FIC: Drink the Night Away
The prompt amnesty has not been good to me. Don't ask where this came from, because I DON'T KNOW.
---
Title: Drink the Night Away
Author: Draickinphoenix
Fandom: The Dresden Files
Characters: Harry/Murphy
Rating: PG-13
Dresdenflashfic Prompt: Old
Summary: Harry, after seeing something that could be nothing, gets drunk. Silliness ensues.
A/N: Warning - Crack! Abounds. This is why we never leave me in charge of wizards and liquor. I own nothing and make nothing. I just mess with the characters.
Word Count: 3,718
---
The bottle was mocking him. It was old and dusty, and high up on a shelf that even Harry couldn’t reach without a stepstool. It had been a gift from a wealthy client in exchange for finding some lost artifact. It was one of his first cases, and so long ago that Harry could hardly remember the man’s face, much less his name or what he’d done.
The bottle laughed at him from its perch.
“Shut up,” Harry grunted. He paced the floor, his head hung and his eyes cast sharply to that shelf. It was begging him to take it down and break the seal. It practically pleaded for his attention even as it pointed and stared and reminded him that it was his only company. Well, it and the ghost in the basement reading trashy romance novels.
Harry…I taste good…
“I said shut up.” He turned his back on the bottle and crossed his arms. So what if Murphy was out somewhere and he couldn’t find her? Who cared if she had her phone off - she NEVER had her phone off. Ever. She never went on dates, but she was a girl so it was only fair that he see her getting out of the taxi in a long dress.
“Mrowr?” Harry looked down. Mister slammed into his shins and looked back at him, curiously disinterested. The monster of a cat really didn’t care, and Harry knew it. “Mowr?”
“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, bending to scratch the cat’s ears. “If I knew what was really wrong I wouldn’t be here alone tonight, would I?” He sighed and sank into the nearest chair, Mister still demanding attention in the form of ear scratches. “But why wouldn’t she just tell me where she was going? Seriously…she almost always knows where I am.”
Mister laid his ears back and gurgled out a low, throaty growl.
“You too?” Harry snapped. “Yeah, side with the bottle…I see how it is. I only feed you and give you a place to live!” Mister snorted in response to the senseless accusation, and with a whip of his crooked tail, padded into the kitchen toward his food bowl, leaving Harry alone again. “Great…the only living friend I have and even he’s pissed at me.” He threw his hands in the air.
Drink me, Harry…you know you want to.
Harry glanced over his shoulder at the thick layer of dust on the bottle. The tag that came with it told him it was hundred-year-old Grand Marnier. Hundred and five or six year old now, as long as it had been sitting on the shelf. It was a grand gesture from a wealthy man, and once it made its way that high, Harry didn’t think about it again.
Or hadn’t, until he saw Murphy at her most feminine this afternoon. The dress she wore was strapless, formal, and a deep blue that matched the evening sky. His breath caught at the sight of her crossing the street. She moved so fast he doubted she noticed the jeep she ran in front of was his. From the hard set of her jaw, it looked like she was either late, or stood up.
Before he realized what he was doing, Harry climbed up onto the coffee table and snatched the bottle down, leaving a dustless ring where it had been.
“I suppose one drink won’t hurt,” he muttered as he examined the label. Grand Marnier Cuvee de Centcinquantenaire¸ the bottle read. One Hundred Fifty years old. In 1977. Just from the fancy label, Harry knew it was expensive. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but anyone could appreciate a hand drawn label rimmed with 18-karat gold gilt. The elegant, loopy scrawl of letters told him everything he needed to know.
He was way out of his league with this bottle of liquor.
Harry was careful as he cut the gold foil around the top of the bottle and unscrewed the lid. It popped free with a satisfying hiss, and a pang of guilt tore through Harry’s chest as he realized what he’d done - his first ever payment was ruined. He’d put the bottle on the shelf in much the same way business owners frame their first dollar. Not only that, but he could have sold this bottle for a lot of money.
A whole lot of money.
“Oh, well…bottoms up,” he sighed. Harry was careful to pour only the smallest amount into the bottom of a plastic cup - not the best way to drink an expensive cognac, he knew, but he wasn’t exactly a connoisseur, and since he was a beer man, he didn’t keep glassware in the house.
The brown liquid flowed smoothly from the neck of the bottle, filling the room with a warm, spicy scent reminiscent of brandy and oranges. Harry inhaled deeply, and even Mister let out an approving mewl. When he swirled it around the bottom of the cup, the scent blossomed into something heady and inviting, and before he had time to properly savor it, Harry had drained the cup. It went down smooth, warming him to his toes. And then…
“Fuck! Shit! Damn! Ow….” Harry whimpered, doubling over and clutching at his belly. The burn of alcohol was overpowering as it ripped through him, leaving a trail of fire from his esophagus to his stomach.
“Harry…what is… oh,” Bob trailed off as he appeared through the basement door. “Harry Dresden…I can’t believe you opened that bottle!”
“Yeah…me either, Bob,” Harry grunted, fingers still digging into his skin as he fought to right himself against the blaze. “Now I see why it sat there so long…”
“Burning?”
“Yup.”
“Harry, you really are an idiot,” Bob sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t shoot cognac…you savor it.”
“No kidding…”
“You deserve this,” Bob continued, looking disdainfully at Harry, who hardly noticed. “If you’ll allow me, I can show you how to truly appreciate what you’ve got.”
“Does it involve possession?” Harry grunted, clutching the edge of the counter and taking shallow, weak breaths. Bob’s expression fell.
“Yes,” he said quietly, reminding Harry of a child with a secret.
“Of me?”
“Yes…”
“You just want to taste it.”
“Yes…” Bob said, his voice barely above a smoky whisper. Harry rolled his eyes and stretched his torso experimentally. The worst of the burn had subsided, leaving in its place a mixture of numbness and warm, fuzzy happiness.
“One drink, Bob,” Harry conceded, knowing he would continue to listen to Bob’s petulance all night if he didn’t go ahead and get it over with. It would be best now, before the alcohol kicked in and he would be too easily talked into things. Like casting love spells on the whole of Chicago or inciting college orgies.
Bob practically squealed with delight as he crossed the room to stand behind Harry. “You know what to do…take a deep breath.” Harry did, and as he did, he felt the cold chill run up his spine that signaled Bob’s entrance into his consciousness.
Now, Harry… I want you to pick up the bottle and… are you using a plastic cup?
“Yes, Bob.”
Fool. At least get a juice glass.
“Yes, Bob.”
And don’t Yes, Bob me again, Harry.
“Alright, Bob.”
Harry…
“Sorry.” Under Bob’s direction, he went to the cabinet and picked out one of three intact juice glasses. It was small and the glass foggy from years of age and disuse, but it was at least clean. Harry went back to the counter, picked up the bottle, and waited.
Approximately one-half inch in the bottom of the glass will be a double-shot. Pour it now. Harry did as he was instructed, careful to pour slowly and keep the bubbles in the bottom of the glass to a minimum. At one-half inch, he stopped and replaced the bottle. His awareness of Bob thrummed with excitement at the prospect of tasting alcohol - even if it was through someone else’s consciousness. Carefully, Harry…here, let me.
Harry lost control of his arm then as Bob took over. The muscles in his throat flexed experimentally, still tingling from the passage of the last taste. The glass came closer to his mouth and inside his head, Bob hummed in anticipation.
The glass touched his lips, and Harry took in the flavor and texture of the cognac through two awarenesses. Warm, sweet, bitter, and spicy, Bob’s voice was reduced to little more than a whimpering groan as the fire slid across his tongue, settled in his belly and bloomed outward once more.
Nectar of the Gods.
“Really, Bob?” Harry asked after finding his tongue beneath the burn.
Indubitably.
“Okay, you’ve had your drink…now get out.”
Oh, Harry… just one more? Please? Harry groaned. He hated to hear a ghost beg, and he knew that was exactly where this was heading.
“One more. Quickly. Then get the hell out.”
Of course. Bob managed to sound both gracious and devious all at once. I would never take advantage of my host. Too much.
“Yeah, yeah…just get it over with.”
The next taste was quick, like the first. And the six that followed on the heels of Bob’s wheedling were lost in the swim of Harry’s mind. It was potent, the cognac. The one clear thought he could hold onto was that Bob was reveling in the feeling of being drunk. Which he was.
Disgustingly drunk.
“Bob…thass ‘nuff…” Harry slurred after imbibing his eighth shot. “Geh ou’ o’ my hea’…”
Bob whimpered, but finally did as he was told. The rush of cold around Harry made his stomach lurch, but when Bob left, so did a fair amount of the intoxication. Harry growled.
“You were faking it…stupid ghost.”
“Of course, Harry,” Bob replied triumphantly. “Do you realize how long it has been since I have tasted such freedom?”
“After that,” Harry grunted, collapsing onto the couch, “It’ll be a long time before you do it again.”
“Oh, Harry,” Bob laughed, “seven shots of the world’s finest cognac will be enough to last me another lifetime or two…at least until your predecessor doesn’t know not to let me try that again.”
“Go back to your skull.” The tone of authority in Harry’s voice left no room for argument, and Bob drifted backwards through the cellar door, still smiling at his newest fond memory. “Stupid ghost,” Harry muttered again, reaching up to snatch the bottle off the end table. And upend it.
Alcoholic heat tore through his body again, and he settled into the couch. Now that Bob was gone, he could brood in peace over…what was he brooding over? Harry took another drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He couldn’t remember why he’d gotten the bottle down in the first place - only that he’d been restless and pissed off and…
A knock at the door echoed through the room and his brain. After another long swig, Harry crawled out of the couch, stumbled across the room, and stared at the door.
“Harry? Are you in there?”
Murphy. He’d been pissed about Murphy being out in a dress with her phone off and without him. Damn it, that woman was going to be the death of him. Maybe literally.
“Yeah…” he responded dumbly. He took another drink.
“Can I come in?”
“Maybe…hold on.” Harry knew there were enchantments and wards on the door…but he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do about it. From the basement, Bob shouted a series of words that sounded like nonsense, but Harry repeated them.
Immediately, he felt the magic pull away from the door. He tested the doorknob experimentally. No shock, no magic, and no being thrown backwards because he bungled something. He took another drink, and opened the door.
“Oh heeeeey, Murph…. Whatcha doin’?” Harry grinned, leaning on the door frame, the half-empty bottle of Grand Marnier clutched in his right hand. Murphy was still in the slinky blue dress, her dark hair pinned up against the back of her head with a jeweled comb. She wore the same sparkling jewelry, and the barest hint of makeup on her cheeks. “Yersopretty…”
“Harry? How are…you’re…drunk…” Murphy sounded amazed, as she well should have been. She’d never seen him anything but composed and cool. Or furious, enraged and panicked. This was definitely new.
“Yeah…’s great, innit?”
“I think you need to sit down,” she replied warily. “Come on…” she took his arm and turned him away from the door, kicking it shut behind her.
“Wai-wai-wai….” Harry mumbled, “I gotta put the enshaments backon.”
“I don’t think anything is going to try to eat you tonight,” Murphy responded, tugging on his arm. Harry teetered precariously on his feet, leaning dangerously toward her. “Easy there, tiger… walk for me.”
Harry did as he was told, shuffling forward three steps even as he cast an apologetic look back at the door and turned the bottle up to his mouth.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Murphy ordered as she dropped him onto the couch. She reached for the bottle, but he danced it out of her grasp. “Harry…give me the bottle…” She got a hand around the neck and pulled, but even intoxicated, Harry was stronger. He yanked, pulling her forward and spilling her into his lap, her dress riding up around her thighs in the struggle.
“Oh, hiya,” he laughed as she fought to right herself and obtain control of the drink. “Wanna drink?”
“Sure…just give…me…the bottle…and I’ll pour it.”
“No glasses….drink,” Harry changed the direction of his thrust, pushing the bottle up under Murphy’s nose. Still off balance, Murphy struggled to get her knees under her, apparently refusing to acknowledge the fact that those knees were on the couch, on either side of Harry’s outstretched legs. Harry, on the other hand, realized exactly where she was. He smiled a lopsided, drunken smile, his eyes roaming over her face.
“Can I at least have the bottle?” she questioned. Harry was oblivious to the fact that Murphy was trying hard to remain calm, even as her face reddened.
Murphy was actually thinking that if she ever got the bottle from him, she was definitely going to have a drink first, and then kill him. Absolutely kill him…dead as a doorknob.
“Okeydokey,” Harry slurred, and let go of his hold on the bottle. Murphy pulled it from his fingers, and leaned over to set it on the end table. Harry’s smile turned sleazy as she stretched, pulling her dress even higher up her legs. Some distant, sober part of Harry’s brain told him it was a bad idea, even as his fingers brushed the skin bared by the slit in her dress. He received an instant, sharp smack to his hand but the pain was minimal beneath the layer cognac in which he floated. Murphy turned to glare at him, and turned directly into his lips.
Harry met her hard-set mouth with his own. Her lips tasted faintly of cherry gloss and wine, and even as her jaw went rigid, her mouth stayed soft and pliant against his. Harry groaned appreciatively against her lips, but Murphy planted her hands against his chest and pushed him backwards.
“Harry,” she said when she found her voice. “You’re drunk.”
“And yer in my lap.” Murphy’s face flushed bright red when she realized she hadn’t moved yet. “And I think you like it.” Harry grinned again, and Murphy groaned. “I like it.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Dresden.”
“I’ sayin’ I like you,” Harry drawled. “Didja have a drink?”
“Not yet.” Murphy smoothed her dress back down as best she could and scooted toward the edge of the couch. The movement wasn’t easy for either of them, though Harry seemed to enjoy it more than Murphy. His eyes continued to wander over her, his fingers tickling along her exposed thigh, undeterred by the stinging smacks she administered with each touch.
“Can I ha’ anudder drink?” Harry slurred. Murphy glared at him.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.” Harry was lightning quick as his hands swung up and closed on her hips. Murphy squeaked in surprised and tried to fight, but again, he was still stronger than her.
“The’ you can’ move uhtil I get a drink.” Harry clicked his tongue on the last letter. “Besides…I like you here…”
“I’m sure you do,” Murphy retorted and reached for the bottle. His mouth opened and closed like a beached fish as she turned the bottle to her lips. Harry watched the muscles in her throat work beneath her skin as she swallowed, then watched the color crawl back up into her face with the bloom of heat in her stomach.
“Iss goo’ stuff,” he slurred, and pulled the bottle out of her hand. Harry kept one hand tight on her hip and took his turn with the cognac, the spicy scent tickling his nose as he drank.
“Wow…” Murphy muttered, taking the bottle back to read it. “How did you afford this?”
“Dint… was a giffft.” He grinned. “Foun’ a lost somthinorudder for somebody.”
“Oh…it’s good.” She tilted the bottle up again and took another long drink. Around her, the room started to tilt and she leaned the opposite way to make up for it.
“Murph….yer drunk too.”
“Not yet,” she said. “But I intend to be very soon.” She took a third swig, and Harry laughed when her head bobbed around on her shoulders.
“Drunk yet?”
“Almost,” she giggled.
“Drink more.” She did. Harry took the bottle away and had another drink. Starbursts of colors he hadn’t known existed appeared between him and Murphy as he handed the bottle back. “Drunk yet?”
“Almost,” she repeated.
“I am…”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
Murphy froze mid-movement. Harry was slurring his speech and his head wobbled like it was on a spring, but his eyes were clear and cool, and his lips turned up in a devious smile. “What did you just say?”
“I love you.”
“You don’t mean that,” she growled and took another drink.
“Buh I do,” Harry whimpered. “IloveyouConnieMurphyofspehshulinvessigashuns.”
Murphy laughed. “It’s the booze talking.”
“Nope,” Harry grunted. Both hands back on her hips, he tugged her forward, causing her dress to ride up again.
“Harry…stop this.”
“Nope,” he repeated. He leaned up again, smiling, and kissed her. Murphy gasped, and Harry used it to his full advantage. One hand moved from her hip to the back of her neck, holding her in place he kissed her. She tasted of cognac and lip gloss, sweet and heady. Harry inhaled against her cheek, taking in the scent of smoke and perfume lingering on her skin, mixing with the inviting taste of her.
When he pulled back, his eyelids were heavy and his skin flushed. Murphy was breathless, holding onto his shoulders for support. An awkward moment of silence passed between them where neither could look at the other, then harry Grinned one more time.
“Nite-nite,” he slurred, slumping to one side. He thought he felt Murphy shake him, but he couldn’t be sure as he moved swiftly into unconsciousness.
~ + ~
When Harry woke, he was lying on the couch beneath a ratty old blanket. His face was clammy with alcohol-induced sweat, and his shirt stuck to his chest. A thin, crusty line marred his chin where he’d slobbered in his sleep. He felt like he’d been hit in the back of the head with a sidewalk.
Harry’s vision was blurry when he opened his eyes. He could only see the two things closest to him - a nearly-empty bottle of Grand Marnier, and Connie Murphy’s face. Harry blinked certain he was hallucinating from whatever happened the night before.
“Murph…?” he croaked. His throat and mouth were dry. Blinking away the sleep-sand, Harry struggled into a sitting position and looked back. Murphy, still in the surprising blue dress, sat on his floor, sleeping with her head rested on the palm of her right hand. “Murph…what are you doing here?” he asked again.
Murphy stirred then, blinking in surprise herself. She took one look up at Harry, sighed, and started laughing.
“You look ridiculous,” she giggled.
“What the hell happened last night?” Harry feigned a stretch, hoping Murphy wouldn’t notice as he flattened his hair back against his head and wiped the dried spittle from his face.
“I’m not entirely certain. You got drunk and passed out.”
“I mean…did anything…” he waved his hand back and forth between them, looking sheepish and uncertain. Murphy chuckled.
“No…you passed out.”
“Oh…was something going to happen?”
Murphy hesitated. “I…don’t think so,” she lied, but Harry wasn’t convinced.
“Then why did you stay?”
“You weren’t doing so well last night, Dresden. Besides, I’d had a few drinks and there was no way I was going to get home in one piece.”
“Oh.”
The awkward silence spread between them, filling the entire room with discomfort and uncertainty. Harry shifted on the couch, the back of his head screaming from the hangover. Murphy looked equally as restless as she tried to keep her composure in the dress.
“I should be getting home now…” Murphy hedged, twisting her knees under her and grasping the edge of the couch. “This dress is getting uncomfortable.”
“Why are you wearing it anyway?” Harry asked. He scrutinized the dress one more time, remembering with certain dissatisfaction that it was the cause of this now screamingly unpleasant situation.
“Pop took me to see La Boheme last night.” Murphy sighed. “I came by here afterward because you looked a little upset last time I saw you.” Harry paled, remembering the sudden fury at seeing Murphy so immaculately dressed, and without him on her arm. “And when I found you drunk, I was worried.”
“No need to worry, Murph,” Harry replied, feeling lighter than he had in days. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Murphy smiled. “Good. I’m going home now. You go take a shower, and I’ll come back in an hour. I’m starving, and you’re buying.”
“Me?” Harry squawked, “Why me?”
“Because,” Murphy grinned as she pulled open the front door, “if you’re going to tell me you love me, you at least have to buy me dinner first.” She left Harry sitting on the couch, puzzled. Looking at the nearly empty bottle again, he made up his mind that he was never getting drunk again.
---
Title: Drink the Night Away
Author: Draickinphoenix
Fandom: The Dresden Files
Characters: Harry/Murphy
Rating: PG-13
Dresdenflashfic Prompt: Old
Summary: Harry, after seeing something that could be nothing, gets drunk. Silliness ensues.
A/N: Warning - Crack! Abounds. This is why we never leave me in charge of wizards and liquor. I own nothing and make nothing. I just mess with the characters.
Word Count: 3,718
---
The bottle was mocking him. It was old and dusty, and high up on a shelf that even Harry couldn’t reach without a stepstool. It had been a gift from a wealthy client in exchange for finding some lost artifact. It was one of his first cases, and so long ago that Harry could hardly remember the man’s face, much less his name or what he’d done.
The bottle laughed at him from its perch.
“Shut up,” Harry grunted. He paced the floor, his head hung and his eyes cast sharply to that shelf. It was begging him to take it down and break the seal. It practically pleaded for his attention even as it pointed and stared and reminded him that it was his only company. Well, it and the ghost in the basement reading trashy romance novels.
Harry…I taste good…
“I said shut up.” He turned his back on the bottle and crossed his arms. So what if Murphy was out somewhere and he couldn’t find her? Who cared if she had her phone off - she NEVER had her phone off. Ever. She never went on dates, but she was a girl so it was only fair that he see her getting out of the taxi in a long dress.
“Mrowr?” Harry looked down. Mister slammed into his shins and looked back at him, curiously disinterested. The monster of a cat really didn’t care, and Harry knew it. “Mowr?”
“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, bending to scratch the cat’s ears. “If I knew what was really wrong I wouldn’t be here alone tonight, would I?” He sighed and sank into the nearest chair, Mister still demanding attention in the form of ear scratches. “But why wouldn’t she just tell me where she was going? Seriously…she almost always knows where I am.”
Mister laid his ears back and gurgled out a low, throaty growl.
“You too?” Harry snapped. “Yeah, side with the bottle…I see how it is. I only feed you and give you a place to live!” Mister snorted in response to the senseless accusation, and with a whip of his crooked tail, padded into the kitchen toward his food bowl, leaving Harry alone again. “Great…the only living friend I have and even he’s pissed at me.” He threw his hands in the air.
Drink me, Harry…you know you want to.
Harry glanced over his shoulder at the thick layer of dust on the bottle. The tag that came with it told him it was hundred-year-old Grand Marnier. Hundred and five or six year old now, as long as it had been sitting on the shelf. It was a grand gesture from a wealthy man, and once it made its way that high, Harry didn’t think about it again.
Or hadn’t, until he saw Murphy at her most feminine this afternoon. The dress she wore was strapless, formal, and a deep blue that matched the evening sky. His breath caught at the sight of her crossing the street. She moved so fast he doubted she noticed the jeep she ran in front of was his. From the hard set of her jaw, it looked like she was either late, or stood up.
Before he realized what he was doing, Harry climbed up onto the coffee table and snatched the bottle down, leaving a dustless ring where it had been.
“I suppose one drink won’t hurt,” he muttered as he examined the label. Grand Marnier Cuvee de Centcinquantenaire¸ the bottle read. One Hundred Fifty years old. In 1977. Just from the fancy label, Harry knew it was expensive. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but anyone could appreciate a hand drawn label rimmed with 18-karat gold gilt. The elegant, loopy scrawl of letters told him everything he needed to know.
He was way out of his league with this bottle of liquor.
Harry was careful as he cut the gold foil around the top of the bottle and unscrewed the lid. It popped free with a satisfying hiss, and a pang of guilt tore through Harry’s chest as he realized what he’d done - his first ever payment was ruined. He’d put the bottle on the shelf in much the same way business owners frame their first dollar. Not only that, but he could have sold this bottle for a lot of money.
A whole lot of money.
“Oh, well…bottoms up,” he sighed. Harry was careful to pour only the smallest amount into the bottom of a plastic cup - not the best way to drink an expensive cognac, he knew, but he wasn’t exactly a connoisseur, and since he was a beer man, he didn’t keep glassware in the house.
The brown liquid flowed smoothly from the neck of the bottle, filling the room with a warm, spicy scent reminiscent of brandy and oranges. Harry inhaled deeply, and even Mister let out an approving mewl. When he swirled it around the bottom of the cup, the scent blossomed into something heady and inviting, and before he had time to properly savor it, Harry had drained the cup. It went down smooth, warming him to his toes. And then…
“Fuck! Shit! Damn! Ow….” Harry whimpered, doubling over and clutching at his belly. The burn of alcohol was overpowering as it ripped through him, leaving a trail of fire from his esophagus to his stomach.
“Harry…what is… oh,” Bob trailed off as he appeared through the basement door. “Harry Dresden…I can’t believe you opened that bottle!”
“Yeah…me either, Bob,” Harry grunted, fingers still digging into his skin as he fought to right himself against the blaze. “Now I see why it sat there so long…”
“Burning?”
“Yup.”
“Harry, you really are an idiot,” Bob sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t shoot cognac…you savor it.”
“No kidding…”
“You deserve this,” Bob continued, looking disdainfully at Harry, who hardly noticed. “If you’ll allow me, I can show you how to truly appreciate what you’ve got.”
“Does it involve possession?” Harry grunted, clutching the edge of the counter and taking shallow, weak breaths. Bob’s expression fell.
“Yes,” he said quietly, reminding Harry of a child with a secret.
“Of me?”
“Yes…”
“You just want to taste it.”
“Yes…” Bob said, his voice barely above a smoky whisper. Harry rolled his eyes and stretched his torso experimentally. The worst of the burn had subsided, leaving in its place a mixture of numbness and warm, fuzzy happiness.
“One drink, Bob,” Harry conceded, knowing he would continue to listen to Bob’s petulance all night if he didn’t go ahead and get it over with. It would be best now, before the alcohol kicked in and he would be too easily talked into things. Like casting love spells on the whole of Chicago or inciting college orgies.
Bob practically squealed with delight as he crossed the room to stand behind Harry. “You know what to do…take a deep breath.” Harry did, and as he did, he felt the cold chill run up his spine that signaled Bob’s entrance into his consciousness.
Now, Harry… I want you to pick up the bottle and… are you using a plastic cup?
“Yes, Bob.”
Fool. At least get a juice glass.
“Yes, Bob.”
And don’t Yes, Bob me again, Harry.
“Alright, Bob.”
Harry…
“Sorry.” Under Bob’s direction, he went to the cabinet and picked out one of three intact juice glasses. It was small and the glass foggy from years of age and disuse, but it was at least clean. Harry went back to the counter, picked up the bottle, and waited.
Approximately one-half inch in the bottom of the glass will be a double-shot. Pour it now. Harry did as he was instructed, careful to pour slowly and keep the bubbles in the bottom of the glass to a minimum. At one-half inch, he stopped and replaced the bottle. His awareness of Bob thrummed with excitement at the prospect of tasting alcohol - even if it was through someone else’s consciousness. Carefully, Harry…here, let me.
Harry lost control of his arm then as Bob took over. The muscles in his throat flexed experimentally, still tingling from the passage of the last taste. The glass came closer to his mouth and inside his head, Bob hummed in anticipation.
The glass touched his lips, and Harry took in the flavor and texture of the cognac through two awarenesses. Warm, sweet, bitter, and spicy, Bob’s voice was reduced to little more than a whimpering groan as the fire slid across his tongue, settled in his belly and bloomed outward once more.
Nectar of the Gods.
“Really, Bob?” Harry asked after finding his tongue beneath the burn.
Indubitably.
“Okay, you’ve had your drink…now get out.”
Oh, Harry… just one more? Please? Harry groaned. He hated to hear a ghost beg, and he knew that was exactly where this was heading.
“One more. Quickly. Then get the hell out.”
Of course. Bob managed to sound both gracious and devious all at once. I would never take advantage of my host. Too much.
“Yeah, yeah…just get it over with.”
The next taste was quick, like the first. And the six that followed on the heels of Bob’s wheedling were lost in the swim of Harry’s mind. It was potent, the cognac. The one clear thought he could hold onto was that Bob was reveling in the feeling of being drunk. Which he was.
Disgustingly drunk.
“Bob…thass ‘nuff…” Harry slurred after imbibing his eighth shot. “Geh ou’ o’ my hea’…”
Bob whimpered, but finally did as he was told. The rush of cold around Harry made his stomach lurch, but when Bob left, so did a fair amount of the intoxication. Harry growled.
“You were faking it…stupid ghost.”
“Of course, Harry,” Bob replied triumphantly. “Do you realize how long it has been since I have tasted such freedom?”
“After that,” Harry grunted, collapsing onto the couch, “It’ll be a long time before you do it again.”
“Oh, Harry,” Bob laughed, “seven shots of the world’s finest cognac will be enough to last me another lifetime or two…at least until your predecessor doesn’t know not to let me try that again.”
“Go back to your skull.” The tone of authority in Harry’s voice left no room for argument, and Bob drifted backwards through the cellar door, still smiling at his newest fond memory. “Stupid ghost,” Harry muttered again, reaching up to snatch the bottle off the end table. And upend it.
Alcoholic heat tore through his body again, and he settled into the couch. Now that Bob was gone, he could brood in peace over…what was he brooding over? Harry took another drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He couldn’t remember why he’d gotten the bottle down in the first place - only that he’d been restless and pissed off and…
A knock at the door echoed through the room and his brain. After another long swig, Harry crawled out of the couch, stumbled across the room, and stared at the door.
“Harry? Are you in there?”
Murphy. He’d been pissed about Murphy being out in a dress with her phone off and without him. Damn it, that woman was going to be the death of him. Maybe literally.
“Yeah…” he responded dumbly. He took another drink.
“Can I come in?”
“Maybe…hold on.” Harry knew there were enchantments and wards on the door…but he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do about it. From the basement, Bob shouted a series of words that sounded like nonsense, but Harry repeated them.
Immediately, he felt the magic pull away from the door. He tested the doorknob experimentally. No shock, no magic, and no being thrown backwards because he bungled something. He took another drink, and opened the door.
“Oh heeeeey, Murph…. Whatcha doin’?” Harry grinned, leaning on the door frame, the half-empty bottle of Grand Marnier clutched in his right hand. Murphy was still in the slinky blue dress, her dark hair pinned up against the back of her head with a jeweled comb. She wore the same sparkling jewelry, and the barest hint of makeup on her cheeks. “Yersopretty…”
“Harry? How are…you’re…drunk…” Murphy sounded amazed, as she well should have been. She’d never seen him anything but composed and cool. Or furious, enraged and panicked. This was definitely new.
“Yeah…’s great, innit?”
“I think you need to sit down,” she replied warily. “Come on…” she took his arm and turned him away from the door, kicking it shut behind her.
“Wai-wai-wai….” Harry mumbled, “I gotta put the enshaments backon.”
“I don’t think anything is going to try to eat you tonight,” Murphy responded, tugging on his arm. Harry teetered precariously on his feet, leaning dangerously toward her. “Easy there, tiger… walk for me.”
Harry did as he was told, shuffling forward three steps even as he cast an apologetic look back at the door and turned the bottle up to his mouth.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Murphy ordered as she dropped him onto the couch. She reached for the bottle, but he danced it out of her grasp. “Harry…give me the bottle…” She got a hand around the neck and pulled, but even intoxicated, Harry was stronger. He yanked, pulling her forward and spilling her into his lap, her dress riding up around her thighs in the struggle.
“Oh, hiya,” he laughed as she fought to right herself and obtain control of the drink. “Wanna drink?”
“Sure…just give…me…the bottle…and I’ll pour it.”
“No glasses….drink,” Harry changed the direction of his thrust, pushing the bottle up under Murphy’s nose. Still off balance, Murphy struggled to get her knees under her, apparently refusing to acknowledge the fact that those knees were on the couch, on either side of Harry’s outstretched legs. Harry, on the other hand, realized exactly where she was. He smiled a lopsided, drunken smile, his eyes roaming over her face.
“Can I at least have the bottle?” she questioned. Harry was oblivious to the fact that Murphy was trying hard to remain calm, even as her face reddened.
Murphy was actually thinking that if she ever got the bottle from him, she was definitely going to have a drink first, and then kill him. Absolutely kill him…dead as a doorknob.
“Okeydokey,” Harry slurred, and let go of his hold on the bottle. Murphy pulled it from his fingers, and leaned over to set it on the end table. Harry’s smile turned sleazy as she stretched, pulling her dress even higher up her legs. Some distant, sober part of Harry’s brain told him it was a bad idea, even as his fingers brushed the skin bared by the slit in her dress. He received an instant, sharp smack to his hand but the pain was minimal beneath the layer cognac in which he floated. Murphy turned to glare at him, and turned directly into his lips.
Harry met her hard-set mouth with his own. Her lips tasted faintly of cherry gloss and wine, and even as her jaw went rigid, her mouth stayed soft and pliant against his. Harry groaned appreciatively against her lips, but Murphy planted her hands against his chest and pushed him backwards.
“Harry,” she said when she found her voice. “You’re drunk.”
“And yer in my lap.” Murphy’s face flushed bright red when she realized she hadn’t moved yet. “And I think you like it.” Harry grinned again, and Murphy groaned. “I like it.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Dresden.”
“I’ sayin’ I like you,” Harry drawled. “Didja have a drink?”
“Not yet.” Murphy smoothed her dress back down as best she could and scooted toward the edge of the couch. The movement wasn’t easy for either of them, though Harry seemed to enjoy it more than Murphy. His eyes continued to wander over her, his fingers tickling along her exposed thigh, undeterred by the stinging smacks she administered with each touch.
“Can I ha’ anudder drink?” Harry slurred. Murphy glared at him.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.” Harry was lightning quick as his hands swung up and closed on her hips. Murphy squeaked in surprised and tried to fight, but again, he was still stronger than her.
“The’ you can’ move uhtil I get a drink.” Harry clicked his tongue on the last letter. “Besides…I like you here…”
“I’m sure you do,” Murphy retorted and reached for the bottle. His mouth opened and closed like a beached fish as she turned the bottle to her lips. Harry watched the muscles in her throat work beneath her skin as she swallowed, then watched the color crawl back up into her face with the bloom of heat in her stomach.
“Iss goo’ stuff,” he slurred, and pulled the bottle out of her hand. Harry kept one hand tight on her hip and took his turn with the cognac, the spicy scent tickling his nose as he drank.
“Wow…” Murphy muttered, taking the bottle back to read it. “How did you afford this?”
“Dint… was a giffft.” He grinned. “Foun’ a lost somthinorudder for somebody.”
“Oh…it’s good.” She tilted the bottle up again and took another long drink. Around her, the room started to tilt and she leaned the opposite way to make up for it.
“Murph….yer drunk too.”
“Not yet,” she said. “But I intend to be very soon.” She took a third swig, and Harry laughed when her head bobbed around on her shoulders.
“Drunk yet?”
“Almost,” she giggled.
“Drink more.” She did. Harry took the bottle away and had another drink. Starbursts of colors he hadn’t known existed appeared between him and Murphy as he handed the bottle back. “Drunk yet?”
“Almost,” she repeated.
“I am…”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
Murphy froze mid-movement. Harry was slurring his speech and his head wobbled like it was on a spring, but his eyes were clear and cool, and his lips turned up in a devious smile. “What did you just say?”
“I love you.”
“You don’t mean that,” she growled and took another drink.
“Buh I do,” Harry whimpered. “IloveyouConnieMurphyofspehshulinvessigashuns.”
Murphy laughed. “It’s the booze talking.”
“Nope,” Harry grunted. Both hands back on her hips, he tugged her forward, causing her dress to ride up again.
“Harry…stop this.”
“Nope,” he repeated. He leaned up again, smiling, and kissed her. Murphy gasped, and Harry used it to his full advantage. One hand moved from her hip to the back of her neck, holding her in place he kissed her. She tasted of cognac and lip gloss, sweet and heady. Harry inhaled against her cheek, taking in the scent of smoke and perfume lingering on her skin, mixing with the inviting taste of her.
When he pulled back, his eyelids were heavy and his skin flushed. Murphy was breathless, holding onto his shoulders for support. An awkward moment of silence passed between them where neither could look at the other, then harry Grinned one more time.
“Nite-nite,” he slurred, slumping to one side. He thought he felt Murphy shake him, but he couldn’t be sure as he moved swiftly into unconsciousness.
~ + ~
When Harry woke, he was lying on the couch beneath a ratty old blanket. His face was clammy with alcohol-induced sweat, and his shirt stuck to his chest. A thin, crusty line marred his chin where he’d slobbered in his sleep. He felt like he’d been hit in the back of the head with a sidewalk.
Harry’s vision was blurry when he opened his eyes. He could only see the two things closest to him - a nearly-empty bottle of Grand Marnier, and Connie Murphy’s face. Harry blinked certain he was hallucinating from whatever happened the night before.
“Murph…?” he croaked. His throat and mouth were dry. Blinking away the sleep-sand, Harry struggled into a sitting position and looked back. Murphy, still in the surprising blue dress, sat on his floor, sleeping with her head rested on the palm of her right hand. “Murph…what are you doing here?” he asked again.
Murphy stirred then, blinking in surprise herself. She took one look up at Harry, sighed, and started laughing.
“You look ridiculous,” she giggled.
“What the hell happened last night?” Harry feigned a stretch, hoping Murphy wouldn’t notice as he flattened his hair back against his head and wiped the dried spittle from his face.
“I’m not entirely certain. You got drunk and passed out.”
“I mean…did anything…” he waved his hand back and forth between them, looking sheepish and uncertain. Murphy chuckled.
“No…you passed out.”
“Oh…was something going to happen?”
Murphy hesitated. “I…don’t think so,” she lied, but Harry wasn’t convinced.
“Then why did you stay?”
“You weren’t doing so well last night, Dresden. Besides, I’d had a few drinks and there was no way I was going to get home in one piece.”
“Oh.”
The awkward silence spread between them, filling the entire room with discomfort and uncertainty. Harry shifted on the couch, the back of his head screaming from the hangover. Murphy looked equally as restless as she tried to keep her composure in the dress.
“I should be getting home now…” Murphy hedged, twisting her knees under her and grasping the edge of the couch. “This dress is getting uncomfortable.”
“Why are you wearing it anyway?” Harry asked. He scrutinized the dress one more time, remembering with certain dissatisfaction that it was the cause of this now screamingly unpleasant situation.
“Pop took me to see La Boheme last night.” Murphy sighed. “I came by here afterward because you looked a little upset last time I saw you.” Harry paled, remembering the sudden fury at seeing Murphy so immaculately dressed, and without him on her arm. “And when I found you drunk, I was worried.”
“No need to worry, Murph,” Harry replied, feeling lighter than he had in days. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Murphy smiled. “Good. I’m going home now. You go take a shower, and I’ll come back in an hour. I’m starving, and you’re buying.”
“Me?” Harry squawked, “Why me?”
“Because,” Murphy grinned as she pulled open the front door, “if you’re going to tell me you love me, you at least have to buy me dinner first.” She left Harry sitting on the couch, puzzled. Looking at the nearly empty bottle again, he made up his mind that he was never getting drunk again.