Will you please write out the Roybabs drunk ficlet? PLEEEEASSE?
“Come on Barb, one round of darts.” Roy Harper’s running his mouth again, grinning like an idiot and baiting girls way too good for him. ”Or did the Bat not teach you how to aim?” Barbara’s halfway through her beer, and she’s lost count as to which number this beer happens to be (five, maybe), and she knows that even blackout drunk, Roy could hit his target. But she never says no to a challenge (which might’ve been how this boozefest started, though beer number 5 or 6 is making the earlier details of the night harder to remember).
“What’s the prize?” Babs asks, downing the remainder of beer and wondering if she should signal for another. Roy places his hand on her thigh like it belongs there.
“I get to kiss you.” He replies, his lips already dangerously close to hers and his hand moving a little higher.
“And if I win?” Barbara retorts, placing a firm hand on his chest and pushing him back so she can give him what she hopes is an intimidating sort of look. Roy chuckles.
“That’s cute, Barb. Come on.” His hand leaves her thigh to wrap around her arm and pull her off the barstool; they make their way to the back of the bar and Roy shouts, “Clear the darts, I’ve got a bet to win,” at a group of youngish looking kids trying (key word: trying) to play darts. They take one look at him, and one much longer look at Babs (who Roy is still holding onto), snicker, and back away. One of them even throws his hands up as if to say, hey man, good luck. Barbara elbows Roy but he only smiles. ”It worked, didn’t it?” He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls the darts out of the board.
“Want me to blow on them for luck?” Barbara asks, pressing herself against him, half trying to throw him off and half looking forward to that kiss that’s been promised. Roy gives a languid grin, the first dart already precariously held between his fingers.
“I don’t need luck,” he replies, smiling down at her. ”Just aim.” He doesn’t even bother looking away from her lips (which are slightly parted, either because she’s a little drunk or a little horny or both) when he throws his dart, not until it’s hit it mark.
“Perfect bullseye,” he exclaims, turning back to Barbara. ”Want to throw the bet now, Barb? I promise I won’t-” she wraps her hands around the side of his face and mashes his mouth to hers, moaning as he easily returns the kiss and cups her ass with his hands. He pulls back just for a moment, her lipstick smeared across his mouth.
“You didn’t get to see me do it with my eyes closed,” he whines, and grabs her ass a little tighter, pulling her hips against his.
“Oh well,” Barbara whispers back.
