Work Text:
Max
You're drunk as fuck, absolutely shitfaced, and you know it. You're so drunk you can barely move, so you just watch the room spin and the dim lights blur from your place on the couch.
Damn, you think. This couch is hella fine. I like this couch.
You almost laugh out loud. You're so fucking wasted.
Well, Maxy dear, five shots of vodka will do that to a girl.
It occurs to you that you and Caroline are sitting on the couch together, where you began the night with a bit of beer and then moved on to straight vodka when you were too tipsy to taste it.
You look over at Caroline and she's sitting there tapping away at the laptop doing some dumb management thing for your dumb cupcake business. She's wearing a dumb geeky shirt with some dumb gay Harley Quinn design and look at how dumb she is.
In a quiet moment of self-reflection, (brought on perhaps by the alcohol) you remember faintly your freshman World History course you only pretended to hate. Most of the year was a weed-induced blur, but suddenly one detail comes back you to clear as day. Hinduism, and the brief unit on India. More specifically, Dharma: A person's duties and obligations in life; the assumed principle of cosmic order that humans have no choice but to follow.
And here, now, when you are staring at Caroline like some horny 12 year old boy, watching this dumb girl with her dumb shirt and face, it hits you like a sobering slap in the face that in this very moment it is your Dharma to kiss her.
To kiss Caroline. You feel yourself start to stir, but in slow motion. God, you're so drunk.
Maxy, you're going to kiss Caroline. Hell yes.
Caroline
It's strange, you think to yourself, how Max gets drunk.
You'd have thought she'd either be a happy, crazy fun drunk (who might be up for some crazy, fun easily forgotten sex) or a weepy, emotional drunk, who would reveal more about her tainted past that you were so curious about, but never dared ask.
But no! Max was neither of these archetypal drunks, nor even an angry drunk like Caroline had once feared. No, when it came down to it, Max was a boring and one hell of an annoying drunk.
The first stage was always the boring: The alcohol took way too long to get into her system, so Max would sit like a statue while you get tipsy (and you are, of course, a white girl drunk: happy and blitzy until you puke and pass out).
Then: BAM! The alcohol would hit and she would enter her exhaustion stage. For around a half hour, Max would become sluggish and tired, to the point of which she might even fall asleep, even through your drunken Mariah Carey impersonations.
After that, the climax: Max would become incessantly annoying, the exact opposite of how she would act normally. She would stumble around and gab about any stupid shit that happened to pop into her brain, she would poke you and yell into your ear, she would re-enact the Lion King with the cat... she would always do something bizarre and un-Max like and annoying.
Then after that, she would become very sincere and try to tell you how good of a friend you are to her and how much she loves living with you. That part always makes you smile, and is worth the other continual ramblings. When the climax ended, Max would revert back to exhaustion and wake up with a nasty hangover.
So there she is on the couch next to you, climax peaked, mouth hanging open and eyes unfocused in all her busty glory. While she rides the end of the alcohol, you're tapping away at the keyboard, emailing some brainless Manhattan client who absolutely must have the 200 Perfect Pink Puffy Peach Cupcakes by Wednesday. You giggle a little- Oop, still a little buzzed.
Max's eyes are still dull, but she's staring at the Harley Quinn on your shirt like it's a bear claw. You look down to see if there's a stain there or anything.
All of a sudden, Max snaps her head forward to meet your eyes and starts slowly moving towards you, as if to look at what you're doing on the laptop. You smile at the other girl's honest attempt to move in her intoxicated state.
Bless her drunk soul, you think as your grin widens. She really is trying.
You set the laptop aside and wave a hand in her face.
"Max!" You say in a loud voice, and she stops moving for a moment. You raise your eyebrows expectantly and tilt your head. Max opens her mouth as if to speak. You wait patiently; she's bombed, and probably at this moment has the bodily capability of a sloth.
Finally she raises one pointer finger to the sky and exclaims heartily, "FOR DHARMA!"
Then the slow motion is gone and she throws her head at your head, so quickly she must have gotten whiplash, and places a surprisingly gentle kiss on your lips.
Max smiles, sighs happily, and collapses into your chest and starts to drool.
Well. How about that.
The muffled sound of snoring vibrates from the tangled mass of brown hair below you. You snort, once, and then you chortle, and then break out into a hysterical fit of giggles that erupts into full blown laughter. You don't recall ever laughing this hard in your life, and when Max interrupts with an especially loud snore you laugh even harder.
Yep, you think, still buzzed.
You are still giggling softly as you pull Max down with you into a sleeping position on the couch and pull a blanket down to cover your legs. Max's arms are thrown loosely around your waist and her head is tucked snugly into your neck. Her breathing is warm on your shoulder.
You rub her back for a few minutes until you start yawning and close your eyes. You fall asleep almost immediately, but not before you hear Max whisper your name softly in her sleep, so softly and so tenderly that it might have been only a sigh of love.
Your heart flutters once. Her grip around your waist tightens.