Mike (ghost_writer) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-05-23 15:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, tardis, tenth doctor |
Who: Tenth Doctor + Tara
What: Birthday drinks + kissings!
When: 5/19
Where: Diner and then a bar
Rating/Warnings: Low.
Status: Complete
He was going to be thirty-three in less than a week. Honestly, it wasn't the most notable of ages -- but at least he could say it was still early thirties. It wasn't the end of an era. It wasn't the start of a new one. It just was.
But that didn't really mean that John didn't want to celebrate. He was always looking for a good reason to celebrate, after all.
He was wearing that suit he and Tara both liked best -- brown and stripy, and very Doctor, with a blue undershirt, complimentary tie and trainers. He was sure he looked good. He imagined, as he waited on the doorstep of his own flat, that Tara probably would look just as good. Well. Better.
Really, he was excited for a night of fun.
Thirty-three! What a small number, compared to the Doctor’s nine-hundred-or-so years. But John was wearing his own years well enough, and it didn’t matter to Tara if he was nine hundred or thirty-three. His best friend would celebrate to the fullest either way.
The brunette had stopped on the way and picked up a bottle of John’s favourite scotch. Because men drink scotch and stuff. She walked up to his entrance after parking and wiggled her gift bag at him with a grin. “Happy birthday!” she said, walking up and planting a smacking kiss on his lips.
The kiss was loud, nearly obnoxiously so, and the Doctor could only approve greatly. He gave one of his bright grins -- the kind that made all those little crows feet appear and wrinkle up by his eyes. That’s how you knew it was a real, good smile.
“Thanks!” He said, even though it wasn’t technically his birthday yet, but whatever horseshoes and handgrenades. He supposed he wasn’t technically thirty three either. But who was really keeping track? He stole another kiss (he did that sometimes), and then took the proffered gift bag. “What is it?” Like he couldn’t peek inside.
“Just something small! Nothing special!” she assured him, slipping her hand into his. It was easy and nothing out of the ordinary at all -- her fingers poked through his and she gave it a squeeze. “Open it,” she ordered -- gently, of course -- as she swung their hands between them. “What’s the plan for tonight, then? Am I taking you to dinner? Drinks? Adventure to the moon?” If only she could.
If only. Some day, maybe. John somehow managed to open his gift one handed (quite a feat), and giggled a little over the scotch. So manly and stuff. He kissed her forehead in thanks, because that’s totally what friends do. “Dinner. Drinks?” A pause. “Not sure how much we’d like zero-gravity after drinking, I’m afraid we might just have to skip the moon this time around.”
That is most definitely what friends do. “Both! Everything,” she told him. She would do any and everything with her best friend, no hesitation. And they could -- well, one day they could do anything and everything anywhere in the universe. ONE DAY, MAN. For now, though, dinner and drinks were on the agenda. Not a bad deal at all. “Let’s go!”
Not only anywhere, but anytime. Truly, it would be a thing of wonder. They would be the envy of … well, pretty much everyone, because no one can top that kind of awesome.
Dinner was good. Nothing fancy, really. They’d found an old school diner, and John had enjoyed spinning around on top the red vinyl stool at the counter, and doing Elvis impersonations to make Tara laugh while eating a cheeseburger and chips. Milkshakes? Definitely.
The bar? Well, it wasn’t usual for them -- because they actually rarely went out to bars. This one was a kind of club. John liked the lights and flashes of neon bits and loud music. He was pretending he was neither thirty three or nine hundred and odd change.
The two had spent far too much change on the jukebox at the diner, but it was well worth the classic music. They had both seen the era of Elvis firsthand -- well, sort of -- and it brought back some memories. Both good and bad. Laughing at John’s impersonations was well worth bringing back the bad ones.
Tara ambled up to John, bobbing near a cruiser table, with an armful of drinks. Really, she should have taken a tray from one of the servers. If she’d been the type to think ahead, she might have. But she quickly deposited said armful, then grinned up at her boy best friend. It was great to just spend time with him -- no need for big parties or shows. They had plenty of fun on their own.
The brunette offered John a shot -- something tasty but that would most likely burn. She was giggling as she spill-handed it over, simple proof that she was well beyond tipsy. “Cheeeers to your nine hundred and thirty-third birthday!” she exclaimed, slurring her words just a little.
He wasn’t much better off, since by the time he actually got the shot to his mouth, it was half over his hand and the table anyway. It burned sweetly on the way down, though, and he giggled happily about it, licking his lips, and then his hand in turn. “And to many more, yeah? With my very best mate -- obviously that’s you. You know that, Tara. Right? Best mate. I love you.” Okay, so he’d had a bit more than a few. They were definitely going to stumble home instead of driving.
Tara had left her car at the diner. She hadn’t expected to drive home that night. Taking the shot, she made that “oh my god that was the worst thing ever” face. It lasted only a few moment before she giggled and smiled, shaking her head a bit. Shots were the worst, but they seemed to be a regular occurrence at birthday parties.
“We’re the best of mates,” she agreed, sounding a bit more British as she slurred. “You know I love you too,” she mumbled, setting down the shot glass as she burrowed under his arm, nuzzling her nose into his shoulder for a bit of a side-hug. “More than anything, Doctor.” And wasn’t that the truth.
Tara made the funniest faces. Sometimes John just wanted to go to some sort of strange taste testing... thing. Just to see all the different faces she could make in a row. His best friend acted as if every single thing was just Flavours, and she had to react to each and every one.
“I do know,” he said, because he did, and what reason was there to lie about or downplay that fact? It was clear he felt the same. They’d gotten on immediately, but so much more now that they both dreamt of strange and faraway places. And because he was totally affectionate, and drunk, and just happy, he leaned in and kissed her in a way that was so clearly not just meant for best friends.
Tara was responding in a way that belied their self-proclaimed best friend and nothing more relationship. Turning her head to meet his kiss head-on, she giggled against his lips and settled a hand against his jaw and cheek, the other snaked around and pressing against his back. It was all giggles and tongues and grins as she responded -- clear verbage that she was not complaining at all about this particular turn of events.
Verbage. Heehee.
He was used to the giggles, and in this particular instance was not against giving a few of his own in return. Despite the booth being in the way, he’d managed to twist and turn until he was properly facing her anyway - it was both more optimal for things like super fun kissing and also settling his hands onto the curve of her waist, which was the place where you were meant to hold onto when you were kissing people, obviously.
Tara had wiggled and rearranged her spot on the booth, and now she was basically half-sitting in John’s lap. After a long few minutes of sucking face, the brunette pulled back to catch her breath. She was breathing a bit hard as she settled her forehead against John’s, touching noses just the slightest bit. That was really very nice, she was thinking. Kissing is fun. Perhaps biting could be just as fun, but with a winner? She’d have to test the theory.
Stealing a small kiss, she put her forehead back against John’s and giggled. “Why haven’t we done that more often?” she verbalised her very drunk thought, letting herself breathe.
He giggled too, and smiled that wide sort of smile that brought out the crow’s feet in spades. Luckily, it was a good look for him -- all excited and teeth and scrunched eyes. He licked his lips a little -- they both tasted of liquor -- sweet shots and mixed drinks. Fruity. “I don’t know,” he admitted and his smile was in his voice. “But we should.”
Tara grinned at that, settling both hands on either side of John’s face as she drew back to look at him for a long moment. “Happy birthday,” she said, planting a small, chaste kiss on his lips before pulling back. Because it was time to go be silly and dance and stuff, or something. She moved so that she was standing and put out a hand for her best friend. “Now, are you coming with me?”
He took her hand just as quickly as she offered it -- pulling himself out of the booth easily and with a light - although slightly wobbly step. “Of course. I’m always coming with you.” Out of context, that could have been taken oddly. But even now, they both knew what he meant.
She knew what he meant. Stepping onto the dancefloor, the brunette turned around and hooked her arms around John’s neck. She was grinning wide as she looked at him. “Good. Because I’ll always take you where you need to be,” she assured her best friend, and then closed the distance for what they had agreed they totally should have been doing more of.