|Dare: Stay Sane While I Strip
Author: MaeMaes PM
The idea was to catch Pierce's attention. I was nearly naked beneath my coat and ready to flash him. Oh, God, was I crazy? /Two-Part Fic! Complete/Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor - Chapters: 2 - Words: 4,209 - Reviews: 65 - Favs: 210 - Follows: 20 - Updated: 03-21-10 - Published: 03-20-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2787317
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: Here you go. Tried to wait a week, but I couldn't help myself. I hope you guys enjoy this! I had a blast writing it, and I'm really happy with it. :D I almost want to take down my other stuff and edit them, after writing this. Ahahaha.... (Probably won't happen. xD) S2
Thanks: Vena Cava! S2 to the infinitieth power! For your awesome beta skillz, late night chats, and for taking the time to beta my work as soon as I'm done with it. Heart you muchosly! :D
Popping the collar of my trench coat, I made sure the belt was bound tight. It wouldn't do for Mrs. Allen to see me visiting her dear son in nothing but my skin. And scraps of lace. I pulled the top of the trench coat open a bit to look down at myself. Yes, very small scraps of black patterned lace.
Then again, it couldn't have been worse than the time Mrs. Allen had come home early from work and caught Pierce in the kitchen with his pants around his ankles, and Carla Baggs naked from the waist up, showing off her fun-bags.
Mrs. Allen hadn't stopped making fun of Pierce, or Carla, for months: "Make sure you use Lysol on the counters after. Remember, disinfect to protect!" and "Just don't knock over the fridge, dear!" and "I left some condoms by the bananas, so have fun!" became commonplace.
If I was lucky, his mom would be out with her friends. The Navigator she drove hadn't been out front, but she could have parked it in the garage.
Smoothing the trench coat back down, I imagined what Pierce's expression would be when he got an eyeful of his new dare. Maybe his brain would fall out—a common reaction that afflicted me whenever I saw him in less than two articles of clothing—or perhaps the light bulb would go off, and he would realize how much he ought to worship my body, or he'd just get horny as hell and finally do something about it.
Snickering, I pulled open the front door, and click-clacked my way to Pierce's bedroom in four-inch heels. I imagined myself in an 1800s sexy brothel (minus any kind of gross STDs), sashayed my hips, and walked a straight line, trailing my manicured fingernails along the wall. Pierce would have been the customer I'd be happy to pay for, but as it was, I didn't have to—at least not with currency of any kind.
As I neared his door, I hesitated.
1800s. Sexy. Brothel.
I whisked fingers through my long blonde hair, loosened the belt of my trench coat, rolled the tension out of my shoulders, sniffed my pits to make sure the Dove Go Fresh was still fresh, pinched my cheeks to put some color into them, squeezed my breasts—
I looked down just as hands snaked away behind me, a familiar senior class ring catching my eye.
"Pierce!" Mortified, I spun around with one hand covering my chest, and slapped at his raised hands with the other. Shoving a finger into his chest—the way I'd have liked him to shove his… never mind—I spluttered, embarrassed that his groping had relieved me of coherency.
The perverted bastard laughed, reminding me all too quickly of the time he'd stolen my first kiss with a quick brush of the lips in the fifth grade. Glaring at him, I recalled the way he'd fondled my left boob at the same time, too—the little perverted eleven year old—and he hadn't even known me. I'd still been wearing my Disney Princess training bras! That had been the catalyst to all our daring little games, as he'd challenged, "Betcha can't do anything like that to me!" and rushed away, chortling to his friends about how he'd proved himself a real bad boy.
(I'd titty-twisted both his little underdeveloped nipples the next day—win!—to his horror, pain, and what came to be the beginning of our friendship.)
Catching my wrist with his hand, he raised my arm up and made me do a little twirl.
"Now, what is all this? I go check out the ball game on TV, and come back here to find you dressed like the flasher from Cherry Avenue." He let go of my wrist, and I watched as his gaze trailed slowly from my eyes down. I'd like to think my pouty lips left him entranced, or my heaving bosom ensnared his primitive lust, even though it was lost beneath the bulky coat, or my swimmer's legs—emphasized by my killer heels—left him drooling.
But, whom was I kidding? He'd seen me in a one-piece swimsuit as I dove into Beuler High School's pool to swim a fifty-freestyle sprint, just like he'd seen me in a two-piece bikini with my crotch pressed against the back of his neck while we chicken-fought other friends at the beach.
Then again, if I didn't drop all pretenses, I'd never get any closer to finding out the truth about his emotions—or mine.
"Your new challenge. Come hither, you bad boy," I whispered, leaning my back into his bedroom door before twisting the knob and stepping into his room.
Flicking on the light switch, I kept going backward until the bottom of my butt bumped the edge of his bed. He lingered in the doorway before following me in, shut the door, and locked it. Trailing me to his bed, I couldn't peg his emotions, and that scared me. His face remained neutral, no smile, no frown, no crease between the brows, no raised eyebrows—nothing to indicate his interest or disinterest.
This should be easy and natural. I wanted to hiccup and say, "This is all a joke, haha," in light of his inscrutable expression.
This was probably the hardest test against myself, my fears, our friendship. Was it April? If all else failed, I could claim Fool's day—and I'd be the fool.
"Kens…" he said, a hint of warning in his voice, pinning me near motionless with his brown-eyed gaze—or maybe that was my insecurity.
What was he thinking? Was I crazy? Had too many naked images of him strewn about in my head finally caught up to me? Would he finally, possibly, admit the emotions I hoped he had for me? Would he accept me? Would this work? Could this work? What was I doing?
I mustered up what little courage I had left, and breathed, "Just stand there and watch." My hands slid up to the belt, and pulled it completely loose. Goosebumps spread across my arms when his stare dropped to the line of revealed skin.
He took a step closer and all I could hear was the whirring of the A/C, the swish of his basketball shorts as they grazed my knees, and my erratic breathing. I realized belatedly that unless I held my ground, I'd be taking a seat on his bed.
Reaching out to me, he grasped the lapels of my coat, and pulled the edges together.
No! He was losing, retreating from the challenge without even trying.
Wrapping his hands with mine, I wanted to yank them apart. This is how I feel, this is who I am, and these emotions are for you. How my hands could have conveyed this, I didn't know.
He sighed and settled his chin on top of my head, his hands still clutching my lapels, and bunched beneath mine. "This changes everything, you know?"
The last time he'd asked that, I'd just started my period at the age of fourteen, and he'd finally confirmed in a dejected tone how I wasn't the best boy friend he'd always wanted. Even so, he'd snuck into the girl's bathroom—like the bad boy he'd always been—to hand me my first pad with a written message: "Gross. You owe me condoms."
And we'd laughed through that, hadn't we?
But, I didn't have the nerve to say otherwise, so I nodded. What else could I have done? Clasping his hands within mine, I thought about rainbows, month-old puppies, kicking Carla Baggs in the face, beating him at every dare he could come up with, stealing Dorian so I could hug him to sleep for forever—anything to keep the smile on my face as Pierce rejected me.
"Are you sure?" he asked, and I pushed him back to look him in the eyes.
"What?" Baffled, I sat down on his bed, scooting farther back when he joined me.
He wouldn't look at me. When he finally let go of his hold on my trench coat, it was to ease the jacket off my shoulders and to stare at me. I watched, unsure of what was coming as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, a motion I'd seen over and over in numerous situations: when he had first asked me to join him in a game of dodgeball, when he had to choose between moving in with his mother or going out of state with his father, when he had asked me if he should lose his virginity to Kelly.
"Are you sure you won't regret this?" He stopped rubbing his neck, stopped staring at my bra, and finally looked up.
Would I regret this? What did I have to lose? A best friend, seven years of the most awesome friendship, free Mrs. Allen homemade dinners, conversations with him over our favorite asiago bagels, and so much more. But, what did I have to gain? Looking at him, and all the parts of him I'd wanted when he'd briefly dated other girls, I knew that earning his trust and friendship wasn't enough.
I wanted his love.
Nervous, I swept my bangs out of my line of vision, and studied his face—the straight line of his nose, the mocha brown color of his eyes, the sharp square of his jaw line, and the cheekbones I'd fallen for. How could I have ever said no?
Leaning forward, I pressed a soft kiss against his lips—something I'd been waiting years to do. "Are you sure you won't regret this?"
"Mackensie, I've been waiting for you since fifth grade. You were just too dense to realize it," he said, flicking me against the forehead. I think my mind and my right bra strap were in the same line of thinking: one took a nose-dive into the Pool of Surprise while the other slipped down my shoulder in shock—and maybe a little temptation.
Stunned, I sat back, and waved my hand up and down my ensemble. "And this? What was the wait for? I've been practically tossing my virginity at you every time you walk around half-naked!"
"Well, I just had to make sure you were all grown up, and mature enough to share me."
"What? With whom?" I'd like to say I didn't squawk my questions, but I humbly admit that I did.
"With Dorian. I'm not moving Dorian to the couch just because you're gonna want to hump me all night long." He patted my upper thigh, and I suppressed my delight and the yearning to drag his hand higher.
"And who says I want to hump you all night long?" I turned my face from his, angling my torso away as well, and hmmphed.
"Ah, sorry. My bad. What I meant was 'I'm not moving Dorian to the couch just because I want to hump you all night long.'" He swiped the coat, wrestled me out of it—as unsexy as that sounds, it turned me on—and had me flat on my back in just a minute, while I debated yelling "Rape!" or not.
As he pressed his chest to mine and trailed lazy kisses around my shoulders, I had to remind myself that I'd been the one to initiate Sex Up Pierce, that he'd officially be seeing my post-pubescent stage breasts—which had to be much nicer than thirteen year old Mackensie boobs—and that he had a nice large cucumber, which he must have snagged from the kitchen, pressed tight against my thigh—clearly his weapon to use if I didn't submit to his sexual advances.
Ooooh, dear Lord.
He eased up after taking a little nibble on my collarbone, and I somehow saw him through the blur of my hormones, resting his chin on one hand, waiting for me to come to.
"Mmm, why'd you stop?" I mumbled, running my fingers up and down his sides.
"How about another challenge?" he asked, and I stared pointedly at my scantily clad body.
"You need another one?" Waving my hand from bust to vajayjay, I laughed. "You haven't even finished this one."
"A different challenge. Well, what do you think?" He poked me in the pit while I mulled over his question.
I reached for Dorian since Pierce seemed done cuddling. "I don't know. What do you want to bet?" Frowning, I wanted to pout. He needed to finish the challenge I'd set up so nicely for him before starting a new one. Didn't he know the rules?
"Give me a number or I'm dumping you."
"We're not even together yet!" Glaring at him, I lifted my chin. But then he lifted his, and he was so much taller—so much bigger and so frigging cute—I couldn't help but continue with, "…Twenty-five?"
"Yeah?" He dropped his forehead against mine and declared smugly, "I win."
"What? No. What are we even betting on?" Smacking him on the rump, I raised my hand to do it again. But then he caught my palm and laced his fingers with mine.
"I'm betting the rest of my life."
Author's Note: Yay! All done. What say you? Like, no like, eh, yum, want sex, etc.? :) Haha. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! S2