Drive (Community, Jeff/Annie)
Title: Drive
Author: blithers
Show: Community
Pairing/Character: Jeff/Annie
Rating: R
Spoilers: Nope.
Word Count: 1174
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Also Posted At: AO3, Meta101
Author's Note: Written for Porn Battle XI for the prompt words "anger" and "fondness". Thank you, thank you to dearygirl for the beta!
Summary: He'd be lying if he said she didn't turn him on, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed and her hands in fists by the sides of her stupid 60s era cardigan, glaring at him with those sharp blue eyes and a focus that is almost unnerving.
She's nipping at his heels like a plaid-skirted terrier, and his patience finally snaps. He grabs her wrist and pulls her through the nearest door with him.
"Jeff," she hisses, "this is the men's bathroom."
"And that's the first rational thing you've said in the last half hour."
Her gaze sharpens and she sticks her chin out at him. "You're pissy today. Is it your time of the month on Abed's calendar?"
"Oh, that's rich, coming from Little Miss Don't-Look-At-Me-The-Wrong-Way-Or-I-Will-Flip-My-Fucking-Lid Edison. Let's get something straight here. Only one of us has ever screamed like a girl to get their way, and you know what? It wasn't me."
She throws her shoulders back and starts to draw a deep breath. "Only one of us is a girl here. Listen, Jeffrey..."
He moves his face in closer to cut her off, throwing all his height behind his words, because she's wearing ballet flats and obviously the best course of action here is intimidation through sheer bulk. "Shut. Up."
Her lips tighten and she draws herself up even straighter, which he hadn't realized was actually possible. "No. You shut up."
So he kisses her.
He's not really thinking about it, and the remaining options for action are rapidly dwindling - occupying her mouth with anything besides talking has become the most attractive option. And, fuck, she's hot when she's angry. He'd be lying if he said she didn't turn him on, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed and her hands in fists by the sides of her stupid 60s era cardigan, glaring at him with those sharp blue eyes and a focus that is almost unnerving.
And the kiss is hot. She's throwing the kiss back at him angrily, scraping her teeth over his lips, and he grabs her hips to stop her from moving the fuck around so much and digs his tongue into her mouth. Because if there's one thing Jeff Winger does, it's win, and no way Annie, with her purple gel pens and extensive handwritten class notes is going to beat him at his own game, on his home court.
She breaks the kiss abruptly, staring at him, breathing hard.
"Annie..." he starts to say, but she gets this odd, determined look in her eye and launches herself back at him. She palms him roughly through his jeans, and a few minutes ago he would have been astonished at the thought of Annie having the gumption to do that to any man, but his fingers are inching up under her skirt so he figures it's fair play.
She puts the palm of her hand on his chest and pushes him away again, then reaches underneath her chin to start undoing the small metal hooks of her cardigan, giving him a canny look from under her eyelashes as her fingers work their way down. And yeah, Jeff has spent more time thinking about Annie's breasts than he's pretty sure is right and moral, but there's something knowing in her eyes that says she's fully aware of what she's working with that sets his teeth on edge.
He steps back in close to her before she makes it halfway down, pulling her into his body. He brushes his fingers lightly across the exposed white lace at the top of her camisole, over the pale skin of her chest, and lets his hand drop away.
Instead, he starts to work his mouth down the side of her neck, and he hears her breath catch a little as she leans her head back to give him better access. Distraction is the best offensive weapon, always. He circles his hand around to the skin of her back upper thigh, skating his fingers along the edge of her panties, and racks up yet another point in favor of Annie wearing ridiculously short schoolgirl skirts.
She hooks her left leg up behind his knee, and the angle gives him access to run the back of his finger across the fabric of her underwear. She's wet, and he loses track of his thoughts for a moment, feels something dark and suffocating cloud his mind as he shoves aside the fabric and pushes a finger into her. And fuck, she's tight and warm and, he thinks, why men go to the trouble of chasing after virginal girls with form fitting sweaters and slapping hands. He rubs the pad of his thumb experimentally over her clit and has to grab her waist as her lone supporting knee almost buckles.
She laughs quietly then, a little breathless and a little triumphant, and it makes Jeff feel a returning stab of anger and focus, so that he leans forward to whisper in in her ear, "Tell me you want me to fuck you."
Her hips push against his and he isn't fast enough to bite back a groan, because she smiles at him, actually smiles at him when he's knuckle deep inside of her and says, "No." Then she bites his ear. He curls his fingers inside of her and she gasps. The warm air hits the shell of his ear and the hair stands up on his arms, and he's kissing her again, more desperately than he likes.
He leans forward and repeats, trying hard not to let his voice slip into a plea, "Annie, tell me. Tell me you want me to fuck you."
She unwraps her leg from his, his hand slipping from her, and he's not sure for a moment whether to be disappointed or if this is a progression to better things. She throws her hands up around his face, stilling him, and stares at him before leaning in closer to say, "In your dreams, Jeff Winger."
But she's almost smiling for a second when she says this, and when she kisses him again it's hard but laced with something that's almost fond, of something that reminds him suddenly of their kiss after the transfer dance, and he threads his hand in her hair and kisses her back almost gently.
There's the sudden sound of a voice, and they break apart quickly. Annie does a double-take, then scampers quickly to the stalls, pulling the door closed behind her and pulling her feet up out of sight on the toilet with an alacrity Jeff kind of admires.
The next morning, in the cold light of a new day, the whole situation seems unreal and vaguely embarrassing, since most of his memory of the event is distinctly porny and reads like a made up letter to Penthouse. Annie shows up late to study group, flush with apologizes and wearing a cabled sweater that comes up to her chin. She avoids looking at him, and he ignores her to give her space, but when she purses her lips together and snaps at Pierce that they're trying to study, for God's sake, he surprises himself by laughing outloud.
Her eyes shift over sideways to him, and something in her posture relaxes, and she smiles at him, a little.
They go back to studying.
Author: blithers
Show: Community
Pairing/Character: Jeff/Annie
Rating: R
Spoilers: Nope.
Word Count: 1174
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Also Posted At: AO3, Meta101
Author's Note: Written for Porn Battle XI for the prompt words "anger" and "fondness". Thank you, thank you to dearygirl for the beta!
Summary: He'd be lying if he said she didn't turn him on, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed and her hands in fists by the sides of her stupid 60s era cardigan, glaring at him with those sharp blue eyes and a focus that is almost unnerving.
She's nipping at his heels like a plaid-skirted terrier, and his patience finally snaps. He grabs her wrist and pulls her through the nearest door with him.
"Jeff," she hisses, "this is the men's bathroom."
"And that's the first rational thing you've said in the last half hour."
Her gaze sharpens and she sticks her chin out at him. "You're pissy today. Is it your time of the month on Abed's calendar?"
"Oh, that's rich, coming from Little Miss Don't-Look-At-Me-The-Wrong-Way-Or-I-Will-Flip-My-Fucking-Lid Edison. Let's get something straight here. Only one of us has ever screamed like a girl to get their way, and you know what? It wasn't me."
She throws her shoulders back and starts to draw a deep breath. "Only one of us is a girl here. Listen, Jeffrey..."
He moves his face in closer to cut her off, throwing all his height behind his words, because she's wearing ballet flats and obviously the best course of action here is intimidation through sheer bulk. "Shut. Up."
Her lips tighten and she draws herself up even straighter, which he hadn't realized was actually possible. "No. You shut up."
So he kisses her.
He's not really thinking about it, and the remaining options for action are rapidly dwindling - occupying her mouth with anything besides talking has become the most attractive option. And, fuck, she's hot when she's angry. He'd be lying if he said she didn't turn him on, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed and her hands in fists by the sides of her stupid 60s era cardigan, glaring at him with those sharp blue eyes and a focus that is almost unnerving.
And the kiss is hot. She's throwing the kiss back at him angrily, scraping her teeth over his lips, and he grabs her hips to stop her from moving the fuck around so much and digs his tongue into her mouth. Because if there's one thing Jeff Winger does, it's win, and no way Annie, with her purple gel pens and extensive handwritten class notes is going to beat him at his own game, on his home court.
She breaks the kiss abruptly, staring at him, breathing hard.
"Annie..." he starts to say, but she gets this odd, determined look in her eye and launches herself back at him. She palms him roughly through his jeans, and a few minutes ago he would have been astonished at the thought of Annie having the gumption to do that to any man, but his fingers are inching up under her skirt so he figures it's fair play.
She puts the palm of her hand on his chest and pushes him away again, then reaches underneath her chin to start undoing the small metal hooks of her cardigan, giving him a canny look from under her eyelashes as her fingers work their way down. And yeah, Jeff has spent more time thinking about Annie's breasts than he's pretty sure is right and moral, but there's something knowing in her eyes that says she's fully aware of what she's working with that sets his teeth on edge.
He steps back in close to her before she makes it halfway down, pulling her into his body. He brushes his fingers lightly across the exposed white lace at the top of her camisole, over the pale skin of her chest, and lets his hand drop away.
Instead, he starts to work his mouth down the side of her neck, and he hears her breath catch a little as she leans her head back to give him better access. Distraction is the best offensive weapon, always. He circles his hand around to the skin of her back upper thigh, skating his fingers along the edge of her panties, and racks up yet another point in favor of Annie wearing ridiculously short schoolgirl skirts.
She hooks her left leg up behind his knee, and the angle gives him access to run the back of his finger across the fabric of her underwear. She's wet, and he loses track of his thoughts for a moment, feels something dark and suffocating cloud his mind as he shoves aside the fabric and pushes a finger into her. And fuck, she's tight and warm and, he thinks, why men go to the trouble of chasing after virginal girls with form fitting sweaters and slapping hands. He rubs the pad of his thumb experimentally over her clit and has to grab her waist as her lone supporting knee almost buckles.
She laughs quietly then, a little breathless and a little triumphant, and it makes Jeff feel a returning stab of anger and focus, so that he leans forward to whisper in in her ear, "Tell me you want me to fuck you."
Her hips push against his and he isn't fast enough to bite back a groan, because she smiles at him, actually smiles at him when he's knuckle deep inside of her and says, "No." Then she bites his ear. He curls his fingers inside of her and she gasps. The warm air hits the shell of his ear and the hair stands up on his arms, and he's kissing her again, more desperately than he likes.
He leans forward and repeats, trying hard not to let his voice slip into a plea, "Annie, tell me. Tell me you want me to fuck you."
She unwraps her leg from his, his hand slipping from her, and he's not sure for a moment whether to be disappointed or if this is a progression to better things. She throws her hands up around his face, stilling him, and stares at him before leaning in closer to say, "In your dreams, Jeff Winger."
But she's almost smiling for a second when she says this, and when she kisses him again it's hard but laced with something that's almost fond, of something that reminds him suddenly of their kiss after the transfer dance, and he threads his hand in her hair and kisses her back almost gently.
There's the sudden sound of a voice, and they break apart quickly. Annie does a double-take, then scampers quickly to the stalls, pulling the door closed behind her and pulling her feet up out of sight on the toilet with an alacrity Jeff kind of admires.
The next morning, in the cold light of a new day, the whole situation seems unreal and vaguely embarrassing, since most of his memory of the event is distinctly porny and reads like a made up letter to Penthouse. Annie shows up late to study group, flush with apologizes and wearing a cabled sweater that comes up to her chin. She avoids looking at him, and he ignores her to give her space, but when she purses her lips together and snaps at Pierce that they're trying to study, for God's sake, he surprises himself by laughing outloud.
Her eyes shift over sideways to him, and something in her posture relaxes, and she smiles at him, a little.
They go back to studying.