-we're a beautiful mess-
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"I need you to help me forget."/A drunk!Spoby fic, prompted by edge of beauty. Oneshot.
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a/n: hi there :) it's Ana again, with yet another spoby story for you. this particular one was prompted by edge of beauty, so the idea credit is all hers. she requested a drunk!spoby fic, and i am here to deliver on that. i hope i did it justice!
a quick note, however: i tried not to make it too racy, but this piece does push the T rating, so proceed with caution.
lots of love to all of my readers and reviewers, especially my spobette friends on twitter. i adore each and every one of you.
so now, without further ado, i present to you…we're a beautiful mess. enjoy!
xoxo,
-Ana
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They sat on his couch in silence.
It wasn't the comfortable, soothing silence that fell between them when they cuddled in front of her fireplace or watched old movies together (although most of the time they barely made it halfway through before they ended up making out on the couch). No, this was an awkward silence, a tense one. He stared at a spot on the wall where the paint was starting to chip, struggling to avoid her gaze; she picked at a thread in her heather grey cardigan sweater, struggling to avoid his.
Outside of the loft located above the Rear Window Brew coffee shop in downtown Rosewood, Pennsylvania, streetlamps flickered on dependably as the last rays of the sun faded off. Cars drove by, people stopped to grab a latte or a scone, or to window shop. Kids begged their parents to drop them off at the movie theater. Life, in all its normalcy, went on in the seemingly-pristine jewel of a town.
But inside the loft, Spencer Hastings and Toby Cavanaugh knew better.
Life for the young couple was anything but normal. Their lives were a mosaic of stress and tension, heartache and horror, fear and exhaustion, worry and anger. Despite all that, Spencer and Toby continued to fight, tooth and nail, to get through the harrowing obstacles flung their way. They loved each other to the point of desperation, but, currently, couldn't look each other in the eye.
It was he who finally broke the deafening silence. "We have to talk about it."
She let out a short, indignant laugh, though there was no humor in it. "What is there to talk about, Toby?"
"Everything. Spence, it's bad. You know it's bad; I know it's bad."
"Well, bad has been a recurring theme in my life," she responded wryly.
Toby felt a sudden burst of fury streak through him. "We can't just sit here and do nothing while this mess tears us apart!" he leapt up off the couch, his blazing blue eyes fixing on his girlfriend's exhausted brown ones.
"Okay, fine. But what are we supposed to do?" she got to her feet as well, throwing up her hands in frustration. "We can't do anything without putting ourselves in jeopardy."
"So, what? You're just going to give up? Let her—him, them, whoever—keep on messing with you? With all of us?"
Spencer looked at him, and the haunted look in her eyes broke his heart, numbing some of the anger.
"I don't know. God, I don't know what I'm doing, what I'm going to do." She slumped back down onto the futon, dropping her head into her hands. "It's so screwed up. All of it. I just don't even want to think about it anymore. I don't want to think, period." She picked up her head, glanced at Toby, who was watching her in concern.
All she wanted was one night, she thought. One night where it was just the two of them, and no one or nothing else. No "A", no murders, no questions, no lies. Just them. Just one night to be a normal couple.
One night to forget everything bad in their endlessly messed-up world and just, be.
Spencer stood up, and crossed over to Toby's tiny kitchenette. She began rummaging through his minifridge, causing him to quirk a brow. "Hungry?"
He walked over, then paused when he saw that she'd pulled out a bottle of cheap Scotch. "One of the guys from work gave that to me as a housewarming gift when I first got the loft," he explained quickly.
"It'll do." She grabbed one of his mismatched plastic cups and poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into it.
"Spencer." Both perplexed and alarmed, he took the cup from her. "What are you doing?"
"Getting drunk." She said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that he had to reprocess to be sure he'd heard her correctly.
"Spence…" he took her hand in his free one. "That's not…"
"Not what?" she eyed him with a challenge in those brown eyes now.
"It's not a good idea. It's just not."
"Why?"
"Because getting drunk might help you forget your problems for a little while, but it doesn't solve them. And then when you do remember them again, it makes you feel worse."
He didn't mention how he'd drank himself into a stupor after Spencer had found out he'd been working for "A" months before.
"I don't see how it could get much worse." She dropped his hand to unscrew the top off of the bottle, releasing the scent of sin into the air. "I just want one night. One night to forget everything. I don't care how terrible I'll feel tomorrow morning. I just want tonight." The desperation on her face, in her eyes, her voice, shook him to the core.
"I need you to help me forget." She finished softly, and he saw the sheen of tears join that burning desperation in those big, beautiful eyes.
"Spence—" he reached for her again, but she simply snatched the cup from his hand, and took a long sip.
Then she looked back at him.
Oh, what the hell, he thought.
Deliberately, he reached for the half-empty cup in her hand and downed what was left, grinning when he saw the slow smile of surprise wash over her face.
They would forget everything but each other tonight.
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Two hours later—although it felt more like two minutes—Spencer and Toby lounged carelessly on the floor of Toby's tiny bedroom, passing the Scotch bottle back and forth between them. Toby noted, through the drunken haze, that there was a light in Spencer's eyes that he hadn't seen in quite some time.
Seeing it made him smile so hard his cheeks ached.
"Y'know, I'm not usually a big drinker," Spencer slurred. "Good lil' Spencer Hastings, that's me. So good, so smart, so perfect," her voice edged with bitterness. "My parents would prob'ly disown me if they saw me right now." Then she giggled. "But I don't care! I'm soooo happy!"
Toby took a sip of the Scotch. "Yeah, I don't really drink either. But with you, it's fun." He passed the bottle to Spencer. "Wasn't so much fun last time. After you caught me wearing that black hoodie in your kitchen, I skipped town and got really, really drunk at this bar. I don't even know where it was."
Spencer peered at him. "You were that broken up about it?"
Toby nodded, accepting the bottle she passed back to him. "It really hurt."
"Awww." She wrapped an arm sloppily around his shoulders. "It's okay now. We're okay now. Right?"
"Right."
She grinned, quick and bright, then eyed him seriously—or as seriously as she could in her current state. "You're what keeps me going," she confessed. "When things get really bad, when I'm really scared or angry or confused, I just remember I have you. And it doesn't seem as bad anymore, y'know?"
"Yeah." He knew. He felt the same way about her.
For a moment, neither one said anything. Spencer toyed idly with the cap to the Scotch bottle, and Toby ran his fingers absently through her messy mahogany curls.
Suddenly, she burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" Riding on the alcohol and on the joy of seeing her so carefree, he pulled her onto his lap. Her eyes were glazed and glassy, her smile huge, her dimples deepened. Her body shook with unsuppressed laughter. His own vision blurred in and out of focus as he grinned down at her.
"I just realized how gross this is," she said between gasps of laughter. "Sharing this bottle. We're, like, exchanging saliva!"
Looking at her, with her bright eyes and tumbling hair and glowing skin, Toby felt a sudden stir of lust deep within him. A burning need to devour her, one greedy bite at a time.
"I can think of better ways to exchange saliva."
She stopped twirling the bottle cap and met his eyes. For a moment, they held the smoldering gaze.
And then, suddenly, their mouths fused together, two magnets desperately seeking out their opposite charge.
The kiss was long and deep and passionate, the kind of kiss that set hearts on fire and stirred souls.
But it wasn't enough.
Spencer tore at his button-down shirt while he ripped at her wool cardigan to reveal the thin, sleeveless shirt underneath. She struggled with the zipper of his jeans; he tugged at her skirt.
And through it all, their mouths never broke contact.
Tongues, teeth, lips, hands. Longing, desire, need, and love.
"Wait." He broke away, finding his chivalry through the inebriated daze and raging hormones. "Not here." He stood up, scooping her up into his arms and ignoring the clothing strewn about the floor. It took a moment for his vision to un-double, but when it did, he saw her gazing at him steadily, face flushed, lips swollen, her breath coming in short pants. Her hair was mussed from his fingers, and a love bite was already beginning to form at her throat. Her skin was burning, sweat-slicked, and her eyes were bright with passion.
"Toby—" he silenced her with a kiss. This time it was slow and gentle, sweet and soft. Without taking his lips off of hers, he carried her to the bed, laying her down on top of it.
"I love you," he breathed, running a hand through her hair. "Spencer. I love you so much."
"I know." She kissed his bare shoulder. "I love you, too."
And then their lips met again, and they gave in to the longing, to the desire, to the need. To the love.
They weren't perfect. But together, somehow, they were just exactly right.
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