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Advanced Theory in Lingerie Selection

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Annie knows the knock is Jeff’s before she even opens the door. Why? Because who else would bother to walk up three floors to check on her half an hour before the Greendale Anti-Whaling dance? That, and his knock always sounds the same – angry and quick, like he’s still got a million things to do at once and isn’t in community college with the rest of them.

            Annie throws on a t-shirt and opens the door. “I’m not ready yet,” she says.

            Jeff sighs. “We’ve got to go.” He steps into the apartment without invitation and starts to pace the small space. “I’ve been waiting downstairs for half an hour.”

            “No, you haven’t,” Annie says. “The neighbourhood kids would have egged your car by now.”

            Jeff, as if it counts as proof, wipes a hand through his hair and shows her his egg-sticky fingers. She barely contains her laugh – in fact, she just only manages to hold the sound in her cheeks.

            “Yeah, laugh away,” Jeff says. He wipes the egg on the back of the couch. “The paint will peel. And then we’ll show up at the dance in a paint-peeling car and—”

            “And what? You’ll never hook-up with your conquest of the week?” Annie turns away from him as she speaks, gathering the outfit she’s laid out on the bed. Before he can reply, she steps into the bathroom and adds, “I’ll be quick.”


Jeff stands in the emptiness of Annie’s apartment, his bad mood increasing. A car alarm goes off somewhere close by. He closes his eyes, not wanting to consider the very real possibility that it might be his car and that he might be stuck in this shit hole for the rest of the night. He tries not to be angry at Annie, even though he thinks he has reason. She’s always on time – for study group, for class – so why not for a stupid dance? And she hit a nerve, too. Abigail only promised to be at the dance for the first hour and, after that, sex was off the table.

            Not that Jeff Winger needed sex. No. Jeff could get sex whenever he wanted. He just hadn’t happened to want sex in a couple of months.

            He wanders around Annie’s one room apartment – calling it a bachelor pad just seems wrong, even though that’s what it is. He lets his fingers trail over the floral bedspread as he inspects the cracks in the yellow walls. Is that water damage? He steps closer, touches it with his fingers. Definitely water damage. He makes a mental note to tell Annie she needs to inform the landlord about that.

            He turns and faces Annie’s dresser. For a moment, he admires his reflection in the mirror. Normally, he could occupy hours like this. Tonight, it makes him feel uncomfortable. The grey sweater he’s wearing is nothing special – in fact, he wears it almost every day – and his jeans are on their third wear. Should he have cleaned up a bit more? Put on some cologne? How hard was Abigail going to make him work for it? Or was it one of those situations where as long as he showed up, he’d get some?

            He sighs and looks down. He opens one of the drawers. In it is nothing special. A collection of white panties and nude bras – Jeff paws through them for a moment, looking for anything special, hidden, but there’s nothing to find. He opens the drawer beside it and finds socks. Lots and lots of black socks. He spares a thought for how little Annie must have to do laundry with a sock stash like that.

            He’s just about to open the third drawer when the bathroom door opens.


Annie sees Jeff at her drawers and races over immediately. The words on the tip of her tongue are gone – some jibe about how he’ll have to wait a little longer for her curling iron – and instead she’s sputtering. She shuts the drawer he’s holding onto and he raises an eyebrow.

            “Are you looking through my stuff?” she asks, voice too pitchy, squeaky.

            “Why? Got something to hide, Edison?”

            She tilts her head to the side, giving him her best unamused look. She hopes it doesn’t give away the way her heart is pounding in her chest. “Is it so much to ask that when you’re in my home, you don’t go pawing through my personal items?” She glances down, sees that her underwear drawer is a little open. She slams that drawer shut too. “You’re such a perv.”

            He holds his hands up in a lazy, mocking surrender. “You ready to go yet?”

            “I need to curl my hair.”

            “You’re hair looks fine.”

            Annie glares at him. Her hair is still half-wet from her shower and hangs limply past her shoulders. Rolling her eyes, she turns away and heads back to the bathroom. She swallows the nerves in her throat, the desperate urge to throw down some hard rules – touch my stuff again and we’re not going at all – and shuts the bathroom door behind her.

            She stares hard at her reflection. She looks calm enough. Now, all she can hope is that Jeff has the good sense and moral compass to stop looking through her things. Taking a deep breath, she picks up her hairdryer and turns it on.


Jeff spends about ten seconds staring at the closed bathroom door before he turns back to the dresser. With the sound of the hairdryer on in the other room, he knows he’s safe as long as he can hear that buzz. And little Annie Edison telling him not to look through her drawers is the one guaranteed way to make sure he does look through her drawers. She probably knows that. It’s why she didn’t stay or lay down an ultimatum.

            Jeff opens the third drawer all the way – a collection of colourful skirts and tights to go with them. He ruffles them a bit – the perfection is annoying – even though he knows that’ll give him away. It might give her a thrill. Jeff Winger finally up her skirts.

            He chuckles to himself and opens the fourth drawer – blouses. He shuts it. Getting down on his knees, he opens the bottom left drawer and frowns. Instead of clothes, there’s a collection of bolts and loose knobs and peeling paint chips. The bottom of the drawer is scratched but otherwise uninteresting. Jeff even tries the sides, looking for a false bottom, but no luck. He slams the drawer shut.

            The hairdryer shuts off. Jeff freezes. He waits, listens. The door doesn’t open.

            He opens the last drawer and there it is: the thing Annie’s been hiding from him, the thing she didn’t want him to see. But there’s so little of him that can focus on the victory, on the teasing. Not when the drawer is filled with lace and leather. Not when knee-high stockings and corset laces assault his senses. Not when every colour is at his fingertips – from jet black to pastel pink – and the fabric ranges from rough to silky smooth.

            Somehow he forgets to breathe. Somehow, he doesn’t hear the bathroom door open.


“Jeff!” Annie shrieks. She races across the room and shuts the drawer with her foot. Jeff pulls his fingers back with a quick exclamation of pain. Sympathy blooms in her chest, wars with her anger and the hot embarrassment on her cheeks. “I told you to stop!”

            Jeff grimaces and tries to look up at her with his patented smile. It’s a hard look to pull off when he’s nursing reddened fingertips. “You had to know that wasn’t gonna work,” he says as he slowly gets to his feet. He nudges the drawer open a bit as he rises. Annie tries not to look down at it, tries to remember what’s on top, what he saw. “Lingerie, Annie? Really?”

            “It’s none of your business,” she snaps. She forces herself to meet his eyes, forces herself to look strong. She knows it’s a farce, one he can see through. Her cheeks are burning and her fingers are shaking but she holds her arms tight across her chest and holds his gaze. “You shouldn’t have been looking. And now I’m ready to go.”

            She flips her perfectly curled hair and makes to turn away from him.

            He grabs her elbow and pulls her back. His grip is a little rough, a little less controlled than she’s used to from him. It sparks something in her – fear or knowledge, she can’t tell. His expression is still all mockery and glee.

            “Whose all this for, Annie?” he asks and his voice is low, gruff even.

            She shrugs. “None of your business.”

            “Come on,” he cajoles. His smile comes back to full wattage and he nudges the drawer open a little more with his foot. Annie can’t help but look down, can’t help but see the black lace number on top. Her breath goes numb. His fingers fall down the length of her arm. “Tell me who you got that pretty number for. Rich? Vaughn?”

            Annie shakes her head.

            “You got a mystery man we don’t know about?”

            She shakes her head again.

            “Come on, Annie. We all know pieces like that are for show. Who are you showing them to?”

            She can’t decide where his protectiveness is coming from. Is she little orphan Annie to him right now? The girl without any parents who needs him to tell her when she’s exposing herself unnecessarily? Or is she Annie, the girl he’s kissed twice, the girl he can’t stand being with anyone else? Is he jealous or just protective?

            She raises her eyes to meet his again. There are no hints on his face, no clues. So she tells him the truth. “They aren’t for anyone.” She clears her throat, licks her lips, and manages to make herself say, “I wear them when I’m alone.”

            Jeff’s hand comes off her like she burned him. His eyes flicker down to the drawer and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You... uhh...” He closes his eyes tight – against the image or to picture it, she’s not sure – and then pinches the bridge of his nose. “When you’re alone?”

            “Yes, Jeff.” She feels her confidence returning as he falters. Isn’t that always the way between them? Jeff’s in control all the time, whenever he wants he can pull on her heartstrings however he sees fit, except when things get sexual. The moment she’s hooked him, the moment he’s thinking of dirty things, she’s the one in control. “I wear them when I masturbate.”


Jeff nearly swallows his tongue. He can’t look at Annie. How could he possibly look at Annie right now? He can feel all the blood in his body rushing downwards, his dick getting hard at the impossibly hot thought of Annie, dressed in lace and leather, pleasuring herself. He bites down hard on his tongue, drawing blood, trying to stop the fantasy from playing out behind his closed eyelids.

            “Jeff?” she says. Her voice is all false innocence and mocking sympathy. He feels her step closer – the sudden heat of her body, the swish of her skirt – and then her hand is on his arm. He flinches back. “Are you okay?”

            He shakes his head and swallows hard. He has to get himself back under control before Annie realizes. Or, more likely, before she manages to get the situation under her control. He knows Annie well. He knows himself well. If he lets her get too far, if he lets her get him under her thumb, he’s a goner. And he can’t fuck Annie Edison. He can’t do it.

            Opening his eyes, he meets her doe-eyed look. He convinces himself it’s an act, that she’s a temptress, that she’s not some innocent little thing he has to protect. Certainly not when he’s seen her lingerie drawer. “You’re ready to go?” he manages.

            Annie’s expression falters but she nods.

            “Great.” Jeff steps around her and heads for the door. “Let’s go.”


Annie spends the drive to the car confused and silent. It’s still incredibly obvious Jeff isn’t looking at her, can’t look at her. She doesn’t like it. Somehow she thought when she finally had him, when she hooked him, when he finally admitted he had feelings for her, it would feel better than this. It would feel like victory.

            Instead, it feels like a massive loss. Jeff may be attracted to her but he also can’t be himself with her. He can’t look at her or talk to her or give her one of his inane lectures on how every Greendale party can’t be perfect. Their repartee is lost, their easy friendship and barely buzzing sexual tension. Instead, it’s all sexual tension and it makes Annie squirm in her seat.

            She gets away from him at the dance as fast as she can. She smiles brightly at Troy and Abed, lets them talk her ear off about some new show they’ve discovered, and drinks her punch wishing it were something stronger. Britta drags her onto the dance floor half an hour later, offers her a sip from the flask she snuck in under her skirt. Instead of reprimanding her, Annie takes the drink, lets the sharp liquid blaze down her throat. She screams along to songs that were popular in ninth grade and laughs at all of Britta’s jokes.

            When Jeff reappears, he’s in no mood for them. It’s clear the second he shows up, like there’s a literal dark cloud over his head, casting him in shadow and sadness. And Annie’s in no mood for him – not like this, not when she’s half-drunk and the music is blaring and the night’s still young.

            The song changes to something slow and Annie tangles her fingers in Jeff’s. Ignoring his protests, she pulls him onto the dance floor. She knows he has nearly a foot on her, that he’s twice her weight, and that she couldn’t pull him anywhere if he didn’t want her to. So when he reluctantly swings his arms around her hips and pulls her close, she knows that as much as he’s moping, he still wants to do something to put a smile on her face.

            “Abigail left?” Annie says, her voice soft.

            Jeff’s eyes flutter closed, his sigh almost lost to the din of the dark room.

            “I’m sorry.” She sways in his arms, humming along to the tune of the song. “There are other girls here, you know. I’m sure Britta’s drunk enough to go home with you if you ask.”

            He laughs – a small, little sound that warms Annie’s heart. “She’s still mad at me for refusing to join some stupid protest last week. If I went home with her, I’d have to keep it up while she rants about the life force of trees.”

            Annie giggles.

            “It’s alright,” he says. “She was here. I fucked it up.”


            Jeff shrugs.

            Annie lets the silence fall between them. It doesn’t feel as bad anymore, as awkward. The music keeps them close and the other voices seem to temper whatever might still be awkward between them. Annie has a buzzing in her stomach that she knows is from the alcohol but it stokes her bravery, the casual confidence she had back at her apartment.

            “I’m still sorry,” she says. “I wish I could make it up to you.”

            Jeff hums. He’s looking somewhere over her head. “And how would you do that?”

            She knows he’s not even thinking about her lingerie drawer anymore. He might have all but forgotten about it, stored the information away for a later date. Opening her mouth may just bring back that awkward silence and his refusal to look right at her.

            She does it anyways. “I could put on a show.”

            Jeff meets her eyes. He raises one eyebrow, curious.

            “You’re the one who said it was for show.”

            She can almost see his brain short-circuit. His eyes dart upwards, too quickly, and his grip on her hips falters. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. The breath he lets out is anything but steady. In fact, the shake in it almost sounds like her name.

            “You know we can’t—” he begins.

            “I know,” she cuts him off. She steps a little closer, a little further into his embrace. His grip on her tightens, pulling her in. She tilts her head up to look at the bottom of his chin, to watch his eyes dart around the room. Her heart pounds in her chest but he hasn’t pushed her away yet, hasn’t stopped talking. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just thinking, well, with your dry spell and all, you could maybe use some new fantasy material.”

            His Adam’s apple bobs hard. “That’s one hell of a toe over the line, Annie.”

            “Just a fashion show,” she cajoles. “Just a little look-see.”

            He closes his eyes. The last word comes out on a breath. “Okay.”


Jeff takes Annie home in the most tension-fueled car ride of his life. At each bump, he’s seconds from calling the whole thing off, from telling her he made a mistake, from telling her he’s just going to get her to her front door safe and then drive off. But he can’t make the words leave his tongue, can’t force them through his lips. His whole body is thrumming with anticipation, with imagination.

            It’s just an exercise in fantasy. Spank-bank material. And Jeff isn’t such a saint that he won’t admit to jerking off to the thought of Annie.

            When he stops the car outside her apartment, he doesn’t cut the engine.

            “Jeff?” she says. His name is a litany of questions, a thousand little wonders.

            He cuts the engine.

            They walk up to her apartment in silence. She fumbles the keys at the door, giggles a little, and then lets them both in. He follows her footsteps as she turns on the lights, drops her bag, and then pauses in front of her dresser. She looks down at the lingerie drawer, contemplating.

            “How drunk are you?” Jeff asks because some part of him does remember he’s the adult here, the responsible one. And even if he’s not going to touch her, not going to do anything, she’s still exposing herself to him and she could regret that in the morning.

            She glances his way, eyes wide. “Not that drunk.”

            “What did you have?”

            “Vodka, I think?” She kneels down and opens the drawer. She starts to sift through the outfits there and Jeff watches her hands sift through a mountain of material. “I only had two or three sips. And the last one was over an hour ago.”

            She looks up at him, biting her bottom lip. “We don’t have to do this, Jeff.”

            “I think that’s my line.”

            Her eyes fall down the length of his body and he knows just what she’s thinking – he looks defensive, scared. He has his arms crossed and he’s standing far away from her. He sighs and lets the tension drift out of his body. “I’m fine, Annie. I want this.” The words I want more than this almost slip from his tongue but he swallows it back. “Do you?”

            She nods. She scoops out an armful of outfits and heads to the bathroom.

            Jeff lets out a deep sigh and settles himself against the far wall. This way, he’s as far away from her as possible. Hopefully she won’t come so close. Hopefully he can get through this without ruining her. He closes his eyes and resists the sick urge to pray.


Annie chooses something simple to start – she doesn’t want to give Jeff an aneurysm right off the bat. It’s a pale pink teddy with frills over her breasts and a tulle skirt. It hits halfway down her ass so she pairs it with some pink lace panties and inspects the look in the mirror. She ruffles a hand through her mussed curls and bites down on her bottom lip to make it go red.

            She still looks innocent, young. She almost reconsiders giving Jeff an aneurysm. Something about this outfit feels so far from safe – it’s almost as if she’s asking him to make a choice right away: either she’s an adult in lingerie or a little girl playing dress-up. And she’s so afraid he’ll pick the latter. If she’s honest, she’s also a little afraid he’ll pick the former.

            Annie blows out her breath and grasps the doorknob. Closing her eyes, she sends up a silent prayer and then steps out into the main room. Without looking up, she takes two steps into the room and does a little spin. When the skirt falls against her thighs again, she risks a look upwards at Jeff.

            Jeff’s gaze is electric. It’s intoxicating. It’s corrupting.

            Annie can feel their dynamic changing like a shift in the air pressure. Lust blows his pupils wide as his eyes linger over the curves of her body, the shimmer of her skin under the thin fabric. Annie shivers – possibly from Jeff’s look, possibly due to the fact that her heating’s been broken for over a month – and she waits.

            Eventually, Jeff meets her eyes. She can’t read his expression, can’t tell what he’s thinking. For a moment, she doesn’t quite remember how to breathe. Then he says, “That one’s nice,” and he sounds so calm, so in control, that Annie’s heartbeat falters.

            She forces a smile. “I have other colours.”

            “Let’s see something different.”

            Annie nods and scrambles back into the bathroom, trying not to go too fast. The moment the door closes, she lets her confident facade fall. She breathes in heavily and closes her eyes. And, even though part of her is screaming that this is new and scary, a larger part of her wants Jeff’s eyes on her again.

            She slips out of the teddy and grabs a red lace bra.


Jeff sighs the moment Annie closes the door. He tries to relax but every muscle in his body is tensed, on high alert. Seeing Annie in lingerie has somehow triggered his fight-or-flight response – his fuck-or-flee response, more like.

            He brushes his hand over his mouth, looks down at his toes, and counts his breaths in and out. He considers the possibility of calling the whole thing off – he can tell Annie this was a mistake, that they’ve gone too far, that he can’t control himself around her – but that comes with all its own consequences and fallouts. Jeff thinks, worst case scenario, he fucks Annie tonight and has to deal with the study group lecturing him on the age difference for a couple weeks or months. Best case scenario, he gets out of Annie’s apartment without pulling his dick out and gains much needed spank-bank material.

            The door opens.

            Slowly, Jeff looks up to see much more skin than he was expecting. Annie’s in a red thong that’s little more than a strip of fabric and a big red rose between her thighs. He traces his eyes up the flat plains of her porcelain stomach to rest on her breasts which are barely covered by a matching red bra with mesh cups and little roses over the nipples.

            Jeff resists the urge to curse. Blood rushes downwards and his thoughts run away from him – how easy it would be to pull that thong off with his teeth, how nice her breasts would taste under his tongue. He clenches his hands into fists and grinds his teeth for a moment. Then, he flicks his eyes up to meet Annie’s.

            With all the indifference he can muster, he says, “Next?”


Annie’s gone through the stages of grief before – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance – but she’s never had the anger hit her so hard before. Denial got her through the first two outfits – denial of the fact that she’s not experienced like Britta, not mature like Slater, not slutty like Abigail – but anger burns bright now.

            Jeff doesn’t like red? He doesn’t think roses are sexy? All he has to say to her is next?

            Annie resists the urge to scream – if she does, he’ll hear – and instead re-focuses her attention on digging through her lingerie. There has to be something undeniable, something that would do it even for her gay ex-boyfriend.

            Her hand touches leather. She pulls it out and smiles.

            The outfit is harder to get on than the others – the leather booty shorts are just a size too small and rise up over her butt cheeks and the matching leather suspenders refuse to rest over her nipples and stay in place – but she gets there. She flips her hair out and puts on her most neutral face. Jeff can’t know she’s trying too hard, can’t know the acrobatics she went through to get into her own lingerie.

            She takes a deep breath as she touches the doorknob and walks out. Instead of spinning like the first time or just standing outside the bathroom like the second, she walks confidently into the middle of the room and takes a wide stance. She slides her thumbs under the suspenders, careful to keep them touching her skin, and licks her lips. She gives Jeff her best come hither look.

            And as good of a poker face as he might have, as amazing of a bluffer as he is, he can’t hide all the signs of his arousal. Annie notices the chub in his jeans, the jerk of his hand towards it. He ends up gripping his thigh tightly, his teeth puncturing his bottom lip. A small smile twists Annie’s lips as she watches his eyes wander over her body and sees him mouth a curse word under his breath.

            “Do you like this?” Annie asks, infusing her voice with sweetness. She lets her fingers curl around one suspender and then, slowly, she pulls it off her shoulder. Her breast bounces and her nipple feels cold and burning all at once. She bites down on the urge to look down.

            “Annie,” Jeff whispers and his voice is all warning.

            She smiles and drops the other suspender.

            Jeff’s fingers twitch on his leg and his erection is far past the point of hiding. He closes his eyes tight. “Change, please.”

            Annie hesitates a moment. Then, “Watch me leave?”

            Reluctantly, Jeff’s eyes open.

            Annie smiles at him and then turns around, accentuating the movement of her hips as she heads back into the bathroom, feeling his eyes on her ass right up until the door closes.


Jeff almost runs. He would run if he could in his condition. Instead, he presses the heel of his hand into his crotch and gasps at the sudden relief of friction. His jeans are tight, his underwear uncomfortable, but he’s kept it in his pants so far. He rubs his hand over his erection, lets his head fall back against the wall. The image of Annie in leather is burned into the underside of his eyelids – her perky breasts, her ass spilling out of those shorts.

            He almost makes it over the edge before the door opens. He stops moving his hand but can’t bring himself to remove it – he holds his erection tight and bites into his bottom lip. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

            A whimper escapes his lips. He can’t help it. Annie is dressed somewhere between an angel and a prostitute. Her panties are white lace, covering almost nothing, and their attached to an intricate patterning of fabric that stripes across her belly and over her shoulders, leaving her nipples bare and so much skin exposed.

            But that’s not the worst part of seeing Annie again. The worst part is her shocked gaze on his crotch, her open mouth, and the obvious heat in her cheeks. Her confidence seems shot.

            Jeff licks his lips. “Maybe we should stop.”

            She meets his eyes. “No.”

            He lets out another sound – a sound he doesn’t even want to think about – and lets his eyelids flutter closed for a second. When he opens them again, Annie is closer, her eyes wondering. He shakes his head.

            “We can’t,” he says.

            “Why not?”

            “Because.” He swallows hard. Her breasts are perfect – small and round with perfectly pink nipples – and she’s delicate but looks anything but breakable. “Shit, Annie, you can’t be this close.”

            She takes a quick step back. “Can I do anything? To help?” She looks downwards pointedly.

            Jeff tightens his grip on his aching cock and swallows all the words that come to mind. Instead, he goes for the safest option he can think of, the closest thing to not crossing the line that comes to mind. “Finger yourself.”

            Her eyes go wide. “What?”

            “You said you get these little outfits to masturbate.” He wants to sound confident, strong, but he knows his voice is failing him. “So show me. Touch yourself.”


Annie takes a step backwards and she sees the fear in his eyes. She knows he thinks she’s going to chicken out, to run, but she backs up confidently towards her bed. She sits down on the end, then shuffles up towards the pillows and turns to her bedside table. She opens the drawer and removes her box of toys, carefully laying them out on the comforter.

            Then she looks up at him. “Do you have a preference?”

            Jeff looks like he’s about to bite off his tongue. He takes a half-step forward, squinting. Her apartment’s not large but the distance between them is still suffocating. “The purple one,” he says.

            Annie reaches forward and takes the dildo in her hand. She hears Jeff’s voice catch as her hand moves down the plastic shaft and it takes all her concentration not to let a self-satisfied smirk slip onto her lips. Reaching over, she takes a tube of lube out of the drawer and squirts some onto her fingers. She rubs it warm and then strokes it down the length of the purple cock.

            When she looks up from her work, Jeff is standing at the end of the bed. He has his hands curled over the edge of her bed frame; his knuckles whiten. His eyes linger across her body, dart back to the dildo in her hands, and then slowly meet her eyes. He looks thoroughly debauched, like he’s spent the last twenty minutes fucking her and not just watching her parade around in tiny outfits. His cock is hard and pressed up against the bed frame – Annie spares a thought for how painful that must be and how easily she could make him feel better.

            But she plays his game instead. She pushes her lubed-up fingers under the hem of her panties and swipes a finger over her clit. She gasps – half for show, half because her own wetness shocks her – and moves her fingers lower. She curls her pointer finger into herself, moving slowly, trying not to give into the urge to shove three fingers in and spread herself roughly.

            Her eyes flicker open to meet Jeff’s hungry expression. He’s chewing a hole through his bottom lip and his hand is back on his crotch. His eyes are steady, focused on the movement of her hand, his pupils blown wide. “Take it off,” he says.

            Annie removes her fingers. She tucks the white bands off her shoulders and shimmies them down the length of her torso. Her breasts jiggle and Jeff groans – the sound low and rough, sending shivers through her body. She lifts her hips off the bed and slowly pulls down the panties too, leaving her naked. She resists the urge to curl in on herself and resumes her former position – legs slightly spread, lounging back against her pillows.

            She watches Jeff swallow, watches him take in every inch of her. He nods once.

            She dips two fingers inside herself and a moan rolls through her. She arches her hips off the bed, spreads her legs, tries to forget about what a good view she’s probably giving him as she fucks into herself. Keeping her eyes focused is a challenge, but she sees Jeff unzip his jeans and dip a hand into his boxers. His sigh of relief is audible over her panting.

            She slips in a third finger and stretches her walls, desperate to get something inside of her, even if it’s not Jeff. For a moment, she entertains the possibility of asking him – they’re both so far gone, so sweaty and fucked and horny, that he might just go for it – but then she shuts it down. Crossing a line is always how she makes Jeff leave and curl in on himself. It’s how she makes him forget that he wants her and right now, she doesn’t want him to forget.

            “Jesus, Annie, how much prep do you need?” Jeff groans.

            Annie smirks at him. She reaches down for the dildo as she slips her fingers out and inspects it for a moment before looking back up at him. A spark hits her chest – something wild and crazy and unforgiveable – and before she can stop herself, she says, “Do you want to do the honours?”


Jeff’s pretty sure all that weed he smoked as a teenager did permanent brain damage. Because, if it didn’t, if he still had all his brain cells, certainly he wouldn’t be standing at the end of Annie Edison’s bed with a painful boner honestly considering the possibility of putting his dick in her. Or a plastic dick, even.

            He meets her eyes, looking for the challenge, looking for the Annie who makes a game out of seeing how far she can go before he’ll push her away, but he doesn’t see it. Instead, he sees Annie, the girl he inexplicably keeps kissing, the girl who keeps telling him she’s an adult, that she’s ready for this, the girl he never listens to.

            Well, he’s listening to her now. And he likes what she’s saying.

            He stops thinking. He strips off his shirt and pushes down his pants and barely registers Annie’s shocked gasp when he crawls on top of her. She sinks right down onto the bed, looking up at him with wide eyes, her mouth red and wide open. Jeff wants to bite into her lower lip, fuck her until she screams, but he reigns himself in.

            Instead, he takes the dildo from her hand and slowly moves it down the length of her body. Their eyes are in perfect contact and it feels like neither of them are blinking. Jeff’s got himself positioned perfectly between her legs – his thighs are pressing against hers, spreading her legs wider – and his free hand is up by her head, holding him off of her and caging her in all at once.

            “You sure?” he asks because it seems like the right thing to do, because he genuinely want to know. He nudges the head of the dildo against her folds and her back arches. “You want this?”

            “Yes, Jeff. Yes.” Her voice is barely a whisper; it sounds a lot like a whimper, like a plea.

            Jeff brushes her sweaty hair off her forehead and gives in. He kisses her once – soft, sweet, nothing like the other hormone-fueled times – and when he comes up for air, he whispers, “Okay.”

            He pushes the dildo into her and her whole body comes alive. A sound somewhere between a moan and a cry leaves her lips. Her back arches up so her stomach touches his, the bare skin delightfully hot. Her hips shudder under him and her legs tighten, pressing against his own. He moves the dildo in slowly, squeezing the reactions out of her an inch at a time until the purple toy is seated fully inside of her.

            Then he can’t bring himself to move it as she slowly calms. Her body falls back onto the bed and her eyes flicker open to look at him and Jeff can’t help but think of how beautiful she is, how sexy, how every sound of her mouth is both for him and not for him at the same time.

            She cracks a smile as he looks at her, her eyes sparkling. “Well,” she says, “are you gonna move it?”

            Jeff exhales his laugh and then he really laughs. “Don’t get cocky,” he says.

            “You’re not even in me,” she retorts, “and you still don’t have the self-control to move without coming.”

            Jeff wants to bite the smile off her face. But more than that, he wants to keep looking at it for the rest of his life. He can feel his own smile spreading – a mix of glee and shock at her dirty mouth – and he bites down on the corner of it. “We’ll see who can’t stop themselves from coming.”

            She opens her mouth to reply but her words get garbled by the moan that racks through her when he pulls the dildo out and rams it back in. He drops down to his elbow to get closer to her, to feel her body press up against his as he sets a punishing pace with the dildo. His erection aches in his boxers and he’s not close enough to the mattress to rut against it. He drops his lips to Annie’s breasts and bites one playfully, sucking around the mark as she groans and shudders into the sensation.

            Jeff groans at his own need for release and leaves the dildo inside her for a moment. She whines out his name as he shifts. He lays chaste kisses on her shoulder as he changes position and whispers muffled reassurances to her. He swipes a thumb across her clit and she moans – her whole body going slack and her protests dying on her lips.

            Jeff straddles one of her thighs and gets his hand back on the dildo. As he picks up the pace again, at first going slow and speeding up as Annie responds, he ruts against her thigh. And she curls into the sensation, pressing her leg up into him, her high, keening moans shaking the bed. Someone pounds on the wall and screams at them to keep it down and Annie’s whole body blushes red – first her cheeks, then her neck, and then it spreads across her breasts, pooling somewhere low in her stomach.

            He chuckles and kisses her again. He stabilizes himself on his knees so he can use his other hand to circle her clit, to spread the sensation further as he fucks the dildo into her. Then he gets a better idea. He slips out of the kiss, trails his lips down her neck and sternum, licks around her belly button as he shifts down the length of her body. He has to give up on the friction of her thigh but he almost doesn’t mind when he gets his tongue on her clit and every muscle in her body tightens.

            He grips her thigh tightly as he sucks on the sensitive spot and massages the dildo inside of her, slowing the pace just to hear her whine and beg and let his name out like a curse. He thinks he’s going to be replaying her sounds for the rest of his life.

            When she comes, it’s desperate and messy and shakes through her like a hurricane. Jeff presses messy kisses into her pubic hair, careful not to over-stimulate her, and gives a few more careful strokes of the dildo before pulling it out with great care. He sets it down on the comforter and slides back up her body, listening to her breathing, waiting for her to look his way.

            He settles down beside her, lying on his side, still pressed close. She turns her head his way, their noses brushing. The smile on her face is unmistakable even as she pants through the aftershocks. He smiles back at her and brushes his hand across her stomach. He tries to ignore the enormous pressure in his pants even though he knows she can probably feel it pressing against her hip.

            Then she rolls into him and kisses him. It’s not the sweet, soft kiss of before. It’s not the other desperate kisses she’s planted on his lips. It’s experienced and wet and controlling and Jeff’s falling into it before he even knows what’s happening. Her hand is in his boxers and it takes only an embarrassing three strokes before he’s coming and she’s ringing it out of him and their kisses are broken by hot, panting gasps from both of them.

            He realizes, with a bit of shock, that their hips are lined up and Annie’s essentially jerking him off right into her. But the fabric of the boxers separate them so he thrusts into her fist, into her, right until the last of it drips out of him and she removes her hand.

            His eyes open to her sucking on his fingers. And he’s pretty sure the last of his brain cells die.


Annie lets the silence fall over them like fog rolling in. She settles her head on his chest and he curls an arm around her, holding her close. She can feel come drying on her wet fingers, on her thigh where he grinded against her, and she knows his boxers must be getting uncomfortable. She lets her fingers linger over his chest, down the treasure trail of hairs below his bellybutton.

            She doesn’t feel naked. Not in the ways people told her she would. She doesn’t feel empty or exposed or vulnerable. She doesn’t feel like it was a disappointment or a mistake. Sure, it’s not technically her first time, but it feels like it in a way she can’t fully explain. But instead of feeling all the imperfections and cracks that people told her she would, she feels safe and sated and like she could lie here for the rest of her life.

            Jeff’s fingers card through her hair. His breathing matches her own; the slow rise and fall of his chest reminds her that he’s not a figment of her imagination.

            “You got a shower in this dump?” he says but his voice is soft in ways she’s never heard it when he’s not about to give some lecture about protecting her from the world.

            “Yeah,” she replies and she knows her voice is just as soft and small. “But the hot water’s not great.”

            “And the heating’s shot,” Jeff says and he shivers but all Annie can feel is the burning heat of his body. “Not to mention, you’ve got water damage and the walls are paper thin.”

            Annie laughs but it’s half-hearted. “We were being pretty loud.”

            He’s silent for a moment and she can feel her stomach dropping. She knows this is the point where Jeff gets up, where he rolls out of bed and tells her he’ll see her in the morning. And she steels herself for it even though she can’t quite make herself believe it. He’s so still and his breath is in her ear and he seems so happy. She can count on one hand all the times she’s believed Jeff Winger is truly, one hundred percent happy. This is only the third.

            “We should go to my place.”

            Annie cranes her neck to look up at him but he’s staring at the ceiling. “What?”

            “We’ll go to my place, clean off with actual hot water, and in the morning, call your landlord and get him to fix this dump. Tell him you’re staying elsewhere for a few days and he can have the run of the place.”

            A smile curls onto Annie’s lips. “Jeff, are you asking me to move in with you?”


            He tries to pull away but Annie rolls over so she’s got her elbows on his chest. “One time and you’re already so attached,” she teases. “Gosh, Jeff, if I’d known you were such a hopeless romantic—”

            “I take it back,” he says but his smile is overwhelming. He grips her arms and flips them over so he’s on top of her again. Their eyes meet and Annie’s laughing and his smile is intoxicating but he keeps up the charade. “You can stay here and shower in cold water and I’ll go home to my nice, warm apartment and—”

            “Jerk off in the shower?” Annie suggests.

            Jeff laughs and it’s all shock. He bends down and kisses her, slow and soft and sweet and Annie resists the urge to bite his bottom lip, to escalate this right back to fucking.

            He stops the kiss and pops off the bed. He offers her a hand. “Get dressed. Or I’ll be answering calls from the cops all night about why I put a naked woman in the back of my car.”

            Annie takes his hand and bounces to her feet. “If your car’s still there,” she says. And, before he can curse or look out the window, she kisses him. He wraps his arms around her and holds her close even after the kiss ends. For a long while, they just stand there in the cold of her apartment. It doesn’t feel that cold.