(no subject)
Title: Designated Driver
Author: duckgirlie
Pairing: David/Greg
Rating: PG
Summery: David's the designated driver, everyone else can barely stand.
Disclaimer: Not mine, at all. Any of them.
There may be a sequel to this, provided my brain starts working.
Right now, David wished he’d had more to drink. Playing designated driver to a car full of his drunken friends wasn’t on the cards earlier that evening, until Jacqui remembered the cab-drivers' strike and that one of them would have to drive everyone home. They drew straws. He lost. David hated drawing straws.
He’d practically had to carry Jacqui to the car, because for some reason between arriving at the bar and leaving it, her shoes had changed feet. She was too drunk to switch them back, and David loved Jacqui, but not quite enough to touch her feet.
Bobby behaved himself, only falling down once on the way to the car, buckling himself in and sitting quietly. He went looking for Archie, eventually dragging him away from a transvestite at the end of the bar, knowing he was too drunk now to notice, but that possibly wouldn’t last much longer.
Greg had, miraculously, made his own way to the car, but was now sitting so still in the front passenger seat David had to check his pulse to make sure he was still alive.
Jacqui managed to successfully maneuver the six feet from the car to her door, and whilst normally he’d make sure she made it from the door to her bed, he had three more in his car and it was her day off tomorrow. She could take a night on the couch. Bobby and Archie were okay by the time the car arrived at their places, with Bobby politely thanking him, and Archie complaining that he’d been about to get lucky before David interrupted. He rolled the window up in the middle of the rant and Archie gave up a moment later.
Unfortunately, Greg wasn’t so easy. By the time they arrived, he’d woken up, but only just. David picked him out of the front seat and dragged him to the doorway. Greg wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his head on David’s shoulder.
David leaned him against the door, but had to grab him again as he started to slide down, giggling frantically.
“Christ Sanders, how much did you drink?”
“Jus…small…hic!”
He rolled his eyes. “Where are your keys?”
Greg started patting himself down, discovered a lump in his pocket and tried to retrieve them. After six attempts, he still hadn’t managed to get his hand in his pocket, and David reached in, digging past all the loose change, receipts and bottle caps.
“Jeez Hodges. You’re gonna touch me…hic… like that you have to…hic!”
“Buy you dinner first? Nice to see that pint of vodka hasn’t dulled your wits.”
He finally got the keys out, but it took some deft maneuvering to open the door without letting Greg fall. He finally managed to get inside, but by now Greg had given up and his legs were simply hanging, and David had to drag him along.
He followed the trail of clothes to Greg’s room, finally manging to dump him on the bed, only to be pulled down on top of the other man, who wrapped his arms around his neck.
“Okay Sanders, time to let go.”
“No.”
“Much as I like being here, I have my own bed at home so…”
Greg loosened his arms just enough for David to lift his head. He tried to pull away, but Greg’s brain had suddenly decided to give him back his motor functions. Greg’s eyes were open, and he kept his eyes locked on David’s.
They stayed frozen for a moment, before Greg lifted his head and pressed his lips against David’s, pulling him back down to the bed.
And now, David really wanted to have drunk more. Not even as much as Greg, but enough that any sense of morality he had could be usefully ignored. Enough that he could keep kissing Greg, and let Greg’s hands wander down his back towards his waistband… Drunk enough not to worry about the implications of going any further. Even more so, drunk enough not to feel paranoid that he was only here because of how drunk Greg was, that Greg would wake up regretting everything.
So he slowly pulled away, disentangling Greg’s hands from the bottom of his shirt, repeating it several times as Greg kept grabbing him again. Finally, he got free and Greg’s arms dropped back to the bed, and David hurried out of the house.
He drove home as fast as he could risk, and once he was in his kitchen poured himself some whiskey before crawling into bed.
The whiskey didn’t help him sleep.
Author: duckgirlie
Pairing: David/Greg
Rating: PG
Summery: David's the designated driver, everyone else can barely stand.
Disclaimer: Not mine, at all. Any of them.
There may be a sequel to this, provided my brain starts working.
Right now, David wished he’d had more to drink. Playing designated driver to a car full of his drunken friends wasn’t on the cards earlier that evening, until Jacqui remembered the cab-drivers' strike and that one of them would have to drive everyone home. They drew straws. He lost. David hated drawing straws.
He’d practically had to carry Jacqui to the car, because for some reason between arriving at the bar and leaving it, her shoes had changed feet. She was too drunk to switch them back, and David loved Jacqui, but not quite enough to touch her feet.
Bobby behaved himself, only falling down once on the way to the car, buckling himself in and sitting quietly. He went looking for Archie, eventually dragging him away from a transvestite at the end of the bar, knowing he was too drunk now to notice, but that possibly wouldn’t last much longer.
Greg had, miraculously, made his own way to the car, but was now sitting so still in the front passenger seat David had to check his pulse to make sure he was still alive.
Jacqui managed to successfully maneuver the six feet from the car to her door, and whilst normally he’d make sure she made it from the door to her bed, he had three more in his car and it was her day off tomorrow. She could take a night on the couch. Bobby and Archie were okay by the time the car arrived at their places, with Bobby politely thanking him, and Archie complaining that he’d been about to get lucky before David interrupted. He rolled the window up in the middle of the rant and Archie gave up a moment later.
Unfortunately, Greg wasn’t so easy. By the time they arrived, he’d woken up, but only just. David picked him out of the front seat and dragged him to the doorway. Greg wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his head on David’s shoulder.
David leaned him against the door, but had to grab him again as he started to slide down, giggling frantically.
“Christ Sanders, how much did you drink?”
“Jus…small…hic!”
He rolled his eyes. “Where are your keys?”
Greg started patting himself down, discovered a lump in his pocket and tried to retrieve them. After six attempts, he still hadn’t managed to get his hand in his pocket, and David reached in, digging past all the loose change, receipts and bottle caps.
“Jeez Hodges. You’re gonna touch me…hic… like that you have to…hic!”
“Buy you dinner first? Nice to see that pint of vodka hasn’t dulled your wits.”
He finally got the keys out, but it took some deft maneuvering to open the door without letting Greg fall. He finally managed to get inside, but by now Greg had given up and his legs were simply hanging, and David had to drag him along.
He followed the trail of clothes to Greg’s room, finally manging to dump him on the bed, only to be pulled down on top of the other man, who wrapped his arms around his neck.
“Okay Sanders, time to let go.”
“No.”
“Much as I like being here, I have my own bed at home so…”
Greg loosened his arms just enough for David to lift his head. He tried to pull away, but Greg’s brain had suddenly decided to give him back his motor functions. Greg’s eyes were open, and he kept his eyes locked on David’s.
They stayed frozen for a moment, before Greg lifted his head and pressed his lips against David’s, pulling him back down to the bed.
And now, David really wanted to have drunk more. Not even as much as Greg, but enough that any sense of morality he had could be usefully ignored. Enough that he could keep kissing Greg, and let Greg’s hands wander down his back towards his waistband… Drunk enough not to worry about the implications of going any further. Even more so, drunk enough not to feel paranoid that he was only here because of how drunk Greg was, that Greg would wake up regretting everything.
So he slowly pulled away, disentangling Greg’s hands from the bottom of his shirt, repeating it several times as Greg kept grabbing him again. Finally, he got free and Greg’s arms dropped back to the bed, and David hurried out of the house.
He drove home as fast as he could risk, and once he was in his kitchen poured himself some whiskey before crawling into bed.
The whiskey didn’t help him sleep.