(no subject)
New fic up at A03: Three Sex Dreams Cory Matthews Never Had, Really, part 1.
Okay, so Cory’s well aware he’s the centre of their group, but he can’t help but guiltily enjoy it a little. When you’re Average Boy surrounded by a girlfriend and best friend who are gorgeous and talented, having them fight over who gets to be around you is a reassuring ego boost.
But Angela?
Angela, he doesn’t quite get.
He likes her - she appreciates Van Damme, the perfection that is Topanga and Shawn, and sure, she’s kind of stunning, herself, not that he’s noticed. What’s not to like?
But every so often, he just gets this niggling feeling that she isn’t quite as taken with him.
He hates to think he’s been spoilt by Topanga and Shawn’s rivalry into expecting everyone to adore him, but it kind of stings a little to think someone could want Topanga and Shawn and not him there with them. You might as well order a Ferrari and then remove a wheel.
Also, she’s kind of…well, not cold, but to Cory, it’s practically the same thing, although it sounds crazy even in his head, but she’s…not jealous.
Everyone he loves has a jealous streak, he and Shawn and Topanga have been envious of each other and the various intricacies of their relationship since they met pretty much.
Factor in Eric leading ahead, surrounded by girls and friends; his family trying to divide their attention between all three plus Shawn; and the world full of guys keen to appreciate his girl and his best friend away, and it’s a rare day when someone he knows isn’t being bit by the green eyed monster.
But Angela seems removed from all that.
Take his and Shawn’s legendary friendship. Topanga alternates between fiercely nurturing, and opposing it. He hates there to be tension between any of the people he loves, but at least it’s a compass guide to his world. Shawn and Topanga may go at each other’s throats from time to time, but neither of them will ever let him hurt the other, and if it means leading him by the hand to why the other’s pissed, they have infinite patience.
But Angela? She loves Shawn, she adores Topanga, but Cory secretly wonders how much.
If you love someone, shouldn’t it bug you if they love someone else more? Shouldn’t there be comparisons? But comparisons don’t seem to feature on Angela’s radar.
It puzzles him, but it’s no big deal in the long run. If anything, his primary emotion regarding Angela is gratitude.
The trio of Cory-Shawn-Topanga, while blissful, puts a pressure on Topanga and Shawn that he’s guiltily aware.
If Shawn has what he has, the stability Shawn needs and thrives under, the pressure’s relieved a little. There’s a break from the arguments, silent or otherwise - who goes shotgun in the car, who will he pair with in class, who’s answer will he go with on the quiz.
Topanga’s mellower with another girl to talk to, and Shawn’s more relaxed.
With the three of them, there’s sometimes a look a little naked, or joke a little too artfully casual. A girl can fill the endless need.
He knows if Shawn just finds a girl he’s not bored by, he’ll see how much of a comfort it can be to know the next steps on the path.
And for Shawn, who’s never been able to rely on family for long, the idea of looking in a girl’s eyes and seeing the future stretch out - college, marriage, children, grand-children, and matched plots in the graves next to Cory and Topanga’s, ideally - well, he can’t think of a better gift for his friend.
Sure, sometimes he finds Angela a little mysterious.
A couple of times she’s said something a tad snarky for his tastes. Usually about him and Topanga.
Angela’s practical, sure, but her advice seems aimed at ordinary couples, not Cory-and-Topanga, a unit since babyhood.
Cory knows Angela’s an army brat, and he figures that, like Shawn, she’s probably a little afraid of the commitment that Cory-and-Topanga embody.
But Shawn will overcome all that. How could anyone not be won over by Shawnie?
And Cory has the rest of their lives to get to know Angela. What’s the rush?
He doesn’t know, but apparently his subconscious is pushing for something to be resolved, when, two weeks after his birthday, he dreams Angela pushes him onto his bed and climbs on top of him.
The dorm room is empty, and Angela’s wearing a silky dress, her hair flowing down her back.
His mouth goes dry.
Oh, great, Cory. Your fiancée and your best friend are going to take turns killing you because you have a weakness for pretty hair? He thinks before realising. Wait a second.
Why would Angela want to cheat on Shawn and lose her best friend into the bargain? Unless she has a brillo pad fetish, he’s pretty sure this is a dream.
His next thought is an uncomfortable mix of aforementioned arousal and terror.
He and Shawn have often shared dreams - perhaps a side-effect of so many years of identical ambitions. Winning the game for the team and a wife who loves street hockey came up so often he still sometimes feels his eyes scanning over the closet for his winning jersey, and Topanga’s groaning wall of trophies for a stick shape.
As they’ve gotten older, the dreams have occasionally become…well, nothing they’d show on HBO, but nothing he figures Topanga needs to hear about, at least not for a few decades.
The Mary-Beth one in particular is strictly on a guys only basis, although too much guilty browbeating from Cory and Shawn has been known to needle him about whether Topanga has her own secret imaginings.
Their dream about the senior floor and the squad of guys carrying Topanga to god knows where doesn’t exactly set Cory’s mind at rest. However, worrying about his girlfriend’s dream fidelity seems a neurosis too far, even for him.
He’s glad for this close lipped policy, but as Angela straddles him and leans in to whisper in his ear, he realises Shawn wouldn’t be thrilled at this particular exploration of Cory’s subconscious.
Angela’s slipped into a sexy murmuring voice. Cory’s dismayed at his own generic chauvinist piggery, but there’s no denying its working.
‘I am so sorry about your birthday, Cor’, she drawls, although her smirk as she bites her lip contradicts her words. ‘I totally forgot your present.’
Cory’s swivelling his head in case this is a trap led by Dream Shawn, Dream Topanga, or worse, a deadly combination of the two; but Angela’s position on his lap is a little, uh, distracting.
‘I figured I’d make up for it and give you something else to unwrap.’
‘S-S-Shawn’, Cory stutters, meaning to remind her of their mutual reason to stop this right now, and succeeding only in conjuring up the man himself.
One minute the room is empty, the next, Shawn’s perched on their desk chair, smirking wryly.
‘You two are so cute!’
Angela turns her head, not at all rattled despite her compromising position. She looks a little amused herself. ‘I wouldn’t go that far, the only name he’s called out so far is yours.’
‘Well, don’t give up that easily. Cory here’s a little shy, but a guy can’t walk down the aisle without hearing a woman scream at least once.’
Angela makes a graceful shrug and breathes ‘I am the screamer around here…’
Cory’s eyes widen, and despite being hard enough to cut diamonds, he holds back.
‘This isn’t right. Angela, this isn’t you, you and Shawn are -‘
Angela’s eyes go a little blank. ‘You don’t even know me’ she mutters, and for a second, the whole room seems to shudder before Shawn rises suddenly, putting his hand on Cory’s shoulder.
‘It’s your dream, buddy.’
‘But I thought -‘
Angela rolls her eyes, but doesn’t get up. The opposite, in fact.
She places her hand on the crotch of Cory’s jeans, and begins to stroke.
It feels as amazing as Cory always pictured, and the details - the wrong girl, the way she’s not even looking at Cory, but instead at Shawn, almost challengingly; Shawn’s hand still pressed against him - almost make it better. It’s so obviously unreal that he doesn’t need to feel guilty that it’s not Topanga, the way he usually imagines.
The fact Shawn is there almost feels right. He’s always there in these dreams for the first time - not there there, obviously, the next room at the hotel, the next limo at the prom, under a nearby blanket at the beach, close enough to hear his ever-loud breathing, smell his familiar shampoo, Cory can relax and know his more experienced friend is always there to hold his hand through another first.
Every fantasy about Topanga has always included Shawn as a by-product. Best man at the wedding, godfather of their kids, he’s almost her proxy by this point. Sometimes he has to remind himself on the phone or jotting down a note who he’s thinking of at that very moment, before he asks Shawn how the ring fitting went, or whether Topanga’s booked the Sixers for Saturday.
He shuts his eyes for a second, and it’s so familiar and at the same time alien, he almost feels dizzy.
Shawn’s leaning way over, whispering in Angela’s ear, Mr Cool’s voice oddly raw. Cory’s so blissed out he can only make out snatches ‘…touch him, he wants this…like that’, thumb rubbing Cory’s shoulder rhythmically in time with Angela, biting his lower lip.
Cory’s closer than ever, and as Angela’s fingers dip for the last time, guitar calluses scratching slightly, Shawn finally meets his eyes. His fingers tighten into a clutching grasp, and he mutters ‘Cory’.
Angela raises her eyebrow slowly. ‘I guess old habits die hard, Shawn’ she draws out, voice so flat Cory can’t tell what she’s thinking.
He guesses he never could.
*
The damp spot on his pyjama bottoms pulls Cory slowly into consciousness, sun glaring through the chink in the curtains, dissolving whatever dreams he had last night.
He grabs his towel and heads to the unisex showers, smiling fondly as Shawn yips contentedly from the next bed.
Whatever was going through his head last night, it must have been a good dream.
Okay, so Cory’s well aware he’s the centre of their group, but he can’t help but guiltily enjoy it a little. When you’re Average Boy surrounded by a girlfriend and best friend who are gorgeous and talented, having them fight over who gets to be around you is a reassuring ego boost.
But Angela?
Angela, he doesn’t quite get.
He likes her - she appreciates Van Damme, the perfection that is Topanga and Shawn, and sure, she’s kind of stunning, herself, not that he’s noticed. What’s not to like?
But every so often, he just gets this niggling feeling that she isn’t quite as taken with him.
He hates to think he’s been spoilt by Topanga and Shawn’s rivalry into expecting everyone to adore him, but it kind of stings a little to think someone could want Topanga and Shawn and not him there with them. You might as well order a Ferrari and then remove a wheel.
Also, she’s kind of…well, not cold, but to Cory, it’s practically the same thing, although it sounds crazy even in his head, but she’s…not jealous.
Everyone he loves has a jealous streak, he and Shawn and Topanga have been envious of each other and the various intricacies of their relationship since they met pretty much.
Factor in Eric leading ahead, surrounded by girls and friends; his family trying to divide their attention between all three plus Shawn; and the world full of guys keen to appreciate his girl and his best friend away, and it’s a rare day when someone he knows isn’t being bit by the green eyed monster.
But Angela seems removed from all that.
Take his and Shawn’s legendary friendship. Topanga alternates between fiercely nurturing, and opposing it. He hates there to be tension between any of the people he loves, but at least it’s a compass guide to his world. Shawn and Topanga may go at each other’s throats from time to time, but neither of them will ever let him hurt the other, and if it means leading him by the hand to why the other’s pissed, they have infinite patience.
But Angela? She loves Shawn, she adores Topanga, but Cory secretly wonders how much.
If you love someone, shouldn’t it bug you if they love someone else more? Shouldn’t there be comparisons? But comparisons don’t seem to feature on Angela’s radar.
It puzzles him, but it’s no big deal in the long run. If anything, his primary emotion regarding Angela is gratitude.
The trio of Cory-Shawn-Topanga, while blissful, puts a pressure on Topanga and Shawn that he’s guiltily aware.
If Shawn has what he has, the stability Shawn needs and thrives under, the pressure’s relieved a little. There’s a break from the arguments, silent or otherwise - who goes shotgun in the car, who will he pair with in class, who’s answer will he go with on the quiz.
Topanga’s mellower with another girl to talk to, and Shawn’s more relaxed.
With the three of them, there’s sometimes a look a little naked, or joke a little too artfully casual. A girl can fill the endless need.
He knows if Shawn just finds a girl he’s not bored by, he’ll see how much of a comfort it can be to know the next steps on the path.
And for Shawn, who’s never been able to rely on family for long, the idea of looking in a girl’s eyes and seeing the future stretch out - college, marriage, children, grand-children, and matched plots in the graves next to Cory and Topanga’s, ideally - well, he can’t think of a better gift for his friend.
Sure, sometimes he finds Angela a little mysterious.
A couple of times she’s said something a tad snarky for his tastes. Usually about him and Topanga.
Angela’s practical, sure, but her advice seems aimed at ordinary couples, not Cory-and-Topanga, a unit since babyhood.
Cory knows Angela’s an army brat, and he figures that, like Shawn, she’s probably a little afraid of the commitment that Cory-and-Topanga embody.
But Shawn will overcome all that. How could anyone not be won over by Shawnie?
And Cory has the rest of their lives to get to know Angela. What’s the rush?
He doesn’t know, but apparently his subconscious is pushing for something to be resolved, when, two weeks after his birthday, he dreams Angela pushes him onto his bed and climbs on top of him.
The dorm room is empty, and Angela’s wearing a silky dress, her hair flowing down her back.
His mouth goes dry.
Oh, great, Cory. Your fiancée and your best friend are going to take turns killing you because you have a weakness for pretty hair? He thinks before realising. Wait a second.
Why would Angela want to cheat on Shawn and lose her best friend into the bargain? Unless she has a brillo pad fetish, he’s pretty sure this is a dream.
His next thought is an uncomfortable mix of aforementioned arousal and terror.
He and Shawn have often shared dreams - perhaps a side-effect of so many years of identical ambitions. Winning the game for the team and a wife who loves street hockey came up so often he still sometimes feels his eyes scanning over the closet for his winning jersey, and Topanga’s groaning wall of trophies for a stick shape.
As they’ve gotten older, the dreams have occasionally become…well, nothing they’d show on HBO, but nothing he figures Topanga needs to hear about, at least not for a few decades.
The Mary-Beth one in particular is strictly on a guys only basis, although too much guilty browbeating from Cory and Shawn has been known to needle him about whether Topanga has her own secret imaginings.
Their dream about the senior floor and the squad of guys carrying Topanga to god knows where doesn’t exactly set Cory’s mind at rest. However, worrying about his girlfriend’s dream fidelity seems a neurosis too far, even for him.
He’s glad for this close lipped policy, but as Angela straddles him and leans in to whisper in his ear, he realises Shawn wouldn’t be thrilled at this particular exploration of Cory’s subconscious.
Angela’s slipped into a sexy murmuring voice. Cory’s dismayed at his own generic chauvinist piggery, but there’s no denying its working.
‘I am so sorry about your birthday, Cor’, she drawls, although her smirk as she bites her lip contradicts her words. ‘I totally forgot your present.’
Cory’s swivelling his head in case this is a trap led by Dream Shawn, Dream Topanga, or worse, a deadly combination of the two; but Angela’s position on his lap is a little, uh, distracting.
‘I figured I’d make up for it and give you something else to unwrap.’
‘S-S-Shawn’, Cory stutters, meaning to remind her of their mutual reason to stop this right now, and succeeding only in conjuring up the man himself.
One minute the room is empty, the next, Shawn’s perched on their desk chair, smirking wryly.
‘You two are so cute!’
Angela turns her head, not at all rattled despite her compromising position. She looks a little amused herself. ‘I wouldn’t go that far, the only name he’s called out so far is yours.’
‘Well, don’t give up that easily. Cory here’s a little shy, but a guy can’t walk down the aisle without hearing a woman scream at least once.’
Angela makes a graceful shrug and breathes ‘I am the screamer around here…’
Cory’s eyes widen, and despite being hard enough to cut diamonds, he holds back.
‘This isn’t right. Angela, this isn’t you, you and Shawn are -‘
Angela’s eyes go a little blank. ‘You don’t even know me’ she mutters, and for a second, the whole room seems to shudder before Shawn rises suddenly, putting his hand on Cory’s shoulder.
‘It’s your dream, buddy.’
‘But I thought -‘
Angela rolls her eyes, but doesn’t get up. The opposite, in fact.
She places her hand on the crotch of Cory’s jeans, and begins to stroke.
It feels as amazing as Cory always pictured, and the details - the wrong girl, the way she’s not even looking at Cory, but instead at Shawn, almost challengingly; Shawn’s hand still pressed against him - almost make it better. It’s so obviously unreal that he doesn’t need to feel guilty that it’s not Topanga, the way he usually imagines.
The fact Shawn is there almost feels right. He’s always there in these dreams for the first time - not there there, obviously, the next room at the hotel, the next limo at the prom, under a nearby blanket at the beach, close enough to hear his ever-loud breathing, smell his familiar shampoo, Cory can relax and know his more experienced friend is always there to hold his hand through another first.
Every fantasy about Topanga has always included Shawn as a by-product. Best man at the wedding, godfather of their kids, he’s almost her proxy by this point. Sometimes he has to remind himself on the phone or jotting down a note who he’s thinking of at that very moment, before he asks Shawn how the ring fitting went, or whether Topanga’s booked the Sixers for Saturday.
He shuts his eyes for a second, and it’s so familiar and at the same time alien, he almost feels dizzy.
Shawn’s leaning way over, whispering in Angela’s ear, Mr Cool’s voice oddly raw. Cory’s so blissed out he can only make out snatches ‘…touch him, he wants this…like that’, thumb rubbing Cory’s shoulder rhythmically in time with Angela, biting his lower lip.
Cory’s closer than ever, and as Angela’s fingers dip for the last time, guitar calluses scratching slightly, Shawn finally meets his eyes. His fingers tighten into a clutching grasp, and he mutters ‘Cory’.
Angela raises her eyebrow slowly. ‘I guess old habits die hard, Shawn’ she draws out, voice so flat Cory can’t tell what she’s thinking.
He guesses he never could.
*
The damp spot on his pyjama bottoms pulls Cory slowly into consciousness, sun glaring through the chink in the curtains, dissolving whatever dreams he had last night.
He grabs his towel and heads to the unisex showers, smiling fondly as Shawn yips contentedly from the next bed.
Whatever was going through his head last night, it must have been a good dream.