Okay, so there's a good chance that Spencer's in love with Hotch. Maybe even a better than good chance. Derek tries to keep his ego in check--it's that or listen to the little voice in the back of his head that sounds just like his mama yell at him about humility--but he knows he's a good profiler. And, from the evidence he's gathered, he's profiled Spencer as being in love with Hotch.
So that's happening. It's not like he was going to make a move or anything anyway. After all, Spencer--Reid; he has to start thinking of him as Reid again--is his coworker and his friend. He's not in any hurry to fuck that up.
Even if it meant getting to fuck Reid.
God, he really wants to fuck Reid.
"I'm not," he starts, pausing for a moment when leaning forward on his couch makes the room spin a little. He shakes his head, which doesn't help, and points the mouth of his beer bottle at Reid, who's folded himself into Derek's oversized armchair, a glass of scotch dangling from his elegant fingers. "I'm not going to fuck you."
Reid stares at him for a short eternity, then carefully puts his glass down on the coffee table before turning to face Derek more fully. "I wasn't aware that was an option."
"It wasn't. It isn't," Derek says. The corners of his mouth tip down sadly as Reid's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "I wish it was, but it isn't, because you're in love with Hotch."
Reid manages to choke on nothing, his pretty eyes wide.
"Fucking Hotch," Derek grumbles. "You could do better, you know. The guy's not even a good bro. You should fall in love with someone who knows how to be a good bro."
"I'm in love with Hotch," Reid says slowly, like he doesn't already know this. Derek is pretty sure the poor guy's drunk. "I'm in love with Hotch, and you aren't going to fuck me."
"Yes," says Derek. Reid shouldn't be allowed to say words like 'fuck'. It's just unfair.
"Okay." Reid pushes unsteadily to his feet. He crosses over to Derek in a few unsteady steps. "Okay, first, I think that if I was in love with Hotch, I would know. At the very least, I'd be over at his house instead of here, pretending I have an interest in football."
"I thought you were gathering statistics for some experiment," Derek says. Reid's kneeling on the couch next to him, his knee pressing against Derek's thigh and his hand braced against the back of the couch so close to Derek's head that he can feel the tip of Reid's thumb barely brush against the shell of his ear.
"No. No experiment." Reid's getting closer and closer, so near that Derek can only see his face in fragments--nose, chin, one eye and then the next, lips, an earlobe. Reid has really nice earlobes, Derek notes not for the first time. "And second, if you fucking me is out, what are the chances that I could fuck you?"
"What?" Derek asks. Or tries to. It's kind of hard to say anything with Reid's lips on his.
Okay, so maybe there's a good chance that Reid--no, Spencer--isn't in love with Hotch after all.