ghostthatlingers | Sanctum IC Contact

"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.

That smack earns a laugh. Okay, like her own laugh earlier, it probably goes on way too long, but time? Time's a funny fucking thing when the world just wants to slant too much and sensation is all wobbly in a sick and pleasant way. How the fuck can that happen? God damn human bodies.

He's lucky the laughter didn't ruin it for her. The only thing worse than a horny Tex is one that was so close only to be stopped by something so stupid. She's limp against the counter now and has no interest in moving in the near future. "Shut up."

"Nah. I like you just like this." Half-dressed and wet and limp and exhausted? Yeah. Sounds perfect. He absently wipes his fingers on his shirt. "What're you gonna do to shut me up, huh?"

"Make you carry me to bed." Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she watches him expectantly. She sure as hell isn't going to try to stand right now, much less go up the stairs.

"What makes you think I'm gonna do that?"

"You want to sleep alone?"

"All right, here we go." With her pants gone and his open, he works his hands under her ass and lifts, taking a step back, a second wobbly step back--

Aaaaaand down he goes. With Tex come tumbling after. Tequila legs too?

"Dammit!" Did he seriously just fall? He breaks her fall, but only just barely because there's no way she's catching herself on the way down. If it weren't for the dull sensation of pain, she'd say he was almost comfortable.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He clutches his head, not at all mindful of her, where she landed, how she landed, or, generally, how she is. "Fucking fuckstick in a fuck parade of fucks! Fuck!" He sucks in a breath. Hey, down here is pretty nice when you're not crashing into it.

"Tryin' to carry you, you fuckin' whale! Not my fault the room decides to spin!"

"Maybe if you weren't such a weak ass you could have done it," she snaps and rolls off of him. She had been planning to get up immediately after, but the cold tile of the floor actually feels pretty damn nice. Yeah, she's just going to lay here for a minute.

"Then you go walk your ass upstairs without tripping on..." He lifts a hand to gesture meaninglessly at nothing, searching for a word. "Fucks."

"I will. Just give me a minute." A very, very long minute. While she's down here, she might as well close her eyes.

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