Work Text:
The sun was setting on a Friday evening, and Chantelle was relaxing on Stephen’s bed, sipping from her not-first glass of wine. Stephen was sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, bouncing slightly in excitement.
“Spill!” He squealed, clapping his hands together. Chantelle swallowed her last mouthful of wine, smiling.
“Not much to talk about, if you know what I mean.” Chantelle smirked. Stephen, almost literally, deflated, his shoulders slumping, rolling his eyes.
“Well that was a disappointment.” He muttered, taking a swig of wine from the bottle. He’d given up on glasses a long time ago.
“That’s what I said.” Chantelle said, raising her eyebrows, gesturing for Stephen to pass the bottle.
“So, anyone you got your eye on now? Seeing as he wasn’t much, you must be looking for something.” Stephen grinned suddenly, “I hear Joe’s lonely lately!” They both burst out laughing, the alcohol making them slightly meaner that they would normally be.
Wiping her eyes with the back of one hand, Chantelle filled up her glass to the brim, the glass gripped between her knees. “1 out of 10, would not bang.” She giggled, handing the bottle back.
“Mitchell?”
“He says he’s knowledgeable, but I don’t believe him. 6 out of 10. If I was considerably drunker than I am now.” Chantelle said, slightly more seriously. Stephen had perked up now that they were playing the ‘Rate Game’.
“Remmie?”
“He’s cute. I’d tap it. 7 and a half, close 8.” Chantelle answered, smiling somewhat thoughtfully.
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Stephen nodded knowingly. “Andre?”
“Eh. Maybe a 4? Maybe?”
“Understandable.” Stephen giggled, as he often did when he was under the influence. “What about Jing?”
“See, that flower fucking bloomed. Not even a Mulan reference. Strong 8.” Chantelle said, much more seriously than Stephen expected.
“Oh, so you and girls then?” Stephen asked, taking a hearty drink, one eyebrow raised as he tilted his head back.
“I wouldn’t say no, I mean, who would? Apart from you, obvs.” Chantelle tilted her glass towards him as she spoke. “Speaking of which, what would you rate the boys?”
“Mitchell, 7. Remmie, 8. Andre, 4.” Stephen counted them off on his fingers.
“What about Frank?” Chantelle laughed, taking a gulp to rival Stephen’s own.
“11. But then again I’m biased, since I fancy the pants off him.” Stephen rolled his eyes again. “Queer eyes on the straight guy.” He groaned; flopping back on the floor, legs still crossed in front of him.
Chantelle inwardly sighed at Stephen’s effortless flexibility, but then grinned when she thought of her flexible sexuality. They were even.