You stand infront of the mirror and groan.
Why the hell did you even agree? Oh right, the chorus of "Please Dirky, please Dirky, pleaaaaase" was too much for you to handle.
Damn Roxy and her pouting. It gets you every fucking time. You continue to do your hair, scowling at the mirror while your reflection scowls back at you. You don't see why she even wants you to go with her, you told her you'd rather stay home and be a complete shut in. But no, she gave a little "As long as I'm your roommate you're going to be social and like it" speech, and well.. Here you are, in tight as hell jeans getting ready to go clubbing.
Fuck.
Your bed is practically calling you. "Dirk, Dirk, come ignore humanity with us." It pleads. Oh how you wish you could.
When you feel you look decent, you slip on your shades, and head into your small living room, where Roxy is practically bouncing on her heels. You hope they break tonight, that bitch.
Okay well maybe you don't, she could get hurt and that's not cool. God you can't even get mad at her. She tugs you out the door, and you give your bedroom a last, longing gaze before you get pulled down the stairs and into the cold night air. Roxy hollers for a cab, and you just cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to give her a "You owe me" look. She just pushes you into the cab and slides in next to you, hiccuping and giggling and oh my god she's already tipsy.
When the cab arrives at the club, you step out, and are greeted to the usual thump of club music. The line looks a little long, but Roxy just pulls you up to the bouncer, sweet talking your way in. You aren't sure what she said, but it got you inside, so you guess it was something pretty damn good.
You try to ignore the groans of the people in line. You're successful in doing just that.
The club is loud and dark, and there are people dancing and grinding all over the dance floor. Roxy pulls you to the bar, and orders two drinks. You usually don't drink, but you trust her judgement. After your drink arrives the song changes, and Roxy yells something about it being her song before getting swept into the crowd of horny drunks, leaving you alone. You continue to order the same thing Roxy ordered for you, and you feel a little tipsy.
A few people try to talk to you, mainly guys or really drunk girls. You ignore half of them, ultimately not enjoying yourself at all.
Men are pigs, in your opinion atleast. All pick up lines and lame flirting. Your last relationship ended sourly, and you've been a bit on edge ever since.
A few moments later, Roxy comes back, swaying a bit but all together okay. You sigh in relief, that is, until you see she brought someone along with her. Your jaw kind of drops a bit, and holy fuckin' shit, he's cute.
He's all messy black hair and vivid green eyes. He's got a strong, sharp looking chin, and a dorky smile, all buck-teeth. It's obvious he's got some muscle on him, and you kinda wanna see what's under that shirt of his. Your instant thought is to flirt, give him some of the Strider charm your brother taught you. But a small voice in your head warns you about men.
Maybe if you were still 16 and riddled with hormones you would have jumped him right then and there. But you are a responsible adult (Because all 19 year old men stay home and love ponies, yes) and refuse to lose your cool. You casually take a sip of your drink, and Roxy breaks out the introductions, hiccuping. "Jake, this is -hic- Dick Rider- Err, Dirk Strider." She grins and stifles a giggle, and ohhh you could ring her neck right about now. He chuckles slightly at the slip up, and you thank the darkness of the club for hiding the heat you feel rising in your face. "Dirky, this is Jake English." She gives him a little shove towards you, and he takes a seat next to you. "Why don't you two gets aquainted. I'll be back real soon." She disappears into the crowd again, leaving you alone with Jake.
Fuck, he's looking at you.
Fuck, you need to make conversation.
Fuck, you don't know what to say.
Fuck.
He orders a few more drinks for the both of you, muttering something along the lines of "Needing some bloody liquid courage." You can't help but snicker at his accent, and he cocks a brow in your general direction, and you wave it off, blaming it on the alcohol.
A few drinks later Jake decides to be forward with you. The smell of his "liquid courage" strong as he asks if you want to take him home. It's kind of amusing to you, and if you were sober, you'd have common sense. But, you aren't sober, and you're already dragging him out of the club. Roxy watches you from the dance floor, giving you a quick thumbs up. You ignore her, you are a man on a mission and you plan on getting laid unless you fuck this up.
Goddamn, you better not fuck this up.
You stumble a bit as you call for a cab, nearly dropping him on his admittedly nice ass.
Smooth move, Strider.
Way to get yourself some action.
You practically shove him into the cab, and it takes all your strength not to jump him then and there, the cab driver gives you a small nod, almost likes he's thanking you for keeping it in your pants.
God people are weird.
You drag him up the stairs to your apartment, fumbling with the keys a bit.
The moment you open the door Jake seemed to have enough waiting, seeing as you've been pinned between him and the door. He leans in for a small kiss, which quickly turns hotter and rougher. You can pretty much feel his boner pressing against your leg. God how long had he been harboring a semi? Has he had one since you left the club? Maybe before? You aren't sure what weirds you out more, the fact he's been chillin' with a semi hard-on for a while, or the fact you're thinking about his trouser snake mid-makeout. You need to get your head in the game (Now is not the time to think about that goddamn song either, fuck HSM.)
He pulls back from the kiss, biting down your jaw and neck.
Whoa theres a hand in your pants.
Whoa he's jingling your bojangle.
Whoa you are never saying that again, or well thinking it, goddamn alcohol.
How drunk are you?
Drunk enough to think about different names for your dick despite the fact that, oh, Jake is pretty much naked now, you should probably follow suit. You practically tear your pants off, leading him back to your shitty little bedroom. Okay, lead may have been a bit off. You stumble your way to your room, occasionally falling against him and laughing your ass off (Laugh? You don't laugh, you snort. Like a piggy. Or so your brother used to say when you were like six. Again, your thoughts are straying from their designated course.) He practically throws you on the bed, and hot damn, you kind of like when he's forceful.
After a few more fumbled attempts at actually getting somewhere you find yourself straddling his lap, frotting against him desperately. Apparently, in the midst of this dry humping session, your mind decides now is the best time to pick up on EVERYTHING. Goddamnit. Whatever, whatever, you've got this. (You feel like puking. Just... Upchucking. All over him. But, that doesn't seem too sexy...) You shake your head a bit, trying to focus on the moaning, shuddering mess you happen to be straddling.
You finally reach into your bedside drawer and pull out a bottle of lube, grinning in what you hope is a sexy manner (You even bit your lip, how much sexier can you get?) and drizzle it onto your fingers, lifting yourself up a bit before easing a finger in. Jake watches you, his jaw hanging open a bit as you ease a second finger in, scissoring the two. You grin down at him as he starts to touch himself, watching you add a third finger. You let out a moan, tipping your head forward a bit.
After a while you remove your fingers, shifting to reach for a condom in the drawer of the bedside table. You roll it onto him as smoothly as you can with your swimming vision, and start slicking him up with the lube. You swear you hear him mumble out "Don't be silly, wrap your willy." and okay, wow what? You burst into a fit of giggles, and fall against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, and the two of you just kind of laugh your asses off before you feel something poking your leg. (Wow how did you forget?)
You lifted yourself up, straddling him again before reaching behind you, grasping his length and sliding down onto it. A small groan escapes your throat when you're fully seated, leaning against his chest as you shift around a bit to get used to it. When you're ready, you raise your hips a bit, dropping yourself down and huffing. You set an easy pace and he slides his arms around your waist, keeping you balanced as you bounce in his lap. You manage you quicken your pace abit, bouncing down onto him harder as he bucks his hips upwards.
You're just about there when he stops you. You raise a brow, and he simply turns you around, hooking his hands under your thighs and separating them widely as he bounces you. You bite your lower lip, hoping that Roxy won't come home any time soon.
It doesn't take much longer for you to hit your release, and at the angle he's holding you it hits you in the chest, eugh. He climaxes shortly afterwards, laughing at the mess you've made of yourself. The two of you lay there for a while, catching your breath before you suggest a shower.
You were kind of hoping for steamy shower sex, but soon realized you were both far too tired for that. So you basically just had the sloppiest of makeouts in your life. After drying off, you managed to stumble back to your room, collapsing next to him on the bed and curling up against his side. The two of you pass out almost instantly.
The next morning when you wake up, he's gone. You shouldn't have been surprised but... You admittedly were. When you stumble out of your room clad in your boxers, you see Roxy waggling her eyebrows at you. Ignoring her you make your way to the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee before heading to your bathroom to get ready for the day. Half way through styling your hair, something catches your eye. It's a note. You pick it up, pausing in your styling to read it.
"Roxy told me you think all men are pigs, and perhaps that's true.
I still think you should call me sometime, though."
At the end of the note, he left his phone number, followed by the word "oink".
Maybe, just maybe, you were wrong afterall.
You don't hesitate to call him an hour later, ignoring a giggly Roxy.