Desperate versus CraftyMature

Riley and Henry?

It was so adorable that Damian felt like a 9th grade girl, shipping two people that she thought would make a cute couple.

If that was even what they called it nowadays.  Was it still "shipping?"  You'd think only four and-a-half years away from high school wouldn't change the lingo, but hey.  You can't simulate teen-speak.

"Hey, Priscilla!"  Damian yelled from across the room. 

Priscilla didn't answer.  She was still hammering away at a door, obviously furious towards whatever poor creature now had earned her wrath.

He walked up behind her, and grabbed around her stomach, placing his face against her cheek.  Perfect position for the glorious art of foreplay, necking...  Or whatever this sassy chick was into. 

Damian was interested in Priscilla, but not for the reason one would assume.  She wasn't all that pretty to begin with, but Damian loved a challenge.  It's part of the reason he enjoyed acting.  It got his competitive juices flowing like no other activity in the world.

But tackle Priscilla?  You might as well climb Mount Everest on a pair of skis. 

Her response was less than desired, however.  She simply turned and pushed him away with one hand, diva style.  "Back off, flake." 

What was with the change of attitude?  He had at least gotten to Second Base on the couch with her, and she seemed perfectly compliant.  Damian had feelings for Arriane, but she knew he was a kidder.  At least...  He hoped so.

Wait, second base was under the shirt, right?  Or was that shorstop?  Friggin' teen-speak.

Too drunk to care, Damian just shrugged.  Women.

"Yo, Henry!"  He yelled.  "Get in the car!  I'm leaving!"

A couple of seconds later, Henry arrived in the living room to raise an eyebrow.  "You're exhaling pure Heineken.  I think not."

Damian executed a mocking bow.  "Then drive me, Monsieur, I beg of you."  He turned to the hallway in which the women were, and yelled.  "The Y chromosomes are leaving!  Last call!"  And without waiting for so much as an acknolwedgement, he pulled Henry out by his shirt, stood on the front porch, and slammed the door.

Henry, rolling his eyes, started towards the car.  However, Damian stopped him.  The reporter turned an eye towards the now remarkably sober actor and sighed.  "What is your problem?"

Filing his nails, Damian leaned against the side of the door frame.  "Hang around for a couple more minutes.  They'll come out if they want us.  Unlike Riley, I get paid to act like a drunk idiot."  He yawned, and continued filing.  "I figure Priscilla is more likely to sleep with me if she thinks I won't remember her the morning after."  Damian winked at Henry.  "You know how I love a challenge, dude."

Henry responded with a full-blown facepalm, reminiscent of Picard himself.  "You are so desperate."

Damian looked up at the porchlight, as if to ponder.  "I prefer the term 'crafty,' or even 'horny'...  but whatever floats your boat, I guess."

The End

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