S2 E7 – The Bet

Part 2 of 2

He returns the look stalwartly, one eyebrow up, struggles to his feet, and sweeps up the closest glass.

She does the same.

They stand stiffly face to face then quaff in unison.

He feels the booze burn its way to the very depths of his howling soul. He shivers. Puts down the glass. Wishes for her to leave. Or death. Whichever happens first. He's past caring.

She just puts down her glass with a tiny smile and licks her lips.

He sees this and knows at last that he is going to lose this contest; on every possible level and in every possible way. He takes a big breath and is just about to confess this to her with the hopes of negotiating some sort of surrender that will allow him to live with a shred of dignity when she speaks.

"I've always wanted to partake in a British 'drinks party'," she burbles in a totally stable sober manner.

"Y'have?" he slurs then tries again, "You have? Why? Wha 'so speshul bou' trinks?"

She smirks, "Well, 'drinks'! You know? British 'drinks'? We French all know what THAT means!"

"Y'do? Wha? I a'ways thaw it men drings." He shakes his head. What gibberish is THIS I'm spouting?

She puts another glass into his unsteady hand and smiles, "Oh, no! It means 'we'll start OUT with drinks' but then it turns into something else, doesn't it?" She gives him a cheery look over the rim of her glass.

He can't follow the thread of this conversation, small wonder as he's also losing his balance, "Duzit?"

She steadies him with a firm hand to the shoulder, gives him a shark's smile, "Yes, it starts off as 'drinks'. Then it turns into 'care for afters?' Then it turns into 'your place or mine?' THEN it begs the question…"

He stares at her owlishly, watching her lips move in a most pleasing manner. What a lovely voice she has! I could listen to her talk all day… but what is she saying now? Something about questions?

She leans forward and speaks very slowly, very clearly, making sure he understands the question in question, all the while running a thumb along his jawline, "Yes, it begs the question… am I THAT sort of girl?" She pauses, sees the dart hit him squarely amidships, nods, straightens up and continues, "But what I really want to know is…" she takes a deep breath that seems to fascinate him on so many many levels, "… what I REALLY want to know is… are you THAT sort of boy?"

He freezes, his drink half-way to his lips, and listens to this with growing surprise and amazement while that completely unbelievable hand meanders down his neck and strokes his collarbone. He has to arch his neck to look down at himself just to convince his stuttering mind that he really feels what he feels.

Can his eyes get any greener, she wonders? She is totally satisfied with the stunned look on his face as her fingertips dip into the hollow at the base of his throat, his rapidly working throat. She can see his pulse too, speeding up as she watches. Oh, yes, I think he's finally cluing in. About time, too!

She waits several moments until his mental traffic jam seems to loosen and he slowly lowers his drink, making two or three attempts to speak before he manages, "Do y' know? I b'lieve I AM." He sounds just as surprised as he feels. He swallows, gives the question all due consideration then nods, "Yes, I mos' defint'ly AM! Or, I think I am. How do I find out?"

She quirks a brow and pulls in a quick breath. A compliant tipsy Richard Poole was definitely worth the wait! Now, time to reel him in. But carefully. Carefully.

He finds his voice once more and says very slowly and succinctly, "How do I fin' out if I'm that sorta boy or not?" The possible answer to this crowds out every other thought in his head. His swimming head. Surely she isn't suggesting…? She can't mean…? Me? Oh, god! Is it me?!

He daren't allow himself to even let the thought linger. It hurts too much. But she is speaking again! He must attend. He stills and focusses on her lips once more. Such beautiful lips.

"Well," she sighs in triumph and sets down her glass, "first you need a girl…"

His free hand loops around her waist, greatly daring, pulling her in closer, "Got one!"

She smiles, Hmmm, maybe the time to be careful is almost over. "Right, so you do." Her hands steal around his waist, "And I've got my boy. Now it's time to take this discussion inside where we can consider it from every angle."

He sets his drink down untouched and links his hands behind her hips. "From EVERY angle?" he muses from beneath lowered brows as he pulls her in closer still, "Carefully and slowly?"

She is already undoing his shirt buttons, "Yes, from every angle possible with stops all along the way to make sure we haven't missed anyth…"

His kiss interrupts whatever else she is going to say.

She never gets her drink.

Drinks are totally by-passed by a mutual decision and unanimous agreement.

And she discovers something else that day… other than what sort of boy he really is.

Yes, his eyes CAN get greener.

Much greener.

In fact, they practically glow in the dark.

END