Pants- Plot

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it's 4:26 AM as I'm writing this and i just want to sleep but i have this terrible disease and i can't-- *bangs head on every solid surface* --do anything but read fan fiction or try writing my own but then my body starts dying on me

O-'O

i need sleep

Word Count: 720

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Word Count: 720

"Do they all travel in a pack or something?" I grumble, taking down the ponytail-holder.

"Stop hiding behind your hair," Otabek reaches forward to brush the fallen strands out of my eyes. "Social." It's not a command-- but it's like a command.

I'm grateful when the waiter dares approach our table and ask for our drink orders. The designated survivors at the table don't go unnoticed when most of us order something alcoholic. When it comes to me, I don't even get to order for myself-- "the birthday boy" is suddenly also on Victor's tab. I'm good with that for a while. The party atmosphere is blisteringly painful but it has lulled into a numbing ache by the time the waiter returns with our drinks.

The first thing to actually go wrong: I knock my own drink all over my black slacks no sooner than do I take my first sip. The second thing to go wrong: I storm off looking for the restroom. Maybe if I'd been smart enough to read the signs I could have found it by now, but I'm traipsing around the place like a soggy idiot. I am a soggy idiot-- who am I kidding?

But I do eventually find a convoluted way of entry. I can find my way around an ice rink, easy-- it's clear-cut-- but add walls, tables, and a boatload of unfamiliar faces and subtract all the splendor of skating, and I'm nothing but hopeless. Otabek must have seen me tromp in the wrong direction because he rushes in soon after me.

"You found the restroom," he observes, watching me take as many paper towels to my pants as possible.

"Yeah," I sigh, ready to give up. "These ruined?" I gesture to my slacks hopelessly.

Otabek shrugs, giving me a quick once-over.

"They're black," he counters with a shrug.

Figures he'd say something like that. I scoff a bit of laughter to myself. Otabek doesn't know anything about clothes. I bet Katsudon could help. I need all the help I can get though and at least Otabek is present.

"Help me," I motion for him to follow me into the largest stall.

For awkwardness' sake he leaves the door open. But the room is hollowly empty and without traffic. I angrily direct him to close the stall door anyway as I peel off my pants and try again to dab out the wine with soap and water. But I appear to be doing everything wrong.

"Hey, Beka, I need some-- oh!" I swallow hard, turning to find him already leaning over my shoulder. "Didn't see you there," I clear my throat.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, Yura," his hand touches my shoulder again, the side of his hand grazing my neck during its descent.

Gooseflesh betrays my every attempt to remain calm. Goddammit, this is a public restaurant. I don't want to be thrown out. But before I know to do any better, I'm kissing Otabek and allowing him to push me-- pantless-- against the whitewashed wall. I really should know better than to let the kiss get so heated, but I've already thrown caution to the wind. That again, I've already thrown my pants aside.

Now it's a mission to be as sexy as possible as unnoticeably as possible. Quick, quiet, back before the waiter even takes everyone's orders. If we're being honest, that means we have to stop. I break away and lift my lips to his ears.

"After dinner."

"I want you," Otabek protests.

Equal to his size and stature, although leaner and a hair taller, I push him in my stead against the frigid tile wall.

"I want you, Beka," one more tepid kiss, "but we should get back to the table before they start asking questions."

He nods, the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips as he picks up my carelessly discarded slacks.

"Thanks," I mumble, stepping into them.

They are drier than before but still uncomfortably damp. They'll have to do for now, I guess. I have no choice but to follow Otabek toward the fiendish pit of joy and folly that await our return. I cannot feel more stupid as I try to avert everyone's gaze and sit down.

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