Drabbles and Oneshots

The one were Ámbar's horny, it's hunting season, and Simón is not the most unwilling prey.

Or: the guys have actual parties like real teenagers do.

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Ámbar was seriously regretting inviting Benicio to this party.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, when Mónica kindly told her she could invite however many friends she wanted to Nico's farewell party. She loved seeing how obviously jealous Simón got whenever he saw them together. She kept having this fantasy that if she pushed him hard enough, he would pull her away from Benicio and have his way with her, desperate to claim her as his. It was never going to happen, of course— He was too correct for that— but that didn't stop her from daydreaming about it, or that one other fantasy she had of them filming a 'Solos' music video.

As it was, her desires seemed further away than ever, because Benicio had been insufferably stuck to her all night. Usually, she wouldn't mind the attention— having two guys crazy for her was a huge ego boost— but even with the lights out and the flurry of dancing bodies around them, she could see the moment Simón looked at her and tried to casually slip closer to her side as if to dance with her (maybe the alcohol had lowered his inhibitions), but of course, he couldn't, because Benicio got in front of her like a shield, and so Simón turned the other way and danced with Luna, pretending that had never happened, and Ámbar wanted to shoot herself in the face because he had continued to pretend it never happened throughout the rest of the night, not glancing at her once while having what looked like a blast with his friends.

So now Ámbar was standing by the made-up bar— Read: a couple of tables pushed together on one side of the living room, filled to the brim with different bottles, cans, glasses, and ice— pretending to be listening while Benicio rambled on about whatever movie he had watched that he thought was a masterpiece, while she nursed her third rum & coke and seriously considered chugging down three more because she was not drunk enough for this shit.

A small reprieve came in the form of Benicio walking away to use the bathroom, leaving Ámbar and Emilia by themselves. Emilia had actually been part of the conversation with Benicio, so Ámbar assumed she wasn't bored out of her mind like she was— Lucky her.

Ámbar's eyes immediately zeroed in on the other side of the room, where Simón was currently lifting Ada's hand over her head and making her spin, only for her to be stolen by Nico a second later, making Simón laugh. Ámbar had been surreptitiously watching him all night and he seemed to be laughing all the time, or dancing with someone who wasn't her.

(And if it were her he was dancing with, it wouldn't be the innocent, wide-berth dances she'd seen him partake in all night—No. They would be glued together from head to toe, pressing their bodies to the rhythm of the music, letting their hands wander and the heat turn up for a completely different reason than the alcohol in their systems, and she just knew that he would be enjoying himself way more that way than with whatever he was doing now.)

To be honest, Ámbar wasn't bored— She was frustrated. Immensely.

It was evident, it seemed, because Emilia, the little shit, just couldn't help but mock her about it. (Not like Ámbar hadn't made it easy for her, staring as obviously as she was.)

"You know, you keep saying he's crazy about you and whatever, but I haven't seen him give you the time of day all night. You sure is not just your imagination?"

Her imagination? Her imagination? It wasn't her imagination when he almost sought her out a few hours ago. It also wasn't her imagination all the other times they had almost kissed, and she could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to. Oooh, he wanted to. Real bad. But he always stopped himself for one reason or another, depriving them both of what they obviously needed.