i'll retire my bones to make you tea, and read you poetry.
Summary: Derek doesn't exactly expect to invite a sleepy Spencer over for a movie night after a case, but his blinding smile in response makes him happy he did. The kiss they share the next morning makes him even happier.
Tags: fluff, getting together, cuddling, insecure!spencer, pet names, mutual pining, light hurt/comfort, first kiss, love confessions
Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid
Word Count: 3.6k
Masterlist // Read on AO3
This entire plot was thought up by @moreidstrobed (Adam), I was just the humble scribe who turned it into a fic <3
This is literally just 3k words of pure fluff and mushy goodness, so... enjoy! (I imagined this set around s3/4)
Title is from a poem called Invite Me by Jasmine Mans. The full quote reads "If you ever decide to age, love, invite me. I'll retire my bones to make you tea, and read you poetry."
The plane is quiet tonight, a stark contrast to the usual easy banter that ensues after a case is wrapped up neatly in a nice little bow. Emily and JJ are pressed close together in quiet camaraderie, and Hotch is reverently doing his paperwork, flipping the pages with a little more force than usual, his pen angrily scratching at the paper.
The only one who doesn’t seem overly affected is Rossi. He’s reading a book opposite the women looking perfectly unbothered, but Derek supposes that he’s seen more rough cases than anyone. It’s second nature by now.
He and Spencer are tucked up in the corner of the jet together, sitting shoulder to shoulder as they always do, because nothing comforts him after a difficult case like the feel of Spencer’s body heat against his side; the soft, lithe gentleness of his frame tucked into Derek’s. He doesn’t know if Spencer’s reasoning for sitting so close to him is the same as Derek’s, but he hopes it is. He really hopes it is.
No-one’s said a word since they entered the jet, but nobody feels the need to.
Sure, they caught their unsub, but not before he could murder his last victim. It’s made so much worse by the knowledge that they were only seconds too late. He knows for a fact that the same thought is revolving round everyone’s heads: ‘If I’d just been quicker, smarter, spent less time eating that pretzel from the vending machine…’ It doesn’t matter how much they work themselves to the bone, how flat-out exhausted they are, how much they deprive their bodies of the basic necessities. Not if it means they lose one.
He’s shaken from his dark, depressing thoughts by a dark, depressing sigh coming from Spencer.
He doesn’t ask the obvious question; he doesn’t ask if he’s okay, or how he’s doing, or if he’s tired. He already knows the answer.
Instead he says — quietly, gently — “I know.”
Spencer turns to look at him with a soft, understanding smile, and something raw, something deep inside Derek is soothed.
They resume their quiet brooding, settling into the silence of the jet, but it’s not long after they do that Derek feels a heavy head drop onto his shoulder: in his exhaustion, Spencer’s nestled closer into him, and fallen asleep with his face nestled into Derek’s neck.
He tries to hide his elated smile, but it’s no use; it’s too powerful, too inevitable. There’s something building between them — there has been for the last five years — but recently it’s felt like it’s finally tangible; Derek can taste it on his tongue, it’s that close.
Over the next hour, he doesn’t move an inch, afraid that the slightest twitch or flinch will wake Spencer up and he’ll have to feel the loss of the gentle comfort such close intimacy brings. He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of Spencer’s hair: the hotel shampoo, the lingering smell of paper and bureaucracy, and the impalpable, ethereal essence of Spencer Reid. It’s the last one that makes him sigh in happiness, relaxing into the seat and forcing himself to savour this moment as much as humanly possible.
When Spencer does eventually wake up, it’s when they hit a bout of turbulence as they prepare for landing. There’s nothing he can do about it, but regret still courses through his veins as he watches Spencer startle awake, jolting with shock.
He turns to Derek slowly, his eyes wide and cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, vaguely horrified as he stares into Derek’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
He chuckles fondly, wrapping an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” he responds easily, despite his racing heart. “I figured you could do with the rest. You worked yourself hard on this case.”
Spencer smiles bashfully, but it falls from his face quickly as he sighs, fiddling with his loosened tie despondently. “Yeah, but now I won’t get any sleep tonight,” he mumbles.
“Well, what do you say to coming back to my place once we land? We could watch a couple of movies and see if you can tire yourself out that way.”
He doesn’t expect to say it, but it’s falling out of his mouth before he can burrow the words away. Spencer’s blinding smile in response, though, tells him he said the right thing.
“Really?”
Derek relaxes into a fond smile, suddenly far more eager for the jet to land than he was only minutes ago. “Really, Spence.”
“Did you know that your sleep schedule actually affects your eyesight?”
It’s dark outside, but alit by the streetlamps and brake lights of the busy highway, Derek looks over at Spencer who’s practically bouncing in his seat, awash with a renewed energy that seemingly came from the invite over to his apartment. “I did not.”
“Well, you know how you can tell if someone’s had a bad night's sleep when their eyes are puffy, red, droopy…?” He waits for Derek’s acknowledging nod. “It’s actually more than that. Your eyes actually produce less tears when you sleep poorly which can often lead to a dry and scratchy feeling, but it also opens you up to nastly eye infections. And sleep deprivation can even be a contributing factor to diseases like glaucoma.”
“That’s interesting, pretty boy,” Derek says, and he means it. “Maybe you should heed that advice, hm?”
Spencer blushes a bit at the mild admonishment. “You’re not supposed to use my facts against me, Derek.”
He laughs at that, grinning over at Spencer, only to find him already smiling at him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What else can you tell me about sleep deprivation, then? I need to be armed with facts for when I’m trying to get you to fall asleep later.”
He takes immense pleasure in the way Spencer’s blush deepens in the dark car, and even more pleasure in the fact that it doesn’t stop him from divulging even more of his vast amounts of knowledge to Derek.
“In 2009, a joint study conducted by French and American teams found that brain events called sharp wave ripples are responsible for consolidating memory, and they’re also responsible for transferring learned information from the hippocampus to the neocortex — you know, the one responsible for long-term memory? Well, these events only really take place in the deepest levels of sleep. It’s why getting a good nights’ sleep before an exam is far more effective than cramming all night.”
Derek huffs a surprised breath. “Well, the more you know,” he says, indicating to turn off the highway and into DC.
“The thing I find the most fascinating, though, is that when the more sleep-deprived you are, the less you think you need sleep,” Spencer continues, turned completely to face Derek as he waves his hands around eagerly. “People who consistently get 6 hours of sleep instead of 7-8 report that they’ve adapted to that amount of sleep, and they’re completely used to it. But Phillip Gerhman, this sleep researcher, says that testing actually shows their mental faculties and performance decreasing continually. They literally lose touch with how impaired they are.”
“Damn,” Derek responds, raising his eyebrows. “Do you think we fall into that camp?”
Spencer hums. “Most likely. But it’s not like we can do much about it with our jobs.”
They continue to chat idly until Derek’s pulling into his designated spot in the basement parking garage. He leads Spencer into the lift and presses the number for his floor, looking at the two of them in the mirrored doors. He can’t help but notice how close Spencer stands to him, how comfortable they look with one another, how right they look together. Judging from the poorly concealed smile on Spencer's lips, he thinks he might see it, too.
He sets them up in the living room, ordering food for them both as he lets Spencer scroll through Netflix to find a film he’s interested in. He grabs all the pillows and blankets he can find in his flat as his heart pounds violently, relentlessly in his chest. Is this it? Is this the culmination of five years’ worth of heart-breaking, agonising pining?
He lets himself stare at Spencer’s side profile for just a little bit too long before they settle into the sofa comfortably, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment he feels when Spencer sits at the opposite end.
“The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society?” he asks when he notices the title on the TV. His tone, admittedly, is a little incredulous. “Really?”
Spencer shrinks back automatically, his cheeks colouring with embarrassment, clearly thinking Derek is making fun of him, and his heart immediately sinks as fierce remorse thumps in his chest.
“No, Spencer!” he says indignantly, shifting closer so he can take Spencer’s hand in his. “It’s a great choice, I was just surprised, that’s all. I’m more than happy to watch this with you. It’s one of Sarah’s favourite films.”
Spencer looks unconvinced. “Are you sure? We can watch something else.”
Derek captures the hand that’s offering him the remote and puts it down slowly. “I’m sure,” he promises, hoping the sincerity shows on his face. “I’m sorry I made you think anything differently.”
“Okay,” Spencer acquiesces, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he looks into Derek’s eyes, simultaneously shy and secure. Safe. Derek hopes that’s always how Spencer feels with him.
They watch the film quietly until the food arrives, and he doesn’t let Spencer move a finger, plating it all up in the kitchen before bringing it through to the living room and arranging it on the coffee table.
As soon as he sees what Derek’s bought, Spencer’s head whips round. “You remembered my favourite Indian shop?” he asks with an awed kind of reverence.
Derek looks at him, puzzled. “Of course I did.” As if he hasn’t memorised absolutely everything there is to know about Spencer Reid.
They waste no time in digging in, both engrossed in the story of Juliet Ashton and her quest to learn about the famous ‘book group’ that formed under Nazi occupation.
“Did you enjoy that?” Derek asks once the credits play, and when he turns around to face Spencer, he realises he’s a good few inches closer than he was an hour ago. He tries not to let how much that makes him happy show on his face.
Spencer hums, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his cheek on the sofa cushion. “I thought the book was better.”
Derek’s eyebrows raise slightly, but he does his best to react as positively as possible, not wanting a repeat of earlier. “Wow, you like to read historical romance?” He keeps his voice as fascinated and upbeat as possible. “That’s great, Spence.” (And definitely something he’ll be filing away in his mental Everything About Spencer Reid bank.)
Spencer blushes. “It’s kind of dumb,” he says shyly, “but I really like them. Preferably if the romance is a subplot.”
Derek stares at him in amazement. “It’s not dumb, pretty boy. Nothing you enjoy could possibly be dumb.”
“You mean that?”
“I mean that. You really are a wonder, Dr Spencer Reid,” he says gently, and he revels in the blush those words elicit.
They pick the next movie — Pride and Prejudice, they’ve committed to the theme — and settle in. Derek gets a little bored, but he doesn’t mind, because Spencer’s more interesting to watch, anyway. He contents himself with watching the expressions on Spencer’s face: the way his features move gracefully as he immerses himself in the story, completely engrossed and invested with a touch of childlike awe and wonder.
God, he’s pretty. Derek can’t tear his eyes away, but it ends up paying off. He notices as he watches him that Spencer is shifting closer and closer to his side of the sofa, centimetre by centimetre, inch by inch until, by the time the music score is swelling and the characters are kissing, Spencer’s close enough for Derek to wrap an arm around him and slide him right into the curve of his body, slotting him next to him like he was always meant to be there.
He watches the beaming smile form on Spencer’s face as he turns to look up at Derek, traces the faint blush lingering on his cheekbones with a tender thumb.
“What do you want to watch next, baby boy?”
Spencer’s blush intensifies, and Derek’s immensely pleased with himself when the nickname causes Spencer to bury his face in his chest and cling on for dear life.
“Becoming Jane?” he asks, a little tentative and nervous when he pulls his face from Derek’s chest.
He obediently locates the title and clicks play, but not fifteen minutes into the movie, Spencer is dead weight against him, his head resting on Derek’s chest and his hand fisted in his t-shirt.
His heart flutters violently as he observes the man he’s desperately in love with dozing happily, virtually on top of him, clearly finding some sort of comfort in him — a thought that makes him so happy he could cry.
Smiling like an idiot, he turns the volume down on the TV, letting it continue to play quietly in the background as he reaches over to the side table, careful not to jostle Spencer, to grab his current book, reading happily as his maybe-sort-of-kinda-future boyfriend gets his much-needed beauty sleep.
When Spencer doesn’t show any sign of waking and the clock ticks closer to eleven, he puts his book down and carefully lifts Spencer into his arms — taking a moment to appreciate how perfectly he fits into them — and carries him upstairs to bed. He stirs slightly at the movement, but just presses his face further into the junction between Derek’s shoulder and neck, and a small tingle of delight shoots up Derek’s spine.
Spencer wakes up properly when he lowers him down carefully onto the bed, tucking him under the duvet before he prepares to go back downstairs and sleep on the sofa.
He’s stopped, however, by a hesitant, sleepy voice coming from his bed. “Where are you going?”
Derek just about melts into a puddle of goo. “You want me to stay, baby?” He doesn’t really mean for the nickname to slip out, but it feels natural, and it makes Spencer blush so prettily that he doesn’t regret it even a little bit.
Spencer nods, so Derek obediently takes his belt off and steps out of his trousers, removing his socks before sliding into the other side of the bed in just his t-shirt and boxers. The space between them feels insurmountable for a brief second of awkwardness, neither of them certain what this means or what the other is expecting them to do, but Spencer interrupts the white expanse of sheet with a stretched out hand, and Derek takes it for what he means.
He shifts over to the middle of the bed, Spencer meeting him there, and in his sleepiness, curling up immediately into the warm, secure frame of Derek’s torso. He’s asleep in seconds, and Derek doesn’t take long to follow behind him, hoping they meet in their dreams.
After all, there’s a certain kind of peace that comes from being this intimate with your soulmate, and Derek’s awash with it, drowning in the most glorious contentment he’s ever felt in his life. It isn’t hard to fall asleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, Spencer’s still out like a light. They slept for a good nine hours, and Derek can feel it in his empty stomach, so he slips out of the bed carefully, untangling Spencer’s limbs from his, and makes his way downstairs. As he prepares breakfast for the two of them, he thinks about the way Spencer curled around his body all night, and how perfect it felt to hold him as closely as he needed.
‘Clingy sleeper’ is promptly added to his mental file.
He’s midway through cooking the bacon when Spencer emerges in the kitchen, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he stands nervously in the doorway, clearly uncertain of what comes next. There’s nothing Derek wants more than to eradicate that expression from Spencer’s face, so he angles his body towards him and opens his arms widely, grinning like a madman when Spencer finally steps into them.
“Good morning, honey,” he says brightly, kissing the top of his head as he turns the bacon over in the pan, enjoying the way it sizzles.
When he turns away from it to look at Spencer, though, the uncertainty has returned and Derek immediately panics that he’s done something to mess this up already. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you… are you teasing me?” he asks anxiously, his face screwed up into an expression Derek never wants to see again, because it’s breaking his heart just looking at it.
He puts the tongs down. “What?”
“Are you— Um, I guess… I guess I don’t know what’s going on right now.”
Derek surges forward and cups his face with his hands, angling his chin up gently as he stares deeply into the tantalising hazel of Spencer’s eyes. “Baby, I would never tease you like that, you hear me?” he says seriously, imploring Spencer to believe him with every word that leaves his lips. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this sooner, but Spencer, I want this with you. All of this. Watching movies until midnight and sleeping in the same bed and cooking breakfast for you each morning. I want to call you honey, and baby, and pretty boy, because that’s what you mean to me.”
Spencer’s staring at him with bright, glossy eyes now, hanging on every word Derek says. “What else do you want?” he whispers breathlessly.
Derek, hoping he’s got the right message, smiles sweet and slow. “Honey, more than anything, I want to kiss you.”
Spencer’s lips part and his pupils widen as he leans forward every so slightly, and Derek takes the hint, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He means it to be slow, but he’s been waiting for this for years, and judging from the vigour with which Spencer’s kissing him back, so has he.
He lets all the emotions of the last five years pour out with every collision of their greedy lips, his thumb and fingers tracing every angle of his cheekbone and his jaw and his forehead.
As they pull away, Derek presses one last kiss to the tip of his nose, admiring the way it scrunches in response, flushing red once again.
Coming back to reality, though, has its pitfalls. “Derek! The bacon!” Spencer laughs.
He quickly rushes to save it, and manages just in time, hoping that he has the ability to pay attention this time. Although he knows that, if it came down to it, he’d choose Spencer’s lips over bacon any day.
“I can’t believe you’re making me breakfast,” Spencer sighs happily as he tucks himself into Derek’s side.
“Well, you better believe it, baby boy,” Derek replies cheekily, “because I’m gonna be spoiling you rotten.”
Spencer smiles, and tucks his face into his neck once more. Against the tender skin there, he whispers, shyly yet with a conviction he’s never heard in his voice before, “I’m so in love with you,” and Derek feels like he’s whole again.
(Because the universe apparently hates them, they’re called into work only hours later, and no matter how much he resists, Derek just can’t keep his hands to himself.
“Fucking finally,” Emily says exasperatedly when she notices Derek’s not-so-subtle hand on his boyfriend’s waist.
“What?” Spencer asks innocently, blinking his big eyes at Emily as if he could possibly weasel his way out of this one.
Hotch rolls his eyes as he looks up from his paperwork. “We’ve been waiting for you two to get it together for years. Don’t let anyone outside this team know or I’m in big trouble.”
Spencer nods obediently, wide-eyed as he presses himself closer to Derek.
“Thanks, Hotch,” Derek says, feeling a little sheepish despite his bravado.
He gives him a stare. “I’ll be watching you, Derek.” He turns away quickly to go and talk to someone else, leaving only Emily looking at the two of them.
Derek tries not to reel from shock, he hadn’t seen that coming.
“Me too,” Emily says drily, voice stern as she raises an eyebrow, before picking up a file and going to find JJ at the coffee machine. “Don’t fuck this up, Derek.”
As soon as they’re alone, Spencer melts into Derek’s embrace. “Oh my God,” he sighs, cheeks bright red. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
“I can,” Derek chuckles, shaking his head. “Looks like I’d better watch my back, pretty boy. Or I’m gonna have Hotch and Emily to answer to.”
“Yeah,” Spencer hums, looking equal parts embarrassed of his friends and flushed with pleasure at their protectiveness, “but I’d be more worried about Emily. I think I saw a knife in her locker the other day.”
Derek laughs loudly, kissing the top of his head. “I don’t have anyone to worry about,” he promises, “because you’re it for me, Spencer. I’ve been in love with you for five years, I’m not gonna screw it up now.”
Spencer smiles happily, before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I love you, Derek,” he says, and it’s music to his ears, just the way it has been all six times he’s heard it so far.
“Oh, baby,” he sighs, pushing a lock of hair behind Spencer’s ear. “I love you more than you could ever know.”)
taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)
romaincrisis
2087
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
discoholicmusic
kianamaiart
