Work Text:
Taco doesn't know why she agreed to this.
Mic had asked her to come to some kind of party the OSC was hosting. Well, practically begged. She tried to say no, that she really didn't feel like attending a gathering full of people that didn't like her, didn't respect her, and frankly she didn't like or respect either. But unfortunately, Mic is convincing. So here she is, sitting in a circle with Mic and a bunch of other morons, staring blankly at a plastic bottle in the middle.
She's not sure what this game is. Nobody is explaining anything beyond spinning the bottle, picking two people, and locking them in a room (or in this case, a closet) together. Surely that can't be it, right? That's so… boring. Pointless, even. So why has Mic been giddy since the bottle was put down…?
It hasn't landed on Taco, yet. On Mic, a few times, but she always seems disappointed in the results. Is she hoping for a particular outcome? Taco's unsure. What she is sure about is that Soap has been staring at her since the game began, and giving Mic odd glances. Obviously there's something going on that Taco isn't aware of. A trick or prank, perhaps? She crosses her legs. She supposes it's not important to worry about, for now.
Pepper and Paper walk out of the closet together smiling. From what Taco could hear, they were mid-conversation when the 7 minute timer went off. She couldn't tell what was being said aside from 'OJ' and 'Salt'. Forks have been located in the kitchen, big shocker. Though, actually, they seemed frustrated. Not arguing, notably. Just passionately talking. If she had to guess, they were complaining about Salt's relentless obsession with the poor beverage despite very obviously being taken now. It's a shame both Salt and Pepper have found themselves in love with someone who isn't attracted to girls.
…At least, she's pretty sure that's what Pepper's got going on. It'd make sense.
She has bad taste.
The two sit back down in the circle, and the bottle is spun once more. Everyone stares at it in anticipation, watching it go round and round until eventually it lands on… Taco. Ah, beans. Mic's eyes light up, suddenly much more interested in the bottle than she was prior. Whatever elaborate prank she's setting up, it seems like it's finally coming to fruition. Taco hears a few giggles. The bottle spins again.
And spins.
And spins.
And lands…
…on Mic.
"WOOOOOO!!!" Microphone jumps up immediately, grabbing her Dr. Fizz and chugging the rest of it before crushing the can and tossing it towards the bin. She missed. Most of the circle visibly startles save for Soap, who seemed to not only be expecting this, but dreading it.
Taco sighs, standing up far more casually than Mic did. "Right. Suppose it's about time I had a go at… whatever this is."
Paper stifles a laugh. "Good luck…!"
"Good luck with what, exact—?"
Before Taco could question it, Mic grabs her by the wrist, grinning. "DOOON'T even worry about it dude. C'mon c'mon let's go!! Start the timer or whatever!!!" She drags Taco away into the storage closet excitedly, closing the door. The click of the lock marks the start of their seven minutes.
The first thing Taco notices is that this is a regular storage closet with absolutely nothing changed for the game, just boxes filled with miscellaneous junk that doesn't have a place anywhere else. The second was that it was far too dark.
"Ugh… Where's the blasted light switch…" Taco feels around the wall, liking the thought of being able to see. Mic's hand covers hers. She flinches at the touch.
"Hey, wait. Don't turn the lights on." Her voice is quiet. Not quite whispering, but gentle enough to tickle. Taco shudders, quickly turning around.
"What do you mean, 'don't turn the lights on'?! I can barely see!" Taco snaps. Mic bursts out into a fit of giggles, pulling her away from the wall and towards the centre of the closet. "What?! What are we doing?!"
"You're supposed to keep the lights off, goober!" Mic smiles brightly. "And the point of the seven minutes is that we can do anything we want. Just, y'know, as long as we're both okay with it." She stares at Taco… oddly, taking both of her hands and staring into her eyes.
…The third thing Taco notices, is that she feels incredibly comfortable, locked in this small, dark room with Mic. Almost as if the group of people on the other side of the door disappeared. Taco takes a breath, and looks towards a nearby box.
"…Right. How is that any different from spending time together regularly?" From the corner of her vision, Taco watches Mic roll her eyes. "This whole game is so pointless. You… lock people in a room for a few minutes, let them out, and that's it??? what happened to just— conversing? like normal people?! it's—"
"Oh my GOD, shut UP." Mic grabs the side of Taco's face, grinning mischievously before pulling her close and unceremoniously smashing their faces together. Taco yelps in alarm, her stomach doing backflips. The touch feels like hellfire. She pushes Mic off of her, gasping for breath.
"oh— oH great HEAVENS." Taco stumbles backwards, bringing her hands to her face. She feels like she's on fire. She looks back up at Mic, legs shaking. There's absolutely no shame no Mic's face. "Y-you— I— Whh—???"
Mic laughs. "Sorry, sorry! I've been waiting to do that all night." She sticks a finger in the gap between her windscreen and housing, smiling nervously. "We can stop—"
Taco grabs Mic's wrists and pulls her down to her level, staring intensely. She's not sure what she's doing. She's not sure what she wants. Or— no, she does, but she doesn't know why. The sudden touch burned, and yet here she is, staring up at Mic like a dog begging for boiling water on the stove. She needs to be held like that again. It's terrifying.
"Uh— Taco…?"
Taco says nothing. The room goes silent.
Hesitantly, Mic brings her face closer to Taco's. Taco does not stop her, despite her whole body beginning to shake. Mic is close. Really close. Maybe too close. But Taco hasn't been touched this much by anyone in a long, long time. And certainly never like this. Suddenly, she felt like she was starving. She grips Mic tighter. She hovers in front of Taco's face for what feels like an eternity. Gauging Taco's comfort. She could end this right now, if she wanted to. It's probably been close to their 7 minutes by now.
…
She does not.
Mic launches forward, interlocking their lips and sending them both hurdling into a pile of boxes behind them. She places one hand on a box behind Taco, using the other to pull Taco closer to her. Taco winces, her head light and floaty. This is so much. Nausea overwhelms her body as the two part, gasping for air.
"Oh—" Mic coughs. "Oh god, sorry… That— that was… rougher than I wanted it to be." She examines Taco's body. She looks like she's dying of heatstroke. "Are you okay? You're not, like, hurt or anything, right—?"
Taco grabs the sides of her face. "What are you doing…?" She breathes, grinning and visibly dazed. "You… chickening out? Coward." Mic gawks, offended. "D-don't start what you can't finish." She thinks she gets the appeal of this game now.
"C— Coward!?" Mic blinks rapidly, utterly dumbfounded. "You— Oohhh, youuu…" She laughs, inching closer. "Youuu piss me off." Knocking.
"Hm. Do something about it, then." Taco presses their foreheads together. "Want me to shut up? Make mMPH—!"
And that's exactly what Mic does. The two twist and turn into more comfortable positions, the closet quickly becoming a competition to see who lasts the longest without asking to stop. Taco's mind floods with nothing but Mic, the rest of the world simply melting away. Nothing else matters except for this moment, right here. One that she never wants to end.
Mic glances to the door for a brief moment, parting their mouths for only a second before Taco forces Mic's attention back onto her.
Taco has been starving for a long, long time. She hadn't realised how much she needed this until now. the closeness, the intimacy, the touch. She feels like a rabid animal, drinking up all the affection she can get from the object on top of her like she'll die without it. She wishes they could be closer. She wishes she could get more. She wishes she could crawl deep inside of Mic and live in her skin.
There's a sound between the bashing of boxes and their ragged breaths. She doesn't care to figure out what it is. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. The only thing that matters right now, is…
"M..mic…" Gently, she pushes Mic away from her. The two shared a comfortable silence, breathing in each other's air.
"Y-yeah…?" Mic wipes sweat from her forehead, breathing deeply. "What's up…?"
Oh god. Is this really what she's been missing out on all her life? This kind of love, this intimacy and closeness, the kind of connection she's never let herself have before. Always keeping everyone at arm's length, because they were tools, means to an end, or because one day she knew they would leave. If she hadn't come tonight, would she have ever realized?
All of Taco's walls, her high defenses, crumbling down at some unexpected touch. A wrench thrown into the script she plays by day after day. Her mask, shattered on the floor. She feels alive. She feels free.
Taco smiles. She never wants this to end.
"…Thank y—"
BANG BANG BANG!!!
"OOOHHH SHIT—!!" Mic screams, launching herself off of Taco with alarming force. Taco startles as well, the sudden reality of what she's been doing crashing down onto her. Both of them whip their heads to the pounding closet door.
"ARE YOU TWO DONE IN THERE!?" Soap's muffled voice calls out. "YOU WENT TEN MINUTES OVER!!! HURRY UP AND GET OUT HERE, DON'T MAKE ME OPEN THIS DOOR I DON'T WANT TO SEE WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING."
…Ah.
WAIT, TEN!?!?!?!?
Mic bursts out in a howling fit of laughter. Taco can't tell if she's actually amused by the situation, or as mortified as she is. Covering her face with her hands, she slowly gets up, visibly steaming. "OH GOD— Y-YEAH, SORRY! GIVE US A SEC!" Mic sighs deeply. "Hooo… ohhh nooo, ten…???" Ah. Mortified, then. "I like— completely lost track of time! You were just— I—!" Mic pauses.
"…Uh. Taacooo…? You good…?"
No. No she is not 'good'. In fact, she wants to die. Taco makes no effort to stand up from the pile of boxes and clutter she managed to surround herself in, opting instead to lay down on the floor, overheating, reeling, and on the verge of passing out, suddenly ashamed of everything she's ever done leading up to this point. Poke, poke. Mic snaps her fingers in front of her and waves her hand around. All Taco can manage to respond with is an odd, indecipherable mumble.
Mic does eventually manage to get the two of them out of the closet. Smiling like an idiot, she sits back down in the circle which is currently holding back laughter while Taco stumbles around trying to do the same. Soap is staring at the two of them like they're insane, visibly exhausted.
"You know you have a bedroom for that, right…?" Soap squints, turning to Mic as she adjusts her gain to an appropriate level. It must have gotten bumped in the heat of the moment.
"O-OK. WELL I WASN'T EXPECTING THAT, FOR STARTERS." She raises her hands out in front of her, defensive. "I— I thought she'd, like, freak out and be like 'AhH MiC WhAt ArE yOu DoInG????' and then we'd just talk like normal!!!" Mic performs a horrible british accent while she speaks. Taco does not sound like that.
"Do. Do I…" Taco can barely manage to get her words out with how much her mind is racing. "Do I… have to do that with… everyone…?"
…The circle immediately bursts into laughter. "NO!!! GOD, NO." Soap buries her face in her hands. "You shouldn't have even been doing it with MIC—" she grabs Mic by the shoulders, shaking her around. "MIC, LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!! YOU KILLED HER!!! SHE THINKS THAT'S HOW YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO PLAY!!!"
The loud chatter of the circle becomes background noise to Taco's swirling mind. What was that??? what HAPPENED to her??? did she get possessed—? HOW is she supposed to have a normal conversation with Mic after that. Or anyone here, for that matter? Taco finds herself burying her face in her hands.
"…Great heavens…"
…
Taco thinks she's going to throw up.