AN: Hi Everyone! I hope you enjoy this little story...
Clearing Away the Cobwebs by Kricket Williams
Penelope woke to someone licking her feet.
It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, per se, it was more unusual...and, for some reason, the wetness reminded her that she needed to use the bathroom. She groaned, kicked her foot, and tried to roll on her back.
It ended up being an impossibility. A heavy bar placed over her low back held her down and impeded any movement she tried to make. Then the bar proceeded to pull her closer to a hot, warm side.
Since she was single, and therefore she usually didn't sleep with anyone, that made her open her eyes and stare at an unfamiliar pillow.
"Oh...oh shit," she said, flipping to her side.
She was now staring at a rather naked Derek Morgan, sprawled over the black satin sheets of what was probably his bed. He was snoring...and he still looked beautiful. That was highly unfair-no man should look that good snoring with a hint of drool coming out of his mouth!
What in the hell happened last night?
She glanced down quickly at her body, noticed her bra and panties were still on, and noted his boxers were in place...and then heaved a sigh of relief.
At least that didn't happen.
Moving herself erect, she managed to knock his heavy arm down to lay across her hips. She glanced around the cyclone that was Derek's room, and then focused at the bottom of his bed.
Clooney, the foot fetishist, was doing what could only be described as a doggy potty dance: walking back and forth, whining and whimpering.
"Okay, boy," she said, understanding the feeling. Her own urgency was now calling big time.
Carefully slithering out from under Derek's arm, she stepped on something squishy, shook her foot and cringed, and then noticed the clock that had been knocked off his bed stand onto the floor.
It read one pm.
"Poor doggy!" she cried. No wonder he was doing the potty dance; that was a long time to wait!
She hurriedly looked for something to put on. Derek had a lot of guests last night; she didn't know if they were still there, and she didn't want to put on a show.
After a long hunt, her own clothes were no where to be found. She could only find one of Derek's old sweatshirts from the top of his laundry pile, so she pulled that on. It left her legs completely exposed, and some of her panties. Not exactly how she wanted to face the crowd, but it would have to do.
Clooney gave another heartfelt-and bladder full-whimper.
She sighed, then rolled her eyes. "You are lucky I love you," she snapped to the dog, then opened the doorway. She peaked her head around the entryway, looking for signs of life.
"There's no one here."
"Ah!" she yelped, standing up too quickly. She clunked her head on the door, immediately bringing her hand up to rub it.
"Good morning, Baby," Derek said, sitting up in his bed. He looked delightfully rumpled, his face had little creases, and his eyes were still somewhat puffy from sleep. His chest was bare and perfect as usual, and his dark boxers were hugging his hips...and other delicious body parts she shouldn't notice.
Damn, he looked good...and tasty, too. For some reason, she could almost taste his skin on his neck...warm, salty...spicy.
She blanched. What was wrong with her? This was DEREK, for Pete's sake! She'd never kissed his neck-not that she wouldn't relish the opportunity. It just...wasn't like that between them.
"I...ahh...I'm letting Clooney out," she answered.
His sleepy eyes widened, and he started to put his foot over the side of the bed. "I can-"
"No, I'm up," she interrupted quickly, not wanting him to get out of the bed. Getting up would mean bringing his luscious body closer to hers, and distance was a good thing at this point, since she was thinking impure thoughts. "I'll do it."
She made it down the hall through his messy, disheveled home, and groaned. This never would've happened if she'd stayed on her guard. She never should've agreed to do the shots with him. Now they had a ton of cleanup to do.
"Come on, sweetness," he'd cajoled in that deep voice of his. "Just two little shots. I was telling Bryant here about how you always make shots tastier."
Not wanting him to lose face in front of his college buddies, she'd agreed to let him do the body shot off her chest.
Of course, then he'd talked her into doing a couple of her own.
"D," she'd protested. "I'm watching the house. If I drink, I'll-"
He'd kissed her then, fast and quick on the lips, something he'd never done before. It had sent a riot of tingles through her body. She figured that he must've been very drunk to do something like that.
He'd cupped her cheek then in his big, warm palm. "You let me worry about that, sugar, okay? I only want you to have some fun."
She'd tried to fight it, but several jello shots later (They didn't taste like they had a lot of alcohol!) and she was where she was this morning.
Nearly naked.
In her best friend's bed.
"Go ahead, Clooney," she said, opening the door.
The dog nearly genuflected at her before running out the door in a rush of shaggy blonde fur.
What sucked is she had no idea how she'd arrived in that bed. After a few more drinks, she'd been singing, laughing, having a good time...and she had no idea what happened after that.
Walking slowly back towards the bedroom, she stopped at the adjoining bathroom and went potty herself. Then she washed her hands and looked into the mirror.
Her makeup was smudged beyond repair. She had raccoon circles under her eyes from mascara, and her lipstick was gone. Her cheeks had no trace of blush anymore, either. Her neck had some redness, though...like whisker burn.
She frowned, but then shook her head. How on earth would she get whisker burn? It must've been something else.
"Ugh," she answered, looking at herself.
"You still look beautiful to me."
She turned to smile at him. "Thanks. You're blind, but thank you anyway."
"No. No way. You are beautiful. I have always thought you were beautiful." He walked closer, put his hands on her waist, and kissed the top of her head. "No amount of messy makeup changes that."
Her heart pounded, echoing through her body with each pulse. It was a strange, zinging feeling, one that was so pleasant. The urge to kiss him rose in her, like it would be the absolute right thing to do.
She blanched and stepped away. What was wrong with her?
"Thanks, Hot Stuff," she croaked. "I'm going to the kitchen to pick up cups and find us food."
He sighed and released her. She couldn't help but think he looked and sounded somewhat disappointed.
"Okay," he said, walking back into his room.
Heading into the kitchen, she started grinding some beans. She shouted over the whirring of the machine, "D! I'm making coffee!"
A few moments later, he came in, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She poured him a cup; he accepted it, took a sip, and smiled at her. "So good. As always."
"Thanks," she said. She'd made him coffee a million times before when she'd spent the night watching movies at his place before.
After a breakfast of toast and coffee, they started clearing some of the mess. Penelope began tossing trash into a big bag, lots of cups and empty bottles. People were damned disgusting; she was going to have to talk to him about setting up dumpsters before his next party.
She was kneeling on the floor, reaching under his coffee table, when she heard his voice.
"Penelope?"
She looked up to see that Derek had paused in cleaning off the island in the kitchen. He looked thoughtful.
"What, sweet cheeks?"
"Last night...Did you mean any of it?" He looked so apprehensive, nervous...and hopeful? She couldn't tell.
Oh, shit, she thought, as she paled. Something did happen, and she didn't remember it.
"Any of what?" she asked.
Immediately, she watched as his gaze became shuttered, blocked off. He began to smile, a loose, player smile she'd seen him deliver a million times before. "Nothing, honey."
"Derek," she said, scrambling to her feet.
"Ain't no big deal, baby," he replied, still smirking. He started wiping the island off again.
She placed her hand on his, stopping his movements. "Derek Morgan, you have been many things to me, but never a liar. Tell me."
He looked up and what she saw stopped her heart. There was pain, along with something else profound, like uncharted dreams, in his eyes.
"Sweetheart, it doesn't really matter." He gave a short laugh that reeked of self-derision. "It was a misunderstanding. We've said those words before to each other, I've held you in my arms before...sometimes I confuse fantasy with reality."
He smiled again, a wistful, sad smile, and then he went back to cleaning.
She waited just a minute, let everything roll over her and sing in her blood. Was he talking about...was it...could...
It seemed unreal, unbelievable, and so, so...wonderful. It was her impossible dream come true, if she was understanding right...and by the look in his eyes, she was thinking right. Still, she needed concrete proof.
So she asked the question she needed answered the most.
"Am I your fantasy, Derek?"
He met her gaze again, and this time, what he saw in her eyes must've pleased him greatly, because the grin he gave her was magnificent and radiant. He dropped the rag, wiped his palms on his jeans, and brought his hands to her cheeks.
"Every day of my life."
She stared back at him, her heart in her eyes, and then, in that moment, in the middle of his filthy, messy kitchen, he lowered his mouth to hers, and took her breath-and her heart-away. Clearing away the cobwebs over her heart.
She smiled as he kissed her. He didn't need to take her heart away; he'd already had it all along.