Here I am. Nothing much is happening with TGTBT, so, as promised, I'm posting this instead. Thanks to everyone who reads what I write and stops a moment to let me know. And thanks to Justine for her demands for 'more', and to Diane, as always, for her eagle eyes!
From foggy Nova Scotia I send you:
Drunken Excuses
By Mariel
They were both drunk...
The kind of very drunk where you say what you think and find everything sad or amusing or very, very profound.
The kind of drunk where emotions run close to the surface and are honest and open...
...The kind of drunk that sucks away inhibitions and allows you to act on your impulses - and lets attraction lead to a touch and a touch lead to passion and rules and morals be damned.
It was a dangerous kind of drunk to be, if you were a married man with a growing attraction to a younger woman who worked for you, and you'd just spent the evening crammed into a booth beside her, laughing and talking with people you liked and were comfortable with.
And it was a very dangerous kind of drunk indeed if you were a young, attractive woman who was more than just a little attracted to an older, married man who appeared to have resisting temptation down to an art...
-XXX-
No one saw them leave.
No one saw them stumble, he trying to help her flag down a cab, she trying to maneuver in her oh-so-expensive and very, very high-heeled shoes.
No one saw him wrap his arm around her, and no one saw them both hesitate in shock at such contact.
No one heard him say, 'Sorry'.
Or heard her slurred, "S'okay. Thanks."
No one saw her look at him in a thoughtfully drunken way and then relax into his thoughtfully drunken embrace.
-XXX-
"I don't feel so good," she said, suddenly sad. His arms would leave her and she'd be without him again.
But this was a beginning if things went right and her instincts were true and he felt the way she did and oh how she hoped he did and that there was a chance...
He liked the way she fit into his arms.
And knew he'd wanted to know this feeling, but that sober he wouldn't have allowed it - but he was drunk and rules be damned and who the hell knew what had happened to his inhibitions...
"Then we'd better get you home," he said, finally releasing her and raising a hand.
His inhibitions were missing but his sense of decency was still there and he couldn't take advantage couldn't do this not here not now not ever it wouldn't be right...
A yellow cab slowed to a stop.
She stumbled as she moved to get in.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I think so," she muttered into the dark.
He was used to taking control, used to looking after people.
"Push over. I'll come with you. It'll save me trying to flag down another taxi," he said, making a decision he didn't yet recognise.
She was pleased by his offer. She liked him. A lot. She liked him in a way that made her knees weak when they stood too close and he looked at her in that way he had of looking at her. Liked him in a way that made her entire body conscious of him and what he could do to her... and what she would like him to do to her...
She wondered how his lips would feel against her own. Wondered how his hands would feel as they ran across her body, what it would be like to make love to him...to feel him over her, his weight pressed against her as they moved slowly together, taking their time, enjoying the heat and the feeling of skin sliding against skin...
He was glad he had offered. Glad he would be with her for a few moments more. He liked her - had for a while now, though maybe he hadn't realised just how much. He liked the way he felt when she smiled. Liked the way she looked at him when they were alone and there was no one watching...
He wondered what it would be like to have her look up at him as he moved over her, what her eyes would hold in their dark depths... He wondered what it would be like to take her and hold her and say things and do things to her he'd never said or done before... what it would be like to feel her against him, responding to his touch...
They leaned against each other in the cab, pretending not to notice they were - but knowing that they were, and why.
It felt good.
The ride was long and slow, and their heads began to clear...
-XXX-
When the cab drew to a halt in front of her apartment building, she asked him in.
He said yes.
...Because he could still say he was under the influence, though the thought process and desires behind his answer were stone cold sober.
Far, far in the back of his mind a voice told him he should leave now, before he did something he would regret.
He leaned forward, paid their fare, and thanked the cabbie for the ride.
Because somewhere in the cab ride over he'd lost his sense of decency.
They stood on the sidewalk, the night feeling endless, reality miles away.
He looked down at her and a glimmer of sanity resurfaced. His inhibitions were still missing and his sense of decency AWOL, but there was always his unfailing sense of guilt to deal with.
It would be wrong, wrong, wrong, to do this. To go with her. To make love to her. He couldn't do this shouldn't do this wouldn't do this...
Not able to help himself, he reached out and touched her hair. "I'm sorry. This is- I should be going... I don't think-"
She smiled, as though more experienced with ignoring guilt than he. "No, come up," she said, her voice soft and certainly sober. Looking at him with eyes so dark he could feel the night in them, she said words that tore all pretence apart.
"We can't ignore this forever, Jack."
Still trying to, he looked up at the fourteen-story building.
She reached out and touched his arm. Smiling up at him, she said, "It's not much, but the view's to die for. I'm on the twelfth floor. Please. Just for a while."
He turned his attention back to her. His guilt gave up the ghost and disappeared into the night with barely a whimper. It left him alone to think he'd have climbed farther than twelve stories if he'd needed to...
-XXX-
They were stone cold sober when he crushed her against the inside of her apartment door.
They were stone cold sober when she responded, arching against him, wanting this contact - wanting him - more than she'd thought possible.
Oh, God he felt right, his hands were warm and his breath hot against her skin and she didn't want him to stop didn't think she could bear it if this didn't last forever because he tasted so good and he was kissing her again and touching her and ohyesyesyes...
She was soft and supple and she responded to his touch as though born for it and he wanted more of her wanted the taste of her on his lips and the feel of her against his skin and ohmygodwhatwasshedoingtohim...
Stone cold sober, they removed their clothes, found her bed, and made good use of it.
Stone cold sober, they awoke hours later.
He reached over and brought her against him.
She snuggled more deeply into his arms.
They lay there, wondering at the drunken sense of happiness they felt.
This had been a long time coming.
Then Jack thought of home, of his wife and two girls.
Sometimes, being drunk was an acceptable reason for doing something so wrong. You could use it as an excuse, blame an action on it instead of yourself. It was done all the time...
But drunk as an excuse wouldn't be honest, because drunk or stone cold sober, he'd have done this.
He'd wanted to for a long, long time.
And, drunk or stone cold sober, he knew he was in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble, because he had seen what was in her eyes and he had fallen into it and knew - drunk or stone cold sober - nothing would change what he had felt in response.
Samantha stirred, felt Jack's arms around her tighten, and smiled. She inhaled shakily, her breath shortened by happiness.
This was risky, this was foolish, and wrong in more ways than she could count, but this was also very, very right. She'd seen in his eyes that it was.
She nodded to herself. Nothing could change certain unalterable facts.
Not even drunken excuses...
End
Drunken Excuses
End
Drunken Excuses