Unsaid Words

Surprisingly Bearable

Seb sat at the kitchen table, fingering his shot glass. He was wondering if it was worth the risk. As it was Thursday, Seb was wondering if Jim would come back drunk again.

What the hell. Seb was single now. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.

Seb took the shot, letting the elevating feeling flood over him. He immediately took another shot. Then another. And another. And... he lost count. By the time Jim got back, Seb could barely see
straight. Because he wasn't! That was very funny to his messed-up brain.

Jim came home quietly, clearly not expecting Seb to be right there. Seb was leaning against the wall by the door, one arm above his head.

"Sebastian?" Jim said, giving a start when he saw him standing there. "What are you...?"

Seb's drunk mind offered the most drunk-looking smile possible.

"Oh God..." Jim murmured.

"Lock the door," Seb whispered, stepping closer.

Jim shut the front door and locked it. He stepped closer to Seb, backing into the wall. Seb pushed Jim into the wall, sliding one of his arms around his waist and pushing his mouth into Jim's. Seb blearily thought that Jim tasted nice.

Jim put his hands up to Seb's face, keeping their mouths together.

When Seb looked back on this memory later, it lapsed at this moment. He didn't remember the rest of the night, as if it had never happened.

~

Seb woke up very cold. The only thing keeping him warm was someone who he was holding very close. Seb had an arm over him, and both of the guy's hands were closed over it, keeping it there.

Seb's arse hurt. He didn't remember anything. He accidentally let out a groan.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Jim whispered, not moving.

"What happened?" Seb groaned. "I don't remember..."

"You have a nice arse, by the way," Jim said casually.

"What...? Did you...?"

"I don't have your obstinance, Seb."

"I never told you that you could call me that."

"You just got yourself drunk in the hope that I'd be drunk and wouldn't remember anything; I think that's more than enough permission."

"That's the one thing I can remember. Taking too many shots."

"How many?"

"I wasn't counting."

"How much can you remember? I'm legitimately curious."

"Not much."

"Does your mental record stop at a certain point?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"After I pushed you into the wall. I kind of remember... never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"No really."

"Fine. You tasted like cinnamon and dark chocolate."

"Surprisingly accurate."

"What the hell did you do to make my arse hurt so bad?"

"Haven't you had gay sex before?"

"I'm not saying that. You'd just use it against me later."

"You have. Several times. I'd know."