But We're Not Normal

Public

Once again, Clark proved himself serious in his promises as he returned with an armful of various bottles, Darryl having accompanied him as the eldest of the group - and likely the most responsible. They still weren't sure how or where he'd managed to acquire any of it but at least this time there was at least a chance that it was legally.

Within record time after Clark had set down the bottles, most everyone was either buzzed, drunk or wasted. George had learnt his lesson from the last time he let Clark and Ophelia get him drunk, Geo felt no need to drink and Darryl simply didn't want more than one, both happy to join George in sipping at some apple juice and Geo keeping Kiri updated.

The others, however, were more than happy to take advantage of the opportunity presented to them and an excessive amount of toasts were made: to one another; to Mrs Bosko, bless her soul; to whatever divine intervention had taken Damien for some time; to Clay's coming out, the brave bastard; to friendships stronger than blood; to finding a love worth the hassle and to simply being at all.

Clay was able to limit himself at a pleasant buzz, happy to crowd George into his arms, rest his chin atop George's soft hair and sway to the music that no one was really sure when had started - it was probably Ophelia's fault, if they were being honest. George held a glass of apple juice in one hand, the other drawing soft, slow patterns onto Clay's forearm, basking in the warmth down his back, around his waist and in his heart.

Zak drunk a little bit more but was still perfectly coherent, rambling about something or other to Darryl as Darryl listened fondly and discretely swapped the glass in his boyfriend's hand for one of water instead. Had anyone chosen to join the conversation, they'd likely have no clue what either boy was referring to but the two themselves knew well enough. To one another, anything they said simply made sense.

Nick was elated to find the Vincent was a rather affectionate drunk, though Vin himself wouldn't ever admit to it. There was always a constant connection: their knees pressed together; Vincent's foot overlapping his; their shoulders brushing; Vincent's hand in the small of his back, around his shoulders, in his hair, in his hand. Nick was more than happy to let it be, pressing into the contact warmly.

To everyone's surprise, Keres was happy to join the drinking as well. She admitted easily to the fact that she had been drunk before and was fine with the feeling as long as she felt safe in where she was. And, where she was currently, was in Ophelia's lap. She revelled in the way Ophelia's hands hovered, face burning red even in the darkness, and giggled a bubbly noise when Ophelia began stuttering. The others were more than just amused to see Ophelia be the one made flustered and speechless for once.

No one at all, however, was surprised to see Clark well on his way to a hospital bed at best, though the grave was more likely. He seemed to be dragging Jethro there with him, winding him up and pissing him off, challenging him to every drinking game under the sun and then some. The tension between them grew with every drop they drunk and every word they threw, Ophelia collecting bets on when and where Jethro would finally snap.

Clay got the closest with 'right now, on the couch'. It was actually right now, in the kitchen.

[SPICE WARNING! Skip to the second warning if you wouldn't like to read it!! (Again, I don't write NSFW, it just gets spicy)]

Clark finally felt as though he could breathe again, Jethro's hands on his hip and fisted in his hair, Jethro's lips bruising against his own, Jethro's tongue relentless and the dull ache of the kitchen counter pressing incessantly against the small of his back. It was ironic, really; the only time Clark felt he could breathe was when Jethro was stealing the air from his lungs.