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The drunken mid-twenties lug, formerly known as Kamboja, was barely managing what one would call 'walking'. Although he remembered to put one foot in front of the other to progress forward, he had given up nearly all cognitive ability in relation to the environment. His dark eyes were glued to the scuffed tips of his chucks and though his left hand held a death grip on what appeared to be a mostly-empty fifth of whiskey, his right arm flopped limply at his side. He only managed a decent attempt at navigation because of the sidewalk lines parallel to his own feet. Lost somewhere in his subconscious, he was only dimly aware of a distant rumbling, caught up as he was in the encroaching sense of suffocating. The backs of his dark shoulders were peppered with sweat, glimmering in the flashing lights of the city and passing cars. His dress shirt had been torn off (quite literally) in frustration and tucked messily into the back pocket of his jeans, one forgotten arm nearly trailing the ground at his feet.

Most of the people on the street gave him a wide birth and simply stepped around the large, drunken fool as he lumbered down the sidewalk. A few gave him bewildered expressions or outright glares but no one bothered to stop him or cause a scene - he was harmless, if drunk. Others were just too caught up in what they were doing, staring down at screens and tapping out status updates as they walked by without even noticing. Now and again he would brush past the shoulders of people not quick enough to evade his staggering path, tipping immediately in the opposite direction until he encountered another stopping force. It looked a lot like the world's slowest pinball machine.

As he rebounded from a small bump with a lightpost, all six feet of his thick form staggered to the left, until it crossed paths with a tall, stringy teenager. Kam's shoulder collided with the bonier one and a wide hand immediately struck out against his chest, shoving the older man hard. Normally that wouldn't have been enough to throw off a sober, strong Kam but tonight he was about as graceful as a giant baby. He managed to remain upright only because he tottered sideways into the corner of a nearby quick market, grasping the old, chipped bricks with his free right hand.

"Watch it, douche," a snarky voice sneered.

The collision and the arrogant tone were enough to draw Kam out of his stupor, bringing his attention to the forefront of his hazy mind. As he held up his entire body weight with one braced arm, he turned to throw an unfocused stare over his shoulder. What he expected to do was a mystery in itself, as the boy had already turned his back and continued down the street so quickly that the dreadhead had no time to act. He was probably already tweeting about his encounter with a giant, drunk moron. Kam stared after him in irritation, exhaled a long breath, and pulled his whiskey bottle up to eye level. He tossed one last glance over his shoulder at the dwindling figure of the stringy boy, then shrugged and tipped his head back to take a large swig that he definitely did not need.

His hand dropped back to his side, sloshing the liquid inside the bottle with the jarring motion, but he seemed a little more steady now that he was actually focusing on the world around him. His eyes drifted over nearby buildings and signposts, taking in his surroundings and probably trying to decide how far off course he had gotten. He was squinting at a road sign when he finally caught sight of her, flashing him a cat's smile in his peripherals. The long dreads swayed behind him as he whipped his head to look at the enticing figure, unaware at first that she was anyone other than a gorgeous brunette decked out in form-hugging leather. What else did he need to know?

"I think I might be dreaming," he admitted, as his blank stare slowly shifted into a smile, and then that extra charm of his clicked into place. Sloppily.

He pushed himself off of the corner with his right hand and took a few careful steps toward her, making the uncertainty in his own feet look almost like an intentional strut. About halfway through the drunken swagger, his charming smile twisted into his best attempt at a smirk, and his eyes seemed a little less glassy. Realization had hit him and oh, it was sweet.

"Aaah," it was a satisfied sound, low and rumbling through his chest. "I know I am now. This has to be one of the," he paused, swallowing back a hiccup before he continued on, "the best fantasies I've had all year." Although he laughed gently to himself, the delivery had been admittedly faulty.

Nevertheless, he brought his swaying figure to stand opposite her, then let his eyes roam across the stark lines of her leather-wrapped form. He traced the length of her legs and the curve of her waist with his gaze, dragging the dark pools back up to her eyes in such a lingering way that it screamed, yes, I remember. Those gentle, if weary, eyes focused on her face at last.

"Evening, doll."

"The thing about fantasies," he began, in a voice that was meant to be husky, but sounded more slurred and sloppy, "is that if you rush them, they end quickly." Here a lazy smirk spread across his lips, but his eyes dropped away from her fidgeting, distracting figure to the bike she was straddling instead. It wasn't entirely unlikely that he was interested in it - he had his own, he was a fan, and hers was a fine piece of machine. Unfortunately, it was just one more prop in what he deemed to be an extremely successful pick-up attempt, so far. His free hand fell to the body, just below the handlebar, and traced the slope of the front end carefully. "What's the fun in that? I like the tease."He shifted as he drew his hand closer, towards her thigh where it held a strong grip on the bike. Instead of touching her, he let his fingers shift at the last moment and trace the outline of her leg, not quite touching, then glanced back up at her with that same drunken, lopsided smile.

"Besides, I didn't drink the bar completely dry." He brought the bottle up to eye level between them and sloshed it a little to show her the amber fluid swilling inside. He leaned in a little, where she could undoubtedly get a good whiff of the whiskey lingering on his breath, and looked down at her with hooded eyes. "There's plenty of trouble still left to get into tonight, the sun won't be up for.." he paused, glanced at the sky, then shrugged. He was much too drunk for more than a show at judging the time. "A while," he finished, none too elegantly.

The bottle was tipped back and against his lips immediately, with the great lug not even flinching when the burn settled fresh in his throat. He was much past the point of feeling anything weaker than a punch to the face by now. As he dropped the bottle from his mouth, he laughed, amused with himself for some thought he hadn't bothered to voice. Brain to mouth took a lot of concentration.

One hand cradled the whiskey bottle to his chest, like a baby he was afraid of breaking, and the one tracing the outline of her leg inched closer to the leather barrier between him and the curves he remembered so well. Strong, dark fingers brushed lightly across the inside of her leg, tracing the curve of her muscle more gently than a man in his state should have been capable of. Then his hand simply fell away, lighting carefully on the bike, just in front of where she was sitting. When his eyes met her face again, his predatory gaze had surfaced full force, smoldering beneath the layers of booze.

"Would you like to get into some trouble with me, Ariel?" It had been so long since he looked her up in the member database that he'd completely forgotten she'd never actually told him. At the time, he'd meant to tease her with it the next time she stopped by, but life happened.

The sloppy smirk on his face was replaced with a grit of his teeth the moment her nails found his flesh. With most of a bottle of whiskey sloshing around in his gut, his ability to hide his emotions behind a mask of confidence and snark was all but dead. His need flashed across his face like a storm, honest and raw. All that stood between them was empty air and he could feel the pull of her like gravity. Goosebumps peppered his skin, breaking out across his arm and chest, distracting him thoroughly by the time she snatched the whiskey bottle from his hands. He didn't even bother to fight her, he just watched her raise it to her lips, staring wistfully at the only two things in the world that mattered right in that moment.

"Hmm?" He answered her question, staring blankly at her lips as they moved. After a moment of blank, slack-jawed staring, he shook his head and tried to force his thoughts back into a sensible order. What was it about her name?

Oh.

His s**t-eating grin surfaced in seconds. He'd forgotten this game, the one he had intended to play for their second round of power struggles. It would be less fun now, with a hazy mind and all his skill buried deep inside his drunkard's core. Yet it was still a game and he had obviously struck a cord, if her sudden change of subject was any indication.

"Oh? Mmm, thought I wouldn't figure that one out, did ya?" Although he had reacted at first like a dumbfounded imbecile, he managed the recovery well. The chuckle that accompanied his small victory was deep, rumbling through his chest. He leaned in to her again, bracing one hand on either side of her so that her leg was caught between his own where he planted them next to the bike. "Just did a little digging in the company records, doll, it wasn't that difficult."

As her breath fanned out across his skin, his eyes shut against the tipsy world around him. He curled his fingers against the bike as he involuntarily clenched the muscles in his arm, managing somehow to stay upright despite the new onslaught of teases. There was no way he could resist temptation at a time like this, nor would he had if he'd even been given the chance. There weren't many women he bothered with a second time but Ariel was one of the rare few that had earned a lingering presence - she was straightforward and she didn't ask questions. By the time her lips pressed into the tender flesh below his ear, he'd have given her anything she asked for.

"Asking questions was a waste of time," came the husky murmur.

His dark eyes opened slowly as she pulled away from him, drinking in the sight of her. He didn't care a bit about the people that passed them on the street, between his drunken haze and general one track mind, he probably forgot they were out in the public eye at all. He was always one to act first and ask questions later, even when that philosophy had been proven wrong time and time again. At least she was aware enough to make the right decisions for them in that moment, but he wasn't going to let their game end just then. He never did like to lose.

One hand reached up quickly, cupping the back of her head gently and holding her in place. His lips crushed into hers with a taste of his pent up passion, though a little sloppy in technique with all the whiskey in his veins. His teeth grit behind the kiss before he pulled away, drawing a long, ragged breath between his teeth. With the heat in his eyes, it was clear he had to be practicing a great deal of restraint to resist ripping her off the bike altogether. The dreadhead forced himself away from her body, a sign that he might not be quite as helplessly drunk as he appeared at first glance.

"Take me home then, kitten," murmured that same thick vice, raspy and strained. He let his hand fall to her waist as he threw one leg over her bike and settled in with a practiced ease. It had been a long, long time since he had been the passenger on a motorcycle but he didn't have enough pride to care.

"Baron street, the new condos." Though he technically shared an apartment with Delphine, it didn't seem proper to keep bringing home unknown women to a place many of the Order used as refuge (plus Kaatje had seemed pissed with the traffic flow). The condo was nice and, more importantly, impersonal.

Kamboja gave her a polite salute before he reached back and tugged the shirt free from where it had been shoved in his back pocket. For a moment he simply stared at it, assessing arm holes and buttons, appearing for all the world as if he had no idea how to begin putting it on. Dress shirts were a no for drunk Kam, it seemed. Instead he grabbed the arms and tied them around his neck securely, letting the shirt fall down his back like a limp cape.

One arm secured itself around the helmet (after all, she'd only told him to hold it, not attempt to wear it) and the other slipped around her torso just as she pulled into traffic. Much to his pleasure, the shirt behind him began to flap wildly in the air as they soared down the road, making him laugh under the wind. A cool draft beat at his arms and shoulders, but he pressed his chest securely against her back, letting the warmth of her body be a stark and comforting contrast.

Time seemed to move differently for him - the ride seemed at once to last forever, but to be gone in the blink of an eye. He crawled off the bike after she put the kickstand down, wobbling slightly on one leg before he found his footing, then pushed the helmet into her hands. Once he was sure she had a hold, his hand began to search each pocket of his jeans in turn, digging blindly for keys he wasn't even sure he had on him. Just as he was beginning to think he'd tossed them in a trash can again, he found them shoved beneath a wad of crappy, cheap club necklaces in his front pocket. By now he had cheap jewelry from every liquor company represented in Destiny City. Not the most morally sound collector's item of course, but a fun game in his opinion, and sometimes a makeshift trophy. He held up his crowded keyring to inspect triumphantly, then thumbed through the different metals and cuts until he was sure he had the right one. Drunk Kam had an eighty percent success rate.

"Thanks for the ride, kitten." He waved the keys at her to show that he knew how to get to his own condo from here, but he didn't turn to step away from the bike just yet. Those dark eyes swept her form again, drinking in a few more details than before, lingering needily over the curves of her legs and hips. His heart was pounding in his ears, a drum's beat to accompany the fire stirring to life in him, while the ride seemed to have sobered him, if only slightly. That dark gaze that swept over her then was more aware, more Kam. He had regained his confidence, at the very least, despite the fact that his shirt still hung from his neck like a five-year-old superhero. He leaned in as if he were going to kiss her on the cheek, perhaps a gentleman's good night parting, but paused just before his lips brushed her skin.

"Come inside and have a proper drink with me, let me thank you." His voice was low and suggestive, a teasing whisper from someone that already knew from experience where this road would take them. Yet he drew away before she answered, not waiting to see if she would outright deny him. He was at the front door of one of the condos without hesitation, swinging open the door on a dark entryway after only a few moments spent trying to unlock it. He stepped aside then and let his eyes swing back to her, expectantly.

Once they were inside, Kam shut the door behind him and busied himself at once with taking the shirt off. As his eyes narrowed on the knotted arms around his neck, he managed to stifle his pleased grin to little more than a smirk. He heard her words and nodded in acknowledgement, fidgeting with the world's most impossible knot. He tried and failed more than once at untying it, ruining his attempt at looking less drunk than he was. If he couldn't use his fingers well enough to untie a knot, she probably wasn't going to take him seriously, right? At some point he eventually realized he could just pull it over his head without untying and he did so with a small shrug, tossing it across the room to land haphazardly on the couch arm.

Triumphant, he turned, arms crossed over his chest, looking so pleased with himself that one would think he had defeated a youma, not a piece of inanimate clothing (not to mention a piece of inanimate clothing that he nearly didn't defeat). It took only a few long strides of his thick legs to close the gap between them, putting his shirt wrestling behind him, and he did so with more skill than he had shown in his attempt to untie the knot. The look in his eyes as he loomed over her then was mischievous, playful and heated in a way that belonged solely to drunkards. Though he seemed willing to play this game with her, to an extent, he was also completely aware that neither of them had any real hidden agendas here. They were what they were, they wanted what they wanted, and even drunken Kam could feel the tension between them like static in the air. His eyes were already foggy when he looked down at her, like a man that was dreaming about all the things he was going to do in the next ten minutes. Thankfully, he remembered she had been asking him questions.

"Well," he paused, cleared his throat, and tried to buy himself a few extra seconds to process what she'd actually asked. When he realized it, and decided on what smart-a** retort he would give her, the devilish grin returned full force. He started by pointing at the kitchen on the other side of the living area, saying simply, "kitchen counter." Then he began to point in different directions, ticking off a list of objects instead of rooms: "shower, bed, desk, couch." That devilish grin grew and grew with each one, pleased with himself in only a way that Kam could be.

"Anything else you'd rather see?" He asked as he listed the last thing on his list of 'objects to see', then kicked off his shoes carelessly. He left them where they were, right in the center of the entryway. Those dark eyes had drifted away from her as he did so, in an attempt to stop the impulses screaming in his head every time he set eyes on her. Despite the way his blood was boiling in his veins from restraining all those drunk intentions, he was relatively calm, but she had to be ready to wipe that wicked smile off his lips by now.

He was hoping she was.

It was the distant sound of a motorcycle roaring to life that finally roused Kamboja from the depths of his slumber, but even then he didn't register what had truly happened. A wide yawn cracked his lips as his eyes opened partially, squinting against the dim light of predawn. The engine was a distant hum, dwindling into the distance, noted but not important.

Still lingering just before the edge of sobriety and certainly drunk with sleep brain, he rolled over onto his side and threw an arm out, aiming to curl it around the warm body of his temptress and draw her closer. Yet, it only fell with a thud against his sheets. Her warmth still lingered but the comfort of her existence had left him. It was only then that he put two and two together, recalling the sound of her motorcycle as it faded and was finally swallowed in the twilight of early morning.

For a moment, his lips pursed in disappointment. Then a slow, lazy laugh escaped his aching, tired body. He was normally the one that ran out in the wee hours of the morning, or the one that roused his partner with a lie about work. It was a new experience to be the one left behind and, though it was startling, he found that there was still a smile stretched across his hazy face.

"Atta girl, Ariel," he murmured thickly, reaching up to drag the pillow he'd given her into his chest, "keep me wanting more." Then sleep claimed him, alone and comforted, in a bed of sheets that still smelled faintly like the scent of her hair.