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Maybe Another Time

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“Space Case!” he shouts. Only, over the sound of the water, she definitely cannot hear him, so instead of shouting again, Derek stares at her, squinting against the mist in the air. Casey stands against the rails. The water and the wind whip her hair in a hurricane off her neck. She’s not trying to keep it pinned back behind her ears. She’s laughing. It seems like she’s having the time of her life.  

They’re supposed to be visiting universities on the Accepted Students Day sweep. But, their latest visit took them so close to this particular landmark, that not one of them has ever seen before even though they’ve lived this close all of their lives, so Nora insisted they make the stop. His dad couldn’t agree fast enough. 

They looked out over the falls, the four of them together, for a grand total of three minutes before the parents, citing the wet and the cold, ran for cover and headed to the gift shop. Derek and Casey are suddenly alone. Derek stands some ten feet away from her, smiling, thinking that no one here knows who they are and there she is: looking radiant. 

And here, safe inside that thought, he can move without thinking. He covers the feet between them like they are little more than inches, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and tucking his head into the nook between her shoulder and her neck. She doesn’t protest, and that doesn’t surprise him like it should because he is already busy whispering gentle insults in her ear. Casey turns around, glaring, but trapped still, content, inside the circle of his arms. His knuckles go white against the damp metal.  

Their faces are so close he can see individual eyelashes and she’s saying something, her tone angry but playful. Her mouth forms the shape of words, but whether it is the pound of the water or the beat of his heart, he cannot hear a word she is saying over the roar within his chest. He smiles. Her eyes go starlit, like there isn’t a thing in the world that would tear her away from this moment. From him. 

Derek lifts his right hand and eases her hair from where it tornadoes around her face and--he kisses her, tangling his fingers in the hollow behind her neck because. Because. 

She laughs against his mouth and then goes instantly quiet when he closes his eyes and kisses her again. She smells like summertime. Her body is warm against his. And then she sweeps her arms up wide to wrap around his shoulders and takes his lower lip between her teeth. It feels like finally. She grins when he pulls back, looking up at him with her big blue eyes like she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Hi,” she says, like nothing is new, like in fact this is every day. Her smile spreads wider. The reflection of the sun off the water shines on the mist on her cheeks. There is still laughter on her voice. 

“Hi,” he says back. The breath in his body is heavy. So heavy. 

Casey draws a deep swallow of air. A smirk that rivals his own crosses her lips and then she pulls him flush against her. The pair of them collide with the railing, clinging to each other desperately as the full wrath of Niagara Falls rains down behind them. In seconds, their hoodies are soaked. Casey is still laughing and she throws her head back in joy, over the railing, directly into the spray. 

Derek threads his fingers into hers and pulls her with him, down the slippery path, running now because this moment is more important than avoiding puddles with care. She keeps up with his every step, repeating his name over and over again like a prayer, in breathless, fruitless protest and all he is thinking is: someplace alone--someplace with only her--before he embarrasses himself, before all of Canada--half of America too--is treated to a show they won’t soon forget…


... Her hand is in his and they’re off, abandoning the one campus tour Nora and Dad let them go on alone. Derek leading her deeper into the stacks, to a faraway place among all of the read-for-pleasure books that no one in their right minds would touch during a long study session. They stop. He holds her by the shoulders as he pushes her up against a row of Steig Larssons. Had she the eyes for anything but his face and his wide, swollen lips, Casey would have protested spending any time at all near those novels. “The only thing I’ve ever read that was better in a movie,” she had said to him once after spotting someone reading one at school. But now, she doesn’t notice. His fingers are skimming along the bottom of her tee shirt, pushing gently just under the hem. 

She is saying his name again. Soft breathy exhalations that drive him absolutely spare. She drags him closer and shoves her own hands under his shirt, drawing up along his spine until she can cup his shoulder blades and pull him even closer. His breath is coming in sharp. Derek is holding her and himself. He is practically panting with the effort of keeping quiet, of keeping them both upright against the precarious shelves. He’s trying to find his voice when Casey pulls back, breath steady and totally coherent. “So what do you think of this one?” she asks. 

“This school?” he manages, even though he’s busy dreaming about running his tongue along the lace edges of her bra. 

“Yes,” she says, irritatingly crisp, dancing her fingertips differently now across the top of his waistband. “Could you see yourself going here?” 

If he hasn’t already accepted the fact that his only criteria in higher education is a stellar hockey program and her, the former totally optional if pressed, then he doesn’t deserve to graduate high school. But he doesn’t tell Casey that. 

She says something else when he doesn’t answer. He thinks she’s listing the ratio of students who compete athletically versus those who do not. As if that matters to him. He kisses her instead, drawing his thumb along the vee of her top, resolving that no matter the cost, he will make her forget her words....


...Derek hears footsteps on the bottom of the stairs, so he kisses Casey through the closet doorway. He pulls the knob shut soundly behind them and then they are in darkness. He can feel her in front of him and the game closet shelves at his back. Her hair tickles where it falls against his skin. They were bickering before, and now they bicker without words. She teases him, pulling away every time he tries to kiss her. He knows she’s smiling, even though he cannot see shit. He wants to melt into her, but she’s currently getting the better of him, so he bows his head and busies himself trying to rid her shoulder of her tank top with his teeth. Derek loves a challenge and besides, his hands are full of her tits, flicking his thumbs over her nipplies in time with the staccato beat of her heart. 

He shouldn’t have left her mouth free, because then Casey can ask him asinine questions like, “So have you picked a university yet?” 

He wants to answer back with something snarky like, “I haven’t even decided what I’m having for breakfast this morning,” but then he successfully removes her strap and the top of her baby blue bra is peeking out. Winning a verbal sparring match is suddenly at the very bottom of his To Do list, below even, Select Breakfast Cereal for this Morning and Pack Gear for Hockey Practice this Afternoon. He yanks at the other strap and her top falls, pooling around her waist, level with the shelf holding Boggle and Sorry! 

And only if such a sentiment was reflected on his face, then maybe she wouldn’t look quite so mad when she grabs his shoulders and shoves him roughly up against the shelves, so the cardboard corner of Mouse Trap digs into the small of his back. She stares back at him, collarbones probably splashed with pink. He can’t tell; his eyes have only adjusted so much in the dark of the closet. 

She splits his name in two, and it’s hot even though she’s whispering. Maybe especially because she’s whispering. 

His pajama pants are tented, maybe she can feel it. Her gaze is steely. He’s pinned by the force of her glare. Even the air in her lungs is toying with him, pushing her chest just so that it is almost touching his, but not. Her eyes are on fire with a look of you will answer my question or else

No , he says, answering with a smirk. He reaches around and with one quick flick of his wrist he opens the clasp of her bra, leaving it hanging precariously off her shoulders. Wordless, he dares her to slip it back in place, but Casey shrugs instead and the baby blue cups go tumbling to the floor in between an open box of Monopoly and a set of Connect Four that’s surely missing all of the pieces. 

They both surge forward, magnetized to each other. His hands are on her hips first, holding her close. Then he cups her cheek, touches her hair, the back of her neck. She draws her own fingernails, lightly scratching, up his back, rucking up his tee shirt in her wake. They kiss like they fight, their breath coming short in the milliseconds their lips are apart. His knees are weak. He is desperate. He can’t feel anything past his skin on hers and the torrent of breath in his chest. 

The footsteps are back, the landing is so close. A tiny voice and a timid knock sound against the door. “Smerek, are you in there?” 

He tears himself free from Casey and she’s already on her knees, kissing her way down his chest and isn’t she supposed to be searching for her bra? “Yeah, Smarti,” he says, choked. “Casey and I are--” he hisses. Her lips are at the top of his waistband, just where the drawstring is tied, at the crown of his cock. “We’re just looking for--for something.” 

“Well open up,” his sister demands. “I need my puzzle.” 

Casey looks up at him lazily. His eyes are finally adjusted to the dark and he wishes--he winces and digs the heel of his hand into himself. Her eyes are hooded with lust and why isn’t she scrambling. Why is she so calm? 

“We, uh, found it, kiddo,” he says. “ Casey,” he whispers, much quieter, much deadlier. “ Will you just--” but her shirt is already on and the door to the closet is opening and he has to tuck himself in before--they’re both flushed when they walk out of the closet. Casey carries Connect Four in one hand like they were going to play and yet, they’re both headed to their separate bedrooms. 

Marti bounces into the closet and says, “Casey, you left your bra in here,” and reappears with the offending garment dangling from one of her tiny hands. 

Casey catches his eye, and screeches his name just like old times. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop stealing my underwear?” She rescues it from Marti, and just like that, winks at him over her head and turns away…


… The last of their siblings bound down the stairs, heading out to the car for their respective after school activities. His bedroom door opens, and then Casey closes it behind her. 

He looks up from his computer and spins his chair around to face her. He barely has time to register that it’s her before her mouth is on his and she’s climbing into his lap and he could protest the intrusion, but whyever would he want to? 

Their momentum spins the chair as they kiss lazily. Time is endless now that they have the house to themselves. 

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she says. Her tone is challenging, but the way she’s taking off her shirt is not. And can she really expect him to answer when she’s stripping down before his eyes? 

“Don’t you mean show me?” he asks, and really, he’s rather proud of that one...


… She digs her knees into the seat of his recliner on either side of his hips, sucking away the words in his throat. He cannot feel anything other than the naked skin of her back. He groans when she pulls away, but the sight of her panting in his lap--the two of them in his chair of all places--her lips swollen with his kiss--it’s just. The air between them is so tight it hurts. He arches off the seat, pushing desperately into her, the seams of their jeans pressed where they need the other most. 

“I saw all of your acceptance letters on the counter, Derek. What’s it going to take for you to tell me which college you chose?” 

Derek licks her nipple and traces his fingertips up her side. She moans his name. Two syllables of entirely indecent ecstasy. Then he presses his chest into hers. He wraps his arms around her tighter and kisses a stripe up her neck. He can feel his heart beat in his dick. He’s desperate for harder contact. She must be too, because her knees shift. 

He looks up at her. Her eyes are heavy. She’s biting her lips and it isn’t fair that she still doesn’t know the answer to her own question. 

“Der-rek, seriously.” 

He buries her face in her breasts. What is it going to take to get her to shut up and think about it. It’s so obvious he--

He drags his tongue along her sternum and she arches into him and gasps. He covers her mouth with his hand to keep her from shouting. Derek lifts his knees to get her closer and she sighs around his fingers but their equilibrium shifts and his easy chair goes tumbling, seat over backrest, to the floor. 

Casey is laughing. Her breathing is erratic and her chest looks fantastic. When she catches the darkness in his gaze, her giggles evaporate and he only misses the way it made her body convulse in all the right places. 

He rolls them so they’re both lying on their sides, heads propped up on the overturned pillow-back of the chair. Their breath comes in more heavily then as the laughter subsides and Derek takes advantage; he pops open the closure of her jeans and drags his hands around to cup her ass...


...Derek spins and lifts her up onto the countertop. He pushes his way between her knees and she throws her head back in surprise when he pulls her to the very edge to press the hard line of his cock against the thin cotton of her underwear. The ladle falls from her hands, splattering sauce along the front of the cabinets, her bare feet and the cuff of his jeans.  

They don’t notice. Her free hand flies up to grip one of the handles on the upper cabinets because his teeth are under her skirt and skating up her thigh. Derek slides her underwear down her legs as she clenches all of the muscles that she has. He tosses the panties over his shoulder and kisses down her shin. Then he licks a line up her calf and she sighs heavy when he reaches the apex of her legs that go until tomorrow. 

He feels her body go slack, her knees dropping open to let him closer. In a second, her legs are wrapped around his head and his face is flush with her. He presses his nails into her legs and her fingers tangle into his hair. He can’t breathe; he can only taste and she’s wet and sweet and convulsing all around him. 

He stops and she keens and fusses with her ankles at his back trying to reel him back into her. Derek looks up at Casey and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?” 

He doesn’t know if she thinks he means cooking dinner or impending orgasm but it doesn’t matter because she probably can’t think much at all. 

“Der-rek,” she says. She still splits his name, but it’s different. There’s a crack in her voice in the middle and so damned hot he…


… “Derek.” She trailed her fingers up his thigh, her arm slung carelessly over the center console. “Do I have to bribe you?” 

He knows that she’s looking at him with that big, wide-eyed and pitiful smile, and that’s why he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“I guess I’m going to have to tell you which school I picked first, huh?” 

“Case,” he meets her eyes for the briefest second. “I already know which school you’re going to.” He doesn’t, but he has a pretty damned good guess. 

“Der-rek!” she screeches, and in the same moment, the asshole in front of them stops short. Derek slams on the breaks and her hand goes from lying innocently on his thigh to just about full blown over the jeans hand job. His intake of breath is swift and very tight in his throat. 

“Oh my god. Are we okay? Is the car--well, who really cares about the Prince anyway--” and on she goes still with her hand cupping him. “Derek, why aren’t you moving the car?”

“I--Casey. Your hand--it’s--you--” 

She gasps but then there’s a smirk creeping its way across the corners of her lips and suddenly her eyes go from frightened to mischievous. “Oh you are so going to tell me what college you chose,” she swears and moves for the button on his jeans. 

“Casey, what are you--”

“Just drive, Derek. You’re causing a jam.” 

He hears he lick her palm--he cannot look at her. He is about to explode. But then she pulls him free with her other hand. When she touches her wet hand to the head, he hisses and stomps on the break again. 

“Watch what you’re doing, Derek. If we crash, you won’t be able to finish.” 

He swallows. She closes her tight fist around him. This is a dream. This is not happening. Casey is not jacking him off in his car. His moving car. His moving car that he is driving. 

Her hand is wrapped around the base of him, pumping quickly. He breathes and tries to ease along through traffic. 

“So, is it University of Toronto? Because honestly, I thought their biology program was a bit lacking,” and she continues like that, talking about majors neither of them intend on declaring and never losing rhythm on his cock. “Stellar athletics though. ‘Course, sports aren’t everything--Derek?” 

Her hand has stopped moving and he swears he’ll deny it later, now, every time, but he whimpers. He keens. 

“Derek, what do you think of U of T?” 

He cannot. He is driving. He grips the wheel harder. He is driving and that is about all he can concentrate on right now because even though she isn’t doing anything, her hand is still all over him. There is a rustle beside him and-- 


Derek moans. 

It’s hot and tight and it’s warm and it’s wet. It’s so fucking wet he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want it to end. Mostly because it feels like--fuck, mostly because she can’t ask him questions with his cock in her mouth. She sucks him again, harder. He makes a right turn. He has to get off the main road. 

She slides up so her lips are only wrapped around the tip. Her tongue draws along all of his edges. Then she starts speaking again. “But, I suppose,” she kisses, “With your grades,” she sucks, “Athletics are everything.” 

And shit, doesn’t she know he cannot fucking concentrate. He pulls the car over and kills the engine. 

Casey looks up, like she’s surprised he needed a change in venue.

“Jesus Christ, Case,” he breathes. 

They stare at one another and the corner of her mouth quirks up into a smile. Her lips are swollen and he jerks himself over the console and into her lap and god if he’s supposed to be in homeroom in twenty minutes--Casey’s lips are wet when she leans up to kiss his mouth--listening to the insufferable sophomore recite morning announcements--this twice-damned dashboard is in his way--he could really use a--she gasps, he groans--a cold fucking shower… 


...He holds her shoulders like they’re a life raft. Her fingers are on his hips as she pulls him in and out of her mouth. She’s perfect. She’s brilliant. She deserves to feel better than he could possibly make her feel. 

He picks her up and turns them so she’s against the wall. Her ass hits the cold tile and she gives a little gasp that he wishes was the soundtrack to his life. Her hair is plastered to her skin. The water that pelts down around them is hot and heavy. Casey hitches a leg up on his hip and throws back her head. He draws circles on her neck with his tongue…


...She crowds him behind the bleachers at lunch time when no one is looking. He bites at her pulse point, just behind the bolt of her jaw, but he shouldn’t have left her mouth free because she starts running it again. 

“I really want to go to Queen’s, but I know it’s not your style.” 

He presses his lips to hers, insistent and firm. 


He sucks her fingers into his mouth with promise in his eyes. 

“Derek,” she pants, “Shit, I--” 

Casey pulls his whole body into hers and chants his name…


...He falls on top of her in her bed. Her hair is spread out below them like a fan on her floral duvet. Derek pops his forefinger out of his mouth and then rolls it in circles over her clit. 

“Don’t stop, Derek, I--” 

Casey slings her leg over his shoulder and shit, she’s making damned sure he’ll never be with anyone who’s not a dancer--god, not her--ever again. And then, somehow, she flips them so that she’s on top of him, straddled over his naked hips before he can even register his own surprise. She’s teasing him with her whole body. 

“Fuck, Case.” 

With a smile she says, “Kindly,” and she slides down, taking all of him with a single sigh. She’s slick and warm and gorgeous like he can only imagine. Her breasts bounce and she’s effervescent, riding him in a dance that isn’t for anyone but them. One of her hands is in her hair and the other holds herself up on his chest. 

“Derek?” she asks. 

He opens his eyes. It’s a struggle. “Casey, yes?” 

She leans in close to him. Their bare chests touch in a moment that stops his heart. Her lips are right by his ear and this angle is so much better. He slides into her even deeper. 

Casey circles her hips, once and again. She moans. 

“What do I do, Derek? Turn down my dream school so I can go to U of T with you--or--” 

She breaks. She can’t finish her sentence. Casey kisses him, all tongue and force and fuck --what was she doing thinking of not going to Queen’s? 

Derek grabs her wrists and flips them back over. He pins her arms above his head. 

Casey pants. “Derek,” she tries, writing underneath him. He’s still inside of her--damn if he’ll ever be able to leave--but she’s going to kill him with the way she’s moving and still she wants him to pick up the pace because, “I’m so, so close,” she says. “So close to losing it,” and he knows immediately that she doesn’t mean what he wants. 

With every resolve left in his body, he pulls out of her, and presses his palm to her center to ease her down. “Don’t you dare, Head Case.” 

She closes her eyes. Her hips are still pressed into his hand. “What?” It’s the only word she has left. 

“You’re going to Queen’s.” 

“Derek, I can’t--not without--” 

“You don’t have to,” he pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her back. They are chest to chest. He pulls her into his lap and he can feel her heart. 


“I said yes to Queen’s too, Case. We’re going together...” 


... He’s in the tiny two bedroom apartment they share just off campus. Another one of their parents’ brilliant ideas to save a couple hundred dollars a month. 

She’s home. It’s just past eight and she’s probably still awake. 

But he looks down at his hand on his cock and he swallows. 

Maybe it’s time. Maybe now it’s finally time to tell her what he’s been dreaming about since that first moment they were alone at the Falls, when he looked over at her and knew he’d follow her wherever she went next. 

So he stands up, drags his boxer briefs back up his hips and he works his fingers through his tousled hair. His tee shirt is rumpled, but she sees him like this every morning. He walks out of his bedroom into their little sitting room and he stops in front of her bedroom door. 

And then he raises his right hand, and he knocks.