: the devil wanders

[dean rothchild]

Without Dean pushing as much, the mood between them softens. Irritation was still strong on Stassi’s features but her claws were slowly retracting, and no longer digging into his thighs. She must have liked the idea of the infamous pasta because she’s run off again. Dean sips the whiskey sour and brings his attention back to the ‘mousy’ redhead that was claimed to be Pat’s girlfriend. Dean watches her interactions with the owner and the staff, waiting for anything to fall out of line that gives any further ammunition. Stassi is back at the table with a delicious smelling pasta in hand. The smell alone almost makes Dean not crave a drink, but his one in front of him disappeared quickly when she left his side. “My turn to get the drinks, and don’t start on that without me,” he murmurs before giving her a serious look. He interacts with the bartender, trying to be friendly but feels every member of this staff look at him as though they see this all before, watching him with such caution. Ordering the same whiskey sours and two shots of fireball, Dean carefully walks back with their drinks. “A little treat for you.” The fireball shots were directly in front of them. “A toast,” he starts out, seeing a smirk fall upon her lips. “To a good night ahead and some fucking pasta,” he winks as he slips his arm over shoulder and gently presses his shot glass to hers. “And to maybe loosen that tongue a bit.”

[stassi siminski]

The food smells amazing and it makes Stassi realize she hasn't eaten today. Now that she thinks about it, she's not sure she ate yesterday either, having spent most of the day in bed, knocked out with sleeping pills. Having it sit in front of her, uneaten, whilst Dean goes to the bar is too much to bear, so she sneaks a mouthful while his back is turned, the velvety, rich sauce coating her tongue deliciously. She smiles at him when he gets back, clinking her shot glass with his, "cheers." It burns on the way down, a warmth spreading through her chest. "Now, here," she says, enjoying the weight of his arm around her, slinking closer and picking up his fork. She impales a few pieces, holding it up to his mouth. "Ready to say I told you so?"

[dean rothchild]

It’s when they clink their glasses and the liquor slides down his throat that he notices a bit of pasta sauce on the edge of her mouth. He smirks at the little devil beside him, who couldn’t wait for him. “Cheers,” he moves the glasses out of their way and the whiskey sours now directly in front of the pair. Dean’s thumb finds its way to the corner where her lipstick met her mouth and wipes away the evidence of a secret bite. His thumb lingers on her lips momentarily before his hand took its former place on the glass of alcohol. “You had a little something there,” he shrugs his shoulders with a wicked grin pinned on his own lips. Dean watches in fascination as she carefully twirls the pasta delicately around the utensil. “Should I blow on it?” He lifts his eyebrow to her, with the fork centimeters from his mouth. He slowly blows, aware his breath must touch her cheek and opens for her to feed him. The bite was just as he imagined, delicious. To further make a scene, he groans in satisfaction. “Another one,” he mumbles as he finishes the bit. “You feeding me is oddly turning me on, just a heads up.”

[stassi siminski]

Sat in the safety of her favorite booth, Stassi makes a conscious effort to shut out the rest of the bar. She watches as he does his shot, his Adams apple bobbing, making her swallow thickly. His chiseled bone structure is even more dramatic in the half light, sharp cheekbones casting dark shadows across his face. She giggles as his thumb brushes away evidence, his thumb tantalisingly close, begging to be slipped into her mouth and sucked. Heat spreads through her body. "My hero," she says, focusing her attention on the food, her eyes following as she held it up to his mouth and he blew. The heat within her intensified. She watches as he eats, eager for him to like it as much as she did and he does. "Classic rich boy, can't do anything for yourself." But she's thrilled to keep going, slowly rotating the fork as she inched ever closer to him, her leg settling into his lap as she leaned in close with another bite. She takes a bite herself, relishing it as she loaded up the fork yet again. "You like being served, baby? Want me to take care of all your needs?"

[dean rothchild]

Dean sees the fire in her eyes at his attempted moan and the sudden closeness of her body. His pulse quickens just seeing the flame of their attraction lit so heavily in her gorgeous eyes. The chemistry between them was undeniable, from the moment they met. Fire and gasoline. A leg was shifted into his lap and he strokes the exposed skin of her knee, traveling up to her thigh and landing a firm palm steadily there. A claiming hand. “Is that a rich boy trait? Wanting to be pampered? Or is it just a male trait?” He further taunts her, his voice low and more husky than before. His desire increasing at the twirl of a fork and the girl that dared him. She gives him one more bite and his palm moves further towards the place he knows she loves the most. “Think that we can box this up and you take care of all those needs?” He inches his fingers even more towards a dangerous line, he appreciated the dimness and privacy the booth allowed as he feels the outline of the panties that greeted his fingers. “I think you have some needs to be taken care of too, baby,” he finishes his words with a hungry kiss, tuning the whole Bodega out.

[stassi siminski]

His fingers trace her bare, alabaster leg, the skin prickling underneath his touch. "Oh but it's so much more insistent with rich boys," she purred, her lip catching between her teeth as his hand raised up her thigh. His suggestion of cutting the night short is met with a playful push on the arm as she shakes her head. "I made Benny make this specially, we're gonna have to finish it right here." There's also the fact that she can't quite confront the idea of going upstairs to her apartment just yet. It was a mess, and not the charmingly chaotic mess it always was, it was a mess. Her fridge only had a couple of cherry White Claws, alongside a bottle of fruit punch Gatorade that had some masking tape over it, upon which 'MDMA' was hastily scribbled. After all, it would be awful to take a swig forgetting it was spiked. It felt an insult to Benny to put his pasts alongisde such a paltry offering, and besides, she wasn't quite ready to leave her favorite place. Still, she kisses him back hungrily. "Hurry up and then we can go. We could go back to yours, if you wanted."

[dean rothchild]

When Stassi returns his hungry kiss with equal passion, Dean forgets that her friends were sitting several feet away. And the fact that they still were in public with eyes on them in every direction. She pulls apart and wipes a bit of her lip gloss off his bottom lip before encouraging him to finish what was specially made for them. "Fine. Right, can't have them hating me." Though he's pretty confident, they all had a look this direction during their scuffle. It's his turn to pick up the fork and twirl the noodles, feeding himself for the first time tonight.  "Even if I have a raging hard on,"  Dean chuckles as she her leg still lies lazily over his thigh. He shoves a few more bites of the pasta into his mouth. "Don't let me eat this alone." He nudges her and passes the fork, giving Dean the chance to have more of the whiskey to the side of him. "So, my place and not yours after this then? Surprises me."

[stassi siminski]

"It would suck if they did," Stassi confirms, though she suspects that ship may have already sailed. There's a stirring deep inside that lets her know she's potentially fucked up here, that she's doing something that a less inebriated version of herself would not be proud of-- like when you reply enthusiastically to every Instagram story your drunken eyes do see, handing out hearts like candy only to cringe when you see the notification icon in the cold light of day. She was far from a shrinking violet, but somehow, there's a nagging voice deep down that tells her she's pushing it. She drowns the voice out with another sip of her drink. "Well that's easily dealt with," she says with a wicked smile. She nods. She hadn't taken anyone back to hers in a while, not since before her little... vacation. It was something of a shrine to her mania, and that was not something she was keen to reveal so early on. "Surely you've got some swanky place on the Upper East Side? Why would we slum it down here?"

[dean rothchild]

She passes the fork back to Dean after her bite and he gladly indulges in another. The coke rage had settled but usually left him with no appetite until all of the smells from the pasta wafted in his direction. With just a few more bites and he was satisfied. "Think that's enough to leave on?" Earlier Stassi had said that it would offend if they, frankly Dean didn't care but he was in her territory and had promised to somewhat behave. Surely a few leftover pieces of pasta would not be a deal breaker. Though he suspected that when Stassi was sober and alone, they'd have quite a few words to say about what they'd witnessed here tonight. "Yes I have some swanky place. Definitely a little bit more boring than what you've described of your place, so if you think you can handle it, let's go." Dean starts out of the booth and lends a hand to Stassi. "I paid with the last of our drinks, do you need to say goodbye?" He gestures to the bar where majority of the people she'd interacted with this evening stood.

[stassi siminski]

She nods, confirming that it was indeed a satisfactory effort. Pushing the plate away from them, her own appetite had turned, her stomach twisting with the food, the coke and the booze. She can't actually remember the last time she had a healthy appetite, was it when she was fourteen, maybe? Before she started her daily cocktail of drugs, prescription and otherwise, that's for sure. "Well, only if you promise me I won't be bored. I've got a very short attention span, after all-- TikTok brain." She's relieved that they won't have to contend with the chaos upstairs. "Oh you shouldn't have, I have a running tab." The pennies in her checking account would thank him, but she can't quite bring herself to. She ponders his question, her eyes darting to Pat for the first time in hours, his familiar frame bent over a table and whispering something to Millie, who's smiling. She feels sick. Shaking her head, she looks away, taking his head and pulling him outside to hail a cab. "Thanks for coming, by the way. Sorry if it was weird."

[dean rothchild]

"We both know that you won't be bored, babe." Dean knew many things that they could do to pass the time, even if his apartment had zero charm to it. It's where he slept, sometimes ate and didn't have visitors over - unless they were a night time guest. That's the only exception he made. His mother wanted to get her hands on it, but Dean insisted it didn't get her touch, partially out of stubbornness. He waves Stassi off when she admits to having a standing tap at the place she frequented, while he didn't have a solid income at the moment there was a name that followed him that allowed for some additional money. Her hands clasps to his as she's pulling him towards the street, away from the viewing party of her friends. She hails the cab just as Dean pulled out a cigarette, putting it back into his pocket for when they reached his place. Dean quickly gives the driver his address. "Sure. No problem." He slides into the cab alongside her, wrapping his arm around her in the back seat. "I have a few more questions, you're not entirely off the hook," he whispers into her ear, "but we have some unfinished business to attend to first."