Vices, Virtues, and Second-Hand Smoke

"What's happenin', kid?"

Justin looked up from his phone to see Kris' best friend. Smiling, he waved Janelle over, kicking the seat across from him out from under the table he was sitting at. Janelle had come home with Kris for winter break every year since they'd met, and Justin had always liked her; she was outgoing and funny, and the fact that she was beautiful didn't hurt, either.

Janelle strutted over to the table and took the seat. Pushing the oversized sunglasses she had on over her eyes and up on to the top of her head, she leaned back in her seat and smiled. "So what's going on, Justin? What brings you to Nevada?" Janelle laughed. "Aside from the strippers, that is. You did see the strippers on your way in, right?"

Justin quirked his brow and chuckled. That hadn't changed, at least; the girl still said whatever the hell came to mind. "Yeah, I caught the only bus that tours the strip clubs on it's way here."

Janelle rolled her eyes and laughed. "Well, hey--" she stopped abruptly, the smile disappearing. She stood fast, her eyes focused on something behind him. Before Justin could ask, a big hand gripped his shoulder hard and ripped him out of his seat.

"Hey, what the hell--" A fist slamming into his face cut him off and broke the sunglasses he had on, knocking him down. Ripping the remnants of his shades off and cursing loudly, Justin's hand flew to his face.

"Markus!" Justin could hear Janelle screeching. "Markus, what the hell, stop it! It's Justin! He's Justin!"

Justin hadn't opened his eyes yet; he knew his nose was fucked, and he was terrified that his eyes were, too. Hands-- Markus, according to Janelle-- grabbed the front of his shirt and wrenched him up.

"Bullshit, Janelle! I saw this fuck going up to Kris' apartment last night! Her brother's back in Oklahoma!"

Smaller hands-- presumably Janelle-- were grabbing at Justin's shoulders from behind. "Markus, calm down! Christ, look at him! It's Justin! He's trying to get back to California! Markus, just stop for a second, it's Justin!"

There was a pause. Then the hands on the front of his shirt eased slowly, until Justin could finally scramble back. Opening first his right eye, then his left eye slowly, he blinked his sister's ex boyfriend into focus. Markus was staring at him dumbly.

"You, ugh... you look different from Christmas, Justin." And now he looked relieved. Which pissed Justin off.

"You just broke my fucking nose, Markus!"

"Look, I'm real sorry, Justin," Markus rubbed at the back of his neck and smiled awkwardly. "It shouldn't be broken if you can still talk straight."

Justin pulled his hand back, slick with bloody fingers. "No, you're right," Justin said sarcastically, "My nose always does this when someone randomly attacks me from behind."

Markus fidgeted awkwardly. "I, uhh... I thought you were a different person, man. It's my bad."

"Damn right--" Janelle yanked Justin back and cut him off; when he turned to look at her, she shook her head.

"Markus," she said, turning to look back at him. "No one was going into her apartment. You're losing your mind."

"Well..." Markus shoved his hands in his sweatpants pockets, shrugging. Now that Justin actually looked at him, Markus looked like he hadn't slept on days. At just under six feet tall, Markus had broad shoulders and a cut body that Justin could work for months for and probably not get. Usually, he carried himself proudly; now, though, he hadn't shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, and Justin was always positive he was still drunk. Markus cleared his throat roughly. "Sorry again, Justin." And, with that, he turned and walked off awkwardly.

Janelle sighed and Justin turned to look at her. "He didn't recognize me?"

Janelle just shook her head and pulled out a cigarette. "He was trying to score some blow last night, last I heard. Pretty sure we can safely say that he got some."

--

Kristin pulled away from Shanks, disgusted. "You're sick as hell, Jove, you know that? Get the hell out of my apartment."

Shanks laughed and crossed his arms, the look in his eyes calculating. "I'm sick as a dog, baby, but you were loving it, weren't you?"

"What, is that what you wanted to hear?" The disgusted look on Kris' face turned to a weary one. "You're seriously just upset that I walked away without stroking your little ego? Will that get you the hell out of my life?"

Shanks opened his mouth to talk, but closed it as Kristen wrapped her arms around his waist and kissing his neck. "You were great, Shanks," she practically purred into his neck. Running her tongue over his collarbone, she whispered, "I hadn't felt that good in so long, babe. I can still barely walk right." Kissing her way up to his ear, Kris tiptoed and nibbled at his earlobe. "Now," she whispered, breathing heavy in his ear, "Get the fuck out."

Shanks turned his head suddenly and caught her lips in his own, holding her hips to keep her from backing put of the kiss. She fought him-- hard-- but the second she caved and started kissing back, Shanks pulled away and smirked.

"You were doing so well, darlin'," he winked at her-- she scowled back. "Look, all I want is a detox, baby. Turn the one night stand into a morning after stand."

"Stop calling me baby."

Shanks laughed, hands still firmly on Kris' hips. "That's what you got from all that?"

"The idea is too stupid to merit a real response, and I don't have time for it."

Shanks grinned, making Kris' scowl deepen. She didn't want to play this game. In fact, all she wanted was to get in her bed and sleep for a solid week. More importantly, she wanted to be alone in her bed-- and she damn sure knew that the last person that she wanted to ruin that dream was Shanks.

"Now come on, you're going to tell me that you didn't end last night feelin' content for the first time in ages?"

Kristen's eyebrows flew up, her face skeptical. "Did you just insinuate that your best friend-- you know, the one I was dating up until yesterday-- isn't good in bed?"

Shanks, to her amazement, chuckled. "Darlin', I'm not talking down on Markus about anything. I just know the kid. And, after last night, I know you. The way you acted to getting bit... getting your hair pulled... to my hands around your neck. Markus ain't the kind." Shanks brushed a hand over the bruise on her arm, making her flinch violently. "And I know that ain't something that came from the sorta night we had."

Kris was completely disgusted-- but more than that, she was stunned by how matter-of-fact Shanks was being. Looking up into his bright green eyes, Kristen wanted to claw them out. Instead, she composed herself and said calmly, "If you answer this one question, I'll give you another shot."

Shanks' face broke into a wide smile. "Shoot."

"Why, exactly, are you so hell bent on making this happen when you know damn well there's going to be a party tonight and you can continue on with the lifestyle you've grown so accustomed to?"

Shanks paused at the question. Truth was, he'd been having to ask himself the same question all morning. Kristen was beautiful, but it wasn't just that. She was a hellcat in bed, but it wasn't that, either. They'd spent one night together, and he'd let her, for some inexplicable reason, actually spend part of it in his arms. He'd had the weirdest feeling watching her get out of bed and leave without looking back once. She wasn't even the first to do it; and, being Markus' ex, she had every reason to. And yet, he'd still hated every second of it. So much so, in fact, that he'd actually done all this just to get her back under him.

Truth was, he had no idea why he was doing what he was doing, but he figured that if these feelings were just some sort of resentment to having her walk out on him, he could fix that without a problem.

"You're in my blood like bad liquor, baby," Shanks said with a dazzling smile. "And nothing helps a hangover like one more beer."