Nine Christmas Derek and Casey spent together
2008 – The Secret Christmas
.
..
"We're snowed in," Casey says as she enters their flat.
Derek raises his head above the line of the sofa to watch her take off her coat. She has snow in her hair and red cheeks. He spares a second to regret not having been outside to drop a snowball down her sweatshirt.
"Great," he says, turning back to the TV.
"And the roads are blocked."
Uh-oh.
"We're supposed to leave for London in two hours."
"Well, it's not happening," she shrugs, dropping her bag on the dinner table on her way to the bathroom.
Derek turns off the TV and goes after her.
"Caaaase," he whines, "we have to get back to London. Marti's gonna kill me if I'm not here for Christmas."
She's drying her hair with a towel, so her glare isn't very impressive.
"Well I can't make the snow stop, can I?"
"Can't you?" he asks, leaning against the wall. "I thought witches could do anything."
Casey pushes past him back to the living room, her hair twisted into the towel in that way Derek never mastered (not that he tried). He's a bit pissed off that she's ignoring him, but she's been getting better at it ever since they moved in together a year ago, and he's getting better at being ignored. Not by much, though, which explains why he starts tugging at the towel. That, or suicidal tendencies.
"Der-ek!" she snaps, batting his hand away. "Leave me alone or I'll leave you to call the fam' and tell Marti we're not able to come."
He pulls his hand back like he's been burned. The roles in their flat are clearly defined, and it's always Casey calling to tell bad news. Mostly, she does it because Derek doesn't see the point in confessing his mistakes, and she takes great pleasure in watching him squirm. As much as he would like to deny it, Casey-related bad news have not happened since they moved in together. Derek, on the other hand, is keeping on with his high school trend, despite Casey's best efforts to force some maturity on him.
Casey called her mother when he met girls at parties and slept at their place and never mentioned it to her. In turn, Nora called and berated him, to little effect, until after the fifth occurrence, Casey, apparently fed up with worrying about his whereabouts, called Marti directly. Ever since then, Derek always texts Casey when he's not coming back home.
After that, she called Abby when his grades dropped at the end of hockey season during their freshman year. At that time, Derek wondered at the evil genius of the girl he was living with, because he had never told her that Abby was the sole provider of his pocket money. His mother wasn't happy, stopped her monthly payments, Derek wasn't happy, Casey tutored him (ever seen the similarity between 'tutored' and 'tortured'?), Derek's marks picked up and the situation went back to normal. Except for the tiny detail of the weekly session of cramming that was somehow maintained after that. But Derek has been very, very careful that nobody else ever learnt about that (what if someone wanted to join?)
He pokes her in the ribs and she squirms away. Casey's extremely ticklish and it's an endless delight that he tries to resist as best as he can. Then again, he's always thought the best way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it (yes – he reads. Sometimes).
Casey's developed resistance strategies though, and his attempt to tickle her to death is met with a hard pinch just under the ribs.
"Ow!" he yells.
"You big baby," she sing-songs, moving out of his reach.
He pouts. She glares. Then he steps right in her personal space – damn he loves doing that, gets a rise out of her every single time – and slings his arm over her shoulders.
"Soooo, are you calling?" he asks, leaning in.
She tries to push him off but he resists. If he lets go now she will escape and leave him to deal with Marti just to piss him off. And there's no-fucking-way he's telling his baby sister that he's not attending her favorite time of the year.
It's slightly vexing that the only reaction he gets from Casey is annoyance and attempts to get away from him. Most girls like it when he's in such close proximity to them.
"Here," he says, trusting the phone in her hand.
"Geez, I get it," she snaps. "One of these days you'll have to learn how to deal with Marti, you know."
"I still have three years of college life with you before I have to worry about that," he jokes, watching as she dials the family.
His arm contracts involuntarily when he hears someone pick-up and, as it is still around Casey's neck, she picks up on his nervousness. She laughs silently and mouths "coward" as he hears Nora's breathless greeting.
"Hey Mom, it's Casey."
"Oh, hi sweetie, how are you?" Derek can hear through the phone.
"Stuck here for a few days," Casey says without any preambles, much to Derek's horror.
His arm is clenched tight now and she shots him an annoyed look, smacking it lightly to signify he's hurting her.
"Yes, I saw the news," Nora's sighing right before yelling: "Marti, don't feed your brother your broccolis, he's not a dog and he can't eat them yet."
Casey winces and pushes the phone away from her ear.
"We'll come as soon as the weather's better," she says. "We should be able to make it for New Year's Eve."
"It's alright, sweetie. We'll manage without the two of you," Nora says. "I guess Derek doesn't want to talk to Marti just yet?"
Casey shifts slightly to cast an interrogating look at Derek and he shakes his head frantically.
"He's barely breathing as it is," she announces – lies – in answer.
"Right. He does know she's going to call him to protest against this anyway?"
"I'll prep him so he doesn't cave. I don't trust his driving on a normal day, there's no way I'm letting him drive us back to London in a snowstorm because he's not able to resist a Marti guilt-trip."
It's a mistake, because in their current position, he has perfect access to her neck. He tickles her there, making her gasp and:
"Der-ek!"
E-ve-ry time. Except that now it's time to retreat, because Casey's got that glint in her eyes that makes her look a bit maniacal.
"Ok, honey, I can see you're heading to yet another fight, and since Marti's trying to murder Simon by suffocation with broccolis, I'll leave you to it. Love you both."
"Love you too mom," Casey answers absent-mindedly as she shuts down the phone and pounces on Derek's retreating back.
She's perfected her technique over the years, and once she's wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck there's no getting out of her grip.
And here's the big secret: he's ticklish too. Not as much as her, but enough that in this position, she'll inevitably be the winner. His attempts at resistance are futile, and he ends up lying on the floor, Casey sitting on his back and cackling evilly.
She bends down and some of her hair, escaped from the braid she had earlier, brushes against his cheek and makes him shudder.
"I wooon," she croons close to his ear.
Then she pinches him hard in that spot under the ribs that she already bruised earlier and dashes to her room. He hears the lock slide into place. One of these days he's gonna bust the damn thing. (Actually… why wait?)
Casey's door is saved by his phone ringing. There's loud music and a Gael at the other end of the line, though Derek hears the first one better than the second – at least until the guy starts yelling at his roommate to turn this shit down. Derek winces and has a sorry thought for his deceased earbud.
"D, it's Josh!"
Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't point out that he has caller ID. He's tried telling Josh before, but it just rolls off his back like water off a duck's. Or whatever way the saying goes.
"Are you stuck here too?" Josh asks. "Cuz almost all the team's here, and everyone's pissed because we can't leave now."
Of course they were. The hockey team, and eventually their girlfriends and whatever poor soul had been supposed to ride back with them, were stranded in Kingston because their coach had decided to have a last training session before the holidays, pushing back their departure time later than anyone else.
"So Gigie decided to throw a party at her place so we have something to do!"
Gigie's a Gael girl, in every sense of the term – she plays for the volleyball team, and she's dating their captain. The girl lives, eats and breathes red and gold and she never misses an opportunity to throw a Gaels' party. Her parents are also filthy rich and she and Harrison got the best place amongst all of them. All in all, she's the best girlfriend ever in the eyes of the whole hockey team.
Gigie's real name is Georgiana, and Derek got punched in the stomach for using it by mistake the first time he met her. So far, the only one he's seen getting away with calling Gigie by her real name without any consequence is Casey. For some reason he can't fathom, the Gaels poster girl has taken quite a shine to his neurotic stepsister, and it's not unusual for him to come back from training to find both girls lounging in the sofa watching chick flicks on his TV.
"Sweet," he says. "I'll be there."
"She says you'll only be admitted if Case's with you," Josh adds with a booming laugh.
Damn it.
"Whyyyy?" he whines. "Why does she like her so much?"
"Cause she's great?" his teammate suggests.
"Your opinion doesn't count," Derek sniffs.
Josh's been nursing a crush on Casey since he met her (despite Derek's best attempt to prevent Spacey from meeting any of the Gaels). The only reason Derek tolerates it is because Casey is completely oblivious to it, and not in the sense that she is not aware that she was attractive. Josh just doesn't register on her radar as a man, and much less as dating material. Like, thankfully, most of the hockey team. Derek's not grateful, per se, but… (He doesn't think "Male Code" would fly at university).
"Anyway, get the roomie or get told off," Josh says before hanging up.
Ok, so nobody at Queen's is exactly aware of their family situation. It's not that they've ever tried to hide it, but it's such a pain to explain it. Besides, Casey's pretty happy to not be labeled "Derek's sister" anymore (she's been vocal about the advantages). She could have been labeled "Derek's roommate" instead, but Queen's was big, and by the time Derek had made a name for himself on campus, Casey had also made hers. Granted, it was as a SuperKeener, as she was known for having the best marks out of all the freshmen, despite a change in major during the year, but still. Derek still couldn't get over the shock of being "Casey McDonald's roommate" (sometimes! Only sometimes! Most of the time he's still Derek Venturi, the hotshot rookie of the Gaels).
"Caaaaasey!" he bellowed. "We're invited at Gigie's for a party."
"Do you have to be so loud?" she snaps, getting out of her room. "Are you so lazy that you can't move your ass to my room?"
"Your door was locked," he points out.
"I would have opened it if you had knocked. Anyway, I already know, she just texted me. I'll get ready, check whether we have anything that we can bring there."
Derek shrugs and returns to his video game, confident that he's got at least one hour before she's ready.
"And do it now, otherwise you'll have forgotten by the time I'm finished," she calls from the bathroom.
He should never, ever, have agreed to move in with his bossy, meddling, nagging stepsister.
Gigie's already had a few beers when they arrive: her voice is loud and shrill when she spots Casey, and with her, the decibels are always proportional to the alcohol in her blood.
The only thing she says to Derek is "Good boy," as she pats him on the back, then she slips her arm under Casey's and in a blink, they've disappeared in the crowd.
There are actually quite an impressive number of people, considering most of the campus should have already left for their holidays. It doesn't take Derek long to spot his teammates, though: they're all sitting in a circle around the table, and there's some kind of drinking game going on.
Derek grins. Exactly what he needed.
"Hey D!" Harrison calls him. "Where are the girls?"
It attracts quite a few laughs from the other guys.
"C'mon Har, leave Gigie some breathing room!"
It's a running job that Harrison's the clingy one in his relationship with Gigie.
"Yeah, just because you two have girls, no need to rub it in our faces!"
"Casey and I aren't together," Derek interjects.
As always, the statement is met with disbelief, despite the fact that both Derek and Casey date other people regularly. Well, Derek dates regularly, Casey, not so much, since Duncan-of-the-fucktards (no, he's not happy about that, just satisfied that she finally realized dating out of her species was a bad idea). The fact that Derek has made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want any of the Gaels to go for Casey doesn't play in his favor.
"Only a matter of time," one of them mutters.
Derek doesn't answer, partly because he knows it's pointless, and partly because leaving some ambiguity makes it much easier to enforce his no-dating-(for)-Casey rule.
"So, what are we playing?" he asks, grabbing a beer.
After that, the game goes hard and fast, and so does his buzz. He's just on this side of completely drunk when Casey and Gigie join them. They both have a beer in their hand, and, though Casey definitely doesn't look as far along as Gigie, or any of the guys, she looks like she's had a few before that. Her cheeks are red and her hair's a bit messy and Derek wishes he had a needle to pop the eyes of the Gaels that are checking her out (there's always a few, despite his warnings).
Gigie immediately settles on Harrison's lap, and Casey comes to stand behind Derek.
"What are you playing?" she asks, putting her hand on his shoulder and bending down a little to see his cards.
"Poker, Spacey. You wouldn't understand it."
Her hair is tickling his neck.
She smiles at him in that "oh, the things you don't know" way she sometimes has, and leans back a little. He takes a large gulp of his drink, though he doesn't need to.
"Do you want to join, Case?" one of the guys calls.
"Don't bother, Gav," Derek smirks. "Casey doesn't do drinking games. And the girl can't tell a proper lie, so a poker face is waaaay out of her league."
"What are the rules?" she asks, moving across to join Gavin.
"Well, we're playing Texas Hold 'em. We start each round with everyone calling a dare. It can be anything – you can target the whole team or specific persons, for example. My dare for last round was that everyone would hop around the table once. Then we start playing, but instead of stakes, we take sips from our drinks. Then the winner of the round gets his dare realized."
"Sounds… Interesting," Casey smiles. "I'll play, but only for one round. I want to dance after that."
"Scared, Casey?" Derek calls from the other side.
Casey glares at him.
"Can I choose my dare now?" she says, smiling sweetly at Gavin.
"Sure."
"Perfect. If I win this round, Derek has to come and dance with Gigie and I," she ponders a little and adds: "For at least twenty minutes."
The look of horror on Derek's face must be obvious, because all of the Gaels are laughing at him. It takes a few seconds for it to dissipate and for his reason to come back. There's no way Casey's going to win anyway. The girl has no poker face whatsoever, she'll betray herself as soon as she'll get her cards.
"Fine!" he says. "But if I win, you'll have to do my chores for a week."
"Like I didn't have to redo them all the time anyway, with the amount of effort you put in," she mutters it, but she's using her stage voice, and everyone hears her perfectly well.
"Sorry I'm not a neurotic clean-freak."
"It's really a wonder how do your groupies can tolerate your lack of personal hygiene."
"Haven't heard anyone complaining," he smirks.
Their bickering is interrupted by Gavin calling for the game to start.
Casey gets her two cards, and Derek is watching her so eagerly that he barely remembers to check his own.
Two guys fold immediately, but Casey takes two sips, and when it comes to Derek, he can't resist taking four, to see if she will follow.
She glares at him and takes four sips… then keeps on going until she's at eight, all the while staring at him defiantly.
The first card is out, and it's not helping him – but judging from the way her eyes dart to it and her checking her cards again, it's not helping her either. He sips ten times, finishing his drink, and grabs another beer. Then he leans back in his chair and smirks at her.
Two other guys fold – the second card comes out, a king, and grants him a pair. He keeps on smirking, but she still follows.
"I fold," Gavin announces.
Derek takes a look around the table and realizes that it's only between Casey and him now. She checks, and the last card is drawn. An ace, which doesn't help him – but she's frowning, so it can only be good for him.
Then she does something so surprising he almost gets up to check her temperature. She grabs another beer and downs it completely.
"All in," she says, wiping her mouth primly.
Everyone's gaping at her – Derek might not like it, but she's as much a fixture in the team than Gigie is, and they know her, and they know Casey McDonald, Princess Extraordinaire, does not down drinks like an experienced truck-driver. Another less savory comparison comes to mind but Derek's pretty sure Casey would behead him for the thought entering his head, and sometimes he's convinced she can read his mind (thankfully, she can't, because some of his thoughts involving her he would really, really rather keep to himself), so he pushes it away immediately. The only one who doesn't react is Gigie, who yells "You go, girl!", but then again, Gigie's the one who's been teaching the Princess to drink in the first place.
Derek stares at her, mouth agape. For one moment he wonders if she really has anything to back up her actions, worried. But he knows her by heart, and there's no way he's read her wrong. She's got nothing. Nothing.
"Casey, Casey, Casey…" he says, shaking his head.
He drowns his beer and throw his cards on the table, beaming at her as her eyes track his king, then move to the one in the middle. He's sure he's won, and he's already relishing the prospect of doing nothing for a whole week, when she raises her eyes toward him and smiles.
It's not even a triumphant one, just a small, childish smile, full of delight. (It's lovely.)
Then she turns her cards up, revealing a king and an ace.
"I woooon," she sing-songs.
Derek thinks all blood has left his face.
Losing to Casey is bad enough, but it happens from time to time. More than he would care to admit, even. It's not that he's gotten used to it (no way in hell) but he wouldn't mind it so badly usually. But dancing (with Casey)? That's a recipe for disaster if he's ever known one.
"Casey…" he pleads (like that ever worked). "I don't dance. You know that."
"Oh, but you have no choice," she says. "You wouldn't want to go back on your word, Der-bear, would you?"
The whole team is laughing, knowing as well as he does that he's cornered. They've learnt along with him that when the Princess is set on something, she simply won't accept a negative answer.
"No choice at all," Gigie says decidedly, getting up. "Come on now, time to dance."
She grabs Derek and drags him to the other room, where the rest of the people have formed a space to dance in. Derek stands in the middle of the moving bodies, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. Gigie leaves him there and turns to Harrison.
"It's not that hard, D," Casey taunts as she joins them. "Just move a little, even your spasms can pass for dancing here."
He's not actually bad at dancing. He's even danced a few times with Casey (twice)(not that anyone's counting). But that was back around the same time he decided never to dance again. It was bad for his heart (and the rest of his cardiovascular system).
"Twenty minutes," she says.
Derek's stubbornly refusing to follow the music. She got him here, it doesn't mean that he has to dance to her tune (or Avicii's tune, as it appears to be. His peers' taste in music is truly appalling).
"You look stupid," she tells him. "You're supposed to move."
"I never look stupid," he answers haughtily. "Everything I do is done the best way, since it's the Derek's way."
"If you say so," she says, rolling her eyes. "Derek, I won the game. You're supposed to dance."
"Tough," he smirks. "I don't want to."
She glares at him. Somewhere in his subconscious, he knows he shouldn't cross her. Somewhere even deeper than that, he sort of relishes the fact that he's provoked her into not letting him escape.
She takes his hands in hers and imprints her movement into him by pushing and pulling slightly, forcing him to adapt to her rhythm. A lot can be said about Casey (and he's said even more), but damn if that girl can dance. His eyes are irresistibly drawn to her hips, which movements his could never imitate, whatever efforts she puts into dancing for two.
When his attention goes back to her face, her eyes are half closed and her smile's really large – he recognizes that look from previous experience. That's the way she looks when she's enjoying dancing while half-drunk.
Hey sister, do you still believe in love I wonder? (How ironic)
Wow, blue. She's opened her eyes and is looking at him, still smiling.
"See? This is fun."
And Derek could almost agree. He's drunk enough (ok, scratch that, he's completely drunk) to forget about his professed hatred of dancing. But he's not far gone enough to abandon their usual dynamics and instead of following her lead, he freezes.
"Oh, look how time flies," he deadpans. "Where did those twenty minutes go?"
Casey glares at him.
"De-rek! It's barely been two minutes! People keep saying you're a man, so prove it!"
And she steps right into him, putting her hands on his shoulders and wedging one of her legs between his so that every time she moves, he's forced to follow. He thinks someone just doused him in gasoline and threw a match on it, because he's burning. He wants to tell her that, but apparently his brain has gone on leave. Or short-circuited.
(He was right about dancing being bad for his cardiovascular system, though. His blood is all gone somewhere he fervently prays she doesn't come too close to.)
There's something in the back of his mind screaming that this is a bad, bad idea, that dancing is the invention of mad, mentally unstable people and that he shouldn't subject himself to it. He doesn't remember why, though.
He opens his mouth to protest, but Casey spins under his arm and comes back even closer than before, their chests almost touching. He can smell her hair, clean and fresh, and suddenly he's not sure he even remembers his name, let alone what he was about to say.
"Ok, that's enough," he manages to articulate, and he feels so proud of himself, he could pat himself in the back. If he could remember how to move his hands from her waist.
"Chicken?" Casey snarks directly in his ear.
Blood delivery to his head is undergoing important repairs following extensive damages.
"Never," he swallows.
(He's terrified.)
So he lets her lead, all the way through the twenty minutes, his skin on fire and too tight for him.
And when she says "okay, you're free to go," with a smile, he's not sure exactly what he's free of, but he hightails out of the room without asking twice about it. (And he's glad one of them had the presence of mind to stop this aberration. No, really, he is.)
It's not long before she finds him again, though. Derek's just joined the Gaels again after a lengthy trip in the bathroom in a vain attempt to bring back his skin to its normal temperature, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. From the way his skin tingles under the shirt, he doesn't even need to turn to guess it's Casey.
She looks flushed and sweaty.
"Derek, I want to go home," she says, pressing his shoulder. "I think I've drunk a bit too much."
Usually, he would have some remark ready about what a lightweight she is, and a buzzkill, and whatnot. He just nods wordlessly. He's tired, anyway, or something.
The walk back home is silent and peaceful. Everything is completely white, and snow is still falling softly. The sharp cold is returning some of his mental functions by extremely small increments. There's a hum going through his body which is not due to alcohol but that he can't exactly identify.
"I think I'm drunk," he states as he fails to push the key in the keyhole.
Casey laughs and pushes him out of the way.
"Evidently your version of drinking too much is not the same as mine," he comments drily when she gets it on the first try, and this time her laughter sounds a bit embarrassed.
They both collapse on the couch, and Casey raises no objection when he puts his feet on the coffee table, making him revise his opinion of her drunkenness.
She snickers beside him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Then, after a silence:
"Just remembering your face when I put my cards on the table."
And then she's laughing so hard she's almost crying.
"You should have seen yourself!" she wheezes when she catches her breath. "Priceless!"
"Spacey…" he says in a warning tone.
"It was like… Poof! All color gone!"
She accompanies her mockeries with large gestures of her hands, leaving her side entirely open. Derek doesn't hesitate for one second: he dives in for the tickling.
"Aaaah!" she half-shrieks, half-laughs uncontrollably. "Cheater! Sore loser! You abysmal poker player!"
Seriously – only Casey would use words such as abysmal when drunk and being tickled.
"Just because you were lucky once doesn't make you the Poker Queen, Princess" he says, tickling harder.
But she's managed to wriggle into a position that gives her access to his own sides, and there's no talking anymore, as they each try to escape each other's attacks while still inflicting as much damage as possible. She manages to get on top of him, but then he flips them over – she yelps in surprise and clench her thighs around his (his brain hands in his resignation letter). He loses his balance, crashes on her, and she grabs at the occasion, tickling him mercilessly. There's not enough air anymore for them to be laughing anymore and their breathing sounds harsh and labored. Derek tries to get back on his knees and hands despite her momentary advantage. Their cheeks brush against each other, their noses bump, and then he's kissing her.
They're kissing each other.
Her mouth is cold from their walk back, and she tastes a bit like beer – or that might be the taste in his own mouth. He doesn't care, because her thighs are still clenched around him, and her hands have moved from his side to his neck, one pressing down to prevent him from escaping (not that he has any intention of doing so), the other playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They stop kissing, catch their breath, look at each other. Derek goes in for another one, because he might as well milk the occasion for what it's worth before Casey comes to her senses.
Casey seems to have no such intention though. She's snaked her hands under his shirt – coooold – and seems to enjoy what she's found, the way her frozen fingers are roaming against his overheated skin. He would return the favor, except that his arms are currently supporting his weight so that he doesn't crush her.
He draws his knees together, gathers her in his arms and gets them in a sitting position, finally allowing him access to his goal. Their tops go up, off, and on the floor. He's kneeling, half nude, watching her for half a second, before they kiss again. There's something unfair about girls having more layers to get rid of, when they're the ones with the most interesting upper body, in his opinion. Then again, it's sort of like unwrapping a gift.
For the first time in longer than he can remember, he fumbles with a bra so much that she finally reaches and unclasps it herself.
"Dork," she murmurs against his lips, laughing softly.
He would retort something, but she's moved her lips to the hollow right below his ear (ok, new erogenous zone, good to know) and her fingers are hovering dangerously close to his waistband, and he can only produce a half-strangled, choked sound as he turns his head to provide her better access.
Somewhere, his brain reacts, with whatever blood is left up there for it, that before this assault on his most sensitive areas, breasts had just been liberated. He can't see what he is doing (he closed his eyes to enjoy the sensations fully), but his hands find her sides and he lightly draws his fingers up until he meet with the sides of the bra. He hears her sharp intake of breath – it's probably tickling her – and she bites his neck lightly in retaliation, which makes him laugh.
The bra, though unclasped, is still hanging from her shoulders, and he continues his fingers' mission up to her shoulders until he feels the straps. Then the bra is gone. Good riddance, he wishes Casey never wore one again in her life – at least in the flat. For all he cared, she could walk around naked in the flat from now on.
Casey's hands are past the waistband though, well into his pants now. Actually she's apparently decided not to bother with coyness, because she's well into his boxers, and the sensation of her still-cold hands on his ass is… Spectacular. As many times as he's imagined touching her ass, he's never given much thought to the reverse. Stupid, unimaginative brat. To think of the hours of daydreaming wasted…
He cups her left breast and draws his thumb carefully over her nipple. Casey shudders, squeezes his ass and grinds herself closer to him, and he's so hard against his jeans it's painful.
"Casey…" and he's almost begging, here.
She draws herself back a little and her fingers trail on his face, tracing out his eyebrow, his cheekbone and his lips, where they linger a few seconds. Her eyes are dark blue and watching him steadily – it makes him want to hide, because it feels that she can see everything, and Derek fervently hopes she doesn't. She would run away if she did, he knows that.
Casey presses her hands on both sides of his face and kisses him fiercely.
"Do you…?" his voice is strangled and damn, he would like prior warning when it decides to sound like he's twelve again. "Do you really…?"
"What, thinking about not delivering, Venturi?" she asks. "I've heard so much about your reputation… Was it all lies?"
Really? That's the way she wants to play it?
"All true," he smirks. "But…"
"I bet you don't want to disappoint me, do you?" she interrupts.
And she's lying beneath him, bare and vulnerable (and she hasn't even made a move to cover her breasts, so much for his belief that she was a prude).
He really, really doesn't want to disappoint her, ever. He almost tells her but he knows it would be too revealing, and he's not exactly sure what's happening here and how it's going to end (the physical part's obvious, it's the other one he has trouble figuring out).
So he just hugs her to his chest maybe a little bit too hard, and he kisses her neck and her collarbone and her breasts are pressed on his chest – there's probably smoke escaping from his ears.
Casey has wrapped her legs around him and she's trying to undo the button of his jeans, but he pushes her back gently and forces to lie back on the sofa. He kisses her breasts, and starts to play with her nipples, when she pushes him back.
"I don't like that," she says.
"Oh," he hesitates. "Okay."
He's been with a girl like that before – she explained that her nipples were too sensitive during sex to support much handling before they became painful. And he also knows that girls don't usually direct guys about dos and don'ts when they're still virgins.
The discovery is surprising, but mostly Derek feels relieved. He's always thought that virginity was overrated, and he definitely doesn't want to be associated in Casey's mind with the pain and the fumbling of a Very First Time. At least now she's capable of enjoying his talents (if he can keep himself focused enough that he can actually use them).
He kisses her stomach, and bats her hand out of the way when her fingers try to help him unbutton her jeans. He takes them off her in one movement and throw them away without looking where they land.
"De-rek!" she admonishes, so it's probably in an inappropriate place (figures – the only appropriate places for unworn clothes are in the closet or the laundry basket, in Casey's opinion).
He cuts the coming diatribe with his lips and fuck, he's kissing a panties-only Casey – it's like every teenage dream come true.
It's her turn to push him back, though, and he catches a smile on her face as she does so, right before she schools her expression.
"It appears to me that you're overdressed, Venturi. How are you supposed to perform in those clothes?" she watches him under her lashes. "Strip."
How is he supposed to control himself when she talks like that? (How the hell is she able to form such long sentences?)
Distantly, he realizes that he should protest: since when does Casey give him orders? Since when does he obey?
Instead, he gets up and keeps his eyes firmly trained on Casey, who pushed herself on one elbow and is returning his intense gaze. Derek has a brief thought (all his thought are brief at the moment, anyway) that Casey in panties, lounging on the sofa, is the hottest thing he's ever laid eyes on. He doubts even Casey without panties will beat it, because there's than hum from before again, and now he's identified it: anticipation.
Casey never lets go of his gaze as he gets rid of his pants, and if anything, it seems that the loss of constraining makes his cock even harder. He moves to get back to the sofa and the inviting softness of Casey's flesh but she stops him with a movement of her hand.
He freezes, unsure what to do.
Casey kneels on the sofa, and her hands are suddenly all over the place, tracing his chest out, squeezing his arms, caressing his stomach and the small of his back. She has that intense look on her face that he recognizes immediately and which knocks the breath out of him. It's her I'm-gonna-ace-this-test look, her I'm-gonna-win look, it's that look of complete and utter determination to be the best that he always found himself drawn to, from the very start.
Religion is not is forte, so he doesn't really know who he's praying to right now, but he's praying alright, praying because that look is probably one of the best things that's happened in his life, but if his prayers are not heard, it might also be, in a way, the worst.
She kisses him softly at the corner of his mouth, the full on the lips. At the same exact moment, she pushes her hands under the waistband of his boxers and grabs him. He lets a sound between a moan and a cry die in her mouth and he surrenders. He's fought enough. Casey wins, and he's never felt better about losing (he's not even sure he's ever felt better about winning). And if she feels the desperation in his kisses and the way his hands grab her hips and crush her against him, well, so be it.
She's pushed his boxers down and he steps out of them. Casey hugs him and presses her breasts against his chest and his cock is pressing against her stomach and he doesn't think he will last long. His breathing is ragged as he reaches for her panties and tug them down and it's… it's…
Well, it's Casey and him, and there cannot be anymore of them right now.
Casey falls back on the sofa and draws him down gently with her, and he hopes she can't feel the way he's shaking as they're lying on top of each other. They're rubbing against each other and Derek is back to praying, fervently, that somehow he manages to last just a bit longer, because he's not sure he could survive to the shame of coming all over Casey's belly.
She reaches for a small decorative box on the coffee table, a box he's been convinced was just there for ornamental purposes until this moment when Casey opens it and takes a condom out, and he doesn't know whether to laugh, cry, or kiss her. He wonders who could be so prepared that they have condoms by the sofa, just in case, but Casey. He wonders for whose benefit the condoms are there in the first place. But he does kiss her.
When he's done putting the condom on, he raises his head to Casey watching him, and the expression on her face make his heart miss a few beats.
She throws herself at him. It's graceless, and it knocks the breath out of him when she slams into his chest and their teeth bump when she goes in for the kiss too hard, yet he answers just as urgently.
She's sitting on him now, his hands clasped on her calves, and she pushes her hair back, wild and messed up while biting her lower lip lightly. Derek feels like he should be saying something, but his throat is too choked up.
Then her hand is on his cock and she's guiding it – him – inside her and when she lowers herself slowly onto him it feels like drowning, or being saved from drowning. He's inside out for her; his heart is probably bleeding in his chest cavity; he's hurting so much he wonders when he turned to masochism, because he's actually enjoying it.
He was right about not lasting long, though, because she moves a few times, and he gives a few trusts, and he's seeing lights on his eyelids while he comes with a moan, his hands crisping jerkily on her legs. He finally relaxes again and feels, despite the post-orgasm glow, a bit like dying.
"Sorry," he says. "It's been a long time."
And it has – it's been a few months, at least, since he has dated anyone, much less had sex.
"It's not a problem," she says.
She hasn't moved yet, and she doesn't while he recuperates.
He doesn't make her wait long, though. He's had enough training in physically grueling activities to get his energy back quickly, and when he's ready, he gathers her in his arms and gets up, ignoring her surprised yelp, and takes her to her bedroom with that red wall that she thinks garish and that he's always liked. There, he throws her on the bed without ceremony and goes on to prove to her that it is a problem, and that he will rectify it. And even if hockey training hasn't taught him how to recuperate to the extent that he can go through two rounds of sex under a certain, reasonable time, well, he's got other means to occupy the time until he's ready again.
On the next morning, he's woken up by Casey getting out of the bed (naked. When did this girl become such an exhibitionist?). He acts like he's still sleeping as she steps out of the room.
It's the worst wake-up call he's ever had – she had been drunk, he realizes. They had had sex, while drunk. And now she would want to have a Talk and he… he couldn't have that Talk. No way In hell. He'd rather stay with his head in the sand a bit longer (he's actually pondering whether avoiding the person he shares a flat and a family with for the rest of their life is a viable option).
And then, just when he's about to give up, and go the the living room where he's convinced Casey is waiting for him on the sofa (the sofa where he touched her and felt her and had sex with her) with accusatory glances and tears, Casey actually steps back in her room (still naked, the minx) and back into the bed. She must think he's still asleep, because she just snuggled up to him without a word. His world just been turned upside down. It feels like Christmas, but Christmas won't be there for two days, so maybe he won a lottery he doesn't remember buying a ticket for.
Out of sheer force of will, he resists the temptation of groping her ass that would give away his pretense of sleeping.
Of course, Casey being Casey, she has to be contrary and presses a kiss on his throat.
"You know, for the self-dubbed Lord of Lies, you are singularly bad at acting," she says conversationally.
This sound that just escaped him? Not a whimper. Not at all.
"We're still snowed in," she continues.
If she expects him to answer, she would have to stop with the kisses and the drawing patterns on his lower back. Her fingers keep on trailing lower and lower, and when they reach his ass he (involuntarily) arches into her, pressing against her leg. The sensation makes her laugh and what can he say? It's morning. Or it's Casey. What chances does he have with Casey in the morning?
And they spend the day before Christmas Eve, and Christmas Eve, and Christmas, and the day after Christmas absorbed in each other. Derek never had so many gifts (in so many different locations, and positions) in his life.
The only vaguely rational thought he has while they wait for the snow to melt (and the process of waiting is so excruciatingly delicious) is that he's going to have to work very hard to keep Casey under that strange impression that he's worth her attention.
..
.
WELL. That was one hell of a chapter, I thought I would never see the end of it (it's about 7k words – Derek just wouldn't shut up).
The beginning, I think, sounds a bit contrived but I wanted to show Casey and Derek being domestic. And I've reread it so many times I don't even know how to change it anymore.
