Chapter Text
You met him at the club.
Unfortunately. Nick’s Nook wasn’t known for being the classiest place in town. But you and the girls needed somewhere to go, and it was available. Besides, Friday nights meant drinks were half-off, and that’s a good deal.
When you walk into the club, the bass pumps loud enough to sink into your bones. Your friends laugh and send you over to the bar to get drinks. Shots, they insist, and you only laugh, handing them off as quickly as you can grab them from the bartender. Once you’re settled against the wall, drink in hand, watching sweaty people grind against each other on the dance floor, you can chat.
“Okay,” your best friend, Kayla, shouts. “We all told ourselves we wouldn’t go home alone tonight. That means you!” She points at you and you laugh, throwing your head back. The club makes you feel looser. Not even the alcohol, honestly. The bass, the smoke, the lights, the people. There’s always an energy in the club that you can’t replicate anywhere else. Not even with a 190 proof bottle of moonshine.
“I’m not really in the mood, Kayla,” you insist, and she shakes her head.
“I am,” your other friend, Sam, says, before taking a long, slow drink.
“You have to be,” Kayla says, pointing at you. She shoves another drink in your hand. “I’ll tell you what. You don’t even have to take somebody home tonight. Just… kiss someone.”
“Kiss someone?” you repeat, scoffing. She rolls her eyes.
“Yes! Kiss someone. And if they happen to be a fantastic kisser, and, you know, you wanna figure out what else that tongue can do…” She wiggles her fingers at you and you shrug, downing another shot.
“Can’t make any promises, Kayla.”
“What if I put money on it?” she asks, and you raise an eyebrow.
“On what? Me getting tongue tonight?” you ask, looking back at the dance floor.
“On one of us getting tongue tonight,” she replies, wiggling her eyebrows. You’re intrigued, unfortunately.
“So… what, whoever gets it first wins?” you ask, and she nods. You’ve done something like this before. Bets like this before. Hard not to, on a night like this.
“$25. Winner gets $50.”
“Okay,” you agree. You offer your hand out to shake and Kayla does, nodding firmly. She looks over at Sam and points at her.
“Witness.” Sam salutes.
“I’m gonna get a headstart,” you say with a grin, grabbing Sam. “C’mon, Sammy. You and me. dance floor. Let’s show these losers how it’s done.” Sam whoops as she follows you onto the floor, tugging her dress into place.
The songs aren’t great. But you know, in a place like this, the songs are never great. Mainly just rap songs you don’t know the words to, or songs made solely for the purpose of grinding. Tití Me Preguntó starts up and you’re beyond caring, throwing your hair around as you dance back against Sam. Things are better like this. No past in the club, no job in the club, no bullshit in the club. Just you, the dance floor, whatever the DJ puts on, and your friends.
And the bet. Unfortunately for Kayla, you’re not a virgin, or a pussy, or a quitter, so you know, you’re winning. You start scouting out the dance floor, even as you’re wrapping Sam’s arms around you from behind. Tall guys, short guys, muscly guys, skinny guys. A lot of them are preoccupied with a girl already, so you huff out a frustrated breath. You look around at the girls and they all seem pretty occupied too. What is it, couples dance free night?
“Sam!” you yell, turning your head to look at her. She grins, leaning in to drop her ear next to your mouth.
“What’s up?”
“I’m gonna look for someone else to dance with! At the edges of the floor, okay? Meet you later?” you say, shouting over the music, and she nods.
“Go win! Get laid! I’ll see how Kayla’s doing!” You laugh and unclasp her hands, slipping out through the crowd. It feels like hundreds of people, bouncing and singing and dancing, pushing at you as you find your way to the other side of the dance floor. Could’ve been easier to go around, but now you look a little more tousled, a little more sexy, and you like the way your body is thrumming with the energy from around you. Now you’re at the edge, still throwing your hands in the air and swaying your hips to the music, but you’re looking at the collection of couches in front of you. And the bar, but that stretches around the whole room.
Some of the couches are communal areas, and people are piled up on them, drinking and laughing and making out, but the other couches are closed off. For bachelorette’s and bachelor’s parties, for keyed-up businessmen, for rich boys that don’t want to get on the floor because they’re entertaining. Most of the usual suspects are here tonight, spread out with martinis or daiquiris or champagne, depending on how snobby they are. But one specific couch catches your eye.
It’s not snobby, is the first thing you noticed. Honestly, you’re surprised they’re in the VIP area in the first place. A group of guys, four, maybe five, lounging on the black couches, passing off beers and talking. They’re settled there like they don’t plan on hitting the dance floor, which makes you a little disappointed. No women over there. They all look particularly relaxed and unattached, perfect for a little makeout session. But no, they’re settled.
One of them in particular stands out to you. He’s different from the rest, more serious, and it exudes in waves. No long surfer hair, no gaudy tattoos. He’s sitting with his arms crossed, posture straight. Military man, you think. Hot. Married? You squint over at him, trying to tell if he’s got a ring on his finger, when suddenly his gaze turns. He’s not looking at the other guys anymore, he’s looking out at the dance floor. At you.
Your eyes widen and you look away once out of pure surprise, your arms falling down as you step off the dance floor, quickly grabbing a bottle of water off a nearby table. You lean against a couch as you uncap it and look back over, and Jesus, he’s looking again. The other guys are talking, now lower and leaned in, quiet and serious, but he hasn’t moved. He’s not particularly interested in whatever riveting conversation is happening over there, apparently.
You decide he can be your target tonight. He looks like a fun challenge, and he also doesn’t look uninterested. And if it doesn’t work out with him, maybe Tarzan next to him will let you sit on his lap. He seems like the type, based on how he’s manspreading. You fiddle with the water, maintaining eye contact as you tip your head back and take a long, deep drink. He’s still watching. He doesn’t move. You were hoping for something, anything, a twitch on his end, but no. Nothing.
You look back at the dance floor, taking the chance to straighten your posture and mess with your hair. You look good tonight. He knows that. He should know that, the way you’re sitting, the way you’re posed. He’s wearing something that shouldn’t belong at a club, except maybe to a bouncer. Black. Classy. Looking back over and finding his gaze still on yours, you offer him a smile. He doesn’t smile back.
You cock your head. He makes the smallest movement. You barely register it, but he’s cocking his head too, tilting it to look at you like you’re looking at him. You thrill. Cock your head back how it was, and he does the same too. He’s copying you. Like– almost like a mating dance, like birds do at each other. A warmth starts to spread through your body and a genuine smile starts to spread across your face.
You move to face him more directly, straddling the arm of the couch. His gaze doesn’t waver, but you don’t mind. You put the water down, settling it between your legs. He’s done the same with his beer. You’re watching him carefully, just as carefully as he’s watching you. God, he barely moves. Definitely a military man.
You cock your head to the side. He does the same. You straighten. He does the same. You lift a hand up slowly and run it through your hair and then down your front. He doesn’t. Instead, his eyes flicker down, watching as your hand moves down your body. Fucker. When you stop, his eyes meet yours again. You raise an eyebrow. He raises one back.
A smile splits your face. God, he is like a bird, isn’t he? This is like a mating dance. A really elaborate one, but it’s got you interested anyways, so you’re no better than a bird, are you?
You stand up, slowly, putting your water down on the table. You lift your hand up, pointing two fingers at him and then two fingers at yourself. Watch. And then you go to the dance floor. You can see Kayla and Sam from where you’re standing, so you move quickly, grabbing Sam’s hand and tugging her off near the edge, where Hot Guy can look at you. Kayla follows clumsily.
“Found one!” you shout and Sam grins wildly.
“What? Already?” Kayla shouts.
“Seal the deal yet?” Sam asks, and you shake your head.
“Working on it!”
Then you grab Sam’s hands and shove them onto your body, swaying and gyrating to the music in an incredibly sexual manner. Kayla groans, disappearing back into the crowd. You lean up closer to Sam, putting your hands on her hips, and lean in, closer to her ear.
“He’s watching,” you breathe, and she nods knowingly. You nod your head over into his general direction and keep dancing. “Far left. Stiff guy, with his arms crossed.” Sam peers over, searching for a second, and then lets out an agreeing sound.
“Got it. He is watching,” she confirms with a sly smile, dropping her hands to your ass.
You laugh loudly, spinning a little to grind back against her. She puts her hands on your hips and you meet eyes with him again. Maybe you’re imagining it, but he’s sitting a little stiffer, a little more upright, and you grin. You lift one of your hands up to wave at him teasingly, and his arm twitches.
He uncrosses his arms slowly. Braces his hands on the front of the couch couch and then stands. You thrill.
“Holy shit,” you breathe, turning back to Sam and unhooking her arms from around you.
“What’s up?” she asks, and you grin wildly.
“He’s moving. You see him?”
She scouts the room for a moment and shakes her head. “Lost him.”
“What?!” you practically shout, turning quickly and then colliding solidly with someone. You stumble back, an apology forming in your mouth already, but when you look up, it’s him. Holy shit. It’s him. He’s got freckles, and he’s taller than you, wow, and his chest is, wow, his chest is so firm, you want to reach out and touch it, but right now, his hands are holding you in place firmly and keeping you still. Your apology dies halfway out of your mouth.
“Hey,” you say stupidly, and he doesn’t reply. His hands are still holding onto your arms. You blink at him a few times. He’s completely still. It’s a little off-putting. The same thing goes for his stare. When you saw it from across the room, it wasn’t nearly as jarring, but now that he’s standing here, on the dance floor, it’s a lot more obvious.
He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, and you’re struck by how totally awkward it is before someone bumps into you from behind and you flutter into action. “Wanna dance?” you say, and he quirks an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer to hear. “Wanna dance?” you shout. He doesn’t nod, but his grip loosens on you, and you take that as a yes. Your arms move and he lets go as you press close against him, your arms wrapping warm and steady around him. His hands go to your hips and one of his legs nudges forward as you press in, in, in.
So you’re dancing now. Actually dancing. He’s a little stiff in the beginning, but then you move your hands down his back, feeling, gripping, and he loosens. His head ducks down to your neck as you move together, the floor pumping beneath you as the song gears up. A sudden burst of confidence hits you and you wrap your arms tighter around him, even tighter, pulling him even closer, and you grind against his thigh. He huffs out a breath against your ear and that’s the first thing you’ve ever heard from his mouth. It’s incredibly hot. You want it again.
You can barely hear him over the music, but when his face is pressed close to your neck, you can absolutely hear those soft little inhales and exhales, those little gasps as you grind harder against him. Your body is heating up, temperature higher, higher, higher, and the music’s only getting louder, louder, louder, pounding right into your ears. Your arms grip onto his shoulders, and you push him a little bit. He leans back, flushed and breathless, staring at you, waiting.
“I need water,” you say, and he blinks. He nods, and then he’s gone in a flash, stalking off the dance floor towards the bar. You stumble over your heels as you follow after him, plopping yourself into a bar stool.
“Water,” is all he says to the bartender, and you raise your eyebrows. It’s the first word you’ve heard from him all night, and his voice wasn’t exactly what you expected. It’s low, and gruff, like he smokes. But it’s measured, and focused, like a soldier, and yeah, you actually did expect that. The bartender gives him a bottle and he hands it off to you, settling against the bar as he looks at you. You don’t drink it quite yet, just staring at him for a bit.
“You’re not gonna get anything?” you ask, unimpressed, and he shakes his head. You consider asking why, but he doesn’t seem like the talkative type. You purse your lips once before uncapping the bottle, and you hand off the bottlecap to him, just to see. He takes it and holds it in his palm wordlessly, watching you take a long, slow sip.
Once you’re finished, you wipe your mouth and set the bottle down. You hold your hand out for the bottlecap and he gives it to you. You cap the bottle.
“Anyone ever tell you that you stare a lot?” you murmur, and he nods.
“Does it bother you?” he rumbles out, and you shake your head slowly, not breaking eye contact.
“No.” You take a second, considering what to say next. “Can I have your name?” you ask and he looks surprised for only a second before answering.
“Andrew.”
“Andrew,” you repeat, tasting it in your mouth. “Andrew,” you say again, and he flares a little at the sound of it. “It’s a nice name.”
“Thanks,” he replies gruffly. “Yours?”
You tell him, and he doesn’t roll it around in his mouth like you did with his. Just lets it settle there into the air of the bar. “So,” you start, “Andrew. Come here often?”
He doesn’t react to the cheesy line, just takes it at face value. “No.”
Not giving you a lot to work with, huh. “Special occasion?” you ask then, and he looks away for once. Back at where he was sitting, the other guys settled around the table there. They’re watching him. Discreetly, not as obviously as he watched you, but… watching. When he looks over, they look away.
“Something like that,” he agrees simply, and you hum.
“Friends?”
“Brothers.”
“Ah.” You look back over at the guys. “All of them?”
“Yes,” he confirms, and you hum again. He’s really not giving you a lot to work with. At all.
“They mind that you’re over here with me?” you ask, and he shakes his head firmly, looking over at you.
“They don’t mind.” You take another sip of your water idly. Your eyes slip down his body now, taking a second to just enjoy the view. His chest is broad, and that black shirt he’s wearing stretches out over it, making it look all the more enticing. If he sees you checking him out, he doesn’t particularly care, focusing still on your face. Your eyes flicker back up to where he’s staring. Well, if he’s not going to make a move. The best way to do this might just be to make it clear exactly what you want.
“Okay, then, Andrew,” you say simply, enunciating his name like it’s got some secret behind it. “Would they mind if I took you to the back of the bar and made out with you?”
His eyes widen marginally and he blinks at you, shaking his head once. “No.”
“No, they wouldn’t mind?” you clarify.
“No. They wouldn’t,” he says firmly. You grin.
“Okay. Cool.” You finish off your water then, putting the empty bottle back down. You point to a dark hallway. “Then meet me back there in 2 minutes. ‘Kay?” He nods once, in that stiff, soldier way, and you can’t stifle your smile as you push off the seat, back to the dance floor. You slip your way through, finding Kayla and Sam, and you let out a triumphant sound.
“Caught one!” you crow, and Kayla groans.
“No! Officially?”
“Officially,” you confirm happily, and she groans again, louder.
“Have you kissed?” Sam asks, and you shake your head no.
“About to. He’s meeting me in the back,” you supply and Kayla lets out a pained sound.
“Damn it! I need that $50!”
“It’s fine,” you laugh, shoving her lightly. “Keep your money. Don’t wait up!” you yell, starting to slip off the dance floor. Sam rolls her eyes and Kayla huffs out a laugh, both of them going back to dancing. You find your way off the floor, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you head towards the back. There’s a hallway in the back of the club, one side has the bathrooms and the other side leads to a staff storage closet. Towards the end is the exit. Half the time couples don’t even get to the exit, so you pass a few making out against the wall. You ignore them, heading towards the end of the hallway, when a hand grabs you suddenly and jerks you in the opposite direction, making your head spin.
Suddenly you’re being pushed into a dark room and hands are steadying your waist, pressing you against the wall. You pant, confused, pushing on the body against yours. It goes still before moving slowly, and the light turns on with a click.
Oh.
“Andrew,” you manage, and he nods down at you. You exhale slowly, reaching for his chest. He stiffens, but you don’t pull back. Your hand settles onto his chest, firmly in the middle, and he doesn’t say anything, just watches. You watch his gaze, the way his eyes follow your hand. He’s like an animal, and you don’t want to spook him. “...You stare a lot,” you murmur and he exhales, letting out a breath.
“I’m sorry.” You shake your head.
“No, I’m not complaining.” Your fingers span out against the black fabric and he inhales slowly, watching still. Your head cocks to look at him more obviously and his gaze jolts up to meet yours.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you like that?” you murmur softly, pressing your fingers into his collarbone. “When I touch you like that.”
He shivers. “Yeah,” he manages. You huff out a soft laugh at how he suddenly looks like a deer in headlights, when just minutes ago he looked like the wolf about to eat it. Your hand slides down his chest, feeling at the material. He closes his eyes, exhaling softly.
“Andrew,” you murmur, and he opens his eyes to look at you, startled by the sound. “You gonna kiss me?” you ask, and he blinks.
“Do you want me to?” he asks, and you scoff out a laugh.
“Girls don’t bring you into storage closets and feel up on your shirt for you to just stare.”
He blinks like he’s taking that in as a good piece of information for the future. Like he’s filing it away, like that’ll be useful. You can’t help the soft smile that graces your face as he thinks.
“Andrew,” you say again, and he jolts out of his thoughts, looking at you.
“Yes.”
“Kiss me.”
He blinks one more time and then his hands are on your face, tugging you in, his lips meeting yours. And okay, wow, for a guy who acted so virginal just a couple seconds ago, he really knows how to use his fucking mouth. And that’s a little ironic, you think to yourself, as he swipes his tongue against yours, because he wasn’t so keen on using his mouth earlier. But now, Jesus, now, he’s pressing you into the door, huffing out little breaths, trying to drink in as much of your mouth as he can.
You pull back hesitantly, a string of saliva lingering for a second, and he tries to follow you, his eyes still closed. When you finally do pull back, his eyes slowly open, watching you darkly. His gaze tracks you with every move you make. It is incredibly distracting.
“I,” you start, and you don’t really have a lot else to say. You huff, wiping your mouth. You want to say something, like, I can’t sleep with you here, or, thanks for the kiss, I won my bet and I can go now, but that’s not what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, dear God, kiss me again, touch me, push against me a little harder, lift your leg up so I can grind against it. With that in mind, you grab the sides of his face and tug him in again, kissing him fiercely. One of your hands drops, feeling at his chest, and he lets out a soft little sound against your mouth. Jesus. You want it again.
Both of your hands drop, feeling at his shirt, his chest, moving down, down, to the hem, starting to ruck it up.
“Off,” you pant against his mouth and he nods. “Off,” you say more insistently and he nods again, pulling back so he can tug his shirt off. He throws it off to the side, onto some shelf, and he presses back against you now, chest uncovered. You marvel for a second at how many freckles he has, but he's so busy kissing you that you can’t really focus.
His tongue is dipping into your mouth. Swiping, up and down. He’s tilting his head, tilting your head with him, oh God, and his hand is settling onto the back of your neck, just to press you a little bit closer. You’re trying to keep up, but he keeps doing something with his tongue, and you whine quietly. He huffs out a breath, pulling back, his hands going down to your dress, hiking it up. You help him.
Once he gets your dress off and over your head, he tosses that to the ground too. You feel vulnerable for a second, but he drops to his knees with startling speed and settles a sturdy hand onto your hip. Your eyes widen as you look down, and for once, he’s not looking at you. He’s looking at your panties, his free hand coming up to settle along the edges of them.
“Andrew,” you breathe, and he doesn’t seem to hear you, tracing the fabric. Your hand digs into the door, panting out breaths. He’s running his hand along the seam gently, and you want to scream with how slow he is. “Andrew,” you say again, and he finally responds to that.
“What?” he rumbles, and you exhale loudly.
“Can you stop teasing?” you manage and he blinks at you, like he didn’t even know he was teasing.
“How?” he asks. You want to scoff.
“How?” you repeat.
“Yeah, how.” He slips a finger underneath the elastic waistband of the panties, pulling it out and then watching it snap back. You groan softly.
“Please tell me you’ve had sex before,” you say without thinking, and he looks up sharply.
“Of course I’ve had sex before,” he says defensively, and you laugh. Your hands go to his curls.
“Have you ever eaten a girl out before?” you ask, your voice dropping, and his gaze darkens.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice dropping too, reaching that gravelly, smoker octave.
“Okay,” you murmur, pushing his head towards your panties. “Show me.”
He’s good at following instructions. His hands move to your panties, shoving them down and out of the way, and he hikes one of your legs up on his shoulder. Immediately, his tongue is dropping to your folds, and you gasp as he licks a long, even stripe up to your clit.
“Shit!” you manage, and he hums, doing it again. You squirm. Then he dips his tongue inside you, moving it slowly, taking gentle prodding licks at your entrance. You whine. “Teasing,” you manage. “That’s teasing.” He doesn’t respond verbally, just bringing his mouth back to take long, broad licks up your folds, before settling over your clit. He sucks it into his mouth and you cry out, gasping for air as your hands grip onto his hair. He makes a satisfied noise, sucking harder on your clit, one hand coming up to your hip to have you rock into his mouth.
You’re already close to coming, annoyingly, and one of your hand moves to cover your mouth. He doesn’t mind, and you’re thankful to muffle yourself a little bit more, but then he lifts up a hand and brings it to his mouth, covering two of his fingers in a mixture of spit and your juices. He looks up at you, makes direct eye contact, and then slides a finger into you. You shiver, feeling like an itch is finally getting scratched, and he lets out a short moan. You start to rock against his finger and his mouth goes back to your clit. Fuck.
You’re rocking, and he adds another finger, and you moan loudly when he sucks, tighter. Then he flicks his tongue in short little jabs against your clit and you gasp. “Andrew,” you start, and he moans against your pussy, flexing his fingers. You cuss.
You’re close, getting closer, and you’re about to tell him, but then he circles your clit with his tongue in one long motion before sucking down, and your eyes fly open. Your hands white-knuckle his hair as you come, holding him in place while your hips make desperate little movements into his mouth. He makes a noise as he pulls back, lifting his arm to wipe off his mouth clean. You’re panting, but he’s watching you patiently. Your chest heaves. He barely even looks at your tits.
“Come up here,” you manage breathlessly, and he nods, following instructions and climbing back to his feet. “Let me kiss you,” you breathe, and he leans in, pressing his mouth against yours, the taste of you slipping from his tongue to yours. His hands settle onto your hips and hold you securely, which makes you feel safe.
When you finally pull back, both of you panting for breath, you reach for his jeans. He freezes, and you pause, looking up at him.
“What?” you manage. “No?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not right now,” he says, and you’ve never been so confused. No guy just… eats out a girl in the back room of a bar and refuses to let her even give him a handjob. And… you want to give him a handjob. Or a blowjob. Or a thighjob, or maybe even all the way if he asked nicely enough. You remove your hand from where it was and stand there a bit awkwardly.
“...Here,” he murmurs, settling onto the ground to bring your panties back up. You flush and step into them, pulling them onto your hips, and when you look up, he has your dress in his hands next. You blanche.
“You don’t want anything else from me?” you ask, in disbelief, and he shakes his head.
“Not right now,” he says again, and you give him a perplexed look.
“Not right now,” you repeat. “Some other time?”
“Some other time,” he agrees, watching you pull on your dress. He puts on his shirt.
“So this is happening again?” you ask, to clarify, and he shrugs. “Let me have your number,” you say, and he shakes his head.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll find you.”
He’ll find you? What the fuck does that mean?
“I don’t come here often,” you say, trying to fill in the blanks.
“That’s okay,” he says, and you’re even more confused.
“You don’t even know if I’m from here. I could be from Minnesota.”
He tilts his head at you. “Are you from Minnesota?”
You take a second. “...No.”
He smiles. For once. “Then I think I’ll be okay.”
You want to say something else, but he apparently won’t have any of it, cutting you off before you begin. “I’ll find you,” he insists. He pauses, before adding, “Thank you.”
You blink at him. He gently maneuvers you to the side and opens the door to leave, but you grab him and kiss him one more time, just to get the taste of him really imprinted in your mouth. Sue you. You’re bad at one-night stands. Or… one-night cunnilingus sessions with sexually repressed guys, apparently.
“You’ll find me?” you ask, holding his forehead against yours, and he nods. “Okay,” you murmur, kissing him one more time, and he slips away, closing the door behind him.
And you’re left wondering what the fuck just happened, how to clean up the mess between your legs, and if you’ll ever see Andrew again.