"Come on, you," Donna tugs at her inebriated man. Gene makes a grab for her, hands aiming for her chest and landing on her waist, and she leans in, smiles into the smell of cigarettes and brandy and the softener she'd chosen because it reminded her of home, "No more strip poker for you."
"It's not strip poker unless someone strips," he says, and Donna just laughs, pulls at the top of his shirt and kisses the collarbone beneath.
Sorry it's not quite drinking games D: the prompt ran away from me.
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ninetydegrees
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on 2009-12-10 12:14 am (UTC)"It's not strip poker unless someone strips," he says, and Donna just laughs, pulls at the top of his shirt and kisses the collarbone beneath.
Sorry it's not quite drinking games D: the prompt ran away from me.