littletonoidea | IC Inbox

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.

He does manage to take the bottle, after a few moments groping blindly because he does not want to uncover his eyes.

"Well. I don't think I vomited," he mumbles, before he takes a slow, careful sip. He doesn't sound any less hoarse when he lowers it. "'s'zat a win?"

If Eiffel doesn't remember...Jedao isn't sure whether to feel horrible or relieved.

"You didn't, no."

The lights had turned back on again in the morning, of course, but Jedao reaches out and flicks the switch with a tiny mothpush, turning the lounge's lunchtime lull into one of quiet dimness.

"Thank God."

And he slumps back into the couch, slouching heavily down into Jedao's shoulder as he very slowly drinks his water.

"Next time I get drunk, could you just knock me out?" he groans. His free hand finds Jedao's and squeezes softly. "Pretty please."

"Yes," he says softly, feeling more and more like a monster, but keeping outwardly calm, squeezing gently back. "I can do that." If that's what Eiffel wants.

Edited 2023-06-21 14:00 (UTC)

He squeezes again, but there's a faint smile in his voice when he says, "Thank you, boo."

He takes another sip and ruminates quietly for a minute. "First of all," he rasps. "I would like to request a bucket please, o benevolent DD. Second, can I get a sitrep on..." He pauses briefly, to swallow thickly. "On the last, like. Whole week?"

Jedao grunts softly, pulling a bucket from under the bar without getting up. It doesn't hurt as much as moving anything heavy, but he still feels an uncomfortable prickle along his bones, like his whole skeleton ate a chili pepper.

He hands Eiffel the bucket before beginning -

"Well, Roman sent the whole ship a dick pic."

Jedao decides this is a good place to establish the whole...vibe. "We had a plague of inhibition-lowering pests."

Edited 2023-06-21 15:40 (UTC)

Eiffel interrupts perfectly with a hearty retch, folding over double with the force of it.

At least he has water to wash his mouth out immediately, and spits it gracelessly into the bucket before he wipes his face.

"Well, that explains the alcohol," he mumbles wearily. "Tell me the truth, doc. How horrible was I?"

"You were sweet. We kissed a lot. I'm sorry."

That's the important bits, Jedao supposes.

"When you think you can keep pills down, Gonou brought you aspirin."

Eiffel feels too sick to blush properly, but his ears turn bright red.

"Oh, God..." It's more of a high, vaguely distressed keen there, and he leans to rest his head on Jedao's shoulder. Even if it lands more on his bicep. "'m so sorry, Jedao..."

Edited 2023-06-22 01:57 (UTC)

Jedao wraps an arm around Eiffel's shoulders, hugs him gently, and hates himself a little more.

"Eiffel, you didn't do anything I didn't enjoy," he says firmly. "I'm the one who took advantage of you when you were drunk."

He tilts his head up try and meet Jedao's eyes, but he has to squeeze them shut when his stomach audibly protests the angle.

"But you didn't..." He shifts his hips, in an unsubtle motion to sit up better, but he doesn't feel anything beyond the general malaise of a still-drunk hangover. "All we did was kiss, yeah? And..." He swallows thickly, and sounds- small, when he asks, "And I- I asked, right? I didn't make you?"

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CW emeto

Re: CW emeto

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