AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! Here's the next prompt: K-Y Intense...LOL

Chapter 4

As they walked down the little boardwalk to their cabin, Penelope noticed that Derek was ever-so-slightly limping. It wouldn't have been noticeable on most other men, but Morgan usually had such effortless movement. Also, she was a very detailed study when it came to her chocolate thunder; she would notice if he shaved his goatee a little different.

"Here we are," he said, turning the key and opening the door. Stepping inside, he flicked the light on.

Penelope stared at the room in obvious astonishment. The signs out front and the décor in the check-in area had hinted that it was old fashioned, but this… This was like she'd stepped back in time to the seventies. There was a small kitchenette with an ancient looking icebox and a rusty-brown colored stove. A little metal table and chairs—complete with orange vinyl seats and an orange Formica-topped table—matched the orange flowered sofa. There were two rooms off to the left; one must've been the bedroom and the other, the bathroom. However, it was very clean, as far as she could tell, and it was well-maintained, considering the age of everything.

"Wow," she said after a moment.

Derek gave a rather apologetic look. "I know it's old, but—"

"Oh, no," she said, interrupting him. "No need to apologize. It's clean, and it's nice." She gave a sweeping glance and then put her hands on her hips and pronounced, "Kind of cool, in an old school, kitschy kind of way."

He arched a brow. "Serious?"

She grinned at him with sincerity. "I like it."

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed the top of her head. "Thanks, baby."

She snuggled in closer to him. "Anything is better than the poop factory we were at."

His chest vibrated with his chuckle. "Only you."

"No, it's sweet," she assured him.

"First time I came here, it was with my mom and my dad."

Leaning back, she gave him a surprised look. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was a surprise weekend getaway," he answered. "Things were really modern at that time; they'd just remodeled." He glanced around and smiled. "And they haven't again since then."

She patted his cheek, touched that he shared this place with her. "I'm glad we're here."

He smiled at her, obviously pleased.

"Now I want to go see the bathroom," she said, glancing in that direction.

"Why?" he asked with a frown. "You already went in the office."

"I know," she explained as she pulled away from him. "I want to see if it has modern amenities, like running water."

Derek tossed his bag on the couch. "Well, they did when I was a kid."

"Ooh!" she said in mock wonderment. "I didn't know...considering it was that far back..."

"Hey, be nice," he said with a chuckle as he began unzipping his bag.

Penelope was still grinning as she scoped out the small, clean potty with the deep, clawfoot tub. She would have to take a swim in that thing later. She wondered if she'd brought with her pear bubble bath, but decided she'd use shampoo if she had to.

While she was there, she opened the bedroom door and saw the queen-sized bed in the room. Derek was going to get that bed tonight; she would take the couch. She decided on that immediately, especially since he'd been limping.

"Hey, Hot Stuff, you—" she began, but then she heard him mutter.

"Shit."

Curious, she stepped back into the central room area and saw him stuffing his go bag again. It looked like he'd pulled everything out of it.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm forty-one, that's what's wrong," he grumbled.

"Only the most perfect forty-one-year-old alive," she cooed in her usual, complimentary fashion, and made to wrap her arms around his waist.

He stiffened, and she heard him hiss slightly.

Gingerly releasing him, she said, "Derek?"

"It's my knee." Hopping on one foot, he turned around and lowered himself to the couch. "Fuckin' thing locked on me, and I can barely move it."

Penelope grimaced. It had to be hurting him terribly; Derek avoided saying the "F" word around her most of the time because she usually gave him a lecture about it. She couldn't stop his shit, hell, and damn, but over seven years of friendship, she'd made him cut down drastically on the effenheimer.

"I saw you limping, and I had a feeling it wasn't good," she said sympathetically.

"Yeah," he growled, giving a disgusted look. "Years ago, I used to just be able to pop a couple of Advil® and there'd be no problem. Now…" He gave a pathetic little snort of laughter. "I'm getting old."

"Well, since we are close to the same age, I guess I'm your old lady," she teased back, taking a seat next to him.

Derek put his arm out and pulled her close to him. "I'd like that."

The movement made the rickety old couch jiggle, and she felt him wince again.

As she tried to stand, he grabbed her hand and tugged her down. "Stay. It's all right."

"No, it's not, D," she fussed. "What can we do about it?"

He closed his eyes and exhaled. "Nothing. I was going to rub it out with some of that hot cream, but I forgot to pack it." He opened his eye. "You don't have any Ben Gay®, do you?"

"Afraid not, my lov—Oooh!" she interrupted herself.

He'd closed his eyes again, but that made him open them. "What?"

She shot him a brilliant grin. She knew exactly what to use. "Wait here, sweetie. I'll be right back."

He scowled and lowered his hands, trying to rise. "Penelope, wait. I'll come with you."

"Sit!" she ordered.

"Baby Girl—"

She didn't wait to hear the rest of what he said. Good grief, he was ridiculous. They were in the middle of farm country, where there was no one for miles; she didn't need him protecting her. The only thing that would attack her there was a cow, and since she was vegetarian, she figured cows were on her side!

Two minute later, she returned to her scowling stud muffin. He looked like he was in pain and that was never good. Derek was rather stoic, unless he was teasing about a mock injury.

"When I was in the bathroom, they had a vending machine. I put two and two together, and..." She produced a packet with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

"What in the hell is that?"

"Check it out yourself." She tossed the little packet.

"K-Y intense®?" He started chuckling and shaking his head. "What in the hell do we need joy jelly for?"

"Ah, mon cher, " she teased, moving down to kneel between his legs. "You need to be more creative in your thinking."

The look he shot her was so hot, she felt scorched by it. "Believe me, sweetheart…I'm comin' up with some very creative ideas right now."

Her cheeks flushed, and she began untying his shoes. "Behave."

As she tugged his shoes off, he said, "P... what…"

"I'm undressing you."

He gave her a stony look. "Honey, that's not a really great idea."

"Derek, have you ever used that lube?" she asked.

It was his turn to blush and fluster a little. "I've never had an occasion to use it, no."

"Well, I have. That stuff heats like your favorite cream," she said, pointing at the packet, "and I am going to rub your knee for you. Unbutton your pants."

"Baby, I can rub my own knee—okay, okay," he agreed, after she shot him the dirtiest look she could muster.

A second later, she had her hand on his waist and was easing his loose jeans over the curve of his hard butt as he lifted his legs up and down. She held her hand up to him. "Packet, please."

Derek placed the packet in her hand.

Penelope squeezed the oily liquid into her hands and rubbed them together, feeling the fluid heat up and become more viscous. Placing a hand on both sides of his outstretched knee, she began to rub softly, gently, working her fingers around the tightened muscles.

Feeling the tense muscles begin to relax, she worked her way around the back of the joint and toward the front, where his thigh met his kneecap. He had gorgeous legs, so strong, with thick, cyclist thighs. She knew he liked to ride his bike long distances on the weekends and had actually gone with him a few times when he'd done smaller rides around Quantico. His skin was so warm, too—far warmer than her own hands.

Using her thumbs, she pressed harder into the stronger muscles of his thigh and heard him grunt.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, giving him a concerned glance.

He was watching her intently, his dark eyes catching every movement she made. He smiled just slightly. "No…you're perfect."

She smiled back at him, feeling suddenly shy. Her stomach was fluttering lightly, and even lower, she felt a pulse. Internally, she chastised herself. It was just Derek—even more, it was just Derek's leg. She'd seen Derek's legs in shorts and swim trunks numerous times in their relationship. Why was she letting this get to her now?

She started rubbing the strong muscles on the back of his leg, the tight hamstrings that lead up to his awesome bubble butt. It was curved right; just enough manly softness to hold on to in bed yet still tight and firm. He had a caboose that made her want to give him a playful spank. Alas, one more thing in the desirable things arsenal that belonged to Derek Morgan.

Against her better judgment, she glanced up at him again. His eyes were closed and his head was against the back of the couch, revealing the long expanse of his gorgeous brown throat. In her mind, she pictured him without his shirt, without the boxer briefs that cupped his oh, so perfect body and left very little to the imagination…

"Is that good?" she squeaked, moving her hands and her gaze down to his calf. Best not to think that route!

"It's great," he said in a sleepy, relaxed voice that barely sounded like him.

There was a husky quality to his voice, like rough silk, that made her body throb in response. The darkness in his eyes and his pure, natural seductiveness was wrecking havoc on her senses. It was too close, too much, for what she was feeling right now. She needed to get a grip before she climbed on his lap and—

Interrupting her dirty thoughts, he reached down and cupped the side of her face. "You got magic hands, Baby Girl."

It shocked her; she wasn't prepared for his touch. He couldn't touch her, not when she wanted...

Barely controlling her reactions, she stiffened and pulled away from him. "I'm glad."

He watched her, and she saw what looked like a hurt expression flit over his face, followed by something that was hard to decipher. For that one heartstopping moment, she'd wondered if he'd been feeling the same thing.

However, just as soon as it had come, it was gone and replaced by a devil-may-grin.

"Hey…there's a little left in here," he said, lifting the packet and wiggling it. "Enough for you and Lynch to use another night." He tossed it at her and smiled again. "Lucky you."

Her idiotically hopefully heart sank. Of course, that hurt expression hadn't been because he'd wanted her too. He was merely concerned and upset she'd jumped like a ninny. He probably noticed her panting, and was shoving her where he thought she belonged—away from him and with Kevin.

Well, she got one thing right... but it was a bitter victory, nonetheless.

"You keep it," she said, handing the packet back. "For you and your boudoir bunnies."

He looked rather offended as he handed it back to her. "I don't need it."

She rolled her eyes. "Derek—"

He gave her an arched look. "Sweetness, I don't need that to make a woman hot."

For some reason, she felt kind of insulted. She put her chin up. "I don't need it, either."

"You don't," he said in agreement, and then added, "but I'm sure Lynch does."

It had been a long day, too long, in so many ways. She didn't know why he was being pissy, and she felt a headache coming on. What on earth? She came to Chicago to be with him and offer support; she did not come all the way to Chicago to hear him insult Kevin.

At least Kevin had wanted her.

"Fine." She stood and put her hands on her hips. "You want him to have it, then you give it to him to use!"

With that, she hurled the packet in his direction and stomped out the door of the cabin.