Could it be that I'm just dumb and horny?
Who: Juan and that guy he paid ten bucks to make out with.
Where: The Coffee Shoppe (and potentially more of the town)
When: 29th of July, evening
What: This wasn't a date, merely a casual meeting. Over coffee. And bad American beer in a bar. (damn you Emi)
( this will either end in me getting covered in coffee, us becoming best friends or in a bad motel room. )
Where: The Coffee Shoppe (and potentially more of the town)
When: 29th of July, evening
What: This wasn't a date, merely a casual meeting. Over coffee. And bad American beer in a bar. (damn you Emi)
( this will either end in me getting covered in coffee, us becoming best friends or in a bad motel room. )
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He could just feel this turning into one of those 'Bad Date' stories... Swallowing and still trying to smile, he fidgeted with his shirt collar, absently rubbing the back of his neck.
Just don't mention condoms...
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"Here, I already put my stuff at a table-" Alfred carefully took his wrist, pulling him to a small table near the window where his jacket was already draped over the back of a chair. "So... Juan, exactly how old are you?"
Ageeeeeeeee. That was almost as bad as condoms...
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Crabs and cancer. Well this was going swimmingly. He glanced at the apple juice, swallowed. "So... you don't drink... coffee?"
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He swallowed again, taking a long drink of his tea, letting the time pass in silence. Awkward. Crushing. Debilitating. Man Points Losing. Silence.
Then his mouth opened. "So does your sister really have a machete or it that some term she learned in her feminism class to represent her rejection of this masculine world and it's gender roles?"
Wow.
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Within minutes, Alfred had gotten them a taxi to the nearest bar (some place called Chueca) and dragged him inside -quietly thanking God he had his fake ID actually on him instead of packed away somewhere in his bags.
Dragging the man to the bar and starting with "Latin Passion" coladas, then moving onto Mexican Threeways with less limejuice and a whole lotta tequila before ending with just straight tequila and shared lemons to... enhance the flavour all over the thrum of the Latino beat and the whoops of the crowd.
It was here, plastered beyond all measure, that Alfred found himself behind the small Mexican, following his lead, fingers splayed over the tiny hips and thumbs hooks into the waistband of the jeans. Pressed flush again him, Alfred's mouth was somewhere around his neck, placing sloppy lovebites there.
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His eyes flew open and he sat up, glancing to the bedside table, only to fall back to the sheets, groaning and burying his face into the dark hair next to him. The warm body seemed to be the only cure and he clung to it.
Then he paused. holyshithewasnaked and holyshittheguynexttohimwasnaked... and emi's brother. Ooooooooh no. ooooooooooooooh no.
He groaned, sitting up slightly again, looking over at the table.
Oh. God.
That open condom wrapper simply glared right back at him with a big neon sign that said "Ooh daymn boy, look what you've done now."
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"Juan, wait-" Kneeling beside him quickly, Alfred touching his shoulder gently, sitting him up slightly. "Just- Don't... Move, you could be really hurt right now."
His mind was listing off the people that would kill him for this. Emi. Mattie. Ivan. Between the three of them, he wasn't going to stand a chance in hell.
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He reached down a hand, pulling the sheets up over the Mexican and his own hips, hoping to preserve whatever faint and practically nonexistent shreds of their dignity. Carefully, and mostly absently, he rested his fingers in the curve of the other man's neck, tugging at his hair.
"So... Last night," he prompted, "Do you... remember anything?"
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