A/N: This is filling the request for xmaidelx at a href"community./fandombitches"fandombitches/a which was :
THE INFAMOUS STONED!SECKS, WITH A SIDE HELPING OF HIGH!LAURA AND BILL DISCUSSING WHY "CUNNING" CAN BE CONSIDERED A DIRTY WORD. +42 POINTS IF THROUGH SOME WAY THE OVERALL AUDIENCE UNDERSTANDS WHY TO A MIND IN THE GUTTER, "CUNNING" COMES CLOSE TO SOMETHING ELSE. SLIGHT PUN INTENDED
--
He (all but) stumbled through the curtain (he may have had some of the ambrosia before he left) and found her sitting and smoking the joint on her couch, fingers swimming through the smoke in the air.
"Biiiiiiill. Yes!" She stood and fell back down, knocking over a glass - giddy and high and useless on her legs, until his hand closed around hers and dragged her up against him. "Hiiiii."
"Brought the ambrosia." His mouth moved to hover over hers as he tapped the bottle gently against her thigh.
"Gooooooooood. Very very good." She reached to close the distance between them...
"Madam President... I heard... Are you alright?" Frak. Tory's voice wafted through the curtain as Laura shoved Bill out of the way to clamber her way over before Tory could come through, reaching her just as the cloth drew to the side.
Laura hid the joint behind her back, feeling very much like a schoolchild without her homework (and a President without her sobriety), while trying to block Tory's view into her private space. (Hee, she giggled to herself, private space. She was about to let Bill have all the viewing time he wanted.)
"I'm fine, Tory. The Admiral is here for a debriefing on... something. So we're good here, good good. No need to worry."
"Are you sure?" The younger woman stared uncertainly, making no attempt to leave.
"Oh for frak's sake, Tory! The Admiral and I are sex." She stopped - that didn't sound right. (Well it didn't sound wrong - they are both very attractive people.) She shook her head, shaking out the correct words from the smoke. "Are about to have sex. We won't need you for that." (They really didn't.)
"Are you high? Or drunk?" Tory was incredulous.
"What?" Laura's attention had wandered over her shoulder to Bill's form as he leaned against her desk drinking the ambrosia. She licked her lips unconsciously. Drinking him in. She snapped back round to Tory. "Hmmm. No! I am not high (this is a lie) or drunk (as is this). I am horny. (this...is not) And really, Tory, as pretty as you are despite this weird hair failure you've been having this week, I've got my own personal Admiral to play with. So ummm... go!" She closed the curtain to an argument that Tory may have been brokering.
"Subtle."
She twirled around (and twirled again - spinning was fun) and danced light-footedly towards him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She brought the joint to her mouth as she stepped between his legs, inhaling deeply. Coaxing his mouth open, she exhaled the smoke, trailing after it with her tongue. There was no style to it - all shapeless fun as she was stoned (and a little drunk) and he was drunk (and a little stoned) but enthusiasm was something that neither of them would ever lack.
She pulled back, humming to herself (and to him), reaching for the ambrosia and taking a quick swig from the bottle. "Pick your surface?"
His eyes shone, clouding with desire and alcohol and smoke and her, all swirling together. In a deft move for one intoxicated, he grabbed her hips, pushed himself up and spun them both around (his pelvis in constant contact with hers) so that she was seated on the desk. The Presidential desk that was about to bear witness to some very un-presidential acts.
She giggled and draped her arms around his neck (the joint still poised between her fingers). "I knew I promoted you for a reason."
"Hey, I didn't get to be an admiral by sleeping with the boss." His hands ran along the sides of her body, up and down and under her shirt to the warm skin below.
"The boss does not encourage you to remind her of that fact."
"And the boss gets what she wants."
"Clearly, as I have weed. And I got you to bring alcohol, annnnnd bring you and sex. This… makes sense in my head. It's all part of my plan."
"Very cunning plan."
She giggled and hit her head against his chest, shaking with tiny tremors of laughter.
"What are you laughing at?"
She lifted her head and found his jaw with her mouth (her legs twined around his waist, pulling him towards her)
"Cuuuuuunning." Her tongue wrapped around the word and drew it out long and sensually, stroking the letters.
A rumble of laughter shook through him as she leaned back, hands finding purchase on the desk (the joint abandoned to an ashtray as her legs tightened hold, locking at her ankles) .
"You're incurr...uncorrg...incorrigi…." She watched with amusement as the alcohol whetted his attempt at the word and broke in with -
"Irresistible."
He sighed as he gave up (and in to her) "Absolutely."
"No more talking." She reached for him, tugging him down. "This desk won't have sex on itself." She frowned at the image her mind conjured, but his mouth on hers soon distracted her completely.
It became a blur after that - clothes removed (her arm got caught in her sleeve, his pants got caught on his boots, they banged foreheads at one point). Smoke and liquid and fire in her veins - she couldn't see straight, just feel and feel and feel.
His hands on her breasts.
His lips on her neck.
His fingers tracing her through her underwear, then discarding the barrier.
Her tongue following the line of his scar.
Her palm folding around his erection.
Her nails clawing his shoulder.
Him. Inside her.
They were a tangled mess afterwards. Her hair never wilder, his grin never wider. Neither had ever been as intoxicated (and intoxicating).
"Tell me that wasn't our last joint." His words stumbled out with ragged breathing and hope at more to follow (he said last joint, he meant only frak).
"Pffft. Puhlease. Like I'd use that joint (frak) on a desk when there are airlocks around."