ghostthatlingers | Sanctum IC Contact

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.

"Fuck your minute," he growls, still feeling sharp throbbing pain where he landed. The rest of the pain is just dull from booze, so, that's a good thing it's done. "Floor's good as a bed."

"Not sleeping down here." She knows it's a bad idea, just not why. Sure, it's the public kitchen, but no one else is - oh. The alcohol had almost made her forget about a certain someone that could walk in. Shit.

"Fuck if I feel like movin' now." Hell he might even roll to his side and try to cuddle on her. Nobody's going to walk into their home, because nobody else lives here, obviously. Unless someone new gets assigned. How many people to a house...?

"Then sleep by yourself," she grumbles as she sits up and oh is that a bad idea. She shuts her eyes tightly and fends off the urge to vomit and only once that's under control does she fumble for her pants.

"Nooooooo," he groans, groping after her and missing. Fine, if she's gonna be that way, he's gonna tuck himself away and...fuck it. He's staying here. "Thank you for being my friend, floor."

"Get up." Like the floor wants to be his friend. Now that she has her pants in hand, she uses them to hit him. "Bed."

"Mmph. Thought I was sleepin' alone for not carrying you?"

"Fine, but you're on your own if he walks in on you." Or the both of them since she's not sure she can really get up, but she's going to give it a valiant effort. The counter will be a great resource for this.

"Then he can fucking deal with--wait, he who?" He blinks blearily up at her, lifting his head just enough to let her know his attention is gotten. "Robocop? He better not break in."

Crap. Had she really said that? Thank god he defaulted to York. "Yeah and you'll have to deal with ot by yourself." She steadies herself on the counter and slings the pants over her shoulder.

"Pretty sure motherfucker'll get his ass kicked." Not in either of their conditions. ...Bed with her does sound really good, though.

"Whatever." She's getting to bed even if she has to crawl up the damn stairs. Slowly, she starts making her way there and uses the counters as a guard rail to help her through the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ, fine. Jus' let me...get up first." It's an event. Getting up off the floor into something more vertical and then crawling up the rest of the way to his feet via nearest upright surface sure is a spectacle.

Y'know what else is a spectacle? Church flopping himself over the sink to dispose of the contents of his stomach. Oh yeah, tequila the other way definitely is not something he needed. He may not be entirely sure that winning this bet was worth it.

"I hate your and I hate your fuckin' tequila and I hate every nerve of my body."

That is something she only just barely avoided doing herself and the smell and sight of it is not helping. She turns away and thinks about everything else she possibly can to stop her body from doing the same. It's a war she's slowly losing, but she'll take it one battle at a time.

"I win." If he had to throw up some of that tequila, then that meant she out drank him. Clearly, that's how this works.

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