Warnings: Adult references.
Theme: lyrics for Cake's "Short Skirt, Long Jacket"
"It's called smooooooth liquidation," he says swaying toward her like a tiger on vaseline (better than David Bowie imagined!), dancing forward in a jaunty, ungraceful motion of inebriated hip thrusting and un-rhythm, the kind that would make music unwind to see it, but fuck sound-motion, fuck lyrics - all it does is make her laugh and that is something worth singing about.
He skirted the edge of the bed and its jutting sword sides, ready to cut hips and bruise egos, and collapsed into the pile of her pillows like a sack of lively, drunken potatoes. "I'm trading in my MG for a Chrysler Lebanon - shit, how did it go again?!"
"Hell if I know," she says, all downward motion, like a toppling Shiva - all flailing arms and feminine wile - collapsing with cement-brick-heavy on his chest, and that's all the weight he's willing and ready to bear right now, dizzy like a spinning top filled up with bubblegum rum, and he giggles almost like a girl when he feels her fingers preying on the tangled laces of his trousers while wishing for Shirley Temple cherries and martini olives.
Music fumbled in his mouth along with her hair and something that wanted a voice but didn't have one. It might have come out as "I love you," but Cake rambled manically, "I want a girl who cuts through ribbons with a machete - "
"I have a pitch fork," she grinned against his navel.
He knew that, but goddamnit, he wanted that machete -
- but alas!
(he falls in love with her anyway).