Girls Drink for Free
By: Nymbis of the Underworld
Summary: A brief, but painful, look at the relationship between Cassandra and Stanton. R for sexual content.
Important Author's Note: Some sexual (gasp!) references, this is based on the song Me vs. Maradona vs Elvis by Brand New. This is extremely different than the stuff that I normally write, and I doubt I will be writing anything else like this. So erm, enjoy.
Major Stanton bashing! I would not recommend those who would get offended by this to read further.
His eyes lingered at the figure on the other side of the cheaply illuminated room. Her curves gave leeway to the free exposure granted by the slits in the side of her black dress. She danced provocatively with a few local boys who didn't know any better. She eluded a presence that lured him.
And he was hungry.
It had been a long week, followed by a long day, a long night. He had followed her here to unwind, possibly get some much needed fun. It was obvious from the first moment that she had lay eyes on him that she wanted him. Could he blame her? He had been the one to rise to the bait, to slowly draw her to him.
It was a specialty of his.
The place was called Sic Transit Gloria, the appropriate Latin phrase for Glory Fades. Although, a slum such as this did not deserve the privilege to have its name belong to an ancient expression. This place hardly deserved the name of a Greasy Spoon. It was dirty, dusty, peanut shells on the floor, it reminded him of the old Western taverns from the classic movies. Yet he supposed this would be an easy place to pick up on some distractions.
Distractions meaning the pleasurable company of a drunk young man or woman.
And the place seemed to be full of them. He even, had helped himself to two shots, simply to endure the unbearable stank that reached every corner of the hapless little room.
And then she had spotted him. Her pale eyes glowed luminescent in the dim lighting, almost a beacon drawing her to him. It was all too easy. He silently mused, too simple, too obvious. He grinned.
Too desperate.
She sauntered over, somehow maintaining a grace that betrayed her intoxicated self. Her breath rank of alcohol, and her voice had a slow purr that only made him want her more. He was hunger, after all, and he had gone so long without being fed.
He knew that by simply planting a suggestive thought in her mind, she would go along. She was all too willing to do whatever she could to please her mentor, a mentor whom she was completely infatuated with.
Stupid girl.
He was eager to do what he wanted, to have the moment and then to leave. But something about her made him want to linger. To go slow when with others he had gone fast. After a moment or so he discovered why. He enjoyed toying with the maroon haired girl.
The time passed slowly, as if frozen in that moment, bating him to change his less than admirable plans. But he was hungry.
She had helped herself to more shots, tequila this time. By the fifth or sixth, she was eager to leave the dump that had the nerve to label itself as a public establishment.
She seemed patient to enter his car, hesitant almost. The look in her slowly clouding eyes told him that she was not one to do this, not one to leave with an almost complete stranger. He remembered how his eyes had narrowed maliciously as he slowly kissed her neck and nibbled on the bottom corner of her ear.
After that, she had been nothing but tentative to get to his place.
He loved playing this game.
When they had pulled up to the driveway of his apartment, he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and they both greedily helped each other to their ninth shots. Her, to convince herself to go along with this obviously disdainful act, and Him, to rid himself of the guilt of his desperate desires and unadmirable plans.
He gently eased her out of his lap as he moved around to open her door. She got out, tripping on the way, and he lay a wandering hand around her waist. She pressed against him, and tilted her head towards his.
This had humored him for a moment. He greedily pressed his lips against hers and slid his tongue through the parting of her mouth. At first she had responded, and gently massaged his. He grinned before he pressed harder and deeper than she was willing to go, holding it for far too long. Both their breath stunk of gin, and he could feel her fear growing.
Fear was euphoria to him.
They made the way to his apartment door, her leaning on him like a crutch while she licked his neck and kissed the side of his mouth while he tried to curb his desires long enough to fuddle with the keys.
Once they entered, he immediately dragged her to the bedroom, where he ripped off his shirt eagerly and was starting to mess with his belt when he looked to see her standing awkwardly against the doorway, gripping her arms as if she were hugging herself.
He kept his face as sober straight as he could, trying to reassure her that he wanted this to be more than a simple one night stand, trying to tell her comforting lies that would get her out of her clothes.
Timidly, she obliged.
The ache in his body had spread now, and patience had dwindled to the point of nonexistence. He gently threw her onto his bed and began to reach up her thigh.
She had moaned, bit her lip, and even resisted on some parts. But it had ended all the same. He had gotten his way, and now she lay on the edge of the left side of the bed, in a fetal position as if she knew what she had just allowed him to do to herself. He lay with his arms crossed behind his head. She was no different. He lay awake now after she slowly drifted to sleep, musing over the fact that he had lied for fun, and had faked the way he held her.
She had fallen for every empty word he'd said.
After an hour or so, she had woken up and rolled over to face him. He muttered some soothing nothings into her ear that made the little hairs on her neck stand up. He tried to lull her back to sleep, content with what they had just had. She laughed and smiled, trying hard to be cute, trying hard to impress him. The slow edge to guilt slowly crept into his throat, knowing that the next day he would pretend she never existed. He inhaled her hair after she had fallen asleep again, not surprised that it smelt like the smoke from the ashtrays at the bar.
He gently fingered the blouse of hers that had been discarded on the nightstand. The brass buttons were shaped like little hearts, but were cold from the night's chill. The remorse was starting to get to him now.
He glanced over at her again and shrugged it off as quickly as it had come. She had the choice to sin or spend the night all alone, she had chosen sin. That was her fault. His eyes glanced over at her gently sleeping body, and she looked truly angelic. Her features lacked the pinched nerve of anger or spite, and she seemed completely relaxed.
He shook his head and eased out of the bed, pulling on his clothes. She had thrown the looks from the start. It was all she could be, she was a drunk and she was sometimes scared. But that was all she was to him. When she would awake, she would realize what he had done, she would hate him, despise him.
But they always came crawling back for more.
He was out of cash and IOUs, but it had been ladies' night and all the girls drink for free.