Work Text:
ALLIE
I'm breathless.
Dean is pressed against me like he's my second skin, and there's a bead of sweat clinging to his collar bone that looks too tempting not to lick - so I do.
He's panting against my neck, his hands gripping my waist hard enough to leave bruises, and I'm relishing the dull pain of each of his fingertips, even though I wish they were somewhere else. Namely, inside me.
As if he can read my mind, Dean slides his fingers down my hip and over my thigh, sending shivers across my overheated skin.
And then Hannah taps my shoulder, and I remember that we’re not in the privacy of Dean's bedroom – we're dancing in the middle of the guys’ living room surrounded by about 50 people.
Not that that's ever stopped him before.
Hannah gestures from herself to Garrett and mimes "drinking" over the too-loud pop song blaring through the speakers. I nod my understanding, and Dean raises the hand that isn't inching closer to my inner thigh to his mouth and mimics a blowjob. Garrett shoves him as he passes, but he takes the opportunity to sneak a hand into my waistband.
"Not here," I hiss, grabbing his hand and putting it back on my waist. "Someone might see."
"Baby doll, you know I don't mind if people watch."
Dammit, his eyes are so green in this light, and they're glinting in a way that almost makes me want to agree. Almost.
"Later," I promise. I mean the sex more so than the exhibitionism, but we get pretty loud. If his roommates hear us, then it is what it is.
Dean manages to keep his hands at a PG-13 level for a few more songs. I'm getting caught up in the bass beats and the pulse of the crowd and Dean's gaze boring into me like he's trying to will my clothes off. But I like it. It's nice to blow off some steam even though the semester's barely started, but after 20 more minutes, I'm so hot (from the mass of bodies) and turned on (from the incessant eye-fucking) that I'm about to bow out for my own drink. Just as I start to disentangle myself from Dean, Hannah and Garrett push their way back through the crowd, Hannah's hair suspiciously pulled up into a ponytail and Garrett's t-shirt rumpled and half-tucked into his jeans. I cock an eyebrow at her - ha, "cock" - and Hannah just plops a bottle of beer into my hand, for which I shoot her a grateful look before downing half of it in one gulp. But I expect to hear about her little rendezvous the next time we're both in the dorm, and she knows it.
I've barely closed my mouth when Dean's plucking the drink from my grasp. He shrugs and gives me a look as if to say "I'd rather have my mouth on you," and then drains the rest of the bottle. His lips around the bottleneck are sinful, and my mouth goes dry watching his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows. When he's done, he licks his lips with an exaggerated smack, and it's so reminiscent of when he eats me out that my knees involuntarily buckle a little.
I'm a heartbeat away from dragging him into the hallway for our own bathroom quickie when the song changes. It's techno and synthy and boppy, and I know it immediately, but Hannah's music-major brain beats me to it by a millisecond.
"IT'S BRAT SUMMER!" she screams, shoving her red solo cup into Garrett's hand and turning to me.
Behind her, Garrett looks like she just told him she's taking up underwater basket weaving, and I can only imagine that Dean looks equally confused.
But neither Hannah nor I care.
It's our time to shine.
DEAN
Hockey is such a hyper-masculine sport that, 9 times out of 10, the things the guys and I get up to circle around to being pretty fucking emasculating by society's standards. I mean, Tucker wears a frilly pink apron while he cooks us dinner, for Christ's sake. And I've personally taken part in dozens of things that an onlooker might call "homoerotic." I've smacked guys' asses. I've heard at least half my teammates get off, with or without a girl. During the off-season after my freshman year, I did molly off a senior's bare ass at a house party. Hell, I could give a detailed enough description of Garrett, Logan, and Tuck's dicks from memory that my buddy Fitzy could draw them all.
I've done all that, but I've never once wanted to choreograph a dance routine with them.
When Hannah pulled Allie away from me (literally!), I thought I might at least get to see a little ass smacking. Instead, I'm watching my girlfriend and my best friend's girlfriend perform a pre-choreographed dance to Charli XCX's "360" in the middle of my living room. There are plenty of scenarios where this is really fucking hot. Like, if they were topless. Or if it was a choreographed lap dance. But what I'm witnessing is neither.
I went my own way and I made it
I'm your favorite reference, baby
Call me Gabriette, you're so inspired
Ah ah
I'm tectonic, moves, I make em
Shock you like defibrillators
No style, I can't relate
I'll always be the one, ah
My girl is good at a lot of things, amazing even. She’s a phenomenal actress. She gives great head. Her ability to manage school and life is enviable. She’s kinky as hell and always tells me what she wants in bed. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.
She is not a dancer.
And that fact becomes abundantly clear as she and Wellsy break out “their moves.” I think it speaks to how much I love her that I don’t laugh out loud.
Beside me, though, G has no such qualms. When the girls perform what I can only assume is supposed to be a hip-hop inspired chest pop with their hands over their hearts—timed to the line “shock you like defibrillators,” of course—he fucking loses it. I’m talking bent-over-hands-on-his-knees laughing so hard.
“Garrett!” I hiss, because I desperately want to join in, but I swear to God, if Allie glances over and sees me looking at her with anything but sappy puppy dog eyes, I think she’ll bite me. And not in a hot way.
Garrett doesn’t stop, though.
“Man, Wellsy must be drunker than I thought. She doesn’t usually move her hips like that with clothes on, and—"
Drop down yeah
Put the camera flash on
Whatever thought about Hannah’s hips dies on Garrett’s lips when the pre-chorus starts and both Hannah and Allie drop it to the floor. And, okay, maybe their dancing isn’t that bad. Because from this angle, I have a great view of Allie’s ass. And she’s wearing jeans that look painted on, and I’m ready to walk over there and drag her upstairs so I can get them off of her.
Hell, I’d take them off her right here if she asked.
Shit, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
So stylish
Baby tee is all gone
Yeah, never mind. Allie may not be a dancer, but maybe she’s a secret English major, because the body roll she does is poetry. I’m jealous of the way her own damn hands run over the open neckline of her halter top. I’ve been trying to feel her up all night, and she just keeps swatting me away with her coy little promise of “later.” At this point, she’s teasing me–but I’m really into this whole look-but-don’t-touch thing that’s happening, actually.
Garrett is, too, by the looks of him. He’s had the same reaction to Hannah in her leggings that I had to Allie in her jeans, and we're both standing here with our tongues out like we’re thirsty and the girls are water. But as it stands, one of us has already had a blowjob tonight, and it wasn’t me.
Drop down yeah
Lookin’ like an icon
Work angles yeah
Yeah 360
When you're in the mirror, do you like what you see?
When you're in the mirror, you're just looking at me
Horniness aside, I’m actually kind of impressed. The dance is clearly something the girls put together in the dorm one night, but the choreography is pretty extensive, and it looks well-practiced. There’s even partner work involved, and they grab each other’s hands and spin during the chorus.
They’re drawing the party’s attention at this point, and I see more than a few guys—and girls—ogling Allie. On one hand, I’m proud, because fuck yeah my girl is hot. But on the other hand, she’s mine, and good luck trying to find another one like her. She might be working up a sweat now, but that’s nothing compared to what she’ll look like in bed later: blonde hair sticking to her face, blue eyes shining, pink cheeks and lips panting my name. Yeah, no one else is ever going to see that.
I'm everywhere I’m so Julia, ah-ah ah
When you're in the party b-b-bumpin that beat
666 with a princess streak
I'm everywhere I'm so Julia, ah-ah ah
“Fuck, how long is this song?” I groan as Allie goes from shaking her ass whenever Charli says “bumpin’ that” to shimmying her boobs when she says “666.” The things I’m thinking about doing to that ass and boobs would definitely send me to hell if I believed in that stuff. But if hell is real, I’m probably already going for a multitude of reasons, none of which I’m sorry about.
G leans over and chuckles in my ear over the music. “Dude, we’re barely through the first chorus.”
Objectively, my head knows that; this song has been all over the radio this summer. But my little head hates that answer.
“If they keep shaking their asses like this, I’m gonna’ jerk off right here in the living room.”
Garrett doesn’t even flinch. I guess he’s immune to my particular brand of hyperbole by this point, but I don’t think he realizes how serious I am. Everyone’s drunk enough that I’m not sure they would notice, either.
They keep shaking their asses.
Bumpin' that
And damn, Allie’s ass looks so good.
Bumpin' that
Her ass looks good enough to eat.
Bumpin' that
I’ll be eating it later, for sure.
ALLIE
After the third set of hip bumps, I catch Hannah’s eye, and we both break down laughing. I’m dizzy from the beer and the literal spinning, but I have no regrets. Hannah and I choreographed this routine over the summer when brat was inescapable on TikTok. “360” is such an earworm, we’d be walking around singing “I’m everywhere, I’m so Julia-ah-ah” in bad British accents. So one night when Garrett was doing his construction work in Hastings and Dean was in Connecticut for a fundraiser, we opened a bottle of wine and got to work. It was like a middle-school slumber party with way more alcohol.
Did we ever really think we’d be performing it for our boyfriends and half the hockey team and whichever drunk sorority girls they’re with at the moment? No. And, honestly, freshman- and sophomore-year-Hannah wouldn’t have even considered it. Hell, she wouldn’t even be at this party. But she’s come alive since she started dating Garrett. She kisses him in public and yells at my ex and pulls me onto dancefloors. Senior-year-Hannah is the bravest and boldest and brightest I’ve ever seen her, and I fucking love her.
We’re still sweaty and gasping with laughter as I hear the second verse start, and while we have choreo for that part, too, we mutually decide to call it a night. The next time I dance for a crowd, it’ll be on Broadway.
I can feel Dean’s eyes burning into me from where we abandoned him and Garrett at the edge of the dancefloor. He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive, and the intensity makes me shiver despite how hot is in the house. And, sure enough, once I’m within arms’ length, he pulls me against his chest.
“Wanna show me those moves somewhere else, baby doll?” he mutters.
I’m grinning, because I love Dean so fucking much. And I love fucking him. The only other thing that comes close to that is the feeling of fucking with Dean.
“Let’s dance,” I yell—because, on top of everything, this song is a bop. So I pull Dean back toward the crowd of dancers, and he follows more or less willingly. It’s probably because of my ass in these jeans. I know he can’t resist.
DEAN
I can’t fucking resist her ass in these jeans. Sue me. (Maybe don’t actually sue me, though. My parents and older brother are lawyers; it probably wouldn’t go over well for you.)
And Allie’s so-good-I’d-commit-crimes ass is exactly how I end up in the same place I started this evening: pressed up against her in the middle of a writhing mass of half-drunk twenty-somethings while a blaring pop song plays over the speakers.
All in all, it’s not the worst place to be. Allie has her back to my front, with one hand on my neck and the other holding my hand against her hip. From this angle, I can basically look down the lowcut neck of her top. I’d be a goddamn fool to complain about this view, but if I don’t get some relief in the next ten minutes, I’m going to come in my pants like a fucking teenager.
As if she can read my mind, Allie moves her hand back, placing it squarely on my dick through my jeans.
“I see Little Dean liked the show.”
I groan. “Allie-Cat, if you don’t want everyone at this party to know what color panties you’re wearing, you should probably take it easy on the teasing.”
She pushes herself up on her tiptoes so that her lips brush the shell of my ear when she talks. “Who says I’m wearing panties?”
That’s it. I’m done for. Put it on my headstone: “Here lies Dean Sebastian Kendrick Heyward-Di Laurentis. Certified fucker and all-around stud. Died of blue balls.”
“Allie, I’m serious.” I’m fucking whining now. Allie Hayes is the only woman who’s ever heard me whimper.
She winks. “So I am.”
The last thing I hear as I shut my bedroom door is the faint sound of Charli XCX saying, “bumpin’ that” from the living room.
Well, in the name of brat summer…