23 Jonny/Tim for the kiss meme! :3
23. A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances
Something Jonny liked about Gunpowder Tim, though he would never admit it to his face, was that the gunner could hold his liquor. Jonny liked other things about Tim, who had joined the crew a few decades ago or so, maybe more, but he would never tell him those either. It was definitely for the best that they kept up their charade of disliking each other as it had worked well for them so far and they still had eternity to go.
Still, Tim could hold his liquor, and Jonny appreciated a drinking buddy now and then. He could drink the rest of the crew under the table, except for maybe Ashes, but the quartermaster wasn’t around at the moment, so it was just the two of them in the saloon with a bottle of bourbon.
It was one of the better bottles he’d acquired in a while, so maybe it was a waste to share it. On the other hand, maybe it was a shame not to.
He didn’t realize he’d said that last part aloud until Tim laughed.
“The latter,” he said, with a slight drunken slur. “It’s depressing to drinking alone. You get two people… Now that’s a party!”
Jonny rolled his eyes. “‘S not depressing… It’s a hobby. Drinking alone.”
“Your hobby is depressing,” Tim said, grinning. He held a glass of amber liquor in one hand which listed to one side as Jonny tried to blink him back into focus. It was the same color as Tim’s hair when it caught the glow of the lamp just right.
“No, it isn’t,” Jonny said, gulping down the bourbon from his own glass. Earlier in the night, he had tasted the spicy oak and savory tobacco the bottle had promised him, but now it just tasted of the cool burn of alcohol. “You’re… Calibrating and re-calibrating your rifles and pistols is more depressing, I reckon.”
“You do, do you?” Tim said, shifting on the sofa so he was closer to Jonny. They had started the evening on opposite ends of the sofa, but, for some reason, had inched closer as time went on and the bottle emptied.
Maybe it was just to hear each other better. Their voices had become a bit quieter as it got later at night, uncharacteristically mindful of the rest of the crew.
“Yeah, your guns could be more out of tune than your guitar, and they’d get the job done just fine with your aim being what it is. Meanwhile, I,” he said with conviction, “am making the most of immortality by drinking as much as inhumanely possible.”
“Seems a shame since you won’t remember most of it,” Tim said, chuckling.
“Remembering all of it would be worse, I reckon,” Jonny said. “We have years to spare.”
“Are you going to remember this?” Tim asked. His golden eyes crinkled at the edges, amused and fond.
Jonny gulped more whiskey. “Oh, absolutely fucking not. I’ve already said half a dozen things I’m hoping to forget. Like how pretty your eyes are.”
“You didn’t say that,” Tim said. He clumsily set his drink on the floor and inched over to Jonny until he could rest his head on his shoulder.
“I didn’t? Maybe I thought—What the hell are you doing?” he said, suddenly overwhelmed by Tim’s head on his shoulder and the scent of his hair which was so painfully close that he wanted to bury his face in it. It smelled like peppermint and something floral.
“Getting comfortable,” Tim said, kicking his feet up on the sofa. “You smell like goddamn cigarettes by the way.”
“Well, go bother someone else then!” Jonny sputtered, shoving half-heartedly at the gunner leaning against him.
“No, no, you get used to it,” Tim said. “Are you aware your hand is in my hair?”
Jonny cursed his drunken lack of impulse control and forced his hand to still as he realized he was playing with one of Tim’s brown curls. “Well, your head is on my shoulder. So there.”
There was a moment of silence, interrupted by Jonny singing the first song that came to mind, which was, for some reason, My Jolly Sailor Bold. It was a bit of a melancholy choice for a drinking song, but Jonny had a deep appreciation for melancholy songs.
“My heart is pierced by Cupid. I disdain all glittering gold,” he hummed. “There is nothing can console me… But my jolly sailor bold.”
“Always with the sad songs,” Tim said with breathless amusement.
“No, you shut up,” Tim said. He reached up and put his hand on Jonny’s face so his palm rested over the first mate’s lips and his fingers touched his cheek, halfway between a silencer and a caress.
Jonny let out a muffled protest, and his mechanical heart clanked rapidly in his chest. He grabbed Tim’s hand and took it, turning to stare reproachfully at the gunner who had sat up slightly to face him in turn.
He was greeted by Tim’s other hand cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss that made Jonny’s head spin worse than the whiskey. Tim’s lips were warm and tasted of alcohol. His beard was surprisingly soft.
Lavender, Jonny realized. His hair smelled like peppermint and lavender.
Tim pulled away, and Jonny stared at him, for once at a loss for words.
“You okay?” Tim asked, tilting his head unsteadily.
“Oh, yeah,” Jonny croaked. “Just surprised.”
“Sorry. Should I not have–?”
“No! No, it’s fine, I think…” Jonny blinked, and the room swam in front of his eyes. “Do you normally kiss your friends when you drink?”
Tim laughed. “Yeah, I guess I do. I’m a bit of an affectionate drunk.”
“Oh.” For some reason, that wasn’t the answer Jonny had been hoping for. “Well, like I said, I probably won’t remember this, so I won’t hold it against you.”
“That’s… good, I think?” Tim said. He frowned like he was having a hard time stringing words together.
“Yeah. ‘s good,” Jonny said, nodding repeatedly. “No harm done.”
He combed his fingers briefly through Tim’s hair as he stared at him. “It’s good,” he said again. “I’m going… I’m going to sleep now.”
“Oh!” Tim said, clearly surprised. “Suppose it is quite late.”
Jonny stood up, swaying slightly. “Yeah. G’night, Tim.”
“Good night, Jonny,” Tim said. He stared after him as Jonny stumbled out of the room and down the corridor.
The lights seemed wavy and strange as Jonny found his way to his quarters and pushed his way inside.
“Hope I don’t remember this,” Jonny mumbled as he collapsed on his bed, bothering only to kick off his boots. “If I do, I am completely fucked.”