It didn't happen right away after Shawn was a girl. But it also didn't take long.
In the weeks after "Chick Like Me" came out, Cory basked in the journalistic glory of his best article yet. He cracked jokes about incorporating pantyhose into his regular wardrobe at the dinner table to make his mother laugh and his father growl a mostly-serious Absolutely not. He teased that he would "let Cora ride again," a threat that never failed to make Topanga groan. It was fun, and then life went back to normal.
Except for Shawn. It seemed like every day he was getting quieter and quieter. Cory was starting to worry. He kept finding himself carrying the bulk of a conversation, pausing for a response, and then jostling Shawn's arm with a Hello? Earth to Shawnie? Each time, Shawn was flustered and refused to say what exactly was distracting him so much.
Finally, as exasperated as he was concerned, Cory cornered him in the hall. "What is with you these days? Is it a girl? Cause I've never seen you like this, not once."
Shawn hissed out a little breath. "No. It's…" he flicked his eyes down the hall, then back to Cory, pleading. "I know I've been weird. Could we talk later? At your house?"
"Yeah, of course," Cory frowned and put a hand on Shawn's arm. "Are you okay, though?"
"I'm okay," Shawn sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "I'm okay."
x
Shawn confessed in a hushed tone, head ducked, holding the shopping bag full of clothes in front of him like a shield. For the most part, Cory just felt relieved. Shawn wasn't hurt or depressed or having trouble at home again. He just... wanted to wear girl clothes. Sometimes. When they hung out alone.
"Does that mean you, you want to be Veronica? When we're here?" Cory asked.
Shawn winced. "Uh, no? Or- I don't know. Not yet. I just want to, um… be myself."
It was a little weird, maybe. It was cute, though, too, how Shawn had been so concerned with what Cory would say. As if Cory could ever hate him.
As if Cory could ever say no when Shawn needed something so badly.
So after that, when everyone was out and they had a bit of privacy, Shawn would come over and get changed. Sometimes Shawn would put on a little makeup or a wig or paint his (her? his?) toenails. Sometimes they would just goof around and talk about normal stuff like nothing had changed. Sometimes Shawn, face burning, would take Cory's hand and tug him toward the bed. When this happened, Cory's job was to lie down and wrap his arms around Shawn's waist while Shawn tucked his head underneath Cory's chin. They didn't talk so much those times.
On one day like that, they rested in silence for several minutes before Cory suddenly felt Shawn's head tilt back under his. Then he felt Shawn's lips against his neck. Then he felt the tip of Shawn's tongue swipe against his throat, quick, testing. And after that, Cory didn't have a prayer.
x
She was so beautiful and so soft and eager for Cory to touch her. This already made her different from any girl he knew (most definitely including Topanga, who was saving herself, who had been trying to save them both). And more than that, she was Shawn. She was a Shawn that was okay for him to kiss, who acted so demure but seemed relieved to have Cory pressed up against her whenever she could get away with it. Who wanted him to carry her books and keep her safe.
This was a sacred, secret moment, different from every sacred, secret moment he had shared with Shawn in years of bizarrely close friendship. This was delicate, lying side by side on his bed. The kissing was heady, making him feel incredibly light and like he might burst at any moment, so he kept chasing it, kept licking his way into Shawn's mouth, not wanting to risk a second of this. If he stopped for too long, the bubble could burst, the moment could pass, and Shawn might decide it was time to turn back into a boy, a boy who was Cory's friend. A boy who had kissed a lot more girls than Cory ever had.
But there was never any indication that Cory should stop touching her, no pointed mm! pushed into his mouth or firmly arresting hand when he dared to rub his hand over her ass, only Shawn's quiet, delighted gasp against his lips. Cory smoothed a hand across the seat of Shawn's skirt, touched the tender back of her knee, up her thigh (her beautiful thigh, how had he never noticed Shawn's legs before?) and then, bracing himself like a man about to plunge into icy water, he slipped his fingertips beneath the hem.
Shawn pressed against him even more firmly, her own fingers never exploring anywhere filthier than Cory's shoulders and the sensitive short-haired spot on the back of his neck. But Cory had the sudden, urgent, euphoric realization that she needed him. This was thrilling. No one had ever needed him before, no girl, at least not like this. Maybe Shawn had all along and Cory just never realized. He dared to pull back his head enough to meet Shawn's eyes and saw they were blown wide. There was a little black makeup smeared underneath, and he loved her. It was easy. She was Shawn and she was perfect and beautiful and she was his and she needed him. How could he not love her?
He moved further up her thigh, feeling her scratchy-smooth pantyhose and bunching her skirt up toward her waist as he went. Cory felt the seam of her underwear and suddenly removed his lips from Shawn's. He was no longer worried about Shawn wanting to stop this and pretend it had never happened, to go back to normal my-buddy-Cory; no, that option had been abandoned on the side of the road a thousand miles back like so much litter. This was too important. He had to see.
He pushed Shawn onto her back, stopping when he heard her whisper "Cory…?" with a little tremble in her voice to lean back down and kiss and lick her, to press desperate reassurance against her lips, before he pulled away again to look. She allowed the inspection with obvious apprehension.
Shawn's stockings were dark but sheer enough at the top to see through to the panties beneath them, real girl's panties with tiny little flowers patterned on them. Where did these come from? Cory had gone into the shop alone to buy the padded bra Shawn now wore; he'd thought it was funny at the time that Shawn had refused to step inside. Cory had certainly never bought any underwear. He couldn't help but picture it now: Shawn, bashful but determined, bringing these up to the register, counting coins and avoiding eye contact with some amused cashier, maybe hoping to make this moment happen even then.
"Shawn," Cory managed to get out. He was so overwhelmed that he wasn't sure whether he was about to cry or come in his pants. Both seemed like a distinct and embarrassing possibility. He was tearing up. He was absurdly hard. He was apparently taking too much time beaming rays of pure love and appreciation from his eyes into Shawn's soul, because Shawn was starting to look upset.
"Um, yeah, Cor?" Shawn asked, sounding a little more like himself. Himself, Cory was suddenly sure for no reason in particular.
"I'm gonna take these off now," Cory said, half a question and still more confident than he felt. His fingers plucked a little at the waist of Shawn's tights.
"Oh," Shawn exhaled a shaky sighing breath. "Okay." He lifted his hips to allow Cory to push the fabric down to his mid-thighs. It was gratifying and now perfectly clear that Shawn was just as affected as Cory. The cotton underwear was straining, a little patch of flowers soaked through. Cory groaned. He wanted to put his mouth there. He wanted to grind down on Shawn and hump mindlessly until they both came. He felt like an insane person. He rested his hand on Shawn's crotch and squeezed.
Shawn's face crumpled up and he whimpered "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh Cory," voice pitching high again. Cory wondered if Shawn had done this yet with some girl. Well, maybe not this exactly. But the mechanics of it. It was hard to tell the truth about Shawn and girls sometimes, in between the bullshitting and rumor and skirting reluctance to give details. With each new girlfriend, Shawn swung unpredictably between leering braggart and gentleman-who-does-not-kiss-and-tell.
He certainly wouldn't be able to tell anyone about this.
Hardly sensible to what he was doing and desperate for contact, Cory aligned his groin with Shawn's hip to rub up against him (oh, yes, yes, that, thank God) and adjusted Shawn in his underwear so that the head of his penis poked out of the top, looking both silly and sort of incredible against the elastic waistband. Cory slid his palm up and down the underside and they were both shortly lost, rutting against each other uncontrollably, thinking about only the feeling of it.
They came quick and messy, grinding to a climax. They slumped together, each panting a bit and Cory pressing small, grateful-loving-reassuring kisses against Shawn's face and hair. They needed to get up and get dressed in something less compromising, and Shawn needed to get into the bathroom to wash off his makeup. Eric was gone at a friend's for the night, but Cory's mom and Morgan would be back from dance class any time now. They needed to stuff away their clothes until they could wash out the incriminating stains in the bathroom sink.
They stayed where they were for a while anyway, holding each other, breathing each other in.