Title:

One Mess & Two Fuckups

Rated:

T or PG-13

Warnings:

Alcohol consumption and Foul Language

Characters Used:

James Cook, Katie Fitch

Pairings:

Cook/Katie

Fandom:

Skins

Plot:

"together, babes, you and I would make a beautiful mess." "Yeah. We would." Her lips for the first time, quirked up slightly, and soon formed to her next words. "If you weren't such a cock"

Song:

Sober- Pink

Quote:

"Why do I feel this party's over? How do I feel this good, sober?" -Pink

A/N:

This is fiction. Clearly. I don't own skins.

----

"Hey babes." Cook chirped up, approaching a lonely red head from behind. His usual cheeky smirk was attached firmly to his charming face. A bounce seemed to be in his step, giving off the giddy mood he was currently in.

"Don't mean to be mean, but, you look like right shit." His lips curled up into a naughty grin, and he situated himself beside her, without an invitation. "A nice lump of dog shit" he exaggerated further.

"Yea? Well...You're a fuck up." Katie grumbled as she shot a heated glare sidewaysat the boy who had just sat down next to her.

What a mess Katie had become. She wasn't partying as she normally would have. Afterall, she was known as the more heavy partying sort of twin. Was being the key word here. For once, Katie was boyfriendless. And, now, she found herself on the curb of a local club, drowning herself in her own temporary misery.

"Yeah?" Cook asked with a snicker. He adjusted his seating on the curb, and scooted ever so slyly closer to Katie Fitch. His face dropped for a second as he watched her scoot further from him. But, with a few blinks of dissapointment his cocky self assured look had returned to his facial features once more. She was a challenge, he liked that.

"Well, toots, hate to break it to you, but you're a fuck up to" He murmered as he drug out a lighter and a spliff from his front left pants pocket. Lighting it, his gaze fell on the girl beside him.

Katie couldn't help but to give off an offended snort. Did he , James Cook, just call her, Katie Fitch, a royal fuck up? Okay, technically he had just called her a fuck up. But, that was beside the point. She wasn't a fuck up though...was she? Perhaps she truly was. She had been in a downward slump recently. And for sure, she wasn't in her best state. Fuckin' hell, she was a fuck up. A 100 percent top of the line, grade A, fuck up. Just like the spliff smoking boy beside her. Her nose scrunched up in disgust at the mere thought of being a fuck up, and at the association of her and James Cook being fuckups...together. She abruptly turned from the brunet pot head with a frown on her face.

"Ah. Fuck off, you wanker" Was what she spat at him.

"Fiesty, I like that babe" Cook purred in appreciation. His action had gotten a scoff and a defiant scowl from his present company, which only made Cook's troublesome grin widen. "Ya' know what toots?"

"What?" She reluctantly asked with clear apprehension lacing her feminine voice.

"We're both fuckups" He blew out the smoke from between his lips and with a pause quickly took another tote from the spliff. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the rolled up pot, scrutinizing it before gently passing it to the left, sticking out his hand for her to take the offering.

"Yeah? Continue..." she murmered, with a slight hesitation. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the offered smoke and put it to her lips and took a sharp inhale.

"But together, babes, you and I would make a beautiful mess."

With several blinks and a sharp turn of her head, she looked him up and down. Sizing him up with her eyes almost. A doubtful expression on her face soon melted away as she realized he was right. They were one beautiful mess.

"Yeah. We would." Her lips for the first time, quirked up slightly, and soon formed to her next words. "If you weren't such a cock"