CT 20.Bonus!4: 18.3: Talk about something that you have no tolerance for in a relationship.
Author's Note: For john_isyro, who requested a You Tell Me!Miles that involves discussing Sasha and Peter, which wound up being combined with the other request of Shitfaced!Miles. This is maaaaaaybe a day after the wedding. If that.
John was aware that some things in life had to run their course. It was unavoidable, that was life. He didn't always like it, but it was the truth. Some things simply had to flow right along.
But this? This was giving him a goddamn migraine.
"It's fucking ridiculous!" That'd been the ninth -- Tenth? Fifteenth? -- time that Miles had uttered this phrase. The only thing that still made this rant entertaining was listening to him slur every seven words. Exactly. It never failed, and John couldn't get over it. He wondered if this was was a regular phenomenon.
No matter what, it was the last thing he'd been expecting to deal with when he'd agreed to hang out with Miles before he and Doug hitched a plane ride back home. It'd been fun in the beginning, but then they'd gotten to discussing the wedding. And by the start of that, Miles had already developed one hell of a buzz.
Now Miles was shitfaced, which wasn't shocking when one considered he'd drank twice as much, and forcing John to drink more than he'd intended just to keep up. He had the buzz, but it wasn't helping. So he poured himself another less than healthy sized glass of the whiskey front he bottle they'd been sharing, and gulped down some of it. He didn't really feel a burn anymore. He was on the way.
Then John returned to watching Miles pace back and forth, shooting him an aggravated look when Miles snatched the bottle on the way by to refill his own glass that went entirely ignored. "It is." He agreed.
"Goddamn right." Five words.
John sipped some more from the glass. "But maybe they'll work it out." He hoped they did. They loved each other. Peter made Sasha happy, and vice versa. They were in love. He knew enough about mistakes and ruined relationships to know that things could be worked through. Even if Peter was an idiot.
"Fuck that. ('tha-ht)" Seven words. If you could call 'tha-ht' a word. Miles drank down the rest of the whiskey in his glass, stopped to refill after a small dizzy drunken sway, closed the bottle, and threw it back to John. Or tried to. It was off center, and John had to reach to catch it, nearly missing the damn thing himself. This went unnoticed. "Fuck that all to hell, he can ('kin' - John laughed.) go fuck himself. Stupid motherfucking..."
The rest was swallowed up by something that might've been a growl, and John laughed quietly into his glass while Miles finally gave up pacing and flopped into the nearest chair. He tried not to be disappointed, wondering if that'd reset the seven word rule. He'd have to keep counting. "They love each other. He's a moron, sure, but maybe if he--"
"Hey." The other man pointed at him, causing John to quirk an eyebrow in an 'are you serious?' fashion since that was far from intimidating. That went ignored too. "He fucked up. He lied. ('Lyed' - And John was amused once again.) You don't come back from that. That's unacceptable ('unexsheptable' - What the fuck?)."
John shrugged. Drink, refill, repeat. "I know it was stupid. I do. But people have gotten past bigger and still made something of a relationship in spite of it." He could attest to that. "So I hope they work it out. Whenever she gets back from wherever she is." That worried him a little. He could tell in the midsts of Miles's earlier ranting that he felt the same way. But there was nothing they could do. For now, anyway.
"... Whatever. It's unacceptable. And he should've fucking ('fuckin' - Not as funny.) known that. Stupid jackass."
"Yeah." He agreed, because he did, and because he wanted to shut him up. He liked the guy, it was just getting old. It wasn't as though he and Lorelai had the perfect relationship, Miles had told him as much not more than an hour before. John watched his vision sway before him, and was satisfied. Pretty much drunk. "Someone needs to kick his ass."
"Someone should." Miles nodded in agreement. It was quiet for a few moments, and then suddenly he sat bolt upright -- with another sway -- and turned to him. "Hey, I know what we seriously should ('shud' - Took a second to understand.) do."
"What should we do?"
"Get all the rest of the alcohol ('alc'holl' - Sounded like a sneeze.) and get the fuck out of here ('heer' - Only decent one so far.)!"
"... Why?" John frowned, although since now Miles seemed to be off his rant, it was still interesting. He was even getting up. And discovering that was only semi simple.
Miles grinned, getting to his feet. "Because you're a pyro, and cool ('kool' - Boring.), and we should blow shit up."
The frown deepened, and John drank the rest of the contents of his class. He thought over the idea, and finally nodded. That actually sounded like fun. "But out of town. Desert area. Where it's safe. Can you drive?"
"No. (Can't be slurred. Damn.)"
"Nevermind, I can."
"Fuck yeah!"
Fuck yeah indeed, Miles. Fuck yeah indeed.
Muse: Miles Lawson:
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 872
Partner: john_ispyro
John was aware that some things in life had to run their course. It was unavoidable, that was life. He didn't always like it, but it was the truth. Some things simply had to flow right along.
But this? This was giving him a goddamn migraine.
"It's fucking ridiculous!" That'd been the ninth -- Tenth? Fifteenth? -- time that Miles had uttered this phrase. The only thing that still made this rant entertaining was listening to him slur every seven words. Exactly. It never failed, and John couldn't get over it. He wondered if this was was a regular phenomenon.
No matter what, it was the last thing he'd been expecting to deal with when he'd agreed to hang out with Miles before he and Doug hitched a plane ride back home. It'd been fun in the beginning, but then they'd gotten to discussing the wedding. And by the start of that, Miles had already developed one hell of a buzz.
Now Miles was shitfaced, which wasn't shocking when one considered he'd drank twice as much, and forcing John to drink more than he'd intended just to keep up. He had the buzz, but it wasn't helping. So he poured himself another less than healthy sized glass of the whiskey front he bottle they'd been sharing, and gulped down some of it. He didn't really feel a burn anymore. He was on the way.
Then John returned to watching Miles pace back and forth, shooting him an aggravated look when Miles snatched the bottle on the way by to refill his own glass that went entirely ignored. "It is." He agreed.
"Goddamn right." Five words.
John sipped some more from the glass. "But maybe they'll work it out." He hoped they did. They loved each other. Peter made Sasha happy, and vice versa. They were in love. He knew enough about mistakes and ruined relationships to know that things could be worked through. Even if Peter was an idiot.
"Fuck that. ('tha-ht)" Seven words. If you could call 'tha-ht' a word. Miles drank down the rest of the whiskey in his glass, stopped to refill after a small dizzy drunken sway, closed the bottle, and threw it back to John. Or tried to. It was off center, and John had to reach to catch it, nearly missing the damn thing himself. This went unnoticed. "Fuck that all to hell, he can ('kin' - John laughed.) go fuck himself. Stupid motherfucking..."
The rest was swallowed up by something that might've been a growl, and John laughed quietly into his glass while Miles finally gave up pacing and flopped into the nearest chair. He tried not to be disappointed, wondering if that'd reset the seven word rule. He'd have to keep counting. "They love each other. He's a moron, sure, but maybe if he--"
"Hey." The other man pointed at him, causing John to quirk an eyebrow in an 'are you serious?' fashion since that was far from intimidating. That went ignored too. "He fucked up. He lied. ('Lyed' - And John was amused once again.) You don't come back from that. That's unacceptable ('unexsheptable' - What the fuck?)."
John shrugged. Drink, refill, repeat. "I know it was stupid. I do. But people have gotten past bigger and still made something of a relationship in spite of it." He could attest to that. "So I hope they work it out. Whenever she gets back from wherever she is." That worried him a little. He could tell in the midsts of Miles's earlier ranting that he felt the same way. But there was nothing they could do. For now, anyway.
"... Whatever. It's unacceptable. And he should've fucking ('fuckin' - Not as funny.) known that. Stupid jackass."
"Yeah." He agreed, because he did, and because he wanted to shut him up. He liked the guy, it was just getting old. It wasn't as though he and Lorelai had the perfect relationship, Miles had told him as much not more than an hour before. John watched his vision sway before him, and was satisfied. Pretty much drunk. "Someone needs to kick his ass."
"Someone should." Miles nodded in agreement. It was quiet for a few moments, and then suddenly he sat bolt upright -- with another sway -- and turned to him. "Hey, I know what we seriously should ('shud' - Took a second to understand.) do."
"What should we do?"
"Get all the rest of the alcohol ('alc'holl' - Sounded like a sneeze.) and get the fuck out of here ('heer' - Only decent one so far.)!"
"... Why?" John frowned, although since now Miles seemed to be off his rant, it was still interesting. He was even getting up. And discovering that was only semi simple.
Miles grinned, getting to his feet. "Because you're a pyro, and cool ('kool' - Boring.), and we should blow shit up."
The frown deepened, and John drank the rest of the contents of his class. He thought over the idea, and finally nodded. That actually sounded like fun. "But out of town. Desert area. Where it's safe. Can you drive?"
"No. (Can't be slurred. Damn.)"
"Nevermind, I can."
"Fuck yeah!"
Fuck yeah indeed, Miles. Fuck yeah indeed.
Muse: Miles Lawson:
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 872
Partner: john_ispyro