Shadows on a Sunshine Day (Community, Troy/Annie)
Title: Shadows on a Sunshine Day
Author: blithers
Fandom: Community
Pairing/Character: Troy/Annie
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1588
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Also Posted At: AO3
Author's Note: Originally written for the Community TV kink meme for the prompt "Troy/Annie - They made out in high school at a party but Troy doesn't remember, which is why Annie is so annoyed with him not recognizing her in the pilot.” This version has been cleaned up and tweaked a little since then, with a slightly different (expanded) ending, and beta read by the amazing htbthomas.
Summary: He keeps reminding himself that they hadn't lost the game, hadn't disappointed anybody, and he tries to numb the crazy feelings bouncing around in his body with the flat beer from the keg, clutching the red Solo cup in his hand like a ward against evil.
It's Friday night after a football game they had nearly lost, and Troy is buzzed, spikes of adrenaline and fear chasing down his veins as he makes his way through the crowd of cheerleaders and varsity-jacket jocks at the obligatory post-game party. He keeps reminding himself that they hadn't lost the game, hadn't disappointed anybody, and he tries to numb the crazy feelings bouncing around in his body with the flat beer from the keg, clutching the red Solo cup in his hand like a ward against evil.
He belongs here, he tells himself. These are his people. His tribe.
"Man," some guy says, and claps him hard on the shoulder. "Just... awesome job, man."
"All in the game," he says back, which sounds awesome when he thinks of it in his head.
The dude laughs, slaps him again on the shoulder, and wanders off. Troy is turning back around to the keg in the corner when he runs into a short girl, her brown hair pulled back taut in a severe ponytail. She's wearing a plaid skirt and some sort of girly jacket that buttons up the front with little gleaming white plastic buttons, and she looks like she's wandered off the set of some Disney sitcom about super competitive pre-teens at an imaginary prep school.
"Oh! Hi!" she chirps as they bump into each other, and he raises his cup of beer to avoid accidentally pushing it into her boobs.
"Heeey," he says, all cool, and gives her his best smoldering look. (Because he won the game. He's a winner.)
She giggles, and it's weird because the giggle is too high and too... intense is the word he's looking for, yeah. She's staring at him and giggling and it's kind of wigging him out, how into it she is.
"Good game," she's saying, and he nods, because yeah, he knows that.
"Need a refill?" he asks, nodding at the empty red cup she's carrying around. She stares at him when he asks, like he's speaking a foreign language, but then she's nodding her head super fast as if he'll take back the offer if she doesn't agree to it as quickly as possible.
"Okay," she says with a too-broad smile.
He fights his way through the crowd, and when he gets back he finds her sitting on the edge of a side table humming to herself, swinging her heels back into the wood, leaving careless smudges of black rubber on the polished surface.
"Here you go," he says. He has to step in close to her to get away from the jostling crowd at the middle of the room.
She beams at him and kicks her heels back again, and he tries not to stare at the marks she's leaving on the furniture. He isn't sure whose house they're in.
"You're niiiiice," she drawls, and puts a hand up on his shoulder and then behind his neck. She starts rubbing at the short, soft hair at the back of his neck, playing with the stubble there. Her light touch causes goose bumps to chase up his arm, and he shivers. Her eyes are dark and blown wide and kind of unfocused, and she's slouching forward into him with the ungraceful slump of somebody for whom perfect posture is normally a prerequisite of life.
He takes another swig of his beer. "I'm not really," he mutters.
Her fingers cease their rhythmic rubbing at the base of his neck, and she gapes up at him. "But... you are too. You're Troy Barnes." She says his name in a small whisper. She's staring at him like she knows something he doesn't, and instead of finding it super weird (which he should, he should, he knows this is weird) for a moment he finds it familiar and comforting and he lets himself believe for a second that he's talking to somebody who actually does understand him.
"You don't know me," he says finally, reluctantly.
She rolls her eyes (she rolls her eyes, who is this girl?) and scoots up closer to him on the side table then, her skirt catching under her as she brings her ass closer to his body, and leans up to kiss him.
The kiss is sloppy and off-center, but her tongue is hot as it slides against his lips and her body is arched into his, so he groans and kisses her back, slipping a hand underneath the hem of her cardigan to pull her closer. She squirms into him, and he wishes desperately that the table was a couple of inches lower, so he could push his sudden boner a little into the body wrapped around the middle of his torso instead of the wooden ridge of the furniture.
She presses her breasts into his chest, and he lets his hand skate around the underwire of her bra, just barely touching.
"You smell good," she mumbles into his mouth, and drags her tongue up his cheekbone in a motion so gracelessly erotic he almost comes right there.
"Who are you," he asks, and his hand steals underneath the waistband of her skirt. He can feel the soft cotton ridges of the elastic of her panties under his fingertips.
She pulls back from him a little then, and gives him a weird look. "I'm in your algebra class."
"Oh, yeah," he says dumbly, and captures the back of her head with his hand, wrapping his fingers around the base of her skull and leaning back in to kiss her again, wet and fast. He wonders if she's a virgin. She's panting and making these noises in his mouth, and he wants her, and he thinks she wants him too, and he could almost do it if her skirt slipped up a little higher and she was a couple inches lower off the table top, and....
"Shit, T-Bone, get a room," somebody yells, and then her tongue isn't in his mouth anymore.
"C'mon," he says, and grabs at her hand to tug him after her, because he's pretty sure there's a bedroom somewhere around here, but her fist is closed and she's laughing to herself now, chuckling quietly.
"What's funny?"
"I just made out with you!" She spits out the words, triumphant and proud, and then it's like she doesn't even see that he's there anymore, dancing around by herself and jumping a little in place.
"Huh?"
"I just made out with Troy Barnes." She says his name like he isn't even there, gleefully.
"Okay," he says, still dazed from the sudden turn of events and the blood still rushing in his ears. He surreptitiously adjusts his boner and pulls his shirt over the front of his jeans. She's licking at her lips distractedly, checking for chapstick, and her fingers are crawling back through her hair, re-straightening her ponytail.
A guy from his English class elbows his way in next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders like they're best buds. "Barnes! T-Bone, what are you doing over here, man?"
"Sup," he says shortly, and tries to angle his body back around to the girl who had had her foot hooked behind his knee just a minute ago, her hand under his t-shirt grasping the muscles above his hip bones. "Hey, so..." He trails off when he blanks on her name (she's in his algebra class, he thinks, and she had swallowed the noises he made with her mouth and he really wants to kiss her again, to grind back into her as her fingers walk slowly up the bare skin of his stomach).
She's smiling at him nervously now, still jittery, her eyes snapping back and forth between him and the guy standing next to him.
"Yeah," she says, starting to back away. "I need to... there's a thing I said I'd... I'll see later, Troy? Tomorrow, okay?" She doesn't wait for an answer to that, just turns and bolts into the crowd, disappearing like she's in some sort of spy thriller. It's a crazy good vanishing act; there's not even a hint of plaid or pearly buttons in the wash of people around him now, just bleached blonde hair and tanned shoulders everywhere he looks.
"Damn it," he mutters, and roughly shrugs the arm around his shoulder off, ignoring the guy's pissed-off look. Just fuck.
He goes for another beer then, slamming it down hard. He doesn't want to think about dealing with the dude from his English class (because seriously, who does he think he is), or the next game (they could lose, and that would be the end of everything). He doesn't want to think about the girl who just ran away from him, or about what any of these people around him think. He doesn't want to think about his life. He doesn't want to think.
***
When he wakes up the next morning, the evening is a satisfyingly indistinct blur, and the big story at school is about some girl who went full-on crazy during first period, yelling about being chased by robots and shit until she actually ran herself through a glass wall.
"Total. Mental. Breakdown," the girl tells him with wide eyes.
"Right through a glass wall. For real. I was there. It was better than the movies," the second girl informs him confidentially.
"Robots," one of his wide receivers says in a reverent whisper.
"Totally crazy," Troy agrees magnanimously, and walks with a trailing entourage to his next class, the king of the school.
Author: blithers
Fandom: Community
Pairing/Character: Troy/Annie
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1588
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Also Posted At: AO3
Author's Note: Originally written for the Community TV kink meme for the prompt "Troy/Annie - They made out in high school at a party but Troy doesn't remember, which is why Annie is so annoyed with him not recognizing her in the pilot.” This version has been cleaned up and tweaked a little since then, with a slightly different (expanded) ending, and beta read by the amazing htbthomas.
Summary: He keeps reminding himself that they hadn't lost the game, hadn't disappointed anybody, and he tries to numb the crazy feelings bouncing around in his body with the flat beer from the keg, clutching the red Solo cup in his hand like a ward against evil.
It's Friday night after a football game they had nearly lost, and Troy is buzzed, spikes of adrenaline and fear chasing down his veins as he makes his way through the crowd of cheerleaders and varsity-jacket jocks at the obligatory post-game party. He keeps reminding himself that they hadn't lost the game, hadn't disappointed anybody, and he tries to numb the crazy feelings bouncing around in his body with the flat beer from the keg, clutching the red Solo cup in his hand like a ward against evil.
He belongs here, he tells himself. These are his people. His tribe.
"Man," some guy says, and claps him hard on the shoulder. "Just... awesome job, man."
"All in the game," he says back, which sounds awesome when he thinks of it in his head.
The dude laughs, slaps him again on the shoulder, and wanders off. Troy is turning back around to the keg in the corner when he runs into a short girl, her brown hair pulled back taut in a severe ponytail. She's wearing a plaid skirt and some sort of girly jacket that buttons up the front with little gleaming white plastic buttons, and she looks like she's wandered off the set of some Disney sitcom about super competitive pre-teens at an imaginary prep school.
"Oh! Hi!" she chirps as they bump into each other, and he raises his cup of beer to avoid accidentally pushing it into her boobs.
"Heeey," he says, all cool, and gives her his best smoldering look. (Because he won the game. He's a winner.)
She giggles, and it's weird because the giggle is too high and too... intense is the word he's looking for, yeah. She's staring at him and giggling and it's kind of wigging him out, how into it she is.
"Good game," she's saying, and he nods, because yeah, he knows that.
"Need a refill?" he asks, nodding at the empty red cup she's carrying around. She stares at him when he asks, like he's speaking a foreign language, but then she's nodding her head super fast as if he'll take back the offer if she doesn't agree to it as quickly as possible.
"Okay," she says with a too-broad smile.
He fights his way through the crowd, and when he gets back he finds her sitting on the edge of a side table humming to herself, swinging her heels back into the wood, leaving careless smudges of black rubber on the polished surface.
"Here you go," he says. He has to step in close to her to get away from the jostling crowd at the middle of the room.
She beams at him and kicks her heels back again, and he tries not to stare at the marks she's leaving on the furniture. He isn't sure whose house they're in.
"You're niiiiice," she drawls, and puts a hand up on his shoulder and then behind his neck. She starts rubbing at the short, soft hair at the back of his neck, playing with the stubble there. Her light touch causes goose bumps to chase up his arm, and he shivers. Her eyes are dark and blown wide and kind of unfocused, and she's slouching forward into him with the ungraceful slump of somebody for whom perfect posture is normally a prerequisite of life.
He takes another swig of his beer. "I'm not really," he mutters.
Her fingers cease their rhythmic rubbing at the base of his neck, and she gapes up at him. "But... you are too. You're Troy Barnes." She says his name in a small whisper. She's staring at him like she knows something he doesn't, and instead of finding it super weird (which he should, he should, he knows this is weird) for a moment he finds it familiar and comforting and he lets himself believe for a second that he's talking to somebody who actually does understand him.
"You don't know me," he says finally, reluctantly.
She rolls her eyes (she rolls her eyes, who is this girl?) and scoots up closer to him on the side table then, her skirt catching under her as she brings her ass closer to his body, and leans up to kiss him.
The kiss is sloppy and off-center, but her tongue is hot as it slides against his lips and her body is arched into his, so he groans and kisses her back, slipping a hand underneath the hem of her cardigan to pull her closer. She squirms into him, and he wishes desperately that the table was a couple of inches lower, so he could push his sudden boner a little into the body wrapped around the middle of his torso instead of the wooden ridge of the furniture.
She presses her breasts into his chest, and he lets his hand skate around the underwire of her bra, just barely touching.
"You smell good," she mumbles into his mouth, and drags her tongue up his cheekbone in a motion so gracelessly erotic he almost comes right there.
"Who are you," he asks, and his hand steals underneath the waistband of her skirt. He can feel the soft cotton ridges of the elastic of her panties under his fingertips.
She pulls back from him a little then, and gives him a weird look. "I'm in your algebra class."
"Oh, yeah," he says dumbly, and captures the back of her head with his hand, wrapping his fingers around the base of her skull and leaning back in to kiss her again, wet and fast. He wonders if she's a virgin. She's panting and making these noises in his mouth, and he wants her, and he thinks she wants him too, and he could almost do it if her skirt slipped up a little higher and she was a couple inches lower off the table top, and....
"Shit, T-Bone, get a room," somebody yells, and then her tongue isn't in his mouth anymore.
"C'mon," he says, and grabs at her hand to tug him after her, because he's pretty sure there's a bedroom somewhere around here, but her fist is closed and she's laughing to herself now, chuckling quietly.
"What's funny?"
"I just made out with you!" She spits out the words, triumphant and proud, and then it's like she doesn't even see that he's there anymore, dancing around by herself and jumping a little in place.
"Huh?"
"I just made out with Troy Barnes." She says his name like he isn't even there, gleefully.
"Okay," he says, still dazed from the sudden turn of events and the blood still rushing in his ears. He surreptitiously adjusts his boner and pulls his shirt over the front of his jeans. She's licking at her lips distractedly, checking for chapstick, and her fingers are crawling back through her hair, re-straightening her ponytail.
A guy from his English class elbows his way in next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders like they're best buds. "Barnes! T-Bone, what are you doing over here, man?"
"Sup," he says shortly, and tries to angle his body back around to the girl who had had her foot hooked behind his knee just a minute ago, her hand under his t-shirt grasping the muscles above his hip bones. "Hey, so..." He trails off when he blanks on her name (she's in his algebra class, he thinks, and she had swallowed the noises he made with her mouth and he really wants to kiss her again, to grind back into her as her fingers walk slowly up the bare skin of his stomach).
She's smiling at him nervously now, still jittery, her eyes snapping back and forth between him and the guy standing next to him.
"Yeah," she says, starting to back away. "I need to... there's a thing I said I'd... I'll see later, Troy? Tomorrow, okay?" She doesn't wait for an answer to that, just turns and bolts into the crowd, disappearing like she's in some sort of spy thriller. It's a crazy good vanishing act; there's not even a hint of plaid or pearly buttons in the wash of people around him now, just bleached blonde hair and tanned shoulders everywhere he looks.
"Damn it," he mutters, and roughly shrugs the arm around his shoulder off, ignoring the guy's pissed-off look. Just fuck.
He goes for another beer then, slamming it down hard. He doesn't want to think about dealing with the dude from his English class (because seriously, who does he think he is), or the next game (they could lose, and that would be the end of everything). He doesn't want to think about the girl who just ran away from him, or about what any of these people around him think. He doesn't want to think about his life. He doesn't want to think.
***
When he wakes up the next morning, the evening is a satisfyingly indistinct blur, and the big story at school is about some girl who went full-on crazy during first period, yelling about being chased by robots and shit until she actually ran herself through a glass wall.
"Total. Mental. Breakdown," the girl tells him with wide eyes.
"Right through a glass wall. For real. I was there. It was better than the movies," the second girl informs him confidentially.
"Robots," one of his wide receivers says in a reverent whisper.
"Totally crazy," Troy agrees magnanimously, and walks with a trailing entourage to his next class, the king of the school.