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[im_chuckbass]

Jesus, these dorm room beds were small.

That was the first thing Chuck thought as he began to groggily surface from sleep. Dorm room beds were small, there was someone else in his, and most worryingly, it did not feel like a girl. With more than a little apprehension, he cracked one eye open just enough to see that the head next to his on the

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[throw_it_off]

Nate was comfortable. He was comfortable and warm and cozily folded into a little space between a wall and a body. It wasn't a bad place to be while unconscious. Except that someone was shoving at him to make him wake up.

Eyes resiliently shut, Nate murmured something unintelligible and slurred as he slung an arm around the body in front of him and snuggled closer.

To... him.

That was not a girl's body in his arms. He realized it in half a second, and spent the next half a second praying that if he just kept his eyes shut, this whole moment would disappear or turn out to be a dream or the guy was just a very guyish girl. That wouldn't work though, and he knew it in a second, sitting bolt upright and pulling his arm away like he'd touched something scalding hot.

"Whoa, whoa," he muttered, confused and leaning back against the wall. Oh, God, his head hurt. "Whoa, shit, what happened?"

[im_chuckbass]

"Step one, if I remember correctly, was tequila. A lot of it." Chuck replied dryly. There was a comfort in being himself again for this, he thought; better to feel entirely familiar with his body and his voice, if not the situation. "Step two was the dress you were wearing. That one, in fact," he said, pointing to a puddle of fabric that had clearly been hastily discarded the night before. "And step three... well, I trust that by now you're filling that one in on your own." He smirked and tipped his head back into the pillow, shutting his eyes. Now that the initial panic had passed, Chuck was feeling... well, not at peace with it, really, but definitely not as bothered as he would've expected to be.

[throw_it_off]

Dress he was...? Oh right. Moving vertical so suddenly had jump started his hangover, and his brain was still too sleep addled to work properly. The cobwebs were clearing though, and fast.

"Oh..." No curse word seemed appropriate, and besides his mind was drawing a complete blank on the verbal score.

He'd had sex. With his best friend. And there was said best friend, sprawled out on his bed, looking like he always looked after a night of fucking. Only Nate was more accustomed to seeing Chuck like this from the couch, a safe distance away.

"Chuck," he hissed, leaning on his elbow so he could talk quietly and firmly without the whole floor hearing them. "Chuck, we had sex. How can you just lay there?"

[im_chuckbass]

"What would you prefer I do, Nathaniel?" he asked, barely opening one eye to see his best friend staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "It isn't like there weren't extenuating circumstances. We can hardly be blamed." The fact that they'd both looked entirely different was a saving grace in this situation; things would have been even more unspeakably awkward, he was sure, if he'd had to look at Nate this morning and remember what it'd felt like to have his hands on him. As it was, last night already seemed like a particularly vivid dream, a physical impossibility that surely could never actually have happened.

Finally, he gave in and opened his eyes, pulling the sheet a little tighter around his abdomen and propping himself up on one elbow, all too concious of exactly how small the bed they were currently sharing was. "These things happen. You should know that as well as anyone." After all, it wasn't as though Nate had a spotless track record - especially when it came to close friends.