A/N: Just a quick and silly little thing. Hope you enjoy it! /EDIT: I added a few months to Miles's age in the first section, following your comments. For the record, he's still very young.

DISCLAIMER: All dialogue comes from Next Class 2x08 - #RiseAndGrind. I don't own anything.


"How many people have you been with? We all know it's the highest body-count here"

"Yeah, well, that depends what we're counting."

"Only the full, it it."

"Truth, it's… it's five."


His first was a girl named Anna, who was actually a couple years older than him. It was the last weekend of the summer before his Grade 8; Miles was a precocious thirteen-year-old, and he remembers she was already in High School at the time.

They met at a barbecue at his grandparents' lake house, although to be fair they'd seen each other a few times already over the years, as her family owned a property just a couple of lots down along the shore. They were the oldest kids at the party – she had a younger sister who was a year behind the twins, and all the rest of their parents' friends seemed to have toddlers and first-graders.

When she asked him if he wanted to 'get out of here', Miles snatched two bottles of beer from the fridge and took her to the deck by the boathouse.

There were no lights but the moon, the party far enough that they only could hear muffled sounds coming from the front yard. They talked, and laughed, and drank their beers, and when Anna kissed him, Miles didn't stop her. And when she put her hands under his shirt, he pulled it over his head. And when she unbuttoned his slacks, he unhooked a bra for the first time in his life, his fingers trembling in the cold darkness of the night.

All things considered, Miles is glad he lost his virginity to her. She was hot, and she knew what she was doing – she even had a condom on her. It was simple, no drama.

He bumped into her a few more times, over the years, but not that often – they never really go to the lake house, these days.

Miles always thought it made for a a great story to tell the grandkids.


His second was Clara Thomson-Hicks, a silver blond with big blue eyes who was the daughter of a big donor of the Party. They kept running into each other at those stiff events both their families kept dragging them into, and she quickly started sending him the dirtiest looks he'd ever seen on a living creature. He remembers thinking how odd they were, on such a seemingly innocent porcelain-doll face, how striking the contrast with her middle-school appropriate frilly dresses.

Clara had nothing innocent about her, and – crucially – she was even more bored than Miles was.

They fucked in fancy bathrooms of fancy locations, in dimly-lit hallways of five-star hotels, in eccentric looking sitting rooms of private mansions – anywhere the lascivious mind of the Event Planner of the day had taken them – and all the while their parents assumed they were playing in the gardens, like the young kids they were supposed to be.

When her father found them – her mouth all around him and her hands on his bare ass – the man turned five shades of purple, and Miles thought for sure he was going to punch him in the face, but he didn't.

It ended up being the biggest scandal of the political season. It cost Miles's father his chance at running for office, as Mr. Thomson-Hicks withdrew all donations to his campaign. It also resulted in Miles being shipped to boarding school for next year, end of discussion.

He never saw Clara again. He figures she was probably locked in a convent in the middle of nowhere, judging by the look on her father's face that day. He kind of feels bad about it, when he thinks back to her, but he also doesn't really care.

At the end of the day, they were just bored.


Melissa was sort of the resident skank, at boarding school, and everyone knew it. The boys talked non-stop about her many talents, and the girls judged her mercilessly for it. She didn't seem to care about any of them.

Inappropriate behaviour could lead to suspension or even expulsion, but even without that lingering threat most girls in the school wouldn't have liked to go that far anyway. They fancied themselves some proper ladies, and wouldn't let a boy touch them underneath their skirts. Miles had dated a fair share of those, enjoying the kissing and hands-holding and the cheesy notes and the sharing of sweet treats, but when he was bored of it all he just turned to Melissa.

They had a spot behind the bleachers of the football field where they'd meet for a stolen smoke and a shag. Melissa didn't care that the next day Miles would hold hands with another girl in the corridors, and Miles didn't care that half the male student body had been in between her legs, too.

He enjoyed talking to her, besides all the fucking. She was funny, and smart, and from the amused looks she gave him Miles guessed not many other guys took the time to actually find that out for themselves.

Their loss.

It never even crossed his mind to ask her out and make it proper. From what he knew about her, she would have laughed in his face on a good day, and punched his guts on a bad one. Melissa really wasn't the girlfriend type.

When Miles got kicked out at the end of the year, Melissa was the only person in the school he actually thought he would miss, and that didn't even have much to do with the sex at all.


His first year at Degrassi exuded relationship drama, however in the bedroom things remained pretty much PG-13. All the months he spent hung up on Maya she barely even let him touch her breasts on occasions – although he'd never admit that to Winston; Miles was just fine letting him picture them getting hot and heavy behind any corner. Tristan was slightly less uptight, and in the couple months they dated there was time for some memorable hand jobs and a couple of hot showers in Miles's bathroom, but not much beyond that.

So when Zoë seemed to throw herself at him, at the end of the school year, he figured why not. Things with Zoë hadn't been the easiest, when they had dated the summer before, but a lot of water had been under the bridge, and while Zoë had done some pretty horrible things in the meanwhile, so had he. Grade 10 had been challenging to say the least for the both of them, but now that things seemed to get brighter, he figured it was time to have some fun.

And fun they did have, on his parents' boat on a sunny afternoon, and later in his bedroom – less sexy, perhaps, but definitely more comfortable. For a wild moment, one night at a party, Miles even thought Zoë was hinting at a threesome (and that would have been totally awesome!) but then noting came out of it.

Still, Zoë was fun, in a no-feelings-involved kind of way. Friends with benefits, pretty much. It was easy.

New Miles could do easy. He had had enough drama for a lifetime already.


He doesn't honestly remember much, of the times he slept with Esme. They started fooling around pretty soon in their relationship (if you can even call it that), but they only went full-on at it when Miles was already doped up on her meds, and everything he did was just a distraction from his crappy home life. The drinking, the pills, even sex – none of it was actually about Esme, she just sort of happened to be there.

Esme seemed to always be in the mood, and she fucked him unapologetically no matter where they were: filthy nightclub bathrooms, the back of his car, the supply closet at school, even the middle of the street (kind of, more like an empty alley at some ungodly hour of the night).

Miles feels bad to admit he barely remembers anything of these repeated encounters, almost dirty. Then again, there are so many things to feel guilty about, around the time he spent with her, that this kind of takes the backseat.

It's ironic to think how Esme is the first one he's ever had any semblance of regular sex with, almost like an actual relationship, and yet he feels like he was barely there with her at the time.

He's not proud of it.

Some nights, when he's alone with his thoughts in the darkness, he feels like he should maybe apologise to her, one day, for treating her like a medicine cabinet with a vagina-shaped extra feature.

Then again, he knows she would just laugh at him, and think he's completely pathetic.


"Tris?" prompts Miles, turning towards him.

Tristan makes a weird face, remaining quiet.

"This game is childish!" he finally exclaims, and then he bolts out.

This whole thing with Tristan and sex is blowing way out of proportion. Sure, maybe it was a little insensitive of Miles to just expect him to be on board like that, no warning and no talks about it but hey, it's just sex. Miles really doesn't get why it should be such a big deal, and he definitely doesn't get why they're fighting about this right now.

"Sorry if I don't want to be just another conquest on your exotic list of hook-ups!" Tristan snaps at him, and his tone is so harsh that it almost hurts.

No, scratch that, it definitely hurts.

"If you're so uncomfortable with me being more experienced than you, then why don't you go sleep with a couple guys and then come back to me? I don't care," Miles flings back, and he's already halfway out of the door.

He can't stand facing Tristan, right now, because this isn't even about them having or not having sex, not anymore. This is Tristan finding out shit about Miles, and bolting away from him as fast as he can.

And it is something Miles is unfortunately way too familiar with.

So this is Miles giving him an out, as no matter his words, he doesn't actually expect Tris to ever come back to him. He fucked up, as always.

"Wait," Tristan stops him, "Come back to you?"

Miles turns back on himself, slowly. "Yeah," he says, "I want to be with you. You're the one that freaked out and ran as soon as you heard my number."

Tristan's eyes widen for the briefest second before turning back to normal.

"Miles, I don't care about your list," he declares, softly, "I just... I want to feel like I matter more than anyone else on there."

And Miles just stares at him, startled, until Tristan turns his back on him to pick up his bag.

He's an idiot, isn't he? Miles should know this about himself, by now, that his first instinct is to run every time things get nasty. How ironic is it, that he's been accusing Tristan to be the one who runs. He's been so caught up on the idea of Tristan rejecting him that he has completely freaked out, and almost ruined this one good thing he has going for him.

"You should come tonight," he blurts out, softly.

"Because you feel bad?" asks Tristan, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Because I want you to," Miles decides, and he realises it's true.

He's always wanted just Tristan.

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone!