Disclaimer: Pointless though it may be, I thought you should all know that I do not own Scrubbing Bubbles . . .
And I don't own Annie either . . .
And I definitely do not own MySpace . . . Stupid Tom. Grr . . .
Scrubbing Bubbles
Derek woke up around eight in the morning, stretching his toned limbs lazily. He'd gone to bed early the previous evening, upset by something Casey had said to him about Max, stupid football-playing Max, Casey's new boyfriend Max.
"He's sweet and polite and strong and adorable. Kind of like you, except you're the exact opposite." She had smiled mock-sweetly at him after that declaration, and the whole situation had rubbed him the wrong way. Of course, she had good reason to say those things: Lynette, the busty, bodacious, and bitchy blonde Derek was currently seeing, who he was supposed to meet at noon that day for a bit of fun.
"I thought we agreed we could see other people," Casey snapped in a whisper.
"Well, maybe we shouldn't," Derek replied, voice low.
"You're just jealous that I found someone with looks and brains," Casey hissed meanly.
"You're just mad because you thought my breakup with Kendra meant we'd be exclusive," Derek growled back.
"No, I'm mad because you can date Lynette, but I can't date Max."
"Lynette doesn't mean anything to me, but Max--"
"Max is nice," Casey interjected. "You can't blame me for wanting to have a real relationship with a nice guy."
"This isn't a real relationship?" Derek asked, nostrils flaring.
"Derek, you know that's not what I meant," Casey defended weakly.
"Oh, I do? Never mind. Just forget it. You can go date 'nice guy' Max, and I'll stick with Lynette. At least she never puts up a fight." He was unwilling to admit that that was the very thing he adored most about his Casey, who was now glaring daggers at him, upset beyond words as he spun to leave her room. "Just one more thing," he said, turning back to her. "Why do you like him, anyway?"
"Well, he's sweet and polite and strong and adorable. Kind of like you, except you're the exact opposite." Derek scowled at her and left, slamming the door on his way out.
He'd ignored her crying, sobs which could be heard through the thin walls, and blasted his earphones, eventually falling into a fitful slumber.
If she wanted to be with Max the Nice, then so be it. That was his resolution for the morning; accept defeat . . . or something like that.
Now highly disgruntled, Derek moved out of his bed, slothing his way to his closet to pull out the day's clothes.
Grumbling about it being way too early to wake up on a Saturday, Derek dragged himself down the hall, to the bathroom.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow! You're only a day away!" Casey's cheery singing voice came from the bathroom, the door to which was wide open.
Derek was suddenly very alert; Casey usually sang when she was bathing. Rising to his tiptoes, he crept down the hall, pressing his back against the wall next to the bathroom before he peered around the doorframe. There she was, standing in the bathtub, but he was slightly disappointed to find she was still clothed, barely.
Derek stepped fully into view, leaning against the doorjamb casually. "What're you doing?" he asked, wetting his lips as he watched Casey's tank top ride up when she reached toward the ceiling.
She jumped to face him, letting out a startled squeak. Her surprise faded as a glower overtook her pretty features. "Oh, it's just you." She uttered the last word with a certain amount of disgust, tugging at her too-short shorts self-consciously. "I'm cleaning."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "It's Saturday. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
Casey wrinkled her nose at him "I'm sorry you won't be able to go see Lynette this instant because I'm cleaning the shower. Although, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you smelled like a pig. She never puts up a fight."
Derek sighed as she turned back to the tile with her old rag. "You're still mad about that? Come on, I was just being stupid. You know I love our fights."
Casey snorted disdainfully, but after a beat said, "Mom asked me to clean the bathroom today because she has a presentation to finish." It was her way of subtly making known the fact that she was willing to bestow her forgiveness if he earned it.
Good, old Nora Derek thought as Casey bent over to scour the faucet, which was covered in the foam of lemon-scented, aerosol Scrubbing Bubbles.
Casey glanced over her shoulder, unnerved, annoyed, and slightly thrilled to find that her sleep-ruffled stepbrother was still standing in the doorway, shamelessly ogling her. "Did you want something?" she inquired, straightening, much to his frustration, as shown by the look in his eyes.
"By now, Case, I think you know what I want," he muttered, voice deepening as his lust bubbled to the surface.
Casey's cheeks flushed, as they always did when Derek said things like this. "Do I?" she asked in a sultry voice, scanning his face for an answer.
"You should," he murmured, stepping into the room and locking the door behind him.
Casey's heartbeat constricted her lungs as Derek stepped closer, reaching out to put a hand on the exposed skin above the elastic band on her shorts. "C'mere," he intoned, grip tightening possessively. She dropped the damp rag and put her hands on his broad shoulders, using him for balance as she stepped out of the slippery tub.
His chest met hers, and they both paused, stricken by the electricity that never failed to be emitted when their bodies brushed.
Smirking, knowing he was going to get exactly what he wanted, Derek lowered his lips to Casey's, arms going around her waist. She smiled into the kiss, running her hands through the hair at his nape.
"I should be cleaning," she managed to mumble as Derek brought his mouth to her ear lobe.
"Mmhmm," he agreed as Casey pulled off his shirt, tantalized by the ripples of his built body.
"I love hockey," she moaned as Derek reached the dip in between her collar bones.
"'S better 'n football?" he queried, a touch of jealousy causing him to nip at her skin.
Casey gasped, her nails digging into his back. "Yes."
"Good," Derek snarled, reaching down to grab her backside.
She let out another harsh pant. "I don't want you to see Lynette again," she announced huskily.
"No Max," Derek countered against her breastbone.
"Fine," Casey conceded.
"Are we allowed to see other people then?" Derek asked, agonizingly pulling away and looking her in the eye.
Casey drew in a shuddering breath. "I don't know. Are we?"
"Do you want me to date other girls?" Derek questioned pointedly.
"No," Casey answered quickly.
"And I sure as hell don't want you hanging around other guys," Derek declared aggressively.
"So, it's just us," Casey clarified, her tone slightly questioning.
"I guess . . . But people'll get suspicious," Derek thought aloud.
"Tell them there's a girl in . . . in Boston," Casey suggested, stepping away from him and back into the tub, bending over to pick up the rag.
Derek resisted the urge to pull her back to him and reasoned, "I never went to Maine."
Casey gave him a withering glance. "Boston is in Massachusetts."
"Oh. Yeah, I knew that; just kiddin'." He grinned and gave her a soft nudge.
Casey rolled her eyes, starting on the third wall. "And no one needs to know you haven't been there."
"Sam knows," Derek stated. "And he'd be curious."
"Well, if you don't have any other ideas, we could always tell everyone you're gay," Casey quipped dryly.
Derek's eyes widened. "No way."
"Then Boston girl it is," Casey resolved haughtily. "You . . . met her over the Internet through some website . . ."
"MySpace," Derek offered.
Casey quirked an eyebrow. "Okay, MySpace . . . and you fell in love over--"
"I don't 'fall in love'," Derek interrupted quickly. Casey shot him a look, and he added a quick, "With anyone but you, dearest." He batted his eyelashes irreverently.
Narrowing her eyes, Casey grabbed a scoopful of foam and wiped it on Derek's chest, laughing at his appalled expression.
It occurred to Derek briefly that Casey was the Scrubbing Bubbles of his life; ever since she'd been placed there, she'd been eating away at all the bad things about him. Before appreciation could take hold, however, he pulled Casey out of the bath, getting the foam on her shirt. Naturally, it wasn't long before they were both rolling around on the bathroom floor, scrambling to the tub to reload every so often. It was when a groggy Edwin knocked on the door that they knew they were in trouble.
So much for Scrubbing Bubbles . . .
A/N: Plot? What plot? Okay, so maybe it had a little plot (I'm probably just saying that to console myself), but it was mostly nonsensical. Review if you like!