Shane Enjoyer, MSc

Shells | Part 86 (shelliott stardew fic)

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one down

You knew it would be a matter of time before you crumbled under the pressure of your own selfish desires. You could never claim to be a strong-willed or consistent person. That much was evident the day you decided to move here. What kind of person just gives it all up and moves out into the middle of nowhere on a wing and a prayer? Certainly not someone stable or rational. You knew yourself then; you know yourself now. And you know better than to think that all of your bad habits and destructive tendencies have completely disappeared. After all, you’re only human. And humans have needs, don’t they?

“Remember what you said,” she implores. She wishes that she had insisted on taking the other side of the table so you wouldn’t have a direct line of sight to the drunk at the end of the bar. Leah knows she can’t tell you what to do, but she can stay true to her promise and try her best to convince you that talking to Shane again is a terrible idea.

“That was yesterday,” you say. The drinks have gone down too easy tonight. Being a self-taught bartender, Gus isn’t always the most efficient at mixing drinks. He’s an expert pour when it’s straight from the tap, but he doesn’t always get the ratio of liquor to mixer just right. Sometimes, you can barely taste the liquor, but sometimes– like tonight– there’s hardly any mixer at all, and the two drinks you’ve had feels more like four or five. 

Leah shakes her head at you and scoffs, though she smiles knowingly. She knows how hard it is for you to deny yourself the simple pleasures in life. Shane certainly isn’t simple, but she knows he’ll deliver on the pleasure side of things. “What’s changed between now and yesterday?”

You shrug and hiccup, finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything for more than a couple of seconds. The little rational corner that’s left in your brain screams at you to just go home. It’s almost midnight; Gus will be doing last call soon, and you really need to get a head start on chores tomorrow if you’re going to hang out with the girls again. “Gotta figure out some way to get a good night’s sleep,” you slur. 

Leah rolls her eyes. She knows exactly what you’re implying. “Well I don’t think he’ll last long enough to wear you out that much.”

That makes you laugh. A loud, throw-your-head-back-and-bark kind of belly laugh that brings tears of pure glee to your eyes. Of course, the fact that you’re about four sheets to the wind right now kind of skews your sense of humor. But Leah is right, probably. You wouldn’t know for sure, but you’d like to find out.

There’s not one person in the saloon that doesn’t hear you laugh. Leah giggles and tries to shush you, but you’ve got everyone’s attention now, including Shane’s. He smiles a little and wonders what’s got you so tickled. Your laugh stirs something in his chest, but he tries his very best not to let it get to him. After all, you’ve done all you can to avoid him since that night, and he supposes it’s for the best. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s been daydreaming about your mouth on his, or how wet and soft you were beneath his fingertips, or how much he’d give to have another chance to show you how he feels about you.

You stand up and steady yourself. The room spins and you will it not to. Not now. Not when your confidence is at an all-time high. You feel sexy and funny and warm, and you need Shane to tell you all about it.

He’s ready when you slide onto the barstool next to him. Shane is much more charming when there’s enough alcohol involved. He’s smooth, the way he grabs your knee when you lean over into his space. Smooth, how he gives you a cocky little half-grin before throwing back the rest of his beer.

“You and Leah having a good time?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say, propping yourself on the bar with your elbow and resting your cheek in your palm. Your eyes shine in the dim, yellow glow of the lights. Your smile is slow and syrupy sweet. “Was kind of thinking maybe you and I could have our own good time.”

It’s Shane’s turn to laugh. Gus announces last call; before Shane answers you, he orders you both another drink. Your stomach lurches at the mere thought of more alcohol but you find it incredibly easy to drink once the glass is placed in front of you on the bar. Gus winks at you, glowers at Shane, then leaves the two of you alone.

“What did you have in mind?” Shane asks, feigning innocence. He knows damn well what you want. At least, he hopes he knows.

You lean over as far as you can without topping over and plant a kiss on his jaw. “You should come home with me.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod. “Don’t make me beg.”

“Didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me anymore.”

You shrug, knock back half your drink. “Maybe I didn’t.”

“And now you do?”

“‘s cold out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You frown. Lean a little closer. “Shane. Come on.”

He smiles and scratches his chin along with a long, drawn-out sigh. “You sure?”

“Yes. No. Maybe, I guess.”

“Try a little harder.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Fucking– just forget it.” You stand to leave, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back toward him. You stumble a little and end up caught in his arms where you’re nose to nose with him with nowhere to run.

“I can’t forget,” he says. It’s so earnest that it’s almost sobering. He searches your drunken gaze and helps you stand a little steadier. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

You duck and kiss him because you don’t know what else to say without sounding insane. I can’t forget about it, either. I literally think about it all the time. I need your cock inside of me like I need air to breathe. Please, just take me home and fuck me.

He kisses you back, all tongue and teeth and sloppy lust. There’s nothing gentle about Shane. Nothing delicate. You fleetingly wonder if he’s capable of being tender with you, but based on the first time you hooked up and now, you don’t think it’s very likely.

The walk home is a blur. You don’t remember leaving the bar. Don’t remember Gus shooing the two of you out the door, grumbling about his patrons not needing to see your lewd display. You don’t remember tripping and falling over a tree stump and skinning your knee. And you certainly don’t remember Shane carrying you on his back for the rest of the walk home because you said your ankle hurt.

But you’re in your bed now, and Shane is beside you. He hasn’t kissed you again since you were at the bar, but your eyes are drifting shut and now he’s worried that you don’t want him anymore. 

“You look tired,” he says. He sounds disappointed, though he tries to conceal it. 

“I am,” you say. You close your eyes. Your smile is contagious. He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. His stubble scratches your skin and makes you giggle, the sound thick and sleepy and warm.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

You open one eye and poke out your bottom lip. “You don’t wanna?”

“I didn’t say that. You just don’t seem like you want to now.”

“But I do,”  you whine, throwing a leg over his hip to drag him closer. You press your face against his neck and he shrinks into his shoulder, shying away because he’s ticklish there. “Shane, I do want you.” 

He’s half hard against your thigh and you grind yourself against him while lifting his shirt away from his belly. He grabs your jaw and kisses you again, and you groan into his mouth, relieved. Thank God. He’s finally going to give you what you want.

It’s messy, it’s drunken, it’s clumsy; you giggle when he can’t figure out how to get your bra off, so he ends up tugging it over your head like a t-shirt. His arm gets caught in the sleeve of his hoodie and you nearly fall out of bed trying to free him. He kisses you hard, sloppy; it’s too much, it doesn’t do much for you, but you have to hand it to him for his enthusiasm. If you do this again, you’re going to have to teach him a few things. Maybe he’s just never had anyone kiss him properly before.

You find it doesn’t matter much to you when he dives between your legs. Here, he’s surprisingly less aggressive, almost teasing with his tongue circling your clit and his palms holding your thighs apart to give him more room to bury his face. He’s hungry, it seems, and a couple of times you hear (and feel) him moan into you; you card your fingers through his hair and find that he really digs in when you tug. It seems to spurn him on, and suddenly your legs are shaking and you’re cumming hard on his tongue. It feels muted, hazy, sleepy; every muscle in your body seems to tense and release until you’re a useless, boneless heap tangled in the sheets.

“You good?” Shane asks, wiping the rest of you off his mouth with the back of his hand. When did he take his clothes off? Or did you do that? Why isn’t he kissing you? Whose house are you in?

You haul him up and pull him down to kiss you. He responds eagerly and the warmth of his body is on yours (finally). You spread your legs and lift your hips just slightly, your hand skimming down his belly until you find his cock. “Not good. Not yet,” you breathe. 

You stroke him once, twice, then shift your hips so that his tip ruts against you; you’re soaked from his work just a few moments ago. You’re soaked, and you’re still swollen and soft and you fleetingly realize that he’s not wearing a condom but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Need you,” you plead.

He doesn’t keep you waiting.

It’s tentative at first. Both of you are sobered by how good it feels, how electric your connection seems. It throws you off completely. This was supposed to be a means to an end, a way to bang it out and move on. You didn’t want to catch feelings for Shane, and you’re pretty sure he felt the same. 

And maybe it’s the alcohol talking. Maybe you’ll both wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache and the kind of remorse that doesn’t let go easily and slowly eats at your soul. But as he moves inside you, as he presses his face into the side of your neck and takes your earlobe between his teeth, as one of his broad hands tethers both of yours together and holds them above your head while he fucks you…well, you think you could probably make some time in your schedule to do this more often.

He needs to feel you even deeper and flips you onto your belly with a strength you didn’t know he possessed. You’d heard rumors of his past as a gridball player, but had no idea that kind of strength would translate to the bedroom, considering how long ago it must have been that he was on the field. Shane grabs your hips and lifts you from the mattress just enough to guide himself back inside. He marvels at how your back bows and your hips move so easily in his grasp, and your muffled cries when you turn your face into the pillow only drive him harder, faster, chasing his release with a reckless abandon that borders on painful. Each swing of his hips drives you further down on the bed until you’re completely prone, flat against the mattress, your body languid and limp.

You don’t have another orgasm in you, but you’re so blissed out that you cannot bring yourself to care when he pulls out at his climax and releases all over your backside. It’s fast and it’s hot, and you curl yourself into the blanket with a satisfied groan and a sleepy smile. The sheets are a mess. Shane shifts to lie next to you on his back with his hands behind his head, so you slide an arm across his chest and link your leg over his waist.

“I should go,” he says, eyes focused on the ceiling. His heart is beating out of his chest. He’s got to get out of here before he says or does something stupid, like tell you he likes you as more than just a casual hookup.

You pull him tighter, tucking yourself securely into his side. “You don’t have to.”

He sighs through his nose and slides an arm around your shoulder. “Sure? I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Stay,” you confirm. You yawn obnoxiously loud and turn your face just enough to kiss just under his nipple. 

“I gotta leave early,” he says. “Marnie needs–”

“Don’t talk about Marnie right now.”

“Right. But I do need to leave early.”

Your eyes are still closed, but you roll them anyway. “Whatever.” You yawn again, which causes Shane to echo you.

You’re asleep within seconds. Shane lies awake a little while longer. Long enough to hear you start snoring softly. Long enough to marvel at the way your lashes rest on the pillow of your cheeks. Long enough to push the hair away from your eyes and cover you with the blanket when you press yourself against him for warmth.