{Boris Pavlikovsky Imagines}

Game night

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, cigarettes

Sorry this is pretty short!

"Fuck!" I yelled, slamming my pile of cards down.

"I lost again!? How!?" I fumed.

Boris giggled and took another swig of his beer.

"Go on, take your shot, loser," he smirked.

I filled a glass with tequila and drank it quickly.

"Jesus Christ I'm gonna be more drunk than you by the end of this if I keep losing," I muttered, shuffling the deck of cards.

"Hah!" Boris laughed, lighting a cigarette and putting it in between his lips.

"Gimme," I said, holding my hands out for the cigarette.

He handed me over the cigarette and we passed it back and forth before starting another game.

"What are we playing this time?" He asked.

"Slapjack."

"Alright," he shrugged, "I'm gonna win anyway."

***

"Haha! I win! Win! I win!" I cheered, jumping up and down.

"Well done," Boris smirked, filling the shot glass and scoffing it down like it was nothing.

"I finally wonnnn," I crawled, dancing around in celebration.

"Alright hot stuff, since you're acting like you're starting a streak, let's play again, a different game."

"What game?" I questioned, reshuffling the cards.

"James bond?" He suggested.

"Sure," I smirked, knowing I was good at that game.

***

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I exclaimed, my eyes nervously scanning over the cards as both me and Boris were close to winning.

"James bond!" I yelled, putting down my last pile.

"Shit!" Boris exclaimed, "I was so close!"

"Haha, loser," I mocked.

"Play again?" Boris questioned.

"Nah, I'm kinda bored, I need a cigarette."

"Me too," he said, looking at the burnt out cigarette that he hand in his left hand.

I lit a cigarette and sat back on the couch, Boris followed soon after, placing his arm around me and putting his feet up on the table.

I nuzzled my head into his shoulder and sighed.

"Hey babe," I said, using an extra nice tone.

He sighed, already knowing I was going to ask something.

"Yes?"

"Can you go get me a beer? Please?" I questioned, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

"I just sat down! But—sure, I expected a lot worse."

He stood up and came back a few minutes later, with two beers.

He handed me one and opened up the other, resuming his previous position on the couch.

We both switched between our beers and our cigarettes in silence.

Eventually, I rested my head on his shoulder and let my eyelids, which had been growing quite heavy, close.

—