Just Like In The Movies - Jake/Roxy
Characters; Jake English, Roxy Lalonde
Rating; M for implied mature situations, and alcohol shenanigans
Warnings; Alcohol, sexy times, sloppy makeouts
Word Count; 514 words
Oh, by the way, the drink that Jake has is a Salty Dog - it’s gin, grapefruit juice and salted ice. I thought it suited him better~
“Could you perhaps remind me, Roxy my dear, why this is a good idea once more?”
“Hush Jakey, put it on.”
The ‘it’ in question was the blouse belonging to Roxy herself. When the oft-drunk girl had suggested they dress up like in the movies, Jake had leapt at the chance; it was not every day he was able to visit her new apartment, so generously bought using the endless funds her mother had left behind. He had suggested an action flick as their genre. They’d done exactly that, and it had been hilarious. He’d brought his old thigh holsters, and she had secured a bandanna around his head like some sort of headband. Roxy herself wore a cropped top, and a tartan pleated skirt. Attempting to teach Roxy how to youth roll across her carpet had resulted in a few bruises and scrapes, though nothing as serious as the stomach cramps from laughing too hard at her failed attempts and mostly accidental panty-flashing. After a while, she had eventually coaxed the adventurous lad into joining her with a drink. He’d disliked the martini, though he’d eaten her olives with relish. Upon her hunts to find something more to his taste, she found a few cartons of grapefruit juice, and mixed him what she called a “Slalty woofer”. He’d taken to it, the feeling of inebriation sweeping over him in a warm, not entirely unpleasant buzz. And then she suggested they play dress-ups again, this time with horror movies as their theme.
Which was the precise reason why they were currently battling over who had to be the girl in the tight top; Roxy, who could handle her drink marginally better than Jake, was winning. She had already stolen his thigh holsters, and had them on. They pushed up at her skirt, trapping the fabric close to her right thigh, rucking up and almost covering the empty gun-holder on the left. She’d taken Jake’s shirt too, and was currently attempting to remove her own, and put it on Mr English.
“I do say, Miss Lalonde, shouldn’t you leave your shirt on? You are, after all, one of female persuasion, and I shouldn’t like to get a perhaps unwelcome peek at your-oh my.” His face flushed (partly from the alcohol, and partly because Roxy was half naked), Jake began to back up a little. Giggling, Roxy advanced, snaking her arms, and her shirt, over Jake’s shoulders. They stumbled over each other, landing heavily on the carpet, but not minding the bruises. The thigh holster was clunky and awkward; Roxy’s legs were forced either side of Jake’s own, wider than was appropriate. Then again, at this stage, what was? The state of her lower body was ignored by Jake, however, her chest occupying most of his field of vision. He wasn’t exactly complaining anymore, what with her devilish smirk and soft laughter. He stared up at her, enraptured, swallowing thickly. She removed his glasses smoothly, and everything jumped into soft focus. As she moved down to kiss him, he swallowed again, and muttered, most eloquently;