Beer Talk

He grumbled unintelligently for the nth time that night. He was dead tired as he eyed the slow opening of the apartment's elevator. He walked out, totally stressed from work.

Yanagi was going to have to make sure that she gives him back his house key after he's done with this.

He treaded the narrow, air-conditioned hallway, the warm yellow-tinted lights only making his eyes more tired by every step. He shook his head to rid of the sleepiness, setting his jaw in a determined clench. He was going to finish this tonight.

Quick and easy.

He knocked at room 403 and frowned when no one was coming to open the door for him. He lightly groaned when he turned the unlocked doorknob.

Didn't she know how to lock her own door? Anyone could've entered her room.

But then again, that someone would have the misfortune in getting his ass kicked.

Before he headed towards the familiar one-bedroom apartment, he heard a hiccup from inside the bathroom.

He only shook his head and sighed as he settled his suitcase in the pristine white leather couch. Idly loosening his tie, he slipped off from his shoes, expertly dodging all those fancy glass furniture.

"Kirisawa," he called only to be replied with another hiccup. The bathroom was open, he noticed. He wondered if she was decent. He took a small peak inside, and sighed in relief that she was fully clothed, lying in the dry porcelain tub, one hand holding a beer, and the other holding a marker. She had her knees brought up to her chest, a list on her lap. She wrote sluggishly on the paper and grumbled.

"The movie you have to see. No that's not it. I hatedthat movie."

He coughed shortly to get her attention and she thoughtfully looked at him, taking a swig of her beer.

"Hey." She returned back to her piece of paper.

"Hn."

"You want some beer? It's in the sink." Truthfully enough, there was the sink, a bathroomsink filled with ice and probably 10 more unopened canned beers. He absentmindedly took one and walked towards the tub while opening the lid. He sat at the edge and took a guzzle of beer. He sighed contentedly as the cool alcohol slid down his throat.

Suddenly remembering his reason of coming over here, he looked back at her slightly nipping on the marker while her eyes trained at the paper on her lap. He realized that she wasn't wearing anything decent, but a faded KISS concert shirt and a pair of boyshorts. Damn.

And as far as what he heard of Yanagi, the main correspondent of sending him here, she was drunk.

"What did you think about the movie Saw IV?" she asked without looking up. He looked up the ceiling thoughtfully and took another sip from the can. "Disturbingly inhuman." He replied immediately.

"Pff, how about imaginative?" she muttered, "… yeah imaginative." Then she scribbled with her marker on the list.Imaginative.

"You hated that movie." He pointed out.

"I know." She said sheepishly. She finally put the marker and the list beside her in the tub and drank from her can. "Just that you simply can't say anything debauched about a Hollywood movie."

"Then why?" he looked at her with his one brow raised.

"Well, my job requires a back-seat in the movie industry. Might as well make yourself known to the public by sending in good reviews to the producers to have your name printed in movie posters and DVD's." she chuckled dryly and drank again.

"Well, that's not really professional don't you think?"

"That's show business, babes." She leaned the backside of her head against the edge of the tub and sighed. "Why're youhere? Far as I know, yourjob requires sleep during the night and work during daylight savings."

"Yanagi called me over." He said wryly. He took a sip.

"Pff… You didn't have to. It's not like I'm a drunk movie critic –slash- cupcake shop owner." She tried to stifle a hiccup, only to have it released loud enough for him to hear.

"You are a drunk movie critic –slash- cupcake shop owner." He smirked. He thought that she has the weirdest jobs he had ever come across with. She was a quaint cupcake bakery owner by day, and by night she slays the movie industry with her no-nonsense critique. He learned that she was drunk because of her all-too-nicely put-together movie review of Saw IV. She detested that movie. He should know. He was with her when they watched the premiere.

That and she broke up with her boyfriend.

Suddenly remembering that, he put up a straight face and asked seriously, "What's up," he wasn't asking actually. It was as if he knew she would lie straight away knowing that he got to the point straight without having her taking curbs on her love life.

"What?" she raised her head to look at him confusedly. He shot her a suspecting look.

"The guy. What's his name? Jerko?" he lightly scratched his head and closed his eyes.

"Jericho. Jericho Swan, you know the actor?" Ah, yes, the actor.

"Really? I could've sworn it was Jerko." He was sure it was Jerko. He remembered the first time Fuuko introduced the half Japanese and half Russian to him where his funny accent introduced himself as 'Jerk-O'. He didn't know if the guy was joking, but he secretly thought it was funny.

She only let out an irritated sigh.

"You know, you're not exactly a girl's best friend when it comes to this." She leaned her head back. She mumbled an invitation for him to take the space in the tub opposite hers, which he willingly slipped in. She instinctively placed her feet on top of his lap.

"Why, that was encouraging." He mumbled darkly, fondly eying her creative cartooned-nail polish on her toes.

"Where's Yanagi anyway? I should be bawling the night away to her right now if you weren't you."

"In the carnival with the kids and the monkey." He drank from his can.

"And she called you to hear me out." She replied back knowingly, "Why that sweet little peach." And he only chuckled. Somehow, Fuuko was known for saying vulgar X-rated words with conviction, but she couldn't bring herself to say that to Yanagi.

They stayed like that for a while, talking about the day they had, Fuuko doing most of the talk. She talked about her cupcake shop, a line of pre-school kids entered her shop with their teacher and three minutes later they were all running about her shop, disturbing customers. Dirty little demons. But she said that she couldn't bring herself to chew out on them because they reminded her of herself when she was a kid. Only she was ten times worst. After they all left with free cupcakes, she invited them to come back to the shop anytime.

Then the conversation revolved around Fuuko's nightlife of movie criticizing. She shared how much she hated going to the Hollywood mainstream premieres in Tokyo, and that she would rather go to underground movie houses that showed more art films she so loved. She was known for her Japan Indie Scene reviews that even experienced art film movie goers learned to trust in her reviews. The only problem she had with those is that she doesn't get paid as much as reviewing high-end movies.

They shared about the movies they both loved, one was Imahe Nasyon, a documentary film from the Philippines which were 20 short films made by 20 directors revolving on the 20 years after the legendary EDSA movement of the Filipinos for democracy. She took Tokiya with her to watch the movie considering Jerk-O was more of the preppy kind of guy who wanted to watch Hollywood shit, no matter how crappy it might've been. That was probably the reasons she broke up with him. Their movie preferences never clashed. And for Fuuko, it's a big plus when you have at least a fraction of her movie interests. Spell 'plus' with a capital 'P'.

Then they discussed about one movie they both liked that was from the conventional media Mecca (Hollywood), Crash. They both liked how their lives were connected with each other. It was so realistic and rampant that it amazed them so much of the reality of racism in the United States between the whites, the blacks, the Asians and the Mexicans.

They then conversed about the worst films they had to come across, and for Fuuko's part, the worst she had to endure to critique. They both agreed that no one, no one, should ever make another movie with the combination of teenagers with horrible acting skills and musicals. It makes her want to puke. Those movies only focused on making money, not really focusing in the realistic side of teenage life. Everyone should know that life is no fucking musical. Every parent should know that. Unless they would actually want to hear their children sing the same songs from the blasted movie infecting them with the Last Song Syndrome disease.

"I hear they're making the third one of those crap." her face crinkled.

"Triple the gayness." she continued.

Then, the topic they both enjoyed: actors they would most likely date. Tokiya had to admit that he once fancied dating Natalie Portman. He confessed quite blandly that it turns him on when a straight, non-alcoholic actress graduated from Harvard. She said that she dreamt on dating the French Gaspard Ulliel from Hannibal.

"Andhe speaks English. How hot is that?" she said following up with a snort, "As if being French is not sexy enough."

"True, true." He said. He put down his empty can to the tiled floor. It was his third beer, and seventh for her. He knew that she was wise enough to not drink above her limit (which was nonexistent anyways) and they both fell in comfortable silence, each of them stuck in their own musings. He settled in massaging her feet on his lap. He smirked when he remembered a saying from Anne Morrow Lindbergh,

Good conversation is as stimulating as black coffee. And just as hard to sleep at.

At their case, good conversation is always over a case of beer, but it works just the same.

His mind trailed back at the woman before him. She was closing her eyes, but he was just as sure that she was still awake with that small smile plastered on her lips. He was tracing her features while familiarly tracing circles on top of her foot. He had to admit, even in a not-so-wasted state, she still never fails to attract him to her. Her long neck was craned backwards, trailing down to her busts to her flat tummy and to the long expanse of her legs that was currently laying comfortably on his lap. He can't deny the growing heat in his body. He was only man. And she was only wearing a playboy boy shorts.

His fingertips were already unconsciously slithering at her legs and he heard her sigh contentedly. Growing bolder, his hand ghosted over her thighs where even the sounds she was making gotten louder as well. Unable to contain any longer, he shifted toward her, one hand was still contentedly resting on her bare thigh, one hand moved to stretch the whole length of his arm so he could lean over her with a noticeably close distance from her face. He looked at her intently, watching her breath shift from normal to rapid.

She felt the once cool and relaxed atmosphere alternate to hot and intense. She opened her lids, only to rest at his half-lidded grey eyes.

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hey," he replied huskily. Without a second more, he was kissing her slowly, getting used to her lips, their softness, and that undoubtedly addicting taste. She replied his kiss, pacing up to his sensual licks, her hands slowly unbuttoning his white polo. He had to groan when her hands explored his now-exposed muscled chest and almost doubled over when her knee was innocently grazing between his legs. His tongue slid inside hers, tasting that last remnants of beer and that flavor that was essentially hers.

He grinned.

He had to admit,

Beer never tasted this good.

Author's Notes: Okay, I'm sorry about those who love High School Musical. It's just that I never got that movie. At all. And you have to admit that their acting skills is so fake. Now, if you don't want to review, I understand. I don't want to debate with you on that movie. And about Saw IV, said by the critics themselves, the movie is inhuman. Not scary.