“Aw, come on, Jin! One drink won’t hurt!” she held up the Screwdriver cocktail in her hand, the yellowish liquid sloshing around the rim of the cup and threatening to spill over at any second.
He scowled. “You’ll get drunk.”
“So? You smoke!” There was no response to that…
* * *
Cups later, there were nice glass cups, plastic cups and, well, bottles of vodka and orange juice in places they should never be and the two teens lay on the couch, Jin shirtless for some, unknown reason, and she was loving it. Loving the feel of his chest, the ripples, mounds of muscle, and his pale skin under her touch. She giggled as she hit a sensitive spot on his stomach and he flinched, groaning silently. Jin was practicly passed out, his head hanging back on the couch and rolling back-and-forth, mutters of pleasure escaping his lips every-so-often.
One of his arms, originally hanging over the back of the couch, flopped down and snaked around her waist. Her tender, sticky-from-alcohol lips slid down his neck and he groaned.
Suddenly, in a rush of excitement the drunken boy slammed her into the couch, a large peak rising beneath his jeans. “________, quick fucking with me and fuck me!” he demanded, smashing his lips to hers.
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