A Few Good Drinks - Cliff Booth x OC
A/N: THIS POST GOT MORE THAN ONE LIKE SO... HERE IT IS. Some Sam and Cliff shippy shit to hold y'all until I get requests out!
TW: Just some bros DEFINITELY not having repressed attraction.
The night's plans were simple enough; the pair had decided to grab a few drinks at Sam's favourite bar (where she knew the staff and owner, and was quite friendly with the regulars) as per Cliff's suggestion after Rick had cancelled their plans for a script reading with his new director.
They enjoyed their few drinks, laughing and talking all the while, before enjoying a few more for good measure. They hadn't spent time like this together "for too long" as Cliff put it when asked about his decision over their third drink. That was satisfactory, apparently, for Sam offered a jovial grin and toast.
Cliff, despite the pleasant company, hadn't allowed the stare from across the bar to go unnoticed - - a pair of emerald eyes that glanced their way far too often for it to even be considered subtle. Still, he didn't mention it. It wasn't his place. It was innocent enough. Still, he stopped at his third drink, a Bloody Mary to commemorate his withdrawal from the drinking.
Sam didn't stop at three, and went on to have five and a quarter drinks that night. She wasn't a lightweight by any means, but fuck. She didn't exactly look sober, and that alone should've signalled the stuntman to end the night there.
It was when he was ordering her a glass of water from the bar did the emerald eyes wonder to Sam in person. Cliff didn't know what was being said, nor did he need to know; her brows furrowed, lips etched into a frown, and the mystery man seemed to be getting a little too far into her personal space.
The tell-tale signs of physical retaliation was blooming like a rose within Sam, exemplified as a second mystery man of the night joined the first. Deciding now was the time to call the night quits, Cliff approached.
He didn't know what he expected, honestly. If maybe he thought they'd be polite, or maybe if he thought they'd just leave when he went to collect Sam. But either way, he found himself arguing (rather politely considering who he was, especially when mixed with however much alcohol). He lightly dragged Sam from the booth they sat, finally offering a final farewell, and then guided her out of the bar.
It became apparent that Sam wasn't going to make great time by walking on her own. So, he supported her all the way to her Chevy, and took the keys from her in spite of her urging that she could drive. After taking the wheel and ignoring her, she slipped inside, suddenly not bothered by the fact he was driving.
The car ride back to her home was oddly quiet. The occasional joke and fumble with the radio, but other than that? Nothing. Cliff made sure to keep an eye on if she was conscious. She was. He chalked it up to the alcohol.
Upon pulling into her driveway, Cliff turned the engine off and watched Sam climb out. She leaned against her car door for a moment before raising her hand, offering an 'I'm good!' before slamming it shut and trotting wobbly up to her door. Cliff followed suit, locking the vehicle before joining her side.
He watched as she patted herself down for her keys whilst leaning against the door, amused by this, before shifting through her key chain which he held. He found her front door key, which was a hard task considering the darkness, and inserted it into the lock. He twisted it, pulled the handle, and stepped inside.
With a 'thump' and soft gasp, the actress fell to the floor on her side. Cliff shook his head lightly and took a step, bending down before a deep growl made his ears perk up.
"Woah, boy," Words accompanied a raised hand to show that he wasn't a danger, "It's me. It's Cliff. I'm just tryin' to help your mom. Let me," Falling silent, he felt around for a light switch, flicking it on when he found it.
Suddenly illuminated, Cliff could see the gorgeous dog he had grown to absolutely adore. Whiskey was a delightful German shepherd, husky mix. Well trained, a cuddle fiend, and, apparently, a bodyguard.
Whiskey's snarl softened as he properly saw the stuntman, blue eyes easing as his ears slowly rose. Sam sluggishly reached up to place a hand upon his head.
"I'm good, baby. Just kinda fucked. Sorry," Sam spoke softly, an affection to her tone that had Cliff's heart fluttering lightly.
Now able, he moved to help her up, closing the door behind them. He supported her to the couch before helping her collapse to sit, pulling away so that he could go to the kitchen and grab her a glass of water. The sudden feeling of fingers around his forearm stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked back and down to her.
"You saved me," Sam breathed, as if that was the most unbelievable thing to ever be said.
"Nah, nah. I didn't save you, Sam. I-"
"-you totally saved me from those assholes at the bar. Holy shit. You're like-- you're a Godsend, man. Fuck."
"Are you done being drunk so I can get you a glass of water?" He asked, amusement heavy in his words.
"I-I-I think I love you, Cliff. Like-- I mean, really. I've been embarrassed about it, but I really love my boyf-boyfriend. Technically that's...that's what you are. Because you're a boy. Who's my friend?"
His grin softened into something much more sincere, a twinkle dancing within his blue eyes that spoke volumes neither of them could quite make out. He swayed gently on the spot.
Whiskey wormed his way between them, moving so that he jumped up slightly to lick at Sam's face. Cliff took this moment to carefully pull away.
"I'm goin' to grab you some water and then head home before Brandy misses me too much. Has Whiskey eaten?" He waited for a reply, to which he got none as she fussed sluggishly over her pet.
Cliff watched them for a moment longer before retreating to the kitchen, the warmth from his smile spreading to his heart. He was her boyfriend indeed.
