This has been a request and inspiration by the lovely SethmutherfuckinMacFarlane, along with a very amazing, bright anonymous.I'm running a little with the song fic idea, and will be using a few lyrics of the song, "One More Night" (sung by Maroon 5) per chapter.
"You and I go hard at each other like we going to war
You and I go rough
We keep throwing things and slammin' the door
You and I get so damn dysfunctional
we stopped keeping score
You and I get sick
Yeah, I know that we can't do this no more"
"I'm sorry, do you have a problem with me?", a voice from behind you suddenly asks. He grabs your elbow, and twirls you around to face him. Even though you stare him straight in the eyes, you recognized that velvety, rich, deep voice immediately, before he even touched you. It's too unique to belong to someone else.
"I'm not sure if I can follow," you play innocently.
"Oh, you know exactly what I mean"
"I don't. Unlike you, because you obviously must know what I'm thinking, I'm not telepathic", you say, releasing your arm from his grip and place it on your hip rather cockily. You simply stare at him, lifting your eyebrows to urge him to continue.
"You don't like me", he finally states, more or less whispering as he leans in a little, hoping to leave this between the two of you, and not catch unwanted attention from the rest in the other, nearby room.
"Now who gave you that idea?", you mockingly ask.
"Look, I'm just a friend of your friend. There's no need to be so hostile towards me"
"Me? Hostile?", you scoff, "Hardly".
He eyes you, hinting at your current stance. It's rude, sassy and very defensive. It's not welcoming by the slightest sight.
"Fine", your expression doesn't soften one bit, "But you know, misogynistic bastards don't really receive any nice treatment"
"I admit, I'm a lot of things, but I am certainly not misogynistic", he replies sternly, anger shining thickly through his tone of voice. His eyes have darkened with frustration; his brow is slightly frowned.
"Sure, and I'm extremely gullible and willing to believe anything you say", you reply, patting him condescendingly on the arm.
You can see him clench his jaw. He's trying to restrict his rising anger, and you just hope he sparks as bright as a match that has just been lit when he releases it. Oh, you so hope. This guy has been getting on your nerve all night.
"I'm not", he says sternly, his voice lower than before as he clenches his jaw once more while he intensely gazes into your eyes. Those brown pools absorb you in, catching you off guard. You're silent for a couple of seconds, because you realize how close the two of you just are. You're about an inch apart, and you're uncertain how that has happened.
"Right", you say, stepping back, creating a barrier between the two of you, "As if murderers are so willing and keen to admit they've killed someone".
He closes his eyes, shaking his head before opening them again, "Let me prove it to you that I'm not misogynistic."
"How?", you scoff again, laughing at his expense, and doing this right in his face.
"Spend some time with me. You'll get to know me better. You'll see who I really am; the real me"
"And this one is different from the Seth MacFarlane portrayed through your work, the media and paparazzi? No, thank you. I think they give a pretty clear imagine; you're a sexist douche"
He firmly shakes his head, chewing onto his lip before erupting, "I am not!"
"Really? Because you seem to make sexist jokes without any difficulty or excuse"
"Please", he pleads, calming down, though, you have a sense you can spark it up again and you just might do so, for funsies, "A small portion of your time. That's all I ask"
"No. In fact, I already regret talking to you in the first place. Now excuse me, I was going to the bathroom until you rudely interrupted me", with that, you turn around on your heel and strut to said room.
His tongue slips across his bottom lip, before sliding across his teeth and palate afterwards, his teeth grit. Then he, too, turns around and makes his way back to the living room.
You smirk at your reflection in the mirror. What a pompous, arrogant jerk. He arrives, not half an hour late, but a full hour, and dares to act all chivalrous and innocently, as though he had done no wrong. The rest bought it, eating it up as a sweet desert. They seemed taken aback by his good looks and quick, clever tongue. As though it wasn't already bad that he was terribly late, all eyes were directed at him during dinner as he chatted away, entertaining the rest with cute, sweet anecdotes and other fun, little stories. Oh, please. It sickened you, and you made sure he picked up on it. You've been rolling your eyes at him, audibly sighing at his attempts of poor, raunchy jokes, and have been insufferably annoying by randomly shouting things at the top of your lungs to interrupt him (you swear, for a few seconds you were worried you even had Tourette's)– not to mention you've been humming along with god-awful Justin Bieber songs, sometimes even singing the lyrics out loud (with the full works, so you've been really giving it your all by pretending your cell phone was the microphone) and abruptly taking pictures with your phone, with your super bright flash. Several times.
You smirk devilishly from ear to ear, straighten your hair and clothes before stepping out. He must really hate you by now. If not, you'll find a way to annoy him even more. Perhaps spill your wine on his expensive, precious plaid shirt, ruining it forever. Oh, yes. You can step your game up if needed. You just needed him out of there, far away.
"You're obnoxious", you suddenly hear. It comes from your right, and you're fairly certain you recognize that voice. It's the same one from just a moment ago. God. You roll your eyes and direct yourself at him.
"So are you by waiting me up. What are you, 8?"
"I was about to ask you the same. Your behavior has been inexcusable", he says as he folds his arms, leaning against the doorframe.
"Oh, my behavior has been inexcusable? Well, excuse me then", you reply and start to walk away from him to join the rest, but a firm hand suddenly catches you by the wrist and forces you against the wall. He pins you down and places your hands above your head. His face is mere inches away from yours. Those dark brown eyes stare deeply into yours. You can feel his warm breath against your skin.
Okay, this is actually hot.
"You're loud, annoying, and it's pissing me off greatly. And I have a funny feeling you're doing it all on purpose"
"What makes you think that?"
"While dumb people may be just that; dumb, they're rarely as rude as your current behavior is", he pauses, tightening his grip on you – had you mentioned already how arousing this was?, "you have a problem with me".
"I do", you admit.
"Spit it out", he says, his voice low, deep and strict.
"Why?", you say through gritted teeth. His anger is infectious: you can feel yourself becoming angry as well. He's got quite some nerve, to even confront you like this. To more or less force it out of you by restraining you.
"I'm a complete, total stranger you've just met, and you've already given me a lot of shit and poor attitude. You owe me an explanation".
"I owe you nothing"
His jaw is clenched. He slowly lets go off you and steps back. He turns around a couple of times. He seems unsure what to do, hesitant. Until a harmful index finger is pointed at you, and he jabs at you, oh, he jabs dirty at you and it stings, even more than being stung by a bee, "You know what? Fine. Be like that. I try to be nice, try to sort this out, but you won't let me. Fine. Be an asshole. You judge me for being a bastard and a douche, but it's very clear to me that you're the biggest, bloated douche and jerk I've ever met!".
"At least I make tons of money by demeaning those less privileged than myself. I'm a white boy from... wherever the fuck you're from!"
"What is your fucking problem, woman?!"
"You – and your arrogance, acting as though you're a big shot!"
"You're a cunt", he replies before storming off.
"Fucking asshole", you yell after him.
The rest of the dinner goes by slowly. It's tedious, as he's still rewarded with the same amount of attention as before. He's such a great man! Ugh. Here and then, the two of you exchange looks, and you make sure to get under his skin by sticking your tongue out or by just frowning to the extreme. You feel the urge to just flip him off by pretending to run a hand through your hair, but you decide to remain some form of dignity, whatever might be left. Luckily, you don't have to go for full rudeness, because after 20 or so minutes of bullying him, he seems to not be able to take anymore of your shit, excuses himself and leaves.
Mission success, and good riddance.