bakerstreet | The Experience Difference - Loss of Virginity aka Deflowering Meme

The Experience Difference - Loss of Virginity aka Deflowering Meme

There's nothing wrong with a little bump and grind, a great poet once said. When you meet that right person and sparks fly, just do what comes naturally! No one will judge you...

...no one that matters, anyway.

But what if you judge yourself - gasp - because your partner has more sexual experience than you! Not that it's hard if you're a virgin. Perhaps you knew that going in, or this could be a discovery you make while your under the covers. It may be expected (ie, your partner is older or more worldly than you) or a complete and utter surprise.

How you handle it, however, is the key. Are you embarrassed? Shocked? Angry? If you're smart, you'll hope your partner will show you the ropes. If you truly care for this other person, you shouldn't let things like this come between you, as hard as that can be.

HOW TO PLAY

- Comment with your character and preferences. Be sure to mention in your comment whether or not you prefer your character to be the experienced or the inexperienced/virgin.
- Play with others! What direction you take this depends entirely on you. You can be fluffy, dark and creepy, involve sexual orientation play, age differences or underage, or a whole plethora of other vibes and scenes. Just be certain that everyone is on the same page.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Definitely the experienced one.]

( inexperienced. f/m. )

[ Most likely the inexperienced one but happy to change it up if you prefer! Very open to F/F as well as M/F. ]

[Inexperienced F/M]

[Definitely inexperienced. Slight preference for darker/twisted.]

[Can be either experienced or inexperienced. Would rather not go dark or twisted.]

( Inexperienced but eager to learn! Can switch it up and be the experienced one, if that's your preference. )

[ I'm honestly pretty open but maybe ask if you aren't sure? I'd prefer she's the inexperienced one, maybe some exploration into her orientation. Both characters can be inexperienced! Up to you! ]

[more likely the inexperienced one]

[Come deflower him. Awkward almost guaranteed, but I can absolutely promise enthusiastic, engaged, active participation.]

Edited 2014-01-10 01:48 (UTC)

[How do you feel about a Finnick? In MCU-verse he'd probably be some sort of professional athlete. ~~Or maybe a hooker.~~ I was thinking either Finnick knows Steve's inexperienced, and he's been such a gentleman but totally dying to get into his pants. Or he has no idea until they're getting down to it and then he's amazed and super considerate/gentle/etc when he finds out.]

[Sounds absolutely awesome. I'll let you decide what he does - just assume some familiarity and a friendly relationship there, and I am totally, totally game and excited.]

[Surprised, it is! Let me know if there's anything you'd like to change about the setup.]

Dinner and a movie isn't Finnick's usual M.O., but he's known Steve long enough that this feels right. Despite being a mighty superhero and all, Steve's got this endearingly traditional way about him, and Finnick has the inkling that he ought to take it slow-- even if that's a relative term, for him. Finnick's arm finds its way into his date's as they leave the theater, and he leads them toward the back exit, where the Steve Rogers is less likely to be seen and recognized, even without his 3D glasses. Finnick plucks off his own as they pass the receptacle, tosses them with an easy arc.

"I told you you wouldn't regret it," he says, chipper, as though Steve is already raving about the film. "Space, explosions, implausible Hollywood physics. What more could you ask for?" In truth he has no idea if Steve liked it or not, but a guy can hope. The movie's not the only thing he's talking about, after all: he'd asked quite a few times before Steve had agreed to giving this whole dating thing a try, and if nothing else he likes it when he's right about things.

Outside, the garage is lit but a little chilly this time of year. He finds his rental car without much trouble, next year's shiny new hybrid in gunmetal gray, and holds the passenger door open with a cheeky sweep of the arm.

"So, what do you think? The night is young, the city's lit up bright as a jewel, and you have a dashing chauffeur waiting to drive you anywhere. Or," and Finnick puts this out there casually, "did you want to go back to my place?"

He's absolutely had a good time; he's always liked movies, and he eats like a horse. The company's been pleasant, and yeah, okay, he's old fashioned enough that the whole dinner and a movie thing? That works for him. It's nice.

He laughs when Finnick opens the car door for him, though. "Back to your place," he says, easily and with his hand resting on top of the car for just a second. "But only if you promise you aren't gonna try and carry me over the threshold or bombard me with roses."

Nice and sweet are good things, actually, and he isn't being mocking. Just letting the guy know Steve's suitably impressed - and he can relax a little. If he wants to.

A certain warmth suffuses through him at that, pleasure with a hint of triumph, and he lets it show in a slow-spreading grin. The thought of relaxing doesn't even cross his mind as his eyes follow Steve in, long legs and torso, one hand lingering on the roof. Such a natural movement, and Finnick finds himself drawn, slinking around the barrier of the door to cover that hand with his own. Slowly, he leans into the small confines of the car, until the scant breaths between them are all but squeezed out.

"I'll call to to cancel about the roses," he promises, touching the back of Steve's neck, an invitation, "but I'm sure I could carry you." He's mostly joking, of course, but he likes the image of that body in his arms. And after waiting all evening, through Steve devouring his dinner with relish, through the dark and intimate closeness of the theater, Finnick finally allows himself to go in for the kiss.

The touch to the back of his neck makes Steve flush, and though it's too dark in the shadowed car to tell his eyes darken. "Maybe, but I wouldn't bet on it," he murmurs. At least if he didn't want to be carried, and it certainly wouldn't be some sweet, romantic, thing at that rate. More like wrangling a sack full of ferrets made out of lead.

Still, barely out and not where his thoughts stay when Finnick leans in to close the distance between them. He catches the back of the other man's neck to return the kiss and while it's a little awkward, between the angle and lack of experience (and total lack of recent experience), he's warm and eager and completely okay with being kissed. There's nothing halting or shy there, though he doesn't deepen the kiss or pursue it - it's just warm and soft before he leans back.

"Drive," he says, and grins a little.

The kiss is soft and warm and brief. Finnick licks his lip ruefully as he leans back. As far as he can tell, Steve is being coy, and that makes the kiss as maddening as it was delicious. "Sir," he mocks. Shuts the door with supreme solicitousness, and he gets into his side of the car, and he drives.

"You want to put on the radio?" he says as they pull onto the street. He doesn't quite believe in speed limits, but he doesn't think his passenger scares easily. His fingers drum on the gear switch, little knotted-string bracelet shifting on the restless movement of his wrist. He's not thinking at all about music. Steve is there filling out the next seat, and there's a heat and a scent to him that feels very present, very solid. "It's a couple minutes." Even that seems like a long time.

Steve is a lot of things, including virginal, but coy isn't among them. Neither is not knowing what he wants, or not being prepared to go after it when he does. He wants Finnick to drive, so they can get to Finnick's place and pick up where they left off. How much further it's going to go after that, he doesn't know, yet.

But he knows he wants at least that much.

Reports of him being a boyscout are greatly exaggerated.

"For a couple of minutes? Not worth me trying to find the oldies station." And that is a joke. A somewhat tense one, since knowing what he wants and preparing to get it doesn't exclude some jitters. It just means knowing.

The fast driving actually helps. Gives him something to focus on, and if he's honest - he just plain enjoys the speed.

It seems to take an eternity to get back to the hotel, though in reality he's probably shaved like a minute off the already short drive. Finnick pulls into a free spot and turns to Steve, pointing up and over him to a window out of a row of windows. "That one," he says, "I think," and normally he'd take the opportunity to lean in way too close, but he's still trying to read Steve's comfort levels, and he limits himself to a lingering touch on the shoulder. When he gets out, he circles around the car in case Steve will let him get the door for him again.

He keeps his hands to himself all the way until the elevator. Then they're standing side by side looking into the mirrored wall, and Finnick's reflection smirks at Steve's. His tanned arm snakes out behind the other man, settling about Steve's hip-- admirably chaste, for him. "Is this oldies enough for you?" he half teases, half distracts, nodding his chin up. The muzak piping in has probably never been popular in any decade. "When we get in, I'll play you something current." Sneakily, his hand is drifting downward.

Steve folds his hands in front of himself, but looks back at the hand drifting toward his ass, back to Finnick in the mirror, and lifts an eyebrow in a downright prissy expression. Save the part where one corner of his mouth quirks up in a bit of a smile, anyway.

Yeah, this is pretty clear and he's nervous but again: Steve, and he likes this guy and why the hell not? "Why don't you save it for getting in the room?" Music or groping? He's not saying. "Maybe I'll like the soundtrack more."

Actually, he just did say, huh?

Pretty sharp eyes, there. Finnick doesn't look at all abashed when he notices Steve noticing. His date's not the kind of guy who would be shy about stopping an unwanted grope, so he takes it as a silent go ahead to slide his hand home. The elevator stops with a chime, but not before he's felt a firm ass and given it a good squeeze.

"Maybe we'll make our own music," Finnick laughs as he saunters out of the elevator, fishes the keycard out of his back pocket and gestures down the hall with it. When he gets to his room he swipes the key, pushes the door open. It's neat inside, housekeeping's been by, but his team's been in town for a week already and there are personal touches here and there: a laptop on the desk, boots by the closet.

"After you."