For those of you were disappointed at them falling asleep, this chapter is for you ;-p I thought it was a nice parallel to them falling asleep on the lounge chair in Sperlonga though. But this time they are content in their knowledge that the other will be there when they wake up. I'm a sap, I know. But anyway, this chapter also introduces a new character in the second half. Did you think I was going to ignore the fact that Derek is still her teacher, whether they want to ignore that fact or not? No siree. And we might also want to remember the Derek is an international figure and there was that whole wedding scandal thing. Enjoy!
Recommended Soundtrack: 'Dusk and Summer' by Dashboard Confessional
she smiled in a big way, the way a girl like that smiles
when the world is hers and she held your eyes
out in the breezeway down by the shore in the lazy summer
and she pulled you in, and she bit your lip, and she made you hers
she looked deep into you as you lay together quiet in the grasp of dusk and summer
Derek awakens from a deep slumber with a feeling of deep comfort and relaxation. He can't remember the last time his sleep wasn't disturbed by some form of restlessness. Sure, he had been flying around Europe for months and recently was trying to tackle a doctor's hours again. But it was deeper than that. If he had to pinpoint the exact time it had begun, he would probably say it had been that morning he had been told his father had died. A calm morning of seeing patient's in his clinic that had hardly been disturbed by his sister's phone call. He remembers sitting in his office, waiting for the next patient to arrive. The flash of Kathleen's number on the screen.
Hey sis, what's up?"
"Der, (long pause) Dad's dead."
Three little words. Three little words that had changed his life forever. His dad was gone. A man larger than life, a man that had taken life by the horns and willed it to his liking, was dead. A man whom he admired, reviled, loved, hated, stood in awe of, and tried to be as unlike of as possible, was dead. There wouldn't be anymore father/son lunches where two men as unlike as chalk and cheese could bond over a scotch or two. His father had long ago stopped expecting him to walk in his footsteps, and Derek had come to accept his father in all his eccentricities.
That is until those three little words had been spoken. Your father is dead. But not just any father. The Duke of Savoy. And with those three little words, he was the Duke of Savoy. The title passed down from father to son in the age old tradition of the Savoy family. The mantel sinking down onto his shoulders like an invisible armor. There was no throwing off the shackles of the responsibility that he had been trying to ignore his entire life. People depended on him. Not only his family, but the legions of people employed under the Savoy name.
The restlessness had begun even before the funeral. He was the head of the household. He was the head of the Savoy business interests. Everyone looked to him to make the final funeral arrangements. Everyone looked to him to carry on the Savoy name and make them proud. The armor made him restless, tossing and turning with the weight of his new role. The armor made him offer for his lady fair to continue on the Savoy name. The armor grew on him and sent him off to foreign lands in its name. When he looked in the mirror, only his eyes shined through the hard metal helmet to give any indication that a mild-mannered neurosurgeon lived within.
And funny enough it had been his chivalry and the need to rescue a damsel in distress that had brought him his freedom. He looks down at his own version of a sleeping beauty curled up on his chest and sighs with contentment. He had always thought of the armor as this heavy thing that he had to carry around and show to the world. But she had shown him that it took the man within and the protective coating to be the Duke. Otherwise, it was only an empty shell.
and she combed your hair, and she kissed your teeth
and she made you better than you'd been before
she told you bad things you wished you could change in the lazy summer
and she told you, laughing down to her core, so she would not cry as she lay in your lap
she said "nobody here can live forever, quiet in the grasp of dusk and summer"
But right now, he felt free and unencumbered. The suit lay discarded on the floor alongside his shoes. The only weight he felt was the sweet up and down movement of his savior. His savior that snores. He chuckles a little and the tiny vibration jostles her awake. Sleepily, she raises her head to look at him.
"What's so funny?" She asks with a yawn.
"Nothing. You're just cute when you sleep." He tells her with a tiny kiss to her forehead.
"I was snoring again, wasn't I?" She asks a little sheepishly.
"Maybe." He singsongs.
She giggles a little bit, unabashed, and stretches to get the sleep out. But then thinks better of it and snuggles right back into his nook. "Did you get any sleep?" She asks as she swirls little patterns on his shirtfront with her index finger.
He watches her finger move around on him lazily and feels little zings of pleasure as her finger pass over one clothed nipple and up and around the other one. His limbs are like liquid in their post-sleep state, so he just responds, "Enough."
She looks up at him when he talks, and says unexpectedly, "You've got your twinkle back."
"My twinkle?"
"When you're happy, your eyes twinkle." She informs him, then takes her hand up to his face and says, "And you get tiny crinkle lines next to your eyes" as she runs her hand over the exact place she's talking about.
He krinkles? He laughs with the joy of laughing about something so mundane, and turns his body to face more into hers. "Well, when you're happy, you giggle like a school girl." He informs her.
She gets kind of an affronted look on her face, and says, "I do not!"
He can't help but scoot down, so that they are face to face, and tries to kiss the affront away. She responds right away, kissing him back in the timeless way they have. She knows what he is doing though, and does the very thing she purports to not do: giggle. It makes him laugh. They laugh and giggle as they kiss.
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Recommended Soundtrack: 'The Blower's Daughter' by Damien Rice
And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky
Meredith relishes the feel of Derek's body pressed up against hers and the sensuous way his lips pass across hers. She passes her hands through the thickness of his hair, enjoying to cool silkiness as it passes through her fingertips. She opens her eyes, only to find him twinkling back at her.
"Ah, la mia bellezza di sonno." Derek whispers as he passes butterfly kisses along her forehead and eyelids. It seems so surreal that she's even in his arms. How many nights had he dreamed that they were together dancing under the stars of Sperlonga, only to awaken to an empty bed?
"I didn't think sleeping beauty snored." She rejoinders from under her closed eyelids.
He laughs and then asks, "You looked it up?" She would, wouldn't she?
"Of course I looked it up. If a man is repeatedly calling me something in a foreign language, I am going to find out what it is." She says with a laugh, all the while rubbing her hand across his chest in flat-palmed caresses.
"Oh, so you found me out, did you?" He says as he rolls onto his back, taking her with him. He wants to be found out alright. He wants to be naked and covered with her for all of eternity.
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...
She climbs on top of him, settling onto his length in all the nooks and crannies that seem especially made for her. She pushes back the hair on his forehead, and says with a trace of huskiness, "I kind of like it. Say something else."
"Like what?" He asks breathily as his hands wander up to keep her hair out the way of their lips.
"Something sexy." She says between kisses, scooting forward to deepen her kiss.
"But I am sexy." He says as he rolls her over onto her back and swoops in for a sea of kisses.
He pushes himself against her clothed body and feels the answering motion of hers. Just how acceptable was the wait before ripping off all of her clothes?
And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We'll both forget the breeze
Most of the time
And so it is
The colder water
The blower's daughter
The pupil in denial
"How do you say, please take off your shirt, in Italian?" The man just has too many clothes on. Not that he doesn't look good with clothes on, because he does. But right now, clothes bad.
"Tolga prego la vostra camicia." He says in his most sultry Italian voice, all the while sitting half-way up to start releasing himself from his shirt buttons.
After he gets, a few of them undone, it is revealed that he has an undershirt on underneath. "You just have way too many clothes on." She comments. I'm going to have to buy him some single-layer parkas. None of this undershirt, shirt, over-shirt crap.
He unbuttons the last few and throws the shirt off on to the floor, and says, "Well, so do you," as he comes back down to push her shirt up over her head and toss it in the same direction as his shirt.
God, she's beautiful. Bras were definitely invented by a man. Because only a man would think to push them up and out like an offering incased in fabric. Her green eyes shine up at him like dusky emeralds.
"Mi perdo nelle profondità dei vostri occhi." He whispers as if in prayer (I lose myself in the depths of your eyes)
"What did you just say?" She asks, noting the warm smile and almost glow to his face as he says it.
"I'm not telling." He teases as he leans forward to draw down the straps of her bra.
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...
Oh, those hands. No one else in the world can do what he can with those hands. "That's not …" She begins to say 'fair' but her breath is drawn away when he takes one of her nipples in his mouth. Holy sweet Jesus.
He swells with pride as he hears her small gasp. He could always make her gasp. He lathers attention on the breast, enjoying the little panting noises she makes with every pass he makes over her nipple. It's definitely sweet torture though, because with every motion he feels himself growing harder and harder.
"Derek." She calls out, trying to grab his attention. He breaks his contact to look up at her, when she shocks him to his toes by saying, "Derek, I need to inside of me right now."
Did she just say that? Yes, yes she did. Sometimes a girl has got to do what she's got to do. It's been how long? She has had to look at him all morning flitting around class in those pants that accentuate his lithe long movements. And whoever said preppy was out, had never seen a dress shirt and pull-over on one Derek Shepherd.
That's about all the urging he needs. He can tell by the healthy glow of her eyes that she means exactly what she says. The undershirt goes in one fell motion, and he laughingly kisses her as she helps him with the button of his pants. He has to break the kiss to take them off, and to take hers off too, but within record time they are both naked. They both laugh at their eagerness, but they don't care. There is some tousling as Meredith must find a condom in her nightstand, but it is good-natured tousling as she finally finds one and slips it on him.
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind...
My mind...my mind...
He slides into her with a feeling of coming home, and can't help uttering, "Oh god, Meredith."
Meredith has the same sentiment, his words saying what both of them feel in that moment. She knew she hadn't forgotten how good this felt. She knew she hadn't made this up. He moves within her and all rational thought flies out of her head.
"Oh Derek." She cries out as her body arches to meet his.
"Meredith." He answers within a hairs breath of taking her lips.
It feels too good though. He's going to come. It's been so long, and she's so beautiful. He can feel himself ready to burst, but he wants to hold on to make it good for her. She doesn't let him though. She pushes him on, throwing her legs around him, and pulling him further into her supple goodness.
She can feel him shaking and knows he's holding himself in check for her. There's no reason to wait though. He could have touched her, and she probably would have burst into flames. She grabs on tight and lets him fill her one more exquisite time before the stars in her head begin to explode and she loses touch with the world around her.
He feels her shake and tremble around him and knows she's reached her peak. He pushes in one more time, letting himself melt into all that is Meredith. He grabs hold of her with his arms, joining skin to skin with his final release. Both sticky, both hot, breathing heavy and shallow. Both satiated and happy and together. Exactly as they should be.
Alex Karev is good at his job. Sometimes he liked to think that he was the best reporter in the entire city. New York City, thank you very much. If you got a couple of drinks in him, he might say in the entire world. He doesn't like to brag or anything, but those stuffy periodicals like the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal just didn't appreciate his particular talents. He didn't deal in trying to predict the financial markets or the latest political gaff. That stuff was depressing. He dealt with people. He dealt with scandal. He dealt with the exposition of celebrities dirty little secrets into the wider world. He lived for the days that his name appeared under the scoop of the week.
Take his current assignment: find out why some crazy Duke was hanging out in the wilds of New Hampshire, teaching first year medical students. He personally thought the dude was cracked. But he could smell a story a mile away. If he had the money and the personal connections that this man had, his butt would be parked at the high-rollers table in Vegas with a broad in each arm and a drink at the ready. Not hanging out in this little piddle stop of a town that was hours away from any decent tailor. This story smelled like the scoop of the, no wait, the year! He would be known for the man that had exposed the juiciest story of the century.
He brushes the cuff of his coat, making sure that none of the grime from the quaint little Irish restaurant has found rubbed off onto his Dolce. Everything looks okay, so he returns his attention to his target: a feisty curly-haired doll-face nursing a Heineken. He would have never even noticed the broad, he preferred blonde and leggy himself, but she just happened to be the best friend of what he was coming to believe was his john's lady-bird.
He should have known it had to do with a woman. He just hadn't known until he had gotten here that it had to do with THAT woman. The woman the entire international community had assumed was just some local Italian woman the Duke had stowed away on the side. Like father, like son, right? Nothing too interesting about that. But through a heavy amount of investigative journalism (aka, pretending to be a student in his class), he had discovered the good ole doctor making covert googly eyes at one of his students. Nothing interesting about that either, except that he recognized the broad.
He wasn't entirely certain how he was going to get to the bottom of this juicy story, until he had spotted the best friend drinking alone. A woman drinking alone was just a shot away from spilling her secrets. Or in this case, her best friend's secrets. He checks the placement of his jacket lines, rubs off any crumbs from his front, pats the pocket with his audio recorder in it, and approaches the bar.
"Buy you a drink, doll-face?" He asks with a debonair air that has felled many a lady.
"You David Bowie?" Said doll-face answers without lifting her eyes from her drink.
"No." He answers, a little confused.
"Well, then this china doll is drinking alone." She declares dampeningly and pretty much dismisses him by taking another sip of her beer.
Oh, so we're going to play hard to get, are we? "Look babe…" He utters, before she interrupts him, with, "I am not an infant or a precocious pig, so you might want to pick another term of endearment."
"Hot stuff?" He says with a laugh.
She finally looks over at him, gives him the one-two, and must find something she likes, because she tells him, "Good choice. If you had picked chick, I would have…"
"Told me you weren't a baby chicken?" He interjects, as he starts to get comfortable on the adjoining bar seat.
He must have looked a little too comfortable though, because she zings him with, "No, I would have told you the 80's was a good decade, but they want their pick-up line back."
"Ouch." He responds, as he suddenly finds his bar-stool to be a little shaky. Or was that his mojo that just got shot down a peg or two?
"So you got any more where those came from?" She asks with a smirk.
"Honestly, I'm afraid to say anything now." He says hesitantly, as he indicates to the bar-tender that he'd like two of whatever she's having.
"Oh, come on. You must have something better than that. You're the one that's been staring at me from your little corner all night. You finally saunter up the courage, and all you've got is doll-face and hot stuff? I mean, seriously."
Did she just offer him a challenge? She doesn't look too interested, but yet she's still talking to him. Time to turn the tables a little bit. "Why? What should I have said?" He asks discreetly as two beers are placed before them.
She takes a slow sip of her beer, thinking about it for a moment and then answers deadpan, "Hey babe, wanna fuck?"
"Oh, so you like the direct route?" He asks, his interest starting to rise.
"No, then I could have just slapped you and you would be gone already." She says with a sigh and starts to rummage around in her purse.
Well, that certainly what wasn't he was expecting her to say. This was going to be a little harder than he thought. Maybe he should play the more subtle route. She had been sitting over here for a while nursing that beer. Maybe the friendly stranger bit would go over better.
"Look, I'm just in town for work, saw you sitting over hear by yourself, thought I'd strike up some conversation." He says with a sigh and starts to rise, beer in hand and all.
She reacts just as he wishes though. "Fine, you can sit there. But no touching. Or thinking about touching." She warns.
"Done." He answers, knowing he can't make any promise to either of those. He sits back down, and asks conversationally, "So what brings a broad like yourself to drinking alone in a bar on a Wednesday night?"
"Noises." She answers succinctly.
She doesn't elaborate, so he has to ask, "Noises?"
"Loud noises." She adds with a brooding tone before taking another sip of her beer.
"You mean like construction or a loud tv playin' or something?" He asks, trying to play along.
"Fucking." She answers back just as succinctly.
"Fucking?" He repeats as a question, really really confused at this point.
"Are you stupid or something? As in so loud I had to come down here and drink a beer, and put up with pansies like you, just to get some peace and quiet!" She yells at him, before settling down and moodily taking another sip of her beer.
Okay, obviously not the best topic to bring up. He scoots over a little bit on his stool, away from her, and takes a sip of his beer to look like he's actually doing anything but shying away. Just his luck that he had to get the one freakin crazy broad as the other broad's best friend.
He watches as she searches around in her bag once more, and angrily pulls out her phone. She must see something that she approves of though, because she sighs with relief and says, "Finally!"
Finally? He looks down at his watch to see that the time is 10 pm on the dot. Ten on the dot? What could that mean? It must be somehow related to the fucking, but he doesn't want to get his head bitten off again, and abstains from asking her any more questions. She doesn't seem to be paying one bit of attention to him anyhow. She gathers up all of her stuff and shoots out the door without even a glance in his direction. That's alright though. Because he's got a lead. And leads lead to stories being published. And this is certainly one story that's going to be published. He can feel it in his bones.