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Jedao whines so loud it's almost a yell muffled into the kiss. Eiffel's long legs are around him, Eiffel's body covering over him. It's not quite the full-body weight of being fucked but it makes him feel warm and held and precious and good, melting-liquid-gold-good, and completely unprepared for the electric jolt that is Eiffel's nails scraping his scalp.

He wants to say harder and he wants to never stop kissing. He's abruptly, desperately hard, twenty and quite literally made for it, and if it weren't for the katydos he'd be terrified of Eiffel realizing and running off again - but he isn't, so he gets to just enjoy the heady hungry delight of the moment.

Eiffel's not necessarily a good kisser but he's certainly enthusiastic, and vocal to boot; he moans readily when Jedao's hands scrabble in his hair. He's a tall guy but it's all in his legs, so when he sits properly into the squat on Jedao's lap he doesn't realise how it grinds down on Jedao - Eiffel's certainly not hard, far too far gone for that - and he uses both hands to grip Jedao's head and push it back, firm but not unkind as he moves to start kissing down Jedao's neck.

Jedao has only ever kissed four people in his life, not counting mistletoe, and he wants more than anything to be wanted. Enthusiasm is fine by him, and he very much has a manhandling kink; when Eiffel starts pushing and tilting his head, Jedao shudders in his whole body, moans shockingly loud.

Eiffel can't help a giggle at the extra volume in that moan, but it's a sound of pure affection, and he grins into Jedao's neck.

"Youuuu're a squeaky li'l fox," he slurs fondly, pushing another kiss there, all teeth and his broad smile, and he can feel his body relaxing into the affection. He doesn't know what he was so nervous about, kissing Jedao is so good and he'll happily spend hours doing it. Fuck the police.

Without any real conscious thought, his left hand coasts down Jedao's side, to grip his waist and shift to press their torsos together as he leaves a wet trail up Jedao's neck as his tongue finds the sensitive muscle there.

Gonou likes it when he makes noise; he is, at this point, well-trained.

"Feels good," Jedao murmurs, hands stroking and petting through Eiffel's hair, occasionally scratching Eiffel's scalp in long idle scrapes of his own. "Like your hands. Like your teeth."

The patting is incredibly nice, and the part of Eiffel that is terminally starved for affection tilts his head back into it, lifting his mouth from Jedao completely to lean into those long fingers. "Like your hands. God. Y're amazing."

The echoing memory of Eiffel saying Jedao's forceful grip on his jaw was hooooot hot overcomes more reticence than the Katydos do; Jedao gets a good grip near the roots of Eiffel's hair and drags his head back to where it was a few moments ago.

"Like this?" he murmurs, in as sexy a voice as he can manage, but listening for any uncertainty just the same.

Eiffel lets the tug draw him back in, and his pupils are fully blown when he meets Jedao's eyes (or at least tries to), just a thin sliver of blue left around them.

"Oh yeah," he murmurs, and he doesn't even finish the words because he's already leaning in to press another desperate kiss on Jedao.

Jedao tips his head back, fully baring his throat for bites and kisses, panting softly even though he doesn't technically need to breathe.

"Love your hair. Wanna touch it all the time. It's so pretty."

"You're pretty," comes muttered against the muscle held light between Eiffel's teeth, as he nuzzles his way up to push teeth and tongue hard into the sensitive spot where ear and jaw meet. "Y're like... first guy I've ever done this with."

"Gonou said that too," Jedao muses, a little tickled at the coincidence and overwhelmingly fond of both of them. He returns to stroking and petting and playing with Eiffel's hair.

"I don't think it's as different as y'all think." Not that he has any comparison.

The hands in his hair feels nice, and he gets distracted from his mouth work again with another soft hum.

"Well, 's'not like..." He frowns, trying to make the words work. "I haven't not been thinkin' 'bout it. Yer mouth 'n... and stuff."

Wonderfully articulate, ten out of ten Eiffel. His clumsy fingers find Jedao's collar and pull it back to bite at the base of his neck, humming into his shoulder.

Eiffel is still winning, as far as being articulate goes. Jedao is spared the dubious indignity of confessing how much he thinks about his mouth on Eiffel via the more indisputable indignity of a long, loud, messy moan. Jedao loves being bitten, and he whines and whimpers, hands clenching and unclenching in Eiffel's hair, hips rocking in tiny, hungry jerks.

He's fully distracted by making his mouth work, the taste of sweat and stubble on his tongue and Jedao's moans rolling down his spine, hands in his hair, to notice the bucking hips beneath him.

"Hey," comes out as a mumbled slur, as he pulls away from Jedao's neck for a moment - but whatever thought might have been trying to develop dies immediately when he sits up a bit, enough to make his head spin before he remembers to breathe, and he stares at Jedao blearily for a moment.

He's. Pretty sure he's staring at Jedao. He feels like he is. He's definitely warm beneath him.

"I am," he declares, bright and apropos of nothing. "So drunk." And then he leans in to kiss Jedao on the lips again, forceful and eager.

Jedao - weak, always - kisses back, sweet and lazy and open. Jedao doesn't mind being drunk. But Eiffel does, he knows - Eiffel was so worried that morning of Jedao's first hangover.

Jedao doesn't panic. But he's more clear-headed than Eiffel, calm and content but mind working just fine, and he gets one firm grip in Eiffel's hair and another on his shoulder, pulling him back once the kiss starts to break and slide into the next.

"Don't do anything you'll regret," Jedao tells him, eyes huge and dark. Maybe too late, for all Eiffel's enthusiasm. Jedao is still hard, but he knows himself. "Don't regret me. I'll break."

It's not a fear, not right now. It's just a fact.

He lets himself be pulled back, moaning at the tug forcing his head back, and he sits upright in Jedao's lap when he's moved; the way he shifts against Jedao's hand for support suggests he'd definitely be wobbling if Jedao let go.

"Noooope," he drawls, bringing his hands up to cup Jedao's face and squish his cheeks with his palms. "Party Doug's got zero regrets. Those are for-" he swallows back a rancid burp. "Those're for c'munications officer Eiffel. He would've regretted those first, uhh..."

He pulls a hand off Jedao's face to tick off on his fingers, and it takes a worringly long time, during which he makes multiple fists as he tallies. "The first sixteen drinks. But I'm fine!"

"Okay, Doug," Jedao says indulgently. He does some kind of sober aikido that gently shifts Eiffel off of himself and back on the couch next to him. "I care about both of you, though."

Eiffel offers absolutely no resistance to being rolled onto the couch and goes fairly boneless when he's dumped into it, but he still goes to reach up and grab Jedao's face - in doing so he very nearly pokes Jedao in the eye.

"I don't," he whines, his hand falling to cling to Jedao's shirt instead. "Lemme kiss youuuu..."

Jedao catches Eiffel's hand, then presses the back of it against his cheek, the gesture both startlingly affectionate and an effective way of keeping the hand pinned down.

"You can kiss me as much as you want. Whenever you want. I think about kissing you every day. But only if you both mean it."

It's a powerfully strange feeling, heartbreak without pain. Eiffel will regret it, Jedao knows with the blind certainty of old, formative tragedy. Jedao has probably already let it go too far, has made the same unforgivable mistakes all over again. He knows, with the distant certainty that medieval merry-makers knew death would someday come for them, that Communications Officer Eiffel will hate him, probably.

But he doesn't worry about it. He's just - happy he got to be Eiffel's friend for this long. Happy his hand feels so warm against Jedao's cheek, the intimate divots of his metacarpals, the notes of his knuckles.

"Lie down and let me pet your hair some more," Jedao tells him.

The hand being held makes Eiffel blink, slow and dull but deeply affectionate, and he lifts his arm to rest his elbow on the back of the couch and rest his head on his arm.

"'m'kay..." It's a dull slur, barely intelligible as a word, as he sinks into the couch further under the weight of the considerable quantities of alcohol lulling him to sleep. "'m'ber t'turn th'lights off..."

His grip goes slack on Jedao's as his head lolls, and... yeah. He's unconscious almost immediately. It's honestly kind of impressive he manages to stay awake as long as he did.

He props Eiffle against his shoulder until his erection finally goes down, then gently tips Eiffel into draping over his lap in a away that will hopefully stop him from having too many weird muscle cramps when he wakes up. He remembers what Eiffel said about him needing water, so when he sends Gonou a picture of Eiffel's slightly smushed sleeping face to explain why he can't move for the next 10-20 hours, asks for Gonou to bring some water bottles and leave them on the table. Gonou brings a pillow and blanket, too, which Jedao tuck under and around Eiffel respectively, cozily fussing over him. He sips through the rest of Eiffel's last cup and idly finger-combs Eiffel's hair for hours, losing himself in the bouncy texture of it and the strange honey-ooze feeling of peace.

Sometime in the middle of the night, towards morning, the little pink critters trickle and melt away, letting some of the fear and melancholy seep back. But by then Jedao is warm and a little hazy from the alcohol himself, well-soothed by the repetitive rhythm of stroking Eiffel's hair, and it's easy for him to slip in and out of a light doze himself.

Edited 2023-06-21 05:08 (UTC)

There is minimal sign of movement from Eiffel whatsoever, for the entire night and most of the morning after, even after the katydos make their departure.

It's well towards midday the next day when Eiffel shifts meaningfully with a husky groan - like a zombie coming back to life, which is really just a summary of how he feels right now - and his face scrunches as he brings one hand up to rub his sticky, sleep-wrinkled, migraine pounding face.

He hasn't even opened his eyes to realise where he is yet. That's secondary to the fact everything hurts and this sucks and it's not even like he enjoyed it because he didn't want to get drunk in the first place!!!

He just groans again, and lets his face flop into the weird solid pillows he's resting on.

Jedao flicks more easily into full awareness. His hand is still resting in the mass of Eiffel's curls, and he strokes a little, very lightly, aiming for soothing.

"Morning, darling," Jedao murmurs gently, completely unconcerned with the actual time. "There's water."

Oh dear Lord, what did he do to end up face-down in Jedao's lap? He's too sore to even be fully ashamed. The hand in his hair is nice, though, but after a few moments of lingering there he starts pushing himself up to a sitting position.

It's hard to say if he looks more or worse than usual on a general scale, since he's always got the stubble and some minor degree of eye baggage but today he's got distinct and ugly bags under his red eyes, and he's gone pale as he manages to get upright - and then immediately squeezes his eyes shut as the world spins around him.

"Hey, Jedao," he murmurs, and rubs both eyes in a weak pinching motion. "Oh, God."

"Feelings later. Water now," Jedao insists, smooth and gentle, even though his stomach swoops horribly with suddenly crystallizing dread. He reaches to unscrew the cap of one of the water bottles for Eiffel and tentatively hands it to him, not letting go unless he judges Eiffel actually has a decent grip.

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it's not that I lied it's just that I failed

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