Happy Fluffython Day!
Title: Rum and Coke
Characters: Wesley, Cordelia. (I really tried to do pairing but only ended up with friendly snuggles - sorry!)
Rating: PG
Timeline: Set in Season 1 of AtS, after Sanctuary
Thanks: To agilebrit for beta-ing, because semi-colons? They mystify me.
“Are you sure you don’t want more popcorn, Wes? Dennis loves to make popcorn.” Cordelia’s perkiness was surprisingly easier to handle when taken with several beers and a few shots of some amber liquid she had provided. It was either whiskey or tequila and tasted foul unless liberally watered down with whatever was in reach. Currently that was orange soda and the remainder of the microwave popcorn.
“If it’s not too much trouble, Dennis.” Wesley glanced around in search of a sign for where to focus. If he could actually focus at all. He pulled off his glasses and squinted at them, trying to judge how dirty they were. Was he really that drunk?
“I told you popcorn fixes everything. Another beer?”
“No, no, that’s…” he trailed off when she bounded off into the kitchen and eyed her drink suspiciously, wondering exactly what it was she’d been sampling while he was getting liquored up. The lecture about underage drinking had gone about as well as all lectures went with Cordelia but he could tell that she had barely touched her own beer.
The rich smell of buttery popcorn filled the apartment and he was far too inebriated to even bat an eyelash when the plastic bowl floated into the room, heaping with hot popcorn. He fumbled as he took it, spilling a few of the exploded kernels. Feeling around for them before they ended up ground into the carpet, he discovered a nearly empty two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola. That might explain some of the pep in Cordelia that evening. He peered over the edge of her sofa, head spinning from the alcohol, and found another bottle barely opened.
“Cordelia? Do you intend to drink this entire bottle?” he asked when she reappeared with another beer and a glass of ice.
“Like one bottle is anything for a Starbucks girl.” Her ponytail bounced as she sat down on the couch beside him. “Rum and coke?”
“Is that rum I’ve been drinking? And why on earth are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Trying? Wes, if you were any more of a lightweight this wouldn’t even be funny.” She smiled cheerfully as she mixed his drink.
“You’ve hardly had a drop yourself. Forgive me if I’m a tad suspicious of your motives.”
“Not nearly drunk enough; you still sound British. Here.” She handed him the glass with an expectant look.
“Fine. One more. But you should be forced to endure this torture as well.” He grimaced at little at the fizzy mixture. “There’s something about drinking alone that is profoundly depressing. I might as well be at a pub staring into a pint and waxing philosophical about coasters and former lovers.”
“Aren’t you glad you’re here with me instead? We’ve got popcorn and bad movies. What more could a stuffy ex-Watcher possibly want?”
He threw her a sour look and went back to sipping his drink. She was unfazed, refilling her glass with Coke and hitting “Play” on the remote. Onscreen was a pretty nurse screeching at a pulsating blob the color of a dried cranberry that appeared to be oozing toward her. It took him some squinting and a few headshakes to remember that Cordelia had insisted they watch The Blob. There were worse movies in the stack on her coffee table and he was sure there had been a good reason for the choice.
“You know. I expected Steve McQueen to be better looking. Do you think he’s attractive?”
He nearly choked on a piece of popcorn, washing it down with more of his drink, which only made his eyes water even more. The wide-eyed innocent look on her face made him sure that she was teasing him but he pretended to take a better look at the television screen.
“He’s not really my type, Cordelia. I prefer brunettes.”
“Right. Because there’s a man on this planet who isn’t secretly searching for their own Marilyn.”
“But that has nothing to do with the color of her hair.”
“Wesley!”
A piece of popcorn hit him on the side of the head, followed by nearly a handful of it when he
merely shrugged. He gave her his own version of the innocent look and picked up the popcorn piece by piece to pop it into his mouth.
“What does she have that I don’t? Other than worms and rotting flesh, since she’s dead and all,” she huffed.
“I don’t believe this is a fight I can win. You’re a lovely girl, Cordelia, I’ve always thought so. There?”
“That’s better.”
The silence that settled over the room was either a little awkward or the alcohol was making him hypersensitive to lack of words. There was more screaming coming from the television, another female cowering from the amorphous blob with an appetite for human beings. Amazing the things that Hollywood could dream up with too much free time on their hands. He considered a few chemical compounds that might have been used to create the goo used for the special effects, most of which could be brewed in a bathtub.
“Who would believe a giant, sentient blob from outer space? It’s ridiculous, really.” He waved noncommittally at the television. “Of course, people believe in the yeti too and the frogmen in Ohio. A man with webbed feet? Utter rubbish. Or the Mongolian Death Worm. It’s astounding what people will believe.”
“You work for a vampire,” she reminded him pointedly.
“Yes, but vampires make sense.”
“Wesley? Maybe you have had too much to drink.” She made no move to take his glass away, sipping at her own drink and casually eating popcorn.
“Have I told you my theory about vampires?” His head lolled to the side, fuzzy and warm from drinking. “I have a theory.”
“You always have a theory. That’s what I like about you, Wes. With your big brain and your big theories.” She held her glass against her temple and smiled indulgently.
“Well, if you’re going to be that way, I suppose I won’t be telling you about my theory.” He tried to roll his eyes but only succeeded in vaguely glancing at the far wall. The fictional conversation coming from the television registered as social commentary but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what they were trying to espouse. And Cordelia’s perfume was highly distracting.
“So no Mongolian Death Worm, huh? Probably a good thing. My luck, it would move to L.A. with all the rest of the wannabes and then Angel would have to kill it. Which, of course, means that I’d be stuck with clean up duty. You’d think he’d pay me extra for all the slime I’ve had to scrub out of my clothes.” She shuddered at the thought.
“It’s supposed to shoot lightning out of its eyes.”
Her smile widened and she reached out to gently trail her fingers through his hair. “You really are drunk.”
“Someone did make it a point to give me an absurd amount of alcohol.”
“That was hardly absurd.”
“And why is it, exactly, that you were so dead set on getting me drunk?” He waited for an answer but she just shrugged and smiled the movie star smile that always made him a little hazy.
“I never got to say I’m sorry. About asking you to come with me and getting kidnapped by Faith and then tortured.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Cordelia.”
“But it was my apartment and I should have known that Dennis was trying to tell me something.”
“Cordelia.” He sat up with a minimum of wobbling and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “It was not your fault. And regardless, I must say that getting me drunk is an interesting way of saying you’re sorry.”
“Maybe I did go a little overboard with the rum. You kinda suck at the whole relaxing thing, I was just trying to help. Is this what guys do? Minus the strippers. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”
“I appreciate it, really I do. But I don’t blame you for what happened and as lovely as being drunk on your couch is…I believe I’ve missed most of the movie.” He was a little surprised when she moved closer and curled up against his side. She was warm and smelled heavenly, silky hair brushing against his neck. Most of all, it was comforting to be sitting on a couch watching a bad horror movie with a friend who cared enough to get him drunk.
“I’ll keep it as long as you want, but you’re paying the late fees.”
Characters: Wesley, Cordelia. (I really tried to do pairing but only ended up with friendly snuggles - sorry!)
Rating: PG
Timeline: Set in Season 1 of AtS, after Sanctuary
Thanks: To agilebrit for beta-ing, because semi-colons? They mystify me.
“Are you sure you don’t want more popcorn, Wes? Dennis loves to make popcorn.” Cordelia’s perkiness was surprisingly easier to handle when taken with several beers and a few shots of some amber liquid she had provided. It was either whiskey or tequila and tasted foul unless liberally watered down with whatever was in reach. Currently that was orange soda and the remainder of the microwave popcorn.
“If it’s not too much trouble, Dennis.” Wesley glanced around in search of a sign for where to focus. If he could actually focus at all. He pulled off his glasses and squinted at them, trying to judge how dirty they were. Was he really that drunk?
“I told you popcorn fixes everything. Another beer?”
“No, no, that’s…” he trailed off when she bounded off into the kitchen and eyed her drink suspiciously, wondering exactly what it was she’d been sampling while he was getting liquored up. The lecture about underage drinking had gone about as well as all lectures went with Cordelia but he could tell that she had barely touched her own beer.
The rich smell of buttery popcorn filled the apartment and he was far too inebriated to even bat an eyelash when the plastic bowl floated into the room, heaping with hot popcorn. He fumbled as he took it, spilling a few of the exploded kernels. Feeling around for them before they ended up ground into the carpet, he discovered a nearly empty two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola. That might explain some of the pep in Cordelia that evening. He peered over the edge of her sofa, head spinning from the alcohol, and found another bottle barely opened.
“Cordelia? Do you intend to drink this entire bottle?” he asked when she reappeared with another beer and a glass of ice.
“Like one bottle is anything for a Starbucks girl.” Her ponytail bounced as she sat down on the couch beside him. “Rum and coke?”
“Is that rum I’ve been drinking? And why on earth are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Trying? Wes, if you were any more of a lightweight this wouldn’t even be funny.” She smiled cheerfully as she mixed his drink.
“You’ve hardly had a drop yourself. Forgive me if I’m a tad suspicious of your motives.”
“Not nearly drunk enough; you still sound British. Here.” She handed him the glass with an expectant look.
“Fine. One more. But you should be forced to endure this torture as well.” He grimaced at little at the fizzy mixture. “There’s something about drinking alone that is profoundly depressing. I might as well be at a pub staring into a pint and waxing philosophical about coasters and former lovers.”
“Aren’t you glad you’re here with me instead? We’ve got popcorn and bad movies. What more could a stuffy ex-Watcher possibly want?”
He threw her a sour look and went back to sipping his drink. She was unfazed, refilling her glass with Coke and hitting “Play” on the remote. Onscreen was a pretty nurse screeching at a pulsating blob the color of a dried cranberry that appeared to be oozing toward her. It took him some squinting and a few headshakes to remember that Cordelia had insisted they watch The Blob. There were worse movies in the stack on her coffee table and he was sure there had been a good reason for the choice.
“You know. I expected Steve McQueen to be better looking. Do you think he’s attractive?”
He nearly choked on a piece of popcorn, washing it down with more of his drink, which only made his eyes water even more. The wide-eyed innocent look on her face made him sure that she was teasing him but he pretended to take a better look at the television screen.
“He’s not really my type, Cordelia. I prefer brunettes.”
“Right. Because there’s a man on this planet who isn’t secretly searching for their own Marilyn.”
“But that has nothing to do with the color of her hair.”
“Wesley!”
A piece of popcorn hit him on the side of the head, followed by nearly a handful of it when he
merely shrugged. He gave her his own version of the innocent look and picked up the popcorn piece by piece to pop it into his mouth.
“What does she have that I don’t? Other than worms and rotting flesh, since she’s dead and all,” she huffed.
“I don’t believe this is a fight I can win. You’re a lovely girl, Cordelia, I’ve always thought so. There?”
“That’s better.”
The silence that settled over the room was either a little awkward or the alcohol was making him hypersensitive to lack of words. There was more screaming coming from the television, another female cowering from the amorphous blob with an appetite for human beings. Amazing the things that Hollywood could dream up with too much free time on their hands. He considered a few chemical compounds that might have been used to create the goo used for the special effects, most of which could be brewed in a bathtub.
“Who would believe a giant, sentient blob from outer space? It’s ridiculous, really.” He waved noncommittally at the television. “Of course, people believe in the yeti too and the frogmen in Ohio. A man with webbed feet? Utter rubbish. Or the Mongolian Death Worm. It’s astounding what people will believe.”
“You work for a vampire,” she reminded him pointedly.
“Yes, but vampires make sense.”
“Wesley? Maybe you have had too much to drink.” She made no move to take his glass away, sipping at her own drink and casually eating popcorn.
“Have I told you my theory about vampires?” His head lolled to the side, fuzzy and warm from drinking. “I have a theory.”
“You always have a theory. That’s what I like about you, Wes. With your big brain and your big theories.” She held her glass against her temple and smiled indulgently.
“Well, if you’re going to be that way, I suppose I won’t be telling you about my theory.” He tried to roll his eyes but only succeeded in vaguely glancing at the far wall. The fictional conversation coming from the television registered as social commentary but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what they were trying to espouse. And Cordelia’s perfume was highly distracting.
“So no Mongolian Death Worm, huh? Probably a good thing. My luck, it would move to L.A. with all the rest of the wannabes and then Angel would have to kill it. Which, of course, means that I’d be stuck with clean up duty. You’d think he’d pay me extra for all the slime I’ve had to scrub out of my clothes.” She shuddered at the thought.
“It’s supposed to shoot lightning out of its eyes.”
Her smile widened and she reached out to gently trail her fingers through his hair. “You really are drunk.”
“Someone did make it a point to give me an absurd amount of alcohol.”
“That was hardly absurd.”
“And why is it, exactly, that you were so dead set on getting me drunk?” He waited for an answer but she just shrugged and smiled the movie star smile that always made him a little hazy.
“I never got to say I’m sorry. About asking you to come with me and getting kidnapped by Faith and then tortured.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Cordelia.”
“But it was my apartment and I should have known that Dennis was trying to tell me something.”
“Cordelia.” He sat up with a minimum of wobbling and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “It was not your fault. And regardless, I must say that getting me drunk is an interesting way of saying you’re sorry.”
“Maybe I did go a little overboard with the rum. You kinda suck at the whole relaxing thing, I was just trying to help. Is this what guys do? Minus the strippers. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”
“I appreciate it, really I do. But I don’t blame you for what happened and as lovely as being drunk on your couch is…I believe I’ve missed most of the movie.” He was a little surprised when she moved closer and curled up against his side. She was warm and smelled heavenly, silky hair brushing against his neck. Most of all, it was comforting to be sitting on a couch watching a bad horror movie with a friend who cared enough to get him drunk.
“I’ll keep it as long as you want, but you’re paying the late fees.”