It's Luau Time
Who: Faith Lehane
When: Day 38, Night: The Luau
Where: Camp Crash II
Invited: Everyone
Status: Complete (action moved to another thread ( Read more... )
When: Day 38, Night: The Luau
Where: Camp Crash II
Invited: Everyone
Status: Complete (action moved to another thread ( Read more... )
"Of course," Ami grinned back, then turned to Scott. "I'll lead. All you have to do is hold me. Is that that torturous?"
Scott obediently folded Ami into his arms. "No, ma'am." As long as he focused on how good Ami's body felt against his, Scott could forget about others' eyes on them and how the beat that Ami so easily followed utterly escaped him.
The iPod supplying the music must have been on shuffle because the next song was a jarring contrast: classic 80's Beastie Boys "Brass Monkey." Scott and Ami chuckled and groaned, but continued "dancing."
"Wooooo YEAH!" Dean shouted. He swaggered on the the dance floor, gesturing with his bottle of whatever and singing along. The demon hunter reveled in the attention his moonwalking garnered.
"I thought you only liked mullet rock, Dean!" someone shouted.
Dean set his bottle down in the sand on the far side of the woven mats. "I make exceptions." Then he started doing some breakdancing footwork.
Ami and Scott watched, grinning, as Dean's act continued. Sam shouted, "You're showing your age, Dean!" Dean flipped him off, then launched into some spins.
Scott had to hand it to the elder Winchester. He was pretty good, but his windmill needed work. Fortunately for Dean, the windmill was Scott's specialty. "Back in a sec," he told his wife. Then Scott strode over to the flailing faux breakdancer before he lost his nerve.
"Whoa, Dean, stop," Scott called as Dean toppled over. "You gotta keep your elbows in."
"Yeah?" Dean jumped to his feet with atheletic ease. He gestured at the mat semi-seriously. "Show me."
Scott smirked. "All right." After taking a moment to stretch, he did a handstand, then dropped down spinning into a windmill. Other than a few joints complaining, he felt 13 again.
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"Stupid ass rhythmless drunken white boys need to sit down." Faith's body shook as she laughed from her perch in Daniel's lap. Her dark hair tickled Daniel's nose and cheek and he just barely restrained the urge to nuzzle her mane of hair.
Daniel took a drink from his cup in order to distract himself. Whatever it was, and he was placing a lot of trust in the Doctors to simply drink it at face value, it was warm and fruity and only mildly alcoholic. Daniel considered the latter very fortunate, otherwise he might have been out on the floor like Dean and Scott, or trying to philosophize to a captured audience, or - worse.
Worse was sitting comfortably in his lap and had been since he deposited her there. Faith clearly had no intentions of leaving any time soon, but then again, Faith thought that she'd won; maybe she had the last few rounds, Daniel certainly wasn't turning away her charms anymore. He just hadn't made up his mind how far he wanted to let this game go, or if he wanted it to go beyond a game.
"So, whaddya say, Danny?" Faith met his gaze over the rim of his cup, "Wanna show them how it's done?"
"No, I'm not that drunk." Daniel raised his eyebrows in inquiry, "But I suppose that recreational dance is part of the Slayer package?"
"Nah, that's part of the Faith package." With acrobatic ease, Faith was on her feet in a flash and Daniel felt oddly bereft. She gave him a wink and moved her body in a little hip shimmy that caused several heads to turn in her direction. The shimmy was topped with an undulating roll of her back and abdomen that made Daniel hastily take another drink from his cup.
"I got maaad skillz," Faith licked her lips, her mouth turned up in a salacious grin. Extending her arms over her head stretched her torso quite attractively, and the added chest flex and hip bump made quite the show. Daniel didn't try to hide the appreciative smile that turned up his mouth, nor the ways his eyes climbed up her body.
Wiggling her fingers at him, Faith beckoned him to his feet. "C'mon and dance with me, Daniel."
Daniel moved his eyes from her face to her fingers and back again. Then he clasped her offered hand and in response to her triumphant grin, gave her a tug back toward him. Faith landed more gracefully than even an Olympic gymnast, turning in mid-tug to settle into the vee between his legs.
This time Daniel did nuzzle her hair, inhaling the woodsy scent of her. Nosing her hair aside, Daniel spoke into her ear, "No thank you, I'm quite comfortable right here."
Faith leaned back into him, turning her head just enough to catch his eyes, enough for their mouths to be within leaning distance of touching. Her familiar, husky timbre carried to his ears, "Yeah, me too."
Daniel's eyes drifted to her lips and lingered there. Mouth suddenly dry, all Daniel could see were her lips and he wondered if they were as soft as they looked, how they would taste -
BARK!
The sudden presence of several pounds of golden fur bouncing across his - and by default Faith's - lap made Daniel jerk back before he consciously registered that he'd even leaned forward.
Orrie chased a large, fat buzzing bug around them, jumping in the air with excited yelps as she attempted to catch the critter in her jaws. Her chase took her across their laps once more before she bounded off in another direction, full of puppy enthusiasm.
Saved by the bark, Daniel thought. He lifted his cup to his mouth to hide the hot blush that slowly crawled up his neck and face. A disappointed frown formed as he lowered the cup, "I think I need a refill."
Or given what had almost happened, maybe not.
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Stephen grabbed himself a drink and looked around the grouping. He gave a nod to Susan, but he figured Marcus would occupy most of her time. A quick calculation of couples and the like left Stephen with one option, and that was dance with himself.
Stephen began swaying to the music, only taking a quick moment to get an idea on the basic beat. He had to shake his head at the other gentlemen. Dancing like that only ended up in very old holo-vids and Stephen wasn't about to try and emulate it.
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Frank shook his head at the music and the dancing, "Some things should remain in the 80s." Frank took a swig of his drink and just leaned against a tree. No way was anyone getting him out on the dance floor unless she was incredibly hot.
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He watched the "dancing" and debated whether to sabotage the music in an attempt to save his senses from self-destruction, but decided that it was a lost cause. At the stage, the bottle of whisky - purple, but tasted close enough and his voice was back to normal(ish) - was a far better bet.
"Some things should remain in the 80s."
Looked like he wasn't the only one then, though he couldn't remember this other bloke's name for the life of him. Still, it was good to hear someone condemning whateverthehellthatwas as if it was a dead and dusted part of history. Maybe there was a bright side to this island, he thought. He might come out of this experience having skipped a couple of decades' worth of really bad music.
Gene sighted a nice, comfortable log with his name on it and staggered closer.
"You say that like it gets better someday. Good news to my aching ears, that is. This crap sounds like it was written by the bastard offspring of a tone deaf walrus and an alarm clock." He took a swig for sanity, then remembered his nibbles. "Jellybaby?"
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He does take a handfull of nibbles, "Thanks. I should probably find the food soon, but I don't think I've had enough alcohol to really appreciate a good pig roast."
Frank offered his hand, "Frank Parker. I was the big crash a few days ago in the wee hours of the morning. The big blue ball on the outskirts of town is mine."
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He waved towards the dance mats, then squinted. Was that Tyler getting friendly over there? The last time he'd seen Tyler on a dance floor he'd gotten all excited over so-called celebrities. Gene hadn't been too impressed himself, but the views were excellent - as was this one. Nice looking bird, he supposed, but hopefully this one wouldn't drug the divv, handcuff him to his bed and take naughty photos.
(Sammy boy - and Gene *face!palm* - dancing *lol*)
"Does the name Marc Bolan mean anything to you?"
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The last question has Frank scanning his useless stores of knowledge. The man has a photographic memory. What goes in, stays in. Frank closed his eyes a moment, "Songwriter and guitarist from the 70s, right? T Rex and Ride a White Swan... At least that's about all I remember." He could probably recite the lyrics to a couple of songs, and give more information but at the moment he'll leave it with that.
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"Nice to meet you, and I agree. There is no such thing as enough alcohol."
"Carry on, Lieutenant," is offered in a dry, amused tone. This was a party, after all. "Detective..."
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Frank then turned back to Gene, "Well it seems I will definitely be having way more. That sounded rather like an order and I can't well go against a direct order, now can I?" Admittedly this was one order that Frank wouldn't have a single problem obeying.
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River had refilled their drinks mere moments earlier, and using the hand that wasn't lightly stroking the bare skin of her upper arm, Daniel took several long swallows from his cup before answering her. "He looks a little lonely, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you remedied his lack of a dance partner."
"Danny, are you tryin' to get rid of me?"
"No, but I know that you've been itching to dance all night. I'm certainly not going to monopolize you."
"You know that dancin' ain't the only itch that I need scratched," Faith rolled her hips just so, her free hand squeezing Daniel's oh-so-muscular thigh. The man rewarded her with a slight, quick inhalation of breath, his hand briefly tightening around her upper arm.
"Yes, I'm well aware." Daniel's warm fingertips left a trail of goose bumps up her arm and along her shoulder and the bared skin of her neck when he pushed her hair aside. His breath was warm against her ear and Faith's smile widened when she felt the lightest and softest of kisses against the side of her throat.
Faith's head rolled to the side, allowing him free access to her neck. She reached up and sank her fingers into his soft hair. Her eyes fluttered close.
Then, Faith jerked abruptly, pulling away so that she could look into Daniel's stunned and surprised eyes. "Yo, Danny, are you drunk?" He was definitely flushed and his eyes, missing the glasses that usually graced his face, didn't have their trademark clarity.
"Does it matter?" The husky, teasing voice was definitely nothing that Faith had ever heard from Daniel before.
"Yeah, 'cause I don't want you drunk. That'd be too much like -"
"Taking advantage." Daniel finished the sentence with her. There was absolutely nothing innocent about the roguish grin on his face. If there had been, Faith would have only needed to look at his slightly hooded eyes to know that she finally had Dr. Daniel Jackson right where she wanted him.
"I know that's not your modus operandi, Faith." Daniel's fingers caressed her collarbone and the patch of bare skin just above the hollow between her breasts. "I'm pleasantly inebriated, but I sincerely promise you that I'm still in full possession of all my faculties."
"Yeah?" Faith tilted her head to study him. Despite the clear flush from the alcohol, he sounded like Daniel.
"Yes."
"All right then." Faith hooked a hand behind his head, and pulled him down for a kiss.
Only to be intercepted by Daniel drawing back and pressing two fingertips against her lips. "Let's get out of here."
Faith grinned and sprang to her feet, "Whatever you want."
"Be careful, Faith. You might make a promise that you can't keep." Daniel gave her a wink.
"I never make promises that I can't keep," Faith leered, sidling up to him and grabbing his left butt cheek through his jeans. "Never, Danny."
With a laugh, Daniel captured her hand in his, and pulled her along beside him. "That sounds like a challenge to me."
"Bring it."
EXIT DANIEL AND FAITH
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Gene grinned broadly, a loud wolf whistle blaring into the night as sexy knickers (well, one of them) and the big cheese made a bid for privacy.
"Oi oi! Mind y'selves now, playing hide n seek in the dark like that.."
He cut himself short with the realisation that his voice was getting higher and higher. Patted himself down: all present, correct and - thank god - his clothes still fit. He glanced at the label on his current tipple. It weren't in any alphabet he'd even seen before, so he stomped over to one of those nutters travelling in a police box.
"What the bleeding -" Hunt lowered his voice to a whisper. "What the hell is this shit? More importantly, how long am I going to sound like Wee Willy bloody Winkle?"
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"Sounds like Herovoxian Grubart. It's a bit like champagne, only the Herovoxian's atmosphere is mostly helium. It'll wear off in a few minutes. But you have to admit it tastes amazing."
Rose was still chuckling. "You could have given some warning, yeah?"
"Now where's the fun in that?" The Doctor winked at her, then grinned at himself... his older self. The It was a good thing he'd left the really hard stuff back on the TARDIS.
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Stomping off to find a corner where he could wait for the booze to wear off, Hunt passed the so-called dance floor.
"I've seen bodies with rigor mortis pulling better moves than that," he snarled - or tried to.
Time to head back to the assorted crates of alcohol. There had to be something in that pile that he could wash that Hexi..grubby.. whatever it was down with!
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