Page 74

Laney was cuddled up under a blanket on the couch with him while they watched the latest Christmas-themed episode of Buffy, season three. Jerry had picked them both up in the morning, after Dustin had finished his last shift at the bakery, and brought them over.

It seemed that Cary’s one-day-per-year hiatus from micromanaging Laney’s life held fast again this year as Dustin had seemed cheerful, and Laney wasn’t anxiously watching the clock. For whatever reason, Cary left her alone on her birthday.

Jerry and Dustin were doing a large puzzle at the table, the box propped up for reference, the image of the N64 Goldeneye game cover .

Laney’s eyes were watering at the TV, her hand pressed to her mouth, as Buffy and Angel fought (not a shock) and then cried (also not a shock). Angel wanted to die rather than lose his soul again by being with her. He was waiting for the sun to come up, an easy suicide for a vampire.

The episode was making Shane uncomfortable. He worried incessantly about being with Laney – no matter how many layers of clothing he kept between them – and he could never shake the feeling that he was inherently wrong for her.

Too late now, he thought. There was no chance of separating them, at this point. No way he could walk away.

Still, the pit of anxiety in his stomach grew. He remembered the episode in season two where Buffy and Angel had slept together and all hell had broken loose… It had been Buffy's sixteenth birthday.

Now the two of them were holding hands, walking down the street, the sun never having risen and Angel living to see another day. And Shane couldn’t help but think that they were both fucking idiots.

The episode ended and he flipped the cable back on, perusing the sports channels for a Wayne Gretzky highlight reel.

Laney’s head stayed fixated on the tv, but her hand snaked its way up his thigh, caressing the inside of his leg dangerously close to his crotch.

He shifted his leg subtly, trying to pull away from her hand. She dug her nails in so hard he flinched.

“What are you doing,” he whispered.

“Whatever I want,” she said. “It’s my birthday.”

He felt his eye twitch as she started caressing him again, her hand hidden by the blanket wrapped around them. He glanced at the table, Jerry and Dustin bent low over the puzzle pieces, Jerry squinting but refusing to put on his glasses.

“Stop,” he whispered, her fingers inching closer and closer to his dick which was very much at attention.

“Make me,” she taunted, tracing the outline of his hard-on through his very thin joggers. He wasn’t wearing boxers, and a shiver wracked through him as she huffed a quiet sigh of pleasure. Shane sat ramrod straight and tried to ignore the screaming in his ears as she slid her hand underneath the material of his sweats and wrapped her fist around his cock.

Sweat formed immediately at his temples, his jaw clenching so hard it hurt. Skin on skin… the feel of her hand on him… his cock was kicking in her fist and he heard her sharp intake of breath as she swiped her thumb over the tip, catching his precum.

She loosened her grip and pulled her hand back out from under the covers, looking up at him from under her dark blonde lashes, and sucked her thumb into her mouth, closing her eyes at the taste.

Shane’s entire body started to visibly shake, and when Laney’s eyes opened again she looked ravenous. Her hand disappeared beneath the covers and he didn’t even pretend to fight, this time… he widened his legs a little, giving her more access, as her hand sank back into his pants and she started to stroke him.

“Okay kiddos, it’s after 9:00… Dusty, you wanna get the cake from the freezer in the garage?”

Jerry. Jerry is here. Shane’s brain fought for control but he couldn’t make sense of what was going on. There was the sound of someone moving around, putting on boots, a door opening and closing. Dustin is leaving. Dustin left the room.

“Don’t know why anyone in their right mind wants a damned ice cream cake in December… ” Jerry was grumbling to himself under his breath, the sound of cupboard drawers opening and closing. “I know I have candles somewhere…”

She gripped him tighter, moved faster, her eyes glued to his face which was now covered in a sheen of sweat, his lips pressed together to keep from moaning.

Oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck…

“You kids ready for cake?” Jerry called.

“Almost,” Laney said, a wicked glint in her eye. He started to panic and tried to push her hand away but out of nowhere her other hand slipped into his pants too, cupped his balls, and he came instantly.

He could hear talking, Laney and Jerry having some kind of conversation while his brain shorted out and his dick kicked like a mule, dripping cum all over her hand and coating the inside of his pants, the tendons in his forearms and neck stretched so tight they could snap.

It went on, and on, almost to the point of embarrassment as his brain fog started to dissipate and his senses returned, and he realized he was still creaming himself.

“Here they are!” Jerry said, holding up a pack of birthday candles.

He reached beneath the covers and yanked her hand out of his pants, standing up angrily, keeping the blanket in front of him to cover the evidence, and hurried to his room.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled.

“Me too,” Laney sang, and he heard her footsteps following him down the hall.

He stripped in the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and quickly wetting it, trying to clean himself up. Laney pushed the door open and his hand shot out, preventing her from opening it.

“Let me in,” she whispered.

“Give me a minute to clean up, for Christ sake…”

“I need to clean up, too,” she whispered, sticking her cum-soaked hand in through the three-inch gap and waggling it at him.

“Give me a fucking minute, Laney!” he hissed. Her hand disappeared and he shut the door, hard.

He slumped against the wall, pant-less, holding a washcloth to his dick, and felt such a wave of shame it made him nauseated.

With Jerry right there… What the hell is wrong with her! What the hell is wrong with me?!

He gritted his teeth, searching the bathroom laundry basket for another pair of pants. He pulled his jeans on commando and stormed into the hall.

“All yours,” he said with a grimace, flourishing his hand at the bathroom entrance.

His bad mood bounced right off her as she skipped into the bathroom with a tuneless whistle, and he heard the tap come on.

He wanted to hit something.

Instead, he threw the cum-soaked washcloth into his bedroom and stomped down the hall for cake.