"You're kiddin'!" Harry shakes his head, chuckling to himself and not buying into your words.
You stare at him with a blank face, eyes glassy and lips wet with the tequila from your margarita. In front of you, several glasses are already strewn haphazardly across the coffee table, their contents having disappeared past your lips throughout the hour. You had insisted that you could just reuse the first, but Harry had shot you down quickly.
"'S not like a real bar then, is it?" he'd said, "Whole point o' this is to mimic the experience of a bar without actually havin' to go out."
"But then I just have more dishes to wash," you'd pouted. Harry had grinned, sprinkled some salt onto the rim of your first margarita, and assured you that he would take full responsibility when it was time to clean up.
So now here you are, three empty glasses standing proudly in front of you as you sip your fourth drink, nosing the slice of lime out of the way so that you can lap up the salt on the lip of your cup. Harry's still laughing at you, and you take a heavy gulp of your drink, squeezing your eyes shut as the tequila burns a path down your throat.
"What's so funny?" you ask, voice lilting in your inebriated state. Harry looks up at you from the other end of the couch-though he's consumed just as many drinks as you, his eyes are still focussed, trained on you in an unforgiving fashion.
"I jus' don't believe you," he says simply, shrugging.
You tilt your head to the side, pulling your legs in so that your knees are close to your chest. Harry looks comfortable, his legs spread wide and one of his hands wrapped around the neck of a beer, making the bottle look tiny in his grip. His other is resting securely on the back of the couch, his left arm stretched out and limp.
"Why would I lie about something like that?" you say. You're being honest, but you want to know why he's so reluctant to trust your words.
"Are yeh?" Harry asks quickly, almost like he's determined to catch you off-guard and have you spill the truth.
"No!" you cry indignantly, "I'm being serious!"
"So, you've never been spanked before? 'S never even crossed your mind?"
"No," you reply. Harry continues to stare at you, his brow furrowed and his lips upturned in a slight smirk, almost as though he's trying to tell if you're lying. Eventually, though, he must see that you're being sincere, because he just chuckles again and stares up as the ceiling incredulously. You take a tentative sip of your margarita, unsure as to whether the topic has been exhausted.
"That was only one answer," Harry suddenly says. You swallow down your drink, pulling the cup away from your face so that you can see your friend. His eyes are gleaming mischievously, and his smirk has grown. "Yeh havethought about it, haven't yeh?"
"Okay, yes!" you admit, throwing your hands out in defeat. You grimace when the tequila nearly sloshes out of your glass, steadying your hand and reaching for the slice of lime resting on the rim of the cup. "Yes, I have. Happy?"
"Very," Harry smiles, satisfied-you want to wipe that teasing grin right from his face. God, he's insufferable when he's intoxicated. You briefly wonder whether he tried to get you drunk so that he could wean information from you, before shooing away the thought-he's better than that and you know it. This is just some tipsy prying, something to pass the time. He's always enjoyed getting a rise out of you.
Harry takes a gulp of his beer. You watch the way his pink, moistened lips cling to the lip of the beverage, molding around the glass expertly. He pulls away, and a thin string of saliva connects his mouth to the drink before he uses the back of his left hand to wipe away any alcoholic residue. He then sets his gaze on you, and you look away quickly. That shouldn't make you so nervous and warm inside, but it does.
