A request from the lovely @thecaptainsgingersnap: LIAAAAAAAAAA! Your description says fic requests are open, so here I am because I DESPERATELY need Tequila! So can you PLEASE do 25, 45 & 99 from the Love Tropes list??? Love ya doll! (Her Boyfriend’s Jacket, Lap Pillow, You Must Be Cold)
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: mild swearing, sexual innuendo
Your ankles were crossed as they rested high upon the masonry of the unlit fire pit. The entire Statesman group was still out on the ski slopes, probably would be for a while, but you had decided rest was necessary. A day of such robust physical activity didn’t seem like proper work to you, but it often was in your line of business. A week’s long vacation in Telluride, an “agent bonding trip” as it was framed, was coming to a close as the film financier you had been tracking finally checked in to the resort this morning.
Fun and work were interchangeable you had come to learn in your time with the organization. Really everything in your life was just a strange blur between personal and professional, starting with the lovely man with the southern drawl and dimples so faint you’d almost miss them if he weren’t smirking so goddamn much.
“Hey, sugar, why you lookin’ so glum?” that same voice that always seemed to be echoing in your head called from the edge of the snow. He already had his hands down to unclip his skis and boots, so all you could see was the red that covered the bit of his exposed back and earlobes, his skin splotched, simultaneously frozen from the wind and heated from exertion. He was a sensitive man your Tequila in so many ways.
Your Tequila? Really? Damn, your mind really needed to stop doing these sort of mental gymnastics. If you kept saying these kinds of things in your head, they were eventually going to make their way out your mouth. He’s a friend. Just a friend. You needed to keep repeating that to yourself.
Il gioco era semplice: se ti pensavo, anche solo per un secondo, avrei dovuto bere uno shot di tequila. Sono arrivata a fine nottata ubriaca, ma con il pensiero fisso su di te.
Mi sono dimenticata di tutto, ma non di te.
Once again this year, I’ve had requests for my Tequila Christmas Cake recipe so here goes. Please keep in your files as I am beginning to get tired of typing this up every year! (Made mine this morning!!!!)
1 cup sugar,
1 tsp. baking powder,
1 cup water,
1 tsp. salt ,
1 cup brown sugar,
4 large eggs,
1 bottle tequila,
2 cups dried fruit.
Sample a cup of tequila to check quality.
Take a large bowl, check the tequila again to be sure it is of the highest quality then Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add 1 teaspoon of sugar. Beat again. At this point, it is best to make sure the tequila is still OK. Try another cup just in case. Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 eeeegs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the fruit up off the floor, wash it and put it in the bowl a piece at a time trying to count it. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit getas stuck in the beaterers, just pry it loose with a drewscriver Sample the tequila to test for tonsisticity. Next, sift 2 cups of salt, or something. Check the tequila. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don’t forget to beat off the turner.
Finally, throw the bowl through the window. Finish the tequila and wipe the counter with the cat.
Losing you was the hardest thing he ever had to deal with…
Sorting through your possessions was the first step to recovery, or so he was told by his therapist. By removing any and all reminders of you, he would finally get the closure that he had been searching for, something that was taken from him when you left.
Grabbing the empty cardboard box, he began sorting through your shared room, placing the remaining memories he had of you into it. Starting at the desk, he searched the hidden nooks and crannies which revealed some pieces of your identity like your favourite pen, the book that you would always doodle in when you were bored and even your class schedule, but nothing of importance to him.
Moving to the unmade bed, he pushed the various whiskey, wine, champagne and scotch bottles to the side. Whatever alcohol he was able to get his hands on, was now part of the empty collection on his bed. He hadn’t changed his sheets since it happened, the pain still too fresh for him to make the effort to get his life back on track, the smell of tears and alcohol lingering the air around him.
Placing the box on the bed, he reached under it and felt around, grabbing things that were stored over the years until he landed on the small box that was never there before.
Taking out what looked to be an old shoebox, he opened it, memories flooding his mind as his gaze landed upon the old pictures and memories that you had collected over the years of your relationship.
The pictures of your trip to Colorado that he had taken with you, the bright smile in your face as you posed with your friends. You had all decided to get away for winter break, and with your passion for skiing Colorado was the perfect place to go. Remembering how scared he was to take the lift to the top of the highest hill only made you laugh and reassure him that he would be fine.
Smiling at the photos, he placed them back in the box and continued looking through the memories, until he found your scrunched up sorority shirt, another sad smile coming to his lips. That was what you wore the day he met you, spotting you in the crowd of university students as you tried to get pledges for your sorority.
Putting the shirt back, he continued to sort through the various memories you had collected like the ticket stubs of the concerts you went to together, the dried rose that he had given you on your first Valentine’s Day together, the CD with your favourite song on it that he had made for you that you listened to every day, even the cap of the first drink he bought you at the bar you always frequented.
Thinking back to your relationship together always brought a smile to his face, especially the more recent memories that you had made when you got married and started a family. The pictures of your big day tucked away neatly in the box, along with the positive pregnancy tests that you had taken, along with every other memory of you.
Closing the memories and carefully placing it inside the box, he decided not to throw them away but instead keep them so he could show your kids all of the memories about their mother and the woman that he loved.
After sorting through the rest of your belongings, he closed the box and sealed it, carrying it into the bedroom and placing it on the floor of the half filled closet that the two of you had shared. He closed the door and took a deep breath, the heaviness in his heart just a bit lighter as he finally went through all of your possessions, the feeling of closure almost upon him.
Walking downstairs into the kitchen he passed the half empty bottle of tequila that he had been working on over the past couple of days, placed beside a photo that he had taken of you. Staring at it for some time, he picked it up and took a sip, the slight burn in his throat as he thought about how much he missed and needed you while staring at your photo. That last sip was all he needed as he poured the rest into the sink, watching as the clear liquid flowed down the drain with a small smile on his face. He finally had the closure that he needed.
I remember how bad I need ya, when I taste Tequila