Challenge: Vanilla #20 - Drinking
Word Count: 810
Summary: Jonathan gets to thinking about the alfa and alcohol, and Simon regrets the consequences. (Or does he?)
Notes: I've not had much chance to write 'cause I'm house- (and pet-) sitting, but I really needed to exorcise this bunny from my brain... It's a bit hare (hah) brained and I'm not sure how to progress time in FPP but hey, won't learn if I don't try.
Jonathan is convinced the alfa can’t get drunk - he’s telling me so at length over the breakfast table. “Look, Simon. How many times have the humans stumbled out of the pub and promptly keeled over? Whilst you and I are standing there stone cold sober and staring at them.”
I shake my head slowly and stare down at my cornflakes. It’s far too early in the morning for this and I’m really not sure I want to know where this is heading. “You’re pushing seven foot tall. There’s usually a bit less of them...”
The derisive snort as Jonathan raises his spoon to his mouth nearly splatters me with milk. “What’s height got to do with it?”
“Quite a lot, really. There’s just... more of you for the alcohol to go around.”
He’s staring at me like I’m a lunatic, milk dripping slowly from his loosely-held spoon that had, before I spoke, been poised to dive back into the bowl. “Does that really make a difference?”
I shrug awkwardly and busy myself with my own breakfast. Truthfully, I don’t know why Jonathan’s got a better tolerance to alcohol than most humans, and when I think about it, I can’t remember getting drunk too often either - when I have, it’s been on the alfa-made stuff, not the oddly-coloured cocktails with stupid names that everyone else around here seems so keen on.
I’m not sure what he takes my silence as, and I can feel him staring at me for a moment longer before the sound of crunching tells me that he’s resumed eating his own cereal. We finish breakfast in that same silence, and he only speaks to me again when I’m pulling on my leathers and grabbing the motorcycle helmet that dangles inelegantly from the wooden hat stand: “you’d better try to get home early. I think we need to experiment.”
Experiment?! I really, really don’t like the sound of this...
And indeed, my fears are proved correct, because I swear the very second he hears the door open, he’s standing in front of me with what can only be described as an industrial-sized bottle of vodka. “Are you ready?”
It’s very difficult to look cool and nonchalant when you’re trying to worm your way out of a close-fitting leather jacket and keeping an eye on someone waving a bottle around at the same time, and whilst I’d like to think I’d managed it the sad fact is I think a distinct look of terror passed over my face. “Am I ready for what?”
Jonathan does probably the best smirk I’ve ever seen. It sends shivers all the way up my spine to the tips of my ears... “To see how long it takes us to get drunk?”
I was afraid it was gonna be something like that. I nearly fumble the crash helmet. “You might not have anything better to do, but I’ve got work tomorrow.”
He looks at me like I’m mad. “You want to pass up this opportunity to advance scientific research?”
“Yes!” Scientific research my arse, he knows bugger-all about science.
Before I can move, his strong arm is wrapped about my shoulder and pulls me towards him. “Come on, Simon, don’t wuss out on me now.” He squeezes again and for a moment I think both my shoulders are going to break. “You know you want to,” and, before I can open my mouth to again state the negative, he grins and says those heartbreaking words: “or I’ll put your rent up.”
There’s no fighting that. My shoulders slump and his grip loosens, and before I know it he’s leading me gently into his tiny living room. And judging from the vast array of multicoloured bottles on the table, I should be very afraid indeed...
I feel terrible, although if I’m feeling anything I’m clearly not dead yet. I just wish I was. I can also feel sunlight burning against my eyelids and I don’t want to look because then that’ll just hurt worse. And on top of that, I didn’t realise you can feel the planet turning when you’re laying on your back...
There’s a faint groan and it takes a few seconds for me to realise that I did it.
Christ, how much did we have to drink? I don’t think I can remember anything beyond the second hour...
With my throat sticking painfully together and limbs seeming to weigh a ton each, I somehow manage to turn over - probably looking like a goldfish flapping about outside its bowl.
And there’s- there’s something in bed with me? This is new.
So I open my eyes slowly.
Jonathan’s stretched out next to me. One arm beneath the pillow. The other beside his face. I’m... nearly nestling against him.
I think I better start trying to remember! Now!