oneshots: legacy edition (jalex)

New Religion

Hoards of people filter in and out of the house, carrying various alcoholic drinks along with them. Many are half dressed, some barely conscious.

The party's a few hours in, and the drunks are starting to reach crying levels of intoxication, if they haven't already passed out.

Not Alex, though. His party's just getting started.

He's here for one thing, and one thing only: dancing.

Okay, and maybe tequila, but mostly he just feels like dancing.

He may be one of only three people still on the dance floor—which may or may not be a stranger's living room—but Alex is going to have a damn good time if it kills him, and with the current level of booze in his system, it just might.

Lost in his own world, Alex bumps into Jack, who he'd lost shortly after arriving. Jack's really good at disappearing at parties, which is really annoying when Alex is thousands of miles from what he once called home, at a stranger's birthday party in Los Angeles.

It does not feel like a birthday party, it feels like a really shitty college frat party; complete with keg stands and several guys with ties around their head.

Yeah, Alex is really fucking glad he's built up a tolerance to this shit. He'd hate to be thirty-five years old dancing on someone's coffee table with a tie around his head. Just the thought makes him shudder in embarrassment.

"Party's starting to die down!" Jack shouts over the music. "Ready to head out?"
No.

Alex doesn't bother answering, he just takes Jack's hand, and pulls him closer. "Dance with me!" He shouts back.

A soft smile spreads across Jack's face. It's been a long couple of months for the both of them, what with Alex's whole... situation...
Jack's glad Alex is feeling a bit more like himself, even if he has to be drunk to do so.

They stumble back to the open space of the living room. Alex isn't much of a dancer, he tries his best, but mostly he's just trying to have a good time. Jack's more practiced, but he's usually got the same mindset. The both of them move to the pulsing beat of the music, which has already drilled too far into Alex's brain.

He'll be hearing the bass of this song twice as loud in tomorrow's hangover.

With just the two of them now, and a bit of tequila in the mix, playful dancing is bound to get dirty, as Jack pulls Alex in by the belt loops of his jeans, until their hips crash together.

"You should call an uber," Alex murmurs, a little more interested in Jack now than he had been in mediocre party music.
"Already did." Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket, but doesn't move away from Alex. "Should be a few minutes."

As the party dies, Jack and Alex make their way outside, there's a few people passed out on the lawn, and one guy streaking down the street. Alex laughs to himself. Jack sure knows where to find a party, Alex just wonders if maybe he's getting too old for this.

Somehow he still finds it in himself to relax into the moment—into Jack—as they make their way into the back of the Uber.

It's impossible to tell who makes the first move. Maybe it's Jack, maybe it's Alex. More likely, it was a shared effort. The city blurs past as their lips meet. They fall into each other with ease, each movement driving them closer until the driver practically kicks them to the curb as Jack frantically throws him his tip.

Stumbling up the stairs drunk is hard enough, but between stolen kisses and heated stares it's practically impossible. It's a miracle they make it into Jack's condo at all, let alone his bedroom.