Summary: AU. "Now, if you're going to get smashed, you might as well do it the right way." Rory drags Paris to a couple of parties, and she finds her own way to entertain herself. FinnParis. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
A/N: Blame Hider. That's essentially all I have to say about this. That, and please review.
Oh, yes, and a warning that this is slightly dirty – nothing too explicit, mind you, but still a little dirty. ;)
"I am so not in the mood for this right now," she clenched her hands into fists at her sides and then folded her arms across her chest, glaring at her friend in annoyance. Rory sighed and kept walking, pleased to see that Paris was keeping up with her despite her protests.
"Come on, Paris, you do need to get out more."
"Says you, little miss popularity. Maybe I don't want to be popular; did you ever think about that, Rory?"
"Paris," Rory sighed and looked at her, shaking her head slowly. "Can you just try to have fun today? Please? If you absolutely hate it, you can leave and I'll never bring it up again."
"Where exactly are we going?" Paris wondered, furrowing her brow as she took in her surroundings. "I feel like I'm in an Abbott and Costello film."
"And should anything scary decide to appear in our path, feel free to counter their attack and scare them away with a rant."
"This is not funny. Where are you taking me?"
Rory smiled at her and opened the front door of the old house, revealing a massive congregation of people Paris had only seen in passing at Yale. She raised her eyebrows and then turned to look at her friend, recognition coloring her eyes.
"A Halloween party? That's why you put me in this outfit?"
"Why else would I have dragged you out of the dorm two nights before Halloween dressed in a leather mini-skirt?" Rory was practically beaming. Paris stared seriously at her for another moment and then rolled her eyes, sighing as she stepped over the threshold and into the old house.
"Fine, but we leave as soon as someone tries to grope me," she warned, sending another glare Rory's way as she made her way further into the room.
The house really was old. Creaky, dark, gothic-looking. Part of her wondered why anyone would choose to live there, now or when it was first built. Apparently people had no interest in doing things that involved light, because the more she looked around the less lighting she saw.
In the center of the room, a large, overdone chandelier was hanging, and below that on the floor was a table filled with various refreshments. She brushed past a myriad couples, grumbling to herself about their utter lack of decency, and finally ended up standing in front of the table. She reached for a beer bottle that didn't look like it had been opened yet, and her hand was swatted away before she could grip the glass.
"Now, if you're going to get smashed, you might as well do it the right way."
Paris looked up at the owner of the voice and frowned slightly. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that cheap alcohol makes for the worst sort of hang-over," he smiled and pulled a flask out of his jacket, waving it around a little. "Scotch?"
She looked around a little, uncomfortable. Folding her arms across her chest, she looked up at him again and pressed her lips into a thin line. "How do I know you're not trying to poison me?"
He smiled and shrugged, uncapping the flask and taking a large gulp of what was inside. Her eyes widened briefly and he lowered the flask slowly, arching an eyebrow as he handed it to her. Staring at him seriously, she took it from him and took a large swig of the alcohol, wincing slightly as it burned a path down her throat. He smiled again.
"Now that is my kind of woman!"
"What's your name?" she asked, handing his flask back to him. He capped it and slipped it into his jacket pocket, still smiling at her.
"Finn, but you probably won't remember that come morning. I know I won't remember yours, so don't worry about revealing your identity. Now let's go raid the liquor cabinet, shall we?" Turning on his heel, he started wandering toward a door she hadn't noticed before, and she found herself following him without really thinking about it.
"There's an actual liquor cabinet in this place? God, why would anyone want to live here? Casper wasn't that great of a guy to hang out with."
"No one does, love. But there's no point in throwing a party without a liquor cabinet for its guests to raid," he told her, stopping abruptly in front of a large wooden … well, Paris thought it looked like a big box.
"And this is where we'll be finding the good stuff? I find that hard to believe," she sighed and slunk back a bit, tapping her foot impatiently on the old wooden floor. Everything was wood in this place, it was driving her crazy. Couldn't people invest in a little tile?
Finn turned to look at her, opening the doors to the cabinet triumphantly. "Indeed," he agreed, turning back to the shelves. Paris' eyes widened slightly as she took in the site: nearly every type of alcohol she could've ever wanted was sitting in the small box-like thing, and each bottle seemed to be bigger than the last.
"So what's your poison?"
She smiled a little and sighed again. "Tequila?" she wondered, arching her eyebrows. Finn grabbed a bottle off the top shelf and handed it to her without looking, nearly forcing her to catch it in mid-air to keep it from falling.
Grabbing two more bottles off the shelf, he turned to face her and gestured absently toward the front door with one hand. "Shall we?"
"Shall we what?"
"Drink," he stated, looking at her curiously. He brushed past her without waiting for an answer, and she stood there staring at his retreating back for a moment before her feet started moving. She followed him outside and found him sitting on the porch, one bottle open and partially gone already.
"You know, drinking like that can give you all sorts of health problems," she commented, sitting beside him. Finn eyed her warily and took another gulp from the scotch bottle in his hand. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and Paris was trying really hard not to watch the muscles of his throat contract as he swallowed.
"So why are you sitting here then, goldilocks?"
Her eyes narrowed at the nickname and she glared at him. Glazed eyes met her own and she bit the inside of her lip, shrugging as she opened her own bottle and took a sip. Finn grinned.
Rory opened the curtains and introduced sunlight to the room, getting an irritated groan out of Paris. The brunette widened her eyes slightly and looked around, convinced something was wrong and she was in an alternate universe. Paris never fell asleep on the couch, claiming it gave her issues that she didn't care to discuss. Rory was fairly certain she didn't want to know what they were, so that was just fine with her.
"How much did you have to drink last night?"
Paris groaned and sat up slightly, squinting blearily at her friend. "Too much."
"I can see that," Rory nodded, folding her arms with an amused smirk. "So the drunken act wasn't just a way to get me to take you home?"
"Not by a long shot," Paris sighed and flopped back onto the couch again, pulling a throw pillow over her head to block out the light.
"Terrance is going to want to discuss this," Rory warned, tossing the remark over her shoulder as she left the suite. Paris grumbled and held the pillow tighter, refusing to let her eyes adjust to the light. She really needed an aspirin, but the bottle was all the way across the room.
After a while, she pulled the pillow off her face and sighed, closing her eyes tightly against the onslaught of light. She was never getting drunk again.
"Since when are you such a party girl, anyway? And why do you keep dragging me to these stupid things?"
"You're the one that's constantly complaining because you don't have enough fun. I'm just providing fun that can be had," Rory replied.
Paris opened her mouth to respond, then shut it hastily. She wasn't in the mood to argue with her best friend over something so stupid is a few parties. And the last one didn't turn out that badly, except for the hung-over portion of the next day. She had enjoyed herself well enough, hadn't she?
Maybe she deserved a little fun.
"Fine," she sighed and followed Rory to the edge of the yard, shaking her head back and forth. "Does someone actually live in this one?"
"It's Finn's house," Rory replied. She furrowed her brow, "Or his summer home. I don't really remember." Paris tensed slightly and her friend eyed her curiously.
"Oh, lovely," she said curtly, brushing past the brunette and walking up the stone path to the front door. Loud music could be heard blasting from inside the house, and she opened the door without bothering to knock. No one would've heard her anyway, so really, what was the point in being polite?
She didn't bother to look behind her to see if Rory was following her, and her attention was diverted to the group of guys that was trying to get past her to the door anyway. She recognized Logan, Finn, and someone else that she had seen around campus but didn't know. They were carrying another guy on their shoulders, shouting out some inane song that she had been forced to sing as a child, and they didn't seem to care about the rain that she and Rory had been so desperately trying to avoid a few minutes ago.
"Do I even want to know?" she asked Rory as she was kissed by her boyfriend and then brushed out of the way so the odd chariot could continue its quest outside.
"I think it's Robert's birthday," Rory replied. "Otherwise the song would be a little misplaced, wouldn't it?" she smiled and laughed. Paris furrowed her brow and watched the group of guys as they got soaked in the downpour, idly playing with her slightly-wet sleeves.
"C'mon, Ace, you're not going to melt!" Logan called, gesturing behind him to the very, very wet yard. Rory scrunched up her nose and he frowned, threatening to carry her outside if she didn't loosen up and join him. She looked at Paris and smiled.
Paris eyed her friend warily, taking in her smile with concern. "What?"
"Come on," Rory laughed and grabbed her arm, pulling her outside. Paris protested, attempting to dig her feet into the porch. She failed miserably and soon she was standing in the front yard with the rest of the hooligans, the rain soaking through her black blouse and penetrating her skin. She huffed and turned on her heel to go back to the party, now thoroughly annoyed with this particular adventure.
As soon as she was inside the house, someone rushed up behind her and shoved her toward a nearby coat-closet, ignoring her protests as they opened the door and entered it with her. Faint light from a small window on the wall opposite the door cast a small glow on the tiny room, and she jerked away from the guy to try and get out again.
When she turned around, she came into contact with a very familiar-looking chest, and she inhaled sharply as he turned her around and backed her against the door. Paris stared at him curiously, then sighed heavily against his mouth when he kissed her.
"Finn," she pushed at his chest lightly, trying to convince herself that she didn't want this, and instead of backing off, he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She moaned softly and tangled her fingers in his hair, pushing up against him in the small walk-in closet.
Her hair was soaking, dripping down her back and arms, and a drop of rainwater fell from her scalp down her neck, down, down, and Finn grinned as he trailed its progress with his mouth. He was always one inch behind it, and when the water slid into the valley between her breasts she was briefly tempted to stop his progress. Then his deft fingers were unbuttoning her soaking-wet blouse, and his mouth was on her skin and the droplet was gone.
Paris didn't care about being so wet after that.
"Oh!" Rory exclaimed, jumping back and covering her eyes with her hands. She shook her head slowly, stuttering out multiple variations of "I'm sorry," trying to regain her bearings. Logan stood behind her, smirking in amusement, and she was horrified by his expression when she turned to face him.
Paris rolled her eyes and pushed Finn off of her, tugging her skirt back up her thighs. He pouted, somewhat confused by this turn of events, and she rolled her eyes again as she straightened her clothing.
"Don't worry about it, Rory, I should've hung a sock on the door," Paris sighed and folded her arms, looking at Finn with what she hoped was an apathetic expression. His shirt wasn't tucked in—having been one of the first casualties of their attack—wrinkled from where she'd been fisting it just a moment before, and his fly was unzipped but he didn't seem to care.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was telling her that she should've waited to jump him until they made it to her bedroom, but the living room of the suite seemed just as good at the time. Oops.
"Oh, no, I am so sorry," Rory shook her head, blushing profusely.
"We'll work out a system," Paris nodded, resolute. She was still watching her pseudo-boyfriend as he ran a hand through his messy hair, and he zipped his jeans back up but didn't bother to straighten up his shirt.
"Sounds great," Rory agreed brightly, turning around and placing her hands on Logan's shoulders. He was still trying to form the perfect response to having caught his best friend undressing his girlfriend's roommate. "We'll just be leaving now!" she threw over her shoulder as she shut the door behind her.
Paris looked behind her at the door, listening as their amused conversation carried down the hall, and then all was silent.
"So is this the part where you jump out of your skin, then, love?"
She rolled her eyes.
His tongue tasted like lime, and it was sticky as it trailed a path down her torso. Paris groaned and fisted her hand in his hair, squirming slightly under his ministrations. The other hand clenched around the bottle of tequila in her hand viciously.
Finn murmured dirty nothings against her skin, and when she heard her name fall from his lips she closed her eyes and sighed. Nights of body shots and alcohol-flavored make-out sessions would have bothered her if she thought that he truly wasn't aware of who she was.
But sometimes they had sex sober, and when they were seen in public together he introduced her as his girlfriend. The drinking thing would be an issue for her if they decided to last, yes, but for now it made things slightly fun. When it was properly-prepared—and almost always expensive—she enjoyed drinking with him.
He dipped his tongue into her navel and she arched her back, groaning again as the bottle fell to the floor and leaked liquid all over the carpet. Her other hand joined the first in his hair, and his hands tightened their grip on her hips.
And despite the fact that Rory was technically the reason they met, this was one of those things that she would never know about. Ever.