Title: Of Mistletoe and Kisses
Sypnosis: Daniel and Betty meet under the mistletoe.
Rating: 16
Notes: Just a little ditty floating around in my head. References and qoutes for inspiration:
I will admit, if you admit it
It's harder than we both thought
It's easier to fall apart.
The room is stifling. Models, photographers, assistants, executives, bosses, and secretaries all crowded the room, chatting loudly while drinking copious amounts of champagne. Daniel Meade is no exception to this rule, who is he to ignore the festive frivolity amongst his staff? Is he honestly able to stop the tall, stunning models from dragging him under the mistletoe to kiss him? Any young man with all this available to him would take advantage of the situation. He is privileged after all. Should he ignore these privileges and tempt the fates? Certainly not.
But then there was that voice. That shrill young voice echoing through his head the drunker he gets. He knows who it is. She has been the bane, and purpose, of his existence for nearly three years. His assistant Betty. He can hear her telling him to stop drinking, to stop letting these gorgeous models throw themselves at him – to think of their feelings.
Ugh there was that word again. These past three years he has never heard it or experienced it so much in his life. Guilt, remorse, all these things that were new and foreign to him seeped into his everyday life. All it took was one look from her. That one disapproving, disappointed, letdown look and he'd feel it. He'd feel inadequate. He had of course felt this before in his life – his father had never exactly accepted his son for what he was, but for the first time Daniel actually cared that he felt these things. He cared that he let her down. But they weren't the only new feelings in his life. This new "caring" thing. He really cared for Betty, sometimes more than he cares for himself. He does not care to dwell on this notion or analyze it too much, scared of what he might discover about her and himself.
Another drink.
A young woman drapes herself over him, squeezing his butt playfully, while whispering obscene thoughts into his ear. Suddenly he's aroused. Very aroused. His neck burns where her hand slides away and it hits him that it's not all just the thought of this beautiful blonde girl that is turning him on. He shakes this thought away, gently pushing her back. She looks bemused, squinting at him through sharp, fashioned bangs. He gives her a half smile, that smile that melts most women. Every woman except for Betty.
Damn her. Why does she keep appearing in his head?
Another champagne gone.
He turns in the crowd, pressing the glass to his lips, his eyes searching out a familiar friendly face. One in particular he prays for. The crowd part and there she is. He watches her as he stalks the floor. She nervously bites her lip, and tucks a strand of her lengthy brown hair behind her ear. It looks sleeker tonight, softer. Her dress is one of those sixty pin up's, haltering around her long neck, leaving quite an expanse of cleavage visible. Hot pink polka dots sit against a black silk back drop, and the dress flutters down just past her knees. She clutches onto a bag for dear life. She feels the exact same as he does here.
She feels lost in a crowd.
He decides to approach now, as he sees her manoeuvre under mistletoe. The thought does cross his mind to stop, that this isn't a good idea. This is just going to remind him what he can never have. Safety and security with someone who cares for him. But he doesn't stop. He pushes through, dropping his glass onto an empty tray.
She hardly sees him coming. Suddenly her boss is looming over her, his face flushed. He's so close, his hard frame pressing against the soft curves of her body. She can hardly breathe, between the heat and his proximity. His face leans down to hers, and he tips his head to the side with a questioning grin.
"Daniel?" she asks quietly.
He doesn't stop to answer. Before she realises what's happening, she feels his lips on hers. It's gentle at first, he merely rests them there and she lets herself feel it for a moment. In hindsight this was a very bad idea. Daniel feels her relax and his mouth begins to work against hers like he has belonged there all along. His tongue slips past her shock parted lips and he plunders the warmth of her mouth.
She can't move. He smells of alcohol and sex, his hands are clumsy, gripping her wrists in a vice like grip. It's almost as if, if he lets go she'll run. It dawns on her now he was probably with that model she saw him with earlier. She imagines them in his office, Daniel rolling her skirt up past her thighs, sinking onto his knees…Betty suddenly thinks she can probably taste this girl off his alcohol soaked lips. This should turn her off. By all accounts she should be repulsed. But then again there has always been that curiosity. What would it be like to be one of Daniel Meade's conquests? It's everything and nothing she desires. Lost in thought she hardly feels his hands move to the zipper of her dress. He has undone it ever so slightly, and caresses the bare skin there. Unconsciously she lets out a soft gasp, but it's all the encouragement he needs. Growling, he gently bites down on her lip causing a warmth to form between her legs. It is now she realises the extent of her boss's arousal. His hard length presses into her stomach. Again, every fibre of her being is screaming at her to run, but her body just won't listen. She pulls on the lapels of his jacket, changing the angle of the kiss to deepen it.
Suddenly he's gone, pulling back and straightening up. She feels dizzy, confused and out of breath. Looking down at her he feels again. Guilt. Her lipstick is smeared up her face, beads of sweat glisten on her forehead, her dress is loosened around her cleavage from the undone zipper. He needs to salvage what is left of their friendship and he does so well.
"Merry Christmas," he coughs, nodding towards the mistletoe above her head. Confused she follows his gaze to the ceiling, but when she looks back, he's gone, his exit as swift as his arrival, both leaving tell tale marks.