Author's Note: should warn ya I guess, this chap is hetsex, which is of course not my best subject. meh. :/
Ch. 2: First Time
Chronology: Six years ago.
Half a dozen peppy girls squeal, giggle, and bounce about the field, showing off their finely honed gymnastic skills. One girl high-kicks into the air and shakes her pom-poms, her plastered-on smile never falters.
Claire watches them all with a mixture of pride and disgust. Pride, because she is their Captain, and the Bodhum High Babes are the number one cheer squad in Cocoon. Some of the girls are jealous of her because she's only a freshman, and at fourteen, she's younger than most of the squad. The disgust is earned of their general shallow nature, their worries mainly consisting of their own vanity and which of the boys in the school are the cutest.
Claire Farron knows better than most kids her age. That the world can be cruel. And that sometimes, you have to do things -things you may not like- in order to survive.
It's not a question of can or can't. Some things in life, you just do.
Because the alternative is to send your sister away, to live with another family, one that wouldn't take care of her, not as well as you can, because you know, deep down in your heart, that you're the only one who'll ever love her, who'll ever need her, as much as you do. So you give everything you have. Every last ounce of your sweat, every last drop of your blood, every heartbeat, the last breath of your soul, for her. And you do things -things you aren't proud of-can't bear to say aloud, but you do them anyway.
Then the stares and laughter begin. Behind your back, of course, because the cowards aren't brave enough to say those things to your face. Word gets around fast. Guys approach you in the halls, while the girls scowl daggers into your back as you make over towards the restrooms.
The gym teacher blows her whistle. The sharp trilling breaks Claire from her reverie. The boy she'd been staring at was one she hasn't met before. A new one. Word gets around fast. She knows he'll be waiting.
The cheerleaders gather at the door to the girl's locker room. Claire falls in behind them, giving herself plenty of distance from their mindless chatter.
That was a great practice, Amy!
Thanks! I just know we're gonna win state this year!
Wouldn't that be awesome?
"Tch," Claire rolls her eyes.
What would be awesome is if you skanks just shut the fuck up.
But then she feels bad. These girls used to be her friends, after all. It's not their fault that Claire's parents are dead. She sighs, feeling worse than she did just moments ago. She ducks her head as she passes through the door and strides quickly to her locker. She inputs her code into the numeric lock mechanism and it pops open with a metallic shunk.
She dresses back into her comfortable clothes from the humiliatingly skimpy cheer outfit and suddenly feels much better. The bell rings and she leaves without looking back.
Sure enough, he's there, waiting for her in the hall when she gets to her locker to pick up her history book. She ignores him, shuffling a few things around in her locker, until he breaks the silence.
"You're Farron, right?"
"Who wants to know?" she says coldly as she slams her locker shut.
"Name's Mike," he says. "Mike Perkins. I just transferred from Palumpolum," he explains, extending a hand in her direction.
Blue eyes narrow at the hand in front of them. "What do you want Mike?" she asks, colder than before.
The hand before her shoots out to the side, against her locker, blocking her exit as he leans closer to her. Claire isn't intimidated in the least though. She knows what he wants.
"I wanna know if it's true," he whispers, "they say…that you do things…favors…for guys, if they've got the money,"
His only response is a cold stare.
"Twenty," she says, and walks away.
It takes the bewildered boy a few moments to realize that maybe he should follow her. That's her intent, right? Discretion. She's a few feet from the door to the ladies room, when she turns back, throwing him an exasperated expression. A roll of her eyes, a head shake. A quick flick of her eyes towards the door, before she slips through casually, without a backward glance. The boy jogs to catch up.
He's met at the other side of the door by her fist which grasps hold of his collar and guides him to the last stall. Her other hand unlatches the door and then joins the other to shove him inside. He falls backward from the force of her push and lands on the toilet. She wastes no time, her hands immediately relieving his growing need of it's cloth trappings.
She doesn't bother with a gentle touch. Slender fingers grasp him firmly to start a strong, steady rhythm. His legs fall open wider. "Shhhit…" he pants. He tries to grab her, to touch her breasts, but she maneuvers away, staying just out of reach.
"F-Farron…" he sighs, thrusting his hips into her deliciously experienced hands. Her strokes become swifter, she squeezes tighter. He nearly spills right then. "Mmffph," he bites his lip to stifle a strangled cry. He grasps her wrist, the one that's working the base of his cock, to still it, while the other is still preoccupied with the head. His eyes roll back in their sockets. His head tilts backward.
"Suck it," he begs, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Claire Farron ceases all motion. She stares at him, struck dumb. Mike comes to, his eyes coming back into to focus for a brief moment. "I'll pay more," he says, and as if to confirm his desperation, his cock throbs hotly in her hands, pulsing and flushed with heat.
"I-I'm not…" she stammers, trying to defend to her honor. But the thing is…
And she believes it, because it must be true. All the girls seem to think so. And the boys only confirm it- with the gil she uses to buy groceries so Serah won't starve. So, preceded by a sigh, her knees touch down onto the tiled floor.
She grasps the base of his cock firmly once more, her other hand running lightly over the top of the shaft, teasing his head with tickling fingers. His hips resume their undulating motions. She closes her eyes when she feels him grasp the back of her head as he eases her toward his aching member.
Her mouth is intruded, invaded, fucked, by his hot, rigid cock. He does most of the work himself in his desperation. "Suck it," he says again, louder. "I'm paying you. Suck me off, bitch,"
She bristles at this. Her teeth sink into the tenderized flesh just behind the mushroom ridge of his head and underneath as well. A snarled warning, she could bite it off. He gasps out in pain, his grip in her hair tightens as he pulls his hips instinctively away from her, but he's caught. She won't let go. Momentary panic flashes through his lust-glazed eyes.
All is forgiven and forgotten a moment later, when she starts to suck his dick. He's in heaven, transfixed on the sensation of her mouth, her tongue. Teeth become little more than a passing memory. His grip in her hair relaxes. His hips buck harder, begging closer contact, fuller contact.
"Fal'Cie…" he sighs, "take it…take it deep…" he groans, guiding her head lower, until her lips meet his pelvis. Her breath warm as she exhales, tickles along his hair. "Mm, yeah, just like that," he pants.
Claire loses her sense of time in the rhythmic motion of her head bobbing up and down, her throat working for all she's worth. Strangely, her mind wanders to math homework of all things, a particularly challenging problem involving tangents and cosigns and all that other confusing shit she can't make sense of while she's in class. She figures it must be the teacher's droning voice that bores her to tears, encouraging frequent naps on her part.
Lava sears her throat in gushing spurts, so sudden, she gags on it. She pulls away and is assaulted with jolts of sticky, hot sperm-liquid. Gross. She thinks absently as some of it lands on her clothes. The sudden assault subsides as his member withers away into the recesses of his pants.
Claire wipes the come off of her shirt and makes a disgusted face because it's now all over her hands. A wad of toilet paper is offered, perhaps as a gesture of peacemaking. She takes it with a grateful but dry, "Thanks."
He adjusts himself back into his undergarments and zips up as the final bell rings. Claire is carefully wiping all of the spunk from between her fingers. He reaches in to his back pocket and fishes out his wallet. He fumbles through it for a moment, as if looking for something. Claire glances up. He hands her a thin white plastic card with a magnetic stripe on one side. On the other side is the number 50.
He's about to leave, when she jolts to her feet. She slams him against the wall and throws the card back in his face, screaming, "What the fuck is this! I don't want your fucking credit chip!"
"I-I'm outta cash," he mutters sheepishly, even coloring a little.
She makes an aggravated sound. "I don't have a car," she complains, folding her arms across her chest. "The nearest access point is miles from here," she says a little softer.
"I'll drive you," he shrugs.
"Shit," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closes her eyes.
"What?" he asks, brow raised in earnest.
"I have to pick up Serah. My sister. She goes to Seaside,"
"Seaside Middle School? I know where it is. Couple blocks from here, right?"
"So, we'll pick her up, I'll get you to an access point, and then drive you home, kay?"
She smiles, a slight twitch of her lips. "Thanks…I guess I owe you one then?"
He laughs. "For a job like the one you just gave me? How bout we call it even?"
A full smile breaks out on her face, despite her usually stoic self. "Sure, but next time, bring cash."
"Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the wall moments ago, "I won't forget,"