You, Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis stumbled down your street, singing loudly and ignoring the shouts to shut up. You three had just finished with work, then happy hour, and the Bad Touch Trio were kind enough to walk you home.

"WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, MY FRIENDS AND WE'LL KEEP ON FIGHTING TILL THE END!" You three sang or screamed. Then you turned and pointed at Gilbert and he air guitared the rest.  Antonio and Francis suddenly got a devilish look when you reached your front yard. They stood on either side of you and kissed your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth. You were much to soused to notice, but some one did.

"YOU BE GETTIN OF ME LAWN AN ME GIRL!" came a loud Scottish shout. Allitster marched down the lawn and scooped you up, carrying you back to the house. The trio of course followed in the house, as Allister was to busy with you to stop them. He set you on the couch then turned to the grinning trio.

"You know, there are three of us, one of you and one of her," he said motioning to you lightly sleeping on the couch, but hearing every word. "We could easily...change this situation to our advantage," Francis suggested, sharing an evil smirk with Antonio and Gilbert. The Scotsman's face changed from rage to an idea.

"How about a wager?" Allister asked. "Any you there can out drink me, you get me lass for the night," And the sound of this you sat up, trying to make it look like you just woke up.

"Wha.....what am I doing?" You asked slurred. Allitster just smiled and pushed you back down.

"Not what, who, lass. Back to sleep," he whispered. You were to out of it to care at this point and just decided to go to sleep. Then he turned to the trio.

"You in?" They looked at each other and grinned. They'd heard his legend drinking skills, but the Bad Touch Trio had plenty of practice. They nodded and Allister went to get the special whiskey he bought the last time he was in Scotland. He walked back, sat at the kitchen, got some glasses and started pouring shots.

-many, many, many, many shots later-

Francis looked at the shot in front of him, then back at his companions. Antonio was on the floor passed out, and Gilbert was snoring in the corner. He looked at the Scotsman, who was sitting straight up, glaring at the Frenchman, daring him to take the shot. Francis sighed and threw his arms up.

"Fine, she's not worth it," Francis grumbled. Allister got up and held Francis by the collar.

"See tha lass passed out on te couch there?" he growled and Francis  nodded meekly. "She be worth'n much mor than ye," With that Allister tossed all three of them out on the lawn. Then he walked over to you.

"Ya can open yer eyes now, I know yer awake," You open your eyes to green ones with dark red hair in them leaning over you. You smile shyly at the serious expression he wore. The he kissed you roughly, you whimpered but he only put his hand on the back of your head, applying more pressure. He finally broke the kiss and you gasped for need of air. But he then moved to your neck, picking out that one spot and leaving a large purple bruise that, a spot that there was no hiding. Then he moved back to your mouth forcing his tongue in. After what seemed like hours and several more marks on your neck later he pulled back and looked at you.

"Whos ares ya?" he asked quietly.

"...yours..." you mutter softly, still drowsy. Suddenly he was in your face again and he bit down on one of the more sensative marks.

"Now then, whos ares ya?" he asked again.

"Yours," you shouted.