fic: commuter lounge
Dear internet, here is what happened: I wrote a story, and people replied to it, and we all talked about how awesome space is! Then I posted a sequel, and people replied, but I was on a trip, and then I got back and hadn't replied and started freaking out and kept procrastinating and then I was all "ohfuck I can never answer all these people I suck" and then I ran away and avoided livejournal for several months. Ha ha! I deal with pressure with grace and verve.
So, you'll have to forgive me. Anyway, my parents sat me down to watch Community, and it brought me great joy. And of all the pairings I thought I might write, this is not the one I suspected-- but the gobsmacked look on Jeff's face in that debate prep library scene was like "HEY, HEY, crimsonclad'S ID! HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS????"
And my id said "VERY MUCH INDEED." So.
fic: commuter lounge
rating: r
pairing: jeff/annie
note: ilu, kissingchaos9! Dean/Luis Guzman statue= otp forever. (Also, the title comes from me wondering where this hidden room could be, and remembering this abandoned and never used commuter lounge at my undergraduate institution. I hope people have clandestine makeouts there too.)
Jeff might not be forty yet, but he's definitely too old for this-- splayed out on a worn corduroy couch, Annie straddling his lap while she sucks on his throat.
Actually, he realizes muzzily, he had never been young enough for this-- making out lazily with a girl in twee cardigans was never his speed, ever. Jeff in high school was able to get laid as soon as he realized it was something he wanted, and he always knew enough to set his sights on girls who were up for anything. He hadn't had anything against the girls like Annie back then, but Jeff at sixteen had tended to avoid complications.
And Annie, no matter how easily understood she might have seemed at that first study group meeting, is pretty damn complicated. Sure, she wears demure skirts that reach the knee. Boring, he would have said once. But every time she pushes him down on this ratty couch and climbs on top, those skirts ride right up, and suddenly he finds himself pressing up against the kind of heat that makes his fingers clench.
Which she likes. She hums happily when he grabs, keens in the back of her throat when he clutches or bites. He keeps trying to be chivalrous (as chivalrous as a cradlerobber can be), but she's having none of it. He used to think a little control was in order, whenever he found himself back here-- but she likes it when he gets hard, encourages him to thrust up by grinding down with an approving hum.
He had trouble sleeping last night-- not because of this or anything, he just isn't used to his new place yet-- and so everything seems a little blurrier through the haze of exhaustion. It isn't a bad thing. He tugs at the ends of her hair, hitches her closer with an arm around her waist. After kissing down to her collarbone, he notices that she's wearing the same shirt she had been that night they studied together-- the blue one, the v-neck that looks very middle-school-history-teacher from a distance and quite different when she's panting on top of him.
"Fuck," he mutters, swiping his tongue between her breasts. Between-- bra still on, shirt slightly askew but covering almost everything, and it still feels impossibly filthy, his stubble scraping the sweet curve of her pale breasts. Her fingers clench in his hair, pulling him closer, holding him there. She sucks in breath, sharp, starving.
One of them would have normally stopped it by now. Claimed homework, parking meter (the downside of his new parking space is that he can't use that one anymore), lunch with Shirley or Abed. But his hands are on the smooth skin of her back, and Annie's gasps have a hint of her voice in them, the in and out of them on the verge of making a steady whine, a plea. He thinks he should maybe stop, knows he probably won't. Annie has a lot of tells, and none of them are saying anything about being unsure or nervous.
Jeff has always been good at giving people what they want from him. It's just weird for him to want it too.
"Jeff--" she gasps, burying her head in his neck, "Jeff, please--"
She shudders, and her fingernails dig in the nape of his neck as her thighs clench. Jeff has never in his life endured the indignity of coming in his pants, but as it happens he doesn't feel guilty or pathetic at all. He feels great. He feels fucking fantastic, and not at all like telling her he'll see her around but he's really busy with work right now. Her nose presses against the soft skin behind his ear, and he feels her mouth curve in a smile.
"I guess I can tell the dean I took care of that whole companionship thing," she murmurs, and Jeff huffs out a surprised laugh.
"Hey, that guy promised me a whole night! I hope you've been filling out your timecard for me to sign."
"I assure you, my billing practices are impeccable. I, unlike the members of some professions, don't work for five minutes and call it an hour."
He blinks up at her. "What?"
"I've seen The Firm! I know how you lawyers are with your billable hours."
Jeff frowns. "I promise, I have never sent people to kill Gary Busey, nor have I sent other people to seduce Tom Cruise. I could never face myself in the mirror if I was responsible for making Jeanne Tripplehorn cry."
Annie sniffs haughtily. "Which is why I criticized your administrative chicanery, and not your murderous impulses. As you may remember, it was the billables that defeated the villains in the end."
"How do you even know that? I'm pretty sure you were still getting used to solid foods when that movie came out." He keeps meaning to stop pointing out how young she is, but she seems to like it. She takes it as a challenge, and Annie loves challenges.
"My dad had it on VHS, and he always watched it when he was home sick from work. He used to cover my eyes during the blowjob scene, but I was allowed to watch Gene Hackman rediscover his inner humanity buried beneath the veneer of his corrupted lawyer outsides."
Jeff smiles, rubbing his knuckles on her spine. She is ridiculously young, yes, but she also said 'blowjob' without blushing and compared him to Gene Hackman. He'll try feeling bad about this tomorrow. (He'll probably fail.)
So, you'll have to forgive me. Anyway, my parents sat me down to watch Community, and it brought me great joy. And of all the pairings I thought I might write, this is not the one I suspected-- but the gobsmacked look on Jeff's face in that debate prep library scene was like "HEY, HEY, crimsonclad'S ID! HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS????"
And my id said "VERY MUCH INDEED." So.
fic: commuter lounge
rating: r
pairing: jeff/annie
note: ilu, kissingchaos9! Dean/Luis Guzman statue= otp forever. (Also, the title comes from me wondering where this hidden room could be, and remembering this abandoned and never used commuter lounge at my undergraduate institution. I hope people have clandestine makeouts there too.)
Jeff might not be forty yet, but he's definitely too old for this-- splayed out on a worn corduroy couch, Annie straddling his lap while she sucks on his throat.
Actually, he realizes muzzily, he had never been young enough for this-- making out lazily with a girl in twee cardigans was never his speed, ever. Jeff in high school was able to get laid as soon as he realized it was something he wanted, and he always knew enough to set his sights on girls who were up for anything. He hadn't had anything against the girls like Annie back then, but Jeff at sixteen had tended to avoid complications.
And Annie, no matter how easily understood she might have seemed at that first study group meeting, is pretty damn complicated. Sure, she wears demure skirts that reach the knee. Boring, he would have said once. But every time she pushes him down on this ratty couch and climbs on top, those skirts ride right up, and suddenly he finds himself pressing up against the kind of heat that makes his fingers clench.
Which she likes. She hums happily when he grabs, keens in the back of her throat when he clutches or bites. He keeps trying to be chivalrous (as chivalrous as a cradlerobber can be), but she's having none of it. He used to think a little control was in order, whenever he found himself back here-- but she likes it when he gets hard, encourages him to thrust up by grinding down with an approving hum.
He had trouble sleeping last night-- not because of this or anything, he just isn't used to his new place yet-- and so everything seems a little blurrier through the haze of exhaustion. It isn't a bad thing. He tugs at the ends of her hair, hitches her closer with an arm around her waist. After kissing down to her collarbone, he notices that she's wearing the same shirt she had been that night they studied together-- the blue one, the v-neck that looks very middle-school-history-teacher from a distance and quite different when she's panting on top of him.
"Fuck," he mutters, swiping his tongue between her breasts. Between-- bra still on, shirt slightly askew but covering almost everything, and it still feels impossibly filthy, his stubble scraping the sweet curve of her pale breasts. Her fingers clench in his hair, pulling him closer, holding him there. She sucks in breath, sharp, starving.
One of them would have normally stopped it by now. Claimed homework, parking meter (the downside of his new parking space is that he can't use that one anymore), lunch with Shirley or Abed. But his hands are on the smooth skin of her back, and Annie's gasps have a hint of her voice in them, the in and out of them on the verge of making a steady whine, a plea. He thinks he should maybe stop, knows he probably won't. Annie has a lot of tells, and none of them are saying anything about being unsure or nervous.
Jeff has always been good at giving people what they want from him. It's just weird for him to want it too.
"Jeff--" she gasps, burying her head in his neck, "Jeff, please--"
She shudders, and her fingernails dig in the nape of his neck as her thighs clench. Jeff has never in his life endured the indignity of coming in his pants, but as it happens he doesn't feel guilty or pathetic at all. He feels great. He feels fucking fantastic, and not at all like telling her he'll see her around but he's really busy with work right now. Her nose presses against the soft skin behind his ear, and he feels her mouth curve in a smile.
"I guess I can tell the dean I took care of that whole companionship thing," she murmurs, and Jeff huffs out a surprised laugh.
"Hey, that guy promised me a whole night! I hope you've been filling out your timecard for me to sign."
"I assure you, my billing practices are impeccable. I, unlike the members of some professions, don't work for five minutes and call it an hour."
He blinks up at her. "What?"
"I've seen The Firm! I know how you lawyers are with your billable hours."
Jeff frowns. "I promise, I have never sent people to kill Gary Busey, nor have I sent other people to seduce Tom Cruise. I could never face myself in the mirror if I was responsible for making Jeanne Tripplehorn cry."
Annie sniffs haughtily. "Which is why I criticized your administrative chicanery, and not your murderous impulses. As you may remember, it was the billables that defeated the villains in the end."
"How do you even know that? I'm pretty sure you were still getting used to solid foods when that movie came out." He keeps meaning to stop pointing out how young she is, but she seems to like it. She takes it as a challenge, and Annie loves challenges.
"My dad had it on VHS, and he always watched it when he was home sick from work. He used to cover my eyes during the blowjob scene, but I was allowed to watch Gene Hackman rediscover his inner humanity buried beneath the veneer of his corrupted lawyer outsides."
Jeff smiles, rubbing his knuckles on her spine. She is ridiculously young, yes, but she also said 'blowjob' without blushing and compared him to Gene Hackman. He'll try feeling bad about this tomorrow. (He'll probably fail.)