Still the Same | Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Still the Same

anonymous said: Hi Wayward Rose! A prompt idea for Flip: maybe something in the early days of knowing the reader with lots of romantic tension? No pressure if you don't like the prompt though..Thanks! : )

WR: Thank you for the prompt, sweet nonny! I like this idea. Hope you enjoy how I interpreted it! (Title from Bob Seger's "Still the Same," which I know is anachronistic, and the lyrics aren't perfect for this fic, but whatever. It's a mood.) Also, I posted a sample of this on Tumblr with a challenge for readers to guess who the guy was, and elmidol guessed correctly! So, here's to you, babe!

-

Your clit was sore.

Not because you'd used it right all night, but because Phil Zimmerman was an idiot.

You don't know why you agreed to go out with him. He was just like the rest. He had his license. He could borrow his mother's station wagon. Blah, blah—whatever.

He was cute, sure. In class, he was quiet. He made good grades. So, he was an idiot, but he wasn't dumb. Just like all the rest.

Obviously, you'd been too dry last night. Or his touch might've been too rough, too eager. Unfortunately, he didn't have the brain capacity to swirl his finger while you jerked him off. It was kind of pathetic.

Luckily, he'd jizzed all over the backseat and not on your new purple jeans.

You'd maneuvered his hand out of your underwear, zipped up, and climbed into the front seat to hide your disappointment. So much for a second date. At the same time, Phil had tried to keep you back there, murmuring a "hey" that ended in a question. He'd tried to kiss you. He'd gruffly thanked you.

That was more than some boys did.

He'd driven you home and put a hand on your forearm to keep you from leaving once he stopped at the curb.

"Let me walk you to the door," he'd said.

You'd shrugged. "Okay."

He'd come around the car and taken your hand. On the porch, he put his hands on your waist to reel you closer. You'd gone with it, because you didn't hate him or anything.

"Did something go wrong back there?" he'd asked.

"No, it's fine."

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Sure, after seven."

"I really dig you, you know."

Of course he does, you'd thought. You just touched his wiener.

He'd then pulled you flush and slanted his head to kiss you. His lips were perfect and pillowy, swollen from making out earlier. Yours were, too. You'd urged him to open his mouth, and he'd done it. That velvety, clever tongue of his had moved with yours. His kisses kept making promises his hands couldn't keep.

He was a really good kisser, though. Probably the best you'd had. You'd make out with him any time, anywhere. But he couldn't finger you for shit.

Before you'd forgotten yourself and invited him to sit with you on the glider bench, the porch light had winked off and on a few times.

Busted.

He'd laughed with you, saying he'd call. You'd nodded and let him go, though you don't remember wrapping your arms behind his neck. He'd bounced down the stairs and down the walk. He'd given you a wave before getting into the car and leaving.

-

Phil talked you into another date.

It was a stupid idea. He didn't get your body. Maybe your sexuality. You were a fully developed person with some experience. You needed more than clumsy fumbling. Unfortunately, you were stuck with boys your own age. Your parents would blow a gasket if you tried for anyone in college.