AN: Hi everyone! I have been toying with this idea for awhile, making a fun summer read. This is an AU take with a lot of canon thrown in to the story. I hope you enjoy seeing how Penelope grows into the Garcia we know and love (with a little help from her Hot Stuff!)...
Penelope sat at her desk in the middle row, rather excited to get a chance to sketch a live body. Last month, a young woman sat, holding fruit, with a vapid expression on her face. She was lovely, with a long, swan-like neck and clean lines over her shoulders. It had been a pure pleasure to draw her.
This month, they were bringing in a male model—and he was going to be nude. This would be the first time Penelope had ever seen a live naked man. She'd seen many pictures—for artistic purposes, of course!—and drew accordingly how each figure looked. The male form was gorgeous; this would be a treat.
Of course, this man wouldn't look anywhere near as hot as her next door neighbor. He was truly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen—tall, with dark, curling hair, a mocha complexion, and eyes that sparkled. She'd watched every day for three months straight, from her sorority house front porch, as he played catch shirtless in the front yard. He'd smiled up at her, a brilliant grin with startling white teeth that could've been in a toothpaste ad, waved or winked, and she—along with every other girl on the porch—sighed with bliss.
Everyone except her roommate, Emily, that is.
"Look at him," Prentiss had groused, her lip curled with disdain. "He thinks he's all that. I swear, he's putting a show on for you girls, and you're all falling for it."
"Prentiss, put a sock in it and let us enjoy," one of the other girls had said to the complaining Goth girl.
Em had huffed. "He's a standard jock. Didn't you guys get enough of that type of boys picking on you in high school?"
Shaking her head, she'd remembered something. "Oh, Em. A book came in for you at the library…that David Rossi one you wanted to read."
"Ooh!" Em had said excitedly, her black eyes wide with delight. "Now that is a man! Have fun with your nasty little jock, PG…"
"Don't say that," Penelope had said quietly.
"All jocks are the same."
She'd shaken her head. "I don't know about that..."
Actually, she did know. She'd met him, and he—Derek—was as wonderful and kind as he was beautiful. It had been a late night at the library, and she'd been coming home, carrying far too many books as usual. It had sleeted, and the sidewalks were slippery...
Penelope stepped carefully, hoping she wouldn't fall. It was early March, a late cold stretch had hit the campus. She was wearing her sneakers that were so old, they had no tread left whatsoever. Style was not her forte by any means. The streets were dark, except for lights from the neighboring house. Gamma Phi, the "jock house", was having one of their usual parties; she glanced over to watch.
He was on the front porch, standing with some leggy blonde who was lifting her unseasonably short skirt to show him her panties. He was smiling at her, that smile that melted Penelope's heart every time she saw him pass by. He'd never noticed her, but that was okay.
She was highly unnoticeable.
She watched for a second too long and felt her feet fly up from under her. Her books and papers went flying in one direction, and she went the opposite. She hit the sidewalk with a thud, her head hitting mere seconds afterward. Like a cartoon character, she saw little birds and stars flying over her head as she lay there with the wind knocked out of her.
When she finally got her breath back, she rolled to her side and went to sit up. She had to retrieve her stuff, and…
A deep voice startled her. "Be careful. Don't get up too fast."
Penelope blinked. Her glasses had flown off her face when she'd landed. "I...ummm..."
"Here," he said, and she saw a faint blur of a hand coming toward her. She took the assist to her feet.
"I can't see," she murmured, rubbing the back of her suddenly aching head.
"Whoa! How hard did you hit your head?"
She giggled and winced. "No, my glasses fell off."
"Wait a minute…stay still," he said, disappearing. A moment later, she could feel his presence. "Here you go," he replied, and then she felt his hands on her face, gently sliding her glasses on.
Oh my stars…
Her dream man, the man she'd had countless fantasies about, was holding her face softly. "Is that better?"
"Hi," she breathed.
He smiled at her, those dark eyes twinkling in the dim light, and gave a tiny wave with his fingers. "Hi, yourself. I'm Derek."
"P-Penelope," she stuttered.
"Hey, P-Penelope," he said, still smiling. "Nice to meet you."
Say thank you, you idiot! her conscious mind rattled.
"Th-Thanks!" she blurted.
He chuckled, a warm, low sound. "Don't thank me until we get you safely on your porch."
Derek bent down, grabbed her books in one arm, and looped the other arm around her waist. The warmth of his body and the smell of his aftershave—Drakkar or some common scent that he made oodles better—made her shiver.
"Cold?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered back. It was just a little lie, so it didn't count as much toward her sins.
"Don't worry; we'll get you back soon," he said encouragingly.
Far too soon, they reached the step, creeping alongside one another.
He beamed another grin at her, knocking her star struck yet again. "See you around, P-Penelope."
She hadn't been able to say anything else, but he'd been her hero, her knight in shining armor that night…and for the first time in her life, she'd fallen irrevocably in love.
Whomever was in this class, naked Adonis or not, couldn't compare with that.
What a way to make a buck.
Derek didn't know why this was bothering him. He'd never had an issue with his nudity. In fact, he was sort of an exhibitionist. He was the kind of guy who walked through the locker room after games, stripped naked, and strutted to the shower, or the first one naked when it came to skinny dipping. He was proud of his body, and rightly so. Granted, he had a great metabolism—he was a college-aged male, and most college guys had a pretty good met rate—but he worked hard to look like he did. So when his ex-girlfriend had suggested he model for the art class, he'd thought it was a great idea.
Not so much anymore...
Derek grumbled in thought as he stood there in a robe, waiting to get called in to the studio. His heart was racing from nerves, his gut was flipping just slightly, and he seriously thought of bolting. However, it wasn't because of the nerves—or completely because of it. It was because of a rather embarrassing hard-on he was sporting.
He hadn't anticipated that happening, and the fucking thing would not go away. He'd tried to think of it as a job, or even think of it like a school function—he'd never had a hard-on in the damned locker room—but that didn't work. He'd tried to think of sad things, or having sex with a repulsive alien, and still the towering erection would not subside.
Maybe it was the thought of all the women staring at him, admiring him, or the newness of the situation, but something was causing this reaction, and it was driving him crazy.
"Are you ready, Mr. Morgan?" the art teacher, a woman in her late seventies with gray hair in a bun and glasses perched on the tip of her nose, asked as she walked into the room.
His discomfort rose almost as high as his dick. "Uhh...I have a problem."
The elderly woman let her gaze travel over him and then paused at where his robe was tenting outward. "Oh, my. I see. This is your first time, isn't it? An art virgin?"
He tried desperately not to cringe but failed miserably. In all of his life, he never thought he'd be discussing virginity of any sort with a septuagenarian!
Take me out back and shoot me. Do it quickly, please...
Surprisingly, she waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about that, dear; it happens. Come along."
Good God, he groaned in thought, following the woman.