No Homo

Chapter 6 - Drunken Confessions

"Oi, Alby, I think I've suddenly forgotten how to throw. Care to show me?" The blond boy teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the dark skinned boy who grinned evilly before immediately wrapping his arms around his lover's hips and grinding mockingly against him.

"You're panties are just in a twist 'cause we kicked your ass!" Minho snorted sarcastically, stumbling slightly as he tried to keep his balance, the fact that Thomas was leaning heavily against his side and hiccuping every now and again through fits of giggles making it rather difficult.

"Oh really? You wanna go for round two?" Alby challenged gruffly, not about to let his pride be injured as Newt nodded enthusiastically, just as eager to erase their standing defeat.

"You're on!" Thomas slurred defensively, Minho having to keep a firm grip on the boy's shoulders to keep him upright as he pointed a challenging finger at the other two teens, leaning precariously as the action knocked him off balance.

"No. Nooo." Minho refused, a strong note of finality to his words and an unrelenting hardness to his gaze even as Thomas turned to stare pleadingly at him, puppy dog hazel eyes ineffective against the surety of his decision. "I'm dragging your drunk ass out of here before you do something stupid." He insisted, earning a defiant pout as Newt and Alby grumbled in the background, mumbling something about him being too chicken, but he couldn't relent.

Thomas's face was already flushed from intoxication and it wouldn't be long before he started barfing everywhere. Minho was personally not in the mood to have Thomas throw up all over him nor did he particularly feel like rescuing the kid from whatever trouble he would undoubtedly get himself into if they stayed here. It was more or less his job, as "best friend," to watch out for the idiot and take him home when he drank too much. That's just what good, platonic, bros do.

"I'm not...," Thomas began to protest but then seemed to lose his words for a minute, hiccuping heavily, before pulling himself back together. "That drunk!" The teen finally finished, though his difficulty getting out even that simple sentence assured Minho of its falsehood. The brunette pulled away from the older boy, attempting to stand up straight on his own to prove the truth of his claim but immediately tripped over some invisible barrier, sending him stumbling forward once more. Ever reliable Minho was prepared for this however though and his arms were already open to catch the faltering boy who slammed heavily into his chest, clinging to the cloth of his shirt for support as he fought to get his legs to cooperate.

"Yeah. You're the the epitome of sobriety." Minho agreed sarcastically before moving to wrap one arm around the younger male's back to keep him standing, grabbing Thomas's arm and slinging it over his shoulder so that he held most of the boy's weight.

"Don't have too much fun!" Newt jeered with a dismissive wave as Minho began pulling Thomas away from the ping pong table and started the slow trek toward the front door, ignoring the weak, slurred protests the smaller boy mumbled into his shirt. Opting not to acknowledge the Brit, the Korean boy tightened his grip on his friend and squared his shoulders, dragging them into the tightly packed crowd in an attempted b-line to the exit.

The runner squeezed the smaller boy against his side as bodies pressed in on them, growling out forced "excuses me's" and the occasional "get the hell out of the way" as he pressed ever onwards, keeping his steely grip on Thomas's arm and waist no matter how many idiots ran into them and almost forced them apart. The younger boy stumbled dangerously, alcohol impacting his ability to get solid footing and beginning to weigh on his energy levels, only making his coordination poorer as his eyelids drooped and his legs faltered uselessly underneath him.

"Just a little farther, Thomas." Minho assured, practically yelling even as he brought his lips directly to the boy's ear, desperate to be heard over the deafening music and the din of the partying crowd. He was half-dragging, half-carrying his companion by the time they finally broke free of the throng of drunk teens and the cherished front door was finally in sight, it's white painted wood and smudged glass window looking like heaven itself as he pulled the smaller boy towards it. However, just as the boy reached for the glorious brass knob to freedom, an unexpected snarky snicker halted his retreat and brought his attention to where a teen with a chopped buzzcut stood smirking at them, arms crossed cockily over his wide chest.