"This," Ralph said, holding up the nearly empty bottle of tequila and observing it like a fine gem, "is some exquisite shit."
Mick chuckled warmly, taking the bottle from Ralph's fingers and pulling a messy swig. The past hour had been just the two of them and the bottle, progressing their way to this happily drunken state, collapsed companionably next to one another on Ralph's bed. Or Mick's bed. Whatever, one of their beds. Mick smacked his lips on the mouth of the bottle and agreed, "'Exquisite' is definitely the word."
"It's like being tongue-kissed by God. Remind me to buy approximately six thousand more bottles from Sadie when she rolls through again."
Mick laughed. "You could just get the recipe from her."
"Pfft. It's Sadie, she's weird about stuff like that. The last time I asked her for that Brahmin Wellington recipe she called me a knave and a hussy and then she threw a drink on me. Wasn't that bad since she had downed most of it by then but still."
Mick tossed him an amused, incredulous look as Ralph reclaimed the bottle and took another drink. "Where was I when this happened?" Mick asked around another chuckle. "Because that sounds like something I would not have wanted to miss. That is the kind of memory I would have encased in amber and adorned in silver and made a necklace of."
"Dude, your metaphors are... complicated." Ralph waved a dismissive hand. "And it was one night when I was drinking my ass off at the Wrangler. So let this be a lesson to you: every night you don't come get drunk with me, you miss out on a potentially awesome story. And all of my stories would be automatically more awesome if you were in them."
And there it was, the odd little twist Mick got in his chest sometimes. Looking next to him and seeing Ralph's head on the pillow, a guileless grin on his lips and a vague flush to his cheeks, did little to assuage it. The last time he'd gone to the Wrangler with Ralph it had been a painful night of watching him getting drunker and drunker and making increasingly bold passes at Francine. Ralph had sworn up and down as Mick guided him home that he was doing it to see if she would literally turn into a Deathclaw from the unearthly power of her sheer rage but that didn't make it any more fun for Mick to see.
"True though that may be," he slurred presently, "the Wrangler ain't my scene. Now, if they served stuff like this..." He punctuated the sentence by taking the bottle.
"Yyyyeah, Dr. Farkas would have a heart attack and die," Ralph predicted dryly, making Mick quickly stifle a laugh around his swing for fear of getting booze up his nose. "And then where would Freeside be."
"Screwed."
"Double-screwed."
"Full-on super total screwed."
"Nipton-screwed." Mick groaned and Ralph grinned wolfishly. "Too soon?" He took the bottle and finished it, and said, "But seriously. The Wrangler's okay. Especially if you come with me. 'Cause let's face it, I'm delightful."
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timeasmymeasure
Mick/Ralph -- Feel Strange And Unprotected [1a/1]
Date: 2011-11-09 08:58 am (UTC)"This," Ralph said, holding up the nearly empty bottle of tequila and observing it like a fine gem, "is some exquisite shit."
Mick chuckled warmly, taking the bottle from Ralph's fingers and pulling a messy swig. The past hour had been just the two of them and the bottle, progressing their way to this happily drunken state, collapsed companionably next to one another on Ralph's bed. Or Mick's bed. Whatever, one of their beds. Mick smacked his lips on the mouth of the bottle and agreed, "'Exquisite' is definitely the word."
"It's like being tongue-kissed by God. Remind me to buy approximately six thousand more bottles from Sadie when she rolls through again."
Mick laughed. "You could just get the recipe from her."
"Pfft. It's Sadie, she's weird about stuff like that. The last time I asked her for that Brahmin Wellington recipe she called me a knave and a hussy and then she threw a drink on me. Wasn't that bad since she had downed most of it by then but still."
Mick tossed him an amused, incredulous look as Ralph reclaimed the bottle and took another drink. "Where was I when this happened?" Mick asked around another chuckle. "Because that sounds like something I would not have wanted to miss. That is the kind of memory I would have encased in amber and adorned in silver and made a necklace of."
"Dude, your metaphors are... complicated." Ralph waved a dismissive hand. "And it was one night when I was drinking my ass off at the Wrangler. So let this be a lesson to you: every night you don't come get drunk with me, you miss out on a potentially awesome story. And all of my stories would be automatically more awesome if you were in them."
And there it was, the odd little twist Mick got in his chest sometimes. Looking next to him and seeing Ralph's head on the pillow, a guileless grin on his lips and a vague flush to his cheeks, did little to assuage it. The last time he'd gone to the Wrangler with Ralph it had been a painful night of watching him getting drunker and drunker and making increasingly bold passes at Francine. Ralph had sworn up and down as Mick guided him home that he was doing it to see if she would literally turn into a Deathclaw from the unearthly power of her sheer rage but that didn't make it any more fun for Mick to see.
"True though that may be," he slurred presently, "the Wrangler ain't my scene. Now, if they served stuff like this..." He punctuated the sentence by taking the bottle.
"Yyyyeah, Dr. Farkas would have a heart attack and die," Ralph predicted dryly, making Mick quickly stifle a laugh around his swing for fear of getting booze up his nose. "And then where would Freeside be."
"Screwed."
"Double-screwed."
"Full-on super total screwed."
"Nipton-screwed." Mick groaned and Ralph grinned wolfishly. "Too soon?" He took the bottle and finished it, and said, "But seriously. The Wrangler's okay. Especially if you come with me. 'Cause let's face it, I'm delightful."