Pray For The Wicked : Kol Mikaelson [2]

159: Prologue To The Fire

a/n: This chapter started at 9000 words yet turned into 12 :) The last 3 have been moved, turning this into a lead into for 'I Alone' and 'I'm Gonna Set Your Flag on Fire' - two episodes, three chapters <3
Sorry for the delay since it was meant to be ready for posting like, two hours ago.

Warning: Discussion about side effects of depression
(From when MJ mentions weight, to 'sorry.')
Plus, a v short make-out scene

~***~

It was just after midnight when MJ and Kol returned to The Compound, drunk.

They'd started at Rousseau's, then worked their way through a few other pubs in the area so Kol could 'educate' her drinking pallet – ranging from gin dubonnet cocktails through to bourbon sours, followed by special types of champagne. He seemed to have forgotten the whole 'human liver' thing, living for the fact he was completely off balance, both having to lean on each other to get in a vaguely straight line down the pavement.

The fifteen-minute walk to The Compound took an hour, every possible distraction causing a detour.

Yes, vampires could get drunk, but it required a lot more than five drinks, a concept which fascinated Kol's out-of-it brain, mentioning it every time he stumbled or struggled to finish a sentence. MJ couldn't help but laugh joyously along with him, finding his excitement adorable, too drunk to notice the repeats.

Despite the extended time out and the fact neither of them were sober enough to be responsible, they were actually well behaved. The colours of the city were impossible to look away from when MJ was happy, Kol encouraging each story she wanted to tell, meaning they were occupied talking and exploring the street performers and artists. Hands-linked, but kept to themselves in all other regards.

Finally, they reached The Compound, quietening down to avoid a scolding from the rest of the house.

One look at the stairs, a shared smile, and an unspoken mutual decision to not even try and get up it, tumbling onto the sofa.

Well, MJ tumbled.

Kol went to follow, then hesitated, looking her up and down slowly.

He blinked.

In alcohols bliss, his thoughts stopped, simply standing, rather than waiting for an attack, the way he'd trained himself to live. MJ was lying there, cheeks red and wholly relaxed. Untense was a rare state for both of them, and that night, they managed to achieve it, existing out of time, in the best way possible. His smile was what one might call dumb, but happy, face flushed from drinks too, sense of gravity gone, and a number of inappropriate thoughts racing through his head.

MJ held up her hand, and he took it, letting her pull him down, so Kol was rested on top.

One long kiss that made her moan, warm lips, knee bending into him while he tugged her side up, his second hand keeping her neck steady.

Then they stopped.

They were in the middle of a very public living room, two drunk to walk, let alone do anything else.

MJ kissed his forehead in front of her, "If you throw up on me..."

"I would never," He hadn't thrown up from alcohol since he was last human, "I'm going to be fine in the morning."

"Sure you are, sweetie."

"Hm."

Simply lying down, the champagne did its job, encouraging their eyes to shut.