This sat in a folder on my desktop for a very long time, but ImDownOnMyMind convinced me to post it. Doesn't really have a particular place in the story line, just somewhere between seasons 1 and 2.
She slammed her body into the blonde, throwing them in a tangle into the aged wall, creating a hairline crack, invisible behind the peeling wallpaper. She crushed her lips to those of her cohort, or perhaps her prey, and lips and hands of both parties dragged tickly trails over heated skin that was scented of an oddly alluring collective of expensive French perfume and its cheap, local counterpart. No words were spoken until perfect teeth scraped the tender flesh of Betty's earlobe too aggressively.
"Damnit, lady," she hissed, squeezing the girl's sides to signal her to stop.
Gladys pulled only her head away, just enough to match her gaze to that of her friend. "Shut up, Betts," she grumbled. Not wasting a precious moment of sweet delirium, she closed the gap between them again, this time, taking a handful of curled blonde locks into her fist.
Betty, not one to be outdone, groaned low in her throat and slipped a soft hand through the buttons of Gladys' dress. She started to glide her fingertips beneath the slip separating them from skin, but she stopped herself and instead, wrapped her arms around the waifish girl pressed into her.
"What are you doing, Gladie?" She whispered into her hair.
Gladys pried herself loose and backed away a step. "I need something, and this seems like the best idea right now," she said hoarsely.
"You're drunk."
Gladys took Betty's hand into her own and kissed it lightly before holding it tenderly to her cheek. "That never stopped me before." She moved Betty's hand to the skin where her neck and shoulder met. "Come on, Betts," she muttered. "Get drunk." Her words felt taunting to Betty, and she wasn't sure how to react. She opened and closed her mouth a time or two, utterly at a loss.
"I am drunk," she finally concluded.
Gladys backed away, letting Betty's hand fall from its tender perch, catching it in her own between them. "Come on, then." She tugged firmly at her hand. "Be more drunk. Drink until you want me."
Betty's heart beat furiously against the wall of her chest as she blindly followed the brunette along the length of the hallway, and eventually out of the building. A light dusting of snow sprinkled the ground and something about inebriation and the warm hand in hers, and the hypnotic sway of the hips that tapered to stocking-ed legs in front of her made the majesty of it all so much grander. She felt, oddly enough, like a child being led into a winter wonderland for the first time.
"Keep up!" Gladys huffed.
Well, that was brief.
Slightly influenced by Lana Del Rey's "Get Drunk."