Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/499465.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Degrassi_RPF
  Character:
      Shenae_Grimes, Stefan_Brogren, Cassie_Steele, Miriam_McDonald
  Additional Tags:
      Recreational_Drug_Use, Public_Sex, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Roleplay,
      Community:_dooooooom, pyrophilia, Knifeplay, Incest, Asphyxiatiation, Co-
      workers, Age_Difference, Bad_rapping, sexual_healing
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-30 Words: 3405
****** none of these long legs are mine ******
by aphrodite_mine
Summary
     During the filming of Season 7 of Degrassi (summer, 2007) the actors
     and some of their friends take a break at a CTV-sponsored party, but
     things get out of hand when Shenae brings out a cocktail of drugs.
     Three of the actors (Shenae, Jamie and Nina) are still underage, but
     that doesn't stop them from participating with a vengeance.
i've been having trouble
with keeping up this smile - Cassie Steele, "Broken (How Much for Happy)"
there are so many skirts under the table
none of these long legs are mine - Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton, "Detective
Daughter"
 
It's rare, any more, that they get through an unscripted evening without the
aid of some sort of alcohol.
Shenae's only seventeen, but she's got connections and her flask never seems to
get any emptier. She doesn't think Jamie is quite as bad - not as addicted, in
any case - but he has a way with the female bartenders (god knows how) and
always seems to end up with a beer in hand, and one for Nina, whether she'd
asked for it or not. None of the others have to worry about obtaining, of
course. They'd figured out how to order from the bar years ago, and some, like
Amanda and Stefan, were old hats - though, call them on it and you were liable
to pay for the next round.
CTV organized these events every few months, publicity stints, to raise
awareness for whatever they were trying to promote at the time. Tonight's is a
gala-type function with all the press invited beforehand and alcohol served
afterwards and a guest DJ playing. Shenae assumes that the execs think this
make the event worthwhile for the actors to commit to. And she supposes that it
makes some sense, because Lauren and Amanda weren't even on the junket and
they're here now. Maybe this just isn't her brand of fun - everyone smashed
into a booth, sipping at drinks and pretending to be best-of-friends,
pretending that tension doesn't cut the air.
It's not that the things they're filming aren't exciting and groundbreaking and
the usual Degrassi fare... it’s that Shenae has enough trouble getting it out
of her head. Getting Darcy out of her head. She's nothing like her. Not in the
grand scheme of things. She drinks and smokes every night to forget.
And tonight is no different.
For awhile, she listens quietly to the conversation around the table: it's a
really big booth they've been seated at, one of the round ones. Like the
management thought it was crucial that the entire cast sat together. Like it
would kill them to sit apart for once. Amanda is snapping pictures like always
- Shenae will have to find the energy tomorrow to un-tag herself from them on
Facebook.
Aubrey's through his first drink and has the boys providing accompaniment and
beat box as he performs an "original rhyme" for his "Degrassi homies." Shenae
swallows a swig from her flask, not drunk enough to pretend to be enthused.
"Mm, mm, yeah-" he begins, and Shenae tunes him out. She can tell Lauren and
Nina do too, they're across from her, sitting closer than she remembers them
sitting before. Nina has her hands on Lauren's newly-darkened hair, pulling it
close to her face, smelling it, smiling. Shenae smirks. Another down.
Stacey is nodding approvingly at the way Aubrey is shrugging his shoulders and
moving his mouth in time to the beats Mike and Shane provide, but she's drowned
herself in rum and Coke for the past half an hour, so Shenae doubts she hears a
thing. Stefan, next to Shenae, is listening quietly, the way he always does at
these occasions. She doesn't see Cassie, imagines her in a dark hallway,
straining to be heard into her cell phone, the boyfriend-of-the-week on the
other end of the line making excuses.
Shenae looks at Stefan again, a long look, a slow one. One she's been saving
for when the cameras aren't rolling, for - apparently - right this second.
She’s barely buzzed, really. It’s not like she needs an excuse. But hey. She’s
been drinking. She was drunk. He took advantage of her. Which, of course won’t
be the story anyone else here will tell, but, by the end of the night, Shenae
doesn’t really imagine that mattering.
She takes a swig from her flask and reaches into her purse, counting out by
twos. They pass the pills under the table – not that the management would do
anything if they noticed, but just because they feel as if they should be
acting illicit. There’s a kind of unspoken agreement that everyone partakes,
though no one asks what they’re downing. Not even Nina or Stacey, the latter
who has been prone at parties to blurt out loudly, “Oh my God guys, what is
this?”
Shenae snaps her pill in half – a great mix her friend cooked up for her – but
she only wants a tinge around the edge, so she tucks the rest away. She doesn’t
care what the others do. They never offer to pay her back anyways. She doesn’t
ask them to. She downs it quickly with another swig, and, without looking
across the table, she turns to Stefan, sitting next to her and says, “Do yours.
I want to watch.”
He smiles, a little half smile. “I’ve done worse. I was a teenager in the 80s.
I’m not going to start running around in my skivvies or anything." He’s wearing
his stupid Buddy Holly glasses and Shenae just wants to take them off his face.
She wants to... punish him for wearing them, for making her notice. She wants
to bite his lips. To slap his mouth.
When she doesn’t look away, he shakes his head a little and smirks, sliding the
little capsule between his lips, washing it down with a sip of beer. “There.
You happy?”
Shenae shakes her head, negative. To Stefan’s left, Adamo is giggling and
unbuttoning Shane’s shirt. On the dance floor, Stacie is shimmying up to some
guy Shenae doesn’t recognize. “No, I’m not happy,” she says matter-of-factly.
“But I can make you happy.”
A blink of concern passes over Stefan’s face. “I don’t understand,” he says,
leaning back against the booth. He shifts a little, and though she can’t see
it, she imagines him crossing his feet. At the ankles, not the knee. He rubs
the bridge of his nose, and she wishes – so hard that she sets her jaw for a
moment, clenching her teeth – that he’d take off those fucking glasses and just
look at her.
He doesn’t, but she shakes her fingers through her hair anyways, settling it
across her shoulders like a curtain, creating a private space for the two of
them to exist in. “I think,” she pauses to find the words, even though she’s
thought them for a month now, “Snake wants to fuck Darcy.” She lets that sink
in, watching him blink. “And since it’s not in the script…”
His hand, heavier than hers, finds the table and grips the edge, as though he’s
falling off. The bench, maybe the world. Its true, what she said. She knows it.
Sees it in the way his posture changes again, sees it in the way his throat
tightens.
Her hand, calloused but dainty, sneaks under the table and finds him. She’s
shaking a little, but she’ll leave that off the record.

Two curly-haired women arrive late, bouncing over to the table, hand in hand.
"The twins," cheers Stacie, only wobbling a little, raising her glass with a
smile.
Amanda snaps a picture before offering her hand in greeting. "Glad you could
make it - we're just getting started."
Maureen nudges Angela and Angela smiles. "We're just here to dance," one of
them says. No one (aside from each other) cares who. It's no lie: the rest of
the night, they spend moving against each other, slower than the music calls
for, hands in places where no one else sees.
A nervous waiter approaches the table and asks them, if they're going to
continue making such a ruckus (Lauren giggles) to please move over to the
sofas, or to the dance floor. Or, Shenae thinks, out of the club.
The others quickly leave the table, scooting over the soft leather, abandoning
purses and hats, a pair of stilettos. She refuses to look at his face for a
long moment, her own buried in his neck, but she knows that Stefan is making
some attempt at a broad smile and a wave of his hand, hoping that the waiter
will simply move along, not examine the scene too closely, not dear god inspect
the way her hips cover his.
But all the same, it excites him. Upon his exhale, Shenae scoots back, arching
against the table edge and works her fingers against his khaki pants, releasing
his cock and, in the dim light, examines it, thick and erect. She blinks
quickly, feeling her heart gather speed. "I need you to be inside of me, and,"
she bites her lip, ducking her head, leaning in to brush her mouth against
Stefan's, moving her right hand quick to swipe the glasses quickly from his
face, "I think you aren't one to argue."
"I think you're right," Stefan says, swallowing, sliding his hands to her
sides, holding on. His eyes don't even scan the room - trained on her, her
eyes, her mouth, her neck - she almost comes, shuddering.
"Don't fuck me like Snake," she says, lifting herself above him, pulling her
panties aside. He licks his lips, moves in to kiss her but she shakes her head
and he's Stefan, so he nods, presses his fingers against her, then lets her
lower herself down, and then neither of them care about any "ruckus" because
it's not like any script and Darcy could never draw something like this.
Shenae puts her palm against Stefan's chest, feeling his heartbeat speed up,
the other on his shoulders, using it to thrust for leverage. When he fills her,
she feels like crying, and suddenly, suddenly, she does.
Muscles tightening, spasming, her fingers clenching against his neck and in the
cloth of his shirt, she gasps and tears run down her cheek. Shenae hasn't cried
off camera in two years.

Once he starts rapping its all over, honestly. Not that it was really 'go' to
begin with. Miriam and Aubrey have never hit it off, not from day one. He makes
fun of her stick legs and hair and she rolls her eyes and hangs out with people
who like her.
That doesn't stop them - as it doesn't seem to stop most of the cast - from
hanging out in a pornographic way every once in awhile. But the rules are No
Rapping.
Miriam shimmies up next to Aubrey on the dance floor and he grins, starts up,
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," and just like that, she's gone.
Next to him again, curled on the bench, Shenae adjusts her skirt again, back
down this time. Stefan's mouth is a thin, nervous line as he hands her a napkin
- probably from underneath his beer - it's already wet, to wipe her eyes. She
does, a quick swipe for each cheek, probably doing more harm than good when she
considers her mascara. She wants to say thank you, she wants to say a lot of
things, but for once, she can hardly speak.
It's all this damn emotion, clogging her throat. She hadn't expected it to be
like this, wanting him. And she can tell - the look in his eyes, that vacant
slightly-not-there stare - that the pill is stronger than he expected and it’s
just starting to really take off.
She shakes her head, licks her lips and scoots away. Time for the rest of her
dose.

One kiss at a photo shoot started it, and usually, in public groups like this,
they try to keep it a secret. They have boyfriends. They have careers. Careers
that don't involve being known as lesbians, or even bisexuals.
But the combination of alcohol and mysterious drug consumption has unlocked
something and they're holding hands and Nina is the first to place her lips on
Lauren's and when no one gasps or points fingers (well, Mike may have, but no
one pays him any heed) they don't even retreat to Lauren's car to slide fingers
into already damp pussies, just edge up the hems of their dresses and lounge on
the sofas like no one's watching. And for the most part, no one is.
She hits the dance floor, chugging at her flask and feeling her blood speed up.
The numbness starts to set in and Shenae smiles with relief. She still watches
him, though. She can't quit that.
Miriam takes him next, takes Stefan. Turns out Aubrey isn’t much her type, but
he isn’t much of anyone's. He’s happier posing for the camera and pretending
they’re all his groupies. Miriam, she’ll have none of that. She’s a no-bullshit
kinda girl. Shenae actually admires that about her. Shenae finds herself, at
times, taking far too much bullshit.
Maybe the pills ran out by the time they got to her, but Miriam seems
surprisingly coherent, snuggling up to Stefan in the booth, whispering in his
ear. Shenae can’t hear them, but she can imagine the words.
“How was it, hmm? Finally having her?”
Then he'll groan, shift a little, already becoming hard again, his pants hardly
back on.
Miriam’s hands are everywhere. Shenae feels dizzy, like she'll topple.
Manicured nails slide up his shirt. “I think, Daddy-“ punctuated by his low
groan, Shenae can feel it through her like bass thumping through the speakers-
“that its my turn. After years. Of waiting.”
Muffled sounds, and Miriam shifting so that Shenae can no longer see Stefan’s
face, but suddenly, a delighted laugh. “So hard for me, Daddy.” Lowering to a
hiss. “I’ve thought about you, you know.” Her hand a pale flash of light,
reaching behind her, glancing the tabletop as she gropes for something, finds
it, success. The knife in her hand, glinting in the flickering light, glinting
like a sparkle from the disco ball twisting on the ceiling. "Wasn’t very nice
of you to make me wait so long.”

"I guess you could say," Stacey said earlier, at the junket, "that they
have..." she glanced at Stacie, "a little... running-in." And Stacie laughed
while the interviewer looked confused and un-clicked his recorder.
Shenae crashes through the beats, feeling everything sink into her further and
further with each second, and she refuses to look any more but she knows its
happening, she knows it’s going on right behind her back. The knife moving like
a secret under Miriam's sweet little fingers, fingers Stefan must have thought
about since she was only as tall as his hip. And now he's the one at the mercy
of those fingers, the knife tracing patterns on his stomach, her rough mouth
descending for a taste. Shenae wonders if Miriam will taste her on him, but
doesn't stick around to find out.

In between snapping photos, Amanda slides her now-bare foot up his trouser leg,
between the fabric and his skin, grazing him with the breeze of her.
"I've had my share of older women, you know," Mike says, trying to be smooth.
Amanda shakes her head. "I'm not that much older, Mike. I'm hardly a cougar or
whatever they call it these days." She puts the camera down, slides it to him
across the sofa.
He picks it up, aims it in her direction. She smiles. "You know, Amanda, if you
say something like 'these days' I think that qualifies you as an older woman."
He snaps the flash, and Amanda is blinded for a moment, and in that moment,
Mike moves in, kisses her, roughly on the lips.
"But don't worry about it. I like that."
She finds Cassie in the alleyway out back, struggling to light a cigarette in
the breeze and raises an eyebrow, but of course she's so fucked up by this
point that she could be contorting her face and she wouldn't really realize it.
"Having a little trouble?" Shenae asks, anything to get her mind off what's
going on inside.
"It's this stupid lighter. It'll go off in my purse and melt my lipstick, but
when I need it... pointless." Cassie dramatically throws the offending piece to
the ground. She missed the pill-passing, Shenae thinks, but leans close and
looks into her eyes to be sure.
"You're not fucked at all, are you?"
"Not any more than usual," Cassie explains, smiling, shoving Shenae back with
her hands at hip level. She uses the brick wall for leverage. "Why, you
offering?"
Shenae regains her balance, shrugs. "If you want." She digs in her bag for her
lighter and offers it to Cassie, but not before flicking it on and off a few
times first. She likes the way the sequins in Cassie's top look in that focused
light, and she holds the lighter close to Cassie's breasts, moving the flame
back and forth, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth in concentration. If she
stares into it long enough, Miriam disappears, she can't hear the music, she
can't even feel the tears she swallowed.
Cassie sucks in her breath, dangling her cigarette loosely from her fingers,
leaning heavily against the wall. "Shay, cut it out," she whispers, her words
coming out jagged and clipped. Her eyes aren't open all the way, what Shenae
can see is focused on the light of the flame, moving with it, closer, farther.
"Do you really want me to stop?" Shenae asks, watching the flame sputter out,
flicking it back to life. Cassie shakes her head, but it wouldn't matter if she
did or not, because Shenae is lifting Cassie's hand - easy enough, Cassie seems
to have gone all but limp - the one with the cigarette, to her mouth, and
grasps the paper filter between her lips. She lights it, and Cassie watches,
the fire flares for a moment and Shenae can see it all reflected in Cassie's
dark eyes.
She drops Cassie's hand, slides the lighter away and takes a long drag on the
borrowed cigarette, blowing everything - the entire night - from her lungs with
the extra smoke. "I'm going to fuck you now," Shenae says, her breath hot, her
fingers sliding into Cassie's mouth while she's still standing, stunned.
Cassie whimpers, so Shenae knows that she's aware of what's going on. She
arches a little against the touch, pushing against the wall, thrusting her hips
outwards. Shenae slips her fingers out, not really wanting to gag her, but
wanting to make her scared. She covers Cassie's full lips, grips the cigarette
with her own and makes quick work of the laces of Cassie's fancy designer jeans
with her other hand, sliding her fingers down. It's all quick movements from
that moment, deft circles in the hot, wet, chamber that Shenae's known before
and will know again.
Shenae takes a breath, growling "Come for me," and the cigarette falls, a
small, dim, light, and then, the memory of it, in small smoke from her mouth as
she covers Cassie's, forcing her tongue inside, fucking her however she can.
Cassie cries out, quicker than usual, her fingers wrapped around Shenae's
wrist, begging for her to stop, stop please. A moment passes and she does,
pulling back. Shenae watches Cassie catch her breath and licks her own fingers,
stepping a few feet back, feeling the gust of air through the alleyway.
She picks up the discarded cigarette, now burnt down to barely a butt, but she
sucks it down anyways, careless of any dirt collected there. One last blow of
smoke in Cassie's direction and Shenae walks back into the club, her legs
steady now. Steadier than before.
Inside, they're starting to turn the lights on. It's strange to see everyone
this way, all yellowed and bright, after the purity of the darkness, after the
flashing. Some eyes are dark, some clothing worse for wear. Shane looks like he
lost his shirt at some point, but Adamo is helping him with it. Aubrey's making
his way up the stairs - backwards - having lost no speed at all, still rapping,
and Jamie, now, is hanging on his every word. Most of the girls must have
already caught cabs home, or are huddled in the bathroom, reapplying
themselves. Shenae doesn't bother. She's looked worse, she's looked better.
Stefan's standing at the table gathering discarded purses and jackets, always
responsible even on the residual effects of drugs and alcohol. He's found his
glasses. Shenae catches his eye before leaning past him to the table's ashtray,
dropping her cigarette in. She's not sure she can manage a smile, so she
doesn't try.
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