Number four in a multi-fandom series of winter fics inspired by the song 'Baby It's Cold Outside'.
This one also takes place about seven drinks before 'The Morning After', so consider it a prequel!
"What's in this drink?"
Ash looked up from where he'd been stirring his own cocktail thoughtfully and regarded the glass that Misty had thrust in his direction from across the table. They'd managed to snag one of the corner booths in the bar so that they each had their own section of an L-shaped cushioned bench, but she had learnt over the corner of the table to get her drink closer to his face. Her eyes distorted by the glass, she looked suddenly furious and, taken aback, he defaulted to trying to irritate her.
"Looks like... blue."
That didn't seem to be the right answer; she dropped her hand and the glass hit the table with a thunk, dislodging some of the colourful contents on to his wrist. He licked it off and grinned at her.
"Very helpful," she scowled at him in reply and pulled the cocktail back towards her, "What did you even order?"
Ash leant back against the seat and shrugged, lifting his own drink to his lips and taking a sip. It was sweet, and coated his tongue in a way that he wasn't sure he enjoyed. He had ordered himself the manliest sounding cocktail on the menu and it had not escaped his notice that it was pink and topped with a sparkling foam.
"I just told the guy to pour me something he thought you'd like," he shrugged, "Look at the menu if you're so worried."
He went back to sipping his own drink while she furiously scanned the pages of the soggy, colourful booklet on their bar table. He had been guilted in to letting her decide what they did for once, on their usual Friday get together, after she pointed out that the majority of their friendship had revolved around him leading the way. He had conceded, reluctantly, and awaited his fate. When she had suggested a cocktail night he had scoffed, but there was something about drinking a concoction that tasted like strawberries and cream that he was really enjoying, although he decided to consider the pink colour to be a mere discrepancy. At least she had let him pick the bar, he was looking forward to waving her off on her expensive cab journey later while he sauntered the short walk back to his apartment. Small victories.
He watched her as she read the menu; face scrunched up in concentration and brow furrowed. She was cute when she was focused- particularly when she was focused on something other than what he was doing wrong- and he watched her for a moment. It was a good view.
"Looks like..." Misty frowned and ran her finger along one of the pages and her eyes widened, "'Sex in the Driveway.' What's that supposed to mean!"
Ash spluttered in to his own glass at the look of horror on her face but, for his own good, managed to suppress the laugh that threatened to break through. He glanced back at the barman, who gave him a wink. When he turned back toward Misty she was back to glaring at him again and he gave her what he hoped was his most charming grin.
"Maybe he thought you'd be in to that?" he asked, innocently, and ducked when her napkin flew past his ear. "Or maybe he just thought you were really hot and wanted to put the idea in your head?"
"You think he thought I was hot?" Her face took on that wide eyed look she sometimes got when her mask slipped and the insecurities were seeping out. It was less fun to play with her when she was actually feeling bad about herself. Shuffling closer to her in the booth, he rested his elbow on the corner of the table and regarded her carefully. As if by instinct, she moved closer too and leant towards him so that he could feel the warmth of her. He could lean over and touch her easily, if he wanted to. But he most certainly didn't want to. Much. He cleared his throat and watched as her gaze dropped down to his neck.
"Maybe," he said softly, "I mean, he wouldn't be wrong."
For a brief moment he watched the battle behind her eyes; the war between her letting her guard down completely and putting up the shutters again. He leaned in closer. He definitely didn't want to touch her, even if her skin did look perfect in the colourful bar lights. He also definitely didn't want to kiss her, even though her lips were parted and glossy where she'd licked them. He wondered if she'd taste like the sugar that coated the rim of her glass.
Slowly, she'd moved even closer to him on the seat, so that they were pressed in to the corner of the booth. He could make out all the freckles on her cheeks, made bolder by the blue and purple lights that had turned on when the DJ switched to dance music. There was something tentative about her movements, something shy, and he reached up to wrap a lock of her hair around his finger. He thigh was pressed up against his; he was suddenly aware of the bare skin where he skirt had ridden up and he hovered his hand over the fabric. She'd let him, if he pressed his palm to her knee. If he wanted to, that is. He let his fingertips brush against her and she sighed a little, eyes still locked on his.
"Mist... Do you want to..." he swallowed, started again, his nerves betraying him, "Shots?"
If she was disappointed she hid it well, but the smile returned to her face when he took her hand and pulled her towards the bar.