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“I think,” Jude says, squinting down at his half-empty cup. “I might, um, be a little...inembri—inembriarated. Inebriated.”
Alvin stares at him for a moment, taking in the pink cheeks and the glazed eyes. He reaches forward, plucks the cup from Jude's limp hands, and takes a sip for himself.
He blinks.
“Alright, who spiked the Honors Student's fruit juice?” Holding the cup up, Alvin turns around and shakes it at the others. Each one of them has varying degrees of amusement written plainly across their face—except Elize. She looks equal parts fascinated and concerned, bless her little soul.
“It's not fruit juice.” Jude protests, making a grab for the cup, but he's still short enough that Alvin can easily hold it out of reach. “It's coffee.”
“What the hell did you even put in here, acid? He's hallucinating now.” Alvin accuses, pointing directly at Leia. It's a well known fact that Jude doesn't drink coffee, or even like it.
“Don't worry, I'm fine.” Jude says, but it might have been more convincing if he isn't swaying on his feet. “It's okay, Alvin. I can handle a bit of alkahest.” He blinks, shakes his head. Hiccups. “Alcohol.”
“I didn't spike it,” Leia replies, but her grin is tellingly wide. Alvin gives her a look of such solid disbelief it could probably crack a brick wall.
She rolls her eyes at him and waves a hand toward the table with all the refreshments. “I'm serious! Look, the punch is labeled and everything.”
Alvin looks over—and sure enough, there are two bowls of fruit punch. They're nearly identical, but are labeled in Leia's illegible scrawl near the bottom.
“...You've gotta be kidding me.” Alvin sighs, raking a hand through his bangs. “No one can read that.”
“I have the regular kind.” Elize pipes up from next to Rowen, holding up her cup with a shy smile.
“I made an informed decision.” Jude says with a big smile, taking advantage of Alvin's distraction to snatch his cup back. He drinks the rest of it faster than Alvin can protest and looks very pleased with himself. “I—hic—agree to indemnify, defend, and hold harmless Leia and all affiliated parties in the event that the operation does not—”
“What is this, the terms and conditions of a colonoscopy?” Alvin mutters.
“Stop whining, Alvin! Look at him, he's not even drunk enough that he's falling all over the place. He needed a pick-me-up, especially since he's been working his tail off for the last few months. And it's his birthday! Jude's got to let his hair down sometime and it might as well be now.” Leia points out matter-of-factly, looking altogether too proud of herself. She probably spiked Jude's drink on top of spiking the punch-that-is-labeled-not-spiked.
“I would think that Leia has the right idea. Jude has been working rather hard lately.” Rowen muses, though there's a twinkle in his eye that Alvin is supremely suspicious about. What the hell has the world come to? Alvin thought that he was supposed to be the irresponsible one.
“Yeah, Alvin. Don't whine.” Jude parrots with an easy smile. Alvin looks at him. Well...he has to admit that the raven-haired boy does look considerably relaxed. He's more than surprised when Jude sways a bit, leaning in and landing face-first into his chest. Alvin twitches a little, unsure of what to do with his hands because—that's adorable, dammit.
“Whine.” Jude says again, slowly. He chuckles into Alvin's scarf. “Wine. Get it?”
The room's occupants groan collectively. The reaction is so impressively simultaneous that it's hard to believe that they'd all spent months apart.
Alvin shoots Leia a glare over the top of Jude's head. She gets one good look at him and begins to cackle uncontrollably, Jude's awful puns be damned.
Look what you've done, He mouths at her, though the stink eye tempers a bit when Jude leans against him and sighs, loose-limbed and pliant. Jude looks ridiculously cute with flushed cheeks—but of course Alvin already knew that, because why else would he tease him so much?
“You know you like it, Alvin,” Leia replies indiscreetly, because apparently she is the devil.
“Weren't the lot of you supposed to be morally upright and all that jazz? What's all this with letting the Honors Student into the booze?” Alvin says, putting both hands on Jude's slender shoulders and pushing him upright—only to have Jude wobble unsteadily and fall right back into his chest again. The stares are almost tangible—he can practically feel them boring into the back of his head while his attention is otherwise occupied by trying to help Jude find his balance again.
Alvin gives up attempting to steady him after the fifth try, because it becomes abundantly obvious that Jude refuses to detach himself from his chest.
Damn. All Alvin can do now is try to pretend he isn't pleased about it.
He sighs and lifts his head to eye Leia dubiously. She's grinning back, brows wiggling at mach speed, which is both hilarious and disturbing.
Shaking his head, Alvin points at her cup. “No, but seriously. Are you even legal?” He looks down at Jude, who has nuzzled his head into the soft interior of Alvin's coat and made a nice face-nest for himself there. “Is he even legal?”
“Beerly.” Jude says, voice muffled. There's a short pause, and then the raven-haired teen starts to giggle uncontrollably.
Alvin absolutely refuses to think that's cute. If he starts thinking Jude's corny jokes are cute, he's a goner and nothing save ritual seppuku on Gaius's sword will save him.
He trades a look with Rowen, who just strokes his beard and smiles like he's not going to be any help. Because he probably isn't. Elize is blushing a little, but she looks happy and much too curious for her own good. Whose good idea was this anyway? If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that they all planned this.
“I need a good, solid drink after all this.” Alvin mutters under his breath, trying to gravitate toward the refreshment table with Jude attached to his chest like a hungry barnacle.
“That's the spirit.” Jude giggles as Alvin tows them both along. Oh, no. That one was actually pretty good, as far as Jude's atrocious puns got.
“Jeez, you two are so damn cute!” Leia laughs, apparently guessing at Alvin's train of thought.
Alvin shoots her a look—then pantomimes slitting his throat.
He awkwardly sidesteps and waddles the rest of the way to the table, leans over—and unfortunately bends Jude over backwards, he can't reach the drinks any other way—and pours himself two very tall shots of whiskey. He throws them all back as quickly as he poured them. He's desperately trying not to think of how flexible Jude apparently is; the raven-haired medic doesn't even look uncomfortable with his back arched like that, face pressed into Alvin's chest and smiling that sleepy little smile—
He cuts off that thought at the root and makes a grab for the whole handle of whiskey.
“Whoa, Alvin.” He distantly hears Leia say over the roar of his pulse in his ears. Someone squeaks in embarrassment—it's probably Elize.
He turns around. Slowly, so he has time to school his expression into something—not creepy. His grip on the whiskey is knuckle-white, which betrays him somewhat.
“He's drunk, okay? Just drunk. He probably won't even remember this in the morning. Everyone just take it easy.” Alvin says a touch too defensively, because Leia and Rowen just grin at him and even little Elize looks a bit skeptical through her pink cheeks.
“Stop calling me drunk.” Jude mumbles from where he's practically buried himself in Alvin's chest. “I'm not drunk. I'm Jude.”
Alvin looks down at him. His brows slowly hike to his hairline.
“It may be wise to escort Jude home before he chooses to imbibe further.” Rowen points out mildly. “I'm afraid the task falls to you, Alvin; it seems unlikely he's going to let go any time soon.” Alvin looks at him incredulously.
“But—”
“And you live together, right?” Leia adds. Her grin is positively maniac.
“Uh, no. Not really.” Alvin half-lies. It's only half because they do spend a lot of time under the same roof, but they each have their own separate apartments in the same building. He just has a lot of clients in Fennmont, okay? It's convenient to have a place here—and Jude just happens to live in the same place. It's not like they live together.
“You're being a big fat liar again, Alvin,” Elize says, the little traitor. Alvin wishes she wasn't so cute so he could actually stay mad at her for once.
He rakes a hand through his hair and exhales heavily. This is...something. Hell, is he really that transparent? Here he is, trying to keep his attraction to Jude under tight wraps, because—well, you know. Jude is different from him, and that's only the beginning. There's a lot of reasons.
Alvin eyes Leia's evil grin and Rowen's slightly-less-evil grin and Elize's hopeful look and thinks he might not be hiding it just as well as he thought.
Jude snuggles himself further into his coat and sighs into the dip of his collarbone, because he's not quite tall enough to reach the crook of his neck. Alvin's arms twitch where they lay stiffly at his side, itching to wrap securely around the vulnerable bundle of adorable nestled against his chest.
Alvin swallows. He gets double vision, just for a second. He knows for a fact that he isn't drunk—two shots of whiskey isn't anywhere near his tolerance level, and he's feeling the alcohol settle like a warm fire in the pit of his knotted stomach.
But suddenly he's very clear-headed. He can feel Jude's breath against his nape, he can feel the heat of his cheeks, he can feel every line of that lithe yet powerful body pressed against his. So maybe he needs a little more liquid courage.
Fuck, he thinks.
“I'll take him home.” He says.
“I can see no better solution.” Rowen muses, looking vaguely pleased.
“Yeah, alcohol is never a solution.” Jude says solemnly, seemingly out of nowhere. He nods, and since he's pressed against Alvin, looks like he's nuzzling his forehead into the older man's collarbone. “Except when it is. A chemical—hic—solution. Aqueous ethanol.”
“I, uh. Think it's time to go.” Alvin says in a strange voice. Someone please tell him that his only friends aren't playing matchmaker with him and Jude, because he can think of nothing that is less awkward. He raises his right arm and gives the handle of whiskey a shake. “I'm taking this with me.”
“We'll just be chugging along now.” Jude pipes up from his nest, apparently unable to help himself. He giggles helplessly. “Chugging.”
“Jude,” Alvin hears himself say, faintly. “Just...don't.”
“Alfred,” Jude whines, which makes every neuron in Alvin's brain short-circuit. Promptly, he pops the cork off the whiskey and takes a long pull from it.
He has a feeling it's going to be a very long night.
“500 gald they're gonna have wild, drunk sex tonight,” Leia cackles gleefully, not even bothering to censor herself in front of Elize.
“Leia!” The poor girl squeaks and buries her scarlet face in her hands.
Alvin regains just enough mental capacity to high tail it out of there before he hears if Rowen takes the bet or not, because there are just some things he'd rather not know.