Beboptober 8: Never Have I Ever
Drinking games all start the same. A playful quip, a dare, or a bet. Something building on a rising tension; testing the waters, testing boundaries. Simple fun both parties know would not actually stay so simple.
Normal people, when they drink socially, do it to unwind after a long day. When a game is involved, it’s to let loose even further. There’s a certain level of trust, occasional flirtation, and a whole lot of booze; what’s not to like? Get a game going and drain the stress right out of your shoulders.
But that kind of drinking game was for ordinary civilians. People who could afford to complain about their positions without having too much actual grief to back it up.
The safe. The content. Some minor inconveniences of life, but nothing to really bury with the use of a dozen bottles. Just head to the bar, ask for ‘the usual, Sam,’ and play a game with some friends.
But when you’re stuck on a space ship drifting for who knows how long, with not much else to do but simmer in your own vices (or lack thereof) and pasts (or lack thereof further), you get bored.
You wanna play a game. A drinking game.
Rationalizing it is easy, when Jet’s nowhere in sight and Ed’s passed out on the stairs. No one to stop them partaking in the finer things in life (namely, Spike’s squirreled away bottle of fireball) without remorse or constraint.
At first, it’s simple questions. If you don’t want to answer the question, you take a drink.
Both Faye and Spike are private people, and both would prefer being drunk sooner rather than later. Little is learned, between the two. Faye hates his shoes. Spike won’t say when he lost his virginity. Faye’s favorite color is none of his business. Spike hates her shoes.
The bottle drains quickly.
Through a sniff and a frustrated huff, Faye suggests a new game. Dares.
Neither can think of a good dare. The bottle is getting dangerously low, and they’re pretending they don’t notice.
Emotions are turning strange. Tingling fingers rest on the bottle a little longer than they normally would, as it’s passed from one hand to the other. They started on the couch but after a curious laughing-fit, they landed on the floor, Spike’s back to the stairs. Eyeing him with a smirk, Faye tugs on his trousers every so often to get his attention, near his knee.
She’s crawled closer a few times and now she’s lazily trailing a finger up and down the seam on his thigh. She can feel Spike’s eyes tracking her finger, but he hasn’t stopped her. Though there’s a suspicious shiver that she can feel every time she trails slowly higher to his hip.
Her face feels hot, due to… nothing in particular.
“Let’s play a new game,” she purrs, tapping all her fingers along the seam.
“I dunno, Faye,” Spike replies around another swig of whiskey. “Your games have kinda sucked so far.”
She shakes her head, calculating a sloppy grin up at him. “This one’s a winner, I guarantee it.”
Spike tsks but he shrugs, passing the bottle and sliding down the wall to sprawl beside her.
“Never have I ever. You say something you’ve never done, and if the other person has done it, they gotta drink.”
Spike rolling his eyes has never looked so inviting. “Didn’t we already play the truth game?”
“Naaaah, this is different.”
“The name of that game isn’t 'never have I ever,’ obviously.”
Another eye roll to accompany the last, though this one slightly less attractive, itself paired with a shrug. “Whatever you say. You go first?”
Faye nods, clumsily tapping at her chin in thought. “Never have I ever… jumped into deep space without a suit.”
Spike’s eyes narrow this time; they are having quite the workout this evening. “One, I’d hardly call that asteroid 'deep space,’ and two, this game seems pretty suited for cheap one-shots.”
“It is what it is, cowboy,” Faye grins, waving the bottle under his nose. “And I’d consider 'any space outside of a ship’ deep space. Now drink.”
He obliges, though begrudgingly. With a shake of his head and several rapid blinks, he turns his eyes on his opponent. “Alright, wiseass. Never have I ever cheated at poker.”
“What?! That’s cheating! You must have—”
“Never. I spot it, but I don’t dole it out.”
With a groan, Faye snags the bottle and adds to the flush in her cheeks. They go back and forth a couple times, but this game can’t go much longer; they’re down to the last few swigs. One or two, if she had to guess
Whatever she says for her last question, she wants to make it count.
Still propped up on her elbows, Faye gazes up into Spike’s face as she contemplates her query. Half-lidded eyes watch her right back, shaded by his untamable fluffs of dark hair. Everything about him seems to be so contradictory. He always wears a suit, so you’d think he’d have a care about appearances, but it was always rumpled and wrinkled, obviously having been slept in. Yet, he’s always clean shaven, and it’s a clean shave. Boots don’t shine, but they aren’t much scuffed, either. Again, his hair is a giant mess of curls, but it never seems to be tangled curls. Just a big ol’ mess you want to run your fingers through.
Faye blinks wide, shaking away those ridiculous thoughts, before squinting up again.
What else, what else is there…
There’s something about them that’s always seemed… odd. Not wrong, but different. Slightly different in shades, perhaps.
What’s that called? Hetero…normia? Abro… chromia? Bah, whatever. They’re different.
The right one seems to shine a bit brighter, almost moves a bit faster, too. And the left… if Faye covered his face, she’d be sure the left would seem more melancholy. More far away, somehow.
Before she can stop herself, she says, “never have I ever kissed a man with one eye.”
Damn it! I could’ve thought of a better one than that.
Ah well. At least that should get him the last drink.
At this, Spike’s eyes widen.
Faye feels a little confused, only to be replaced with a little giddiness.
Unleeeeesss? Ohohoho, am I about to learn a little Secret about this mysterious stubborn idiot handsome lunkhead asshole?
To her dismay, Spike merely shrugs and closes his eyes to take the last swig.
When he opens them, a fire has been lit within. It makes Faye feel some very strong things in very important places.
Though she’s a little confused as to why.
To cover her sudden confusion, she rolls onto her back, a veritable starfish of a drunk cowboy. “Pity there, Spike; I was hoping your life was a bit more interesting,” she giggles, eyeing him upside down.
She hopes the change in scenery eases the intensity of his gaze. It doesn’t.
If anything, it makes the strange excitement grow in the pit of her stomach. Especially as he leans over, directly above her head.
“I could change that for you,” he murmurs. He rests his head in his hand, elbow just beside her head.
Faye’s brain has short-circuited. “Change what?”
“What, you know a man with one eye?”
Faye rolls her eyes, but freezes as she realizes Spike’s face has inched slightly closer. “I’m not going to kiss a fucking stranger just because he only has one eye, Spike. That’s stupid.”
“I wouldn’t call him a stranger.”
Spike’s getting closer, and Faye’s face is feeling a helluva lot redder.
Not bad. Just… very warm.
I… I don’t think it’s Jet. M-maybe Ein?
“W… would you kiss him, first, if I said yes?” Faye whispers, eyes flicking frantically between Spike’s shadowy eyes and his ever-approaching lips.
He chuckles, a little perplexed. “I don’t think it’d quite work; you might have to kiss him first and tell me if it’s worth it.”
Faye’s breath catches in her chest as Spike’s nimble fingers catch her cheek. “O-oh… well… maybe I could—”
A soft kiss presses into her bottom lip, and her eyes flutter closed to the feeling. It’s terribly gentle, too gentle for how warm she feels all over. A second kiss follows, and Spike’s teeth gently tug at her lip in passing. There’s another hand fully cupping her face, and a shiver runs through her as fingers trail accidentally over skin.
Rising for air, Spike plants a kiss to her nose. His smirk and his cheeks are definitely redder than they were a moment before.
“There. Now you’ve kissed a man with one eye.”
