Pick your poison

[Brayden Smith]

The work week flew by in a rush, as it was wont to when Bray was busy at the community college. There was a lot to prepare for the upcoming school semester and it seemed that everyone needed him to do things for them right now. Bray stayed at the office a lot later every day and when he got home, he was so exhausted that he usually collapsed into bed and fell asleep straight away; it cut severely into the time that he could spend with Jack.

At the beginning that was something of a relief. Having been rejected—not so much in actual words but in... spirit, he supposed—it was hard to see Jack. He knew he was being greedy, but wasn't that just human nature? To want things, more and more and more, in an everlasting cruel cycle? Bray wasn't even that greedy or selfish but he couldn't help the way he felt, either. His heart wanted what it wanted and it definitely wanted Jack.

Towards the middle of the week though the withdrawal happened. And he didn't know it was possible to feel that way about a person but... apparently it was a real thing. He couldn't stop seeing Jack everywhere. Out of the corner of his eyes. In the street, he'd turn and smile—oh. Just a tall, dark-haired stranger. When he turned a hallway, his heart immediately picked up pace—what if Jack was—no, silly, Jack wasn't waiting to spring from around the corner. He kept replaying that night on an endless loop, wondering where he went wrong. Why he didn't ask what he wanted so much to ask, that they should just... give it a shot.

Friday rolled around and Bray was nervous. Game night. He'd confirmed it with Jack; even if he didn't see Jack much, he still texted with him. Sometimes Bray fell asleep on him but he tried to keep up as much as he could. (Didn't help the withdrawal symptoms because he wanted to physically see Jack, but it was a little hit for when he was down. God, was he addicted? Really?)

He looked over the snack table that he'd arranged. Popcorn. A veggie platter. Some dip. Lame things for lame boring Braydens. But there off to one side was a not-lame thing for a not-lame person. A bottle of red wine, recommended to him by Jack's new friend Marge. She insisted. She bought it. She came over and shoved it into his hand and... and she was so frightening and persuasive and frightening that Bray couldn't say no.

"Don't tell him it was my idea, okay honey?" Marge patted his cheek fondly and then kissed the same cheek. "It was your idea. You're welcome. Bye~"

Bray didn't know what that was about but he knew how much he feared (and respected) Marge so the wine came along with the lame snacks, standing tall and queenly just like the person who forced it upon Bray. Nervously he looked at the clock. Almost time. His heart rate picked up at the thought of seeing Jack—of being with Jack for a whole evening!—and when someone knocked on the door he jumped and clattered into the table. The wine bottle wobbled ferociously; Bray dove for it to save it.

"Coming!" He called breathlessly as he righted the bottle and then ran for the door. Stopped about three steps away from it. Breathed. It was just game night. They had game nights before, right? Bray breathed out and opened the door and just... beamed. "Hi Jack."

Jack Ripley

[Jack Ripley]

There was a lot on Jack's mind throughout the week. Various things. Fixing his new roommate, finding him that perfect somebody, trying to stay clean and sober while doing that, and of course, work. Work was actually the least of Jack's problems. He liked it well enough. Lecturing wasn't boring when Jack did it because he did it with a wink and a flourish. And sometimes... just sometimes, he attracted the wrong sort of attention. There were, in fact, a couple of students he thought were hoping to trade blow jobs for good grades.

Jack did his best not to touch too much liquor. The nightcap before bed was necessary, especially if Allie was around. Allie seemed to have something else going on, though he didn't have a whole lot to say about it. Sometimes Marge came around to check on their little crazy son, as they'd taken to calling him. Not to his face, of course.

And then there was Brayden. Jack still saw him... at work. But it seemed like Brayden didn't have time for him at home. Jack had gone by a couple of nights, knocked... nothing. And when he texted him afterward, he discovered Brayden was apparently staying late at the office. But why? Work was work. It should stay there. Why did Brayden have to be so self-sacrificial? Jack wished he could say it was a bad look. On somebody else, maybe. On Brayden, it just made him... well, Brayden.

Wednesday, the game arrived in the mail. Jack looked through it, at the cards, read the little rule book. It looked... cute. Fantasy style. It looked like it was right up Brayden's alley, which made Jack smile.

And then it was Friday. Jack promptly came home, shed his work clothes, showered, and pulled on something killer. Best vest, tie. He looked dashing in his full length mirror. Preening, he smiled. And then he thought... it might give off the wrong message. This wasn't a date. And even if it was, it wasn't the kind of date where a man wore his tightest breeches to show off the shape of his apples. So, with some reluctance, he changed into something a little less flashy.

Well, it still beat a silk robe. ...Or did it? For a second, he actually considered it as a joke but then wondered if it would come across as a joke or if Brayden would misconstrue it. Or construe it. Fuck. He had no idea what he was doing anymore.

Jack grabbed his things and headed out. Just across the courtyard and it felt so far away. His heart beat with every step and he knocked with his free hand, the other holding onto a coat, phone, keys, the game, etc. His things. Just... things.

The door opened and there was Brayden, beaming at him with the biggest, happiest smile. Nobody could resist that smile. Jack's lips twitched and formed into a half grin of his own before he stepped in and embraced Brayden. Kiss to the cheek, pat to the ass as he entered and walked past him.

"I hope you're ready to watch your kingdom crumble!" Jack declared as he let his things drop onto the nearby chair--except for the game box itself. He turned around to hold it up between both palms to show it off to Brayden.

"I already read the rules~"

[Brayden Smith]

Oh, Jack's smile. Bray loved his smile the most. He—

Ah, fuck.

Bray didn't normally swear but this was an exception because... he had already started to think in terms of love. He loved Jack's smile when it was directed only at him, up close like this, bright and pearly white. But these kinds of smiles reached his eyes too, they were warm and inviting. Bray saw his other smiles, some forced, others merely amused, humoring the people around him. There weren't many smiles like these directed at others and Bray took thoughts like those home with him and it helped him get through the night.

He loved the way Jack held himself, as though he owned the world—but not as if the world owed him. Jack was self-assured, a man who had come into his own and who seemed to know who he was. That was admirable, and it instinctively made people respect him. Bray had been hearing a lot of good things about Jack lately from the administrators; they all praised him, they were all impressed by his depth of knowledge. A raise was already in the works.

He loved a lot about Jack but mostly he was in love with Jack himself, everything that made up who he was. Bray was too tired to argue with himself any longer. His feelings were too strong even for him to ignore and while he knew that there was no chance in hell of ever baring them to Jack, they were still a little bit of a comfort to Bray himself. He drew from that love as a source of strength. If he truly loved Jack, he had to do what was only in Jack's best interests—even if it meant never bringing up his feelings again. Bray wasn't okay with being friends but he had come to terms with their reality.

Still. Didn't stop him from feeling stupidly pleased when Jack kissed him, didn't stop him from turning to kiss Jack's cheek back. No swat on the ass though. No temptation. Bray kept his hands to himself.

"Cheaters gonna cheat," he said darkly as he reached for the box. "Well this time, Jack, I came prepared. I—" Bray paused for dramatic effect, feeling silly and light-hearted and so young, so foolish in Jack's presence, "went online and also read the rules. So your plans have been foiled, good sir! Now pick your poison and let's get down to business!" Here Bray's dramatic flair ran out—he grinned. "I have two kinds of popcorn this time, for the distinguishing gentleman with refined tastes." And lemon water and... er... the wine.

[Jack Ripley]

Oho. Jack noticed the kiss. Sweet and innocent as it was. He also noticed the lack of an ass swat but that didn't surprise him. Brayden didn't strike him as much of an ass swatting man. And that was okay. Jack could do all the ass swatting for the two of them. All he knew right now was that he was 1. pleased it was just the two of them tonight and 2. Brayden looked... good. Refreshed, happy. Positively beaming. So handsome. He was so, so handsome.

"Well, damn." Jack snapped his fingers. "And here I thought I was finally going to win something against Master Brayden Smith."

The truth was, Brayden was right about his last attempts at cheating. Jack tried to cheat his way to losing (and also to look at butts, both could be true) because he wanted the game part to be over with. As much fun as he had with Brayden, sometimes the games themselves could run far longer than anticipated and Jack grew... well, bored.

"Ooh, fancy. Two different kinds of popcorn." He raised his eyebrows when he saw the alcohol, though. Here Jack was, doing his best to be a Good Boy and stay away from the liquor and Brayden--oh the betrayal!--brought a bottle of...

"Is that wine?" It wasn't even just any old alcohol. It was red wine. The kind of thing people brought out for dinner guests and dates. Jack put a hand to his chest.

"Brayden Smith," he said in wonder and awe, "is this a date?"

[Brayden Smith]

"Ahh, young Jack, you are several light-years away from surpassing the Master!" Never mind that light years were a measure of distance, not time. It had years in the name, it was a passable attempt at a joke. (Weak as it was.) Bray was still grinning kind of stupidly as they moved for the snack table. He bought a cheap little thing since the coffee table was only big enough for playing card games. Bray didn't have a proper dinner table; he never needed one before. He would either eat in the kitchen or he'd sit on the couch.

"Err... it is. It is wine. Yes." He nodded as though without that bob of the head, Jack wouldn't know that it was wine. Bray had taken note of the vintage and it seemed like a nice year. Marge also said not to open it until Jack arrived, which Bray assumed meant that she had heard about his being a teetotaler and probably thought that he didn't know how to uncork a bottle. Which, in her defence, wasn't a stretch of the imagination but while he was dating Wyatt, many bottles were opened by Bray. Wyatt sort of. Liked his drinks.

"It's—" he was about to say 'an adult beverage for adults' when Jack put a hand to his chest and asked if it was a date. And Bray stood there with his arms dangling uselessly by his side, card game in one hand. It. No. Jack was teasing him now; Bray had gotten used to that. He knew when Jack was joking now... mostly. See, old dogs could learn new tricks!

Bray half-turned toward the coffee table but flashed Jack a little look that contained more confidence than he felt. Nobody said he couldn't joke back, right? "Yes," he said as he smiled over his shoulder. "But only if you win."

[Jack Ripley]

Jack almost said he couldn't believe that Brayden actually went online to read up on the rules ahead of time but... he actually could believe it. Oh it was so like him that Jack could only smile. Of course he did. He read up and he was ready to go. Well so was Jack. He planned to actually make it through a game without getting bored because of all of the little details and whatnot.

The wine was still a real surprise to Jack. He wondered if it was here because Brayden was worried about Jack getting bored... as per other games. But it wasn't the lack of alcohol doing that. It was the game itself. He wanted to interact with Brayden and have fun with him. That was always the highlight of these things, he found. They were growing on him.

Jack lifted his head and tilted it. What was that now? It was a date? But only if Jack won? Slowly, he removed his hand from his chest.

"Hm." There it was. "Strange stipulation."

He was curious and his interest was piqued. He didn't know quite what the game here was though. Brayden didn't seem like the type to play head games but he most definitely was fucking with Jack's head.

"So.... if I don't win... what is this then?"

[Brayden Smith]

"Is it?"

Bray was inwardly freaking out a little bit. Was that not the right thing to say? It sounded kind of playful in his head but Jack wasn't laughing. That 'Hm' was a thoughtful 'Hm' rather than an amused one. But Jack also didn't seem offended or baffled. Just. Thoughtful. Maybe interested? Bray was trying to juggle appearing nonchalant with peeking at Jack to gauge his reaction and to figure out what that reaction was.

Eventually he reached the table and had to kneel down so that he could open the pack and pull out the contents. Bray bit his lower lip nervously, facing away from Jack. What was it if he didn't win? Honestly, Bray didn't know! It barely made sense to call this a date only if Jack won. Like, what did that mean? Why did he say it? He should have thought it through! Oh god, if ever there was a moment to over-think, this had to be it!

"...if you lose," he said slowly since he needed to reply. Otherwise leaving Jack hanging would make everything so much weirder. "Then... it's... game night."

What did that even mean?

Bray struggled not to wince. He drew out the cards, the game board, the pieces. Little cloth pouches, a manual, some odd bits and pieces. Bray cleared his throat. "So. Looks like everything's here. Should we start?" Yes he was desperately trying to gloss over his dumb attempt at a joke. And/or a flirt. Maybe. He didn't know anymore, he just wanted to bury his head under the table.

[Jack Ripley]

IS IT? Brayden asked. IS IT?! How was the over thinker not thinking over what he just said? Of course it was a strange stipulation to say that a date was only a date if Jack won the game. And if it wasn't a date... then it was just. Game night. Jack had no idea how to reply to that. For once. Yes, even Jack didn't have some smart aleck remark or witty comeback at the ready. He had never been in this situation before. And Brayden just played it off like Oh, that's strange to you? And looked at him like he was the weird one here.

Okay, so maybe he didn't do the last part. If anything, Brayden now seemed determined to keep his head down, his hair in his face, and no way of getting a good strong read on his expression. Was he laughing? Was he smiling? Jack didn't know!

Eyes never leaving Brayden, Jack came around the chair and slowly lowered himself to the other side of the coffee table. With the way Brayden was looking down, like he was concentrating hard on sorting the various cards, Jack still couldn't read him. Still, without looking away from Brayden, Jack reached out to the snack table and wrapped his hand around the wine bottle and drew it to his chest. Alcohol had seriously become his security blanket.

"All right then," he said with a slight turn of the head as he slid the bottle between his knees without yet opening it. "Let's start."

[Brayden Smith]

This was certainly a swift change in their positions. For once, Bray was the one being mysterious and Jack was the one trying to catch up. Usually it was the other way around, and Bray was left speechless, grappling with what to say. Judging by Jack's lack of a smart response, it seemed that Bray... actually did get one up on him. And he had absolutely NO idea how he managed it! By making no sense? Should he babble more and think less?

He didn't want to take Jack aback all the time, though. It was just this time that was novel and unexpected. Maybe? A little amusing? Bray was no sadist, he didn't delight in playing head games, but he did find it funny that he finally got Jack back for all the times it was Jack saying outlandish things, and Bray doing the scrambling to keep up.

Strange start to date night, though. Ah—game night.

Bray felt Jack's movements rather than saw them, as he was occupied with the card game. After he'd set everything up, he finally raised his head and his smile was the same half-goofy smile he always wore around Jack. "I think... I'll have a glass of wine." Bold, bold move. But he seemed to have gained a little strength from being the teaser instead of the one being teased. Bray leaned over to take an empty glass and held it out, since Jack had the bottle between his legs.

[Jack Ripley]

Pop!

And out came the cork. Jack was still in his processing stage, but even he thought the wine was suspect. It didn't feel like a Brayden thing to add to the evening but here he was, all smiles, holding out his glass like a kid. Jack eyed him, wondering if somebody body snatched him somehow. Jack didn't believe in aliens any more than he believed in gods and magic but he also never thought he'd see the day Brayden gave up his staunch stance against drinking.

Jack poured the wine into the glass like an expert--probably because he was. A boozer like his parents before him and probably theirs before them. Jack never did meet his grandparents on either side.

"I'm not sure which is more inappropriate: the wine or the game."

Because the wine was date night. And the game was obviously game night. And this was some odd mixture of the two. Or not. Because, you know. Stipulations. Not even bothering with a glass for himself, Jack took a long, deep drink from the wine. It was sweet. Fruity. Soft. It was as if it had been made exactly with Brayden Smith in mind. But judging by the year, it was also liable to take off their heads if they didn't drink in moderation.

As with any new game, the going was a bit rough. They both kept having to consult the rules on whether a move was legal or not, if they were even playing it right, or something odd came up that they didn't expect. But it was a quick moving game, not one of those everlasting games like Monopoly that could last a damned week if the players were good enough.

Brayden, it turned out, was just good at these games. And as they continued to play, his kingdom was coming along a bit better than Jack's was. As Jack made his next move, he looked over at Brayden and took a small pull from the bottle. It wasn't yet at the halfway point but it was slowly getting there.

"If you're really as smart as I think you are," Jack said, setting the bottle down on the floor between them, just in case Brayden wanted another glass. "You'd lose the game."

[Brayden Smith]

Ah, well, one glass wouldn't hurt. Marge assured him that it was okay to have one glass and she told him it tasted good—not overly alcoholic like liquors typically were. Actually, she might have. Intensely persuaded him to drink a glass. She might have threatened him with her frightening eyes, that if he didn't at least try the wine, she would find out and that would be the end of Bray's life. Marge had that power in her: the power to decide whether others lived or died. It damn well felt that way in the moment, when she stared him down.

He didn't know what Jack thought of the wine but surely it wasn't as bad as, say, whiskey? Bray was innocent in the ways of liquor; he thought of wine as mildly alcoholic fruit juice, which was a definite folly. One glass, right? He watched Jack exert authority over the bottle as though he'd opened a thousand of them. Some part of Bray wondered if it was true, with maybe a tinge of sadness. How many bottles did Jack turn to in order to drown his sorrows? That only spoke to what a hard life he'd had...

Stop thinking.

This was supposed to be a fun night, and a night where he had Jack all to himself. He'd been looking forward to this night for an entire week! Bray took a sip of the wine then almost spit it out at Jack's comment. He sputtered a little into his glass, coughed and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "It—the game?" Well Jack brought the game and Bray brought the wine so... they were even! But what did Jack mean by the game? Was it—salacious? Bray never read anything in the manual—

Ah.

If Jack won, this was date night. The game. If he won the game.

Bray sipped his wine just to hide his face and his smile. Yeah... maybe it was inappropriate. Too late now, though, wasn't it? They were already starting. And Jack was chugging from the bottle, which Bray didn't think was advisable. He put out a hand to touch the bottom of the glass, gently pulling it back. "Take it easy," Bray said mildly. Here he thought wine would be a good compromise to either hard alcohol or lemon water...

The game took up much of Bray's attention afterwards, as getting started was a bit of a bumpy ride. They had to stop often but Bray whose mind was more inclined towards deep thinking and planning ahead fared a touch better than Jack. He kept sipping his wine as they played, enjoying its sweet and fruity taste. Not bad. The more he drank, the easier it went down. He felt his cheeks flushing and every once in a while he looked at Jack with increasing carelessness. Did his emotions leak through? Did he smile at Jack like a sap? He did... He definitely did.

"Mm..." He reached for the bottle and sloshed a little more 'fortified grape juice' into his empty glass. That was what his mom called wine. Fortified grape juice. Bray laughed softly to himself as the phrase came back to him suddenly, feeling light and airy and warm and contented. Normally he felt like that too, when Jack came over and they watched a show or had dinner or just sat and talked, but the wine heightened those comfy-cozy feelings for him. "But the point of the game is to win, Jack," he said slowly. What did Jack mean—he should try to lose? "You should... be trying to win."

Bray slapped down another card. He drank a little more. Then he sort of got it. It clicked as he realized that he was going to win the game, that Jack meant—about the date. By that time Bray was finished his second glass and he was—oh, tipsy. But he got it. He got it. Yes, he should try to lose so that they could have a date! Jack was telling him that tonight should be a date and Bray, he agreed sooooo much.

Swaying lightly, he reached for something from the snack table and—oops! He bumped the game board and sent all the pieces flying. "Whoops~!" Bray pretended to pick up a fallen token, but really he took himself closer to Jack. He smiled with unfocused eyes. "My bad. I guess I lose! Such... mm... such a shame. Big shame. Oh no."

[Jack Ripley]

Games like these were novel to Jack. They didn't have them in the house when he was growing up. There were barely any things in the house that suggested a child even lived there. Honestly, Jack didn't even know how he lived to be old enough to start learning to do things on his own. Who changed his diapers? Who washed him up? Who fed him? Statistically, he shouldn't even be alive, he thought. But his father had been around for a while and while he was a mean son of a bitch, he did know a baby needed feeding and occasional diaper changes.

Sometimes, Jack thought his father might have loved him, at least a little bit. But then he remembered that he left him. And he wished that he hadn't. Jack would rather have faced beatings from a drunk father than what he experienced when he left.

So games weren't really Jack's thing. He kept arguing with Brayden about the rules at the start and realizing that he had read something wrong or that he misunderstood it. But Brayden knew exactly what he was doing. Even if he hadn't read up on the game ahead of time, he probably would have soundly whipped Jack's ass at it. And Jack normally wouldn't have cared but...

He tried. But maybe Marge was right. Maybe he wasn't vocal enough. Maybe his subtle little clues and flirting went way over Brayden's head. Any other guy would have known exactly what he meant when he gave that meaningful Look and advised Brayden to lose. But Brayden seemed hellbent on winning.

"Oh, I am."

It was just that he wasn't. Winning, that is. He tried to be more thoughtful about his moves but he tended to just make them quickly to move the game over to the next turn. Brayden definitely took his time, though, and every time he did, Jack was taking another drink from the bottle. Probably ill advised on his part to hold it for as long as he did.

But then, maybe not because Brayden. Brayden wasn't kidding when he said he didn't drink. And wine was a helluva drink. It could get a man drunk faster than a blink if they didn't know what they were doing (and even when they did). And Brayden didn't know shit. He just thought he was drinking juice. And he was getting all flushed and tipsy and slurring his words a little. Jack raised his brows and watched as Brayden made his next move and then decided it was time for a snack. Only instead of a snack, he was scattering their cards all over the place. Jack watched with some amusement and almost went to start picking them up.

And then as he slid a few of the cards back on the table, he looked up at Brayden and slightly narrowed an eye at him in absolute suspicion. Just because the cards were scattered didn't mean Brayden lost. If they were going by the current score, he'd won.

Jack's hand slid over Brayden's hand to halt him from picking up some token or other that had fallen onto the ground.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Smith."

His other hand slid around the back of Brayden's head to draw him closer. This kiss was not the gentle peck on the lips of a friend. It was the kind of kiss that parted lips, the kind that tasted of sweet wine, that warred with velvet tongues and sent the mind spinning. The kind that had a body arching up to collide against the other's. The kind that followed a hand that moved from wrist to arm to somehow sliding beneath the cloth of a shirt.

"You're so drunk!" he half gasped, half laughed. This was not a dealbreaker and not because Jack had no scruples but because Brayden wasn't drunk when he proposed his... proposition. "I've never seen you so drunk. Or... ever. Drunk."

Jack rolled Brayden onto his back. His hair fell across his eyes as he let out a drunk laugh. Then he was nose to nose, then lips to lips. Smiling. Hand grasping onto the front of Brayden's shirt, not to take it off but to just know that it was there and that this was real and that he wasn't dreaming.

"I would have said yes, you know. If you asked."

[Brayden Smith]

Ohhh yeeaaahhh he was sooooo druuuunk!

Everything was swimming in wine, soaking in a pool of alcohol and awash in muted colors. Bray felt so... so good and so brave. It was like all the barriers had come down and he no longer cared about what he said or how the words could be misconstrued. All he cared about was that he felt good and for some reason, everything was doubly funny. Like Jack saying that he didn't think he had it in him, and he just did the thing that Jack didn't think he would do!

"Hehe... I'm... Oh I'm sneaky Jack! You don't even know, do you Jack? Jack... Jack..." At first he was grinning foolishly and drunkenly. Then he repeated Jack's name as a hand slid over his hand and the touch sent an instant thrill through him. Touches from Jack always did. And he spoke Jack's name a third time, expression growing serious, as Jack leaned in close to him, but this time in a vastly different tone. A tone that was needy and greedy and pained with longing. A hand curled around the back of his head and suddenly—

"Mmm..." Bray moaned into the kiss. Oh, what a kiss. What his sober brain would have given to remember it, the way Jack tasted, the sudden uplifting of the soul as relief spread through him. Even Bray's drunk brain realized that this kiss wasn't a kiss of comfort or a chaste peck between friends This kiss was filled with the same kind of need and repressed desire and desperation that he was. He kissed back eagerly, perhaps sloppily, perhaps not—hard to say in his drunken state—while his free hand came to cling to the front of Jack's oh-so-beautiful shirt.

But every shirt was beautiful on Jack. Every piece of clothing was artfully chosen, to highlight his features, his height, his figure. Clothes did not a man make but Jack definitely always showed up dressed to kill. Even to something as mundane as game night, he was... Oh, he was impossible to look away from. Bray had been sneaking copious amounts of admiring looks over at him all night, which lasted longer and became less sneaky the more wine he sipped..

He gasped out loud when the kiss finally broke, as Jack laughed about his state of inebriation and Bray licked his lips, still tasting Jack. "I—no because it's just Jack, juice," he protested, pawing at his chest uselessly to bring him back for another kiss. "It's jooooooose!" Every word he elongated seemed super funny. Juice. Juuuuuice. Bray laughed. Whoops! The world was laughing with him, tipping him over and over and over like clothes through a tumble dry cycle. His back encountered carpet. Whoops! He fell!

Or... no. He was pushed. Onto his back. And Jack was hovering above him with the light behind his head, making a halo. Bray's expression was soft; he felt a great surge of emotion overcome him when their lips touched again. Bray's legs wound about Jack of their own accord, the action something that sober Bray would never have attempted. It was too suggestive. Too bold, like he might actually have needs or want certain things. But drunk Bray, he wanted Jack closer. Closer than close.

What did that mean? "Ask what, Jack?" asked Bray as he kissed the corner of Jack's mouth—having missed when he went for the lips. The hand at the front of his shirt felt oddly... reassuring. Jack was here. This was real. Bray was so very drunk—off two glasses of wine. Two big glasses though, and with his low tolerance for alcohol, it didn't take much. Maybe some of the drunkenness was exhilaration too, from that marvellous kiss. It had been too long since anyone kissed him like that.

[Jack Ripley]

Honestly, Brayden was pretty terrible at being sneaky. It just seemed off for him to even try going that route. But he was drunk now and claiming he was so sneaky. Maybe he did have it in him, then. Hard to really think about it when he was too busy kissing him the way he wanted to for, oh probably weeks now. If Brayden had any protests about it, he certainly kept his peace.

"I'm sorry," he said with an amused laugh, "Did you just tell the juice it's just me?"

Juice. Fucking wine. It had taken down many a person. Not that Jack used it himself as some kind of weapon. There might be the spare bottle of wine or two on his counter of no-no drinks but Jack either drank straight from the bottle or bought mixed drinks at whatever bar or club he was at. Wine was dangerous enough all on its own, if it came as sweet as this bottle did.

They were just kissing and Brayden was already winding his legs about him like he thought Jack was going to roll away from him. Maybe he was sneaky. Or maybe he had enough of all the wishy-washy games. Jack's eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds as Brayden oh-so-gently kissed him. Not really on target but it made Jack's lips curve into a little smile nonetheless.

"To go on a date, B." All he had to do was ask but Jack could see why he didn't. Jack might have been flirting with him from the start but whenever he had a chance, was he not shutting the door on the idea of relationships? He didn't need one, he shouldn't be in one, blah, blah, blah. Even now, Jack wondered in the back of his head if he was only kissing Brayden like this because he was drunk.

Stroking Brayden's chest, Jack looked down at him, at that goofy, punch-drunk smile and those eyes, those sad, sad eyes that were still oddly filled with hope and kindness and a gentle, soft soul. Not an ounce of judgment there, nothing condescending, nothing hard or angry or hateful. Jack's thumb moved up to stroke Brayden's cheek, from the corner of one soft eye down the slight angle of a cheekbone, over warm lips, to stop at his chin. He parted his lips as if to speak but instead of speaking, he leaned in and kissed Brayden again. The kiss was questing, breathless, the lead kiss to another kiss, and another. With each kiss, he felt his head spin that much faster.

Eventually, those questing lips were wandering. Testing the texture of Brayden's throat, tasting skin, feeling the too-quick throb of his heartbeat, nuzzling the hollow of his shoulder, catching an earlobe between teeth and coming back down to that delicate skin just behind his ear to bestow another kiss, reverent and wanting.

Jack's hands weren't idle, either. They were deft at removing buttons from their buttonholes, at sliding palm and fingertip over nipples and ribs and stomach. He shifted his weight as his hand turned downward over Brayden's navel and dipped lower. Under a waistband. Massaging, grasping, caressing. Jack wasn't silent but he wasn't wordy, either, communicating more in a language of lovemaking, in sighs and soft hums. That wasn't usually how he operated but for once, the words were dried up.

[Brayden Smith]

Did he just say that? It's just Jack, juice? Well maybe he did, words didn't seem to want to come out in the right order. They were all there, though, and Jack could put it all together. He didn't seem half as drunk as Bray was. Bray just laughed that easy drunk laugh and accepted that, yes, the juice clearly ought to know that it was only Jack.

They had better things to discuss. Like—ah. Bray couldn't help but laugh. "I—I was waiting for you to ask me, cause..." He shrugged. He didn't want to be pushy. Jack wasn't hurting for company and Bray was... Bray. Every time he tried to suggest it, he failed to go through with it. He spoke in starts and fits but not in full sentences around Jack, and part of him thought that maybe Jack didn't want to be put into that unenviable position to reject him, too. There were no guarantees in life, were there? Simply wanting something with all his heart didn't make that a sure thing and Bray was too afraid to lose what he had to try and go for the long shot.

But that was all sober Bray. Drunk Bray had tipsy Jack on top of him, kissing him again. The discussion was rendered moot. He still felt the trail of Jack's fingers along his face, that tender, loving touch he craved so much. Everything came together in that moment; he couldn't and didn't want to say anything to ruin the magic. Bray didn't know what to focus on though. Jack's lips? Or his hands? At first it was the kiss—kisses. Bray couldn't remember a time when he felt like this, drunk or otherwise. His heart was filled to bursting; he wondered if Jack felt that way too, or if this was just... a few kisses.

The way Jack looked at him, though, put some of those fears to rest. Bray didn't want to give in to negative thoughts, not now. Even in his drunken state he realized the importance of living in the moment, because he might not have another moment like this. So he drank all of it in, threw his whole being into kissing Jack and touching him, exploring the slopes of his shoulders, the taper of his waist, his hips. Fingertips peeked under Jack's shirt while his own was eased aside; Bray shivered but he wasn't cold. Anticipation made him groan as Jack's lips returned and he just... floated away on all of the pleasurable sensations.

"Jack..." Bray arched into him with another wanton moan. His body was on fire and oh—oh—that hand on that part of him. So intimate. He couldn't help his body bucking into Jack as he let out a soft cry. "Jack, I—please..." His alcohol-fogged brain didn't know what he was asking for. Blindly grasping at him, Bray's mind went back to a week ago, when Jack sat on his couch wrapped up in the fleece blanket, and just... so casually said that someone Bray didn't know at the time thought they should fuck.

The wine sort of made sense in that context; his drunk brain realized that now. Bray twisted, confused, not sure which way to go. "F-fuck me." God, he just wanted... he wanted Jack. Had wanted him from the very beginning, but why couldn't he say anything brave when he was sober?