Monster

Whiskey Lullaby

A few hours after what Spencer could only describe as the best sleep he had received since returning back from Mexico, the sun shinning through the curtains that were still closed since Derek couldn't be bothered to open them. What had woken Spencer, he wasn't sure of at the moment, when his eyes fluttered opened and he found himself wrapped up in the embrace of his older partner, a strong arm around his waist. Then realization hit him, a long, loud, wheeze that was exhaled from plush lips, still asleep, hardly phased that he had woken the other.

Spencer rolled his eyes, smiling, throughout all their time bunking together throughout the BAU, none was as bad as this, sure, Derek was known to snore, but this! Damn, he was certainly in REM sleep, or at least pretending. His hard on was apparent, which was, as a matter of fact, pushed up against the doctors ass. As sad as it may be, Spencer wanted to stay like this forever, feeling the warmth from Derek's embrace, relinquishing all woes of abandonment. The younger man, as many people would tell you, had commitment issues, alright, that's not true. He would get attached quickly, like a lost puppy dog who needed a friend, he did have trust issues, but once trust was earned it was hard to lose the strange doctor. What the man truly feared was abandonment, which is what he feared the most with Derek, already leaving once, he feared him leaving again.

Five minutes passed, breathing in the smell of saw wood and shaving creme, feeling strong arms wrapped around his tiny waist, before Spencer decided that it was time to get up and start, well what he could without making that much noise, of the day. He lifted the older man's arm up, with great difficulty as not to wake him, and slid out of bed into the cold morning air, his teeth chattering on his way to the kitchen to feed Patcolous and start a pot of coffee. His feet drug on the tile as he rubbed his eyes, cursing that he didn't grab his glasses on the way to the kitchen, but what was the use when he knew where everything was?

Patroclus laid out on the counter, his face submerged in the sink, though the water not running, just relaxing with the cooling metal. "What do you think your doing mister?" Spencer teased, still shuffling around as the cat perked his head up to see its owner, purr slightly at the acknowledgment.

Reaching to change the filter, and dump the pot from last night, or early this morning, again which ever you wish, Spencer reached down to pat his tiny head and kiss his forehead. "I'm guessing you sleep well my little hoplite. I'll be back with your breakfast after daddy makes himself some coffee," It was not that rare to find Spencer talking to his cat, especially early in the morning, but to be this chipper was rare.

With the filter changed, he opened the Maxwell's tin, only to be surprised, well more like displeased, to find it was emptied. All hope was not lost though, as the doctor searched through his cupboards in search for his extra supply of coffee. An addict like himself always kept an extra tin on hand, but it seemed like that was his extra tin. He let out an exasperated sigh, his eyes locking with the last thing he needed.

Spencer hadn't drank a drop of alcohol in at least three days, a new record for the only socially Spencer Reid. His eyes, boring into the bottle as if looking at it could make the cravings for the bitter taste of the whiskey to dance across his tongue and dull his senses until he was to numb to think. Shakily, he took the bottle into his hands, looking at the unopened seal, he was saving it for a special occasion, Derek's birthday was coming up, and he was going to drink on it, drink until he couldn't remember that he loved the man, that was until he realized that Derek wasn't the man that he thought he was. Derek did have feelings for him, so what was the harm in one little swig? It would help him get back to sleep.

He tempted the thought as he tore open the seal. Taking the plastic wrapping off, tearing it with his teeth, and popped the cap, eyeing the amber liquid. Pondering if he should grab a shot class, he decided against it, grasping the neck of the bottle and leaning against the counter, his head lulled back as the cold, glass, touched his lips. The bitter, burning, taste of whiskey filled his senses as he chugged the contents, not concerned about the consequences at the moment, all he wanted to chase was the high.

The taste, the high, was all that mattered, as his hands slipped on the tile and he lost his grasp, falling to his knees, his bottle still in his hand, chugging consistently. The sound didn't seem to bother Spencer, but it shook the kitchen, the way that his knees hit the Emeser tile, sending vibrations through the house, not to mention that it was quite besides the sounds of the box fan in the bedroom.

Derek Morgan woke with a start, reaching directly for his gun, worried about his lover, worried about what could have happened. He snuck out, not even bothering to put on a shirt or sweatpants, scanning the area, trying to protect Spencer from whatever was happening. Though, he couldn't protect Spencer from himself.

He found his partner, his pretty boy, knelling on the floor, finishing off a bottle of whiskey, his hands in his hair, his eyes already blood shot. He looked like Hell, the way he shook slightly, the way he sniffled, second nature.

"Spencer, what are you-"Derek began, his eyes wide with what couldn't quite be fear, but couldn't be pity either. It was more like concern, if concern meant dropping the weapon he had, like butter on his finger tips.

"Der... ek," The younger hiccuped, laughing slightly at the way his speech lagged. His eyes met Derek's, as he bite his lip, then scanned down his body. "I didn' mean to wake you. Just need'd somethin to help m sleep," he slurred, raising himself up to his feet.

Derek reached out, taking the bottle from the others fingers, making sure that it was farther away so if something did happen that would make it break, then Spencer would not be injured. Once the bottle was safely in the sink, away from the grasp of any drunk genius, he reached for Spencer's shoulder, trying to have the man apply his weigh on him, to balance on him.

"Come-on, let's get you back to bed," Derek reasoned, trying to shift Spencer to the bedroom. The younger laughed, leaning against the man, as one hand found Derek's bicep, and the other ran down his abs.

"Hmm, if you want'd me that bad you could'v jus asked," Spencer whispered, his slur getting more prevalent, as he leaned against the man, his hands running down what he could find.

"You're drunk Spencer. I'm not doing this with you drunk, come-" Derek was interrupted by Spencer's hand lightly brushing against his cock, the way it felt like a phantom breeze, but he could feel the outline of his hand. He let out a moan as Spencer's hand stilled.