A/N: This idea's been kicking around in my head for a while so I finally decided to write it. It's a drunken one night stand AU so if that's not your thing…be warned. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. (Also if you're looking for actual smut, there are maybe like three lines of it here. I'm still figuring out how to write it so there's just a glimpse here) Anyways, carry on. There will be more to this soon.

EDIT/ I realized that since I copy and pasted this in at like 3 am and then published when I was half asleep at 11...I managed to leave off the ending of this chapter. Sorry about that!

All John Smith wanted to do was get drunk and be as anonymous as his name. He was pretty sure the universe was out to get him and for just one night he was going to tell it to go fuck itself and ignore the failures and responsibilities and worries that weighed on him. He shrugged on his leather jacket and headed out into the crisp fall night.

The pub down the block from his flat was usually a fairly quiet place but John had not accounted for it being a Friday night. The place was filled with boisterous people celebrating the end of another week and the beginning of a weekend. John found a spot near the end of the bar and settled down on the stool and ordered up a double shot of whiskey. The faster he got drunk, the faster he could leave.

He was two drinks in when someone slid onto the single stool between him and the wall. John didn't bother looking up, not wanting to give whoever it was any indication that he was in the mood for a chat.

"Two shots of tequila, please." The, apparently female, stranger's voice was somehow simultaneously determined and despondent and John felt his curiosity getting the better of him.

He glanced up from the glass in his hands in time to see the blonde on his right take her second shot. She grimaced and shook her head before signaling for two more. Since the barkeep was heading their way anyways, John held up a finger to indicate he was ready for a new one as well.

"Rough day?" The words escaped his mouth as soon as the bartender walked away and he immediately wanted to kick himself. He didn't want to talk to anyone but apparently his mouth was operating independently of his brain.

He blamed the whiskey.

"Shitty year," she replied before knocking back another shot. "You?" Her voice was a little strangled as the burn of the tequila made itself known.

"Shitty life, me," John answered honestly.

"Oh you're one of those blokes," she said, turning to face him, "always having to one-up everything."

John spluttered out something in protest. He didn't know exactly what he said because he was too busy drinking in his first full view of the stranger next to him. She looked to be in her early twenties and the brown eyes staring up at him were the same color as the drink in his hand. Her mouth might have been a touch too wide for her face but nothing detracted from the fact that she was stunning.

He took a long sip of his whiskey. "You here to get drunk, too?"

"Yeah. And damn if I'm not already feeling those shots." Her lips quirked up in a quick smile before she suddenly put her head down on the bar.

John reached out and moved her remaining shot away from the top of her head. "Alright there?"

"I will be once I can't feel anything," came the muffled reply. She turned her head so she could see him, "Why does it take so long to get past the hurting and to the numb part?"

"Don't know, love, but the way you're downing shots you should get there pretty soon."

"Good. Don't want to even think about why I'm here." She considered for a moment before adding.

"That's the point of getting drunk isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

They both turned back to their drinks. John took a few long swallows of his whiskey, almost draining it, while the blonde toyed with the shotglass in front of her. Suddenly he saw her face harden out of the corner of his eye and she tipped the shot down her throat.

"So what do you do when you're not sitting at a pub drinking?" She asked after the bartender delivered new drinks.

His face darkened, a job gone wrong and a mistake blamed on him that wasn't actually his fault were two of the reasons that had driven him here tonight. "Bit of everything, really. Don't like being tied down to one thing. "You?"

"Currently unemployed as of today I guess. Shockingly not the main reason I'm drinkin'." Her words were starting to slur and John knew he wasn't far off from slurring himself. "Didn't even factor into the decision really. An' that should tell you exactly how awful today was. Just the cherry on top of the whole fucking terrible year."

"I decided today the universe was out to get me so…" John trailed off and shrugged. He was drunk but not drunk enough to go into the reasons why he'd come to that conclusion. "Here I am."

"We're quite the pair," she said laughing. "Drinking ourselves numb and talking around the reasons we're here."

John chuckled in response. "What else are you supposed to do when you're drinking with a stranger in a pub?"

Her whiskey eyes shot to him, locking with his blue ones. "You don't seem like a stranger, why is that?"

John suppressed a shiver. "Probably just the tequila talking."

It was really the only reasonable explanation. There was no way that she was interested in him at all. She was young and beautiful and would have no use for an old, broken ex-doctor with a list of issues as long as his arm.

She broke him out of his reverie by placing her hand on his knee. "Hey, the tequila might be helpin' things along but it's not conjurin' up this," she gestured between the two of them with her free hand, "connection."

"Imaginin' things you are," he said.

Her hand was off his knee in a flash and she couldn't hide the hurt on her face. Oh Christ, he hadn't meant it like that.

"Sorry, for bothering you while you're working on drinking," she said stiffly.

"'S not what I meant. I just don't expect anyone to like me much at all, much less gorgeous blonde strangers." He winced. He hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud.

"Well I didn't expect to meet a gorgeous bloke at the pub tonight," she shot back, tongue between her teeth as she smiled. And between that smile and the alcohol he might not be responsible for his actions for much longer. "Let's just enjoy tonight and distract each other from why we're here. Deal?"

"Deal." John agreed, grinning at her.

They kept drinking, a bit slower than earlier, for another hour and a half. The two of them covered every generic topic they could think of: politics (neither of them followed it), football (same as politics), best place to get chips (sparked a debate), Harry Potter books (brilliant), and how the couples who were always snogging in public were the worst. They never touched on anything personal and by last call they were laughing and her hand was resting on his upper thigh, occasionally stroking, and it was very distracting.

They paid their tabs and stumbled out into the cold air, leaning heavily on each other.

"Do ya live nearby?" He asked, blearily looking around for a cab.

"No, do you?"

"Yeah, just down the block." He barely thought about the offer before it was out of his mouth. Liquid courage and all that. "You can stay at my place, if you want."

"I want," she said, eyes dark as she looked up at him.

He couldn't pretend to hide the shiver this time. He grabbed her hand and started walking towards his building. He lived on the third floor and the elevator hadn't worked in a decade according to the landlord. In his drunken state the multiple flights of stairs were a daunting task but he was determined not to let on. His blonde friend was following behind him and it didn't help that he swore he could feel her eyes on his arse.

He fumbled with the key when they finally got to the door of his flat. He finally got it open and in a fit of gallantry gestured for her to enter first. John had barely gotten inside the door himself when she pounced on him.

He was pinned to the door and her lips were moving hungrily against his. Within a second he was answering in kind, opening his mouth and inviting her in. John's hands gripped at her hips, pulling her flush against him. Her hands were wandering; one was cupped around his ear, stroking, the other had found its way to his arse and was squeezing possessively. (He was gratified that he hadn't been imagining her fascination in the stairwell.)

Slowly, bouncing off walls and furniture and snogging protractedly at each stop, John led them towards his bedroom. Neither of them had said a word since entering the flat and he couldn't bring himself to care.

By the time they landed on his bed they were wearing significantly less clothing than when they'd begun. Her mouth was fused to his again and he let out a moan when her hand snuck beneath the waistband of his pants to palm him.

After that it was all a blur of skin on skin, mouths and hands exploring and the taste of tequila on her tongue mixing with their salty sweat. It all culminated in them collapsing in a tangled heap, completely sated and exhausted from sex and alcohol.

When John woke the next morning it was with a pounding headache and an overwhelming desire to never look at alcohol ever again. His memories were hazy but bits and pieces were running through his head vividly, all starring the blonde with whiskey eyes he'd met at the pub.

("I need something to call you," he panted in her ear, the tip of his cock pushing at her entrance.

"Rose," she breathed, "my name's Rose."

"I'm John, nice to meet you," he teased before pushing into her.)

Smiling slightly, he reached an arm out to pull her closer. At least something good had come out of their matched destructive aims. His hand met cold sheets instead of a warm body. He rolled over to confirm what his senses were telling him.

The bed was empty. Rose was gone.