Moreid + jealous morgan
It's the sound of Derek's voice that draws him from the paperwork covering the better part of his desk: “What is that?”
Spencer blinks up at him, a crease forming along the center of his brow. His eyes drop down to the paperwork at hand, eyes skirting over dark print, and the crease deepens, confusion writing itself across the lines of his forehead.
“What is what?” he asks, his eyes returning to Derek's.
The forms on his desk are all of the usual ones. There's nothing out of the ordinary that can be seen and he can feel suspicion seeping into his gut; is Derek going to point at his tie again and then flick his nose? Because it's really not his fault that he falls for it nearly every time.
But no, it appears not, because then Derek is looking almost accusingly at his Starbucks coffee — the paper cup that sits precariously on the edge of his desk. His lips are pinched around their corners and his eyes are partially narrowed. Derek raises his hand and motions dismissively toward the sweet drink and Spencer's head cocks to the left as he peers up at him, his confusion intensifying. He doesn't understand what his boyfriend's sudden interest in his coffee is — it's not like he's guilty of stealing the last of Derek's again.
“That,” is the answer that accompanies the motion, clipped and hard.
Spencer's eyebrows sweep up.
“...my coffee?” A pause. He gives the most logical answer he can. “It's mocha caramel with double espresso and—“
Derek lets out a hard huff of air, the accompanying noise exasperated: “No. What's that on it?”
The riddle that seems to be one Derek Morgan becomes even more complicated and confusing and Spencer really doesn't understand why he's acting like this. Spencer's forehead smooths and he glances at the offending cup, eyes tracing the familiar logo and the dark, looping script that has been written over it.
“...I thought you would have known my name by now, Morgan,” he mutters, giving Derek a pointed look. The implement is clear in his gaze. You certainly knew it last-night.
Derek practically rolls his eyes.
“No, that... thing beside it.”’
There’s another flick of his wrist and it's Spencer's turn to let out an exasperated huff of air then; still, he drops his eyes obediently to the cup again, even going so far as to turn it so that he can see what ever it is that Derek is looking at — which he's beginning to suspect, more and more, is just a figment of his imagination — only it's not.
Spencer clears his throat, trying to swallow down his laughter, and there, just centimeters away from the cursive 'r' that completes his name, is a small, hand-drawn picture. He presses his lips against a smile and looks back to his boyfriend.
“I do believe it's a rather crude drawing of the anatomy that is the human heart,” he counters.
Derek's eyes narrow further and Spencer raises his hand to his mouth, covering a smile under the guise of another cough. Derek sees right through it, of course, and then he's reaching forward to grab the cup.
Spencer frequents that particular Starbucks and is almost always served by the same barista; he wonders how many times she had drawn a heart or something similar on his mug and he had just failed to notice... or if this had been the first time. If it's the latter, well — what luck that his boyfriend would notice. Heat touches his face at the memory of the librarian that had slipped him his phone number in lieu of a bookmark. He can practically feel Derek's lips against his throat, claiming him as his arms wrap possessively around his waist from behind. He remembers the contradicting weight in his stomach, sickly-sweet and hot but offering little warmth, skin erupting in gooseflesh as the librarian in question — Eric — tries to focus on nothing more than scanning the bar-codes of his newest rentals.
A shiver skips down his spine at the memory and he wonders if this is going to be like that and as Derek pushes down the cardboard sleeve to reveal a row of carefully penned digits, Spencer knows it's going to be exactly like that and his stomach tightens with the thought.
Derek chucks the coffee into the nearby garbage.
Spencer wants to object — he still had half a cup left — but doesn't because Derek's eyes are on his again, dark and raw, and the words shrivel against his tongue.
“I'll buy you another at lunch,” Derek mutters, voice lower than usual.
Spencer nods and it isn't the first time he's wondered if there isn't something unhealthy about how attractive he finds Derek when he's feeling jealous or possessive.
“Same coffee shop?” he manages, although he suspects he already knows the answer. All traces of amusement have vanished.
Derek gives him a smile, small but heated, and Spencer almost quivers at the mere sight.
“Of course.”
