Title: blame it on the alcohol
Description: tag: maia and ian! [o_O]
Gregory Allen - May 26, 2011 04:29 AM (GMT)
why is this happening and
Date: April 22, 2011
Time: 10:13 pm
Location: A trendy place in the tourist district
Weather: who cares again...?
Synopsis: Greg and Ian are plowed on a date, and run into a more plowed Maia. Hilarity ensues.
Greg really loved being out with Ian. He could now say that unequivocally. Right now, in this shiny, new-age bar slash restaurant slash dancehall (it was weird) with white fixtures and a thoroughly Tron feel to it, he couldn't help but smile at his good fortune. Somehow, he'd held onto his boyfriend for more than two weeks, which was a new lifetime record. (Seriously.) And said boyfriend was absolutely gorgeous. Maybe it was just his complete buzz talking, but Ian looked amazing tonight, possibly the most amazing Greg had ever seen him. This night was just confirming everything Greg's brain wanted to view negatively: this was a good idea. Dating could work. He didn't need crack when he could get this plowed. Man he was pretty drunk already. At least everyone around him was drunk. It made his drunkenness seem a little less awkward. But Greg drunk... was not your typical human being drunk.why are you laughing and -?
He was leaning against the wall near the dance floor in this bar, grinning, almost leering, at Ian. He didn't really have to do that, but being a predatory, insane drunk suited him a little too well. "So.. so this bar is awesome, am I right or what?" He slid an arm around Ian's waist, pulling the man closer to him. The smile on Greg's face was damn near irrepressible. "But I don't know if you can dance, and that is a real shame, because I'd like to dance and if you can't... well, we'll just have to figure out some other method of drunken foreplay." Meet Greg, the extremely blunt, smirking drunk. "Plus, I really love this song." This song being MGMT's 'Electric Feel', which he really did love, sober or not.
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - May 26, 2011 05:28 AM (GMT)
Ian did look pretty amazing, if he said so himself. He'd put a considerable amount of effort into his appearance for a proper date with Greg. Even Bran had noticed. Thankfully, Bran hadn't noticed the way Ian had been running around the house in nothing but a towel for an hour before he finally put clothes on, or if he had, he hadn't mentioned anything.
He did ask if Ian had another hot date, and Ian could honestly tell him yes this time. They left it at that, though he knew Bran was probably itching to ask if he'd ever get to meet this mystery date. Ian promised himself he'd explain everything to Bran. Later. When the time was right.
The outfit Ian had chosen, when he'd finally gotten around to it, was a bit more daring than his usual fare. Tight, maroon leather pants that took several hidden zippers and a lot of holding his breath to pour himself into, a form-fitting black undershirt, and a shimmery, silky brown-and-gold overshirt. He wore polished black boots and a simple gold chain to complete the look. The warm, bold colors suited him well, bringing out golden highlights in his hair and eyes. With his hair carefully styled, he looked like a damn runway model. He wished Bran could see him, assure him that he looked all right, but the best Bran could do was tell him he smelled good. Which would be odd coming from any other friend except Bran.
Apparently he'd done well enough, though, because Greg certainly gave him an appreciative look when he showed up. And now they were out, in public, on an honest-to-god date at this swanky club, and Greg couldn't keep his paws off Ian. Which Ian didn't mind in the least, because he was tipsy and a little horny and damn were those leather pants snug!
"Yeah, it's great, babe," said Ian, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the music. The endearment just slipped out of its own accord. Well, why the hell not? They were dating now, after all. "Dance? Who said I can't dance? That sounds like a challenge. Come on, let's get out there. I like this song, too."
He twisted free of Greg's half-embrace and took him by the hand instead. Walking backward onto the dance floor, leading Greg, he couldn't stop grinning. This was fun! And the best part was, they could do it again sometime, if they wanted. Because they were dating now.
Did he mention they were dating? Because even a few weeks into this, that was still a pretty novel thing for Ian.
Maia Vaughn - May 26, 2011 02:10 PM (GMT)
Maia was a little buzzed tonight. Not drunk. But halfway there.
She was on a date. Well, not currently. But a blind date. With a guy that was balding on the top of his head, like Prince William. Only not as good looking. And he kept trying to hold her hand, which made her notice the extremely hairy knuckles. His name was Cory something. Cornelius? Maybe that was it. But looking at whoever he was made her miss Greg. It made her want Greg. And because Cory/Cornelius wasn't Greg, she got a little bit tipsy and told Cory/Cornelius that the date wasn't working out.
Naturally, Cory/Cornelius was a little bit pissed off.
So, Maia sat at the bar, sipping on a martini, swinging her legs. She was wearing her favorite dress: it was a pink and purple skin tight dress. If she didn't have an ass before, she had one now. Maia had no idea that she was at the same club as Greg and Ian. Or that Greg and Ian were even together. Which is why she did that Stupid Thing. Taking a long sip of her martini, she took out her cell phone and dialed Greg. "Greg," she said, her voice slurred, "guess what. I'm drunk again. But not sad drunk; happy drunk. If you walk me home I will bake you cookies. Lots and lotsa cookies!" Maia added, a laugh escaping her lips.
Little did she know that her Designated Walker was standing a few feet away from her with his boyfriend. The boyfriend that was the Enemy. The boyfriend that was bad for him. This night was gonna be fun
Gregory Allen - May 26, 2011 04:29 PM (GMT)
why is this happening and
Greg did try to make himself look a little better for this date. His problem was that no matter what he did, he always kind of looked the same. Yes, he was gaining back weight and color and every day he looked a little bit more like a human being, but as far as dressing himself, he couldn't make himself look any fancier than he normally did. Greg was used to it at this point, though he wished he had Ian's ability to completely transform himself into a fucking runway model. Greg always looked like Greg. Not that it seemed to mind to Ian. He wasn't quite as far gone as Greg, but he was tipsy, and he didn't mind Greg's constant public fondling of him. If anyone else minded it, Greg could punch them in the face, so it was all good. In any case, Greg was just glad this was going well, and that Ian liked this place, calling him babe in the process. Greg smirked at that. My God, they were dating. That was an odd concept.why are you laughing and -?
Mock angry, Ian noted that he could totally dance, and that Greg's words sounded like a challenge. Worming out of Greg's embrace, he grabbed his hand, leading him out to the dance floor. Greg couldn't get the stupid smirk off his face. The throngs of people shielded them from the other areas of the room, and Greg couldn't help but pull Ian a bit closer than necessary to him as they danced, the music swirling around them. Greg giggled a bit. "God I love this song." He giggled again, letting his hands stray a little too -
The shattering sound of 'Maneater' pulled Greg away from Ian. Searching his pockets, his grin slid away. "Fuck - that's my - hold on -" He pulled the phone out of the pocket of his jeans, glancing at the name on - shit. He answered it anyway, even though he really shouldn't have. Hey, he was drunk. What's the worst that could happen?
"Guess what?" Greg said in response, almost diabolically chipper. "I'm drunk too! Happy drunk. Very happy drunk." He did wonder why he could hear Maia's voice echoing from somewhere outside his ear. He just had to get her off the phone so he could go back to dancing with Ian. "And I'm busy. Like, really busy. Mmm-kay?" He hung up the phone, turning back to Ian. "...Sorry. A friend said she's kinda, like, sloshed? Or didn't have to say it, but you know, but she'll find a way home, I'm sure." He wrapped an arm around Ian's waist again. "So. Dancing."
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - May 27, 2011 10:49 AM (GMT)
Ian could care less what Greg looked like, really. Mostly, he was pleased that Greg looked healthier these days. Other than that, he liked Greg just the way he was. There was a certain disreputable charm to him that Ian wouldn't change for the world.
They'd only just begun to dance, and Ian was proving that he was more than capable of busting a move even in the confines of leather trousers, when Greg's phone went off. Ian pulled a face but patiently waited for Greg to take the call. Oddly enough, just as Greg answered the phone, Ian heard a jarringly familiar female voice not ten feet away calling out Greg's name.
No. It couldn't be...
Ian turned slowly, and sure enough, there was Officer Vaughn. Or whatever her damn title was. He didn't give a rat's ass. The bitch was in some kind of horridly vivid dress that made her ass look enormous. Which Ian might have normally found attractive on a woman, but this was the ho-bag that had threatened Brandon.
When Greg got off the phone, giving his slightly distracted explanation, Ian was still staring at Maia.
"That her, over there?" he said, raising his chin slightly to indicate where he was looking. His voice was deceptively calm for a pacifist that was ready to choke a bitch.
Maia Vaughn - May 27, 2011 04:29 PM (GMT)
"Oh, well, that's okay." Then he was cutting her off and saying he was busy. "Wait - Greg, don't hang up!" The line went dead. She looked at her phone, a bit confused. He didn't want to talk to her? But weren't they friends? She let out a breath and pushed the martini she was drinking away. Now she felt bad about sending Cory/Cornelius away. Looking a bit dejected, Maia swiveled around in her seat, only to find Ian Sinclair and Greg staring at her. Together. As a unit. Touching each other. She swiveled back around, gripping her cell phone tightly.
Before they'd gone from officer and criminal to friends, she wouldn't have been so sensitive. But Greg was a friend. She thought he was a friend. She thought that there was some good inside of him. Somewhere deep inside, but she thought it was there. Boy was she wrong. Her natural instinct was to just leave and run far, far away, but this alcohol gave her the false confidence she wanted. Maia finished off the rest of her martini with a long swig. She stood up, adjusted her dress some, pushed some hair out of her face and decided to pay Ian and Greg a visit.
She approached them, her hands on her hips. "You guys look cozy," she commented. "Having fun?"
Gregory Allen - May 27, 2011 10:11 PM (GMT)
why is this happening and
To be totally honest, Greg didn't really think about the strange echoing going on with Maia's voice. He was too drunk, with his absolutely divine-looking boyfriend, and getting ready to dance. There were other things on his mind besides why Maia sounded like she was in a wind tunnel. Greg's first priority was getting her off the phone. As long as he didn't mention her name - which he didn't - Ian had no reason to suspect anything. Or so he thought. He turned back to Ian, trying to be flirtatious, but his eyes were fixated on something else. Greg's arm snaked around Ian's waist, he glanced up to see his absolute worst nightmare: Maia Vaughn staring at the pair of them. Ian testily asked if that was her, his tone deceptively calm. It was the kind of calm that the mass murderers on CSI used when they were being interrogated. Ian wanted to kill her. Just perfect. why are you laughing and -?
"Yes," Greg mumbled, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was going to suck. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. She noticed them in her swiveling chair at the bar, swiveling so that her back was turned to them. Greg's mind went into overdrive. So what did he do? Pretend he had no idea that his parole officer and his boyfriend were talking about each other to him? He knew he could be dumb sometimes, but Ian definitely wouldn't buy that. Maia might, depending on the severity of her drunkenness. Then Greg remembered that he told Ian he'd been out picking up his drunk parole officer, and his face went completely white. Shit. This was a very bad situation, and he wasn't even sober enough to think of a solution that didn't involve a three-way. Which was not a solution, Greg, how old are you, twelve?
Maia came up to them, looking pretty decent in a form-fitting pink and purple dress. It was a color explosion; maybe in a muted form, it would look nice - Jesus Greg focus. Hand on her hip, she commented that they looked cozy, and asked if they were having fun. She was clearly as drunk as Ian, at least.
"Indeed." He bit his lip, glancing around awkwardly. "Well, then... shit..." Greg ran his fingers through his hair. And Electric Feel was ending, too. Damn it. He just wanted to dance. Being drunk did wonders to his already impaired judgment. "Yeah, you two have met each other, no point in introducing you..." And now he was thinking out loud. Brilliance.
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - May 28, 2011 05:05 AM (GMT)
Oh god, she's coming over here, why is she coming over here, this is not going to go well, Ian thought, going tense all over as Greg's parole officer sauntered up to them. The look she was giving Ian could have been a mirror to the one he was giving her.
"Yes, we are," replied Ian. He illustrated by sidling even closer to Greg, one arm wrapping possessively around the other man's narrow waist. "And we were. What a surprise, running into you in a place like this, Officer Vaughn."
He gave her a shark's smile: cold eyes, too many teeth showing for friendliness' sake. If looks could kill, his would be burning laser holes right through Maia's skull.
Greg had gone a shade paler at the sight of Maia, and Ian deduced that the best course of action would be to get away from the parole officer as soon as possible, if not sooner. Ditch her, go somewhere else. Awkward moment to laugh over later. But Ian was already bristling like a treed cat. If she didn't leave on her own, Ian couldn't make any promises about what he did next.
Maia Vaughn - May 28, 2011 07:31 PM (GMT)
"I was talking to Ian, Greg. Not to you."
That's all she had right now. Because there were many ways that she could respond. She could be a total girl and have a hissy fit. Or she could do something stupid. Or she could punch them both in the face. But she couldn't do those things. She couldn't throw a hissy fit, because then Greg, being the worst person ever, would probably find it hilarious with Ian. She couldn't do something stupid because, well, she was a lady. She couldn't punch them in the face, because Ian would probably file another complaint. Little bitch. She didn't know what to do. Mainly because, this wasn't that simple. It wasn't just seeing Greg with Ian, she knew that. It was because she let herself care about him, so it would never be that simple.
What she wanted to do was give them a few fuck you's and be on her way. But then that meant that Ian would win. And Ian was not going to win. This wouldn't happen. So she would just talk to Ian, because he wouldn't make her feel bad about anything. But then Ian had to be a little bitch, which made her want to punch him in the face. “I could say the same about you two,” Maia replied with a smile. There was so much that she wanted to say, but she couldn’t say it. All she wanted to do was tell Greg that he was a liar, a douchebag, that he hurt her feelings. But she couldn’t and she wouldn’t.
Gregory Allen - May 29, 2011 12:31 AM (GMT)
why is this happening and
Greg was usually pretty oblivious when he was drunk - everything in his mind focused on what he wanted and whatever was immediately available to aid in that - but he could sense the insane amount of tension rising in the air. Greg sputtered out some random word vomit, but Ian covered for him, clearly waiting to get some sort of ill-formed revenge on her. Why he did it by wrapping his lanky arm around Greg's waist, making him uncomfortably aroused, Greg wasn't sure. He was plowed, completely plowed. Ian noted that it was a bit of a surprise, seeing Maia in a place like this. Greg almost said that it really wasn't, given that his complaint rendered her a situational drunk, but the more he kept his mouth shut, the better, he figured. It'd get him out of here sooner, away from Maia. They could figure out how to piece things back together later. His mind was already darkening, wondering how the hell he'd get out of this alive. Those silly little half-truths piled up quickly. why are you laughing and -?
Maia made the pointed observation that she wasn't talking to him, but Ian. Greg bristled a bit, but the warmth emanating from Ian's hand defused this. Honestly. Ian was his boyfriend. Maia was nothing more than his parole officer. Why was he even worried about what would happen here? He was obviously on Ian's side. Except... he wasn't. Oh, this was too much to worry about when drunk. Maia noted that she didn't expect to see these two here together, either, which Greg had to say something about, being plastered and a bit irritated. "Seriously, Maia, you've read my file, I'm pretty sure you know there's about a 50 percent chance that I'll be at any bar you go to." He paused, thinking. "Actually, the way things are working out, I'm likely to be at every fucking bar you're in." He was more irritated than he thought, evidently.
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - May 29, 2011 12:39 PM (GMT)
Ian was about to make some acidic retort, when Greg spoke up first. Ian lost his train of thought entirely, stunned speechless at the undisguised irritation in his boyfriend's voice. Oh? That was interesting.
Raising an eyebrow pointedly at Maia, Ian drawled, "He's right. It's far more surprising to find you, an officer of the law, in a bar than 'unsavory sorts' such as we. Or at least, it's surprising to me. You stalk Greg in bars often, or is that a recent thing?"
Maia wanted to play the bitch game? Ian would play. He was buzzed and his blood was running hot tonight, so whether this evening ended in a fuck or a fight, he was up for it.
He remembered one of his mirrors in the house in his dreams, remembered the time he'd forged a prize fighter for a blackmail job. He'd actually had to learn to fight properly for that one, and while he didn't have the strength to back it up, he knew how to move. His pacifist nature had slowly eroded over the past few weeks, always in small ways, but enough that now if Maia pushed him too far, he was ready to push back. As hard as necessary.
Maia Vaughn - May 29, 2011 05:10 PM (GMT)
This was embarrassing. Like really, really embarrassing. Why was she even angry in the first place? She was a little bristled because Greg was here with Ian, but that wasn’t the whole reason, really. It was that they were supposed to be friends. He could’ve warned her about this or something. What she wanted to do was run away. Run far, far away. She didn’t even put herself in these situations. What was her life coming to?
Ian and Greg were like a united front. A united front against her. Just dishing out little insults that hurt more than they should have because she was a little tipsy. People used to be scared of her. Scared. She used to be the head bitch in charge. But this wasn’t in charge. This was out of control. She didn’t have the upper hand, which made her uncomfortable. It was fight or flight, and she was choosing flight. She wasn’t going to try to fight Ian because that was… Just… Weird? She doubted he could actually fight her, because honestly, she only expected him to pull her hair.
But the point of it all was that she didn’t do this. Getting involved. And look what happened because she did. She was in a catfight with a guy. A guy. “I didn’t ask you to come that night,” she growled, narrowing her eyes. This was just great. This was hilarious. What was with people thinking that cops couldn’t go out and get a drink? Jesus Christ.
She couldn’t do her job like this. Not being friends with Greg. Or having whatever kind of feelings for him. Because it was causing situations like this. “You told him?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. See? This had to end. He was making her voice sound all squeaky. So, she turned on her heel and walked away. She wasn’t going to have an argument with Greg in front of Ian.
Gregory Allen - May 30, 2011 09:07 PM (GMT)
why is this happening and
Greg wasn't thinking straight as all this unfolded. He wouldn't be thinking straight if he was sober, but being drunk made everything forty times worse. He wanted to be with Ian right now, that was why he was out here on the dance floor, arms snaked around each others' limbs. Were he sober, he wouldn't have let his irritation get the better of him, but Greg was, first and foremost, completely selfish. Ian and he were an item. Maia should respect that, despite the fact that she had no idea what was going on. Also, he'd told Maia point-blank that he wasn't the relationship type. Until he suddenly was. Greg spat out his words, yes, but the alcohol couldn't mask the sudden onset of explosive guilt. Oh, what was he doing? Maia was a friend. She didn't need to be yelled at. Yes, he didn't want to lose Ian, but if he lost Maia, he'd get sent back to prison for sure. He slid back into awkward silence as Ian took over for him, clearly relishing the opportunity to kick her while she was down. He squirmed, shoving his hands in his pockets, feeling his face flush from the shame. Getting drunk while dealing with withdrawals wasn't very smart.why are you laughing and -?
He could tell Maia was ready to crack, but Ian asked if Maia stalking Greg in bars was just a recent thing, and the realization made her eyes sparkle in the worst way possible. Maybe it was tears... Greg wanted to run away, but he couldn't. He'd picked a side. With her voice wavering in an octave it didn't rest in normally, Maia whimpered that Greg told him. Yes. Yes he did, he thought as she began to stride away in her high heels. Greg grabbed her arm before she could get too far away from him, though. Drunk reflexes for the win. He stared at her for a few seconds, trying to assemble something intelligent to -
"Ian didn't know it was you until just now," Greg blathered out, "because I never mentioned your name because I knew he'd get mad about it since he hates you."
Greg thought about what he said for a few seconds, glancing at Maia before glancing back at Ian. Well... oops. "But... uh... I don't hate you?" Greg needed to stop digging himself deeper.
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - May 31, 2011 03:17 AM (GMT)
Things were getting just a little too honest here for Ian's liking. The last thing he wanted was to see this woman cry. While a small, vindictive part of him would find it satisfying, his overwhelming instinct would be to try and comfort her, and that was just so wrong for this situation he couldn't accurately describe it in words. He didn't want to feel any sympathy for a person who would stoop to threatening someone he cared about just to weasel a confession out of him.
When Maia almost tearfully accused Greg of "telling" Ian, Ian blinked. Told him what? It appeared he'd hit the nail on the head, then. It wasn't that Greg had told him anything, per se, but it was a lucky guess based on inference. Greg had just remarked, not a moment ago, that they seemed awfully likely to run into each other in bars.
"So, you are stalking him?" he blurted incredulously. "Wow. Awesome. This night keeps getting better and better. Greg, let's just go. I don't care for the atmosphere in here anymore."
He took Greg by the free hand, but Greg was still holding onto Maia. Ian had a fleeting mental image of some bizarre tug-of-war with Greg as the rope. Yeesh. That couldn't end well.
Maia Vaughn - May 31, 2011 03:54 AM (GMT)
She was so close. Almost there. So close. But then Greg grabbed her arm. She swung around to face him, furious. "Let go," she said, glaring at him. She just wanted to go. Leave. But he wasn't letting her. Why wasn't he letting her. She'd been embarrassed enough, entering territory that was apparently off limits. She hadn't known that he and Ian were serious. All she knew was that Greg was fucking him. Besides, he wasn't the relationship type, right? Obviously, he was. For Ian. Ian. It was just freaking weird. She couldn't handle it.
"This has nothing to do with you," Maia growled, her gaze turning to Ian. He really was pissing her off. "This is between me and Greg. Not you." She turned back to Greg, pulling her arm out of his grasp. She let out a sigh. Maia knew that he meant well, but it was hard to see that right now. Greg not hating her wasn't what she was worried about, right now.
Maia was not about to cry. She was just incredibly proud. And Ian making that stalking comment bumped her down a few levels. She didn't know what to say. She felt for Greg, she did, but Ian stood in the way of that. "Doesn't matter," she said, finally. Shrugging, she walked away from Ian and Greg. It was best. Just to pull herself out of the whole equation.
Gregory Allen - June 1, 2011 03:27 AM (GMT)
why is this happening and
This was all his fault. Completely and utterly his fault. He shouldn't have lied to either of them. Maia told him herself, it would end up hurting people. Ian seemed fine, though - just fixated on getting Maia out of his line of sight. Maia was another story. Greg knew her a little better than Ian did, and that voice crack nearly killed him, despite being completely sloshed. He didn't want to lose either of them, at least not like this. This was a good night fifteen minutes ago! Now he was trapped in a karmic tug of war. Lose Maia and go to jail. Lose Ian and lose pretty much any reason you have for living. Why did this shit happen to him? In that moment, Greg made a decision, but didn't say anything about it, trying instead to rectify what happened with Maia. Ian wasn't letting it happen, though, immediately assuming Maia was stalking Greg. Which wasn't true, but hit close enough to home for Maia to screech back at Ian that this was none of his business. Great. He was also trapped in a karmic cat fight between his buxom parole officer... and his skinny beanpole boyfriend. That couldn't end well.why are you laughing and -?
"Any of you throws a punch and I kill you," Greg said as soon as Ian grabbed on to his hand. He ignored the flood of depraved imagery sinking into his brain. ...And, with a sigh, he realized this evening was just not working out. Greg was so drunk he couldn't think straight. Now he was being yanked on by both sides. And vaguely wanted to be yanked - oh what the fuck was wrong with him?!
Maia pulled her arm away from Greg, sighing, not commenting on his massively inappropriate cover. For once. She, with a fortitude that Greg didn't expect from her, said that it didn't matter, with a shrug that said quite a bit. And it dawned on him. Greg squeaked in realization, his eyes wide, wanting to reach out and grab her again but knowing that was a bad idea. Unless he really wanted to get arrested, for real this time. He didn't dare turn towards Ian. He'd be able to read that crushed, guilty, frightened, appalled, aroused, confused, all-around awkward face in an instant. Trying to get his voice not to squeak again, he took a sharp breath. "...it does, doesn't it?"
Why could he only be perceptive when the realization would completely ruin his life? He quit for her, and - oh God the refusing the sex, how did he not see it there? And the hugging and the fact that she kept letting him off the hook, Jesus Christ. His face drained of the remaining color in it.
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - June 1, 2011 03:41 PM (GMT)
The way Maia snarled that this had nothing to do with him, that it was all between Greg and herself, made Ian see red. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was just because it was Maia. Whatever the reason, even as Greg warned them not to start throwing punches, Ian was swiftly building up a full head of steam.
Oh. Oh she did not even go there!
Now, most of the time, Dorian Oliver Sinclair did not have much of a temper. He was a gentle soul, a pacifist, a lover-not-a-fighter sort of guy. Brandon could attest that he was about as threatening as a wet kitten, and just as effective at anything relating to violence. "Borrowed" boxing moves aside (and those didn't do him much good without any kind of strength or at least dream-reality to back them up), he was useless in a fight. But even a kitten had claws.
"Actually," Ian corrected Maia with icy calm, "this has plenty to do with me." That facade didn't last long, however, as he continued: "Since Greg is my boyfriend! What, what do you want? A fucking ménage à trois? Is that what this is about?"
Ian was definitely drunk, and riled, and far past the point where he was making good choices. So when he hauled Greg down for a very messy kiss, right in front of Maia, and then threw his arms wide and hollered, "Come and get it, bitch!" it wasn't Rational!Ian behind the wheel. Not that it was much of an excuse.
Maia Vaughn - June 1, 2011 04:23 PM (GMT)
Her brain was fucking pudding right now.
She couldn't think straight. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that Greg was looking at her with those eyes - the eyes that could change her mind in a second. Maybe it was because Ian kept provoking her. Kept provoking the angry side that no one had ever seen. She wasn't usually a violent person, but when provoked, she was like a lioness. She got like that on especially emotional cases. Like with meth labs that involved children, or drug dealers that hit their women, or involved teenagers.
That made her angry. Made her blood boil. Made her want to punch someone in the fucking face. But she never could. Sure, she could push around a perp or two, because they were criminals. They were bad people. But she'd never punched someone or beat the shit out them. But now, she'd reached a point that she'd never been to before.
Ian was saying things that didn't make sense to her. She wasn't hearing or listening; all she saw was red. Greg was telling them not to throw punches, but as of right now, she didn't give a damn. She gave no fucks. Ian was provoking her, calling her a bitch, kissing Greg. She didn't give a damn what he did with Greg. She didn't care about anything right now. Maia clenched her fists, taking deep, slow breaths.
"You bitch," Maia growled, ignoring Greg. "I don't want you and I sure as hell don't want Greg." And then a barrier broke down, and she was grabbing Ian's collar and roughly shoving Ian against the nearest wall. "I could beat the shit out of you, because believe me, you deserve it." She pressed her arm against his windpipe, growling. "But I won't. I won't beat the shit out of you, because of Greg. Greg is the reason why you're not picking your ass up off the floor right now."
And because she didn't want to lose her job, or Greg, or her general awesomeness.
Gregory Allen - June 1, 2011 04:41 PM (GMT)
why is this happening and
And everything went to hell in a handbasket, as Greg's aunt would say. There wasn't any other way to describe whatever was going on. Greg was still paralyzed with realization, a realization no one else in his immediate bubble seemed to understand - Maia Vaughn was in love with him. Him. The person who single-handedly ruined her day almost every time he popped into her life. How did that -? Better yet, why? She'd lose everything in a heartbeat if she ever admitted that to anyone. Greg wished he was sober, or somewhere where Ian wasn't trying to pick a fight with his parole officer. Ian was, understandably, pissed, plus a bit drunk. Ian also didn't know about Maia's very short fuse, and might find himself dead in a ditch if he didn't stop. But Greg couldn't bring himself to say anything. He just stood there, blank and confused and wanting to get the hell out of all this. why are you laughing and -?
Ian mentioned that this did have a lot to do with him, seeing as Greg was his boyfriend - and something in Greg's mind snapped. Yes. He was supposed to be siding with Ian. Who cared if Maia loved him? She never said a word. She didn't get there in time. If all this was about her own lovesick nature, she needed to grow up. ...But he couldn't -
And Ian grabbed him and kissed him, sloppily, fully rousing him from his shocked reverie. As soon as Ian pulled away from him, Greg moved to pull him away, knowing full well that Maia just wasn't in a good mood. Plus, that was kind of hot. In a strange, forceful, tables-are-turned sort of way. He was a bit too late, though, as Maia, the wrath of God in her eyes, smashed Ian against the wall, saying that the only reason Ian wasn't bleeding on the ground was because of Greg. Greg snapped. Again. This was going to end now.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Maia, get off him!" Greg gently pushed Maia away, because he didn't like being rough with girls. That was against his limited moral code. He glared at her. "We're all kind of plowed right now, and not making good decisions" (he glared pointedly at Ian for a few seconds) "so let's stop acting like third graders, okay?!" He turned back to Maia. "You are being a bitch though." He knew he had to get her to leave, and, being drunk as he was, knew this was really the only way to get that to happen. "It's bad form to interrupt someone else's date and I told you I was busy. I'm sorry you lack other friends or imaginary lovers or whatever the fuck you think we are, but seriously."
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - June 2, 2011 03:37 AM (GMT)
Ian hit the wall with a grunt of pain and surprise. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. He'd totally brought this on himself. And yet, he hadn't thought she'd actually touch him. Didn't it look bad if a cop, even/especially an off-duty cop, assaulted someone?
With a boozy wheeze of laughter, Ian tried to say something to the effect of, "Just try it, you fucking cow," but with her arm effectively crushing his windpipe, it came out more as a gurgling hiss. Maybe she heard the words, maybe not. Ian didn't care so much at the moment. He honestly wasn't even scared at this point, even though the tiny scrap of rational-brain he had left pointed out that maybe he should be.
Then Greg was pulling her off him, and he could breathe again. He slid down the wall, legs suddenly unwilling to support his weight, and gasped for air. Ow. Damn. He looked up to give Greg a grateful look, but cringed under the glare his boyfriend gave him. Okay. Yes. He deserved that. Bad, bad Ian.
And then Greg turned right around on Maia and read her the riot act. Oooh, snap! Ian couldn't help but smirk a little at that. That's right, Greg. Tell her what's what.
Maia Vaughn - June 2, 2011 04:33 AM (GMT)
She just wanted him to shut up. The anger was rising within her and she had to act on it. And that meant shoving Ian Sinclair up against a wall and shoving her arm onto his windpipe. Was it the right thing to do? Maybe. Did it make her feel better? Hell yes.
Maia was in no way in love with Greg. She'd never been in love with anyone. There were feelings there - probably deeper than she expected, but she didn't love Greg. She could still take him out of her life and get over it eventually.
She released Ian, taking a few deep breaths. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to calm herself down. She'd gone overboard. Then Greg was talking again, trying to diffuse the whole situation. She place her hands on her hips, glaring at the two of them. As of right now, she didn't give a fuck what either of them thought of her. As of right now, both of them could get ran over by a bus. Hell, she'd push them in front of the damn bus.
Maia wasn't going to beg for his forgiveness or try to reason with him. Because when she shoved Ian, she'd already made up her mind. She couldn't do her job like this. Not with this "friendship" she had with Greg. It wasn't real - it couldn't be. She was the only thing keeping him out of jail. He'd gotten the best of her. He won. Silly, silly Maia. She nodded slowly, biting her lower lip. There wasn't really anything else to say.
So she walked away. From the situation. From Greg. She was done.
Gregory Allen - June 2, 2011 04:22 PM (GMT)
why is this happening and
Greg, miraculously, did manage to get the two of them to separate. He was afraid that, since he wasn't exactly physically imposing, the two of them would just laugh off his suggestion and continue on their dangerous path. Maia let go of Ian; Ian sank to the floor, being a bit of a drama queen in Greg's opinion. It wasn't like anyone would come out of this mentally unscathed by him, anyway. His boyfriend was a combative, possessive mess, just like Greg. Maia was in love with him, and now that she'd been clearly rebuffed, would do God knows what about it. And this was all Greg's fault, and he knew it. He didn't need his neurotic mind to tell him that much. Maia, after listening to Greg's accumulated irritation at this whole situation, simply nodded before striding off. Greg did nothing to stop her, though he did watch her walk away, wondering what he'd just let wander out of his life. He did love her, if not romantically, then in that friendly way. Maia was somebody who meant a lot to him. Even if she didn't believe it. Even if he was dating a guy who loathed her. He wasn't the same as Ian. why are you laughing and -?
Speaking of him, Greg turned to Ian, offering a hand. "I'm assuming I made the right choice here. But I'm probably going to find myself in jail shortly after tonight, since she was the only thing keeping me from prison." Greg pulled him up anyway, conflicted beyond all reason. He shouldn't have to pick between his two closest friends, should he? And it wasn't his fault Maia loved him, right? But he had made a decision about tonight a few minutes ago, and he was going to act on it.
He stared at Ian, trying to figure out the best way to word what he was trying to say. He didn't know if Maia was still watching him, but at this point, he wasn't sure if he cared. Everything was darkness. Finally, he sighed.
"...I'm really sorry about all this." That wasn't what he meant to say? Oh well. "Really. I didn't think it would ever be an issue. And much as she wants to believe the opposite is true, I never said anything specific about you to her." He frowned, brown eyes trailing off towards the DJ. He was spinning something slow, something that sounded like Fleetwood Mac. How appropriate. "...I want to stay with you tonight."
lyrics: mine | christina perri
Ian Sinclair - June 2, 2011 04:53 PM (GMT)
Ian made his wobbly way to his feet with Greg's help (the alcohol and the stress of the situation were seriously conspiring against his coordination), still rubbing absently at his throat. When Maia just walked away, as they probably all should have done in the first place, he felt a desperate rush of relief. But also a lingering anxiety. Fuck. What had he just done?
As he mentally reviewed the last few minutes, a few details slid into place that had previously escaped him. Ian went pale.
"I kind of saw my parole officer drunk off her ass the other night..."
"Fuck - that's my - hold on -"
"Seriously, Maia, you've read my file, I'm pretty sure you know there's about a 50 percent chance that I'll be at any bar you go to."
Oh. Oh, shit. Maia Vaughn wasn't just a police officer who happened to be Greg's friend. She was his fucking parole officer. And Ian had officially thrown a jealous shitfit and nearly started a brawl with her.
"Oh, god, Greg, I didn't realize... it just didn't register..." Ian stammered hoarsely (his throat was still a little sore), wide-eyed and looking a bit green around the edges. "Fuck. How badly did I just screw things up for you? Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry. I am so sorry."
Now he was rapidly sobering, not even a little horny, and mortified to boot. How much had his selfish behavior cost Greg? A spot on his record? Prison time?
Ian almost missed what Greg said after that, but it slowly filtered its way through the panic in his brain. "...What? Oh, right. Of course. Yeah, babe, no problem."
Suddenly, he screwed up his face and squeaked out, "Gonna be sick," then made a mad dash for the men's room. Classy.