evening_bat: Bat in flight, silhouetted against the moon. (Default)
[personal profile] evening_bat
Title: Impossible To Ignore
Author: [personal profile] evening_bat
Pairing: Chuck/Bryce
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 1200
Warnings: Drunken shenanigans?
Summary: It wasn’t that Chuck couldn’t hold his alcohol. It was that it led to him taking hold of other things.
Notes: So [livejournal.com profile] nevcolleil wrote ...are made of these in response to a prompt over on [livejournal.com profile] comment_fic. I couldn’t resist replying with my own take on the prompt. :D Title from The Cranberries, to continue with the dream theme.

Impossible To Ignore

Chuck never did manage to remember what had happened the night before. When he woke up, he was too preoccupied with the brain-melting headache to think of anything more than oh my god, I’m dying, I’ll never drink again, I promise. In fact, he was so worried about keeping the contents of his skull inside his head that it took him far too long to notice the warm weight blanketing him. It was only after a few minutes of muzzy appreciation that he realized his arms were wrapped around lean muscle instead of Jill’s soft curves.

The sudden surge of panic galvanized Chuck’s headache and drove spikes of pain through his skull, turning what was intended as a horrified apology into a gurgled protest.

“Hey, buddy,” a familiar voice muttered sleepily into his ear. “You awake yet?”

Bryce -- that’s Bryce -- Oh, thank God, Chuck managed to think through the pain in his head and the swooping of his stomach, now making its displeasure with last night’s activity known. But that was Bryce’s voice and whatever idiocy Chuck had got up to last night, Bryce would take care of Chuck, he always did.

Chuck turned his head blindly, burying his face against Bryce’s shoulder and let out a pathetic groan.

“Ah. Awake and praying for death, then,” Bryce answered, sounding far too amused by Chuck’s suffering. “Think you could get your hand out of the back of my pants now?”

For a long, confused moment the words didn’t make any sense. Chuck wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment.

“Chuck?” Bryce prompted, wriggling slightly. Given that Bryce was currently draped across him, the minute shift had a much greater effect on Chuck than it should have. He reflexively tightened his grip to hold Bryce still.

...Which was about the time that he registered the smooth slide of skin under his palms. Apparently he’d worked his right hand under Bryce’s shirt. And the fingers of his left hand were molded snugly to the curve of Bryce’s ass.

Chuck jerked his hands free of Bryce’s clothes so fast he was honestly surprised that nothing tore.

“Oh my God,” he whimpered, dragging his pillow out from under his head and pressing it over his face. “Oh my God. I’m sorry!”

The pillow wasn’t enough to muffle Bryce’s laughter and Chuck bit back another groan as Bryce scrambled off of him. Thank Christ he was too hungover to actually react to the slide of Bryce’s body against his. He’d humiliated himself enough for one day.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bryce was saying. “Jill’s out of town this weekend. I know how it goes.”

Chuck ignored the light pat on his chest and concentrated on smothering himself with his pillow. It didn’t work but by the time he’d given up on trying and emerged from under its dubious protection, the room was empty. Bryce had vanished to who knew where but not before leaving Chuck a glass of water and a few painkillers. Bryce really was the most awesome friend ever.

And because Bryce was so awesome, last night was no big deal, Chuck reassured himself as he downed the ibuprofen. Okay, so Chuck had passed out and gotten sort of cuddly. But what was a bit of drunken snuggling between buddies?

* * *

That was it. Chuck was just going to have to swear off alcohol. Or at least give up drinking around Bryce. There was just nothing else for it. It might be kind of tough, what with being in college and being in the frat and all but it had to be done.

Chuck was running out of excuses for why drunk-him was all over his best friend. And yeah, Chuck was pretty sure Bryce would forgive him for the sloppy kiss he’d planted on him last night but Bryce’s usually easy smile had been a bit tight at the edges when he’d put Chuck to bed. Kissing Bryce wasn’t exactly a hardship but it wasn’t worth putting that look on his face. Totally not worth it. Especially not if all Chuck retained of the experience was a few blurry smears of memory.

* * *

Chuck managed to hold surprisingly firm to his alcohol boycott over the next few weeks, thanks to a combination of midterms and a lingering tendency to turn green at the mere mention of booze. But when Bryce walked into their room one night and found Chuck contemplating a mostly empty bottle of tequila, Chuck immediately wished he’d been able to keep away from the stuff for just a few days more. The expression flickered across Bryce’s face almost too quickly to see -- if Chuck hadn’t looked up right as Bryce walked in, he’d have missed it -- but for that split second, he looked so resigned that Chuck was ashamed.

“Looks like someone got the party started,” Bryce commented wryly, eyeing the meager contents of the bottle. “In fact, I’d say it’s about time your party wrapped up.”

“I’m fine,” Chuck protested, clutching the neck of the bottle when Bryce tried to pry it out of his hand.

“Uh-huh,” Bryce replied agreeably. “Sure you are. Why don’t we give Jill a call? I know you said she was busy but maybe she can talk some sense into --”

“I don’t want Jill!” Chuck interrupted, grabbing Bryce’s wrist and tugging hard.

Sober as Bryce was, it was surprisingly easy to pull him off his feet. Their chests bumped together as Bryce practically fell into Chuck’s lap and Chuck had just enough brain power left to be grateful for the gymnast’s reflexes that left Bryce straddling him. His breath caught as Bryce’s weight settled across his thighs, their faces inches apart.

Bryce’s eyes were wide with surprise before he blinked the vulnerability away and forced a grin. “Jesus, Chuck. Just how much have you had?”

Chuck allowed himself the span of one deep breath to enjoy the feeling of Bryce in his lap. “None.”

“None?” Bryce repeated skeptically.

“None,” Chuck confirmed. “Toby passed it off to keep Asshole Brian from finishing the whole thing. I don’t need to be drunk to - to want this. You.”

“Chuck,” Bryce started.

Chuck shook his head quickly and dropped his eyes, addressing his next words to the hollow of Bryce’s throat. “And I shouldn’t need to be drunk to say so.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Bryce, so very very still in the loose embrace of Chuck’s arm, as the silence stretched thick and awkward between them.

“Huh,” Bryce finally said. “Does that mean I don’t have to wait for you to be drunk to put you to bed?”

When Chuck’s head snapped up in surprise, Bryce was smiling like he’d never seen before. Practically incandescent and utterly impossible to look away from. Chuck licked his lips, flushing when Bryce’s eyes followed the motion intently.

“Try it and find out,” he invited.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Bryce answered, shoving Chuck flat to the mattress and diving in to seal their lips together.

* * *

It turned out that sober snuggling was miles better than the drunken kind. And the clear memory of that night was totally worth the next day's lingering soreness.


End Notes: Written on a spur of the moment today because I miss writing, damn it! and [livejournal.com profile] nevcolleil's post was inspiring. (And reminded me of what I thought back when I first spotted the prompt that she used for her story.) Yay, fluff!


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