Author's Note: Things are starting to heat up between the 'close friends'…

Warning: Allusions to Mature Subject Matter. (Not explicit… I don't think)


Nine Dames-a-dancing

Merri giggled as they stumbled into Chris' home in the French Quarter. It was closer to where he'd taken her out dancing, after all. Which was a good thing for a woman feeling a little tipsy wearing high-heels. She'd asked him if it would bother him, make dancing awkward if she wore her stiletto slingbacks that made her over an inch taller than her companion. He'd said 'what red-blooded man would object ta a woman in sexy shoes?'

And it hadn't appeared to interfere with his ability to whirl her about the dance floor. For such a blue-collar, backwoods sort of guy (she would argue he perpetuated that facade for his own purposes), he had some very good moves. He even knew some official ballroom dances, like the salsa. It had been unexpected. And yet not, she supposed. Because he was a charmer when it came to the ladies.

Who could resist the invitation to go out dancing with him again, after the taste she'd gotten on New Year's Eve? Who could resist him at all?

She certainly was finding it difficult, even though she wasn't drunk -well, that drunk.

Chris' solid form left her, and she hadn't realized how much she'd been using him to keep her upright. She reached out for the stand next to the door to support herself as the lights blinked on in time for her to realize she'd missed and was toppling over to be caught by her friend who seemed a little less worse for alcohol than she apparently was. She laughed, feeling light headed as he brought her back up to her feet quickly enough that she got a head rush.

"That's it," he said, laughing, doubtless at her silly state. "We's puttin' ya ta bed."

"Hm..." She leaned into him as he began to walk her towards the set of glass French doors to his bedroom. "I like that offer. You're joining me, right?"

He sat her on the foot of his bed.

"I don' think that's a good idea, Mere," he said, his expression belying his words.

"Liar," she said, flopping back onto the soft mattress. It was a typical bachelor's bed. Unmade, the sheets exposed and twisted up, and smelling of his ginger-and-sweat scent, which had become downright intoxicating to her. She wiggled her toes as he undid the tiny strap buckles and took off her shoes. "You want to undress me. Get me nekked in your bed. Get inside of me."

She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him, caught him wetting his lips in that nervous way of his. Did he know it turned her on?

Oh, god. She was a little drunk. But not drunk enough that she'd regret it in the morning. Didn't he realize that?

She pushed herself all the way up, grabbed his shirtfront and fell back to the mattress, tugging him forcefully down on top of her as she found his mouth and claimed it as her own property. God, how she wanted to claim every inch of his body with her mouth.

He didn't resist, meeting her kiss and the movement of her hips as she rubbed herself against him, wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck and reveled in him. She wanted him naked, skin against skin, filling her with his flesh and his warmth, and his affection. But oh, oh god, this would do. This would do.

He jerked, pulling away from her, and she instinctually tightened her grip on him, keeping his body flush to hers.

"We can't do this," he said, his voice sounding tight. "Ya gotta le' go a me."

"Please," she said, hearing the tightness in her own voice, the frustrated arousal thrumming through her body. "Please just touch me, Chris. If you don't want to have sex, just touch me."

She ground herself against him, hard, making him groan, the strength apparently leaving his arms as he collapsed on top of her, the weight of him crushing her into the mattress and sending another wave of heat through her.

"I can't take advantage of ya, Mere." He sounded not very convinced. "Yer drunk. Ya don' know what yer askin' fer."

She relented somewhat, loosening her hold on him so that he could push himself off from her, but he still hovered over her, staring down into her face with those gorgeous eyes, a deep, dark blue like the Arctic sea.

"Are my words slurred?" she asked, staring back into him, fighting to dampen the thrumming in her body. And failing. "Are my eyes unfocused?"

He licked his lips as he considered her points.

"I am a little buzzed," she said. "But I'm not so drunk I don't know what I'm saying." She arched her back, rubbing her body against his once more. "I want you, Chris. And if you're not willing to have sex but maybe want to touch me, please do it."

She felt his fingertips brush her naked thigh, and her body couldn't decide whether it wanted to sigh in relief or moan in desperate desire. His weight shifted off from her, and she let her legs fall from his waist, his hand traveling up her dress and into her panties and-

She threw herself wholly into the invitation to dance. Well, she supposed she'd been the one to coax him into this particular number, but it was one he poured himself into fully. He guided her body with the expertise she'd seen hints of in the way he set his skilled hands to so many tasks. He took her on an intoxicating trip that made her head spin. The world faded away into a swirling rush of sensation, making her first completely aware of her entire body and then taking her entirely out of it, so that her only connection to reality was him. And when the dance ended in a spectacular crescendo, he didn't let go. Rather he pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

Completely blissed-out, she fell asleep wrapped up in him.


A/N: Short but satisfying? Well, at least for Merri ;-)