Exposing Truth
Title: Exposing Truth
Fandom: Community
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP, Romance
Characters/Pairings: Jeff/Annie
Spoilers: For Investigative Journalism, and possibly up to the S1 season finale
Summary: While inexplicably working late on an issue of the Greendale school paper, Jeff and Annie hash out their issues. From the Ficcy Friday prompt from teruel_a_witch 'Jeff and Annie are working late on an article and Jeff (or both) keeps getting distracted for obvious reasons, awkward shenanigans ensue'. With smut, and more arguing than I originally intended. Because I missed editor!Jeff and reporter!Annie too.
Jeff’s working late on the Greendale paper - he’s already spending evenings on the damn thing, he’s not using its full, ridiculous name - when she slips inside his office.
They don’t usually do this, he’d like to make that perfectly clear. By eight pm on a Wednesday night he’s usually at a bar, or out with Alan and the guys from the firm, or at the very least at home watching the E! Channel, half way past sober. He doesn’t spend evenings in the editor’s office on campus, going through the latest issue and trying to work out how to get it ready to print in the morning. It’s almost like he gives a damn. Almost.
It’s Annie’s fault, and he can tell she knows it. She’s being very quiet, watching him with those huge dark eyes, as he reads through her article. She couldn’t stand to be in there at first, with him holding his red pen over her work. She had to go get a drink, freshen her lipstick, anything.
“So?” she sees he’s finished, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“What do you want me to say?” he’s trying for fatherly authority here, not annoyance. He can’t tell if he’s made it or not.
“How about ‘it’s great, we’re done, let’s go!’” she smiles, hopefully, and he hates that his own expression so thoroughly dampens hers. “You didn’t like it?”
“I can’t print this.” he gestures to the article, “You can’t blame the Dean for what happened to the Human Being.”
“But I did all the research!” she protests, approaching his desk, “It was his idea to use those cheap markers for the new face. The fumes were his fault!” He tries to suppress a small smile at the memory.
“Yes, but I can’t print it!”
“Why?” her eyes narrow, and he knows that look. It’s that I-see-through-you-Jeffery-Winger look that makes him kind of sad she ended up here, and didn’t become a lawyer herself. She can be downright scary when she wants to be. “What does he have on you this time?”
“What? Nothing!” he tries to look innocent: she just looks more suspicious. Damn his wicked good looks.
“You’re just a coward, that’s all. All flash and no bang. You don’t have the guts to print the truth!” Her eyes flash in righteous anger, as her palms smack down on his desk. She leans over the desk just a little, trying to loom over him.
She had obviously forgotten that Jeff had about a foot on her, if her surprise when he rises to his feet is any indication. She stands her ground, glaring up at him now, and he tries not to let it turn him on.
He suddenly wishes he hadn’t stood up. The desk would have very effectively masked a little problem that’s suddenly arisen. He knows it’s a cliche, but she’s gorgeous when she’s mad at him, eyes all bright and cheeks flushed.
They’re facing each other over the desk, in identical positions, and Jeff almost pulls a Chang and presses his forehead against hers. Almost.
“I’m not going to pick another fight with the guy who controls my grades.” he grinds it out, slowly, letting his irritation flood over the other feelings arguing with Annie always create in him.
“He’s shorter than me and in love with you!” Annie cries, “You just don’t want to make waves… maybe that’s why you belong here!”
Now that hurt. In a moment, he’s around the desk, bearing down on her, showcasing exactly how much bigger he is than her, going for intimidating. That look would work on almost anyone outside of Greendale. Annie just gets right up in his face, not ever backing down.
For someone so tiny and fragile, she sure is strong.
“You just managed to say three deeply offensive things that I don’t want to think about right now.”
“What, more truth-dodging, lawyer man? Which is worse, the fact that Pelton would take you over one of those creepy Dalmatian guys, or the fact that you belong in Greendale?”
“Okay, that’s just disgusting. And what about you, huh?” he goes on the offensive, “You could have transferred out of here ages ago, you’ve got the grades and the work ethic. Why are you still at Greendale, if you don’t belong here?”
“Because you’re here!” she blurts it out, he can tell she didn’t want to say it. They’re right in each other’s personal space now, breathing hard, and the time for carefully measured arguments is over. She’s not looked away from his face, although she can see the fire die in her eyes, replaced by humiliation.
“What?”
“You’re why I stayed. Not because of the group, although they’re the best friends I’ve ever had, and not because of Troy, even if he is a sweetheart. I couldn’t transfer. Not with you still stuck here.”
“You’re still at Community College out of… solidarity?” that isn’t hope in his stomach. Oh, no, that’s just the chicken wings he had for lunch. He keeps his voice incredulous. He hopes she doesn’t see past that too.
“No… just… God, just forget it. Scrap the article, print one of Abed’s reviews or something instead.”
Oh no, not the Disney eyes. She’s sad now, not fake I-want-something sad, but properly miserable. He did that. She turns to leave, and before he knows what he’s doing, he catches her elbow.
He could smirk at the shock on her face, the same shock that registered with him during the debate, when she’d done something similar. But then he’s pressing his lips to hers, and she’s turned to some kind of liquid in his arms, wrapping herself around him as if it’s second nature.
He catches the little moan at the back of her throat as he slips his tongue into her mouth, and he pushes down a groan, feeling himself grow harder. He works his mouth over hers, caressing and exploring the inside of her mouth, feeling her give in and melt into his kiss.
They have to break apart for air, but only for a moment. He can see the huge, beautiful grin on her face, as if the sun’s just come out for the first time in months.
“I don’t think editors are supposed to make out with their reporters.” she whispers, “it might show favoritism.”
He makes a rather embarrassing little whimper, and recovers by shooting her his best smolder. He’s gratified to see her pupils dilate, hear her breathing quicken even further, “Do you want to be the favorite?”
His hands have strayed to her hips, up under her blouse, and skim along the soft skin of her waist. He finds a sensitive spot with his fingertips and he feels her shiver, eyes fluttering closed, “yes.”
That’s really all he needs. In a moment his hands have spread out over her hips and hoisted her up onto the editor’s desk, mouth returning to its former task of plundering hers. Her hot little hands weave into his hair, holding his head in place as she returns the favour, exploring his mouth with some urgency. He groans as she trips her tongue across the roof of his mouth, and he feels her lips curve into a smile. She does it again.
His hands start to work back under her blouse, unfastening her bra at the back so he can cup her full breasts in his hands. She breaks away and gasps as his thumbs rub over her hard little nipples, and he smirks down at her. Even with her sat on the desk, he’s taller than her.
He stops for a moment, and her eyes flick open again. She looks up at him, almost accusingly. He waits for her to ask him to continue, to beg for it. But she surprises him again. Her hands work their way down, out of his hair and down to his belt buckle. It takes her a moment, she makes the cutest little concentration face as she works it out, and then her fingers work down his fly, and her hands are on him, and it’s his turn to close his eyes.
“Am I your favourite, Jeff?” the sound of his name on her lips almost drives him mad, but he’s determined: if they’re doing this, he’s going to give as good as he gets.
“Oh,” he groans, “definitely.” His hands slide under her skirt, and he makes an unexpected discovery: her tights are actually hold-ups. There is far less between his fingers and her pussy than he had thought, and he decides to torture her, just like she’s torturing him.
He stills her hands on his cock, and push them down to the sides of the desk. He wraps her warm, pale little fingers around the edge, and looks into her eyes, “Don’t let go till I tell you.” her pupils are so huge he can barely see her irises now, as he stares her down. A little tremor goes through her, and she nods, shakily.
He grins, “good.” then his fingers go back to work. They skim the tops of her hold-ups, working across the smooth skin of her thighs, and he suddenly wishes they were back at his apartment, where he could have laid her out on the bed and seen what he could now only feel.
Her knuckles suddenly turn white on the desk, as he slips his fingers under the elastic of her knickers to brush against her soft hair and slick, warm skin, already so wet for him. He wants to tease her further, wants to see exactly how long he can keep her ecstatic, without allowing her to fall.
“Later,” he murmurs, mouth so close to hers that they’re sharing breath, “You’ll be on my bed, with none of these annoyingly conservative clothes on, and I’m gonna find out exactly how loud I can make you scream.”
Her jaw falls slack, lips forming a delicate little ‘o’ shape, and he smirks again at his handiwork. He hooks two fingers under the crotch of her panties, and rips them away entirely. Any other time, he muses, as he lines his hips up with hers, she might have objected to him destroying her clothes like that.
But then again, since she’s looking at him like she wants to do the same to every garment he wore, he doesn’t think she minds too much.
He feels around, hoping against hope that his wallet is still in his back pocket. It is, and although he feels a little juvenile carrying a condom around in his wallet like a hormone-crazed teenager, he’d never been more grateful for hopeful immaturity. He tears it open with hands and teeth, desperate to be inside her, and sheathes himself with shaking hands.
He steps forward just a little bit, and thrusts up into her, hands on her hips, pushing slowly inside until he fills her entirely. Christ, she feels amazing, hot and wet and tight around his aching cock. Her eyes are clenched shut now, and he feels her sob with pleasure as he starts to move, slowly, in and out of her, trying not to hurt her by going too rough.
Her hands stay clenched on the desk, one of his clutches her hip, keeping her in the position that causes her to whimper and swoon with each thrust. His other hand creeps up under her bra again, finding one of those pebbled little nipples and rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, giving it a little tug with every thrust inside.
Her pants speed up, her moans get louder, and Jeff is suddenly very glad that they’re the only ones who stayed after on the paper. He can’t imagine what would happen if Abed or anyone else, for that matter, came in here now.
They’d see the thirty-five-year-old editor bent over his desk, fucking his eighteen-year-old reporter like there was no tomorrow.
And somehow, he can’t bring himself to care. Because her hips are moving faster and faster, bucking against him, trying to get him inside deeper, harder. She wants this as badly as he does, and she isn’t a child. She’s the most mature adult he knows.
He feels his balls tighten as he nears his climax. He wants her to come first, needs to see her face tighten in ecstasy as she comes for him. His hand moves from her hip, down and across, up under her skirt to where they’re joined. He finds her sensitive little nub of nerves, and rubs it hard. She cries out, and he can feel her clench around him, so close to her release. He leans down to her ear, and traces the shell of it with his tongue. “Come for me, Annie.”
He feels her release, as she clenches hard around him, eyes squeezed shut, and he feels himself follow after. Her hips buck against his as she rides out her orgasm, hands clenched so hard on the desk he’s afraid her fingermarks will be left indented in the wood afterwards.
He takes a deep shaking breath as he feels her come down off her high, and slips out of her. He grabs a tissue off his desk and sorts himself out, trying to regain some modicum of dignity. He stuffs her panties into his pocket while she isn’t looking, hoping he won’t need to keep them as a reminder after she storms out the door in shame.
He looks down at her, standing in front of him, and can’t help but grin at the utterly disheveled state of her hair, her smudged lipstick. He can’t imagine he looks much better.
Her answering beam could have powered the sun.
“Alright?”
She nods, “Better.” he feels the ball of anxiety in his stomach unravel. He hadn’t realised how afraid he’d been that he’d screwed everything up by screwing her.
“So…” and now came the awkward silence. He sticks his hands in his pockets, unable to think of a thing to say.
“So… will you print my article now?” she bites her lip, tries to look winsome and innocent, the latter completely impossible with that just-fucked glow to her skin.
His jaw drops open in mock-surprise, “You did all this for a story in the Greendale paper?”
He steps closer again, suddenly seeing how unacceptable it is that she be beyond arms-reach from him at any one moment. She looks up at him from under her eyelashes, a coy gleam in her eyes. “I am a dedicated reporter - anything for the truth to be heard.” The corner of her mouth curls up in a devious little grin.
“I feel so used!” he tries to sound offended, but it comes out turned-on. He grabs her waist, and sighs, “Ah well, I guess I’ll have to punish you now.” And, glad that the campus was deserted and no-one would see or hear them, Jeff proceeds to hoist Annie up over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, and caresses the backs of her knees. She squeals and wriggles, but not enough to dislodge his grip. “And it’s going to take a while.”
Her answering shiver against his shoulder is all the reply he needs.
Fandom: Community
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP, Romance
Characters/Pairings: Jeff/Annie
Spoilers: For Investigative Journalism, and possibly up to the S1 season finale
Summary: While inexplicably working late on an issue of the Greendale school paper, Jeff and Annie hash out their issues. From the Ficcy Friday prompt from teruel_a_witch 'Jeff and Annie are working late on an article and Jeff (or both) keeps getting distracted for obvious reasons, awkward shenanigans ensue'. With smut, and more arguing than I originally intended. Because I missed editor!Jeff and reporter!Annie too.
Jeff’s working late on the Greendale paper - he’s already spending evenings on the damn thing, he’s not using its full, ridiculous name - when she slips inside his office.
They don’t usually do this, he’d like to make that perfectly clear. By eight pm on a Wednesday night he’s usually at a bar, or out with Alan and the guys from the firm, or at the very least at home watching the E! Channel, half way past sober. He doesn’t spend evenings in the editor’s office on campus, going through the latest issue and trying to work out how to get it ready to print in the morning. It’s almost like he gives a damn. Almost.
It’s Annie’s fault, and he can tell she knows it. She’s being very quiet, watching him with those huge dark eyes, as he reads through her article. She couldn’t stand to be in there at first, with him holding his red pen over her work. She had to go get a drink, freshen her lipstick, anything.
“So?” she sees he’s finished, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“What do you want me to say?” he’s trying for fatherly authority here, not annoyance. He can’t tell if he’s made it or not.
“How about ‘it’s great, we’re done, let’s go!’” she smiles, hopefully, and he hates that his own expression so thoroughly dampens hers. “You didn’t like it?”
“I can’t print this.” he gestures to the article, “You can’t blame the Dean for what happened to the Human Being.”
“But I did all the research!” she protests, approaching his desk, “It was his idea to use those cheap markers for the new face. The fumes were his fault!” He tries to suppress a small smile at the memory.
“Yes, but I can’t print it!”
“Why?” her eyes narrow, and he knows that look. It’s that I-see-through-you-Jeffery-Winger look that makes him kind of sad she ended up here, and didn’t become a lawyer herself. She can be downright scary when she wants to be. “What does he have on you this time?”
“What? Nothing!” he tries to look innocent: she just looks more suspicious. Damn his wicked good looks.
“You’re just a coward, that’s all. All flash and no bang. You don’t have the guts to print the truth!” Her eyes flash in righteous anger, as her palms smack down on his desk. She leans over the desk just a little, trying to loom over him.
She had obviously forgotten that Jeff had about a foot on her, if her surprise when he rises to his feet is any indication. She stands her ground, glaring up at him now, and he tries not to let it turn him on.
He suddenly wishes he hadn’t stood up. The desk would have very effectively masked a little problem that’s suddenly arisen. He knows it’s a cliche, but she’s gorgeous when she’s mad at him, eyes all bright and cheeks flushed.
They’re facing each other over the desk, in identical positions, and Jeff almost pulls a Chang and presses his forehead against hers. Almost.
“I’m not going to pick another fight with the guy who controls my grades.” he grinds it out, slowly, letting his irritation flood over the other feelings arguing with Annie always create in him.
“He’s shorter than me and in love with you!” Annie cries, “You just don’t want to make waves… maybe that’s why you belong here!”
Now that hurt. In a moment, he’s around the desk, bearing down on her, showcasing exactly how much bigger he is than her, going for intimidating. That look would work on almost anyone outside of Greendale. Annie just gets right up in his face, not ever backing down.
For someone so tiny and fragile, she sure is strong.
“You just managed to say three deeply offensive things that I don’t want to think about right now.”
“What, more truth-dodging, lawyer man? Which is worse, the fact that Pelton would take you over one of those creepy Dalmatian guys, or the fact that you belong in Greendale?”
“Okay, that’s just disgusting. And what about you, huh?” he goes on the offensive, “You could have transferred out of here ages ago, you’ve got the grades and the work ethic. Why are you still at Greendale, if you don’t belong here?”
“Because you’re here!” she blurts it out, he can tell she didn’t want to say it. They’re right in each other’s personal space now, breathing hard, and the time for carefully measured arguments is over. She’s not looked away from his face, although she can see the fire die in her eyes, replaced by humiliation.
“What?”
“You’re why I stayed. Not because of the group, although they’re the best friends I’ve ever had, and not because of Troy, even if he is a sweetheart. I couldn’t transfer. Not with you still stuck here.”
“You’re still at Community College out of… solidarity?” that isn’t hope in his stomach. Oh, no, that’s just the chicken wings he had for lunch. He keeps his voice incredulous. He hopes she doesn’t see past that too.
“No… just… God, just forget it. Scrap the article, print one of Abed’s reviews or something instead.”
Oh no, not the Disney eyes. She’s sad now, not fake I-want-something sad, but properly miserable. He did that. She turns to leave, and before he knows what he’s doing, he catches her elbow.
He could smirk at the shock on her face, the same shock that registered with him during the debate, when she’d done something similar. But then he’s pressing his lips to hers, and she’s turned to some kind of liquid in his arms, wrapping herself around him as if it’s second nature.
He catches the little moan at the back of her throat as he slips his tongue into her mouth, and he pushes down a groan, feeling himself grow harder. He works his mouth over hers, caressing and exploring the inside of her mouth, feeling her give in and melt into his kiss.
They have to break apart for air, but only for a moment. He can see the huge, beautiful grin on her face, as if the sun’s just come out for the first time in months.
“I don’t think editors are supposed to make out with their reporters.” she whispers, “it might show favoritism.”
He makes a rather embarrassing little whimper, and recovers by shooting her his best smolder. He’s gratified to see her pupils dilate, hear her breathing quicken even further, “Do you want to be the favorite?”
His hands have strayed to her hips, up under her blouse, and skim along the soft skin of her waist. He finds a sensitive spot with his fingertips and he feels her shiver, eyes fluttering closed, “yes.”
That’s really all he needs. In a moment his hands have spread out over her hips and hoisted her up onto the editor’s desk, mouth returning to its former task of plundering hers. Her hot little hands weave into his hair, holding his head in place as she returns the favour, exploring his mouth with some urgency. He groans as she trips her tongue across the roof of his mouth, and he feels her lips curve into a smile. She does it again.
His hands start to work back under her blouse, unfastening her bra at the back so he can cup her full breasts in his hands. She breaks away and gasps as his thumbs rub over her hard little nipples, and he smirks down at her. Even with her sat on the desk, he’s taller than her.
He stops for a moment, and her eyes flick open again. She looks up at him, almost accusingly. He waits for her to ask him to continue, to beg for it. But she surprises him again. Her hands work their way down, out of his hair and down to his belt buckle. It takes her a moment, she makes the cutest little concentration face as she works it out, and then her fingers work down his fly, and her hands are on him, and it’s his turn to close his eyes.
“Am I your favourite, Jeff?” the sound of his name on her lips almost drives him mad, but he’s determined: if they’re doing this, he’s going to give as good as he gets.
“Oh,” he groans, “definitely.” His hands slide under her skirt, and he makes an unexpected discovery: her tights are actually hold-ups. There is far less between his fingers and her pussy than he had thought, and he decides to torture her, just like she’s torturing him.
He stills her hands on his cock, and push them down to the sides of the desk. He wraps her warm, pale little fingers around the edge, and looks into her eyes, “Don’t let go till I tell you.” her pupils are so huge he can barely see her irises now, as he stares her down. A little tremor goes through her, and she nods, shakily.
He grins, “good.” then his fingers go back to work. They skim the tops of her hold-ups, working across the smooth skin of her thighs, and he suddenly wishes they were back at his apartment, where he could have laid her out on the bed and seen what he could now only feel.
Her knuckles suddenly turn white on the desk, as he slips his fingers under the elastic of her knickers to brush against her soft hair and slick, warm skin, already so wet for him. He wants to tease her further, wants to see exactly how long he can keep her ecstatic, without allowing her to fall.
“Later,” he murmurs, mouth so close to hers that they’re sharing breath, “You’ll be on my bed, with none of these annoyingly conservative clothes on, and I’m gonna find out exactly how loud I can make you scream.”
Her jaw falls slack, lips forming a delicate little ‘o’ shape, and he smirks again at his handiwork. He hooks two fingers under the crotch of her panties, and rips them away entirely. Any other time, he muses, as he lines his hips up with hers, she might have objected to him destroying her clothes like that.
But then again, since she’s looking at him like she wants to do the same to every garment he wore, he doesn’t think she minds too much.
He feels around, hoping against hope that his wallet is still in his back pocket. It is, and although he feels a little juvenile carrying a condom around in his wallet like a hormone-crazed teenager, he’d never been more grateful for hopeful immaturity. He tears it open with hands and teeth, desperate to be inside her, and sheathes himself with shaking hands.
He steps forward just a little bit, and thrusts up into her, hands on her hips, pushing slowly inside until he fills her entirely. Christ, she feels amazing, hot and wet and tight around his aching cock. Her eyes are clenched shut now, and he feels her sob with pleasure as he starts to move, slowly, in and out of her, trying not to hurt her by going too rough.
Her hands stay clenched on the desk, one of his clutches her hip, keeping her in the position that causes her to whimper and swoon with each thrust. His other hand creeps up under her bra again, finding one of those pebbled little nipples and rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, giving it a little tug with every thrust inside.
Her pants speed up, her moans get louder, and Jeff is suddenly very glad that they’re the only ones who stayed after on the paper. He can’t imagine what would happen if Abed or anyone else, for that matter, came in here now.
They’d see the thirty-five-year-old editor bent over his desk, fucking his eighteen-year-old reporter like there was no tomorrow.
And somehow, he can’t bring himself to care. Because her hips are moving faster and faster, bucking against him, trying to get him inside deeper, harder. She wants this as badly as he does, and she isn’t a child. She’s the most mature adult he knows.
He feels his balls tighten as he nears his climax. He wants her to come first, needs to see her face tighten in ecstasy as she comes for him. His hand moves from her hip, down and across, up under her skirt to where they’re joined. He finds her sensitive little nub of nerves, and rubs it hard. She cries out, and he can feel her clench around him, so close to her release. He leans down to her ear, and traces the shell of it with his tongue. “Come for me, Annie.”
He feels her release, as she clenches hard around him, eyes squeezed shut, and he feels himself follow after. Her hips buck against his as she rides out her orgasm, hands clenched so hard on the desk he’s afraid her fingermarks will be left indented in the wood afterwards.
He takes a deep shaking breath as he feels her come down off her high, and slips out of her. He grabs a tissue off his desk and sorts himself out, trying to regain some modicum of dignity. He stuffs her panties into his pocket while she isn’t looking, hoping he won’t need to keep them as a reminder after she storms out the door in shame.
He looks down at her, standing in front of him, and can’t help but grin at the utterly disheveled state of her hair, her smudged lipstick. He can’t imagine he looks much better.
Her answering beam could have powered the sun.
“Alright?”
She nods, “Better.” he feels the ball of anxiety in his stomach unravel. He hadn’t realised how afraid he’d been that he’d screwed everything up by screwing her.
“So…” and now came the awkward silence. He sticks his hands in his pockets, unable to think of a thing to say.
“So… will you print my article now?” she bites her lip, tries to look winsome and innocent, the latter completely impossible with that just-fucked glow to her skin.
His jaw drops open in mock-surprise, “You did all this for a story in the Greendale paper?”
He steps closer again, suddenly seeing how unacceptable it is that she be beyond arms-reach from him at any one moment. She looks up at him from under her eyelashes, a coy gleam in her eyes. “I am a dedicated reporter - anything for the truth to be heard.” The corner of her mouth curls up in a devious little grin.
“I feel so used!” he tries to sound offended, but it comes out turned-on. He grabs her waist, and sighs, “Ah well, I guess I’ll have to punish you now.” And, glad that the campus was deserted and no-one would see or hear them, Jeff proceeds to hoist Annie up over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, and caresses the backs of her knees. She squeals and wriggles, but not enough to dislodge his grip. “And it’s going to take a while.”
Her answering shiver against his shoulder is all the reply he needs.