Fic: Sometimes It's Better (4)
Title: Sometimes It's Better (Not to stick bits of each other in each other) - 4
Characters: Cook/Katie, Naomi/Emily
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 1196
Summary: Cook gets Naomi drunk.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: This is unbeta'd so any mistakes are all mine. Title from Hot Club de Paris 'Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother'
I wasn't going to add to this for a while, but then I thought whatever, it doesn't really follow from canon anyway, and there's never a bad time for Cook and Naomi's banter, right?
Previous: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
“Chug it!” Cook shouts gleefully, as Naomi has a sip of her pint.
She shoots him down with a glare.
Fuck, it’s kind of like hanging out with Freddie again, it’s ‘The return of the funsponge: the funsponge strikes back’, this. Except, at least Freddie would do air howls with him. He’s not tried that one with Naomi yet, but he’s not holding out much hope. Cook’s not giving up completely though, he still has a few tricks up his sleeve, and he reckons he knows how to get Naomi going. “Thought you were different, Naomikins, but whatever. Even the Cookie monster’s gotta be wrong every now and then.”
She raises an eyebrow at him in puzzlement.
“Girls, man. Can’t handle their drink. Too soft to do it properly, ain’t they? It’s all cherry alcopop this, strawberry shot that. That’s a fucking sugar high, that’s what that is, there’s no fucking -”
He’s interrupted by the sound of an empty pint glass being slammed back on the table. “Your round,” Naomi says, and she looks right fucking proud of herself.
Cook smiles and gives her a wink before getting up to the bar. Too easy that was.
---
“Lipsss,” Naomi says, stretching it out so it sounds like there’s a ‘z’ on the end, and then giggles to herself.
“Eh?” Cook looks around, half expecting to see Freddie, but he’s not there. Naomi’s lost it. He should have known really, by the seventh pint she was already legless, but she had insisted it was her round, and she had to even the score, cause “not all girls want to be oppressed by oppressive wankers, you wanker.” Cook didn’t have a flying fuck what she was on about, but who is he to turn down free alcohol?
“Not breasts,” and she struggles for a bit trying to put a ‘z’ on the end of that one, “lips.”
And then Cook puts it together, what she’s meaning. “Lips? Fuck off.” But then he remembers Katie, and what she did with that condom and, like, fair enough, Emily can’t do that, but ok, Cook gets it. Lips. “Nice one,” he grins, until he realises what Naomi’s just done. “Wait, were you just objectifying your woman’s body? Tut tut, Blondie. She will not be pleased.”
“She’s already not pleased,” Naomi huffs. “Because of you. You and Katie. Bloody Katie.”
Cook’s pretty sure that it’s not his problem if Emily’s jealous that he’s had a bit of Katie and not her, but Naomi looks fucking miserable about it, so maybe it is now, kind of. “Right, come on then, we’ll go for visits.”
“Visits?”
“Yeah, Emilio will love it. Dead romantic showing up at this time, innit? Trust me, Blondie.”
“Yeah, she will won’t she?” Naomi says, scrambling to her feet. “I fucking love her, d’you know? We love each other.”
“Exactly, so let’s go tell her,” he grins. “Plus, midnight nookie,” he adds with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Naomi laughs, “S’actly.”
---
It’s Cook that throws the stones at the window, after Naomi’s pointed out the right one. Her aim is - well, she chucks like a drunk girl, so it’s shite. Not that he’d tell her that, even though its true, but he’s already had to hold her back from throwing a fucking boulder up there and she probably wouldn’t take any criticism very well the state she’s in.
It’s Emily who opens the window, which fucking right it is, Cook knows he knocked Katie into a coma earlier. She doesn’t look very impressed at the two of them swaying together, Cook holding Naomi upright. “Emileeee!” Comes out of Naomi’s mouth before he can stop her, and then she laughs at the noise she’s made in the quiet street.
“You got her drunk? Fuck’s sake Cook.”
Eh, back the fuck up a minute. Cook didn’t make Naomi do nothing, there wasn’t no fucking gun pointing to her head. He doesn’t have to say that to Emily though, because Naomi’s helpfully opened her gob again to tell Emily that she doesn’t need a man to tell her what to do thankyouverymuchindeed.
Emily rolls her eyes in response - she’s clearly been spending too much time with little miss can’t hold her beer over here - and then he can hear Katie’s voice asking what’s going on, and Emily telling her to go back to sleep, and then Emily’s gone from the window. Katie’s head appears a second later, with a bit of a smirk when she sees him.
He grins up at her. “Awright, babe?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” She says it with smirk still intact, so he knows that she’s quite pleased to see him really. Tit works. Every time. Freddie doesn’t know shit.
“Come to make your dreams come true. Told you, didn’t I?”
“Stupid tosser,” she says, but she’s laughing, and then she disappears from the window, about the same time as Emily comes out the front door, wrapped in her duvet.
Naomi beams when she sees her, like practically lights up. It’s a bit pathetic actually. “We cames to tell you that I loves you. And that I’m drunks. Oh yeah, and lips,” she says.
Any look of anger that Emily had fades with a shake of her head and she wraps Naomi in the duvet and calls her a twat before kissing her on the nose.
“Fuck’s sake, can’t you two stop doing that for five cunting minutes? You’re disgusting, honestly,” Katie calls from the doorway.
Emily responds with a flick of her middle finger and proceeds to kiss Naomi properly this time.
Katie makes a gagging sound, before walking over to him, and holy shit, she’s wearing heels. Fuck, does she ever take those things off? He opens his arms wide to greet her, but she stops short.
“What the fuck is that? Ew, Cook, you smell like a fucking brewery.”
No shit, he thinks, he’s just come from the pub, right little genius her, ain’t she? But then, of course, he forgot about Naomi tipping that fucking pint down his top. If she’s stopped him getting a shag then they are going to have to have some fucking words, cause a joke's a joke, fine, but if it gets in the way of him getting some then he won’t be laughing much. “Don’t worry about that Katiekins, I’ll take it off,” and he does, pulling his shirt off and chucking it on the driveway. “Better?”
Katie does another of those little smirks, and Cook’s beginning to realise it’s fucking hot, when she does that. “Right, well, I think I’ve got an old top of Danny’s that you could borrow, you can help me look,” and she turns to head back inside.
“See you, lesbos!” Cook shouts at Naomi and Emily, still huddled together in their duvet, and he can hear Emily grumble something about it being her fucking room too and how Katie’s a fucking bitch, and that Naomi's breath stinks but he doesn’t hang around for long, because Katie’s looking impatient now, and he’s not exactly in the mood to hang around either.
He’s totally scored.
Part 5
Characters: Cook/Katie, Naomi/Emily
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 1196
Summary: Cook gets Naomi drunk.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: This is unbeta'd so any mistakes are all mine. Title from Hot Club de Paris 'Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother'
I wasn't going to add to this for a while, but then I thought whatever, it doesn't really follow from canon anyway, and there's never a bad time for Cook and Naomi's banter, right?
Previous: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
“Chug it!” Cook shouts gleefully, as Naomi has a sip of her pint.
She shoots him down with a glare.
Fuck, it’s kind of like hanging out with Freddie again, it’s ‘The return of the funsponge: the funsponge strikes back’, this. Except, at least Freddie would do air howls with him. He’s not tried that one with Naomi yet, but he’s not holding out much hope. Cook’s not giving up completely though, he still has a few tricks up his sleeve, and he reckons he knows how to get Naomi going. “Thought you were different, Naomikins, but whatever. Even the Cookie monster’s gotta be wrong every now and then.”
She raises an eyebrow at him in puzzlement.
“Girls, man. Can’t handle their drink. Too soft to do it properly, ain’t they? It’s all cherry alcopop this, strawberry shot that. That’s a fucking sugar high, that’s what that is, there’s no fucking -”
He’s interrupted by the sound of an empty pint glass being slammed back on the table. “Your round,” Naomi says, and she looks right fucking proud of herself.
Cook smiles and gives her a wink before getting up to the bar. Too easy that was.
---
“Lipsss,” Naomi says, stretching it out so it sounds like there’s a ‘z’ on the end, and then giggles to herself.
“Eh?” Cook looks around, half expecting to see Freddie, but he’s not there. Naomi’s lost it. He should have known really, by the seventh pint she was already legless, but she had insisted it was her round, and she had to even the score, cause “not all girls want to be oppressed by oppressive wankers, you wanker.” Cook didn’t have a flying fuck what she was on about, but who is he to turn down free alcohol?
“Not breasts,” and she struggles for a bit trying to put a ‘z’ on the end of that one, “lips.”
And then Cook puts it together, what she’s meaning. “Lips? Fuck off.” But then he remembers Katie, and what she did with that condom and, like, fair enough, Emily can’t do that, but ok, Cook gets it. Lips. “Nice one,” he grins, until he realises what Naomi’s just done. “Wait, were you just objectifying your woman’s body? Tut tut, Blondie. She will not be pleased.”
“She’s already not pleased,” Naomi huffs. “Because of you. You and Katie. Bloody Katie.”
Cook’s pretty sure that it’s not his problem if Emily’s jealous that he’s had a bit of Katie and not her, but Naomi looks fucking miserable about it, so maybe it is now, kind of. “Right, come on then, we’ll go for visits.”
“Visits?”
“Yeah, Emilio will love it. Dead romantic showing up at this time, innit? Trust me, Blondie.”
“Yeah, she will won’t she?” Naomi says, scrambling to her feet. “I fucking love her, d’you know? We love each other.”
“Exactly, so let’s go tell her,” he grins. “Plus, midnight nookie,” he adds with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Naomi laughs, “S’actly.”
---
It’s Cook that throws the stones at the window, after Naomi’s pointed out the right one. Her aim is - well, she chucks like a drunk girl, so it’s shite. Not that he’d tell her that, even though its true, but he’s already had to hold her back from throwing a fucking boulder up there and she probably wouldn’t take any criticism very well the state she’s in.
It’s Emily who opens the window, which fucking right it is, Cook knows he knocked Katie into a coma earlier. She doesn’t look very impressed at the two of them swaying together, Cook holding Naomi upright. “Emileeee!” Comes out of Naomi’s mouth before he can stop her, and then she laughs at the noise she’s made in the quiet street.
“You got her drunk? Fuck’s sake Cook.”
Eh, back the fuck up a minute. Cook didn’t make Naomi do nothing, there wasn’t no fucking gun pointing to her head. He doesn’t have to say that to Emily though, because Naomi’s helpfully opened her gob again to tell Emily that she doesn’t need a man to tell her what to do thankyouverymuchindeed.
Emily rolls her eyes in response - she’s clearly been spending too much time with little miss can’t hold her beer over here - and then he can hear Katie’s voice asking what’s going on, and Emily telling her to go back to sleep, and then Emily’s gone from the window. Katie’s head appears a second later, with a bit of a smirk when she sees him.
He grins up at her. “Awright, babe?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” She says it with smirk still intact, so he knows that she’s quite pleased to see him really. Tit works. Every time. Freddie doesn’t know shit.
“Come to make your dreams come true. Told you, didn’t I?”
“Stupid tosser,” she says, but she’s laughing, and then she disappears from the window, about the same time as Emily comes out the front door, wrapped in her duvet.
Naomi beams when she sees her, like practically lights up. It’s a bit pathetic actually. “We cames to tell you that I loves you. And that I’m drunks. Oh yeah, and lips,” she says.
Any look of anger that Emily had fades with a shake of her head and she wraps Naomi in the duvet and calls her a twat before kissing her on the nose.
“Fuck’s sake, can’t you two stop doing that for five cunting minutes? You’re disgusting, honestly,” Katie calls from the doorway.
Emily responds with a flick of her middle finger and proceeds to kiss Naomi properly this time.
Katie makes a gagging sound, before walking over to him, and holy shit, she’s wearing heels. Fuck, does she ever take those things off? He opens his arms wide to greet her, but she stops short.
“What the fuck is that? Ew, Cook, you smell like a fucking brewery.”
No shit, he thinks, he’s just come from the pub, right little genius her, ain’t she? But then, of course, he forgot about Naomi tipping that fucking pint down his top. If she’s stopped him getting a shag then they are going to have to have some fucking words, cause a joke's a joke, fine, but if it gets in the way of him getting some then he won’t be laughing much. “Don’t worry about that Katiekins, I’ll take it off,” and he does, pulling his shirt off and chucking it on the driveway. “Better?”
Katie does another of those little smirks, and Cook’s beginning to realise it’s fucking hot, when she does that. “Right, well, I think I’ve got an old top of Danny’s that you could borrow, you can help me look,” and she turns to head back inside.
“See you, lesbos!” Cook shouts at Naomi and Emily, still huddled together in their duvet, and he can hear Emily grumble something about it being her fucking room too and how Katie’s a fucking bitch, and that Naomi's breath stinks but he doesn’t hang around for long, because Katie’s looking impatient now, and he’s not exactly in the mood to hang around either.
He’s totally scored.
Part 5