the reluctant lobotomist (fourfreedoms) wrote,
the reluctant lobotomist

  • Mood:
  • Music:

I've been saving this moment for a long time

This started back when I polled you people on what I should write in like February, and I said J2 Sixteen Candles AU? And a good half of you were like "WHAT? NO! GIMME SIXTEEN CANDLES FIC!"

So, I wrote the sexual adventures of Samantha and Jake.

Jake doesn’t want to push Samantha. She’s only sixteen, albeit, when he looks at her, he often sees 25+ years of maturity staring back at him. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready for, well, a lot of things. He’s determined to go about this the right way

Jake lost his virginity in the backyard behind his house. He felt like his dad was going to come to the window at any moment and see his bare ass thrusting. He’d come too quickly, but it hadn’t mattered, because the girl, Anne Fresher, bled all over the place, and was relieved when it ended. He expected to be chastised for his performance, to be told how bad it was. Jake always laid in wait for these things, but the words never came.

She triumphantly put her skirt and leggings back on, summoned up her stuff, and told him, “Well that’s done with.”

When he returned to school the next day it was all over the place—Anne and Jake did it in his parent’s backyard, while his mom and dad sat oblivious on the other side of the sliding glass door. Suddenly Anne was regarded as the pinnacle of sexual knowledge and Jake was elevated to god-like status.

That was before Samantha even came to high school.

So he’s careful with her—more like a bumbling idiot. She can’t figure it out, she’s got this image in her head, he knows she does, that he’s this slick asshole, and yeah okay, maybe he’d let people think that. But Christ, he wants Samantha for real, for serious, because jesus, she does smell good, and she does drive him crazy, and she makes him laugh. And he doesn’t need sex, not yet, because the limp body of Anne is still branded into his mind. She was just the same age, and if that’s Samantha—he wants to keep her from that for the longest possible.

So they hold hands down the corridors, she cheekily sticks her palm into his back pocket, smile wide on her face, and they sit next to each other in study hall. They kiss after they go to the movies, and he wants to tumble her back to the wall and show her how he could make her feel, but he’s waiting for some kind of sign that she’s ready. In the mean time it involves a lot of stumbling away from her, adjusting the line of his jeans, and trying not to crash when he drives back home.


Her dad really likes him, which is entirely unexpected, but supposedly it’s because he opened her car door for her when she was in that ridiculous purple confection. That’s what she explains anyway.

“I wish I’d known this secret sooner,” he says, thinking back on the long line of Dad’s he’s faced down who all claimed to own shotguns and shovels. But he’s invited over on a Saturday after they’ve been dating for a month.

She doesn’t want to let him up into her bedroom, says her little sister got Ginny’s room when she moved out, and so she hasn’t had a chance to change it. He shrugs, they sit awkwardly in the living room until her brother’s references to porn and poontang and farting in bed become too much to bear.

He knows what she’s afraid of as they climb the stairs—that he’ll think her room is too little girl. But honestly, what did she think Carolyn’s room looked like? A brothel? An art deco show room?

She hasn’t tidied from when she undressed last night, and her bed is a rumpled mess, pink silky bra and panties strewn next to it. It’s very suggestive. He remembered when he got her underwear off of Ted and could almost feel it next to her skin. She sits next to him on the bed, and they stare at her Duran Duran poster.

“Do you like them?”

He looks at her and shrugs. He can’t stand them actually. He likes AC/DC and Grand Funk Railroad, and maybe he’ll condescend to listen to U2 or The Police, but he’s got limits. She smiles, she can read all that and more on his face. He smiles back. Carolyn had tortured him with Spandau Ballet and Naked Eyes and Wham.

She kisses his smile, and they sink back into her bed. It creaks beneath them, and Jake has a momentary fear that the entire house will know exactly what they are doing, but she drapes herself between his thighs, and slides their mouths together. It’s quiet and content, he doesn’t need more than her chest pressed to his, her lips on his, his hand in her short hair.

He has to leave at 5:00 PM, there’s some family dinner he’s got to be at, but his entire body is glowing. Her face and shoulders are flushed and he’s nearly tripping over his combat boots down the stairs. Mrs. Baker asks him how he’s doing when he passes the kitchen and he honestly doesn’t know how to answer that question.


His parents go out of town, and he half-expects Sam to lose her mind and plan some crazy party that ends with his house burning down or the emergency services involved, but she comes over with a six pack of A&W cream soda and a bunch of classic films. Ted doesn’t turn up to get locked inside his coffee table, Carolyn doesn’t get her hair stuck in a door, and nobody cannibalizes his mother’s pearls.

Jake can see why Sam likes His Girl Friday so much. She’s just like Rosalind Russell, long legs that begged to be touched and full lips. Okay, so that’s probably not the comparison Sam is drawing, but now he can’t stop imagining her in skirt suits and panty hose with seams down the back. It’s such a pretty picture, and everything in him is yearning to mess it up.

He kisses her on the dip of her shoulder bared by her shirt almost offhand, the skin is inviting him. She shifts and his lips skate over her collarbone. Somehow they migrate from the couch to the floor, he’s sucking hickies into her neck, and she’s moaning, hands tight on his shoulder, and this is so far from the plan he should really course correct or wind up horrifically lost.

“Jake, Jake, take your shirt off,” she begs and tugs on the ratty cotton of his t-shirt. Jake curses and she laughs, helps him pull his t-shirt off, blushes when she first puts her hands to his skin. He flexes a bicep as she runs her fingertips over it, can’t help but revel a little in her obvious interest in him. He hovers passively above her as she susses out where he ends and begins, how his joints fit together, what’ll make him unconsciously shudder. He’s painfully aware that he’s the first boy she’s kissed, the first boy she’s touched this way, the first boy she’ll let touch her.

He wants this to work so desperately, wants it to be perfect, wants her to love him, all of him. And everything could go so bad. She could hate it—but she’s wriggling under him, working those legs that go on for miles tight around his hips, thighs squeezing, and they fit.

“You’re…hard,” she says, like it’s a surprise.

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”

She asks between kisses. “For me?”

“Yeah, you.” He forgets sometimes that she needs this, that she needs to be reminded, that not only does he know that she exists, but he also spends a lot of his solitude wondering what sounds she’d make if he pushed his fingers into her cunt, how far the flush would extend over her freckled skin, what the creamy insides of her thighs would taste like.

She arches against him, pressing right into his dick, and Jake drops his head in resignation. He guesses he’ll take this as far as she’ll let him. He inches her shirt up her flat belly, and he thinks hesitation, pause, something will show up on her face. But she watches him, expectant. The shirt comes off, and he swipes a thumb over one distended lace-covered nipple. Her hips jerk.

“You don’t have to be such a gentlemen,” she breathes and then instantly blushes. “I mean—unless that’s what you want.”

He presses a kiss to her mouth and settles on the reply, “I want what you want.”

She makes a face at him. “You’re not going to make this easy.”

He’s gotta make a move or they’ll be at this forever. He bends his head and sucks on her nipple through the cloth. He teases it with his tongue, thumb running repeatedly over the other one, until she’s demanding that he give her something more.

“Jake, Jake,” she cries, throat torn, words getting stuck in there. He hears all the things she’s leaving unsaid, finally. He pushes up her skirt, so glad that she eschews jeans, because all he has to do is push the crotch of her panties aside, run two blunt fingers of the head of her clit, and she’s sobbing, arms tight around him.

He’s so glad he got that one right, he’s not even upset he can’t find the words to address the problem of his own arousal.


The next time they’re alone together, she initiates it real simple in the middle of talking about how much math class with Zidler sucks. She places her hand right on his dick, barely any pressure at all, and his eyes nearly bug out in surprise. She looks entirely too determined, so determined that she’s gotten past his levis, his shorts, and straight on to his erection.

She’s pushing him back so that he doesn’t get in her way, and then she’s jacking him off, right there, in the middle of the day, no preamble. And he’s going to spill at any moment, and she looks so impossibly smug, and that right there is it. He’s coming all over her fist.

“Oh, oh my god,” he says staring at the ceiling.

She blinks at him. “Did I do okay?”

He thunks his head back against the floor. “You’re going to kill me.”


They don’t always eat together at school. Samantha doesn’t really think she can bring her friends over to his table to sit with all the senior queen bees and sportos, and the idea of them coming with Jake to sit with her is unfathomable. They all think he’s crazy for dating her. He gets made fun of mercilessly in the locker room. Jake doesn’t dwell on it too much, he knows there’s a price for everything. The price of Carolyn was getting his house trashed and having empty sex when and only when she was interested. The price of Samantha is that his friends think he’s got a virgin fetish.

Samantha waves at him across the cafeteria and then goes to sit with Randi. Ted slides into a seat next to her and she looks affectionately exasperated.

“Hey,” Carolyn says, setting her bag lunch down across from him.

He nods at her and looks back at Samantha. Randi is waving some trashy magazine in her face “love tips to make him scream” or some shit, and he takes a deep breath.

“Can I ask you a question?” Carolyn looks a little taken aback that he’s even saying anything to her. Their relationship has become neutral but distant since she slept with Ted.

She shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah, Jake, shoot.”

“Samantha’s never done it before.”

“Hah, color me shocked!” she replies and sits back in her chair. He sighs and shoots her a withering look, until she raises her hands in surrender.

“I just—I want to make sure I don’t hurt her,” he tells her weakly.

All the rest of his friends choose that moment to converge on the lunch table, and he looks away from Carolyn and the funny look on her face, distracted by banter about class and coach and the upcoming dance. When the bell rings, he starts clearing his stuff up. He almost doesn’t know what she’s talking about when she says “You’ll be fine” before departing with a toss of her blonde hair.


He nearly has a heart attack when Sam meets him after practice with the trashy magazine in hand. “Is any of this true?” she asks, flipping to the section with sex tips as he pulls out of the school parking lot.

He coughs. “I don’t know, I haven’t read it.”

“I think I’d kind of like to try some of this,” she says slowly, and drops her palm on his knee. He switches into 5th gear rather than 3rd and the car protests mightily. She doesn’t move her hand, but she’s too engrossed in whatever is on page 58 to look at him.

“Are you sure?” he breaks the silence when they hit the fifth red light in a row and muscles in his thigh have drawn themselves tighter than sailor’s knots.

She looks over at him, placing the magazine carefully into her book bag. “Sure I’m sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

Jake struggles with how to put his thoughts into words. “Don’t you think it’s a bit fast?”

She blinks at him. “What? Are you calling me a slut?”

“No, I—”

“The light is green,” she interrupts him, arms crossed. He has to resist the urge to hit his head on the steering wheel. They pass the street for her house and she doesn’t ask for him to take her home, so he keeps going back to his place. He takes that as one good sign. She can’t be too angry with him. He spends the rest of the drive worrying over what to say to her to make it right again. When they stop in the driveway, she’s out of the car in a flash, storming up the front walk while he hurries along behind.

“Sam!” he calls after her, following her doggedly to the kitchen. She slams open his cupboard to pull down a glass and then nearly wrenches the tap out of the wall getting water. “Sam, I don’t think you’re a slut.”

She eyes him over the rim of her glass.

“But maybe—”

She sets the glass down with a slam. “I don’t think you’re a slut, but maybe you’re a…whore?” she asks sarcastically.

“Damn it, Sam,” he throws up his hands. “I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“Well you’re doing real good there.”

He pins her back against the counter with his body. “Sam, I meant when we…when we have sex.”

Her tense stance softens against him. “You’re so stupid.”

And that’s the end of that. They do their homework while listening to his parent’s copy of Abbey Road. They stay that way, basking in each other’s comfortable silence until it starts to get dark outside.

“Give me a ride home?”

He nods and gets his keys. He thinks that’s the end of it. The subject is closed for a little while longer, but he’s so wrong. He stops in front of her house and she’s leans over the stick shift to kiss him goodnight. It’s simple and sweet, until she runs her hand up his leg to squeeze his dick. “Next time, we’re going to try some of those things.”


Her family goes to visit her grandparents one weekend and Sam manages to slip out of joining them. She calls him up and says, “They didn’t say you could come over, but they didn’t say you couldn’t, either.”

He finds himself flat on his back on her mattress, jeans and underwear pulled down around his ankles while she speculatively looks at his erect dick. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

She smiles and puts her lips to the leaking head. “Yes I do.” Before her tongue sneaks out and swipes out around the crown. He thinks he deserves a medal, a commendation, a key to the city by the end of it, because he’s kept himself so still, made sure he doesn’t thrust up into her mouth or come before she’s ready for it.

She doesn’t even bother to swallow, just wipes him off and gives him a quick kiss on the line of his pelvis. He’s barely come down from the shaky heady feeling of her going down on him, but he’s already got her on her back, index and pointer finger pressing on her g-spot while he strokes across her clit with his thumb. She thrashes on the pillow, yells loud enough that the neighbors can probably hear, and seeks out his left, unoccupied hand to squeeze as she comes, shuddering.


It’s well into January before they finally sleep together. Jake would’ve waited for longer, their sixth month anniversary or Valentines Day or something, but Sam kept asking why he was fighting her on this. Finally she pointed out that he was about to turn 18 and then it would be illegal. She nearly killed herself laughing at the horrified look on her face.

Jake agonizes the entire day before she arrives, an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, and a large box of condoms in one hand.

“Did you get them yourself?” he asks, eyes on the red cardboard. He catches it when she tosses the box over.

“Ginny got ‘em for me.”

He wonders if that should make him feel better or worse. She leads the way up to his bedroom which he has cleaned just for the occasion and sets her bag down just inside the door.

“Soo…” She shrugs her shoulders.

And Jake smiles. This—he can make this work. He totally blew Carolyn’s mind the first time, and now they're actually here, in the bedroom, intention clear, Jake can do this. He’s good under pressure.

It’s the first time he’s ever seen her wholly naked, they’ve always left some clothing on, like they could inject some form of Christian solemnity into everything they’d been doing. She tries not to flinch under his gaze and he has to remind himself that what Sam sees in herself, is not what he sees in her. She thinks her breasts are too small and her skin too freckled. Jake sees a woman he’s been jerking off to since they made eye contact at that first dance.

“C’mere,” he says, directing her to lie down on the bed with him. He knows her body, every inch of it, like she’s pieces of a puzzle he took the time to memorize before fitting together. He smoothes his palms over his skin, just brushing the inside of her arms and down her sides, and the outsides of her thighs, until she’s arching up into his body.

He eats her out first, and she comes before a minute has ticked by on the clock on his night stand. She still looks flushed and unsated, eyes wide for more. Jake wipes off his mouth. “So this is the part where you tell me no, stop, asshole, if you wanna.”

“Yeah right, me say stop?” she responds, shooting him a look. “I’m going to start worrying you’re not up to it if you don’t get to it soon.”

She’s goading him, playing to his inner sense of competition, and Jake gives her a narrow-eyed look. “Play nice.”

He rolls the condom on while she tracks his movements and then tips her back down to the pillows. She tugs him back between her thighs and then he’s slowly pushing inside. He’s not quite sure what to make of the gargled noise that comes out of her mouth, but the fingernails digging into the caps of his shoulders, he has learned, are definitely a good thing.

He holds still when he slides all the way inside, she’s squirming underneath him, trying to get more. “Hey, slow is good,” he says and kisses her, tongue curling on the soft inner flesh just inside her lip. When she’s totally caught up in it, he finally pulls back out and thrusts in.

He’s going a little crazy, thrust deep in her tight wet heat, and only the fact that he jerked off before she arrived is keeping him from tipping right over the edge and losing it. Her back is bowed beneath him, breasts crushed to his chest, as she gasps in big lungfuls of air. She contracts around him once, twice, three times.

He can see her eyes moving beneath her shut eyelids and something about it whacks him right upside the head and travels down his body like lightning, and then he’s coming with her name on his lips. He has no idea how he managed to stave this off for months when it was all he could think about.

“Do you think, maybe in a little bit, we could do that again?” she asks as he’s pulling out and disposing of the condom.

She hasn't stood up yet, gone running for the door, leaving only a 'see you at school on monday' behind. He looks at her, eyebrows arched. “You wanna?”

“Yeah, ‘I wanna’” she parrots at him with a smile.

Don't think I won't write that AU at some point either!
Tags: fic, jake/samantha, porn, sixteen candles
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.