Author's
Notice: This story came to my mind last night while my boyfriend was
playing a few songs on his guitar. Vertigo just happened to be one
of them and as I was listening to the words I just got this odd
little idea. I hope you enjoy it. When you're finished reading
please review and let me know what you thought.
Also,
I don't own the song Vertigo. That's property of U2. And I don't
own Once Upon A Time in Mexico. Enjoy!
-----
Vertigo
The sound of hot, heavy breathing rings in his ears, surprisingly loud over the all-American rock and roll exploding through the amps. It's a change from the usual Mariachi music, but no one ever said change was bad.
The taste of expensive tequila, with just the right hint of lime, is fresh in his throat. He's only been here twenty minutes, but is taking pleasure in downing his fifth shot. He always enjoyed a Saturday night drink.
The flashing lights come at him from every angle, causing quite the headache. Although, he knows if he keeps going at his current consumption rate, this headache will be nothing compared to tomorrow's hangover. Still, he pulls his sunglasses over his eyes and continues drinking. After all, Saturday only comes once a week.
His eyes flit across the room, taking in the countless good-looking people that surround him. Hell, even the lead singer of the band looks pretty tempting, his hair hanging in sweaty locks all around his face. Or maybe that's just the alcohol talking. It's funny that he can't be sure.
Then he sees her. And everything else in the room becomes a blur.
Crimson dress with a hemline that leaves little to the imagination. He likes that.
Long black curls, framing a voluptuous upper body. He likes that.
Mocha skin, softer than the finest of silks. He likes that.
Chocolate eyes that could kill a man with a single glance. He likes that.
Her body sways to the music, hips entrancing him. His lips suddenly feel very dry and he raises his arm to the bartender – desperately in need of another tequila. He can't seem to tear his gaze away from her figure. It is as if everyone on the dance floor has lost its solid state. Everyone save for her.
He gulps down the sixth tequila and stands up. His feet feel a little shaky, but it's not the alcohol. He can handle more than six shots. It must be the thrill. He can feel a certain vibe coming off the dance floor – where he slowly begins to merge with the crowd. Bodies rub against his, and he can't help but feel a little turned on by the intimacy of it. He comes up behind her, like a lion stalking his prey, and places his hands on her hips. She gives little response other than a quick look back and a seductive smile.
Oh yes, he always did love a Saturday night drink.
-----
Short, I know. It's a little vague and such, so tell me what you thought.