random stories

Dancing Queen.

They were talking for a good while, sipping drinks while chatting about nothing.

By that point, Aster could feel very clearly the burn of the alcohol and the dizziness that came with it, but it didn't matter at the moment. The only thing that mattered was the hot guy in front of him, carrying the conversation. But god, he didn't even remember his name. He could swear it was something with an S.

Once the guy realised that Aster was too drunk to even manage to sit down upright, he took his arm.

"Hey," he said, and his voice sounded like sweet honey falling down a beehive, to his drunk ears. "Wanna go upstairs? I think there are some rooms here for you to sleep with."

The shorter one didn't want to. The guy was sweet and caring, looking at him with something akin to softness and talking with a calmness he himself couldn't achieve even in his best days. But his head nodded anyway, apparently awake enough to realize the exhaustion and tiredness settled deep in his bones.

Aster only managed to get up with the taller man's help, and, taking his hand in a firm grip, he began leading him upstairs. Finally looking around, past the bright lights and blurriness in his eyes, a sea of people danced and talked in the living room. The blaring music was thundering in his ears, making the floor and his whole body vibrate with the bass. Bright red plastic glasses kept being thrown around and lifted up, spilling the strong alcohol that itched his nose.

It overwhelmed him. It made him want to cry, to yell and break down. It made him want to dance until his legs couldn't move anymore, until he forgot why he was there in the first place and the only thing in his mind was the rhythm of the song and the gross smell of sweat and cheap alcohol around him. It was sweet. Exhilarating.

But he was too drunk to move freely. The only thing keeping him standing and moving was, somehow, the lone hand tightly grabbing his. Finally, they got to the stairs, and made it up with only two close calls. As they were walking through the corridor, passing kissing couples and laughing friends, feeling the grip in his hand becoming tighter, Aster chanced another gaze downstairs.

Big orange eyes, the cause of his internal dilemma and the reason he decided to almost drink himself into oblivion, were looking directly at him.

———

Once they got to an available room, Aster was so tired he could pass out the moment he lied down. The other guy —the guy without a name, he remembered— guided him and made him sit down at the edge. Then, he sat down by his side. They embraced the silence for a few moments.

"So," the guy turned to him, still with a soft expression on his face but with something deep in his eyes his drunk brain couldn't decipher, "do you feel better? Is your head any clearer?"

Aster thought about it for a little. "I don't think so…" he said, and wow, had he always been this close? "My brain feels like…" his blurry eyes couldn't track down movement like normal, it was like looking at a bad stop-motion movie, where the other character only moved closer and closer to him "like mush."

The other guy didn't answer him. Suddenly, something was in his mouth, something wet moving, trying to get past his lips. Without understanding much, the shorter one just let it inside.

It felt weird, and tasted like nothing but alcohol, but orange eyes suddenly entered his mind. And now, he was enjoying it more. Imagining the soft, small lips that accompanied those eyes, on his own. Picturing big and strong-looking hands hold his waist. Traveling down, lifting his shirt up, making him shiver. Placing themselves on his soft stomach, in his ribs, touching his pecs. They were strong, and oh so cold. The difference to his heat-radiating chest made his body shiver even more, forming goosebumps all across his body.

He didn't remember when he laid down, but as long as he kept imagining orange eyes looking at him, vulnerable and confused, everything was fine. If he kept thinking about the body above him as the person he feverishly and desperately desired, he could go through it.

But then the door swung open. The body pressing him to the soft bed disappeared from above him, and he could faintly see two people arguing and occasionally pointing at him. All he could hear was two voices at different volumes, and a very familiar song in the background.

Finally, the tallest man left. Aster tried to sit. Why was he leaving? Did he not want to finish? Were the orange eyes too much? What even was his name?

Until someone grabbed his arm to help him sit up, and he finally found the real orange eyes. The sight almost made him cry. He didn't understand what was going on, the muffled music too loud and the emotions in his chest too big. He was tired. He didn't want to touch, to be touched. He wanted to lay down and sleep for a thousand years. He wanted to go away, to run and run until the sun rose again and he could touch the orange of the sky.

Aster let himself fall down on the man of his dreams. Something was leaking out of his eyes, falling through his cheeks and occasionally getting stuck in his eyelashes, but he didn't care, too consumed by the hand that had found his shoulder and was gently drawing shapes on it. He just concentrated on that, and after a while, even the old song that blasted across the house disappeared from his hazy mind.

Two big and strong hands laid him down, took his shoes out, and covered him with blankets. The warmth in the bed was comforting.

Before falling asleep, Aster opened his eyes. A hand was placed on his cheek, thumb slowly going up and down. The other figure got close to him.

"Sleep, I promise nothing bad is going to happen now."

Aster trusted the man with the orange eyes. He knew he had nothing to fear.

So he slept.