"You really live here?" asks Cyan, raising an eyebrow. She's lounging against the metal railing outside the front door to your apartment as you fumble with the keypad, her face lit faintly with the orange glow of her cigarette. The neon blue bangs of her undercut hairstyle shift gently in the brisk nighttime air, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as she shivers, pulling her studded jacket tighter around herself. You've gotta admit, drinking with her is much more fun than drowning your sorrows alone.
"It's not much." you admit, punching in your code, the door sliding open with a metallic hiss. Your apartment is a mess, dirty clothes strewn across the floor, a pile of unwashed dishes in the sink.
"Nicer than the shithole I live in." Cyan comments dryly, taking a last puff of her cigarette before casually tossing the butt over the railing. Giving you a grin, she struts past you. You can't help but watch her hips swing as she walks, a fact she notices as well, judging from the wink and the smirk she gives her when your eyes find their way back to hers.
You follow her in, closing the door behind you and turning back around to see her bent over, rummaging through your fridge.
"You got anything to drink?" she asks.
"Bottom shelf." you tell her, watching intently as she bends lower, her short skirt riding up to reveal even more of her thighs.
She straightens, clutching a pair of beers, one in each hand, and kicking the door of your fridge closed behind her. Tossing one through the air to you, she cracks hers open, tilting her head back and taking a gulp.
"Dont'cha think you've had enough?" you ask, amused.
"No such fucking thing, ${name}." she slurs, advancing on you. She places her hand against your chest and none too gently, pushes you a few steps back and then down onto your unmade bed. Stepping over your knee, she sits down on your lap facing you, straddling you and placing a hand on your shoulder for support as she tosses her head back and takes another swig.