Claires 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--"