Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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Now all they can see are the Christmas lights strung around the room in front of them, the hazy blur of electric color that happens when you're drunk at a Christmas party. She's had more to drink than he has, and he's not sure if he wants to catch up or keep himself as close to on his toes as he can. She's drunk, though. He's more than tipsy. Her drinks carried her across the room and sat her in a corner against a wall in the break room; his drinks told him to follow her.
She nurses the empty cup like she might lick it clean, but just never does. She's slumped into him, giggling at his impressions of their coworkers. The one he can't nail is Meredith and she fails miserably trying.
It is undeniably adorable, and it makes his stomach twist and his head spin. He takes another drink.
She has tears in her eyes from laughing so hard, which he points out to her immediately. She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands and stares at the moisture left behind. She beams at him and laughs harder. "Oh my god!" Her hand springs to his shoulder and squeezes. He feels each of her fingers, could probably draw the fingerprints if he closed his eyes and tried hard. If he wasn't so drunk.
He takes another drink.
She purses her lips and points out the window toward the rest of their coworkers. "I have a challenge for you."
"Shoot," he says with his best mischievous grin.
"Roy," she says flatly, her finger still hanging in the air.
"An impression of Roy?" he asks, eyes darting toward the window as if he might walk in and discover their cove.
"Yeah, dare you," she replies, her eyes sparkling with the random colors in front of them. Her eyes sparkle anyway when she wants to smile and just can't hold it in. He tries to watch her eyes when she mentions Roy's name, wondering if they brighten up like she can't get enough of him. Like she loves him senseless. He wonders, drunkenly, how much she loves him. If she knew the extents that love could reach, even if the person on the other end had no idea.
He shakes his head, takes another drink.
"Um," he begins, hands wrapping around themselves, unwinding and searching for a place to put his up down. The world spins; he feels suddenly like he has more alcohol in his body than blood. "Well, I don't know that much about him, so I can't think of anything he'd say--"
She pokes him in the shoulder and grins, her tongue stuck and pink between her teeth. Her shoulders are hunched in a funny secret. "Come on, just do it. You're so funny!"
His tongue feels swollen and useless as he stares at hers, wondering what would happen if they touched. What the natural reaction would be, what her instinct could be.
He coughs and turns it into a laugh, bringing a tired hand up to straighten his tie (it was fine). She waits expectantly, while he takes another drink, takes a dive.
He sniffs, rubbing his forehead with his sleeve. "Come on babe, let's get out of here."
She throws her head back, her throat exposed; she giggles and shakes. "That's the best you can do?" Her body waves like a breeze blew in. her dizzy hands spread out on the floor in search of her drink, and she pokes him again. "You need to be more quiet. And more jealous of Jim Halpert." On cue, with those muttered words, she suddenly frames her face into a shocked expression, with a hint of a smile, and lets the rest of her second cup's drink slide down her throat.
His face scrunches into an ironic frown. "What? Jealous of me?"
She shrugs playfully, emptying half of his glass into hers and smiling like she knows what flirting is. His face grows hot, the heat creeping under his collar and spreading through his chest.
"You're funny when you're embarrassed," she says into the cup, her voice muffled by the plastic. She licks her lips; he could die.
He can't focus on her expressions now, the ones that normally make him dizzy. "Why would he be jealous of me?"
She waves her hand in the air, eyes drunkenly half-closed. "He thinks that me and you... that you--" She glances down at her cup, a tired smile spreading across her face when she looks back up to him. "I don't know, it's stupid."
He's so drunk. She had slipped off her shoes, the same black ones she wears everyday. Just her toes under the veil of the tights she wore tonight.
"I don't really like Roy," he says, his tongue too thick to say the words clearly.
Her head swings over and her blurry eyes try to see his face. "Sometimes I don't like him either," she whispers with a giggle. "But I think I'm stuck with him." She pulls her skirt over her knees as far as it will go, which ends up springing back to where it began.
He can feel the tell-tale heat rising up in him again. It's just like the last time he wanted to kiss her, only now the alcohol is trying to coax him. The liquid in his veins is making it sound like a great idea. He doesn't want to ravish her, he doesn't want to pull her hair and bite her neck, he doesn't want to push her against the wall and steal her from someone else. He sees her pouting lips, pink and constantly cracking into a smile, and he just wants to put his own on top of them. Briefly, if it's all he can have.
"Forever?" he chokes.
"Hmm?" she answers too quickly, brushing at the fuzz gathering on her skirt.
He swallows, his finger tracing the rim of the empty cup. Her lips have been on it more than his have; at that thought, he runs the finger along his bottom lip and only tastes the warm tequila aftermath of a drink they chugged.
"I mean, are you guys going to get married?" he tries to sound like a friend, but it never works. She's drunk, and doesn't seem to notice.
"I doubt he'll ever ask me," she says with a loud laugh. "I don't know. Probably. Maybe. You would think after you date someone for four years, maybe it's time to... Mmm, I don't know." She smiles, looking goofy and beautiful and tipsy; the grin is so wide, her eyes begin to close. She bows her head and picks at her skirt again.
She licks her lips when she looks up at his. "My lips taste like salt. From the rims."
His lips are still tequila, somewhat, so he picks then to press his lips to hers. That's all he does, that's all he wants to do, just to see what she does back. her lips are salty, just like she said, and they stick to his wet mouth like they should. He feels like he's falling into her, one hand rising timidly to cup her cheek. She doesn't respond, and he suddenly feels like an idiot.
When he pulls away, she's leaning into him still. Her eyes are shut and her face is flushed, wonderful. Her eyes flutter open and give him a dazed smile.
"I'm sorry," he says in a rush, his breath short. His hand falls from her face and runs through his hair, down the back of his neck. "I really want to do that, I really wanted to. I’m drunk."
She blushes, turns away from him, fixing her gaze on the vending machine he sat up against. "I want to do it, too," she says in a slurred whisper, her lashes teasing him when she blinks slowly. "I just -- I just probably shouldn't."
Her eyes meet his, and he feels the tequila and salt course through his veins like a rhythm and a charge. She clutches his hand, damp with a million thoughts and a few words, and they pass out in a heap in front of the vending machine.
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Long flights and international airports inspire me, apparently. This was written while cruising at an altitude high above the ocean.
A girl loves some feedback. =)
yanana is the author of 39 other stories.
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