brooklinegirl@rcn.com
NC-17
9/2005
I love her best, and yet I am twelve days late with her birthday fic. As a girlfriend, I suck. But! I present to you here, the lovely Huge, ginormous beta-thanks to Lynnmonster, who worked on this repeatedly for me and made it worlds better than it would have been before her keen eye. And to SnowFlake, who finally convinced me that no, she DOESN'T mind betaing for me, and who did a ton of detail work on this and also did a fine job of wrangling my commas. And to Dira for letting me badger her about sentence structure entirely too early this morning. Summary: Lennox was watching Cutter walk away, cigarette in his mouth, his head tilted to one side to keep the smoke out of his eyes. He flicked his eyes to her, and grinned, suddenly, holding the cigarette between his teeth. "Let's get out of here, yeah?" She'd been going to have one beer. That was the plan. There was good TV on Thursday nights, and her feet hurt, and she was going to curl up on the couch and just veg. She had a whole plan. One beer with the boys (or, okay, probably two, but that was it, for sure), and then she'd bid them farewell and head on home. She was tired, and wanted to be in her pajamas and relaxing. Two beers was enough; two beers was plenty. She'd socialize, decompress after her long day, and go home relaxed with a tiny, perfect buzz. It would be great. Two beers always seemed like a good stopping point, till about halfway through the second one. Which was about the point where they'd all be loose enough that the conversation would get interesting. She looked up, having missed what Cutter had said that had Lennox laughing so hard he was almost falling off his seat. It was just that, god, once these guys got going, it was so impossibly fun that she couldn’t drag herself away. Cutter would end up sermonizing on, like, the evolution of the curling stone (which was a lot funnier than it sounded after a couple of beers), and Eddie would be trying to make his beer glass hydroplane across the damp table, and Amy - Amy would grin and order another beer and shove at Neil with her shoulder when he made fun of her inability to count to two. And really, once you'd had three beers, it was just silly to stop, right? It was one of those nights where no one wanted to leave, even though it was a Thursday and they all had work tomorrow (even Lennox had scored an eight-day gig at the factory). Carol came around again, and asked if they wanted another round. Cutter eyed their almost-empty glasses, then raised an eyebrow at her. "Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "Don't leave it up to me." "C'mon," he said, grinning at her. "Ladies' choice." She looked around, as though she was startled. "There's a lady here? Someone, quick, go protect her from you losers." Eddie laughed out loud, even though it wasn't a very funny joke, and Chris leaned back further in his chair and lit another cigarette, running his fingers through his hair to push it back out of his eyes. It made him look like a girl, Amy thought to herself. A real pretty girl who knows how pretty she is. God, he really was a loser. Except, again, for how pretty he was. The waitress was still standing there, a smile frozen on her face as she shifted from one foot to another and cast her glance around the table, waiting for a decision. Amy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, another round," she said. What the fuck. Ladies' choice. And getting home at nine wasn't really bad at all. Still plenty of time for sleep. "Good choice," Chris said, draining his beer, and letting his arm drape loosely over the back of Lennox's chair next to him. "It's only eight o'clock," she said, somewhat defensively. She tapped on the table, then looked around for the damn waitress. "She can tell time," Chris explained seriously to the guys, who grinned. "This is a smart one, here." He gestured at her. "This is a keeper." "Fuck you," she said, grinning at him involuntarily. Fucker. Carol came back with their beers, and Amy sat up straighter, reaching for hers and taking a long sip. Sighing happily, she slouched back and eyed Lennox, who had been remarkably quiet tonight. "So," she said, raising her eyebrow. "Where's the girlfriend tonight?" "What girlfriend?" he said lazily, settling back in his chair, his shoulders resting against Cutter's arm. "The one with the -" Amy made a gesture that was supposed to encompass "blonde hair, no brain, stupid enough to go out with you." Chris lifted an eyebrow at her, and tilted his head towards Lennox. "Big tits," he interpreted. Amy snorted. "Like that doesn't describe all of his girlfriends?" She took another gulp of beer. Lennox was shaking his head. "She blew me off." Off of Amy's look: "Not like that," he said. "Although she totally did," he offered in an aside to the guys. "In the car. In the doughnut shop parking lot. It was awesome." Amy feigned loud snoring. Lennox lit a cigarette. "Yeah," he said through a lungful of smoke, "but after that, she disappeared. I was supposed to meet her over by the Harborside tonight at five, but she wasn't there." He tapped ash off his cigarette, then paused. "Or was it last night? Shit." Eddie laughed. "Oh, dude. You're fucked. Or, you know, not." "Yeah," said Lennox thoughtfully, twirling his beer glass around in front of him on the table, "I'm pretty sure it was last night. Ah, well." He lifted the glass, took a swig. "There's always another set of tits." "Words to live by," Amy responded solemnly, and toasted him. There'd been a million nights like this, and would probably be a million more. These weren't the best guys in the world, or the brightest, but they were her guys. And they never treated her like a girl. It was never just one beer, and it was never an early night, and she never remembered all the details of getting home. Sometimes she didn't remember any details of getting home, but as she stumbled out of the bar some hours later, she observed with great seriousness, "I always do get home. And that, Eddie my friend, is a talent." Eddie had his arm around her waist, and she tilted her head to grin at him, as he pulled her, giggling, out of the bar. They walked right into Lennox, who was swaying on the sidewalk as he lit a cigarette. "Watch it, lady," he said. Amy slid out of Eddie's arm and leaned up against Neil, blinking and watching as Cutter took the cigarette Lennox had just managed to light right out of Lennox's mouth. "Hey," Lennox said. Cutter grinned at him, rocking back on his heels, and smoked his cigarette. "Fucker." Amy watched Cutter's mouth as he took a long drag. When she raised her eyes he was watching her. She felt her face get hot against the cold night air. "Fucker," she muttered in agreement with Lennox, and Cutter's grin just widened. "What the fuck time is it, anyway?" Eddie asked, and Neil lifted his hand and stared at his watch for several seconds before looking up and saying, seriously, "Late." "Lily's gonna kill me." Amy laughed. "Probably not. She actually loves you, you know. She's just going to laugh at you and kick your hung-over ass out of bed in the morning." Eddie smiled, and nodded sadly. "Let's get out of here," Lennox said, and turned to walk carefully down the street towards his car. Amy pulled herself off of Neil and followed him, Neil and Eddie trailing behind her. "Not me," Cutter said. "I'm all set, I'm walking." Amy stopped and turned around, stumbling only a little. Lennox stopped too, and lifted his chin, blowing smoke out. "What, you don't trust me?" Cutter laughed, backing away with his hands raised and the fucking grin still on his face. "You mean your driving? You drive better drunk than sober, you asshole," he said. "Nah, I just - " He gestured around at the dark, the quiet street, up at the stars. "I'm walking. I feel like walking." Lennox shrugged and shook his head. "Whatever, Cutter. Good luck with that." Amy watched as Cutter swung around, his leather jacket glinting dully in the dim streetlight. God, she could go for another beer. She felt suddenly close to tears, and turned around, angry. Lennox was watching Cutter walk away, cigarette in his mouth, his head tilted to one side to keep the smoke out of his eyes. He flicked his eyes to her, and grinned, suddenly, holding the cigarette between his teeth. "Let's get out of here, yeah?" Chris Cutter was an asshole dickwad. Chris Cutter was, maybe, the most selfish person Amy'd ever met. Everyone had sucky childhoods; everyone had parent issues. Chris fucking rode on that for his whole goddamn life, and if he wasn't so fucking pretty, no one would put up with him. Amy knew that. If she could just get past it, if she could just not want him. It seemed like the simplest thing in the world, until he was in front of her, and just - when he talked to her, it was like she was the only person in the whole damn world. That the most important thing in his life was her hearing what he had to say, and she fucking fell for it every time. Fucker was probably just trying to get a glimpse of his own goddamn reflection in her eyes. Lennox was an asshole dickwad, too, but he was at least honest about it, and also he didn't mind sharing. He split a joint with her on the way home, and she slid her feet up on the dashboard and rolled the window down so the cold night air hit her hot face. She was the last drop-off of the night, and he drove in that slow, loopy way he had when he drove drunk - taking turns wide and smooth, taking the long way home, sliding along close to the cars parked along the curb and yet never actually hitting any of them. He was loaded, she knew he was loaded. How was he so much more steady that she was? He was a much more practiced drunk than her, she decided. She was a social drinker. She drank with the guys. Lennox drank and smoked and did who knew what else - anything, everything - just for the hell of it. Fuck it. She was good. She was fine. This was good, this was easy. Everything a little blurry, no Cutter, no worries, no nothing. Lennox swung up in front of her house and pulled over neat as a pin. They'd finished the joint by then, and he pulled out his cigarettes, and lit one. "You okay?" he asked, looking sideways at her. She gave him a slow smile, and he raised his eyebrows. "Huh." He took a drag, and looked at her some more. Amy laughed, and put her hand on his thigh, and leaned over and kissed him. He tasted like the cigarette he still held in his hand, and like the scotch he had at the end of the night at the bar, all overlain with that sweet smell of pot. Amy sighed and slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around her and shifted around on the seat, tugging her right up against him. And Lennox was a no-bullshit kind of guy, because he just fumbled to put the cigarette in the ashtray and kissed her back. Lennox was a good kisser, she thought with mild surprise, even as trashed as he was. She pressed up against him, and felt his fingers slip into the back of her jeans. She grinned against his mouth - how crazy was this? When she pulled away a little, he was grinning back at her, so she lifted her chin, tossing her hair out of her face, and said, "Backseat." "Hell, yeah," he breathed, and scrambled over the seat without a second's hesitation. She pushed herself over the seat right after him and straddled his lap, sliding her hands into his hair and kissing him again. He panted into her mouth, his hands sliding down to cup her ass and brought her up against him harder. She moaned and held onto his shoulders. Jesus Christ, this was stupid and fucked up. But Lennox was all worked up and hot for her, wanting her. She slid one hand down between them, and cupped him through his jeans, and he said, "Yeah, yeah," and pushed her back a little, quickly undoing his pants and guiding her hand back to rest on his cock. Oh Jesus, she was making out in the backseat with Lennox, with her hand on his cock. Even through the fuzzy drunkenness of her brain, she knew she was never going to fucking live this down. She tightened her grip on him. His head fell back against the seat and he moaned loudly. The windows were fogged up; it was so humid in the car she could hardly breathe. She rested her head against his shoulder and stroked his cock, her own wrist rubbing lightly against herself, keeping her turned on. "Hey," Lennox was muttering, "hey," and trying to get his hands on her waist, trying to move her down to the seat, but she just held on and moved her hand faster around him. Her hand was slick now, and he was gasping for breath, and muttering, "Oh god," faster and faster as his hands tightened on her hips. "Oh, god," he said, and jerked against her palm, coming all over her hand. Amy left her head down for a second, breathing, before she pulled back, wiped her hand on his jeans, and moved away from him. "Hey," he said blearily, reaching blindly for her, "Thanks." She snorted, and when he shifted his head to look at her, she forced a grin, lifting her chin at him again. "Don't fucking crash the car on the way home, asshole," she said, opening the door. The interior light of the car seemed blinding, and the rush of cold air felt like heaven on earth. "I never do," he said, smiling goofily, struggling to fix his pants. She left him there and staggered inside, somehow managing to get the door open and get through the dark house without tripping over anything or making any noise. She was good at that too, a skill learned over the vast number of times she'd done it. She made her way to the bathroom to pee, then leaned her forehead against the cool mirror over the sink as she washed her sticky hands. She stumbled just a little against the doorframe of her bedroom, and sat down heavily on the bed, struggling out of her shoes and jeans. She was dizzy, a little, and exhausted, but she leaned over to set the alarm for the morning (she was drunk, and she was stupid, but she was at least good at being drunk and stupid. A hangover was no reason not to go to work.) before flopping back on the unmade bed. When she pushed her hand into her panties, she was wet, still. She closed her eyes tight and pushed away the thought of what she had just done in the car with Lennox (oh Christ, she had fucked around with Lennox), and just stroked herself, not thinking about anything, she didn’t need anything or anybody, she was fine, she was fine. She didn't need Lennox or fucking Cutter, with his too-pretty face and the way he looked at her (like it meant something, like she was dumb enough to buy that), and the way he walked away on the dark street without even looking back. She didn't need anything at all, and she sank her fingers inside herself where she was slick and hot and she turned her head, muffling a moan against the pillow as she came. She rolled over on her side, and yanked at the covers, pulling them somewhat over herself. Her head was spinning and she pushed her face into the pillow and just breathed, and breathed, and passed out not thinking about anything or anyone at all. ~end~
after a car full of haircuts drove past
a backseat full of the boys
breaking glass
throwing off glass.
- "Throwing Off Glass," The Tragically Hip