ghostthatlingers | Sanctum IC Contact

She's just gonna slide the shot glass away from her and lean against the counter. Heavily. It really makes a great support. That much tequila at once? Worst idea she's had yet but damn if it didn't feel good going down.

"You done? You done?" Fuck hold on he's actually going to take a small swig right from the bottle and raise his arms in victory! And wobble a little and put everything down. "I'm gonna fuck you like nothing else. When the feeling of...feeling comes back."

"Shut the fuck up." There has to be some loophole so he doesn't win two bets in one day. She shuts her eyes tightly in hopes that it'll ground her for at least a second of clarity. "Bet's only good for tonight."

"Nuh-uh. No way. You don't get to keep tacking on rules when you already lost. You're the sorest loser. The sorest of all losers." When he goes for the fridge--water? Food? Things that might make all of this a little better. He more falls toward it and catches himself on the handle like nothing even happened. "I'm keeping that. Saving for a rainy day." That southern is just raging through his words now. Oh god. Does he sound worse than Sarge?

He's really talking too much. Way, way too much. Yet, she's not finding she minds too much so long as the accent stays there. She's not moving an inch and only opens her eyes just enough to peek over at him. "How about you just fuck me already?" A worse idea than it sounds.

"...Seriously?"

Hold on. Hold on, wait, he has to just blink at her. "Seriously?"

Tex tends to be serious, but she had better be serious about sex. "Fuck yeah. C'mere. Don't fall. Floor? Floor. Flat place for fucking."

"No, you come here." She is not moving, not without some support because shit, the tequila has hit hard.

Slowly, she hooks her thumbs into the sides of her sweat pants and gets them down over her hips. She's not wearing any underwear because what's the point of that when she's in her own home? Sure makes things easier, though she's having trouble with getting it down further with the counter pressed against her.

"Such a demanding bitch." A demanding bitch who is demanding to get laid. Which he is totally and completely all for. Absolutely. He just needs to...slide, more like bodily pull himself over to her such that he's more leaning on her to keep him up than anything else. This is gonna go super well. "Hot demanding bitch." Well, the parts of her he can make out are hot. Now he just has to put hands where they're needed. Like boobs? Awwwww yeah. No wait! Lower. Her pants totally need off. Or at least low enough for easy access.

Him leaning on her is fine as long as she has the counter for support. Now that his hands are handling the stupidly difficult task of getting her pants down, she grips his waist and tugs him closer. "Hurry up."

Her body is willing, but goddamn the tequila is hitting her like a ton of bricks and she's trying very, very hard to stay focused on him. Maybe laying down for a bit would be the better option, though she's not willing to admit defeat just yet.

"Shut up and let me do my thing." That thing involves fumbling his own pants open, because someone was too busy putting the adult things away to change into something simple and commando. This might...take a minute, hold on. "Get yer ass up on the counter; I'm taller than you."

Is he really expecting her to do that? She watches him for a moment and realizes yes, he does. Well fuck. Thankfully she's already against the counter, but it's the lifting and sliding onto the top that's proving difficult. The movement at least helps her sweatpants fall out of the way, so she's got that going for her. She manages to get onto the counter's edge and breathes a sigh of relief as she leans back heavily on her hands. Her butt isn't securely on the counter, but close enough right?

"Are you done yet?"

"Hold on." Just gotta take everything nice and easy and make sure the world doesn't slip sideways too much while he gets his dick out and. "Aw shit, c'mon, what the fuck." Worst time for whiskey dick ever. Tequila dick? Horny girlfriend needs banging and nothing? Seriously.

"What the hell is the -" She stops midsentence as she looks down and realizes exactly what the problem is. "Are you kidding me?" If looks could kill, both Church and his little buddy would no longer be in this world.

"Just--gimmie a minute. Shit. I could just stick it in and it'll do it's thing. It's fine."

She snorts. "You're still getting me off." Selfish yes, but she could care less.

"If I had a robocock this wouldn't fuckin' happen." Hey, maybe that's an idea for an upgrade! One hand continues jerking a little uselessly at his alcohol-addled body part, but he can still touch her where it counts with his other hand, right? Yeah. That'll work.

"If you had a robocock you wouldn't be near me." That's an upgrade going too far. At least one of his hands is doing some good. She reaches for his shoulder to tug him closer for a forceful kiss. Or for what passes for one right now, anyway.

It's kind of like forceful facemashing with spit involved, but he can dig it. She's hot and horny and what--why wouldn't she like a robocock? He leans a little more into her. Yeah, that counter definitely helps with staying upright.

Now that his face is where she wantd it, her hand moves lower to try to grab his wrist. If his dick isn't up to the job then she's moving his hand where it should be. She might be drunk, but she knows what she wants.

It's pretty fucking disappointing on his end, but making Tex happy usually takes a priority if he doesn't want to sleep on the couch. Or the floor. Or outside. Or would like his wallet and the money inside it in place. Or if he'd like to keep his body parts attached. Best do what she wants because hey, even if his dick isn't listening, he knows getting Tex off is hot. So take that, dick-brain.

Her drunk ass could care less if his dick is cooperating. As long as his hand keeps going and he is pressed against her to keep her from sliding off thr counter, she's happy. Her fingers dig into his waist and she bites down on his lip to stifle a moan. Her mind is only able to focus on how damn good this feels for her.

Well fuck you too, bitch. (No, really, he'd be doing the fucking if tequila wasn't sloshing around below decks.) Fingers and bites? Really doing it for him somewhere muted by booze. Come on and moan for him, it's just the two of them, who's he gonna tell? Maybe he'll even whisper some sweet southern nothings if you let him.

He'd have to work a lot harder for that if she weren't wasted. Lucky for him she is and his fingers hit just the right spot for her to clutch at him. "Jesus fuck." The cursing gives way to a moan that's more needy than she'd care to admit and she pulls at his shirt in a futile attempt to get him even closer.

If he leans in any farther, he's going to be at an uncomfortably diagonal angle. But it's enough for him to leave a few (light) bites up her neck. "I don't need a dick to make you come," he tries hard not to slur in the twang the drink's made him develop.

No shit is what's on the tip of her tongue, but it doesn't manage to make it out of her mouth. She attempts to smack his hips instead and somehow misses and hits his ass instead. It seems he still remembers how to get her off and her hold on him tightens desperately as she tries not to fall off the counter.

If she passes out right now, she'd have no regrets.

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