Jeanie sneaks into the guest room at half two, when everyone else is sleeping and the house has near silent.
Cameron wakes up when she sits on the bed.
(She's surprised he didn't wake up the minute she stepped into the room; she's all cigarettes and weed and beer and he's Cameron - what the fuck kind of person brings his own dehumidifer to a sleepover? - but Ferris says that's just how he works. Hypochondriacally.)
"What's going on?" he murmurs, sleepily. "Is the house on fire?"
She snorts. "No, the house is not on fire."
He shifts slightly to accommodate her as her bony hip presses against his side insistently.
His eyes narrow at her. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know." So she leans down, making sure to press herself against his chest as her lips hover his. His voice is panicked as he stammers, "What - what - " Her hand pushes down the front of his pants and she watches with dark eyes, her tongue peeking out past her lips, as his hips give an involuntary jerk.
"J-Jeanie..."
Cameron has always been Ferris's, has always been the one thing that Ferris really cared about - Ferris gets away with a lot, but she's always seen him for what he is, for what he does to people. Her lips twist into a half-smile - she's finally, finally taking something from Ferris, finally doing to him what he has been doing to her his entire life.
"You're Ferris's," she whispers, with a quiet tone of amusement.
He leans up, his lips pressing against hers.
"Fair enough," Cameron says, eyes sliding shut as her hand moves along his length. "He always wa-as an asshole."
She pulls his pants down to his knees, her touch light, and she says, "You ever done this before?"
"No."
Everything dies as a low groan the minute she wraps her mouth around him; he's slick and salty, and she just watches him from beneath her lashes, relishing the way his breath comes out shaky, his tongue stuttering against his teeth; Cameron might be Ferris's friend, Ferris's everything, but right now, he belongs to her - in the palm of her hand, the inside of her mouth.
"You're a bitch," he says, but his fingers wrap in her hair anyway; she smiles then, right before she hollows out her cheeks, pulling up a little to flick her tongue against the tip.
She pulls away, her hand tight around him as she strokes him; she watches the bob of his adam's apple.
He jerks upward when he comes.
She wipes her hand on the bedsheets.
It's only when she's slipping out towards the hallway that he says, "Wait, where are you going?"
She offers a noncommittal shrug. "Shower." She turns towards the door before taking a final glance back at him. "Don't forget to put the sheets in the wash."