"Do it."
"No."
"Do it!"
"Fuck you!"
"I don't fuck pussies."
Wicked grin.
"You're missing out."
Her reply came as a whisper, and somehow that made it all the more challenging. "Do it."
And of course, he did.
Tilting back the too full glass, Owen downed the discolored liquid inside, cringing on contact and grunting loudly as he slammed the empty dish onto the counter of the bar. Shaking his head vigorously, as if it would rid himself of the bitter taste, Bianca's laughter still rang loud and clear in his ears.
"I can't- I can't believe you actually- did it!" She gasped around hysterics. "What if I spit it in or something? You didn't even see what I mixed!"
Rolling his eyes, Owen only smirked. For as hard as the brunette's shell was, he knew full well that she wouldn't offer over anything he couldn't survive or handle, even if the cornucopia of alcohols in his cup hadn't mixed quite right.
"Then you'd be paying for my herpes meds," he retorted, relishing in the way her nose crinkled as it did whenever she was insulted.
"Please, I bet you'd know from experience how much they cost, right down to the tax. We about done here or did you want another round of cup o' everything? Find Fitz, let's bounce."
Blindly reaching out to tug a curl in lieu of a verbal response, Owen scanned the dwindled bar for their third party, grimacing once he did, the mate in question nestled between two busty blondes as he brandished a bible between them. "Jesus Christ," he muttered ironically, waving a lazy and dismissive hand in his direction before turning back to the distracted girl picking through a bowl on peanuts on the bar top. "He's saving Satan's harlots or something, I think it's just us." Watching as she turned to see for herself, he was already headed to the exit, reaching behind him to tug her in tow. "He's like a puppy, he'll sniff his way home," he assured, his large hand coiling around Bianca's wrist.
Normally it was a short walk back to Owen's house, but between Bianca's stumbling and Owen's distraction, the distance lagged before they were trudging up the steps to his porch. It was a fumble to fish the key ring from his pocket, but he managed, not without the required amount of heckling from the tiny partner at his back. Grunting her silent, he led them into the pitch black home, not batting an eye as he felt the hand instinctively curl around his forearm until they were in his room. It was nothing new, the contact, whether she was struck scared or blind or anything in between, and though he kept a smug façade, he really did like it. What he didn't know was that she really liked it too.
Once contained in the room at the top of the stairs, Bianca made herself at home – as per usual, waiting until Owen whipped off his wrinkled shirt to take ownership of it, tugging it over her own before taking just about everything else off. It wasn't sexual, it wasn't intended to be, but it was familiar to both, and neither ever gave a second thought to the swap. Stripping down to his boxers, Owen kicked his jeans aside, letting them gather in a pile on his messy carpet alongside her garments, to be dealt with in the morning by the mother who would enter in the early morning to round up the laundry, shaking her head as she walked back out, wondering how the two likely tangled in bed swore after all these years to be nothing more than friends. Secretly, the two had delved into more intimate territory, more than once, but they always managed to bring themselves back to a casual level. They'd been hurt by others in the past (a lot), but when Owen peered up at Bianca and she smiled back down to him, when her back arched clean off the bed or his fingers clutched to the sheets, they were safe again; secure, warm, and though they'd jokingly act perturbed by it in any other situation, loved.
It was Owen that usually found himself the sap, but Bianca's hard-ass façade melted quicker and more often around him and it was for a reason. It wasn't always easy, not by a long shot. The first time Owen got caught playing with her hair while she slept, he'd covered up the gesture by claiming he was just getting out the gunk. The first time Bianca got googly eyes over something sentimental Owen said in complete sobriety, Owen soiled the moment by inquiring if she had gas. Easy it wasn't, but worth it? Every second.
"O," called the voice from across the room. Snapping from his reverie, his face snapped to lock eyes with the source, raising a brow. "You done daydreaming about the blondes you lost out to Saint Fitz or are you going to keep me up all night?" He couldn't hold back the teasingly flirty wink. "Cute, but too drunk to enjoy," she retorted, her smile brightening the dim room. Feigning a pout, he sauntered to his side of the bed, also known as the sliver of his own bed that she hadn't outright claimed in her frequent visits of it after long nights out or bad fights with her auntie.
He didn't mind sharing.
He settled in first, moving onto his side with an arm beneath his pillow. Bianca, clad and drowning in his graphic tee bound in afterwords, keeping her back to him, but not before he caught the smirk etched over her cheeks, bringing on one of his own. He pulled the blanket over them both, winding an arm at her hip, breathing in the scent of her hair as they molded to one another's sleepy body.
They muttered their weary goodnights, and as hard as it was to fight sleep, Owen waited until the girl in his arms was out like a light before letting himself succumb to the sandman. What he didn't know was that she was fighting the battle as well, but Owen won this time, and he would soon be rewarded with getting out the gunk in her hair.