This started out as nothing more than an excuse to get them frakking inspired by the quote 'You don't have to get me drunk to fuck me' but as I already demosntrated with my other story, those things tend to get away from me and turn out differently than I expectend or intended them to.
I hope you still enjoy. Leave me some thoughts.
Sadly, still none of those characters belong to me, kust borrowing them for a while.
Of not being alone
She spots him the moment she walks into the crowded bar. It had certainly not been her intention to seek him out when she made the decision to come here tonight. She had simply needed a distraction after finally kicking her husband out for good this time and, after months and months of still hoping he would change his ways and come back to her and his family, she needs a way to let all of the pent up anger and grief and frustration go. A handsome stranger and a few drinks she won't have to pay for herself is just what she is looking for. He, she thinks as she picks up her drink and walks over to him, would do, too.
She would be lying if she says she doesn't find him attractive at all. The handsome face, the sexy eyes and the smell of his aftershave mixed with just him has invaded many of her lonely nights since she has been first introduced to him.
She blames it on the timing; theirs had just never been right. He was married, she still is, though probably not for much longer. She just started in Internal Affairs, he still is the troublemaker she has to send to sensitivity training and the likes almost every other day.
That's not to say they never came close to almost crossing the line. It happened only a handful of times, when neither of them were sober enough to be embarrassed about it in the morning. The fact that she has two little kids at home and an alcoholic for a husband who is almost never around, helps limiting those encounters to no more than once every other month. But every time they did, she had more trouble than before to not let him haunt her every move, no matter if she was awake or asleep.
Maybe, and by the looks of him sitting alone in a bar on a Friday night she's pretty sure it's a little more solid than maybe, this right here, is their chance.
"Can I buy you another drink?", she carefully but purposefully approaches his table. She's smiling down at him when his head moves away from his glass and he looks at her with surprise.
"I'm not drinking" His voice is friendly and the smirk he sends in her direction tells her he doesn't mind the intrusion. He shifts a little in his seat and she sees it as permission to sit down.
"So, then why are you here?" She's actually curious. Not really what she had expected when coming here. She had expected to be too drunk to carry any conversation whatsoever beyond muttering an invitation into her pants, when she found the lucky guy tonight.
"The others are gone already", he stops, takes another sip from his drink. She realizes it's juice, non-alcoholic. She arches a brow at him. "I'm trying to cut back on my drinking."
She laughs out loud at that. She has a beautiful laugh, he realizes. "And you think this is a good place to do that?"
"Probably not", he's laughing, too and swirls the last remaining drops of liquid around his glass. She motions over to the bar to order another of whatever it is he is drinking. She would ask, if she really cared. "The owner and bartender is a friend of mine" He shrugs, sends the waitress a small smile when she places his drink on the table. "Hasn't served me one drop of alcohol the whole night. He has made sure that all his staff knows that, too."
It's not his first night like this. He had decided to quit drinking two weeks ago, when the very woman that is currently pressed against his side in a tiny booth told him, she is not going to let him keep his badge the next time he shows up to work hung-over. Of course the quitting part was much harder than he expected (even with regular meetings) and though he had not quite managed no drink, yet, he actually doesn't feel like shit anymore when his friend stopped serving him after his first or second glass. Today is the first night however, where he issued the order to not give him anything.
Up until now, he felt pretty miserable with that decision; watching his friends get drunk while he sipped his juice, but that had changed significantly in the last ten minutes. He won't go so far as to say it's her specifically that is responsible, after all, they don't even really like each other. But somehow, he knows she has something to do with it. What he doesn't know, or refuses to think about is, if it's the promise of a no-strings-attached fuck he will actually remember for once, or the fact that it's her he's going to drag into the restrooms when she is drunk enough not to bother that it's him.
"What brings you here tonight?" He asks, turning slightly to face her more. This is not really a common situation for him – making small talk with the woman he intends to bed only once – but being sober for one of those encounters takes a little more work, he realizes.
He can see why she's here, her clothing and choice of drink all the indication he needs, but he knows her too well (even though he doesn't really know her at all). She isn't looking for someone to talk to and remember in the morning. Seeing him at work tomorrow and actually recalling what they did tonight will upset her perfectly controlled world, were rules are there to be obeyed. He has no idea, that she would be incredibly willing to leave right now if he just were to ask.
"Distraction" she answers with a shrug of her shoulder. "Forgetting" She downs the last drop of alcohol in her glass, watches as he motions for the bartender to bring her another and sends him a little appreciative smile. She isn't going to elaborate she thinks, because he really doesn't need to know anything about her, but finds her mouth has a life of its own. "Kicked my husband out for real this time" She is aware that, even though she tried to hide her personal life pretty well at work, most of the office knows about her husband's drinking problem. The majority of those people probably frequent the same bars he's spending his gambling money in.
"I'm sorry" He means it. No one deserves to be treated like that, not even the woman he is technically supposed to despise (and actually does most of the time – unless they find themselves drunk and alone). He is surprised to find that is changing, too.
"Don't be" He drink arrives and she busies herself with the glass for a long minute, before taking a sip, debating what else she should be telling him. Whatever she says will probably be all over the office by morning but right now, she doesn't really care. She's hurt, has no one to talk to and, despite the fact that this is not what she had in mind for tonight, he seems willing to listen. "Cleared out our savings and, he's probably cheating but I decided today that I will stop caring" She takes another sip of her drink, eyes it warily – she hopes she really doesn't have to pay that. "Technically, I'm broke. Glad the babysitter's a friend of mine"
His hand lands on her tight under the table and she's not pulling away. He thinks she's even scooting closer, though that's impossible given the fact, that there is no space between them as it is. He wants to tell her he's sorry again, but it wouldn't help her in the slightest. Screwing her would do no such thing either, but the way she looks at him tells him it would be a lot more appreciated than a sorry.
Over the course of the next hour he buys her two more drinks, making sure she knows he's paying. They talk. She tells him about the train wreck her marriage is. He tells her about the infuriating ex-wife who wouldn't let him see his children. She never speaks of hers. He never asks. Still, they know more about the other than they ever had before.
She empties her last drink and turns to him more fully, her hand sliding further up his tight. She hears his breath hitch noticeably and smirks to herself.
"You don't have to get me drunk to fuck me, you know" He has been clear on his intentions from the moment she slid into the booth beside him. And she's incredibly glad she does not have to spell it out for him. The sole purpose for the babysitter she called two hours ago to watch her son and daughter had been to get completely wasted and thoroughly screwed. The realization, that the former is optional when she thinks of Andrew Flynn fucking her comes as a not-at-all-unpleasant surprise.
"Maybe I don't want to just fuck you" he whispers in her ear. His breath makes her shiver. "Maybe I actually want to get to know you" They should both be surprised by this admission. Two hours ago they had not have shared a single sober conversation where they had not ended up shouting at each other. Amazingly, they aren't.
"Work" It's all she says. He knows what she is trying to say. She's not the most popular being in the office and when they're not drunkenly toeing around that invisible line between them he's all too willing to take part in the name calling and rumor spreading.
"They can all go to hell" He won't pretend this didn't happen; won't treat her like shit around the office anymore just to uphold a reputation he doesn't want anymore, now that he found she's not at all like the woman he thought her to be.
"Why don't we start off with that restroom fuck and see where that leads us"
She's already out off her seat and dragging him across the crowed bar before he can utter a single word. Not that he would have had anything negative to say to that suggestion.
He smiles, pulls her back into him and plants his lips against her neck. She lets out a moan when he sucks at her pulse point. One of his hands finds her waist and the other is sliding up her tight to push the flimsy excuse for a skirt she's wearing up before she even manages to drag him into the first unoccupied stall. In one fluid motion he pushes her back against the door and flicks the lock while she is making quick work of his shirt. This might only be a quick way to release tension – and by the looks of it this might actually become a recurring thing – but she needs to feel his skin under her fingertips when she digs her nails into his shoulders.
She's rocking her hips into his in a repetitive motion; his body pressed against hers from chest to toes, his mouth having found purchase on her neck again. She's moaning and writhing against him, begging him to just touch her without saying a word. He intercepts her hands on their way to unbuckle his belt and he pins them above her head with one of his. She lets out a huff of frustration that quickly turns into a breathy moan as his other hand slips under her skirt to ghost over her most sensitive part. He smiles against her neck when he encounters bare skin.
"Have you been thinking about me when you dressed tonight?" He's teasing in more than one way. He's of course not expecting a positive answer, but his lips against her ear and his fingers against her folds getting the reacting from her he has been hoping for.
"Not tonight" She admits on a sigh. She gets one of her hands free from his grasp, threads it through the short hairs at the base of his neck and pulls his head up to meet her eyes. She crashes her lips against his and they both feel a jolt of electricity move through them. Their tongues battle for dominance and for a split second both of them register that this is the first time they kissed, before any rational thought is wiped from their minds.
"You do know, that I'm not drunk tonight" He retreats his hand from under her skirt and pushes the material over her hips. "I will actually remember this tomorrow, so I'd be careful what I admit here tonight" She can feel him smile when he attaches his lips back to her pulse point.
"Maybe I want you to" He kisses her again, deep and passionate and then he lets go of her other wrist he's still pinning against the door and she finally gets to work on his belt. His fingers find her center again, his thump flicking over her clit and he pushes two fingers into her. She lets out another moan as she unbuckles his pants and, without hesitation, slides them over his hips and lets them fall to the floor along with his boxers.
"Andy…" is all she is able to manage in words, though it's clear that if she could, she would not be above begging right now.
When he withdraws his fingers from inside her she is about to emit a huff of frustration, but then his hands on her hips turn her around and he's pressed against her back; his hard shaft against her naked backside. He doesn't give neither of them a chance to change their minds (though it's pretty late for that anyway) and enters her in one hard stroke. Her head falls forward against the cold metal of the door and she almost cries out at the sensation.
He stills for a moment, waits for her nod of approval before he starts moving again. He has found his favorite spot on her upper body in the junction of her neck and shoulder and he's sucking and biting that point again. (Granted, he hasn't had the pleasure of being introduced to her breasts yet). She's panting heavy, one hand held in a tight fist, pushing against the door next to her head. The fingers of the other are gripping the back of his head, pulling him further into her while she's pushing back into him, matching every and all of his strokes.
He's whispering incoherent strings of words into her ear, bringing her closer and closer to the edge with his cock sliding in and out of her wet heat hard and fast.
"More" she begs. She's hot and ready to fall over the edge in a climax so intense she would swear she never experienced in her life up until now. One day, she might even tell him that. Right now, in this very moment she's not coherent enough to form another actual word. She screams however, when his hand sneaks around her body and he puts pressure on her already aching clit. That's all it takes for her to fly over the edge, coming hard around his still hard member. He follows moments later, the sensation of her walls squeezing his cock in the wake of her orgasm pushing him over.
She's not sure how long her legs are still able to hold her upright and she's extremely glad he hasn't moved yet. His solid chest against her back, trapping her against the bathroom door steadies her while she tries to catch her breath. When she thinks she's at least able to stand on her own – she's not sure about walking yet – she pushes back against him a little. He takes a step back, slides out of her in the process and they both let out a huff of disappointment at the action.
She turns around slowly and rests her back against the door behind her. Her heels don't really help with the whole standing and walking situation.
"Wow" she says when she finally finds her voice steady enough to form actual words. He smiles at her and she pulls him closer by the hem of his opened shirt and she's kissing him – slow and almost a little shy this time.
"We are going to do that again, right?!" He pecks her lips again in a more chaste kiss and then he steps back again with a smile and hands her a handful of paper towels to clean herself up. She takes them from him, looks in his eyes for a long moment and makes a decision.
"You could take me out to dinner first next time"
"You should arrange that babysitter for next Friday then" she helps him with the buttons on his shirt, while he pulls her skirt back down. "Romantic dinner and a movie" He doesn't mention that she will be home very very late, but she knows it's implied. Her answer is a bright smile.
They part ways with another slow, languid kiss and the promise of more and better things to come.
Okay, I decided to put this here, so not to spoil any of the 'mayor plot points' (cough cough) but I do know that it is impossible and totally not managable to quit drinking while sitting in a bar but I needed to get them both there and I just don't see Sharon getting involved with another alcoholic who does nothing to try to get his addiction under control. Please bear with me here and let's just pretend this is perfectly normal behavior for a recovering alcoholic :)