ONE TOO MANY | DALLAS WINSTON ✅

four (edited)

smut 
last chapter
this'll be long

"You're telling me that every time I've done whatever you said I have to take a drink?" Dallas wonders, staring at the glass he holds in his hand. He stares at the clear liquid, swirling it around and around. Despite it being arm's length away, he can feel it beginning to feel the hairs in his nostrils. Looking up from it, he sees Jack's back turned to him, making him groan silently, rolling his head tiredly. It takes a minute or two before he finally gives the brunette his full attention, in which he repeats his question.

 "Yeah. The girl called it 'Never Have I Ever,'" he shrugs. A silent moan passes his lips when he sits down on the ground, placing the bottle of rum and his glass on the coffee table. He looks at Dallas, who sits on the other side, his back up against the old couch Jack bought some time ago.

 "And why is drinking so bad?" Dallas watches as his expression changes instantly, his brows raising the slightest bit while the corner of his lips curl up to create a sadistic looking smirk. It's the same smirk he used to have when they both got into some legal troubles. He hasn't seen that look in a year or two, if he's correct.

 The clap of Jack's hands yank him from his thoughts, the brunette flinching the smallest amount at the loud sound. "Because," he starts, a hearty chuckle leaving him, "this shit is hard rum. Eighty-five percent of what you're going to be drinking is pure alcohol." That explains why his nose is burning. "So, the first one to get drunk has to pay the winner three dollars." He watches as Dal's face deadpan, and he's forced to bite back the grin forming on his face.

 "Fine," he groans, gaining a grin from the latter, "I need some cash anyhow. Never have I ever-"

 "I didn't say you could start," Jack scoffs, glaring at the man.

 "Does it look like I care?" With the question being rhetorical, Dallas moves on without waiting for a reaction. "Never have I ever busted my mouth trying to do a backflip." It's soon Jack's turn to deadpan, glaring at him with squinted eyes.

 "Fuck you," he grumbles, taking a small gulp of the rum from the glass. He swallows it roughly, fighting back the cough crawling its way up his throat. "Never-" he groans quietly, the alcohol feeling like fire in his stomach. Still, he toughens up, opening his mouth to talk once more. "Never have I ever been to jail overnight."

 "That a low blow."

 "Drink the damn rum." And so he does, holding his breath while doing so. He was scared that if he accidentally breathed in through his nose he would lose his sense of smell. Downing some of the white rum, he instantly feels regret surfacing from the pits of his stomach. Still, he downs the sharp alcohol, feeling similar to glass as it travels down his throat. "How much alcohol is in this."

 "Eighty-five. You ready to give me those three dollars now?" Dal looks up from his glass, seeing a weary smirk on Jack's lips. Instead of giving in, he toughens his expression, straightening his spine the slightest bit.

 "Never have I ever..."

 This went on for some time, both aiming low blows so they had to take a drink almost every time. It had only been about half an hour and both of the boys were feeling the effects of the alcohol. Their filters became unhinged while their tough exterior crumbled to the ground, both grinning and laughing at the stupid things they or others have done.

 "Never-" he hiccups, "never have I ever slept with a soc," Jack grins, watching as a smile forms on Dal's face.

 "Come on! You've never done it with a soc?!" he scoffs, taking a swig of the bottle. After the third refill of their glass, Jack "accidentally" chucked his across the room, letting it break against the wall with a loud crash. So now they just drink from the bottle, not really giving much of a fuck at this point and time.