Chapter Text
The taste of liquor is sharp and disgusting, but warm down Red’s throat. He pops the bottle from his mouth, the drink vapour off his tongue. “You’re going first thing tomorrow?”
“Yup.” Green yanks the drink from him, contents sloshing in their exchange. Red’s fingers grope the empty air before lowering to drum on the grassy hill. “There’s a big institute up north I wanna check out, and you know. I need to get back t’doing things my way.”
It’s incredibly unsatisfying—the drumming, that is; he’s hardly paying attention to Green. Green said gone, by tomorrow, used his cocky planning for the future voice for it, and that’s all Red needs to know. Gone means what it means. Gone means no more them. Gone means no more nights like this.
“I’ll book a ride, and.” Green lifts a hand made stiff, carrying it slowly through the air. It’s a smooth enough flight for Red’s drunken brain to imagine it on its course, taking Green away to wherever. The city is just below them, the fluorescent nightlife mirroring the starry sky as an ocean would. Earlier, it was a soothing sight. Earlier, it was easy to enjoy the pointless drinking, their quiet downtime. There was no reason to think about terminals or planes, or anything past the night.
Now, the back of Red’s throat tastes like acid.
“Boring.” The word comes clumsy off his tongue, and he whacks Green’s deforming plane, knocking it off-course. But a split second change of heart has him grab it before it crashes, bony fingers wrapping tight and dragging it over his stomach. He ignores the sudden pinch in temperature, the butterfrees in him trying to avoid the fire under their feet. Resists the temptation to lace their fingers.
(Not that he wants to; it’s just a thing, a drunken thing—)
But Green presses into him, that stupid hair tickling Red’s temple, his breath foul with the smell of liquor when he exhales. It takes just a few pestering nudges to get Red to look at him, and what a stupid thing to fall for. Green’s smirk sharpens, his eyes dark in the night, but keeping Red locked in all the same.
“You already missing me?” he teases, and shifts in, slowly. Red swallows, throat already dry. Green frees his hand to set it on the curve of Red’s thigh, making Red too aware of the thin fabric of his shirt, how easy it would be for Green to find skin; in the same instance his mind is screaming about lips , and yes, and please .
It comes—slowly. Clumsily. Red’s heart hurts when it slams into his rib-cage at the first touch of their lips. Soft, but too dry, he thinks. But he can accept that. What examples of a good kiss did he have? And the sensation of their mouths against one another is good enough, the motion, how his ears go deaf with ringing when the Green’s tongue darts across his bottom lip.
Red jolts back baffled, wide-eyed, dizzy. “What—”
He then gets it, a little too late ( oh, that’s normal), with Green already laughing up his guts, even as Red shoves him hard.
“Hahaha— Your face!”
“Shut up!”
It doesn’t end the night, and they don’t stop there. In the years that come to past, Red remembers the faint taste of alcohol, the sweeter texture of Green’s mouth. The night drifting in and out, and what Green had told him:
“Let’s do this more when we meet again.”
But would Green remember a drunken make out when that finally happened?