Practice Makes Perfect - 19
the college no-magic au continues!
from the start on ao3
tags for this chapter: drugged drink, morning after, idiots with feelings, flirting
porter/morgan
Practice Makes Perfect - 19
Morgan woke up with a start, confused and with a splitting headache. “Oh shit…” he rolled and fell out of bed.
Someone was there, scooping him up and putting him back on the mattress. “Hang on,” the voice said, smooth and familiar. “You’re okay.”
Morgan held his head, like he could press the pain out of his skull. The other guy’s hand pressed over his. “Here. Drink this,” he said, a cold bottle was passed into his other hand and he took it. He drank it, not even realizing how thirsty he was until he had swallowed half of it down. “You’re okay,” the voice said again.
He knew that voice. “Porter?”
“Yeah. Good morning, sweetheart.”
Morgan winced, leaning forward to sit on his own, feet on the floor. He had no pants on. “I’m sorry… Where am I?”
Porter crouched in front of him, holding the half-empty water bottle that Morgan did not remember handing back. “You’re in my room.”
Morgan felt his stomach twist and for a second he thought he might barf. He didn’t remember anything. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I got this drunk… I… I don’t remember…” Fuck, this was bad. This was really bad. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten to this room, or how he’d ended up in Porter’s bed. He didn’t remember how they’d…
He got up, stumbling sideways but grabbing the wall, trying to propel himself toward the door. He needed to get out of there. Maybe it would come back to him? He needed to get a look at himself. “I’m sorry, I gotta go… I need to… I’m–”
“Morgan,” Porter snapped, behind him now, arm coming around him when he almost fell again. He was solid, holding him up. “You’re okay,” he said again. “But you’re also not wearing pants, and clearly distressed, so you’re not walking out of this room yet.”
Morgan cringed. He couldn’t remember what they’d done. That was so fucked up. He couldn’t tell Porter that. He nodded, clawing at his head again. “Yeah, sorry.”
Porter sighed deeply. “Stop apologizing.”
Morgan bit his lip to keep from doing it again, nodding. He was right. This was okay. He was okay. At least it was Porter. He liked Porter…he just would have liked to remember it too. And fuck, this was going to make everything so much more complicated. “Yeah. Yeah, pants.” He turned, looking around the room. He didn’t even recognize the place. Panic rose in his chest and tears pricked his eyes. Fuck! No. No crying!
Porter caught his chin, pulling his face toward his. His eyes went wide. “Why are you crying?” His panic was another punch to Morgan’s gut.
“I’m not. My head… Do you have any painkillers?”
“No.” Porter frowned. “We’ll go down and get you some food and I’ll find some–”
“No, I should go.” He needed to get home. He found his jeans slung over the arm of a chair. “Um… Thanks for… I’m sorry I was probably…” Probably what? A mess? What had he been like? What had they done? “I’ll see you around, okay?” He pulled his pants up and spotted his shoes near the door.
Porter caught his arm. “Do you… Morgan, do you think I fucked you?”
Morgan winced. He couldn’t lie to him, so he took a breath and just looked back at him. “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember. I… I hope I wasn’t…” Wasn’t what? Bad at it? Embarrassingly into it? Fuck.
Porter looked pissed.
That was fair.
Morgan touched his arms, trying to steady himself and trying to somehow bridge the damage he was doing. “I’m so sorry. I–”
“You don’t even remember but you’re apologizing to me? We didn’t have sex. I… I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”
Morgan blinked. “What?”
“Do you remember anything about last night?”
Morgan tried but came up blank, the emptiness of it hitting the pit of his stomach and making his eyes sting again.
Porter cupped his face, seeming to calm in the face of his panic. “You didn’t sleep with anyone. Nothing happened. I brought you here and you slept it off. I took off your shoes and you eventually kicked off your pants. I slept on the floor.”
Morgan blinked. “Really?”
Porter frowned. “Yes.”
Morgan exhaled hard, the relief washing over him. “Fuck. Okay. Okay.” He clawed his hair back from his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually get drunk like that–”
“You didn’t.” Porter let go of him. “Blake spiked my drink but you…” His jaw ticked, his gaze snapping away. “You drank it.”
Morgan sat down on the edge of the bed, absorbing that. “Oh.”
“I didn’t know at first and then when I found out, you weren’t easy to find…”
Morgan winced. It sounded like there was more. “What did I do?” He didn’t remember anything
“You were in Vega’s room. He was making out with you.”
Morgan was glad he’d sat down. “That psycho?” Fuck.
Porter crouched in front of him to get in his line of sight again. “I’m sorry. Nothing else happened.”
Morgan flushed, feeling hollow and uneasy, like he’d already been sick. It was a lot to take in, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
He looked around at the room, just trying to ground himself in the reality of where he was and that he was, in fact, okay.
There was a blanket on the floor where Porter must have spent the night. “You really spent the whole night in here?”
“Yes. I didn’t leave you alone. There was no one else in here,” he said, obviously thinking Morgan was still trying to confirm that nothing else had happened.
“What about the party?”
“What?”
Morgan looked at him and then huffed out a hollow laugh. “You spent the whole night babysitting me?”
-
Porter’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t thought he could be more angry or scared than he had been last night when he couldn’t find Morgan and then when he finally found him in Vega’s room. And then Morgan had woken up and wouldn’t meet his gaze. He’d been about to stagger out of his room in a haze, half-dressed and teary-eyed.
His stomach had dropped so low he thought he’d be sick when he realized Morgan actually thought they’d slept together–thought they’d fucked and then was apologizing for not remembering it.
It meant more than he was ready to process that Morgan just trusted him when he told him what had really happened. There was no reason Porter deserved that trust. They barely knew each other and he hadn’t exactly been making a good impression. But Morgan believed him.
He looked fragile and hungover, and yet he was worried Porter had missed out on the party? “Who the fuck cares about the party?” Porter snapped and then sighed, instantly worrying he’d been too harsh, but Morgan smiled.
He still looked tired, shadows under his eyes and that glassy quality still making them shine like he had just cried. “You? You basically threw it.”
“Yeah, did a great job at that,” he muttered.
Morgan frowned. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”
Porter scoffed. “You took my drink.”
“Yeah. I did.” Morgan nodded. “But it’s not my fault either.”
Porter stiffened, his gaze on him again. “I didn’t say that. It’s not–”
“I know. But you can’t blame yourself if you’re not going to blame me.”
Porter narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure that makes sense…”
“Trust me. I’m smarter than you.” Morgan smiled.
All of the air left his lungs, forcing him to smile back.
Morgan’s stomach grumbled and his shoulders hunched as if leaning into it. He pouted. “Fuck… Do you have something to eat? I feel like shit.”
Porter nodded. “Let’s go downstairs. I locked up the real food so the idiots at the party wouldn’t clean us out.”
“Am I getting your morning after treatment?” Morgan asked, a smirk back. He really had the potential to be a brat…
Porter caught his arm at the door to stop him, hesitating for a second. The other guy blinked at him, not even pulling away from his grip. The trust was really making his skin warm, sending a strange tingle down his spine. He turned Morgan slowly, to face him. “If you want the morning after treatment,” he said, reaching down slowly to button Morgan’s open jeans. The other man’s breath caught when he realized, but he didn’t stop him. He dragged the zipper up and then flicked his gaze back up to Morgan’s. His pupils were blown and his cheeks flushed. “You’re going to have to come back when your drink wasn’t spiked.”
Morgan stared back at him. They were standing so close. Porter expected him to exhale a laugh to break the tension, or say something clever and sharp and push past him to the door. Instead, the psych major gave the smallest nod, eyes moving from Porter’s to his mouth and then back up. “But you’re still going to find me breakfast today, right? Or do I have to–”
Porter groaned loudly to keep him from finishing that sentence. As much as he’d love to hear Morgan say something, anything, dirty, he did not want it in that context.
Morgan laughed like he’d known.
Porter opened the door and led him out into the hall. It was quiet, a few sleepy voices throughout the big house even though it was almost nine. When they walked by Vega’s busted door, not quite closing in the frame, Porter caught Morgan’s arm to gently move him to his other side–away from the door and the deep shadows inside. He wasn’t sure what the fallout with Vega would be, but he’d deal with it. He just knew he didn’t want Morgan anywhere near the other man.