and now a Carpe Brewski Chapter Ten preview!
[I'm so sorry this chapter is taking so long, you guys! Here, have the opening scene; I swear I'm working to get it out to you ASAP. <3]
The next morning dawns bright and clear, with the sound of birds singing overhead.
Or, at least, that is what Charles imagines the next morning dawns like; that is what mornings tend to do. He wakes up at 11:15, hangover leeching violently down from his brain to infect every part of his body, to the sound of Scott banging open the door.
"Dude," he says, "the landlord--" and then there is a long pause.
It's a long enough pause that Charles can take in the fact that yes, he is very naked and yes, his mouth tastes like old socks and yes, Erik is still next to him, the covers kicked down somewhere around their feet. Charles has a vague memory of what he believes was four in the morning, of Erik shifting, bare skin on bare skin, long enough to say, "Fuck, 's hot," and throw the comforter away from them.
He knows how he ended up in this position, but it doesn't really help as Scott makes a terrible face and says, "Oh, dude."
"Dude," Scott repeats, his tones scandalized, "oh my god, I just--I--put a sock on the fucking door or something, Jesus, there are rules, there is a system--oh, god, that is so much more of either one of you than I ever wanted to see."
Next to him, Erik yawns and stirs, and there is a soft, tender part of Charles that wants to ignore Scott making gagging motions in his peripheral vision. He yearns to focus entirely on Erik's bedhead and the pillow crease on his cheek, on the fact that he has yet to shriek, fall out of bed, and smack him in the face while saying something like "Egads, man penis, man penis!!!" and running from the room.
Charles is aware that this is not entirely logical; for one thing, it's not like he's ever heard Erik say the word egads. It's early; these things can't be helped.
"The fuck is he yelling about?" Erik mutters, voice rasping with exhaustion. "'S like…hours. Early. So loud, aw, fuck, my head."
"I know," Charles says, "me too, 'm sorry--"
"Oh my god," says Scott, "can you seriously, I mean, Jesus Christ, is this really the time for sweet fucking nothings and shit--why am I still in this room. Why am I still in this room with your dicks--"
"Aren't you, like," Erik makes a smacking noise with his mouth, scrubs at the side of his face, "I mean, like, I think I should be embarrassed and shit, but 'm pretty sure you're fucking Logan, so…"
"I am not," Scott starts hotly, and then…stops.
"Riiiiight," says Erik, "uh-huh, that's good, can you like--not be here anymore?"
"Socks," says Scott, backing away, "socks, on the--on the door, okay, I'ma take this one right here and I'm, I'm gonna hang it for you because that's the kind of--that's the kind of, of citizen. That I am. Oh, Jesus, my fucking eyes."
He shuts the door behind him--loudly, Charles thinks, wincing--and vanishes, leaving only an air of horrified shock in his wake.
"Shit," says Erik, after a minute.
"So you think everybody…heard that?"
"Well," says Charles, "on the one hand, it was deafening, but on the other hand I think everything seems louder to--I mean maybe he'll be, uh, discreet--"
From the next room, there is a sharp, sudden barking sound that is unmistakably Logan's laugh. It goes on for far longer than necessary, and Erik groans into Charles' shoulder, whole body angling towards him.
"Can we," he says, "I mean...later?"
"Later would be better," Charles agrees, putting a tentative hand on Erik's back. "While we're here, though...this isn't. Ah. This isn't going to be…"
"This isn't gonna be what," Erik mutters around another yawn. "Is it gonna be coffee? It's awesome if it's gonna be coffee, otherwise it's gonna be sleep."
"I just meant," says Charles, "you're not--I mean a big, y'know…heterosexual…thing?"
"Because I mean," says Charles hastily, "I mean, if it's not good for you to be--here--I'm very, I mean, but you could, if you wanted, you could--I mean I don't want you to go, but if you wanted to go you could…um….go?"
"I'm gonna pretend," Erik says, "that I even like, a little bit understood that, and just like. Uh. Tell you to shut up? Because dude, seriously, being awake is not in the game plan and also what the fuck, go where?"
"Oh," says Charles. He smiles up at the ceiling, hard enough that he feels the edges of his lips crack--and really that's the hangover, dehydration being what it is, Charles is pretty sure that if he wasn't so fucking happy he'd be violently sick all over the floor--and lets himself curl in a little closer to Erik. "Okay, then."
"Seriously," says Erik, "later, sleep now, thoughts hurt."
"Alright," says Charles, "that's--yeah, okay," and doesn't have time to think anything else before he passes out.
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