New Experiences - Beginnings
Title: Fresher’s Night
'Fandom': New Experiences
Claim: General
Prompt: Beginning
Word Count: 596
Rating: PG-15
Summary: A first night out at university has some pleasant consequences.
You remember the first time you saw him as if it was yesterday, even in your semi-drunken state. It was your first week away from home, your first week at university and in an effort to not spend the entire semester friendless you agreed to go to the Fresher’s week mixer with some of the people on your floor in the halls of residence .
You instantly regretted it the second you stepped into the student union club, already a little drunk because one of the girls came to your room with a bottle of wine to help you both get in the mood. The music was shit and the girls mostly looked like strippers (a thought which made you wonder if you’re too young to have become your mother) and you had an urge to leg it to the nearest decent club, because you’d gone to the trouble of putting on make-up and decent clothes and you actually didn’t want to go home. Still it was a cheap night at least and you really should make the effort. So you stayed and got drunk on cheap vodka and flat coke and just when you were giving up hope of ever having fun you saw him sitting at a table at the edge of the dance floor with two other guys, but he stood out, because he looked just as annoyed at being here as you felt, his hair wild and unlike anything you’d seen out of an 80s music video and he was looking at you.
You wondered if you should go over, but even with the copious amount of alcohol running through your veins you didn’t quite have the courage, you’d never exactly been the confident type when it came to guys. Plus he was a little too perfect, a little too weird and just the kind of guy you’d always imaged meeting at uni. You got progressively drunker, shooting him furtive glances (or what you’d considered to be furtive at the time) until finally he’d had a short conversation with his mates and approached you.
Fuck he was gorgeous, or at least you thought he was, your taste in men had been commented on on more than one occasion, but you never cared much, you liked the more ‘interesting looking ones,’ as someone had once put it. He was pretty certainly, slim too and not too tall. You’d never really liked masculine men so that was definitely a good thing. He told you his name and you’d promptly forgotten it, or possibly never even heard it, you were never entirely sure which one.
He bought you more vodka (somewhat pointlessly, given how drunk you were and how much you fancied him anyway) and somewhere along the line he’d manoeuvred you into a darkened corner, or maybe you’d manoeuvred him, that part was a little hazy. What was quiet clear was the sound of some dodgy one hit wonder pop song being played as he pressed himself against you, his tongue half way down your throat, enthusiastic and eager, as his hands casually worked their way beneath your shirt and over your stomach to your breasts. You’d possibly have protested had your hands not inexplicably found their way to his impossibly tight ass and stayed there. You remembered thinking his impossibly tight jeans must be the cause of that ass, but you found out eventually they weren’t.
That was pretty much the last thing you remembered until you wake up naked in bed with him the next morning, or more accurately the next afternoon.
'Fandom': New Experiences
Claim: General
Prompt: Beginning
Word Count: 596
Rating: PG-15
Summary: A first night out at university has some pleasant consequences.
You remember the first time you saw him as if it was yesterday, even in your semi-drunken state. It was your first week away from home, your first week at university and in an effort to not spend the entire semester friendless you agreed to go to the Fresher’s week mixer with some of the people on your floor in the halls of residence .
You instantly regretted it the second you stepped into the student union club, already a little drunk because one of the girls came to your room with a bottle of wine to help you both get in the mood. The music was shit and the girls mostly looked like strippers (a thought which made you wonder if you’re too young to have become your mother) and you had an urge to leg it to the nearest decent club, because you’d gone to the trouble of putting on make-up and decent clothes and you actually didn’t want to go home. Still it was a cheap night at least and you really should make the effort. So you stayed and got drunk on cheap vodka and flat coke and just when you were giving up hope of ever having fun you saw him sitting at a table at the edge of the dance floor with two other guys, but he stood out, because he looked just as annoyed at being here as you felt, his hair wild and unlike anything you’d seen out of an 80s music video and he was looking at you.
You wondered if you should go over, but even with the copious amount of alcohol running through your veins you didn’t quite have the courage, you’d never exactly been the confident type when it came to guys. Plus he was a little too perfect, a little too weird and just the kind of guy you’d always imaged meeting at uni. You got progressively drunker, shooting him furtive glances (or what you’d considered to be furtive at the time) until finally he’d had a short conversation with his mates and approached you.
Fuck he was gorgeous, or at least you thought he was, your taste in men had been commented on on more than one occasion, but you never cared much, you liked the more ‘interesting looking ones,’ as someone had once put it. He was pretty certainly, slim too and not too tall. You’d never really liked masculine men so that was definitely a good thing. He told you his name and you’d promptly forgotten it, or possibly never even heard it, you were never entirely sure which one.
He bought you more vodka (somewhat pointlessly, given how drunk you were and how much you fancied him anyway) and somewhere along the line he’d manoeuvred you into a darkened corner, or maybe you’d manoeuvred him, that part was a little hazy. What was quiet clear was the sound of some dodgy one hit wonder pop song being played as he pressed himself against you, his tongue half way down your throat, enthusiastic and eager, as his hands casually worked their way beneath your shirt and over your stomach to your breasts. You’d possibly have protested had your hands not inexplicably found their way to his impossibly tight ass and stayed there. You remembered thinking his impossibly tight jeans must be the cause of that ass, but you found out eventually they weren’t.
That was pretty much the last thing you remembered until you wake up naked in bed with him the next morning, or more accurately the next afternoon.