Drunk - by SingleStone
"You're a bartender, for Pete's sake!" he laughed, clearly amused by the subtle pink that tinged her cheeks. "How the hell does a bartender get trashed so easily?"
They were both in her kitchen, five or six empty bottles of liquor sprawled along the coffee table in neglect and two shot-glasses scattered nearby. There was all but one bottle left and that one too was nearing its end. He couldn't quite remember how it started. He knew he had walked in, uninvited no less, and caught sight of a few bottles of liquor sitting on the ground. Probably her stock for tomorrow at the bar. But he hadn't cared when he popped the cork off of the first bottle. Oh that's right. He was the one who started it, somehow managing to convince her to relax and have a few drinks with him. And then they grew competitive, tossing the booze down their throats in reckless disregard.
"I'm not trashed!" she protested, in irritation. "I just turn red easily." The glare she sent him was enough to stop him in mid-snort but he grinned down at her affectionately still and leaned closer to trail his slender fingers inquisitively across the smooth curves of her face. "And that last shot I had was a quarter of an inch higher than yours," she snapped, bringing her own hand up to push his away impatiently.
He pulled back immediately and propped himself up against the edge of the coffee table, reaching over to take hold of the solely upright bottle of liquor standing in the midst of its empty forgotten peers. He glanced down at the bottle curiously, clasping his fingers around the slim neck of the nearly empty bottle, and then he looked back over to meet her clouded eyes. "I can't wait to tell everyone at the bar I out-drank you," he continued to tease, surprised at how much he was enjoying her angry attention. "You'll be the laugh of the town."
"Just because I'm flushed doesn't mean I'm drunk!" she yelled, turning an even deeper shade of pink. There was an unmistakable slur in her voice and Reno could not contain his laughter.
"Oh God, Tifa, you're fucking wasted!" he hooted before plugging the mouth of the bottle between his own lips to take another vigorous swig of the hard liquor as a smug statement. He could definitely hold his booze better than she could hers. He lofted a satisfied eyebrow in her direction, prompting her to slam her palms loudly onto the table and push back on her chair. Reno pulled the liquor bottle away from his lips and winced as her action induced a loud screech against the tiled kitchen floor.
"You're so arrogant! I'm obviously not drunk!" she exclaimed, pivoting on her heel to stalk off towards the livingroom. He laughed again, just loud enough for her to hear, as he watched her clumsily knock her shoulder against the doorframe, all signs of her martial arts grace vanished from a few measly beers. He pushed himself off of the table, set down the now empty bottle onto the table, and followed, walking past the door frame unharmed and with much ease.
She was sitting at the piano, her velvet red skirt pooled over the piano bench as her fingers skipped awkwardly over the black and white keys, compiling a melody that wasn't quite so nice to the ears. She bit down on her lip and frowned in concentration.
"That's not how you play it, baby," Reno drawled, sauntering over to prop his chin up against her right shoulder and peer down curiously at her lax fingers. His arms wound around hers as his long, slim fingers made their way respectively over her own. He pressed down on them gently, left forefinger, right ring, right middle, left fore, right thumb, left pinky, left pinky, left ring and thumb. Then a coalition of them all. The lithe string of the notes flowed easily and soothingly, filling the room with its calm and fluid melody. And then he stopped abruptly, turning his head slightly to meet her murky set of eyes, which had been trained on him the entire time.
"You're good," she commented simply, the slur of alcohol still heavy in her speech.
"Well, I'm not drunk," he reminded her, a small smile sneaking its way into the corners of his lips.
"I'm not drunk,"she replied stubbornly. It was then, that he realized her heavy breathing and that it now matched his own breathing, which had grown ragged sometime ago. He also noticed that their faces were incredibly close and that she carried the frail scent of jasmines and of something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on; but it was swarming all over him now, dizzying his senses and intoxicating his mind. ......And there was something distinctively different about her eyes now.
But before he could think any further, her lips were pressed against his. His eyes instantly shot open and then slowly slid to a close as he coiled his arms around her slim waist, allowing her to smother him with her drunken sweet kisses while he, himself, favorably returned them with his own.
It was over as quickly as it had begun, it seemed to him, and when she pulled away, he reluctantly forced his eyes open. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red now, though he doubted it was from the alcohol consumption.
"I- I think you were right," she muttered, looking down at her lap in embarrassment, "I think I'm pretty hammered right now." He wanted to laugh at her feeble excuse but pulled away instead, nodding helplessly. He watched as she disentangled herself from his resigned arms and slipped off of the piano bench to hastily flee from the livingroom, taking the scent of jasmine and that sweet peculiar something else along with her.
He stared down at the piano keys thoughtfully for a moment. And then he grabbed the red strip of cloth rolled up near the sheet music, carefully lining it over the black and white keys before closing the piano lid shut.
"Were you really drunk just then, Tifa?" he murmured softly to himself. For some reason, he couldn't get it out of his head that, just then, her eyes looked clearer than they had ever looked before.