Spencer's face was a picture of indignation as he stood frozen in Michael's grasp, his ears burning with embarrassment. His eyes flashed with anger, his jaw clenched in a tight, white line. The air was thick with tension as he struggled to free himself from Michael's hold, but the other boy's grip remained firm. As Michael whispered in his ear, Spencer's whole body seemed to tense, his muscles coiled with suppressed rage. His words were barely audible, but they were laced with venom. "Shut up," he spat, his voice low and venomous. "I don't need your useless help." The words were a challenge, a defiant rejection of Michael's offer. But as Spencer spoke, his gaze dropped to Michael's chest, his eyes avoiding the other boy's face. He felt a flush rise to his cheeks as he realized that his words had been spoken in a tone that was almost... pleading. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the sudden lump from his throat.
Michael's sigh was a low, exasperated sound, and his words were spoken with a mixture of frustration and concern. He shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a messy tumble, as he gazed down at Spencer's face. The boy's eyes were glassy, his pupils dilated, and his skin was pale and clammy to the touch. "Come on, Lysander," Michael whispered, his voice low and urgent. "You're drunk, and you need to lay down. You're not going to pass out on me, are you?" The words were laced with a gentle reprimand, but there was also a hint of amusement in Michael's tone. He had seen Spencer drunk before, but this time it seemed like the boy was really cut loose.
Spencer's eyes fluttered closed, his head lolling against Michael's shoulder as he struggled to regain his balance. He was mortified. He couldn't believe he had let himself get so drunk. He was a prince, for crying out loud! He was supposed to be dignified and in control, not stumbling around like a fool. As Michael pulled him closer, Spencer's eyes snapped open again, his gaze locking onto Michael's face. "Shut up," he slurred, his voice barely audible. "I'm fine. I just... need a minute." He tried to pull away from Michael, but the other boy's grip was too strong. Michael's expression turned stern, his eyes narrowing as he gazed down at Spencer. "You're not fine, Lysander," he said firmly. "You're drunk out of your mind, and you need to sober up."
Michael's gaze remained fixed on the prince's glassy eyes, his expression a mix of concern and annoyance. "Is there a guest room upstairs?" he asked, his voice low and even, but with a hint of firmness. Spencer's gaze darted around the room, his eyes scanning the crowd with a mixture of embarrassment and unease, before finally nodding slightly in response to Michael's question. Without a word, Michael swooped in and scooped Spencer up in a swift, decisive motion, the sudden movement blending seamlessly into the background noise of the party as the guests remained oblivious to their departure. He strode upstairs with long, purposeful strides, his powerful arms cradling Spencer as if he were a precious package. As they reached the guest room, Spencer's glare flashed with indignation, but he didn't resist or push Michael away, his body tense with unspoken resistance.
Michael swept into the guest room, his momentum carrying Spencer onto the bed as he entered. "You..." Spencer's voice trailed off as he landed with a soft thud on the plush blankets. Michael didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence, instead spinning back around to face the door. He locked it, the sound of the mechanism clicking into place echoing through the room. The room was suddenly quiet, except for the sound of Spencer's ragged breathing and the soft creak of the bed as he shifted uncomfortably.
