Anxious 247 @420anxious247 - Tumblr Blog

Hiii beloved friend <333 I would like to request some prinxiety intox kink <3 I trust you <3333

-Rowan

Crossfaded

Prinxiety (Roman x Virgil) Warnings: sex, scratching, biting, minor blood, hickeys, intox play, shotgunning

Roman drinks. Virgil smokes. It's just their personal preferences.

Neither lets the habit identify them; Virgil may smoke far more than Roman drinks, but he has his reasons. And Roman may end up a lot more befuddled when he drinks a ton compared to how Virgil acts when he smokes a lot, so moderation and personal limits are far more important factors than frequency.

And neither of them tend to stray out of their preferences.

To Roman, who enjoys sipping wine during dinner and drinking cocktails on the weekends, he's never thought about smoking weed. It's not a craving he has, nor is it something he's curious about. He enjoys feeling tipsy, and enjoys feeling drunk, and that satisfies whatever desire for mindlessness he has. Similarly, Virgil tends to frequently smoke, hitting his pen consistently throughout the day to ease his anxiety and keep him feeling pleasant and calm. He's never thought about drinking because he knows it tends to have the opposite effect on people; from what he's witnessed from outsiders (who aren't Roman, thankfully), is that all their impulses become musts, and all their reservations are thrown right out the window. And Virgil would never want to humiliate himself in such a regard.

But it's during a night when they're in bed together - Virgil smoking indica while Roman pours himself a single shot of Pink Whitney - that Virgil ends up offering his pen to Roman.

Roman stares at it as Virgil blows out a mouthful of smoke.

"Are you giving that to me?" he asks, confusion lacing his voice. Virgil has a nightstand on his side of their shared mattress; typically Virgil sets it to the side before they go to sleep, or plugs it in to charge for the next morning.

Virgil blinks, and then shrugs. "Figured I would. You're drinking to help you sleep, right?"

Roman's cheeks go pink. "Yeah. I've been struggling the past few weeks. Anxiety stuff."

"I know." Virgil kisses Roman's arm. He's not blind to the fact Roman's been pouring back a shot or two before sleep. His tolerance is high enough that it doesn't do much other than amplify his already existing exhaustion... and maybe cause him to trip over the laundry on the floor on the way to the bathroom, but neither of these things are inherently negative. "Are you worried about your upcoming performance?"

"I shouldn't be," Roman huffs. "I've played plenty of leads; I don't know why this one is so... daunting."

"Because your family's coming to town to see you in this one," Virgil answers for him. Roman slumps slightly at how he's called out, but is smiling as Virgil scoots closer and turns his head to the side to kiss him. "And while I don't mind your drinking, you do frequently wake me up with your bathroom breaks."

Roman groans. "Alcohol just runs right through me!" As does the water he drinks alongside it to make sure he doesn't end up dehydrated and sick. He lowers his shot down before he gets a chance to take it, and swirls it around the intricate little shot glass he spent way too much money on. "But... I can stop if it's really that annoying. It's probably better to take melatonin instead of margaritas anyway."

Virgil snickers, as does Roman, before Virgil's shaking his pen. "I don't mind what you do to get you down. But the specific strain I'm smoking right now - indica - is relaxing, and meant to help you sleep better."

Roman blinks, and nervously rubs the back of his neck. "There are different strains?"

Virgil laughs outright, and Roman does too, as this conversation reminds them both of when Roman had to explain to Virgil why being served multiple different drinks made him sick, and had to explain to Virgil that certain types of alcohol (like vodka, whiskey, and beer) are all made differently, and mixing them can cause worse hangovers, more sudden drunkenness, and horrible nausea. And because of that, Virgil doesn't judge Roman for not knowing; he didn't know at the beginning either.

So, he just sweetly affirms "there are," and leaves it at that, as he presses his pen into the palm of Roman's hand.

As Roman trades Virgil the glass for the pen, Virgil vaguely says "you don't have to smoke it, but I figured I'd at least give you the choice."

Roman's bottom lip juts out. "What about my drink? I don't want to waste it, and it's already poured; it'd be odd to dump it back into the bottle."

"I can drink it."

It's clear Virgil's joking based on the fact they both laugh after, but Roman's sheepish smile is followed up by the soft assurance "you can if you really want to. It's just a singular shot; you shouldn't get too tipsy. Even as a lightweight."

"I don't want to feel stupid or out of control, though," Virgil counters.

But Roman just shakes his head. "You won't. I know it's described that way when we're kids, but it really sets such a high bar that'll almost feel disappointing to not reach the first time you drink. The people who get stupid when they're drunk are just people who are always stupid, and use alcohol as a shield to do even stupider stuff. Like yeah, it'll make you more impulsive, but it doesn't change who you are fundamentally." Roman shivers, like he has experience with people blaming all of their actions on alcohol... which knowing Roman's mother, makes a lot of sense to Virgil. "It's why I'm so amazing, loving, and sweet when I get drunk, because I'm a romantic at heart."

This is true!

Even when Roman's utterly wasted, he'll just end up flopping atop Virgil and emotionally crying about how much he adores him. At its worst it's just annoying, but all things considered Roman's angry outbursts have only ever happened sober.

"There's a chance you'll still do something you wouldn't normally do when sober, but it's never to the extent people preach it is. Unless you blackout, I guess, but I personally have never done that, and you definitely won't after one shot." Roman hums, and grabs his water bottle from the side of the bed. Oftentimes throughout the night he'll wake up thirsty, and having a bottle nearby helps reduce the amount of times he crawls out of bed. "Moderation is always important. You should always double what you drink in alcohol with water."

"I know. I've seen you triple it."

"And you should make sure you have a full stomach."

Virgil raises an eyebrow, before replying "weed is like that too. Sort of. You're definitely going to get hungry if we stay up another hour or so."

"Should I go get snacks?"

Snickering, Virgil asks "do you want snacks?" which has Roman sliding out of bed. Virgil's eyes stare at his muscular thighs as he doesn't bother tugging on a pair of pajama pants. It's late, their curtains are closed, and he's just running to the kitchen. But it means Virgil gets to stare openly at Roman's briefs, which obviously has Roman all shy (even if his chest is still covered by the tight tee he’s wearing - having not bothered to change out of it at any point earlier today).

"I'll bring the Whitney, too," Roman then says, still holding tight to Virgil's pen. "Just in case."

Virgil takes to looking down at the pink drink as Roman slips from the room, and then turns the television on so he can have some background noise. A whiff of the alcohol has Virgil scrunching his nose, but luckily when Roman comes back he's also holding two cans of soda - which he passes to Virgil with the explanation "these can be used as chasers. I prefer juice when drinking Whitney, but I know you like pop, and these were cold. The carbonation should help distract from the gross aftertaste."

He's also holding the bottle of Whitney and a bag of pretzels he snagged from their cabinet.

"If I didn't already have the shot poured, I'd start you off with something that tasted a lot better," Roman then laments.

Virgil rolls his shoulders. "I can't say the same. My current cart is banana bread flavored."

"Is it going to mask the weed taste?"

"Depends on your tastebuds." Virgil scoots closer to Roman as he raises the shot glass. "Will the chaser completely get rid of the Whitney taste?"

"Not in the slightest."

That doesn't help encourage Virgil to drink, but he does set the shot carefully on his thighs so he can help Roman hold his pen. Just because Roman's watched him hit it (and variations of it, whenever Virgil has to get a new pen) doesn't mean he's ever paid attention to how Virgil uses it. And so Virgil clicks the button on the center of it a few times, until a green light is flashing.

"Just press and hold it as you inhale," he explains, taking the pen from Roman to demonstrate. "Breathe in slowly, hold for a few seconds, and then exhale. Make sure you breathe instead of sucking; if you suck it's going to fill your mouth, and it's going to feel weird."

He brings the mouthpiece to his lips, takes a deep breath in, and then blows the smoke in Roman's face. Though Roman gives Virgil a disgusted look as he turns away to avoid the cloud, his face is still red with fluster at the action. He snatches the cart from Virgil's hands with pursed lips, huffing out a "fine. I'll try your pen. Don't be surprised if I end up using your face like a good smoke dispensary, though."

"What?"

"You know, because you're always blowing-" Roman abruptly stops talking, and scoffs, as Virgil laughs at him. Despite his clunky phrasing, Virgil completely understood Roman's intentions, and eagerly awaits receiving a taste of his own medicine. "Just drink your Whitney!"

But as Virgil raises the glass to his mouth, Roman actually stops him.

"Don't like... sip it like a normal drink," he quickly corrects, which isn't exactly what Virgil was going to do, but Roman continues "you're going to want to basically toss the liquor to the back of your throat. You know those dramatic flings people do in movies, where they toss their head back and pour the alcohol down? That's purposeful. Whitney doesn't taste good enough to want it on your tongue for longer than necessary, and the harder you pound it back, the faster you get drunk. Or that's what people say, anyway."

"That doesn't give me much hope."

"It feels better than it tastes," Roman chuckles. "Most alcohol is like that. Unless you like cocktails, or drink stuff like Mike's Hard. I can make you a cocktail instead."

Virgil whines, and presses himself harder against Roman's side. "You already got up once. Stay."

Roman smiles, and carefully turns to kiss Virgil's head while making sure not to drop the cart or spill Virgil's drink. Virgil turns to kiss him back, and soon after Roman has his arm hooked around Virgil's back, pulling Virgil close as their kiss deepens. Virgil bites at Roman's bottom lip and Roman pulls away with an embarrassed gasp, before shyly tucking his face into his shoulder.

And then he slowly brings the mouthpiece of the cart to his lips.

Copying what he saw Virgil do either, Roman holds down the button and inhales, taking in a larger-than-intended breath that results in him choking and coughing. Virgil laughs at him as he hacks into his shoulder, which has Roman wiping spit from his mouth as he looks at Virgil with narrowed eyes.

"I hate smoking," he huffs, though he keeps hold of the cart as Virgil raises the Whitney up as well.

Roman watches him closely as Virgil tries to do as he's seen in all of those scenes about partying and what he's witnessed drunkards do and pound back the shot, only for him to choke too as the liquid hits the back of his throat far sooner than he expects it too. And as if that isn't enough, the taste is also just as unpleasant as Roman warned him it'd be, causing him to reach for the soda Roman's already hanging over.

"Holy shit," he curses as he cracks open the soda, chugging down a third of the can to try and wash the bitter flavor from his tongue. "That's awful."

"I know!" Roman gives Virgil his water bottle after, which Virgil gratefully accepts. "But you don't drink for the taste. Just like you don't smoke for the flavor."

"How long until it kicks in?"

"Very soon. How long until I feel the weed?"

"Also soon."

Roman opens the bag of pretzels and offers it to Virgil who immediately reaches for a small handful. The alcohol burned the back of his throat on its way down, but it's becoming more bearable as time passes. Still, he takes his pen from Roman to further mask the taste, and lets out a pleased sigh as the smoke flows through his lungs and back out his mouth.

Roman watches him with wide eyes. "You're having both?"

"Both?"

Clearing his throat, Roman clarifies "you're smoking and drinking."

"Oh. Yeah." Virgil twirls his cart between his fingers. "I guess I am. That's not bad, is it? Hold on, I have to check if this is going to kill me."

Surely it won't - there'd be a lot more dead bodies at parties if that were the case - but Virgil still whips out his phone to check if he needs to go to the hospital just to soothe his anxiety. Meanwhile Roman seems to be considering doing the same, which leads to him refilling the shot glass with Pink Whitney and slamming back a shot before Virgil can even skim through the results.

But Virgil realizing Roman's done it too makes him feel... a bit safer.

"The main side effect of doing both is nausea," Virgil eventually stammers, as Roman takes a second shot like it's nothing. While his intention initially wasn't to get drunk, he seems to be more fine with the idea of becoming tipsy the longer they stay up. He brings his pen to his mouth for another hit, and then passes it back to Roman, who mimics the action with a lot more grace this time. He still coughs, but he definitely took in less smoke. "And that should only really happen if we overindulge."

"Eating and drinking water will probably help us stay regulated, too," Roman adds, as he takes a sip of his water. Virgil does as well, and then finishes off his soda. "Do you want another shot?"

Virgil's nose scrunches up, but he nods anyway, watching Roman pour him half a shot instead of a full glass. Though Virgil doesn't comment on this change, he is relieved that there'll be less liquor on his tongue, though that doesn't make it any easier to actually drink it down.

Roman muffles a chuckle with his hand as Virgil coughs again, amused that he's finding it easier to smoke than Virgil is to drink. Though Roman finds it easier to drink than smoke. The back of his throat - and weirdly his eardrums - burn from the hot vapor he'd sucked down.

He refills Virgil's glass before Virgil can even think to tilt it towards him, and then Roman takes another hit from the pen. When he exhales this time, he does it in Virgil's direction, blowing a cloud of smoke into Virgil's face in order to give him a taste of his own medicine. Virgil coughs and immediately waves his hand over his face, shoving Roman in his arm.

"Gross!" he complains, hacking as the secondhand smoke fills his mouth. His cheeks are tinged pink.

Roman smugly crosses his arms over his chest. "See? It's annoying!"

"At least give me a warning!"

"Oh, because you give me plenty warning!" Roman takes another hit from Virgil's cart, and finds it easier to taste the banana bread now that he's had a minute to get used to the burning smoke. He grabs Virgil by his chin and draws him closer, and despite his protests Virgil doesn't fight him in the slightest. Instead, his lips part to accept the smoke, which is pushed down his lungs as Roman kisses him softly.

He's giving Virgil the space to pull away, but Virgil doesn't, instead grabbing Roman by his hair to keep him close even as Virgil's eyes fill with tears.

He kisses Roman for as long as he can before he needs to pull away to cough.

"Despite the weed, I can still taste the alcohol on your tongue," he remarks, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. It's an embarrassed action, but one he can easily claim is from manners as opposed to timidness.

Roman licks his lips, and then replies "I can only taste the Dr. Pepper on yours," while bringing his water bottle to his lips. Virgil takes the second can of soda Roman brought for him, and cracks it open.

"Do you think the Whitney would mix well with-" he starts, but Roman's twisted expression answers him before he can give it out.

"No," Roman answers immediately. "But it goes well with lemonade."

"Like a pink lemonade, I'm guessing."

"More or less. Just a lot more bitter." Roman takes a handful of pretzels, and then rolls his shoulders. "You know... I think I'm feeling the effects of the weed. My body feels... weirdly slow."

Virgil chuckles. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing about the alcohol. I feel warm... and my head feels thick."

"Thick?"

Virgil pushes his face into Roman's arm. "It's hard to explain."

"No, I completely understand." Virgil can see that Roman's smiling sheepishly. "I'm pretty sure Remus has a video of my first time drinking, where I claimed my head was 'full of bees.' I was trying to explain that it felt like my brain was surrounded by honey, but couldn't find the right words. I just find it cute you’re having a similar revelation.”

“How does your body feel?”

“Slow,” Roman repeats. “And heavy. I can see how this is supposed to knock me out. My mind also feels… odd, but in a way I can’t define. Just that I know I’m not sober.”

"Do you want to sleep?"

Roman does genuinely consider the choice, but shakes his head after a moment. "Who knows when I'll get the chance to see you drunk again. I'd rather take advantage of this opportunity."

"You should come take advantage of me."

Roman's face goes red at Virgil's boldness, and Virgil similarly flushes when he realizes one of his inside thoughts has become an outward proclamation. But he means it, and so Roman sets a hand on his thigh.

"Do you mean that?" he asks, earnestly pressing into Virgil while he's still mindful enough to answer honestly. "I know we've fooled around while I've been drunk, and I know we have when you've been high, but this is... different. Or it feels different, since it's new."

Virgil sips on his soda as he nods, slowly turning until he's settled on Roman's lap, straddling one of his thighs. "I mean it," he affirms, quelling Roman's sweet concern. "So long as you're fine with it."

"I'm fine with it."

"Awesome."

"Cool."

They both stare at each other, before Virgil's hiding his face in Roman's shoulder. Roman laughs nervously, and then Virgil laughs too, and then they're both snickering due to how awkward they are. It's like their first time all over again, and they fumble around while kissing to the point they end up just smiling dopily against each other's mouth. It's only when Roman pulls away do they end up trading items, with Roman proclaiming "I need another drink," at the same time Virgil decides to take a long hit from his cart.

He holds the smoke in his mouth as Roman pours himself another shot, and takes it with ease. He only grimaces a bit at the burn, but melts quickly into Virgil's affection as Virgil presses their lips together just so he can shotgun his mouthful down Roman's throat.

Roman whimpers into his mouth, tears filling his eyes as the smoke makes him cough, but he hooks his arm around Virgil's back to keep him closer. They both feel hot and buzzed, and as they begin to make-out their differing preferences mix together while their tongues push against the other's. They both taste like alcohol, and they both taste like weed, and they're both eager to stay pressed close together. With Virgil's arms wrapped around Roman's neck, keeping them close, neither of them are eager to part for anything other than air. And weed, Roman notes, as Virgil hits his pen again just so he can blow more secondhand smoke into Roman's mouth.

"Virgil," Roman gasps, choking on the toxic air. His head feels like static in the best way possible, and his body is so heavy. When Virgil pushes him down against the pillows, Roman falls easily, and lets Virgil take primary control.

Another drink is poured carefully, with Virgil setting the shot glass between Roman's pecs in order to keep it still. Roman holds his breath to prevent jostling it as Virgil tilts the Whitney, filling the glass nearly two-thirds. He lifts it while pushing the mouthpiece of his pen past Roman's lips. Roman takes it and hits it like Virgil's silently instructing him to, while watching Virgil take the shot.

He's getting more confident with how he throws the liquor back, and it makes it easier to down, even if he still relies on the soda to wash the taste from his tongue.

"Want more pretzels?" he asks, and Roman nods while blowing out a puff of smoke.

Virgil lays across his chest as he brings the bag forward, grabbing two at a time and feeding them to Roman intimately. He holds the sticks between his fingers, and pushes them halfway into Roman's mouth before expecting him to bite down. He shivers at every crunch, and keeps Roman well fed in between his hits. When Roman stops turning his head away to blow smoke, Virgil finds himself rolling his hips down against Roman's abdomen, aroused by the smoke that clouds his face.

Roman feels like he's consistently smoking now, only ever removing the pen from his mouth when he's given pretzels instead, only to immediately take another hit once he's swallowed. His lungs burn, his face burns, and his head feels nice and heavy. With half-lidded eyes he watches Virgil take a second shot, and then begin to pull his clothes off, fueled by both his arousal and his rising internal body temperature.

All of his clothes are stripped away, which is even more of a surprise. Most of the time Virgil tends to leave his shirt on, but now that his bare chest is on display Roman's desperate to feel him up.

He forces himself to sit up despite the groan it elicits, and then draws Virgil closer by his waist while he begins peppering kisses over Virgil's collarbone.

"You're so pretty," Roman breathes, fingers pressing into the fat of Virgil’s hips. He's gained weight since they started dating, and while it's not something Roman's openly commented on, his groping makes it clear it's something he's quite fond of. "You should get naked for me more often. You should always be naked."

"Like you are?"

Roman whines. "I'm not always naked! And I thought you liked my chest."

"I do. Very much." Virgil's head falls to the side as Roman's tongue slides over his neck, flickering over the tender skin. "That's why you should let me see it."

"I'm busy."

"Roman," Virgil complains, "come on."

"Busy," Roman repeats, more playfully this time. His hands settle on Virgil's ass, shamelessly groping the fat as he nips at Virgil's throat. "Let me appreciate you, first."

"At least get me my pen."

Roman's hand feels blindly around the sheets until he finds Virgil's cart, which he passes over quickly. Virgil sucks down two mouthfuls, before he's tangling his hand in Roman's hair and tugging his head back. Roman moans at the brief bit of pain, and then flushes as smoke is blown over his face.

"Take your shirt off," Virgil demands, firmer this time, and Roman submissively moves to do as he's told.

He's a lot clumsier than he realized he was, as he struggles to get his hands properly set on the edge of his shirt. The alcohol and weed mixture afflicting his body has him feeling stupid in the best way possible, and when he looks up at Virgil he sees that Virgil's rocking back and forth, unsteady in his lap. It's adorable, and not too dissimilar to the way Roman feels like if he leans too far forward or too far back he'll end up collapsing himself.

Once he gets his shirt off Virgil immediately reaches for his pecs, which are groped and squeezed and pushed together like they're just balloons for Virgil to toy with.

"You could give me a boob-job with these," Virgil comments, another slip that reveals his more perverse thoughts - but this time he's less embarrassed to be saying it. Maybe he can't think enough to be embarrassed, or maybe he's completely sure of this want and needs Roman to know how squishy his chest is, and how good it would feel to thrust his cock against Roman's cleavage. His fingers pressing down against the fat quickly move over to Roman's nipples, which he pinches with both adoration and a sly look.

Moaning, Roman arches forward into the touch, and then whimpers as Virgil's thumb grinds down against his areola.

"Do you want another drink?" Virgil asks, clumsily fumbling with Roman's nipples like they're personal fidgets.

"I want you," Roman whines in response.

Virgil snorts, but rolls his eyes. Since that's not what he asked, he goes for his best guest as to what the answer would be, and grabs the bottle of Whitney. He no longer bothers pouring any out - it's too tedious considering how needy they both are - and instead hands over the bottle. Roman has no qualms about bringing the opening to his mouth and chugging down two mouthfuls before he has to pull away. However to immediately dampen the bitter flavor, Virgil is generously kissing him and puffing banana bread smoke down his throat, making Roman's eyes roll back into his head.

Every cough is followed by a greedy inhale, sucking down as much of the secondhand vapor as he can before he feels dizzy. And then Virgil's licking a stray drop of liquor from his chin, with his tongue guiding him all the way back to Roman's mouth, where they're kissing again.

Their chests push together, breasts rubbing against breasts as Virgil's head tilts to the side and he deepens the kiss.

Roman's hand runs down his spine, trailing along his back before once again reaching his back where Roman's fingers press cautiously against Virgil's hole, which is what finally has Virgil pulling away.

"Lube?" he asks, even though the idea of being prepped is annoying. He wants to jump right into the sex!

But luckily he's easily swayed as Roman grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and wets his entire hand with the lubricant. And seeing Roman's thick fingers wet with slick has him doing a complete one-eighty, and deciding Roman's fingers can't press into him soon enough!

He's basically purring as he pushes himself as close to Roman as he possibly can, making it easier for Roman to begin stretching Virgil open with his fingers. He starts with just two digits, but feeling how loose Virgil is from their frequent sex, he decides he can add a third right off the bat. It surprises Virgil who's used to Roman being a lot more patient and taking prep slow, but he's all for it.

He keeps himself up on his knees and pushes his ass back into Roman's touch as Roman's fingers spread him apart. They move in a clumsy scissoring motion, making sure Virgil's loose enough to take his cock while they have sloppy sex - because in their current states the sex can't be anything but messy, uncoordinated, and silly.

"Fuck, Roman," Virgil moans into Roman's ear, biting the side of Roman's jaw before his teeth travel downwards. He bites Roman’s shoulder harder than he means to, but Roman doesn't say anything about the blood that begins to bead over the deep teeth marks. He either hasn't realized, or is so intoxicated his hemophobia has been suppressed. Either way, Virgil licks up the residue and bites him again, this time sucking a dark mark over the wound.

The action makes Roman moan and tilt his head to the side, permitting Virgil make as many marks as possible - which Virgil eagerly does.

Small kisses are followed by rough bites, until Virgil feels something splash against his back.

"Oh-!" Roman exclaims, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed. "Fuck, I'm sorry! I was trying to get another drink."

Virgil shivers as the lukewarm liquid drips down his back, over his ass, and onto Roman's fingers as he pulls them from Virgil's hole. But before Virgil can comment on the action, he's being spun around.

He tries to ask what Roman's doing as Roman's hands end up on his hips, lifting him up awkwardly to the point he's almost standing on the bed, but just barely doesn't have enough space to get his feet flat on the bed. But before he can get the words out he ends up jolting with surprise as he feels Roman's tongue land on his lower back, and slowly begin to drag upward. The Pink Whitney is lapped up from his flesh like Roman's a dog drinking it out of a bowl, with Roman's tongue fluttering against his flesh in sloppy motions. Spit is left over his skin that Roman's not mindful enough to wipe away, leaving Virgil to feel as it cools.

"I should drink all my alcohol off your body," Roman breathes, as Virgil attempts to kick up the discarded lube into his hand. It takes a few minutes, but once he gets it he's overturning it over Roman's cock, squeezing the bottle directly over Roman's tip. The excess lubricant pours over Roman's length, cascading down the shaft until the entire thing is coated. Then, taking advantage of Roman's loose grip, Virgil shifts himself forward, and then begins to sink down.

At first Roman whines, but as soon as Virgil begins taking Roman's cock into him, his tune changes.

"Aw, Virgil-" Roman quivers, wrapping his arms around Virgil's midsection. He pulls Virgil back against his chest, and holds him from behind as his cock fits perfectly inside his partner. Virgil clenches around him as he easily takes Roman up to the base, grabbing both his pen and the bottle of liquor. The bottle is sticky from where Roman spilled it, but he ignores that in favor of gulping down a mouthful followed by hitting his pen. He turns his head to the side and grabs the side of Roman's face so he can blow the smoke out, but Roman's kissing him fast so he can suck down the smoke instead.

With his hands on Virgil's hips to guide him up and down in a messy, imperfect pace, he relies on Virgil to keep the buzz strong.

Both of them feel hot and dizzy, with Roman's growing adoration meshing well with Virgil's intensifying clinginess, relying on Roman to take control of him because he wants Roman's hands to stay on his body. He wants Roman to keep running his hands over him, even if the petting is clumsy and his squeezing is sometimes both too soft or too rough.

"More," Roman moans against Virgil's lips the second clean air hits his tongue. "I want more, Virgil."

"Alcohol or... or weed?"

"Either. So long as you give it to me." Virgil's hips drop against his own, and both of them moan as Roman's cock fucks deep into Virgil. "Please, Virgil. I need more. I need you."

"You're going to get sick."

Roman whines "then give me water, and then you drink water, and then let me hit your cart again."

"So demanding," Virgil teases, though Roman's plan sounds like a wonderful course of action. And so he lifts Roman's water bottle, holds it up while Roman drinks, and then sucks from the straw while he pushes his cart into Roman's mouth and holds the button down for him. Roman breathes in until he can't anymore, and then coughs up an excessive amount of smoke, which drifts up to the ceiling and disperses as Roman buries his face in Virgil's shoulder. Virgil gets to hear Roman's whimpers up close as he moans with each shift of Virgil's hips. He'd been so busy getting high he'd neglected to keep moving Virgil up and down, and so Virgil decides to remind him by lifting himself up on his own.

He goes too far by accident and Roman's cock slips out of him, but he just fumbles with the base of Roman's shaft until he has a good grip, and holds it still as he sinks back down, with Roman crying out at the direct pleasure he receives as a result.

Virgil goes down halfway, lifts up, and then collapses fully, whining out a lazy "Roman," which has Roman holding tightly to his hips.

"I'll move you," Roman assures him, even if his words come out clunky. "I won't forget again. I promise."

"I have a hard time believing you."

Roman smiles, embarrassment causing his cheeks to glow brighter. He pushes his face into Virgil's neck, where kisses are pressed along every inch of pale skin. "I promise," he reiterates, whining playfully. "My head is just so... spinning."

Virgil snickers, and then nods. "Mine too."

"Spinning," Roman repeats, and Virgil's properly laughing this time, with Roman laughing as well. And then Virgil's pushing on Roman's arms.

"Turn me around."

"But that's so much work."

"I want to see your cute face. And also lay against the bed. Lay me against the bed, Roman; I want to stretch out."

Despite his pitiful noises, Roman does as is asked of him and lifts Virgil off his cock a second time - intentionally depriving himself of pleasure so that he can put Virgil into a more comfortable position.

Virgil's head first lands on the bag of pretzels, which has both of them giggling stupidly as Virgil shoves the food to the side. Neither of them care enough to notice that his Dr. Pepper is knocked over in the process, soaking Roman's comforter and likely staining the bedding. Neither of them notice the many pretzel sticks now leaving crumbs along the sheets as they spill out of the bag after being displaced on a large wrinkle in the blankets. All they can focus on is how warm they feel, how thick their brains are, and the other person in front of them.

"You're so pretty, Roman," Virgil coos, cupping Roman's face with both hands as Roman's cock sloppily thrusts against Virgil's own as he struggles to find Virgil's hole whilst not being able to tear his eyes away from Virgil's flustered countenance. "I should tell you how pretty you are more often. So many freckles... There's a dot, and then another dot, and then another dot! I could probably take a pen to your cheeks and connect them all."

Roman hides his smiling face in his shoulder. "Like I'm an activity book?"

"More fun than an activity book," Virgil breathes, followed by a loud moan as Roman enters him in one rough thrust. Electricity pulses through Virgil's body, traveling up his spine and tickling his brain. He touches the dark hickeys on Roman's neck, and then tilts his head to the side. "You should bite me, Roman. Hard."

"I jus' want to kiss you," Roman slurs. He pushes his face against Virgil's and sloppily kisses him, with Virgil kissing him right back even though he tries twice to defer Roman to his throat instead. "Kisses and kisses."

"Bite me," Virgil more pathetically implores. "Please? Please?"

It's not like him to beg outright, and so it easily motivates Roman to do as he's told, rubbing his face against Virgil's neck before biting like he was asked. The bites start off loving and gentle at first, with Roman chewing on Virgil's neck like he's teething, before they get much more possessive.

Hickey after hickey is sucked as soon as Roman gets into it, with one of Virgil's shoulders becoming a sea of purple in just a matter of minutes.

And Virgil couldn't be anymore overjoyed!

"God yes," Virgil pants, his thighs wrapping tight around Roman's waist. "Yes, yes, yes! Roman! Yes!"

"So loud," Roman croons, leaving one last mark before he switches sides. "So cute. My Virgil. My sweet, gorgeous Virgil."

He feels Virgil's jagged nails press into his back, scratching lines up it as Roman fucks into him. Every new mark draws a new noise from Virgil's mouth, ranging from soft mewls to loud cries, only further amplified by Roman thrusting fully into him. His thrusts manage to be deep despite his intoxicated state, but considering his high alcohol tolerance and how little he drank compared to Virgil, it makes sense he's in a comparably clearer head. Still foggy and fuzzy and heavy, but he's aware enough to know what makes them both feel good and continue doing just that so they both feel their best.

The constant, slurred praise Roman enunciates makes Virgil feel weirdly shy and happy, and he's unable to keep himself from wearing a smile as he moans.

Roman's hand pets through his hair sweetly as he thrusts forward, before he can no longer keep himself upright.

He has enough mindfulness to lower himself slowly onto Virgil, but he does end up atop him fully, their fronts now pressed firmly together. Virgil's leaking cock is trapped against Roman's textured abs - a position Virgil finds himself delighted by as with each jolt of his body, his shaft grinds between the crevices of his muscles.

Sweat drips from Roman's face onto Virgil's, mixing with Virgil's own perspiration. The room is growing hotter, becoming thick with the smell of sex, alcohol, and banana bread, and both Virgil and Roman feel like they're overheating as a result.

As Roman bites him, Virgil finds himself yearning to take another shot and keep this buzz intense. However he finds himself almost grateful the bottle is far from him, as when Roman kisses him again Virgil decides he'd rather not taste anything other than Roman.

Roman's mouth tastes like a weird mixture of chapstick, alcohol, banana bread, and salt, and though this all sounds like a disgusting combination, Virgil finds his tongue pushing hard against Roman's own in an attempt to savor it. Roman's hand settles in his hair so he can sweetly cradle Virgil's heavy head and keep him close; the two of them sloppily make-out while Roman's thrusts grow faster and messier.

And when he hits Virgil's prostate, he just holds Virgil tighter.

The cry Virgil lets out is greedily swallowed up, with Roman moaning in response as Virgil clenches around him.

He aims for that bundle of nerves over and over - only missing it once or twice which nets him plenty of whimpers until he corrects his angle. He's rewarded for this by Virgil nipping at his bottom lip, before spit is transferred between their mouths. The effects of being crossfaded hit them both in different and similar ways, as Virgil feels a lot more clumsy than Roman does, but Roman's a lot more tired. Virgil's pleas are jumbled and pathetic, while Roman's compliments are breathy and... frankly interesting.

"You're my gemstone," Roman insists one moment, before murmuring "my beloved plum tree" the next. The praise is abstract, but the way it makes Virgil feel is undeniable.

"Please," Virgil gasps, as Roman's hand slides between their stomachs so that he can grasp Virgil's wet shaft. He pumps it quickly, wanting to bring Virgil the most pleasure as quickly as possible, though he doesn't sacrifice the quality of his thrusts in the process, making sure he never slows his movements even for a second.

Roman buries his face in Virgil's neck, continuing to bite at his skin as Virgil scratches deep over his back, cutting a variety of marks into his flesh out of sheer enjoyment.

"Fuck!" Virgil cries, alongside a mixture of other profanities. "Roman! Roman!"

"I love it when you say my name," Roman murmurs, as his teeth graze Roman's earlobe. His breathing is heavy with overexertion, and their chests slide together with each sweaty motion. "It bounces around my head so nicely. It feels like you've said it in every dream I had."

"Every... dream...?"

Roman purses his lips. "It's hard to explain. I feel like I'm dreaming, and-" Roman's cut off by a moan, as Virgil's nails slide over his shoulders. "And I feel like I'm dreaming every action I take. Like I know I'm having sex with you, but after every thrust it feels like I'm only dreaming I thrusted, and I have to remember it actually happened, but then it feels like I only dreamt that remembrance..." He trails off, and gets distracted kissing Virgil's sweaty hairline. Virgil doesn't guide him back to the topic. He understands the feeling, and how hard it is to prevent your train of thought from chugging off.

"I hope every dream version of me is enjoying a version of you," Roman then sighs, ever the romantic. "I can't bear the thought of ever being without you. You feel so good, Virgil; you're so warm, and pretty, and noisy..."

He holds tighter to Virgil's body, and Virgil clings to him in turn, his cock working quickly to its peak thanks to Roman's sloppy assault on his prostate and messy jerks from his fist.

"Pl-" Virgil stammers, "pl-please. Please, Roman! I'm so close!"

"Come for me," Roman croons immediately, still kissing everywhere he can reach. "Come for me, please Virgil. Let me know how good I make you feel."

There's something flattering about the fact he's brought Virgil close to coming while performing at an impaired rate. Furthermore, he's ecstatic Virgil's managed to make him feel just as wonderful (though he's never doubted Virgil's ability to do just that). And the indirect compliments administered to him through Virgil's noises, scratches, and clenches have Roman just as close.

With Roman's permission bouncing around his fuzzy head on loop, Virgil finds himself letting his body take over, and after just a few more seconds pleasure is overwhelming Virgil's senses and he's coming into Roman's hand, dressing both of their stomachs with his seed as Roman messily strokes him through an intense orgasm that leaves Virgil feeling even dizzier than he was previously.

Virgil's hole tightens around Roman's thrusting cock, with Roman's groans getting louder in his ear as he's brought closer to his own climax.

Virgil whines and pushes his fingers harder into Roman's scratched-up back. "Please," he slurs, his words barely intelligible. "Come in me. Come in me, please."

"I will," Roman assures him, his voice making Virgil shiver. "I will. I love you. I'll fill you up so nicely."

He makes due on this promise mere moments later, holding Virgil firm as he pushes himself deep into Virgil and comes just like that, filling the space around his cock with semen that's then partially fucked out of Virgil's hole as he begins rocking his hips to ride out his orgasm. When he pulls out, his semen gushes out and onto the mattress below, which makes both of them whine (albeit for different reasons).

"The bed is so sticky now," Roman complains, while Virgil just shudders at the feeling of himself slowly and gradually being emptied out.

With Roman's hand hooked behind his back, he's pulled to sit up slightly as Roman looks over the rest of the mattress, and grows progressively more irate. He looks almost... angry, but before Virgil can ask if Roman's mad, Roman's huffing out "I suppose we can sleep in the guest room, but it's going to be more annoying walking back and forth from the hall bathroom than it would using our bathroom."

"Why do we need to use the bathroom?" Virgil whines, tracing his fingers blearily along the curves of Roman's biceps.

Roman bends down to kiss his nose. "To shower. Don't you want to?"

"No, I just want to cuddle."

Snorting, Roman's cheeks go pink. "You want to cuddle? Instead of getting clean?"

"Jus' wanna cuddle," Virgil repeats, caring less about enunciating the sleepier he seems to get. After all, drinking, smoking, and sex can really take a lot out of a guy. "With you."

"I'd hope with me. If you wanted to cuddle with anyone else I'd have to start throwing hands! And you know I hate fighting. But for your honor, I'd do anything... so long as you'd kiss my scratches afterwards."

"I'll kiss your scratches right now if you get us into bed," Virgil purrs in response. "Not this bed. A clean bed."

"After I clean you out, at least."

Virgil's protests are half-hearted and brought forth out of sheer lethargy, but luckily he stops whining so much when Roman takes charge and makes sure all Virgil has to do is trust him. Cleaning him out is still a bit difficult without them outright showering, but a bit of light teasing and skillful fingering has Virgil mostly cleaned out, and after that Roman just brings them straight to the guest bedroom, where the two of them flop down on the sheets still sweaty and panting.

Roman's had enough foresight to bring his water bottle with them, which is what Virgil sips on while Roman gets comfortable on his side so Virgil can slide up behind him after, tracing his nails lightly over the many red lines littered over Roman's flesh.

"Are the scratches bad?" he asks with a yawn, humming with content as Virgil begins to kiss the plentiful marks.

"They're cute," is all Virgil answers, not exactly assuring Roman, but Roman doesn't need the reassurance anyway. He likes the marks, and will enjoy the sting, though right now the burns mix in with every other hot sensation pulsing over his skin. "I like scratching you. I should do it more often. Right now, maybe."

Snickering, Roman turns in Virgil's hold, and pulls Virgil close to his chest, unintentionally smothering a very pleased Virgil between his pecs. "Not right now," Roman refutes, "but tomorrow, if we're not busy."

Happy, Virgil echoes a soft "tomorrow, maybe," and pushes himself harder against Roman.

Even though they both feel like they're overheating beneath the comforter, they stay swaddled up in both the blankets and the other's grasp, clinging tightly together. They both fall asleep fast after they're settled, with both of them slumbering deeply through the night (and well into the morning) as their intoxication steadily burns away. They'll have to try getting crossfaded again sometime - or perhaps fully commit to appreciating the other's drink and drug of choice.

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