aFireFist
Cameos in The Big Bang Theory
Season 1 - Episode 8 - Part 2
Vlatko smirked, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Bartending is not just mixing. Is timing. Is hands. Is knowing when to pour heavy and when to cut someone off before they puke on the floor." He stepped behind her, chest almost touching her back, and reached around to guide her hands onto the metal shaker. His body heat soaked straight through her thin tank top. One big hand settled on her waist, fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above the waistband of her shorts.
"Like this," he said, close to her ear, breath warm against her neck. "Hard shake. Don't be gentle. The ice needs to break a little. Same way some people need to be handled."
Penny followed the motion he showed her. The shaker rattled loud between her palms. His other hand slid lower without asking, cupping one full cheek of her ass through the tight denim and giving it a firm, possessive squeeze. She felt the thick ridge of his cock press against the small of her back, already half-hard and heavy.
"You feel that?" he muttered, voice dropping even lower. "That's what happens when you wear shorts like this in my club. Ass hanging out, tits pushing against that little top. You came here looking for a job or looking to get fucked?"
She pushed her ass back against him on purpose, grinding just enough to feel him thicken further. "Maybe I wanted both. Maybe I wanted to see if the guy teaching me knew how to use more than his hands on a shaker."
Vlatko's hand left her ass long enough to lock the back door of the bar area and flip the handwritten "closed for inventory" sign. The few customers still nursing drinks in the front didn't even look up. He turned her around by the hips, backed her against the edge of the bar, and kissed her hard. His mouth tasted like mint and the vodka they'd both had. Penny opened for him immediately, tongue sliding against his, while his hands went straight under her tank top and shoved the fabric up over her tits.
No bra. Her full, heavy breasts spilled free into the cool air, nipples already tight and dark pink from the temperature and the way he was looking at them. Vlatko cupped both in his big hands, squeezing the soft flesh until it overflowed his palms, thumbs brushing slow circles over the peaks. He pinched one nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolled it firmly, then leaned down and sucked it into his mouth hard.
Penny's head tipped back, a low sound catching in her throat. "Fuck… that's not how you teach pouring."
He released her nipple with a wet pop and switched to the other, sucking harder, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp and arch into his mouth. One hand stayed mauling her left tit—squeezing, lifting, letting the heavy flesh drop and bounce—while the other shoved down the front of her shorts without warning. His thick fingers found her already wet, sliding through her slick folds and pushing two of them inside her in one steady motion.
"You're soaked," he growled against her skin, lips brushing the wet nipple he had just left. "Been thinking about this since you walked in asking for a job. Walking around with this ass and these tits like you didn't know exactly what you were offering."
Penny rocked her hips against his hand, fucking herself on his fingers. "Maybe I did. Don't stop. Deeper."
He fingered her faster, curling against that spot inside her while his mouth stayed busy on her tits—sucking, biting lightly, leaving the skin wet and shiny. The wet sounds of his fingers pumping into her mixed with the distant thump of the music. Penny's thighs started to tremble. Her mouth fell open, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushing pink. She came the first time with a sharp, broken cry, pussy clamping hard around his fingers in tight pulses, clear juices running down his wrist and onto the waistband of her shorts.
Vlatko pulled his fingers out, lifted them to his mouth, and licked them clean with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. Then he spun her around and bent her over the bar. Her tank top was still shoved up under her armpits, full tits pressed flat against the sticky wood. He yanked her shorts and panties down to her knees in one rough motion. Cool air hit her exposed pussy and the round, pale cheeks of her ass.
{R-18 Scene Penny x Vlatko 1947 Full Word Count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n.}
He helped her stand. Her legs were shaky. She pulled her shorts and panties back up, not bothering to clean the mess between her thighs—she could feel it smearing against the fabric with every movement. Her tank top was still shoved up under her arms. She fixed it, smoothed her hair with both hands, and looked at him. Her cheeks were still flushed, lips swollen, eyes a little glassy.
"So," she said, voice hoarse. "Did I pass the lesson?"
Vlatko smirked, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up. "You're hired for practice shifts. Cash under the table. Tips you keep. Come back tomorrow night if you want more training. I teach better when the student is this… motivated."
Penny grabbed her bag from under the bar, adjusted the strap on her shoulder, and gave him one last look. "I'll be here."
She left the club with the dull ache between her legs and the smell of him still on her skin—vodka, cheap cologne, sweat, and sex. The night air outside felt cooler than it should have. Every step made her thighs brush together, the slick mess of his cum and her own wetness smearing against the inside of her shorts. By the time she reached the apartment building she was sticky, a little sore in the best way, and already thinking about how she was going to practice the drink recipes without the landlord noticing bottles in the hallway or the smell of liquor drifting under doors.
She climbed the four flights slower than usual. The ache reminded her of every thrust, every time his hips had met her ass, every thick pulse he had left inside her. She pushed the thought down when she reached the fourth-floor landing and knocked once on 4A before walking in without waiting.
The pizza boxes on the coffee table were empty, lids crumpled, grease stains dark against the cardboard. The guys were still arguing in the living room.
"I'm just saying the accent was a choice," Leonard said, gesturing with a crumpled napkin. "A very specific, very outdated choice."
Howard threw his hands up from the armchair. "It worked, didn't it? She said yes. Mission accomplished. You're welcome, by the way."
Sheldon sat in his spot with perfect posture, fingertips steepled. "The phonetic approximation was statistically closer to a mid-twentieth-century American caricature than to any authentic Indian dialect. However, the outcome was successful. Efficacy occasionally outweighs accuracy."
Raj was still on the floor near the closed laptop, knees drawn up, staring at nothing.
Penny stepped fully inside. She still smelled faintly of the club—booze, sex, and the cologne Vlatko wore. Leonard noticed first. His eyes flicked over her flushed cheeks, the slight messiness of her hair, and the careful way she walked, like her legs weren't entirely steady.
"You okay?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter.
"Fine," Penny said, dropping her bag by the door. "Just got a side gig. Bartending practice. I need guinea pigs. You guys drink free if you let me try recipes on you."
Howard's head snapped around immediately. "We're excellent guinea pigs. World-class. Award-winning, even."
She carried a small bag of bottles and mixers over to the kitchen counter and started pulling things out—vodka, soda, a bottle of crème de menthe, cream, ice she had grabbed from the freezer downstairs. The first round was simple: vodka sodas, tall and cold. She handed them out. The guys drank without complaint. The second round was something sweeter, a little heavier on the syrup. Raj, still wound tight about the date Howard had locked him into, took whatever glass she put in his hand without looking at it.
The third drink was a Grasshopper—bright green, minty, heavy on the cream and crème de menthe. Penny poured it carefully, the liquid catching the kitchen light, and passed it to Raj.
He drank half of it in one go, throat working, then lowered the glass and looked straight at her.
"This tastes like toothpaste and ice cream had a baby," he said, clear as day, no hesitation, no freeze. "Why do people drink this? It's like someone liquefied a candy cane and mixed it with regret."
Everyone froze.
Penny blinked, the shaker still in her hand. "Did you just… talk to me?"
Raj's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, testing the words like they might disappear. "I… I can talk. Holy shit. I can talk and you're right there. You're a woman. You're Penny. And words are coming out of my mouth in complete sentences."
Leonard stared at him, pizza napkin forgotten in his fist. "The alcohol. It fixed the mutism."
Sheldon tilted his head, eyes narrowing behind his glasses in pure analytical interest. "Alcohol is a known disinhibitor. It appears to have temporarily overridden whatever neurological mechanism produces his selective mutism in the presence of women. Fascinating. The effect manifested after the introduction of the crème de menthe and cream mixture. Further testing would be required to isolate the precise chemical trigger, but the correlation is strong."
Howard slapped the table hard enough to make the empty pizza boxes jump. "We just found the cheat code. Raj, you're getting wasted before the date. Problem solved. You're welcome again."
Raj looked equal parts relieved and terrified, the green drink still in his hand. "I still have to go on the date. I still have to sit across from her and not turn into a silent disaster. What if it wears off halfway through the appetizers?"
"At the Cheesecake Factory," Leonard said, leaning forward. "Penny works there. We can sit nearby and keep an eye on how much he's drinking. Top him up if he starts freezing. Pull him back if he gets too far gone and starts telling her about the heat death of the universe or whatever."
Penny shrugged, already measuring out another pour, the bottle clinking softly against the rim of a fresh glass. "I can keep an eye on the table. Just don't make a scene. Last thing I need is my manager asking why three grown men are hovering around one booth like nervous parents."
Raj finished the rest of the Grasshopper in big swallows. The words kept coming easy, flowing without the usual wall. He turned to Penny again, eyes a little brighter, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the shock.
"You're really pretty when you're concentrating on pouring," he said. "Has anyone told you that? The way you bite your lip a little when you're measuring. It's… nice. Distracting, actually. In a good way."
Penny laughed, shaking her head as she set the new drink down. "Okay, maybe ease up on the green ones. You're two sips away from writing me poetry and I am not emotionally prepared for that tonight."
Howard grinned across the room. "See? He's charming when he's drunk. This is perfect. We control the intake, we control the mutism, we get him through one successful dinner. Easy."
Sheldon raised a finger. "I feel obligated to note that alcohol-induced disinhibition often includes reduced impulse control and elevated confidence that may not align with actual social competence. The plan carries measurable risk."
"Everything carries measurable risk," Howard shot back. "This is the best option we've got."
Leonard looked between them, then at Raj, who was still staring at Penny like he couldn't believe the words had actually left his mouth. "So we're doing this. Date night at the Cheesecake Factory. We sit close. Penny monitors. Raj drinks just enough to stay verbal. Nobody lets him order a third Grasshopper."
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