Why Don’t We Get Drunk
She’d thought they’d go to a club or something.
But now, an hour later, she couldn’t think of why that had ever crossed her mind. He’d been right, much better to stop at a liquor store and had back to his apartment. As he’d put it, they didn’t have a designated driver, and an hour into their ‘grab a beer’ neither one of them was in any shape to drive. And she was having something that was sort of like fun.
She slouched further into the leather couch and put her feet on the coffee table.
“So then I said, ‘it’s not against the law for you to be annoyed, ma’am’. And she like, totally went off on me.”
It caught Spike just as he swallowed, and he choked on his whiskey. Elizabeth smirked.
When he recovered, Spike said, “And that got you…”
The smirk turned even more smug. “Not a damned thing. Sarge pulled the tape, and then called her himself and explained that it actually wasn’t against the law for her neighbor to annoy her.”
“Nope. Sorry. No points for that one. I judge it slightly amusing and yet irrelevant to our discussion.”
“What! You totally almost choked to death!”
“But the Sergeant backed you up, so that means it wasn’t actually a mistake. You got away with it. Not unprofessional or against any regs I know of. And I know ‘em all baby.”
She stuck her bottom lip out, pouting. “Fine then.” She grabbed the bottle from the table took a healthy swig, sputtering.
“You know, we’re drinking this stuff anyway. There should be something else we have to do when we lose.” Spike stared at the bottle, appearing to be very deep in thought as he contemplated this new dilema.
“Nope. You’re stalling. Your turn. If it takes you a whole minute, you forfeit and that’s two from the bottle and refilling the glass.”
“Okay, okay.” He shook his head. “Beatcha. Talked to this man who was abso-fucking-lutely certain that the federal government had scattered cameras and bugs all over his house, and that there was a black helicopter that hovered over his roof at night and he wanted the police to come out and take care of it.”
She snorted. “We get crazy people all the time. Excuse me, mentally ill persons. Doesn’t count.”
“Let me finish. So I told him that wasn’t my department, gave him the phone number for the FBI - not the one in the phone book, the one we’ve got - and the fucker actually called it. Special Agent Wanker called the Chief of Police who came all the way to the basement to yell at the Lieutenant and I got three days suspension and had to do remedial training for the almost but not quite washouts for three months. Haven’t had a halfway competent trainee since then, in fact, but at least I’m not doing remedial anymore.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Borderline. I don’t train, and the rules said no trainee stories.”
“Hey!” He looked completely affronted. “No way. Can’t get away with that. Three days suspension and the training thing was part of the punishment, not part of the call.”
He had her there. “Fine. You win. Again.” She took another swig from the bottle. Wait a minute, was she supposed to do that? She couldn’t remember the rules of the game. “Darren’s dead.”
His smile faded, and his eyes suddenly found something very interesting at the bottom of his glass. “Friend of yours?”
“Yeah.” She muttered, embarrassed at what she’d just said. Done now, though. “For about twenty seven minutes and thirteen seconds.” She shook her head. Oooh, woozy. Her thoughts were all muddled, but it seemed incredibly important to say this. “Can’t figure out what’s different about the ones that stick, you know? Listened to worse things that I let go of easy.”
He sat his drink down, and tilted his head while he studied her, “Easy?”
She shrugged, admitting to the lie. “Easier.”
“Forget it.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Maybe for him it was. She’d never seen him lose it, never seen him walk away from his desk after a call. She’d seen him frenetic but never frantic. Asshole.
“Just like that.”
He slid off the chair, slid the bottle over, sat on the edge of the coffee table with his legs around hers and leaned into her personal space, his eyes boring into hers like he could stare down the memory behind them. She almost thought he could do it. Stare it down until it fled, and she was free of it.
“No, not you. Not just like that.” He leaned closer, and his lips were brushing hers. She should have seen it coming, but she hadn’t.
The kiss was soft, barely there and gone so fast she almost could have imagined it except for the way it made her lips tingle. What were they talking about?
“Not just like that?” Her words sounded breathy, barely a whisper.
“Maybe like this, though.”
And it wasn’t soft. He kissed her hard, forcing her lips apart, and leaning heavily into her. His tongue plunged past her teeth, roamed around her mouth, and his hand came to the back of her head. Fingers twisted in her hair, held her completely still while he ravaged her mouth with his and she forgot.
She forgot everything except the taste of whiskey and cigarettes and him.
She could have been kissed by him forever if she hadn’t had to breathe. It was becoming a desperate issue before he finally pulled away, his eyes glassy when he met hers again, and both of them breathing hard.
“Just let it go. Feel good for a while, yeah?” It was phrased as a question, but felt almost like an order.
“Yeah.”
The word was barely past her lips before he was on her again. He pulled the tie from her hair and ran his hands through it, licked the backs of her teeth, until she finally found the presence of mind to touch him. Her hands came up to frame his face, and she finally touched those curls she’d only recently discovered he had. Yeah. Feel good. Why hadn’t she ever thought of that before.
Then he was gone.
‘Wait, get back here,’ She thought, ‘I’m not done yet’.
Oh, that’s good. That’s real good.
He’d only moved to get a better position. A quick upturn of the bottle and he’d finished it off, then grinned at her when he threw it across the room and kicked the now empty coffee table back to clear a space on the floor.
He’d pulled her off the couch and was on top of her so fast it would have made her head spin, if it hadn’t already been spinning from the whiskey and the kissing.
“Pretty girl, you are.” Spike mumbled against her neck, his tongue making it’s way behind her ear while his hands fumbled with her jeans. Obviously frustrated with the amount of time it was taking, he pushed himself up and back until he was kneeling beside her, then pulled jeans and panties off together. He tossed those in much the same manner he had the whiskey bottle, then shoved her legs wide and moved between her knees. “Feel good, too.”
His fingers went straight to her clit, rubbing it roughly for a moment, then moving down and sliding inside. Holy Crap, is that what that was supposed to feel like? His hands felt nothing like hers. There was a very real danger her hands would never be enough again. And then he stopped.
“Wha?” the words wouldn’t come. Everything was really kind of fuzzy, but in a exhilarating and amazing sort of way. She wasn’t at all sure what she was supposed to do, though. She hadn’t done anything like this since high school, and it seemed a lot different from fumbling around in the back of a car hoping you wouldn’t get caught.
“You drunk, Summers?” He was breathing really hard, and his tongue crept out to lick his lips.
“Huh?”
“Are. You. Drunk.” He sounded slightly disappointed, like that hadn’t been point of the whiskey in the first place. Oh. Now she got it.
“Nope. Kinda. Not that drunk, though. More.” For all her little speech wasn’t all that deep on thought, it had seemed like the fucking state of the union address while she was trying to get it out of her muddled brain. He’d stopped. There should be no stopping. Stopping didn’t feel good.
She thought he said something that sounded vaguely like “Thank God” while he unzipped his jeans.
“Take your shirt off.” His finger dove back inside her, rubbing her inner walls. “I wanna see your tits.”
Sounded like a fair trade. No, wait.
“And touching. There’ll be touching.” Just to be perfectly clear what she expected for her end of the trade.
“Oh yeah. Touching. Licking. Sucking. Lots of good stuff. Show me your tits Summers.”
Well, as long as he kept doing what he was doing with his finger. The shirt was easy enough, but she fumbled a bit with her bra, her fingers didn’t want to cooperate. It seemed like years before she was laying completely naked on the carpet.
Spike groaned, then pulled his fingers out of her pussy, speading her juices across one nipple before leaning down and sucking it into his mouth. His other hand closed around her free breast, then pinched the nipple hard, pulling and twisting hard enough to hurt just a bit.
She felt her inner muscles clench, nearly going over the edge, and he wasn’t even in her yet.
“Please. In me. Now.”
“unnnggh”. The grunt must have been meant as acknowledgement, because between one gasp and the next he shoved his cock into her hard, then pulled her legs up and guided them around his hips.
Elizabeth’s eyes rolled back in her head and strange sounding noises worked their way out of her throat. She was dying. He was huge, and it hurt at first, but then he was moving and the pain melted into pleasure more intense than anything she‘d ever felt.
“Fuck your tight. Not gonna last long.”
“gaaaah.”
He chuckled, laughing at her, then reached between them and pinched her clit.
She screamed, every muscle in her body clenched, over and over again as she came hard around him. Her ears were ringing, light exploded behind her eyelids, and she felt him come inside her, filling her warmth.
Something hot and heavy landed on her right about the time she passed out.
She was glorious.
He’d known that, of course. She was also too damned young for him, but he’d dismissed that months ago when he’d started pestering Johnson to switch off days with him. He’d known he wanted her, and had carefully planned out just what he needed to do to have a chance to get to know her better. He’d wanted a lot of people, but lately he’d been wanting someone to be with outside of the bedroom too. And that meant getting to know her before he even decided if he wanted to ask her out. He’d just liked what he’d seen, and figured to go from there.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He’d moved her to the bed, tucked the blankets around her, and now just sat there, still dressed, brushing the hair away from her delicate features.
This isn’t how he’d meant it to happen, but maybe he hadn’t completely fucked it up. It had been an impulse approaching her in the park. He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to her on break yet, and here she was spread out in his bed, hair rumpled and lips swollen with finger shaped bruises on her hips.
He’d seen the bruises while he was moving her, and it stung. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her. It was all kind of fuzzy, now. He didn’t even know how long they’d slept in the living room, but the sun was up and he’d only just moved her to his bed.
He needed a shower. Then he’d start the coffee pot, and figure out how to make sure she didn’t get the wrong idea about what happened.
Or maybe even figure for himself what the right idea was he wanted her to get.
He’d not been anywhere near completely sober himself. He was pretty sure he asked her if she was sure, but that was kind of muddled. He remembered sensation. Heat, the feeling of breath against his neck, the incredible vice-like tightness that told him this was not a regular occurrence for her. He’d actually checked for blood, just to be sure he hadn’t taken her virginity without so much as a bed. Just carpet.
He woke up with his jeans around his thighs and his dick buried inside her. Her breathing sounded strained underneath him. Lucky he hadn’t suffocated her or something.
He shook his head, told himself that they would talk it out when she woke up, and stepped into the shower.
He spent the whole shower rushing, hoping like hell he hadn’t completely blown it since she was the first person he’d been remotely interested in for months, then wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped back into the bedroom.
The empty bedroom.
She was gone.
Well, fuck.
Guess that whole ‘don’t screw this one up’ plan just went right out the window.
He closed his eyes and started counting slowly. The anger was at himself this time, but no less overwhelming. He shouldn’t have had a drink last night. Shouldn’t have done anything after his little encounter with his former partner except come home, shower, and blast his stereo until the neighbors complained.
He’d blown it.
Fucking Liam ruined everything, every time.
“Spike?”
Not gone. Not gone, then. The rush of relief was overwhelming, and that fact alone told him this was too much and too fast. But he couldn’t undo it.
She was standing in the doorway, looking uncertain, her bottom lip between her teeth. She was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
“Yeah, baby?”
She blushed. “Um - where do you keep your coffee?”
“I’ve got it. You climb back into bed. Weekend, right? People sleep late on the weekend.”
That seemed to make her uncomfortable. “Look, Giles, I think -”
“Really think we’re beyond the whole last name thing, at least when we’re not at work.”
“And yet you called me Summers while we were - in the middle of - oh, for crying out loud. Fine. Spike.”
“Will.”
“You will what?” She got the cutest little wrinkle between her eyebrows when she was confused.
“My name. Will. William. Unless you actually like Spike, I guess.” He didn’t want to be Spike with her. She didn’t know where it came from.
She hadn’t left. She was waiting for him. She was going to make coffee.
“Fine. Will. Coffee?”
“Cabinet over the coffee maker.” He was grinning so hard his face hurt. She’d stayed. Maybe he hadn’t completely fucked it up.
“Get dressed. We need to talk.”
Oh, balls.
Never was good when a female said that. Ever. Even if he planned on talking out the whole “not how it was supposed to happen” thing. This was her. Saying they needed to talk.
Fuck.