Arethusa Archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
archiveofarethusa) wrote2012-01-20 06:09 pm
archiveofarethusa) wrote2012-01-20 06:09 pm
The Side-Effects of Tequila
I regretted waking immediately, if not for the horde of cleats-wearing fairies dancing on my head, then because there was something warm, hard, and possibly bigger than a breadbox pressing into my side, and an arm thrown over my chest.
Also, I was naked.
Opening my eyes did nothing at all to reassure me. It actually only confirmed my fear, and raised me a bedfellow.
“Fuck,” I muttered, not liking speaking any more than the taste in my mouth, “It's too goddamn early for this shit.”
It would have been too goddamn early at six at night. When you wake up naked sandwiched next to your likewise naked traveling companions, it's always too early. I was only thankful at my bizarre and mysterious lack of morning wood, which presented itself even on the days I woke up alone, clothed, and cold.
Euugh. And Kristen was on the rag.
I could have gone the cowards' route and went back to sleep, but my head was the stake that was being hammered down and I had to take a piss besides. I smacked Cliff in the head, because I'd been wanting to do that anyway, and said, “Wake up, sunshine. Move it. Get back in your own bed.”
I did not expect Cliff to open his eyes, rub his eyes, turn his head to look at me, smile, and say, “Hey. Morning, babes.”
“Did you just call me – you know what, fuck it. Get out, I need to find the toilet,” I said. “And my dignity.”
Cliff got up, and called, when I was closing the door to the bathroom, “You don't have to hide from us anymore!”
Hide? Christ, I thought. How much tequila did I have last night? And what the hell happened?
A voice I tried not to listen to answered: Come on, you passed high school math. Hot people plus tequila minus clothes. Remember to carry the x. All three of them.
By the time I got out of the bathroom, Kristen was awake, too, and Cliff had three tall glasses of water.
“So,” Kristen said brightly, “are you guys up for round two?”
“It's my understanding that drunken sex stops after the participants cease being drunks,” I mumble, taking a glass from Cliff and drinking deeply. Kristen heard and understood, despite my poor articulation, giggled, and said, “So then how about we go for sober sex? I hear it's all the rage among happy couples. Or threesomes.”
I am unashamed to say that the water in my mouth escaped in a marvelous spray. I choked on what I'd already had in my throat. There might have been blushing, but it's hard to tell when you're choking.
“He's precious,” Cliff smirked, and hit me on the back. I stopped choking. Kristen said, “And he's our precious man.”
“I'm leaving until sanity has been restored to your brains,” I said. “It could take a while. You both never had much to begin with.”
“Stay with us,” Kristen said. “You can't just leave after you confessed your feelings last night, and we could hardly leave you.”
“What. What feelings? I barely know you two. You insinuated your way into my life-”
“And you saved us and willingly agreed to come along with us,” Cliff said. I ignored him.
“-And you're all over each other all the time, not me. Kris, why would you even want to have sex after what you've been through, being a whore?”
“Sweet of you to ask, baby. When I had sex with a...a customer, it was like a transaction. When we have sex, it's like super cuddling,” Kristen said. “But if you want to cuddle, I can do that, too. Ooh, group cuddle!”
“Fucking no!” I said. “And Cliff, what's your excuse? You're eighteen, drinking age in Amlaine is twenty.”
“Excuse?” Cliff said, frowning. “Is that what you think of yourself? That people need an excuse to love you? Cyprian, you're a deep, sensitive man, even if you're a little prickly.”
“Sensi-” I gave up.
“Well, that and you're sexy,” Cliff said, which made much more sense, despite not making any. “Got girl hair, soft and pretty, feels good. I admit I was sober, but only because you refused to buy me a drink, but I'll just have to work on that.”
“I hear they allow threesome marriages in Shang,” Kristen said in that deceptively casual voice Aunt Merry used to bring up marriage to Jinn Washer. Jinn said when a woman asks if you want to get married in that voice, what she meant was “Marriage or death, slave?”
And if it wasn't all a dream, my life would have ended then. As it was, I went from screaming to awake in my own bed – at least, mine until we left Amlaine – and trying to remember the anti-hangover spell over the wash of relief and the confusion at my apparent lack of a hangover.
“Morning! You ready for some slayage, Cyp?” Chirped Kristen, freshly out of the shower, because, that's right, she didn't drink anything but a small glass of wine last night. And I had nothing but General Tso's chicken, rice, and a little white wine. She stared at my bed covers, and said, “Oh, you really are up. Kind of small, aren't you? Just a little? I mean, you know, sort of?”
From his bed, Cliff gave a small snort.
Gods damn it, ground, why won't you swallow me?
Also, I was naked.
Opening my eyes did nothing at all to reassure me. It actually only confirmed my fear, and raised me a bedfellow.
“Fuck,” I muttered, not liking speaking any more than the taste in my mouth, “It's too goddamn early for this shit.”
It would have been too goddamn early at six at night. When you wake up naked sandwiched next to your likewise naked traveling companions, it's always too early. I was only thankful at my bizarre and mysterious lack of morning wood, which presented itself even on the days I woke up alone, clothed, and cold.
Euugh. And Kristen was on the rag.
I could have gone the cowards' route and went back to sleep, but my head was the stake that was being hammered down and I had to take a piss besides. I smacked Cliff in the head, because I'd been wanting to do that anyway, and said, “Wake up, sunshine. Move it. Get back in your own bed.”
I did not expect Cliff to open his eyes, rub his eyes, turn his head to look at me, smile, and say, “Hey. Morning, babes.”
“Did you just call me – you know what, fuck it. Get out, I need to find the toilet,” I said. “And my dignity.”
Cliff got up, and called, when I was closing the door to the bathroom, “You don't have to hide from us anymore!”
Hide? Christ, I thought. How much tequila did I have last night? And what the hell happened?
A voice I tried not to listen to answered: Come on, you passed high school math. Hot people plus tequila minus clothes. Remember to carry the x. All three of them.
By the time I got out of the bathroom, Kristen was awake, too, and Cliff had three tall glasses of water.
“So,” Kristen said brightly, “are you guys up for round two?”
“It's my understanding that drunken sex stops after the participants cease being drunks,” I mumble, taking a glass from Cliff and drinking deeply. Kristen heard and understood, despite my poor articulation, giggled, and said, “So then how about we go for sober sex? I hear it's all the rage among happy couples. Or threesomes.”
I am unashamed to say that the water in my mouth escaped in a marvelous spray. I choked on what I'd already had in my throat. There might have been blushing, but it's hard to tell when you're choking.
“He's precious,” Cliff smirked, and hit me on the back. I stopped choking. Kristen said, “And he's our precious man.”
“I'm leaving until sanity has been restored to your brains,” I said. “It could take a while. You both never had much to begin with.”
“Stay with us,” Kristen said. “You can't just leave after you confessed your feelings last night, and we could hardly leave you.”
“What. What feelings? I barely know you two. You insinuated your way into my life-”
“And you saved us and willingly agreed to come along with us,” Cliff said. I ignored him.
“-And you're all over each other all the time, not me. Kris, why would you even want to have sex after what you've been through, being a whore?”
“Sweet of you to ask, baby. When I had sex with a...a customer, it was like a transaction. When we have sex, it's like super cuddling,” Kristen said. “But if you want to cuddle, I can do that, too. Ooh, group cuddle!”
“Fucking no!” I said. “And Cliff, what's your excuse? You're eighteen, drinking age in Amlaine is twenty.”
“Excuse?” Cliff said, frowning. “Is that what you think of yourself? That people need an excuse to love you? Cyprian, you're a deep, sensitive man, even if you're a little prickly.”
“Sensi-” I gave up.
“Well, that and you're sexy,” Cliff said, which made much more sense, despite not making any. “Got girl hair, soft and pretty, feels good. I admit I was sober, but only because you refused to buy me a drink, but I'll just have to work on that.”
“I hear they allow threesome marriages in Shang,” Kristen said in that deceptively casual voice Aunt Merry used to bring up marriage to Jinn Washer. Jinn said when a woman asks if you want to get married in that voice, what she meant was “Marriage or death, slave?”
And if it wasn't all a dream, my life would have ended then. As it was, I went from screaming to awake in my own bed – at least, mine until we left Amlaine – and trying to remember the anti-hangover spell over the wash of relief and the confusion at my apparent lack of a hangover.
“Morning! You ready for some slayage, Cyp?” Chirped Kristen, freshly out of the shower, because, that's right, she didn't drink anything but a small glass of wine last night. And I had nothing but General Tso's chicken, rice, and a little white wine. She stared at my bed covers, and said, “Oh, you really are up. Kind of small, aren't you? Just a little? I mean, you know, sort of?”
From his bed, Cliff gave a small snort.
Gods damn it, ground, why won't you swallow me?