You Know You're No Good. Skins. Freddie/Katie.
You Know You're No Good.
NC-17. 1,508 words. Skins.
Freddie/Katie, implied Freddie/Effy.
For the anonkink meme. Prompt was: freddie/katie - first time, he's thinking about effy.
She really isn’t anything like Effy at all, not really.
This shouldn’t matter, but it’s hard to think of anything else when she’s leaning against the headboard like that, all deliberately seductive and trashy and put-on and so entirely not effortless, dark, quiet, Cook’s. Freddie clenches his fingers, works them at his sides and Katie just bites her lip a little, toes the sheets and glances down at herself before back up at him through her bangs.
“You going to jump me or what, then?”
Freddie snorts on a laugh, can’t help himself, and Katie grins at that (genuine, and Freddie’s not sure if he wants that right now either).
“Seriously,” she says, and it’s easier this time, looser in her throat and there’s no coyness, not really. Just blunt, just Katie. “I don’t hang around in my knickers for just anyone.”
He really shouldn’t be flattered, but he can’t help himself, can’t stop himself from looking at the way her pink, lacy bra clashes with her hair, with her orange panties that hang too low on her hips.
“I didn’t make any promises, eh?” He drops onto the end of the bed as he says it, pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it easily. Katie rolls her eyes, purses her lips, but she glances back down at herself almost self-consciously. He hardly notices her move, barely sees her fall onto her hands and knees to crawl over the sheets to him, almost hesitantly, and she pauses, reaches a hand up to grab the cigarette from his lips and take a drag herself.
“Nah,” she mumbles, “but you’re a bloke and I’m half fucking naked.” It rolls around the cigarette, in the smoke, like she’s not used to not getting what she wants.
Effy’s used to not getting what she wants.
“You going to be my fucking dildo or an actual bloke tonight, then? Either way, I’m getting laid,” Katie murmurs, and she leans in close as she says it, lips quivering just beneath his ear and Freddie’s used to fast fucks in bathroom stalls, is used to jerking off every night to Effy’s tiny frame and dark eyes, and Katie’s neither of these. Katie’s curvy, Katie’s light and bravado and when she presses her lips to the line of his jaw, he can’t help himself, can’t not take the cigarette from her lips and lean down and kiss her properly. Licks, bites, until all he can taste is Katie’s cherry lipgloss and something that’s way more human than he’s ever associated with her.
Her fingers are still tangled in the sheets and Freddie’s are on the cigarette, at his side and he doesn’t want to touch her anywhere else, doesn’t want to feel all the ways she isn’t who he wants. “Come on,” Katie mumbles against his lips, and Freddie pulls away, stares at the light row of freckles across her nose and the way her mascara’s smeared from where he found her in the bathroom earlier, crying in the stall. She wouldn’t tell him why, and Freddie wouldn’t ask.
(Really, she’d said parties and boys and sister’s were fucking stupid sometimes, and Freddie had smiled, nodded and taken her up to one of the bedrooms to help her clean up and Freddie’s not the sort of guy that takes advantage, but maybe it’s okay so long as they both know they’re exploiting each other. Maybe this way neither of them will wind up feeling all used up. Maybe this is wishful thinking.)
“Come on,” she mumbles again, and her eyes skirt to his lips, neck, collarbone, and she reaches out, lets her fingers trace his bones, jugular, lets her thumb push against his bottom lip and fuck this, he thinks, fuck it.
It’s too easy to push her back, to throw the burnt out cigarette onto the floor and let her hit the mattress properly with a thud and a rustle, to straddle her soft hips. Katie doesn’t say anything, just smiles loose and small and she’s too compliant like this, too easy. He grabs her thighs, warm and soft in his fingers and hitches them up around his waist, pushes a hand between her legs and finds her heat through her neon panties, lets his fingers slip beneath the flimsy fabric and Katie, she doesn’t arch, doesn’t make a show of it all like maybe he’d expected, just pants a little, closes her eyes and tightens her fingers around the edge of his neck. He kisses her, too hard to be nice and lets her get her hands in his hair, lets her twist it enough to hurt every time he bites her.
She moans, loud and unrefined in the back of her throat, and Freddie pushes his hips down against hers, works his fingers against her clit and loses himself in the way her breathing is so generic, could be anyone else, Effy, loses himself in the movements of her chest underneath him and the way her tits are firm, easy and soft beneath his dry fingers.
“You got a condom?” Katie pants, her fingers gripping at the base of his neck, and Freddie shrugs, fuck, can’t remember, doesn’t care. He’ll get Katie off, and she’ll get him off, and - “Fuck, you’re dim.” She groans, and her eyes are open again now, frustrated and mocking and something Freddie can’t place. “Condom? You’ve probably caught something from hanging out with fucking Cook for so long, and fuck if you think I’m catching in on that shit.”
Freddie snorts at that, and Katie rolls her eyes. “I have some in my purse,” and Freddie arches an eyebrow, leans back until Katie moves out from underneath him, unclips her bra and throws it onto the floor, and Katie isn’t Freddie’s dream girl, isn’t even his wank girl, but he’s seventeen and her breasts are perfect even if they’re not. Even if her nipples are almost too pink and there are the smallest stretchmarks tugging at where her chest turns into tit.
She’s pulling a condom out of her purse with a practiced ease and when she turns around again to face him, Freddie doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t staring. That he isn’t. “See something you like?” she says, and she grins, dumb and self-assured, and Freddie rolls his eyes, says, “Wouldn’t be about to fuck you if I didn’t.”
Katie’s smile just widens and she wanders over almost lazily, watches as Freddie drops his legs over the edge of the bed until he’s sitting up properly, and then she’s pushing him back, yanking his pants down and tearing open the condom packet too easily, sliding the rubber down over his dick before he can do it himself. He starts, and Katie grins, only it’s softer this time, leans in and kisses him before she turns around, slips off her panties and lowers herself slowly onto his hard cock, moves until her back is against his chest and he’s balls deep inside her and fuck. Just, fuck.
He’s breathing too hard now, could almost black out, and he has to stare at the ceiling, count to ten and try to ignore the way Katie is nothing but wet heat around his aching dick. Fuck. He trembles a little, shifts underneath her, and he almost misses it when she murmurs, “This way you don’t need to know it’s me.”
Freddie clenches his eyes shut, because this isn’t - fuck, this isn’t anything he wants, anyone, whatever. He doesn’t want a Katie that’s too used to being a half of something, and he doesn’t want to be the guy that exploits that. He doesn’t want to be the guy that takes out a dead mum and a stupid, too big crush on someone who’s maybe just as needy, desperate, used up, spent.
Freddie doesn’t want to just be that guy who takes.
“I won’t be pissed off if you call me something else,” her voice is soft, her body pliant and warm in his lap, and the if you call me Effy goes unspoken, even if it’s all Freddie can hear in his ears, head, heart.
He doesn’t know what he’d say if he thought he could talk, doesn’t know how he’d make this less fucked up if he could untangle the words in his throat, but he just starts fucking her instead, short, hard thrusts up into her as she pants and mumbles out unintelligibly. He fucks her just like this, like she set them up, one hand gripping at her hip, the other set of honeyed fingers splayed on her thin, pale belly and when she comes she holds onto them, onto him and when he comes, he doesn’t call out Effy’s name, but he breathes Katie into the back of her neck.
She doesn’t moan, mumble, cry, say anything, but when she gets up off of him, minutes, hours later, (Freddie doesn’t count that, maybe counts the noises Katie makes, her breaths, the number of times she shifts in his lap), he thinks maybe she appreciates it.
NC-17. 1,508 words. Skins.
Freddie/Katie, implied Freddie/Effy.
For the anonkink meme. Prompt was: freddie/katie - first time, he's thinking about effy.
She really isn’t anything like Effy at all, not really.
This shouldn’t matter, but it’s hard to think of anything else when she’s leaning against the headboard like that, all deliberately seductive and trashy and put-on and so entirely not effortless, dark, quiet, Cook’s. Freddie clenches his fingers, works them at his sides and Katie just bites her lip a little, toes the sheets and glances down at herself before back up at him through her bangs.
“You going to jump me or what, then?”
Freddie snorts on a laugh, can’t help himself, and Katie grins at that (genuine, and Freddie’s not sure if he wants that right now either).
“Seriously,” she says, and it’s easier this time, looser in her throat and there’s no coyness, not really. Just blunt, just Katie. “I don’t hang around in my knickers for just anyone.”
He really shouldn’t be flattered, but he can’t help himself, can’t stop himself from looking at the way her pink, lacy bra clashes with her hair, with her orange panties that hang too low on her hips.
“I didn’t make any promises, eh?” He drops onto the end of the bed as he says it, pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it easily. Katie rolls her eyes, purses her lips, but she glances back down at herself almost self-consciously. He hardly notices her move, barely sees her fall onto her hands and knees to crawl over the sheets to him, almost hesitantly, and she pauses, reaches a hand up to grab the cigarette from his lips and take a drag herself.
“Nah,” she mumbles, “but you’re a bloke and I’m half fucking naked.” It rolls around the cigarette, in the smoke, like she’s not used to not getting what she wants.
Effy’s used to not getting what she wants.
“You going to be my fucking dildo or an actual bloke tonight, then? Either way, I’m getting laid,” Katie murmurs, and she leans in close as she says it, lips quivering just beneath his ear and Freddie’s used to fast fucks in bathroom stalls, is used to jerking off every night to Effy’s tiny frame and dark eyes, and Katie’s neither of these. Katie’s curvy, Katie’s light and bravado and when she presses her lips to the line of his jaw, he can’t help himself, can’t not take the cigarette from her lips and lean down and kiss her properly. Licks, bites, until all he can taste is Katie’s cherry lipgloss and something that’s way more human than he’s ever associated with her.
Her fingers are still tangled in the sheets and Freddie’s are on the cigarette, at his side and he doesn’t want to touch her anywhere else, doesn’t want to feel all the ways she isn’t who he wants. “Come on,” Katie mumbles against his lips, and Freddie pulls away, stares at the light row of freckles across her nose and the way her mascara’s smeared from where he found her in the bathroom earlier, crying in the stall. She wouldn’t tell him why, and Freddie wouldn’t ask.
(Really, she’d said parties and boys and sister’s were fucking stupid sometimes, and Freddie had smiled, nodded and taken her up to one of the bedrooms to help her clean up and Freddie’s not the sort of guy that takes advantage, but maybe it’s okay so long as they both know they’re exploiting each other. Maybe this way neither of them will wind up feeling all used up. Maybe this is wishful thinking.)
“Come on,” she mumbles again, and her eyes skirt to his lips, neck, collarbone, and she reaches out, lets her fingers trace his bones, jugular, lets her thumb push against his bottom lip and fuck this, he thinks, fuck it.
It’s too easy to push her back, to throw the burnt out cigarette onto the floor and let her hit the mattress properly with a thud and a rustle, to straddle her soft hips. Katie doesn’t say anything, just smiles loose and small and she’s too compliant like this, too easy. He grabs her thighs, warm and soft in his fingers and hitches them up around his waist, pushes a hand between her legs and finds her heat through her neon panties, lets his fingers slip beneath the flimsy fabric and Katie, she doesn’t arch, doesn’t make a show of it all like maybe he’d expected, just pants a little, closes her eyes and tightens her fingers around the edge of his neck. He kisses her, too hard to be nice and lets her get her hands in his hair, lets her twist it enough to hurt every time he bites her.
She moans, loud and unrefined in the back of her throat, and Freddie pushes his hips down against hers, works his fingers against her clit and loses himself in the way her breathing is so generic, could be anyone else, Effy, loses himself in the movements of her chest underneath him and the way her tits are firm, easy and soft beneath his dry fingers.
“You got a condom?” Katie pants, her fingers gripping at the base of his neck, and Freddie shrugs, fuck, can’t remember, doesn’t care. He’ll get Katie off, and she’ll get him off, and - “Fuck, you’re dim.” She groans, and her eyes are open again now, frustrated and mocking and something Freddie can’t place. “Condom? You’ve probably caught something from hanging out with fucking Cook for so long, and fuck if you think I’m catching in on that shit.”
Freddie snorts at that, and Katie rolls her eyes. “I have some in my purse,” and Freddie arches an eyebrow, leans back until Katie moves out from underneath him, unclips her bra and throws it onto the floor, and Katie isn’t Freddie’s dream girl, isn’t even his wank girl, but he’s seventeen and her breasts are perfect even if they’re not. Even if her nipples are almost too pink and there are the smallest stretchmarks tugging at where her chest turns into tit.
She’s pulling a condom out of her purse with a practiced ease and when she turns around again to face him, Freddie doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t staring. That he isn’t. “See something you like?” she says, and she grins, dumb and self-assured, and Freddie rolls his eyes, says, “Wouldn’t be about to fuck you if I didn’t.”
Katie’s smile just widens and she wanders over almost lazily, watches as Freddie drops his legs over the edge of the bed until he’s sitting up properly, and then she’s pushing him back, yanking his pants down and tearing open the condom packet too easily, sliding the rubber down over his dick before he can do it himself. He starts, and Katie grins, only it’s softer this time, leans in and kisses him before she turns around, slips off her panties and lowers herself slowly onto his hard cock, moves until her back is against his chest and he’s balls deep inside her and fuck. Just, fuck.
He’s breathing too hard now, could almost black out, and he has to stare at the ceiling, count to ten and try to ignore the way Katie is nothing but wet heat around his aching dick. Fuck. He trembles a little, shifts underneath her, and he almost misses it when she murmurs, “This way you don’t need to know it’s me.”
Freddie clenches his eyes shut, because this isn’t - fuck, this isn’t anything he wants, anyone, whatever. He doesn’t want a Katie that’s too used to being a half of something, and he doesn’t want to be the guy that exploits that. He doesn’t want to be the guy that takes out a dead mum and a stupid, too big crush on someone who’s maybe just as needy, desperate, used up, spent.
Freddie doesn’t want to just be that guy who takes.
“I won’t be pissed off if you call me something else,” her voice is soft, her body pliant and warm in his lap, and the if you call me Effy goes unspoken, even if it’s all Freddie can hear in his ears, head, heart.
He doesn’t know what he’d say if he thought he could talk, doesn’t know how he’d make this less fucked up if he could untangle the words in his throat, but he just starts fucking her instead, short, hard thrusts up into her as she pants and mumbles out unintelligibly. He fucks her just like this, like she set them up, one hand gripping at her hip, the other set of honeyed fingers splayed on her thin, pale belly and when she comes she holds onto them, onto him and when he comes, he doesn’t call out Effy’s name, but he breathes Katie into the back of her neck.
She doesn’t moan, mumble, cry, say anything, but when she gets up off of him, minutes, hours later, (Freddie doesn’t count that, maybe counts the noises Katie makes, her breaths, the number of times she shifts in his lap), he thinks maybe she appreciates it.