he stirred in his sleep.

Do you want to? She said, and flashed a smile his way.
Not particularly, came the reply.
Her face sparkled more than it should have and she kissed him. Alcohol was heavy on her breath. Under the dim glow of the streetlights, their lips parted as she skipped off the road and onto the pavement. He stood in the middle of a street he couldn't remember the name of and watched her dance along the concrete. She beckoned for him to follow, saying come on, and then prancing away ahead of him, her dress billowing slightly. He meandered lazily towards her, his steps more uneven than they should have been.
They continued down the street, him lagging behind, his feet unwilling to catch up.
Headlights glared up the road, and then got bigger. He stumbled onto the footpath and they both stopped to stare at the lights. A police car cruised by them, and they both watched. When he looked back at her, he found her on the ground, frowning. Oops! was all she said, and held out her hand. He looked at her and smiled. She huffed indignantly and said come on! and waved her hand at him. He looked at her and smiled. He could see her underpants and blood rushed to his cheeks. She noticed him staring and giggled. She moved her dress slightly and crossed her legs.
He moved closer to her and made to take her hand. Batting it away, she darted up by herself and tore of up the street, giggling more than she should have.
Chuckling to himself, he wandered after her, gazing at her red and white polkadot dress and wishing it wasn't there.
She stopped outside a large house with no fence and waited for him. This one, she said. The bastard lives here. I'll show him, she said. He thought that perhaps there was more malice in her voice than there should have been.
She stepped into the front garden. It was the most terrific he'd ever seen.
Roses hung in the air, deep red dots ebbing in the shadows, their stalks lost to the darkness. Large white flowers flared here and there amongst a seething mess of purple. He could hardly make any of it out, and it all seemed to be moving.
He tried to think of why they were here, but all he could remember was seeing the pale white of her thighs, going upwards.
From somewhere, he pulled the thought that someone probably dearly loved this garden, and felt a slight twang of remorse as he saw her uproot a particularly large rose. She hurled it at the door of the house, where it landed with a dull thud. Then another, and another. Soon, the ground was covered in dirt and petals, and there were no more roses. She laughed, and spat at the dark pile on the porch.
Old bastard! she yelled, and danced towards him. Inside the house, a man called Joseph stirred in his sleep and spread out onto the other side of the bed.
He looked at the rose pile and thought how sad it was that such a perfect form was crushed.
The thought fled from him with her giggling as she lunged at him and kissed him. Pulling away, he could see her eyes swim more than they should have.
The two worked their way along the street, her in front and him lagging behind. The house with the uprooted roses on the porch got lost in the distance.
He looked at her and smiled. He caught glimpses of her thighs and blood rushed to his cheeks.
Alcohol was heavy on her breath.