Chapter twenty-two.

This chapter is a huge milestone in the story.

Enjoy. :3

XXX

Buck's place was just as Friday had imagined— loud, sweaty, and smelling of booze and cigarettes. Most of the occupants were underage, despite the fact that beer, vodka, and even tequila were being passed out everywhere. Friday cringed a little. She hadn't ever had alcohol in her life; only when her mother had given her a sip. She wasn't exactly embarrassed by this—why should she be? She was only sixteen—but the realization made her uncomfortable.

"This place smells awful," said Friday as her and Steve entered. She crinkled her nose, which caused Steve to snicker.

"Well, what exactly were ya expectin'? Roses?" He smiled, touched Friday's hair lightly, and turned as a very loud, very distinguishable laugh came from the corner of the room. Friday looked where Steve was, and saw what had to be Two-Bit. Steve had described him before, and the long sideburns and grey eyes were traits very unlikely for anyone else to have.

Steve tapped Friday's shoulder and asked, "Ya wanna meet 'em?"

Friday exhaled. The alcoholic scent was sickening, and she just wanted to sit down. "Er, later maybe. Plus…" She gazed over at Two-Bit, who had booze dribbling down his chin. "He ain't lookin' real sober anyway."

Steve agreed, but said nothing. He kissed Friday full on the mouth, and then made his way through the crowd of intoxicated young adults. By the countertop, was Two-Bit. There were two girls beside him. One was tipsy, the other wasted. They were both blonde.

Two-Bit pounded his fist against the table and laughed aloud, causing the two girls to snicker along with him. Someone must've said something awful funny.

"Two-Bit!" called Steve over the music, reaching him. Friday was right, Two-Bit seemed completely and utterly wasted, beyond communication anyway. This irritated Steve, because he'd wanted to ask for Two-Bit's advice on the situation with Soda and him. Although they'd "settled" it, he was still just as confused and scared as Soda was. He wanted a second opinion, aside from his girlfriend's.

"Two-Bit!" he called again. Two-Bit looked straight at him, but did not acknowledge him. Instead, he kept on laughing. Steve tried again, but was given the same response, so he relented. He wouldn't be able to talk to Two-Bit until some other time—when he wasn't completely out of his mind.

Steve made his way back over to Friday, looking exasperated. Friday sat by the counter. A boy with shaggy-looking hair beside her seemed to have coaxed her into a little drinking, because she was staring timidly at a shot of vodka. Usually, Steve knew he would have stopped her from taking it. But she was just so damn stressed lately, he thought it would do her some good.

"You gonna drink that?" said Steve, sitting next to her. Friday shook her head, and pushed it toward him. The boy with shaggy hair had become preoccupied with something else, and went off with a couple of his buddies. Steve shrugged, downed the shot, and then coughed. Vodka constantly burnt his throat, but it was an acquired taste that he enjoyed anyway.

"Take a beer," said Steve, reaching for an unopened can across the countertop. "Better than vodka, I think. Well… uhm, easier. I think." He paused. "Ya haven't drank before, have ya?"

Friday shook her head. "Naw… not really." However, she denied the beverage. "I dunno if it's a good idea for me to—"

"Aw, come on, Friday," Steve persuaded. "It ain't gonna hurt."

"But Steve—"

Steve gave her a look, then smiled kindly. "Just go ahead an' take it. C'mon," he urged. Finally, Friday agreed. She sipped it slowly, then choked a little as it hurt her throat. Soon though, she became acquainted with the taste.

"Hey," she said perkily, looking up. "It's pretty good."

"Told ya," Steve said proudly. He got his own beer and finished it off, but by that time, Friday had already finished her first and was halfway through her second. "Er, hold on, babe. You don't wanna drink too much…" He didn't want Friday to end up wasted like that blonde with Two-Bit. He only wanted her stress eased. But… she must've known the consequences of drinking too much, but was all right with them. She'd finished her second now, and was going for her third.

"Friday," said Steve warningly, stopping her. Friday nudged his hand away and grabbed her third, then smiled crookedly.

"I'll be all right," she said. That eased him a little, and he kicked his drinking up a notch, as well. Same as Friday, he was stressed too. Honestly, they both deserved to have a little fun.

A quarter way through her fourth beer—or was it her fifth?—Friday as looking awful tipsy. She stood up, staggered, hiccupped, and then giggled as she swayed and fell flat on her ass. Steve wasn't very sober by that point either, otherwise he would've helped her up. Instead though, he chuckled and got up from the counter himself. Friday stood, steadying herself, and grabbed onto her boyfriend's shoulder, laughing.

"Wanna dance?" Her voice was an obnoxious slur, but Steve agreed and went with her. They bumped into others as they danced, but most people were so out of it they didn't even notice. Eventually, after they were good and sweaty and about twenty minutes into dancing, Friday eased herself up against Steve. Steve stiffened, exhaled, and muttered, "What're you doing?" His voice was low, slurred—though not quite as slurred as Friday's—and slightly hoarse.

Friday giggled, then smiled alluringly and pressed her mouth against Steve's. Steve hesitated, but kissed her back eventually. His hands were pushed up against her body, and in time roamed their way up to her torso, where they rested. Friday was totally content with this, and even deepened their lip-locking herself. They continued, staggering and hitting into others as they kissed, rather roughly. Eventually, they came across a couple who was sober enough to snap, "Get the fuck out of my way and find a room."

They continued to stumble, unconsciously guiding themselves toward the back room. Friday slammed into the doorframe, and maneuvered herself out of its way, and then found her and Steve inside the room. Someone shut the door violently behind them—which was likely the couple they'd ticked off by hitting into— and their making out deepened.

Throughout this, Friday had nearly zero idea of what was actually occurring. She could feel the most important occurrences—the shirt behind slipped over her head, for instance—but didn't realize what was actually happening.

Steve had a bit more control than her, but not much. And even with the minimum amount of control he still had, he was amped up on booze and hormones, among other things. His brain was foggy, uncontrolled, numb, and the scent of sweat and the intense heat that seemed to be everywhere didn't help. Why was it so damn hot?

Steve quickly smeared the sweat from his brow, then kissed his way down Friday's jawline, ghosting over her collarbone, and making his way down.

Outside, he could still hear Two-Bit laughing.