For the Fallout Kink Meme, in response to the following: I'm humbly requesting angst fic. Preferably over the subject of love, but I will take anything. You can end it any way you like, happy or sad. Any characters.
It is vaguely a follow-up to "The Bottom of the Glass", and while there are probably a few middle stories, they haven't been written yet.
She might have been in love once. Might have had someone. She couldn't really remember anymore. The whiskey wouldn't let her. But that was the point, wasn't it? The whiskey kept her past blissfully blank, except when she thought too hard.
But she wasn't thinking, now.
His hands were clumsy as he unbuttoned her blouse and spread it. His face was greedy as he took in her bare chest. He groped and grabbed, his smile lopsided and drunk. She couldn't watch this. Couldn't participate now, though she'd initiated it.
She looked away, let her mind drift elsewhere. She imagined a graceful man, a man who didn't waste a single movement. His identity teased the edges of her thoughts, but she couldn't quite remember.
The damned whiskey.
His clumsy hands were on her belt, unfastening it, and then her pants. He drew them down over her legs, and she didn't fight him. She had started this, and she was going to see it through. She needed this, though she couldn't bring herself to encourage him. She needed this so she could forget.
But to forget what, exactly? She couldn't remember.
He was grunting and pumping at her. It was almost pleasurable, but she couldn't really be hereright now. Couldn't let herself go. When she was this drunk, she could usually just run with it, could sometimes even get off once. She looked up at him. He was so young, so earnest. He was unmarked by the war, and maybe that was the problem.
She needed someone weathered. Someone who had been through it just like she had. Someone... else. A red hat flashed in her mind, but she didn't pursue that thought. It seemed dangerous.
It was over soon, and he left her there. He tried to be sweet, but she was having none of it, and sent him on his way.
What was she forgetting? Why was she forgetting?
She didn't know. Wasn't sure she wanted to know.
She poured herself another glass.
Reviews, as always, are love.