Here in your bedroom, ounce for ounce.

--Violent Femmes

AN: This is the promised "b side" that goes to the end of Chapter 16 of my fic Good Feelings. And let's just say--it left most of its plot behind in that story :)


Claire Standish was lying in her bed with a boy who could be dangerous and she'd just asked him to put his hands in her shirt. This was a different state of affairs from what she was used to. She wasn't sure she could ever get used to it, and she wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

Her skin and body felt heated under the boy's hands and she could feel each place on her skin where his hands had touched and then stopped touching. His touch made trails on her skin like bright light makes in darkness, burning white then fading into colors beneath closed lids.

She had butterflies beneath her skin like she had all week and some continued to flutter in delicious expectation but some of them were nervous butterflies, not sure about spreading their wings so soon.

Claire did not know why she kept going a little farther with John Bender than she felt like she should, or than she was quite ready for, but there it was. In the moment when he'd be angry or she'd be angry they'd both be so hot there was no stopping it, and the frenzy and even the anger had helped make it ok for her—a contrast to the control of their 'lessons,' those frenzied moments made sex less a decision to be made than a means of avoidance, an out. It was, as John had growled, stopping thinking. It meant not having to think through her own want.

It meant making John do all the thinking.

Claire was vaguely aware of doing something not quite right, but she didn't know what it was.

She'd asked him to put her hands up her shirt because she knew how much he liked hearing it and because she'd agreed beforehand and gotten what she wanted. If the general balance was that a girl wanted feelings and a boy wanted sex, then the exchange was working as it should. If it was true that feelings made a girl want sex and sex made a boy agree to feelings, then wasn't this how things should be? Although if anyone had asked her what she would need in order to feel comfortable going to second base with a boy, she would not have said a story about a sloth.

Then again, comfortable wasn't the word.

These feelings must have registered in her eyes or her breathing because John Bender, instead of plunging his hand up and on like she had expected, had slowed his movements and was lying next to her, propped on his elbow, playing with the straps of her camisole lazily, as he had done before. He looked relaxed, strangely at home on her ridiculous pink and white princess bed. A smile played over his lips, as if he had thought of a joke.

"I think we'd better have some review of this material, Claire." His voice sounded lazy and controlled at the same time but there was a veiled urgency underlying the surface tones that made Claire catch her breath. The fact that John Bender wanted her and wanted her enough to control himself was endlessly fascinating and exciting to Claire, as was the thought of having that control vanish. The glimpses she'd had of that grown-up want and hunger in his eyes and in his mouth were exciting and dangerous and the hottest things she'd ever seen. But the way he could be controlled while she was losing control herself was maybe the second hottest thing and she knew that could be dangerous too, in a different way.

But this, this having the time to feel—it was so different from the closets and the classrooms and the anger. It gave her time to feel nervous.

And then again, there was John's finger, tracing its path over her cashmere camisole, tracing over the curves of her, where fabric met skin, hooking under, grazing her skin, trailing down her middle and then tracing up beneath the sweater, stroking between her shirt and her sweats lazily, back and forth and sending trails of heat and fluttering wings out from his fingers, underneath her shirt, underneath her skin. But he did not touch her on her bra. He was not going up her shirt. And Claire didn't know what to think about that.

She looked at him, but he was looking at her body and his eyes and his face seemed focused on that, seemed pleased with that, but were not giving anything else away.

Claire could feel that sense of want, now, in her chest. It was like an ache underneath the fluttering. It was like an ache to be touched but it was also like a fear, a fear of feeling too much, too much good, like eating only frosting could be too sweet and leave you with a sick feeling afterwards.

She looked at him. "Don't you want to—" She'd asked, after all.

He smiled, one side of his mouth going up farther than the other, like he was trying to rein it in.

"What's your hurry?" John started tracing slow figure eights on her chest, around her breasts, grazing the sides of them, but not touching them, and his touch was so light it was barely there at all. He put his mouth close to her ear and started talking. At the feel of his breath in her ear she could feel her body arch and she could feel his chuckle.

"See, Claire, I know you said that because you know I like to hear you say it. That in itself is hot as hell, I gotta say. I also know you said that because we had a bargain, and you want to do right by me, which is sweet as hell—which I realize makes no sense because hell isn't sweet but I already explained my brain doesn't work around you because of the hot as hell effect I discussed earlier."

John shook his head out a little and buried his face in her neck a minute. "God, you smell good." He shifted from circles for a minute to up and down lines, tracing all the way down her front and all the way up her neck to trace her jaw, then back down, slowly, watching how she moved and fluttered under his touch. Claire felt like all her insides were turning to liquid and she felt her hips move a little and then she felt John smile against her neck, and then he started talking again, "Anyway, what I was saying before I got lost for a minut there—what I was saying is that this tells me—and I want you to listen carefully, here, because there may be a quiz on this later—what this tells me is that you think that me touching you there, me feeling you up and putting my hands all over your chest, touching you all over here—you think that's something you're gonna let me do. You think that's something you're doing for me."

"Is that bad?" asked Claire nervously, shifting her body a little under his touch.

"No, like I said. I am—" and here he firmed his touch a little and started in with the circles again, making them just a little smaller, coming closer, and Claire found herself astonished by how badly her skin could want something, like it had a will of its own, "totally down with you wanting to make things hot for me, which is something at which you fucking excel, as you know. But this time, there's no rush, no panic and I think I want—I want to—cause you to revise your opinion on my feeling you up and who benefits. Can you see that?"

He didn't stop moving his hands but he wasn't touching her right where she wanted—right where she'd been afraid to have him touch.

"For someone who can't think, you seem to be doing a lot of talking," said Claire, petulantly. Her nervousness was getting drowned out by her skin.

"You fucking love my talking in your ear, Claire Standish, but what else did you have in mind?"

"I told you," whispered Claire, feeling herself arch toward his hand, and then he started sucking slowly on her neck and she felt a kind of moaning cry come out of her mouth and she felt John chuckle again.

"I should have warned you, Princess, I have a terrible memory. What did you tell me?"

"Fuck you," said Claire, between clenched teeth. She wasn't nervous any more. She wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. He knew what he was doing to her, and if he didn't touch her soon she thought she might die.

"No, I won't. Not yet. Not even close." And now his voice got more gravelly, sharper. More like a growl, but still contained, controlled, but like it was harder to pull off and so sexy she thought she might scream just from the sound, let alone his breath and his tongue in her ear between words. He'd stopped the light circles and now just had his hand flat on her chest, broad and slightly rough against her skin, still not moving over her bra. "Because Princess, every single thing I do to you, with you, or for you, I am going to do because you are desperate for me to do it, because you want it so fucking bad that you will go out of your mind if I don't. And not one second before. Because that is how I feel all the fucking time and I think it's cute when couples match like that." He moved his hand down a fraction—and then he hooked his finger under her bra strap and started playing with that. "Hmm. Light purple. Interesting." And he started right in on the circles again.

Somewhere, she registered his use of the word "couple" but she was too far gone in want to even react. "John—" He stared at her and his eyes looked dark black.

"For me or for you, Princess?"

She swallowed hard and just looked at him. She couldn't really speak. Staring at her, he started moving his hand down and then lightened the touch as he finally moved his hand over her, over her sweater, on the swell of her breast and then down. His hand on her was feather light but she arched up into it like she'd been shocked. She could feel tears in her eyes.

He spoke again. He didn't sound so controlled now, but suddenly, she couldn't look at him. "Like that? Is that what you want? Do you want me to touch you there?"

Claire nodded, but couldn't meet his eyes.

"Look at me and tell me, Claire."

It was hard to talk through her breathing, she raised her eyes to his face and his eyes didn't look black anymore, they looked—gentle. They looked full of yearning, like she'd seen before. She licked her lips and found her voice. "I want you to touch me there—I want—it feels like you said." She felt a tear roll out of her eye. She didn't know why she was crying.

He kissed the tear. "Just tell me if you want me to stop, sweetheart."

She shook her head no.

And then his hand was on her, tracing under, tracing over, and then cupping her fully and it was like nothing she'd ever felt. His hand was over the cashmere and she could feel its texture through her bra and then she felt his mouth come down onto hers and his tongue was wet and thick on her lips and in her mouth and his hand was over her, rubbing and cupping and teasing and then he took the tips of his fingers and grazed over her. She felt herself harden there more under his fingers and she moaned into his mouth, she was already moaning, arching up into him, and it was like trails of pleasure were going from where his hand was to everywhere throughout her body, between her legs, and then he put one leg over her and she could feel his erection on the outside of her thigh and then she noticed he was panting hard too.

She turned to him so they were chest to chest and he kept his hand on her, then moved it between their bodies so he could rub both her breasts at the same time, never stopping the rhythm of tongue on tongue. Suddenly, he broke the kiss, rolled on his back, moved his hand to her back, moved up her shirt in the back and put his other hand on her back to. He guided her Claire on top of him so she was straddling him, for the first time. She could feel him hard underneath her. She adjusted a little and watched in fascination as this incredible expression passed over his face and his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he moaned out, "Jesus fuck, Claire."

And he looked at her like she might be about to kill him.

Claire looked down at him and smiled, feeling a little shy and bashful. She bit her lip. His hand stilled on her and moved down to rub the tops of her thighs. He looked pretty pleased with himself but she figured that was ok. He'd made a good point.

"Ok." She said, really feeling a little embarrassed. But not so nervous any more. "So. You were right. I did kind of think that was something we did for you. Wow."

John rolled his eyes back. "It works out well for us too, believe me," and he moved both hands onto her chest and started massaging her breasts. Claire moaned again and arched back, that felt so good, and John shifted underneath her. She looked at him, suddenly worried.

"Is this ok?"

Staring at her like she might be crazy, he broke into a smile and took both nipples between his thumb and forefinger and pressed in. Claire gasped and felt her hips twitch against him. "Do you have any fucking idea how good you feel, Claire?"

"Yeah," she breathed, and rocked backwards a little, "but I was talking about you." Claire was surprised she could speak. The feel of his hands on her and his cock pulsing up against her was so intense and so—ok with her, really, better than ok, that she was surprised there was any room for words. But she was worried because—she didn't feel like she wanted to go further. She felt, in fact, like this could take some getting used to.

"Very funny." John sounded a little pained but—definitely not bored. And he sounded—happy. And excited. Like—not just turned on excited. Like, boy in a candy shop excited. He sounded—cute. "Claire, do you remember how you gave me that little cashmere lesson in that classroom yesterday? Do you have any idea how much I wanted to do this right then?"

Claire blushed. She shook her head no.

"That's because you're a fucking idiot, then. This is like guy heaven, ok?"


"You love it."

"I love it," she agreed simply, and watched as Johns eyes widened. She bent down and kissed him on the mouth, then on the bruise she'd left earlier. Lingering down close to him, she started kissing him and talking between kisses. "I love the whole thing. I love being with you. I love kissing you. I love teasing you. I love meeting you in closets and I love having you in my bed. I even kind of love fighting with you." She could feel her breasts pressing into his chest. She loved that too.

John took her face between his hands and just stared at her, and she realized his expression, his whole mood had changed. Like, suddenly had tears in his eyes again. "Are you saying more things you don't mean?" The words came out like he was struggling for a light tone. It hadn't worked.

Claire felt her lips curl up. How much did she love it when big tough John Bender got all puppy dog? For her? It was maybe the best thing ever. She put her hand up to his brow and stroked him there, letting her fingers trail through his hair. Then she felt his arms around her, hard. They gave a little squeeze as he asked again, more urgently, and to her surprise, sounding actually worried, "Are you?"

Shaking her head, Claire just said softly, "You know I'm not, John. Is that what scares you?"

And before Claire could blink, she was on her back again and John was on top of her and his mouth was all over her on her mouth, on her jaw, on her neck, in her ear, then licking all the way along the line of her sweater, back up. He slowed, started brushing her hair with his hand and just staring at her. "Say it again." There was a catch in his voice. His eyes were wet.

"I love the whole thing, John." She kissed his eyes, both of them, softly, tasting the salt on her tongue. "I love being with you. I love kissing you. I love getting kissed by you." She started moving under him in a rhythm with her words and felt him pressing into her, but holding back. She said softly, "Does it feel good to just—move against me? Or is it bad?"

Through gritted teeth, John managed, "It's not bad."

Then Claire had an idea. She had an idea that it might not be a usual thing to ask but it seemed like it made sense.

"Maybe—I mean, my parents will be home soon, probably—we'll hear them, but maybe, after a minute if you're—you know, sore? Maybe I could—go downstairs and you could—take care of yourself a little and maybe you could—think about me while you—while you did."

John stopped still and looked at her liked she'd sprouted a second head. "What?"

Claire blushed. "Well—is that stupid? Sorry. I thought—"

"It's not. Go on." John was staring at her, not moving a muscle.

"Well—I just thought—I mean, I hear—it can get uncomfortable for guys and I can't—I'm just not there yet. I like this but I—I might just like this—just like this for a while, you know?"

"Claire—I like this too. Claire—I love this. You don't—you don't have to worry about me, you—guys are full of shit, you know? It's not—it's not an obligation or—you just do what feels good, you don't do anything else, do you hear me? And I can't keep saying this, I'll be—kicked out of guydom for fucking ever."

He looked crazed. He looked crazed and worried and completely blown away at the same time. Claire nodded. "Ok." But then she continued. She couldn't help smiling. She was sure this could be a good idea. "I get that. But I thought you could maybe—and, you could think about me while you—you know, took care of yourself and I would—like that, I think. I would think it was sexy." She swallowed, then licked her lips, looking at him. "Like it wouldn't be just for you."

Shaking his head slightly, as if he might need to wake up, John spoke very deliberately. "You. Want me. To jack off thinking about you?"

"Would that not work?"

"It would fucking work. Claire—I can practically make myself come in Algebra class thinking about you. But you—would be ok with that?"

Claire shrugged, confused. "Why not? I mean—who else would I want you thinking about?" Then she realized. John Bender was blushing. "And I—I mean, I thought about you, and touched myself last night—"

"You did what?"

"I—I touched myself—I thought—I don't know, I thought you might like it and I—I liked it. I thought it was sexy. And I thought the idea of your liking it—I thought that was sexy too."

"You weren't wrong." John seemed to be getting over his completely surprising embarrassment because his breathing was getting heavier and his hand was back on her over her bra and Claire felt herself tighten under his hand and she watched him feel it too. He breathed in sharply. "Did you think about me touching you here? Did you touch yourself here and think of me?" He sounded fascinated.

"Yeah. But. It feels a lot better when you do it. But I also—I, you know, I thought about you, and I wore that scarf, and I—you know, touched myself down there. I don't usually. But it felt good. And so I thought--"

"Jesus. Claire." He was practically shouting and he pressed hard into her through his clothes. Claire found it felt pretty natural to hook a leg over his and start moving under him. He thrust into her and his eyes started to roll back. "God, Claire, that is the fucking sexiest thing I have ever heard in my entire life."

"So you think it would work if you—you know?"

"I think it would work in about 10 seconds. Keep talking." He was moving over her again and she liked the friction.

"I'm—I think I could get better at the talking thing."

"You're a fucking genius."

"I love getting kissed by you. I loved giving you a hickey and making you moan. I loved masturbating with a scarf and knowing you'd wear it." John let out a strangled moan. "I loved knowing I could see it on you in the halls and know where it had been." She felt John get even harder against her. "I love feeling you against me like that. I love it that I get—all—liquidy, like, inside, it feels like that inside, and then, between my legs, it feels like that too."

John let out a little whine. "Oh, God, Claire—"

She smiled a little. Two could probably play at the making someone want something so much they could die from it game. Claire arched up into him. He groaned. "Hey, John, look at me."

He stilled, and looked. Claire was now just having fun. They were always just trading power, she realized, back and forth, and she didn't know if she liked it better when he had it or she did. Right now, she was feeling pretty high on having it, though. "I love it that you like feeling me up. I want you to do it just like you said, like, practically the first things you said to me. Do you remember?"

Wide-eyed, John nodded. "Did you want me to do it then?" he asked.

"It was the first time I ever really wanted anything like that. It freaked me out. Did you want to do it then?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. You seemed like you hated me."

"Didn't mean you didn't have a nice chest. I'm maybe not the nicest guy in the world, but never mind. Now. Say it with me if you remember it so well."

And then she wanted him so badly—something about the idea of his wanting her right through his hate—that the power began to shift back the other way and she liked that too.

His hands moved with the words she spoke, laughing a little. "Under the blouse, over the bra, shoes off, hoping to hell your parents don't walk in? Then John's hand on the satiny fabric, so close to her, made her stop, made her feel serious, made her look at him.

"Was that a quiz? Do I pass?"

John nodded and this time didn't accompany it with a no. "Claire. I do like feeling you up. Seriously. A lot."

Claire nodded.

"And Claire—I don't hate you anymore."

She smiled.

"Mostly," he said, and dodged her swat.

"John—I'm going to kill you!"

"You already fucking are, Little Miss Claire-I-like-teasing-the-living-fuck-out-of-John-Bender-more-than-I-like-breathing Standish!"

Claire felt a little self-conscious. And really. Like he didn't like teasing her too. But then—he'd be perfectly happy to stop teasing, too. "Well—I thought I totally posed a workable solution for you."

And then he grabbed her again and kissed her some more. "I fucking love,"he said, between kisses, "your solution. I love it that you thought of it. I love it that you think bout me—it's so fucking sexy."

Claire giggled. "I think about you a lot. Duh."

"Duh yourself. If you think a little—discomfort—isn't worth hanging out with you in your bed while you talk dirty to me and sweet to me and let me dry hump you until I feel like I could scream—you're dead wrong."

He bit a trail down her neck and she felt it in her breath and in a new pulse between her legs. She gasped and he kissed her mouth again and then looked at her again. "And I promise you, there isn't a guy in school who wouldn't kill to be me right now, and I kind of dig that too. I dig—the whole thing, too, Claire."

And he even looked serious for a minute. Then he said, "Especially if you're really going to feed me and let me watch basketball."

Claire sniffed, starting to get up. "You used the word 'couple' to pertain to us. Don't even think I didn't catch that just because I couldn't use words at the time."

John stretched. "It can be—like a, verb. Meaning, like fucking. That was probably how I used it." He fell back into the pile of pink and white pillows, laughing. "Jesus Christ, Claire, I can't believe you called me a gentleman and made me blush in the same night. The world has gone completely insane."

"Just because you can use—grammar words—does not mean you can outsmart me, by the way." Claire brushed her hair out with her fingers and looked in the mirror, wiping some stray trails of eye makeup off her face. She seriously looked like she'd been in bed with a boy. Huh. She turned to John. "You will never in a billion million years learn not to underestimate me, will you? See you downstairs. Don't—you know, dirty anything on your way down."