A Stiff Drink | PG13 | The House of Eliott
Title: A Stiff Drink
Prompt: “What better reason do we need to get fantastically drunk?”
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; U is for Unresolved Sexual Tension
Fandom: Penelope/Bea, Jack/Bea, The House of Eliott
Requested by: ingridbergmankiss
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 552
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’ve been toying with this idea for a while…I really hope it worked! Let me know what you think!
-
As far as brandy goes, Penelope’s had better. It’s bitter when it burns down her throat but it’s a welcome relief from the dregs of tea she’s been forced to endure during long days and longer nights at the shelter. She’s a simple woman of very simple tastes, but at the end of another exhausting day, she found she needed something stronger to combat the weary tension that’s knit her bones together in stiff discomfort. That’s why she’s come to Jack’s studio; if there’s anyone with whom she can commiserate unspoken woes, it’s her beloved brother.
Penelope winces when she takes another pull from the bottle and he laughs.
“You’d think a sister of mine could handle her liquor,” he says, taking the bottle from her so that he may take a long swig.
“I’ve not had nearly as much practice as you,” she snidely remarks, settling back against the uncomfortable cushion of the loveseat. She can tell that he’s been sleeping here more often than usual by the worn, flattened pillows and the telling scuff of dirt against the armrest. She can’t blame him; she’s been spending many of her nights in the cramped beds of the mission. Tonight, however, she simply needs companionship-and a stiff drink.
They both freeze when they hear the click of a key turning in the lock of the main door. Penelope holds her breath and notices that her brother’s knuckles have tightened around the bottle. They are drinking together in the dark, eyes sharp and watchful of the hallway. The studio’s main door is open and they wait for her to pass.
Penelope is not sure if she’s relieved or anxious that Beatrice Eliott has stopped in the doorway, craning her neck to peer into the dark studio. She’s wet; the rain outside has slicked down her perfect blonde coif and dotted her reddened cheeks with drops of moisture. Like this, all unkempt and undone, Penelope has never found Beatrice more beautiful. She swallows the lump that forms in her throat.
“Jack? Is that you in there?”
“Two Maddoxes for the price of one,” he replies, nudging his sister’s knee with his own.
Bea chuckles. “Why on earth are you sitting in the dark?”
“We’re brooding,” Jack supplies, his voice rough with drink.
“Ah, well, I shan’t spoil your evening then.” Bea brushes back a sodden curl from her forehead. “Goodnight Jack, Pen.”
“Goodnight, Beatrice,” Penelope croaks. She watches closely as the other woman smiles before continuing her journey upstairs. She licks her parched lips and snatches the bottle from her brother.
Jack chuckles. “I’ve got you figured out,” he says, pointing a drunken finger at his sister. “That look on your face. I can’t believe I never noticed it before.”
“It’s dark in here. You can’t see my face,” she bites back, sipping again. The brandy is no longer bitter, but it stings its way down her throat.
“Yes, I can. You look at her the same way I do.”
“How is that?”
“Like you want her.” He fixes his eyes on hers and they share a moment of understanding before he gives a mournful sigh. “Lusting after the same woman-what better reason do we need to get fantastically drunk?”
She sighs, thinking of the woman upstairs. “I’ll drink to that, brother.”
---
Prompt: “What better reason do we need to get fantastically drunk?”
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; U is for Unresolved Sexual Tension
Fandom: Penelope/Bea, Jack/Bea, The House of Eliott
Requested by: ingridbergmankiss
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 552
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’ve been toying with this idea for a while…I really hope it worked! Let me know what you think!
-
As far as brandy goes, Penelope’s had better. It’s bitter when it burns down her throat but it’s a welcome relief from the dregs of tea she’s been forced to endure during long days and longer nights at the shelter. She’s a simple woman of very simple tastes, but at the end of another exhausting day, she found she needed something stronger to combat the weary tension that’s knit her bones together in stiff discomfort. That’s why she’s come to Jack’s studio; if there’s anyone with whom she can commiserate unspoken woes, it’s her beloved brother.
Penelope winces when she takes another pull from the bottle and he laughs.
“You’d think a sister of mine could handle her liquor,” he says, taking the bottle from her so that he may take a long swig.
“I’ve not had nearly as much practice as you,” she snidely remarks, settling back against the uncomfortable cushion of the loveseat. She can tell that he’s been sleeping here more often than usual by the worn, flattened pillows and the telling scuff of dirt against the armrest. She can’t blame him; she’s been spending many of her nights in the cramped beds of the mission. Tonight, however, she simply needs companionship-and a stiff drink.
They both freeze when they hear the click of a key turning in the lock of the main door. Penelope holds her breath and notices that her brother’s knuckles have tightened around the bottle. They are drinking together in the dark, eyes sharp and watchful of the hallway. The studio’s main door is open and they wait for her to pass.
Penelope is not sure if she’s relieved or anxious that Beatrice Eliott has stopped in the doorway, craning her neck to peer into the dark studio. She’s wet; the rain outside has slicked down her perfect blonde coif and dotted her reddened cheeks with drops of moisture. Like this, all unkempt and undone, Penelope has never found Beatrice more beautiful. She swallows the lump that forms in her throat.
“Jack? Is that you in there?”
“Two Maddoxes for the price of one,” he replies, nudging his sister’s knee with his own.
Bea chuckles. “Why on earth are you sitting in the dark?”
“We’re brooding,” Jack supplies, his voice rough with drink.
“Ah, well, I shan’t spoil your evening then.” Bea brushes back a sodden curl from her forehead. “Goodnight Jack, Pen.”
“Goodnight, Beatrice,” Penelope croaks. She watches closely as the other woman smiles before continuing her journey upstairs. She licks her parched lips and snatches the bottle from her brother.
Jack chuckles. “I’ve got you figured out,” he says, pointing a drunken finger at his sister. “That look on your face. I can’t believe I never noticed it before.”
“It’s dark in here. You can’t see my face,” she bites back, sipping again. The brandy is no longer bitter, but it stings its way down her throat.
“Yes, I can. You look at her the same way I do.”
“How is that?”
“Like you want her.” He fixes his eyes on hers and they share a moment of understanding before he gives a mournful sigh. “Lusting after the same woman-what better reason do we need to get fantastically drunk?”
She sighs, thinking of the woman upstairs. “I’ll drink to that, brother.”
---