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“Quit hogging the booze.”
Freddie snatches the fifth of vodka out of Roger’s hand and takes a swig. He scrunches up his face when he swallows, coughing.
“I’m not hogging!” Roger argues, snatching the bottle right back and raising it to his lips.
“You’re both hogging,” John rolls his eyes, grabbing the fifth from Roger. He takes a long gulp, barely even wincing as it goes down. Freddie gapes at him, as John hands the bottle off to Brian.
“You’re a monster, Deaky,” Freddie shakes his head. “Who the hell taught you to drink like that?”
“He’s just not a wuss like you,” Roger laughs.
Freddie gasps, playing at scandalized. “Arsehole,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. Roger grins at him, clearly pleased with himself.
“You love me,” he sing-songs, leaning over into Freddie. He miscalculates the distance though, leaning too far and toppling into Freddie’s lap, giggling. He grins up at Freddie dopily, the apples of his cheeks flushed red from the alcohol.
“You’re bloody lucky I do,” Freddie grumbles, but there’s something wonderfully warm and fond behind his eyes.
John shakes his head as he watches them, accepting the vodka from Brian. Brian’s arm is slung around his shoulder, and even without the alcohol John’s head would be fuzzy from the warmth of him against his side.
They’re on the floor of their new living room, leaned back against one of the dozen or so boxes they’ve yet to unpack. They only just moved into the new place today, and so far they’ve only bothered to unpack their bedding, a couple lamps, the booze and a few cups. The next few days are going to be hell— John has always hated moving, and the unpacking is going to be exhausting. The excitement of finally getting to live with his boyfriends easily outshines the dread, though. He can’t wait to wake up next to his boys every morning, and he especially can’t wait to get to kiss them whenever he feels like it.
And he does feel like it. Now, in fact.
He turns his head towards Brian and pulls him into a soft kiss. Brian is smiling when he pulls back, sweet and lovely, and it makes John’s heart feel like it might burst out of his chest.
“Wait wait wait!” Roger shouts suddenly, his words slurred. “Gimme the vodka, we need to make a toast!”
He pours about a shots worth of vodka into each of their cups, handing them off and then raising his own high in the air. The others quickly follow suit, and John can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the whole thing as Roger struggles to think of something to say. Finally, he grins and says,
“To new beginnings!”
“To new beginnings!” they all repeat, raising their glasses to their lips and drinking.
Sitting there on the floor of their new flat, drunk and happy and laughing along with his boys, John has never felt more at home.