fic: Something there is that doesn't love a wall (1/2)
Title: Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall (1/2)
Author: Pepper
Fandom(s): Community
Pairing: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Wordcount: 10,951
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing, sex, alcohol, drugs, violence - all the fun stuff.
Also archived: On AO3 here
Disclaimer: Community isn't mine, which is probably good, I'd only do silly things like this with it.
Summary: Jeff has a new neighbor, and she's really, really annoying.
Notes: Neighbors AU, partially inspired by a few of these prompts: AUs for when your OTP are both assholes.
I've kind of mentally narrowed the age gap to approximately the actors' real ages, because this is my AU and I can do what I like so :P
---
Aha, caught in the act! "You! Stay right there!" he bellowed across the parking garage.
As he'd suspected, it was the woman who'd moved into the apartment below his a couple of weeks ago. He'd only caught glimpses of her, but it was enough to recognize her as she stopped in the act of opening the door of her cherry red Prius and turned to face him. As he strode closer, he was too annoyed to acknowledge that she was gorgeous, with a petite but curvy figure, big blue eyes, and a sweep of dark, glossy hair that would look awesome spread out across his sheets (okay, maybe he did acknowledge it and maybe he was kind of a pig, but at least he had the decency to keep those thoughts in the privacy of his head, unlike certain lawyers he might name).
She stood in the opened car doorway, and maybe he'd been a little too aggressive, because for a moment she'd looked scared. Then she straightened up to her full height - all five foot of it - and met his glare with her chin up pugnaciously, and he was left wondering if he was imagining things.
He came to a stop a little inside her comfort zone, so he could tower over her. "Stop stealing my parking spot!"
Emotions played rapidly across her expressive face: confusion, understanding, dislike. "Mister Twelve," she said, nodding. "I should have guessed."
"Ms Six," he replied frostily. "Are you aware that this is my allocated parking spot? And what do you mean, you should have guessed?"
"No it's not, and because Mrs Aritza-d'Silva warned me about you."
Mrs Aritza-d'Silva, the former tenant of number six. Jeff narrowed his eyes. "Her view was biased. She always hated me."
Ms Six rolled her pretty blue eyes. "She hated you because you drop your weights loudly on the floor at six-thirty every morning," she informed him. "For the record? I share her point of view."
"Yeah? Well she used to yell at me every time I saw her, so I guess we're even. And to return to my main point, you should stop stealing my parking spot."
"She yelled at you to tell you to stop doing it, and it's not your parking spot!"
"Well how was I supposed to know? I don't speak Spanish! And it is, it's part of my condo agreement."
"I bet you never stopped to ask her why she was angry with you, did you? And have you actually read your condo agreement? Because there's nothing in there about allocated parking. I know because I read it properly before I moved in!"
Jeff pointed at her. "Okay, one, I am going to check that because I think you're lying, and two, no of course I didn't stop to ask because I make it a point not to spend time talking to CRAZY WOMEN WHO YELL AT ME IN MY APARTMENT BUILDING!"
"WELL THAT SHOULD RULE ME OUT OF HAVING TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN!"
And with an angry swish of her hair, she ducked into her car and slammed the door. The engine revved angrily, and Jeff had to jump back so she didn't run over his feet.
---
Through careful observation (read: stealing her post one morning) he learned that Ms Six's name was actually Annie Edison, which in his opinion was far too sweet for such a harpy. He also learned that she had a dentist appointment the following week, and that she'd signed up for that fitness thing with the watch that recorded your stats - he was tempted to keep it, but pink really wasn't his color. What was worse, it turned out that she was right: when he combed through the condo agreement, there was no mention of allocated parking, although he vividly remembered that the agent who sold it to him had shown him the spot that was supposedly his. He should sue, but he was dismally aware that he'd probably lose. As a lawyer, he really ought to have read the contract more closely.
Adding insult to injury, Ms Edison seemed to have a knack of getting to the spot before him. She left work early - or earlier than him, but it was maybe true that Jeff had got into the habit of staying late at the office, and of bar-crawling after work with Mark or Alan, but it was just that his place was so quiet sometimes that he got into creepy thought-circles like 'if I died, how long would it take for anyone to notice?'. But now, every time Jeff pulled into the parking garage, he found her shiny red car there, in HIS spot, and he had to grind his teeth and pull resentfully around to a different spot. There was an almost palpable air of smugness about her car, and he would swear she was parking at that jaunty angle just to mock him.
So he moved his morning workouts half an hour earlier, and increased the weight on his barbells.
It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that he remembered something else the agent had shown him: the numbers painted on the garage floor. It was five years since he bought the place, and he'd long since stopped noticing little things like that, but when he went to check that evening, there it was, under her car: worn and grimy, but definitely a number twelve. AHA!
He staked out the spot the next morning, and watched as she emerged from the lift, looking through her bag for her keys. Her long hair fell in loose curls around her face, and she looked soft and delicate in the early-morning light, and for a moment, he was almost tempted to drop it, and suggest that they start again. Maybe with coffee. He knew a decent place, just around the corner... But then she looked up and frowned when she saw him leaning on her car, her steps faltering for a moment before she strode on towards him.
"What do you want?" Her tone decided him: he didn't like her.
He beckoned her forward, and pointed to underneath the vehicle. "Look," he said. "Number twelve. That means it's mine."
She barely glanced at it. "That just means it's the twelfth parking spot," she said, dismissively. "Look around - they're all numbered. That doesn't mean it's connected to the individual condos, it means they started from one and worked their way up. God, why are you being such an asshole about this?"
Jeff's jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms. "Custom and practice-"
She scoffed. "Custom and practice! C'mon, I thought you were a lawyer - there's no law that protects your right to park in this spot just because it's 'custom and practice'!"
"Ah, but laws evolve to take custom and practice and whatever the current view of 'ethics' is into account, that's practically the basis of our entire legal system - or are you saying slavery was a-okay when it was legit?"
An outraged gasp came from her round, red lips. "You - you hyperbolic sophist! Get off my car, or I'll tell the super you're harassing me!"
Jeff pushed himself upright. "I'm willing to take this fight all the way, Ms Edison. Are you? Give in now, and I'll go easy on you."
"Get lost, jerkface," was her succinct response.
It was only after she'd peeled angrily out of the garage that it occurred to him to wonder how she'd known he was a lawyer.
---
That weekend, he spotted the cheery poster on the community noticeboard: clipart of a party hat and some streamers, liberally decorated with glitter glue and stick-on stars. In a disgustingly cutesy font with lots of unnecessary swirls and squiggles, it read: "FELLOW RESIDENTS! I'm having an APARTMENT WARMING PARTY next Saturday (11th)! Drop by anytime from 8pm until 11pm!!!" It was signed "Annie at #6", followed by lots of xoxoxo's.
So. That was how she wanted to play, was it? Get everyone else in the building on her side, act like he was the bad guy and she was such a goody-goody? Well, he'd show her. Oh yes, he would show her.
Next Saturday, he was in his apartment, listening to the music coming through the floor (which had begun at 8pm on the dot). At least she was playing some decent tunes, if a bit poppy for his taste. At 9.45pm, he was humming along to an old Britney song as he put product through his hair and examined the closeness of his shave. He gave himself a wink and a two-finger-gun salute in the mirror, and then went to grab a bottle of wine - decent stuff, none of that boxed crap - from the fridge. At just past 10pm, he was knocking on her door.
Annie opened it with a broad smile, which vanished from her face the instant she saw him. "You," she said, with loathing. "What are you doing here?"
"Hey neighbor," he said, holding up the bottle. "Gonna invite me in?"
She stared at him in silence for a long moment, and then rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving the door open. It wasn't exactly the warmest invitation he'd ever received, but he'd take it.
Her apartment had exactly the same layout as his, so it was a bit like stepping into an alternate universe in which his condo was painted in cheerful pastel green and pink (he had subtle tones of grey and brown, to set off his eyes), and was full of fabrics, knick-knacks, and people. He had to admit, the party was hoppin', in a relaxed sort of way. There were booze, snacks, and good music, and several people he recognized from having spent five years avoiding them in the hallway - he nodded tersely to the jerk who liked to leave the fire door propped open with a brick - mixed with some new faces, apparently her friends. One guy introduced himself as Annie's high school boyfriend's best friend and currently in film school, would Jeff be interested in a small role, possibly as a Jack Nicholson in 'The Witches of Eastwick' type? Jeff gave the kid his card, which in retrospect was probably a mistake, but his ego had come into play.
Other notables were the sharp blonde who introduced herself as "not interested", the high school boyfriend himself (a quarterback type, which got Jeff wondering if Annie had been a cheerleader), a woman about Jeff's age who was having an quiet but intense argument over the phone with her husband (Jeff slipped her his card and mimed 'call me!'), and the creepy bald guy who lived down the hall from Jeff and always stood too close to him in the elevator, even when they were the only two in there.
Beyond 'sweet, sweet revenge', Jeff didn't really have a plan - he was winging it, living on the edge, where he did his best work. He just had to keep his eyes open for the right opportunity. And after a conversation with Abed about the blonde, he had the inkling of an idea. So he waited until she and Annie were talking, and then sauntered over, shamelessly interrupting their conversation. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" he asked, figuring that brash and bold was the way to go.
Annie looked annoyed. "This is my friend Britta," she said, through clenched teeth. "Britta, this is the jerk who keeps harassing me in the parking garage."
"But I go by Jeff these days," he said. He didn't hold out his hand, pretty sure that Britta - there had to be some juicy childhood trauma behind that name - wouldn't take it.
"Jerk," she greeted him, with poisonous sweetness.
"So, I have a bit of a problem," said Jeff. "You see, I had this spinster aunt who died recently, so sad, and I'm in charge of handling her estate." Both women were looking at him with narrow-eyed distrust. "That's not the problem - I mean, she was like a mother to me, but life goes on, et cetera. The problem is, she had this cat." Britta's eyes widened. Annie glanced at her friend in alarm, sensing trouble. Jeff pressed his advantage. "She loved dear old Mr Tinkles like he was her own child. But now she's gone, I have to rehome him. I can't bring him here, much though I would love to, he's a precious reminder of my beloved aunt, but the condo agreement has a very strict no pets clause." Annie was glaring at him now, but Britta was drinking it in like a sucker. "It's a real shame. But I'm scared that, if I take Mr Tinkles in to a sanctuary, they'll probably put him down - I mean, the poor creature is elderly and half-blind and has to take a dozen pills every day, if he was a dog they'd shoot him. I was talking to the kid over there, the skinny one with the Inspector Spacetime obsession, and he mentioned that you, Britta, might know of some no-kill sanctuaries?"
Britta was already nodding earnestly. "Absolutely I do, it's horrible how some - oh my god that was so lame!" She threw back her head and laughed. "Seriously dude, did you really think that would work on me? Annie was right: you really are a douche."
Jeff frowned at her. Annie, on the other hand, was smiling at Britta like a proud parent. "I'm glad to see sympathy is alive and well," he said, annoyed.
"Oh god, really, you're going to keep it up? That's just too precious." Britta put her hand on Annie's shoulder. "I was tempted to let him run with it, see how far he was prepared to take the charade," she confided to her friend. "The only reason I stopped was because I could see this would end up with him adopting the oldest, most raggedy-ass cat he could find, and palming it off to me as the mythical Mr Tinkles. I was tempted to make sure that all the sanctuaries I know were suddenly, mysteriously full, so he got stuck with it, but that really wouldn't be fair to the poor cat."
Jeff ground his teeth as Annie laughed delightedly. "Oh, Britta," she said, fondly. "You're so bad."
"This isn't over," Jeff declared. Annie rolled her eyes.
"Come on, Jeff. Don't you think this is all getting a bit ridiculous? Let it go."
He held up his hands, not wanting to hear it. "No! No. I will have my revenge, and you will beg for mercy before I'm done."
He stalked towards the door, and glanced back once. She was watching him go, hands on her hips and lips pressed together in annoyance. She really didn't look in the slightest bit afraid.
---
He toyed with the idea of moving his workouts even earlier, but that had the disadvantage of punishing him just as much, if not more. No, what he wanted was a way to annoy her in a way that would be enjoyable for him…
He knew that Annie got up early on the weekends, to go out doing whatever it was she did - volunteering at old peoples' homes or collecting litter from the local park, no doubt - whereas he liked to sleep late. So he did what any sensible, revenge-seeking person would do: the rounds of his phone list.
On Friday night he invited around Sabrina, the big-lipped blonde with the kink for authority figures. She needed no encouragement to be loud in bed, but watching her try to work out how to use his coffee machine in the morning gave him actual pain, and he made a mental note to avoid her in future. On Saturday night he picked up Quendra-with-a-Q-U in a trendy bar, and took her back home for a couple of athletic rounds that definitely shook the bedposts. On Sunday, his luck with blondes continued when he ran into Amber, the step-daughter of one of his clients, at a local microbrewery he'd been meaning to try for some time. She was a bit too keen-eyed for his taste, though: as she clipped up her bra afterwards, she looked curiously at him. "Was that good for you? You seemed a bit distracted," she remarked.
He was guiltily aware that he had in fact been distracted, wondering if the sex was loud enough to keep Annie awake. He'd made a point of crying out yet another different name as he came, just to make sure she really got the point. "Um, yeah, sorry - work in the morning, you know," he said, and hurried her out.
He made sure to be up bright and early on Monday, so he could hover by his car and watch for Annie. She emerged from the elevator looking impeccable as ever, in black pants and tailored jacket over one of her jewel-toned blouses, her hair up in a loose bun that emphasized her delicate jawline, but when she drew closer he could see the dark circles under her eyes. When she saw him, she gave him an angry glare.
"You're a pig," was all she said. Jeff smirked, and decided to go for redheads next weekend.
---
His loud debauchery came swiftly back to bite him in the ass. The weekend following Operation Redhead, he was catching up on some well-earned sleep when he was gradually dragged back to consciousness by a steady banging noise, interspersed with muffled moans. His first reaction was to smirk as he rolled over in bed, but then it dawned on him: the noise was coming from the apartment below. That was Annie.
He frowned and sat up, listening. Her bedroom was directly under his, which for revenge purposes had been ideal, but he was beginning to see there might be a downside. Whoever she was with, apparently he was really doing it for her. Was it possible she was faking it, just to piss him off? That she was down there, banging her own headboard against the wall and making those noises, all the while glaring at the ceiling? No - he was egotistical, it was true, but even he couldn't believe that.
Jeff stuffed his head between two pillows and tried to get back to sleep - but he was wide-awake now, too irked to comfortably drift off again. The pillows were enough to block out the moans, but the banging seemed to be coming through the floorboards, up the legs of his bed, and vibrating into his bones. The noises got louder, and faster, and Jeff gritted his teeth and hoped that the bed collapsed on them. And then it all went abruptly still, and he distinctly heard her voice crying out, "Vaughn!"
Jeff growled and buried his head deeper into the pillow, irritated beyond belief to find himself a little turned on. Images of naked Annie writhed through his imagination, with her head thrown back, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, gasping for breath as she shuddered through a magnificent orgasm. It was so unfair!
Later that morning, he lurked like a creepy stalker - he was fully owning that - around the corner from her condo door, watching as she kissed goodbye to this 'Vaughn' character. The guy was clearly an asshole; that much was clear from the obnoxious way he gently kissed her cheek and - ugh - made her giggle and blush. Even worse, it seemed this wasn't a one-time thing, because Jeff had definitely caught something about a date in their revoltingly cozy conversation. God, just when he thought she couldn't get any more annoying, she had to go and find herself a boyfriend! And not just any boyfriend, but one who wore a hippy necklace and surfer dude hair and made her come loudly, ten feet from Jeff's bed. And he was not going to admit that he maybe deserved any of this, he was not, because… because… because he wasn't, okay?
Sulking, he stomped away.
---
When their paths crossed in the atrium two days later, as he collected his post, he gave her a scowl, but she just returned a sunny smile, apparently oblivious to the fact that she'd ruined his sleep for two nights in a row (that date? Turned out to have been for the next night). It was confirmed: she was the worst. But Jeff could escalate with the best: from work, he phoned in a fake alert that got her car towed. That night, he parked in the number twelve spot with a feeling of smug pleasure.
His post, it appeared, had been mistakenly redirected to Bettles, Alaska, and it was going to take two weeks for it to be fixed, and who knows how long to actually get back any letters that had gone astray. Did he have anything important due to be delivered, because he might want to alert the sender?
He retaliated by dribbling a basketball through his condo all weekend. ESPECIALLY when she was having sex with Vaughn.
Somehow, his Real World audition video made its way onto YouTube, and a link was sent anonymously to everyone at Hamish, Hamish and Hamlin (except the partners; at least she'd granted him that mercy). He had to hide out in his office for the rest of the week, and every time he walked through the open plan area, someone would start humming that damn song.
Her Tinder profile was a masterpiece, if he did say so himself. Rich, the offensively perfect doctor, was going to be so disappointed when he turned up for their date.
He wasn't exactly sure how or when she'd managed to change every number on his phone (not deleted, but rearranged, so when he called "mommy" he actually got his mom - and boy had THAT been awkward). But he had to admit, he was reluctantly impressed. Had she hacked him somehow? Broken in? It was a mystery.
When they passed each other in the parking garage or the hallway, she drew herself up and glared at him, and he either smirked at her (when he was winning) or scowled (when she'd done something particularly evil to him). He was constantly fizzing with the need to do something horrible, just to get her attention. The sex with Vaughn got louder and more obnoxious, and he began to wonder if either of them was actually enjoying it, because quite honestly it was starting to sound like a porno.
He was also beginning to wonder what the hell he was doing, because it was beginning to feel like the only way this could end was with a giant, smoking hole in the Colorado landscape where the suburb of Greendale had once stood.
But after six weeks, the obnoxiously loud sex suddenly stopped: it seemed she and the filthy hippy had broken up. As far as he could tell, through some tactical stalking, she didn't seem especially sad - neither did she seem especially happy, but that might be because she always pulled that face whenever she spotted Jeff. Still, he reined back his efforts to annoy her, because relationship breakups were painful (or so he'd heard). It was kind of a relief: he was running out of ideas that wouldn't actually get him arrested.
---
And then, two weeks later, on an otherwise ordinary Friday night, everything changed.
"Jeff? Jeff Winger?"
Jeff pulled his phone away and stared at it, before putting it back to his ear and turning on his barstool so he was facing away from the music. "Annie Edison? Why the hell are you calling me?"
"Look, please don't hang up; I realize this is going to be awkward, but I need your help."
"Hah!"
"More specifically, I need to retain your services. You're a defense lawyer, right?"
Now she had his attention. He leaned forward, frowning. "What? Why?"
There was a pause. "I've been arrested," she said, with clear reluctance. And now he recognized the sounds he'd vaguely registered behind her voice - that was the old, familiar sound of a busy cop shop. A vague sense of delight suffused his being, but everything froze with her next quiet words. "For s-soliciting. It's completely untrue, of course, there was an off-duty cop with a completely misogynistic attitude towards women trying to… Look, could you come and deal with this? Please? I think they really mean it with the one phonecall thing, and I didn't know who else to ask."
Not half an hour later, he was in the Lincoln Square precinct, defending Annie Edison with all the eloquence at his disposal. "...and entrapment! If my client can't pick up a guy in a bar for some harmless fun between two consenting adults, then the terrorists have won!"
The desk clerk, at a nod from the duty officer, hurried to unlock the handcuffs. Annie watched Jeff with reluctant admiration, but wisely said nothing until all the paperwork to drop the charges was signed, and they were outside, breathing free Greendale air again. "You're really good at that," she said, as she got into his car.
"I know." Normally he'd brag more, bask in the moment, but he was too busy trying to unravel the confusing reaction he'd had when he saw her in the cell and, for one glorious moment, she'd looked at him like he'd arrived on a white charger, in full armor and wielding a sword. Weirdly, he'd not felt triumph at seeing her brought low - instead, he'd felt a cold, focused rage that anyone had DARED to lock up his...
…neighbor? Nemesis? What exactly was she to him?
The drive home was awkward and silent, both preoccupied with their own thoughts, but once back at the building, she invited him in. "Sure," he said, following her down the hall to her condo. They probably had things to discuss, although he couldn't think precisely what they might be.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked, as she opened the door.
He nodded automatically, and she dropped her purse and keys loudly onto the table as she strode across the room to the drinks cabinet - barely breaking stride to kick off her heels - and poured them both a good slug of some good scotch. She tossed back her first glass, and poured a second measure, which she savored with more appreciation. Jeff moved more slowly across the room to take his drink. He sipped it, watching her. She was tired and pale, a frown line etched between her dark brows, shadows under her eyes, hair slightly mussed and lipstick long gone. But she still looked like the classy dame in a 1940s film noir as she tipped a sliver of scotch into her mouth and held it there for a moment, cradling the glass against her collarbone.
"That was the most humiliating experience of my life," she said. "And believe me, I've had a few."
"Yeah, well… if you're looking for a hook-up, probably best to avoid L-Street, it's kinda notorious," he suggested.
She grimaced, glancing at him. "Oh, don't worry, I won't ever be going there again!"
"Hell, any time you want a night of meaningless sex, you don't need to go to a bar," he said, with a crooked grin. "Just knock three times on the ceiling and I'll come running."
In his head, the words had sounded like a slightly tacky joke. He didn't realize how much he meant them until he heard them coming out of his mouth. She stared at him, wide-eyed, the breath frozen in her throat. There was a weird roaring noise in his ears.
They moved at the same time, setting their glasses down on the nearest flat surface. She tasted of scotch, and she moaned when he ran his hands up her sides and sank them into her hair… and he was gone, gone, gone.
He hadn't intended to sleep with Annie, any more than he intended to draw breath. There was no conscious decision, not like his usual conquests - although it felt less like an autonomic function and more like the climactic scene in an old movie. Still kissing her, he swept her up into his arms, bridal-style, which was ridiculous and over the top, but she'd made him feel like a hero for one brief, shining moment that evening, and he didn't want to let that go. Besides, he kind of thought it would work for her, a theory that was proven when she pulled away for a second to gasp, "Bedroom!"
He could do that. Conveniently, he even knew where it was.
He used her feet to push the door open, and took a swift glance around, scoping the territory. Bed: check. Possible obstacles: white lace canopy (seriously?), pink and white string lights, and about a zillion throw pillows. For a moment, he was daunted. It looked like the bedroom of a Disney princess, or a serial killer, or a serial-killing Disney princess. But then she slid down from his arms, and started working feverishly at his shirt buttons, and he decided it was worth the risk.
They were an effective team, and in a matter of moments they were both nearly naked. Annie tugged off the throw, taking with it most of the pillows in one efficient move, pushed him back onto the bed, and climbed on top of him with the focus and determination she'd previously used to make his life hell.
Not one to passively sit back while a woman was grinding on him, Jeff unhooked her bra in one practiced move, slid it off, and cupped his hands around her breasts. She hummed in pleasure, holding on to his shoulders as he held first one breast and then the other to his mouth, squeezing and sucking and biting gently.
"God, yes, harder," was all she said.
"Nngh," was his eloquent response.
She was rotating her hips mindlessly in his lap, her head thrown back, and her hands smoothing through his hair and caressing his shoulders and neck. She hitched herself closer, eagerly pressing against his hard-on. She didn't seem to want to take it slow, and he was so totally on board with that plan. He could feel she was already wet, but he slipped his hand into her panties anyway, and they both groaned when his finger slid against her slick skin.
"I want you NOW," she breathed, electrifying him.
A few frantic seconds later, with underwear and one foil package discarded, he was leaning back against her headboard, and she was sliding down onto him. She straddled his lap, legs folded under her for leverage as she rose and fell on his cock with impressive speed and grace - and god, this was even better than his fantasies. As she sped up and began to lose the rhythm, he leaned forward, supporting her with hands around her waist. She arched backwards, hips still working against him, with his lips on her spectacular breasts and her hair tickling his knees. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she said, as she fell apart, shuddering around him. He followed moments later, pulling her up so he could kiss her frantically and without finesse, her name on a loop in his head as he pressed her down onto him with one hand on her tailbone so he could get even deeper inside her, there, there, there.
Afterwards, he slid bonelessly down into her bed, and she flopped onto her back next to him, arms splayed, panting. He was fully prepared to get up and leave, just as soon as he caught his breath and regained the use of his legs.
When he woke up again, all was still and quiet and dark, and shit, how late was it? He didn't usually spend the night, but she was wrapped in his arms with her head tucked against his shoulder, and if he moved she was going to wake up.
He lay for a long time, staring into the dark and weighing the options. If he stayed… He pictured waking her with kisses, going for round two, and three, teasing her, driving her crazy, working out their differences in the best possible way… He groaned silently and closed his eyes. It was a tempting picture. But after that, though - what then? Christ, he'd keep running into her, and he pictured her face, angry and hurt, when she realized he was avoiding her, that he hadn't suddenly metamorphosed into someone she could date.
It was inevitable. It was, right? He didn't want to have to deal with that on home ground, and he didn't want to have to move when it all got too awkward. So he should just slip out now, leave a note, something friendly but final, make it clear that this was a great night of hot, commitment-free sex, and nothing more. It certainly wasn't the start of anything. The key word here was 'meaningless'.
She rolled away from him, mumbling in her sleep, and suddenly he was free. It was a sign, he decided. He'd be a fool not to grab the opportunity to escape before this all got too heavy.
---
Part Two.
Author: Pepper
Fandom(s): Community
Pairing: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Wordcount: 10,951
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing, sex, alcohol, drugs, violence - all the fun stuff.
Also archived: On AO3 here
Disclaimer: Community isn't mine, which is probably good, I'd only do silly things like this with it.
Summary: Jeff has a new neighbor, and she's really, really annoying.
Notes: Neighbors AU, partially inspired by a few of these prompts: AUs for when your OTP are both assholes.
I've kind of mentally narrowed the age gap to approximately the actors' real ages, because this is my AU and I can do what I like so :P
---
Aha, caught in the act! "You! Stay right there!" he bellowed across the parking garage.
As he'd suspected, it was the woman who'd moved into the apartment below his a couple of weeks ago. He'd only caught glimpses of her, but it was enough to recognize her as she stopped in the act of opening the door of her cherry red Prius and turned to face him. As he strode closer, he was too annoyed to acknowledge that she was gorgeous, with a petite but curvy figure, big blue eyes, and a sweep of dark, glossy hair that would look awesome spread out across his sheets (okay, maybe he did acknowledge it and maybe he was kind of a pig, but at least he had the decency to keep those thoughts in the privacy of his head, unlike certain lawyers he might name).
She stood in the opened car doorway, and maybe he'd been a little too aggressive, because for a moment she'd looked scared. Then she straightened up to her full height - all five foot of it - and met his glare with her chin up pugnaciously, and he was left wondering if he was imagining things.
He came to a stop a little inside her comfort zone, so he could tower over her. "Stop stealing my parking spot!"
Emotions played rapidly across her expressive face: confusion, understanding, dislike. "Mister Twelve," she said, nodding. "I should have guessed."
"Ms Six," he replied frostily. "Are you aware that this is my allocated parking spot? And what do you mean, you should have guessed?"
"No it's not, and because Mrs Aritza-d'Silva warned me about you."
Mrs Aritza-d'Silva, the former tenant of number six. Jeff narrowed his eyes. "Her view was biased. She always hated me."
Ms Six rolled her pretty blue eyes. "She hated you because you drop your weights loudly on the floor at six-thirty every morning," she informed him. "For the record? I share her point of view."
"Yeah? Well she used to yell at me every time I saw her, so I guess we're even. And to return to my main point, you should stop stealing my parking spot."
"She yelled at you to tell you to stop doing it, and it's not your parking spot!"
"Well how was I supposed to know? I don't speak Spanish! And it is, it's part of my condo agreement."
"I bet you never stopped to ask her why she was angry with you, did you? And have you actually read your condo agreement? Because there's nothing in there about allocated parking. I know because I read it properly before I moved in!"
Jeff pointed at her. "Okay, one, I am going to check that because I think you're lying, and two, no of course I didn't stop to ask because I make it a point not to spend time talking to CRAZY WOMEN WHO YELL AT ME IN MY APARTMENT BUILDING!"
"WELL THAT SHOULD RULE ME OUT OF HAVING TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN!"
And with an angry swish of her hair, she ducked into her car and slammed the door. The engine revved angrily, and Jeff had to jump back so she didn't run over his feet.
---
Through careful observation (read: stealing her post one morning) he learned that Ms Six's name was actually Annie Edison, which in his opinion was far too sweet for such a harpy. He also learned that she had a dentist appointment the following week, and that she'd signed up for that fitness thing with the watch that recorded your stats - he was tempted to keep it, but pink really wasn't his color. What was worse, it turned out that she was right: when he combed through the condo agreement, there was no mention of allocated parking, although he vividly remembered that the agent who sold it to him had shown him the spot that was supposedly his. He should sue, but he was dismally aware that he'd probably lose. As a lawyer, he really ought to have read the contract more closely.
Adding insult to injury, Ms Edison seemed to have a knack of getting to the spot before him. She left work early - or earlier than him, but it was maybe true that Jeff had got into the habit of staying late at the office, and of bar-crawling after work with Mark or Alan, but it was just that his place was so quiet sometimes that he got into creepy thought-circles like 'if I died, how long would it take for anyone to notice?'. But now, every time Jeff pulled into the parking garage, he found her shiny red car there, in HIS spot, and he had to grind his teeth and pull resentfully around to a different spot. There was an almost palpable air of smugness about her car, and he would swear she was parking at that jaunty angle just to mock him.
So he moved his morning workouts half an hour earlier, and increased the weight on his barbells.
It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that he remembered something else the agent had shown him: the numbers painted on the garage floor. It was five years since he bought the place, and he'd long since stopped noticing little things like that, but when he went to check that evening, there it was, under her car: worn and grimy, but definitely a number twelve. AHA!
He staked out the spot the next morning, and watched as she emerged from the lift, looking through her bag for her keys. Her long hair fell in loose curls around her face, and she looked soft and delicate in the early-morning light, and for a moment, he was almost tempted to drop it, and suggest that they start again. Maybe with coffee. He knew a decent place, just around the corner... But then she looked up and frowned when she saw him leaning on her car, her steps faltering for a moment before she strode on towards him.
"What do you want?" Her tone decided him: he didn't like her.
He beckoned her forward, and pointed to underneath the vehicle. "Look," he said. "Number twelve. That means it's mine."
She barely glanced at it. "That just means it's the twelfth parking spot," she said, dismissively. "Look around - they're all numbered. That doesn't mean it's connected to the individual condos, it means they started from one and worked their way up. God, why are you being such an asshole about this?"
Jeff's jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms. "Custom and practice-"
She scoffed. "Custom and practice! C'mon, I thought you were a lawyer - there's no law that protects your right to park in this spot just because it's 'custom and practice'!"
"Ah, but laws evolve to take custom and practice and whatever the current view of 'ethics' is into account, that's practically the basis of our entire legal system - or are you saying slavery was a-okay when it was legit?"
An outraged gasp came from her round, red lips. "You - you hyperbolic sophist! Get off my car, or I'll tell the super you're harassing me!"
Jeff pushed himself upright. "I'm willing to take this fight all the way, Ms Edison. Are you? Give in now, and I'll go easy on you."
"Get lost, jerkface," was her succinct response.
It was only after she'd peeled angrily out of the garage that it occurred to him to wonder how she'd known he was a lawyer.
---
That weekend, he spotted the cheery poster on the community noticeboard: clipart of a party hat and some streamers, liberally decorated with glitter glue and stick-on stars. In a disgustingly cutesy font with lots of unnecessary swirls and squiggles, it read: "FELLOW RESIDENTS! I'm having an APARTMENT WARMING PARTY next Saturday (11th)! Drop by anytime from 8pm until 11pm!!!" It was signed "Annie at #6", followed by lots of xoxoxo's.
So. That was how she wanted to play, was it? Get everyone else in the building on her side, act like he was the bad guy and she was such a goody-goody? Well, he'd show her. Oh yes, he would show her.
Next Saturday, he was in his apartment, listening to the music coming through the floor (which had begun at 8pm on the dot). At least she was playing some decent tunes, if a bit poppy for his taste. At 9.45pm, he was humming along to an old Britney song as he put product through his hair and examined the closeness of his shave. He gave himself a wink and a two-finger-gun salute in the mirror, and then went to grab a bottle of wine - decent stuff, none of that boxed crap - from the fridge. At just past 10pm, he was knocking on her door.
Annie opened it with a broad smile, which vanished from her face the instant she saw him. "You," she said, with loathing. "What are you doing here?"
"Hey neighbor," he said, holding up the bottle. "Gonna invite me in?"
She stared at him in silence for a long moment, and then rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving the door open. It wasn't exactly the warmest invitation he'd ever received, but he'd take it.
Her apartment had exactly the same layout as his, so it was a bit like stepping into an alternate universe in which his condo was painted in cheerful pastel green and pink (he had subtle tones of grey and brown, to set off his eyes), and was full of fabrics, knick-knacks, and people. He had to admit, the party was hoppin', in a relaxed sort of way. There were booze, snacks, and good music, and several people he recognized from having spent five years avoiding them in the hallway - he nodded tersely to the jerk who liked to leave the fire door propped open with a brick - mixed with some new faces, apparently her friends. One guy introduced himself as Annie's high school boyfriend's best friend and currently in film school, would Jeff be interested in a small role, possibly as a Jack Nicholson in 'The Witches of Eastwick' type? Jeff gave the kid his card, which in retrospect was probably a mistake, but his ego had come into play.
Other notables were the sharp blonde who introduced herself as "not interested", the high school boyfriend himself (a quarterback type, which got Jeff wondering if Annie had been a cheerleader), a woman about Jeff's age who was having an quiet but intense argument over the phone with her husband (Jeff slipped her his card and mimed 'call me!'), and the creepy bald guy who lived down the hall from Jeff and always stood too close to him in the elevator, even when they were the only two in there.
Beyond 'sweet, sweet revenge', Jeff didn't really have a plan - he was winging it, living on the edge, where he did his best work. He just had to keep his eyes open for the right opportunity. And after a conversation with Abed about the blonde, he had the inkling of an idea. So he waited until she and Annie were talking, and then sauntered over, shamelessly interrupting their conversation. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" he asked, figuring that brash and bold was the way to go.
Annie looked annoyed. "This is my friend Britta," she said, through clenched teeth. "Britta, this is the jerk who keeps harassing me in the parking garage."
"But I go by Jeff these days," he said. He didn't hold out his hand, pretty sure that Britta - there had to be some juicy childhood trauma behind that name - wouldn't take it.
"Jerk," she greeted him, with poisonous sweetness.
"So, I have a bit of a problem," said Jeff. "You see, I had this spinster aunt who died recently, so sad, and I'm in charge of handling her estate." Both women were looking at him with narrow-eyed distrust. "That's not the problem - I mean, she was like a mother to me, but life goes on, et cetera. The problem is, she had this cat." Britta's eyes widened. Annie glanced at her friend in alarm, sensing trouble. Jeff pressed his advantage. "She loved dear old Mr Tinkles like he was her own child. But now she's gone, I have to rehome him. I can't bring him here, much though I would love to, he's a precious reminder of my beloved aunt, but the condo agreement has a very strict no pets clause." Annie was glaring at him now, but Britta was drinking it in like a sucker. "It's a real shame. But I'm scared that, if I take Mr Tinkles in to a sanctuary, they'll probably put him down - I mean, the poor creature is elderly and half-blind and has to take a dozen pills every day, if he was a dog they'd shoot him. I was talking to the kid over there, the skinny one with the Inspector Spacetime obsession, and he mentioned that you, Britta, might know of some no-kill sanctuaries?"
Britta was already nodding earnestly. "Absolutely I do, it's horrible how some - oh my god that was so lame!" She threw back her head and laughed. "Seriously dude, did you really think that would work on me? Annie was right: you really are a douche."
Jeff frowned at her. Annie, on the other hand, was smiling at Britta like a proud parent. "I'm glad to see sympathy is alive and well," he said, annoyed.
"Oh god, really, you're going to keep it up? That's just too precious." Britta put her hand on Annie's shoulder. "I was tempted to let him run with it, see how far he was prepared to take the charade," she confided to her friend. "The only reason I stopped was because I could see this would end up with him adopting the oldest, most raggedy-ass cat he could find, and palming it off to me as the mythical Mr Tinkles. I was tempted to make sure that all the sanctuaries I know were suddenly, mysteriously full, so he got stuck with it, but that really wouldn't be fair to the poor cat."
Jeff ground his teeth as Annie laughed delightedly. "Oh, Britta," she said, fondly. "You're so bad."
"This isn't over," Jeff declared. Annie rolled her eyes.
"Come on, Jeff. Don't you think this is all getting a bit ridiculous? Let it go."
He held up his hands, not wanting to hear it. "No! No. I will have my revenge, and you will beg for mercy before I'm done."
He stalked towards the door, and glanced back once. She was watching him go, hands on her hips and lips pressed together in annoyance. She really didn't look in the slightest bit afraid.
---
He toyed with the idea of moving his workouts even earlier, but that had the disadvantage of punishing him just as much, if not more. No, what he wanted was a way to annoy her in a way that would be enjoyable for him…
He knew that Annie got up early on the weekends, to go out doing whatever it was she did - volunteering at old peoples' homes or collecting litter from the local park, no doubt - whereas he liked to sleep late. So he did what any sensible, revenge-seeking person would do: the rounds of his phone list.
On Friday night he invited around Sabrina, the big-lipped blonde with the kink for authority figures. She needed no encouragement to be loud in bed, but watching her try to work out how to use his coffee machine in the morning gave him actual pain, and he made a mental note to avoid her in future. On Saturday night he picked up Quendra-with-a-Q-U in a trendy bar, and took her back home for a couple of athletic rounds that definitely shook the bedposts. On Sunday, his luck with blondes continued when he ran into Amber, the step-daughter of one of his clients, at a local microbrewery he'd been meaning to try for some time. She was a bit too keen-eyed for his taste, though: as she clipped up her bra afterwards, she looked curiously at him. "Was that good for you? You seemed a bit distracted," she remarked.
He was guiltily aware that he had in fact been distracted, wondering if the sex was loud enough to keep Annie awake. He'd made a point of crying out yet another different name as he came, just to make sure she really got the point. "Um, yeah, sorry - work in the morning, you know," he said, and hurried her out.
He made sure to be up bright and early on Monday, so he could hover by his car and watch for Annie. She emerged from the elevator looking impeccable as ever, in black pants and tailored jacket over one of her jewel-toned blouses, her hair up in a loose bun that emphasized her delicate jawline, but when she drew closer he could see the dark circles under her eyes. When she saw him, she gave him an angry glare.
"You're a pig," was all she said. Jeff smirked, and decided to go for redheads next weekend.
---
His loud debauchery came swiftly back to bite him in the ass. The weekend following Operation Redhead, he was catching up on some well-earned sleep when he was gradually dragged back to consciousness by a steady banging noise, interspersed with muffled moans. His first reaction was to smirk as he rolled over in bed, but then it dawned on him: the noise was coming from the apartment below. That was Annie.
He frowned and sat up, listening. Her bedroom was directly under his, which for revenge purposes had been ideal, but he was beginning to see there might be a downside. Whoever she was with, apparently he was really doing it for her. Was it possible she was faking it, just to piss him off? That she was down there, banging her own headboard against the wall and making those noises, all the while glaring at the ceiling? No - he was egotistical, it was true, but even he couldn't believe that.
Jeff stuffed his head between two pillows and tried to get back to sleep - but he was wide-awake now, too irked to comfortably drift off again. The pillows were enough to block out the moans, but the banging seemed to be coming through the floorboards, up the legs of his bed, and vibrating into his bones. The noises got louder, and faster, and Jeff gritted his teeth and hoped that the bed collapsed on them. And then it all went abruptly still, and he distinctly heard her voice crying out, "Vaughn!"
Jeff growled and buried his head deeper into the pillow, irritated beyond belief to find himself a little turned on. Images of naked Annie writhed through his imagination, with her head thrown back, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, gasping for breath as she shuddered through a magnificent orgasm. It was so unfair!
Later that morning, he lurked like a creepy stalker - he was fully owning that - around the corner from her condo door, watching as she kissed goodbye to this 'Vaughn' character. The guy was clearly an asshole; that much was clear from the obnoxious way he gently kissed her cheek and - ugh - made her giggle and blush. Even worse, it seemed this wasn't a one-time thing, because Jeff had definitely caught something about a date in their revoltingly cozy conversation. God, just when he thought she couldn't get any more annoying, she had to go and find herself a boyfriend! And not just any boyfriend, but one who wore a hippy necklace and surfer dude hair and made her come loudly, ten feet from Jeff's bed. And he was not going to admit that he maybe deserved any of this, he was not, because… because… because he wasn't, okay?
Sulking, he stomped away.
---
When their paths crossed in the atrium two days later, as he collected his post, he gave her a scowl, but she just returned a sunny smile, apparently oblivious to the fact that she'd ruined his sleep for two nights in a row (that date? Turned out to have been for the next night). It was confirmed: she was the worst. But Jeff could escalate with the best: from work, he phoned in a fake alert that got her car towed. That night, he parked in the number twelve spot with a feeling of smug pleasure.
His post, it appeared, had been mistakenly redirected to Bettles, Alaska, and it was going to take two weeks for it to be fixed, and who knows how long to actually get back any letters that had gone astray. Did he have anything important due to be delivered, because he might want to alert the sender?
He retaliated by dribbling a basketball through his condo all weekend. ESPECIALLY when she was having sex with Vaughn.
Somehow, his Real World audition video made its way onto YouTube, and a link was sent anonymously to everyone at Hamish, Hamish and Hamlin (except the partners; at least she'd granted him that mercy). He had to hide out in his office for the rest of the week, and every time he walked through the open plan area, someone would start humming that damn song.
Her Tinder profile was a masterpiece, if he did say so himself. Rich, the offensively perfect doctor, was going to be so disappointed when he turned up for their date.
He wasn't exactly sure how or when she'd managed to change every number on his phone (not deleted, but rearranged, so when he called "mommy" he actually got his mom - and boy had THAT been awkward). But he had to admit, he was reluctantly impressed. Had she hacked him somehow? Broken in? It was a mystery.
When they passed each other in the parking garage or the hallway, she drew herself up and glared at him, and he either smirked at her (when he was winning) or scowled (when she'd done something particularly evil to him). He was constantly fizzing with the need to do something horrible, just to get her attention. The sex with Vaughn got louder and more obnoxious, and he began to wonder if either of them was actually enjoying it, because quite honestly it was starting to sound like a porno.
He was also beginning to wonder what the hell he was doing, because it was beginning to feel like the only way this could end was with a giant, smoking hole in the Colorado landscape where the suburb of Greendale had once stood.
But after six weeks, the obnoxiously loud sex suddenly stopped: it seemed she and the filthy hippy had broken up. As far as he could tell, through some tactical stalking, she didn't seem especially sad - neither did she seem especially happy, but that might be because she always pulled that face whenever she spotted Jeff. Still, he reined back his efforts to annoy her, because relationship breakups were painful (or so he'd heard). It was kind of a relief: he was running out of ideas that wouldn't actually get him arrested.
---
And then, two weeks later, on an otherwise ordinary Friday night, everything changed.
"Jeff? Jeff Winger?"
Jeff pulled his phone away and stared at it, before putting it back to his ear and turning on his barstool so he was facing away from the music. "Annie Edison? Why the hell are you calling me?"
"Look, please don't hang up; I realize this is going to be awkward, but I need your help."
"Hah!"
"More specifically, I need to retain your services. You're a defense lawyer, right?"
Now she had his attention. He leaned forward, frowning. "What? Why?"
There was a pause. "I've been arrested," she said, with clear reluctance. And now he recognized the sounds he'd vaguely registered behind her voice - that was the old, familiar sound of a busy cop shop. A vague sense of delight suffused his being, but everything froze with her next quiet words. "For s-soliciting. It's completely untrue, of course, there was an off-duty cop with a completely misogynistic attitude towards women trying to… Look, could you come and deal with this? Please? I think they really mean it with the one phonecall thing, and I didn't know who else to ask."
Not half an hour later, he was in the Lincoln Square precinct, defending Annie Edison with all the eloquence at his disposal. "...and entrapment! If my client can't pick up a guy in a bar for some harmless fun between two consenting adults, then the terrorists have won!"
The desk clerk, at a nod from the duty officer, hurried to unlock the handcuffs. Annie watched Jeff with reluctant admiration, but wisely said nothing until all the paperwork to drop the charges was signed, and they were outside, breathing free Greendale air again. "You're really good at that," she said, as she got into his car.
"I know." Normally he'd brag more, bask in the moment, but he was too busy trying to unravel the confusing reaction he'd had when he saw her in the cell and, for one glorious moment, she'd looked at him like he'd arrived on a white charger, in full armor and wielding a sword. Weirdly, he'd not felt triumph at seeing her brought low - instead, he'd felt a cold, focused rage that anyone had DARED to lock up his...
…neighbor? Nemesis? What exactly was she to him?
The drive home was awkward and silent, both preoccupied with their own thoughts, but once back at the building, she invited him in. "Sure," he said, following her down the hall to her condo. They probably had things to discuss, although he couldn't think precisely what they might be.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked, as she opened the door.
He nodded automatically, and she dropped her purse and keys loudly onto the table as she strode across the room to the drinks cabinet - barely breaking stride to kick off her heels - and poured them both a good slug of some good scotch. She tossed back her first glass, and poured a second measure, which she savored with more appreciation. Jeff moved more slowly across the room to take his drink. He sipped it, watching her. She was tired and pale, a frown line etched between her dark brows, shadows under her eyes, hair slightly mussed and lipstick long gone. But she still looked like the classy dame in a 1940s film noir as she tipped a sliver of scotch into her mouth and held it there for a moment, cradling the glass against her collarbone.
"That was the most humiliating experience of my life," she said. "And believe me, I've had a few."
"Yeah, well… if you're looking for a hook-up, probably best to avoid L-Street, it's kinda notorious," he suggested.
She grimaced, glancing at him. "Oh, don't worry, I won't ever be going there again!"
"Hell, any time you want a night of meaningless sex, you don't need to go to a bar," he said, with a crooked grin. "Just knock three times on the ceiling and I'll come running."
In his head, the words had sounded like a slightly tacky joke. He didn't realize how much he meant them until he heard them coming out of his mouth. She stared at him, wide-eyed, the breath frozen in her throat. There was a weird roaring noise in his ears.
They moved at the same time, setting their glasses down on the nearest flat surface. She tasted of scotch, and she moaned when he ran his hands up her sides and sank them into her hair… and he was gone, gone, gone.
He hadn't intended to sleep with Annie, any more than he intended to draw breath. There was no conscious decision, not like his usual conquests - although it felt less like an autonomic function and more like the climactic scene in an old movie. Still kissing her, he swept her up into his arms, bridal-style, which was ridiculous and over the top, but she'd made him feel like a hero for one brief, shining moment that evening, and he didn't want to let that go. Besides, he kind of thought it would work for her, a theory that was proven when she pulled away for a second to gasp, "Bedroom!"
He could do that. Conveniently, he even knew where it was.
He used her feet to push the door open, and took a swift glance around, scoping the territory. Bed: check. Possible obstacles: white lace canopy (seriously?), pink and white string lights, and about a zillion throw pillows. For a moment, he was daunted. It looked like the bedroom of a Disney princess, or a serial killer, or a serial-killing Disney princess. But then she slid down from his arms, and started working feverishly at his shirt buttons, and he decided it was worth the risk.
They were an effective team, and in a matter of moments they were both nearly naked. Annie tugged off the throw, taking with it most of the pillows in one efficient move, pushed him back onto the bed, and climbed on top of him with the focus and determination she'd previously used to make his life hell.
Not one to passively sit back while a woman was grinding on him, Jeff unhooked her bra in one practiced move, slid it off, and cupped his hands around her breasts. She hummed in pleasure, holding on to his shoulders as he held first one breast and then the other to his mouth, squeezing and sucking and biting gently.
"God, yes, harder," was all she said.
"Nngh," was his eloquent response.
She was rotating her hips mindlessly in his lap, her head thrown back, and her hands smoothing through his hair and caressing his shoulders and neck. She hitched herself closer, eagerly pressing against his hard-on. She didn't seem to want to take it slow, and he was so totally on board with that plan. He could feel she was already wet, but he slipped his hand into her panties anyway, and they both groaned when his finger slid against her slick skin.
"I want you NOW," she breathed, electrifying him.
A few frantic seconds later, with underwear and one foil package discarded, he was leaning back against her headboard, and she was sliding down onto him. She straddled his lap, legs folded under her for leverage as she rose and fell on his cock with impressive speed and grace - and god, this was even better than his fantasies. As she sped up and began to lose the rhythm, he leaned forward, supporting her with hands around her waist. She arched backwards, hips still working against him, with his lips on her spectacular breasts and her hair tickling his knees. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she said, as she fell apart, shuddering around him. He followed moments later, pulling her up so he could kiss her frantically and without finesse, her name on a loop in his head as he pressed her down onto him with one hand on her tailbone so he could get even deeper inside her, there, there, there.
Afterwards, he slid bonelessly down into her bed, and she flopped onto her back next to him, arms splayed, panting. He was fully prepared to get up and leave, just as soon as he caught his breath and regained the use of his legs.
When he woke up again, all was still and quiet and dark, and shit, how late was it? He didn't usually spend the night, but she was wrapped in his arms with her head tucked against his shoulder, and if he moved she was going to wake up.
He lay for a long time, staring into the dark and weighing the options. If he stayed… He pictured waking her with kisses, going for round two, and three, teasing her, driving her crazy, working out their differences in the best possible way… He groaned silently and closed his eyes. It was a tempting picture. But after that, though - what then? Christ, he'd keep running into her, and he pictured her face, angry and hurt, when she realized he was avoiding her, that he hadn't suddenly metamorphosed into someone she could date.
It was inevitable. It was, right? He didn't want to have to deal with that on home ground, and he didn't want to have to move when it all got too awkward. So he should just slip out now, leave a note, something friendly but final, make it clear that this was a great night of hot, commitment-free sex, and nothing more. It certainly wasn't the start of anything. The key word here was 'meaningless'.
She rolled away from him, mumbling in her sleep, and suddenly he was free. It was a sign, he decided. He'd be a fool not to grab the opportunity to escape before this all got too heavy.
---
Part Two.