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slashhinginghasher · 4 years ago

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Closet Space - Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Self-indulgent college AU? Self-indulgent college AU.

College senior Jesse Cromeans makes out with a hot international student at a frat party.

Jesse Cromeans and Caitlin Spann didn’t often go to frat parties anymore. The connections they’d gathered over the course of four years of business internships were enough to gain them access to real parties, not the desperate orgies of cheap sex and cheaper beer their peers engaged in. The Incident in their junior year also left Jesse reluctant to show his newly scarred face more than absolutely necessary. (Watching CEOs do lines of coke off of strippers’ tits in the hopes of getting a few business cards by the end of the night was necessary. Beer pong was not.) He’d made lots of excuses in that regard, and Spann was good enough not to call him out on it. But winter term was over, they’d both received their early acceptances from the Stanford School of Business, and tonight they felt like celebrating on somebody else’s dime.

They still made sure to choose one of the more monied fraternities. They did have standards, after all.

Old money or not, the inside of the frat house was still chaos. There was a massive, professionally decorated Christmas tree in the living room, which would be largely stripped of its ornaments and tinsel by drunk college kids come morning. Many of the girls had their tits out despite the winter chill, lots of skimpy, crushed velvet dresses and coquettish faux fur trim. Jesse was bombarded with greetings as soon as they walked through the door, and he fielded them with quickly waning patience as Spann drifted off to go do Spann things. He’d achieved a somewhat legendary status on campus after turning a first year stock market exercise into millions of real dollars. Spann had been his partner on that project, but she was perfectly content to take her cut of the money and leave the credit to him. She preferred to work in the background, claiming she got more done when she didn’t have to deal with the interpersonal bullshit politics that Jesse navigated so well.

He eventually wound up in the kitchen, where a steady stream of party-goers helped themselves to overpriced snacks (who put out charcuterie boards at a frat party, honestly?) and mixed half-assed cocktails that were 10% mixer at best. A couple groped at each other next to the pantry, and a short girl with dark, wild hair and an intense expression surveyed the stream of human traffic over the rim of a red solo cup. Jesse poured himself another whiskey and leaned against the island next to her.

PLANNING A MURDER?

The girl jumped slightly at the sound of his phone’s electronic voice, then glanced at him with startlingly blue eyes. She scoffed and took a swig of what looked like water or straight vodka.

“Just contemplating, not planning.” Her voice was lower than Jesse expected from someone her size, with a thick Eastern European accent. His lips twitched with a smile. He did always like them sharp, and a good chase was just what he needed tonight.

YOU DON’T SEEM TO BE ENJOYING YOURSELF.

“I’m not.”

THEN WHY COME?

“I’m fucking poor, and there’s free food.” As if to make a point, she turned around and started rummaging through the fridge like she owned the place. Jesse found himself at a loss for words, a laugh stuck halfway between his chest and his throat.

IF YOU’RE THAT POOR HOW DO YOU AFFORD THIS PLACE?

Jesse and Spann would graduate debt-free thanks to their stock market exploits, but the tuition at their university was… hefty, to say the least. He imagined it would be even worse for an international student.

“They gave me a lot of money because I am very sad orphan girl. And I am also devastatingly sexy,” she said, emerging from the fridge and shoving half a slice of pizza into her mouth in one bite. She flashed him a peace sign that somehow managed to be blisteringly sarcastic and sauntered away with her prize.

She was wearing a heavy plaid skirt that hit mid-calf, her black top looked like it had been run through a woodchipper and reassembled with safety pins, and she was eating stolen pizza straight out of the box.

Jesse wholly agreed with her self-assessment. The sexy part, at least.

***

He was still thinking about her an hour later when Spann sidled up on her platform stilettos, her balance impeccable despite her obvious intoxication.

“There’s a group of loudmouths gathering ‘round the pool table in the basement,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. “You in a betting mood?”

“A hunting mood,” he signed.

“Ooooh.” She waggled her eyebrows dramatically. “Got your sights set on anyone?”

“I might.”

Most people thought Spann and Jesse were an item just because they lived together and spent almost every public moment attached at the hip. Which were pretty good reasons, when one thought about it. But Spann was largely a commitment girl, and Jesse was decidedly not. Spann didn’t want to be a metaphorical notch on a bedpost; Jesse didn’t want to be tied down. They’d made out once as an experiment at the end of their freshman year, then hashed out the boundaries of their relationship in a five-minute conversation that they’d followed ever since.

Jesse had no idea why other people had to make relationships so damn complicated.

Before Spann could convince Jesse to come watch her annihilate some frat boys at pool, the fraternity president approached them. He was a douchebag of the highest order - the type of guy who insisted on being addressed by his last name because his first name was Edwin or Briggsley or some other rich prick idiocy - and Jesse and Spann both hated him, but his obscenely wealthy father would be a useful business contact in the future, so they forced themselves to be cordial.

“Some of the girls are organizing a game of Truth or Dare in the den. You feeling bold, Caitlin?” he asked with a cocky grin. He was also the sort of douchebag who addressed all women by their first name, including his professors and women like Spann who could break his spine over their knee.

“No, thank you,” Spann said, cold and sweet as ice cream. “I finished high school years ago.” He laughed, the insult and the rejection rolling harmlessly off his shiny money veneer, and turned to Jesse.

“How about you, Cromeans?” Jesse was on the verge of saying no when he saw a mane of black hair being led, somewhat reluctantly, towards the small crowd gathering in the den. He shrugged with practiced nonchalance and held up his phone.

SURE, WHY THE FUCK NOT?

“Atta boy!” President Edwin Briggsley Douchebag III clapped him on the shoulder, and Jesse had to force himself not to break the twat’s hand. The other boy left to continue his rounds, recruiting anything with a pair of tits for his little game. Spann - god damn her fucking eagle eyes - had tracked Jesse’s gaze and was now grinning deviously.

“I heard she has sessions with Malloy every other week,” she whispered in his ear, referring to one of the lead staff at the university’s mental health clinic. “Condition of her enrollment.”

Now that was interesting.

“Happy hunting,” she cackled, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. “I’m off to make some rich boys cry.”

***

People were so dreadfully predictable, Jesse thought. Nearly ten people in and not a hint of creativity to be found. People who chose Truth were asked to recount their sexual history or most embarrassing moments; those who picked Dare were promptly relieved of articles of clothing. The object of his momentary obsession appeared to be having similar thoughts as she watched the proceedings with heavy-lidded boredom. The crowd booed as one of the boys dared a girl to kiss him and she threw herself at him with great enthusiasm.

“That’s not a real dare, you’re her fucking boyfriend!” someone protested. The girl stuck her tongue out at them, then shoved it back in her boyfriend’s mouth. There were more jeers and whistles and a few calls for them to get a room. One of the boys tried to get back everyone’s attention.

“Alright, alright, whatever, next victim!” He pointed at Jesse’s girl and trailed off, apparently realizing he didn’t know her name.

“Mareeeennnnaaaaa!” cooed the girl who’d roped her in to the game, dragging the vowels out in a drunken sing-song.

“Marena!” the boy announced. Marena quirked a brow, apparently unimpressed with his pronunciation. “Truth or dare!”

“Dare,” she said with zero hesitation. The boy honest to god rubbed his hands together and grinned like he was about to say something genius.

“Twenty minutes in heaven.” Not that genius, then. He grabbed the closest empty beer bottle and held it up with two fingers. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on gets locked in a closet with you for twenty minutes.”

Like hell was Jesse going to let one of these dumb fucks get her alone for even one minute.

“I thought it was normally seven minutes.”

“Are you backing out?” Marena flipped him off as an answer and snatched the bottle from him, sending it spinning with an elegant flick of her fingers.

She had a few whitish scars on her hand and wrist, barely visible in the low light.

Jesse tensed as the bottle slowed, frantically thinking up reasons to start a fight with whoever it landed on. But his efforts were unnecessary, because the universe and physics were on his side that night. The crowd erupted into a clamor of hoots and hollers like someone had just won the lottery. None of them had really expected Jesse to participate; he had connections and status and thus was too cool to be anything more than a silent watcher. President Douchebag ushered the pair to the nearest closet - a walk-in (fortunately for Jesse’s long limbs) that had been converted to a coat room for the night - leering at Jesse like they were good buddies who’d discuss the relative merits of European pussy over drinks later. Jesse ignored him and, ever the gentleman, gestured Marena in before him with a little half bow. Her head barely reached his chest as she passed him wordlessly; she was only a little taller than Spann and she was wearing flats. The door was shut and they were plunged into darkness, the sounds of the party muffled by the thick wood.

A few seconds of quiet stillness passed before Marena turned on her phone (which was at least three models out of date), using the light from the (cracked) screen as a flashlight. She looked ghostly in the faint, bluish light, the shadows deepened in the hollows of her eye sockets. Jesse leaned back against the door and folded his arms as she started a slow circuit of the tiny room, observing the winter jackets twisted haphazardly on every available hanger and piled in the corners on the floor. He would have loved to immediately start making use of his twenty minutes, but there was something animal and twitchy about the way she moved that made him think that any sudden moves would be met with teeth. She did not look at him, or at the way his posture and shirt emphasized the size of his biceps, which he didn’t like, and he really didn’t like the tension creeping into her slender shoulders. When he touched her arm to get her attention, she jolted as though shot.

YOU GOOD?

The amount of time she spent mulling over the question was a clear enough “no”, but she still answered anyway.

“The last time I was locked in a closet was… unpleasant.”

UNPLEASANT IN WHAT WAY?

Thoughts of high school boys with beer breath and over-insistent hands were filling him with a slow rage.

“In a ‘listening to someone be violently murdered outside the door’ way.”

Well, damn. Okay.

WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?

“You ask a lot of questions,” Marena snapped.

I CAN DISTRACT YOU ANOTHER WAY IF YOU LIKE.

She resumed her pacing, chewing her lip, but she looked more contemplative than tense. Jesse was acutely aware of the ticking clock.

“When did you lose your voice?”

I NEVER HAD ONE.

“What happened to your face?”

NOW WHO’S ASKING TOO MANY QUESTIONS?

“Answer it and you can distract me however you want.”

He didn’t need a business degree to know that he was being offered a fantastic fucking deal.

I PICKED A FIGHT WITH THE WRONG PERSON.

Jesse barely waited for the electronic voice to finish the last syllable before tossing his phone to the floor and charging her. He burrowed both hands into that black mass of hair and crushed his lips to hers like a starving man. Her skin was cool, but he felt her hands like brands through his shirt when she placed them against his chest for balance. He tightened his grip on her hair, hard enough to pull slightly on her scalp, and let one hand wander lower, fingertips catching on safety pins and ripped fabric as he made his way down to the modest curve of her ass. In turn, her touch moved upwards, exploring the muscles of his chest and shoulders, sliding up his neck until her thumbs rested firmly over his jugular. It was a bold move, dominant, and he wanted - needed - to get closer to her, to press her body against his in a way their height difference would not currently allow.

Marena wrapped her legs around him with no coaxing when he picked her up by the waist, walking forwards until her back pressed flat against the door. She was so light, like a little hollow-boned bird, and if he’d had a little more blood in his brain he’d be worried about crushing her. As it was, his blood was rapidly migrating south and the only thing he was concerned about was the taste of her as he nibbled on her full lower lip. He nipped at her, hard enough to sting, then soothed the hurt with his tongue, and was surprised when her tongue darted forward to meet his. He rolled his hips into hers, slow and deep, as he explored her mouth, wishing there was less clothing in the way. His cock was pressed painfully against his zipper, but he made no move to free it; he was not going to fuck her for the first time under a time constraint.

Finally, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as they both panted for air. Jesse shoved a hand up Marena’s shirt, closing over her small breast and rubbing his thumb against the hardening nub of her nipple through her bra. Her head rolled back against the door with a soft thunk, granting him access to the soft skin of her throat. He latched onto her pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and Marena purred. The sound shot straight to his groin, and he had a sudden, intense desire to bite down until the salty warmth of her blood filled his mouth and dripped down his chin.

He wrenched back. Jesse was no stranger to violent impulses - had even followed through on quite a few of them - but he didn’t want to ruin the evening by murdering this girl in a closet. Undeterred, Marena grabbed his head with both hands and attacked his mouth with hers. She kissed him ferociously, voraciously, a clash of teeth and tongue, and when she bit his lip hard enough to make him bleed, he almost came on the spot. His hands were all over her, needing to feel every inch of her body but barely registering the ridges of scar tissue they encountered. She slid her hands into his back pockets and pulled him in until his pelvis was flush against hers. He leaned in with his full weight, and the only thing in the world that existed was the heavy grind of his hips against hers and the hot, wet dance of their mouths.

He was so close to saying fuck it, ripping her clothes off and going to town right there on the closet floor, when someone pounded on the door.

“Knock knock, Cromeans! Put your dick away!” Jesse snarled, already planning a way to slaughter the little asshole who’d interrupted the best not-fuck of his life. The sensation of Marena’s body sliding against his as she settled on her feet sent another lightning bolt of pleasure down his spine. There was a shuffle of fabric as Marena picked up her phone and tried to put herself back in order. Jesse didn’t bother; he knew they both looked a damn mess and he didn’t give a single fuck. In fact, the only thing he cared about at the moment was getting her into his bed so he could finish what he’d started.

“Thanks for the distraction,” Marena murmured, opening the door to a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles. She rolled her eyes and started shouldering her way through the crowd. She didn’t look back, which stung a little, and Jesse gave a sarcastic little salute to the crowd to avoid looking like a lovelorn asshole before retreating to the basement.

***

He didn’t realize until much later in the evening that she’d stolen his fucking wallet.

#we're ALL thinking about that t-shirt pic let's be fully honest here #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #laid to rest #marena polunochnaya #my writing #messy #slasher oc

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