The heady aroma of the bar hit Derek like a train as he ruffled the fresh raindrops off from his coat, stepping click heel over to the bar; the wooden floor reverberating under his footfall. As he took up the seat next to his resident he muttered his order to the cheerful bartender before slumping over the deep wood bar, flicking about at the empty shells covering every available surface. He barely glanced up as the amber; ice-cold whisky was placed in front of him. It took less than two seconds for it to cross his throat, provide him with that fizz of adrenaline that his dead body so edgily craved after a busy shift.
"Pleased with yourself are you," Bailey slurred as she too hit her glass empty on the bar seconds after it's refill.
"What do you mean, Bailey?" the last word is spat in contemptuous disgust, his voice laced with the tiniest point of jealousy, her admission of being happily married had stunned him to say the least. There was nothing sexual about their relationship; he left that to his two other women. They were more like a quarrelling brother and sister; arguing over who got the theatre, which tests to decide, nothing more, nothing high and mighty, like whether to end a marriage in lieu of an emotional intern who had more issues than a ferry boat stuck mid journey with no sign of an engineer.
"I mean, McDreamy, you've screwed up Meredith, and I have to deal with the consequences," the younger black woman pouted, continuing to swing her glass mid air as she nodded her head to the soft music filling the empty background seamlessly.
"Bailey," it's odd why they keep using the other's name at the start of a discussion, it's almost as if they were back in medical school being tutted by some high and mighty know it all lecturer. "My personal business has nothing to do with you, leave it," he scorned, revelling in the senior moment.
"Touchy," comes the counter, as she lets each tone reverberate into his already intoxicated mind. It doesn't hurt as much as it will in the morning but she takes the pleasure none the less.
"No I just don't fancy the thought of anyone trying to get places they shouldn't," Derek retorted, downing his third glass of whiskey in as many minutes. His face contorts into something of a grimace as the effects of the alcohol steam up to his head, sending it into a dizzy whirl.
"She already has been," the gobby lady retorts coldly, motioning towards his cock, before sending him into a bumbling flurry covering up what she merely giggles at.
"Bailey, Don't," he pleads; sitting in an odd sort of crossed legged, attempting to stand muddle. "I had to choose, and couldn't," he shrugs, helping himself to some seeds, moving his concentration towards shelling them.
"Typical man," she huffs, drawing herself back from him, giving him the uncomfortable space he subconsciously needs to squirm, it makes it a hell of a lot more fun; while the husband's away the wife will play. He's probably not going to remember much of this tomorrow and she knows every word will trail the perfect humiliated driven trail of diamonds that she can hold him to ransom with.
"Don't tar us all with the same brush," he counters stiffly, a little too stiff. She's getting under his skin, seeping into his languid blood stream.
"Ptttsh, I've already had two of you, God's as you act, all over my interns and it's hardly been pretty. One is admitting she's well enough to work after loosing your friend's child and a fallopian tube to match. The other goes round saying 'I'm fine' in her own little, don't bother with me you fat rude bitch, because I'll only dig myself into a hole so deep that I can't cope anymore, lands up on the psych ward, type of ok. So yes I think it's perfectly ok to tar all you fine, talented gentlemen with the same brush," she takes a deep breath, sighing it out into her empty glass before ordering a glass of water, he shoots her a disrespectful gaze, surely she isn't about to let the self loathing party end here?
"What? Some of us lowly residents have a hefty shift tomorrow and I need to be on top form to terrorise the children," she smirks, revelling in the fresh hit of sensibility brought about by the water.
"Bailey HELP ME!" he squeaks as she stands up to leave the bar, walking remarkably straight for someone who's had enough tequila to make a middle aged alcoholic sleep. He'll remind her of this tomorrow, judgement isn't exactly clear at the moment. She looks him up and down, tutting and huffing as she goes. It makes him smile. She gets cross.
"Don't you smile at me, prick, go and see your little mistress, sort her out and let me have a day's work in peace," she scoffs, strutting uneasily in her heels as the door shudders and she's gone.
"Selfish ho," he grumbles before handing his glass in, the bar attendant grabs the thirty dollars from his hand and tells him to go home. He stands up, shakes his aching body to life and strolls out of the bar, seething in the cool air that restores most judgment to his cloudy mind. Her house is a mere walk from here; it's why he waters at this hole.
The knock at the door thrilled her mind as much as a day at the park, she'd only just reached bed after a busy few hours sorting out various matters. She doesn't sleep however; the adrenaline rush of the week is still coursing her self-disgusted veins. Had she not been so knowledgeable on everything medical about it, an overdose would have been a completely viable option.. "Bastard," can be heard at five-minute intervals. Not able to sleep she gets up, goes to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, George is in bed, Izzy is out supposedly with Alex, the razor hadn't been used tonight, she's holding no hope for that one. Rolling her eyes in disgust she decides to slob on the sofa, take the rare opportunity and make use of the pointlessly huge TV. The knock happens again, getting irritated she stands up and stomps like a petulant child to the door. Turning the light on she groans as he smiles coyly at her, the way that makes her go weak at the knees.
"Go away," she curses as he forces his way over the threshold, directly into her arms. She can't help but giggle, "Derek, what the hell do you want?" she continues, unable to continue speaking as her lips are forced into by his, stinging them of disgust, replacing them with a fresh river of lust.
"I'm sorry, I choose you, I pick you, I love you," he slurs each of the repetitive words more than normal. She giggles.
"Derek, you're drunk," it's like the schoolgirl dream, you're crush comes home to sleep with you; you fill with a funny rush of blood, enjoy every breathing moment of it all and then cry rape in the morning. He doesn't bother to dignify her with a reply, instead his lips part, letting him explore her mouth in deft skill. She weakens like a rag doll under his masculine grip. They sloth towards the stairs, she gasps as he pins her against the wall, moving his lips away from her mouth with gentle brush strokes. Berating her neck with soft butterfly kisses he followed her leading hand up the stairs, barging through the door and onto her bed.
He sent a flurry of giggles throughout her meagre body as the string of her joggers undid themselves. She was wearing the same, lacy hot pants as she had the first time, they were set in place with a tiny gem encrusted butterfly; his red admiral in a metaphorical sense of the word. It summed up her personality, brave and delicate on the outside, yet vulnerable and fragile on the inside, like a game of two halves. The first was cracking her tough 'I'm fine' exterior, the hardest part of the challenge, to wheedle his way under her hard skin and let rip to the waterfall below it. After this part was over it was plain sailing, the wind would blow in his favour and she'd be his to devour. HE gently slipped his finger under the elastic rim, done up with the softest satin. His touch was erotic as it slid the length of her leg taking her underwear with it. Her tiny ineffectual hands slid round his now naked waist as he fell onto her with brittle ease. She let her fingers toss with the buckle of his trousers; toy it undone before resting on his zip, it was building the intensity dramatically. The boat was starting to rock this way then that, slip into an even Keel only at the very last moment. The zip passively undid itself as he dropped further, bringing their lips to touching point, his dry alcohol encrusted lips softened by hers, brushing together once, twice, thrice before making something of a sealing lock, his arms falling, causing his length to slip inside her, the screaming ecstasy the perfect recoil. Satan never did this.
He lets his arms bear the weight of his body so as not to crush her delicate body as he brought her to orgasm once again. It was like a slow tentative dance, something erotically magical casting them on to the next move as she felt the immense release, her cloud of depression lifting immediately, it was like walking to the sea. You take each step on the sand and something drives your anger downwards, dissipating into the grains, only to be dispatched to the sea. It felt good. He let out a contented sigh as the danced finished, lulling from the immense power of a beating drum, to the soft tendrils of an angelic ballad. It amazed her. He flopped onto his back sinking into the deep springs of her mattress. Without a word passing his lips he moved his arm around her, bringing her in close enough for the other to feel their reformed hearts beat. It felt comforting.
"Derek what the fuck is going on?" with that she'd ruined the moment stone cold dead…….