The Night Before
Number two:
Title: The Night Before
Length: 1748 words
Rating: R
Prompt: Drink
AN: Third person as it wouldn't really be very long otherwise
Late one evening at around 7...
“Hey Ian. Do you want some?” Paul came in shaking a bottle of something.
“Champagne? Since when are you posh enough to drink champagne?”
“Did you want some or not?”
“Not now you’ve shaken it up, no.”
Paul knew this was a joke and sat down beside him and filled a couple of convenient glasses.
“What are we celebrating anyway? The conception of another terrible book?”
“If my books are that terrible, why do you buy them?”
“I like to have something to stand on.”
“You mean need to.” He still handed him the glass.
“So what are we celebrating?”
“Well we’re in love. Do we need a reason?” Paul leaned in to chink glasses.
“You’re just trying to get me drunk, aren’t you Merton?” Paul didn’t normally do romantic gestures like this, if you could call it that.
“Maybe...”
Ian sighed and chinked his glass. They sipped and talked slowly for a bit.
“So... Doing another paedophilic documentary soon?”
“It was a funny and fitting title and no I’m not.”
“You could do one on me.” He actually sounded sincere about it too, though that may have been the half a glass of champagne.
“Yeah, and who would watch it?”
“My mum.”
“I doubt even she would watch it.” Ian actually thought quite a few people would, Paul was pretty popular after all.
“Yeah... Well if you didn’t put it on TV, we could... you know... do a porno.” Ian wouldn’t normally laugh at such blatant innuendo but who cared right now.
“Hmm... You’d have to get me drunk again.”
“You’re drunk now...”
“Not enough.” Paul had joked a lot about them actually recording it in the past but had never just on the off chance someone found it. They could manage everything coming out but not all the games they got up to.
Paul moved over to slip his arm round Ian, as much for support later when he was properly smashed as it was for love now.
“You’re my best friend...”
“Come on Paul, drunk clichés already? You are such an original comic...”
“At least I get laughs for my jokes instead of my height...”
“Stop acting drunk.” Paul laughed and sobered instantly. He leaned over to taste the champagne on Ian’s mouth.
“At least we’re not at a party where we might do something stupid.”
“We’ll probably end up doing something stupid here.” Ian sceptism wasn’t dulled at all by the alcohol.
“And we’ll be too pissed to care. Lighten up a bit Ian... Let your hair down...” Paul mumbled the end just loud enough to get a light punch from Ian.
“You think you’ll be off around the world again anytime soon?”
“Maybe...”
“I’ll miss you...” Ian’s head lulled onto Paul’s chest.
“Mm... You could come with me. Stop me getting killed.”
“Where are you going next, Iraq?”
“Who knows...?”
Ian sat back up when he realised he couldn’t keep drinking there and continued,
“This isn’t bad champagne actually...”
“We’ve nearly finished the bottle already.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Did you know? Stephen Fry’s allergic to champagne.”
“Really? I didn’t know that... You are quite clever Paul...” He would never have said that sober.
“Finish your glass. I’ll go get us some more drinks...” Paul stood, slightly tipsy but not enough to stagger. Ian couldn’t help watching with a smile at how cute Paul’s bottom looked in those jeans.
Paul came back in a few minutes with some more drinks, staggering ever so slightly. He still managed to stagger his crotch into the corner of the table.
“Ah! Bollocks!”
He collapsed into the seat by Ian and laid his head in Ian’s lap.
“You okay?”
“Owie...” Ian smiled and rubbed Paul’s crotch through his jeans. Paul perked up quickly and nuzzled the side of his head against Ian.
“Have a drink, it’ll help.” Ian advised. Paul sat up and took a bottle, handing one to Ian.
“Cider?”
“It’s like adult apple juice.”
So they sat there for a while in silence, taking the occasional sip of each other’s bottle while Paul rubbed his crotch.
“Why do you suppose round tables never caught on?”
“Because not everyone is equal.” Ian really should have politically corrected himself but he never bothered, even when he was sober.
“Hehe. We should totally get smashed before a show and then see what happens.”
“Yeah... We’d get fired but yeah...”
“Do you think they’d fire me if I kissed you?”
“I don’t know... I’ve never known what the BBC’s views on homosexuality were...”
“They let Fry on. They let us on too.”
“Heh. We are pretty gay sometimes...”
“’specially you...” Paul head lolled back against Ian’s shoulder hoping for a kiss.
“Only ‘cause you’re there.” He kissed him messier than he would have liked but no one cared.
“Hmm... If we got smashed it’d be a great excuse to have sex on the show...”
“Yeah... I’d like that...” There was more than one empty bottle on the table now.
“Would you? Well I may just fuck you next show then.”
“Where? Desk or chair?”
“Either. Or both.”
“Nice...”
Paul fell further back and Ian caught him so he now lay in Ian’s arms.
“Hey Ian. You remember the Chicken Song? I loved that song...”
“Oh God.”
“Hold a chicken in the air.” Paul never could sing well. Especially not drunk.
“Stick a deckchair up your nose.” Ian always thought that was the worst part of the song that he couldn’t stop himself joining in.
“Buy a... something-or-other... and stick it in a dog...”
“Heh. Those aren’t the words Paul...”
“Well, well what are?” Quite a few more bottles had joined the others of varying drink on the table.
“I... I can’t remember...”
“You wrote it!”
“No I didn’t. I wrote the other bits...”
“The crap bits.”
“Hey! They weren’t all crap...” He snuggled into Paul’s face and they fell sideways kissing and laughing.
“Hey look at us, having a drunken grope fest...” Ian never thought he’d have to say that.
“Yeah...”
They continued putting hands up shirts and pulling at waistbands for a while before Paul spoke,
“Wait, wait. Let’s go to my room.”
“Oh, I like where this is going.” Paul stood then pulled Ian up too hard and onto the floor with him laughing.
“Oopsie...”
They picked themselves up to some degree and headed up the stairs, Paul singing loudly.
“Heidi di-dee di-dee di-dee, Heidi di-dee di. Oh...” While Ian laughed stupidly high-pitched at him.
With lots of laughs and giggles, they fell backwards onto Paul’s bed and finished the job of pulling their clothes off which they had started downstairs.
“Damn buttons... who deci- invented ‘em anyway?”
“They should be shot... I wanna’ fuck you and I can’t...” Paul finally succeeded in getting Ian ready, laid out beneath him giggling stupidly.
“Oh yes. Take me Paul.” It had tried to be seductive and failed. Not that Paul cared.
“Alright. Get my fingers in there...” Ian wriggled slightly as the fingers went in less dexterously than normal but still adequately preparing him.
Paul pulled out and sat back smiling goonishly while Ian pawed at him with his feet, imploring him to bugger him.
“I feel we’ve forgotten something...” Paul put a finger to his lips less delicately than normal.
“Eh. Who cares? Fuck me...” Ian was whining piteously and prodded Paul with his feet.
“Alright, alright. God you’re like a little... thing... all whiny and small and cute...” Paul leaned forward over Ian and kissed him sloppily, pushing into Ian.
Lots of even more intelligible sounds than before came from their mouths as Paul began to thrust somewhat erratically. Ian wrapped himself round Paul as a little child does while Paul just giggled.
They kept giggling even when they came a few moments later then collapsed pathetically.
“I love it when you fuck me Paul...” Ian snuggled up to Paul’s arm and wrapped himself around it.
“Hehe... You’re so sweet...” They somehow remembered to crawl into the bed and relaxed in a messy drunk tangle of limbs that fell asleep instantly.
“Uuuuuuu...” Paul moaned, waking both of them up.
“...Paul...?”
“...Not so loud...” They both winced at the sound. Paul tried to sit up but couldn’t and collapsed by Ian again.
“Urgh... What... happened...?” Paul groaned and tried to block the sunlight with his palm.
“We got drunk... Very drunk...” Ian turned to Paul. They both looked tired and had throbbing hangovers.
“Ugh...”
They lay there, Ian’s head on Paul chest, for 10 minutes before Paul turned to the window,
“Those God damn birds...”
Ian chuckled then closed his eyes again. He frowned and opened them again, reaching down under the covers.
“We had sex...” His hand was covered in semen from his behind.
“Oh God. I probably forgot to prepare you... sorry...”
“It’s alright... It doesn’t hurt...”
They lay there for a bit before sitting up.
“How much can you remember...?”
“You came in with some champagne... then we had that and you came in and banged your crotch on the table... more drinks... Man...”
“I think we sung something...” They looked at each other somewhat embarrassed.
“Well at least we fell asleep before we got to the angry stage...”
“Yeah... Oh, man... Why did I think that would be a good idea...?”
After twenty minutes, they finally got up and sorted through their clothes. Ian had managed to pull a couple of buttons off Paul’s shirt and they had lost one of Ian’s socks.
“How fucking pissed were we...?” Paul asked rhetorically.
They went downstairs and were less than pleased to see the state of the table.
“I don’t even remember drinking Pimms...” Ian scratched his head and collapsed into the corner seat.
“I don’t even remember having Pimms...” Paul went into the kitchen while Ian counted up the bottles.
“Not counting the glasses, we had 4 of those small bottles each.”
“I remember a lot of glasses of stuff though...” Paul came back with two cups of plain black tea. Foul tasting but good for hangovers.
They sat with their heads on the table wondering if this would have any repercussions. They were too old to do this now and agreed never to drink heavily again.
“We’ve probably got alcohol poisoning now...” Paul lamented.
“Feels like it. I can’t believe I did that...”
“Sorry. I only meant to get you a little drunk...”
“Don’t worry about it. Just thank God no one knows what happened last night...”