A/N: Please rate and review! I enjoy criticism in all its forms.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canon "Black Books" characters. I am not making money off any of this.
The room around Bernard Black was becoming blurry. The plentiful supply of wine at the party he was dragged to kept him in a state of euphoria.
Yet another New Years alone for him, but he was used to it. The night wasn't a complete waste for him, however, since he was getting drunk at the expense of someone else.
Midnight was inching ever closer, and no one seemed to pay Bernard any mind, his best friend Fran Katzenjammer observed. She had no difficulty attracting attention from the opposite sex, and she was weighing her New Years kiss options at that moment. Still, she worried over Bernard sitting on an otherwise unoccupied sofa.
"All right, you lot, twenty seconds!" a man shouted from the depths of the crowd. Fran's heart skipped a beat; she still became nervous over the prospect of a New Years kiss. However, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Bernard.
"Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!" the crowd chanted, much to Bernard's disgust.
"Fran, are you ready?" her old university friend Howell Granger asked in that sensual tone that drove her wild. He appeared to be the man that Fran would kiss at the stroke of midnight.
"Happy New Year!" the crowd shouted. Howell brought Fran in close and helped himself to her lips.
Bernard swiped a wine bottle from a nearby table and took a lengthy swig from it. "Happy Bloody New Year," he said to no one in particular.
Another hour passed before Fran could pull away from Howell. Bernard was falling deeper into a drunken stupour and could barely stand on his own when Fran told him they were leaving the party.
"Hey!" Bernard shouted, "I'm not done…partying! Christ, did I just use 'party' as a verb?"
Fran giggled. "Oh, I think you're done, Bernard."
He looked at her with a pitiful frown. "W-why?" he mumbled as she helped lead him to the door.
Getting Bernard home proved to be quite a task, as he fell over multiple times on what was normally a short walk from the party.
"W-wait," Bernard said, turning to face Fran when they arrived at their destination. "I didn't get a New Years kiss. We need to go back so I can…get one, you know."
"Don't be silly, Bernard," Fran huffed. "We're not going back."
"Awww, why not?" he whined. "I didn't get a –"
Bernard's protestations were cut short when Fran planted a quick peck on his cheek. He chuckled and reached for her hand. Her heart skipped a beat when his fingers wove through hers and he pulled her closer to him. His alcohol-laden breaths tickled her neck when he leaned his head ever closer to hers.
"That wasn't a proper kiss, Enid," Bernard whispered.
"Ungrateful bastard," Fran teased, playing with his greasy hair.
Bernard looked in her eyes for a moment before their lips met again. Fran closed her eyes and let him take control. His kisses were calculated yet sensual, his tongue yearning to explore her.
She pulled away after being overcome with ecstasy. "Bernard, let's get you inside."
After clumsily fishing for his keys in his pockets, Bernard was barely able to unlock the door. Once they got inside the shop, they stood in the doorway, both unsure of what to do next.
A moment passed before Bernard grabbed Fran's hand again and he led her upstairs to his bedroom. Lust burned in his eyes, boring holes into her soul, and his breathing became laboured. "Fran…" he mustered.
She removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, and flung both to the dingy floor. Once she took off her shirt, she stared at him, waiting for him to make the next move.
Bernard cautiously hovered a hand over Fran's bra strap. When she didn't seem to protest, he reached behind her and unhooked the bra, then flung it to the floor next to his shirt.
He grinned when she removed her underwear. "Your turn, Bernard," she commanded of him.
He sighed nervously, as he was unsure if he would match up to her expectations. Fran inched closer to him and placed her hands on his bare shoulders.
"Relax," she whispered. "You won't be the worst I've had."
"Like your landlord?" he replied with a grin, unzipping his trousers.
Fran playfully slapped him on his chest. "You're a rotten man," she chuckled. "Now strip down and let's shag already."
Bernard took a deep breath, and removed his pants. Fran surveyed his member, which was average in size yet thicker than most she's had in her.
"You have a very nice cock, Bernard," she told him whilst rubbing his shoulders.
Bernard nodded. "Listen, Fran, I think you'd want to know that I…I've never done this sort of thing before."
Fran smiled. "What, you mean sex? Just relax, and you'll learn quickly." She pushed him onto his bed, and straddled his torso.
Bernard pulled her down to his chest, and she began to kiss him there, slowly making her way down to his stomach. Once she got her mouth around his cock it hardened, evincing a loud moan.
Fran got up and leaned above Bernard. "Well, let's get on with it, then," she demanded.
He slowly entered her. A shudder rocked through her body, as he was a perfect fit. "Oh, more, Bernard!" she moaned.
Bernard pushed harder and faster in Fran, causing her to drag her fingernails across his chest. Then, almost as quickly as it began, he gasped and released his passion in her.
"Oh Christ," Bernard muttered, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment. "I'm dreadful."
Fran felt bad for him. She was his oldest friend, she knew more about him than anyone else, and she knew he would beat himself up mentally over this. Ever since his fiancée mysteriously died, she could sense he was emotionally dying.
"Just forget about it, then," she replied, cupping his face with her hand.
Bernard looked up at her. "What?"
"Just forget about all of it. You were very drunk tonight. I'll remember, and you're not allowed to."
Bernard smiled. "Okay, then." He pulled Fran to his chest and held her tight. Because of their pact, they would resume normalcy the next day. He wanted that moment with her to last as long as he could.
A few years later…
The sun began to seep through shabby curtains that shielded a cramped bedroom from the bustle of Little Bevan Street in the mornings. It was quiet in the bedroom at that moment, save for the soft breathing of a sleeping man and the hungover woman lying next to him.
Fran stared up at the ceiling, and she clutched the covers at her chest.
Regret stung at her when she realised that, once again, she woke up with the wrong man.
She turned her head and stared at Bernard's naked back; he was sound asleep in a wine-and-sex-induced slumber.
It was nearly time to open Black Books, the shop Bernard owned and operated, although Fran knew that his assistant Manny Bianco had already been awake and about for a few hours, and that he would unlock the shop doors when it was time to open.
Bernard groaned and shifted his body to the other side, facing Fran. He stared at her with eyes that were barely open. An unlit cigarette hung from his lips.
"Good morning," he muttered in a rare moment of kindness. A smile attempted to show through the chronic frown he wore.
Fran nodded. "You know we can't keep doing this," was all she could say in return.
It had been several years since they first slept with each other, yet they never did it when they were sober. Bernard was grateful for that, for he feared he was dreadful in bed. Fran was the only one who knew the truth, even from the first time.
"Then why do we keep doing it?" he grumbled.
Fran sat up in the bed. "Because we're alcoholics, Bernard. We drink to forget that life is shit, and that we are pathetic human beings."
Bernard groaned. "Don't remind me. So when are we going to finally admit that we're hugely attracted to one another? And not just for the summer."
Fran got up and began to put her clothes on. "Until one of us is dead. You know that."
She didn't see Bernard frown. "All right, then," he said in a defeated tone. He too got up and got dressed. "I'll go and see if Manny's in the tub yet."
Fran watched as he shuffled down the hall. Her heart sank in her chest; it truly hurt her to be using him like this, but they were both uncontrollable when they got drunk, so in a way she couldn't help it.
The sound of Bernard's shuffling feet grew louder, and he reappeared in his bedroom. "Coast is clear," he said. "I'll see you out."
They went downstairs and headed for the front door to the shop. Bernard opened it for Fran. "Does Alan ever wonder where you go after he turns in?" he asked her.
Alan Stephens was Fran's Flavour of the Month, although it seemed they were becoming more serious than her other flings as of late. Regardless, Bernard hated the man with an acidic passion, although he would never admit it was out of jealousy.
"Not really," she said. "He knows I'm over here a lot, and he seems to have accepted that."
Bernard frowned. "Odd fellow. Well then, I guess I should wish you a good day and all that rubbish."
Fran grinned. "I'll be over for early closing. Usual time."
"Right, see you then."