I Wanna Be Dirty (Rocky Horror Picture Show)
Benoit sat lazily in an armchair, with a goofy smile on his lips earned by the whiskey, watching Marta as she watched him. They'd been dating for several months and as a celebration of his return from a particularly long case, Marta finally opened Harlan's liquor supply. He had a taste for the expensive. Wines, whiskeys, gins, all types of alcohol imported from all over the world in their nice labels neatly organized. Marta didn't know the first thing about it, Benoit wasn't much of an expert either. But he told her he liked whiskey, so she grabbed a bottle from the 1970s, popped it open, and poured a ginger amount for the couple.
"Sheep don't sound like a real word," Benoit said out of nowhere. He stared at the wall with a serious look on his brow, wondering where the word sheep came from.
"No it doesn't," she paused. They both exploded into giggles for a second. The joke didn't make sense, nor was it funny or a joke to begin with, but they enjoyed themselves. As it dulled down, Marta quietly whispered, "Baa, baa."
Benoit's hearty laugh could be heard miles away. Marta's hiccups joined in. His smile reached his eyes and as the joke seemed to wear off, they relaxed against the warm fire.
The firelight crackled and offered the only light to see each other in. This relationship, while still new, felt exactly the way it was supposed to. They fit one another. Neither were the type to make assumptions, but they knew this was it. It's all they wanted.
Marta admired the line of his jaw, once sharp but now soft. She liked it that way, she liked him that way. She admired the way his suit was tailored to him, how his sandy blonde hair hid his greys, she admired how attentive he was to her in every area of their life together or how he tucked his tie between his shirt because he didn't like when it got in the way. She liked all of it, hell she didn't like it - she loved it. Benoit was a beautiful man, inside and out, and in her most drunk stupor she could still see why she chose him.
Benoit was doing the same to her, though he did not think in his brain. He spoke his words to her, his accent slurred and thicker than usual by the alcohol, "Marta, you are so damn perfect. You know that?"
Marta didn't flush like she normally did, instead swallowing more whiskey. She spoke, trailing off, "I was thinking about how much I love you..."
"How's that?"
"I love... I love your silly little accent. I love how you wear socks to bed. I love that you sing loudly to random musicals... musicals!"
Marta jumped from her seat towards the record player in the corner of the sitting room. Harlan loved to collect records of various musicals, bands, soundtracks in records. He felt as though it increased the ambiance of his home, and Marta didn't disagree.
As Benoit strained his neck to see what Marta put on, the first starting notes of a song started to play. Whatever Benoit expected, he didn't. Marta had put on Toucha Toucha Touch Me from Rocky Horror Picture Show of all things.
"I was feeling done in, couldn't win..."
Marta lazily sang the first lyrics, dancing slightly as she did. She wasn't a great singer, but the moment wasn't about that. She was delightfully drunk, confident, and in the mood to be sexy.
She mumbled along the next words, not quite knowing what they were and not caring. Marta went in front of Benoit's chair, moving her hips and laughing slightly. He giggled and moved back to watch her.
"Now all I want to know, is how to go," she began to climb onto his lap, legs straddling his hips and hands on his broad shoulders. "I've tasted blood and I want more..."
Benoit pulled her in for a kiss, which she eagerly melted into as the music continued on. He tasted of whiskey and cigars, and everything sexy in this world. She rolled his bottom lip between her teeth just to hear the slight groan from his throat. In turn, Benoit was thinking about how she tasted of cinnamon and smelled of home. His hands came to rest on her upper thighs, squeezing them gently.
Skipping right to the chorus, Marta broke the kiss with a mischievous look in her eye. "Toucha toucha toucha touch me! I want to be dirty..." she fumbled with the middle line, "Creature of the night!"
At that last line, she ripped open the button up shirt Benoit wore. Buttons flew to the side, scattering on the ground, scaring Benoit and pleasing Marta. She hooked her fingers under his suspenders, "and if anything grows, why oppose. I'll oil you up and rub you down, down, down, down."
She ran her hands along the spattering of light chest hair sparsely covering his pectorals. He felt so warm and strong beneath her skin. When he gripped her waist tighter after she delicately dragged her nails, she decided she had to do it again.
Being decidedly more bold, Marta bent and kissed along his neck and chest as she sang. "That's just one small fraction, of the main attraction. You need a friendly hand, I need action!"
At that last line, Benoit had enough of her drunken flirtations and pulled her into a passionate kiss. The music died down in their ears, the record continuing onto the next song in the track but they didn't care. He lifted her up, enjoying that she was small enough to wrap her legs round his waist, and dropped her onto the couch.
After the record had played it's toll, and the alcohol slowly slipped from them, they snuggled against the couch. Benoit in his half open shirt still, and Marta wearing just a bra and shorts. They were never usually the bold type, but the whiskey had spoken it's part and Marta was glad about the slightly sexy turn of events.
The next morning, she, of course, profusely apologized, to which Benoit responded by kissing her and reminding her that if she should ever feel inclined to partake in spirits and sing him sexy songs, he would most certainly love to be there.
