Chapter Text
So High School (A Tayvis One Shot)
She was suddenly very aware of his fingers tracing small, soft circles on her skin over her ribs, just below the hem of her cropped tank top. His eyes were on the movie on the screen, but the way his fingers were playing with the edge of the fabric made her sure that he wasn’t really thinking about the plot. It was dark in his living room, and they were spooning on his oversized sofa watching American Pie, a raunchy teenage comedy from the 90's that they had started talking about earlier in the day with his friends, all of them laughing and telling stories about the movies they inadvertently watched with their parents that turned out to be very awkward. She had cringed describing how she had gone to see the NFL movie Any Given Sunday with her dad, only to want to crawl under her theater seat and die when it contained a heavy dose of male full-frontal nudity in the locker room. Travis had given her a very mischievous smile when she shared that one, telegraphing a message of “oh, you liked that, did you?,” making her blush. But overall, the group had landed on American Pie, and after laughing about it all afternoon, they were now all watching it, with Travis’s friends Ross and Aric and Harry lounging, half-drunk, spread out on the floor and draped across the two oversized chairs nearby. It was late summer, hot and humid outside, even at night. The large glass windows were fogged up from the cold air conditioning, and the coffee table was littered with beer cans, their dented metallic labels illuminated by the flashing light from the huge television. This was one of the first times she had spent the day with Travis’s friends, who often stayed here at his house when they came to town for games or just to visit. She and Travis had quickly realized that they weren’t ever going to be able to keep their relationship a secret from these friends for long, not just because they were so regularly at the house but because they knew Travis better than almost anyone, and they could immediately tell that something was up. And Travis trusted them completely, so she took a chance and decided to trust them too, and a few weeks ago, they had become the first people in Kansas City to know she was there. That trust wasn't misplaced. They had held her secret close, not letting anyone else know that the biggest pop star in the world happened to be spending more and more time hidden away in an townhouse in downtown Kansas City. She had quickly grown to like these guys, who immediately treated her like one of the group, teasing and ragging on her at times but also demonstrating their loyalty and protectiveness. She was one of them now, and they had her back.
But now, they were all staring at the screen, and Travis’s fingers were slipping under the fabric of her shirt. He softly kissed her neck, which was stretched out and exposed as she rested her head on his bicep. She caught her breath, chest suddenly heaving and pulse racing as his hand softly, gently inched upward under her shirt.
“Shhhhhh . . .” he whispered into her ear, as his fingers found her bra. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth in a silent gasp as his fingers playfully squeezed her nipple through the thin fabric, his touch both teasing and serious. Fuck, that felt good, and she wanted him to keep touching her, but all it would take was for one of his friends to turn their head for even a moment, and they would immediately see his hand moving, on her breasts, under her tight tank top. No, she wasn’t comfortable with that. She liked that he was into PDA, but this was too far, too exposed, too risky.
She took a deep breath and reached up, gently taking his wrist and pulling his hand back down, out of her shirt. She felt his chest deflate, his ego stung, feeling rejected, like he had done something wrong. She squeezed his hand and gave him a little wink.
“Hey Ross,” she said casually. “I’m freezing. Could you throw me that blanket on the chair behind you?”
“Sure,” He mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen, pulling the oversized fleece throw off the back of his chair and tossing it to her. She quickly spread it over them, covering their intertwined legs, stretched across the couch, pulling it up to her chin, then shimmying herself back against him, looking up, catching his eye, smiling proudly as he gaped at her, impressed, realizing how sneakily she had just created some much needed privacy so he could keep touching her. She felt his arms wrapping around her body under the blanket, and he leaned down and kissed her, grinning as he whispered, low and taunting, “think you can be quiet?”
She nodded, eager and excited now, looking up at him again underneath her lashes. Her eyes, her open lips, and the rise and fall of her chest told him that she wanted him to keep going. His fingers found her skin again, grazing the back of her thigh, starting just above the back of her knee, sliding slowly up to the edge of her loose shorts, making her shudder, as his other hand, hidden under the blanket, grasped and squeezed her breast over her shirt, gently rubbing the hard nipple that was now poking through the thin ribbed fabric. She shifted subtly, bending the knee on the leg closest to him, propping up the blanket like a tent, opening her legs for him. He slid his hand to her inner thigh, giving it a soft squeeze in his huge, strong fingers, making her smile and squirm. He watched her face as his hand crept up her thigh, into her shorts, watching her breath get shaky and ragged as his fingers brushed over the wetness seeping through her cotton panties. When he felt how wet she was, he bit his lip, resting his forehead against hers and groaning low into her ear, pressing his erection firmly against her hip. Controlling himself was going to be a challenge.
His strong, thick fingers rubbed her over her underwear as the fabric got wetter and she stretched her neck back in pleasure, presenting it to him to kiss. He ran his finger along the edge of her panties, then slipped his hand underneath, sliding his fingers into her wet petals, pressing one into her, making her audibly gasp. They both froze, but his friends were laughing, something was happening on the screen, and it had hidden her sharp exhale.
“I thought you said you could be quiet,” he teased, whispering low and sexy in her ear.
“I promise,” she said breathlessly.
“I don’t know,” he taunted, withholding his hand, not touching her, making her ache for it. “I don’t think you can.” His voice was a hot whisper against her ear, and it was undoing her. She wanted him to put his hand back, keep touching her, but he was making her beg, and it was delicious. She arched her back, tying to press her body against the fingers that were so close, still inside her panties, millimeters from her skin, but he laughed and pulled back, shaking his head.
“No ma’am, not unless you can be quieter this time.” His eyes twinkled at her, his other hand still rolling and pinching her nipple, making her body throb for him to do more.
“I swear,” she panted, “scout’s honor.”
A strange look came over him, hungry and dark and excited, and he pulled his hand out of her shorts, out of the blanket and gave a three-finger scout salute, breathing hard now. “Scout’s honor?”
She nodded.
He looked at his fingers and looked at her, and she stopped breathing.
He glanced up, checking that his friends were fully absorbed in the movie, then brought the three fingers up to her mouth and she let them in, deeply turned on. She licked his fingers, and he pressed his stiff length harder against her hip as her tongue touched his skin. Then he pulled his fingers slowly out of her mouth and brought them back down to the place where her legs were open for him, again slipping them under the edge of her cotton panties, until his wet fingers touched her warm, slick skin, and with his other hand he covered her mouth as he pushed all three fingers inside of her, making her groan against his palm, eyes wide.
Fuck. It was almost too much. It felt so good. It felt like he was fucking her.
“You okay?” He whispered against her hair, “Keep going?”
She nodded, and he loosened the hand over her mouth, then laughed and clamped back down as she rocked her head back and fought the physical need to moan loudly as his fingers pushed deeper into her, stretching her body, feeling thick and huge. Travis’s hands weren’t small. He wore a size 3X football gloves, after all. And he was pushing three of his fingers deep into her, his eyes devouring the intense mix of pleasure and discomfort on her face. And quickly, she was losing her awareness of the room or the movie or the people around them. There was only his touch, his breath against her hair, his voice in her ear, his strong arm around her and his palm against her mouth, poised to stifle her cries if she could not, in fact, be quiet. She closed her eyes, letting the sensations take over.
As the tingling cool pressure grew and spread in her lower belly, making her core hum with electrified sensitivity, her mind began to come apart, flashing between moments and scenes, making strange connections, creating a nonsensical video montage behind her eyelids to accompany the sound of Travis’s turned-on breathing and the explosive symphony happening in her body. Flashes of hot summer sunshine through their bedroom window this morning with him on top of her, his mischievous grin whenever he caught her eye while they laughed with friends, the soft stolen moments in the hallway with him quietly checking in with her, kissing her hair, wrapping her in a quick embrace. And other images and fleeting memories, older, unconnected, strung together like random beads. Her dad, angry and frustrated, comforting her after she had ignored his gentle advice, then ignored his stern warnings, about her messy but scorching post-breakup entanglement with Matty Healy, the frontman of the band The 1975, who had flirted with her from a distance for more than ten years. Flashes of disappointed, tired friends who loved her and hated to see her cry but were running out of patience as she made self-destructive choices in a desperate attempt to feel loved. Flashes of her nervous hands at the table, waiting for Travis before their first date, both hopeful and hating herself for yet again pinning her hopes on a man. Flashes of their first kiss in the restaurant stairwell, their bodies sparking against each other like live wires.
And she focused on his fingers moving inside of her, deep and rhythmic, pressing firmly against the sensitive spot that made her want to scream. She scrunched up her face, fighting to stay quiet, wishing he were on top of her, inside of her.
Then a sudden, unexpected memory surfaced, one that almost threatened to pull her out of this moment. The memory of a very different orgasm a year ago, in bed alone, sweating and trying to quietly get herself off, needing this escape, feeling sad and angry and frustrated, as Joe watched TV in the next room and smiled at his phone, texting fuck-knows-who, leaving her to have to take care of herself, cheating in her mind as she fantasized about Matty, imagining that maybe he could bring her body to life after so many years of it gathering dust, ignored and neglected. That night, it had been her own fingers inside of her, silently screaming Matty’s name at the ceiling, wondering if Joe might finally pay attention to her if she actually yelled it out loud. And in those moments, two things had happened. Well, three. She had come, hard and powerful and sad, tears leaking out of her eyes as she caught her breath and then cried into her pillow. But she had also started writing a song, the song that would later become Guilty As Sin, about how she felt like a bad person but also felt angry, knowing that she was crossing a line by fantasizing so much about Matty, touching herself in the shower and in bed as she imagined being unfaithful, because it was the only thing that made her feel alive. And third, she had decided to end things with Joe. She realized that her mild flirtation with Matty and intense fantasies were the only thing giving her the temporary illusion of happiness, and she clung to them like a lifeline as her six-year relationship crumbled around her. It had been crumbling for a while. And that night, wrapped in her sweaty bed sheets, alone and sad, she had finally accepted that it was time to say goodbye. She was too young to feel so old. Too alive to let her body feel so dead. She wasn’t willing to resign herself to a life of sporadic, unsatisfying, go-through-motions sex with a man who didn’t really love her and couldn’t be bothered to pretend anymore. She wanted to FEEL something. She just hadn’t understood, back then, that what she needed to feel was loved and cherished, not tormented and anxious, desperate and heartbroken. That realization would take her a while, forcing her to go through a nuclear meltdown with Matty before, finally, getting distance and perspective in the form of a change of scenery, away from stuffy British mansions and dark smokey pubs to the healthy, lush green hills of middle America. Kansas City.
And now, as he moved his hand, slipping his “scout’s honor” salute out of her, sliding his fingers up, slick and wet, to her clit, she breathed deeply, letting her happiness mix with the physical pleasure, relaxing against his chest and arm, letting herself start to let go. Like a treasure hunter who cannot believe that he actually stumbled unexpectedly into the lost city of gold, she had found exactly what she had been fantasizing about, and she still couldn't accept that it was real. Not Matty; he had proven disappointing in so many ways. He had done little more than temporarily distract her with his insincere love bombs, promising then gaslighting, hinting at marriage and children then ignoring her, embarrassing her, and ghosting her. In the end, her concerned friends and family had, infuriatingly, all been right. He had been bad for her, and she had been too desperate to see it or care. But she couldn’t really feel regret or embarrassment over him now, not when he had gotten her out of the prison of bored comforts she had built with Joe and had opened the door that lead her here. Here. Travis. Where she had finally found something better: a connection that had heat, electricity, sizzle, but also a backbone, a foundation. This fire didn’t burn her, it kept her warm. Travis was somehow both, a comfort and a spark, both safe and exciting. They enjoyed laughing together, and he had already shown her he would stand with her as she worked through her demons, sometimes holding her while she cried, sometimes pulling her up and wiping her eyes, helping her refocus, shake it off, enjoy life, enjoy being together. This felt different. Healthy. Real.
She let herself feel it all, the pleasure, the happiness, the feeling of safety wrapped in his arms, the nervous excitement of doing this with his friends in the room. As he felt her getting closer to climax, he pulled his hand away from her mouth and whispered “shhhhhh” to her as he leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep. But it wasn’t his lips that undid her. It was the way his strong arm wrapped around her and pulled her into his chest as she began to shake, the pressure inside of her starting to shudder, volatile and ready to come apart, the sparks from his fingers pushing her farther and farther into a blinding hurricane of sensation and pleasure. He pulled her close, and she pressed her face against his chest, quietly moaning into his soft gray t-shirt, as he maintained the same speed and pressure, not stopping yet, getting her all the way there. Her hips rocked and her fingers grasped wildly, balling up the fabric of his shirt as she pressed her open mouth hard against his shoulder, stifling her scream, her whole body shaking, she was completely lost, oblivious to the movie or the other people in the room, only aware of his hands on her body, his scent in her nostrils, his soft kisses on her hair as she came back to reality.
Her face was smashed against his t-shirt, his large arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders holding her firmly against him, his fingers now still against her sensitive wetness, letting her recover. She could feel his erection pressing hard against her through their clothes, and she wanted to somehow make him feel this good too, but right now she couldn’t even breathe, and she was suddenly terrified that everyone in the room probably knew exactly what they had just done. Her back was turned to the TV and to Travis’s friends, and with her face still pressed against his body, she had no idea if they were staring at her or stifling laughter or were, somehow, truly oblivious. She needed to know but couldn’t bear to turn and look, so she looked up at him, her eyes asking. He gave her a quick smile and a little wink, leaning down to kiss her, “You’re good, they have no idea.” He whispered, as his friends chuckled at something on the screen. She relaxed, both appalled and intensely thrilled that he had just made her come there on the sofa, mere feet away from other people.
She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his chest again, smiling, giddy. “Oh my god,” she whispered, softly laughing, “that was insane.”
He give her a proud smile that made her laugh, and something in his body language reminded her that he was hard and probably still aching for her to touch him. She wanted to reciprocate the attention he had just given her, wanted to see him squirm to stay quiet. Slowly, her face and body still tucked against his chest, she slipped a hand down and began to softly touch the firm bulge in his shorts, making his breath catch.
He shook his head, kissing her forehead again. “You said you could be quiet. I know I can’t.” He laughed, but his quick glance at his buddies nearby made her realize that he was also protecting her. Right or wrong, if his friends caught on to what they were doing, they would likely have different reactions, different impressions of Taylor, if it was her pleasuring him instead of the other way around. He didn’t want them to see her that way, think those things about her, so he would wait. She understood, and she appreciated it.
And so she rolled over, facing the screen again, as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. A moment later, as the credits began to roll on the movie that they had both missed, he leaned down and whispered, “I love you,” in her ear, squeezing her tight. She squeezed his hand, surprised that something so naughty and fun as him touching her during the movie could make her feel like crying.
A moment later, she blinked and squinted as someone turned the lights back on, as Ross gathered up beer cans off the table and Harry suggested that they order pizza and play Grand Theft Auto. It was getting late, his friends were getting drunker, and she was starting to wish for some private time alone with Travis. The idea of hanging out and watching them play video games was not exactly appealing. But she didn’t want to be rude or obvious, so she decided to try something.
As the guys started up the game, cracking open new beers and launching into friendly trash talk, she casually said, “I need to go check on the laundry. I’ll be right back.”
A few moments later, she stood in the laundry room and waited, her body suddenly tingling again with anticipation. “Hey Trav,” she called down the hall, “I can’t figure out how to get your dryer to work. Could you come help me for a second?”
A moment later she grabbed him as he came around the corner, pulling him into the room and kissing him hard. He understood immediately and closed the laundry-room door behind him, quickly locking it. She heard the sounds of the game, the guys laughing, and then it was all drowned out as the door closed and he reached over and hit start on the dryer, the loud sound suddenly wrapping them in a private cocoon of noise. He kissed her hungrily, grabbing her ass with both hands, lifting her up and perching her on the edge of the vibrating dryer.
Oh. Fuck.
His mouth was on her, his fingers already pulling her panties aside and shoving his shorts down. Oh god, his fingers were in her, making her moan against his open mouth as he leaned his body over her, her ass shaking with every shudder of the shaking dryer. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed himself into her, both of them gasping as her flesh stretched to let him in, hard and hot and urgent. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her face, losing himself in he feeling of her body rocking and vibrating underneath him, her arms and legs clinging to him as she moaned low and feral, feeling him move inside of her.
Neither of them had the self-control to make this last long. They needed each other, right now, fast and intense, consuming each other like a blazing wildfire. There was no holding back. He fucked her hard, rocking the dryer against the wall, holding her up with a a strong arm laced around her back when she began to lose control.
“Shhhhhh” he said roughly as she began to moan his name, but she couldn't stop, so he kissed her stifle the noise. She was too far gone to even kiss him back, able only to moan against his mouth.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” his voice was thick and low and raw. “I’m close, too. FUCK. Kiss me.”
She was so gone, spinning and falling into space, completely overwhelmed by the physical sensations of her body shaking on the low rumbling vibrations of the dryer, the most personal parts of him buried inside of her, so deep, touching her very center. She could feel him deep in her belly, where a bright, cold, powerful pressure was suddenly exploding wildly without warning. His mouth was on her skin, his voice was doing something chemical to the receptors in her brain, making her feel wanted and loved and desired. Oh god. She was coming undone, falling apart, losing her grip on reality. She grasped for him, then began to registered what he was saying urgently in her ear.
“SHHHHH, Tay. They’ll hear you. Kiss me. Kiss me, please, FUCK, I’m about to come.” He was groan and begging in her ear.
“Trav,” she moaned against his open mouth, their lips finally connecting, she kissed him wild and hard, her hips suddenly bucking uncontrollably as she felt him let go inside of her. The waves of sensation that rolled and rocked through her whole body were blinding, deafening, mind-numbing. She experienced the physical and the emotional in the same measure – her muscles clenching and releasing, each spasm sending a new wave of pleasure from her core through her whole body, him shuddering and groaning against her mouth as he came, pushing deep inside of her with each release, both of them clinging to each other, wanting to be joined in every sense possible. And both of them feeling something deeper. A connection, a joining. They wanted to have each other, possess each other. In that moment, they truly felt like one.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, eyes closed, face pressed against hers, trying to catch his breath, his body suddenly flooded with hormones and emotions making him feel attached, protective, calm, peaceful, affectionate.
“I love you,” she whispered, coming back to reality before him, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him again, this time softer, sweeter, his eyes still closed as he returned to earth.
“Fuck, Taylor,” he said, grinning, slowly opening his eyes. “That was fucking incredible.”
“Do you think they heard us?” She asked, suddenly shy.
“Nah, they’re into the game. You couldn’t get their attention right now if you stood beside them and yelled their names.”
“Travis, are we crazy?” She asked smiling as he found a towel and began to clean up. “I mean, what you did to me out there when we were watching the movie? Us doing this in here. I feel insane!”
“Nah, this isn’t insanity. Don't you remember what it felt like to be a giddy, horny teenager back in high school?” He smiled, “and even if it's insanity, who the fuck wants to be sane when you could have this? It’s pretty fucking great. I feel . . . young. It's that new-relationship insanity that makes you feel like you're sixteen. But honestly, I've never really experienced it like this.”
She nodded, thinking. He was right. This was like high school. And her brain was working now. And then it clicked. She wasn’t experiencing sentimentality for her real high-school experience, which frankly, had been pretty bad. No, this feeling was more cinematic, a technicolor, perfectly orchestrated music montage of teenage romance, sexual awakening, Americana, finding oneself, feeling understood. It was a high-school movie. American Pie. And suddenly it was all clicking, her feelings, the movie, the little kernel of an idea growing fast, exploding in her brain.
“Travis! I have an idea – I need to go work on it. Sorry!” And she was up, rearranging her clothes, pecking him on the cheek, unlocking the door, about to dash up the stairs to write the song that was already living in her head. “I love you!” She yelled back to him, happy and excited, as the puzzle pieces for the song clicked together. She was already humming as she took the stairs two at a time, lyrics coming to her faster than she could process them.
And he stood there, smiling, eyes pricking with unexpected tears.
“I love you, too,” he mumbled to himself quietly after she was gone, trying to remind himself that this was real, this was his, there was no catch, no shoe that was yet to drop. “I love you, too.” He sighed and shook his head, smiling, before heading back out to the kitchen to grab a beer and join his boys who were, as predicted, so lost in the game that they hadn’t even noticed that he was gone.