The toothpaste used in this part does exist. Can you believe there's a web site called toothpaste world! There really is a web site for everything.
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Meddling – Robin 7
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I can't blame anyone else, not even Patrick, for putting me in this position.
Knowing that does not ease the dragonflies in my stomach one iota. I sit down on the edge of my freshly made bed and curl my hands on my lap and try to get my rioting nerves under control. It's not an easy goal, in fact it's impossible as not five feet from where I'm sitting Patrick is preparing for bed in my ien suite/i bathroom and when he emerges he will be wearing nothing but his underwear. Because, you see, Patrick doesn't have anything else to sleep in. Not even a pair of scrubs. He pointed this fact out to me when we got to the bedroom where we're about to climb into bed. When I looked at him in panicked shock he smirked at me and offered to let me inspect the pockets of his jeans to see if he had anything hidden in there to wear.
So, while I am very appropriately attired in pajama bottoms and a tank top, Patrick Drake will be in his underwear. Just Patrick and skin. And washboard abs. Oh my.
I'd laugh if I wasn't so panicked because as much I usually tend to ascribe devious motives to Patrick "The Rake" Drake, I know that neither of us thought about this particular detail when iI/i made the proposal we come back here. Now, I can't very well make him go back to the hospital to get something to wear as it would make me look like I really couldn't resist his barely clad form and he'd inever/i let me live it down. Now, instead of laughing and engaging in further hand wringing, I stand up and head to the kitchen for my morning pills.
Check. Mate.
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"I tried your robe, but I don't think pink is my color."
"I do not have a pink robe." I turn and glare at him, my last pill in my hand. Oh my. I'd momentarily manage to forget that I would be treated to, and I'll only admit this in my head, the truly mind blowing sight of Patrick Drake clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs. Wow. How was it that I managed to remain so unflustered the first time I got to see this? Oh right, he was a pompous rutting pig ass of a man.
"This is what you've been denying yourself all this time." He spreads his arms out and turns slowly around so that I can get a view of all of his, er, assets.
Since I probably couldn't be any more mortified I decide to lean back against the counter and enjoy the view, my pill on hold in my right hand. Funny, I muse, how one obvious attempt to show himself off to me makes him come off like a pig and now that I've gotten to know him I'm practically salivating. The female mind mystifies even me, I can't imagine how men feel.
"Me thinks Doctor Scorpio enjoyed the view." Patrick's voice is a silky caress that I can actually feel sliding down my spine as he approaches me. When he stops to stand in front of me my heart is pounding as I anticipate what he's going to do next. When his hand reaches out I bite my lip in delighted expectation.
My very naughty thoughts are brought to an abrupt halt when all he does is take my right hand and unfurl it to display my forgotten pill. Then he's reaches behind me and picks up my glass of water and holds it out to me. The fireflies in my stomach are now churning for an entirely different reason at the tender look in his eyes and his caring actions bring tears to my eyes. Tender, with just the hint of teasing at my transparently prurient thoughts.
"Thank you," I say to him when I'm done and he takes the glass and puts it in the sink for me. As I watch, my tender regard turns to concern as he continues to stand over the sink, his hand touching the edge of the counter.
"Patrick?" I start to walk over to him.
"Do you mind if I use the phone to call the hospital?" His voice is gruff.
Without a word I take the cordless phone from the wall and hand it to him. I put my hand on his arm and through my touch I feel the vibration of his short conversation. I move closer and his warmth envelopes me. He turns his head and I can see that there's no news, which is good news.
"Come to bed," I whisper, barely able to hear myself over the thumping of my pulse.
I wait for the leer, but it doesn't come. Instead, he places his hand over mine and continues to look down at me, his brown eyes still tender and serious. He's thanking me for my support and letting me know he's going to be a gentleman. In answer I put my hand on his stubbled cheek and guide his face down to mine and press my lips against his. It's not a passionate touch, but a gentle one. I let my lips linger over his and our mouths open slightly against each other and our breaths mingle, hitch and mingle. The hand covering mine presses harder, but our eyes remain open. I trace the fingers that are barely touching his cheek to his neck and wrap my hand around it and deepen the kiss. My eyes slip close.
I slide my tongue over his lips and into his mouth. I moan as I taste my favorite anise flavored toothpaste from France layered with Patrick's own unique taste. The mingling of flavors lends the moment further intimacy and a shaft of desire pierces through me and I pull back. Not because I need to be cautious or because I know this is too soon for me, but because I know that this is so for him as well.
While I can feel his arousal against my stomach and though I know his sexual experience is vast, I know he's not prepared for what love making would be like between us. Not right now, not with Noah in surgery. I take his hand in mine, prepared to soften the blow of my pulling away with some innocuous words, but before I can speak he shakes his head and smiles slightly at me. He traces a finger over my cheek, down my neck and down my collarbone to rest above my heart.
"Not yet. I know."