I decided to write this, because I could. I really like Cana, and making a Cana-centric story seems like a very appealing concept to me at this point in time, and I want to share it with you. Yes, this is a CaLa fic, in case you haven't read the description. This will most likely be a one-shot, or maybe a two-shot if I feel like it.
Warnings: Has some language, and mentions drinking, in case you don't know who Cana Alberona is.
Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima, not me!
I swallowed something that burned, and would probably dull my sense of the world further than it was then, but hey, isn't that what booze is supposed to do?
My addiction has taken me far, but every so often, I wonder if I were sober, would I be more formidable than tipsy? I often push the notion to the back of my head as someone offers me another drink.
Almost anyone could see that when I had something alcoholic, I was unstoppable…
So why is it that I wonder what sobriety is like?
Throwing back another one, because when these thoughts come around, I'm at my worst, I suppress everything in a shell of buzzed wonders.
Flushed cheeks and irrational actions were what filled my life.
Realizing for the first time in twenty minutes that I had feet, I put them under me and started to walk, making a game of staying upright on the pitching floor, although failing.
Scraped knees and dirty hands were my reward for standing, or whatever I was doing, in the first place. Well, that wasn't what it took to stop me, I was a Fairy Tail mage after all.
Getting into a crouching position, I did my best to straighten myself and begin my battle with gravity once again.
Make that a war, because it had one enough battles for now.
Sitting upright, I looked at my knees to see why they felt so sticky and hot, and found them red and purple. Pouting, and gingerly rubbing my knees with my raw, and splinter flecked hands, I wondered how much I had gotten that night. More like, what I had gotten.
Maybe it wasn't so smart to take that much alcohol.
Different, larger, scarred, hands pried mine away from my knees, turning my palms upwards.
My first reaction was to jerk back, because who knew who was touching me, but the warm, rough hands trapped me in place. No, they were holding me steady.
I jerked my head upwards, so I could at least see who it was that was touching me.
My eyes met blonde hair and a scarred face, his eyes scanning my hands that hurt more than they should.
"What the hell did you do to yourself? This is a polished floor," he questioned, one eyebrow quirked, but his eyes still on my now bleeding hands.
"The floar 'takked meh," I responded, tongue heavier and more sticky than it should be. He sighed, and put his hand under my knees, the other supporting my back. Grunting as he straightened up, he carried me somewhere at a dizzying height, though it was probably not really that far from the ground.
After a while, I realised he had a warmth coming off of him that sent my thoughts in spirals, and made me want to sleep for once.
Suddenly, he was setting me down all too soon, and I opened my eyes abruptly. I was sitting on a counter in the bathroom, and he had some washcloths that he was dabbing at my knees with.
Whatever was on those washcloths hurt like a bitch, and for the first time, the smell of alcohol was unpleasant to me.
"Yurr sopassed tah drawnk thaht," I pointed out, earning a glance up from the lightning dragon slayer. After a time with no response, he had moved to my hands, where tweezers teased out the small bits of wood that had embedded themselves in my flesh, and were quickly swabbed over with more of the hellfire. I wanted to talk a few times, but I swallowed thickly as an obscenity came to mind at a new jab of pain in my hand from the cleaning treatment.
Bandages went over my hands and knees after a rough rub over from a clean washcloth, and a thick, white ointment was smeared over the cuts, seeming to cool them down.
He picked me up again, and the warmth that he had before was back. Now I could smell the slightest bit of ozone around him, and yet it wasn't an unpleasant dose of the scent.
"Don't be so damn stupid next time," he scolded me as he carried me into the cold night air.
Recognising that he was walking me back to Fairy Hills, I crossed my arms and pouted.
"Imm naht dunnnn yaet," I complained. The man glanced down at me once, and then looked back at the street that he was walking on again. "I sayd, I dunn wanntsta gah humm." I squirmed, causing the dragon slayer to tighten his grip on me.
"You've already gotten yourself hurt tonight, it's time for you to go home," he growled in annoyance.
"Buh eih duwanna," I whined, struggling to get out of his arms childishly. He growled at me, much to my surprise, although it was a bit of a turn-on.
I still didn't want to go home, though. I struggled against his grip some more, eventually escaping his grasp. Scampering out of his reach in a dizzying whirl of limbs and swaying ground, I tripped again. My face met the cold ground in a hard impact. I didn't get up again, and grimaced as I heard heavy footsteps come up beside me.
"Are you done yet?" he asked. I didn't respond with the faint glimmer of hope that he would just leave me alone and quit being so damn responsible for once.
He picked me up in his arms again, and I didn't resist. After another few minutes of walking, my thoughts were a turmoil of fatigue and feelings. I felt my mouth tug down in a small frown. Fairy Hills came into view after a few minutes, and I saw the dragon slayer glance down at me. In my drowsy state, I just looked up at him with bleary eyes.
"Don't mention this to Mira or Erza, okay?" he asked as he stepped into the woman-only dorm. I hummed a response, still taking in his body heat.
He didn't have to ask where the appartment was, because this wasn't the first time he had to walk me home. Once on the second floor, he glanced into the hallway to make sure that nobody was watching, and then strutted into the corridor, where he walked up to my room number (The best dorm ever, 69… Hehe), and unlocked the door with a key he got from his pocket. Yes, it was his key. He had a key. (A/N, I dunno what I was saying, there…)
He walked into the bedroom like he owned the place, and dropped me onto the bed, leaving the room. A moment later, he came back in with a glass of water, and put it into my hands, making sure I wouldn't drop it. Taking a deep drink, I handed him the glass, and he took it back into the other room.
A few seconds later, he came back into the room, but stayed in the door.
"You gonna be okay?" he asked, leaning against the wood. I nodded slowly, but as he started to leave, I took some shaking steps towards him, ignoring the dizzy feeling I was experiencing.
He noticed me coming toward him, and turned around, striding a few feet to stand in front of me. I fell up against him, wrapping my arms around his torso. I inhaled his scent, taking in his heat and the fact he was putting his arms around me too and the way my cheeks went red and I couldn't think straight. He was the most intoxicating thing I know of.
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and picked me up again, carrying me back to the bed. Placing me back down, he retreated to the door again. A few moments later, I could hear the door closing behind him.
I burrowed under the covers, and breathed in deeply, trying to clear my head to no avail. He knew that when he did this sort of thing, I was probably more intoxicated than with any kind of alcohol.
A/N, Hey, guys! what did you think? Maybe you should *cough* review, *cough, cough* please! I do like to receive me 'dem reviews. I am really proud of this story, and so haters gonna hate. I didn't use any names in this story, because for some reason I don't like to say or type Laxus's name. Even now, my irrational fear almost made me stop. You can totally PM me with ideas for stories, but at this point, I have two ongoing. if you have any ideas for those, I would also be happy for that.