came back up. Derek chuckled to himself as Spencer's eyes flashed with contempt. The dancer glared at Derek, prying the woman off of him, and stomping towards the door.

Emily laughed and raised her hand, "Yeah! High five, dude."

Derek's heart fell in his chest, feeling heavy with guilt. Shit. He didn't mean to make Spencer too mad. Just bat him around a bit as payback for his childish behavior. Now, he stooped to Spencer's level, which just may be one of the dumbest things he could have done. Perfect. Spencer shoved his way through the crowd on his way to the door, eyes set on it with something in them Derek couldn't read. Derek hissed, "Fuck!" and excused himself from Emily, pushing through clubbers to follow him out of the building.

He pressed his hands against the cold glass of the door and jogged after the fast moving dancer, feeling the harsh change in atmosphere. The air was thinner and cooler as it rushed into his lungs. Cars zoomed past along the road, allowing pedestrians like them a mere two feet of travel space, but Spencer was walking it like it was nothing. The dancer stopped at the edge of the block, raising his hand to hail a cab. Derek made his way to Spencer within the minute, pulling his hand to Spencer's side and making the thin man jump. Spencer swore, "Fuck, man! Way to sneak up on me!"

"I'm sorry—" Derek started.

Spencer turned on his heels and hissed into Derek's face, breath stinking with alcohol, "I hate you! I have half a mind to punch you in the face after that little stunt you pulled with Emily! What? You think I didn't notice it!?"

Derek replied with a scoff, "We made sure you did. It was all for you, you angry, revenge-ridden fuck."

Spencer glared, heat in his eyes as he spat out, "Well, then fuck you both! She's already against me by dancing with Hough, so you two backstabbers deserve each other!" and raised his hand toward the road again, trying once again to hail a taxi.

Derek started again, "Look, man. We went too far, I get that, but you have to admit that you've been more than a little cruel lately."

Spencer ignored him, waving his hand toward the onslaught of cars.

Derek added, "You've been ignoring me, for one. The only time we talk is when you're teaching me something, and even then, I get the third degree from you. You've been rude, you've been callous, you've treated me like shit. Every five minutes—man, are you listening to me?"

Spencer said nothing, hand still in the air and eyes nowhere near Derek's.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Derek grabbed Spencer's shoulder and turned him around so that he could look him in the eyes, "You're fucking us up, man! You really are! You choreographed a dance about our goddamned sex life this week and wouldn't allow me to change it, which cost us much—needed points. You act like I don't exist and throw stupid little tantrums all because I won't let you fuck me until you admit how you feel about me, because I want us to be in a healthy fucking relationship!"

Spencer raised his index finger, whipping out, "I don't give a shit about you! I don't want your body, I don't want your mind, and don't want your fucking judgement! Can you get that through your undersized head?! I don't want you anymore! You threw me away like I was trash! You left me, Derek, just like I always knew you would, and I can't trust you! Do you know how hurt I am?! Do you even care about how I feel, Derek?!"

Derek answered, "That's rich. That's real friggen rich coming from the man who would hold me and kiss me and tell me I wasn't good enough in the same second."

Spencer sighed, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Derek yelled back, "Because I love you, you fucktard!"

Spencer's face froze and he let out a soft breath, "W-what?"

"This past month or so has been one of the wildest times of my life. I learned how to ballroom dance, yeah, but you taught me so much more. You taught me how to challenge the way an entire generation of people thinks with a simple tango. You taught me how to… give a damn about classical music, and forgive people who are against me, and look for the beauty in things I wasn't supposed to see. You taught me how to eat ten chicken nuggets in under three minutes. You taught me how to let go and lift everything off of my shoulders to be free, if for only just a moment," Derek sighed with a wistful smile, "You made me really fucking terrified of lemons, and mornings with no coffee, and starting rehearsal without you. You taught me how to fall in love with someone's laugh. You taught me how to adore sunlight, because of the way it hits your face through the curtains just before you wake up, man, you taught me how to smile and really, really mean it, and you're a prick, but I'm so... so fucking in love with you..."

Spencer blinked his eyes closed somberly for a second.

Derek lifted his chin up with his finger, "I am, and it's weird and scary and beautiful. But, when you tell me that you can't love me back—that you won't let yourself love me back—it feels like a slap in the face that keeps getting harder and harder every time you say it. I can't kiss you and feel your hands pushing me away at the same time. I can't do it. So, I'll wait for you. And I won't leave you until you truly want me to go, because I love you. And I care about you. And I want to hear you say that back one day."

Spencer sniffed, catching Derek's hand on his face with his own, "It's so hard for me to give you all of that, Derek. I'm trying, I am. But, I'm just so scared."

Derek smiled fondly back at him, "Yeah, shit will hit the fan. I guarantee it. But, I dare you. Fall. I'll catch you. Every time. You really don't weigh that much."

"I... didn't know you felt that way," Spencer laughed wetly and raced forward, hugging Derek roughly around the neck, pressing his face into Derek's shoulder, "I'm sorry for being an asshole."

Derek shrugged, "It's nothing new."

Spencer hit Derek's arm, holding him closer, "Shut up, I'm trying to apologize here."

Derek said into Spencer's hair, "Go ahead. I won't stop you."

Spencer sighed, "I want to love you, I do. But, I promise you, it's not because you're not worth it. I'm just not ready yet."

"That's fine," Derek pressed a kiss underneath Spencer's ear, "I've got all the time in the world."

Spencer nuzzled into Derek's neck, "Good."

A cab rolled up to the hugging pair and the window rolled down. A greasy-looking dark haired man stuck his head over to it from the driver's side and asked in a deep, gravelly voice, "One of yous, or both of yous?"

Spencer nudged his head against Derek's shoulder, "Both."

A/N: It seems cute now, but hold on to your knickers, pal. It's only chapter one.

Love,

Blue