/ freshman year: \\
/ second semester \\
No way. No, there was no way.
And yet, as much as Derek wanted to feel irritated, as much as he knew he absolutely should feel irritated, the only way he could describe the emotion that surged through his blood was...gleeful.
There was no mistaking the back of that head. He knew it all too well. The color of that hair had distracted him many-a-time in his high school days (which he would never admit)...he had practically every strand of that head memorized (another detail he would never admit). He'd even spent probably a little too much time over Christmas Break, the week prior, studying that head. Dreaming up the usual ways to antagonize that hair's owner, to get the rise he so desperately missed. Not that he ever ever would've admitted that he'd missed their interactions. He tried to reason with himself that he was just long overdue for some good old fashion enmity, and was making the most of it before they returned to college and continued trotting in their separate spheres of life. Life without each other, with minimum reason to see the other.
As it probably should be; as he had fervently claimed was his utmost desire.
Still, the reality was- Derek Venturi was genuinely, sincerely and entirely fucking thrilled to see that he was about to share an entire semester of Econ 223 with none other than Casey McDonald. The very same girl who he'd sworn he couldn't wait to get away from- and yet, thought about at least thirty times a day since school started. He was afraid that, underneath the careless assertions of bravado where he claimed to be glad for the distance...well, the truth was, he sort of missed her. Missed her a lot, in fact. But he couldn't say why.
A lecture hall of 80 seats and she was perched alertly in the second row, right near the aisle. Figured. Casey, super keener. He practically shoved his way past classmates to get down to the front.
Some things never change.
God, how good it felt to know that. His heart did a weird triple-thump. He resolutely opted not to over-analyze that.
He was practically teeming with excitement as he dumped his bag, his coat, and his person into the seat beside her in one fell swoop. Casey startled with a jolt, her eyebrows raised high- after all, it was an unspoken etiquette to leave an empty seat between yourselves on the first day. She looked up, and-
"De-rek!" She was utterly shocked.
Oh, he could rub his hands together in glee. "Why, hello, Casey. Lookin' good. This seat taken?"
Why was she turning pink? Oh, the compliment. Hmm. Slipped out. He compensated by leaning over to her bag and snatching one of the pens poking out. "How convenient. Here I was just getting worried I wouldn't have a writing instrument, as the syllabus will undoubtedly require."
She looked around, flabbergasted. "Are you- are you really in this class?"
"Macroeconomic Policy with Dr. Peng. Why, wrong class?" He feigned confusion, looking around with an exaggerated cluelessness. "Shit. Is this Keener 300?"
"No- wait, why would you be in here?"
"Minoring in business, remember?" He'd made the decision about three days before they'd packed up the Prince. She'd heartily approved and said she was proud of him.
"Right. Wow, I guess- I didn't think about it. Well, um." She furrowed her brow. "I guess it's cool if we sit near each other. If you promise you'll behave like a normal human being."
"Come on, Case. You should be grateful I'm willing to be seen next to you." He gave her an exaggerated look of pity.
Cue the eye roll. "Right. How lucky I am. You sure I don't kill your image?"
"I am booked most nights this week, and luckily I don't think even a nerd like you could clear those commitments. Ladies love community service. And Casey, you are definitely a charity case."
"How altruistic of you, Derek. How have I managed to make it this far without you?"
"I honestly have no idea," he replied smoothly, with his usual smirk. Her eyes were dancing now, and for just a second, the word home whispered through his brain. He hadn't felt homesick, or at least, he didn't think he had- but now, his heart was squeezing with something he couldn't name but was loosely familiar. His gaze drifted over her features.
His phone's ring tone chirped on the desk. The name RINA flashed across the front. Casey squinted at it, before hissing, "De-rek, turn off your phone! Class starts in less than a minute."
"Jesus, sor-ry." His snide mimicry was second-nature.
"You can't ruin your impression on the very first day. The first day sets the tone for your success the rest of the semester." Casey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes locked on the piece, the loose curl. All of the loose curls. It was shorter than it had been this summer; he'd noted that detail over break but now it was even more apparent. "Really, I should probably be congratulating you on not being expelled. You've done alright so far. I don't know how. I guess the real question is, how have you managed to make it this far without me?"
He was studying the shell of her ear a little too intently, because she suddenly jerked to face him.
"What?" he asked, tone too defensive to be innocent. He schooled his features into a sneer.
"I said, how have you- UGH, nevermind," she hissed. "Here's the professor."
And so they sat back, and Derek felt the world shift back into a rightness that he hadn't realized he'd been aching for.
As the weeks wore on, it became astoundingly clear that Mondays and Wednesdays were the highlight of his week. Not because Econ 223 was particularly life-changing, but because he could rely on Casey being there. Where Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays were full of parties (read: girls and fucking)...they passed in a blur that ultimately led to Monday and Wednesday, when he'd sit down in Econ 223. Casey would turn to him, a pulsing bundle of excitement and admonishment and knowing glances and breath-catching smiles.
And strangely enough, he was beginning to realize the depth of how much he missed her. Where, on the first day, he wasn't able to put his finger on why he missed Casey, or what he missed about her...well, by mid-February, he'd realized that it wasn't just any one thing. In fact, the list was getting disturbingly long.
It reminded him of high school, of those moments that stood out in his mind like beacons in the night. Those moments with Casey that made his heart a little too full, where he knew he was watching her a little too long, and hoping a little too hard that her small gestures meant more than they did. That she, for however brief an instant, felt a spark that might've made her curious...that might've driven her to do something daring.
She never did, of course. She never made any move that would've taken the pressure off of him, or made his secret fascination with her less abominable. Obviously, she wouldn't. She was too good for that and by default she was making him some twisted, licentious asshole who had absolutely no grounds for such attraction. And...well, it bothered him. It pissed him off. And sometimes, it made his obnoxious words a little more vicious. It made life under the same roof tolerable, at the very least. It was easier to be cruel than to sort out the feelings he couldn't define.
They were just weird bursts of attraction, that underlined and sullied an affection that he knew should've been strictly familial but definitely absolutely wasn't and probably (honestly) never had been.
Problem was, that attraction wasn't just embarrassing. The moments of attraction were excruciating, too- he was ashamed of the way his palms sweat and his mouth occassionally went dry at the sight of her, or when she got too close...in her innocence, it was worse to realize that he was not only affected, but outright horny. Unbearably horny, feeling his body harden at the flicker of her smile or the sound of her rising voice. He certainly never acted on such feelings- other than a disgraceful wank, from time to time. Derek had flirted with danger a few times, when they'd been under the same roof with only a wall separating them. There were a few times where he'd struggled to relax his panting breaths, listening to Casey in the room next to his with memories of their latest fight or their televised dance or how perfect she looked in her prom dress and the smell of her perfume, as his own come dried on his bare stomach and chest, a cold reminder of his lack of control.
But that was high school. It was embarrassing and wrong, when they lived under the same roof. They weren't related, but...she was off-limits. She was off-limits and he tried his damnest to push her away, to keep her unbothered by his hormonal, confused, twistedfucked-uptotallyobsessive reality.
But surely distance would help. He insisted on it when they set off for Queens. It would heal whatever hormones had plunged him into such limbo. Surely it was because he was bored of London, and knew the girls there too well, that he was being magnetized toward Casey McDonald of all people. Yeah, space would be good- he went off to Queens with a determined faith that it was just a weird symptom of being trapped in a grey space that was almost adulthood, but still suffocatingly adolescent. Space. Space was all he needed. Space from the Space Case.
Maybe it had helped. But here they were again.
Somehow- and perhaps it was inevitable- as second semester wore on...that "off-limits" vibe began to melt away.
He'd begun to wonder….was it really, really such an abomination to consider? His feelings for Casey?
It wasn't like he stopped seeing other girls, or had totally forsaken his attempts at normalcy. He really did try to keep his attention wrapped up with an endless stream of other girls. Even if his enthusiasm for such a parade had declined minimally….at least he was trying.
"You don't call me as much as you used to," Crystal whined loudly, over the music of a house party, before leaning in. Her breath tickled his ear. "What are you doing next Wednesday? It's Whiskey Night at the U-Club."
He'd had a fair share of Whiskey Nights with Crystal during his first semester; she could pound them back like the best of 'em. And then they'd fall into bed together immediately following. Uncomplicated.
"Wednesdays aren't good for me anymore," he said. He didn't offer an alternative.
"Come onnnn. Unless you have class at 8 PM, I don't think you have a good excuse, Derek." Crystal slid a hand up his shirt, over the skin of his pecs.
"Well, I do, and I'm saying Wednesday isn't good."
"You keeping it free for Bible Study or something?" she goaded, red lips taut with the beginnings of annoyance. Evidently, she wasn't used to rejection.
"Yeah, that's it."
"Seriously, why? You can't make one little exception for next Wednesday? What's so important?"
He kept Wednesdays free for...well, Casey. Only a week into the semester, she'd casually suggested that they should just, well, "get dinner together instead of walking back across campus and starving." There was a little Chinese place across the street from their lecture hall, and it was a more appealing and convenient option on a number of levels.
So Chinese food it was: twice a week they'd split the Student Special. Brandishing chopsticks, they began to talk. Like, really, really talk.
They bickered about the things they'd learned in their classes, about their extracurriculars. Derek told her about his ambition to try out for hockey in his second year, and his favorite courses (how different they were from high school)...Casey told him all about her auditions for the Drama Club and her workload through the Honors College (a lot, even for a nerd). He usually goaded her into a chopstick battle, even though she tried to resist and would hiss, "Stop being so callow, Derek!" And he'd laugh and tell her she was just so easy and he'd keep goading until she'd slam her chopsticks into his and they'd have it out until finally one of them relinquished the last wonton.
No, he wasn't about to jeopardize the best night of his week...not for one of his weekend girls, at least.
"I'm just busy on Wednesdays." He gulped down some beer, looking at Crystal with bored finality.
Crystal's face pinched. Now, there was no mistaking her expression. A grimace, borne of a bruised ego. "You got a girlfriend or something now?"
He swallowed, and answered, "No." He fought the urge to sneer. Casey wasn't a girlfriend. Casey would never be a girlfriend.
Casey was- somehow, bewilderingly- much more special and terrifying than a girlfriend could ever be.
"I don't believe you." Crystal was smirking. "Sounds like you've been cuffed, Derek."
"Sounds like you're disappointed," he retorted with a smile that landed somewhere between flirtatious and venomous.
"I am, truthfully," she replied, after a second. "I really was hoping we could get together. I mean, we always have fun together…"
Fuck, maybe he was overreacting. Getting protective over his weird relationship with a girl who used to share his home address, whose mother was married to his father. He knew it was stupid. And yet here he was, digging himself further into a hole from which there was no clean or graceful exit.
It was much smarter to keep up the facade until the facade became reality again. He wasn't delusional enough to miss out on an easy, normal hook-up. He softened his voice, letting his smile melt Crystal. "Well, lucky for you...I really don't have a girlfriend. Wednesdays are just off-limits for me. But my weekends are wide open."
"Oh yeah?" Crystal looked at her phone. "Well, it's officially Saturday in twenty minutes. Why don't we get the weekend started early?"
Derek obliged her. The sex was fine- unremarkable, but not unpleasant. He scooted her out before 3 AM, and slept in until well past noon.
His usual weekend, really. So it continued, on a half-hearted loop that felt like obligation to enact. Follow expectations, and don't dissect any dangerous feelings. Feelings were hazardous enough to begin with- letalone these ones he'd been secretly nurturing, beating back, nurturing, beating back. Fuck feelings.
Until one fateful, horrible Saturday the weekend just before Spring Break.
To be fair, he had Casey on his mind well before he began to party. They were arguably closer than they'd ever been...a fact that he was sure would delight Nora. When they were bickering and laughing together through the week, they were texting back and forth in their downtime. He'd even tried to talk her into coming out to this party ("I'm sure all the keeners will be letting their hair down for this one, come on- usher in Spring Break like a real college kid!"), but was unsurprised when she said she had better things to do. He didn't push it, mostly because he was wary of getting completely smashed with Casey anywhere nearby. Not only would she be all over him, admonishing him at every gulp….but deep down, he was a little concerned that he might just be all over her, if given the chance. He would try to get closer to her in a way that most assuredly would not delight Nora.
So, he didn't push Casey to come out that night.
Which was fine.
They had a four hour drive back together on Sunday afternoon, where they could find their rhythmic humor and rapport again before slipping back into an increasingly foreign life at the Venturi-McDonald house. He was only a tad anxious over it. Only seven weeks before, he'd been delighted that Casey was bringing back that feeling of "what was" into his life, a comfortable familiarity he'd missed. She'd been like a balm for a homesickness he hadn't realized he'd harbored. But she quickly became...something else. A staple of his new life, at college, away from home. They were no longer Casey and Derek, step-siblings who loathe each other but occasionally reach a tense middleground. They were Casey and Derek...friends. Or maybe, something different from even that. Not step-siblings, not friends, not lovers, not enemies. But something unique to them, that somehow simultaneously felt more like "family" and yet completely opposite of that, more so than he'd ever known. It was quietly exhilarating, but ran under his skin like a secret he had yet to completely understand. He found himself entranced by her for the stupidest things. How she insisted on page dividers for her binder. How the edges of her lips turned down when they shared a genuine moment. How dark her eyelashes were. Small details that had never, ever, ever crossed his mind while studying any other girl.
And was he crazy, or did she purposefully brush against him as they walked? Once, her fingers slid over his while reaching for a napkin at dinner. He raised his eyes at the touch, only to find her watching him with a strange expression. She moved her fingers, took the napkin, and they didn't remark on the contact at all. But then she did it again the following Wednesday. Then the Monday following. She rested her hand on the table, close, only her fingertips touched his. Didn't caress, didn't stroke, didn't hold his hand...just rested there. She didn't move her fingers the whole meal and he was afraid to move his, lest the moment be shattered. Then, just that Monday, her knees knocked against his and- instead of the flustered reaction he'd guess from her...she'd relaxed, letting one leg rest against his. He'd tentatively brushed his foot against hers, and she'd returned the gesture...by nudging his ankle. It took all of his energy to refrain from asking in disbelief, "are you actually playing footsie with me, Casey?!"
Such little moments were piling up into a confusing heap of affectionate signals and codes of the unspoken. He was anxious for their trip back to London. Maybe it would give them time to broach subjects that seemed too heavy, too massive for their dinner conversations. Because no matter how deep their honest, lengthy conversations were getting at dinner...there never seemed a good moment for him to grill her on "her feelings." Because he was Derek Venturi. And he didn't do feelings...letalone grill Casey McDonald on hers.
Hell, maybe it was because of how much time he was spending with Casey that he was even allowing himself to ruminate on "feelings" and these confusions in the first place. Christ, that girl always made things more complicated. Even things that should be simple- like loathing your dad's wife's annoying daughter- were decidedly complicated where she- said annoying daughter, who was also rather pretty, brilliant, and all kinds of amazing- was involved.
Well, he convinced himself, that's why weekends were so important. Three days sans Casey, with his guy friends, picking up girls. Getting some action. Doing what Derek Venturi does best.
He could continue his obsessive musings on his and Casey's relationship on their drive back to their parents' house.
So there he was. Saturday night, at one of the liveliest house parties in Kingston. He'd just picked up a new beauty- a dance major named Brea- who lived nearby. They'd stumbled back to her apartment, and into her room. And there, stripped and sprawled on this beauty's bed...the game changed forever.
His fingers were plunged into her dark hair, the muscles of his forearms tight as he gazed down at the beautiful girl between his thighs. She was expertly sucking at his cock, making his muscles lock in resistance to orgasm. God yes, yes. He squeezed his eyes shut.
The picture on his eyelids, in his mind, was not Brea- nor was it any girl he'd ever had sexual contact with before. It wasn't even an outrageous sexual fantasy of a gorgeous actress.
No, Derek closed his eyes in the moment just before orgasm and saw a pair of striking blue eyes, glinting with mischief and lust, her dark hair fanned out as she worked her mouth over him….that beautiful, annoying, ever-challenging, perfect mouth closing around him to suck him to a pique-
His groan of "Casey" was drawn from some carnal, guttural place. He came in hard spurts- cool air brushing over the tip of his cock as his balls tightened with every grunt. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Brea had pulled back at the sound of another girl's name on his lips; abstractly, he knew she was probably about to give him hell. But he wanted to linger in this sweet, dark place where only the color of Casey blue existed in the pulsing aftermath of orgasm.
As guessed, the peace was infinitesimally short-lived.
Brea's scandalized voice shattered it. "Casey?" she stammered.
His eyes slit open; his body felt weak. Brea leaned back on her haunches, face screwed up.
"Sorry," he rasped in a low voice. It didn't even sound sincere to his ears.
"What the fuck? Who's Casey?"
He didn't reply. He just reached for the box of tissues next to her bed.
"Is she an ex, or something?" Brea's voice was growing watery. "Why the fuck- did you just use me? Fucking fantasizing about your ex?"
"She's not an ex," Derek growled. The four beers he'd pounded were starting to catch up to him.
"Who is she?" He felt Brea's weight shift on the bed near his knees. Then, she was standing over him.
"Nobody. Don't worry about it." The night was not salvageable. He was not stupid enough to think otherwise. Not even the famed Venturi charm could get him out of this.
"I deserve to know, if I'm giving you head and you're thinking about some girl-" her voice suddenly snapped into silence.
Derek hunched over to pull on his jeans. "What?"
"Is- is Casey a girl?"
The question was so jarring that it took him a moment to laugh.
But once he started, he found he couldn't stop. The fucking absurdity of it all. Everything. A gorgeous girl at his whim, and here he was- thinking about Casey. In a definitively sexual way. But really, he was already thinking about her- all the time. For all the other girls he'd been seeing- all of his beautiful, funny, rotating-door-variety weekend girls- he never, never stopped thinking about Casey.
And it was then, with his shirt rumpled between his palms and staring at poor, humiliated, one-night-Brea...that Derek Venturi realized that these feelings he'd conveniently ignored were far beyond what he'd ever considered before.
"What are you laughing at?" Brea's voice was livid and low.
"To hell with it all. Jesus Christ." He yanked the shirt over his head. "I really am sorry, Brea."
"Whatever. You're such a fucking prick." She resolutely turned around. "Just leave. Find your way out."
The walk home was a blur. He felt like he'd been sucker-punched.
Had that really just happened?
Derek was in deep shit.
/
"Are you mad at me or something?"
"No, but if you ask one more time, I will be. Just drop it," he barked.
The sun was giving him a migraine. That, and he'd barely slept the night before. After he'd gotten back from Brea's place, he proceeded to stare at the ceiling for three hours straight. He felt like he'd barely closed his eyes when his phone was blasting Casey's ringtone from somewhere on the floor.
He tried to ignore it. Then on the sixth attempt, he finally answered and was informed that (if they wanted to stick to their plan, as they obviously should want to do, naturally) they were supposed to leave by 10:30 AM.
"What time is it?" he asked with a chapped throat.
"Eleven. So I'm walking over to your dorm. I've got the keys for Prince so I'll load up my stuff then help you with yours, if you want."
She appeared at his door looking like Mary Damn Sunshine, as always. His stomach was twisted into a knot he didn't think he'd ever unscramble.
"Good morning!" she chirped. He thought his expression was blank, but whatever she saw on his face caused that smile to fade. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Partied too hard."
"Oh. Gross. There's no one else in there, is there?" She lifted to her toes, glancing over his shoulder toward his rumpled (but empty) bed.
"No," he ground out, inexplicably rankled by her assumption. Even his roommate had taken off early. His roommate was never really around, thankfully.
"Ah." She set back flat on her feet, concern etched over her features. "Want me to drive?"
"Not a chance. Let's go."
The first hour was Casey's failed attempt at conversation; she tried everything in the book. He knew she was trying, and he felt like a real jerk for letting her flounder like a trout on concrete...but he also felt like he was staring directly into the sun every time he looked at her. And when her blue eyes flicked to him, guilt scratched through his gut. Her eyes were questioning, open and earnest- her fucking gorgeous eyes- and yet the color, that Casey blue color, was an indictment unto itself. An accusation.
And the worst of it all: he'd said her name.
Derek had crossed the line and fantasized about her before, but in the past, it was him- just him and even then he'd never been so bold as to acknowledge his fixation aloud. Now, as if speaking her name was giving his heart's deepest sin permission to burst into life, it was a titanic reality that was crushing him from all sides.
And now she wouldn't drop it; she wanted to know why the conversation was hard. Why he didn't want to talk. If he was mad at her. Won't you look at me, Derek. What's your problem, De-rek.
His problem? He was livid with himself. But she couldn't know that or she'd (of course) want to know why.
His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
Finally, she huffed a breath and angled herself away from him, toward the window. His eyes flicked over, using the movement to take in the regal curve of her back, her thighs, before her profile turned to address him. "Fine. Don't tell me why you're mad. I don't care, anyway. It was probably stupid. Some stupid problem about a girl. But you have no right to take it out on me."
He wanted to guffaw at the irony. Except that it wasn't funny.
She fell asleep about an hour out of London, and he was distracted by her soft breathing as her head dropped back toward center, toward him. He could smell her perfume and it made him want.
He threw the brakes on too hard at a corner near their house, jerking her out of sleep.
"De-rek," she snarled.
He smirked.
"What's your problem today? What did I do?" she repeated.
"I told you not to ask me that or I really would get pissed."
"Then stop doing all this attention-seeking bullshit."
He didn't have a response for that. Both of them were simmering in tense silence as they pulled into their parents' driveaway.
The next six hours passed in a blur, being pulled this way and that and away from each other and back together, every direction. It was both warming and off-putting, all at once. And seeing Casey hugging their siblings, holding baby Simon so expertly, had his heart contracting in a way that surely was damning. He scowled every time her too-innocent eyes tried to catch his, and the scowl on his face didn't break for an instant when she was nearby. He was always susceptible to Casey, but after last night, the dam was well-and-truly-broke. He had to be on-guard. He had to be overly cold to make sure there weren't any cracks. Of all places to crack, to let his damnable feelings slip...it couldn't be here. Not in the house where it all began, where their shared infant brother was lovingly doted upon, where every square inch seemed to scream "it's forbidden, you asshole" and every corner pressed a memory into his raw, aching heart to remind him of what he'd probably (absolutely) always wanted and couldn't ever, ever have.
This humiliating revelation ensured that by the fourth day of break, Derek was nothing short of exhausted. Combined with the scant amount of sleep he'd gotten before leaving campus, he could feel exhaustion tickling at the edges of his eyes. He'd only made it worse by going to the bar with Sam every night since he'd come home. He was drinking too much. He knew it. Too much booze, too little sleep- but anything to distract from this farce he'd landed himself in.
At night, he dreamed of Casey's blue eyes accusing him, her jeering insults in his ear as she worked his cock with hot hands. He was disgraced in those dreams; he could taste rejection when he woke up, as plain as if she had slapped him. He couldn't meet her eyes anymore. He loathed himself.
And worse, Casey was starting to look at him with the same resentment that she used to in high school. He didn't blame her. He was a right ass.
He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wanted to go back to a week ago, where the complications that surrounded them like barbed wire were only theoretical and part of their past life; where their real life was Queens' and Dr. Peng's class and chopstick fights and check-in texts and discussions of the future and knees resting against each others'. He'd been slowly easing his way into it all. Wasn't that hard enough? Soft consideration of their situation, unhurried speculation on what their family and friends might say if one day Derek and Casey returned home hand-in-hand. He'd wondered if, with some distance from the house that they once shared, it would eventually become indisputably clear that neither Casey nor Derek were anything close to siblings-and that their adolescent rivalry was perhaps more flirtatious than petty.
When they were younger, it used to give him a rush, to watch her whip into an emotional tornado, because fuck he had her attention and she was wound around his finger as taut as thread, and he loved to strum her into a frenzy because it made him feel so alive to have her glittering glowering eyes on him. But now….well, now, he'd gotten accustomed to all facets. A supportive Casey, softening his edges and being his go-to confidante. A playmate and challenger to remind him that life existed beyond anything temporary- high school, college, girls, parties. Some things were just solidly and unflinchingly steadfast. She'd always understood him better than anyone, anticipated him better than even his own flesh-and-blood ever could...and she cared more than anyone else ever had. He still could get a rise out of her, and still felt the rush from doing so. But it wasn't enough. Now he craved it all.
He craved it all and was gutted by the inevitable tragedy he was writing for himself- where he lost it all, because he wasn't supposed to want it to begin with.
Not that it mattered. He'd ensured his doom by overturning it all at break-neck speed. All because of his stupid mouth and his stupid brain and his stupid orgasm. And this stupid trip. He wasn't equipped to process this so quickly. It was too fast. It was on a disastrous spiral before it even began.
Derek had gone from mulling over "how to talk about feelings, starring Derek Venturi and Casey McDonald" to "don't look at any of these despicable thoughts too closely, you desperate fucker, and just hope you can ignore these long enough to expire in your own personal hell." And, predictably, because he was just as much of a fucking idiot as he'd always been- he began to treat her with the same disdain that he'd wielded defensively all through their younger years.
Yeah, the resentment was slowly bleeding into her- one hour at a time. And Derek was as good as sticking the pin in.
It was Day Four when she finally confronted him.
The kids were all at school, Simon at the nanny's, George at work. He'd gotten up to use the bathroom around eight, and heard clattering in the kitchen. Voices- Casey and Nora's- lifted up the stairs. He brushed his teeth, but didn't want to be bothered in making an appearance. He slouched back to his bedroom before either McDonald woman knew he was awake.
A short time later, the front-door slammed shut.
Blissful reprieve.
For a moment. His bedroom door swung open.
As if conjured by the hand of a God who hated him, Casey stood in his doorway, illuminated in the morning sun like a fucking angel. Except her eyes were like hard ice. "I thought we had a good thing going, Derek."
His heart stuttered. "What?"
"You heard me. I thought we were-" her words stuttered infinitesimally, "friends." Her voice was a quiet, wounded growl. Petulant.
He stared back at her, eyes wide, unsure of what to say and weirdly entranced by the sunlit-soaked outline of her body in the doorframe.
No. That deep, gnawing feeling of want seized him. He couldn't let her see it, sense it, suspect it.
Setting his jaw, he scoffed and flicked his hand in her direction. "Save it and let me get back to sleep."
"No!" She stomped further into his room. Shitshitshitno. He'd had a dream only the night before, where she'd stomped into his room, mounted him and ridden him until her body shook with release. He'd woken up in the dead of the night, biting back a moan of agony. "I want to know what the hell happened. I thought it was just, like, shock at being home again or something, but no, you were nasty to me before we even left Queen's."
"You're overanalyzing. Give it a rest, Princess and find someone else to annoy."
"You're acting like we're in high school again," she accused him. "Why? Why aren't you being normal with me? Like- college normal?"
"Normal?" With a jaw so tight he could hear it click, he steeled himself to sneer, "What's my 'normal' to you, Casey? Because aside from the two nights a week that I charitably set aside for keener quality time, my definition of 'normal' is exactly what it's always been. And if you'd go out to a worthwhile party on campus once in a while, you'd probably like my college 'normal' as much as you liked my high school 'normal.'" He felt immature, and like a liar laying it on too thick- but he had to establish a boundary before this got any worse.
He'd let it get too far already.
Casey regarded him with a narrowed, flinty gaze. "I think you're full of shit."
"Do you?" His eyebrows shot up, patronizing as ever.
"Yes. You like spending time with me; we talk all the time, and we have fun. We're closer than we've ever been and it's great. I know I'm happy when we hang out and you seem pretty happy too. You're being a jerk because- well, I don't know why."
His eyebrows stayed arched. "Are you sure you aren't giving yourself too much credit?"
Something in her face flickered. She didn't concede, though. Arms crossed across her chest- he needed to ignore how thin her t-shirt was- and only a foot from his languid pose on the bed, she didn't budge. "Something happened to make you pissed at me. What was it."
"You didn't do anything. Jesus. Don't you have something else to do? Have you even bothered seeing anyone since you came home? Maybe I wanted some time away- don't we see enough of each other at Queens'? Do you have to suffocate me here in London, too?"
That did it. The tension released from her face, and her jaw and arms went loose. She stared at him, hurt. "Seriously?"
"Maybe," he snapped back, churlish.
"You- feel like I suffocate you, at school?"
No, fuck, I can't get enough of you and it's scary as hell and if you knew how badly I want you- you'd hate me even more than you do right now. I want to be suffocated by you, drown in you.
He swallowed, and when he said, "Sometimes," he hoped she bought it. Even as his heart hammered in his ribs.
Silence stretched out between them.
"Well, I didn't know," she finally said in a small voice. She wasn't looking at him anymore. She was sort of eyeing his floor, the posters on his walls, the pile of junk on his desk. "I guess I didn't really think of it that way."
He sucked breath in through his teeth, his heart crunched into pieces at the expression on her face.
Then, all fire and fight again, she stared him down with watering hell in her eyes and snarled, "You know, if you didn't like eating with me, you could've just said so. And you sit next to me every class, asshole."
He opened his mouth to retort (beg? confess?) but she had whirled around and was gone.
The front door slammed again.
When her chair was empty at dinner, he tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. It didn't help when Edwin asked, "Where's Casey?"
"I think she went out with Emily."
"Awww, she took a page from Derek's book." Lizzie smirked and took a big bite of honey-glazed carrots.
"I'm glad you stayed in tonight, Smerek," Marti pronounced from her end of the table.
"It is good of you to hang around tonight, Derek," George said warmly.
Derek somehow fitted his face with a smile. "Yeah, well, it was time to spend some quality time with the fam."
"Minus Casey," Lizzie interjected around the food in her mouth.
"Right. Can't forget about Casey," Derek grumbled with an eyeroll. Casey, part of his family. He was so fucked.
"They see each other enough at school." Edwin clapped him on the back. "Our turn!"
"I do think it's so nice that you two are really connecting in college, Derek," Nora told him, features soft and warm and motherly (motherly to him because he was her step-son and he was in love with her daughter and if she knew, she would be sick). "I always thought you two would really click, if you gave it a proper chance."
They had. And it was the best thing in his life. And he was obligated to destroy it before it left ruins in its path.
As if to punctuate his half-brother's angst, Simon slammed his plastic bowl down on his high-chair tray. Nora cooed at him and smoothed back his hair.
"You know, she's right, son," George agreed, pointing a fork at Derek. "I think I always knew you two would get tight."
Derek, Casey, and "tight" were coincidentally a combination of words he'd recently been a little too obsessed with.
"I don't see it," Lizzie said archly, looking at Derek with some censure. "I think you still act like you did last year, like you always did before. You seem like you're fighting."
"Well, your sister has been saying all semester that Derek makes college feel a lot more like home," Nora told Lizzie, then sent another sunny smile his way.
Funny- that's exactly the word that had wedged itself between his heart and lungs and ribs every time Casey opened her mouth these past few months. And it had nothing to do with the pastoral family dinner scene here, but something more intangible and frightening and wondrous by far. Well, no matter how Casey had meant it, he'd ensured there was no hope going forward.
Nora was still talking. "She really is so happy to spend time with you, Derek. Thanks for looking out for her. You always have her best interests in mind. I really do appreciate it."
He was afraid that when he opened his mouth, he was going to wretch. Luckily, he was able to respond in a believable voice: "Yeah, always. It's no problem."
Simon- half Venturi, half McDonald- slammed his bowl down on the tray again, a cry burbling in the back of his throat.
/
They went bowling that night. Casey didn't come, and wasn't back when they returned.
"Should we be worried?" Lizzie was dressed in pajamas, halfway up the stairs.
Nora finished wiping down the table with a dish rag, unbothered. "No, Lizzie. She's old enough now to make good choices. I'm sure she's fine."
Derek grouchily eyed the clock. Nearly midnight.
"You staying up?" Nora mounted the stairs, too.
"Yeah, just for a while. I've missed my chair. Did my duty with family time, and now I've gotta give the chair the attention she deserves. Maybe watch some Hockey." He twirled the remote in his hands convincingly.
"Okay, just keep the volume down. Night, Derek."
After Nora left, and every footstep in the house had sunken into silence, and there was nothing but the vague commentary of hockey game re-run, Derek stood for a stretch. The clock now read 1:35. With lips sucked in a straight line, he wandered through the back of the house, out onto the back porch.
How long he was planted on the step outside, he couldn't say. But the soft pad of Casey's footsteps through the grass, cutting through the yard (undoubtedly from Emily's) made him look up. She froze when she caught his eye.
"Derek," she murmured.
"Home late." His voice and face were neutral. She looked beautiful. Just as beautiful in the moonlight as she'd looked in the sunlight this morning. An angel in the glaring light of the sun, and mythical in the moonlight. Her hair was loose again, curls cascading and catching starlight and trying to damn him anew.
"Yeah, well-" she stiffened further, if it was possible. "You reminded me I had people to see."
"How is dear Emily?" He knew he was being obvious in his prying.
"She's great. Doing great. Now let me by, I'm tired-"
"Did Emily keep you out this late?" he asked amicably.
She paused, as if considering, then said brazenly, "Not just Emily."
He had a horrible feeling he knew the next words out of her mouth-
"I saw Truman, too." Her right eyebrow rose with challenge.
"You must be fucking kidding me." Derek stood now, looking down at her in shock. "Why?!"
"Because," she retorted quietly. "I wanted to go out, and let my hair down, and- well, Truman is in town for Spring Break-"
"Yeah, how good of him to make sure his standard schedule of doing nothing was cleared just in time to take advantage of the niave co-eds back in town."
"Shut up, De-rek," she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. "And just what are you implying?! Take advantage of me?! Niave?!"
"Oh, c'mon Casey. It's not like you went off to college and had a sexual awakening that suddenly makes you able to handle a rat like Truman." He could smell her usual perfume, but there was an undertone of beer on her breath. "You forget, I know what you've been up to at college, and hosting Monologue Night is about as close as you've gotten to oral-"
Her eyes flashed and she made to move past him. He caught her easily, the polyester of her jacket clinging to his hand.
"Sorry, that was rude." He took a breath. "What's gotten into you? And into Emily, for that matter? She hates Truman!"
"Well, unlike you, Emily wants me to make my own decisions. You know what, Derek? That actually brings me to my next point. I have something to say." She was still whispering, but the necessity of low volume made her face all the more flustered in her efforts. "You have no idea what you want, do you? On one hand, you hate when I go off and live my own life. You always have, even if you pretend you don't! Somehow, you always find a way to barge back in, don't you?"
He felt like the oxygen had been punched out of his gut, but Casey wasn't done. She was right up in his face, finger jabbing at his chest muscle, mad as a hellcat.
"On the other hand, you want to keep me an arm's length away but not too far, just enough to mock me but still be able to order me around, to make me feel bad when I start to think you have a heart and care about me. You trap me into thinking we're friends," she spits the word, "then you totally eviscerate my feelings!"
She'd been close plenty of times before, but there was no denying the pounding in his chest this time. Not even relentless guilt was enough to cool the temptation pumping through his veins.
She wasn't done. Casey was never done until she gave as good as she got. He loved that about her; he was certain she'd be like that with whatever guy she deigned to be. And he knew instinctively, like he knew his own flaws and talents, that that passion would be all consuming...it would swallow her whole if she unleashed it. He wanted to be the one she unleashed it on. He always had been. He was hungry for her passion- insatiable for it. She was passion incarnate.
"You are such a prick! You make me feel like the Ugly Stepsister you just can't shake. You just- like, I don't know! Get off on making me miserable! Is that it, Derek? What thrill do you get out of this?"
He was watching her with a slackened jaw, somewhat dazed by her proximity, by her perfume. Maybe it was because he was starving for her, in the handful of days he'd kept himself away.
"Answer me," she hissed. "Why do you do what you do?"
And Derek, feeling like some cosmic force had him in its grip, did the only thing his brain could command: his hands gripped her hips, yanking her close, and he slammed his mouth against hers. Desperate to taste, to feel, to draw just an iota of that passion from her lips and take it into himself forever- maybe he could sustain himself off this one moment. He'd cling to it forever and try to forget about the day his dad ever brought this perfectly imperfect girl into his life and uselessly tried to cram her into the category of "sister."
Casey resisted for a second- he felt her hands on his shoulders, about to push. But then they curled in, clutching him to her. Her tongue slipped against his, her lips moving in a dance that he'd imagined countless times. She tasted like beer, sure, but beneath that, she was uniquely Casey. He held her to him, with a feeling similar to starvation rising in his gut. He couldn't get close enough. If the universe was kind, it would've let them meld together in this moment and slip away into something immaterial and unburdened and solely themselves.
A jolt of pleasurable shock shot through his frame when he realized that Casey- beautiful, annoying, fucking perfect Casey- was grinding against him. Right there, in their parents' backyard, she was pressing against him with the slightest movement rocking her hips.
She tore her mouth from his with a gasp, her fingers bunched in the fabric of his shirt. His eyes searched hers, drinking in the blue like it was ambrosic. Her hips continued to rock, teasing his cock until it was unmistakably straining against the denim of his jeans.
"Derek," she breathed.
He kissed her again, before she could say anything else. Before she could tell him "let's stop" or "you shouldn't have done that," or "we can't ever do this again." No, he couldn't let that be it; that was too brief. He need just a little more time; another taste, another moment of exquisite torture with her lush form fit against him. He sucked on her tongue and bucked his hips ever-so-gently against hers. Casey made a sound of surprise, like a moan.
"Shh," he murmured against the shell of her ear. "You'll wake them up."
Casey pulled back, staring at him with an expression of wonder. "Derek, this is crazy." Her lips looked so pink; he'd never wanted her more.
"Maybe it is." His lips traveled the line between her ear and shoulder, dancing over the goose-prickled flesh softly. Christ, what it took to resist sucking on the pale skin there, at the junction of her neck. He wanted to burst the blood vessels under the force of his kiss; wanted a red mark to bloom there in glaring incrimination of this moment. It would serve as a reminder to her- to him- that even if it was just for a single hour, she was his. He laved the spot with his tongue, relishing the shudders that skittered through her frame.
Then, pure bliss: "Mark me," she murmured.
She moaned when he sucked on her skin, her breaths stirring his hair. Her arms locked around him. When finally he pulled back, with the taste of Casey's skin still lingering on his lips, his eyes couldn't budge from the reddish purple hickey he'd kissed into her shoulder.
"Is it obvious?" Her question was a low whisper.
He nodded, mutely, afraid to speak and spook her.
She nodded, too. She ran a finger over the wet skin, eyebrows pitched upward. Her voice was unsure. "Um, Derek?"
His voice was thick. "Yes?"
"Are you drunk?"
After a moment, he finally shook his head once. No. His eyes burned into hers.
She swallowed. "Oh."
"Are- are you?" The pit in his stomach multiplied.
"No."
Thank God.
She pinched her lips together, studying him again. "I don't know what to say."
"Fuck. That's a rarity." Derek cleared his throat. She smirked at the barb. "I don't either. You're supposed to be the one who's good with words."
"Yeah. Yeah, there is that, isn't there?" After a brief pause, she stepped forward again, palm cupping the back of Derek's neck as she lowered his face to hers. When she kissed him, it was distinctly sweeter, and not nearly as starved as his own kiss had been. Still, he returned even her tender kiss with some urgency.
When her mouth "Case- you've got to know-"
I love you, I've always loved you, you're everything I never knew I wanted, don't tell me it's impossible, let's disappear together, touch me.
"-there's a million things I want to say," he said honestly, voice raw and quiet. He ran his lips over her forehead, over her cheekbones, her jaw.
She swallowed, her fingers twitching against his shoulders. Then, carefully, she whispered, "Maybe it's best if you don't say any of them."
His chest felt hollow.
As if she could sense the change, she clarified, "Just, not yet. Let's...be careful with what we say. You're important to me, Derek. And I don't want you to say something and regret it. It's been an emotional week for us. And...I just don't want either of us to get in over our heads."
That hollowness didn't ease.
"Der?"
"Yeah. I mean, that's fine. Smart, probably." He pulled away. How was it that the heart that had been so frantic and loud only minutes before, now felt like total grey space?
Casey's eyebrows upturned. "Derek. I'm not an idiot. I can see your eyes and I know you're hurt by what I'm saying but- you really shouldn't be."
He scoffed. "Whatever. Maybe you're right. Maybe this was a stupid move. Lunacy."
She didn't buy it. "Derek, stop it. There's no need to whip out the defense technique on me." Then remembering to keep her voice down, she whispered, "There's so much I want to say to you, too. I've been wanting to say, for a while. I've been afraid to. But just because this moment is so good- and the kiss was amazing- doesn't mean I want to overload it with...with everything, you know? I want us to process it and do it for real."
Derek's eyebrows rose.
Immediately, her cheeks flamed red, and she threw up both hands to her cheeks. "No, not it, though I mean, I'm not saying I wouldn't do it with you, because I woul- you know what, I didn't mean that so that's not the point right now-"
His mouth popped open. "What?" Fuck, he was instantly hard. Had he heard her right?
She scrunched her eyes shut, face blister-red. "I'm saying, I want us to- do this right. Because the past few months of my life have been the best and I can't imagine not having you in my life. I don't want to scare you off, and I don't want to scare myself."
He didn't speak. All he could think was- fuck, Casey always knew how to put into words things that he didn't even know he was feeling. So, he nodded, and said, "Agreed."
"But." She cleared her throat once. Looked at the ground, then, with a very Casey-like resolution, reached for his hands. She twined her fingers with his. Those eyes. They crinkled around the edges with a smile. "But, Derek, that was an amazing kiss."
He couldn't help it as a smirk bloomed on his face. "Oh yeah?" he replied smugly. "Surely you're not surprised."
He expected an eyeroll or a "De-rek" but instead...Casey smiled, so genuinely that his knees nearly buckled.
"Actually, no. I'm not surprised at all."
She pressed a quick, sweet kiss to his mouth. His heart was still hammering as she pulled away. With a finger to her lips and a "shhh" she slipped through the backdoor.
Derek followed, unable to fight back a grin of his own.
Hi! Published elsewhere earlier in the month but didn't realize how many fans were on this website, so posting here too. :) Please forgive any mistakes or discrepancies as artistic license...in reality, I'm brand new to the fandom and love this pairing and the actors that play them. Wanted to keep the Dasey fandom active. Hope to see even more fan works soon. Love it all. Please comment with your thoughts as I would like to continue if there's enough support. Thanks for your time.