A Tronnor Collection

Two Weeks. - Tronnor Fanfic Prompt #7

'Last night was supposed to be a one night stand but we drunkenly got each other's names tattooed on each other's ass cheeks so now it's kind of hard to forget you' au

The first thought he had when he rolled over to check the clock was how unusually bright it was in his room. Troye kept his blinds and curtains shut tight to avoid waking with the sun, but even through bleary eyes he could sense it was far too bright. The second thought he had, as he fell from the bed onto the hard floor, was that maybe this was not his room. After all, Troye slept on the right at home, with his phone on the pillow beside him, charging. And yet, when he'd rolled over to get his phone, he'd slipped off what seemed to be the left side of the bed and hit the wood flooring. Curious, because Troye was pretty sure his apartment had carpet in the bedroom. Not positive, but that was mostly due to the amount of alcohol still in his veins, and the strong possibility that he'd woken up slightly intoxicated from the night before.

When Troye rose to his feet with the help of the bed, he confirmed that this was indeed not his room. Generally, his room had black sheets and a dark duvet, and the one in front of him was clothed entirely in white. But what convinced him most that things were a little off was the completely naked man lying face down in the right hand side pillow, butt up and exposed to the air. Troye groaned, recalling enough of the night before to remember that this guy (Conrad? Carson?) had been at the club too, and yes, he did remember buying him more than a few drinks. Troye noticed the bedside table to his right and the bottle of water sitting on it. He precariously crawled back onto the bed and leaned up against the headboard, arms around his knees to give himself a little privacy, as the duvet was stuck underneath the naked body of his, well, friend? He took a sip of the water and allowed his last 12 hours to come back into focus. 

It'd been a cultural fair in West Hollywood, and all the clubs had drinks, food and entertainment from around the world. The last place Troye could clearly remember had been serving naan bread and butter chicken. The guy beside him (Cameron? Carter?) had been dancing to the music in an outrageous fashion and Troye had bought him a drink to convince him to stop. Not because he cared really, about the man embarrassing himself, but because he wasn't sure it'd be appropriate to grab the guy's ass in front of the entire club, and the way he'd been sashaying around had left Troye little willpower to resist. After agreeing to the drink, they'd talked for a bit, then danced for a bit, and then things got a little blurry. The last clear memory he had was calling a taxi and his new friend telling him his address, inviting him home for a 'private dance'. That part stuck out because Troye had found it a little funny, but from the light pink marks on his biceps and the state of the bed, Troye could imagine that the dance had gone very well.

His eyes finally capable of focusing, Troye set the water aside and turned to fully take in the appearance of his bed mate (Caspar? Christian?) His face wasn't visible to Troye, but he could see his light brown hair. Shorter in the back and sides, the fringe on the front splayed wildly across the pillow, and Troye had to resist the urge to tuck it back into place. From there, his neck was clearly marked with a few hickeys, Troye assumed that was his own doing, and his spine had a spattering of marks as well. It was the base of his spine that caught Troye's attention however. There, on the right cheek of essentially a stranger's butt, was a slightly smudged but easily read henna tattoo, spelling out five letters in cursive: TROYE. Oh god. Troye cursed silently as he stared at the brown mark on the guy's skin. The damn cultural festival - they must have had henna artists. Why on earth though did this guy get his name after only a few hours together? Troye blamed the alcohol. It was the best excuse in situations like these. Not that he'd ever been in this particular situation before... Just then, a thought hit his aching head like a brick. Did he have a mark to match? Troye jumped up from the bed, only afterwards thinking of not disturbing the sleeping man, before scrambling across to the large mirror on the wall opposite. He turned around, then peered over his shoulder. Well, damn.