Hatchetfield.

Sex On The Beach

A/N: title is very misleading—isn't smut LMAO

Paul Matthews didn't like musicals. It was a known fact to everyone around him, his coworkers, his few friends, his family, pretty much everyone in Hatchetfield knew of his disdain for the genre. Especially his coworker and friend(?) Ted Spankoffski.

The two men had known each other for years, having both gone to Sycamore High School. They both went to the college in town, living two very different lives. Now, they both worked at the same office downtown, working the same long hours, with the same set of people every single day. It starts to take a toll on the mind, so what do they do to release stress?

They drink. They drink a lot. Bill invites the whole office out to drink every friday, except for the ones where Alice is in town. This Friday was like no other, Paul had spent the week prior at home sick and now, with help from Ted, was catching up on the previous week's work.

"Ted, you don't understand how exhausted I am, I need to get like, reset." Paul loosened his tie as he set his blazer on the seat.

"And you're gonna do that by getting shitfaced?" Ted asked, an impressed look resting on his face.

Paul grimaced, "Ew, please never refer to me getting black out drunk as getting shitfaced. It sounds like as soon as I'm drunk I'm going to cover myself in shit. I will not be doing that."

"Ya never know Paul, you could wake up in cow shit and have no idea how you got there," Ted smirked, trying to land his attempt at a joke.

Paul grimaced again. He turned to the bartender and ordered a Sex on the Beach. Leaning his head on his hand, he looks at Ted.

"What?" Ted raises a brow, "There something on my face?"

"No," His drink came along and he took a sip while Ted ordered a whisky, "Hey, thanks for all the help this week, I truly underestimated how much work I actually had."

"It's no big deal Paul."

"Ted. I appreciate your help," Paul's voice changed to one of a serious nature, "I genuinely could not have gotten through this without you."

"No problem," Ted took a sip of his whiskey with an eye roll, "You don't have to keep thanking me."

"Ted, I genuinely don't understand how you drink that shit straight?" Paul laughs, "I throw up everytime I drink straight alcohol."

Ted shrugged and took another sip, a second nature to him, "I've built a tolerance."

The two continued to converse throughout the night, they drank a little more than they should have. Their other coworkers had already gone home, well all except Bill. By the time Bill was ready to leave, the two were leaning against each other in a drunken state, giggling over the dumbest shit.

"Guys," Bill exhaustedly exclaimed, "You shouldn't have had so much, you can't drive home like this."

"It's fine," Ted slurred, "We can sleep in our cars, no big deal Billy Boy."

"Y-Yeah Bill, our cars," Paul drunkenly stammered and blew a raspberry at Bill.

Bill rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, "No. I'll take you home. I only had a Shirley Temple."

"A fuckin' Shirley Temple? Jesus Christ Bill." Ted mocked the older man.

Bill scoffed, "Yes, a Shirley Temple, Theodore. Someone needs to be the designated driver."

"Mehmehmeh fucking designated driver this, Shirley Temple that, we don't need fucking rides home. Right, Paul?"

Paul looked up in drunken confusion, "What? Huh? What the fuck? Where am I?"