(feat. @sweetestflow3rs's Cody cuz the ideas just KEPT COMING, bonus at the end)
You snap out of whatever tipsy haze you were under and bite down on Cody's lip, hard enough to have him reeling back with a hiss—
And then you smack him, the sound crisp and clear even amidst the pub's hustle and bustle. -Trauma
Any interest generated by the scene is lost when spectators realize it's just the two of you again.
"Fix it," Your lips twist derisively as you scoff, pushing yourself up from your seat with a baleful glower at your menace of a co-worker, "—Go fuck yourself." -Trauma
If you didn't know him so well, you'd be disappointed by how quickly Cody recovers, flashing you a smirk as he rubs the quickly reddening mark on his cheek.
"Now, why would I do that when I have a perfectly good toy right here?" His grin sharpens, giving you a lazy once-over as he lounges back against the bar-top, "—Adorable blush, by the way."
(1) You are very, very tempted to hit him again. +Stress
But you don't, because two hits would be pushing your luck on what Cody will take without hitting back, and while you might have enjoyed the opportunity to really wipe the smug look off his face — you don't love your odds, two drinks deep and the adrenaline from your last job starting to wane.
More importantly, you don't want to have to sit through another lecture from Landry; he'd just force the two of you to work together more often, which is about the last thing you want right now.
You leave, flipping Cody off over your shoulder as he laughs behind you, retreating to the opposite side of the pub because you'll be damned if you let that blue-haired bastard ruin your night.
(1) But the thought lingers, no matter how you try to stop thinking about it. +Arousal +Stress
You have another shot and then have the bartender cut you off, knowing yourself well enough to not want to get blackout drunk over something so— stupid.
Because it is stupid.
It's stupid because you know the asshole well enough to know he was just using you for his entertainment, another piece of kindling to feed the mile-wide humiliation kink he didn't even try to hide, most of the time. Something new to lord over you, to try and get a rise out of you with.
You glare at the empty shot glass in front of you, because it's only under the influence of something that you'd ever be dumb enough to talk about firsts with Cody, of all people. A completely one-sided bit of over-sharing, to make matters worse, because it's not like he was ever that careless, no.
(1) More than happy to take advantage of your moment of weakness, though. +Stress
You force yourself to breathe. You mingle with the other patrons, regulars you recognize and others that you don't. Consider, more than once, about taking someone to the backroom just to really put the thought from your mind—
But the idea of sleeping with a stranger makes your skin crawl, now that you no longer do that shit for money, and unfortunately: you don't really have friends, let alone fuck buddies.
Fuck.
You need to get out more. Do things other than work— and lounge at your workplace.
(1) Your mind drifts entirely against your wishes.
What if he had been your first kiss? You don't think it's necessarily a compliment to say that it would've been an improvement — there's not a lot of ways it could've been worse, really. And it's not like it's a memory you even dwell on much, shoved into the same tidy little box you put all of your traumatic unpleasant memories in, but—
You think it would've been. . . nice, at least. Softer, probably, especially if he'd known it was your first — Cody loved letting people think he was much, much nicer than he actually was, after all. He'd have pulled you into his lap, because what was even the point if he couldn't make a game of it? In a quiet corner of the pub, or maybe in his office, so he could really appreciate the way you would've flustered. You could see him dragging out the whole affair, teasing you for as long as he could get away with before finally, finally—
"Fuck." +Arousal +Stress
You groan the curse into both palms, uncaring of the confused looks it draws from the patrons beside you.
And then you look up just in time to catch Cody's gaze — the bastard fucking waves at you — and all at once you hit your breaking point.
1. Start a fight. -Love +Respect
2. Make a bad decision. ++Love +Trauma <<
You push up from your seat with enough force to have the chair scrapping loudly against the pub's floor, stalking across the bar, radiating enough menace to have people parting to get out of your way despite your unremarkable stature. Presence, you'd found, was far more effective than size—
And fury had a very special kind of flair.
You cross the bar in less than a minute, but unlike last time, you have no intention of giving Cody the opportunity to fluster you like he always fucking does—
Before his mouth can even open, you fist both hands into his sweater and yank, pulling him up (for once in your goddamn life) and out of his comfortable lounge until the two of you are nose to nose for the second time this evening.
This is a mistake.
You know it is.
But it's a mistake you're making on your own terms, and that's about all you can ask for, at this point. +Control
