tags: hollanov, college au, craigslist ad, sex lessons, explicit, 18+
hollyadmirals24: Male seeking help improving at oral sex. Clean, ready to learn and willing to host. M only. Strictly platonic. Message for details.
or: after a disastrous night with rose, shane puts a drunken ad on craigslist asking for help with oral sex. his teammate, ilya, replies.
chapter one: two jumps in a week (7.1k)
NOVEMBER 2011
“Not as much as Shane.”
Shane blinks and takes another sip of his beer, wincing at the taste. His friends keep saying it’ll taste better, but this is his third one and it still feels like it’s curdling in his stomach. “Huh?’
Hayden just rolls his eyes, apparently not surprised that Shane wasn’t paying attention. “You hate Rozanov the most.”
Oh. Right.
“Of course.”
“Fuck, he’s a good player, though,” JJ comments, and Shane finds himself nodding before he can stop himself.
Shane smiles, bashful, but he doesn’t process the words. He’s back to thinking about Ilya fucking Rozanov.
Shane Hollander hates Ilya Rozanov.
This has been the singular true fact for as long as Shane has known of his existence. First it was just the dim awareness and jealousy of some much-discussed phenom coming to Canada for his final two years of high school, then the famed rivalry when they started to play against each other in the top two teams in North America and people quickly realised that Rozanov was the only player that could actually keep up with Shane—and finally the burning hatred when they both signed for the same team: the McGill Marauders.
Shane had freaked out when he’d discovered that he and Rozanov would be playing on the same team. He ranted to his mom for hours about how there’s no way that would work, that they’d be at each other’s throats the whole time and would never win any games because of it.
He’d been half right. They’re at each other’s throats always, but unfortunately for him, they also play like one person. They’re the top team in the league, and it’s due in no small part to the two of them.
It sucks.
In many ways, though, his hatred for Rozanov has been a stabilizing fact for him—a nugget of normalcy to cling to this year as he was thrust into the world of NCAA hockey and began having NHL teams sniffing around and whispering about contracts as soon as he graduated. Even as everything else changed, this was the one thing that never would.
Some would argue that technically made Rozanov the centre of his universe, but Shane would disagree. It just made him… something.
The point is, if there’s one thing Shane likes, it's consistency. He likes definitives, and Ilya Rozanov is definitely an asshole. No ifs, ands, or buts.
He’s glad that many of his teammates agree, even though he knows just as many think that the sun shines out of Rozanov’s ass. He’s been popular with the kind of ease that Shane has known he’d never have since he arrived. Rozanov is arrogant and more than a little abrasive, but he’s also a damn good player, and Shane can admit that he sometimes, just a little bit, understands how some people could think he was also charming and funny. Not him, but… people.
None of those teammates are here tonight, though. He heard there’s some kind of party going on at the Student Union, but he and his friends elected to stay in and watch the Admirals game in JJ and Hayden’s dorm. As the game finishes with a resounding win for the New York team, he takes a moment to be glad for his friends.
They supported him even as he was elected Captain as a sophomore—practically unheard of—and let him try out all his drills and crazy exercise plans on them with only minimal levels of complaining.
(Maybe a lot of complaining from JJ, but that’s just JJ.)
He feels comfortable with them, is what he’s trying to say. Like they truly understand him. Rozanov would never get that they all want to stay in and hang out, keep things lowkey—
“Yo,, Rose Landry and her friends just showed up at the Foundry party,” JJ says, looking up from his phone. “We have to go.”
Never mind.
Shane tries to convince his friends that they should stay in, and then that he should stay in when they all insist on going, but his excuses are all futile. They know he has nothing better to do, and he steadfastly refuses until Hayden reminds him that he’s bailed on the last three team get-togethers. He’s out of excuses.
“Fine,” Shane grumbles, getting up to go to his room and change out of his sweatpants. “But don’t expect me to dance.”
Thirty minutes later, Shane is standing in the corner awkwardly nursing a beer as his friends go wild on the dance floor.
Five of his teammates are in a circle in the centre, cheering as freshman Luca in the middle shyly steps in then executes a perfect pirouette out of nowhere. Shane smiles, but makes no move to follow them. He’s happier watching, and besides—no one wants to see him dance.
“Your friend has some moves,” someone comments beside him, and Shane jumps.
To his left is none other than Rose Landry, looking simultaneously amused and apologetic at scaring Shane. She’s dressed in a black sequin dress that hugs her curves effortlessly, and her hair shines in golden waves under the flashing lights in a way that makes her dark eyes look even more sultry. Nearby, her friends are joining the team’s dance circle with similarly effortless moves.
She’s sipping at her red solo cup and looking at Shane expectantly, and it’s only then that he realises he’s just been staring at her like an idiot.
(Can he be blamed for that? She’s without a doubt the most well-known and beautiful girl at the university, selected for all the brochures and ads both because of her looks and smarts but also because of her recent film that landed her tons of critical acclaim at TIFF in September. No one has any idea why she’s still in school, since apparently she’s gotten movie offers from everyone from Spielberg to Aster, but she can always be seen dutifully going to her lectures and walking around campus trying to ignore the stares wherever she goes. She’s kind of perfect.)
“Yeah,” he finally manages, then swallows. “I knew he used to do ballet, but I thought it was when he was like, five.”
“At least he’s got a backup career if the whole hockey thing doesn’t work out,” she comments, and Shane blinks in surprise that she knows they’re hockey players. She smiles. “You’re Shane Hollander, right?”
“Um. Yes?”
Rose’s smile widens, like she’s entertained by the way Shane is incapable of holding a conversation. “Can I tell you a secret?” she murmurs conspiratorially, leaning in to be heard over the music. Shane’s head jerks in a nod, and she leans closer. “I’m a big fan.”
“Really?” Shane replies, not faking his surprise. “I’ve never seen you at a game.”
She shrugs, blushing a little. “I tend to cause a scene when I go to stuff like that nowadays,” she says, though not in a show-off way. “I haven’t been able to go to many, but when I do I wear a baseball cap and stand in the back. I watched your goal against Toronto last week. Killer.”
Shane blushes back, looking down at his shoes. He can’t believe this is actually happening. “I—um, I saw your movie. You were incredible.”
Rose looks genuinely touched, even though she must hear it all the time. “That’s so sweet, thank you,” she tells him. She smiles coyly. “So, we’re both fans of each other.”
“I guess so,” he replies, unsure of what else to say.
Rose has that amused look on her face again. “Wanna dance?”
“Oh, I don’t really—”
“Come on,” Rose says with a roll of her eyes, taking the beer out of his hand to put it on the table beside them. Probably for the best, anyway—as it turns out, beer still tastes just as bad but his taste buds are starting to become numb to it, and he’s a lightweight at the best of times. “It’ll be fun.”
Against his better judgment, Shane takes Rose’s offered hand and allows himself to be pulled into the crowd where they quickly get swallowed up. He spends a few seconds freaking the fuck out, not just about the concept of dancing but about all the people and bodies pressed against him, but calms down when he imagines that he’s just in a celebration pile after winning a game. Bodies never bother him then, so they shouldn’t now.
It seems to help a little, but he’s still not able to loosen up enough to actually dance. Rose must notice the fear in his eyes, because she laughs just as the tempo of the next song slows down and steps closer.
“Put your hands on my waist,” she instructs, and Shane hesitates for a moment before complying. The sequins are cool and slippery under his fingers, and she smiles encouragingly when one hand moves more towards her lower back to pull her a little closer.
With a sultry smirk, her hands lace behind his neck and she begins to sway to the deep bass thump of the music.
Shane is well aware that Rose Landry is beautiful. It’s the kind of beautiful that makes you stop and stare in the street or stumble over your words. Shane’s friends have spent plenty of evenings lamenting the fact that one of Rose’s other stunning friends or Rose herself rejected them at some party, and Shane has always hummed in sympathy. Getting rejected by someone like that would suck, Shane knows in theory, but to him it’s sort of inevitable. People like Rose just seem… untouchable.
But he’s well aware that some people could say the same thing about him. He’s reasonably alright-looking, he knows that, and he has a certain status as the university’s star hockey player and captain. He often comes away from many social events with at least one or two offers of a hookup or something more—but he almost always ignores them. His sexual experience thus far consists mostly of a few awkward high school makeouts with awkward girlfriends and a few more awkward blowjobs. He’s had sex exactly twice, and it was… fine.
The girls didn’t seem to hate it, at least, and they didn’t say anything bad about him afterwards. His reputation is that he’s polite but a little aloof, which his friends say only make him more desirable to girls.
Wonderful. Just what he wants.
Shane’s never paid much attention to what his reputation is with women, other than making sure he’s not hated. He’s perfectly happy just drifting along, accepting invitations when he feels like it but never going out of his way to chase someone.
He just hasn’t found his person yet, he supposes.
Rose, though. It’s different.
He finds as the night continues that he genuinely enjoys talking to her. She only laughs when he steps on her foot for the third time and makes a joke about not knowing hockey players were so un-coordinated, and they spend most of the evening after that huddled in a booth talking about anything and everything. They discuss their favourite hockey teams, Rose’s nightmare costar, Shane’s rigorous training schedule, Rose’s rigorous filming schedule. They have even more in common than Shane thought they would but more than anything, he feels truly comfortable with her.
He’s only a little surprised when they go back out on the dance floor and Rose kisses him. He’d sensed somewhat dully that this was where the night was heading, that the lingering touches on his arm and how close she was sitting were subtle signals and invitations for more, but he hadn’t taken things further and she hadn’t pushed.
When she does move in, it’s with a raised brow in question. Right. Yes. It’s up to him to actually make the move. His mouth twitches up in a smile and he tilts his head down just as Rose lifts hers up, and then they’re kissing.
He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t hate it. Rose’s kisses are as soft as she is, and her lips aren’t sticky with gloss which Shane hates but rather smooth with lip balm that tastes like cherries. She makes a soft little sigh when he angles his mouth to the side and opens wider, allowing their tongues to brush chastely before pulling back. His hands are on her waist, thumbs skimming over the sequins, and hers are tangled in his hair.
She’s practically in his lap by the time they break apart for air several minutes (hours?) later, startled by whooping nearby. Shane turns his head to see JJ and Hayden standing with a few of their teammates by the bar, all of them cheering and clapping at the sight of their captain getting it on for once.
Shane’s hand tightens on the hem of Rose’s dress automatically, making sure her position curled up on him doesn’t reveal too much to his teammates, and he feels Rose squeeze his shoulder in thanks.
His cheeks flush and ducks his head, inadvertently burying it in Rose’s neck and inhaling the sweet scent of citrus and something more herbal like sage. He can feel the rumbling of Rose’s chest as she speaks to his teammates, some joke about how they should pay money if they want to keep watching because it’s rude, and hears her laugh as they presumably reply to the skillful brush-off and then their footsteps recede.
Shane lifts his head. His teammates are, as he expected, gone, but so are most other people in this area of the student club. He thinks that Rose will stand and straighten her dress now, content to have had a decent enough makeout but done now that there’s no audience to observe them, but to his surprise she smiles and leans down to kiss him again.
Shane feels something stirring low in his gut. It’s a slow, roiling heat, like a warm mug of coffee or the hum of an old TV after it’s been left on for too long, and Shane is surprised to feel it. Usually he has to psych himself up a lot more to get this sensation, but like everything with Rose, it’s… easy.
“I don’t know if this is, like, presumptuous,” Rose murmurs, flushing prettily when she pulls away and tucks a lock of hair behind her air. She pauses and doesn’t continue, instead swallowing and looking down. He suddenly knows what she wants to ask him.
Shane blinks. He should’ve expected this.
In the span of a few brief moments, his mind runs through all the potential scenarios. He could make up an excuse and leave, something like saying that he’s too drunk (he’s definitely not) and asking for a rain check he has no intention of following up on, but… Rose is nice. She’s nice, and beautiful, and it’s easy with her, and that simmering heat is still slowly flooding his veins.
“Are you going to ask if I want to come back to your place?”
Rose’s eyes flicker up to his. Even in her heels she’s still a few inches shorter than him. She nods once.
“Um. Yeah, okay. If that’s alright.”
Rose smiles at him like he’s the most adorable person in the world, sighing in mock relief. “Of course it is,” she says with a not unkind roll of her eyes and a little laugh, and then she clambers out of his lap. “Let me just say goodbye to my friends, then I’ll be right back.”
Shane bites his thumbnail nervously as she disappears into the crowd, wondering for a moment if this was all some big joke, but just as quickly she’s back and holding out her hand to him. Okay. Back to her place, then.
As it turns out, Rose lives not too far from the Foundry in a quaint neighborhood that Shane knows is impossibly expensive for most students. The walk is eased by conversation even as Shane secretly marvels at the area, and when they go inside he is surprised to find that her apartment is a modest studio with giant windows and an exposed brick wall that makes it feel more like New York than Montreal.
Movie posters are artfully placed with a cohesive colour scheme that litter the wall above her bed, which is a massive thing with a plush comforter and a mountain of pillows. There’s a small sofa and a TV, and a spacious kitchen where a pot and bowl still sit neatly in the sink waiting to be washed up.
It’s the perfect amount of lived-in without being messy. Shane always struggles in places like JJ and Hayden’s dorm, where clothes and papers and all sorts of things are scattered throughout the room with no rhyme or reason and are only picked up when Hayden gives in and cleans JJ’s mess. This isn’t that, though, and Shane doesn’t have to pretend as he walks around the room slowly with some fascination, pointing at pictures of her with her family or books she’s read and asking questions about them.
Rose answers his questions with a tinge of amusement, and Shane knows dimly that he should be jumping her bones as soon as they get into her apartment. He’s genuinely interested, though, and she seems content enough to entertain him while he calms his jangled nerves.
Eventually he sits down on the edge of her bed beside her, still talking about some vintage movie that she loves. He didn’t catch the name because he was too distracted trying to slow his thundering heartbeat, and now he’s too afraid to ask—instead he just smiles and nods and tries not to sound like a total idiot.
Finally, there’s a gentle hand on his thigh. He jumps. “You know we don’t have to do anything, if—” Rose starts, and Shane finds himself shaking his head.
“No, no,” he says quickly. He swallows. “You’re just…”
Rose raises her eyebrows, waiting. “I’m…?”
“You’re so beautiful,” he tells her sincerely, and she smiles. She really does look incredible when she blushes.
This time he leans in at the same time she does, and the kiss is just as sweet as it was back at the club. He takes his time with it, making a point of categorizing each sound she makes and repeating the swipe of his tongue and nip at her bottom lip to hear the sounds again, but the kiss turns more heated quickly.
She’s in his lap, and his hands tremble a bit as she guides them to the hem of her dress. “Is this okay?” he whispers, his fingers slipping underneath to the soft smoothness of her hips, and she smiles again and nods.
He lifts the dress off of her and finds only a lacy thong underneath, her breasts falling free as he sets the sequinned fabric gently aside and resists the urge to fold it. She isn’t brazen in showing off but she isn’t shy either, keeping her hands around his neck as his eyes roam over her body with what he hopes looks like hunger.
“You’re beautiful,” he says again, and kisses her once more.
After a while he trails his lips down her throat, encouraged by the way her head tilts back and her grip tightens on his shoulders, and when he puts his mouth on her nipple she moans softly and rolls her hips against him. He feels his cock twitch in surprise, the thin fabric of her underwear not enough to dull the heat of her even with his jeans in the way, and he does his best to suck at the hardened bud in his mouth the way he remembers a girl—Hailey? Holly?—thoroughly enjoying last year.
Her hips buck again, so he takes that as a yes. When he lifts his head he finds her already looking down at him through hooded eyes, her dark lashes fluttering but not looking away as she reaches down to cup him through his jeans.
He makes a noise and hopes it sounds like one of pleasure rather than shock, jerking into her touch in a way that she takes as encouragement. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he rolls and gently places her on the bed so that he’s above her.
“What do you want?” he murmurs, as much an attempt at being sexy as a genuine request for instruction.
He’s expecting her to ask him to take his jeans off, maybe to fuck her—okay—or to blow him—even better. He doesn’t have to think as much when he’s getting head, able to shut his eyes and focus on the tight heat of the mouth around him.
He doesn’t get either answer.
Rose runs her fingers through his hair—he’s been meaning to cut it for a while, doesn’t like her sharp nails tangling in the strands as much as he thought he would—and tilts her head up to his ear. “Can you eat me out?”
Shane reels back in surprise a little more suddenly than he means to, and takes great effort to still himself. “I—I’ve never…” he stutters out, which isn’t the best answer but it’s the only one he can find right now.
Rose blinks. She clearly wasn’t expecting that. “Oh. That’s okay, you don’t have to—”
“No, I want to,” Shane says before he can think about it too much. If it’s what she wants—and he doesn’t have to think about his own orgasm, neither staving it off nor making it happen faster—then who is he to deny her?
“Okay,” she says, looking pleased. Her hair is mussed, her face flushed under the warm light of her bedside lamp, and she really does look beautiful laid out beneath him like this.
Okay then.
He gets to work, trailing kisses down her body once more and stopping to suck at the other nipple he didn’t pay attention to before on the way. She makes happy noises as she goes, her fingers still in his hair, and moans when he sucks and nips at her inner thigh. She seems not to notice that he’s distracting himself from the real event for a moment, instead thinks it’s him teasing her.
Good.
Eventually he can’t put it off any longer, and he shuffles down the bed to settle properly on his stomach between her legs. He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of her underwear, and at her nod he eases them down her legs and puts them aside on top of her dress on the floor.
He turns back to her, and. Right. Vagina.
It’s just… vaginas are a little scary, if he’s being honest. They’ve always been a bit of an enigma to him, like there was some secret code to unlocking them that he was missing. He’s alright at fingering, he thinks, has even made a girl cum from it once, and the few times he actually had sex he’s had decently positive reviews, but no one has ever asked him to do this before and he’s much less confident in his skills.
(He keeps waiting to feel that thing that all his friends talk about, though. They talk about girls sometimes like they’re dying for pussy, starving for it, and he knows plenty of his friends would eat their girlfriends out all day if they could. He never really felt that desperation during sex before, so maybe… maybe this will be the thing that does it.)
Right then. There’s nothing really left but to do it.
He kisses her thighs a few more times, wraps his hands around them and scoots up, and then finally lowers his head, and.
Well.
It doesn’t taste bad by any means, just distinctly skin-like, and she’s very well-maintained down there. No hair gets in his way as he gingerly flicks out his tongue again to taste, considering, and keeps going. All good things, he supposes.
It’s just that it’s so slick and wet against him, and he can feel his mouth and chin getting all slippery. He resists the urge to shudder at the sensation and keeps going. What is he supposed to do? Right, there’s the clitoris somewhere up here…
Rose yelps, and Shane quickly lifts his head. “Sorry, did I—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she says, reassuring him. “Just be careful with the teeth.”
Shane flushes in embarrassment, but nods and tries to listen to her advice. He keeps his teeth carefully tucked away, but now he realises all he’s doing are little kitten licks that feel more like he’s licking an ice cream cone he doesn’t particularly like rather than devouring her like he knows he’s supposed to be.
Come on, Shane. You can do this, he chants to himself.
He remembers dimly that Hayden once talked about patterns, like drawing a zig-zag with his tongue all the way down. He tries it slowly, and Rose lets out a little huffing sound of approval. It’s the first sound she’s really made other than a short gasp when he first got his mouth on her, so he focuses on it and tries to repeat the movement the way he did when they were kissing.
Huh. Nothing. She’s completely silent above him, and as he tries again and again he feels her hips almost jerk back until finally his tongue seems to land in the right spot and she moans again. He feels her getting wetter and is pretty sure he wrinkles his nose, has to pray that she’s not watching him and sees it because he’s too afraid to lift his head and check.
He keeps going. He tries using his tongue to enter her, but he doesn’t like the spongy feeling and the way the taste sharpens slightly inside so draws back. He tries suckling on her clit, but can’t seem to keep his teeth out of the way enough. He tries more patterns, but eventually realises he isn’t really paying attention to her erogenous zones at all and instead has been attempting to draw a cat with his tongue.
Fitting. He almost laughs at this, but is pretty sure he’d sound hysterical so he swallows it back.
Speaking of swallowing, it’s getting necessary with the combination of saliva and other things on his tongue, and even though he knows factually that Rose doesn’t taste bad—she tastes a little sweet, actually, and Shane wonders if asking if she drinks pineapple juice afterwards would be taken as a compliment—he can’t stop himself from grimacing.
God, this isn’t going well. He can tell. He didn’t think he was ever going to get stellar reviews on eating a girl out, sure, but Rose is suspiciously quiet up there and Shane is afraid of what he’ll see when he opens his eyes—he just hopes he looks like he’s enjoying himself when they’re closed.
He doesn’t get a choice but to open his eyes only a few minutes after he starts. The hand in his hair—it had gone still, and Shane doesn’t know when, which is a bad sign—gently pulls at him until he lifts his head and looks up at Rose.
She looks distinctly vulnerable from down here, legs spread as she tilts her chin down to study him, but Shane is surprised to find a mixture of pity and something else that he can’t quite name but knows it’s not pleasure in her eyes.
He straightens up a little. “I-I’m sorry,” he says, even though he’s not exactly sure what for yet. Inwardly, he cringes.
“No, it’s just…” Rose’s leg twitches, and Shane takes the hint and sits up fully. Secretly he’s a little relieved. “You might want to, um. Study, a bit?”
Shane’s brain stutters over the word. “Study?”
Rose flushes a deep crimson, one hand lifting to twirl a lock of hair around her finger as she avoids eye contact with him for a moment. “To learn more…” she huffs a sigh of frustration and then tries again after a deep breath. “Look, I’ve had a really great time tonight. You’re so hot, obviously, and you’re a great kisser, but—you might need a little more practice, is all. At that, I mean. You seemed a little… timid.”
Shane wonders dimly if he should make an attempt at saving this by saying something flirty like, can I practice with you? but he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. He doesn’t want to make things even more awkward and more importantly—he doesn’t think he wants to do that. Ever again.
“Right, um… I’m sorry,” Shane says again, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say?
“No, I’m sorry,” Rose says after a pause, shaking her head as she shuffles down slightly to take his face in her hands. She ducks her head to meet his eyes, and then presses a soft kiss against his lips. “I really did have a great time with you, Shane. I think you’re amazing. Maybe I’m just not—” She stops, studies him for another long moment, and then shakes her head as if to herself and pulls back a little.
“You didn’t seem to be super into it, that’s all.”
Shane blinks. Is it possible for the ground to swallow him whole? Shane would very much like that to happen right now.
“It’s not because of you,” Shane tells her honestly, only slightly stumbling over his words. “You’re incredible. You’re so funny, you’re kind, and you’re—you’re sexy as hell. Honestly. I just don’t know if…”
Rose nods. “You don’t have to say anything else, okay?” she says, and because he doesn’t know what he would’ve said, he leans in to kiss her again. When he pulls away, she smiles. “Do you wanna stay for a bit? I could show you that TV show I was telling you about.”
Shane considers it. He really does. He finds he actually wants to hang out with Rose and just watch a show, talking over a shared bowl of popcorn with only the TV light illuminating their faces, but… not right now.
Not when his mouth tastes like pussy and he can’t look at her without cringing over what just happened.
“Rain check?” Shane offers, and finds he really means it.
Rose smiles—Shane is relieved to see it’s a true, genuine smile—and nods. “Deal.”
Shane makes it back to his apartment in record time. He’s pretty sure he remembers breaking into a run at some point after rounding the corner from Rose’s street, but all he really knows is that he’s flushed and breathless when he gets to the door and he did a fifteen minute walk in eight minutes.
Jesus, that was bad. Has he always been that bad at sex, and just didn’t notice? He’s pretty sure those girls meant it when they said they had a good time, most of them, and he’s also pretty sure he could spot a faked orgasm if they hadn’t. This, though. This was different.
Shane doesn’t watch much porn, finds it too manicured and antiseptic or just too aggressive for his enjoyment, but when he does he always skips over the eating pussy part of the video. He’s never really thought about that gap in his knowledge before, but it’s never been a section that he enjoyed and as a result he suspects he’s only ever seen it in passing.
Well. That simply won’t do.
Shane doesn’t like not being good at something. That’s been true of him since he was little, quick to frustration when he couldn’t pick up a new stickhandling technique or figure out his English assignment as quickly as everyone else, and it’s only become more true as he turned into the perfectionist nineteen year old that he is now.
He sits down heavily on the couch in the living room, his mind whirring, then glances over at the cabinet. Fuck it. He leans over and opens the cupboard, pulling out the bottle of rum that JJ keeps in Shane’s room for ‘emergencies’, and after a pause of consideration he pours it into a tumbler and takes a swig. They don’t have practice tomorrow, and Shane needs some liquid courage to actually think about this.
The dark liquid burns a molten path down his throat as he swallows, but the sharp spicy tang it leaves on his tongue helps to wash the lingering taste from his mouth and helps clear his head.
What did he do when was bad at something in hockey, or couldn’t figure out that English assignment? That was easy: he studied.
Shane’s always been a good study.
Shane huffs a laugh, impressed with himself for coming up with the answer so quickly, and stands to grab his laptop from the charger. He wobbles a little when he first stands, but he takes another sip and is able to make it back with his laptop unscathed.
He opens Pornhub, scrolls to—he cringes—the ‘Pussy Licking’ category, and clicks on the first video that comes up.
It is, coincidentally, of a teacher and a student. The video starts with the girl dressed in what Shane guesses is supposed to be her school uniform, a plaid skirt that only covers half of her ass with a white button-down cinched tightly at the waist, as she walks down the hallway and into a classroom.
She’s pretty, with big doe eyes and dark hair tied in two pigtails, but Shane’s eyebrows raise when he sees the teacher. His sandy brown hair and stubble combined with his piercing blue eyes make him look both rugged and striking, and he towers over the girl as he scolds her for turning in her assignment late. Shane shudders slightly.
She asks if there’s anything she can do to make up the grade—seriously, did they get this plot from Stock-Porn-R-Us or something?—and then a minute later they’re kissing, tongues tangled as the girl moans while her ‘teacher’ palms at her breast with his massive hand.
Shane shifts uncomfortably and scrubs through the video, scanning for the clip he’s been searching for. He skips ahead a few minutes and finds both of them are now completely naked, and the student is spread out on the desk while the teacher kneels between her parted legs and runs a hand up her slit.
He leans in with a growl to lick her, and she starts making noises before he even touches her. His tongue flicks out, and…
Shane hits the spacebar to pause the video so hard he worries for a second that he broke his keyboard.
So that didn’t work. It just feels too awkward, too fake and impersonal to really study from. He’s pretty sure it’s anti-feminist or whatever, anyway. This shouldn’t be the thing he learns from.
What else can he do? He thinks about the girls he’s hooked up with in the past and wonders if any of them would be up for a repeat performance, this time with him playing DJ. Ew. He’s fairly confident he left them all with decent enough memories of him to hold onto, and he’s not keen to replace that with something he knows for a fact that he’s bad at.
He considers Rose. He could call her and ask if he could watch that show with her after all, somehow working in a request for another go after he softens her up with his smooth flirting.
Fat chance.
He takes another drink from the tumbler and finds he’s already drained the glass, pours himself some more. The alcohol is burning deliciously in his veins now, and even though it obviously tastes considerably stronger than the beer, he likes it more. He feels like the burn contributes to the feeling now beginning to fizz through his veins, spreading over him like a blanket that makes his limbs feel heavy and uncooperative.
What other options does he have? He scrolls through his other opened tabs aimlessly as his mind drifts, wondering if Luca would accept the helmet Shane plans on quietly buying him on Craigslist because he knows the kid is new to the country and doesn’t have the money to afford one after his got messed up last week.
He’s moved onto the next tab and thinking about when he should start that Philosophy assignment he’s been reading the instructions for when he stops short, clicking back to the Craigslist tab.
Maybe…
He scrolls to the ‘Missed Connections’ page. He used to read these when he was younger, entertained by all the anonymous people requesting help finding some girl they saw in WholeFoods or for advice on how to talk to the coworker they were secretly in love with. More than a few of them are asking for sex with varying degrees of subtlety, and these are the ones Shane is looking for.
He scans the offers with what begins as passing amusement but quickly turns to ideas of what he would write in his head to fix his little dilemma.
No. That was insane. But…
Maybe he’d get some tips. Some kind of advice that worked for him, that made him better at this.
Before he can second guess himself, he’s opening the tab for a new post and setting up an inbox.
He tells himself he’s mostly joking as he does it, twenty percent curious and eighty percent bored and needing entertainment. At the very least maybe he’ll get a few funny responses to laugh at instead of wallowing in self pity.
Typing is hard when you’re a little drunk, as it turns out, but his nerves sharpen his vision and he’s able to get his message down coherently. He reads and rereads it, checking for spelling mistakes and that he has all the information he wants, before he finally presses post.
hollyadmirals24: Male seeking help improving at oral sex. Clean, ready to learn and willing to host. M only. Strictly platonic. Message for details.
There. It’s done.
He waits in the dark for several minutes, his fingers drumming against his thighs, and then grabs his remote and puts ESPN on the small TV his parents got for him. Takes another sip of his drink. Waits.
He gets a few texts from his friends finally leaving the party, inviting him to afters or just checking in since they saw him leave with Rose. He ignores them. Waits some more.
Finally, after what he feels have been an agonizing thirty minutes—when in reality it’s only been fifteen—he refreshes his inbox, and blinks at the list of unread messages that pop up.
Okay then.
The first is just a dick pic. Shane actually jumps when he opens the message, wincing as he trashes the email with his eyes half shut. He’s not as surprised when the second one is the same thing, but by the third he’s starting to seriously regret his decision.
The other few messages he gets are words rather than images, at least, but one is a garbled request for 100 dollars for the ‘lesson’ and the others are spam.
Great. Shane sits back on the couch. That settles it—his brief suspicion of genius when he’s had the idea has officially been snuffed out, because this is stupid. Of course it is. He’d mostly been doing it just to entertain himself, obviously, so. Whatever.
There’s one more message in the inbox.
Shane clicks on it, intending to round off his shame spiral and trying to guess before it loads whether or not it’ll be another picture, when he stops.
How bad do you have to be at giving head to put this ad out?
Shane pauses. Reads it again.
Well… it’s not a dick pic. Or spam, apparently. He takes a breath, swallows, and begins to type.
I met a loevly girl who said I needded practicre|
Nope. Not that. Shane backspaces and decides to switch to water for now. Lovely? That’s weird. Keep it simple.
I was told I’m ‘timid’ and not ‘enthusiastic’ enough.
He hits send, grabs some water, and has just unscrewed the lid when the reply comes through.
You just haven’t had a good teacher
Shane swallows again. Um.
Do you have any advice?
The reply is immediate.
I’m more of a hands on instructor. Do you go to McGill?
Right. Yes. He’d filed his ad under /Mcgill.
Yeah, I’m a second year. You?
Also second.
A few moments later, another reply.
So why were you not enthusiastic? Most are very enthusiastic when they see my dick.
Oh. Shane was not expecting that. He had been imagining a girl on the other end of the screen, and it shortcircuits his brain for a moment. He rereads the message twice, rolling his eyes at the arrogance of the message, before he manages to type out a reply.
Sorry, I’m looking for a woman to teach me. I’m not gay. Thanks though?
There. Shane sits back again and heaves out a sigh. This really was a bad idea. He didn’t mean to use a question mark at the end but he supposes it illustrates his point even more, because mostly he’s just grateful that this guy didn’t affront him with images of his dick like so many others did.
Before he gets a chance to close the tab, though, another message pops up.
You put M only on your ad.
Shane blinks, fumbles back onto his laptop to check his post. Fuck, he did. He’d meant to write M4F only. He thought he’d done so well. That explains the dick pics, at least.
He’s typing out an apology for misleading this guy when another message comes through.
I’m not gay either. Bisexual. Sometimes the best teacher is former student yes?
What?
I don’t know…
It’s okay if you don’t want to.
Shane swallows. Types out a message, deleted it. Types again. I didn’t say that.
You’re scared, I get it.
Shane can practically hear the teasing in the guy’s tone. Fuck you, Shane emails back immediately. I’m not scared.
Perfectly normal to be scared. This is usual reaction to my dick.
Several seconds go by before another reply.
Because it’s so big, get it?
No pressure… but you could at least rule it out.
Shane knows what he means. He’s embarrassed to say he realises it immediately, is so attuned to this stranger’s words that he understands what is being unsaid. He could be…
Huh.
He’s surprised to find a heat coiling in his stomach for the second time tonight, but this one isn’t a simmering warmth. It’s like seeing molten lava coming from far away, the sensation of the burning before it ever reaches him.
This guy seems confident enough, at least. It sounds like he could have some advice for Shane, even if nothing else. And if something else happens…
no but are we going to address the fact that this week on 9-1-1, eddie thawne from the flash aka rick cosnett finished his three-episode run playing a smuggling cruise director by falling off a balcony in a sinking ship and breaking a ton of bones. he was then cradled by athena where, with his final breath, he uttered ‘thank you for choosing oceanic…’ and then DIED.
i am still so FLABBERGASTED by the 'you wanna go for the title?' scene several years later.
like. buck's hand on his waistband?? him saying 'oh, i'd still take you' with the little smirk? eddie replying 'you think so?' with that little daring edge to his voice? EDDIE'S FACE WHEN BUCK ASKS 'YOU WANNA GO FOR THE TITLE?'
listen i don't care if buddie becomes canon (i do but not the point) ... i just need both oliver stark and especially ryan guzman to admit they've been playing those boys FRUITY from day fucking one
Netflix stop making new shows with good plots and/or good lgbt and poc charaters that you then leave undeveloped after one season in favor of the same 4 cishet basic bitch franchises challenge
i watch taylor zakhar perez in rwrb and i don't see him at all because he just IS alex, y'know? and then i watch the kissing booth 2 and it's more like it's just taylor trying really hard not to laugh
yeah, hailee steinfeld has arcane, hawkeye, dickinson, and across the spiderverse trailer all dropping at once, but she does not have range. she plays the same unhinged lesbian in all of them
y’all are making SUPREME edits of NWH as if the clips aren’t even worse quality than larry evidence videos… what am i gonna do with myself when the hd version comes out huh
“todd anderson and neil perry are sirius black and remus lupin variants in a different timeline” i say into the mic. everyone applauds and cheers. i’m right.
first chapter of my new anderperry fic just dropped <3 it's a fix-it hurt/comfort with mutual pining because i make the rules and the rule is that everyone is happy.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
