It was completely indescribable how happy she was. No amount of liquor could get her into a state that could give her mouth words to how she felt right now. Not even inebriation could mix her thoughts up enough to come up with a single thing to say.
She didn't need to say anything.
Dirk was asleep on her bed next to her, the shadows cast from her poorly-drawn shades making the moonlight stream over him in soothing patterns. Her comforter was drawn up to his chest; the bare spanse of skin that was showing otherwise was - again - indescribable. Well, 'incredibly fucking sexy' was an apt description but for the sake of eloquency she was choosing not to let her brain linger on those three words.
He had come over that night, and he hadn't said a word to her. She had opened her door to see him standing there - no cool or ironic remarks, no smirks. He wasn't even leaning against her doorframe like she might have imagined him to. Her stunned and slightly confused look had followed him inside and kept up even as she closed the door. Her mother had been out - thank fuck for that, really - so her squeal of surprise when he'd practically swept her off her feet to kiss her was heard by no one.
It had been sweet and slow, and almost like he was asking permission for something. She'd stared up at him, a distinct confusion painted across her flushed cheeks - which may have been the alcohol, she wasn't too clear on that - but her hand had been on his face, fingers tingling with an excitement she could barely contain. He stood there with her, very nearly dipping her over the hardwood floors of the foyer, watching her from behind his shades. Her fingertips gently nudged them up and he didn't stop them. She'd stared for an entire thirty seconds, completely transfixed by those orange eyes of his. They matched his font and for a second she had smirked, thinking that was the corniest thing in the entire world - but she found her smirk fading as she looked into them, really looked into them, and couldn't stop. Eye contact was only broken again by the second kiss he gave her, Roxy nearly melting as she felt his hand come to the back of her head and slide careful fingers through her hair, cradling her skull like one would an infant.
When he let her up again she felt like her knees would give out, so she grabbed his hand and without a word she left her martini in the living room and the TV on, pulling him quietly up to her bedroom. The door was shut as her back hit it, Dirk's hands snaking up her shirt and his mouth on hers. Her go-ahead to the disrobing was her own hands up the back of his, fingertips sliding over his shoulderblades and curling them possessively into the skin on his back. The taut muscle gave little to her grip but it made her love it even more, and press with more persistence. She may have left faint scratches on his back but the thought was out of her mind as he was pulling off her shirt, thumbs hooked under the cups of her bra as that came off with it. Discarded and top-nude, he pinned her to the door with his hips, palms flat on either side of her head as he kissed her again, invasive and rough. This thrilled her, and a sharp tingle ran up her spine. Hands were on his face, pulling off his glasses and tossing them off to the side to join her crumpled shirt.
One of his hands left the door, palm running over her collarbone and one of her breasts before sliding down her ribcage, then to the small of her back where he pressed, lifting her from the cheap plywood barrier to bring her chest against his. There were too many clothes in the way; they were standing when they could have been naked on her bed under - or even on top of, it didn't fucking matter - her pink comforter, getting tangled in the linens that smelled faintly of cheap vodka and even cheaper perfume. She had leaned away from the door earnestly, wanting this brief fantasy to be a real thing and he responded so graciously, his other hand encircling her back to spin her away from the doorway, coming into her hair again, and walking her carefully to the edge of her bed. The backs of her knees hit it and she fell back against the mattress, hunger-glazed eyes watching him. Roxy had scooted back a bit, and he had crawled over her, strong but cautious fingers grazing her inner thigh. She bit her lip and lifted a hand to making a grabbing motion into the air like a needy child, finding it a damn fucking shame her hand wasn't tangled in his blonde hair, keeping his mouth against hers.
Dirk obliged like a saint, first kissing her forehead before rather sweet affections were doted elsewhere on her face. Wonderful, undoubtedly - but she very much needed to be kissed right this instant, thank you very much. But oh - he paused a moment to pull off his own shirt and Roxy lamented the fact her eyes were too busy staring into his to take advantage of the perfect vantage point she had of his chest. Another thought soon forgotten as he was tugging on the hem of her skirt. She lifted her hips to let him pull the garment off, black leggings going with it. Devious girl had gone commando today, and the smirk that she felt like she'd been waiting for finally surfaced, and she greeted it with one of her own, hands racing up his torso just to feel everything she could while he undid his pants.
This was happening. She knew she wasn't dreaming; her heart was beating too loudly in her ears for it to be a dream; the tingles down her spine from how he was nibbling on her ear were far too real for this to be a product of an over-active, drunk imagination. Her gasp quickly faded into a loving coo as he kissed her forehead again, his hand near their mouths when he pulled back. It seemed like he took an extreme delicacy in tracing her bottom lip with his fingertips, his mouth opening in the slightest bit; giving her the closest thing to a pleading look that she could think to pinpoint. Her tongue slid out of her mouth, breath smelling like gin and candy, dragging up his middle and index finger. Short work left them sufficiently coated, and as she figured the hand disappeared for a moment - Dirk's eyes closing and a long, hot breath leaving his mouth. He didn't make a sound, and she wondered if it was because he'd practiced the motion so much or if it was because he wanted to preserve the sanctity of their silence. She very much enjoyed thinking the latter so she let herself run with it; imagining that this was as beautiful and perfect to him as it was to her.
The act itself was better than she had ever imagined it might be, even if the start had been a little rough on her. He was forgiving and gentle, slowing every time she'd give a wince or grip his arm in a particular way that'd denote she was in any sort-of discomfort. More than once she had wanted to cry but not in pain - moreso at the fact that she had been wanting this for as long as she could remember. When he finished and loomed over her, elbows bent, and his hands in hers, he panted against her forehead before she managed to coax him into kissing her again - hand in his hair, just at the nape of his neck. She was smiling and he was too, and it was the most beautiful moment she had ever experienced in her entire life.
That had been about an hour ago, Roxy now just watching him as he slept next to her. His chest rose and fell softly and he didn't snore. A few more silent moments passed ((and he rolled over onto his side, facing away from her ((the jerk)))) before she scooted over to him, laying her head on his pillow and fitting her body against his. It felt so right. She draped her arm over his side and pressed herself against him in an embrace, closing her eyes. To her surprise he took her hand, opening it and dragging a fingertip across her palm. It took her a second to realize he was writing letters on it and spelling something before he brought it to his lips to kiss it warmly, then held it back against his chest.
He had spelled 'I love you'.