So, here's another late Smutember Week 2 addition for you! The trope I used for this is, quite obviously, Intoxication/In Vino Veritas.
Thank you to Uglygreenjacket, who looked over this for me literally after a long full day of work-on-a-weekend and absolutely last minute. You're my hero!
Anyway, have fun with this, and I'd love to hear what you think of it!
Tequila Makes Your Clothes Fall Off
A Short Story In The Lemon Tree Series Written For Smutember 2019
Usako, 11:55 pm
Can you come pick me up?
Mamoru, 11:56 pm
Of course.
Is everything ok?
The bike stopped with a low rumble underneath him and he kicked his leg out to climb off it. Even from the street he could hear the low thrum of the base and the cacophonic murmur of plenty of voices in a small space. Finding her would not be hard today.
It had only taken him precisely 11 minutes to get here, most of Usagi's (now former) classmates tended to live more or less close by after all. He didn't even know which ex-classmate it was this time who threw their seemingly never-ending parade of graduation parties.
He'd stopped accompanying her to these after the third of them, much to Usagi's dismay.
This one was held at a small restaurant a few of them had rented, if he remembered Usagi's excited chatter correctly, and sure enough, the music and noise came from a small hut of a restaurant, the lighting inside shining dim and orange and glowing, the glass door entirely fogged up from the inside.
A bell rattled when he opened it, and a wave of body heat and smells and hormonal euphoria and so much noise greeted him in a cloud of bombarding sensation all at once, that had it not been for the fact he had the most important person in the world to collect here, he would have stepped back out the doorstep and turned away immediately.
Instead, he braved the crowd and weaved pretty much unnoticed between shouting, laughing, dancing, chatting people, stopping only briefly in surprise and shock when he spotted Umino without his glasses and somewhat of a look, and then continued on. He avoided a boy, one head shorter than him, carefully and clumsily carrying a fresh tray of shots who had almost collided with him, a girl that took one look at him and approached him immediately, and Minako, who was dancing on a table with a somewhat lanky guy with way too much stubble and no coordination.
He found Makoto deep in conversation with a group of people he only vaguely recognized, and one hug in greeting later he was pointed up towards the second floor.
The stairs were lined with orange glowing tea candles in rice paper bags and he briefly wondered how none of these could have caught fire yet with so much alcohol in the room, when he finally spotted two golden hair buns atop the most adorable being in the universe.
She looked good enough to eat, in those knee-high socks and short tight skirt. Leaning against a pillar, she was chatting with two boys he didn't know (or rather being chatted at), her smile equal parts sweet and dazed and waving a glass that was barely a quarter full anymore and still managing to slosh clear, amber liquid all over the place.
He walked over in two strides, caught hold of her flushed, too warm, too pink cheeks and held her face up towards him a little, checking for any… he didn't even know what he was checking for. Why she'd texted him to get here even though she was supposed to stay at Makoto's with the girls afterwards, he supposed.
The boys jumped a little apart, one of them saying something in a more or less raised voice that started with a 'Hey!' and that he absolutely ignored, and Usagi's smile slipped into beaming territory and she snuggled her face against his hands before he'd even said anything to accompany his concerned glare.
"You ok?" he breathed.
She nodded with her eyes closed and her lips pulled into a dopey smile, and she grabbed at his shirt and pulled him down to her lips and he realized two things.
She was absolutely fine, and she was out of her head drunk.
"I am now," she purred at his lips at the same time as he lifted up his hands from her cheek, holding them up in surrender, and drew forcefully back from her hold before their lips touched.
"Usako," he scolded.
She fell back on her heels, pouting, and swayed a little too much.
He shot out a hand to steady her, took her sloshing drink from her and placed it on the nearest surface – a low shelf littered in more fire-hazard tea candles – with a heavy thud, and rolled his eyes.
Right. He should have known. Of course –
He only registered dimly that the boys she'd been talking to had taken one look at them and went off with matching blushes, and pursed his lips when he caught the end of what one said to the other. '— terrible wingman. Should have known she has someone.'
Her pout didn't stay. Instead, her lips curled back up into that seductive little smile that was known to do him in, and even when he was shaking his head slowly, his arms going up a little higher and taking a step back, she followed and curled around him, her arms snaking around his form and her temptress-fingers stroking against the hem of his pants just above his belt before fully slipping underneath his shirt.
He nervously looked around, absolutely alarmed. There were so many people here.
"Again?" he asked, frustrated.
She shrugged coyly and moved back up to her tiptoes.
He stubbornly remained upright.
He should have known.
This was the fourth time she'd done this now.
They hadn't been intimate for long – depending on how one defined intimate, of course – but they'd only recently taken the… the step, and while she was more comfortable with anything intimate and sexual than he was as it was, it was all dialed up to a hundred when she drank.
Usagi was a horny drunk; he was learning this the hard way.
The first time had been just a few weeks before her graduation, when he'd once again taken her to Edward's annual ball. It had only been days after they'd first had… after they'd first done it, and while it obviously wasn't the first time she'd gotten more or less accidently drunk at this event, it was the first time she'd come on to him so strong he'd later had to… Well, take care of it in the shower.
He knew she'd been tipsy. Had noticed the way she drank those sweet cocktails down like juice, had noticed the lull in her voice and the pink hue to her cheeks and the glassy look in her eyes. But she'd giggled so cutely at him as they'd slow-danced, asked for one more song again and again, and when she turned half-lidded eyes up at him and coyly pulled at his hands to lead him out to the balcony, he'd been reminded of the first time he had ever asked her to dance, out alone on the pillary veranda at the Princess D ball.
He hadn't been prepared for the way she pushed him down onto the iron bench outside, straddled him, ground against him, and then bit at his ear, just after she'd whispered the bluntest, sexiest words in the lowest voice he'd ever heard her talk in right into his ear, both of which made him hard so fast it made him dizzy.
"I'm dripping wet and I'd like your cock in me now. Can we do something about that?"
He'd stood up so abruptly, flustered and embarrassed and turned on, that she'd fallen off his lap with a shriek and then fell promptly right into a fit of giggles.
He'd asked Ami later to get her home.
The second time had been the day of her graduation. Haruka, Michiru and Setsuna had hosted a small party for the girls at their place in celebration, wined and dined them and kept filling up their glasses graciously, and by the time Haruka had started to play funk music on her hipster retro record player, Usagi had been so drunk she could barely stand.
She'd still pulled him into the bathroom, yanking at his belt, and told him she wanted to suck him until he screamed.
He'd nearly jumped out that window.
The third had been only one day after that, in her parent's house for god's sake, after her father had opened up a vintage bottle of Japanese whiskey and had happily made them drink it toast after toast, only half-jokingly exclaiming that he hadn't been all that sure the day of Usagi's high school graduation would ever really come.
And that day, her parent's drunken giggling in the living room, when she'd bypassed him once more on the way back from the bathroom and pressed him into the wall of her hallway and her tongue into his mouth, and told him he could 'put it in wherever you want', while pulling at his shirt, he'd almost been too drunk to stop her this time.
Almost.
He fled and cried in the shower later, shaking and stroking and falling apart, he was so turned on.
He took a wary, wide-eyed step back, her hands falling away from underneath his shirt in the process, and willed his traitorous erection down.
She's drunk, he reminded himself over and over. It's not right.
But the glint in her eye was there and she stepped right back into his personal space, and when she reached up this time, he bent down.
"You're drunk," he whispered against her temple.
"Mhmm," she hummed towards his lips. "And I want you."
His eyes flicked across the crowd. A few people were watching them. Some amused, some more or less uninterested, most people in their own worlds. The two boys from before were watching openly.
He put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back down a little. "I'll drive you home, now, Usako."
Her eyes were that determined, sexy hue and her lips pulled up on just one side, and she leaned back up despite his hands on her shoulder and sniffed at his throat. "Hmm. Drive me to your place, instead," she hummed.
And then her hands travelled lower, since he wouldn't let her lean up, and before they could touch his crotch, he jerked his hips away from her, startled and flustered and blushing.
He managed to hip-check someone passing behind him, and he whirled around apologizing, and so did Usagi, calling the guy by his name, acting absolutely naturally and sweet, as if she hadn't just tried to touch him in a room full of people, or if that was completely normal.
He swallowed, and tugged on her to get her away, if he couldn't keep her from trying to grope him in public.
"Let's get you home so you can sleep this off," he ground out, and weaved her between a group of people towards the stairs.
"But I'd rather want you to fuck me, Mamo-chan," she said with a way too sweet and completely inapropriately demure pout in her voice.
He flushed to the tips of his ears. She'd said it in her normal speaking voice. Not way too loud, but loud enough that two groups of people around them heard and whirled their heads around. They'd heard. The flush travelled up to the roots of his hair when the first wolf-whistle sounded. Someone shouted 'get him, Tsukino!' followed by loud woots.
He ducked his head, gripped her hand, and pulled her down the stairs.
In passing through the lower level of the rented restaurant, he waved at Makoto upon dragging Usagi out, with that kind of hand-wave and shoulder shrug and eyebrow action meant to indicate, 'You gonna be ok, here?' and she nodded, smiled, and waved her water bottle at him and he breathed a sigh of relief and an even deeper one when he opened that fogged up door back up, his girl under his arm, and breathed cool, stinky, but calm Tokyo air.
And then he remembered the fact that he was here on his bike, and it would mean she'd be drunk and pressed up against him.
She gave a way too delighted gasp when she spotted it on the curb.
He swallowed, but went to extract her pink helmet from the case with wary fingers.
"You'll be home in about 10 minutes, Usako," he said.
"I don't have my keys," she said, voice too cheeky.
He didn't believe a word and threw her a glare.
"I don't!" she said with a grin, and lifted her arms, stepping back against him. "You can check my pockets." She grinned.
She didn't have pockets on this outfit.
"Where's your stuff, Usako," he grumbled down at her, leaning back against his bike when she stroked her hands up the sides of his thighs and bit her lip and shit—
Swallowing took more work this time, and so did staying down.
"It's at Mako-chan's," she said with a shrug. "I was gonna stay at her place."
He was well aware of that.
"We'll just have to ring the doorbell, then."
Yeah, he was aware it was close to 1 am now. And he liked that her parents liked him. But… he couldn't—
"Mama and Papa are on their wedding anniversary trip," she said.
Shit. He knew that.
"Shingo, then," he croaked.
"At Mika's."
Shit.
He exhaled harshly when her fingers travelled up his chest and underneath his leather jacket to travel up his sides.
"I like you in this," she purred.
"It's because of the bike." He hissed when her hands travelled back down and back front and so slowly down his abs.
"I'd also like you out of it," she hummed.
He groaned.
And then she blinked back up at him and pouted that pretty red inviting mouth and she was drunk and it was wrong.
"Get me in your bed now, please?" she cooed.
It was wrong. It was wrong it was wrong it was wrong. And yet he weaved them through the calm streets of bright, nighttime Tokyo to his apartment after all, and didn't manage to ignore the way her hands clutched at him a little too sensuously, and the way she pressed herself against him, and the gap between those thigh-high socks and her ridden up skirt.
It was wrong. And yet, when he killed the engine in front of his apartment complex and she hadn't moved yet, he found his hand pressed into her thigh, right at that gap, and her hand travelled lower and cupped the painfully hard bulge in his pants.
He shivered – a full body shiver –and helplessly looked up into the dark sky and bit his lip because shit it felt good, and with a low moan allowed himself 4 more seconds of her torture until he wrenched himself free.
Wrong wrong wrong. She's drunk, you douche.
The thought drove himself home and made him feel even more like a pervert when she had obvious trouble getting off his bike, all her klutz enhanced and she nearly faceplanted onto the asphalt over her feet, had he not grabbed her upper arms and held her aloft.
She giggled just that little too much.
But then she leaned against the wall in the elevator on the opposite side of the stall, eyes half-lidded and blatantly checking him out as she bit her lip and gave a little moan, and he had to keep from whimpering because how the hell was this fair?
He was weak. He was so weak. And so, he cursed himself when he bridged the space between them, grabbed her by the back of her head and plunged his tongue into her mouth.
But the way she mewled. The way she melted in his arms and threw herself against him. The way she rubbed against him as if she wanted to climb up and stay there and swallow him whole, and when she curled her leg around him, and his palm was back at that gap, his grip firm and clutching and his fingers not behaving and brushing underneath her skirt as he lifted her up by the thighs and up onto the handrail.
She moaned in that almost obscene way right into his mouth, her tongue and lips frantic and wet and pliant and deep, and he only came to his senses when she started grinding up against his erection, her legs wrapped firmly around his waist, her skirt ridden up almost all the way.
He would have dropped her would it not have been for her tight monkey hold on him, and prying her limbs and lips from him was almost an impossible task.
But he managed, gasping and bothered and flustered and hard.
"Mamo-chan," she whined.
It was then that he finally got why the stupid elevator hadn't moved. He hadn't pressed the button to his floor.
He cleared his throat and did just that and studiously stared at the aluminum wall even when she wrapped herself against his back, her exquisite little fingers reaching around and stroking up his belly.
Her quivered beneath her touch.
"Mamo-chan…"
Her voice was back to that low, seductive voice that worked too well.
Drunk. She's drunk.
And yet he barely made it through the door and she'd hopped up on him and he'd caught her, and collapsed against his wall. She'd started running the tip of her nose along his throat, his ear, inhaling in deep moans as she pressed her tongue against his neck and bit and sucked—
And all he could do was helplessly jerk his hips and cup her ass with hands that were no longer listening to him and were all the way down her skirt.
"You're drunk," he pleaded with her, even when he slammed her onto his mattress and climbed on top of her, fully dressed, greedy hands kneading at her ass.
"I am," she agreed, and yanked at his jacket.
It thudded to the floor with a loud thud, followed by his shirt.
It was when her head was thrashing against his pillow and his fingers were in her mouth and she started babbling in that high whine to please get her out of these clothes and fuck her already, that he came back to himself and wrenched himself off of her.
Her grunt was livid.
"Mamo-chan!" she shouted after him, annoyed and frustrated, and lying on his bed with her hair disheveled and her thighs spread and her lips swollen.
He clutched his bathroom sink and panted heavily, pleading with his own reflection to just give him strength. And when that didn't help, he squeezed his eyes shut, mortified and embarrassed, fumbled with his belt and his zipper and started to rub himself to the mental image of disheveled golden hair, thighs spread in knee-high socks and pink, swollen lips.
His grip was hard and angry and unrelenting, his pace was furiously aggressive, and he spit into his hand and rubbed even harder, squeezing his tip until it wept.
It took pretty much only a minute until he came against the porcelain of his bathroom sink and watched the grit of his teeth and pained grunt of his own reflection as he did so.
He was embarrassed and ashamed but at least this way he could be strong—
He stayed another few minutes. Cleaned himself up and calmed his breathing and his nerves and emerged fully prepared to fight her off.
But when he walked back out, braced and ready, she was snoring loudly on his bed, completely conked out. Mouth open, all limbs stretched away from her, one hand hanging off his bed and he couldn't help but snort.
He dressed her down to just her T-shirt, peeling off those knee-high socks with a soft smile, and then wrapped her up like a burrito. He dressed in his most comfortable pajamas, placed a glass of water for her on his nightstand and then snuggled in beside her.
It only took about 30 seconds to get a hand slapped in his face in her sleep, because Usagi was even more of a sleep hazard when she was drunk, his adorable gorilla of a girlfriend.
He drifted off to the smell of her hair and held her just a little tighter.
When she finally woke up fully, stretching and groaning and turning back into Mamoru's pillows to hide from the world just that little bit longer, she was somewhat surprised at her lack of headache and supposed it might have something to do with the Golden Crystal holder currently making her breakfast from the smell of it.
Her stomach growled loudly.
Yet she turned around, fell back asleep, and the next time she woke up, it was to Mamoru's hips shifting back into the bed and a big, steaming bowl of seasoned rice with more-runny-than-not eggs and grilled veggies and two spoons being thrust underneath her face.
She stretched groggily as he lifted one of the spoons and daintily brought it to his mouth.
She rolled onto her back, turned her head to glare at him before she rubbed her eyes and sat up, and then grabbed the other spoon, choosing not to comment on the fact that he was breaking his own no-eating-in-bed rule and dug in.
She moaned immediately. Why did this man have to be this hot and a good cook when she was mad at him?
He was wearing those soft, thin pjs that hung off his hips in that delicious way, as well as his stupid sexy glasses, and carrying food, and he was unfair.
"We need to talk about this," he finally said, lifting his own spoon loaded with rice soaked especially much in the egg in the way she liked it best, cupping his other hand underneath and lifting it to her lips.
She was still glaring, but leaned in and opened wide, chewing with a pout.
"I agwee," she said with her mouth full.
He nodded, threw her a look. "Tell me what to do in these situations," he said.
She frowned, confused.
"Which situations?"
"You're sober now. Tell me what to do when you're intoxicated and come on to me like that and can't actually make rational decisions. I need a rulebook, here," he said seriously.
Her mouth dropped open and suddenly everything made sense.
"Wait!" She shot up in the bed and he stiffened and held the bowl a little tighter as she almost knocked it out of his hands in her sudden movement. "THAT'S what holds you up? Consent?"
She almost laughed, incredulous.
Here she'd been thinking god knows what and her darling of a boyfriend had just been a friggin decent man.
He looked at her as if she was being stupid. "Of course?!"
"I thought I had like disgusting alcohol breath or something! Or freaked you out too hard because in public and stuff!" she nearly shouted at him, shaking her spoon at him a little.
He looked appalled. "What?! No!"
"I thought you didn't want me like this! Or that I was acting in a way that turned you off, overstepping your boundaries!" she cried, almost mad again.
His brow furrowed. Absolutely confused. "You think I don't want you when you get like that? Usako I—" he trailed off.
He shook his head. "Anyway," he changed the subject and she grumbled and stuck her spoon back into the bowl. "Tell me what to do when you're drunk and attempt to jump my bones in public, please. What I should and shouldn't do."
She wrapped her lips around the spoon and held it there when she swallowed. Pulled it back out with a little smack and wriggled it at him.
"So, you did want me last night?"
She couldn't stick with the glare, because she loved it when the tips of his ears ran red like that, and his eyes became a little jumpy behind his glasses.
"Of course?! How could I not," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.
She shifted closer. "Tell me about it," she said.
He threw her a look, his cheeks now coloring too. She didn't think he would answer, but then he awkwardly shrugged his shoulders and pushed his spoon around the bowl.
"You're…" he started, and she shifted even closer, almost practically into his lap. "It's…"
"It's…?" she prompted.
"The way you just want me so much when you get like that? It's… irresistible. I drown. It's hard to resist."
Well don't fucking resist, then.
His voice was small, and he was watching his spoon the whole time, and she couldn't keep the stupidly pleased grin off her face.
But she bit her lip, grabbed his wrist, lifted his spoon-hand towards her own face and licked it clean.
His eyes jumped at her.
"So, as a general rule," she said, licking the underside of his spoon, moving it via his hand in hers, and then met his eyes.
"When I ask you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me."
He swallowed, visibly mesmerized by her lips and tongue and probably her words.
Her cinnamon roll of a decent man couldn't even think the word sex, and yet he always reacted when she talked like that.
"I trust you with the subtleties," she concluded.
Then she took his spoon from his fingers, took the bowl from his lap to climb on it herself, set it back down in her own lap, and looked him straight in the eye as she took another mouthful.
"Understand?" she said, after slipping the spoon back out of her mouth ever so slowly.
He nodded mutely, wide-eyed and a little breathless.
She bent over and placed the bowl and spoons on his nightstand. Then she reached for his face and slipped his glasses off him and put them away, too.
"Well, then. How about we train that?" she breathed at his lips and he nodded again, his hands slipping to her hips and pulling her closer, her thighs spreading around his sides as she slid flush against him.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, slid her hand against his scalp and leaned in.
"I'd like you to fuck me, Mamo-chan," she breathed against his lips, eyes wide open and studying him.
He whimpered pitifully, yanked up her shirt, and did just that.
Anyway, so OBVIOUSLY this little fic could have a follow-up, now that he has his rulebook for future Usagi-is-a-horny-drunk situations, if you wanted one ;)
Reviews are love!