Bottle
For Silverlight
He hears her voice ringing through the hallway. (He recognizes the folksong she sings.) He shuffles the papers in his hand, eyes the stacks teetering on his desk, and sighs.
He won't get any work done tonight if she goes on.
He walks into the main room.
"Captain!" she calls out. "Captain!" She flaps her hand, signaling him over.
He glances at the clock, at the papers fanning out across the floor, and at his lieutenant before the table – with several full bottles of sake about her.
"You're here late," she remarks casually as she pulls a stopper free.
"I had to work on those reports." He stares pointedly at her, then the papers littering the floor. "And so do you."
"I'm taking a break," she replies airily as she pours herself a drink.
He takes up a large bottle, shakes it, and hears a slight plash. Nearly empty. "You're drunk."
"Not really," she retorts. "I've only had ten bottles so far." She motions to the seat opposite with her full cup. "Sit down and drink with me."
"I'd rather not. I have to finish those reports – and so do you, you know. It's late –"
"Midnight is the best time for drinking!" she interrupts cheerfully. She rises up and pushes him down into a chair. She grabs the bottle, pours him a drink, and shoves the cup into his unwilling hand. "And you're not being a good captain, leaving your lieutenant to drink by herself."
"Matsumoto –"
"Cheers!" she crows, slamming her cup against his, baptizing him with a splash of sake. She finishes her cup and pours herself another.
"Look –"
"Why aren't you drinking, Captain?" She glares at him. "This is good sake! Don't let it go to waste!" She grins and tosses the cup back.
He sighs. "I've got work to do. And –"
He hasn't even touched his cup, but she sloshes more sake into it until it brims over. "You're drinking too slowly, Captain!" she laughs. "Drink up, drink up!" She lifts up her own cup and demonstrates.
He sighs again. (No time to finish reviewing that two-hundred page report from Abarai tonight, he thinks.)
"Fun, isn't it?" she asks him after her thirty-fifth cup. (Despite her urging, he doesn't drink, only slyly pours his sake into her ever-empty cup. He needs to – no, wants to – get back to work, but Matsumoto is a social drunk; she hates to drink alone.)
He groans.
"Are you sick, Captain?" She leans across the table, her ample breasts knocking down empty bottles. She slaps her hand across his forehead, feels his temperature. "You seem fine."
"Matsumoto," he begins. He takes her wrist firmly, pushes her hand away. "You don't need to do this."
"I'm worried about you!" she cries with a hiccough.
"No, I don't mean this," he snaps. He waves his hand over the empty bottles crowding the tabletop. "Worrying about him and getting drunk – both are counterproductive, Matsumoto, especially as I need those reports tomorrow."
"I'm not worrying about him!" she exclaims, bolting out of her seat. She snatches up a handful of papers (he winces at the crinkled sheets in her hand). "And I've been productive! Look here!" She steps forward, wobbles a little.
"Matsumoto," he warns. "Be care–"
She trips over a bottle. He darts forward.
For a moment, he can't breathe, he can't see, he can't think. He only feels her all around him – her rough cotton robe, her soft breasts.
He hears her quick heart, his own labored breathing.
She pushes him away, jiggles her breasts back into place, between the folds of her robe. "Thank you, Captain," she says smoothly.
"No problem, Matsumoto," he answers easily.
"Let's have another drink," she suggests as she sinks back down into her chair. "Then we can get back to work."
"Sure."
This time, he uncorks a bottle and fills their cups.
"Cheers," she says, raising her cup.
He knocks his cup against hers. "Cheers."