delacourtings | [fic] inflammatory language; just listen, owen/annabel

inflammatory language. just listen. owen/annabel. pg. 974.
and how much eggnog is too much eggnog?
for card_writing's holiday prompt meme.

"Ugh," Owen groaned, sinking further into the couch and placing a hand gingerly on his stomach. Annabel was curled up beside him, feet tucked under her, the television remote in her hand. They'd opted for a quiet New Year's at her place, her parents and sister having various parties to attend and his sister insisting her parents hold a party solely for her and her friends. Owen had brought over a pizza from work and Annabel had provided the beverages, though now that was coming back to haunt him.

"I told you not to drink that much eggnog," she said, unsympathetically.

"It wasn't that much. And how much eggnog is too much eggnog?"

"You aren't supposed to drink half a gallon. You're supposed to drink it slowly, a little bit at a time? Savor it?" Annabel said, raising her eyebrows at him.

Owen grinned, face starting to resemble the Cheshire cat.

"What?" Annabel asked warily, leaning back.

"Like techno."

"No. Techno is something that should never be listen to. Ever."

Owen waved a finger at her halfheartedly. "Inflammatory language."

"I know. It was intentional."

"You're the worst, you know that?" Annabel nodded, not taking her eyes off the T.V. screen, where a reporter in a trench coat was talking animatedly. Owen sighed. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, trying not to focus on how he felt. He ran through a few songs in his head, trying to start mapping out the first show of the new year. His current mindset was to make it all techno, but that was more just wanting to get revenge on Annabel for the eggnog than anything. It seemed like only a few minutes later Annabel's hand was shaking him awake.

"Owen, wake up. It's almost time." Owen turned his head, mumbling noncommittally.

Annabel sighed. "If you get up, I promise to listen to one full length techno song and not complain about it for at least forty-five minutes." Owen opened one eye. "Really?"

Annabel grimaced. "Really."

"Deal," Owen grinned, sitting up, groaning as he realized his nap hadn't done anything to alleviate the discomfort in his stomach. He wrapped his arm around Annabel, smiling softly as she scooted closer. He still wasn't quite used to this. Them being more than friends. He didn't think she was entirely used to it either. They'd spent so much time carefully running in circles around each other, so much time being not just friends, but not exactly together either. They just were. But now things were different. Kissing was okay, but not in front of the family. They still ate lunch together everyday at school, she still shared her lunch and he still spent his money on music. But now their hands would rest on top of each other's instead of just lying beside one another and just inching towards each other but never managing to touch. Some things were still unsaid. He knew they were together at least, but she hadn't exactly used the b-word. Then again, he hadn't used the g-word either. He wasn't one to let things stay inside, simmering. At least not anymore. But she still made him kind of nervous, made his heart beat as fast as it did when he saw his favorite band play for the first time. Maybe tonight was the night to change that. New Year's Eve was the type of thing you did with a significant other right? Kissing when the ball dropped and all that?

"Owen," Annabel's voice called, softly, bringing him out of thoughts.

"Hmm?" he answered absently, running his fingers through her hair. She raised her eyebrows at him. He glanced at the screen, noting with surprise that there were only a few minutes left until the new year. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head, as if to shake the thoughts out of his mind. "Just thinking."

Annabel grimaced. "Let me guess. Techno."

"Close," he teased, "you!"

She stared at him. "You did not just compare me to techno."

He nodded. "My two favorite things."

She gave him a disbelieving look. "Y'know," he said, now desperately wishing to change the topic, "I don't think I've ever kissed anyone on New Year's before."

"Really?" Annabel asked, surprised. "You've never had a girlfriend on New Year's Eve before?"

Owen ran a finger through hair, laughing awkwardly. "Are we? I mean are you my...? I mean I know we're... but. Are we...?"

"Owen," Annabel said firmly, placing a hand on the side of his face and making him face her. "Yes."

"Yes?" Owen parroted. "Yes. Yes, what?" Annabel leaned closer, looking him in the eyes. "Yes," she said softly, once, right before she kissed him. He could faintly hear the people on T.V. celebrating in the background, but his focus was more on her. The way her hand slid down from his face to grip his shoulder, the way her lips were slightly chapped and tasted of pizza and the vanilla lip balm she always wore. His arms slipped around her, coming to rest at her lower back, their favorite place. He spread his hand out, reveling in the way his hand seemed to go along the width of her entire back. He brushed his thumb up and down softly, tightening his hold as she shivered, pressing herself closer.

"But not," she whispered as she pulled away, "if you keep comparing me to techno."

"No promises." He said, smiling softly. "Mmmhmm," she said, pulling away and positioning herself to wear she was not lying in his lap, accidentally bumping her head against him slightly.

"Oh, not the stomach."

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Things were silent for a moment, Annabel lying with her head in Owen's lap, his fingers combing through her hair absentmindedly, before she spoke up again.

"Told you not to drink that much eggnog."

"It wasn't that much!"