Claire's Movie Night

This is an unofficial sequel to Claire and the Boys, written with the permission of the original author, janscoM. If you haven't, read and subscribe to that awesome series!

It's set after Chapter 9 and is my way of keeping the story alive while we all wait for the next official update. Like many of you, I've been hitting refresh multiple times a week, wondering what Claire might be up to next. All that pining inspired this. Think of it as fanfiction, in the same vein as Cheryl's fanfic sequel series back in the IO days. Cheryl, if you're out there, hit me up!

This is a very "back to basics" approach, with some meta commentary and a very slapdash explanation for why Claire hasn't been around.

If you're into it, I'd be more than happy to keep going. Let me know what you think!

Claire & the Boys: Movie Night

The possibilities weren't as limitless as I imagined. Jim barely got the car back on the road when the low gas icon lit up on the dashboard. He muttered something under his breath, his focus shifting to finding a gas station. I hurriedly reached for my dress, crumpled in the backseat, and tugged it on as the car pulled into the fluorescent glow of the gas station's pump island. I managed to get it down to my hips, but the fabric tore somewhere, and I winced at the sound.

Jim got out to pay and pump, leaving me fidgeting in the passenger seat. The heat I'd felt earlier was fading, replaced by frustration. A minute or two passed, the hum of the pump the only sound. When Jim finally returned, he glanced at me, amused. I looked down and realized one of my nipples was peeking out from the torn dress. I adjusted it quickly, feeling a flicker of annoyance but no embarrassment. That was nothing compared to the night I'd had so far.

The moment seemed lost as he turned the car toward home. But then, at a red light, his hand drifted from the gear shift to my knee. He didn't hesitate, his hand sliding up my thigh, to the warmth between my legs. His touch was firm and impatient, as his fingers explored my pussy with a fervor that made me gasp. He brushed past my clit way too quickly, and began to push a finger inside me.

Then the light turned green, and his hand returned to the wheel. It drifted back to the gear shift, but there were no more red lights. At a stop sign, I smiled at him expectantly, hoping he'd pick up where he left off. He smiled back, not getting it. Instead, he reached over, cupped my chin, and kissed me. It was soft, tender, and completely unexpected. I was too stunned to react before he pulled away and, a moment later, we were home.

"Thanks for the ride," I said, my voice flat, as I climbed out of the car.

"See you around, Claire," he replied, his tone casual, like nothing had happened. I snuck inside, tugging my dress down with one hand and hiding my spilling breasts with the other.

Upstairs, I locked my bedroom door and slipped out of the torn dress, stashing it in the closet. I climbed into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, and let my hand drift between my legs. I was still aching, but the heat from earlier had dulled into a frustrating itch. I touched myself, trying to recapture the intensity of Jim's fingers, but it wasn't the same. My mind wandered to the way he'd kissed me, to the way his hand had felt on my thigh, to the way he'd pulled away without finishing what he started.

I chased an orgasm I couldn't catch, my body tensing and releasing in shallow waves that left me more frustrated than satisfied. I lay there afterward, staring at the ceiling, my body heavy with exhaustion. The night had started with so much promise, but now it felt hollow, like a story cut off mid-sentence. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind that leaves you more tired when you wake up than when you went to bed.

***

I stopped checking my phone. At first, I'd catch myself reaching for it, my thumb hovering over the screen, waiting for a text from Jim or Tom. But after everything that had happened, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was better off staying away. If I couldn't trust the "adults" in the room to keep me safe (and Geoff had definitely dropped the ball, in my opinion) what chance did I have with Tom and Jim?

The first time Tom called, my phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I froze. His name flashed on the screen and, for a second, I considered answering. But then I remembered the way he'd hesitated that night, the way he always let Jim take the lead, and I let it ring. When it went to voicemail, I didn't listen. I just stared at the screen until it went dark.

A few days later, Jim tried. His name popped up, and my heart skipped a beat. He'd kissed me like it meant something. But then he'd pulled away, acted like it was no big deal. I let his call go unanswered too. I didn't need that kind of confusion in my life. Not right now.

After that, the calls stopped. No texts, either. No apologies, no explanations, no "hey, how's it going?" It was like they'd given up, and maybe that was for the best. I left my phone on silent and tried to focus on the days ticking down to college.

***

My parents had been nagging me about choosing a major, but I was still undeclared. Every time they brought it up, I'd shrug and say, "I'm thinking about it," but the truth was, I hadn't thought about it much at all. My mind was too preoccupied with other things --like Jim's fingers tangled in my hair as he groaned my name. Or the way Tom had stared at me in the car ride back from the theater, barely blinking, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing even though he'd seen it many times before. Even Brad's cocksure grin as he groped me, like I was just a toy for him to play with. And the older guy from my changing room adventure, and the porter, what was his name? Nick? His shy, eager eyes... did I give him my phone number? Maybe I could go back to the restaurant, find him...

At first, when my parents weren't home, I'd spent most of my time naked inside, or suntanning in the backyard. I'd lie on the lounger, letting the sun warm my skin, my mind replaying moments of intense pleasure, embarrassment, frustration, the greatest hits from my adventures. I'd touch myself, my fingers sliding between my legs, imagining one of them, Jim, Tom, or Geoff, touching me instead. I'd rub myself raw, my body trembling with the memory, even the possibility of their hands, their lips, their bodies pressing against mine. I went through a lot of suntan lotion.

But it was getting colder every day. Summer was ending. I started binge-watching true crime docs on Netflix at all hours just to distract myself from the urge to go out in public again, find fun alone, a much riskier prospect. I'd been lucky so far, but the close calls at the party had been enough to press 'pause'.

I kept asking myself, how much did I need this? Was escalation the only way to get off? Tom and Jim were, well, boys. Boys are simple. But they were also the first ones who'd encouraged me, given me the room to take risks. And maybe, just maybe, they were inseparable from this little kink I was on. But I'd dropped them like a bad habit, and they had let me.

And then, one day, my phone buzzed again. Despite everything, my heart leapt when I saw Tom's name on the screen.

***

Tom: Hey, Claire. Long time no talk.

I stared at the message, my emotions swirling. On one hand, I was relieved to finally hear from him. On the other, I was pissed. Long time no talk? No kidding. Where the hell had he been? I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool as I typed out a reply.

Me: Hey, Tom. Yeah, it 's been a while. What's the occasion? Finally remembered I exist?

His reply came a few seconds later, and I could almost hear his awkward laugh.

Tom: Haha, sorry about that. Jim and I have been slammed with this summer class and helping my dad with a home renovation project. It 's been crazy. But we're almost done, and I just thought it'd be cool to hang out. So, do you wanna come over tonight? We're watching The Winter Soldier for class. It's a superhero thing. You'd probably like it.

I sighed, my annoyance softening a little. At least he was trying. Still, I wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. I decided to push a little.

Me: Cool. So, what 's the dress code? Should I wear something sexy? Or are we keeping it casual?

There was a pause before his reply came through, and I could practically feel his hesitation through the screen.

Tom: Uh, whatever you 're comfortable with, I guess. But the basement's kinda cool, so maybe bring a jacket or something.

The basement? I wondered. Otherwise, this was Classic Tom behavior. Always so oblivious. I decided to push a little harder.

Me: Cool. So, no sexy dress then? Just cozy and warm? Knickers, y/n?

This time, his reply came faster, and I pictured his awkward smile.

Tom: I mean, you can wear whatever you want. But, yeah, maybe cozy and warm is a good idea.

I laughed, shaking my head. He was so predictable, but at least he was trying. After weeks of silence, I was glad to hear from him. I typed out one last message before tossing my phone on the bed and heading to my closet to figure out what to wear.

Me: Got it. Cozy and warm it is. See you in a couple hours.

It was a very unsatisfactory result after everything. I was owed more than a lame movie night with two guys who'd seemingly forgotten all about me. But nevertheless.

I rummaged through the winter wear I'd set aside for "school" and pulled out an oversized hoodie. It was soft and worn, the kind of thing I'd throw on when I wanted to relax. As usual, lately, I was already naked, so I didn't have to strip to admire myself in the mirror behind my bedroom door.

My body had changed so much over the past year, and I still couldn't get over it sometimes. I had the kind of big, perky boobs that made boys stare and girls jealous. And my ass! That was my favorite. It was round and firm, the kind of butt that turned heads when I walked by. I stood on my toes and did quarter turns, ran my hands down my sides, feeling the smoothness of my skin, the way my waist dipped in just enough to make my curves pop.

I let my fingers trail lower, brushing through my neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair. It was soft, just a little wiry, and I liked the way it accented everything else.

I felt a familiar, radiating heat growing inside me. But then I thought of Jim, his hands on me, his lips on mine, and I pulled my hand away. I wanted more. I wanted answers.

I slipped the hoodie on. It fell to about mid-thigh. I drew it back so it cinched at the front, turning sideways to check the fit. My breasts didn't sag under the fabric, and my nipples didn't show. I gave an experimental jump, watching in the mirror as the hoodie bounced with me. No one would know I wasn't wearing anything underneath. That is, until I wanted them to.

Before leaving, I slipped on a pair of cheap sandals that I kept near the door for emergency mail/delivery purposes. And then I was out.

***

For the first time in ages, I walked to Tom's house. The late summer air was turning, but in direct sunlight it was still quite nice. My oversized hoodie swung around my thighs as I walked. My sandals slapped against the pavement, and I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to look casual. I wasn't sure how I felt about this sudden invitation, but I was tired of thinking about everything that had happened on my own. Maybe this was a chance to reset.

Geoff's house loomed as I passed, and I couldn't help but glance through the windows, half-expecting to see him watching. But the curtains were drawn, and I hurried on.

Tom's house came into view, and I slowed my pace. It looked the same as always; a modest two-story with a neatly trimmed lawn and a basketball hoop in the driveway, perfect for raising a naive young man and entertaining his ne'er-do-well friend. The garage door was open, and I could see tools and lumber piled inside, remnants of the home renovation project Tom had mentioned. I hesitated at the front door, my hand hovering over the bell before I finally pressed it.

The door swung open almost immediately, and there was Tom, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. He was dressed in a loose t-shirt and jeans, his hair slightly messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed. His smile was warm, though, and it made my stomach flutter despite myself.

"Claire! You made it," he said, stepping aside to let me in. "Come on in. You're gonna love this."

"Love what, exactly?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I stepped inside. The house smelled faintly of sawdust and paint.

"In the basement," Tom said, shutting the door behind me. "We've been working on it for weeks. It's finally finished. Well, mostly. You'll see."

"The basement, huh?" I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Am I going to end up in your refrigerator?"

Tom blinked, looking genuinely confused. "What?"

"For sex," I said, deadpan.

Tom laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Would I really have to kill you for sex?"

I opened my mouth, about to say that all he'd have to do was ask, but then caught myself. I was annoyed with him, remember? I hesitated, and Tom noticed, his expression turning expectant. I rolled my eyes and started to head down the hall, but he cut me off.

"It is safe," he said quickly. "But... just to be safer, I'll go first."

I followed him toward a door in the kitchen, which I now assumed led into the basement. Tom pushed it open, revealing a set of stairs leading into darkness. He went down first, and I followed, my sandals barely making a sound on the carpeted steps. The air was cooler down there, and I felt goosebumps rising on my bare legs.

Two-thirds of the way down, Tom's foot landed on a step that let out an impressive groan. He winced, but ignored it. After the same thing happened under my sandal, he apologized for some reason.

"Don't worry about it," I said.

"Jim calls it the early warning step," he explained.

As we reached the bottom, Tom gestured to the flat white walls like he was giving a tour. "So, yeah, this is the main hallway. We're still working on the lighting, but it's coming along. My dad and I have been doing most of the work, but Jim's been a big help. His dad's a contractor, so he knows what he's doing. It's been a learning curve for us, though."

I raised an eyebrow. "Jim's dad's a contractor? Since when?"

"Since always," Tom said with a shrug. "Jim's been shadowing him for years. He's pretty good with his hands."

"Cool," I said, my voice a little higher than usual. Jim's hands, strong, capable, maybe a little rough from all that manual labor. I felt my cheeks flush.

Tom pointed to the doors lining the hallway, knocking on each one lightly with the flat of his hand as we passed under punched-out holes in the ceiling, hanging exposed wiring creeping out of each, presumably where lighting fixtures had yet to be attached. "Laundry room, kitchenette, bathroom... and this," he said, gesturing to the shut door at the end of the hall. I could hear the muffled sound of a movie playing.

Tom pushed the door open, and I stepped inside, enveloped by the TV's glow and the deep bass of a powerful surround sound system. To my right, a massive flatscreen; in front of it, a narrow coffee table and a long couch that stretched wall to wall; behind the couch, shelves filled with DVDs, video games, board games, you name it. The room was impressive, but only visible in blobs of light, as the action onscreen changed, and filled with shadows.

And there, sprawled across the couch, was Jim.

He was leaning back, one arm stretched across the back of the couch, the other resting on his thigh. He was wearing an unbuttoned flannel and gray sweatpants, his feet bare. He looked completely at ease. On the screen, the trailer for the latest Marvel movie was playing, and Jim was focused. When we walked in, he didn't look up right away. It wasn't until Tom cleared his throat that Jim's eyes flicked toward us, and a smile rose and just as quickly fell from his face. For a second, he looked surprised, then annoyed.

"It's soundproofed!" Tom shouted much too loud next to my shoulder, startling me.

"What?" I said, my voice cracking a little.

Jim reached over and picked up a remote control, presumably for the sound system, that muted the TV without stopping the trailer, and the sudden silence was as startling as the noise had been.

"Soundproof," Jim repeated flatly. "Claire, what are you doing here?"

I blinked, caught off guard by his tone. "Tom invited me," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Nice to see you too, Jim."

Jim's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Tom. "You didn't tell me she was coming."

Tom shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "I figured it'd be a nice surprise."

"Yeah, real nice," Jim muttered, turning back to the screen.

Tom forced a laugh. "We were talking about all the possibilities with this room," he said, gesturing wildly. "You know, bringing girls from film class down here. I thought Claire would make a perfect test case."

"Though, let's be honest, Claire," Jim cut in, reaching for the remote. "you're lousy for testing. No need to impress you." His thumb hovered over the mute button. "You'll just--"

The volume cut back in mid-sentence, but his lips clearly formed open your mouth for anyone.

I stiffened immediately, my eyes on Tom, frozen halfway to the Blu-ray player. His shoulders tensed like he'd been slapped. He'd probably heard it clearly enough, he was closer than I was, and he couldn't pretend he hadn't. Like I decided to do.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling around the hem of my hoodie. For a heartbeat, I considered storming out. Then I grabbed one of two spiral-bound notebooks I noticed on the coffee table and forced a smirk. "Wow. And here I thought we were friends, Jim" I said, and flopped onto the couch right next to him, making the springs creak. He tensed, clearly thrown off guard, but I pressed on. "Nice job, anyway. Your 'home theater' looks like a serial killer's lair."

Jim's head snapped toward me. "What are you talking about?"

I rolled my eyes, gesturing dramatically around the room. "Oh, I don't know, Jim. Maybe the fact that it looks like a DIY horror movie set? The lighting's giving 'creeper sex dungeon,' and I'm pretty sure those wires hanging from the ceiling are a fire hazard." I pointed at the exposed electrical spaghetti.

Tom opened his mouth to defend their handiwork, but I cut him off as I wiggled my bare toes out of my sandals and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. "And don't even get me started on the sound. It's like you guys cranked the bass up to 'earthquake'. I can feel my organs vibrating."

Jim crossed his arms, in a full-on sitcom pout. "We used soundproofing panels. They're, like, professional grade."

"Oh, professional grade?" I said, leaning forward to pick up one of the notebooks off the coffee table. I flipped through the notebook, trying to sell how unimpressed I was with these boys and their toys. "These notes any good, or did you just doodle dicks in the margins?"

Jim snatched the notebook away from me. "We're analyzing shot composition." He flipped to a page crammed with diagrams of camera angles and shoved it under my nose. "Not that you'd care, but--"

"Ah, the ol' 'heroic Dutch tilt.'" I leaned toward the notebook, close enough to Jim to feel the heat radiating through his sweatpants. "Cap's intro scene uses it ironically, right? Since he's kinda the villain of his own story?"

Tom burst out laughing, and turned back to fiddling a Blu-ray case open. "How do you even know any of this?"

I shrugged. "Youtube."

Tom grinned. "So, you're not really a teenage filmmaking prodigy?"

"I'm not," I said, meeting his grin with one of my own, "but neither are you if you didn't even notice I was bluffing."

Jim exhaled through his nose but didn't scoot away, which I took to be a pretty good sign. I didn't know why he was acting so bitchy, since I was the one who got ghosted. Realizing there was a giant novelty-size blanket draped across the back of the couch, I reached behind us and pulled it down over our heads. He made protest sounds --"Man, come on!"-- The fabric was heavier than I expected, a dense, woven material that smelled faintly of cedar.

"So," I said, "we starting with The Winter Soldier or just fast-forwarding to my favorite part where Bucky rips a steering wheel out with his metal arm?"

"Jesus, Claire," Tom said, kneeling by the Blu-ray player. "We're watching the whole thing. And, uh, maybe Civil War after. If we have time."

"It completes the narrative arc," Jim added, leaning back.

Tom reached for the other notebook while Jim explained, "This is for our mise-en-scène papers." His tone dared me to mock him again.

I sighed, leaning back into the couch. "So, sssince when are you two in college?"

Tom glanced up, looking a little sheepish. "It's just one class. We're trying things out, figured it'd be more fun together. Plus, I get a tuition discount since Dad works there."

"Your dad's a teacher?" I asked, surprised.

"Part-time," Tom said with a shrug. "He's been teaching a night class for a while now. It's not a big deal."

"My dad's just glad to see me 'apply myself,'" added Jim, making finger quotes in the air. "Even if it's to a film class at a state school. No offense to your Dad, Tom."

Tom rolled his eyes but didn't respond.

Jim continued, his voice casual. "My sister escaped, of course. Never to return. Well, until she needs to do laundry. She'll be back next week until the next semester," he added vaguely, as if it were an afterthought and not a thread to be pulled at in a later chapter.

"Wait, so, uh, what about the Winter Soldier stuff?" Tom asked, pressing 'Play' on another remote control. He had one eyebrow raised in a comically curious expression that reminded me how cute he looked when he didn't know what was going on.

"Oh, that's real. Hashtag Stucky forever," I said, still smiling, referencing the infamous slash pairing of Bucky and Steve.

Jim smirked, tilting his head to appraise me with that cocky, amused look of his. "I didn't take you for a movie buff, Claire," he said, his tone teasing but, I thought, genuinely curious.

I tilted my head to mirror his, meeting his gaze with a playful shrug. "You never asked," I said.

Jim opened his mouth to retort, but was immediately drowned out by the MARVEL STUDIOS fanfare and logo onscreen. Our repertoire faltered. I found myself happy, despite Jim's cold shoulder and, let's face it, shitty attitude. I'd come over to bug them, maybe destroy them sexually (muhahaha), but definitely to get off. And now I found myself among friends. Real friends.

By the time the opening credits rolled, the three of us had the blanket well-positioned. Tom claimed the spot on my other side, his notebook open on his lap. We sat there, in the semi-darkness, as Captain America punched his way across the screen. Tom joined me in kicking his feet up on the table, while Jim sat stiffly, still trying to look put off. Despite his best efforts, his knee bounced slightly during action scenes, and every time he leaned forward to scribble something in his notebook, his elbow brushed my ribs.

The remote for the surround sound system sat untouched on the coffee table. I eyed it, then the way Jim's sweatpants stretched tight when he shifted. Maybe... real friends with benefits.

If you haven 't seen it, The Winter Soldier isn't some mindless superhero action movie. The plot is tight, the action is intense, and the characters are... well, Chris Evans isn't exactly hard to look at.

Tom and Jim were deep in discussion, tossing around terms from their film studies class like "narrative tension" and "character arc." I chimed in, surprising even myself with how much I had to say. "But, like, by the time we get to Civil War, isn't the whole point that he's questioning everything he thought he knew? Even the people he trusted the most could be lying to him!" I said, my voice rising with excitement.

"Exactly," Jim replied, glancing at me in surprise. "That's what makes it so compelling. It's not just about the action, it's about the moral ambiguity."

I nodded, feeling a little thrill at being part of the conversation. For a moment, I forgot about the heavy blanket draped over us, the way it trapped the heat and made me feel like I was slowly roasting. But then I shifted slightly, and I felt the dampness of sweat where my arm pressed into my armpit. My hair was starting to stick to the back of my neck, and I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my spine.

"God, I'm so hot," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

"Take your hoodie off," Tom said, his eyes still glued to the screen, where Cap and the Winter Soldier were trading blows.

I hesitated, glancing between the two of them. Oh, right. I was caught up in the camaraderie and almost missed it. The moment to shift gears. I felt a familiar flutter of excitement in my stomach, the kind I got when I knew I was about to cross a line. "But I'm not wearing a shirt under this," I said, my voice casual, like I was reading the disclaimer in an ad for antidepressants. "Or a bra."

Jim's head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and anticipation. "What a surprise. You heard him, Claire. Take off your shirt."

Tom tried to match Jim's nonchalance, but his voice betrayed him. "Leave her alone, Jim. Claire, just get comfortable if you want to. But, uh, dad is working upstairs."

"Too late," I said, reaching down to lift the hem of the hoodie. I shifted my weight, lifting my butt slightly to tug the hoodie out from under it, then over my breasts, mindful of the blanket on my lap. The fabric drew my boobs up for a moment before they fell back into place, bouncing slightly. Finally, my head was free and the faint scent of lavender filled the air, remnants of the soap from my morning shower. My hair fell in a tangled mess and the cool air of the basement begin to prickle my skin with goosebumps.

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to turn this into another Claire adventure," Jim said, feigning indifference.

"What, you think I'm joking?" I said, grabbing Jim's hands and placing them firmly on my breasts. His eyes widened for a moment, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers immediately started moving, exploring the soft curves like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. I watched him for a second, amused by how quickly he'd gone from teasing to fully invested, then added, "See? I'm all sweaty."

"Dad's upstairs," Tom repeated, his voice a little higher than usual. "Just saying."

I shrugged, pulling my hands away and holding them up in mock innocence, as Jim continued to play with my boobs. "Hey, don't look at me. He's the one who can't keep his hands to himself.

"I'm just helping her get comfortable," Jim said, his tone conversational but his hands still busy. He gave my nipples one last simultaneous pinch, and I barely stifled a grunt. Then he sat back, clearly proud of himself, eyes still fixed on my boobs.

"You're welcome, Claire," he added.

I rolled my eyes at him, then turned to Tom with a playful smile. "You're not being a very good host, you know. You're supposed to make sure your guest is comfortable, right?"

Tom blinked, looking a little flustered. "Uh, yeah, I guess so."

I reached over and gently took his hand, guiding it to my closest breast. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he froze, his hand hovering awkwardly. But then, slowly, he began to move his fingers, exploring the soft curve with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. I couldn't help but laugh a little. It was kind of adorable, really. Tom had touched me in more intimate areas than that during the ride home from the movie theater, but I guess with a little time passing, we were all due a reset.

Finally, fully beaming now, at least, Tom withdrew his hand and cleared his throat, his eyes darting between us. "Uh, can we maybe focus on the movie?"

"Got it," I said, balling up my hoodie in my lap. I tossed it one-handed toward the corner of the room. "If we hear your Dad coming down the stairs, I'll put it back on."

My hoodie landed with a soft thud, and I settled back into the couch, the blanket falling into place around my ribs, just above my navel.

"Comfortable yet?" Jim asked, his tone teasing.

I surprised even myself with a move straight out of a movie theater dating playbook, the kind of thing guys usually tried in movies. I opened my mouth wide and stretched my arms high above my head in a theatrical stage yawn. Tom's eyes flicked back to me and lingered on my rising chest.

I let my arms fall, draping one around Jim's shoulders and the other around Tom's. They both stiffened in surprise, then relaxed.

"Getting there," I said.

The movie played on, and for the umpteenth bazilyionth time, I let myself get lost in it. The tension between Cap and the Winter Soldier was palpable, and the fight scenes were brutal, but it was the emotional weight of the story that hooked me, as Cap struggled to save his friend.

But I could feel the shift in the room. The tension was thicker now, the air charged with something unspoken. Both guys tried to maintain their focus, but couldn't help their eyes darting to my chest. And they kept finding excuses to compare notes, their hands brushing against the sides and bottom of my breasts as they passed their spiral-bound notebooks back and forth. At first, it was subtle, accidental, maybe. But when Jim's eyes locked onto mine after one particularly lengthy pass, his expression a mix of amusement and provocation, I knew the only person focused on the movie was Tom, apparently sated by the close proximity of my bare tits. So, I made no effort to hide them. In fact, I decided to up the ante.

My new game (within the game) was to keep my hands where they were, draped across Tom and Jim's shoulders, and not move to cover myself no matter what. The blanket had slipped lower, resting just below my navel. I risked a long, deep inhale, and watched as my body receded from the blanket's touch. In the low, strobing light it was hard to tell whether I could see my pubic hair or not, much less the fact that I was completely naked, but my hip bones cast subtle shadows. I looked instinctively toward Jim and, sure enough, he was looking back, his gaze darting between my eyes and their focus.

Naturally, since I'd decided to raise the stakes, Jim made the challenge worthwhile.

"So, Claire," Jim said, as he once again reached across my naked body to take his notebook back from Tom, "what do you think the Winter Soldier's arc is primarily about? Redemption or identity?"

"I think it's both," I said, my voice thoughtful, ignoring his wrist grazing one of my nipples. "In Civil War, he's trying to make up for what he's done, but he's also trying to figure out who he is without Hydra."

Jim nodded, but his eyes were still on my breasts, not the movie. "Exactly," he said, scribbling something quickly in the margins of his notebook, and passing it back to Tom, this time running his knuckles softly along my ribs, which tickled like mad. "But what really gets me is the way he's processing it all. The mind blowing experience he's having. It's all in his eyes. A real head game."

I raised an eyebrow, catching the emphasis. "A head game, huh?"

Jim grinned, leaning closer. "Yeah, like, remember when I drove you home from the party? You've got a pretty impressive head game yourself."

Tom's head snapped up, his eyes betraying his surprise. "Jim..." he muttered. But Jim just laughed and reached out for his notebook again. I was surprised by how embarrassing it was to hear him talk about that in front of Tom and I felt myself turn red. I wondered how far a blush could spread.

As Jim pulled his notebook back, he deliberately ran his arm underneath my breasts, lifting them slightly with his forearm. It was the first time he'd done it so blatantly, and I felt an icy thrill run through me.

Tom's eyes were wide, but he didn't say anything. He just cleared his throat and looked back at the screen.

Jim scoffed and reached out again, this time cradling the underside of my breast and giving it a firm squeeze, gaining both our attention. He did it almost as if he were shaking it in Tom's face. "Come on, Tom. What's with the prude act all of a sudden? After everything she's let us do, this? This is nothing."

As Tom clenched his jaw, I raised my arms off the boys and moved them to the back of the couch, remaining on display. He paused the movie (right before Steve Rogers and the Winter Soldier finally faced off in a brutal, emotional showdown) and the silence only seemed to amplify the tension. Jim was the first to break it.

"What's the big deal?" he demanded. "She's fine with it. Aren't you, Claire?" His eyes dared me to agree.

I opened my mouth, hoping to lighten things up a bit and point out they were arguing while I was showing off "the goods". That, in fact, Jim's hand was still on my boob. Obviously, I could've told him to stop. But Tom cut in. "It's not about her being 'fine with it,' Jim. It's about, I don't know, respect? Boundaries?"

Jim snorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Boundaries? Really, Tom? After everything she's done?"

He gestured sharply toward me.

"Look at her," Jim continued. "She's not exactly shy, is she? Hell, she loves this."

"I actually don't love your tone, Jim," I said dryly, finally managing to interject. He opened his mouth to reply but I ignored him, turning to Tom instead, my voice shaky. "Tom, I'm OK. It's not a big deal--"

But Jim wasn't done. "See? She's fine. So why are you acting like I'm the bad guy here?"

Tom grit his teeth. "I'm not saying you're the bad guy, I'm just saying maybe we should ask before--"

"I'm thirsty!" I blurted out, my voice louder than I meant it to be. Both of them froze, turning to me with surprised expressions.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I'll say!"

"Shut up, Jim," I snarled. "I'm thirsty. For. A. Drink."

Both Tom and Jim looked surprised. For a moment, no one said anything. Then Tom's eyes widened, and he smacked his forehead. "Oh, crap! I was supposed to get drinks. And order food!"

As Tom fumbled with his phone, pulling up DoorDash, Jim's hand never left my breast. His thumb brushed over my nipple, over and over, sending little shocks of pleasure through me. I wasn't sweating anymore, the basement was cold, but I was starting to get pretty hot, my body responding to his touch despite the tension in the room.

"What do you guys want?" Tom asked, his voice slightly strained.

"Pizza," Jim said, his thumb still moving. "Claire?"

"Pizza sounds good," I said, my voice steady despite the warmth spreading through me.

Tom nodded, meeting my gaze for a moment, then looking at Jim's fingers, then back to me. I willed my eyes to form full sentences. I wanted them to say, Why aren't you touching the other one? But he focused on his phone. "Got it. Pizza and drinks. Coming right up."

While Tom scrolled, Jim's thumb continued brushing over my nipple in a way that was almost absentminded, like he was lost in thought. I glanced down, watching his fingers move, and the moment I did, he pinched me hard. My mouth formed a silent O, but I didn't cry out. I didn't so much as twitch an arm muscle, either, for which I was quite proud.

I looked up at him, and he was already staring back, his smile growing as he gauged my reaction. He seemed to think he'd figured something out, that I wouldn't stop him. Then we heard the confirmation sound on Tom's phone, and he slipped out of the blanket, surprising me. My arm flopped to my side, and I felt my breasts jiggle as he retrieved the Blu-ray player remote control from the coffee table.

"Drinks!" he said cheerfully, checking the runtime of the movie. Then he gave a distracted wave with the remote. "Be right back."

Then he was out the door and down the dark hall. Now that we were alone, my hand around Jim's back felt too intimate. Momentarily forgetting the game, I settled my bare feet on the floor and withdrew my hand, simultaneously beginning to pull up the blanket with my felled arm, to cover my bare hip and thigh. Jim's hand shot out of nowhere, swatting mine away. I froze, startled, and stared at his face, only inches from mine.

He was leaning over me, his expression inscrutable. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me again.

Suddenly, there was a terrific groan from the hallway, as Tom's foot found the early warning step.

Jim leaned back and chuckled. "It does that every time. Pretty good early warning system, don't you think? That way no one can surprise you if you want to be alone, get up to no good."

I smirked, settling into the conversation, knowing only a few feet of fabric separated Jim from my naked body (but isn't that true even when I'm dressed?). "Oh, so you've tested it, huh?" I whispered. "Sneaking girls down here already?"

"Not yet," he said, his grin widening. "But if you know any."

"Sure," I said. "Let me know when you need tips on how to not scare them off with your charm."

He nodded his head at my exposed thigh and reached over for the blanket, gripping it exactly where I had. Except I didn't think he planned to restore any of my modesty. He watched me for any signs of protest.

"Are you cold, Claire?" he said, his voice low and teasing. "You seemed pretty comfortable a second ago."

I looked defiantly over his shoulder at the frozen TV screen, my face heating up again.

"I feel fine,"I said.

My heart was racing, but I didn't move. His hand stayed on the blanket, his fingers brushing against my thigh as he began to pull it down and across, slowly revealing me. But I didn't stop him.

"You can stop me," he said, apparently reading my mind. "If you want to. But you're not supposed to cover yourself, right? That's the game?"

I stared back at him and nodded quickly.

I looked down, watching as the blanket slid further, exposing my hips, my stomach, and finally the neatly trimmed strip of hair between my thighs. My cheeks burned, but I didn't look away.

Jim took in the sight of me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

"Jim..." I said.

Jim laughed, low and deep. "Why are you whispering? No one can hear us."

"Force of habit," I shot back, rolling my eyes.

Before I could say more, Jim's hand landed on my stomach, his fingers hot against my skin. His palm was like sandpaper from all the woodwork he'd been doing, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. "No one would be able to hear you, for instance, if..." he said, his voice a whisper, trailing off along with his touch. His fingers rolled down over my pubic hair and his knuckles brushed my pussy.

His face was intimately close again, his lips near my neck. His other hand moved to my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple in the same fidgety way, like a child playing with a toy he wasn't sure how to use. It reminded me of his, shall we say, premature enthusiasm the last time we'd been together, and pulled me out of the moment. I realized that even though part of me wanted to lose myself in his touch, the heat of his breath on my skin, that wasn't why I was here. This wasn't about giving up control. It was about taking it.

"Jim," I said, my voice firm despite the way it cracked slightly.

His hand had all but settled between my legs, and my voice did that high-pitched thing again, almost a yelp. I repeated the command for his attention. "Jim!"

"Mm?" he said, his tone lazy, like he was only half-listening. His thumb brushed against my inner thigh, and I felt my breath hitch.

"This isn't doing it for me," I said, which was half a lie. My body was responding to his touch, but I wasn't about to let him think he had all the power.

Jim paused, his smirk faltering for a moment as he looked at me. "Oh?"

I cleared my throat, shook my head, and wiggled my toes in the soft carpet, absent-mindedly grateful that the floor was carpeted. It was a small comfort, but right now, I'd take what I could get. I was trying to play it cool, to act like I wasn't completely flustered by what was happening. But Jim wasn't having it.

He stood abruptly and, for a moment, I thought he was going to let it go. But then, without warning, he dropped into a crouch, his hands wrapping around my calves. Before I could react, he sprang to his feet, lifting and spreading my legs wide as he went. I rocked back, my head sliding down the backrest. It was cushioned, obviously, but it still felt like the blow had knocked me senseless.

Surely Jim hadn't just spread my legs. Surely my feet weren't now planted on the couch, further apart than my shoulders. And Jim hadn't dropped back on his haunches, kneeling between my legs, investigating every secret part of me.

But there he was. I could only see the top half of his head, but I felt where his mouth was closest, could feel his hot breath on my most intimate places. The dimples on his face rose as his dark expression darted from one thigh to the other, taking in every inch of me. And then fingers I didn't see grazed just inside, where I was the hottest. A moment later, Jim was holding up his index and ring finger for my inspection. They were shining in the TV's glow, glistening with me.

"It sure seems like it's doing it for you, Claire," he said, his voice full of the same smug confidence that always made my stomach flip.

Then he shot to his feet and left me there, legs spread like I was at the doctor's office. I didn't close them; I couldn't. It wasn't defiance or the game; I was frozen, caught between the shock of his sudden movement and the raw, explicitly sexual tension if I didn't.

"Put your arms on the back of the couch," he ordered.

I tried to, but had fallen down far enough that I could barely manage to grip the back with my hands. I pulled myself up a little, once again sticking out my chest for his inspection. His eyes tracked my breathing, but quickly returned to the task at hand.

"Classic Claire," he said, shaking his head in frustration. "I don't get it. You give Tom a blowjob, you give me a blowjob --hell, two-- ride around naked in my car, and then you act all demure. But look at you."

And since he'd given himself permission, Jim did look at me. Again.

His eyes dropped to where I was spread open, legs still wide, my feet planted awkwardly on the couch. His gaze was intense, almost like he was trying to see through me, and I could feel the heat of it like a laser beam. It was as if he were memorizing every detail, from the way my thighs trembled ever so slightly, to the way my pussy glistened. I'd been wet since he'd started teasing me earlier, but now, under his stare, it was like my body was betraying me even more. I imagined I could feel it dripping, gushing, between my thighs.

I felt more exposed than I ever had on any of my other little adventures. It was so messed up --arousing, embarrassing, intoxicating-- and I couldn't stop myself from loving every second. I mean, I could've ended it anytime I wanted, right? But I didn't. My pussy was like a damn magnet, pulling him in, and I could feel him holding back, like he was teetering on the edge of doing something crazy. Watching him, I felt like a mad scientist studying the monster I created.

The silence between us stretched until I couldn't take it anymore. "So, what," I quipped, "Was I supposed to come over and blow you both?"

"Why not?"

I laughed, trying to play it off, but my voice trembled. "One at a time or both at once?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, and the suggestion hung tantalizingly in the air.

Jim leaned closer, his voice low. "Your call."

I glared at him, trying not to seem as hot and bothered as I was, hoping my body wasn't giving it all away. I nodded sarcastically, "Oh, it's my call now? Is that why we haven't seen each other? Not that you and Tom ghosted me for weeks--"

"We did call--" Jim cut in.

"Once!" I shot back.

"Each," he said, shaking his head.

"Oh, well, two calls certainly deserves two blow jobs." I said. "What were you doing..."

I paused, my mind scrambling for a comeback that would hit, my exposure making it difficult to form a complex defense for what I knew, deep down, was kinda hypocritical. "... comparing notes?"

Jim was obviously taken aback, but he had trouble glaring when so much of his attention was drawn down to where my legs were still spread. My arousal was a low, electric hum in the back of my mind, distracting me as much as my body was distracting Jim. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the words with mounting frustration. Then his jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his voice softer than I expected. "Don't act like this is up to us. You could've knocked on Tom's door at any time. It's always been you, Claire. And for the record... I didn't tell Tom."

It was my turn to taunt him. "Why not? Catching feelings?" But then I remembered the kiss and felt like I was being rocked back against the backrest again. But it was too late.

Jim's face flushed, and he looked away for a moment, clearly embarrassed. I stood up, my legs finally closing as I stepped toward him, tentatively reaching out to touch his arm. But then he snapped back, his tone forcibly more playful. "It's always you, Claire, putting yourself in these positions. Acting like we wronged you, but you love it. No one even asked you to take off your hoodie, for example."

He turned and strode directly for it, leaving me standing there, my body still humming. I hurried after him, trying to explain. "Jim, after everything that happened, I just... I needed a break. To feel normal. For a while. But..."

But Jim walked faster. He reached the balled-up hoodie first, and held it behind his head, out of reach. I jumped for it, regardless, flailing one arm, my boobs jiggling for his pleasure. No luck.

"Tsk, tsk, Claire. Honestly, you'd think you'd take better care of your stuff."

I pressed on, "But you and Tom, you're my new normal. Even if it's messy, even if I'm messy--"

But he was already walking to the door. Following him, I felt like a whining teenager. I threw my arms wide, palms up, then swept my hands from my shoulders down to my hips, fingers splayed, gesturing to all of me. "And now I'm back, so what's the problem?"

Apparently unswayed, he said, "I'll hang this up for you," over his shoulder as he stepped into the hall, his hand on the doorknob. Then he turned back to look at me, a very warm, insincere smile disguising a little light malevolence, his tone teasing. "And welcome back, Claire. We did miss you, you know."

"Jim--"

Then he shut the door behind him.

"I needed you," I said, to absolutely no one.

I stared at the closed door until I heard the groan from the early warning step again, my heart pounding in my chest.

Alone in the dark, with a snarling Chris Evans staring at my naked body, I could've had a lot of thoughts. But instead, adrenaline rushed through me like iced water, and all I could think about was Tom's refrain about his father being home. Another guy I wanted to have words with, but on my terms.

"Seriously, Claire, what were you thinking?" I muttered to myself, shaking my head. "Naked in Tom's new man cave?"

I busied myself with the blanket, smoothing out the wrinkles. If Tom came back and saw it all messed up, he'd probably feel the need to fix it, and that was the last thing I wanted. I had this manic urge to giggle bubbling up in my chest, but I bit it back. If I started laughing now, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop. And let's be real, there's nothing sexy about a girl losing her mind in your basement. But this--this mess was exactly what I'd been missing.

Tom had been gone for ages. I waited, naked and shivering, yet oddly exhilarated. It was kind of stupid. They had both seen me naked. I could hear Tom's voice in my head, "You look beautiful like this, Claire." The thought sent a rush through me, equal parts thrill and terror.

Jim was infuriating and Tom was clueless, but they were mine again. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

I returned to my place in the center seat, sheathing my legs under the blanket and drawing it up over my body to my chin, just as I heard the familiar creak on the steps. Twice. Muffled voices followed the creaking, and I recognized Tom and Jim before they reentered the room. I had time for one last adjustment, tucking the blanket under my body on either side of me, just as Tom opened the door, smiling and proud of himself, with frosty drinks for the three of us.

"Drinks!" he announced needlessly, setting three napkins down on the coffee table, followed by three iced-cold sodas.

He handed one to me, and I leaned forward to take it, letting the blanket fall back down my body. My eyes flicked to Jim, who had entered the room but lingered near the door with a predatory expression on his face. My eyes widened when I realized something was off. My hoodie, my only piece of clothing, wasn't in his hands. Obviously I shouldn't have been surprised, but I felt panic slide into my belly, and flutter around inside me, as if I were at the precipice of the first steep drop on a rollercoaster ride. Jim was clearly enjoying my discomfort.

Tom was busy setting the drinks down and didn't seem to notice the silent exchange between Jim and me. I smiled, trying to maintain my composure, but an alarm was going off in my head. Where the hell had Jim put my hoodie?

I took a long drink, the condensation from the cup dripping onto my breasts. I eyed the boys around the cup, gauging their interest. Tom was, of course, very interested in my boobs, but Jim's self-satisfaction was so apparent I wondered if Tom and I should've given him a minute to "congratulate" himself on his cleverness. I felt a mix of irritation and arousal. The way things were going, I'd be grinning like an idiot all night.

After my sip, I smacked my lips and set the glass down on a napkin, leaning back against the couch. I patted the seat beside me for Tom, then stretched my arms out on either side of the back of the couch, sticking out my chest again.

"Ready?" I asked, my voice light and teasing.

Tom retook his spot, sitting atop the blanket and making my tuck job moot. Jim, on the other hand, gave me a knowing grin, then shook his arms dramatically and said "Brrr!" before tugging at the blanket on my other side. I held my breath as he lifted the corner, but he only lifted it enough to slide under. The blanket stayed just below my navel. I could feel the soft fabric of his sweatpants against my bare leg. Then his hand slid into place along my thigh. I let out a shiver-like sound, and Tom hesitated before restarting the movie. "You sure you don't want your hoodie?" he asked, glancing around.

"No! This is fine," I said quickly, before he could ask where it was. I looked into Jim's eyes and added, "Exactly how I want it." He squeezed my thigh in response and I jumped. Tom noticed but said nothing, and hit play. After a moment, my arms dropped back onto their shoulders.

The movie resumed, but my focus was elsewhere. Jim's hand began to stray, his fingers tracing lazy circles that dipped further down my inner thigh with each pass. He leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear, "You're really into this movie, huh?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's got its moments."

The Winter Soldier is a tight movie, but time is relative when you're trying to focus while someone's hand is creeping up your thigh. I began to relax into Jim's touch, his calloused fingers pressing gently into my skin, raising a warm, tingling sensation. My hands, still draped around the guys' shoulders, were starting to ache. I unraveled myself from their shoulders, letting my arms drift down their backs until I was hugging them both around the waist. It felt oddly comforting, like I was anchoring myself to them, even as the tension in the room grew. My heart was pounding, but I told myself to keep it together, to play it cool.

The sound system in the basement made every crash and gunshot feel like it was happening right next to me. I should've been riveted, but I was lulled by Jim's gentle strokes. I was also a bit irritated. His wrist was drifting dangerously close to where I really wanted him. I could feel the heat building low in my belly, a slow, simmering warmth that threatened to overtake me. I leaned my head on Tom's shoulder and he let me.

Jim's ministrations took a sudden turn. There was no buildup; it was as if everything leading up to this moment had just been a warm-up. His hand, warm and rough, closed around my pussy. My body responded immediately, my hips tensing, my hips shifting, squirming, as he began to explore. I held my breath, willing myself to keep still as he began to spread my labia with a kind of curiosity that made my heart race.

Then, without any warning, he slid one finger inside me. My eyes boggled and I froze, my body clamping down on him like a vice. The intrusion was sudden and overwhelming. I could feel the pressure, the resistance, and then he pushed, slowly, until his finger was buried to the hilt. All my thoughts scattered, replaced by a confusing mix of surprise and undeniable pleasure. I sucked in a breath, unable to push him out, unable to pull away. I was completely at his mercy.

He didn't move at first, ever the gentleman, letting me adjust to his presence. Then, finally, he started to slide his finger in and out, slowly at first, as I grew wetter. My body was still tense, still resisting, but my breathing was calmer.

Suddenly, Jim withdrew completely. A gasp slipped past my lips, and I shot a quick glance at the screen, trying to ground myself in the action as a massive explosion lit up the room, the sound booming around us. It almost drowned out my reaction, but not entirely. Simultaneously, Jim pressed back against the couch, trapping my arm, and Tom turned to me, doing the same to my other arm. Naturally, he was oblivious to what was happening under the blanket. "I know, right?!" he said, his voice full of excitement. "This is, like, the best part of the movie!"

"Uh-huh," I managed to choke out, trying to keep my face straight as Jim began to push his finger in again. But this time, it was thicker --two fingers, I realized-- against my still-tense body. I would've slackened if I knew how, but the pressure and tension kept my resistance up. The result was a mix of pain and the most amazing pleasure. My body didn't know whether to fight or give in.

Tom was glued to the screen. He said something about the movie, but I couldn't focus on anything except Jim's fingers, wet and relentless.

As Captain America and the Winter Soldier fought fiercely on the plummeting helicarrier, Jim began to slowly pump both fingers in and out, in and out, in a steady rhythm. My body responded involuntarily, my hips subtly rolling to meet his hand. There was a fair amount of noise and I wondered if the sound of his touch was completely drowned out by the movie's pyrotechnics. The scent of lavender rose faintly around us. Every time his fingers pulled out, even a little, it was like a little death, like I was losing something I didn't even know I needed. Every time he buried them inside me, I was brought back to life.

Distantly, I felt Tom's phone vibrate through the couch. He checked it and murmured, "Pizza's ready. Dad's going to grab it."

Jim leaned in again, more clumsily this time, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, "God, you're so wet, Claire." His fingers curled inside me, pressing against a spot that blew every thought out of my head. "You needed this bad, didn't you?"

I bit my lip, then grimaced, suppressing a moan. "What are you, an idiot savant?"

He smirked, "You don't think this is my first time, do you? I'm not that inexperienced."

I shook my head, looking down at my breasts and sighed, then sideways up at him. "Don't k-kid a kidder," I whispered back, fighting to control my breathing. His confident smile faltered, but he didn't stop. Thank God it was his first time. His technique was perfect. If he went for my clit with anything resembling a plan, I don't think the soundproofing would've saved us.

"Huh?" said Tom.

"Great movie," I said, my voice trembling.

Jim's rhythm continued unabated, the only change being how deep he pushed. Now and then his thumb brushed just the right spot with the same absentmindedness he'd fidgeted with my nipple earlier. I tried to keep from full-on panting. Gradually, he picked up the pace. My breath came in short, shallow gasps, nearly soundless. His thumb brushed over my clit again and I bit my lip to keep from moaning. My eyes had been shut --I hadn't even realized it. I opened them, stared at Jim. His face was completely neutral, like nothing was happening. But his hands were telling a different story. He didn't let up, not even for a second. It was getting difficult to stay quiet. I was so close to the edge.

I closed my eyes again, letting myself get lost in the sensation. The movie played on in the background, the sound of it muffled by the blood rushing in my ears. I was vaguely aware of Tom on my other side, his notebook in hand, scribbling away. I couldn't focus on anything beyond what was happening under the blanket. I could hear a distant keening. I hoped it wasn't me.

I wanted desperately to guide Jim, to give him some kind of signal, but my hands were still pinned behind the guys --my boys, my anchors. I was helpless. All I could do was squeeze my thighs tighter around his hand. He'd taken the pressure as a challenge before, so I could only hope he knew I was urging him onward. The pain was a memory. Every touch, every movement, sent waves of pleasure crashing through me, and I was teetering on the edge, so close to tipping over, so close to--

Jim suddenly pulled his hand away and both Tom and Jim shifted to the edge of their seats, releasing my arms. The sudden absence of pressure everywhere made me cry out, and my eyes snapped open. I could feel the phantom of Jim's hand on my thigh, hot and moist. I looked at him, and he stared back, his expression expectant. Then I glanced at Tom, who was staring at me in what might have been shock. He knows, I thought. But what had I missed?

There had been another voice, lost amidst the sounds of the climax --the film's, as mine had stayed for the moment. From up the stairs. Muffled by the surround sound.

Tom looked around, his eyes darting first to the coffee table, then to the blanket. He leaned over, using his hands to straighten out the ruffles as he searched for the remote. We heard the voice again, still drowned out by the surround sound, but it was male --Tom's Dad.

I knew the other remote control was on top of the Blu-ray player, just out of reach. Without thinking, I sprang forward, holding myself up on the coffee table with one hand as I reached out for the remote. As I moved, the blanket fell off, pooling at my feet, and I knew Tom had just realized what Jim already knew. I was completely naked.

I hesitated, waiting longer than I should've, giving them both a nice long look at my ass. Then I stood up straight with a little shove off the table from my supporting arm and turned to face Tom. His eyes were level with my hips, and he stared, his mouth slightly open. I offered the remote, but he missed it on the first reach. It might have been my fault; my hands were still shaking. I had been so close.

Tom finally grabbed the remote and muted the TV. He opened his mouth to either speak to me or shout to his dad, but we all heard the groan from the early warning step.

Jim leaned forward, his voice a whisper. "Sit down, Claire. Now."

I didn't need to be told twice. I dropped back onto the couch, pulling the blanket up to my shoulders, just as Tom's dad stepped into the room.

Tom's dad (Colin!) clocked me immediately, of course, as the girl he'd spent a few tantalizing minutes in the cupboard with at the party. "Claire!" he said, surprising everyone. "I didn't expect to see you here."

My cheeks really do change colors when I'm embarrassed, but this time I wasn't sure if they turned red or green.

He was dressed casually but neatly, his khakis fitting snugly enough to hint at the shape of his legs, paired with a crisp polo shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off his forearms, and his belt buckle gleamed faintly in the dim light. He looked every bit the suburban dad, but there was something in his expression that made me feel like he was seeing right through the blanket.

"Uh, hi, Mr. Thompson," I said, my voice a little too high-pitched.

He started to ask what I was doing there, but then fumbled his words and trailed off. "I, uh... what are you...?"

Jim jumped in, ever ready with an answer. "She's in our film studies class, Mr. T. We're just watching a movie for homework."

Colin seemed relieved. "Oh, right. Film studies. That's... that's good." He glanced at the blanket, then at me, then at Tom and Jim. "It's a little cold down here, isn't it? Is one blanket enough for the three of you?"

I laughed nervously. "It's a little cold, yeah."

Jim, of course, couldn't resist chiming in. "She was just saying she was hot earlier. Now she's cold." He put his hands on his hips. "Make up your mind, Claire."

I glared at him. "I'm fine, Jim."

Colin looked between us, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh, I think I saw a girl's hoodie on the back of a chair in the dining room..."

I was inwardly relieved. One mystery solved. "Thank you," I said quickly. "I forgot I left it there. I... was hot before. But now I'm not," The words tumbled out before I could stop them, just the worst case of verbal diarrhea.

Colin cleared his throat, clearly wanting to get out of this conversation. "Tom, I'm pretty busy upstairs. Would you mind picking up the pizza? I did kind of pay for this entire rec room. And the pizza. And all the food you've eaten since you were born and..."

Tom groaned. "Alright, alright, alright, I get it."

I smiled at the joke. Very Dad. (Oh, Daddy, I thought. Oh, god.)

Colin stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted away from the open door, giving Tom space to join him. Tom reluctantly got up, finally saw the remote control that was under his thigh, and used it to pause the movie. He tossed it back on the couch, shoulders slumped, and headed to his father. Then he straightened up and turned back, not quite hiding his triumph. "Uh, Jim, are you... coming?" he said.

Jim, who had been obviously anticipating some alone time, hesitated. He stood up slowly, his eyes darting to me and then to Tom's dad. "What about Claire?" he asked, his voice tinged with reluctance. It was clear he didn't want to leave, but he also didn't have a good reason to stay.

When I made no move to follow, Colin's eyebrow raised in the same quizzical way his son's had. Before anyone else could speak, he said, "Don't worry, I'll keep her entertained," his voice a little too eager. The boys exchanged a look. Tom's expression was a mix of confusion and mild concern, while Jim's was pure frustration. But they didn't argue. They left, and I heard the step groan twice as they headed upstairs.

Colin sighed. "I'll have to fix that step."

I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Jim said it's an early warning system."

Colin raised an eyebrow, clearly reading into that. "Did he now?" he said, his tone a mix of amusement and something else I couldn't quite place.

We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. I shifted uncomfortably under the blanket, feeling the weight of the situation. I could still feel Jim's fingers inside me. I sniffed the scent of my bath soap mixed with the faint musk of sweat and arousal, and wondered whether Colin would notice. My only articles of clothing were my hoodie and dollar store sandals, and they were out of reach. I felt exposed in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

Colin took a step closer, his hands still tucked into the pockets of his khakis. (Daddy.)

"So, film studies..." he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. "What's that all about?"

(The End of Part 1 -- I'm Sorry)

***

Hey everyone,

Okay, I know this ending is kind of a mess, and I'm so sorry about that! It's been forever since I've written anything this long, and I forced myself to stop here. I did manage to do what I set out to do, but the scene can/will continue shortly!