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Rose knows what bad sex is. She's had her fair share of shit hookups after all. Shittier boyfriends where she's learned how to advocate for herself and her pleasure.
Before Shane there had been one of the new guys on set. A coy wink and a note of where to meet. She’s too classy for the backseat of a car, but it was the thrill of it. A large, warm palm down the front of her tights and hips pressing her into the cracked vinyl.
Shane is sweet, patient, slowing at each step to ask. So, no. This isn't bad sex in the most blatant way. Last guy - Calum maybe? Carson? - had gotten his and barely lingered long enough for hers.
Is this okay?
She’d been so hungry with want when they’d come back here. She'd felt high on his gaze, high on her evening, high on the joint she'd swiped from her handler with a cheeky wink before she and Miles had climbed into a car to head to the club.
Shane is rolling on a series of wins. He's always in his head, and she likes that. Rose wants to get him out of his mind. She wants Shane’s mouth off her throat and between her thighs. She wants him to push inside of her and carve out a space.
Not when he’s giving her that deer in the headlights stare, though.
“Have you ever done this before?” she asks, mostly to keep the pace going. He has two fingers inside of her. He's staring at them like he's never seen a pussy before.
Rose knows what hockey players are like. Boisterous. Thrill-seeking. She's heard about the orgy that apparently happened in some Ukrainian fuck’s hotel room, and the mess after. A friend was there - for the drugs, not the sex.
Of course, Shane isn't them. He’s better. A good man.
“Course I have,” he mumbles, defensive. He presses his mouth to hers again, fumbling off his briefs. He’s taking himself in hand, stroking himself, and she cranes her neck, all too eager to watch.
“Fuck.”
The last time they’d hooked up, Rose had gotten on her knees. Broken her own rule of ladies first. She’d been drunk, and Shane had looked at her like he wanted to cry after.
“Ho-ly,” he’d said, holding Rose to his chest. Voice thick. “You’re amazing.”
This is not enough.
Now, Rose tightens her walls around him and Shane shivers, crooking them in all the wrong places. She doesn’t moan for his benefit. Frowns until he fixes. Rewards him with a kiss.
His pants are off. Rose tilts her hips up, trying to line his erection against her thigh and feels… ugh.
“Should I call you captain?” she teases. His dick does react at that, interestingly enough. “Captain Hollander.”
“Shut up,” Shane scoffs, eyes coming up to meet hers. “Fuck no. Stop.” Half-smirk, then he’s crawling back over her body.
“Make me.”
Shane kisses a hot trail between her breasts. He covers her hand, the one toying with her nipple, and takes over. This feels good. She feels good.
Rose sighs, arching into the warmth of his skin. Making out with him is nice, and letting him touch her is even nicer.
In a way, Shane reminds her of high school. Of being cautious of how much to bite off before chewing. She didn't have a traditional experience, but she did have that; losing her virginity to her high school boyfriend in the hours his parents weren't home. The nervous fumble and all that.
Shane is acting like his parents are in the next room.
“Can you-“ Shane gestures to the side table, and Rose twists her body to retrieve what he’s looking for.
She feels the dildo before she sees it. And feels around it for the familiar plastic wrapping.
Rose drapes the condoms across her sternum, and Shane laughs. It’s a sash, and she’s the prom queen. His laugh is genuine, at her puckered lips, her face. There’s that boy she could love.
She grins. “Do you want me to ride your face?”
The laughter stops. Shane turns a funny shade of green in the dim lighting, though it could be the street lamps. He flops onto his back and Rose climbs on top, knees on either side of his head. His fingers are barely slick when they grip into the fat of her thigh. Everything about this feels off and forced, but he’s staring at her with the kind of determination that reminds her of the first time she’d gotten in front of a camera.
She sets her hands on the headboard and feels his tongue lave at her folds and the feeling is less tentative so much as it’s timid.
Still, she can feel him still jerking himself off.
“Shit, Hollander,” she breathes, and that seems to kick Shane back into motion. There’s a little more effort to it, some soft moaning that blows hot air against her clit that she can work with if she focuses.
Being up here is starting to feel selfish; Rose climbs down and finds his mouth. Shane’s half-hearted protest against it is reason enough for her to make this easier.
“Fuck me,” she says, knuckles trailing up and down his chest. Shane shivers, mouth opening and closing like a fish. His mouth is wet with her, but it’s decidedly unsexy in the moment. It was hotter when it was her fingers in his mouth. She wonders what he’d look like with a cock there.
She kisses him, though, feels him roll the condom on and line himself up and he winces when he pushes inside. Shane draws out and taps the head against her clit, and God, it's something.
“I think I'm just-” he starts, and Rose shakes her head.
“Do you want me to blow you?”
Shane’s face flickers through a prism of emotion. Apologetic. Relief. Disgust?
“No, I can do this,” he says, determined, and it's honestly kind of mortifying. It’s like he's trying to thread a needle with a noodle.
Rose kind of wants to cry a bit, but what good would that do? Shane swears and apologizes, and presses a finger inside of her again. Then two, three, fucks them in slow and deep strokes. He soothes her, kisses another sorry, sorry against her mouth along with another excuse.
His eyes are closed, and he’s mumbling to himself. Or maybe her. “S’rry. Rosy. ‘m so sorry. Fuck.”
Rose thinks about the dildo in the drawer and sighs. She’ll be making a trip for one of those in the morning.