Made

He put in another movie, pulling out a few beers for the two of them. He drank more than Laila did, because she was so entranced by the film. When Cloverfield ended, Laila gave him free reign of her full DVD collection, some of which had been stashed upstairs in her duffle bag.

"They're precious!" she'd said when he cocked an eyebrow at her. He brought the whole case back down with him, preparing for more monster movies. Love Actually was in the first slot.

"I wasn't expecting this," he said, motioning into the pristine DVD.

Laila smiled. "It's a classic."

"So is Godzilla, but you haven't got that." She made a face.

"I don't like movies made before I was born." He just shook his head at her.

There were a lot of foreign movies in her collection, most of which he didn't recognize, and the occasional rom com. She also had two copies of Hamlet, claiming that she couldn't decide which version she liked best, and bought both. The DVDs were in no discernable order, so he was almost done with the case when he saw it.

"Seriously?" he said, pulling it gingerly out of its sleeve. Laila wasn't paying attention to him, as she was watching deleted scenes, so he waited until they were over to dump the DVD in her lap.

She laughed, looking down at it. "I fucking loved it. I've seen it like four times."

"Seriously?" he repeated.

"It's not that bad," she said. "The character is kinda campy, but Josh Brolin kind of nailed it."

"Seriously?!"

"We should watch it," she said. There was a devious glint in her eyes that wasn't there before.

He shook his head. "I've never seen it."

"Oh, well now we HAVE to watch it."

He reached over to take the DVD from her, but she was too quick, and less drunk. "Ha!" she exclaimed, jumping up. He reached for her, pulling her back down onto his lap, trying to wrench the movie from her grip. Laila squealed and giggled, drunkenly diving for the DVD player. She was more coordinated than he was, and slipped the disk easily in, carefully placing Cloverfield in the other DVD case.

She returned to the couch, and he groaned as the DVD started to play.

"Four years," he said. "I've gone four years without ever having to see it."

Laila continued to giggle as she started the film. He could just see flashes of his face in the previews on the menu, and he put his head in his hands.

"I don't want to watch this," he said.

"Shut up," she said. "I love this film. Even if you are a low down dirty traitor."

"Traitor? Laila, it's a film."

She hit him with one of the pillows an interior decorator had sworn would liven up the couch. "Not your character, YOU. Starting off DC and ending up Marvel. You should be ashamed."

"It's not a war."

"No, you're right," she said. "DC is much better."

He groaned both at her words and the voiceover dialogue happening on the screen.

"Now pay attention," she said, pushing him back into the couch.

Laila occasionally gave color commentary for first half, saying which bits were true and which weren't. He had never learned so much about something he cared so little for. He had to admit that the movie was cheesy. The dialogue was sub-par and the plot was convoluted, but he'd sure had a fun time making it.

"What if I did get tattoos like that?" he asked, indicating to his character's blue chin tattoo.

"I'd miss your beard," Laila responded. "And I'm sure all your girlfriends would too." She winked at him, and he threw the pillow at her.

"Don't be crass," he said. She laughed.

"Ugh, that's so unrealistic," she said as he hit Megan Fox.

"I know, I'm such a gentleman." She scoffed at him.

"I mean, a woman like that who doesn't know how to fight properly. That's bullshit."

"A woman like that?" he echoed.

"I'm a bartender," she said, throwing a pitying glance at him. "And I could easily take you down."

"Oh, easily? You're so confident."

She laughed. "I'd have you begging for mercy."

He lunged at her playfully, wrestling her from the couch to the floor.

"Don't make me headbutt you again!" she said between peals of laughter.

He had her pinned down, holding her wrists over her head, but she brought her knee up to his stomach and lightly pushed him away. He made a noise, pretending she had hurt him.

"Drama queen!" she mocked. He reached for her, but she ducked out of his way, tripping him as he stepped forward. He crashed to the ground, dragging her with him.
"Give up yet?" she asked.

He grinned, rolling them over.

They continued on like that for at least five minutes, her getting the upper hand, then him switching their positions.
"You're not nearly as good as you thought," he teased.
"Maybe I'm just letting you win."

At some point, it turned serious. Gentle nudges became a little harsher, and Laila stopped pulling her shots as much. She punched him in the face at least once, not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to hurt. They had ventured upstairs, with Laila using the steps as a way to catch her breath while he struggled with the ribs she had kicked him in. As one of the last moves, he hit her head against the dresser in the spare bedroom, and she retaliated by knocking his feet out from under him. He fell on top of her, his fingers immediately going around her neck.

"I win," he panted.

"You're delusional," Laila said, and he looked down to see a small paring knife pressed against his side. If it were a real fight, she would be able to stab him before he could choke her, making her the winner.

"You're a cheat!"

She winked. "The game is survival, and I'm a winner." He laughed.

"No, you're much more than that," he said. He smiled, and she smiled back, squirming and panting beneath him.

He was dimly aware off the few times he wanted to kiss her, thinking that this would be a perfect moment to do so, but that it would also be highly inappropriate. He was a gentleman at heart. With his hand still wrapped around her neck, he brought his thumb up to caress her face. Laila leaned her head down so that the edge of his thumb just caught her bottom lip. She was still panting, but the smile had disappeared. There was an unreadable glint in her eyes, and her pupils were blown. It was like a challenge.

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, surely staring like an idiot as she opened her mouth and his thumb slipped in. She sucked on his thumb hungrily, and he groaned.

"I don't know why anyone would ever give you up," he said.

He moved his hand to her cheek and suddenly her lips were on his. He changed position, bringing his hands down to her thighs, then higher, on her waist, pushing up the soft fabric of her shirt, flitting across the hot skin of her back, undoing her bra. Her hands were around his neck, running down his chest, reaching below the waistband of his black sweatpants. She tasted sweet, with just a hint of tang, and her mouth was warm and inviting as his tongue explored it. Her legs moved from under his, wrapping around his waist, and he groaned as her fingers moved away from his pants and back up to his chest.

He broke away from her mouth, and moved to her neck, nipping down to her collarbone. They were moving against each other, though they were both mostly clothed.

"Wait," he said, panting. "We said we weren't gonna do this." He only barely remembered the rule, and Laila looked at him incredulously. "You're right," he said. "Fuck it."

Their mouths met again, and suddenly he was inside her, making them both moan. He went back to her neck, breathing in the smell of her perfume, and her hands were around his neck, on his back, driving him deeper with each thrust. Her back arched up, and she'd nearly begged him not to stop. As if he would.
Neither of them had lasted long, and she practically screamed just before he groaned, their bodies melding together beneath their clothes. He had rolled over, panting on the carpet, looking up at the white ceiling.

Fuck.