Disclaimer: I don't own Hannah Montana.
A/N: To someone who may or may not be reading—these are my memories too, and you gave up your say over what I do with them when you decided to leave. Do I wish that the events in this fic had come to pass for us in real life? The answer is yes. But it's too late, isn't that right? I have a boyfriend now, and I don't want you anymore. :3
To everyone else—this is my very first smut fic, and I'm extremely nervous about posting it. Constructive criticism is much appreciated. xD
/No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem\
by Made of Ossum (aka GiGi)
I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve;
The shrieks could be heard all the way up in Miley's room. When they started, she just rolled her eyes and continued studying. But as they progressed, her curiosity got the best of her, and she set her pencil down to go investigate.
As she wandered downstairs to the first floor of the house, the shrieking became more audible, and Miley could make out actual words.
"Ahh! No! Stop it! You're breaking my arm!"
"Oh, come on! Quit whining like a baby and BE A MAN!"
Miley shuffled into the kitchen to find her two best friends sitting opposite one another, gripping hands fiercely across the table. "What the heck are y'all doing?" she inquired, eyeing the both of them with a strange look upon her face.
"Arm-wrestling," Lilly answered immediately, never once looking up at the new spectator or breaking her concentration.
"More like…arm-breaking," Oliver gasped out in pain. It was then that Miley noticed his forehead was covered in sweat, whereas Lilly's looked completely dry. Oddly enough, she found that this observation made her think about what other kinds of activities would make him sweat, and she desperately tried to focus on something else.
Like how sadly he was losing. To a girl.
Lilly must have applied more force just at that moment or something, because suddenly Oliver was interrupting all of Miley's thoughts with his shrieks of, "Mercy, mercy!"
Miley's eyes went wide and concern instantly flooded her. Obviously he'd had enough. Why didn't Lilly just stop already? But before she could open her mouth to say anything, Oliver's arm came crashing down onto the table, and Lilly leaped from her chair in victory—almost toppling it over in her excitement.
"I WON! IN YOUR FACE, WIMP!" she screeched.
Miley rushed over to Oliver's side and put an arm around his shoulders. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly. "I could get you, like…an ice pack or something."
Oliver shot her a dirty look. "Are you questioning my manhood?" he demanded.
"You have no manhood left to question after that fail," Lilly laughed.
He swung around to turn his glare on her. "Go to hell, Lilly," Oliver shot back.
"Why would I want to do that? To visit you?" she asked, smiling innocently.
"Oh, you think you're so damn funny," he sneered.
"No, I don't think so," Lilly replied, her face totally serious. Then a smile pulled at her lips as she added, "I know so."
"That is it!" Oliver cried out, standing up and shoving his chair back.
"What are you going to do, huh? Strangle me with that weak little girly arm of yours?" Lilly mocked him as he advanced toward her.
"Just watch me!" he fumed.
"Guys!" Miley yelled, grabbing the back of Oliver's shirt and yanking him to a stop. "That's enough!"
Lilly shrugged. "It's not my fault Oliver is a sore loser."
"I am not!" he protested. "She's the sore winner! I mean, I lose one stupid arm-wrestling competition to a girl and suddenly I'm not a man anymore?"
Miley groaned. "Of course—"
"Ask yourself this, Oliver," Lilly interrupted her. "Were you ever really a man to begin with? Or did you just think you were until I proved you wrong?"
"Well, how about we make it two girls? THEN would you stop whining about your failure and accept the fact that you are not actually a man but rather a weak little boy?"
"Two girls?" Oliver repeated. "You mean like—I arm-wrestle Miley?" He burst into laughter, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Why are you laughing, Oliver? Are you saying that I can't take you?"
He chuckled some more and placed a hand on her shoulder. "No offence, Miley, but I'm pretty sure you don't stand a chance against me."
Her mouth dropped open. "You just got poned by Lilly!"
"Who is, if you remember, extremely athletic and much stronger than you."
"Oliver, while you may have a point there," Lilly cut in, "I'm pretty sure even Miley here could take down that puny little arm of yours."
"My arms are NOT puny!" he yelled.
She turned to Miley. "And who do you think would win at arm-wrestling? Oliver, or you?"
Miley crossed her arms and glowered at him. "Me, obviously."
"Then there we go!" Lilly declared. "Oliver, you arm-wrestle Miley, and if she beats you, you stop whining about your lack of manliness. Got it?"
Miley's eyes widened. "Hey, I didn't mean I actually wanted to arm-wrestle him!"
"Oh, so you're going to just challenge me like that and then back out?" he demanded. "I don't think so."
"I wasn't challenging you!" she exclaimed. "I was just answering a question!"
"Yeah, whatever. That was a total challenge."
"Come on, Miley," Lilly pleaded. "Do you really want to hear him bitch about this for the rest of the week?"
She bit her lip in uncertainty, mulling it over. Arm-wrestling wouldn't be so bad. After all, it was just like holding hands—with force...
"Why are you grinning like that?" Oliver asked curiously, causing her to jump.
"Wha—what? I wasn't—I wasn't grinning," she laughed nervously.
"Yes, you were," Lilly put in.
"No, I wasn't," Miley said through gritted teeth, staring at Lilly pointedly.
"Um, yeah, you were."
Miley groaned and rolled her eyes. So much for the support.
"Are you arm-wrestling me or not?" Oliver cut in impatiently.
"Fine!" she snapped back.
"Awesome! Then let's get it on." To Miley's surprise, he proceeded to throw a wink at her, making her wonder if he'd intentionally placed that innuendo there or not.
Even Lilly was eyeing them strangely as she opened her mouth to speak again. "Well, much as I'd love to stay and watch, I kind of promised Todd I'd go surfing with him right around"—she glanced at the clock on the wall—"now." She flashed both of her friends a grin. "Sorry."
Before either of them had time to process what had just happened, Lilly threw a cheery "bye!" over her shoulder as she breezed out the door, leaving Miley and Oliver to stare after her in shock.
"Well," Miley broke the silence, "I guess that solves it." She wandered into the living room and plopped down on the couch, picking up the remote control to turn on the TV.
"What are you talking about?" Oliver asked suspiciously, taking a seat next to her.
She turned to him with a shrug. "I'll just tell Lilly we arm-wrestled, and you beat me," she explained. "Everyone wins."
"Everyone does not win," he insisted, grabbing the remote from her hand. "I have to know if I'm stronger than you."
"You do not have to know anything, Oliver."
"You promised!" he whined.
She rolled her eyes. "What are you, five?"
"Miley." Oliver shook his head in disapproval. "You can't back out of a challenge, and you can't break a promise," he stated firmly.
She sighed. "Well then. You know what I think?"
Oliver raised his eyebrows at her in exasperation.
"I think...we should place bets on our arm-wrestling," Miley said slowly. "Like, if you lose, you have to take off your shirt." She flashed a huge grin at him.
"Strip-arm-wrestling?" Oliver burst out in shock, his brown eyes instantly growing wide. After a slight moment of thinking it over, however, he began to look intrigued. "...and you'd do the same?"
Miley's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa now. I did not say that."
"Then what would you do?" he asked curiously.
"Well, I was going to let you pick, but...yeah." She bit her lip.
"What's wrong with taking off your shirt?" Oliver prodded her.
Miley flushed scarlet. "Nothing, I guess..." After all, she showed more skin in her bikini, didn't she? "Is that what you want?"
"Didn't you get enough of Lautner's shirtless form in that stupid vampire movie you and Lilly watched last night?" he teased.
"Lautner isn't you," she smirked. "And you didn't answer my question." She pouted and crossed her arms against her chest.
"Oh my gosh, I really want some food," Oliver blurted out suddenly. "I'm like starving. Do you guys have any sushi?"
"No, and you still haven't answered my question!" Miley shot him a glare. "Stop trying to change the subject!"
"Can we just arm-wrestle now?"
"Come on, Miley. Please," he begged.
"Not until you agree to my bet," she said firmly.
"Which is...?" Oliver prodded.
"If you lose, then you have to take off your shirt. And if I lose, then..." She hesitated. "Whatever you want."
"You'll take off your shirt?" he immediately wanted to know.
"Is that what you want?" Miley asked in surprise (although she really should have expected it).
"Er...I can't really think of anything else that I...uh...'want' from you," Oliver mumbled uncomfortably, unable to make eye contact with her.
Anything else. Which meant he did want it. Miley tried extremely hard not to grin. "If you're sure," she shrugged nonchalantly.
"But what would we do?" Oliver asked.
"I'd just sit there...and you'd just sit there?"
Miley made a difficult attempt to block out several thoughts his comment brought to her mind, none of which would be appropriate to share with him. "How about...we cross that bridge when we come to it," she suggested with a slight smirk.
He seemed to accept this. "How long do we have to keep them off?"
"Um...that'll be up to the winner."
"Okay. But you're gonna force me to put mine back on after, like, one second."
Miley laughed, knowing there was no way in hell that would happen.
"I'm serious!" Oliver insisted. "I'm so skinny."
She just shook her head and smiled.
"Okay. I agree. Do you agree?"
"Yes, I agree," Miley nodded. "But um...where are we going to do this?"
"Someplace private," he joked.
"Duh. But where?"
Oliver eyed her strangely. "You have a bedroom in this house, don't you?"
"Yes...," she said reluctantly.
He just stared.
"Fine, we'll use my room!" Miley gave in exasperatedly. "And we're locking the door."
Oliver continued eyeing her for a few moments before randomly stating, "I don't think you're going to do it."
"I don't think you're going to take off your shirt."
She laughed. "No, I'm not. Because I'm going to win."
"On your mark. Get set. Go."
Miley strained against Oliver's arm, momentarily distracted by the way his muscles were bulging as they wrestled. She quickly shook the thoughts from her head, knowing that ogling him probably wasn't the best thing to do if she wanted to win. Forcing herself to focus, Miley glanced up into his eyes, only to find that his were staring down at her chest.
For a second, Miley felt a blush start creeping across her cheeks. But then she figured out what was going on—Oliver was visualizing what he wanted so that he was more motivated to beat her. It was...smart, actually, and Miley decided to try it herself. Until her arm came crashing down against the desk, and she realised too late that she had spent most of her time thinking rather than wrestling.
"I won," Oliver said slowly, looking pretty shocked for someone who had boasted so much of his manliness not long ago. As the realisation sunk in, a grin of triumph spread across his face. "I won!" he declared again, this time sounding much more confident and proud of himself than he had before.
Miley bit her lip. She wasn't surprised, not really. Oliver might be weak for a guy, but she was weak for a girl, so the results of their little arm-wrestling competition had been pretty obvious to her from the get-go. Still, the idea of stripping in front of him filled her with mixed feelings of both nervousness and excitement, and it made her stomach turn somersaults like the ones it did before a concert. Only even more so, if that was possible.
Oliver must have mistaken the look on her face for one of apprehension, because he added uncomfortably, "You—you know, Miley, you don't have to—" Even though he obviously wanted her to. Very, very badly.
But Miley was already on her feet, back turned to him, hips cocked to one side, fingers closing around the hem at the bottom of her shirt. Oliver watched, mesmerised, as she lifted it up over her head and tossed it to the side in one smooth, flowing motion, where it landed in a nice little heap on the floor. The ease and grace which she displayed astounded him. It was as if she were a professional, who'd done this a million times before.
Well, duh, of course she had. She removed her shirt once a day to change, same as any normal person. Sometimes more than that, because she wasn't a normal person.
She just—hopefully—hadn't done so in front of any other guys.
Oliver was trying to convince himself that this suspicion was unfounded, and he shouldn't feel any jealousy for the imaginary guys who'd already seen Miley's unshirted glory (because Miley wasn't a slut, and her inability to look at him while stripping was an obvious sign of insecurity), when she turned around to face him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her; her beauty seemed to be even more distinct with the less she had on.
He gave her torso a once-over—noting the delicate waves of brown hair spilling over her bare shoulders, and her flat, sexy stomach—before his eyes riveted back to her softly rounded breasts, resting gently in a lacy purple bra which made them appear more titillating than any bikini top he'd ever seen her wear.
Her voice didn't register in his head; at the moment, it was too busy playing out the wild fantasies that he had a sudden, strong urge to perform on her.
"Mmm," he mumbled, still gazing at her chest unabashedly.
Miley's cheeks flushed, and she was incapable of holding back a small smile at the knowledge that he liked what he saw.
She cleared her throat and tried again, louder this time. "Oliver."
Reluctantly he tore his eyes away and stared into hers, clearly dismayed at the interruption. "What?"
"I want a rematch. Right. Now."
He perked up considerably. "And when you lose again, you'll take something else off?" he grinned madly.
Miley pursed her lips to keep them from grinning right back at him, but he could see the excitement in her eyes as she approached him. "I think that can be arranged," she murmured, smoothing her hands across his shoulders. Leaning into him, she added, "if I lose."
Oliver trembled; the proximity of her scantily clad body plus the sexy banter was almost too much for him to handle. "You're on."
With a little smirk of triumph on her face, Miley stepped away from him and sauntered back over to the desk. Oliver stayed rooted to the spot, transfixed by the swinging of her hips and allowing them to drive his imagination wild again. As she sat down, the spell was broken, and he rushed over to join her before she could sense what he'd been doing.
Miley was positive that the new and enticing distraction she'd provided would gain her an advantage this time around, but within seconds it became obvious that Oliver was far too motivated by the thought of her taking more clothes off. Desperately, she applied all the force she could muster, but it couldn't stop him from taking her down. With a sinking feeling, Miley realised she had lost even before her hand hit the wooden surface of her desk and Oliver sprang up from his seat proclaiming victory.
"Time to pay up," he grinned.
"Fine," she sighed resignedly, joining him in standing. "My skirt is coming off." Without hesitancy or delay, Miley unzipped the little thing and let it fall to her feet.
Oliver, pleased to discover her underwear was a matching set, was in the middle of drooling over her legs when she burst out suddenly, "But so is your shirt!" His head snapped up in surprise, just in time to find her rushing at him. Before he could understand what was happening, she had knocked into him forcefully and sent them both crashing down onto her bed. Taking a moment to catch her breath, Miley pushed herself upright and then immediately started working his shirt off with her hands.
The first thing that came to Oliver's attention after the initial moment of shock was the fact that Miley, his best friend and arguably the hottest girl on earth, was now straddling him on her bed, wearing practically nothing. The second was that this same girl was in the process of stripping him and feeling him up at the same time. And the third was that he wanted to rip her lingerie off with his teeth and then fuck her until she was screaming his name in pleasure...
Err. Clearly he was past observations and back to the crazy fantasies again.
"Finally," Oliver heard Miley murmur as she yanked his shirt over his head and aimlessly cast it away.
"You shouldn't have done that," he chided softly. "Now one or both of us will have to get up when you force me to put it back on. And I really like the position you're in right now."
She smirked and slowly ran her fingertips down her upper body, giving him chills. "Not gonna happen. You're too sexy without it."
"I think you mean skinny," he teased.
"Oliver Oken, put that shirt back on, and I will hurt you."
His eyebrows shot up. "Are you threatening me?" Miley glared at him, and he added with a grin, "That's hot."
"It's not the only thing," Miley whispered. She leaned down until their noses brushed, and then hovered for a moment to gaze into his eyes, which were slightly widened in awe. Holding him down by the arms so he couldn't get away (although she knew he could if he really wanted to, since he had proven his arms were stronger than hers), she closed the final gap between their lips and kissed him.
Oliver responded immediately, in need of no other encouragement despite the dazed effect her actions had on him. Miley was surprised at how gently he moved his lips against hers; full of tenderness, demanding nothing. She didn't realise that he was being driven breathless knowing there was hardly a barrier between their two bodies. He felt like a kid again, eating his Halloween candy for the first time. He wanted more of it—he wanted all of it—yet he held back in fear that it would get taken away.
But Miley wanted more, too. And she knew light kisses weren't going to satisfy her growing hunger for very long. The new alertness of her breasts and the warmth spreading between her legs were telling her that it was time to speed things up. Take matters into her own hands.
So she pulled back, intending to do just that.
"Oliver," Miley addressed him breathily, "my bra is really starting to bother me. I think it's too tight. Could you...please...?" She pouted at him helplessly.
Oliver's eyes grew huge. It seemed to take a few moments of staring at her quivering lower lip in dumbfounded silence to process what she said, but then he quickly sprung to life, acting as if the request had an expiration date or something. With trembling fingers, he fumbled hastily with the little hooks on the back strap of her bra until he successfully freed her from the evil contraption. Miley smiled seductively, slipped it off, and then discarded it like the rest of the clothing which had become quite useless to them.
Oliver couldn't keep from gaping at the view. He felt himself getting ready to speak (although he had no clue what he was going to say, which meant it was probably going to be something stupid) when she seized him, driving all thoughts of speech from his head. She shoved her lips forcefully against his, and the softness from before was replaced with an animalistic craving on both ends. Oliver pulled her body even tighter against his own, exploring her back with his hands as he explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue. The rush of skin on skin was exhilarating, and Miley tasted far better than any of the Halloween candy Oliver could remember consuming.
Miley felt as if flames were licking her entire body, engulfing her in fire. She relaxed her fingers from their grip on his hair and pushed against his chest with out hand. His skin felt warm and taut against her palm, and it was enough to make her head spin.
Oliver sensed a new urgency possess her lips and tongue, causing his body to stiffen. Her hand groped farther downward, past his waistline, until she stopped to stroke him through his jeans. Heat coursed through him in a flash, and they cinched tighter around him.
"Fuck," Oliver gasped out. "What are you doing to me?"
"I think you know," Miley breathed. "But if not, prepare to be blown away." She smirked into his lips.
Acting hastily, Oliver grabbed her by the arms and used all of his superior strength to flip her over on the bed, causing it to bounce a little as she landed on her back staring up at him in surprise.
"You're the one who should prepare, Miley Stewart," Oliver said huskily.
Excitement flooded her veins as he grabbed the back of her head with one hand and pulled it towards him, attacking her mouth with his own. He sucked on her lip, eliciting a whimper, and then continued to kiss her roughly, moving down her jaw and onto her neck. He nibbled on her skin lightly, using his free hand to fondle her breasts. Miley drew in a sharp breath, and he smirked.
"Miley likes that," Oliver murmured, proceeding to kiss the tops of them as he massaged them gently with his fingers, almost sending her over the edge. She whimpered loudly. "Miley likes that very much."
He pushed his hips against hers, making her groan.
"You have too many clothes on," Miley whined, fumbling for the zipper on his jeans. He reached down to guide her hands, and she undid them urgently, then forced them down his hips. Oliver picked up where she left off and chucked them as far as he could.
"Still too many," Miley complained, shaking her head in dissatisfaction as he returned his attention to her. Trickling her fingers over his lap, Miley was pleased to discover he wasn't the only one in the room who could make a person groan. And if even the slightest touch from her could arouse him like that, then...
She pressed down, stroking him through the thin material.
Another sound escaped his lips and Miley grinned, clawing at the waistband of his boxers. "Point made."
"Point taken," Oliver replied breathlessly as she yanked them all the way down, exposing the stiff length of him.
For a split second, Oliver felt awkward knowing that he was doing this with Miley. That the first girl to ever see him naked was his very best friend.
But the feeling vanished as quickly as it had appeared, for when Miley resumed her touch, there was no room for rational thought in Oliver's head. Instead, it was replaced with desire; a basic, instinctive need that would drive him crazy if not fulfilled.
Maybe he already was crazy.
Oliver clutched her in his arms, kissing Miley more intensely than she'd have thought possible. There was no masking the craving in his lips, the thirst of his tongue. Head spinning, heart pounding, he broke away to whisper almost inaudibly, "I think I need to even the playing field."
Miley was gripped with anticipation as his hand dropped to her hip and his fingers hooked onto the only fabric left on her body. She felt his smile form against her skin as he slid off the thin strip of lace she called underwear, fighting back his urge to rip it from her body like he had in fantasies gone by. The damp material was sentenced to the same fate as its counterparts, and then there were none.
Oliver wandered up her legs, moving his fingers torturously slowly as they inched up her inner thigh. Miley bit her lip, wanting to cry out from the agony he was putting her through by taking so long to touch her where she wanted it most. When he finally reached it, Miley gasped loudly, the first touch almost overwhelming her. Oliver smiled, and then pressed his lips to hers right as he pressed his fingers into the moist spot between her legs. With each gentle stroke he gave her, Miley accelerated the pace of her hands on his member, wanting to bring him as much gratification as he was her. The pleasure continued to build until Miley thought she would burst, and she realised it wouldn't be long now for either of them.
"I want you," she whispered urgently. "I want you right now, Oliver Oken."
"Are you sure?" he barely managed to reply.
"Yes," Miley hissed, and she felt him become even more stiff in her hand before he pressed her back against the bed.
One moment Oliver was hovering above her, and the next he was pushing himself inside of her, fast and hard. Pleasure rushed throughout Miley's body as she gripped his shoulders and let out a cry.
She dug her nails into his sweat-drenched back as he began to pump in and out, in and out, in and out—each time driven with more speed and force than the last. A sweet chorus of moans, cries, and heavy breathing enveloped the room that Oliver would have chosen over music any day.
And then the heat came, and Miley knew she was almost there.
"Now," she demanded, "now," and Oliver gave one final thrust.
A scream made its way through Miley's lips as she gave way, the climax consuming both of them together, and then—
Bliss. Pure, unparalleled bliss, the likes of which had never been experienced by either of them before.
As their bodies relaxed from the high, Miley could still feel Oliver throbbing inside of her, and her mind was blown at the connection they shared in that moment. He completed the jagged puzzle that was her, and he did it perfectly.
"I love you," Oliver murmured as they laid there, side by side. He ran his lips lightly down her neck, trailing a finger down the side of her breast.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure you showed me that," Miley smirked, her eyes sparkling, as she tried not to focus on the response her body was having to his feathery kisses and gentle touch.
"No, I mean really," he insisted. "I really love you, Miley Stewart...whether we're having sex or not," he added with a smile.
His eyes gazed deeply into hers, and a warmth spread throughout her chest.
"I love you, too, Oliver Oken," she whispered back, and he kissed her softly.
It was a few moments before either of them made another sound.
"Oliver?" Miley spoke up quietly, deciding to act on the thoughts their kiss was leading her to.
"Yes?" he breathed out in reply.
"I want a rematch. Right. Now."
I have a history of losing my shirt.
A/N: Love it? Hate it? You know what to do. ;D Btw, anyone who guesses what song the random lyrics I threw in are from gets a cookie. :D