Through His Eyes

Through His Eyes [17]

"Hey," she said. A lazy smile found its way to her face as she stretched to ease the soreness in her muscles.

"Hey." He smiled back at her.

"Should we watch another movie?"

"Why?" he teased. "Didn't you get enough sleep?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but it was one of those affectionate eye-rolls. Like when you secretly gush over how stupidly cute the person before you is being, but you roll your eyes instead.

"Okay," Floyd said a moment later, "we'll watch a movie. Care to make it more fun?"

***

"I thought you didn't drink." Rhea's tone was laced with amusement as she lingered by him and watched as he bent down and retrieved a bottle of expensive looking tequila.

"I try to avoid it, but my parents should have known better than to leave their teenage son unattended with a stocked liquor cabinet."

They ended up watching a random episode of Friends. The catch was this: every time Chandler made a sarcastic remark, they'd drink a tequila shot. Ten minutes into the episode, and Rhea was downing her fourth.

Whether it was because of the way he downed shots even when the game didn't demand it, or because his tolerance to alcohol was remarkably lower than hers, Floyd was considerably drunker than Rhea by the time they finished the first episode.

"Want to watch another?" she asked, giggling.

"Or we could do something else," he slurred in a low voice.

"Yeah?" She arched an eyebrow at him teasingly. "Like what?"

"Like this." With that, he leaned in towards her, slanting his mouth over hers.

The kiss was nothing like the ones they'd shared before. This one was sloppy, for starters, because of the way the alcohol in their systems cut back some of their control over their motor functions. It was also a bit more reckless and bold, what with the way alcohol tended to free people of their inhibitions. Their hands -well, Floyd's in particular- seemed to wander more freely on each other's body. Rhea's were tangled in his hair, alternating between tugging at it and scraping her nails against his scalp. Floyd's, on the other hand, ran up and down the side of her body.

He towered over her until she was lying on her back. Now, they were both lying on the couch and Floyd was balancing some of his weight on his elbow so that he wouldn't crush her. When his hand found its way under Rhea's jumper without breaking the kiss, her eyes shot open with shock. Even through the drunken haze, she could feel the alarm bells ringing in her head loud and clear.

They'd kissed before, hell, they'd made out in Floyd's car. But here, on his living room couch with one hundred percent privacy, it suddenly became overwhelming for Rhea.

"Floyd," Rhea said quietly. When he didn't show any sign of acknowledgement, she tried again, this time louder, "Floyd."

He continued to pepper kisses along her neck and her collarbone, but by this point, the only feeling they aroused within Rhea was panic. She was feeling suffocated and she needed to get out.

"Floyd, stop." She pushed against his chest and he finally backed up, looking at her with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. She quickly scrambled to a sitting position and gathered her limbs closer to her body because she suddenly felt exposed, even though she still had all of her clothes on.

"I don't think I'm ready for... that," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it was still audible in the otherwise quiet room.

"I should have known," Floyd muttered bitterly, slurring his words.