Deconstructing Drunk
Title: Drunk
This is probably my most popular one-shot, with the possible exception of Getting It. kenzier asked for commentary like forever ago, in one of those memes that I never end up finishing. So. If there's something else you'd like to see commentary'd, drop me a comment.
Summary: Spike is trashed, and Faye babysits him. I am so lame at summaries.
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop
Word Count: 816
Rating/Warnings: Definite R. Het. Slightly OOC Spike.
Pairing: Spike/Faye
A/N: This happens between Jupiter Jazz Part II and Bohemian Rhapsody. It's random. I was trying to write an angsty songfic, of all things. It was going to be Faye out drinking right after Spike's death, and the song was "Grace Is Gone" by DMB. Yeah, I know. But it mostly got turned into One More Song. Except Spike and Faye had other ideas, which I think are better. This is sort of a different take on Faye than one normally sees, cause I see her as being, quite honestly, a lot like me at times- brash and almost simple on the outside, but with tons of thought playing out behind the scenes. The ending is a little awkward, cause.. well, with the tense and all, it was about to get a lot more awkward. This is back when the only porn I had written was Triptych, which, btw, don't read. I still don't like writing present tense porn, and I'll Be Your Baby Tonight was the only place I really pulled it off. Anyway, on to the good part!
He's drunk.
Maybe that's an understatement. He's well past drunk. Drunk was two hours ago. Drunk has already called it a night and turned in.
I'm not entirely sure that I blame him. Any other night, I'd be right there on the floor with him, fighting for the whiskey. But... not tonight. I don't really know why. Well, I know why, but I'd have to admit it to myself to really know, and I'm not quite prepared to do that right now. So I'm still a little unsettled by... him? her? I don't even know. I just don't want to be alone right now.
I couldn't decide if it was Julia or Gren, because I think that, in the short time she knew them, she really connected with both of them. The ironic thing is that it ended up sounding like she was just talking about Gren, which I guess is fine too.
Even if it means company that is currently engaged in rubbing against my leg.
He's really drunk.
"Shouldn't you be passed out by now?" I ask, more to distract myself than wanting an answer.
He slurs out a response, something trying to be, "I hold my liquor very well, thank you," but failing miserably.
Did I steal this from Terry Pratchett?
A fluffy green head comes to rest on my knee. Oh, hell no. I shake my head at him, which of course he doesn't notice. No. Absolutely not. We are not going to play this game. I try to push him away. I am good. I am noble. I am, more crucially, sober. I will be a good babysitter.
Faye almost never tries to be good, especially in fic. I wanted to give her at least some standards: she'll watch Spike give himself alcohol poisoning, but she won't take advantage of him while he does.
With much less difficulty than it deserves (God, he's still lithe, how is that even possible?), he's sitting next to me, looking me in the eye (how are his eyes clear?), not two inches from my face. "Kiss me," he says. Doesn't really ask. Doesn't quite command. Just says.
I really love parenthetical statements in fiction, but I try to use them as little as possible, because they lose effect if you just use them willy-nilly. I really like them here, though.
He must be drunk.
Especially in my old stuff, there's a hell of a lot of refrain. Honestly, I don't really care for how it worked out in this particular fic, because I feel like it's too short for it to really work. It makes the ending feel really rushed to me.
And while I'm looking at his lips and trying not to, and cursing myself for stupidly vowing not to get involved with him and for not wanting to take advantage of him like this, and wondering what's with my recent nice girl kick, and half hoping he's kidding while desperately praying he's not, and wondering if it's really taking advantage of someone if they ask, he just does. I almost want to laugh; it's so like him. He just does.
This is where Spike starts to get OOC. I was referring to the way he acts normally, the whole "be like water" principle, but this is too big of a decision for him. He really blows at big decisions.
He's far better at kissing than anyone really has a right to be, which is stopping me from pulling back. Or that's my excuse. I'm suddenly conscious of the fact that my hands are on his chest and God it feels good. He sort of growls and pulls me closer, and I want to laugh again, except that this time it's because it's not like him at all.
How drunk is he really?
I didn't have a chance in all this, did I? I lost this game the moment I stepped onto this wreck of a ship. Never had much luck when I wasn't cheating. Maybe it's this thought that makes me pull back. "You're drunk," I tell him. My hand, which is obviously in some conspiracy against me, strays down and brushes against... something. That shouldn't be there. It doesn't register for a moment. Oh, hell.
He notices. Of course. And smirks. "I told you I held my liquor well," he says, triumphant.
I kind of like the unexpected vulgarity of this. It's very Bebop, I think.
Always a pompous ass. Except that I forget to think that, because now he's picked me up and is carrying me off. I always thought that was a cliche. Apparently not.
God, there's a lot of pepperjack cheese in this fic.
And the wheels are starting to turn. How long ago did he finish that bottle? Does he just enjoy sitting on the floor? But there's little room for logical thought when he sets me gently (why was I expecting to bounce?) on his bed.
Why is he not drunk?
The answer is that it was only a half a bottle to start with, and even that was half water. This is Bebop, after all.
This is far past the point where I'm supposed to have made some cutting remark. He's supposed to suddenly remember that I'm not little miss perfectly tragic, whatever the hell her name is (yes I know very well her name is Julia, and I do not give a good goddamn).
I go back and forth between loving and hating this line. I think it fits her, but I don't think it's very well written.
However, at this moment, I'm not quite interested in doing that. And I'm not quite interested in any promises I may or may not have made to myself or to anyone else.
By now he's on the bed, or really on me, and my top is on the floor, my suspenders in the vague region of my ankles. And I'm slightly disturbed by the fact that I seem to have completely forgotten about being good, and, furthermore, I don't care. Cause it isn't a fantasy that's touching me, kissing his way down my body. This is real. And I'm trying to remind myself, because this doesn't happen.
My head is spinning, and I don't care, I don't care at all. Don't care if it doesn't make sense, don't care about losing, don't care about giving in. In fact, I'm smiling bigger than Ed, who I really didn't need to think about right now.
I had to get a joke in there somewhere.
I'm going to enjoy this, because this is mine. It's better than whiskey.
There should be more here. I don't really care for the way it ends so quickly, but I did have to get out before it got porny, because that would have been all ass backwards.
Why do I feel so drunk?
This is probably my most popular one-shot, with the possible exception of Getting It. kenzier asked for commentary like forever ago, in one of those memes that I never end up finishing. So. If there's something else you'd like to see commentary'd, drop me a comment.
Summary: Spike is trashed, and Faye babysits him. I am so lame at summaries.
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop
Word Count: 816
Rating/Warnings: Definite R. Het. Slightly OOC Spike.
Pairing: Spike/Faye
A/N: This happens between Jupiter Jazz Part II and Bohemian Rhapsody. It's random. I was trying to write an angsty songfic, of all things. It was going to be Faye out drinking right after Spike's death, and the song was "Grace Is Gone" by DMB. Yeah, I know. But it mostly got turned into One More Song. Except Spike and Faye had other ideas, which I think are better. This is sort of a different take on Faye than one normally sees, cause I see her as being, quite honestly, a lot like me at times- brash and almost simple on the outside, but with tons of thought playing out behind the scenes. The ending is a little awkward, cause.. well, with the tense and all, it was about to get a lot more awkward. This is back when the only porn I had written was Triptych, which, btw, don't read. I still don't like writing present tense porn, and I'll Be Your Baby Tonight was the only place I really pulled it off. Anyway, on to the good part!
He's drunk.
Maybe that's an understatement. He's well past drunk. Drunk was two hours ago. Drunk has already called it a night and turned in.
I'm not entirely sure that I blame him. Any other night, I'd be right there on the floor with him, fighting for the whiskey. But... not tonight. I don't really know why. Well, I know why, but I'd have to admit it to myself to really know, and I'm not quite prepared to do that right now. So I'm still a little unsettled by... him? her? I don't even know. I just don't want to be alone right now.
I couldn't decide if it was Julia or Gren, because I think that, in the short time she knew them, she really connected with both of them. The ironic thing is that it ended up sounding like she was just talking about Gren, which I guess is fine too.
Even if it means company that is currently engaged in rubbing against my leg.
He's really drunk.
"Shouldn't you be passed out by now?" I ask, more to distract myself than wanting an answer.
He slurs out a response, something trying to be, "I hold my liquor very well, thank you," but failing miserably.
Did I steal this from Terry Pratchett?
A fluffy green head comes to rest on my knee. Oh, hell no. I shake my head at him, which of course he doesn't notice. No. Absolutely not. We are not going to play this game. I try to push him away. I am good. I am noble. I am, more crucially, sober. I will be a good babysitter.
Faye almost never tries to be good, especially in fic. I wanted to give her at least some standards: she'll watch Spike give himself alcohol poisoning, but she won't take advantage of him while he does.
With much less difficulty than it deserves (God, he's still lithe, how is that even possible?), he's sitting next to me, looking me in the eye (how are his eyes clear?), not two inches from my face. "Kiss me," he says. Doesn't really ask. Doesn't quite command. Just says.
I really love parenthetical statements in fiction, but I try to use them as little as possible, because they lose effect if you just use them willy-nilly. I really like them here, though.
He must be drunk.
Especially in my old stuff, there's a hell of a lot of refrain. Honestly, I don't really care for how it worked out in this particular fic, because I feel like it's too short for it to really work. It makes the ending feel really rushed to me.
And while I'm looking at his lips and trying not to, and cursing myself for stupidly vowing not to get involved with him and for not wanting to take advantage of him like this, and wondering what's with my recent nice girl kick, and half hoping he's kidding while desperately praying he's not, and wondering if it's really taking advantage of someone if they ask, he just does. I almost want to laugh; it's so like him. He just does.
This is where Spike starts to get OOC. I was referring to the way he acts normally, the whole "be like water" principle, but this is too big of a decision for him. He really blows at big decisions.
He's far better at kissing than anyone really has a right to be, which is stopping me from pulling back. Or that's my excuse. I'm suddenly conscious of the fact that my hands are on his chest and God it feels good. He sort of growls and pulls me closer, and I want to laugh again, except that this time it's because it's not like him at all.
How drunk is he really?
I didn't have a chance in all this, did I? I lost this game the moment I stepped onto this wreck of a ship. Never had much luck when I wasn't cheating. Maybe it's this thought that makes me pull back. "You're drunk," I tell him. My hand, which is obviously in some conspiracy against me, strays down and brushes against... something. That shouldn't be there. It doesn't register for a moment. Oh, hell.
He notices. Of course. And smirks. "I told you I held my liquor well," he says, triumphant.
I kind of like the unexpected vulgarity of this. It's very Bebop, I think.
Always a pompous ass. Except that I forget to think that, because now he's picked me up and is carrying me off. I always thought that was a cliche. Apparently not.
God, there's a lot of pepperjack cheese in this fic.
And the wheels are starting to turn. How long ago did he finish that bottle? Does he just enjoy sitting on the floor? But there's little room for logical thought when he sets me gently (why was I expecting to bounce?) on his bed.
Why is he not drunk?
The answer is that it was only a half a bottle to start with, and even that was half water. This is Bebop, after all.
This is far past the point where I'm supposed to have made some cutting remark. He's supposed to suddenly remember that I'm not little miss perfectly tragic, whatever the hell her name is (yes I know very well her name is Julia, and I do not give a good goddamn).
I go back and forth between loving and hating this line. I think it fits her, but I don't think it's very well written.
However, at this moment, I'm not quite interested in doing that. And I'm not quite interested in any promises I may or may not have made to myself or to anyone else.
By now he's on the bed, or really on me, and my top is on the floor, my suspenders in the vague region of my ankles. And I'm slightly disturbed by the fact that I seem to have completely forgotten about being good, and, furthermore, I don't care. Cause it isn't a fantasy that's touching me, kissing his way down my body. This is real. And I'm trying to remind myself, because this doesn't happen.
My head is spinning, and I don't care, I don't care at all. Don't care if it doesn't make sense, don't care about losing, don't care about giving in. In fact, I'm smiling bigger than Ed, who I really didn't need to think about right now.
I had to get a joke in there somewhere.
I'm going to enjoy this, because this is mine. It's better than whiskey.
There should be more here. I don't really care for the way it ends so quickly, but I did have to get out before it got porny, because that would have been all ass backwards.
Why do I feel so drunk?