Chapter Text
Prompt: Anonymous - ’I can’t have sex with you. I’m married.’ Drunk Owen said to his wife, Claire, as she tries to get him out of his dirty clothes.
*
It wasn’t every night that Owen managed to stumble through the front door, balance off, limbs completely useless. ‘Whoa there, Soldier,’ Claire teased, watching on from the hallway.
Jason’s bachelor party was an opportunity Owen couldn’t miss. He was a groomsman after all, and for some reason the idea was far too appealing. Owen held a particular fondness for the young monkey keeper, their camaraderie akin to brothers in arms. The announcement of his wedding only set into motion devious plans of a night full of alcohol and quite possibly scantily clad women.
‘Hey, Red,’ he grinned, humour picking up the corners of his mouth, intoxicated and lopsided. She kissed him for his efforts, stepping away from the stairs to greet him just as lazily, but far more controlled. His arms were around her in seconds, the action automatic as Owen pulled her into his body, crushing her with unmeasured strength.
Claire pecked her husband’s lips before stepping back. ‘You smell like a strip club,’ she complained, stale beer, cheap perfume, and too strong cigarettes infiltrating her nose. She wasn’t worried about that night’s events, knowing without a doubt that Owen was faithful, and somewhat dreading the strip club aspect to the night. She would be lying if she denied attending the Chippendale show Karen had dragged her to the month before.
‘Owen,’ she started, her hands held onto his biceps, holding him away from her and keeping him steady. His hands took hold of her hips, gripping her tightly, his lifeline swaying. ’Is that mud?’ Claire asked, horrified and compelled, at the drying mud all over her husband’s clothes.
She had heard of wild nights; this was new.
Claire laughed, a small giggle bubbling up from her throat as Owen shrugged, his body twisting to get a good look at the mess. Her husband mumbled something incoherent, his head dropping to her shoulder, lips pressing kisses to her neck. Claire couldn’t repress the shiver that chased down her spine at the scratch of Owen’s stubble against her neck, his lips soothing the burn.
She pushed at his arms, forcing the broad shouldered man up the stairs and to their bedroom. She was careful on the creaking floorboards, tiptoeing as Owen moved on instinct instead of clarity of mind.
Owen was a handsy drunk, something Claire had seemingly forgotten as the days and nights passed, his fondness for alcohol next to none. HIs hands had snaked up the inside of her t-shirt, counting her ribs and tracing her spine.
Despite his drunken attempts at foreplay, Claire managed the button and zip on his pants, sliding them off his hips before pushing her husband to sit on their bed. Holding a tight grip on her hip, Owen pulled Claire into his lap. Cautious of the filth covering his clothes, Claire kissed him, purring against her husbands lips as his tongue traced her teeth. Her flingers played with the buttons on his shirt, popping them open one by one.
Owen stopped, her lips popping slightly as he stared at her, apologetic. ‘I can’t have sex with you.’ He was dead serious, eyes focused, full of regret. ‘I’m married.’ Claire bit her lip, holding back the chuckle that was bubbling in her chest.
‘Oh,’ Claire squeaked out, her fingers fiddling with the last button on his shirt. She only wanted to make sure that as little mud as possible ended up on her clean linen. Claire said as much to her drunk hulk of a husband, the man’s eyes swimming across her face.
‘You’re sweet,’ he smiled, the expression lazy on his cheeks. It was almost worn, faded around the edges like a beloved picture. He had been smiling at her like that for years. ‘But, I love my wife.’ The sincerity on his face, lacing his voice as his fingers loosened their grip on her hips, was genuine. Claire felt her chest tighten, fondness blooming behind her ribs for the man she was straddling. She loved her ridiculous husband.
Claire smiled, her head tilting ever so softly. ‘She’s lucky to have you.’ Owen nodded, a mumbled ‘I’m lucky to have her’ drifting from his lips as he shrugged the shirt off his arms. Kissing his cheek gently, she took Owen’s shirt, and climbed off his lap. She rolled up his jeans, holding them and the shirt against her chest as she looked back one last time at his lazy, loving, smile.
For now, his clothes had to be soaked and his alcohol induced brain needed to recover. Hopefully, after napping it off, he’d go back to torturous kisses against her collarbone, his callous hand counting her ribs, while the other slid between her thighs. This time, remembering that she was his wife.