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Trent kisses him desperately, needily, pulling him in even as he presses in, too, arms slung over his shoulders and pressing their chests together—
Ted’s a bit of a wreck—who wouldn’t be with a lapful of Trent Crimm kissing them like that—but after a moment too long, he tears his mouth away, heart giving a pang when Trent makes a little hurt noise.
Taking in his face—flushed, pupils blown and eyes hooded, looking at Ted with utter adoration—it’s hard not to lean in and kiss him again, kiss him senseless. But he can’t.
“Trent,” he breathes out, a hoarse and wrecked exhale, and Trent’s already leaning in again, and he has to gently hold his head in place, hands cupping his face.
Trent’s eyes slant shut for a moment, all content and relaxed at the contact, before they flutter open, still giving Ted that look.
“Trent, honey, you are—you are very drugged,” says Ted, trying to sound gentle but firm, and Trent lets out a little whine, which is somehow both cute and sexy. Ted feels very attacked right now.
“Teeed,” he says, and it’s kind of a whine, too, all breathy and warm and shameless. “I promise I want you. Please?”
He punctuates that please with another gentle lean in, not exactly insistent but asking again, asking please, please, please with more than just his voice.
Ted wants to lean in so badly, wants to wrap his arms around Trent’s waist and tug him in tight and close, kiss his pretty brains out, but he can’t. He absolutely can’t, not like this.
So he doesn’t let him, holds him in place again, and quietly says, “Sorry, honey. You’ll thank me later. But no, okay?”
Trent pouts. He almost seems drunk, like this, and it’s adorable, only it’s because he’s doped up on—what, a love potion? And Ted doesn’t like the implications of that at all. It was only luck, or rather chance, most likely, that had Ted as the unintentional target of the chemical.
Trent doesn’t try to kiss him again, though. He leans in, but past Ted this time to just drape himself over Ted in a hug.
“Won’t thank you,” he mumbles defiantly. But even lovebugged, he just sits there, slumped into Ted. If Ted pushed him off, he’d go with it instead of cling—but he also might cry, going by his expressions.
Still, Ted just rubs his back comfortingly. He knows Trent will be embarrassed later, mortified, and he doesn’t want that.
He should probably get Trent off his lap entirely. It’s bad enough he’s selfishly enjoying that, enjoying the warmth of Trent’s body pressed so close.
But he doesn’t want Trent to cry—that would probably embarrass him more—and he also knows Trent can get like a cuddly little koala when he’s really, really tired, too, so it isn’t exactly new territory.
Trent clings to him, and Ted lets him.
They don’t talk about this incident for two months, other than to briefly be certain that the origins of said incident are dealt with, until it is somewhat casually brought up by Ted in a context that totally made sense at the time that Trent, of course, has experience with the love potion sort of thing, even without being a proper celebrity. To which Trent replies what the fuck are you talking about, and shortly thereafter they realize the mutual misunderstanding they had been operating under:
Trent, that Ted had been uncomfortable with his feelings and also Trent borderline assaulting him, and Ted, that Trent had been drugged to have feelings for Ted, rather than to have very little inhibitions or filter, and was embarrassed at his definitely out-of-character behavior.
This, needless to say, leads to another decidedly less interrupted makeout session, in which Trent’s in Ted’s lap right up until Ted rolls them over and presses him into the couch and kisses him absolutely senseless.
Ted leans in and kisses him and Trent arches up into it, kisses back eagerly.
“You promise you’re not drugged?” Ted pants, their lips only barely not touching, and Trent lets out a breath that’s half-laugh and half-sigh.
“Promise,” he breathes.
Ted kisses him again.