DISCLAIMER: I don't own the book, nor the movie 'Gone with the Wind'. Suing is a waste of time and is counterproductive; I'm just a fan that is making no profit. :D

A/N: This is my entry GTWT Sunny Funny Ficathon, from 2009. I'm kinda late posting this here, but I forgot. First published gwtw fanfic. So be gentle, but don't forsake honesty. I can take it!

PUGNACIOUS and DRUNK

By bloodymary2

Scarlett was trying to sleep.

Trying being the operative word. The bed she was presently occupying, her specially made bed, was large - ridiculously so - and easily swallowed up her small, delicate frame. Not only did that make her feel little, the bed managed to remind her of the unpleasant reality of her own loneliness. There was too much space and more pillows than she could ever hope to use.

How long had it been?

The proud woman knew, though. Down to the day. And no pretending could erase the fact that ninety one days had passed since her bed had become drafty and unwelcoming. Three months since she had made that inarticulate request. Her present state could be blamed on none other than herself. In her defense – not that she would speak of such things with anyone but herself -, it had sounded like a good idea at the time. She truly hadn't wanted more children.

How was she to know she would miss his presence so much?

A long, pitiful sigh escaped between her parted lips. Irritated at her own weakness, Scarlett huffed, hitting the crisp white sheets in frustration. Sleep had been hard to come by ever since that fateful day and thinking about it didn't help matters any. She forcibly pushed it out of her mind. There was nothing to be done, anyway; she would never ask him back into her bedroom.

She could just imagine the self satisfied smirk on Rhett's face in response to her begging. And what if he said no?

Scarlett sat up in bed slowly, glancing around for something else to fill her thought with. It was too dark, though, and all she could see were shadows.

Suddenly, a muffled thud came from somewhere outside her door. Her reaction was instantaneous. The young woman sat up straighter in bed, her head turning quickly in the direction of the closed door and her hands clenched into fists. She seemed like the epitome of soldier ready for battle - a reflex gained from those horrible days in Atlanta when the air was never quiet nor safe. But the truth was that Scarlett was scared.

No one should be wandering around the halls at this late time of night.

Carefully, she listened for any new sounds, wondering if maybe Bonnie had woken and cried out without her realizing it. She heard nothing else, until a hand descended heavily onto her doorknob, making a low sound that managed to be so loud it startled her. Then, the realization; she had forgotten to lock the door! Regretfully, she bit her lower lip, knowing it was too late to do anything about it. The knob was turning and the door was opening and a big shadow was entering her room.

"Scarlett... oh, Scarlett?" Her name was stretched out, like an owner calling a frightened dog. The voice was unmistakably Rhett Butler's. And he sounded positively drunk. For a moment, she debated whether she should feel irritated at his condescending tone.

Irritation, however, turned quickly into fear; she couldn't ever remember a time Rhett had gotten as drunk as he sounded at that moment.

Scarlett watched the big shadow - for he was nothing more than a dark silhouette barely visible by the poor lighting coming from the window, where a half moon shone - as it approached. With trembling fingers, she searched for the candle she always kept by her bedside and willed her hands to still enough to light it. The weak flames did wonders to illuminate the room, though it still left some eerie shadows dancing about.

She breathed in slowly and turned back towards the door, somewhat afraid to look. Her eyes raised up and Scarlett gasped...

... before bursting into uncontrolable laughter.

For the life of her, she couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard her sides ached. And how could she help herself when, standing a few feet away from the bed, was Rhett Butler in only his breeches with a stupid, drunken grin on his face. He was so hilariously ridiculous, with his body swaying from side to side as waves on the ocean and his left shoulder drooped, that he look as if his balance had been tilted sideways.

"Now, now, dears..." His right hand came up, index finger pointing in her general direction. "It isn't nice for you all to gather together and laugh at a gentleman while he is only in his underthings!" It was obvious by his unfocused gaze that he was seeing more than one woman on her bed.

Scarlett, for her part, only managed to laugh harder. She had seen him drink on various occasions, but never had she known possible for him to get this drunk! His voice was somewhat affected, his words spoken slowly - he was taking great care with the pronunciation of each one; careful, it seemed, not to slur. Not only that, his tone was more suited in the mouth of an old maid filled with demure, than in the lips of a grown, liberal cad. It was too funny. There was even a moment, when Scarlett felt difficulty breathing due to all the laughing she was doing.

"Oh, Rhett..." She tried to control herself, though she failed to wipe the grin completely off her lips. "What happened to holding your liquor?" It would have been sarcastic, had her eyes not shone with such mirth.

"I am not drunk, my pet." She offered an incredulous raised eyebrow at his attempt at a dignified reply to her accusation.

Feeling challenged at that, Rhett straightened - or tried to at least, since his left shoulder remained drooped and his body kept swaying - and raised his chin. Under normal circumstances, that would have looked very distinguished, but at that particular moment, it looked downright silly. Scarlett suppressed the urge to fall into laughing once again.

"Despite the many glasses of whiskey your dear husband has consumed, he still holds himself in perfect composure. He could face a line of dueling men and hit them all with one shot!" She snorted at the image those words evoked. "And! Unlike other people who are drunk and shall not be named," he paused and it looked like he needed to think of his next words. "He... he has no problem walking on a straight line..."

To demonstrate it, he took two steps forward, finally reaching the bed. The fact that his balance wavered and he was forced to reach out a hand to steady himself on the fluffy mattress, however, took the validity out of his argument. Rhett seemed unfazed, though, and continued on with his speech.

"If Rhett was drunk, I wouldn't be able to do this." Unaware of the confusion in the sentence and with a look of childish, and adorable, concentration, her husband tried touching the tip of his nose with his index finger; he touched his cheek. Repeatedly. Then he frowned. "Well, maybe Rhett Butler is a little drunk." First, he looked resigned. A mischivious glint was soon shining in his eyes, though. He looked at Scarlett, having a hard time focusing on her face precisely and whispered, "But just a little."

Scarlett smile at that, but the curve of her lips soon faltered when she became aware of his close proximity; Rhett hadn't stepped foot in her room since that horrible fight. And now, he was so close she could smell the whiskey on him, could see the hairs on his bare chest just an arm reach away. And such proximity was making the hairs at the back of her neck rise.

"Rhett?" Her own voice was quiet - a whisper -, while her eyes searched his in hesitation. "Wha-what are you doing here?"

"My dear Scarlett," he looked like a school teacher chastening an unruly student, all superior and condescending. "Rhett Butler lives here."

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension dissipate; he was so drunk he couldn't possibly be aware of his surroundings. He even kept referring to himself in the third person! Scarlett opened her mouth to tell him so, when it finally occurred to her that here stood Rhett, completely vulnerable - in all the senses of the word - and completely at her mercy.

A Cheshire grin flourished upon her lips and lighted her green eyes.

If Rhett had been more conscious, he would have recognized that look of triumph and would have been instantly on alert. But he wasn't aware, far from it, and that left him completely defenseless. Scarlett wondered how much she could manipulate him.

"Rhett?" she pouted and batted her eye lashes.

"Hum?" Her husband had apparently lost interest in their conversation and was glancing around the room with apparent curiosity. Nothing seemed to have caught his eye, though, because he soon returned his dark, unfocused eyes to her. Rhett made a face of exaggerated confusion, "is something wrong with your eyes, my pet?"

Abandoning pretences – he was imune to her wiles, even falling down drunk -, Scarlett decided to be direct.

"Where were you before you came home, Rhett?" Scarlett kept her voice low and still spoke sweetly, not to disturb the haze surrounding him.

"Me?" He seemed confused. And even dizzier than he had been a few minutes before; Rhett's body swayed dangerously back and forth and then finally collapsed on top of the soft mattress. For a long moment, he laid there, face down, in the exact same position he had fallen into.

Scarlett bit her bottom lip to suppress the urge to laugh again. "Rhett?" He mumbled something she didn't understand. "Rhett, turn around."

She didn't wait for him to comply with her request and tried rolling him over; no luck. He was way too heavy and didn't even budge. Frustrated, she huffed and pushed her hair out of her face. Maybe he wasn't as malleable as she had thought. What a disappointing thought.

"Rhett, please. You'll... you'll suffocate!" She sounded more exasperated than worried

Her worry at his position may have been mild, but grew, when she saw that his body was shaking. He was having a fit! Or not. Rhett slowly rolled over, bringing himself closer to Scarlett's sitting frame and revealing his mirth filled face. Rhett Butler was laughing at her!

"Rhett Butler, even drunk you are a cad!" She angrily turned away and considered leaving her bed to escape him.

He immediately grew somber, which, in his present inebriated state, looked more adorable than serious. How could a grown men with whisks on his face and glassy eyes from too much liquor could ever look adorable was beyond her, but adorable he looked. Turning his face turned to hers, Rhett brought his hand up and around her waist. "Rhett Butler is not drunk."

"Yes, he is. I mean, you are!" She breathed in, trying to control her flaring temper. "You are drunk, Rhett Butler and I bet you are making fun of me while at it!"

"Ok." He hugged her waist, bringing his face to rest on her stomach. "Rhett Butler is drunk."

His quick compliance was suspicious, but having his cheek caressing her belly, clad only in a thin nightgown, and his warm arms holding her gently, left Scarlett feeling a little bewildered. Sure, she had missed his presence in her bedroom, missed sleeping in his warm embrace and being able to talk to him about anything - he had been her best friend! But, what was the strange feeling pooling at the pit of her stomach, she wondered.

What was the yearning in her chest?

"Rhett Butler is drunk, but not mean. He doesn't want to make fun of you." His breath was doing something funny to her skin as he spoke. "He missed you."

"He did?" Scarlett smiled, satisfied with that piece of information. Without realizing it, her fingers started combing his unruly hair. "Is Rhett not happy with the other women?" She immediately regretted the bitter tone she inadvertently used; she certainly wasn't jealous.

Of course, she wasn't.

The man in question pulled back just enough for Scarlett to see his face as he vigorously shook his head in the negative. "Rhett tried, but it's just not the same." He made a show if glancing around, like he was making sure no one could hear him, and then leaned even closer to her. "Don't tell him I told you, though."

"What is?" Scarlett felt a little breathless, though she failed to understand why. "I mean, what isn't the same?"

Rhett, for his part, acquired a pensive look as he slowly sat up. His legs were folded next to her thighs, too close, his semi-naked body radiating heat that seemed to pull her in. Scarlett felt like she should pull back and put some space between them; they were too dangerously close. She didn't though. Scarlett stayed exactly as she was, watching intensively as Rhett breathed some mere inches from her face.

"This..." Was his answer, milliseconds before his lips kissed her soft cheek. Scarlett felt a series of goosebumps rise up her spine and wondered at her reaction.

What was happening?

She didn't know, but Rhett's wet lips were trailing slow kisses all over her face and all she could think of was that she, oddly, didn't want him to stop. God's Nightgown, he hadn't kissed lher with such intensity since he proposed at Frank's funeral. "Rhett?"

He ignored her - or maybe didn't even hear his name -, busy as he was caressing the space behind her left ear with the tip of his nose before planting a soft kiss upon the sensitive skin. It wasn't long before thoughts of her supremacy over her husband were forgotten as Scarlett fell amid a haze of feelings; she felt drunk. So, when Rhett's larger body leaned forward against her own, pressing her down onto the soft sheets, Scarlett complied, not even one hundred percent aware of his actions and her reactions.

Until he stopped kissing her skin and touching her body and remained absolutely still... on top of her. Scarlett's green eyes, misty from the inebriation of a few moments before, slowly cleared and she found herself lying on her back, with her heavy husband's body draped almost uncomfortably over her and his face buried in her neck. He was still breathing - she could feel it warm on her shoulder -, so he wasn't dead. But it seemed his excessive consumption of alcohol had managed to finally knock him out.

Scarlett felt a sudden urge to kill him. How dare he!

One side, then the other and Scarlett tried to first roll him off her, without success. Then, she attempted to get out from under him, which was also met with disappointing failure. Rhett Butler was way too big and heavy for her frail frame to move. When escape seemed impossible and her temper could be controlled no more, Scarlett started hitting his shoulder and arm in frustration.

"Rhett Butler, you are a skunk and I hate you!"

"Now, now, Scarlett, dear." His voice, low, was right next to her ear and she would have jumped in surprise had he not been pressing her down with his weight. "Hate is such a strong word that I am sure cannot truly define the way you feel about me. Not only that, hate is a strong, yet fleeting feeling that hardily lasts long within a person who is not old and bitter - which you, are not."

He shifted a bit, using his bent elbows to lift his body and alleviate her a little of his weight. Their faces were inches apart, while their breaths mingled. Breathing a little easier, Scarlett saw this as a perfect opportunity to escape his hold - she so despised being at his mercy. Unfortunately, his arms worked as a sort of restraint and her ability to leave was as low as they had been before.

"Hate, however, when fierce and ever constant, can hide other feelings we may not want to feel or may not want to acknowledge we might be inclined to feel." Though eloquent, Rhett Butler was undeniably inebriated and that meant his speech was, inevitably, affected. Like earlier, he spoke slowly, each word carefully enunciated and punctuated by poutty lips that slurred every other word.

Instead of finding it amusing, though, as she had when he had first entered her room, Scarlett found it too much like all the other times Rhett had lectured her using that tone of superiority. And she hated it! Hated how it made her feel small and inadequate. Hated it so much that she was sure the hatred she felt held no other hidden meaning than the obvious.

"Rhett Butler, I do hate you! And I don't want you in my room. Get off me and leave, right this instant!" Scarlett trashed and hit his chest in anger.

Her loud, hateful words, however, didn't manage to even budge him. His answer, when it came, was spoken quietly and calmly, as if he had all the time in the world at his disposal. "Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt." The allusion he made, quite cleverly for a man who had had one too many, was completely lost on Scarlett, who only felt irritated at his excessive need to talk.

Why did he have to be an eloquent drunk?

Most just sang stupid songs, before passing out.

But no, not Rhett Butler. No, Rhett liked to make speeches and give life lessons and use her as a cushion. He was slowly, yet steadily falling onto her again - his arms too weak at his state to hold him up, no doubt - and she was afraid he would really pass out on top of her this time. Anger didn't seem to be doing the trick, so Scarlett decided upon a different tactic.

She breathed in deeply and then sighed dramatically.

"Rhett, please. I can't breathe with you on top of me." She made sure to sound as helpless as possible.

Unfortunately for Scarlett's plan, Rhett Butler was drunk. He was eloquently drunk, not only with his words but with his actions - he had started kissing her neck once more and damn him if her brain didn't start feeling all muddled again -, but he was nonetheless drunk and somewhat disconnected from reality. And as desperately as Scarlett wanted to hate him for his words and actions and pinning her down, she found the feeling fading away. She almost liked him better like this: inebriated and loving.

A tight feeling pulled at her lower stomach; something she couldn't explain.

"Rhett?" He bit her earlobe and she shuddered. "Rhett? What are you doing?"

"Rhett is being pugnacious."

"What?" Her delicate brow furrowed and she tried to see if she could remember that word ever being used in her presence before. "What does it mean?"

Rhett was once again looking right at her, this time with a lopsided grin on his full lips. She would never admit it out loud, but her body missed his ministrations. And he was so very close that their noses touched. She could feel his warm breath and she could see every single shade of brown hidden in his eyes...

Why was he looking at her like that?

"Well, my pet. Rhett might have made fun of your ignorance, but I shall not." Scarlett's frown deepened. Speaking in the third person since coming into her room had been odd, but referring to himself as a completely different person was just creepy.

"You are Rhett." She said matter of factly. An affirmation he ignored.

Scarlett huffed at his stubbornness even while inebriated and tried to break free once more.

"Pugnacious..." He dropped a bit more weight upon her, to make her stop moving. "... comes from the Latin word pugnax. It can mean tough and callous or aggressive, but above all, it means ready and eager to fight. And Rhett Butler is tired of giving in to stupid Ashley without a fight."

And then he proceeded showing her just what he meant by fight with his lips, his hands and every single inch of her soon naked body. Scarlett could scarcely produce a proper thought under his single-minded attention, much less think of a reason to protest.

He had never touched her quite like this before.

And sure, Rhett Butler was drunk. But he was also eloquently drunk, lovingly and pugnaciously drunk and Scarlett found him, at that moment, completely irresistible.

My prompt was provided by SKYEBUGS and was:

"Rhett Butler was drunk. He was eloquently drunk, lovingly and pugnaciously drunk."

There were no POV requirements and all that was asked was that the story take place any time before Bonnie's death. The sentence came, originally, from Sinclair Lewis, and the man that was lovingly drunk was actually Elmer Gantry.

I changed the sentence slightly to fit my purposes.