Trix and Rick, 19 (if you've already started it, why not :D)
A Kiss Below the Waist
Trix squirmed uncomfortably and backed away. “Rick, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m kissin’ yer feet,” Rick slurred. “Yer beautiful, beautiful feet.”
“Yeah.” Trix rubbed her foot on the back of her pantsleg. “I got that. But why?”
“I’m so glad yer here!” He made a grab for her ankle, but she hopped out of the way.
“Rick, sweetie, I did warn you about the tequila.” She sighed.
She’d known- known- when he called her that he wasn’t actually dying, but she’d felt the need to check up on him anyway. His grand plan of drinking until he got the worm had not worked out very well. And judging by the amount still in the bottle, he hadn’t gotten very far before realizing that. Which was a blessing. Sort of.
“Oh, god,” he groaned. “I think it’s burrowing into me, now!” He curled up on the floor.
Trix sighed. If the worm had somehow gained some kind of zombie sentience, it was performing a pretty good trick if it was attacking him from the bottle on the other side of the room. She moved closer and crouched beside him, patting his shoulder.
“Come on, Rick. Let’s get you into the bathroom before you make a mess out here.” She helped him into a sitting position, alert for any sign that he wasn’t going to make it in time.
Rick moaned, one arm flailing for her. she caught him and slooowwwwly helped him up.
“I love you,” he said, as they made their crooked way across the living room.
“Yeah, I know.” Trix worked to steer him down the hall. They bounced off the walls a couple of times, but eventually made it to the bathroom.
“No, I mean I really really really-”
“Shhh.”
The toilet seat was already up, of course, and wonder of wonders it was more or less clean. She shrugged off Rick’s efforts to nuzzle her neck.
“Yer gorgeous an’ smart, an’ I really love it when... when you... Oh, god-”
She got him into position just in time and then stepped back as the tequila made its return trip. Her nose wrinkled in sympathy. Being sick- whether through illness or misadventure- was never fun. She wet a facecloth and folded it over the back of his neck.
“You gonna be OK, silly boy?”
He groaned.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She rubbed his back for a few minutes, but he didn’t seem inclined to talk anymore. A distant part of her mind wondered what he’d been about to say. It might have offered some insight into why he was so attracted to her.
She stayed with him for a while, just to make sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger of choking or braining himself on the toilet, or any of the other hazards of overindulgence. He threw up a couple more times and rambled a bit, but seemed to be dropping off to sleep.
So was she. Her watch said 3AM. Ugh. She yawned. The things she did for friends.
“I’m gonna head out, Rick. I’ll leave you something for the morning.” She kissed his shoulder- must have been the exhaustion making her do that- and padded out of the room.
Rick woke up in the bathroom, unsure what had happened, but knowing he didn’t like it. His mouth tasted rotten, his head felt like it was trying to hatch, and his eyes burned. Tequila, right? His nose told him yes and his stomach rolled unpleasantly.
He flushed the toilet (which was way too loud), rinsed his mouth (it didn’t help much) and made his bleary way out to the kitchen, making sure to keep all the lights off because ow.
There was a note taped to the fridge, which was odd because he didn’t remember writing it. He peered at the paper, willing his eyes to focus. It took a minute or two and what he read made him cringe.
“Trix?” he croaked. Trix had been here? Uncomfortable not-quite-memories stirred in the agonized sludge of his brain. The impressions he got were... not good at all. He groaned.
Her note said she’d already fed Danger, which might explain why the cat hadn’t made her usual wailing demand for breakfast. Trix also said she’d left him her “hangover cure” in the fridge and told him to eat a lot of toast, which explained the bread on the counter.
He pulled a glass of orange-ish goop out of the fridge and gave it a wary sniff. Juice, ice cream, a couple shots of tabasco, and crushed vitamins, is what the note had said. His stomach gurgled. In a good way, he hoped. He gulped down the drink as quickly as he could and waited. His stomach seemed to accept the offering, so he went to put the bread in the toaster, wondering where, exactly, Trix had found those ingredients, since he didn’t have any of them and didn’t have a working blender, either.
One thing he did know was that he was due to have a very very awkward conversation with her later. Even if he called in sick- or quit (which seemed like a good choice at the moment) she’d still find him. They lived in the same building. He’d never be able to escape fast enough.
“Her feet?” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, hoping like hell that the little memory fragment was wrong. She’d never have stuck around if he did that, right? She’d just kick him in the teeth and leave. Although given the way his head felt maybe she had kicked him. He might even have deserved it.
