AshBoo? I Think It's Just Ash & Boo

When it's her turn... to be potentially banned

It has been a fun night - the type they hadn't had in a long time. All are wasted - except Bamboo, well, except the parents of the host of the party as well. Half of the small number of guests are sprawled in the couches, or on the resort's indecently expensive soft carpet; the other half have already stumbled their way down to their rooms.

He should have gone to bed by now, but he feels it is his duty to remain for one particular individual, the generous host of the party who enjoyed the night the most since - Bamboo felt the urge to rephrase his terms earlier - it is the type she never had, ever, until now; the one slouching over the bar with her elbow propped on the board to stop her chin from going south.

She is earnestly laughing, engaged in a conversation with Apl. . .who is now snoozing on his empty glass of whiskey, and she hasn't even noticed. Bamboo is watching her patiently, she should notice him staring anytime. Or so has he been hoping for the past 10 minutes.

Eventually, she turned her head and looks around the room. She grabs her drink and jumps off the stool she's been sitting on, spilling some of the contents of her glass on the floor but she didn't mind it as she tries to stand up straight and bounces on her feet like a spring.

She roams across the room, in search of something. Her eyes light up when they fall on him. He smiles; she smirks.

She starts walking towards him, a sway on her steps, leaving him no choice but to walk towards her as well as she nearly trips on the inanimate bodies or legs of her guests, sprawled across the floor near the couches. She is holding her drink very tight, though. She nearly does it again and he catches her right in time, securing her with his strong arm wrapped around her small waist. She smells of vanilla.

"Gotcha," she exclaims with a giggle. Her breath smells of beer and a mix of unidentifiable edibles.

"How are you feeling?", he murmurs softly. "Never been better," she says with so much enthusiasm he felt like she's faking it but she's not. "I feel like I could fly!" Then she spread her arms upwards, knocking the breath out of his lungs as her free hand, that is formed into a fist, collided with his jaw. "Oops! Sorry." She says and giggles.

"That's probably because you've nearly fallen half a dozen times in the past 40 seconds." It makes her laugh. She traces patterns over his shirt with the tips of her fingers; it keeps her concentrated. Playing with his shirt like it's her favorite instrument - the piano.

"I am fine." She wriggles herself away from him, trying to stand up straight. "I could still dance with this glass on my hand without spilling its content." He arches an eyebrow. "You're swaying." She shook her head and pressed her fumbling forefinger on the temple. "But not my mind." She tells him, smiling with her eyes closed.

"Let me show you." Before she could even begin, he pulls her back against his chest with a light pressure of his palm on her waist - she swings right back towards him.

"I believe you," he says quietly. She looks intently into his eyes, then trails down his lips, biting hers. Apparently, she has something else in mind than proving to him she could still dance gracefully but decided to not act on it.

Her eyelids suddenly become heavy. She presses the side of her glass on her forehead.
"I'm taking you to bed," he decides. "I think the party is over."

She moans in a strange combination of displeasure and satisfaction when he removed the glass from her hold and placed it on a table near them. He scoops her and she lets her upper body lean on his shoulder.

He walks her down a path towards a cottage that she chose for her liking. Her breath in the small of his neck is warm and distracting. Once they reached the room, in the dark, he comfortably walks across the room he has grown familiar with for the past days, all the way to the bedroom.

He gently lays her down on the mattress and she chuckles.

"I just remembered something...remember that wedding we all went to last year, and I wore white and everyone was staring?" He looks at her amusingly. "It rings a bell," he answers with a smiling voice.

"I really hope the bride didn't resent me for it," Sarah is musing aloud, pouting.

"I'm sure she didn't mind." Sarah stares up at the ceiling, and frowns, as a new memory begins to form. She now looks scandalized, eyes big like saucers.

"Oh my God! I just remembered I flirted with someone at that wedding!" He pauses and glances at her. "Who?"

"The groom!" she laughs at what alcohol made her remember. "He propositioned me. He even kissed me at a corner of the venue. Aren't you shocked?" She gasps and covers her mouth with her hands.

"I'm outraged beyond words," he answers coolly, shaking his head.

"Don't you think what I did was wrong?" She says. She pauses, probably replaying the scene in her head, and laughs again, finding what she remembered amusing.

Bamboo leans over her and reaches for the buttons of her blouse. Sarah is watching closely, a little taken aback, shock is showing on her face.

"Coach?" she arches an eyebrow at him. "You're not going to take advantage of a drunk woman, are you? I know moves that would knock you out for the rest of the night." She pauses and continues after a beat, "I have been training, you know, self defense." He chuckles as she formed her hands on a fighting stance. "I know that. Hence why I won't dare try anything." He gently opens her buttons down, one by one, and he feels her intense gaze on him.

"Why not?" she asks. "Am I not your type?" He finds her question absolutely ridiculous. "Don't you want me?" He takes her blouse off, revealing her white lace bra. She is exquisite; there isn't a day that goes by where he doesn't think that.

"I do," he answers in a husky voice that betrays his thoughts. But somehow it feels wrong to have this thought at a time when she is so vulnerable.

"You are my type," she claims matter-of-factly, then blushes at her next words. "I often think about you being shirtless." He clears his throat and reaches for her skirt. He unzips it and pulls it down.

"Bamboo," she begins. "There's something I must confess." She props herself up on her elbows and looks up at him. "That day when I flirted with the groom... that was wrong... to you." She clumsily helps herself up on her knees and faces him. She loosely wraps her arms around his neck then presses herself against him. His hand instinctively goes up to the small of her back.

"Anyway, I don't know why I did what I did with that stupid groom." She scoffs and he frowns - he'll remind her of these words tomorrow. "Truth is, I wish it had been you." She's looking him deep in the eye, earnest and stern. "I love you, Francis ko. Even after all the universes have turned to dust, even if the sun goes dark, even if we'll both grow to be irrelevant to others, even if love ceases to be at all, I shall still love you." She recites the words like familiar poetry. He's heard them before. He's known them too. By heart. Since the day they came out of her lips, a year ago. They were particularly fitting after what they had gone through with the industry.

"I know," he murmurs. He leans in to kiss her. Her lips are warm and sweet, and hungry for more but he pulls away.

"And now it's time to sleep," he says. He tries settling her in with his clean shirt but she unabashedly complained about being hot then chanted things about not wanting to borrow things from a stranger. He laughs at that, I'm a stranger now, he says in his head. He smiles and tucks her in and kisses her forehead, before changing his clothes and lying next to her - a delightful routine of his for the past year.

"Good night, Mrs. Mañalac." But the host of the party is already sound asleep.

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This is a retelling of a particular prompt I've seen, but made it AB version. Since we previously had drunk B, it is just fitting to have drunk A :))

Mwah, y'all (Ninangs, ABs, elibear).

- R