Work Text:
Jack joined Kimiko at the bar.
“So, some wedding,” he said.
Kimiko wasn’t listening. She was tracing the red and black kanji tattoo on her wrist with the small red bar straw from her drink. When she finished, the alcohol burst into flame and the “fire” written on her wrist quickly exhausted itself.
“Kim?” Jack said and only then Kimiko noticed him.
“Hey. Interested in some parlor tricks? It’s amazing what a dragon of fire can do with an open bar.” Jack Spicer hesitantly slid into the seat next to her, leaning as subtle as he was able (read: not very subtly) to the further chair.
“So, some wedding, huh?” he asked again.
“You said that already, didn’t you? Sorry, I was distracted with trying not to get my dress scorched,” Kimiko said, motioning to her red silk mandarin gown, almost indistinguishable from the one which the bride had been wearing in the ceremony. “I’ve heard from the wisdom of the elders that I can shorten it and wear it again.”
Jack Spicer would never, ever admit his lack of experience with women’s underwear, and that is a statement which must be measured against his unwillingness to tell the, ah, fiery tempered Japanese girl sitting next to him just what his anatomical sources for certain areas of his cheerleader Jackbots really were. However. He was fairly certain that with just how high the side slits in her gown were, particularly when seated, ah, Kimiko was either, gulp, not wearing underwear at all, or, ah, pause, flinch, blink, attempt not to stare, end up staring anyway, no take your eyes away she’ll kill you she’ll kill you she will literally kill you with fire, wearing something silky and strappy and ah, although conventionally ineffectual at the traditional uses of underwear as he was familiar with them, was somehow much more, ah, exciting, than the concept of not wearing any at all, gulp again, stare at the menu wait no there is no menu stare at the bottles stare at the bottles long hard glass bottles dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit—
“Jack? You listening, Spicer?” Kimiko said.
“What?” Jack asked, his voice cracking in a way he had previously been proud that it had stopped doing about six years ago. Well, five. Well, regularly five years ago. Well, everyone’s voice cracks now and again come on—
“Wow, you are more spaced out than I am,” Kimiko said. “Can I just say that it is weird? It’s the elephant in the room, so can I finally just say that once, that this is weird?”
Yes, it is weird that we’ve had this tension pretty much the entire time we’ve known each other and we’ve never done anything about it so how about tonight we finally—
Jack was saved from starting that ill-advised sentence by one more gulp of hesitation and the fact that Kimiko wasn’t waiting for a response.
“Like, I’m not saying I’m not happy for Mei-Ling and Omi, no! They’re great, and this is a great wedding—I mean, not to brag or anything, because it’s a gift, but if I’m footing the bill for a wedding it’s going to be awesome, but it is still freaking weird that Omi is a monk and he’s getting married. There. I said it. It’s normal now. Somebody said it, and it was me. Bartender! Another shōchu on the rocks, and one for my friend here!”
Jack kept silent with his crossed legs until Kimiko looked at him.
“Wait, do you even drink?” she asked.
“What? Yeah, of course I do,” Jack said. He didn’t.
“You don’t.”
“I don’t,” Jack said. “Well, I mean, I only just turned twenty-one—”
Kimiko snorted.
“I’ve been drinking sake with my dad since I turned sixteen,” she said. “I mean, I told him about the whole fire thing and he was pretty convinced that I’d burn off all the alcohol before it could affect me, but, you know.” Snort. “Or, I guess you don’t.”
“Hey, I drank on my birthday!” Jack said. He’d gone out with his family—no way were they letting him spend his birthday in a nonstop programming binge like he wanted, not when there were important milestones to be celebrated!
Kimiko snorted again, and the shōchu arrived in two highball glasses.
“…And I’ve been working very hard since then, so I wasn’t about to get smashed and try to code some very delicate machinery.”
Kimiko snorted yet again, lowered her head to the bar counter and pounded her fist twice.
“No, I’m not laughing about that, I’m laughing trying to figure out what your first drink was,” she finally said, wiping away one eyeliner darkened tear with the corner of a bar napkin, raising her head with a smile that caused Jack’s stomach to drop another 8.5 inches. “Come on! What? Guinness? Smirnoff Ice? (snort) Boilermaker? (giggle) Angel Tears? Dirty Girl Scout? Mudslide?”
“You made that second to last one up,” Jack said, reaching for his shōchu for effect.
“Nope, had a one last time we visited Clay’s ranch in Texas. Went out with his sister. Yep, I had a nice Dirty Girl Scout, in a shadowed booth… in a sleazy bar in Texas.” Kimiko said, still grinning and watching Jack’s face as it turned red underneath his unnatural pallor. And then licking the red straw in her shōchu before raising the glass to her lips was completely unnecessary.
Jack managed to grunt the perfect tone to express his antithesis of fondness for Clay’s younger sister, which apparently satisfied Kimiko that her Dirty Girl Scout joke had gone far enough. Also, his legs already being crossed, it was impossible for her to get any satisfaction from seeing any more visible reaction than his blush.
“So what was it? Sangria? Martini? Long Island Iced Tea? Was it a Smirnoff Ice?”
“How about you guess it, and we make a bet?” Jack said, turning his momentary stress into a stronger tone which although abrupt was not quite a snap.
“Pssh. What’s in it for me? What in the world could Jack Spicer possibly offer me?” Kimiko said, and Jack could hear the joke. And the friendship. That… friend… designation. But, still, if she was making Dirty Girl Scout jokes, then maybe he wasn’t just that kind of friend…
“Well, give me a moment,” Jack said. Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkdammitdammitdammitdammitdammitthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink.
“How about this,” Kimiko said, staring at her drink, but didn’t continue immediately.
What? A kiss? Head back to your room after the reception? Separately, of course—NO, together, so everyone knows—no, separately, separately is better—Jack’s mind raced, throwing off any plans he had been hazily forming for a win-win situation (something about a win for him resulting in her being his date for some distant family member’s wedding, a win for her resulting in him arranging for her to attend a certain technological developments convention he was a speaker at in Vegas this summer, and then some crazy mix-up resulting in sharing a room and sharing a bed and sharing—
“If I win… you get me a free pass to walk into any panel, private talk, and presidential get-together at the Technology Tomorrow symposium you blogged about being a speaker for this summer—nothing more than that, Tohomiko Enterprises already has an office in Vegas so I’ll have lodgings and the rest taken care of,” Kimiko said. “And if you win… Hmm… What do twenty-one year old American computer prodigies usually want with sassy Japanese girls?” Another lick of the straw before sipping her drink just to tease him.
The roller coaster Jack had been experiencing while Kimiko talked was not enviable.
“I shall teach you, Jack Spicer, to drink, no matter how long it takes, no matter how many Rio, Tokyo, New York, LA, or Hong Kong bars or restaurants I have to take you to to make it happen.”
“Deal,” Jack said without thinking, though it is generally held to be not the best manner of considering options in a bet before agreeing to them.
“Sucker,” Kimiko said. “Your family took you to Applebees and you had a Chocolate Mudslide.”
“Dammit!” Jack said. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess,” Kimiko said. “But come on, it’s even more vanilla than Angel Tears, and what else would I guess for you? I mean, you’re really white, Jack. It was the whitest American 21st birthday I could think of.” She hopped off the stool and a flash of black lace confirmed at least one train of thought from earlier. “Well, I should go check on the happy couple, Maid of Honor and all.” She leaned up and pecked Jack on the edge of his jaw, just by his ear, and in the electric buzzing that followed on his skin he had never more wished to have 5 o’clock shadow so that kissing him would at least be marginally distinguishable from kissing a nine-year-old. “See you at Technology Tomorrow, with my All-Access Pass, Spicer.”
Needless to say, Jack would not be washing that half of his face for as long as humanly possible.