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Description
Love on the Rocks

Danny watched in shocked disbelief as Sam down her fifth (or was it sixth?) drink, before reaching out and trying to gently snare the glass from her hands. The ice chinked against the sides when she refused to relinquish it, and Danny conceded before she tried to kick him. Again. Birthday girl or not, she still wore steel toes and he didn’t really need bruises on top of his bruises.

“Sam, don’t you think maybe you’ve had enough to drink?”

“No.”

Her answer was short, sharp and frighteningly sober sounding. It completely triggered his self preservation instincts, too, which made Danny laugh faintly as he eased back from his prickly friend. She’d been like this for as long as he could remember. Well, at least since they’d graduated high school and the three of them, him, Sam and Tucker, had split apart for college. Tucker had disappeared into CalTech, Sam had fled south Penn State, and Danny had managed alright in Chicago. And every time in between that he’d seen her it had been an exercise in futility to get her to relax.

He watched as she flicked a finger at the bartender to order another, her face cool and confident. If he hadn’t known better he’d never have guessed that she’d been drinking straight gin for the last hour. if he hadn’t known better he might have tried convincing her gently, but he was afraid anything he said to her that way would be outside of the bounds of friendship, something he’d struggled for years to stay inside of.

Of course, seeing how quickly she was draining this newest increment of alcohol… Maybe he should reconsider. Surely she wouldn’t hold it against him if he saved her from alcohol poisoning.

“You know you can talk to me, Sam, right?” he asked, his hand a subtle pressure at her waist. He tried hard to ignore how soft and smooth her skin felt, nor the fact that the gesture itself was more intimate than anything he’d allowed.

She glanced at him. “Shut up, Danny. Think of it as my last hurrah.”

“Your last what?”

There was another glance as Sam sat back, gin and ice swirling inside of her glass as she looked at him. “I was thinking about something.” He refrained from laughing, because the glazed look in her eyes clearly said she wasn’t thinking currently. “I’m turning twenty-five, Danny.”

He nodded. “Is that a bad thing?” questioned Danny carefully.

“Do you have any idea what I’m doing here?” she quizzed him.

“Ah… Right now you’re drinking, are drunk,” he amended, “and you’re picking a fight with me.”

She hmm’d at him and he fought the desire to cringe. “Tucker told me I should come see you. That I should give it another try.” He stared blankly at her and it was impossible to miss the way her eyes seem to go a little dead as he did. “Yeah,” she murmured. “That’s what I expected.”

Danny tilted his head to the side, letting confusion slide across his face. “I don’t understand, Sam.”

“Rather thought you wouldn’t,” was her mumbled answer as she tipped the gin up and drained the glass. Her finger flicked for another. “I’ve decided that I should be a nun.”

His jaw hit the floor. Almost literally, because her statement, plain as day and in as serious a voice as he’d ever heard from her, nearly knocked him off of his barstool with the meaning behind it. “Wha-at?” he gasped, wondering if he’d heard her correctly.

She turned to him, her skirt riding too high and showing an unhealthy amount of smooth, pale thigh than a woman who had apparently decided to pledge herself to the church should. “A nun. No drinking, no sex, no fun. I’ve thought about it, figure what the hell.” She swiveled back around to her fresh drink while he tried to drag his tongue from where it had lodged inside of his throat.

Two sips later she was leaning heavily on the bar, her head low and her eyes closed, and Danny watched silently. After all, what could he say to her? Good for you, Sam! So long as you’re happy! Except that the thought of her wearing a nun’s habit was also vaguely erotic and he clenched his legs together, willing himself to think of the ice in his water swimming across his groin. Better yet, mom and dad having sex. If that didn’t do it, nothing would.

Apparently, nothing would.

“A nun?” he managed to choke out. “Why?”

“Because if you haven’t made a move in ten years, I really don’t think you’re going to, no matter what Tucker tells me,” she whispered quietly.

Oh.

He was lucky that he didn’t depend on air as much as everyone else, or Danny might have finished dying as he sat in the little hole in the wall bar near his apartment in Chicago.

“It’s not like I’ve ever really had a boyfriend. Or had sex. Or was really interested in other guys,” she mumbled while he tried to process. Her hand slipped from her glass, gin still halfway up the ice and she rubbed her eyes as he watched. “I just wanted you. You don’t want me. I can accept that. We’ll always be friends. It’ll be okay.”

It was almost like she was talking to herself, but Danny didn’t much care. He was gentle, so very gentle as he reached over and pulled her stool to him, one hand tight to the wooden seat, fingers brushing the skirt and flesh beneath it—and this time there were no mental reprimands to his libido at the fact that this was Sam he was touching, however unintentional it was—and the other hand was slipping around her waist to steady her.

“Sam,” he said.

“It’s not like much will be different, either. So what if you know? Tucker says you already knew.” She gave a faint shrug and Danny swung her around to face him, and then he reached up and cupped her cheek to force her to look him in the eye.

“Sam.”

“Danny? Oh,” she breathed at how close he was.

“Sam.” This time her name was soft, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers for a scant second, eyes watching her suddenly wide lavender gaze as he pulled back. “Sam?”

She smiled a little, though it was a bit confused and muddled. He thought, alcohol, and let it go as he reached for her again. This time she responded as much as he would have wished for since they were in high school. Her hands were suddenly tangling in his hair and he was trying to pull her across his lap, propriety and desire warring against each other as he tried to figure out what to do with the girl sitting in front of him. He settled for pulling back and resting his forehead against hers, breathing heavy and harsh and he was thankful for the late night atmosphere that kept regulars at home having already drunk their fill.

“How’s that for a move?” he asked softly, and only got a smile and soft kiss in return.

“Hey, Danny?” she asked muzzily, barely waiting for his faint murmur of assent as his lips sought hers again. This kiss was shorter, sweeter, and he could feel her smiling faintly against his mouth, her hands snaking themselves down his stomach to play at his belt. “Can you kiss me like that again when I’m sober?”

Then her head tilted crazily to the left. Danny reared back for a moment, Sam still safe in his arms, before he realized she was only passed out.

She didn’t move as he sighed into her hair and shifted her from her his lap to her barstool, and from there firmly into his arms. Ten years of waiting, he thought as he dug into his pocket, Sam balanced precariously in one arm, to pull out enough to cover her tab and his water to drop on the bar before dragging her out into the brisk Chicago air. Ten years of waiting; he could afford to wait until tomorrow, maybe tomorrow night, for her to sober up. It’d be worth it—he’d always known that.

But if Sam sober was anything like Sam drunk, he was pretty sure that he’d underestimated her.

Description
Love on the Rocks

Danny watched in shocked disbelief as Sam down her fifth (or was it sixth?) drink, before reaching out and trying to gently snare the glass from her hands. The ice chinked against the sides when she refused to relinquish it, and Danny conceded before she tried to kick him. Again. Birthday girl or not, she still wore steel toes and he didn’t really need bruises on top of his bruises.

“Sam, don’t you think maybe you’ve had enough to drink?”

“No.”

Her answer was short, sharp and frighteningly sober sounding. It completely triggered his self preservation instincts, too, which made Danny laugh faintly as he eased back from his prickly friend. She’d been like this for as long as he could remember. Well, at least since they’d graduated high school and the three of them, him, Sam and Tucker, had split apart for college. Tucker had disappeared into CalTech, Sam had fled south Penn State, and Danny had managed alright in Chicago. And every time in between that he’d seen her it had been an exercise in futility to get her to relax.

He watched as she flicked a finger at the bartender to order another, her face cool and confident. If he hadn’t known better he’d never have guessed that she’d been drinking straight gin for the last hour. if he hadn’t known better he might have tried convincing her gently, but he was afraid anything he said to her that way would be outside of the bounds of friendship, something he’d struggled for years to stay inside of.

Of course, seeing how quickly she was draining this newest increment of alcohol… Maybe he should reconsider. Surely she wouldn’t hold it against him if he saved her from alcohol poisoning.

“You know you can talk to me, Sam, right?” he asked, his hand a subtle pressure at her waist. He tried hard to ignore how soft and smooth her skin felt, nor the fact that the gesture itself was more intimate than anything he’d allowed.

She glanced at him. “Shut up, Danny. Think of it as my last hurrah.”

“Your last what?”

There was another glance as Sam sat back, gin and ice swirling inside of her glass as she looked at him. “I was thinking about something.” He refrained from laughing, because the glazed look in her eyes clearly said she wasn’t thinking currently. “I’m turning twenty-five, Danny.”

He nodded. “Is that a bad thing?” questioned Danny carefully.

“Do you have any idea what I’m doing here?” she quizzed him.

“Ah… Right now you’re drinking, are drunk,” he amended, “and you’re picking a fight with me.”

She hmm’d at him and he fought the desire to cringe. “Tucker told me I should come see you. That I should give it another try.” He stared blankly at her and it was impossible to miss the way her eyes seem to go a little dead as he did. “Yeah,” she murmured. “That’s what I expected.”

Danny tilted his head to the side, letting confusion slide across his face. “I don’t understand, Sam.”

“Rather thought you wouldn’t,” was her mumbled answer as she tipped the gin up and drained the glass. Her finger flicked for another. “I’ve decided that I should be a nun.”

His jaw hit the floor. Almost literally, because her statement, plain as day and in as serious a voice as he’d ever heard from her, nearly knocked him off of his barstool with the meaning behind it. “Wha-at?” he gasped, wondering if he’d heard her correctly.

She turned to him, her skirt riding too high and showing an unhealthy amount of smooth, pale thigh than a woman who had apparently decided to pledge herself to the church should. “A nun. No drinking, no sex, no fun. I’ve thought about it, figure what the hell.” She swiveled back around to her fresh drink while he tried to drag his tongue from where it had lodged inside of his throat.

Two sips later she was leaning heavily on the bar, her head low and her eyes closed, and Danny watched silently. After all, what could he say to her? Good for you, Sam! So long as you’re happy! Except that the thought of her wearing a nun’s habit was also vaguely erotic and he clenched his legs together, willing himself to think of the ice in his water swimming across his groin. Better yet, mom and dad having sex. If that didn’t do it, nothing would.

Apparently, nothing would.

“A nun?” he managed to choke out. “Why?”

“Because if you haven’t made a move in ten years, I really don’t think you’re going to, no matter what Tucker tells me,” she whispered quietly.

Oh.

He was lucky that he didn’t depend on air as much as everyone else, or Danny might have finished dying as he sat in the little hole in the wall bar near his apartment in Chicago.

“It’s not like I’ve ever really had a boyfriend. Or had sex. Or was really interested in other guys,” she mumbled while he tried to process. Her hand slipped from her glass, gin still halfway up the ice and she rubbed her eyes as he watched. “I just wanted you. You don’t want me. I can accept that. We’ll always be friends. It’ll be okay.”

It was almost like she was talking to herself, but Danny didn’t much care. He was gentle, so very gentle as he reached over and pulled her stool to him, one hand tight to the wooden seat, fingers brushing the skirt and flesh beneath it—and this time there were no mental reprimands to his libido at the fact that this was Sam he was touching, however unintentional it was—and the other hand was slipping around her waist to steady her.

“Sam,” he said.

“It’s not like much will be different, either. So what if you know? Tucker says you already knew.” She gave a faint shrug and Danny swung her around to face him, and then he reached up and cupped her cheek to force her to look him in the eye.

“Sam.”

“Danny? Oh,” she breathed at how close he was.

“Sam.” This time her name was soft, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers for a scant second, eyes watching her suddenly wide lavender gaze as he pulled back. “Sam?”

She smiled a little, though it was a bit confused and muddled. He thought, alcohol, and let it go as he reached for her again. This time she responded as much as he would have wished for since they were in high school. Her hands were suddenly tangling in his hair and he was trying to pull her across his lap, propriety and desire warring against each other as he tried to figure out what to do with the girl sitting in front of him. He settled for pulling back and resting his forehead against hers, breathing heavy and harsh and he was thankful for the late night atmosphere that kept regulars at home having already drunk their fill.

“How’s that for a move?” he asked softly, and only got a smile and soft kiss in return.

“Hey, Danny?” she asked muzzily, barely waiting for his faint murmur of assent as his lips sought hers again. This kiss was shorter, sweeter, and he could feel her smiling faintly against his mouth, her hands snaking themselves down his stomach to play at his belt. “Can you kiss me like that again when I’m sober?”

Then her head tilted crazily to the left. Danny reared back for a moment, Sam still safe in his arms, before he realized she was only passed out.

She didn’t move as he sighed into her hair and shifted her from her his lap to her barstool, and from there firmly into his arms. Ten years of waiting, he thought as he dug into his pocket, Sam balanced precariously in one arm, to pull out enough to cover her tab and his water to drop on the bar before dragging her out into the brisk Chicago air. Ten years of waiting; he could afford to wait until tomorrow, maybe tomorrow night, for her to sober up. It’d be worth it—he’d always known that.

But if Sam sober was anything like Sam drunk, he was pretty sure that he’d underestimated her.