Wolfhound [closed]

Hey, what the hell was that supposed to mean? She managed something like a pout, but it didn't last long, washed away by a strong smile she just couldn't flatten back down. It was stupid, really stupid, but she was actually having fun on this stupid little getaway he'd set up... You could almost be forgiven for forgetting that they were on a set course toward more of the same old fighting off the Irish coast. That was the whole reason he'd put them on this fucking boat in the first place.

Shit. She guessed it beat a plane.

Kayla let herself bob there with the small waves, loosening up her arms, letting her shoulders slack. Her anxiety just a couple minutes ago had felt like a hot knife twisting in her chest, but the longer they just drifted there, breathless, the more she adjusted. This was easy. That's what she had to keep telling herself.

She stopped herself just short of flinching as his hand crept up between her shoulders, just beneath her neck.

They were... close. It was easier to notice now. Or better phrased, how could she not notice, pressed up against him like this? She avoided his gaze at first when she felt him pull back, but she raised her chin to meet his eyes, scoffing, smiling.

Something about that look made her want to curl up into a ball.

"Who are you calling hard wired?" she retorted. "I just can't let my guard down around you."

Maybe he had a point. He had to teach her how to relax.

The young man laughed, taking a few sharp steps back towards the concrete wall, slow and easy - letting the water carry them more than anything. "Yeah," he scoffed. "We'll see about that." While she seemed to be slowly loosening up on her own, he saw no reason that they couldn't take things a few steps forward. After all, what else were party boats for?

Preston had to wait for a section of the wall to clear, easing the brunette back to clinging onto the edge, his hand brushing up against the small if her back until he could find the right moment to help boost her out - holding her from the hips again and pushing upwards. Just to be a gentleman. "Wait up here - and don't fucking fall in or some stupid shit," he said with a crooked grin as he pulled himself out, taking a moment to squeeze the water out of his short and make a quick shuffle through their things.

His Dad was a practical genius when it came to technology, having quite an affinity for computers behind that awkward demeanor. He used to show them a few tips and tricks on how these hotel keycard work. There wasn't anything a computer and a few well placed shocks couldn't trip up. (Although admittedly, it had taken him several weeks to figure out completely how to get what he wanted once they'd gotten their cards in the mail, he managed. Eventually.)

Pres and Kayla? Twenty-one years old. That was what the file said and that was all the crew needed to know. Seeing as most of the workers didn't even speak hardly any English, or that they weren't even in any country at the time so to speak, he figured it would be easy to get away clean. He disappeared off the deck for some time, finding the nearest bar and returning with rather large two glasses; filled with juices, heavy drinks, and even the cheesy cherry and mini umbrella on top.

By the time he returned and keeled next to Kayla, offering her one of the specialities, he'd already sipped near halfway through his.

She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, but at this point, all she could do was roll with the punches. Kayla held her breath in her throat, slow to exhale as he hoisted her to the ledge, hand gliding down her back. When he left, she could breathe again. Without him playing shock absorber, there wasn't much else she could do but wait, picking at her nails and trying her best to keep her head down, shutting out the rest of the world around her.

Damn. What the hell was she doing right now? She felt wide open out here on the poolside, a sitting duck.

Without him guiding her through all this, she felt marooned out on deck, a circle in a square that stood out like a sore thumb, even if most people drifted by without a second glance.

When he came back with two cold glasses, the change was like flipping a switch. Her face brightened up, swiping the cup from his hands with a grateful sigh. "You're a lifesaver," she breathed, holding it up with two hands as she brought it to her lips, the cheesy little umbrella sliding along the lip as she took a healthy swallow.

The drink hit her like a freight train. Her head jerked back, like recoil from a shotgun blast. Last she checked, orange juice didn't have a kick to it. More than a kick. A curbstomp right to the temple. "Wh-what the fuck—...?" she sputtered, glancing up at him as the realization dawned on her. "Preston!"

This was heavy, heavy shit. Two in the morning alone at Applebee's shit.

Preston snickered under his breath, taking another easy sip as he slid his was down next to hers, dipping his feet back into the water. If she bothered to call him idiot or asshole or any other name, he would have thought it was all a show, just a tease; but she seemed completely blown away. "What?" he shrugged, his tone light and feigning innocence. "You want to have fun, don't you?" Every now and then, even on his walk back, he'd notice an old person give them a snarky look for appearing so young and helping himself to the bar, but fuck them. It was none of their concern.

"I already got it all figured out. And everything is going on the school's bill," the young man held up his glass to clink against hers. His was already begging to be finished off. She had some catching up to do. "Don't freak the fuck out. It's just you and me."

Maybe she should've just dumped the shit over his head and called him out for being an idiot, but she just snorted, clenching the glass harder in her hand. It wasn't like she cared about how he wasted the school's money, or like she'd ever been a stickler for the rules... But hard liquor? Really? Kayla swilled the juice around in the glass, eyes narrowed at the contents, and sighed.

Oh, well what the hell?

How many cruises was she going to be able to go on?

Life was short enough for her already. She clinked her glass against his and tipped it back, taking another swallow. Damn. "Fucking idiot."

He said nothing, clinking his glass back against hers and tipping the rim hardly against his lips, pulling his own head back until he could get every last drop of the sickeningly sweet drink. By the time he'd set it down on the poolside, it'd felt like his mind was already swimming. "Hey," Preston called, maybe a bit too loudly at the closest crewmate, passing his card back on over. "Bring me another!"

Before the waiter could so much as leave their sights, he'd already let gravity take him, splashing back into the pool. The Autumn tried not to get Kayla too wet as he sprung back up with a cheese grin, appearing before her. "Don't take too long with that shit! Those slides are calling my name."

You'd think he was dying of thirst. Kayla forced sip after sip to try and keep pace, but by the time he'd knocked down the whole glass, she was barely halfway through. "God damn," she muttered, wincing between each swig. This was so fucking dumb... and it tasted so bitter. Fuck it. They were here to have a good time, right? She held her breath, counted to three, and tipped it back, bottoms up.

Oof.

Oof.

She could feel the waves heaving beneath them, head swimming.

He flopped back down into the water, graceful as a seal, and spattering her with a few stray droplets in the process. She flinched back, narrowing her eyes from the poolside. "Whatever, faggot. How many of those things do you plan on drinking?"

"As many as I can."

Preston leaned back into the water, smiling up at her as he watched her awkwardly try and chug down the glass. At least she was trying, and at least she was able to pick up on what she was drinking per as, unlike that night during the formal. (Did he ever clue her in on that either? He couldn't remember for a damn...) "Come on, Pikachu." The young man waved her over, swimming to the slide ladders, able to be reached from both the concrete and the water. He pulled himself out to meet her. "Gotta do all the fun shit before you can't walk anymore."

What part of this was fun? Or a good idea? Right now, she was just rolling with the punches, pushed from one reckless impulse of his to the next. She should've yelled at him until he cut the crap, but honestly, it was just easier not to think about it. And that wasn't just because of the way she could already feel the drink start to get to her, the warm tingling down her chest, a pleasant buzz spreading through her head and down to her fingertips. Kayla felt lighter on her feet, and in just in okay enough of a mood to get up and follow him without any other objections.

Slides. Sure.

Fuck off, she had to go on at least once.

Once. Twice. He had lost count of how many times the two of them had shoved kids out of the way and slid down the colorful tubes. It was a miracle they'd managed to hold their drinks for so long. Perhaps even more of a miracle that she was even letting him hold onto her at all in the midst of the fun, but shit if he was going to complain. His throat was a bit soar between choking on chlorine and dying of laughter, or was it the other way around? Whatever. Even throughout the dazed evening of drinks, he'd managed to keep somewhat of an eye on the clock and knew when to help drag Kayla back to their cabin. There was a stupid schedule to keep up. Dinner was always served at the same time and they would have went on without them.

Preston had found himself stuck in their tiny, private bathroom, cramped in the small free space between the sink and the door, with nothing but a slim shower and toilet to his side's, awkwardly maneuvering around and trying to slip into his good slacks and straighten out his shirt, making sure all the buttons aligned - although it was taking him more tries than he was proud to admit until his shirt wasn't fucked and crooked. "Can I fucking come out now?" He shouted, leaning closer to the cabinet mirror and combing a bit through his hair. Special occasion.

Like the gentleman he was supposed to be, he'd left the rest of the room for his cabinmate to change in, but fuck if it wasn't clostrophobic as all hell in there.

How many times had they gone on? Once, twice, it didn't matter, but the last hour or century had been a haze of up and down, up and down, up and down. How many drinks? One, two, four. It didn't matter. She didn't think about it at all until he was tugging at her hand, telling her they had to get ready for the big fancy dinner, and even if she was a little sad to put the slide behind her, that was enough motivation for her to run back with him back to the cabin, her big lunch and her self-doubt both long forgotten.

"No!" she shouted back, fidgeting with the brush in her hands. Yeah, he could come out, but even if she was ready, she wasn't ready. Kayla spun in front of the mirror, once, twice, okay, a couple more times than that, fixing this and that, fretting and fidgeting, sparks on the fritz across her shoulders and down her back. She'd done her hair as best she could. A touch of lip gloss, and some stupid eyeliner, but looking into her reflection, her only thought was it looked like she had two black eyes.

"Raccoon eyes! Raccoon eyes!"

Sparks twitched around her fingertips, but she stopped just short of wiping it all off. That would've just made it look worse.

Fuck. Brailynn really knew her better than she wanted to admit. With a deep sigh, Kayla spun around again, fighting to grab that zipper sitting just out of reach... "Fucking—..." The metal teeth flashed and flickered with small blue light, and the zipper would rise and pull and , but she couldn't bend her arm or her wrist in just the right way to actually pinch the stupid thing...! How did people do this shit by themselves without a gift like hers? Did a fucking man design this thing without testing it out on somebody first?

After a couple of minutes of fighting with it, she had to admit defeat. Embarrassment prickled at her cheeks, but she managed to force the shout out through the door.

"Come out and help me with this, alright?!"

Preston huffed and leaned back against the door, staring down the reflection in the mirror. It was the same him he'd always known. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were a tad pink, not used to the beaming sunlight in the slightest after so long, but he seemed fine otherwise. He fiddled around endlessly with his collar as he waited. Even while he thought it fixed, the room would spin around him, he would shift from one foot to another, and then it all seemed wrong again. "Bullshit," he muttered, leaning in heavy towards the sink, as if staring harder into the mirror would fix his awful problem. He'd heard Kayla's grumbling outside, but decided not to think much of it, her last call for him shooting straight over his head until he'd fixed his shirt again, stopped, and realized that he was being set free to help her. It'd taken him a few moments. Maybe he needed some water. Or another drink.

The door clicked and swung open, shut nimbly behind him in a slow manner as he set his shined shoes back down on the carpet. His blue-green eyes flickered over. "Oh," was all he uttered. Another surprise for him. He'd never seen the dress in his life, but it was... nice. It looked nice on her. He cracked a small smile, stepping close up behind her, his gaze traveling up the soft fabric and up the curve of her neck. Since when did she ever bother to do her hair? He figured someone else had gussied her up those times before, but now...?

He prayed his silent thanks.

"Don't worry, I'm an expert at this." He pinched the bottom of the zipper, the back of his hand brushing just against the curve of her back, breath held as he slowly worked the slip of metal up, sparks dancing at his touch. He chewed away at the inside of his cheek, fighting back any other expression. "You look..." Preston shook his head, at a loss for words as he watched her face through the mirror.

Fucker. She felt sharp pinpricks down her spine where his eyes tracked down her back, where the dress split to reveal bare skin. Head still swimming from their drinks, and thoughts racing, swirling around her skull like a mixing bowl, all she could think was Lynn got her in way more trouble than this all was worth... What was it with her not being able to dress her damn self when stuff like this cropped up?

Kayla glanced over her shoulder as he approached, holding her breath. "You look nice," she murmured. That was her only way of playing cool, to keep from flinching as his hand grazed up across her back. Shit. At least that was done with now. She turned around, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Thanks. Now let's get the fuck outta here."

Preston scoffed lightly under his breath, brushing the messy curls out from under her dress, resting them just over her shoulder. "I always look nice, Bitch." Despite the fact she was almost certain to be bullshitting him, the most retarded, goofy smile smacked him right in the face all the same, his heart damn well near as light as his head was then. She turned on her heels and spun before him, leaving him an easier time seeing her face in that warm cabin light. "Someone went all out," he mused. Her eyeliner went a bit crazy, and he could only imagine his sisters having a gawk at her makeup skills, but he thought the messy look a bit... cute, he supposed. For lack of better word. It was endearing. It suited her, in a way. A punkish sort of way. Punk. Was that the right way to...?

Fuck. Was he even making any sense right now? He shook the thoughts clear from his head. "After you," He said. As they made their way to the dining room, an elevator and a few paces later, he made sure to play the Gentlemen. Every now in then, if they pushed through a crowd, his palm pressed light on the small of her back. He'd held the door for her, let her step before her in any place. After they'd loved together for so long; after she'd seen him sick in bed, ragged and in tears from fighting, or he'll, just sitting on the couch in a dirty t-shirt and boxers eating chips while he binged watched Pokemon late in the afternoon - ...

... maybe it'd be nice to try and show off the formal side to him outside the actual formal, every now and then. He was just being polite.

The doors to the dining hall were something else, mahogany and crystal, some fancy-pants waiter at a podium guiding people to their seats. "Table 12," he'd told them in a thick accent that Preston himself couldn't quite place. A round, sleek display; covered in a silk cloth and seated with plush velvet chairs. Candles and chandeliers lit the area, highlighting the silver, porceline, and glass that awaited them both. Two different glasses, one for the tall vase of ice water between them, and the other for the chilled bottle of wine just beside it. A small basket of different types of freshly baked bread was at the ready to satisfy them, complete with its own delicate aide of butter.

It was one of the most pampered scenes he'd ever laid eyes on. One glance at the menu alone told what sort of night they were in food. The appetizer alone was a choice of fresh shrimp, a cold cucumber soup, or a daring few pieces of escargot.

He'd almost sat straight down before he remembered the mood he was playing for, holding back up and holding Kayla's chair out for her.

Her stomach flipped. Everything had gone topsy-turvy. None of this felt right, her dress, his suit, the little gentlemanly gestures that managed to leave her dazed and confused every single time, hell, just being on this god damn boat felt wrong. Maybe someone back at Beata had slipped up with their gift and she'd stepped inside some bizarro world where nothing was the way it should've been. What happened to Hot Pockets and Pokémon Blu-Rays? Just sitting around inside all day in their pajamas?

All out? Whatever...

She knew she was ignoring the siren signal blaring right in front of her face, and the fact that she knew that she knew made it all that much worse. Kayla went half-stumbling out the cabin door as he ushered her along, but she managed to find an agreeable pace in these pumps that didn't make her fall on her face. Every light touch sent sparks jolting up her spine, literally, and her head was spinning by the time she reached the banquet hall again, or maybe that was the last echoes of her hard liquor the couple of hours before.

This was the same place they'd visited earlier, but it was like the whole atmosphere had flipped over on top of its head. Lunch was basically an Old Country Buffet compared to this. Fine fuckin' dining. She never thought she'd be in a place like this... Kayla almost stopped dead at the doors, but Pres herded her forward to their table, and she sat down, numb. Delicately. Normally, she would've been launching toward that plate, but—... Fuck. Maybe she had drank too much, too early in the day.

She was giddy.

She was loving this, as much as she tried not to show it.

This was so fucking stupid. Kayla glanced back up at him at the back of her chair, trying and failing to hide the glowing smile surfacing across her face. "You really are playing butler today..."