Warnings: Jeff/Annie, spoilers for 1x09
Rating: M for language and semi-graphic smut, 4,900 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters, now or in any future fic. ...Title from Courtney Love song "But Julian (I'm a Little Older Than You)"

Summary: After the debate ended Jeff got blackmailed, guilted, and seduced right into bed. Overall, he was impressed.

Comments: Yeah, so, I didn't think there was enough sex in this fandom. You're welcome!


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YouKnow How When Your Phone Went Dead? Well, That Was Me On the Other End

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Simmons flew across the stage and Jeff, trapped in a state of dumbstruck silence that could only be achieved by having a twenty-something paralytic soaring toward you at a frankly implausible height, had enough time to philosophically ponder what was about to happen. He was reminded of Jonathon Seagull, pretentious ascendant sea bird. It a literary image only Pierce could appreciate, and just thinking it made him feel old, but he could not escape the mesmerizing vision falling toward him. The asshole landed on Jeff's chest and he instinctively caught the small man.

"He hates me, yet, he caught me." The audience roared. "Man is good!"

It was not fair, it was utterly not fair. They had beaten Simmons into the podium floor with statistics and Jesus, yet somehow he'd made Jeff participate in his own team's destruction. How could he have gotten so much height from a machine with a top speed of ten? How could they argue against the fact that Jeff did hate the guy--and caught him anyway? It was true. It was unfair. Why the fuck had he let himself get pulled into this situation when he could be drinking martinis with adults in a place that required twenty-one years and a minimum gross income of a hundred grand to get past the door?

Asshole Debator was laughing against his uniform team sweater. The crowd still applauded. This had to be hell.

Someone grabbed Jeff's face with small hands, then for the briefest moment he saw Annie's blue eyes expanding in his vision like angry oncoming headlights. She left him with no time to think, to ask, to breathe a blustery yes, yes, totally yes please before she attached her mouth to his mouth and went for full tongue. It was weird, and it was deadly silent except the screaming train running down the tunnel of his brain, rattling his insides and roaring that shit, oh shit, he was making out with little orphan Annie and now everyone in the auditorium must be dead because the room had gone deathly quiet and here he was, holding a dead body while the impossible happened and he was probably going to feel the fires of hell at any moment if he hadn't already arrived as previously speculated.

What an excellent question, Jeff Winger's lawyer brain (coincidentally, the same region as his dick brain) asked itself. Why was he holding this piece of dead weight?

It didn't even take three seconds to drop Jeremy Simmons. Jeff spun and planted his hands right over Annie's hips, pulling her against his chest (and every other interesting part of him) until she stood on his toes and he could felt her breath change in her ribcage before anywhere else. She shoved him back, one hand over his heart, her voice talking a million miles an hour as she made her final, devastating conclusion. The audience cheered, which surprised Jeff, because he'd quite forgotten they existed. Hey, everyone wasn't dead and the world hadn't ended because Annie kissed him. That was good! Except now everyone was looking at him and drawing their own conclusions, which would not be so good tomorrow. He dropped his hands from Annie's stomach as if she had tentacles.

"Is that off-book enough for you?" She smiled an ambitious, pretty smile that Jeff could feel all the way down his spine. He opened his mouth to describe his opinion on the last thirty seconds of his life, but words chose that moment to fail him. He was beginning to understand how the last thirty seconds had occurred, and while saying he was impressed would have been an understatement, it also would have been the least relevant emotion he was feeling.

It didn't matter; Annie turned away, moved on, and the Greendale crowd roared their approval at this new dramatic form of debate. The lights of the gymnasium burned against his retinas, and Jeff rocked on his heels as she had her moment.

After the hullabaloo died down and the victors parted with celebratory head-pats, it took nearly forty minutes to get back to his car. He was delayed along his way by a series of obstacles: a little bald bureaucrat who called himself a dean but never seemed to do the things a dead did, who wanted to discuss the state regional competition of debate and/or billiards; Shirley and Abed being chased by a ferocious border collie; Britta attempting to explain the true genius of Pierce. Yes, Jeff was fond of these people, but enough was enough and all he wanted as he crossed the black pavement and beeped his car was to go home. He got in, checked the air conditioning, and pulled out of brake.

"You know," said Annie from behind him, "You should use the emergency brake every time, not just on hills."

Jeff screamed--yelped--a little. It was a manly yelp, and he'd had a long day.

"There's no point unless I'm on a slope," he replied, going for the lesser of two evil conversations. She shook her head at his appalling life ignorance despite the fact that she was, what, thirteen? Naturally, he took that thought and glanced at her breasts in the rear view mirror. She looked a lot older than thirteen, and her kisses tasted like the spearmint Lifesavers she chewed to stay focused.

"It's not useless," Annie recited. "It ingrains you with a permanent habit that costs nothing and might one day keep your Lexus from rolling off a curb into, um, a lake or something."

Fuck this, he was going for the evil conversation. "Annie, what are you doing in my car? How did you get into my car?" Her eyes widened, and Jeff could not believe it. "Oh Christ, did you, Annie Edison, actually steal my spare key yesterday? I spent forty minutes looking for that."

"Let's go to a bar," she said, changing the subject.

"I'm not going to take you drinking," he said just as fast.

She flipped her hair with one hand and swung it around to the other side of her neck, which made him feel positively voyeuristic from the mirror. "Well I just won us the epic debate," Annie reminded him, "And I don't want to go home. Take me somewhere, please!"

"I'll take you back to the Greendale entrance."

"Liar liar," she sing-songed. Then she had the nerve to crawl over the arm rest and plop in the front seat beside him, brushing his shoulders with her hips for bonus anxiety. "You live at Leafbrook Apartments, right? Let's go hang out there."

He was going to leave that alone, just like he left the car key alone. Clearly she was magic and came by information through immoral means that probably involved big Bambi eyes and bribery.

"I am not, under any circumstances, going to take you home with me." Jeff wrinkled his forehead as he said this, and tried to stare her down with his culminated age and authority.

"Jeff."

"I am not, under any circumstances, going to--" here he tried not to think about holding Annie's waist against his while she dominated his mouth, but he was having trouble, "--take you home with me."

She whined, "Jeff, my family's out of town." Then she let her bottom lip stick out, the ballsy chick. "I'm lonely, and tonight I've won something big, something that mattered to me, for the first time since rehab. I need to celebrate." Then she laughed--a bright, pretty laugh--and punched his arm. "I need to have fun! Have fun with me, Jeff."

When a woman said that sentence, it was impossible for Jeffrey Winger to turn her down. It called out every aspect of his nature, obliterating his bluff of disinterest. A beautiful young woman was asking him to have fun, and he had no defenses. To compromise, he took her bowling.

After eight strikes in three games, he was almost to the point of asking if she were on performance drugs again. It was against the nature of the universe that an eighteen year old be so ridiculously good at a game that outdated her by eighty years. When all the pins collapsed for the ninth time, Annie spun around and raised her hands in victory. She even did a little jig, wiggling her ass in the cutest way and pointing a finger.

"You're gonna looo-ooose," she sang.

There was no arguing with the night's scoreboard, but he declared, "Step aside, half-pint. I've bidden my time long enough, but the moment's come to yank that spotlight back to where it belongs. Be prepared to be bowled over."

"Ooohh," said Annie. "I'm a little scared."

Jeff swung his arm back, and launched his fourteen pound ball at the aisle with perfect manly grace.

Annie watched his butt (he could tell even from behind), then watched the pins fall. "Seven, ouch."

"You're not half as cute when you're smug," he snapped, but that was an exaggeration too. Annie sidled up beside him.

"I thought you were into arrogance?" She didn't ask the question the way Britta or Shirley would have asked it; no wiggly eyebrows were involved. Coming from Annie, it sounded more like a question about his taste in sandwich toppings. "Isn't that your thing?"

Nope, zip, nada. Nothing flirtatious in that voice, and yet their elbows were touching, and as they both looked from the video scoreboard to each other, they ceased to be in the bowling alley. They were back at the study table twenty four hours in the past, staring into each others' eyes. All his instincts reported up to his brain that this woman--this female-shaped person smiling with curiosity just a few inches away--was genuinely interested in knowing what turned him on.

Jeff said, "It's your turn to decimate my pride again." He picked up her bowling ball and handed it to her.

"You always ignore me when I ask personal questions," she accused, adding pout for flavor.

"Life's not fair."

Oh, those words had come back to haunt him. Life was not fair, not fair, not fair at all, Jeff thought as he opened the door to his apartment and Annie trailed in. He'd taken a hot girl on a date comprised of competitive sport, it had lasted until they were kicked out at midnight, and the same hot girl had blackmailed him into following him home. He was still fuzzy on how that had happened.

Now she was in his living room, looking at his stuff, and he was not planning to do even one interesting thing about the situation. Because he was the new Jeff, the humanized Jeff. Jeff attended Greendale Community College and understood his place in the universe. He respected his female friends and he did not prey on women under the drinking age. New Jeff was goddamned saint.

"Towels are in the bathroom." He pointed and Annie nodded. He tossed her a top sheet and a blanket from the linen closet. Despite the laughter and four games of bowling, it was coming up on 'good night', and they'd proved in the last two days that goodbyes of any kind would be hopelessly awkward. He decided to skip that part of the evening. "You can see the kitchen from here, mi casa es su casa, etcetera etcetera. I'm going to bed," he added with fierce pointedness. "If you don't like the couch, there's a futon against the wall behind it."

"Okay," said Annie. "You know, I expected worse. This place is so tasteful. And a little tame."

He glanced at his light blue walls and the black furniture with cream accents, all of it crowded into a tiny space where once it lounged in the open wilds of a two thousand dollar condo. "You expected me to have, what, a bachelor's den of iniquity?"

"Kind of," she admitted. "Maybe a few gold sequins on the sofa. Or framed posters of classic playboy spreads?"

"News flash Annie," he said before closing the bedroom door, "Men with gross apartments never get laid. Keep that rule in mind when Troy finally asks you to brunch."

A depression in the mattress pulled him from a dream about Pierce being arrested for running an under-the-table hot dog stand, but it was Annie's hand on his leg that sent him shooting upright.

"Holy shit Annie!" Jeff felt a compulsion to cover his chest, but he squashed it because, well, it was his fucking bed and a man had every right to be naked in his own bed if he wanted. Not even Britta could call him a creep for that.

Annie's great plan of seduction must have relied on him being absolutely still or something, because she instantly leaned away and started to fuss. "Oh, I'm sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean to wake you!"

"What the hell else could you mean?" he demanded. "I mean, seriously?"

"Alright, yes, um. Yes." She adjusted her bra strap. Jeff couldn't quite make his brain accept that she was only wearing a bra. He looked south quickly, but it was too dark to tell if she still had her jeans on. Annie took two deep breaths. "Hello," she said in a lower, sexier voice.

There were a lot of ways Jeff felt he might take this evening, but to decide that he'd have to decide if he was happy about this scenario or not. Plus side #1: The woman in his bed was seriously hot and she wanted him. That was a major plus, very difficult to debate, but Jeff gave it his lawyer best.

Down side #1: The hot woman was the very, very young rabbit-in-the-headlights Annie, who had tears ducts of evil and the potential to control his life at Greendale for better or worse. CIRCUMSTANTIAL.

Down side #2: It could destroy his study group. After all the trials and tribulations, he liked his study group. Training a new one meant extra work. PLAUSIBLE INFERENCE.

Down side #3: Britta would not touch him after this. FACT.

"Annie," he said, thinking that the three just about pulled level with the one. "We should talk about this before either of us loses any more clothes."

"Do you have any clothes to lose?"

The question stymied Jeff, but he recovered: "Irrelevant."

"Thought so," said Annie, her tone lapsing back to perky-snitty teenage normal. He already missed the sexy voice, but this did make things easier. He tried to put himself in her shoes.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Annie. Or to the others."

"I know that!" she snapped. She took another deep breath, like she was counting it out in her head.

"Then what is it?"

"Aren't I allowed to want you like any other girl? Is that so wrong?"

"It is if you're just transferring your crush from Troy to me. I'm too old to remember the intricate diplomacy of high school politics."

Annie put a hand to her head, and groaned in a way that was the opposite of sexy. "There is no 'transference' going on. And I'm not here because of Abed's stupid films, either."

He wasn't ready to dampen his skepticism, even if his pride was egging him to give in and get busy. "So this isn't just a crush thing?"

"No. Well, maybe," she corrected, waving a hand in the frustrated space between them. "Okay, yes, I do have a crush on you. You probably expect every girl to have a crush on you!" Jeff did--it was an pillar of his world view. "But that's not why I'm in your bed."

His eyes had adjusted to the dark at last, and he couldn't stop staring at her shoulders in the faint light from under the door. "Enlighten me, Annie. But talk fast please."

She leaned back on her tucked-in heels, and folded her hands primly. Her posture was straight, which made her hair fall attractively on her bare skin when she tilted her head. New Jeff may have been a noble and valiant knight, but knights had a historically questionable reputation for debauchery. Annie sighed, and he felt it move the still air in the room.

"It's only that, well. I won tonight."

Jeff needed a few moments to work this statement out, taking her Standard American English sentence and filtering it through the Annie Reality Matrix. He came out on the other end with a sentiment that did not seem plausible. In fact, it seemed ridiculous.

"So what you're saying is...I'm your prize?"

Annie's posture dropped its confidence about twenty percent. "If I said yes, would it make me a horrible person?"

"Well." She was too fucking precious. It was working on him. "Yes."

"Oh."

He said, "It's okay, you know. I like occasionally horrible people. And you have the right to be selfish sometimes, when you're happy. I just don't want to accidentally break your heart when you've gone to all this work, which is damn flattering by the way, but you're young and easily swayed by my personal charm--"

Annie put a finger to his mouth. "You put up a good fight tonight, Jeff. I'll tell anyone who asks that you're not an evil seducing jerk." She grinned. "Are we done talking about this?"

"Hell yeah," he said, and pulled her to him with all the passion he'd been suppressing since the debate ended. No, even further back, since the moment she let her hair loose and asked him point-blank to notice her. This kiss was just as crazy and just as brilliant as the original. Better, actually, because he had hands and knew how to use them. They notified libido central that Annie Edison wasn't wearing pants after all.

"I really want you," Jeff moaned, pulling his mouth from hers and letting his forehead slide along her neck.

She said, "I know," and made a girlish noise, wrapping her legs around his waist and forcing him flat against the bed.

"Picking a position, I see. Is this part of your victory fantasy?" he asked, getting her bra unhooked in three flicks of his hand. Beat that, little bastards of Greendale High. Experience was king.

She paused in the middle of removing the bra straps. "Do you mind?"

The laugh traveled up Jeff's abdomen and rippled out of him, so inescapable that his whole body shuddered with it. "Are you kidding? Annie, Annie, I'm all yours."

Her returning smile brightened the scope of his vision, and she splayed both hands against his chest as she rocked her ass against his groin. "I know I'm not an expert, but think I'm wearing too much underwear for this."

"Definitely." He lifted her tiny waist to the side, she shimmied a little, and the underwear problem was resolved. He barely had time to grab a condom from a bedside drawer before she was above him again. "Any other requests? By all means, take your time."

"I'm good," said Annie, and lowered herself slowly onto his cock. Jeff grabbed the bedsheets and told himself over and over again not to move.

"Hey," he murmured, when she seemed to be settling in. She may not actually have been a virgin thanks to her gay ex-boyfriend, but she was every bit as tight. It was amazing, and it was going to drive him mad any minute now. This was little Annie, though, and whatever was going on here, he was not going to mess it up.

"Hey," Annie said back, softly, and then he knew what was missing. Pushing up from the mattress, Jeff took her chin in both hands and kissed her again. He felt her relax at last, melting against him in all the amazing places where they touched. He wanted to make it the best kiss of her life, softer than the ones before but with other things to make up for it. When she moaned and started to move against his hips, he wanted her to feel the contact everywhere. He wanted Annie to remember it, and remember him, just exactly like this.

There was little talking after that. She was a quick study, his Annie. They moved together well, rolling with the natural chemistry so newly unveiled in their wake. It had taken them half a semester to discover this, and less than two days to go from fear of lip-locking to working it out physically in Jeff's bedroom. He might have felt bad about that if she hadn't been so relentlessly persistent tonight, but instead he felt free to revel in the joy of their moment. Annie, Annie, AnnieAnnieAnnieAnnie his brain repeated, liking it more with each rising crest. He made sure that when she came the first time it was above him, and they slid together every wet inch until she stopped quivering enough to kiss him.

"Come on," she moaned into his lips, and tightened every controllable muscle in her pelvis until he was shuddering too, warm and close as she rode him through it.

They tried other ways as the evening progressed, Jeff learning a new partner and Annie learning a new world. She'd asked to have fun with him, and in the spirit of friendship he was going to show her a fan-fucking-tastic time. It was the Jeff Winger guarantee. Besides, his soft spot for Annie had become a soft cavity the last few months; one might even label it a sinkhole. Tonight's activity could turn it into a basin if he didn't keep a level head, especially when she looked up at him and giggled in the middle of her orgasm because he still had the presence of mind to make jokes.

Yeah, he was slowly finding out, Annie was great like that. In fact, she was really surprisingly great, great great great, as she approached lovemaking with the uncontrolled ferocity that she approached studying. The awkward inexperience she'd let bury her in the past was overshadowed by determination, experimentation, and rapid enjoyment of her own power. In truth he found her exhausting, but when they finally fell asleep you couldn't have wiped the smile off his face with a wire sponge. Around seven hours later he opened his eyes to see her lying on his chest, hair making dark feathered curves.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," came a sleepy, delicious voice behind the cascade.

"Didn't like the futon, huh?"

"My pillow wasn't as nice as you."

"I'm an accommodating guy." Annie chuckled, and poked him above the heart. Then she walked her fingers across his muscles and down to the mattress, like a little peachy figurine made entirely of legs. The figurine landed on the four-hundred thread count Egyptian cotton and twirled there in ballerina fashion.

"I hesitate to wreck a perfectly wonderful moment," he said without any hesitation at all, "but what is so fascinating about my linens? There's more interesting stuff happening up here, trust me. Or, there will be, in a minute."

She chuckled again, louder this time. "They're blood red. I knew you had slut sheets."

"They're burgundy, and they're not slut sheets. They're classic sexy."

"Whatever," said Annie, and kissed him.