Work Text:
Indol is drunk. Vis can smell the wine on his breath, as if Indol leaning into his space, face precariously close, isn't proof enough. Nobody's paying any attention to them, the revelry of the crowd blotted from Vis's ears as Indol's lips graze his own.
Indol will hate that he did this when he's sober again. Vis could easily use it against him.
But from the helpless noise Indol makes when Vis lifts a hand to his cheek and slides his tongue into his mouth, it's obvious he won't need to resort to blackmail to get Indol under his thumb.