She watches as he downs another beer. The alcohol has already started to take effect on his body. He slurs. He lurches forward. His eyelids droop. He doesn't seem to notice that she has been pouring her own drink into his glass, doubling his intake with each round of drinks.
She's in no mood to drink anyway; she wants to be levelheaded and prepared for later tonight.
"So you're a Marine?" she asks, giving him her best Betty Boop look: eyes wide and bright, lips pursed into a tight 'o.' She leans forward as well, making sure her plentiful cleavage is visible.
He drinks in the look with the same smoothness and swiftness with which he drinks his beer. To his eyes—though slightly glossed with the mid-stages of inebriation—the woman who sits across from him looks at him with the awe and admiration a person of religion might use when looking upon the face of God. The comparison makes him smile.
"Yes, miss, I am," he says, gently chucking her under the chin for good measure. She giggles at the touch. It's a ditzy giggle.
"You're so strong," she coos as she grabs one of his muscles. Instinctively, he flexes it, making the bicep grow in size within her tiny hand. "I bet you were a jock in high school."
"Wrestling," he tells her proudly. "I also played some baseball and football, but wrestling was my real talent. My…uh…whadaya call it? Fort…for…"
"Forte?" she supplies, her airhead essence slipping momentarily.
"Yeah…what you said…"
She sidles up next to him, her body pressed against his. Her hands are in his hair; her well-manicured fingers are running up and down his head. One finger trails along his ear and a groan resonates deep within his throat. She grins and presses her mouth against his ear. "I'll bet you were a big man on campus," she whispers, her breath tickling his ear. "I bet you made all those nerds and geeks cower."
The man laughs, though nothing she's said has been particularly funny. "Did I!" he crows before downing yet another glass of beer. He slams the glass down on the bar and then wraps his arm around her waist, attempting to pull the petit woman onto his lap. "I could snap my fingers and have them shaking."
"Really?" Her cherry-colored mouth twitches upwards into a smirk.
He flexes his bicep once again. "They knew better than to mess with me." He pauses; a memory comes back to him. One particular kid—scrawny little thing, two years his junior, but with a brilliance that was unmatched by anyone else at the high school—appears in his mind's eye. The memory he has is pleasant for him, though it's one he is sure the young boy he remembers has scrubbed his brain clean of.
"What?" she asks with great interest, catching his small smile. He is silent, lost in the memory, and she badgers him, poking at him. "Tell me!"
"It's nothing really," he says with a shrug. "Just remembering this one kid. What was his name…?" He verbally begins reciting last names, trying to find that one name. "McBeth? McIntyre? McGregor? McGee?" At that last one, his eyes light up in remembrance. "Yeah! McGee!" he confirms with a nod of his head.
A new glass of beer appears for him. She had motioned to the bartender while he'd been going through every "Mc" surname he knew. He picks this one up and downs half of it in one giant gulp. "Boy, McGee! We put that kid through hell! Like this one time…" He cuts off and laughs. "One time, we found this toilet in the boys' locker room bathroom and it was just filled with shit! I mean, there just wasn't a clear spot anywhere in there!" He laughs again. He's becoming giddy. "So anyway, the thing's clogged and we can't flush it and in this kid, McGee, walks in. So we figure, 'Hey! Why not use him as a plunger?'" He doesn't continue the story or elaborate on what he meant. She is not stupid, despite her bimbo façade; she gets what he means.
"Aw, poor little fella," she says while walking her fingers up along his arm. "What'd he do to anger you guys?"
He shrugs, unsure himself. "Nothing really. Just was one of those geeks, you know?" Another sip. "Not just a geek really. Kid was, like, a certifiable genius or something. He was, like, fifteen and taking advanced classes on stuff I still don't understand." He pauses. A sobering moment. Is that a twinge of remorse, a twinge of guilt? "When you get right down to it, I guess it was mostly jealousy and anger on our parts."
He finishes the beer. She watches on in satisfaction.
"Boy…McGee. What was his first name? Tom or something? Haven't thought about him in years."
"I'm sure he's thought about you plenty," she says in a very dry tone.
"Yeah. I should look him up, see how he's doing. Probably owns Microsoft now or something. Maybe he has a mansion with millions of dollars and two Playboy Bunnies on each arm. Showed us, huh? Maybe I should invite him out for a drink…or two…or ten…"
He blinks and rubs his eyes. "I've lost count. How many beers was that?" She shrugs. "More than I usually drink."
He stands and stumbles, catching himself on the bar. He pushes himself up and waits, hoping the dizziness will subside. He doesn't remember drinking so much. Maybe the beer here has a higher alcohol content than other places.
"Oh, you poor thing," she says. She wraps her arms around him, steadying him. "I'll get you in your car and bring you home."
"Yeah," he slurs. "You need to take me home and tuck me into bed…and you can join me." He laughs again.
She fishes his car keys from his pocket. Then together they walk out the door to the parking lot. She sits him in the passenger seat and buckles him in nice and tight. From her purse, she extracts a pill box and a bottle of water. "Take these, sweetie," she whispers. He opens his eyes and looks at the two pills she's holding out.
"They'll help with the hangover."
He closes his eyes and groans. Taking matters into her own hands, she drops the pills in his open mouth, followed by a generous amount of water. He does the rest, downing the pills dutifully.
She slides into the driver's seat and starts the car. She looks over at the Marine; out like a light. She has time…lots of time.
"Don't worry, sweetie," she says to him, caressing his forehead. "I'm going to take really good care of you."
They pull out onto the road, but they aren't going to his place. She's got a nice little area all set up for him.
"I know exactly what you need."
AN: So this story is a follow-up to a one-shot I wrote a while back entitled My New Kitten. While it's not necessary to read that story in order to appreciate and understand this one, it may clear up a few questions right off the bat.
Warning: This fic will eventually contain graphic descriptions of torture and killing. You have been warned.