The Best Luck I Ever Had (1/4)
Title: The Best Luck I Ever Had
Authors: blueraccoon & sandersyager
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing/character: Derek Morgan/OMC, hints of Spencer Reid/OMC
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Word Count: 26,717
Kink: first time, dirty talk, mild hand fetish, handjobs, oral sex
Warnings: sex between two consenting adult males; references to past relationship and child abuse and domestic violence
Summary: It's been a very long time since Derek Morgan's had someone in his life long enough to meet his friends and even longer since anyone's taken him home to meet their mother. When he meets Christian Godfrey, he gets all that and the bonus of a small white cat with more attitude than Garcia.
Notes & Cautions: We don't even pretend to like David Rossi (I'd feel bad for Rossi, but really, he's an asshole.-blueraccoon). We are also fully aware that several of the characters also appear in Blueraccoon's Geometry series and our joint project, Ranks of the Freaks; please forget what you know from those universes because this is an AU of an AU of an AU in which neither of those universes ever existed. kelly_girl, bookgodess15, henchgirl, and lillian13 poked holes in the plot, prodded us to keep writing and pointed out mistakes. We love them for it more than words can say.
Artist: sylum_tru made us a truly kickass banner and solved our (years long) issue of trying to cast Christian.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Single post (Redirects to Dreamwidth)
Carol's not back from her meeting yet, so Christian drops into a chair and digs out his cell phone, sending a quick text message to Amy to reassure her he hasn't forgotten about the radio interview tomorrow. When he looks up, there's a seriously gorgeous man in a suit peering into Carol's office. "She's not back yet," he says, rising to his feet. "Anything I can help you with?" He gives the guy a smile.
"I'm Agent Morgan. We were supposed to meet at one," Derek says, looking the guy over. He's too well dressed to be one of Carol Godfrey's clients, and not dressed well enough to be an attorney. She never mentioned an assistant, but he seems comfortable enough in the office that it makes sense. "Do you have any idea when she's due back?"
"Not really--ah, there she is," Christian says, looking up as Carol comes rushing in, dressed in a blue suit and heels he thinks Travis would approve of.
"I'm terribly sorry I'm late," she says to Morgan, holding out her hand. "Have you been waiting long?"
"No need to apologize, Ms. Godfrey," Derek says, smiling warmly at her. Of all the lawyers in Boston the BAU's had to deal with, she's easily one of the nicest, at least on the surface. "I just got here myself. I always forget the rule of the city, that you can see where you're going but never get there."
"Oh, how true it is," Carol says, laughing. "Come in, please, and--" She turns as Christian clears his throat, apparently not having seen him yet. "Christian! When on earth did you get here?"
Christian finds himself hoping she doesn't break a rib. "Mum, I can't breathe," he says finally, a little strangled, and Carol steps back, straightening her suit jacket.
So he has a name, and isn't the assistant but the son, Derek realizes. He should have known given their similarly blonde hair and blue eyes. This is definitely a new side of Godfrey.
"You didn't tell me you'd be in town! How long are you here? When did you get in?" Carol demands.
"Two hours ago, I'm here for a radio interview tomorrow, and I'm here through Friday," Christian says. "I was going to take you to lunch, but you seem to have a prior appointment."
Or maybe not such a new side, just a modified version of what he's seen in court. Derek smiles, tucking his hands into his pockets. "If you need to reschedule, Carol," he says, switching to the informal now that he knows what's going on, "we can do this later or tomorrow morning."
"No, no, don't be silly," Carol says. "It's my son's own fault for not calling me in advance. Let's do this meeting and I'll see him for dinner?"
"Actually, I was going to suggest a working lunch, but I think he'll be a much better date," Derek says, glancing at Christian briefly. "It's really no problem, and I know my momma would never let me hear the end of it if I interfered with a son's visit to his mum."
"Why don't both of you come to lunch?" Carol asks.
"I don't want to interfere with your work," Christian says. "Really, it's fine, I don't want to interrupt. Mum, I'll see you for dinner, all right?"
"Christian," Derek says gently, the way he would with a stubborn suspect. "Your mother doesn't compromise, on anything. This is an historical event. Don't disappoint her."
"You've obviously worked with her a while--no, I take that back, it takes about five seconds to realize that part," Christian says, expecting and not surprised to get the elbow in his ribs. "All right, lunch then. Where?"
"I know it's been a while, but are you still addicted to the lemon pasta at the place across the street?" Derek asks Carol, remembering eight long days of testimony where she ate almost nothing else.
Carol laughs. "Absolutely. Let's go." She tucks her arm inside Christian's as they head out.
There's still a bit of a late lunch crowd at the cafe but they're seated quickly and given drinks almost immediately. Derek quietly observes Carol and Christian while they bicker over menu items, and comes to a few conclusions. It's clear Christian's an only child, enduring a level of maternal fawning he never imagined possible from Carol, and she's just as tough on Christian as she everyone else, only with a few more traces of humor.
Carol gets up to visit the ladies' room and Christian slumps down in his chair. "Ye gods, save me," he says. "You'd think I hadn't seen her in five years, rather than four months."
Derek laughs. "That's the nature of mothers who love us," he says. "It could be worse. You could have two older sisters egging her on."
"I like being an only child," Christian says with a grin. "So you got my first name, but I didn't get yours. Should I just call you Agent Morgan?"
"Sorry. It's Derek," he says, smiling a little sheepishly.
"Nice to meet you, Derek," Christian says, holding out his hand.
Derek takes his hand, shaking it firmly and noticing faint calluses. "You, too, Christian," he says. "You mentioned an interview earlier, didn't you?"
"Radio, yeah," Christian says. "Advance publicity for the CD my band's got coming out next month."
"That must be a little overwhelming," Derek says. "What type of music do you play?"
"Rock, mostly, with a bit of a Celtic folk influence," Christian says. "And you--what agency are you? FBI? DEA?"
"FBI, Behavioral Analysis Unit," Derek says. "I work out of Quantico."
"A profiler," Christian says. "I'm impressed."
"Compared to a professional musician, I'm not sure it's all that impressive," Derek says with a slight shrug.
"I play piano and write songs," Christian says. "You help catch evil people. You tell me."
"Completely different skill sets," Derek says. "You have the confidence to stand on stage and be the center of attention for everyone, except your mother it seems. You've also got the talent to back it up. Me? I carry a gun and tackle bad guys."
"You don't know about the talent," Christian says. "Unless you've seen us play." He looks up as Carol comes back to the table.
"Call it an educated guess," Derek says, rising to pull out Carol's chair for her. "Tell me, Carol, is your son genuinely talented or delusional?"
"Oh, he's delusional all right, but he's also talented," Carol says. "Went off to Julliard at sixteen."
Christian blushes. "Mum, I really wish you wouldn't tell everyone that," he says.
"She's allowed to brag a little," Derek says, winking at Carol. "Besides, it's not like she's informed the entire restaurant, just me."
Christian shakes his head, taking a sip of iced tea. "I'm going to go visit the little musicians' room," he says. "You two can actually do some work."
Derek refrains from voicing his doubt that there's anything little about Christian and turns to Carol instead. "You do realize you look entirely too young to have a son his age," he says.
"You flatter me," Carol says. "He's twenty-five, and I can't believe it."
"It isn't flattery and you know it," Derek says as their meals arrive. "I looked over the case file last night, and it seems like we have a pretty straight forward argument about the abuse and stalking."
Carol nods. "Yes, I agree," she says. "We've got the emergency room reports, and the gifts he left on her doorstep."
"His history of psychiatric treatment is largely inadmissible, but my initial interview with him should help with that," Derek says, picking up his fork. "I have an appointment to meet with him again tomorrow, as well as with Alyson and her older daughter. I can have a second report to you by Friday, and be ready for the deposition Monday morning."
"Perfect," Carol says as Christian comes back to the table. "Don't you think so, honey?"
"What am I agreeing to?" Christian asks.
"Me," Derek says with a perfectly straight face.
"Anytime, darling," Christian says with a smile, taking his seat.
"Seven thirty, you can meet me at my hotel for dinner," Derek says easily.
"Where are you staying?" Christian asks.
"The Park Plaza," Derek says, carefully picking all of the olives out of his salad and moving them to the side of the plate.
"I'll see you then," Christian says.
All Derek can think is that Garcia's going to love this story when he gets back. He glances at Carol, wondering what she makes of this, certain she won't be able to hold back comment.
Carol shakes her head and takes a sip of her tea. "I'm not sure which one of you I should be warning," she says. "Oh, hell. Derek, watch yourself with this one."
Derek laughs. "He seems harmless enough and I'm not afraid to call his mother if he gets too out of line."
"We'll negotiate later," Christian says blandly.
"I'm sure we'll be fine," Derek says.
Carol takes a bite of her pasta. "I'm meeting with Dr. Robson tomorrow," she says after swallowing. "He should be able to fill in some of the blanks."
Derek nods. "J.J. set up a meeting for me with Emma's pediatrician at four this afternoon. Can you clear two hours on Friday and we can compare notes?"
"Absolutely. How does one to three sound?" Carol asks, looking at her Treo.
"That works for me," Derek says. "For the most part, I'm completely yours until I have to go back to Virginia."
"Except for the part where you're going out with Christian tonight," Carol says. "I'm not coming along for that one."
"We both appreciate that," Derek says. "I'm sure you husband will, too."
Carol laughs. "Oh, I'm sure. Christian, you'll meet us for lunch tomorrow, won't you?"
"Yes, Mum," Christian says.
* * *
Derek waits for Christian in the lobby of the hotel, having traded his suit for a blue button down and slacks, thrilled to abandon his ties for the evening. Garcia keeps him entertained with a stream of texts while he tries not to watch the clock, and scandalizes him with "suggestions" for dessert.
He's in the midst of explaining just why suggestion number twelve is both uncomfortable and a challenge to the laws of physics when he sees Christian crossing the room toward him.
Christian's running late--only a few minutes, fortunately--and comes through the door of the hotel looking a tiny bit windblown, grateful that the silk shirt Travis bought him doesn't show wrinkles. "Hi," he says, smiling. "Sorry I'm late, I got caught up in a new song."
"It's fine. I've been catching up on the office gossip," Derek says, sending the last message to Garcia and checking that the phone is set not to ring. "Our reservations aren't until eight. Is McCormick and Schmick's okay with you?"
"Perfect," Christian says. "I love seafood."
Derek smiles. "Good. I also thought, if we're still enjoying each other after dinner, that we might try the cafe for dessert. Their tea menu alone is amazing."
"Do you like tea? I thought all you law enforcement types lived on bad coffee," Christian says, smiling back.
"We all have our little secret vices," Derek says. "There's only so much sludge you can drink in a lifetime and I plan to sleep sometime this week."
"Always a good plan," Christian says. "Would you like a drink before dinner?"
"Sure. The bar in the restaurant wasn't too crowded when I walked by. Is that okay with you?" Derek asks.
"It's fine," Christian says. "So what are you working on with my mum?" he asks as they walk to the bar.
"It's a domestic violence case," Derek says. "It came through our office a few months ago when the father kidnapped the youngest of three kids, and two of us were sent up to work it."
"Mum can't be defending the father," Christian says, linking his hands behind his back at the words 'domestic violence'.
Derek reaches out to touch Christian's arm, touching him almost before he realizes it. "No, she isn't," he says. "She's working with the prosecution on this one and preparing against a challenge from the paternal grandmother for custody."
"That makes more sense," Christian says, unclasping his hands as they reach the bar.
"You okay?" Derek asks, hand still on Christian's arm.
"What? Yeah, I'm fine, why do you ask?" Christian asks, holding the door for Derek.
Derek stops and looks at him. "You want the answer I give dates or the truth?" he asks.
"I generally prefer the truth," Christian says. "Although now I'm curious what you tell your dates."
"Spidey senses," Derek says with a grin. "The truth is... there's a kind of flinch some people have when you mention certain types of crimes. You did, and your voice tightened and flattened when you talked about defending the father. You were clenching your hands tight enough that it looked like it probably hurt a little. This is what I do for a living, watch people for that kind of stuff."
"You're good at it," Christian says.
"Sometimes," Derek says as they enter the bar. They sit down at one of the tall tables along the edge and he picks up the drink menu. "My focus is in obsessive behaviors, and we see a lot of cases with abuse survivors."
"I'm sure," Christian says. "What's the burnout rate in your job?"
"The last guy who left our team had almost twenty-five years as a profiler behind him," Derek says. "The thing about what we do is we're in all these other people's heads all the time, so we have to know our own well enough to get back."
The waitress comes over. "And what can I get you two?" she asks with a grin.
"I'd love a vodka martini," Christian says, smiling back.
"Just a Coke for me, please," Derek says.
"You can't tell me you're on duty," Christian says once the waitress leaves.
"Not at all," Derek says. "I'll have a beer later if it'll make you feel better."
"It might," Christian says lightly.
"Then, yes, I'll get a beer later," Derek says. "I just have a thing for microbrews and I kept getting distracted from reading the list by your eyes."
Christian tilts his head to the side. "I can't tell if you're just very smooth or if you actually mean it," he says.
Derek mirrors his posture. "It couldn't be both?"
"Possibly," Christian says, smiling at the waitress as she brings their drinks. "Thanks, sugar." He picks up his glass and takes a sip.
"Thank you," Derek says, smiling as well before turning back to Christian. "Everyone likes to be complimented. I like finding the thing that's true and acknowledging it."
"And what if there's nothing true to acknowledge?" Christian asks.
"There's something in everyone," Derek says. "Some people, sometimes they've done things so ugly, it isn't worth trying to find the good. They're far enough gone it wouldn't make a difference. Most people, though, that little bit of attention matters to them."
"Mmm," Christian says, toying with the rim of his glass. "I can see that." He takes another sip. "You never stop profiling, do you?" he asks.
"Under the right circumstances, I do," Derek says, noticing Christian's hands again. There's nothing at all of the profiler in wondering how they'd feel against his skin. "People are interesting, and noticing regular people balances studying the whack jobs."
"They are interesting, I'll give you that," Christian says. "I just tend to turn everything into a song if I can."
Derek nods, taking a sip of his drink. "I have a confession to make," he says. "Apparently I have heard you play before. One of my co-workers dragged me to a show, and I guess she also bought me one of your EPs. I feel bad for not remembering, but it was after a pretty rough case, so most of what I remember is a lot of tequila and a huge bar tab."
Christian laughs. "Tequila'll make anything sound better," he says. "Although it does have that unfortunate short-term memory loss side effect. Maybe the next time we're in DC you can look us up for a show."
"I have to keep watch? You wouldn't call and invite me?" Derek asks, managing to sound just a little wounded. "I see how it is."
"I don't have your phone number," Christian says simply. "Hard to call a guy if you don't know how to get in touch."
"Let me fix that right now," Derek says, pulling out his wallet. He hands Christian one of his cards. "You can always reach me by the cell number on there. I don't have a landline anymore; I barely have an apartment."
"Good to know," Christian says, tucking the card away in his breast pocket. "I haven't a card to give you, but if you've a pen, I can give you my number."
Thanks to Garcia and her mini-pen fetish of March, he does, and he hands Christian the blue sparkly pen almost solemnly along with one of the blank cards he carries. "The same co-worker, Penelope, enjoys slipping glittery things in my bag. Sometimes, I think I'd have been better off not coming out to her."
"This looks like something my friend Travis would keep on his desk to frighten people," Christian says, writing down his cell and his email. "There you go."
"Garcia's determined to help me discover my inner-queen or something," Derek says, tucking the card inside his wallet and his wallet back into his pocket. "I can't convince her that I really, truly, absolutely do not have one. She says no one can be that butch."
"She needs to meet Travis," Christian says. "He's queen enough for both of you and then some."
Derek grins, playing with the straw in his soda. "I just don't have it in me. Not even a trace of a princess," he says. "Sometimes I wonder if it'd be easier to date if I did."
"Honey, if you try to tell me you have trouble getting dates I'm going to choke on this rather good martini," Christian says.
"I didn't say trouble. Women are easy," Derek says, careful to keep his ego in check. Prentiss would be impressed. "I smile a little, flirt a little, it's a done deal. Men... I have to work harder to convince them I'm interested and not just trolling for a hook up."
"Yes, but we're worth it once you do convince us," Christian says. "And I have an advantage here most men don't."
"Oh?" Derek raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"
Christian grins. "You've gotten my mum's stamp of approval, or at least stamp of 'I won't kill you for going out with him'."
Derek laughs. "There is that, yeah," he says. "I have to say I like your mother a lot. I've gotten to work with her a few times and when she calls the unit for an expert witness, it's a hell of fight over who gets to come up here."
"She's pretty amazing, yeah," Christian says. "She was a barrister in England, we moved here, and she took herself back to law school while dealing with a five-year-old. How come you won the fight this time?"
"I have the most experience with this type of case," Derek says. "And I offered to pay half of my expenses."
"That'd do it," Christian says. "You must really have wanted to get out of DC."
"Doing this kind of thing is almost like having a vacation," Derek says, glancing at his watch. "We've had back to back to back cases out of town, and I love the people I work with but if I had to spend one more day with them..."
"Oh, I know how that goes," Christian says. "I love my band mates, but after a month on the road with them we're all ready for a break."
"It's a little after eight. Should we see if our table is ready?" Derek asks. "Then you can tell me a little more about your band. Belfry, isn't it?"
"It is," Christian says, picking up his drink and getting to his feet. "Let's go see if they're ready for us."
Fortunately, they are, and the hostess shows them to a booth along one side of the restaurant. Derek looks at Christian, folding his hands on the table. "So, tell me about the glamorous rockstar life."
Christian laughs full out, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "There's not much glamour about it," he says. "Long days on the road, equipment checks, sweating your arse off on stage, trying not to kill your band mates when your tour bus gets delayed and you're going to be cutting it close to make that night's show, the list goes on and on. But.." He smiles, a little shyly. "Then you go out on stage and the lights come up and you're performing for hundreds, sometimes thousands of people, and they're screaming and singing along and...it's a better high than any drug anyone could ever do and it's almost better than sex."
"You've clearly been sleeping with the wrong people if it's that close of a call," Derek says. "You really love it, don't you?"
Christian takes a sip of his drink at Derek's comment. "This is what I am," he says. "I'm a musician, a performer; I used to do the symphony thing before giving it up for Belfry. At one point I thought about being an actor but music's always been my passion. Love isn't strong enough to describe what this is for me."
"I'll definitely have to keep an eye out for the CD next month. Anything that makes you light up like that has to be worth it," Derek says, opening his menu.
"Sorry," Christian apologizes, looking at his own menu. "I get a little... passionate about it."
"Christian, don't," Derek says firmly. "You don't have to downplay it, especially not for me."
The tips of Christian's ears go pink and he's grateful for the relatively low lighting in the restaurant. "So tell me," he says. "What makes you light up? Catching the bad guys? Base jumping? Buying the perfect suit---no, you're too butch for that, although you do like a well-cut suit, which makes me think you know what you like, you go in, you buy it, maybe you look around while you're in there but really shopping is something you do when you have to and not any other time. So what does it for you?"
Derek laughs, setting the menu aside. "You're wrong about the shopping. I grew up with two older sisters and the only way I got to go along to the mall as a kid was if I helped them shop," he says. "That's part of my answer, my family. My family and my friends. Other than that, I guess I'd have to say sports, but it's really anything that lets me get physical."
"And this is why you're the profiler and I'm the flautist," Christian says. "Anything that lets you get physical. That covers rather a lot of ground, doesn't it?"
"It does," Derek says. "I played football for a long time, teach self-defense at the Bureau, take a judo class when I can fit it in. What can I say? I like to sweat."
Christian smiles. "I like free weights, myself," he says.
"Then you can understand the appeal," Derek says as their server comes to take their orders.
"I can." They order, and Christian leans back in his chair, idly running a finger around the base of his glass. "So how does one decide to be a profiler?"
"It wasn't exactly what I set out to do," Derek says, reaching across the table to touch the back of Christian's hand. "You're tactile, aren't you?"
"So what did you set out to do?" Christian asks. "I like touch, yes."
"Hmm." Derek files that away for later, running a finger up the back of Christian's hand and along his index finger before drawing back. "I knew I'd go into some kind of legal field. I have law degree but didn't have a chance to take the bar before I was recruited into the Bureau. I did a year and a half undercover, some time with one of the bomb squads, and then the spot with the BAU opened. My BA was in psychology, so it seemed like a good opportunity. Now I can't imagine being anywhere else most days."
"Undercover and a bomb squad," Christian says. "Do you like adrenalin or something? Or just not care much about your own safety?"
Derek smiles, ducking his head a little. "I care about other people's safety. I know what it's like to be caught in a situation you can't stop, can't change," he says, not quite looking at Christian. "The rush... I like the rush, but it's more about the lives we get to protect, being able to give people a chance and a chance at some closure."
Christian takes a sip of his drink. "That's very... altruistic of you," he says, setting his glass down carefully. "I'm impressed."
"It's not altruistic," Derek says. "Trust me, it's really not. The area I grew up in, it's a rough neighborhood. I did some things as a kid I'm really not proud of, and I kinda had two choices. I could keep doing those things and end up dead or in prison, or work to get out of it and try to keep another kid from going down that path. It's not... I think maybe it's empathy more than any kind of noble pursuit."
"Still, I'm impressed," Christian says. "Takes a good man to want to give back like that."
"Yeah, well, we can't all be musical prodigies and rock stars," Derek says with a grin. "I have to settle for playing the hero."
"All I do is entertain," Christian says. "Not all that meaningful."
"A million musicians just rolled over in their graves," Derek says. "It means something to you, and that's enough, but you make the decision over and over again to share that, to communicate with people. I'd say that's pretty deep."
"Do what you love, right?" Christian asks, ducking his head a little. "I'm---very fortunate that I can make a living with what I do. I used to be a classical musician, and I loved it, but this... is better."
"So, how does one make that transition, from being classically trained to being in a rock band?" Derek asks, consider the drink menu again.
"One gets a degree as a flautist with a minor in composition and piano and finds a job with a symphony," Christian says. "Then--" He looks down. "One decides to make a life change and moves from New York to DC, starts doing gigs in various places and finds some really cool people who have a band but need some help with songwriting and a backup singer and so forth, joins them, and the rest is just a lot of hard work and luck."
There's more than a basic 'life change' to it, but Derek decides not to pry, yet. "Do you ever miss being in New York?" he asks instead.
"I do," Christian says. "But my best friends live in the DC area, so it was good to be near them again."
"You know, I'm not sure what to think about living so close and having to come up here to meet each other," Derek says, catching their waitresses eye. She comes back to their table and he finally orders a beer, taking a chance on one of the New England microbrews.
"It is a bit ironic," Christian says, asking for a glass of water.
The waitress smiles at both of them, a little more brightly at Christian and Derek watches her walk away. "I think she's trying to figure out just how to flirt with you," he says, "but she doesn't know how to do it without jeopardizing her tip."
"You really think so?" Christian asks. "I don't see it, but I never do."
"I really think so," Derek says. "I guess it's lucky for me that you don't notice. At least I won't have to fight to keep your attention."
"No, you won't," Christian says.
Almost on cue, a different waitress comes to their table with another martini for Christian. "It's from the redhead at the bar," she says setting it down in front of him. Derek just smirks, leaning back in his seat.
"The--but--" Christian turns, looking for the redhead.
Derek looks, too, and she's pretty, in an obvious sort of way. He picks up the martini. "If you could, please take this back to her and let her know that he appreciates the gesture but is well spoken for," he says, handing the drink to the waitress with a smile.
"Thank you," Christian says gratefully. "I never know how to deal with this sort of thing."
"I've never had that happen before," Derek says as the waitress returns to the bar. "Plenty of times with the women on the team, but never when I was on a date."
"It doesn't normally--well, I shouldn't say that," Christian says. "But normally not from women."
"Really, I can't blame her for trying," Derek says with a shrug. "For all she knows we're just two friends having dinner, and it probably took a little courage for her to do it."
"It's flattering, but really...I'm not like that," Christian says.
"Like what?" Derek asks, curious about what Christian means.
"Well, interested in women for one thing," Christian says. "And I don't do the whole--" He gestures. "Not so good at being picked up by people."
"I don't believe that. It took me all of thirty seconds to get you to agree to dinner," Derek points out, accepting his drink with a quick nod and smile to their server.
"That's different," Christian says.
"Why is that different? I mean, yeah, we talked a little before I asked, but you didn't hesitate to say yes," Derek says and takes a sip from the bottle.
"It's..." Christian considers, trying to figure out how to put it, and eventually laughs and shakes his head. "I don't know. I just get a different vibe from you."
"Are you sure it's not just that I had the balls to ask you out in front of your mother, who's also my colleague?" Derek asks. "You know, if you'd turned me down, I'd probably never be able to work with her again."
"That might have had something to do with it, yes," Christian says. "Also knowing that she'd kill you if this went badly helped."
Derek laughs. "There is that, yeah," he says. "So, what do you think? Is she going to have to kill me?"
"No," Christian says, smiling. "Definitely not."
* * *
Dessert involves more tea than Derek thinks he's ever seen in his life and a tea sommelier, which he never realized existed. It also progresses to a little more physical contact, a brush of hands as they share a torte, knees pressed together under the absurdly small table. He turns to Christian when the check arrives, hand resting easily on the back of Christian's chair. "Any thoughts on what we should do next? I don't think I'm quite ready to say goodnight to you."
"There's a bookstore a couple blocks that way," Christian says. "Or..." The tips of his ears go pink. "I'd invite you up to my hotel room, but I haven't got one."
"Well, fortunately for us, I do," Derek says. "Would you like to come up?"
"I think I would," Christian says softly.
"Good," Derek says. He takes care of the bill and gets to his feet, offering Christian his hand. "Shall we?"
"Let's," Christian says, taking his hand.
Derek can't help but grin as they walk out to the elevators. "So, you've told me about Belfry, Juilliard, a bit about your friends," he says. "What else is essential to know about you?"
"I don't drink coffee and the love of my life is my cat Mimi, who I take on tour with me, believe it or not. What should I know about you?" Christian asks.
"Well, we covered my thoughts on coffee earlier. I used to have a dog Clooney, who believed the couch was his personal domain," Derek says as they step into the elevator. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm not very good at talking about myself."
"Better at analyzing others?" Christian asks, leaning against the wall. He plays with the ring on his right hand absently.
"Yeah," Derek says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I guess I could tell you I talk in my sleep and I collect early editions of Kurt Vonnegut's books."
"You could," Christian says. "What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"
"Depends on the mood," Derek says. "Any kind of Ben and Jerry's after a rough case except Chunky Monkey, plain old fashioned vanilla in the summer, a good strawberry if I'm with my family."
"Why does being with your family change the flavor?" Christian asks.
"I usually only get home once a year, for my mom's birthday," Derek says. "It's her favorite, so that's what we have, and any other time, it just makes me a little homesick."
Christian nods. "My mum adores Haagen-Dazs chocolate," he says. "The only time I eat it is if I'm visiting my parents."
Derek reaches for Christian's hand again when they reach his floor. "Next question. What's your favorite breakfast food?"
"Tea," Christian says. "I normally skip breakfast. Although I have a weakness for French toast."
"I'll keep that mind," Derek says, sliding his key into his door. He flips on the light in the living room of the suite and reaches for the stereo remote out of habit. He regrets it a moment later when Nine Inch Nails' 'Closer' starts to play and he can't hit the skip button fast enough.
"Interesting choice," Christian says, hiding a laugh.
"My iPod's plugged into the system," Derek says. "I'm sure that could have been worse. I just don't know how."
"Oh, I'm sure I can think of a few," Christian says. He tilts his head. "And now we've got--John Mayer? You have eclectic taste."
"That's one way to put it," Derek says, trying really hard to shake off the embarrassment. "I'm stuck on trains or flying at least once a week, and it helps pass the time."
"I'm sure," Christian says. "I bought one of those air cards for my laptop, so when we're on the bus I can chat with friends online, but there's always music playing."
"If I open my laptop, I start working. It's hopeless," Derek says. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thanks," Christian says.
They stand there in silence for a long moment and Derek finally grins, looking up at Christian through his lashes. "This is the part I'm no good at," he admits. "I don't know what you want, Christian."
"Well, I could be mean," Christian says, taking a seat on the couch. "Tell you that you're the profiler, figure it out, but..." He grins. "I'm not mean. How about you come here and kiss me?" he asks.
Derek crosses the room in easy strides and sits down beside Christian, turning toward him. He cups Christian's cheek in one hand and kisses him lightly. "Is that what you wanted?" he asks softly.
"For starters," Christian says, leaning forward to kiss Derek again, a brush of his lips. "Is it what you wanted?"
"Almost," Derek says, sliding his fingers to the back of Christian's neck. He lets himself linger over the kiss this time, finally pulling away when Christian begins to lean into him.
"Almost?" Christian asks. "Tell me what you want, Derek. Talk to me." He leans back against the couch cushion, fingers tracing patterns over the back of Derek's hand.
"I want to keep kissing you," Derek says, turning his hand over beneath Christian's. "Then we can see where that leads us."
Christian smiles and catches Derek's hand, bringing it to his lips. He brushes a kiss over the palm, nipping at each of his fingers before kissing the pulse in his wrist and setting his hand down. "So kiss me," he says.
Derek leans forward and does, taking his time and letting it build, not sure which of them is in control. It doesn't matter, really, and he parts his lips against Christian's, the tips of their tongues touching and sliding together.
It's good, Christian thinks. It's good to be able to just kiss someone like this, to let it grow. He closes his eyes, sliding his hands over Derek's back and scratching gently over his scalp.
Christian's hands feel good, feel right, against Derek's skin, and he runs his own along Christian's arms and down over his chest. What he finds surprises him, enough for him to angle his mouth away. "You're pierced?" he murmurs, thumb pressing against one of the rings.
"Yeah," Christian says, shivering at Derek's touch. "I did it last year."
"Just the two or are there others I should know about?" Derek asks, moving his hand down over Christian's stomach.
"Just those two, but I've got four tats," Christian says, pushing a little into Derek's touch.
Derek nods, kissing the edge of Christian's jaw. "Every time I think I'm starting to figure you out, you surprise me," he says.
"Why's that?" Christian asks, turning to nuzzle against Derek's throat.
"One tattoo I'd have expected. Four and piercings, that's a surprise," Derek says, tracing the line of Christian's collar with his fingers. "I think there's a lot more to you to learn. Starting with how you like to be touched." He bends his head to graze his teeth over Christian's earlobe, teasing the skin with the tip of his tongue.
Christian shivers again, making a soft sound. "My--my ears are sensitive," he says, stroking his fingers over the back of Derek's neck.
"So I see," Derek whispers, hand sliding back up to Christian's chest, just barely brushing against the hard little ring under his shirt. He continues nibbling along Christian's ear and the side of his neck, smiling a little at the soft sounds he makes.
"We should--that is--oh, I can't think when you do that," Christian says, tipping his head back.
"We should what, Christian?" Derek could make a reasonable guess at what he wants but Christian's not the only one having trouble thinking clearly.
"Maybe... move off the couch?" Christian asks, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
Derek leans back to look at Christian and there's a quick flash of understanding Carol's warning, although he doubts it's what she had in mind. Christian's just... pretty, flushed and a little rumpled, and if anything, they're going to have to slow down. Derek nods and gets to his feet. "I really hope you had the bedroom in mind because the kitchen's barely big enough for one and the floor's kind of hard."
"I think we're both past the floor stage," Christian says, getting up. "The bedroom sounds perfect."
Derek's glad he let housekeeping come in and straighten the room. He has a bad habit of kicking most of the linens away during the night, and while they're probably going to end up on the floor anyway, it's not the best first impression. He stops next to the bed and reaches for Christian, one hand going to his hip, the other settling at the back of his neck as the space between them closes. "Kiss me again," he says softly.
Christian tilts his head and kisses Derek, slow and thorough, licking his way into Derek's mouth, his hands on Derek's waist. He closes his eyes, tasting tea and chocolate, and moves a tiny bit closer.
Derek moans into the kiss, giving in and moving until he's flush against Christian, arm tightening around his waist. He could do this forever and be happy, kissing and letting himself be kissed like this.
"I like kissing you," Christian says when he finally pulls back, a whisper against Derek's jaw. "Bet it'd be nicer without the clothes."
"Most things are," Derek says. He lets his fingers trail down the side of Christian's throat as he moves to open the buttons of his shirt. "It's almost a shame because you look good in this."
"Thank my friend Travis," Christian says, reaching for Derek's buttons. "He picked it out."
"I'll make sure to send him flowers in the morning," Derek says, tugging Christian's shirt free of his trousers once the buttons are undone. He pushes it back from his shoulders, bending his head to press a kiss just below the hollow of his throat.
Christian lets his shirt fall to the floor and returns to unbuttoning Derek's shirt. "You've got ink too," he murmurs, tracing the lines on Derek's shoulder. "I like it."
"Thank you," Derek says against Christian's collarbone, shrugging out of his shirt. He runs his hand over the symbol drawn on Christian's bicep and notices the lettering wrapped around his forearm. "I'm going to ask you about these over breakfast."
"You are, hm?" Christian asks. "I can live with that."
"Unless you'd prefer to stop and have story time now," Derek says, hand just shy of the buttons on Christian's pants.
"Tomorrow is fine," Christian says, laughing.
"Good because I can think of a few things I'd rather do with my mouth than talk." Derek grins, lowering Christian's zipper and drawing a sharp breath at the warm skin beneath.
"Something wrong?" Christian asks lightly, stepping out of his shoes and socks.
"More like incredibly right," Derek says, pushing Christian's pants down past his hips. "I was going to ask you the boxers or briefs question earlier, but I guess that would have been pointless."
"Boxer briefs, when I bother," Christian says, letting the pants fall and stepping out of them. "And you?" He unbuttons Derek's pants, unzipping them slowly.
"Tonight? Black silk boxers," Derek says, leaning his forehead against Christian's shoulder and closing his eyes. He runs his hands over Christian's back, scratching lightly.
"I like them," Christian says, pushing Derek's pants down. "Very much so."
Derek steps out of his shoes and socks and kicks his pants away. "I kind of hoped you would."
"They suit you," Christian says.
"Come here," Derek says, drawing Christian along with him onto the bed. "Tell me what you really want to do."
Christian settles against Derek. "I'm easy," he says with a laugh. "Anything. Whatever makes you feel good."
"I don't believe you," Derek says, wrapping his arms around Christian. "I think there has to be at least one specific thing you want. I want to know what it is."
"I want..." Christian nips at Derek's throat. "I want to suck you," he says. "Musicians, we all have an oral fixation."
Derek laughs, tilting his head back. "I doubt it's all of you, but I'll take your word for it," he says, running his fingers through Christian's hair. "Anything you want, I'm yours."
"Let me do this," Christian says, moving to crawl over Derek, leaning down to kiss him. "I think you'll like it." He moves down Derek's body, leaving a trail of soft kisses and bites.
"Already do," Derek murmurs, folding his arms under his head. "Are you going to let me reciprocate?"
"Maybe," Christian says, licking a line down Derek's stomach. "I'll think about it."
"I have been all evening," Derek says softly. "I could hardly concentrate this afternoon. I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"Tell me what you were thinking about," Christian says, kissing the cut of Derek's hip before sliding his boxers down. "Talk to me."
"I wanted you to touch me," Derek says. "You kept stroking things at lunch, your glass, the silverware, the edge of the table, and I wanted your hands on me."
"Keep talking," Christian says, running his hands over Derek's thighs. "You like me touching you like this?"
"Yeah," Derek breathes out the word, trying to stay still, trying to be patient. "It feels good. Now I'm wondering if your mouth will feel better, and with the way you kiss..."
Christian smiles and lowers his head, licking the head of Derek's cock. He closes his eyes, taking Derek into his mouth slowly, hollowing his cheeks.
"Oh, God." It's better than the kisses they've shared, already better than a lot of the blow jobs Derek's received. Christian does things with his tongue that Derek could have sworn were illegal in all fifty states and several US territories, and he struggles not to thrust up into his mouth.
Christian hums softly, slipping his hands under Derek's hips to encourage him. He sucks a little harder, moving his head slowly, taking in as much as he can.
Derek props himself up on his elbows to watch Christian, rolling his hips a little to see if Christian will allow it. "You're so fucking good at this," he says.
Christian smiles to himself, sliding one hand down to cradle Derek's balls gently. He keeps humming, barely aware he's doing it.
"Christian, I'm..." He's close, not quite there, but so close to coming and Derek doesn't want this to end.
Reluctantly, Christian raises his head, licking his lips. "You want to come in my mouth?" he asks, voice husky. "Or is there something else you want?"
Derek can't believe he's actually supposed to be able to answer that in words. He reaches down and touches Christian's cheek, thumb brushing across his lips. "I want you to finish."
Christian smiles and nips at Derek's thumb before lowering his head again.
Derek doesn't last long after that, unable to even think about warning Christian before his orgasm slams into him. He's still trying to catch his breath when Christian moves back up the bed to lie beside him. "Jesus, that was... damn."
Christian smiles shyly and rests his head on Derek's shoulder. "I said you'd probably like it," he murmurs.
"Like's an understatement," Derek says, willing his heart to stop pounding quite so hard as he strokes Christian's hair.
"Told you," Christian says, kissing Derek's collarbone. "Musicians, oral fixations, although the best--never mind, it's not relevant."
"The best what?" Derek asks, shifting to wrap his arms around Christian.
Christian laughs. "The best cocksucker I ever knew was an architect," he says.
"I'll keep that in mind the next time I'm looking for a date," Derek says, laughing with him. "I think I might be a little partial to musicians though. I bet architects don't hum while they're going down on you."
"Was I humming?" Christian asks, blushing. "I do that and don't even realize it."
"Trust me, I'm not about to complain," Derek says, running his hand down Christian's side. He slides down a little so they're eye to eye and kisses Christian, nipping gently at his lips.
Christian makes a soft sound, pressing against Derek. "Tell me what you want," he says softly.
"I want to find all of the places that make you shiver," Derek says, drawing a fingertip down the line of Christian's throat. "I want you to come for me and I want to know what you sound like when you lose control."
"I'm all yours," Christian says, tipping his head back.
Derek kisses him again, slow and deep, shifting their bodies so Christian's spread out beneath him. He drags his fingers over Christian's chest, playing with his nipples for a long moment before moving on to scratch lightly over his stomach and back up his sides.
Christian squirms a bit, moving into Derek's touch restlessly. He reaches out, running his hands over Derek's arms, shoulders, everywhere he can reach.
"What do you need?" Derek whispers in Christian's ear, feeling him hot and hard against his thigh. "I could lick my way down, take you into my mouth if you want. Would you rather have my hand around your cock, pulling you off? I'd let you hold me down and fuck me if you wanted or stay where I am and ride you. Maybe... maybe you just need me right here, talking to you."
"Talk," Christian whispers. "Talk to me." His hips push up, rubbing against Derek's thigh.
"So that's what gets you off, baby?" Derek murmurs, his hand settling at Christian's hip as he presses back against him. "You want me to tell you how good you feel right now? That's it, move the way you need to, I want to feel every inch of you against me, Christian."
Christian whines, moving against Derek. "Tell me what you think about," he manages, breathless and flushed. "Tell me what you want to do with me, what you like."
"I like this," Derek says, easing his hand between them to wrap his fingers around Christian. "I still want to suck you later, I want to know what you taste like. I kept imagining what it'd be like to be on my knees in front of you today, to have you looking down at me with those blue, blue eyes. Then over dinner, I kept watching your hands, wanting your fingers inside me, stretching me open. I bet you could get me off that way, without touching my dick at all. I want to find out later."
"Oh, gods," Christian says weakly. "Oh, gods, yes, please, anything, just--" He's so close, so damned close. "I--oh--"
"Everything," Derek murmurs. "I want everything. Come for me, Christian." He twists his hand, thumb working over the tip and just behind the head of Christian's erection, and he feels him trembling and tensing.
Christian cries out when he comes, head falling back, and it's a long few moments before he can think or see again. "Oh, gods," he says, gulping in a breath. "Oh. Wow."
"Absolutely gorgeous," Derek says, pressing a kiss to Christian's cheek. He moves away for a moment to grab a few tissues from the nightstand, cleaning them both before lying down beside Christian, one arm draped across his waist.
"Yeah, you are," Christian murmurs sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes.
Derek laughs quietly, nuzzling the side of Christian's neck. "We're going to have to move in a little bit, baby, unless you want to sleep on top of the blankets."
"Minute," Christian says, but he sighs and shifts so they can crawl under the covers. "You sure you want me to stay?"
"Are you going to try to shoot me with my own weapon?" Derek asks, pulling the sheet and blanket up over them.
"What?" Christian asks, puzzled.
"I'll consider that a no, you aren't going to try to shoot me, so yes, I'm sure I want you to stay," Derek says. "What time do you need to be up and out of here in the morning?"
"Interview's at eight, I need to be at the radio station by seven thirty," Christian says. "So, way too bloody early."
"So, you need to go wherever you're staying---with your folks, I assume---and change then get to the station?" Derek asks, looking over at the clock. "It's nearly one, is it worth going to sleep?"
"No," Christian says. "I'll sleep after the interview."
"Okay, then I'll sleep after you leave," Derek says, setting the alarm for five thirty just in case. "Worst case scenario is we fall asleep, have to share a shower, and you borrow one of my shirts."
* * *
Part Two
Authors: blueraccoon & sandersyager
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing/character: Derek Morgan/OMC, hints of Spencer Reid/OMC
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Word Count: 26,717
Kink: first time, dirty talk, mild hand fetish, handjobs, oral sex
Warnings: sex between two consenting adult males; references to past relationship and child abuse and domestic violence
Summary: It's been a very long time since Derek Morgan's had someone in his life long enough to meet his friends and even longer since anyone's taken him home to meet their mother. When he meets Christian Godfrey, he gets all that and the bonus of a small white cat with more attitude than Garcia.
Notes & Cautions: We don't even pretend to like David Rossi (I'd feel bad for Rossi, but really, he's an asshole.-blueraccoon). We are also fully aware that several of the characters also appear in Blueraccoon's Geometry series and our joint project, Ranks of the Freaks; please forget what you know from those universes because this is an AU of an AU of an AU in which neither of those universes ever existed. kelly_girl, bookgodess15, henchgirl, and lillian13 poked holes in the plot, prodded us to keep writing and pointed out mistakes. We love them for it more than words can say.
Artist: sylum_tru made us a truly kickass banner and solved our (years long) issue of trying to cast Christian.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Single post (Redirects to Dreamwidth)
Carol's not back from her meeting yet, so Christian drops into a chair and digs out his cell phone, sending a quick text message to Amy to reassure her he hasn't forgotten about the radio interview tomorrow. When he looks up, there's a seriously gorgeous man in a suit peering into Carol's office. "She's not back yet," he says, rising to his feet. "Anything I can help you with?" He gives the guy a smile.
"I'm Agent Morgan. We were supposed to meet at one," Derek says, looking the guy over. He's too well dressed to be one of Carol Godfrey's clients, and not dressed well enough to be an attorney. She never mentioned an assistant, but he seems comfortable enough in the office that it makes sense. "Do you have any idea when she's due back?"
"Not really--ah, there she is," Christian says, looking up as Carol comes rushing in, dressed in a blue suit and heels he thinks Travis would approve of.
"I'm terribly sorry I'm late," she says to Morgan, holding out her hand. "Have you been waiting long?"
"No need to apologize, Ms. Godfrey," Derek says, smiling warmly at her. Of all the lawyers in Boston the BAU's had to deal with, she's easily one of the nicest, at least on the surface. "I just got here myself. I always forget the rule of the city, that you can see where you're going but never get there."
"Oh, how true it is," Carol says, laughing. "Come in, please, and--" She turns as Christian clears his throat, apparently not having seen him yet. "Christian! When on earth did you get here?"
Christian finds himself hoping she doesn't break a rib. "Mum, I can't breathe," he says finally, a little strangled, and Carol steps back, straightening her suit jacket.
So he has a name, and isn't the assistant but the son, Derek realizes. He should have known given their similarly blonde hair and blue eyes. This is definitely a new side of Godfrey.
"You didn't tell me you'd be in town! How long are you here? When did you get in?" Carol demands.
"Two hours ago, I'm here for a radio interview tomorrow, and I'm here through Friday," Christian says. "I was going to take you to lunch, but you seem to have a prior appointment."
Or maybe not such a new side, just a modified version of what he's seen in court. Derek smiles, tucking his hands into his pockets. "If you need to reschedule, Carol," he says, switching to the informal now that he knows what's going on, "we can do this later or tomorrow morning."
"No, no, don't be silly," Carol says. "It's my son's own fault for not calling me in advance. Let's do this meeting and I'll see him for dinner?"
"Actually, I was going to suggest a working lunch, but I think he'll be a much better date," Derek says, glancing at Christian briefly. "It's really no problem, and I know my momma would never let me hear the end of it if I interfered with a son's visit to his mum."
"Why don't both of you come to lunch?" Carol asks.
"I don't want to interfere with your work," Christian says. "Really, it's fine, I don't want to interrupt. Mum, I'll see you for dinner, all right?"
"Christian," Derek says gently, the way he would with a stubborn suspect. "Your mother doesn't compromise, on anything. This is an historical event. Don't disappoint her."
"You've obviously worked with her a while--no, I take that back, it takes about five seconds to realize that part," Christian says, expecting and not surprised to get the elbow in his ribs. "All right, lunch then. Where?"
"I know it's been a while, but are you still addicted to the lemon pasta at the place across the street?" Derek asks Carol, remembering eight long days of testimony where she ate almost nothing else.
Carol laughs. "Absolutely. Let's go." She tucks her arm inside Christian's as they head out.
There's still a bit of a late lunch crowd at the cafe but they're seated quickly and given drinks almost immediately. Derek quietly observes Carol and Christian while they bicker over menu items, and comes to a few conclusions. It's clear Christian's an only child, enduring a level of maternal fawning he never imagined possible from Carol, and she's just as tough on Christian as she everyone else, only with a few more traces of humor.
Carol gets up to visit the ladies' room and Christian slumps down in his chair. "Ye gods, save me," he says. "You'd think I hadn't seen her in five years, rather than four months."
Derek laughs. "That's the nature of mothers who love us," he says. "It could be worse. You could have two older sisters egging her on."
"I like being an only child," Christian says with a grin. "So you got my first name, but I didn't get yours. Should I just call you Agent Morgan?"
"Sorry. It's Derek," he says, smiling a little sheepishly.
"Nice to meet you, Derek," Christian says, holding out his hand.
Derek takes his hand, shaking it firmly and noticing faint calluses. "You, too, Christian," he says. "You mentioned an interview earlier, didn't you?"
"Radio, yeah," Christian says. "Advance publicity for the CD my band's got coming out next month."
"That must be a little overwhelming," Derek says. "What type of music do you play?"
"Rock, mostly, with a bit of a Celtic folk influence," Christian says. "And you--what agency are you? FBI? DEA?"
"FBI, Behavioral Analysis Unit," Derek says. "I work out of Quantico."
"A profiler," Christian says. "I'm impressed."
"Compared to a professional musician, I'm not sure it's all that impressive," Derek says with a slight shrug.
"I play piano and write songs," Christian says. "You help catch evil people. You tell me."
"Completely different skill sets," Derek says. "You have the confidence to stand on stage and be the center of attention for everyone, except your mother it seems. You've also got the talent to back it up. Me? I carry a gun and tackle bad guys."
"You don't know about the talent," Christian says. "Unless you've seen us play." He looks up as Carol comes back to the table.
"Call it an educated guess," Derek says, rising to pull out Carol's chair for her. "Tell me, Carol, is your son genuinely talented or delusional?"
"Oh, he's delusional all right, but he's also talented," Carol says. "Went off to Julliard at sixteen."
Christian blushes. "Mum, I really wish you wouldn't tell everyone that," he says.
"She's allowed to brag a little," Derek says, winking at Carol. "Besides, it's not like she's informed the entire restaurant, just me."
Christian shakes his head, taking a sip of iced tea. "I'm going to go visit the little musicians' room," he says. "You two can actually do some work."
Derek refrains from voicing his doubt that there's anything little about Christian and turns to Carol instead. "You do realize you look entirely too young to have a son his age," he says.
"You flatter me," Carol says. "He's twenty-five, and I can't believe it."
"It isn't flattery and you know it," Derek says as their meals arrive. "I looked over the case file last night, and it seems like we have a pretty straight forward argument about the abuse and stalking."
Carol nods. "Yes, I agree," she says. "We've got the emergency room reports, and the gifts he left on her doorstep."
"His history of psychiatric treatment is largely inadmissible, but my initial interview with him should help with that," Derek says, picking up his fork. "I have an appointment to meet with him again tomorrow, as well as with Alyson and her older daughter. I can have a second report to you by Friday, and be ready for the deposition Monday morning."
"Perfect," Carol says as Christian comes back to the table. "Don't you think so, honey?"
"What am I agreeing to?" Christian asks.
"Me," Derek says with a perfectly straight face.
"Anytime, darling," Christian says with a smile, taking his seat.
"Seven thirty, you can meet me at my hotel for dinner," Derek says easily.
"Where are you staying?" Christian asks.
"The Park Plaza," Derek says, carefully picking all of the olives out of his salad and moving them to the side of the plate.
"I'll see you then," Christian says.
All Derek can think is that Garcia's going to love this story when he gets back. He glances at Carol, wondering what she makes of this, certain she won't be able to hold back comment.
Carol shakes her head and takes a sip of her tea. "I'm not sure which one of you I should be warning," she says. "Oh, hell. Derek, watch yourself with this one."
Derek laughs. "He seems harmless enough and I'm not afraid to call his mother if he gets too out of line."
"We'll negotiate later," Christian says blandly.
"I'm sure we'll be fine," Derek says.
Carol takes a bite of her pasta. "I'm meeting with Dr. Robson tomorrow," she says after swallowing. "He should be able to fill in some of the blanks."
Derek nods. "J.J. set up a meeting for me with Emma's pediatrician at four this afternoon. Can you clear two hours on Friday and we can compare notes?"
"Absolutely. How does one to three sound?" Carol asks, looking at her Treo.
"That works for me," Derek says. "For the most part, I'm completely yours until I have to go back to Virginia."
"Except for the part where you're going out with Christian tonight," Carol says. "I'm not coming along for that one."
"We both appreciate that," Derek says. "I'm sure you husband will, too."
Carol laughs. "Oh, I'm sure. Christian, you'll meet us for lunch tomorrow, won't you?"
"Yes, Mum," Christian says.
* * *
Derek waits for Christian in the lobby of the hotel, having traded his suit for a blue button down and slacks, thrilled to abandon his ties for the evening. Garcia keeps him entertained with a stream of texts while he tries not to watch the clock, and scandalizes him with "suggestions" for dessert.
He's in the midst of explaining just why suggestion number twelve is both uncomfortable and a challenge to the laws of physics when he sees Christian crossing the room toward him.
Christian's running late--only a few minutes, fortunately--and comes through the door of the hotel looking a tiny bit windblown, grateful that the silk shirt Travis bought him doesn't show wrinkles. "Hi," he says, smiling. "Sorry I'm late, I got caught up in a new song."
"It's fine. I've been catching up on the office gossip," Derek says, sending the last message to Garcia and checking that the phone is set not to ring. "Our reservations aren't until eight. Is McCormick and Schmick's okay with you?"
"Perfect," Christian says. "I love seafood."
Derek smiles. "Good. I also thought, if we're still enjoying each other after dinner, that we might try the cafe for dessert. Their tea menu alone is amazing."
"Do you like tea? I thought all you law enforcement types lived on bad coffee," Christian says, smiling back.
"We all have our little secret vices," Derek says. "There's only so much sludge you can drink in a lifetime and I plan to sleep sometime this week."
"Always a good plan," Christian says. "Would you like a drink before dinner?"
"Sure. The bar in the restaurant wasn't too crowded when I walked by. Is that okay with you?" Derek asks.
"It's fine," Christian says. "So what are you working on with my mum?" he asks as they walk to the bar.
"It's a domestic violence case," Derek says. "It came through our office a few months ago when the father kidnapped the youngest of three kids, and two of us were sent up to work it."
"Mum can't be defending the father," Christian says, linking his hands behind his back at the words 'domestic violence'.
Derek reaches out to touch Christian's arm, touching him almost before he realizes it. "No, she isn't," he says. "She's working with the prosecution on this one and preparing against a challenge from the paternal grandmother for custody."
"That makes more sense," Christian says, unclasping his hands as they reach the bar.
"You okay?" Derek asks, hand still on Christian's arm.
"What? Yeah, I'm fine, why do you ask?" Christian asks, holding the door for Derek.
Derek stops and looks at him. "You want the answer I give dates or the truth?" he asks.
"I generally prefer the truth," Christian says. "Although now I'm curious what you tell your dates."
"Spidey senses," Derek says with a grin. "The truth is... there's a kind of flinch some people have when you mention certain types of crimes. You did, and your voice tightened and flattened when you talked about defending the father. You were clenching your hands tight enough that it looked like it probably hurt a little. This is what I do for a living, watch people for that kind of stuff."
"You're good at it," Christian says.
"Sometimes," Derek says as they enter the bar. They sit down at one of the tall tables along the edge and he picks up the drink menu. "My focus is in obsessive behaviors, and we see a lot of cases with abuse survivors."
"I'm sure," Christian says. "What's the burnout rate in your job?"
"The last guy who left our team had almost twenty-five years as a profiler behind him," Derek says. "The thing about what we do is we're in all these other people's heads all the time, so we have to know our own well enough to get back."
The waitress comes over. "And what can I get you two?" she asks with a grin.
"I'd love a vodka martini," Christian says, smiling back.
"Just a Coke for me, please," Derek says.
"You can't tell me you're on duty," Christian says once the waitress leaves.
"Not at all," Derek says. "I'll have a beer later if it'll make you feel better."
"It might," Christian says lightly.
"Then, yes, I'll get a beer later," Derek says. "I just have a thing for microbrews and I kept getting distracted from reading the list by your eyes."
Christian tilts his head to the side. "I can't tell if you're just very smooth or if you actually mean it," he says.
Derek mirrors his posture. "It couldn't be both?"
"Possibly," Christian says, smiling at the waitress as she brings their drinks. "Thanks, sugar." He picks up his glass and takes a sip.
"Thank you," Derek says, smiling as well before turning back to Christian. "Everyone likes to be complimented. I like finding the thing that's true and acknowledging it."
"And what if there's nothing true to acknowledge?" Christian asks.
"There's something in everyone," Derek says. "Some people, sometimes they've done things so ugly, it isn't worth trying to find the good. They're far enough gone it wouldn't make a difference. Most people, though, that little bit of attention matters to them."
"Mmm," Christian says, toying with the rim of his glass. "I can see that." He takes another sip. "You never stop profiling, do you?" he asks.
"Under the right circumstances, I do," Derek says, noticing Christian's hands again. There's nothing at all of the profiler in wondering how they'd feel against his skin. "People are interesting, and noticing regular people balances studying the whack jobs."
"They are interesting, I'll give you that," Christian says. "I just tend to turn everything into a song if I can."
Derek nods, taking a sip of his drink. "I have a confession to make," he says. "Apparently I have heard you play before. One of my co-workers dragged me to a show, and I guess she also bought me one of your EPs. I feel bad for not remembering, but it was after a pretty rough case, so most of what I remember is a lot of tequila and a huge bar tab."
Christian laughs. "Tequila'll make anything sound better," he says. "Although it does have that unfortunate short-term memory loss side effect. Maybe the next time we're in DC you can look us up for a show."
"I have to keep watch? You wouldn't call and invite me?" Derek asks, managing to sound just a little wounded. "I see how it is."
"I don't have your phone number," Christian says simply. "Hard to call a guy if you don't know how to get in touch."
"Let me fix that right now," Derek says, pulling out his wallet. He hands Christian one of his cards. "You can always reach me by the cell number on there. I don't have a landline anymore; I barely have an apartment."
"Good to know," Christian says, tucking the card away in his breast pocket. "I haven't a card to give you, but if you've a pen, I can give you my number."
Thanks to Garcia and her mini-pen fetish of March, he does, and he hands Christian the blue sparkly pen almost solemnly along with one of the blank cards he carries. "The same co-worker, Penelope, enjoys slipping glittery things in my bag. Sometimes, I think I'd have been better off not coming out to her."
"This looks like something my friend Travis would keep on his desk to frighten people," Christian says, writing down his cell and his email. "There you go."
"Garcia's determined to help me discover my inner-queen or something," Derek says, tucking the card inside his wallet and his wallet back into his pocket. "I can't convince her that I really, truly, absolutely do not have one. She says no one can be that butch."
"She needs to meet Travis," Christian says. "He's queen enough for both of you and then some."
Derek grins, playing with the straw in his soda. "I just don't have it in me. Not even a trace of a princess," he says. "Sometimes I wonder if it'd be easier to date if I did."
"Honey, if you try to tell me you have trouble getting dates I'm going to choke on this rather good martini," Christian says.
"I didn't say trouble. Women are easy," Derek says, careful to keep his ego in check. Prentiss would be impressed. "I smile a little, flirt a little, it's a done deal. Men... I have to work harder to convince them I'm interested and not just trolling for a hook up."
"Yes, but we're worth it once you do convince us," Christian says. "And I have an advantage here most men don't."
"Oh?" Derek raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"
Christian grins. "You've gotten my mum's stamp of approval, or at least stamp of 'I won't kill you for going out with him'."
Derek laughs. "There is that, yeah," he says. "I have to say I like your mother a lot. I've gotten to work with her a few times and when she calls the unit for an expert witness, it's a hell of fight over who gets to come up here."
"She's pretty amazing, yeah," Christian says. "She was a barrister in England, we moved here, and she took herself back to law school while dealing with a five-year-old. How come you won the fight this time?"
"I have the most experience with this type of case," Derek says. "And I offered to pay half of my expenses."
"That'd do it," Christian says. "You must really have wanted to get out of DC."
"Doing this kind of thing is almost like having a vacation," Derek says, glancing at his watch. "We've had back to back to back cases out of town, and I love the people I work with but if I had to spend one more day with them..."
"Oh, I know how that goes," Christian says. "I love my band mates, but after a month on the road with them we're all ready for a break."
"It's a little after eight. Should we see if our table is ready?" Derek asks. "Then you can tell me a little more about your band. Belfry, isn't it?"
"It is," Christian says, picking up his drink and getting to his feet. "Let's go see if they're ready for us."
Fortunately, they are, and the hostess shows them to a booth along one side of the restaurant. Derek looks at Christian, folding his hands on the table. "So, tell me about the glamorous rockstar life."
Christian laughs full out, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "There's not much glamour about it," he says. "Long days on the road, equipment checks, sweating your arse off on stage, trying not to kill your band mates when your tour bus gets delayed and you're going to be cutting it close to make that night's show, the list goes on and on. But.." He smiles, a little shyly. "Then you go out on stage and the lights come up and you're performing for hundreds, sometimes thousands of people, and they're screaming and singing along and...it's a better high than any drug anyone could ever do and it's almost better than sex."
"You've clearly been sleeping with the wrong people if it's that close of a call," Derek says. "You really love it, don't you?"
Christian takes a sip of his drink at Derek's comment. "This is what I am," he says. "I'm a musician, a performer; I used to do the symphony thing before giving it up for Belfry. At one point I thought about being an actor but music's always been my passion. Love isn't strong enough to describe what this is for me."
"I'll definitely have to keep an eye out for the CD next month. Anything that makes you light up like that has to be worth it," Derek says, opening his menu.
"Sorry," Christian apologizes, looking at his own menu. "I get a little... passionate about it."
"Christian, don't," Derek says firmly. "You don't have to downplay it, especially not for me."
The tips of Christian's ears go pink and he's grateful for the relatively low lighting in the restaurant. "So tell me," he says. "What makes you light up? Catching the bad guys? Base jumping? Buying the perfect suit---no, you're too butch for that, although you do like a well-cut suit, which makes me think you know what you like, you go in, you buy it, maybe you look around while you're in there but really shopping is something you do when you have to and not any other time. So what does it for you?"
Derek laughs, setting the menu aside. "You're wrong about the shopping. I grew up with two older sisters and the only way I got to go along to the mall as a kid was if I helped them shop," he says. "That's part of my answer, my family. My family and my friends. Other than that, I guess I'd have to say sports, but it's really anything that lets me get physical."
"And this is why you're the profiler and I'm the flautist," Christian says. "Anything that lets you get physical. That covers rather a lot of ground, doesn't it?"
"It does," Derek says. "I played football for a long time, teach self-defense at the Bureau, take a judo class when I can fit it in. What can I say? I like to sweat."
Christian smiles. "I like free weights, myself," he says.
"Then you can understand the appeal," Derek says as their server comes to take their orders.
"I can." They order, and Christian leans back in his chair, idly running a finger around the base of his glass. "So how does one decide to be a profiler?"
"It wasn't exactly what I set out to do," Derek says, reaching across the table to touch the back of Christian's hand. "You're tactile, aren't you?"
"So what did you set out to do?" Christian asks. "I like touch, yes."
"Hmm." Derek files that away for later, running a finger up the back of Christian's hand and along his index finger before drawing back. "I knew I'd go into some kind of legal field. I have law degree but didn't have a chance to take the bar before I was recruited into the Bureau. I did a year and a half undercover, some time with one of the bomb squads, and then the spot with the BAU opened. My BA was in psychology, so it seemed like a good opportunity. Now I can't imagine being anywhere else most days."
"Undercover and a bomb squad," Christian says. "Do you like adrenalin or something? Or just not care much about your own safety?"
Derek smiles, ducking his head a little. "I care about other people's safety. I know what it's like to be caught in a situation you can't stop, can't change," he says, not quite looking at Christian. "The rush... I like the rush, but it's more about the lives we get to protect, being able to give people a chance and a chance at some closure."
Christian takes a sip of his drink. "That's very... altruistic of you," he says, setting his glass down carefully. "I'm impressed."
"It's not altruistic," Derek says. "Trust me, it's really not. The area I grew up in, it's a rough neighborhood. I did some things as a kid I'm really not proud of, and I kinda had two choices. I could keep doing those things and end up dead or in prison, or work to get out of it and try to keep another kid from going down that path. It's not... I think maybe it's empathy more than any kind of noble pursuit."
"Still, I'm impressed," Christian says. "Takes a good man to want to give back like that."
"Yeah, well, we can't all be musical prodigies and rock stars," Derek says with a grin. "I have to settle for playing the hero."
"All I do is entertain," Christian says. "Not all that meaningful."
"A million musicians just rolled over in their graves," Derek says. "It means something to you, and that's enough, but you make the decision over and over again to share that, to communicate with people. I'd say that's pretty deep."
"Do what you love, right?" Christian asks, ducking his head a little. "I'm---very fortunate that I can make a living with what I do. I used to be a classical musician, and I loved it, but this... is better."
"So, how does one make that transition, from being classically trained to being in a rock band?" Derek asks, consider the drink menu again.
"One gets a degree as a flautist with a minor in composition and piano and finds a job with a symphony," Christian says. "Then--" He looks down. "One decides to make a life change and moves from New York to DC, starts doing gigs in various places and finds some really cool people who have a band but need some help with songwriting and a backup singer and so forth, joins them, and the rest is just a lot of hard work and luck."
There's more than a basic 'life change' to it, but Derek decides not to pry, yet. "Do you ever miss being in New York?" he asks instead.
"I do," Christian says. "But my best friends live in the DC area, so it was good to be near them again."
"You know, I'm not sure what to think about living so close and having to come up here to meet each other," Derek says, catching their waitresses eye. She comes back to their table and he finally orders a beer, taking a chance on one of the New England microbrews.
"It is a bit ironic," Christian says, asking for a glass of water.
The waitress smiles at both of them, a little more brightly at Christian and Derek watches her walk away. "I think she's trying to figure out just how to flirt with you," he says, "but she doesn't know how to do it without jeopardizing her tip."
"You really think so?" Christian asks. "I don't see it, but I never do."
"I really think so," Derek says. "I guess it's lucky for me that you don't notice. At least I won't have to fight to keep your attention."
"No, you won't," Christian says.
Almost on cue, a different waitress comes to their table with another martini for Christian. "It's from the redhead at the bar," she says setting it down in front of him. Derek just smirks, leaning back in his seat.
"The--but--" Christian turns, looking for the redhead.
Derek looks, too, and she's pretty, in an obvious sort of way. He picks up the martini. "If you could, please take this back to her and let her know that he appreciates the gesture but is well spoken for," he says, handing the drink to the waitress with a smile.
"Thank you," Christian says gratefully. "I never know how to deal with this sort of thing."
"I've never had that happen before," Derek says as the waitress returns to the bar. "Plenty of times with the women on the team, but never when I was on a date."
"It doesn't normally--well, I shouldn't say that," Christian says. "But normally not from women."
"Really, I can't blame her for trying," Derek says with a shrug. "For all she knows we're just two friends having dinner, and it probably took a little courage for her to do it."
"It's flattering, but really...I'm not like that," Christian says.
"Like what?" Derek asks, curious about what Christian means.
"Well, interested in women for one thing," Christian says. "And I don't do the whole--" He gestures. "Not so good at being picked up by people."
"I don't believe that. It took me all of thirty seconds to get you to agree to dinner," Derek points out, accepting his drink with a quick nod and smile to their server.
"That's different," Christian says.
"Why is that different? I mean, yeah, we talked a little before I asked, but you didn't hesitate to say yes," Derek says and takes a sip from the bottle.
"It's..." Christian considers, trying to figure out how to put it, and eventually laughs and shakes his head. "I don't know. I just get a different vibe from you."
"Are you sure it's not just that I had the balls to ask you out in front of your mother, who's also my colleague?" Derek asks. "You know, if you'd turned me down, I'd probably never be able to work with her again."
"That might have had something to do with it, yes," Christian says. "Also knowing that she'd kill you if this went badly helped."
Derek laughs. "There is that, yeah," he says. "So, what do you think? Is she going to have to kill me?"
"No," Christian says, smiling. "Definitely not."
* * *
Dessert involves more tea than Derek thinks he's ever seen in his life and a tea sommelier, which he never realized existed. It also progresses to a little more physical contact, a brush of hands as they share a torte, knees pressed together under the absurdly small table. He turns to Christian when the check arrives, hand resting easily on the back of Christian's chair. "Any thoughts on what we should do next? I don't think I'm quite ready to say goodnight to you."
"There's a bookstore a couple blocks that way," Christian says. "Or..." The tips of his ears go pink. "I'd invite you up to my hotel room, but I haven't got one."
"Well, fortunately for us, I do," Derek says. "Would you like to come up?"
"I think I would," Christian says softly.
"Good," Derek says. He takes care of the bill and gets to his feet, offering Christian his hand. "Shall we?"
"Let's," Christian says, taking his hand.
Derek can't help but grin as they walk out to the elevators. "So, you've told me about Belfry, Juilliard, a bit about your friends," he says. "What else is essential to know about you?"
"I don't drink coffee and the love of my life is my cat Mimi, who I take on tour with me, believe it or not. What should I know about you?" Christian asks.
"Well, we covered my thoughts on coffee earlier. I used to have a dog Clooney, who believed the couch was his personal domain," Derek says as they step into the elevator. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm not very good at talking about myself."
"Better at analyzing others?" Christian asks, leaning against the wall. He plays with the ring on his right hand absently.
"Yeah," Derek says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I guess I could tell you I talk in my sleep and I collect early editions of Kurt Vonnegut's books."
"You could," Christian says. "What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"
"Depends on the mood," Derek says. "Any kind of Ben and Jerry's after a rough case except Chunky Monkey, plain old fashioned vanilla in the summer, a good strawberry if I'm with my family."
"Why does being with your family change the flavor?" Christian asks.
"I usually only get home once a year, for my mom's birthday," Derek says. "It's her favorite, so that's what we have, and any other time, it just makes me a little homesick."
Christian nods. "My mum adores Haagen-Dazs chocolate," he says. "The only time I eat it is if I'm visiting my parents."
Derek reaches for Christian's hand again when they reach his floor. "Next question. What's your favorite breakfast food?"
"Tea," Christian says. "I normally skip breakfast. Although I have a weakness for French toast."
"I'll keep that mind," Derek says, sliding his key into his door. He flips on the light in the living room of the suite and reaches for the stereo remote out of habit. He regrets it a moment later when Nine Inch Nails' 'Closer' starts to play and he can't hit the skip button fast enough.
"Interesting choice," Christian says, hiding a laugh.
"My iPod's plugged into the system," Derek says. "I'm sure that could have been worse. I just don't know how."
"Oh, I'm sure I can think of a few," Christian says. He tilts his head. "And now we've got--John Mayer? You have eclectic taste."
"That's one way to put it," Derek says, trying really hard to shake off the embarrassment. "I'm stuck on trains or flying at least once a week, and it helps pass the time."
"I'm sure," Christian says. "I bought one of those air cards for my laptop, so when we're on the bus I can chat with friends online, but there's always music playing."
"If I open my laptop, I start working. It's hopeless," Derek says. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thanks," Christian says.
They stand there in silence for a long moment and Derek finally grins, looking up at Christian through his lashes. "This is the part I'm no good at," he admits. "I don't know what you want, Christian."
"Well, I could be mean," Christian says, taking a seat on the couch. "Tell you that you're the profiler, figure it out, but..." He grins. "I'm not mean. How about you come here and kiss me?" he asks.
Derek crosses the room in easy strides and sits down beside Christian, turning toward him. He cups Christian's cheek in one hand and kisses him lightly. "Is that what you wanted?" he asks softly.
"For starters," Christian says, leaning forward to kiss Derek again, a brush of his lips. "Is it what you wanted?"
"Almost," Derek says, sliding his fingers to the back of Christian's neck. He lets himself linger over the kiss this time, finally pulling away when Christian begins to lean into him.
"Almost?" Christian asks. "Tell me what you want, Derek. Talk to me." He leans back against the couch cushion, fingers tracing patterns over the back of Derek's hand.
"I want to keep kissing you," Derek says, turning his hand over beneath Christian's. "Then we can see where that leads us."
Christian smiles and catches Derek's hand, bringing it to his lips. He brushes a kiss over the palm, nipping at each of his fingers before kissing the pulse in his wrist and setting his hand down. "So kiss me," he says.
Derek leans forward and does, taking his time and letting it build, not sure which of them is in control. It doesn't matter, really, and he parts his lips against Christian's, the tips of their tongues touching and sliding together.
It's good, Christian thinks. It's good to be able to just kiss someone like this, to let it grow. He closes his eyes, sliding his hands over Derek's back and scratching gently over his scalp.
Christian's hands feel good, feel right, against Derek's skin, and he runs his own along Christian's arms and down over his chest. What he finds surprises him, enough for him to angle his mouth away. "You're pierced?" he murmurs, thumb pressing against one of the rings.
"Yeah," Christian says, shivering at Derek's touch. "I did it last year."
"Just the two or are there others I should know about?" Derek asks, moving his hand down over Christian's stomach.
"Just those two, but I've got four tats," Christian says, pushing a little into Derek's touch.
Derek nods, kissing the edge of Christian's jaw. "Every time I think I'm starting to figure you out, you surprise me," he says.
"Why's that?" Christian asks, turning to nuzzle against Derek's throat.
"One tattoo I'd have expected. Four and piercings, that's a surprise," Derek says, tracing the line of Christian's collar with his fingers. "I think there's a lot more to you to learn. Starting with how you like to be touched." He bends his head to graze his teeth over Christian's earlobe, teasing the skin with the tip of his tongue.
Christian shivers again, making a soft sound. "My--my ears are sensitive," he says, stroking his fingers over the back of Derek's neck.
"So I see," Derek whispers, hand sliding back up to Christian's chest, just barely brushing against the hard little ring under his shirt. He continues nibbling along Christian's ear and the side of his neck, smiling a little at the soft sounds he makes.
"We should--that is--oh, I can't think when you do that," Christian says, tipping his head back.
"We should what, Christian?" Derek could make a reasonable guess at what he wants but Christian's not the only one having trouble thinking clearly.
"Maybe... move off the couch?" Christian asks, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
Derek leans back to look at Christian and there's a quick flash of understanding Carol's warning, although he doubts it's what she had in mind. Christian's just... pretty, flushed and a little rumpled, and if anything, they're going to have to slow down. Derek nods and gets to his feet. "I really hope you had the bedroom in mind because the kitchen's barely big enough for one and the floor's kind of hard."
"I think we're both past the floor stage," Christian says, getting up. "The bedroom sounds perfect."
Derek's glad he let housekeeping come in and straighten the room. He has a bad habit of kicking most of the linens away during the night, and while they're probably going to end up on the floor anyway, it's not the best first impression. He stops next to the bed and reaches for Christian, one hand going to his hip, the other settling at the back of his neck as the space between them closes. "Kiss me again," he says softly.
Christian tilts his head and kisses Derek, slow and thorough, licking his way into Derek's mouth, his hands on Derek's waist. He closes his eyes, tasting tea and chocolate, and moves a tiny bit closer.
Derek moans into the kiss, giving in and moving until he's flush against Christian, arm tightening around his waist. He could do this forever and be happy, kissing and letting himself be kissed like this.
"I like kissing you," Christian says when he finally pulls back, a whisper against Derek's jaw. "Bet it'd be nicer without the clothes."
"Most things are," Derek says. He lets his fingers trail down the side of Christian's throat as he moves to open the buttons of his shirt. "It's almost a shame because you look good in this."
"Thank my friend Travis," Christian says, reaching for Derek's buttons. "He picked it out."
"I'll make sure to send him flowers in the morning," Derek says, tugging Christian's shirt free of his trousers once the buttons are undone. He pushes it back from his shoulders, bending his head to press a kiss just below the hollow of his throat.
Christian lets his shirt fall to the floor and returns to unbuttoning Derek's shirt. "You've got ink too," he murmurs, tracing the lines on Derek's shoulder. "I like it."
"Thank you," Derek says against Christian's collarbone, shrugging out of his shirt. He runs his hand over the symbol drawn on Christian's bicep and notices the lettering wrapped around his forearm. "I'm going to ask you about these over breakfast."
"You are, hm?" Christian asks. "I can live with that."
"Unless you'd prefer to stop and have story time now," Derek says, hand just shy of the buttons on Christian's pants.
"Tomorrow is fine," Christian says, laughing.
"Good because I can think of a few things I'd rather do with my mouth than talk." Derek grins, lowering Christian's zipper and drawing a sharp breath at the warm skin beneath.
"Something wrong?" Christian asks lightly, stepping out of his shoes and socks.
"More like incredibly right," Derek says, pushing Christian's pants down past his hips. "I was going to ask you the boxers or briefs question earlier, but I guess that would have been pointless."
"Boxer briefs, when I bother," Christian says, letting the pants fall and stepping out of them. "And you?" He unbuttons Derek's pants, unzipping them slowly.
"Tonight? Black silk boxers," Derek says, leaning his forehead against Christian's shoulder and closing his eyes. He runs his hands over Christian's back, scratching lightly.
"I like them," Christian says, pushing Derek's pants down. "Very much so."
Derek steps out of his shoes and socks and kicks his pants away. "I kind of hoped you would."
"They suit you," Christian says.
"Come here," Derek says, drawing Christian along with him onto the bed. "Tell me what you really want to do."
Christian settles against Derek. "I'm easy," he says with a laugh. "Anything. Whatever makes you feel good."
"I don't believe you," Derek says, wrapping his arms around Christian. "I think there has to be at least one specific thing you want. I want to know what it is."
"I want..." Christian nips at Derek's throat. "I want to suck you," he says. "Musicians, we all have an oral fixation."
Derek laughs, tilting his head back. "I doubt it's all of you, but I'll take your word for it," he says, running his fingers through Christian's hair. "Anything you want, I'm yours."
"Let me do this," Christian says, moving to crawl over Derek, leaning down to kiss him. "I think you'll like it." He moves down Derek's body, leaving a trail of soft kisses and bites.
"Already do," Derek murmurs, folding his arms under his head. "Are you going to let me reciprocate?"
"Maybe," Christian says, licking a line down Derek's stomach. "I'll think about it."
"I have been all evening," Derek says softly. "I could hardly concentrate this afternoon. I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"Tell me what you were thinking about," Christian says, kissing the cut of Derek's hip before sliding his boxers down. "Talk to me."
"I wanted you to touch me," Derek says. "You kept stroking things at lunch, your glass, the silverware, the edge of the table, and I wanted your hands on me."
"Keep talking," Christian says, running his hands over Derek's thighs. "You like me touching you like this?"
"Yeah," Derek breathes out the word, trying to stay still, trying to be patient. "It feels good. Now I'm wondering if your mouth will feel better, and with the way you kiss..."
Christian smiles and lowers his head, licking the head of Derek's cock. He closes his eyes, taking Derek into his mouth slowly, hollowing his cheeks.
"Oh, God." It's better than the kisses they've shared, already better than a lot of the blow jobs Derek's received. Christian does things with his tongue that Derek could have sworn were illegal in all fifty states and several US territories, and he struggles not to thrust up into his mouth.
Christian hums softly, slipping his hands under Derek's hips to encourage him. He sucks a little harder, moving his head slowly, taking in as much as he can.
Derek props himself up on his elbows to watch Christian, rolling his hips a little to see if Christian will allow it. "You're so fucking good at this," he says.
Christian smiles to himself, sliding one hand down to cradle Derek's balls gently. He keeps humming, barely aware he's doing it.
"Christian, I'm..." He's close, not quite there, but so close to coming and Derek doesn't want this to end.
Reluctantly, Christian raises his head, licking his lips. "You want to come in my mouth?" he asks, voice husky. "Or is there something else you want?"
Derek can't believe he's actually supposed to be able to answer that in words. He reaches down and touches Christian's cheek, thumb brushing across his lips. "I want you to finish."
Christian smiles and nips at Derek's thumb before lowering his head again.
Derek doesn't last long after that, unable to even think about warning Christian before his orgasm slams into him. He's still trying to catch his breath when Christian moves back up the bed to lie beside him. "Jesus, that was... damn."
Christian smiles shyly and rests his head on Derek's shoulder. "I said you'd probably like it," he murmurs.
"Like's an understatement," Derek says, willing his heart to stop pounding quite so hard as he strokes Christian's hair.
"Told you," Christian says, kissing Derek's collarbone. "Musicians, oral fixations, although the best--never mind, it's not relevant."
"The best what?" Derek asks, shifting to wrap his arms around Christian.
Christian laughs. "The best cocksucker I ever knew was an architect," he says.
"I'll keep that in mind the next time I'm looking for a date," Derek says, laughing with him. "I think I might be a little partial to musicians though. I bet architects don't hum while they're going down on you."
"Was I humming?" Christian asks, blushing. "I do that and don't even realize it."
"Trust me, I'm not about to complain," Derek says, running his hand down Christian's side. He slides down a little so they're eye to eye and kisses Christian, nipping gently at his lips.
Christian makes a soft sound, pressing against Derek. "Tell me what you want," he says softly.
"I want to find all of the places that make you shiver," Derek says, drawing a fingertip down the line of Christian's throat. "I want you to come for me and I want to know what you sound like when you lose control."
"I'm all yours," Christian says, tipping his head back.
Derek kisses him again, slow and deep, shifting their bodies so Christian's spread out beneath him. He drags his fingers over Christian's chest, playing with his nipples for a long moment before moving on to scratch lightly over his stomach and back up his sides.
Christian squirms a bit, moving into Derek's touch restlessly. He reaches out, running his hands over Derek's arms, shoulders, everywhere he can reach.
"What do you need?" Derek whispers in Christian's ear, feeling him hot and hard against his thigh. "I could lick my way down, take you into my mouth if you want. Would you rather have my hand around your cock, pulling you off? I'd let you hold me down and fuck me if you wanted or stay where I am and ride you. Maybe... maybe you just need me right here, talking to you."
"Talk," Christian whispers. "Talk to me." His hips push up, rubbing against Derek's thigh.
"So that's what gets you off, baby?" Derek murmurs, his hand settling at Christian's hip as he presses back against him. "You want me to tell you how good you feel right now? That's it, move the way you need to, I want to feel every inch of you against me, Christian."
Christian whines, moving against Derek. "Tell me what you think about," he manages, breathless and flushed. "Tell me what you want to do with me, what you like."
"I like this," Derek says, easing his hand between them to wrap his fingers around Christian. "I still want to suck you later, I want to know what you taste like. I kept imagining what it'd be like to be on my knees in front of you today, to have you looking down at me with those blue, blue eyes. Then over dinner, I kept watching your hands, wanting your fingers inside me, stretching me open. I bet you could get me off that way, without touching my dick at all. I want to find out later."
"Oh, gods," Christian says weakly. "Oh, gods, yes, please, anything, just--" He's so close, so damned close. "I--oh--"
"Everything," Derek murmurs. "I want everything. Come for me, Christian." He twists his hand, thumb working over the tip and just behind the head of Christian's erection, and he feels him trembling and tensing.
Christian cries out when he comes, head falling back, and it's a long few moments before he can think or see again. "Oh, gods," he says, gulping in a breath. "Oh. Wow."
"Absolutely gorgeous," Derek says, pressing a kiss to Christian's cheek. He moves away for a moment to grab a few tissues from the nightstand, cleaning them both before lying down beside Christian, one arm draped across his waist.
"Yeah, you are," Christian murmurs sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes.
Derek laughs quietly, nuzzling the side of Christian's neck. "We're going to have to move in a little bit, baby, unless you want to sleep on top of the blankets."
"Minute," Christian says, but he sighs and shifts so they can crawl under the covers. "You sure you want me to stay?"
"Are you going to try to shoot me with my own weapon?" Derek asks, pulling the sheet and blanket up over them.
"What?" Christian asks, puzzled.
"I'll consider that a no, you aren't going to try to shoot me, so yes, I'm sure I want you to stay," Derek says. "What time do you need to be up and out of here in the morning?"
"Interview's at eight, I need to be at the radio station by seven thirty," Christian says. "So, way too bloody early."
"So, you need to go wherever you're staying---with your folks, I assume---and change then get to the station?" Derek asks, looking over at the clock. "It's nearly one, is it worth going to sleep?"
"No," Christian says. "I'll sleep after the interview."
"Okay, then I'll sleep after you leave," Derek says, setting the alarm for five thirty just in case. "Worst case scenario is we fall asleep, have to share a shower, and you borrow one of my shirts."
* * *
Part Two