Love and other contractual obligations

Chapter 5: Driving under the influence

She was unashamedly drunk, and it still wasn't enough.

Mako – bless her – was a solid pillar by her side as she steadied herself, eyes rounding like coins as she stared up her driveway. Drunk logic: was it still considered music if the bass was drowning out any semblance of melody? The surrounding shrubs were fairly shaking from the onslaught.

The source: the white stretch limo parked across the front of her goddamn house, windows rolled way down and epileptic spotlights swirling out through the sunroof. A shriek of laughter issued forth from the vehicle. She closed her eyes as the world balanced precariously on the edge of her sanity.

Christ. Kami. All gods holy.

Mako whistled in disbelief, and she swatted at her irritably. "Don't encourage them," she hissed with indignation. (Read: drunk logic).

The brunette ignored her. "Who's he got in there?"

Indeed.

"Maybe she's getting murdered," she grumbled. Finding her feet on the cobblestone, she forewent grace and opted for the wide-legged stomp up towards her front door, Mako in tow.

Think of Bed. Pillows. Flat ground and the burning of stilettos.

Sadly, it was not to be so.

As if on a tripwire, the limo door popped open as she rounded the back bumper, and a tall figure unrolled from the bowels of the car in a cloud of cigar smoke and vodka fumes.

Pride dictated she stand her ground.

There was something about his untidy hair and loosened bow-tie and the way he propped himself up over the open car door. Somehow finding herself within arm's length of him, she groped forward and grasped the open neck of his white dress shirt. In some way, it steadied her spinning world. The fabric had been well-starched and it crinkled most satisfyingly in her fist. He watched her. His penetrating gaze dropped to her mouth for just a split moment (she knew he liked to watch her mouth). He did not look inebriated in the slightest, curse him.

She wasn't exactly sure if she was pulling him away from the car or pulling herself closer, or if he was moving of his own accord, but he was there now, warm against her chest, her belly. He smelled remarkably clean considering the hole he had just climbed out of. She supposed – no, she was sure of it – that if she blinked now, her eyelashes would brush the skin of his neck.

She swayed, and his arm curled around her, palming the small of her back in the beginnings of an intimate embrace, but she wasn't there to stay. Raised her voice just enough to be heard over the thumping bass –

"The neighbours will probably have a word in the morning." Her nose brushed against his ear as she shoved hard out of his hold. "So pay your whores and shut the fuck up."

Mako must have heard that last bit because she was laughing openly as Rei picked her way back to her over the cobblestone. Again, fuck grace and poise; she wanted to crawl towards the darkness of her room and smother herself.

Kiss him? Gentle or rough or whatever? She wanted to slap him.

Mako was hanging back but Rei barely noticed. If she had turned around, she would have seen her friend regarding Jadeite and the way he was running rough fingers through his mess of hair.

He reached in for a magic button that shut the pounding music off, and Mako gave the limo a second glance before cocking an eyebrow. "Do you want me to call an ambulance or something?"

Clearly visible through the open door, Estelle and Andrew had passed out against the leather seats, and he had to admit he was relieved. He smiled tiredly as he straightened his shirt as best he could. "Thank you, Miss Kino. You are very kind, but no."

She shrugged, also eyeing the cobblestones as she headed up the driveway after her drunken charge.

"If you're trying to hurt her, it is working," she suddenly threw over her shoulder, before holding up her hands in the universal 'none-of-my-business' gesture.

Makoto Kino could not find Rei.

She cursed under her breath as she climbed the staircase yet again and looked through every doorway she came across. The house was not that big, and yet…

Her room was empty, as was her bathroom, her walk-in, and every guest room in her wing of the house. She groaned. She wasn't exactly sober herself, and her feet ached, and a woman-hunt was not the way she pictured her night ending.

She paused as she inadvertently found her way back to the main landing. The darkness of the opposite corridor stretched out in front of her, the separate living quarters she had not thought to explore. Rei took one wing of the house, her husband the other. Glorified flatmates. The knowledge made her hesitate.

The light had flickered on downstairs. For a moment, she debated just quickly barging over to those rooms and checking on Rei herself, but gears had already started turning in her head (read: drunk logic). She laughed silently to herself as she waited for the man of the house to ascend the stairs. Someone was going to be pissed in the morning.

You'll thank me later, Rei, love.

Jadeite's blond head popped up as he approached the landing, and he gazed questioningly up at her. "She's on your side of the house, I think." She couldn't help the smirk on her lips. "Be nice."

She was a shrewd woman, that Makoto. The dark corridor now sprawled out in front of him like a threat, and his furious wife was looming in the depths of his quarters, waiting.

Don't be stupid.

Reality was actually worse.

Rei had kicked off those fuck-me pumps and was laid face-down spread-eagled over the top of his duvet. That dangerous little red dress had ridden high over her legs and her fingers were clenched tightly in his pillows. He switched on the dimmed hallway light. When she gave a muffled groan, it was as if the bottom of his stomach had dropped down to his feet.

She was positively indecent.

He had thought about his wife gracing his bed before. He was a red-blooded young man, and certainly wise enough to quickly quash any of those insensible musings. So now that it was presented before him, the sight of it filled him with apprehension. This was the ultimate test, wasn't it – the test of all tests that will define his worth as a human being, as a husband. Was he a great man? Average at best? Or maybe this night will prove him out to be the lowest of the low.

He cursed out loud.

He should avert his gaze, but she had climbed into his bed. Maybe he was still drunk, but he could swear she was presently burying herself into his sheets, her dark hair splaying across the white linens in a deliberate way to taunt him. The red silk was hitching up around her thighs, and he couldn't stop himself from staring. Definitely just a squarely average man, Jadeite was.

Eat your heart out, Nephrite—

"You!"

That's right – she hates me. Reality was indeed a heartless bitch. Cue end of fantasy. With a sigh, he tugged his loose bow-tie free of his neck and started unbuttoning his shirt. He supposed he could go sleep in her bed, purely for revenge purposes.

"Why did you change my bed?" She rolled onto her back and was half-way propped up on her elbows, her eyes narrowed into accusative slits. "I never gave permission for my bed to be changed."

He smirked. "Go to sleep, sweetheart." He stepped forward to fold the duvet over her, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Don't bring the old one back."

"The old what." He tugged at the corner of the cover to no avail.

"The old mattress— are you even listening?"

Not really; he was still stuck on staring. There was red smear of lipstick in the white of his pillowcase, and he didn't care what she had to say at this point. He wanted to pin her delicate little wrists down into the sheets and eat her up.

"Did I tell you that you are awful?"

Probably. And yes, he is. Unbidden, he reached out and traced his thumb over the pale veins on her arm. She jumped at his touch, but she didn't move, she didn't move. Instead her head was turning so she could meet his searching gaze.

She cleared her throat – "What are you looking at?"

"You," he said impulsively. "You left a kiss on my pillow."

"I— Your—" She moved to twist her head back, but he stilled her with a finger on her jaw. Her skin was so, so soft.

Her eyes were deep dark pools as she gazed at him balefully.

Her fingers were cool on his neck and he almost flinched. They drew down to the gaping collar of his shirt, and his skin puckered under her touch. She must be able to feel his hammering heart, the rushing of blood just under the muscle – how could she not?

"What are you looking at?" he parroted back at her, his voice hoarse.

She parted the starched fabric with a curious fascination, until the shirt hung loose on one shoulder. He watched her intently as she traced his skin and the curled tail of the ink dragon that wrapped around his chest.

"This is beautiful," she said simply. She had never seen it before, of course. Her fingers were light over the tattoo as she followed the dark lines around his side, under his arm. He let her peel him half out of the shirt, turning around obligingly as she discovered the rest of the piece that sat over his shoulder blade, her hands stroking over the plane of his back. He sat rigidly, his head pounding. He had never been so hard in his entire life.

This was getting too much.

"Rei—" he twisted back around – "Stop." His voice was strangled, and he desperately cupped the back of her neck.

She smelled whiskey-sweet, and he should have taken his hand away and taken himself away. But her face was so close. His thumb swept over her lower lip and her mouth opened – and Christ, he was lost.

He kissed her, open-mouthed and yearning. She must have expected it. She gripped at his shoulders, clawing him closer until she was well deep in his embrace, her body moulding to his like she had always belonged there. She kissed him back hungrily, maybe a little meanly, with a sharp nip of his lip that made him moan. Her dress was riding up over her hips, and when she shifted and parted her legs to straddle his thigh, his mouth went dry.

He had never wanted anyone so much, this elusive paragon of a woman he had married who hated the mere sight of him. Her body was pliant and welcoming in his arms, her passion rising as she moved purposefully over his leg. He palmed her buttock with a groan – to still her or to drive her higher, he did not know. He wanted to consume her.

This is a test.

With a strength he had not known he possessed, he pressed her gently backwards into the sheets – his sheets, goddamnit – and disentangled himself. She lay there protesting as he shrugged his shirt back on and backed away, breathing hard. The fabric had never felt so rough over his fevered skin.

"Why did you stop?" she keened quietly.

Yes, why indeed. She was his fantasy alive, her red lips and red dress and welcoming body, and she wanted him. (For tonight, at least).

She hiccoughed, and he sighed, quickly pressing her onto her side and tucking his duvet around her. She would never forgive herself. There were still some boundaries that could not be crossed.

"Good night, wife," he mumbled as he stumbled out the door and closed it tight behind him.

In Rei's suite, he stripped down and stepped into the shower, letting the water pound hot over him. His desire had barely flagged. Shuddering, he gripped his erection and rolled a steady, punishing rhythm over his engorged flesh. The pleasure was like a lance deep in his belly. He worked himself hard and fast, the heat of his wife's body fresh in his memory – the smooth purposeful rock of her hips, her fingernails drawing over his back. She was so, so sweet. His climax hit him like a wall of bricks, and he cried out as his muscles seized in that blissful moment.

But the euphoria drained out of him as quickly as it came. His body was still tingling as the sting of shame slowly started trickling in. How dare you take advantage of her like that. He turned the water off and rested his forehead against the cool tile. If she hadn't hated him before, she was certainly going to hate him now.

He buried his face into his hands as he relived her again and again in his overactive recollections. That had been all for him, hadn't it? She had wanted him. She wasn't imagining anyone else – a certain brunet or any other discreet caller she had claimed to have on occasion. Right?

He should have put himself out of this misery and gone to a guest room instead of her quarters. But these towels smelled like her, as did her bed sheets and the pillows and the covers. Selfishly, he just wanted to bury himself in them and wallow. Surely he deserved it today, he thought sarcastically as he flopped onto her bed, not giving a shit about putting on clothes. She could burn the linens later, if she wanted. The thought of her, hair standing on end, raging over a bonfire almost brought a smile to his lips.

He rolled over again with a sigh, dreading every minute that brought them closer to dawn. She had been right about one thing – his mattress was definitely better.

Oh these silly kids.