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Loke may have been the astrological equivalent to the king of the jungle many moons ago, but he cannot say that the human world has no spirit of adventure. Fairy Tail is a good guild, with generous patrons and even more generous drink specials, many of which Loke has sampled, out of curiosity or camaraderie or crestfallenness. It's a strange thing, being drunk; his vision blurs and his head spins and words fly out of his mouth faster than he can think them. Then there are the unpleasant side effects that he never would have endured had he still been—
Ah. Let him not think about that.
But for now, he's not-so-deep in the pool of drunkenness, warmth bleeding in every vein in this deteriorating body he possesses and the air floating by him almost tangibly. He had just been about to call it a night, and a nice night at that, if the lovely violet eyes glancing his way are any promise.
The woman is stunning, as every woman is, but her eyes definitely are breathtaking. A color that escapes solid definition, fluctuating between blue and purple depending on the angle he views them from. Distantly, Loke considers that they may have been enchanted to appear that way, but then thinks What of it? That should hardly stop him from indulging himself tonight.
Or any other night. Because who knows how many he has left?
Loke decides to compliment her eyes anyway as they walk out the doors of the guild into the autumn night, a slight chill tingeing the air. He used to be able to resist it without any effort; now his shoulders lock up in reaction to the change in temperature, and he glances at the woman — what's her name again? — to see if offering his jacket is absolutely necessary. He'd do it in a heartbeat, but the cocktails have made him feel a bit more bitter than he would have liked.
All the more reason to seize the night.
"I must say, you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen," Loke declares, cranking up the charm. The woman titters, then moves back, her wrist still in his hand. She sways, relying on their linked hands for balance.
"Bet you say that to all the girls," she teases, something like a challenge in her eyes, as if daring him to set her apart, to work harder. He enjoys a challenge.
"He does," a voice drawls wryly from off to the side, and Loke and the woman both turn to face Gray standing in the night chill, considerably less dressed than the two of them. However, that's not really much of a surprise. To Loke. The woman seems to take it with less stride.
"Oh my!" she exclaims, completely aghast. "Where are your clothes? Are you some kind of pervert or something?"
It is a normal, typical, expected reaction. But for some odd reason, it irks Loke for the woman to be so utterly deriding of a man she knows nothing about. With half a sigh, Loke eyes Gray somewhat warily. Gray is currently donning nothing but his boxers, and a rather tight pair at that. Loke finds himself having to scrounge up more effort than needed before to tear his eyes away from Gray's admittedly muscular form, strong-looking thighs and all.
"Sorry, he's a friend," Loke tries to amend. Gray still looks inexplicably irritated, but he's leaning a little too much to one side, and his gaze seems a little unfocused. Loke then vaguely sees a flash of Cana and her drinking party in the back of his mind, Gray among them, probably being roped in by Cana and her boundless enthusiasm. Gray has always found it hard to turn Cana down, with many in the guild sharing that sentiment. Loke hadn't been paying too much attention, too focused on nursing his own drink and mapping out his night with... Ugh, what is her name again?
This is very unlike Loke, usually remembering every single detail a lady gives him, but he seems to have fallen under the same spell of confoundment that Gray leaves everyone else in with the presence and power of his naked form.
It is not the first time Loke has fallen prey to such spells, but to be enchanted by Gray is not something he is familiar with.
(It has happened before though, but from force of habit, Loke doesn't dwell on it.)
"Your friend is naked," the woman hisses in Loke's direction, apparently not realizing that Gray has ears. And boxers on.
"Not completely," Loke shrugs off awkwardly. He glances at Gray again, who seems to be watching him very intently. Loke almost balks, lifting a hand to scratch at his earrings nervously. Gray seems to record the movement with his eyes. Okay, he must be very drunk if he's acting so odd.
The woman stares at Loke like he's insane, which is understandable, given the circumstances, but insanity is just the standard of the Fairy Tail guild.
"Well." The woman seems to become emboldened all of a sudden, latching onto Loke's arm with a very firm grip that Loke wouldn't mind so much if they weren't standing in the middle of the street with Gray lurking a few feet away from them. "Let's just head back to my place then." She gives Loke a smile oozing with charm, and Loke almost falls for it, but he unfortunately catches sight of Gray angling himself away from them and nearly collapsing against the wall of the guild, bare skin on bare brick.
Loke moves before he can process the thought to do so, freeing himself from the woman's grasp and catching Gray by the waist. It's a bit too intimate, but Gray's eyes are half-closed and Loke realizes that he doesn't care.
"Gray?" Loke prompts. When Gray barely hums, Loke gives him an urgent shake. "Gray!"
"I'm fine," Gray slurs, tone sharp, eyes fluttering open for a millisecond before almost flopping backwards, saved only by Loke's arm supporting him. Loke can hear the slide of Gray's bare skin against the sleeve of his jacket. The cold of Gray's body bleeds through the fabric, makes Loke's nerves convulse.
Gray is so close, close enough that his hair brushes under Loke's chin and his nose meets Loke's shoulder. The scent of cigarettes is all over him, burning into Loke's lungs. Loke's head is dizzy enough as it is, but with this, it spins almost completely out of control.
"I'm so sorry," Loke finds himself saying to the woman, but it sounds like it's being said by someone else far away, his mind floating invisible before his eyes. Maybe he really had too much to drink, but whatever. "I think I should tend to my friend."
"Get off me," Gray mumbles gruffly, but it's eaten up by Loke's jacket, Gray making no attempt to lift himself back to an upright position.
"As you can see, he is in desperate need of help, and I am not the sort of man who would abandon his friend in his time of need." I am not a man at all. But that's wrong; at least it is for right now, and the rest of eternity, or whenever Loke's sins catch up to him—
The woman studies the two of them dubiously, arms folded and lips pursed. Loke tries to bring himself to feel some guilt, but all he really feels is a dash of disappointment at not fucking away the numbness tonight. Selfishly, he thinks it justified; he's seen humans use each other like this before.
(But he's not human.)
He forces himself to remember that he will not leave Gray to fend for himself in such a state. It's easier than expected.
"I understand." The woman looks off somewhere else, probably so Loke can't read the same disappointment in those pretty eyes of hers. "It's admirable for a man to be so concerned about his comrades."
She spins on her heel and flounces away. Loke watches the bareness of her legs beneath the hem of her very short dress before shifting his attention back to Gray. He seems to have fallen asleep on his feet, face still buried in Loke's chest. Loke chuckles despite the sourness growing in the back of his mind, still shaky under the crush of the alcohol.
"Up, up, Gray!" Loke urges, attempting to rouse Gray enough so that he can walk, or trudge, or something; Loke isn't exactly used to carrying men bridal style.
Gray groans into Loke's jacket, then moves his head to the side to glare at Loke with bleary eyes. "Shut up and just leave me," Gray mutters somewhat venomously, which Loke doesn't quite understand. "Go off with that broad or whatever."
"How rude," Loke brushes off. Gray must have drank way more than him tonight. "Come now, Gray. I can't leave you like this."
Gray suddenly lurches backwards, tearing himself away from Loke. He staggers on his feet, but somehow steadies himself enough to wield the full power of his glare at Loke. "I don't need your help, frickin' womanizer," Gray insists with the same adamance from before. Loke doesn't really comprehend the need for such vehemence, but he just chalks up the uncharacteristic outburst to the drunken stupor Gray seems to have fallen into.
Gray's naked body is in full view again, and Loke finds himself letting his eyes drift down, down, down—
"The fuck? Stop looking at me." A blush seems to be blossoming in Gray's cheeks, but that might have already been there before.
"I can't help it. You're very, very naked right now. Surely you must understand how distracting something like that can be."
"Whatever, perv." Gray's eyes close for a moment, but it seems like he's trying to find some semblance of balance to cling onto. Loke makes it easy for him and slides up to him again, bringing Gray to him with a sweep of his arm. Gray falters once more, but doesn't scramble away like he had a minute ago.
"What are you doing?" demands Gray, eyebrows still knit together as he looks at Loke with narrowed eyes.
"Like I said, looking after a friend in need," explains Loke gallantly.
"I don't need anything."
"You need to lie down, clearly."
"Where am I supposed to lie down, huh?"
"Well, obviously you're coming home with me."
Gray looks at him again, perplexed. "Ew. I don't want to go to your den of sin."
Loke stifles a laugh. "Oh, it's fine. I was planning on spending the night with a lovely beauty, so it all works out."
Gray stares at him like he doesn't know if Loke is being serious or not. Loke isn't really sure either, if it helps. Thankfully, Gray drops his gaze, slumping again. "Whatever," he grumbles.
Loke doesn't know exactly how they pull off getting back to his place, given the combined total of both of their drunken states, but they do it. Gray doesn't wait for Loke to switch on a light, just kicks off his boots that are still miraculously on his person and flops down on the sole couch in the handkerchief-sized room Loke rents out for the time being. Loke watches Gray's bare legs swing over the arm of the sofa in the shadows and thinks him half-asleep most likely. No need for the lights then.
Loke shrugs off his jacket and removes his own shoes. He takes a moment to gather himself, leaning against the wall that connects the living room and the kitchen. The moonlight spills through the window. The night sky is glittering with stars and the cityscape is shimmering with that same gentle light.
Loke tries to appreciate it while he still can.
In the spirit of such bittersweet laments, he shuffles forward and watches Gray lying on the couch. He's still, head turned towards the window, handsome face bathed in the light of the moon. Its beams make his skin glow as beautiful as the ice he creates. His tattoo moves with his breathing. Loke feels the one on his back burn. It feels wrong, something he doesn't deserve.
Maybe he should have another drink before he sleeps.
"Are you going to watch me sleep, Loke?" Gray says, voice husky. He opens his eyes and cuts a look towards Loke, eyes dark in the night's shadows. "Is this what gets you off?"
Loke chuckles. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he replies easily, feeling the weight inside subside ever-so-slightly.
"Don't know how you get so many women back here if that's all you do." Gray shifts to face Loke. His leg brushes against Loke's own thigh, which makes Loke finally realize that he is planted right between Gray's legs.
"Jealous?" challenges Loke, and Gray stiffens in a way that Loke cannot decipher. "I can teach you a few tricks if you'd like," Loke continues jovially.
He had meant it as a lighthearted joke, but Gray seems to take offense, looking away with a very affronted scoff. "I don't need to be taught anything."
"What you need are some clothes."
Gray sighs like he's heard that a million times before. Which he has. "I just want to sleep."
"I don't want you to get cold." Or drive me more crazy.
Loke saunters off to grab a spare shirt from his closet, ignoring Gray when he mutters something about not ever feeling cold anymore. Perhaps that's true, but this is more for his sake. Loke is drunk and sad and terrible and and in desperate need of some oblivion. Gray lounging about in nothing but his underwear is making his already rattled brain close to short-circuiting.
Loke tosses the shirt towards Gray, who raises a hand to catch it and misses. It falls to the floor, but Gray scoops it up and lifts his back up enough to stick his arms into the sleeve of the shirt. It's a long-sleeved button-down, pale blue color washed out to pure marble beneath the moonlight. Unfortunately, and typically, Gray doesn't bother buttoning it up, choosing to flop back down on the couch with the shirt still open, leaving his sculpted figure and guild tattoo exposed once more.
Loke suppresses a sigh. He finds himself standing where he had been before, in between Gray's legs, facing the view outside of the window.
"Well, then. I shall bid you good night." Loke doesn't make it far, because Gray's leg hooks around his, keeping him in place. Loke's eyes flit down to see Gray looking at him like he wants to... fight him?
No. He's seen this intense look more than enough times to know exactly what he is implying.
"Gray, was this your plan all along?" Loke teases, but he can feel his breath sticking in his chest. This is a very bad idea. They're both drunk, tired, all over the place. Loke's not sure if he should stay here. He should move. He has to move.
But Loke has done things he had to do for too long.
Before he can banish the thought that must have been pure alcohol talking, Gray rises up, coming closer, hands to Loke's arms. His eyes only grow darker, almost demonic in the desire they exude. The flaps of Loke's shirt lie open precariously, beautiful body underneath.
Loke tries to blink away the fog in his head, the fog surrounding the two of them. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't tempted, but this is Gray, not some random woman whose name Loke would forget in the morning or sooner. Gray is good and strong and kind. He doesn't deserve such treatment. Loke doesn't deserve him.
"What are you hiding, Loke?" Gray murmurs in the dark. His hands move inwards, skirting his fingertips across Loke's abdomen. His fingers feel cold through the cloth, shivers running under Loke's skin.
"Hiding?" Loke repeats distantly. He likes Gray's hands on him, how Gray is looking at him, how determined Gray is to bring them together. Loke's head is swimming and his blood feels hot in his veins—
Gray touches Loke's belt, lightly, tentatively, an idea that Loke can finish. But all it feels like in that stunned second is like Karen's hand, ripping off his belt, hitting him with it, binding him. Other memories bleed through: her summoning him after a bout of drinking or rage or boredom and demanding he strip before her. Her hands groping all over him. Her teeth on his ear. Under him. Over him. His hands tied. His teeth grit to dust. Her nasty grin, which he will never see again because of—
"Loke?" Gray calls to him quietly. Loke realizes that he had taken a step back, leaving Gray sitting up on the couch, watching him with more concern than Loke can remember ever experiencing in the past few years.
"I'm not hiding anything," Loke forces out, eyes cast down to stare at the floor.
"Yeah, you are." Gray's voice is stern, no room for contradiction.
Loke pushes his sunglasses up to scrub at his face. "Gray, I'm too drunk for this. Just go to sleep."
"I know you're keeping something to yourself, and it's eating you alive." Gray's gaze is hard. Loke just watches him almost sleepily himself, choosing to worry some other time. He shouldn't be surprised at Gray's bluntness. Gray has always been a somewhat straightforward person about everything but himself.
"Takes one to know one, huh?" It's not nice, but Loke wants to leave, to escape. But that might become impossible soon. His body freezes colder than Gray's touch at the thought.
Gray has no reply to Loke's jab. He looks at Loke long enough that Loke wonders if he's trying a new ice spell using only his eyes to freeze Loke. Then Gray flops back on the couch again, rolling onto his side.
"You better make me breakfast in the morning, asshole," he mutters, half-absorbed by the cushion.
Loke scoffs out a laugh despite himself. He watches Gray, sees him seep into slumber. Loke feels a swell of gratitude that only reinforces what he knows: Gray is a good person. He won't force Loke into a corner, even if it absolutely what Loke deserves.
After a pause of who knows how many minutes, Loke manages to tear himself out of the spot he had been rooted in and trudges to his room. He slips the blanket off the bed and returns to the living room to drape it over Gray sleeping in his shirt, forcing himself not to take a moment to appreciate the image one last time. Gray doesn't stir, deep in drunken sleep.
Loke slumps in front of the couch, perched on the carpet, facing the moon. The couch is at his back, Gray's knee behind his head. His presence emanates a comforting coolness near Loke that he sinks into. He pulls off his sunglasses and tilts his head back.
He will make Gray some breakfast. But for now, he just closes his eyes and hopes he's drunk enough that he doesn't stumble into a nightmare.
(He wakes up later, the paleness of the dawn spreading across the sky outside. Gray is suddenly beside him, sitting on the ground asleep, still in Loke's shirt. But the blanket Loke had put over him is covering them both now. Maybe, in another world out there, the same moment is happening, but there in that world, Loke is actually allowed to enjoy it.)