similarity (schmidt/jess, nc-17; gift for @lovely_ericas!)
similarity
schmidt/jess, nc-17
A/N: Lovely_ericas over at AO3 asked me to write another Jess/Schmidt fic after she read my first one. My muse for them is evidently alive and kicking once more, so here's her gift! Obviously also available at AO3. :)
It's getting annoying, having to clean up after Cece's countless outfits and Nick's abandoned projects. (Thank god Winston and Coach tend to keep their stuff contained...most of the time...). Jess loves Cece to death, but girl. Come on.
So it's nice to have Schmidt to comiserate with, since they're both the only responsible ones in the loft. And late night drunk complaining sessions are a routine that's become a relief. "Ugh," Jess says, gesturing vaguely at the piles of stuff that have grown like invasive plants despite all their best efforts. Their things are in there, too, somewhere, but Jess thinks that you'd have to be Indiana Jones or something to actually find them. Come to think of it, she actually does has a hat that makes her look like Indiana Jones, and she's worn it more than once to school when she has to teach geology.
Anyway. The point was - what. "Ugh." The word that encompasses everything, it's such a useful word. "Ugh is right," Schmdt agrees, clinking his shot glass with hers.
"Uuuuuuggggghhh," Jess responds, and then they spend like fifteen minutes trying to make the biggest, loudest ugh noise before collapsing into helpless laughter. She gives him a quick kiss on impulse. Just a barely-there-just-friends-it's-ok-I-understand kind of kiss, like they've given each other in the past. Usually when they're drunk, moving blearily through the kitchen in search of more booze because sometimes life is hard.
Except now he doesn't pull away, not immediately. The wet rub of his lips makes the kiss veer into some kind of in-between place, where it's not entirely just-friends but more of an exploratory thing, where he's testing where this would go if he continued, how'd they both react.
Then he pulls away and they both laugh kind of awkwardly. He runs his hand through the hair at the back of his head, which makes it stand up all funny because of the gel he always uses. She giggles at the image, and he makes a face like "what's so funny," which just makes her giggle again. She stops giggling because she's noticed that he has a look on his face and woah mister that is the look of someone who is Very Interested In Banging A Lady. Jess waves her shot glass and asks what's up. Trying to be Cathy Casual even though they both know that there's a tension here.
That's when he kisses her for the second time. Like before, the kiss ends up just lingering for a second too long. It turns this into a holy-fuck-do-me-now kind of kiss. It's totally bonkers that Schmidt is gearing her up like this. Schmidt! He of the Calvin Klein khakis (haha, that's alliteration, like she's teaching right now - ok, Jess, focus -) and the exotic sex toys that he's left out more than once, like he's bragging. Which usually leads to a fiver right in the Douche Jar.
Schmidt, who is now squeezing her breasts and moaning her name, soft and quiet. She moans his back.
This doesn't end up like those romance novels that Cece reads aloud from sometimes when she and Jess have had a lot of wine.
Instead, it's weird and kind of rough but Jess is still kind of totally into it? Which is a whole 'nother level of weird on top of this weird sandwhich that is Schmidt grinding against her. They're still kissing when she hears the rustle of plastic, so she pauses and looks down to see that he's got a condom in his hand, evidently retrieved from his jeans pocket.
And she's totally not surprised because of course Schmidt would carry wrappers around. She gets this sudden mental image of "Be Prepared" from The Lion King and almost starts giggling again.
But it also makes this hotter, like he's been waiting for this. Holy crap has he been waiting for this? In retrospect (hey, SAT word!) it kind of makes sense because of how she'd been slinging shots and he'd pressed his hand at the small of her back and smiled at her, a little quirk at the side of his mouth that suggested Something More. Which just makes Jess think of Beauty and the Beast and she's kinda thinking about singing "Something There That Wasn't There Before." If she did, though, her voice would probably come out squeaky and weird because she's getting dizzy from the urgency of this. Also, what's with all the Disney?
It gets more difficult to think, though, as he flips her skirt up and pushes her underwear down her legs. "Jesus, Jess" he murmurs - maybe because her underwear has little cartoon ducks on it but maybe also because she's wet - like really, really wet. She sways a little, waiting breathlessly as she hears the snick of his belt coming undone, then the kkkrrrrkkk of him tugging down his zipper.
He settles his hands on her hips and thrusts up into her. His cock fills her up completely. She feels almost taught, and it burns a little as he continues to thrust but also in the best kind of way?
It's like when she messed up the ecosystem and made him this weird Rastafarian knockoff. The balance of this, the loft and its contracts, runs further and further out of control with each thrust. He pushes her hard against the kitchen island, and because of the way her hands are positioned for stability, this thrust ends up knocking a bunch of red Solo cups off the counter.
"Oh, shit," they mutter at the same time, before abruptly getting quiet again because uh-oh Spaghetti O, their roommates are not too far away behind closed doors. They're getting desperate and urgent, now. He pushes into her hard, and she wants to whimper so bad but she knows she can't, she won't. Schmidt pants with the effort like he wants to make her come, like he's owning her, and ok she wants that, too. When he keeps one hand digging into her right hip, he slides the other around in front of her to rub at her clit and it's like she sees starbursts, the kind of glitter she likes to use for art projects.
"This is what happens when you don't have rules," Schmidt says, breathless. "Mmmmhhhnnnn," Jess says, trying to make an agreeing sort of noise that just comes out as a quiet little moan.
Neither of them care about rules just then, though, because Jess is so, so close to coming again and they can both tell. Her legs are shaking and she can't help the tiny, desperate whimper that escapes from her mouth as she does finally come, clenching down hard on his cock. Her muscles squeeze feverishly at him. Schmidt groans and she can feel his cock do that little pop-and-lock swell of blurting jizz.
They both pause, panting while Schmidt slides back out of her. Jess tugs up her undies, flips her skirt into place, and adjusts her hair because she doesn't want to look, like, post-coital or whatever that word is. Just in case somebody comes ambling in for a midnight snack. (Which is pretty frequent, actually, which is why the fridge is often suspiciously empty, or close to empty, in the mornings where it was full the night before.)
Schmidt sets himself back to rights. She turns around and watches him tie up the condom, then toss it into that fancy trash can he bought, the kind where you push a little button and the top springs up.
He grins at her, some kind of naughty edge to the upturn of his mouth. Jess grins back and pours them both another drink.
schmidt/jess, nc-17
A/N: Lovely_ericas over at AO3 asked me to write another Jess/Schmidt fic after she read my first one. My muse for them is evidently alive and kicking once more, so here's her gift! Obviously also available at AO3. :)
It's getting annoying, having to clean up after Cece's countless outfits and Nick's abandoned projects. (Thank god Winston and Coach tend to keep their stuff contained...most of the time...). Jess loves Cece to death, but girl. Come on.
So it's nice to have Schmidt to comiserate with, since they're both the only responsible ones in the loft. And late night drunk complaining sessions are a routine that's become a relief. "Ugh," Jess says, gesturing vaguely at the piles of stuff that have grown like invasive plants despite all their best efforts. Their things are in there, too, somewhere, but Jess thinks that you'd have to be Indiana Jones or something to actually find them. Come to think of it, she actually does has a hat that makes her look like Indiana Jones, and she's worn it more than once to school when she has to teach geology.
Anyway. The point was - what. "Ugh." The word that encompasses everything, it's such a useful word. "Ugh is right," Schmdt agrees, clinking his shot glass with hers.
"Uuuuuuggggghhh," Jess responds, and then they spend like fifteen minutes trying to make the biggest, loudest ugh noise before collapsing into helpless laughter. She gives him a quick kiss on impulse. Just a barely-there-just-friends-it's-ok-I-understand kind of kiss, like they've given each other in the past. Usually when they're drunk, moving blearily through the kitchen in search of more booze because sometimes life is hard.
Except now he doesn't pull away, not immediately. The wet rub of his lips makes the kiss veer into some kind of in-between place, where it's not entirely just-friends but more of an exploratory thing, where he's testing where this would go if he continued, how'd they both react.
Then he pulls away and they both laugh kind of awkwardly. He runs his hand through the hair at the back of his head, which makes it stand up all funny because of the gel he always uses. She giggles at the image, and he makes a face like "what's so funny," which just makes her giggle again. She stops giggling because she's noticed that he has a look on his face and woah mister that is the look of someone who is Very Interested In Banging A Lady. Jess waves her shot glass and asks what's up. Trying to be Cathy Casual even though they both know that there's a tension here.
That's when he kisses her for the second time. Like before, the kiss ends up just lingering for a second too long. It turns this into a holy-fuck-do-me-now kind of kiss. It's totally bonkers that Schmidt is gearing her up like this. Schmidt! He of the Calvin Klein khakis (haha, that's alliteration, like she's teaching right now - ok, Jess, focus -) and the exotic sex toys that he's left out more than once, like he's bragging. Which usually leads to a fiver right in the Douche Jar.
Schmidt, who is now squeezing her breasts and moaning her name, soft and quiet. She moans his back.
This doesn't end up like those romance novels that Cece reads aloud from sometimes when she and Jess have had a lot of wine.
Instead, it's weird and kind of rough but Jess is still kind of totally into it? Which is a whole 'nother level of weird on top of this weird sandwhich that is Schmidt grinding against her. They're still kissing when she hears the rustle of plastic, so she pauses and looks down to see that he's got a condom in his hand, evidently retrieved from his jeans pocket.
And she's totally not surprised because of course Schmidt would carry wrappers around. She gets this sudden mental image of "Be Prepared" from The Lion King and almost starts giggling again.
But it also makes this hotter, like he's been waiting for this. Holy crap has he been waiting for this? In retrospect (hey, SAT word!) it kind of makes sense because of how she'd been slinging shots and he'd pressed his hand at the small of her back and smiled at her, a little quirk at the side of his mouth that suggested Something More. Which just makes Jess think of Beauty and the Beast and she's kinda thinking about singing "Something There That Wasn't There Before." If she did, though, her voice would probably come out squeaky and weird because she's getting dizzy from the urgency of this. Also, what's with all the Disney?
It gets more difficult to think, though, as he flips her skirt up and pushes her underwear down her legs. "Jesus, Jess" he murmurs - maybe because her underwear has little cartoon ducks on it but maybe also because she's wet - like really, really wet. She sways a little, waiting breathlessly as she hears the snick of his belt coming undone, then the kkkrrrrkkk of him tugging down his zipper.
He settles his hands on her hips and thrusts up into her. His cock fills her up completely. She feels almost taught, and it burns a little as he continues to thrust but also in the best kind of way?
It's like when she messed up the ecosystem and made him this weird Rastafarian knockoff. The balance of this, the loft and its contracts, runs further and further out of control with each thrust. He pushes her hard against the kitchen island, and because of the way her hands are positioned for stability, this thrust ends up knocking a bunch of red Solo cups off the counter.
"Oh, shit," they mutter at the same time, before abruptly getting quiet again because uh-oh Spaghetti O, their roommates are not too far away behind closed doors. They're getting desperate and urgent, now. He pushes into her hard, and she wants to whimper so bad but she knows she can't, she won't. Schmidt pants with the effort like he wants to make her come, like he's owning her, and ok she wants that, too. When he keeps one hand digging into her right hip, he slides the other around in front of her to rub at her clit and it's like she sees starbursts, the kind of glitter she likes to use for art projects.
"This is what happens when you don't have rules," Schmidt says, breathless. "Mmmmhhhnnnn," Jess says, trying to make an agreeing sort of noise that just comes out as a quiet little moan.
Neither of them care about rules just then, though, because Jess is so, so close to coming again and they can both tell. Her legs are shaking and she can't help the tiny, desperate whimper that escapes from her mouth as she does finally come, clenching down hard on his cock. Her muscles squeeze feverishly at him. Schmidt groans and she can feel his cock do that little pop-and-lock swell of blurting jizz.
They both pause, panting while Schmidt slides back out of her. Jess tugs up her undies, flips her skirt into place, and adjusts her hair because she doesn't want to look, like, post-coital or whatever that word is. Just in case somebody comes ambling in for a midnight snack. (Which is pretty frequent, actually, which is why the fridge is often suspiciously empty, or close to empty, in the mornings where it was full the night before.)
Schmidt sets himself back to rights. She turns around and watches him tie up the condom, then toss it into that fancy trash can he bought, the kind where you push a little button and the top springs up.
He grins at her, some kind of naughty edge to the upturn of his mouth. Jess grins back and pours them both another drink.