He's holding the white plastic bag up with a grin, stood on your porch in his big soft Utah hoodie, the black one that you like to steal sometimes. Cap on backwards to hide his hair, you wish he'd show it off more. His feet are decked in some ridiculously expensive trainers and his chains are lose from the hoodie, cross on full display. He's cosy, familiar, safe.

You're nervous but the sight of the Chinese food has your shoulders relaxing, stepping back to let him in. This bit is familiar, like any night where Clay brings takeout round. Like last Thursday or the Friday 2 weeks before that.

Like any old night he finds your kitchen, tugs the plates from the oven where they're warming and dishes your plates, always yours first. A big heaping of Chow Mein, curry, and chop suey and an extra spring roll because he always gives you more even when you can't finish it and he always insists you keep all the left overs.

Just like any old night, you take your plates into the living room, another episode of Buffy put on for your shared rewatch of the old show (for the nostalgia of course). You curl up, socks underneath you, Clay presses against your side, and you watch and eat and it feels so utterly normal....but underneath it all is the current of tension, the axe over your neck, the sword above your heads.

You both know why Clay's here. It's not to eat Chinese food or watch Buffy. It's to try to give you your first orgasm and no matter how hard you try you can't forget that fact, can't fully watch the show, instead watching Clay from the corner of your eye like he might pounce on you at any minute.

The nerves are there but so is the buzz of excitement. You can't deny that Clay is gorgeous or that you've always had an attraction to him, a denial would be an outright lie...you picked him for 2 reasons:

He was safe, he was trustworthy, he was someone you trusted with your life.

He was one of the few men who made your head spin and your stomach flip when he looked your way, an attraction so deep in your soul that you thought...well, if anyone could get you to cum, it had to be a man that made you warm with a single look, right?

Clay doesn't address the elephant in the room as he takes your empty plate to the kitchen, as the next episode starts. He waits until you've stopped being quite so vigilant, until you've started to lean against his side and relax into your usual spot for Buffy nights. He waits until his lips are on the crown of your head to mumble it, two words that hold a lot of meaning.

"You ready?"

He waits, listens to your shaky breath, the way you seem to try to steel yourself against your nerves. Patient as ever because this is about you and what you want, not about him. He's just the lucky fucker who gets to show you the ropes.

"Yeah...'m ready..." Except you're not sure you are, so full of nerves as Clay tugs you by the hands towards your bedroom. He's so familiar with your space, ushering you into the room and shutting the door like he lives here too.

It's that reminder that Clay isn't some stranger. That he's someone you've trusted with your space, with your time, someone you can trust with your body too that makes you feel a little better. The nerves still there, anxious, but knowing that you want this, you do...it's the shame from Brad that has you scared. It's not Clayton. You've never been scared of Clayton, he's never made you feel unsafe or ashamed.

Still you stand in the corner of your room like you're a stranger to it, nervous, Clayton can see that as clear as day. The way your shoulders hunch in, the twisting of your fingers in front of you, the way you toe at the carpet as you watch him enter your space. It's not the first time he's been in your room, but those times were sweet, innocent. A few movies nights here and there, the few times he'd come to help you when you were sick, nothing like this. There's a thick anticipation in the air that has never existed between the two of you before. An electricity that has him wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing on a mouthguard that isn't there, almost nervous, like he might fuck this up somehow.

Clayton's never even kissed you and suddenly the expectation feels so heavy on you, like you're going to disappoint him too. He can see you overthinking, the way the cogs seem to grind in your mind and he knows you, that's the beauty of it all, he knows you so well that Clayton just tugs you into his space, hands pulling your own apart and twisting your fingers with his.

His forehead presses to yours, noses brushing and he's closer than he's ever been for any extended period of time, so close you can count his lashes and the little scars he has from pucks and high sticks.

"I'm going to kiss you now, baby, is that okay?" It doesn't matter that you both know why he's here, it doesn't matter that you've asked him to fuck you, to make you cum or that you've let him into your house, into your bedroom with that as the context. What matters is that you're still okay with this, that this is what you want. The moment you want to back out he's out and just that one simple question has your shoulders relaxing because you know you've picked the right man for this. A man who cares more about how you're feeling than anything else. A man who's putting you first.

You're still nervous, still anxious about messing this up or disappointing or frustrating him, but it's eased off, there's a comfort in trusting Clay so much, in the security and safety he represents.

"Yeah, you can kiss me..." Your voice is already breathy, toes curling into the carpet, belly twisting with butterflies. Your eyelids flutter closed when Clay's nose nuzzles against yours, warm breath ghosting over your lips, his hands sliding out of yours and gripping you by the hips, firm, tight, commanding, guiding.

He guides you backwards in slow, easy steps, the world around you feeling like molasses, slow and sticky, until your back gently hits the bedroom door. There's something about it, the way he crowds you against the wood, how it feels like he's everywhere, in every sense of yours that has an familiar yet unfamiliar warmth pooling in your belly already. Clay's the only man who's ever made you feel that, that rush of arousal, that warmth like you've taken a shot of malt whiskey that's crawled down to your stomach.

"Clay..."

"I've got you, baby, 's okay..." And you believe him. You relax into the sensations you feel in your body even when they're new and scary. Try not to over think it when his mouth slants over yours, tongue sweeping across your bottom lip until your mouth parts for him easy as pie.

The kiss is bad enough, mind melting, you feel like you're under warm water, eyes unable to open, so heavy to the feeling...but when Clay bites at your lip? Pulls it taut and sucks it into his mouth like some sort of sweet treat he wants to consume? Is it really a wonder your legs shake, that a whimper leaves your mouth and falls straight into his?

The smirk he presses into your lips tells you enough, the cocky confidence that rolls off of him when his hands fall to the back of your thighs and you follow his guidance. Legs jumping up to wrap around his waist as he presses you more firmly into the door.

One kiss and your wet already, wetter than you'd ever been with Brad and wetter than you were alone no matter how many smutty books you read or sexy asmrs you listened to.

You shift in his arms, embarrassed squirming but it only makes it worse, the bulge in his jeans pressed tight against you through layers of fabric, his mouth leaving yours to nip and kiss across your jaw. You let it go for a moment, the worry, the nerves, the self consciousness, just feel. Moans and whimpers leaving your throat in high pitched droves as he marks the skin of your neck so thoroughly that he knows you're going to look like a Jackson Pollock painting tomorrow.

You don't even have the awareness to worry that you're too heavy for him when he pulls you away from the door, arms tight under your ass, palming your cheeks as he moves you. You're too focused on the way he bites into the spot behind your jaw, the feel of his bulge against your clit through all those ridiculous layers, how Clay sounds when he groans as your hips roll.

You barely comprehend that you're moving until you're gently lowered onto your back onto the bed, Clay pulling away from your skin, his lips flushed and kiss bitten. A hand cups your cheek as he watches your eyelashes flutter, your eyelids slowly opening like you were coming back to yourself. He's so gentle about it, thumb rubbing soft circles into your warm cheek, smile quietly confident but no less sweet as he looks down at you, all dimples and crinkled eyes.

"You still with me, baby?"

You don't say anything for a little while just blink up and him and God if that's not the most ridiculous ego boost. That one kiss has you so pliant underneath him. Whatever worries Clay had about not being able to get you to cum disappear at the realisation that Brad couldn't even fucking kiss you right.

"Baby?" He asks again, grinning softly down at you.

"Mmm?" You hum up at him, eyes refocusing, taking in the flush to his cheeks and the grin on his lips.

"You with me?"

"Yeah...yeah, i'm with you.."

"Good, cause i'm going to teach you how to touch yourself." Your eyes snap so wide he's almost worried you've hurt yourself. He's not sure if you forgot why he was here...or if you simply thought he'd just get straight to business, fuck you with nothing else before hand, no run up, to build up.

But that's not Clay's style, not with you. He's patient. He learnt that from all the years shooting pucks in his basement, all the extra practice at the rink after everyone else had left, Grandpa Bill keeping the doors open just for him. Clay doesn't just rush in and he doesn't want to either. Today's not about sex. It's not about getting his dick wet or the grand finale. Today he decided was about teaching you how to touch yourself and get yourself off...and maybe next time it'll be his fingers not yours and maybe after that...

"I...Clay..." You don't shy away as his hands tug your jeans down your legs, his eyes hungry as the traverse the expanse of skin on display. But you shy away from the thought of touching yourself in front of him, you were expecting him to just...get on with it...like Brad. You suppose that's where you went wrong because Clayton Keller is nothing like Brad.

"Shh, don't go getting shy on me now. You wanted to learn how to cum, right?"

"Yeah..." He tugs you to a sitting position until he can slip in behind you, his back against your headboard, legs spread wide around your hips until he's tugging you back against him ass to his hips. You close your knees together, shy, unsure.

"So, this is where we start, baby." He's gentle with it, careful of your renewed shyness as Clay's hands gently rub up and down your bare thighs, just the tops at first.

He waits until you relax a little, back leaning against his chest, knees unlocking. His hands gliding to your inner thighs, the skin so sensitive that your hips jerk, knees pressing tight together like a muscle spasm.

"This okay?" His lips press to your temple, mumbling against the skin as he starts to pry your knees apart. Gentle, but commanding and you let him ease your legs open until they're wide, panties on show, wet spot making you want to die a little because you shouldn't be this wet from one kiss, right? Or is this normal?

"Y...yeah..."

"You sure?" He stills his movements, lips breathing against your temple, worried he's pushing you too far.

"Just nervous..."

"Why you nervous, baby?" Another kiss to your temple, long fingers tiptoeing up your inner thigh, sliding over the crease where thigh meets hip in soft strokes that have your core pulsing, your throat swallowing heavy.

"I...don't know what's normal, Clay...I..."

"What're you feeling right now? Talk to me and I'll let you know if it's normal or not, baby. That's why I'm here right? To talk you through it."

"Clay..."

"C'mon, what're you feeling? You feeling warm here?" He presses a palm flat to your lower stomach, pushing in in a way that makes you squirm back against his hips. Clay grunts as your grind against his dick, smirking slightly.

"Yeah..." A mumble, a murmur, head tipping back against his shoulder, his lips trailing over the side of your face, damn near loving and that's what this feels like. This feels intimate enough that it shouldn't be between friends, stomach twisting, gut roiling because how are you supposed to view this man as just a friend when he holds you like that, kisses you so gentle, and touches you so close.

"What else?"

"I...I'm so wet, Clay. I..." you don't think you've ever felt this slick, like you're dripping for him and it feels embarrassing, like you shouldn't want him that much. It's hard enough to get the words out, face so warm like you've dunked it in boiling water.

"Mmm?" His fingers slip beneath your panties, a delicate trail through your lips, slick collecting on your fingertips and fuck, you're soaked, "That's normal, baby, such a good girl for letting me know, yeah? 's normal, should be wet or i'm not doin' my job right, yeah? Brad never get you this wet?"

"No..." There's a sense of pride he feels deep in his gut because fuck, yeah, of course Brad couldn't get you this wet, that's Clay's job...except it's not...and you suffered for it. You spent your life thinking you were broken because no one took their time with you and it pisses him off.

"Told you, you're not broken, just with the wrong guy, sweetheart." You let Clay tug your panties down, kicking them off until you're bare, cool air of your room hitting the slick between your thighs, trying to close them. Except Clay's hands are there, keeping your knees parted, cunt bare.

"Show me."

"Show you want?" Your voice is breathy, barely their like you're holding your breath in the back of your throat.

"Show me how you touch yourself, baby, let me help you get there, yeah?"

You're hesitant but you slide your hands down to your cunt like he asks, despite your shyness, your reservations, your embarrassment. You follow his direction perfectly and he watches, throat dry, but observing still with a critical eye each move you make.

"Good girl, so good for me..."

You're too quick with it, too rushed, too intense. Fingers straight for your clit, quick, rough circles that cause your hips to jerk until you pull away close, but frustrated, working yourself almost unkindly and it has Clay shushing you gently.

"You need to go slower, baby, savour it, yeah? You're too rough..." His palm presses to the back of your hand, long fingers guiding your own to a more gentle press, slipping slickly and slow around your clint. A more tender touch that still has you twitching but without the desire to run away from the touch, hips leaning in and not away.

Clay guides your fingers down until you're pressing one inside your centre, breath hiccupping at the sensation as Clay presses your thumb into circles around your clit. He helps you rock into your hand, helps you press a second finger into your cunt and keeps your thumb circling even when that sensation in your tummy feels too much.

You know that sensation well, close, but so far, you've never gotten to the tipping point, never hit that high, your body shying away from it as it does now. Except Clay doesn't let you stop.

"Doin' so well, baby, so close, yeah? You can do this, I know you've got it in you, sweet girl, just a little bit more." Sweet and dirty nothings mumbled into your temple, kisses pressed across your jaw as your fingers, guided by his own, squelch in and out of your cunt.

"Clay..."

"You close, baby?" You can only nod, moans falling out of your throat in a waterfall of sound, eyes fluttering shut and if Clay's fingers weren't on top of your own you know you would have stopped short by now, but he doesn't let you.

All it takes is one last circle of your clit, a little extra sharp, a little more firm and you're falling over a precipice that you've never jumped from before. Where Brad always had you stopping short, peering over that ledge but not jumping, Clay has you diving head first. Your body seizes, body shaking as pleasure runs through your limbs and still Clay makes you work yourself through it until you're pushing his hands away too sensitive, too much whining at him, face seeking comfort in his shoulder.

"I got you, baby, you did so good for me...knew you could do it, so fucking hot, baby..." He tugs you closer, twists you in his arms until you're curling into him, his palms soothing as they flatten over your back, tangle in your hair. Shushing leaving his throat at each little aborted wiggle of your hips, still feeling your first ever orgasm so strongly like all those years of near misses decided to come out all at once.

You moan into his shirt, fingers clawing at his back like you're trying to ground yourself in him and he just keeps holding you, keeps his touches gentle, light, until you're relaxing, until your hips stop twitching and your breath stops stuttering.

"You good?"

"Fuck, Clay..."

"Told you, you weren't broken, baby, every lock has a different key, huh?"

Part of you thought he wouldn't manage it, that you wouldn't manage it...that maybe he'd get just as frustrated as Brad, a few failed attempts before he gave up...but fuck, it was so easy for him, like you were a puck on the edge of his stick, easy to handle, to manoeuvre.

"So I guess....I guess we're done now, huh?" He's done it. He's accomplished the goal, one night and he's achieved it. Like the over achiever that he is.

"Why'd you think that, baby?"

"Well, you did it..."

"Oh baby, this is just the tip of this iceberg. We're not done until you've cum on my fingers, my tongue and my cock."

Your body floods with heat, stomach fluttering again like your body is ready to put those promises to the test. Cheeks burning, face pressing into his shirt tighter until Clay pries you off with a laugh and tugs you on unsteady legs towards your bathroom.

Maybe you're wrong for thinking he'd be content with you cumming once on your own fingers. Maybe you were wrong for thinking he'd up and leave you a sweaty mess in your bed...instead Clay takes his time, a wet wash cloth over your skin, cleaning away sweat and slick with nothing more than a confident, self assured smile. There's something almost fragile about the way Clay gets you ready for bed, how he wipes your make up away and pulls a big shirt over your head and a new pair of panties up your thighs before tucking you under the covers.

"Stay?" You tug at his wrist, scared he's going to leave after all that.

"Of course, baby," It takes no convincing to get him to strip down to his boxers, hard on forgotten about in favour of looking after you, chains glistening against his tan and God, he's gorgeous, your friend...only your friend, but so gorgeous as he tugs you against him and spoons you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

He's pretty sure he's dreaming or maybe he misheard you because there's no way that you just asked him that...there's no way Clay actually heard what he thought he heard. This like something out of a book or one of those stupid hallmark movies except more R-rated.

Your cheeks are hot, so warm to the touch that they might as well be on fire as Clay blinks at you, mouth open, dropped in shock, and you're starting to regret this. Despite the growing buzz of humiliation you push through and ask again.

"I need your help..." You're confidence is waning, mumbling it at him as you look up with big doe eyes and Clay's never been good at saying no to you...he certainly doesn't want to with this either. But, there's a niggling part of him that doubts this, whether you're actually serious, maybe playing a joke on him because of Cooley or Guenther or Jack or someone...but you don't play pranks on people, you don't do a lot of things that would make this make sense to him.

"Yeah, I got that bit, what I don't get is what with..." He's certain he misheard you, didn't hear you ask him to fuck you. He can't have because you don't do casual...and that is the epitome of casual. Clay frowns at you, the way he looks at you from under his brows is both embarrassing, making you squirm because you feel stupid, while simultaneously sparking a heat in your tummy that caused all this...because you never felt that with Brad...because maybe Clayton is the only person who can fix you.

"Clay..." He shifts in place next to you, thigh brushing against yours, knee knocking against your own almost reassuringly, almost an unspoken 'trust me, talk to me, explain'. And you do...you do trust him, he's the only man you trust this much, trust to put this in his hands...but speaking it all out loud, those feelings of inadequacy, the embarrassment you feel, the shame, like you're not woman enough, not good enough...it's hard.

"I can't help you if I don't understand cause right now you're asking me to sleep with you and that seems crazy coming from you." The last thing he wants is to take advantage of you, if something is wrong, if you're vulnerable in a way he doesn't understand. Maybe Clayton should be jumping at the chance, gnawing at the bit because you're you and you're offering him something he never thought you would but...but he's just worried.

"You act like women don't have hook-ups..." Your arms cross over your chest, defensive, protective, face hot as a wildfire, eyes shifting from him because his worry makes you feel worse, makes you feel crazy.

"They do. You don't. So what's the deal?" He's surprised his breath isn't stuttering, you've just asked him to fuck you and for all intents and purposes he should be jumping at the thought. You're gorgeous you're his friend you're you...and that's the issue. You don't sleep around, you don't do casual. You blush at the mere mention of sex...so why are you asking him this?

"I...I need your help." This time he watches as you tilt your head back, eyes on the ceiling as you blink back tears and suddenly he's glad he pushed, he's glad he asked because something...something is wrong and his gut knew it, he knew it.

"Baby..." He's torn between crowding you, tugging you closer and staying back, not sure what you want right now, so he hovers, hands tapping on his lap, knee bouncing.

"I'm broken, okay?" It feels like an admission of guilt...because Brad had always made you feel guilty, feel bad, because how couldn't you cum for your own boyfriend?...even though you'd warned him, even though you'd explained that you couldn't even get yourself to cum on your own...still, what sort of girlfriend couldn't orgasm? There had to be something broken in you.

"What?" He stops short, hands reaching for you freezing in mid air, brows furrowing in the middle, lips down turned. Clay freezes because why would you think that? Why would you say that? You're not broken...you've never been anything less than amazing.

"I...you asked me why Brad and I broke up, do you remember?"

"Uh, yeah you said he just wasn't feeling it anymore..." Clay remembers it like yesterday. You had been crying and he'd come over the moment you had sent him the text 'Brad ended things'. When he got there you'd told him a story about Brad not feeling the relationship anymore, falling out of love, the usual...he'd been pissed at Brad...and relieved (a feeling he chose not to linger on or dissect).

"I lied." You take a deep shaky breath, trying to find the bravery to admit it, to tell Clay the real reason your last boyfriend called it quits, the real reason you'd cried so hard for weeks, "He broke up with me...because I can't cum."

"What?" This isn't where he thought this going today...and it's not what he was expecting but it kind of explains a lot...you're apprehension whenever sex came up, how often you avoided any of the stories the guys told, how you shied away from random guys in bars and any possibility of a quick lay.

Clay's voice is clipped, tense, pissed. It's pissed because he's contemplating how hard it might be to break Brad's legs for ever making you think that there was something wrong with you because he was fucking useless in bed.

"I've...I've never had an orgasm, Clay...not on my own, not with Brad...not ever. I'm broken and I thought...I don't know." This is stupid, God, why did you ever even think of asking him for help this this, "I just...I trust you, you make me feel safe and.. I guess I thought maybe I could with...with you...it's stupid. Just forget it..." You go to stand but your wrist is grasped by Clay, his hand completely enveloping it. He's firm, tugging you back down to stay, but his grip isn't harsh or hard by any stretch of the imagination. Gentle like always, gentle but guiding...reminding you why you asked him. Not Kess. Not Cooley or Jack or any of the others. Just Clay.

"You're not broken." Clay tugs you down until you're practically in his lap, arms wrapping around you to keep you there. He's angry at Brad, but there's a mixture of other feelings there too. Sadness because you feel broken when you're not. Pride because you trust him that much that you picked him out of everyone.

"Did you not hear a word I said?" You look at him like he's mad, the sort of conviction that tells him you really believe it. You believe there's something broken in you and it fucking breaks his heart, his palm coming up to cup your face so tender. More tender than any man has ever been with you, the sort of reminder that Clay's just that guy. The guy who's gentle. The guy who's kind. One of your best friends. Someone you can trust to put you first time and time again. You relax into his palm, cheek smushing against him like you trust him to not let you drop, to not let go.

"You're not broken. You don't need fixing...but if you want me to help, I'll help." He's not entirely sure what's he's getting himself into...he already likes you more than he should, he's attached in a way a best friend probably shouldn't be and sex isn't going to help that...but the hopeful way that you gaze up at him tells him he wouldn't refuse you for the world...no matter how complicated this might get.

"Wa...you will?"

"Yeah, baby, I'll help." Your relieved smile, the almost giddy way you throw your arms around his neck has him smiling even as his gut twists, nervous because shit, what if he fails? What if he can't get you to cum...or worse, what if he does and what if he can't stand the idea of anyone else in his shoes?

"Like right now?"

He laughs at your almost eager admission, "No, not right now. If we're doing this we're easing you in, okay? I'm not just gonna toss you on my bed right after you just cried on my couch." If he's doing this, he's doing it properly...making the most of it, because God knows you'll probably never let him touch you like that again once he's accomplished the job. You'll go back to just friends and he'll be left with whatever memories he has left.

"Oh...right,"

"Unless...you wanna?" He smirks at you, not serious, knowing he wouldn't even if you begged. But, it's cute the way you flush, how you shove at his shoulder and roll your eyes at him.

"Shut up."

"What? Can't I be a little cocky cause you want to fuck me?" There's an inbuilt male pride that makes Clay's shoulders roll back, chest puffing up because you want him. Not anyone else. Him.

"Stop saying that!"

"Fuck?"

"Clay!"

"Y'know, I'm probably going to say a whole lot worse by the time we're done, right?"

You groan, forehead dropping forward onto his shoulder as he laughs and yeah, maybe he's worried that he'll be ruined for anyone else after this...but, God, is it going to be worth it to make you realise just how good you are, to make sure you know you're not broken, that you're not the problem. Brad is.

"So...when do we start?" You mumble it almost into his neck, lips brushing the collar of his t-shirt, skin sensitive, shoulders shivering slightly.

"I'll come over to yours tomorrow night, I'll bring Chinese food." Your place because you'll be more relaxed. Your place because it's about you and your convenience not his.

"Chow mein?" You lift your head, lips widening into a broad smile, eyes crinkling at the mention of Chinese food.

"Chow mein." Singapore chow mein. Your favourite. He'll get you extra for leftovers because he knows you'll want some for lunch in the week and he's got more than enough money to spare.

"Spring rolls?"

"Spring rolls." You settle back into his shoulder, tightening your grip around him and Clay tugs your legs further over his lap until you're firmly planted against him, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

"Thank you...really, I...you're the only one I'd trust to do this."