Disclaimer: I own nothing related to any Disney universe including, but not limited to, characters, names of places, lyrics, dialogue, or any other piece of product. Disney retains all the rights to their universes. I am making no money or receiving any kind of compensation, material or non-material, for this fiction. It's all for fun. Please don't sue me. I do claim the writing, the idea behind this particular narrative, and any peripheral characters or locations created to augment Disney's work.
A/N: Possibly a one shot, probably more. Enjoy.
She'd said tying was like kissing your brother, and he couldn't get that out of his head. More specifically he couldn't get the idea of kissing her out of his head. He'd just been kidding around, asking for a tie, and he'd expected her to be tongue tied or flustered. He hadn't expected her to have a comeback, much less a comeback that left him unable to stop thinking about the shape of her mouth.
She was a freshman, a peon, here on scholarship and way not his type. He was a junior, starting goalie on varsity, and he liked soft girls, quiet girls, girls his age, girls who didn't play hockey. So why had he woken up hard and sweating after dreaming about her? Why couldn't he stop picturing her stripping off her goalie pads and showering after a game? Why was he trying to walk by her table at lunch every day just to catch a glimpse of her face?
He had to get her out of his system, and fast.
That is why he waited outside the junior varsity locker room after the showdown. He stood down the hall, folded into a shadow, his duffle bag hung over his shoulder. He imagined they were taking their time in the locker room, basking in the post win glow. The mood in there was probably as light and celebratory as the mood in his locker room had been dark and bleak.
The Ducks emerged in a burst of steam and light. The whole group of them smiling and laughing and he couldn't blame them. They deserved to celebrate. At the end of the parade came Julie. She was talking to the Texas kid, her hair wet and slicked back into a braid down her back. She laughed at something her teammate said. Her whole face lit up. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't think for a second. It was just the light from the locker room, but it looked like she was glowing.
"Julie!" He stepped out of the shadows and towards the group.
They all turned in unison, all with the same quizzical expression, as he approached.
"Scooter?" Julie squinted into the dark hall.
The Texan rooted himself next to her, and Charlie stepped up on her other side with the Bash Brothers close behind. None looked too happy to see him there, except Julie, but he still wouldn't call her expression happy. It was hesitant at best.
"What do you want?" It was the new Bash Brother, the one that sent Cole through the glass, and he didn't have time to answer.
"We beat you fair and square. Leave us alone." The other Bash Brother jumped in.
"I just want to talk to Julie for a second." He said. "Alone."
"No way!" It was Banks, pushing forward and putting a hand on Julie's shoulder, but Julie looked at him, nudged his hand off her shoulder, and stepped out of the group.
"It's okay guys." She looked back at her team. "I'll catch up in a minute."
"You sure, Julie?" Charlie asked, his attention not focused her, but on Scooter.
"Yeah. Totally. It's cool." She said, but no one moved. "Seriously. Everyone, I can handle this myself. I'll meet up with you later."
With that assurance, The Ducks turned one by one to leave, but before making sure Scooter knew just how much they didn't want to go by the sour pull on their faces. They were dragging their feet on purpose, distrust slowing each step. When they were halfway to the exit, Julie turned back to face him.
"Sorry about that. What's up?" She looked up at him and smiled, shifting her backpack on her shoulders.
"I - uh - I just-"
She was so small without her pads and skates. He wasn't used to seeing her like this. She looked fragile but he knew she wasn't. It was confusing, so he looked up instead to check on the progress of the retreat. He saw the Bash Brothers. They were walking backwards, the last of the group, staring at him as they headed to the exit. When they made eye contact with him, they each dragged a finger across their neck in a threat he wasn't sure was hollow. Even as they rounded the corner and were out of sight, he still felt like they were watching him.
"Scooter?" Julie looked at him, her face pinched in confusion, and he realized he hadn't said anything yet, just stuttered.
"Yeah? Sorry. I - uh - walk with me?" He nodded his head back in the direction from which he came.
"Walk with you... Where?" She peered around him into the hallway and then looked back at him.
"Just - this way." He forked his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. I'm not trying to be weird. I just keep feeling like your Duck friends are going to jump out around the corner and shoot me with marbles or tie me to the scoreboard or something." He laughed and she smiled.
He took it as a good sign when she took the first step down the hallway, past him, and he pivoted to fall in stride beside her.
"You've got a point." She pulled her braid over her shoulder, running her fingers along its ridges. "But who knows? Maybe I am going to tie you up all by myself. I know where Dwayne keeps his rope."
She didn't mean it sexually, but he felt her words run through his body like a bolt of lightning, and he choked on his own breath. He coughed, trying to get a grip, failing.
"Are you all right?" She frowned, worry knitting her brow as he alternated between clearing his throat and coughing.
"Yeah - just need - a drink." He said between coughs, gesturing at the drinking fountain beside a trophy case a few feet away.
He beelined for the fountain, bending and sucking down the cool stream of water like it would save his life. Maybe it would. He needed to pull himself together.
After an eternity, he stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Julie was next to him, smirking, and he felt like he should apologize but has no idea what for.
"Thirsty?" Her mouth slipped into a smile, and he couldn't come up with anything to say, so he just smiled back.
She slid her body between his and the fountain and bent to take a drink. He practically jumped back when her backside brushed the legs of his jeans. She was in a skirt, long and flowing, but he could still make out the curve of her ass. She had more shape than a lot of the freshman girls at the school, but she didn't flaunt it. She didn't downplay her femininity. She didn't try to be more masculine to fit in with the boys on her team. Instead she embraced both sides of herself, feminine and masculine, in a blend of strength and dignity and it was the most confusing and wonderful combination he could imagine.
She straightened and turned to look at him. Water clung to her full bottom lip. Her tongue darted out to catch it, and he couldn't take it anymore.
He grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her before she knew what was happening. He felt her body tense, her mouth hard and cool beneath his, and it was only an instant before she jerked back.
"What - what are you doing?" The drinking fountain behind her kept her from stepping back, but her face was confused, panicked, like this wasn't what she wanted or expected.
"I..." His hands pulled back in front of his body, palms forward, his own kind of surrender. "I'm sorry. I don't... I just can't stop thinking about you."
"What?" Her hands gripped the fountain behind her for support, eyes wide.
"I can't stop thinking about you." He said again. "You are all I ever think about. I've tried to stop, but I can't and I just can't - I just - I don't know what to do." His fingers made tracks in his hair again, frustrated with himself and his feelings "I don't know what to do." He repeated and let his hands flop to his sides in defeat.
She was quiet when he looked at her, face a blank mask, and he felt naked and helpless in front of her. His chest was tight and he felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was suffocating in the open air waiting for her response, and the pressure was crushing. Then she opened her mouth, taking a deep breath, reminding him how to breathe, and said:
"I can't stop thinking about you, either."
It was all he could do not to crush her against him and never let her go.
"Yeah?" His tongue felt too big in his mouth.
"Yeah." She said
Her fingers went back to her braid, fiddling it between her fingers. She looked around the trophy case, down the hall where her teammates had disappeared, and then back at him. He couldn't decipher the expression on her face if he tried, but that wasn't going to stop him now.
This time she wasn't surprised when he took her face in his hands. This time he didn't smash his face against hers in urgent need. This time he gave her the chance to reject him.
She didn't. She turned her face up and met his mouth with hers. Where she had been hard and tense before, now she was soft and yielding. Her lips parted against his. She tasted like Gatorade and cinnamon gum, a combination as strange as the girl it belonged to, and he wanted more of her.
He stepped up against her, pinning her body between his and the drinking fountain. He let his hands skate down her neck, shoulders, arms, sliding her backpack off so he could pull her up against him, one hand on her hip, one between her shoulder blades. She was soft breasts and lean muscle and small hands gripping the lapels of his varsity jacket. She was the smell of soap and shampoo and sweet smelling lotion he didn't recognize. She was all he could see, think, smell, feel and the hand on her back ran up to cup the back of her head, tilting it back, opening her up to him the last bit.
Her tongue touched his and a groan ripped from his chest. She was doing everything right and he couldn't ever remember a time where he wasn't kissing her. Every muscle in his body pulled tight, straining towards her touch. He needed her closer. The hand on her hip spread to her back, wrapping around her waist, tightening, pulling her up on her toes. Her arms tangled around his neck, clinging to him, drawing him in with every breath, every noise, every move she made.
Then there was a clatter and they sprung apart, wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands, running fingers through mussed hair. An old janitor came around the corner, his supplies cart rattling on the hard floor. A look of surprise dawned on his face at the sight of the two young people.
"The rink's closed. Time to move along home, kids." The janitor said.
The man's voice sounded like it was underwater. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, blood rushing through his body, the pressure from her mouth still tingling on his lips. He pressed his tongue out to test them, tasted her there, and holy hell he hadn't meant for it to be like this. He looked at Julie, but she wasn't looking at him. She was putting on her backpack, pushing a few dry curls back behind her ears, and doing everything but look at him. Why wasn't she looking at him?
His mouth went dry.
His stomach dropped to his feet.
"I'm sorry." Julie said, head down, whirling to exit, and Scooter didn't know if she was apologizing to him or to the janitor.
All he could do was watch her go.