Lust & Alcoholic Gluttony

Title: Lust & Alcoholic Gluttony
Author: Darcie Dracel
Rating: R – NC-17
Pairing: Darcie Dracel / Spike VonHaus
Year: 2015
Warnings: Smut
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fic but my character. Everything related to Harry Potter is obviously J.K. Rowling’s and all respective characters belong to their owners.
RPG: Virtual Hogwarts = www.hogwarts-online.org

“No water.”

The golden brunette lifted a perfectly shaped brow. What? Had this ugly-ass troll descendant filth of the magical world just declared that she could not have a glass of water? “Excuse me,” she attempted once more, pursing her pink lip-glossed lips as she regrettably leaned onto the bar, shoving her breasts together to create as much of a canyon between two plump hills as possible. “But… can’t you break a little bar rule for a little lady?” She even dipped as low as giving a sultry look from underneath her long black eyelashes.

“Little is right.” A frightening smirk crossed those brown chapped lips. “My pair of dragon eggs are bigger than those tits, miss.” He returned to his idle mug scrubbing, just staring at her and looking like he’d enjoy using her beautiful form for a foot-scrubbing brush. The mere thought made her shiver literally, and that only made him smirk worse. Her eyes rolled in response as she leaned off of the counter, letting her girls breathe.

‘So much for attempting to go out in public and remain clean.’ Alcohol abstinence was a bitch. It’d been three weeks and two days since her last drink. She’d been cutting back on her drug intake with the help of a recovered addict. Daniel knew all the right things to tell her when she was caving in and he knew all the spells to restrain her when she was going crazy. He drove her away from the drink while others drove her to it. She couldn’t figure out which was better for her to be honest…

“Just one fucking glass, that’s all I want!” Darcie tried again but he was relentless, not giving two-shits about the thirst of a recovering alcoholic. Outsiders never cared. Strangers never cared. Outsiders didn’t test the limits and strangers were just oblivious to any limits existing at all. With her rising anger and slightly shaking hand inside her jacket pocket upon the handle of her wand, the cry of a young drunkard meters down the bar didn’t help the situation either.

“No water!” came forth the manly scream. Well, hell’s bells… It took only seconds for Darcie’s wand to be whipped, pointed and poised.

“And apparently you’re trying to shove it down someone else’s throat, you piece of mudblood shit!” she spat, feeling the slight tremors of alcohol dependence and withdrawal as she got a closer look at the array of liquor behind him.

The nasty bartender gave a hearty and phlegm-filled laugh/choke/amused noise. “I knew you were one of those pureblooded skanks,” he commented, setting down the mug to mistakenly move too slowly for his pitiful wand from his back pocket. By the time his arm was bringing his wand to the ready, he was already being hit with a double dose of spells. A quick silencing spell to rob him of speech and an even swifter flesh-tearing curse to his monstrous calf rendered the man voiceless on the bar floor. Had any of the others at the bar been a tad sober and have recognized the darkness of the incantation and said something, she might have sauntered out a bit less prideful. Or not have sauntered at all. But if she wasn’t drinking, she needed to be cursing. The world had reason to be afraid again. Darcie Dracel hadn’t drifted off into the background completely.

“No water!” The young man protested fruitfully once more, the bartender at his end backing off grumbling about having to toss the kid out on the street at closing. Words pertaining to the potential of the water killing his high were mumbled and jumbled and within moments the drunkard and all his drunk-gentleman self was falling off the barstool. The fall might not have been so bad had he just haphazardly slipped off the stool. But oh no. He had been attempting to climb down from the stool when he lost all sense of balance and collapsed upon the woman passing by.

His bleary vision took a few moments to adjust to the hair and eyes, and nose and chin, and lips just below his face. His usually strong arms had lost their strength with the drinks he’d downed as he attempted to lift himself off of the softness that had broken his landing. Those Slytherin blues blinked and roamed over what was below him. Golden hair. Wide, um… were those green eyes? Stupid dilated pupils. Delicate neck. Flushed flesh disappearing under a low-cut black top than exposed a heaving chest of… At this point his ears expected to hear some sort of female squealing and fretting, but there was nothing but the buzz of the bar.

All had been fine and dandy on Darcie’s uptight and angered sauntering out of the bar up until the point where a dark-haired young man stumbled off his stool and clumsily knocked her to the ground, forcing her down upon the dirty floor with all his weight. There were a few gasps of air that prevented any immediate flood of cussing, but it was when her still sober eyes recognized the face above her that silenced her for the time being. She couldn’t stop him from trying to figure out who and what she was. She could barely move under all his weight and the right thing to do, the thing her brain was telling her to do was to get out from under there. It was a toy on the playground that did not belong to her.

But as she had so delighted in calling him through the years, Young Master VonHaus, was not making her feel any better about the predicament he’d put them in. He wasn’t budging, well, he was sort of trying. His arms just felt like jelly and his frustration was starting to show on his face. He needed a few more moments, just a few moments of not drowning his internal organs in alcohol, and then he’d get off the vaguely familiar woman below him, ignore all the twitching in his britches and go pass out in the alleyway. But that wasn’t to be, because when he finally heard his cushion speak, her voice triggered his memory and immediately he was dumbstruck, just petrified there on top of her staring down into her eyes, the eyes of a Hogwarts dueling extraordinaire he’d admired from across the platforms as a boy.

“Spike,” Darcie had spoken to jolt him back to his senses but it had done no good. She was still stuck, pinned to the floor, and he wasn’t moving. His breath of varied liquor met her nostrils, and damned if she couldn’t pick out every one he’d drank. To her literal pleasure and conscience’s displeasure, the scents stirred her desire for a drink so badly that all that nonsense about not playing with her toy just sort of went by the wayside as she leaned her head upwards just a tad to swipe the droplet of firewhiskey hanging off his bottom lip. And like an addict she swiped it again, and again, aching to taste the alcohol.

Spike could be obliterated, pissed drunk out of his mind, but he’d still know the boundaries between the friendships he had. There were unwritten rules between males and their territory; not that females were territory, but… shit, whatever. It was just understood. But when opportunity arises sometimes, and inhibition is terribly low, it’s gung-ho, baby. With every lick at his lips he couldn’t not give in. Even if his lips had been meant to be some sort of substitute for a bar tap, this was a moment he couldn’t back out of. It wasn’t as if his princess was there to stop him either.

So he gave in. He leaned downward and pushed his lips to hers in a ‘I-haven’t-snogged-in-fucking-forever’ manner, parting her lips easier than expected to taint her sober taste with his, and it seemed, the more she tasted of him, the more willing she became to play such a dirty game. Her hands that he’d seen hold that wand of hers so professionally back at Hogwarts gripped his hair and held his head in place as she attempted to steal all the remaining traces of liquor from his mouth.

Eventually, she’d have done so had breathing not become an issue and the immediate realization that they were snogging on the floor of the front portion of a bar became apparent. Spike seemed to sober up just enough himself when the old man next to him whistled like a, well, like a dirty old man, the free show reversing some of the affects old age typically had on an old man in particular. The harsh whisper of “Backroom!” barely registered until she was shoving her hands into his chest and licking her lips seductively or just naturally. Hell if he could tell the difference. All licking on Darcie Dracel’s part was seductive.

The pair scrambled off the floor mostly due to the aid of the butch bartender grabbing a fistful of the back of Spike’s shirt to lift him and right him on his feet. But the drunken Slytherin could barely stay on his feet as he crashed into Darcie’s form against the backroom door, crashing his lips to hers once more as she managed to stick her wand into the door lock, silently (if the sounds of enjoyment didn’t count) unlocking the door while another wand of sorts grinded itself against her pelvis.

Sometime between groping about for the door handle and groping about Spike’s torso, the liquored taste of Spike’s mouth and turned into just the taste of a warm Slytherin mouth, nothing to complain about certainly, but it left Darcie wondering for almost too long on whether she actually wanted to be jumping this particular young man and potentially damage links in their circle of friends. Damn her brain sometimes! “Spike?” she murmured (to get his attention, but that failed) as his lips drifted down to her neck, her hand turning the doorknob accidentally as his teeth grazed over her jugular. On second thought… she could trick herself into this without consequence.

Breaths heavy and bodies molded together, the past dueling partners danced their way appallingly around the boxes of booze littering the floor. Hell, neither made it near the old broken couch against the wall before they were toppling over a stock of firewhiskey, Spike landing on his ass with Darcie landing atop him, his groan of the bloody fucking floor being so damn hard not slowing her down. Ripping open the box beside them, Darcie plucked a bottle from the stock and made quick work with the stopper, shoving it in his adorably handsome face. “Aren’t I…drunk…enough?”

“Not hardly…” she breathed, her fingers shakily working the buttons of his shirt as he did as asked, guzzling a quarter of the 200 mL bottle before she snatched it from him and proceeded to pour the liquor on his chest. It wasn’t chocolate or whipped cream; it was twice as better. Her tongue worked over his chest, lapping up the beads of sour sweetness, following a small river downward towards his bellybutton. His moans and mumblings were a close second to the firewhiskey in the competition of making her feel absolutely elated. She could have lapped at his pureblooded Slytherin skin forever as long as there was an alcohol coating. Good Merlin, the fantasies of licking elderflower wine and Madame Rosmerta’s Special Rum… and even more so from between his lips…

Through his haze of drunken delirium Young Master VonHaus took control, and yanked out another bottle of firewhiskey. Apparently being covered in booze was Miss Dracel’s fetish and who was he to not play into that? Only an idiot wouldn’t give in to her slightly weird fantasies. Yanking off the stopper, he dowsed himself literally in the entire bottle, his hair and face dripping, instantly grabbing her attention; all of her attention. He couldn’t kiss her fast enough or grope her flesh hard enough as she climbed into his lap, once again sucking every bit of whiskey from his mouth before occupying herself by kissing along his face and neck.

His hands moved as deftly as possible for a drunk as he shoved her shirt upward just enough to rub his palms over the taut flesh of her lower back. He’d have attempted further exploration northward but a sudden grind of her hips in his lap shifted his destination southward, where he unbuttoned her pants and made swift work of his own. With her lips and tongue occupied with getting drunk off of his skin, he wrapped his arms about her form tightly, finding just enough voice in him to murmur to her of his naughty intentions (always the gentleman, of course), to which she obliged wantonly with a sharp bite to his shoulder.

Spike cradled her head as he pushed her backwards, laying her upon the floor much like he’d lay a woman down upon a bed of velvety blankets and silk sheets, but there was no bed of such comforts, just a grungy couch a few meters behind them that felt like miles instead. Delving into her mouth once more, trousers were removed on both ends. Keeping to his word, he put actions to his intentions, occasionally pausing to obey her desires as she unstopped another bottle and showered the two of them in firewhiskey, the drink mixing with their natural sweat as they gave into the human sins of lust and alcoholic gluttony.

…………………………………………………………………………….

As the two drained themselves of sexual desire, they remained motionless except their chests for their rapid breaths, still poised as if they were to continue, the Slytherin’s blues looking down nervously into the Ravenclaw’s speechless greens. His dark brown hair was matted to his head and face, soaked with sweat and whiskey, his skin sticky with the same mixture, his lips slowly losing their ruby tint. His left hand moved slowly to her face, cupping her cheek as she forced herself to take a long deep breath. “I didn’t intend… for this…at the beginning…you know… back out there…” After-sex jitters were taking a strong hold of him, especially since, well, look who he’d laid!

“I know…” Darcie whispered knowingly, shifting slightly signaling her uncomfortable state, which he fixed immediately, leaving her heat to settle himself beside her upon the floor, the cool floor cold against his inflamed cheek. Mid yawn she was able to grasp her wand upon the floor and conjure a blanket to cover them both as a seemingly dreamless sleep took them both swiftly.

………………………………………………………………………………

As the elder awoke, stiff and sore, yet sated, she turned towards the body snuggled up beside her. Unable to look away from the younger’s innocent and caring expression, all she could see suddenly was his younger teenage form, grinning so happily from the opposite end of a platform, having forced her to dodge some dangerous spell he’d just recently mastered. She could hear his boyish voice complimenting her, saying such sweet things a young pureblooded boy knew to say…

“I’m not a boy anymore, Darcie…,” murmured the manly voice, ironically of the same owner of the boyish voice in her memories. He had awoken mid her trip down memory lane, catching her pensive expression. “I think…I knew what I was doing…unless… you object…” his voice trailed off with a saddening tone.

“No!” she hastily answered, flushing instantly while she pursed her lips and attempted it again without sounding like she was fibbing. “No…You were…just fine…Spike…” Her flush only darkened as she leaned her head towards him and placed a gentle kiss upon his lips in thanks and many more things that she’d never tell him because for mere reiteration, he was not her toy, and never would be. She laid her head back down upon the floor momentarily as he ran his fingertips over her face once more before moving away from her to redress himself, grimacing at how his clothes stuck to his skin and of the throbbing in his head. This only made Darcie smirk in slight amusement and despite hating the idea of peeling his clothes off his skin later along with nursing a hangover, he grinned faintly in return.

“The firewhiskey…?” was all he needed to say as the Ravenclaw gathered up her clothes and redressed as well, pulling out several galleons that clanked to the floor where the two of them had previously been laying.

“All fixed.” Her murmur accompanied a soft unreadable smile as she stepped towards the backdoor and opened it for him, her heart aching just a tad at the grimace of pain on his face as the sunlight hit his eyes. Spike paused in front of her, his mouth opening to say something, but closed instead as he stalled by checking his pockets for his wallet and wand. And for some reason she knew what to tell him. “He’ll never know.”


End.