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"Alright, doll. I've had enough watching you run around this kitchen like Cinderella. Go on and mingle with the bourgeoisie." Y/N sighs, swiftly stealing the plates Taggie was carrying with one arm while her free hand cradles a glass of whiskey.
She carries the plates over to the sink, letting Taggie's complaints play in the background as background noise as she finishes off her fourth drink of the night and sets the glass down in the sink.
"Do you see this mess?! I can't possibly let loose knowing all this work is waiting for me at the end of the party." Taggie grumbles, folding her arms over her chest, "Besides, I don't even like most of those people."
Y/N can't help but gasp dramatically at that proclamation. In all the years she's known Taggie, she's never once managed to pry out a bad criticism from her in regards to anyone. She'd have to pat spy-like attention to her best friend's facial expressions in order to gauge all those feelings she knows she'd never say out loud.
Y/N had originally formed a friendship with Patrick who was in her grade at school. However, she formed an even stronger bond with his year younger sister. It's a girls' thing, she'd tell Patrick, we're all wired to be closer to one another than we'll ever be to a man.
And her statement still rings true nearly a decade later. It's Patrick's birthday and yet Y/N is finding far greater entertainment in the kitchen with Taggie rather than mingling with the crowd of London high society. She gets more than enough interaction with them during her daily internship at the Corinium, she doesn't need her New Year's Eve poisoned by them as well.
That being said, she shares Taggie's sentiment to the full extent. But she's not about to let up on her convincing, not with Rupert Campbell-Black in attendance.
"You don't have to like them all, Tag. One sometimes makes all the difference. And that certain one of yours is in the building, no doubt looking for you amongst the crowd. Yet you're cooped up here, dodging him as if he matters to you as much as those grease-pole climbers and cheaters." Y/N playfully scolds her.
"Don't speak ill of the cheaters, they are his prime area of expertise." Taggie chuckles into the back of her hand as if shocked by the words coming out of her own mouth.
Y/N snorts, throwing a smirk her friend's way over her shoulder, "I don't remember ever saying any names and yet you knew exactly who I was implying. Hmm...." The older girl teases, only to have a dish rag tossed at her head by a blushing Taggie.
"You're in-insufferable, you know that?!" She says, glaring daggers at her best friend.
Y/N laughs heartily, stepping away from the sink. She reaches one hand behind herself, starting to unfasten the corset she has on to keep her emerald dress snug and tight while using her free hand to pinch Taggie's cheek, "And you're absolutely adorable when you're flustered, love." She uses that same hand to yank Taggie's shirt free from her jeans, "Get that off, hun. Don't worry, I'm not looking." She adds the last part with a laugh and a roll of her eyes as she continues battling with the lace fastenings of her corset.
If it were anyone else asking - or rather instructing - her to do this, Taggie would've probably protested and refused. However, if there's one thing she's learned over the nearly decade long friendship with Y/N is that, although her ideas sound like trouble, they're always a recipe for a good time. Tag wouldn't exactly say she's had an exciting life but those pockets of adventure and excitement and thrill that she can recall she owes to Y/N. And so, she complies, lifting her shirt over her head just as her friend frees herself from her corset, causing her dress to hang more loosely around her body but still catching on her curves at certain areas.
"Good, turn around for me." Y/N instructs yet again as she unclips Taggie's bra before quickly putting the corset on her, glad they didn't flash anyone in the split second the action took. Once she's finished lacing it up, Y/N's hands lazily rest on her best friend's shoulders, turning her around to see if her vision looks just as good in reality as it did in her mind. "Dashing, my darling. Take a deep breath for me, hm?"
Tag again complies without complaints, expanding her chest with a deep inhale to see if the corset needs any loosening but it is perfectly snug, still allowing her to breathe freely though. "You really think so?" The younger girl asks, a hopeful twinkle in her eyes.
"I swear on all that's dear to me, love." Y/N says, giving Tag's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "One more thing...", she mumbles, leaning in to press a kiss to each of Taggie's cheeks, leaving behind lipstick stains on her skin which she later smears to give her a natural looking blush. "Voila! Now go knock Campbell-Black off his high horse and into your bed, doll."
Using the grip she has on the girl's shoulders, Y/N practically ushers her out of the kitchen and into the sea of partygoers before retreating into the quiet solitude herself.
She enters her fairy godmother mindset as she prances around the kitchen, cleaning up the mess around the kitchen, letting the rhythm of the music carry her movements. She periodically refills a new whiskey glass she got from the cupboard. She had really intended for it to be her last drink when she set her previous glass in the sink earlier but she gave up when she saw Mr. O'Hara's whiskey collection. With all these people around, she's certain she'll get away with sneaking a couple glasses of one of the more expensive looking bottles.
"Ah, I see the kitchen mouse has gotten into the good stuff."
Y/N damn near chokes on the amber liquid she just downed when she hears the voice of none other than Declan O'Hara.
She turns around slowly like a scene from a horror movie, or rather a kid getting caught red-handed stealing from the cookie jar. Only worse, more embarrassing considering this isn't her house. Although if she were to say that out loud all three O'Hara siblings and their father would be quick to tell her off.
An array of apologies circles around her head, none sufficient enough to mend the situation - especially not when Declan is smirking at her like that from the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets. So, instead she settles for the truth: "I was hoping you wouldn't catch me."
Declan only chuckles in response, the sound rich and sweetened by the numerous drinks he's had throughout the night. He's nowhere near drunk but he's had enough to drink to accentuate his natural charm and charisma, softening his otherwise sharp edges.
Edges nearly everyone at Corinium has been cut on since he started working there. And when I say 'nearly' I mean very few have managed to avoid Declan O'Hara's spitfire - Y/N being one of the lucky few despite typically being bad at following orders due to her stubbornness. She isn't sure what exactly it is about her best friend's father that tames that snippy, downright bratty side of her. All she knows is that when he looks at her with those warm, kind eyes and asks rather than tells her to do something, adding a little 'darling' or 'love' at the end, she folds like a house of cards in the wind.
Declan strolls in with an easiness in his step, his eyes never leaving her. As he nears her vicinity, he holds out his own glass, "Care to treat me to my own whiskey, sweetheart?"
Well would you look at that - there she goes folding again. Or more so melting into a puddle at his feet on the tiled kitchen floor.
Words have dispersed into unconnected letters in her head and all she can manage to do is nod as she picks up the whiskey bottle with a trembling hand, pouring a good amount into his glass.
"Thanks, love." He gives her a lopsided smile, lifting his glass, "To the new year."
Y/N is suddenly reminded that she is still in one piece physically - not a pathetic puddle of herself - and in turn she needs to function like a normal human being and avoid embarrassment that will keep her up at night for the upcoming century.
She schools her expression in a faux easy smile as she clinks her glass against his, "To the new year." she repeats before they both take a sip of the lovely whiskey Y/N had helped herself to.
After taking a moment of silence to revel in the pleasure of the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, Declan's eyes focus on her, giving her a head-to-toe scan before speaking, "Where'd your corset go?"
Her heart skips a beat at both the way his gaze is running over the length of her body and the question that insinuates he'd noticed her outfit to begin with. His eyes on her feel like a palpable heat, almost like the feather like touch of a hand. "I-I, um, I lent it to Taggie for a bit. I wanted to doll her up a little and force to enjoy herself. Let loose a little."
Declan nods, a small hum leaving his throat, "Well you've done a good deed, my dear. And a great job taming the kitchen into something presentable. You're a great friend, dear. I'd say you've earned your stolen whiskey." He adds the last part with a quick wink that turns her brain to pudding.
Y/N smiles in response although she wants to absolutely kick herself for involuntarily making bedroom eyes at said friend's dad. She cannot seem to morph her expression into anything other than an openly 'well I'll be damned...' look. So she opts to look away from him instead.
"Oh please, sir, it's nothing. That's what friends are for..." She instinctively takes a sip of her drink to cool down only to be rudely reminded it's whiskey and it has the complete opposite effect to the one she was hoping for.
Speaking of a friend's duties...
Just over Declan's shoulder, Y/N catches glimpse of Rupert and Taggie in the comfortable embrace of one another on the dance floor. Although, judging by the proximity of their faces, dancing isn't their priority at the moment. A split second and a millimeter is all it would take for Y/N to rejoice that her agenda had been successful.
But that's also precisely what it would take for Declan to catch sight of it and lose his everloving shit which would undeniably cause a rift in the mission.
Just to the girls' luck, the moment Rupert's lips touch Taggie's is the exact moment Declan starts turning around - or at least that's how Y/N perceives it.
And Y/N would be damned if she let him.
Before she can think better of it, the alcohol in her system takes a seat behind the wheel and all rational thinking is tossed out the window. At least that's the only way she can explain her following actions.
There isn't a single sober thought behind it when her hands firmly rest on Declan's shoulders, instantly grabbing his attention and prompting him to turn to face her once more. And in that split second, Y/N pushes up on her tippie toes, her lips colliding with his in a kiss that momentarily stuns them both.
The last bit of sobriety fights to regain control of her mind mere seconds after their lips come in contact. It's not much but it's enough to scream at her to pull the fuck away and then run the fuck away. And she would've done just that had Declan's hands not come up to wrap around her waist and pull her closer, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss which she instinctively - and eagerly - allows.
All thoughts - both sober and drunk - fall silent in her head. The party in its entirety falls silent around her. All she can hear is her own heartbeat in her ears, mingled with his slightly labored breathing as the kiss reaches new heights in passion and heat with each passing second until they both run out of breath - the lack of oxygen being the only thing to force them apart, not at all the notion of how wrong what they're doing is.
Again, apologies stack themselves sky-high in her brain but none reach her whiskey coated tongue. Instead, she looks up at him wide-eyed and breathless, her now lipstick-void lips parted as she blurts out the first thought that manages to slip past the fog of shock.
"Taggie's gonna kill me"
Declan's own stunned expression gives way to a wide smile as he chuckles breathlessly at her panicked statement, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, darling."
Even in the midst of her panic and moral crisis, Y/N can't help the flutter in her heart at the petname. "You....you won't tell her, will you?"
Declan clicks his tongue, shaking his head as one of his hands comes up to cup her cheek, "Of course not, my dear. I can keep a secret. That's what friends are for, after all."
Y/N is just about to throw all hesitance to the wind and lean into him fully, reconnect their lips and give herself over to him entirely when - for better or for worse - the clicking of heels approaches the kitchen entrance, sending them on opposite sides of the room like same charges of a magnet. The poor flustered girl is left frazzled, standing on weak knees without Declan's arms to hold her up. Luckily, however, she finds herself on the side of the kitchen where the door to the backyard offers her solitude and salvation within arm's reach. And she takes it a mere second before Maud strolls into the kitchen to show her husband a fraction of the affection she's been showering the other partygoers with all night.
Regardless of the state of Declan and Maud's marriage and their relationship as a whole, what they just did is wrong from all angles and aspects. It's a betrayal to Maude, to Taggie, to Caitlin and Patrick, to Y/N's parents who Declan has known and been friends with for years.
And as such they deserve to be drowning in guilt and remorse for their actions.
One problem: they're not. Not in the slightest. Especially not Declan who cannot seem to tear his gaze away from the backdoor Y/N disappeared through even as his wife finally graces him with her attention and presence.
Attention, presence and affection Y/N would love to give to him and only him. No division or sharing, no inhibitions or reservations.
No wrong or right.
Just a little secret amongst....friends