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The hot pink lights are casting everyone in a gorgeous glow, and the alcohol in him is making the whole room feel warm and fuzzy. He knocks back the last of his drink--something fruity and full of a random mixture of booze that is dangerously drinkable. The glass joins the others on the table, a constellation of shots and cocktails that have all been finished already and are awaiting pick-up. Nobody's come yet, though, and he knows exactly why.
"H-hH--! 'DDJZZHhuh! huH'UHZZHhue!"
He openly sprays the table, collected along the glasses and tabletop, the droplets glittering under the shimmer of the bar lights. He sniffles, blinking away the tears on his lashes, and brings a napkin up to mop at his eyes, and then his nose.
He's definitely got a cold, and he really should be at home right now, but he's out here anyway. He gets a night out so rarely, and he is hell-bent on making the most of this one. The bar isn't as warm as he thinks it should be--usually by this point, when he's in a state that everyone is more beautiful than usual and the whole world feels like it should be in harmony, he's flushed and warm and comfortable, but he's shivering a little.
And this was by design, of course--he's used this tactic a few times before, with a lot more success than he's having tonight. A shirt with thin straps and a plunging open back, that show off his collarbones, the curve of his spine, the tattoos that adorn his wrists and upper arm. If he's cold, someone will lend him a jacket. If someone lends him a jacket, he has an excuse to talk to them, for them to come back and ensure they meet back up with him before the end of the night. If they have to hook back up with him, then he's got a chance to exchange numbers.
Perhaps people are more likely to go with someone who isn't openly, obviously contagious.
One of the waitresses dropped off a stack of napkins earlier, but those are nearly gone. The flimsy, brown paper napkins are more for show than for actual absorption--he might as well use an actual sheet of copy paper at this point--and having to stack a bunch of them together is rapidly depleting the store of them. He'll have to go beg, borrow, or steal to get a few more at some point soon, or else he'll be left with nothing to even pretend to clean himself up with.
If someone drops by and leaves him a couple of actual napkins--or, he can only hope, tissues--he might just have to drop to one knee and propose to them.
He leans across the table to flag down the waitress walking by, and she seems hesitant to stop by his table. "Can I get another--uh--" His brow furrows as he looks at the collection of empty glasses. "Whatever I got last, can I get another o' them?"
She gives him a polite, tense smile. "Sure."
"You're a peach, thank you." He flashes his most dazzling smile, and bats his pretty lashes at her. Nobody's come to pick him up yet, but he's hoping that someone will before the night's out. He'd love to have somebody at least pretend to be interested. Not that he expects them to want to shove their tongue down his throat and take him to the alley to get handsy when he's got a hellish headcold, but he wishes somebody would flatter him here.
He rubs at his nose, massaging at reddened nostrils through the napkins, but it doesn't do anything to really assuage the feeling that he's going to sneeze soon. There's not much that he can do to stop it if it's gonna happen--he knows enough to not even really bother trying--but he'd like to try and do something about it.
He gasps for it--and loses it at the last second when someone suddenly puts a hand on his shoulder. It's surprised him enough that it really stops him in his tracks.
He twists awkwardly in his chair to try and look at the interloper, and relief washes over him when he sees who it is.
"Drinking all by yourself, handsome?"
"Sasha!" He gasps in delight, pulls him into a tight hug to press kisses to his cheeks. "Oh, darlin', I didn't know you were gonna be here! I would've invited you out!"
"What's got you and your cold out here at the bar all by yourself?" Sasha's hands slide down his sides, holding him by the waist.
"Ohh, well, I was hoping to--to hh-! hDT--! eEZZHHyue! hEZZHH'iew!" He angles off to the side, openly sprays the table, and is left with a pitiful snuffle in the aftermath of it. He extracts one hand from where he's tangled them into his curls to grab a couple of napkins to scrub hard at his nose. "I was hoping to have a couple drinks, mingle a little..."
"Bless you. You're out here like this?"
"Well, I didn't--I don't get a lot of days off, y'know, and I wanted to get to go out and do stuff. I wanted to have a good night..." He leans in, nuzzling into Sasha's cheek. "...with someone else."
Sasha chuckles, and he can feel the way his voice rumbles in his throat when he leans it to give a little kiss. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Are you here with someone?" He sniffles, wetly, unable to really do much to stem the tide with just that little effort. He begrudgingly stops trying to kiss at him so he can try and stop himself from getting Sasha all gross.
"I am now, aren't I?" He kisses the tip of his nose, and the feeling sparks irritation within him. He takes a shaky gasp and leans back--but he doesn't get far enough from Sasha to really do much good.
"Sasha, I--hH'HUZZHHieww! 'DZZHhue! hEH'EZZHHyuuee!" He tries to get a hand up in time to cover, but it does little to actually protect Sasha from the heavy spray. "Ohhh, Sasha, I'm sorry--please excuse me." His nose is so touchy right now, he isn't sure what to do about it. "I didn't mean t--"
He's cut off by Sasha kissing him, pulling him close and practically climbing into his lap to get closer to him. He's shocked, but not unpleasantly so. They break apart, briefly, just long enough for Sasha to press their foreheads together. "Elliott? Shut up."
He doesn't mean it to come out so embarrassingly desperate when he gives a breathless, "okay."
Sasha climbs off, only because the waitress comes by and clears her throat as she sets his drink on the table. "Could I get you something?"
"Could I get a vodka diet Coke?"
Elliott giggles, embarrassed to have been already so publicly hungry with Sasha. When the waitress leaves, he leans close and drops his voice. "Why don't we finish these drinks and then...see about going somewhere more private?"
Sasha shrugs his jacket off, drapes it over his shoulders. "No need to rush our free night, right? You wanted your night out, and I haven't been out long. It'd be a shame to get out of here so soon."
"Oh! Right--I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, uhm--to rush you." He shivers, and sinks further into the coat. Oh, this is exactly what he wanted--he's so much more comfortable now. The sleeves are too short, but he doesn't expect anyone's to really work for him.
He takes a sip of his drink, and leans back into his seat to get a little more comfortable. The music is loud, and the lights are low, and Sasha is looking at him in a way that's making him blush just thinking of it.
"Finish your drink. I want to dance."
"With me?"
"No, with the waitress. Yes with you."
"Let me finish this--oh! No, you have to finish yours, too."
When Sasha got his drink, he isn't entirely sure, but he can see him sipping on it--
"Oh! Sasha, that's--you didn't use my cup, did you?"
Sasha looks entirely nonplussed as he sets it back on the table. "I just wanted to try it."
"Oh, but I'm--but my cold-?"
"Elliott," he drops his tone as he leans so close he can feel the warmth of his breath on his ear, "I'm taking you home. If I'm getting it, it won't be because we shared a drink. I can think of ways for us to get much closer."
He's got goosebumps at the promise. "I guess it...hardly makes a difference, does it?"
"You worry too much. I know what I'm getting myself into." He takes him by the hands, pulls him up out of his seat. "Come on--it's a shame for you to be looking so good and nobody gets to appreciate it."
"I'm afraid that everyone's had their eyes on me all night--but not for the right reasons." He's certainly aware of the looks he's been receiving all night--every sniffle, every sneeze, every pair of eyes has been on him since he first walked in and sat down. Surrounding tables have all remained empty, and he can't really blame them, even if it hurts his feelings.
He snatches the last of the napkins off the table and stuffs them into the jacket pocket, Sasha dragging him by his wrist across to the dance floor.
"They just don't know what they're missing."
The alcohol in his veins is warm and soft, and the feeling of Sasha's hands in his, trailing over his body, is equally intoxicating. He's never been much one for dancing--never been great at it, never had much occasion to practice other than hitting the couple of joints that offered line dancing--but this is a moment where the self consciousness has faded into obscurity behind the euphoria of being wanted.
The two of them are wrapped up in eachother's arms, and the world around them melts away for the duration of a song. He finds himself leaning more onto Sasha than he means to be, and the drinks are catching up with him more than he thinks they should be. Perhaps he's got the cold to blame, or perhaps it's the fact that he's gone from sitting to actually up and about, but he's starting to feel like if they want to get anything done before he's crawled into bed and snoring under the blankets, they'll probably want to look towards getting there soon.
"Sasha!" He's shouting over the music, bidding him to hold still long enough that he can truly get to him to sustain eye contact. "Go finish your drink, I think we should go soon."
"Are you sure?"
"I wanna go."
And Sasha, who never agrees to anything without a fight, seems to accept it quietly. It shocks him to his core, and he half wonders if he's come across too harsh or too strange in the way he's asked him.
He wasn't planning on driving home, so he's allowed himself more than a few drinks to take advantage of this fact, but clearly Sasha was planning the same, because they're both awkwardly huddled on the sidewalk while they try to hail a cab.
"Sasha," he huddles closer to him to try and steal some of his warmth, shivering even under the jacket, "I'm so sorry. I'm so goddamn drunk." He clumsily crosses himself, practically signing over the both of them since they're held so close.
"I know. We're going home, and I'll take good care of you."
"I'm going to give you my cold."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"What?"
"Come on, the cab's here."
He practically pours him into the backseat, and he leans in comfortably against him, nuzzling into his embrace. "You're so handsome."
"I've been told that before."
"By me?"
"By people other than you, even."
"Everyone should tell you, because it's true." He's pressing loving kisses along his jaw, like he can't get any closer to him if he tried. He wishes he could. He wishes they could spend the rest of their lives right like this, drunk and lustful and romantic, wrapped up in eachother's arms and prepared to turn the whole world into their oyster.
"I'm sure they tell you that you're handsome, too."
"Not enough. I wish they would tell me more often." He twists so he can lay his back against Sasha's chest, feeling his arm wrapped around him to pull him closer. It's an inopportune time, but he's caught off guard by the feeling that swells within him so suddenly he doesn't have any real opportunity to do anything about it.
"hH'EGZZHhue! yEIZZHHuue! hh-! hH--!? hEIZZHhieww! 'DZZHhyue!"
The partition glitters like the night sky, the spray coating the divider catching the light from the streetlights and headlights that pass them by. He sniffles thickly, pats the empty pockets that have nothing left to offer him, and can't help the pitiful whimper at the realization.
"Here." Sasha offers him salvation in the form of a half empty travel pack of tissues, and the relief is overwhelming.
"Sasha, I think we should get married."
"Is this all it takes?"
He's too busy tearing the plastic open to blow his nose with significantly less reserve than he usually shows to actually answer him, but he seems to take that as an answer in and of itself.
"Alright then. What's our wedding gonna be like?"
"Mm...something intimate. Outdoors."
"With your allergies?"
"We'll make red one of our wedding colors. It'll match my nose."
"You're insane." He doesn't seem to mind, though, because he's already pushing his braid aside so he can bite at his throat, threatening to bruise him right here in the backseat of the cab.
He lets his head loll to the side, hands still tented with the tissues even though he's gotten distracted from his task of blowing his nose. "Not here--oh!--oh, Sasha, not here--"
He nibbles on his earlobe. "You don't seem like you're really wanting me to stop..."
"I don't--no, I mean I do--"
"Fine, fine." He doesn't seem mad about it, but he feels sheepish nonetheless, that nagging little fear in the back of his mind that Sasha might change his by the time they get there.
"Are you going to--t--hH'DTZZHhue! hUH'UZZHhyuue! Ohh...excuse mbe--" He'd normally be a lot more bashful about burning through the packet of tissues so quickly, but they're not going to be in the car for terribly much longer, and he's sure that there'll be something in Sasha's apartment to be able to tend to his nose.
"Bless you..."
"Why're you so sweet to me?"
"I'm just a nice guy."
He doesn't mean to laugh in his face, but he does. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"
"You wound me. You don't think I'm a nice guy?"
"No, I do! I do, it's just--you're very nice, especially to me. I just don't hear the same thing from other people..."
"It's Florence, isn't it?"
"I--well, there's really no saying who it's from--"
"So it's Florence."
"It's Florence, yeah."
"She just doesn't get to benefit from my kindness because she hasn't earned it. You, on the other hand..."
Sasha's apartment complex climbs into view, and he's practically clambering out of the cab the instant it parks. Sasha can't pay the man fast enough for his liking, and he's practically dragging him up the stairs as they go, the jacket around his shoulders warming him almost as much as the feeling welling up within his chest.
He's already pawing at Sasha's collar while he's unlocking the door, trying to get his buttons undone. "Sasha."
"Yeah? Jesus, you just can't wait, can you?"
He nuzzles a red nose in against his neck, kissing at whatever he can reach. "You're going to catch this."
Sasha gets the door open, flashes him a knowing look over his shoulder as he drags him inside by the wrist. "I'm counting on it."