A/N: So, the POV this chapter is a bit shifty – I kept going back and forth, but was never in one long enough to justify making it a separate section. So I apologize if it's a little hard to follow. Also, been finding me some slow-jams to set a mood. -^.^- Listening to an awful lot of Beyoncé and The Weeknd on one end of the spectrum (R&B-ish sensual slow jams), and Lovage, and Bitter:Sweet on the other (very James Bond era + mixing). Also – and no judging – the 50 Shades soundtrack (never read the book, saw the movie once and was disappointed, but the soundtrack is awesome). Also looking up choreography for inspiration as well.
Chapter Seventeen: Not Stirred, But Shaken
Derek's jaw dropped as soon as she turned her back on him. Who was this woman, and what had she done with Casey?
The whole clapping and preppy pose she had going on reminded him that she was, indeed, the same Casey McDonald he'd had the pleasure of knowing (read: displeasure of living with) for years. But somehow she'd managed to channel some sort of sex kitten.
That thought opened his mind to a world of images he'd rather not deal with now. So he filed them back to where those sorts of images did belong (along with the best of Stoya and Sasha Grey) to be dealt with later. Much later. When no one was around.
Ahem - back to Casey.
He'd hurriedly closed his mouth once she was facing him, but let her see just how impressed he was. "Ya done good, kid." He stepped forward, reaching to tousle her hair, but she grabbed his wrist.
"Nuh-uh, looking this amazing takes time, Mister." She teased, smiling proudly.
No it didn't. She looked that good all the time. (Well, okay, occasionally she slipped in the attractiveness count, but that was only when she was absolutely sick and dead on her feet, and then the 'cute' meter was a little higher so it all evened out.) Not that he'd admit it.
"Suuuure," he rolled his eyes, "I mean, it must take you hours to straighten your face out."
That was a weak one for him, but he wasn't in a state of mind to come up with a sharp jab.
"Only ten percent of the time it takes for you to be deemed fit for public consumption," she retorted, chin lifted challengingly, her eyes sparking with the joy of the fight even as her lips hovered somewhere between smirk and smile.
He was suddenly very aware that her hand was still around his wrist. And he really really wanted to reverse that. He kinda wanted to just back her up against the wall and –
Nope. This was Casey. Thoughts must be censored. (Or, rerouted.)
But even if he couldn't physically do what he wanted to, there were always words.
Derek took another step forward, tempted to jerk his hand and push her off balance, but instead he just pulled her ever so slightly into his personal space. He lowered his voice, "Well, you can't seem to keep your hands off me, so whatever I'm doing it must be working."
A mental scoreboard tallied his win as he saw and felt Casey's face get pink, her smile faltering as she quickly let go of him and stepped away, suddenly a bit flustered. He smirked as she cleared her throat and turned her attention to the living room. "So, party tips?" Her voice was doing that thing where it pitched up an octave. Cute.
The swagger back in his step, Derek meandered toward the stereo, leaning slightly against the wall beside it as he turned to face her again, enjoying the way she wouldn't meet his eyes. An idea flashed into his head. An idea he knew he shouldn't like, but he did. Too much. And now his mind was racing with just what he might need to do to make it happen. His body was humming with excitement and nerves and the adrenaline was like a drug – a drug that was thoroughly impairing his judgment. But there they were: the steps that lead to his desired outcome, outlined in his mind like some divine intervention.
So God wants you to sleep with your stepsister?
The thought had barely registered in his mind before he'd rerouted it – and the sinfully sweet images that came with it – out of his working memory. Apart from the slight raise in heart rate, the dilation of the pupils, it was like he hadn't even thought it. He turned up the stereo.
Feeling uncomfortably warm, Derek stripped off his jacket, tossing it on the couch and rolling up the sleeves of his button-up as he quickly followed. "Right." He sat down on the couch, using one foot to scoot the coffee table aside a bit, clearing the space in front of him. Casey was still standing, off to the side, but she'd managed to glance at him, a cautious look in her eye, unsure of what he would do next.
He raised his eyebrows, looking over at her expectantly as he crossed an ankle over a knee and leaned back into the couch, arms spread over the back cushions. He looked for all the world like a king in his castle. He quickly began listing off quick tips: "Never go for garlic hummus, onion dip, or anything that you can smell from more than a foot and a half away; nuts are the best snack option; if you put down your drink, don't bother picking it up, just get a new one; no more than a drink an hour after the first hour – if you're thirsty, switch it up between booze and non-booze; never drink on an empty stomach; lock your phone; have a designated driver or walk or take public transport – never drive if you plan on drinking. And…" He trailed off, brow furrowing.
"What?" She asked, eyes widened with a touch of panic that she was doing something wrong.
Sometimes she was so easy to nudge off-kilter.
He crooked his finger at her, beckoning her closer. Once she'd moved to just a few steps away he held up his hand and she stopped. Derek had to smirk at that. He'd never seen her so compliant in her life (at least, where he was concerned).
Leaning forward, Derek rested his elbows on knees and steepled his hands in front of him as though in serious thought. He let her grow impatient and twitchy as he looked concernedly at the floor by her feet. Finally, he spoke. "Here's the thing: I know you're a dancer and all, but… that's not how things work at parties."
Casey scoffed, her confidence returning as she crossed her arms (the way he'd taught her, too – so distracting) and rolled her eyes. "That's what you're so concerned about?" She raised an eyebrow incredulously. "I know how parties work, Der."
It was Derek's turn to look incredulous. "Yeah…" his voice was a mockery of sensitivity, "But do you?" He went on, patronizingly doubtful, "I haven't seen proof of that. Sure, maybe in high school I briefly saw you nodding your head with a charmingly innocent cup of soft drink in your hand: but is that really dancing?"
Casey was unimpressed. Her affect was wry as she deadpanned, "This may surprise you, brother dearest, but I've actually been to clubs before." There was a touch of acid dripping from her words.
In truth, it did surprise him. And he accentuated that surprise with a shocked hand to the mouth, which had formed a cartoonish 'O.' "No! You, Casey, have been to a club? Nay – multiple clubs? Keener Casey? The infamous prude?" He paused. "Unless-" he seemed to reconsider, and a look of understanding dawned on his face, "Oh, you mean like – chess club? Drama club?"
"Oh ha ha." Casey did not look amused. "No – not those clubs. Real clubs. Dance clubs." She'd moved into an advanced hip hop class last semester, of course she and her classmates had had a little outing together. Besides that, she'd made enough friends that would drag her around with them that she'd had several little excursions. "And I'm no prude, Venturi. I just have a few qualities that you intrinsically lack: among them taste and class." Her upturned nose and small smirk did little to disprove the 'prude' label.
Her claim drew a pitying smile from her step-brother. "Sure." He nodded, sympathetically.
There was a moment of silence as Casey's eyes narrowed, trying to determine exactly what he was expecting her to do. Derek met her gaze as his trademark smirk returned, and pointedly turned up the volume of the stereo.
She raised an eyebrow. "…You can't possibly intend – I'm not just going to-" She scoffed at his gall.
"You can always just prove your abilities, Keener." He shrugged. "There's no one here to witness your failures – or successes, even," he added, quickly, before she could protest his assumption. "It's just the two of us…"
Those words – that realization – sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. He spotted a brief flash of panic in Casey's eyes before she quickly guarded her expression and tilted her chin up defiantly.
"I don't dance alone." She shifted her arms a bit, jostling her décolletage, and part of her was intrigued as she saw his eyes dart to her cleavage and away again. She let out a small laugh, her tone aloof. "And the fact that you'd want to watch that-"
"Want to?" He interrupted, and his laugh sounded forced. "More like suffer through it. But if you don't think you're capable…" He shrugged. "I suppose it just confirms my suspicions: severely lacking in the casual dancing department."
The challenge hung in the air, and Casey pursed her lips, cocking a hip out as she debated her options. He was goading her. It wasn't a new concept. But at the same time, he must know that this was one realm in which her confidence was unwavering.
She'd been dancing her whole life. And not some innocent genre, like tap or clogging. She'd been doing lyrical and jazz and now hip hop for… well, her mother could attest to just how much they'd spent on lessons and competitions. And those genres, especially with modern choreography, were all about the sinuous grace and raw physical power of the body. Sure, the first half hour of her first hip hop class had made her blush a bit, but then she'd gotten into it. It was explosive and rhythmic and all about precise hits. It made her feel powerful.
There was no way he could make her doubt herself. And while she actually was tempted to show off just how good she was, this was not the place. Besides, the music that was playing was too bubblegum pop for the moves she'd been working on last dance class.
Casey tilted her head sideways lazily, and shook it with a sigh. "Derek, Derek, Derek..." Her eyes sharpened even as her body moved with an effortless grace as she stepped forward. She was looking for his reaction, morbidly curious as to what she was about to start. She approached the couch, and he leaned back as she drew closer. His cockiness seemed to be fading, shifting into something else – wary, and maybe… hopeful? She glanced down, hesitating for a fraction of a second.
Somewhere behind her confident exterior, her pulse quickened. Was she really about to do this? Was this crossing a line? No – there were no lines to cross. Lines implied that there was the possibility something might move farther. Which it wouldn't. Because they – well, she – they just weren't – it wouldn't happen. It was inconceivable.
And if not inconceivable, nearly impossible.
Or if not impossible, highly improbable.
But her brain seemed to be calculating slower than her body was moving, because her hands suddenly seemed to be on his knees as she bent over to speak to him at eye level: "I dance for myself, nobody else." She paused. She was sure she'd had more to say, but the words seemed to escape her for a moment. She watched his face as his eyes flitted nervously from one spot to another – catching her eyes only briefly before focusing on other parts of her face, her body, his own hands (anything to keep from actually meeting her gaze, she assumed). He had nice skin, and her fingers twitched briefly with the sudden urge to touch his face. The urge passed quickly. How long had she been-?
Keeping composure (if just barely), she turned away, straightening up. Looking away made it a lot easier to remember what else she was going to say, and she managed to make it sound (mostly) casual. "…But if you feel the need to approve, you should've already known that I have dance class every Monday and Thursday." She was already halfway back to the bar, reaching for her drink. She downed it quickly, and went back to the fridge for another.
She could hear her heart pulsing loudly in her ears even as she assured herself that it was totally whatever, she'd been closer than that to him before, this time she'd just been asserting herself. It wasn't a big deal. It was her taking back the power. In a vaguely physical manner. And by that, of course, she meant invading his space, not putting her hands on his knees and her cleavage in his face – cleavage was such a sexualized term, it was more like… y'know… just… skin. Not intended to be sexual at all. Why would anyone even suggest that. It was more like – like a dog, standing above another dog until they rolled over. Like that. Except with Derek. Who, now that she thought of it, she had called a dog several times in her life. The comparison calmed her a bit, lightening the tone of her thoughts. And the half bottle of beer she'd hurriedly tossed back also helped fuzz them out a bit.
Still… She didn't know if she could handle another close encounter of the Derek kind. She opened the fridge and reached for another bottle.
A/N: I rewrote the end of this chapter a couple of times until I felt it was a little more give-and-take instead of one character steamrolling the other. I have the first draft laying around somewhere, but it was a little too much of Casey backing down when I wanted her to push back. Then again, Derek speaking without thinking, and his reaction to what he was setting into motion, was fun to write. I just felt a little backed into a corner and didn't know where to go from there.
This chapter's title comes from 'Strangers on a Train' by (the aforementioned) Lovage. ("If you would sir / pardon me / a stiff one is my specialty." So cheeky!) I was debating going with another (more current) song, but decided it may be a bit more relevant later in the story, depending how things go ;) Also – this song may end up appearing in the story itself, even though I'm tentative to do it, since I find references like that often jar me out of a story when I'm reading.
Also, this chapter is a long one. Very long. Basically two chapters. So give me some time for the next.
If anyone is interested in my HP fic, The Detention, I've also finally updated that one (with chapter four being a light M rating). Neither of these stories is likely to be updated right away, but know that there has been brainstorming on both, and the beginning of chapters are written. This is just a little birthday gift for you guys. 24, and still writing fanfiction... *sigh*
You can find the playlist here: bit. ly/1Js2Osw (removing the space) And I'm still looking for guesses on what is to come.
