Prompt: PORN BATTLE! paintball, convention, seduction, costumes, wall, win
Pairing: lots of Jeff/Annie, some Jeff+Troy+Abed being kickass together.
Notes: Have pity on any errors, I typed this with a cast on my left index finger. Side note: I looked up all the Inspector SpaceTime Trivia, so I can vouch that this fic is 100% true fake canon.
Music: All the kick-ass songs. Then all the sexy songs. Title from "Heart, It Races" covered by Dr. Dog.
Spoilers: season 1-3, mild spoiler for a season 4 episode setting
Heart, It Races
When the call inevitably hit his voice mail—"Jeff, there are things that are happening at this convention! Serious things that Abed won't let me explain over the phone. Where are you, man?"—he had a plan in place. Even though he'd told the group seven or eight times that he was uninterested in attending their Nerd Con 2013, some part of Jeff's mind knew that disaster would strike and they'd call him in a panic. Probably after Troy broke something, or Annie met a slime-ball, or somehow they lost Abed. A micro-disaster would fall upon the younger set of the Greendale Seven, and Jeff, suffering leader, would be coaxed into rescuing them.
Jeff was cool this; it was the price he'd long since agree to pay for having an entertaining super-group of friendship. He'd bought a workable costume online the week before, and as Friday afternoon rolled around, Jeff's phone rang and his presence was vehemently requested.
An hour later he stepped out of a taxi (no way was he bringing his Lexus within touching proximity of drunk convention geeks) and made his way to the hotel lobby, homing in on the ticket kiosk. Five minutes of flirting with Season 9 Lily, plus a promise to visit the volunteer booth that he had no intention of keeping, and Jeff sailed past security with a shiny badge clipped to his belt. He texted Troy and found the wonder twins a few minutes later, huddled in the corner of a busy corridor and strategizing.
"Jeff!" called Abed, spotting him first. "Yorke, Associate of the Tenth Inspector. Handsome, soulless alien reformed by compassion...excellent choice."
Shrugging as if he hadn't put more than a glancing thought into picking the character, Jeff said, "Man wears a suit, which means I can walk out of here with my dignity intact, unlike the rest of you. Where's Annie?"
"She's holding our spot in the Associates v. Companions Live Chess queue."
Troy did his BFF handslap with Abed, which appeared doubly ridiculous in their mutual SpaceTime costumes. "Good planning, Inspector. She'll be within a hundred feet of the 3rd floor booty stash."
Abed nodded. "Now that Jeff is here, we'll have enough to form a tight-knit, focused team capable of clearing rooms and ruthlessly destroying any rival."
"Did you bring any guns?" asked Troy, looking back to Jeff.
"Sorry, I left my paramilitary arsenal at home with all the bodies in my basement. What are you two scheming about?"
Troy swore in what Jeff could only assume was Blargan. Blogger. Whatever. "This sucks ass! We need more weaponry, or we won't make it past interstellar happy hour. You never even listened to my second voicemail, did you?"
Jeff shrugged again, unapologetic. An uncomfortable feeling (maybe excitement, maybe terror) was creeping up his chest into his throat. Breath caught for a second, he interrupted Abed's tangential dissection of Yorke's tragic sacrifice to interject: "Wait, wait a minute. Are you saying there's gonna be a game of—"
"PAINTBALL!" A woman's clear, pure voice rang above the bustle and buzz of SpaceTime fans. All the blood in Jeff's body flooded to his heart, and when Troy pressed a neon orange Mith & Fesson semi-automatic into Jeff's hand, he didn't hesitate to cock the safety and check his magazine.
"It's starting," whispered Abed in that one pristine moment of reverent, all-encompassing silence. "RUN!"
They ran. People shouted. Colors flew with the chaotic aim of fanboys who were wasted already. Abed was kind of amazing; his tan rain coat twirled dramatically between paint bullets, never seeming to get hit, and his bowler hat gave him a chilling profile when he posed in the elevator doors and at the tops of stairwell landings. Troy put on his own show: for every near-miss in their direction, the cool and efficient Constable Reggie took out three fellow conventioneers. When they found a cluster of Whovian infiltrators ("Heretics!" mouthed Abed in the dark behind the pretzel cart) Troy devised a sling shot system that punished the "Knock-Off Nerds" with a rain of purple Time Paint. The assassin trio was back together, just like freshman year at Greendale, and "Time death be to anyone—!" who got in their path.
It was six o'clock. Hotel staff managed to isolate the paintballers to floors two, three, and four, with the second floor Main Convention Hall serving has an emergency hospital and scoring center.
Jeff, Troy and Abed had unknowingly walked into the most ambitious LARP game in the history of 21st century cons: Every ticket holder signed a release when they bought entry, overlooking a near-invisible clause agreeing to a secret game of athletic competition, starting Friday, to run no longer than sixteen hours, with safety gear, equipment, and ammunition provided by the event staff. Innocuous "attendee badges" had built in timers that logged your stats during the game, transmitting your progress to a giant scoreboard in the Convention Hall.
Morgan Spurlock was making the documentary. BBC was footing the bill. Property damage would not be prosecuted. The prize was legendary: a ticket to England and a chance to say one line in the 2014 Inspector SpaceTime series reboot.
When the announcements rolled over the loudspeaker at four-fifteen, the crowd went bananas. Alliances were made, and hunts surreptitiously began for hidden alcoves of paint ammo. Troy and Abed acquired several guns from the first found batch, and by the time Jeff arrived the con had settled into an energetic blur of anticipation, waiting for the gamemaker's voice to say the magic trigger word:
Like all precious things, the glory of Winger, Barnes, and Nadir couldn't last. They never made it to the third floor; one minute they had a group of Blogglon Star Dancers in their sites; the next minute Troy was being dragged away by a massively huge anime fan, kicking and yelling. Inspector Abed shouted something about Annie's booty, tossed Jeff the food backpack, and took off after his wayward Constable.
When he made it to the Associates v. Companions Live Chess queue, it was a mess in every sense of the word. Jeff saw two girls wrestling in a puddle of green paint, rainbow splatters on every wall, a clock announcing it was almost half past seven, two girls slathered in forest green paint grappling violently, an overturned lunch kiosk, posters for the early, less popular Inspectors, a blond and a plump redhead tumbling enthusiastically in—
"Jeff!" someone hissed. He yanked his attention from the paint-covered women.
"Annie, is that you?"
From behind an unmarked door, a small, pale hand beckoned him. With one last appreciative ogle at the Tenth Companion fighting the Eleventh Associate, Jeff ducked into what appeared to be a supply closet.
A supply closet stocked with pink and yellow handguns.
"Annie," he breathed. "Having you been camping this whole time?"
She gasped that in adorable little way she had. "Don't judge me! An outfit's strength is determined by every soldier's ability to follow orders. I'm Constable Geneva; and this is my assignment. Besides, I had to shoot a half-dozen Christopher Eccleston fangirls to get this closet."
Setting his gun down on a nearby shelf, Jeff cracked his neck and stretched. "Troy was kidnapped by a giant otaku and Abed went after him. I'm not sure if they're even still in the game."
"Oh." Annie slouched on a stack of ammo crates. "What do you think we should do with all this? I don't care about going to England just to be an extra in their tv show."
Jeff crossed his arms in disbelief. "You're telling me you'd pass up a free ticket to Europe?"
"Okay, maybe it'd be fun. But I don't know if it's worth getting shot. I spent a lot of time revamping this dress."
He dutifully dropped his eyes and appraised it, noting the soft gold fabric bunching at her hips and the way her criss-crossing amber straps showed off a lot of neck and shoulder, even if it was modest in the chest. "You actually look like a princess now. I expect Disney talent scouts to pounce on you the minute we step outside."
"Thank you," she beamed. "Greendale has a cosplay sewing class; it's pretty good. Seriously though...what should we do with all this?"
"Take what we want, leave the rest, I guess. Maybe paint it all before we go, so no one else can use it."
Annie made a 'Hmmm' noise and began stuffing paint tubes into her utility belt, an awkward vinyl strap that had obviously been looted some point earlier in the evening. It rode low over her hips, bending the shiny fabric of her gown the wrong way. After a minute or two of grappling with it, Annie muttered what possibly could have been a swear word, and yanked the belt off. She tossed it in Jeff's direction, and said "Turn around please."
Eyebrows raised, Jeff spun to choose a new pair of toy pistols from the closet's generous selection. Some ripping noises drifted over his shoulders, and angry murmurs followed.
"I thought you were proud of that dress?"
"Better to live in the moment Jeff! And when was I going to wear this again, anyway?"
After a few minutes, Annie gave him the okay to see.
"Holy shit," said Jeff before he could stop himself.
Gone was the dreamy golden princess of Inspector SpaceTime fanboy dreams. In her place stood a fantasy come to life. Annie's gown was torn in the middle with a pocket knife's ragged edge. The bottom was a skirt, still long enough to touch her ankles, but with slits halfway up each side for mobility. She'd taken her brass wire crown and disassembled it to make a golden mesh belt, pressed through the fabric around her hips and falling a little lower than she'd probably intended. The top half of the dress was intact, but without the pull of weight, the remaining fabric had bounced up and now floated several inches above Annie's waist. Jeff was struck with an enticing mental image of Annie Edison running across the convention floor, her 'shirt' flying up to expose the underside of her bust, with golden skirt and sleeves trailing behind and her hair blown back like a warrior woman on a fantasy book jacket.
He was also pretty sure a stiff breeze—or an enterprising hand—would knock the outfit off completely.
"Is it too much? I didn't expect the top to hike up like this, and I don't have any way to tie it down. I'll have be careful when I sit..."
"You look fantastic," said Jeff honestly. "You don't need to go to Europe if it means ruining that costume."
"We should try, though," declared Annie in a chipper voice. She strapped the utility belt on again, which only added to the warrior princess aesthetic. "Let's go kill some Blorgons."
"I thought it was Blagroins?"
"Blorgons," she assured him. "Abed and I had an episode about it."
"I don't know why they won't answer their phones," complained Annie some time after eight o'clock. "All I got from Troy was a winking happy face, and Abed just sent a text congratulating me on breaking free of my fears enough to display ingenuity by disobeying orders. I'm not supposed to text him again until the game ends at nine a.m. We've still got all night before they declare a winner."
"So much for a tight-knit team of four," Jeff grouched, but in truth he wasn't that disappointed. Trading one war buddy for another was typical in his previous paintball adventures, and neither Troy nor Abed had a skirt with high slits and a pair of creamy female legs to match. He knew they made quite a pair; he'd lost his suit jacket a while ago, and then gave up his white undershirt to a crying teenager with scratched up knees. All he had left was his dark slate button-down shirt, which he left open to distract any female enemies.
And to distract Annie, too. He wasn't above a little of incentivising.
They had decided to go up, and make it to the forth floor where they might be able to find a safe place to take a break. Technically anyone still in the game was forbidden to enter guest rooms; using your room key automatically disqualified you on the leader-board. But Annie believed the laundry service was on the fourth floor, and most of the hotel's storage too, so they might be able to forage bedding and find a place to squat. In the meantime, Jeff knew they had to eat or they'd start losing their edge.
"Hey, watch the hallway a second?" he said, digging into the backpack to fish for energy bars. Abed was a meticulous planner, and they had enough calories here to last the whole con, if necessary. Jeff snatched two, stuffed them in his pants pockets, and went to zip the bag up.
"I think we can—"
Before he could finish the sentence, Annie had launched herself toward him, her small body hitting with enough force to topple his unsuspecting form completely backward. They hit the linoleum hard, together. Jeff heard the report of her gun three times, then behind him a male voice sputtered some very rude things in Russian.
"Same to you, buster!" Annie called after him. Jeff gave up trying to catch sight of their attacker and focused on the woman still straddling him.
"Thank you, Annie. You saved me."
Annie met his gaze, suddenly stiffening at his smirk. Jeff watched a pink flush travel down her neck to her collar bone, and for a moment her legs tightened in a pincer grip on his hips.
Then she was up and off him in a swirl of gold flutters, guns out and ready to scan the hallway for enemies. "I'm always ready to help a friend," she said breezily. Jeff gave a half-hearted sigh, and climbed to his feet.
He winked, held out a granola-and-strawberry snack bar, and said, "You lead, I'll follow."
By one a.m., all was not happy in Convention-ville. A lot of players had retreated to their rooms, leaving the wide halls as empty and paint-splattered as their school had been two years before. The plan to steal a mattress and blankets from the hotel laundry was a dismal failure, so Jeff and Annie had commandeered couches from a large public lobby and dragged them into a small, defensible conference room. They took turns sleeping and watching the door, which they'd barricaded with chairs.
Despite the fun of the afternoon, their night passed fitfully, neither Jeff nor Annie getting a satisfactory amount of sleep and both of them checking phones obsessively for word of Troy or Abed. The Inspector and the Constable had even gone Twitter-silent, which convinced Jeff that they were at last consummating their "best boyfriend forever" status in a nearby hotel room. Annie accused him of being insensitive to Troy and Abed's relationship, and their conversation devolved from there.
Jeff found himself torn between wanting to debate something with Annie and getting constantly distracted by the image of her shimmery, make-shift shirt catching on the underside of her rack. He never quite saw anything, but the tease was irresistible. Eventually, they fell asleep in their respective turns, each burrowing into their own couch and waiting out the night battles.
"Jeff!" Annie whispered. A small hand jostled his shoulder. "Wake up." He blinked and sat up, taking the food she handed him.
"What time is it?"
Annie smiled, her good mood coming out despite a night spent in a conference room sleeping with a plastic handgun. "Six thirty. We've got two and half hours till the game is called. Everyone has to get back to the Convention Hall if they want to win."
Jeff shoved half his breakfast energy bar into his mouth, and did some experimental stretches. He shook his shoulders, rotated his head in a circle on his neck, and appraised the door to the game outside while he finished off his snack.
Coming to a decision, Jeff took his only remaining shirt off and stuffed it in the backpack. "Good. Let's decimate them."
Things were going so well.
That's how it always seems to be: the last leg of the mile was the hardest, but he and Annie had powered through two floors of remaining players and were almost to the elevator that would deposit them just outside the Convention Hall. Dropping the backpack nearby, Jeff pushed the down button, then he and Annie danced backward with guns raised to paint any unsuspecting players within.
The elevator pinged. Jeff's breathing stopped, and he tightened his grip on his two handguns. Five feet across the hallway from him, Annie posed, weapons up, with her tattered gold skirts hanging delicately between her legs. She was so fucking sexy it was hard to look at anything else.
A crack split the elevator's metal surface. Jeff heard Annie gasp in anticipation. With another ding and a series of clicks, the doors slid open completely.
"It's empty," said Annie in relief. Jeff gave a loud exhale, and strode two paces forward to put one hand on the door jamb. Annie darted under his bare arm, getting to the button panel first and grinning widely.
Matching her smile with his own smirk, Jeff let his hand run down the edge of the elevator. Before he could take the last step, a hot explosion on the skin of his back made his spine go rigid.
"Come on, let's..." her voice faltered when Annie saw his face twist in a grimace. "Jeff, what is it?"
"Get a shirt, sucker!" yelled a kid's voice from far down the hallway. His laughter trailed off in the distance, and for a cold, daring minute Annie looked ready to kill.
"Annie," warned Jeff, taking a step back. "You should go now." Panic washed across her face, and Annie followed him forward into the hallway. Behind her, the elevator dinged shut again.
"No! Wait a second! Let me see, maybe it's not a big deal." Rolling his eyes, Jeff turned slowly to show her the damage.
Annie's gasp sounded real and heartfelt: Jeff's broad, muscled back was covered in dark blue paint. It dripped between his shoulder blades and ran in lines down to the edge of his black suit slacks.
"That bad, huh?" He couldn't help the small disappointment creeping into his cavalier tone; this had been a pretty fun paintball game. But the show must go on—a sentiment Abed would applaud. Jeff continued, forcing a jovial voice, "You probably should get outta here, babe, before anyone comes back. We're close to the end."
Annie faced him again, determination making her eyes go huge and unbelievably blue. "No," she said. She didn't offer any follow up explanation.
For a second, Jeff was thrown. "Annie, hey. I know we were kidding about it before, but this is a cool prize. If you can get a free ride to England, you should fight for it. You deserve a senior trip."
Her gaze went all doe-soft and gushy for a moment, then her whole expression hardened up again.
"And what am I going to do in England?" Annie asked with a toss of her hair, somehow still smooth and pretty after a night of battle. "Meet some handsome man in a midlife crisis, and have a wild affair on the train to Paris?"
Jeff forgot about the paintball battle, the ever-present threat of the elevator, and the blue goop dripping on his bare skin as he tried to work out a reply to that insane argument.
"If you want to, sure," he said, feeling awkward that she had even begun this line of conversation. "I don't think the cross-European train rides are all that long, but I guess it's enough...time... You know there's plenty of museums over there, as well. Old, tourist stuff that you're a nerd for."
Raising her eyebrows in challenge, Annie stepped up to Jeff, reached around him, and swiped her small fingers across his back. Seeing she had his complete attention, Annie drew a line of midnight blue paint down her abdomen, from the torn edge of her costume dress to the top of her makeshift skirt.
Jeff's eyes followed the line of color until it stopped below her belly button, then skipped back up to meet Annie's stare. Her lips parted, and Jeff was undone.
He caught her mouth in his, lips smashing together while his hands encircled her and propelled them backward. Annie's shoulders hit the paint-spattered hotel wall, and Jeff lifted her completely as her legs wrapped around his waist. Her tiny, hungry fingers raked the wet skin of his back, smearing deep blue paint into his hair and over her arms. He pushed his groin against hers, hands bunching the pretty gold cloth of her costume as he cupped her ass.
"Jesus, Annie," he moaned, abandoning her lips to kiss trails down her neck. Hot pink dye from some prior confrontation had jumped from the wall to Annie; Jeff could feel it soaking the fabric under his fingers. "Just say something next time. I was already there."
Humming, Annie pressed her breasts against his chest and rolled her crotch over his waistband, licking Jeff's ear and nibbling on the lobe. "I've been thinking about this all morning," she admitted. "How's that for something?"
"Fuck yes," said Jeff. He staggered away from the wall and let Annie slide down his front, feeling every inch as she went. Now her back was even more covered in paint than his own, but her dress still fell enticingly in pieces from her waist. Hand prints of multiple hues covered Annie's midriff, leaving an inescapable record of every place he'd touched there. Dazzled, Jeff kissed her again, deep and hard. Annie poured everything he gave her back into the kiss, her tongue dancing with his and one hand climbing his chest like a wanton spider.
"Where?" she panted.
"Small meeting room, other end of the hall," Jeff replied, dragging his mouth away from the hollow of her throat and tugging her forward, hand caught in his. They ran, Annie giggling and Jeff close to laughter in his anticipation. It didn't take long to find the room, and its posted schedule was clear of events until the late afternoon on Sunday. The reason was obvious when they fumbled the door open and darted inside. The conference room was destroyed in what appeared to be several mass explosions of color: it ran in lines and pools from huge star bursts everywhere Jeff looked, and he had the brief, dizzy thought that he was going to have sex with Annie in a giant child's crayon box.
Annie, meanwhile, had the presence of mind to wedge a steel-boned chair under the handle. That her sexy little fascist brain could think about something as economical as locking the door at a time like this just turned him on more. It was barely lodged in place when Jeff pounced from behind, sliding rainbow-stained hands over her belly and whispering the most lascivious things he could think of into her ear. Gasping, Annie twisted to kiss him fully, sliding her hands down his back to cup his buttcheeks inside his pants.
They made out like that for a bit, Jeff pressing Annie into the nearest surface while she groped him with sticky fingers. He found the play of paint over her exposed skin fascinating: some of it flaked off at his touch and other spots were newly wet, smearing on him as well. When he murmured to Annie that she was coming perilously close to fulfilling his pre-teen fantasy of Rainbow Bright, she laughed and pushed him away.
Slowly, with clinical precision, Annie unfastened the straps holding her Geneva bodice together. Jeff watched them tumble down one by one by one by one, focusing on every point of bare skinned that he could lick before she became covered in paint. At last, the scrap of yellow-gold was tugged over her head and...
"Shit," he said, dumbstruck. "This whole time you weren't even wearing a bra."
Momentarily bashful, Annie shrugged, "Well, I was careful when we—"
Jeff didn't let her finish the sentence. He kissed her mouth, her chin, down the green and yellow swaths of her collar bone to her breasts. Pulling her gently to the carpet, Jeff kissed and licked her chest, worshiping the two parts of Annie's body that had commanded more than half his fantasies since the day he stepped foot on Greendale. When something he did made Annie giggle, Jeff moved further south, running hands over her body and stopping at the homemade wire belt that was really an unwound headpiece.
"How do you get this thing off?" He picked at it while Annie picked at his hair. "I don't want to tear your costume."
"Just unfold it," panted Annie. "It's barely attached." Delicately, Jeff pulled and plucked at the soft wire until it separated from Annie's makeshift skirts, trying not to snag too badly. She lifted her abdomen in a curl so sensual it almost took his breath away, and Jeff freed the last of the restricting belt in a hurry. Impatient, Annie grabbed his face and pulled him up for more hot, sensual kisses. She tugged at the edge of his slacks, pushing the pants down his hips along with her own. They both worked to disassemble the remaining fabric of her gown, and Jeff did his best to pull it up between her body and the carpet. When that was done, a courtesy Annie would appreciate later even if she made this sexy little whine over it now, Jeff dove south and spread his palms over her thighs.
When his tongue penetrated her folds Annie arched and breathed the sexiest gasp he'd ever imagined. Jeff didn't think he could ever hear her gasp in group again without thinking of her clit pert and hot under his tongue. He worked her over, slow at first and then building up to a pace that made Annie squirm and buck under this grip. She dug her paint-covered hands into his hair, stuttering "Jeff, Jeff, please please please god yes, Jeff, yes please."
When he rubbed two fingers against the top of her wet channel and sucked her clit at the same time, Annie's pleads rose to a high-pitched squeal. She bucked under Jeff's mouth and fingers, a flush-pink and rainbowed goddess with her hair half tangled in a pool of color.
Jeff climbed up her body, plucking sticky strands from her cheeks and forehead. "Annie," he spoke, a reverent petitioner. Liquid blue eyes opened to see inside him, plucking apart every scrap of armor he had left after three and half years of wonder.
"Yes," she whispered, and Jeff pushed inside her. Annie curled her legs around his body, pulling him deeper as Jeff pressed his mouth into hers and plunged. Annie keened beneath his aggressive kiss, bringing her pelvis up again to him meet him.
As is if her plaintive sound were a release, Jeff moved faster and faster, thrusting himself deeper and further inside of Annie Edison than he ever thought he'd be allowed to go. Annie matched him push for push, and when Jeff felt he couldn't be within her for another second without exploding, he swerved onto his back, bring Annie up to sit astride him.
Gasping out an ambitious smile, Annie began to fuck him, moving over Jeff's hardness in deliberate, agonizing undulations. Every time she lifted just a fraction, only to slam down again, he thought his brain would seize up and he'd expire like this: half-covered in paintball dye with a beautiful, mutli-hued twenty-two-year-old that he might be a little in love with riding his cock until his heart stopped beating.
"Annie, Jesus, Annie." He widened his eyes to fully look at Annie, and suddenly Jeff couldn't stop talking. When his mouth opened words tumbled out, completely running away from his control. "Fuck, Annie, don't stop. God, being inside you is the most—Christ—I've thought about this for so long, Annie, God, don't stop. You've no idea, you don't know—Annie, fuck fuck."
The world inside Jeff's head vanished in flame of white, and every thought focused on the center where he slid inside her. He dug his fingers into her hips, pinning Annie inside of him, and then the white spots faded to rainbow stars.
He realized he was looking at the ceiling over Annie's shoulder, speckled with paint. As Jeff blinked and came back to life, she dropped one small peck after another on his collarbone. They were still together, and his hands ghosted over her skin. It took a long time for either of them to move, and then Annie only managed to roll off him and tuck immediately back against his side.
After a minute or an eon, she whispered conspiratorially: "Think about it, I could be in the Convention Hall right now, dueling Abed for a ticket to England."
"Fuck England," said Jeff robotically. Annie laughed, the vibration shuddering against his ribcage, and Jeff felt too many things curl above his heart at once. Every flutter of breath from Annie's laughter traveled up his skin and nestled in his chest, making a camp there and auctioning off property. He almost couldn't think, he was so happy.
Happy. He was fucking happy.
That must be what was going on, because he vaguely recognized the feeling. He'd had it a handful of times since coming to Greendale: the moment they stepped off the KFC space shuttle, a group reunited, and even more when he'd won that moronic foosball contest with Shirley against the German invaders.
He'd felt it when his friends danced around him to Sting's worst song and he indulged in a third piece of pizza.
Having sex with you is like three pieces of pizza, Jeff almost said aloud, before catching himself.
Then he did say it aloud. Because, fuck it, this room was amazing and he was happy.
"Um...you have weird pillow talk," said Annie, leaning up to kiss him chastely. Then she added, almost shy:
"I loved it too."