Still Bros

Disclaimer: Nope.

Summary: Malik and Pascal are totally just bros, even when they get drunk in divey bars and end up working off their sexual frustration instead.

AN: So this was a random thought of mine and became a dare from a friend instead, and before I know it I've written the only Malik x Pascal in existence. I am the only person in the world who is going to enjoy this. Whoops.

"Fancy meeting you here."

They meet in a bar. It's nothing special; it's not great but it's not the diviest place Pascal's ever been in. It's not even the worst place she's ever had a drink in but she'll put money on the captain having experienced much, much worse in terms of drinking dives.

Halfway through a fifth, Malik looks up. It could be his first, it could be his fourth. Pascal doesn't have a clue.

"Fancy that," he agrees.

Pascal slides into the stool next to him and waves a hand.

"Hey, bartender? I'll match him," she offers and puts down a few gald. She's rewarded with a glass full to the brim of sloshing amber liquid, and Pascal clinks the bottom against the rim of Malik's nearly empty one.

"You sure that's a good idea?" he asks her idly, sounding more interested than concerned. "You don't know how long I've been here."

Pascal shrugs and downs the entire thing, relishes the burn of the alcohol down her throat.

"Friends who drink together, stay together," she offers him simply. "How much catching up have I got to do?"

Malik shakes his head. "Better get started." He polishes off the last sip of his and pushes the glass forward. "Another, please? And for my friend, of course." When his request is rewarded, he continues, "If that's the case, where're the rest of our merry men and women?" Again, Pascal shrugs.

She likes sitting around and walking around and making nice but sometimes she wants to get a little sloshed and shoot the shit and when that happens, she seeks out Malik. They get along well, she thinks, and it's not hard to hang out with him, even after a few drinks. Especially after a few drinks, she amends cheerily in her head. Malik's always fun and she doesn't have to think too hard when she's with him.

"Hey, Captain Malik?" Pascal asks when she's on her third and feels sufficiently tipsy to ask. He's a huge jerk, because even though she's supposed to be catching up, he's matching her, and that's totally unfair because he got a head start.

"Yeah?"

"Can you sing that song?"

Malik goes very, very still and Pascal bumps him gently with her shoulder.

"It's pretty," she tells him, "And I like your voice." He doesn't respond. "I remember how it goes," she offers, "I could sing it with you. Or—or start it. Or something." Their glasses are empty and this time she's the one to push them forward. It doesn't always go this route; depending on the captain's mood he might not even need her to ask at all, sometimes he'll refuse. Sometimes he just buries his face in his hands and drinks more than he was expecting and Pascal helps him back to the inn or wherever they're staying that night and makes sure he's asleep and under the blankets before she leaves.

That doesn't happen often.

Far more common is Pascal falling asleep at the bar and somehow waking up in the morning where she should with little more than some light sensitivity for her trouble and the captain waves off her thanks until she stops doing it entirely.

"It's okay," Pascal says when it's clear that this is going to be one of those nights that he won't sing for her, "Nevermind. Let's just get a couple of those little umbrellas in our drinks next time, okay?" She's a little disappointed, to be honest; she really does love his voice. It's warm and deep and makes her feel super comfortable. None of her other friends have a voice like his even though they're all adults, just like she is.

Malik stares at her for so long that Pascal feels decidedly uncomfortable, and then surprisingly, the sides of his lips tilt upwards and he slings a companionable arm around her shoulders. It's heavy and Pascal preens into it, feeling happy and pleasantly swooshy even as she hooks her own arm around his waist.

Having a drinking buddy is awesome, she thinks.

Pascal stops thinking when Malik starts singing, his voice a warm, honeyed croon that echoes through the quiet bar and makes it even quieter as the few, few patrons silence to listen to him. His arm around her, she leans in closer and adjusts his slack, inattentive hand to curl comfortably at her upper arm. Malik tilts his head and rests his cheek on her hair, and Pascal can feel his voice just like she can hear it.

By the time his song is finished, there are two more drinks in front of them, this time with little umbrellas popped into them, regardless of how stupid it is to have umbrellas in glasses of straight up whiskey.

"On the house," the bartender says with a smile, "For the lovers."

Pascal snorts under Malik's chin.

"Lovers?" she asks incredulously, "Nah! We're bros. Right, captain?" Her grin's pretty sloppy, as is Malik's thumbs up a hair too late to be completely sober.

"That's right," he says, "Bros."

"We're awesome bros, right?"

"Hell yes."

The bartender sends them funny looks like he doesn't believe a single word but goes back to work with a wry shake of his head as Pascal amuses herself with the only cage she's ever been willing to sit in. Malik's humming and running his fingers idly up and down her arm; it tickles but in a fun way, not the laughing-but-it's-not-funny-at-all way.

"Bros, Pascal?"

She jolts a little and peers up at him through snowy, unbrushed bangs.

"Duh."

"I see."

And that's that, Pascal's pleased to say. They sit in silence until closing time just like that. She doesn't move away and Captain Malik doesn't take his arm away. In fact, the only time he bothers to move at all is when they have to leave, and that's only to manually put on Pascal's coat for her, maneuvering her arms through the sleeves with experience even though he's clearly intoxicated.

"Hey, hey Malik?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm kinda drunk."

"Me too."

"Are you schwasted?"

"A little."

"Me too."

The inn's pretty far and the snow keeps tripping them up. Pascal giggles at nothing through most of the walk and keeps her arm firmly around Malik's waist, otherwise she might fall over. In fact, it's too damn far.

"Hey, Malik, you should carry me back to the inn."

He snorts.

"Hell no. If I have to walk back, you have to walk back." Pascal whines a little and slaps him on the shoulder but laughs when he laughs, because she's super drunk and everything's funny when she's drunk. Apparently she's funny when he's drunk too, because he laughs and stomps hard to make footprints in the snow, crunching like cornstarch.

"Why don't we just not?" The sharp cold's sobered Pascal up a little despite it all and she points to a building lit up a little ways away. "That one's closer and we've got the money. We'll go meet the others in the morning; it'll be fine." Malik looks like he's mulling over the pros (all of the pros!) and cons (what cons?) but his desire for a bed and to not be walking wins out over propriety and they steer each other toward the second inn.

The lady at the desk looks up when they enter and she takes one look at Pascal's flushed cheeks and the captain's arm around her before she's ringing them up for a shared room. Well, Pascal doesn't give a crap; it'll be cheaper and she can sleep anywhere. It beat camping! Besides, most rooms had two beds, right?

Drunk logic is awesome logic.

Malik pays her and takes the key, and when they open the door, Pascal realizes that, not for the first time or the last, drunk logic has failed her.

There's one bed.

One very small bed, big enough for one person or two if they're close friends. Probably closer friends than Malik and Pascal can call themselves.

They stand in the doorway and stare blankly at it, and Pascal wonders if the rules for drinking bros ever anticipated that. After a moment of deliberation, Malik draws himself up straight.

"Stay here," he says, "I'll go down and ask for a second room-"

"No, dude, forget it." Pascal speaks without thinking and Malik stares at her. Pascal stares him down. "It's late and there's a festival going on, remember? She probably gave us this one because there weren't any more. I can sleep anywhere, just chuck me a pillow and the floor will be fine."

Malik scowls.

"Not a chance. I'll take the floor."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"No."

"Ye—no!" Pascal sputters and smacks him on the shoulder, and the captain sniggers under his breath. Ass. "If you refuse to take the bed and I refuse to take the bed, lets just share. It's goddamn cold anyway."

He snorts.

"Godamn cold?" he prods.

"Goddamn cold," Pascal repeats and feels proud of herself when she pushes her friend into the room with her foot. "Come on~" she says with a tantalizing waggle of her fingers that means nothing, "You've got to be warm as balls. It'll be great! Like survival camp."

Malik sighs and sets their things on the floor and Pascal strips off her coat, only to pause.

"Aw, crud."

"What is it?"

She frowns.

"No pjs."

Malik shrugs, looks over his own ensemble, and then strips down to his civvies without a word or a blush. Pascal glares at him and he raises one eyebrow at her over his shoulder.

"Second room?"

She glares harder but can't hold it, mostly becase she's drunk but also because she's taking a few seconds to admire Malik's back muscles. They're pretty nice. She shouldn't be surprised, really; he's a military guy who keeps up with his training and he's had forty or so years to get those muscles?

Daaaaang.

"Excuse me?"

Oh, oops. Apparently she said that aloud. Pascal shakes her head, shrugs, and then strips down to her underclothes without thinking too hard about it. She's got no problem with her body or with not wearing clothes in mixed company. Maybe if it were Hubert or something she'd care but it'd be mostly for his benefit; he's so uptight sometimes that Pascal genuinely worries about him, but Malik? They're bros. Besides, she got a pretty nice eyeful, right?

Might as well give him one too if he wants it.

Bros and all.

He cocks an eyebrow in her direction but slides into bed anyway. Pascal follows him and relishes the feeling of sheets and at at least two comforters on top of her bare skin. It is gonna be a furnace in here tonight and it is gonna feel awesome. Not only that but Malik's only a few inches away and super warm too, and Pascal takes those inches to sidle up next to him, then to fling her arm over his middle.

"Can I help you, 'bro'?"

Pascal prods him deliberately with a fingertip.

"You have nice abs," she says with a shameless grin and receives a snort in response. She also receives a familiar arm slipping around her shoulders, the same as earlier but different, probably because of the lack of clothing.

"Thank you."

Pascal doesn't have to look to see his grin, she can feel it hovering over her skin, and she was totally right; Malik is ridiculously warm. For a while they lay there in silence, Pascal gloriously tanked and Malik less so but probably more than he'd like to be. At least until Pascal opens her mouth again.

"That lady totally thought we were gonna do it."

"Probably."

A pause before he continued.

"So did the bartender."

"Probably."

Silence again.

"Want to make them right?" Malik asks casually as he scratches patterns into Pascal's shoulder and his other hand rests at her hipline. Pascal thinks for maybe half a second. Why the fuck not?

And kisses him.

It's a nice kiss even though it's totally a drunk one. Pascal gets herself thoroughly acquainted with Malik's lips for a few minutes, a peck here and a peck there and then a longer one that ends openmouthed with Malik's hand splayed out on her cheek, pulling her even closer to him in this very small bed. Pascal drinks him in and gives plenty back, especially when he takes her lower lip between his teeth and gives it a gentle nip. Pascal likes kissing him a lot, likes that she can taste the alcohol on his tongue, likes that he'd rather do things right than quickly.

Cheria'd be horrified at any of this and Pascal can just hear the lecture, which is why she's currently in bed with the captain and Cheria isn't. Cheria's not the one leisurely kissing an equally smashed Malik, and it is a damn good thing because Pascal's pretty happy where she is.

"Still bros?" she asks when he pulls away for a second.

"Still bros," he replies absently and even in the darkness she can see him lick his lips like he can still taste her. "Still good?"

"Hell yes."

"Good." And he proceeds to go back to kissing her, this time with added fondling, because at some point one of his hands traveled up her bra and his fingers are currently running circles around her nipple, squeezing and tweaking. Pascal rolls her eyes and reaches around to unhook it and then flings it across the room. She's not disappointed with the skin to skin contact, with firm muscles that she enjoys maybe as much as he likes her boobs right now, or the hard line that she can feel pressing into her hip.

It is a beautiful time to be alive.

"What?"

Whoops, she must have said that aloud too.

Oh well.

Pascal repeats herself for Malik's benefit, grins, and then giggles helplessly when the fingers teasing her nipples to hardness become a warm tongue and the gentle scrape of teeth, and she cants her hips into his as a reward. He tenses, grumbles a little, and hooks her ankle in his. His beard is kinda scratchy and Pascal says so.

"I think you gave me beard burn."

"What a tragedy," he quips, "However shall I make it up to you?"

"I thought you'd never ask. How about a little more?" Pascal gets her wish in the form of firm, increasingly familiar lips pressing insistently to hers and this time she opens her mouth immediately. She's too smashed and sleepy for urgency but she's known for years now that she was a horny drunk so this was only a matter or time. Maybe not necessarily with Malik, perhaps, but Pascal isn't surprised by this at all. Not a surprise at all, she repeats to herself as she twines her arms around his neck in a hug.

A really dirty, makeout-filled hug.

Pascal likes those.

"Want me to get you off?" she offers a few minutes later when she pull away. If she looks anything at all like what she can see of Captain Malik in the near-darkness, she's dazed-looking and kiss-bruised and dark-eyed, and she knows the answer before it's out of her mouth. His hips twitch against hers and Pascal slips a hand right down his underwear, grips him at the base, and slides her hand down. He's big, she notes even though she can't see, and hard, and there's some wetness at the tip that's probably been soaking the front of his pants.

Malik groans and she grins.

"Good?" she asks, "Faster, slower?"

"F-faster," he says with only a slight stammer, "Won't last long drunk anyway."

Pascal can empathize. She hasn't gotten a chance to touch herself yet but she can feel the moisture between her legs and literally the only thing she is doing after she gets him off is to finish off herself, and then roll over to sleep. Nevertheless she does as he says because this is not the time to be torturing one's partner, rubbing and stroking and circling his shaft until he hisses a warning into her mouth and comes all over her hand, fucking the circle of her fingers until there's nothing left.

Pascal pulls her hand out of his pants, stares at it critically, and then licks it.

She makes a face and Malik hands her a towel, looking faintly mortified.

"I didn't ask you to taste it," he says and Pascal wipes her hand off anyway.

"Whatevs," she replies and wriggles her hips, fully intending on taking the two minutes she needs to get herself off...

And is stopped by Malik's larger hand grabbing her by the wrist.

"Let me," he says calmly and pushes aside the fabric of her panties. Pascal hisses a little when he slips a finger inside her, spreading her legs for him for better access. He pulls the finger out then pushes it back in, fucking her slowly at first then speeding up, adding the pad of his thumb to her clit to coax a pitching moan from her throat. "Good?"

"Hell yes," she hisses and rolls her hips in time to his thrusts. Neither of them have the energy or the motivation for anything more but Pascal imagines that instead of his finger it's his cock instead, hard and heavy, imagines how it'd feel inside her, stretching her and filling her until there wasn't any room for anything else, how it'd feel when he pulled out, pushed back inside. She imagines gentle thrusts at first and then quick snaps of his hips until she's crying out, and that's all it takes for her to come on his fingers with a bone-deep shudder. "Holy shit."

"Yep."

Now thoroughly exhausted, Pascal ignores her bra on the floor and flops next to Malik, curling into him. A heavy arm slings around her and holds; the other pets her hair. She blinks dazedly, sated and comfortable and already mere moments away from sleep, when Malik speaks, his words a rumble in his chest.

"Still bros?"

"Still bros," she confirms, punches him in the shoulder, and then rolls over to go to sleep. "Cool?"

"Cool."

And that's that.

AN2: Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please shoot me a review or a PM, I'd love to hear from you. If you think I'm insane for writing this shit, you'd be right and you should totally tell me anyway.