CAUGHT UP // 001
WHO: Griffin x Jamie x Thomas WHERE: The apartment. TW/NOTES: Nsfw. Griff and Tommy-boy come home early from the bar thanks to Griffin’s heavy drinking, and catch Jamie in the act with some dude. Things get heated and not in the fun way, and they end up a little worse for wear.
JAMIE ::
"My place doesn't work." Those four fateful words would normally leave Jamie shrugging and moving on to the next guy. It was a night out, after all, and he didn't have to take home the first hot guy he found. But this one was so hot. Taller than him, but just slightly. Bright blue eyes and a come and get me grin. Maybe it was more the attitude than the looks, and maybe James had downed one too many gold rushes. Maybe it was the fact that it was the beginning of summer, and hot was taking on multiple meanings here. James couldn't put his finger on what the hell it was that made him say these bolds words, but he heard himself saying them all the same. "Let's go back to my place." A husky whisper in the other guy's ear, and the two of them tumbled out of the club and into a cab.
Jamie lost his shirt at the front door, a solid thud echoing through the place as he was backed against it, and then a moan as his hookup- David? Daniel? kissed along his neck, his hands moving lower. "Don't leave a mark." He was already living dangerously. Odds were that Thomas and Griffin wouldn't randomly end up coming back home, but you could never be too careful. Now that he'd gotten that one stipulation out of the way, it was all too easy to let go and focus on the feelings. This would only ever happen once, and since he was already damned anyway, he might as well make the most of it.
More clothes were shed as they made their way to a bedroom. He didn't stop to shut the door, his hands too busy roaming Daryl's body to think of such a mundane detail. He didn't need to prepare himself much before he situated himself on top, sinking down onto the beautiful man's cock and thoroughly enjoying the view. He was close when everything went south. It was nice, having the place to himself, not needing to bother with being quiet. He was breathing hard by this point, choosing expletives that he wouldn't be caught dead saying in church instead of accidentally moaning the wrong name.
GRIFFIN ::
Getting kicked out of a bar was not new for Griffin Rollins, but getting kicked out just after nine o’clock was impressive. Or embarrassing, if he had any shame left, but he didn’t seem to, not with the way Thomas’ lecture was just rolling off his back. He could probably recite the speech back to him at this point - y’know, when he could string a sentence together without slurring. It probably meant something that the barkeep knew to call Thomas - his roommate, yes; his buddy, sure; but decidedly not a loved one, not his significant other - but that was the nice thing about being this hammered: Griffin could blissfully ignore all the flashing neon signs from the universe that he was, in fact, still a fuck-up.
That same universe was spinning by the time the men reached their front door, the dark-haired one making a valiant effort to retrieve his keys only for his hand to be impatiently batted away. As they stepped into their place, Griffin moaned out a curse - or, he thought he did, but it didn’t sound like himself. And it was coming from the wrong direction.
His eyes flashed over to Thomas’ face, trying to decipher what the fuck was going on, and he looked as far from happy as he had when he’d showed up at the bar, but now the daggers weren’t being directing at Griffin. The blonde was looking past him, and it took a carefully-executed turn to discover what he was looking at: a naked hottie riding a cock in Pearson’s bed. Griffin’s liquor-fogged mind took what felt like an eon to realize that was bad, for two reasons. 1) The naked hottie was not Thomas’ sister, and 2) The naked hottie was Pearson.
Griffin’s fingers immediately fisted in the front of Thomas’ shirt, partially in an attempt to keep him exactly where he was, and partially to keep himself upright. “Hey, hey, Tommy, hey -”
THOMAS ::
Getting the call shouldn’t have come as any sort of surprise. After all, Thomas took more phone calls regarding Griffin’s health and well-being than he’s sure Griffin’s own mother ever took. Picked him up from enough bars, enough gutters, even football practice when they were teens and his mom conveniently ‘forgot’ him at the school. Typically, Thomas wore the eternal baby-sitter badge like a medal of honor - used it to badger and annoy Griffin into some semblance of shame when he was even a modicum of sober. Now though, when Thomas himself had been getting his feet wet at the bar, a young brunette with too dark lipstick and overly straightened hair, but big enough breasts to be worth his effort practically hanging off of his arm - now it was annoying.
Even when it was more tolerable, Thomas didn’t let Griffin think otherwise anyway, but still. The point still stands, he thought, staring at the doors of a crusty old bar that screamed ‘burn your clothes when you leave here’ and definitely had enough bikers and hookers outside to make your grandmother faint on impact. Convincing the bouncer to not knock his friend’s head in was simple enough, it was actually the waitress whom Griffin palmed on the way out that seemed to cause the most trouble - and by the time they were on the way back to the apartment, drunken hands pulling at the collar of Thomas’ shirt (and stretching out the goddamned hole), Thomas had almost begun his ranting on auto pilot.
A little, “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? Like a fucking gutter rat. What the fuck were you drinking anyway? You smell like fucking paint-thinner --” The words died on Thomas’ lips, cheeks, ears and chest heating in a way that would make him worry that he’s finally going six feet under (and maybe he is, if his blood pressure could go any higher), and it reminded him of the time he got incredibly crossfaded at Brittany Deering’s party back in 10th grade and blacked out in her bathtub for a few hours, barely avoiding being puked and pissed on by fellow students in the same position as him. It took him entirely too quickly, Thomas’ body moving on its own accord, Griffin’s hands pawing at him like a cheap stripper, and Pearson’s wide open door looked like a gateway to Heaven, or at the very least a convenience store with the automatic slider-doors jammed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thomas’ voice didn’t sound like his own, but he supposed that it was difficult to even hear properly with all of the blood rushing through his ears, “I will kill you.” The thump in his chest had nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was clearly cheating on his sister with some...some fruity weirdo with floppy hair and stupidly blue eyes, but he was bound and determined to ignore that little fact - ignore the voice that said just tell him already and instead, encouraged the one that said, he’s got a nice neck for strangling.
“This is what you do when we’re not here? Fool around with discount Matthew McConaughey?” It definitely wasn’t a snarl, if you asked Thomas, but the clenching fist at his side, the one not hanging onto Griffin’s half-dead body, promised something lethal.
JAMIE ::
“Fuuuuck-“ turned into “Oh, fuck” entirely too quickly for Jamie’s liking. He was off that dick quicker than he’d moved in a long time. Hastily looking over his shoulder and seeing Thomas’ face twisted in rage should have killed his hard on in an instant, but it didn’t. He’d blame that on how hot Damon was and how far along into their hookup they’d been. “Fuck off Thomas, you two were supposed to be out, anyway!” He stepped into his underwear quickly, pulling on a pair of pants hastily as well. “What the fuck?” Danny was dazed, understandably confused that all of the sudden their hookup for two was now a foursome. Then, “Is that your boyfriend?”
“No!” James replied immediately, forcing a look of disgust at the mere thought of it. Or at least, his best attempt. “You need to go.” There was no salvaging this hookup, unfortunately, and he was just glad that he’d managed to make it to his own room so sweatpants were readily available. Damian had apparently gotten the point and was quickly getting redressed as well. Thomas was still mad, and honestly it was probably best to just let him be mad instead of trying to placate him. Trying that would only make it worse. Nah, he was gonna let the anger run its course and then let it go. But then it hit him, and all the color drained from his face. “You can’t tell her.” The thought of that happening made him want to throw up, and he moved a little closer, eyes wide and a little scared even as he tried to hide it. “It was nothing. Just blowing off some steam, and it doesn’t even count, you wouldn’t have known because you two were supposed to be out!” His gaze turned accusingly to Griffin for a second, and it didn’t take long to piece together what had happened. “And besides, Griffin is drunk, clearly we have bigger problems to worry about.” Yeah, pull focus. Dawson could sneak out while the two of them had a serious talk with Griffin about substance use. Jamie’s gaze flashed to Griffin again. He couldn’t decide which one of them to look at at this point. Griffin was most likely to take his side here, so he probably shouldn’t have just thrown him under the bus.
GRIFFIN ::
Griffin managed a small, two-finger salute to Jamie’s date as he passed by, clothing in his arms - or maybe it looked like he was putting a gun to his own temple, which also seemed applicable. His eyes followed the stranger’s naked ass until it disappeared into the bathroom, just in time to detect his name tumbling into this shitshow. “‘m always drunk,” he shot back in what he genuinely believed to be a solid defense. “Dsn’t count.”
God, he just wanted to be on a horizontal surface, even if it was Jamie’s bed of iniquity, and he considered making a move toward it until his last brain cell insisted that his deadweight was likely the only thing keeping Thomas anchored in place. If he could just defuse this disaster of a situation, he knew the blonde would get him into his own bed. Or the couch. Or at least onto the kitchen floor with a towel for a blanket.
“Tommy, Tommy, TommyTommyTommy, listen ... listen t’ me ... your sisterdsn’t have a dick!” he offered, finally releasing the other man’s shirt in order to wave his hands in a messy what’re-ya-gonna-do gesture. By his incredibly flawed, alcoholic logic, if Pearson wanted to fuck a dude - and understandably so, dudes being as hot as they were - he couldn’t go to Thomas’ sister. No harm, no ... whatever.
THOMAS ::
Thomas steadily ignored his own feline-reminiscent hiss as Hunky Brewster walk-of-shame’d his way out of their apartment, passing it off as some sort of controlling his temper, or silently letting out a prayer to the God he didn’t believe in but heard enough about from Jamie. The heat turned to ice in the pit of his glorious, god-like abdomen after every single ‘Tommy’ that left his friend’s mouth, “Griff, shut your fucking mouth -- and you,” He practically spit, pulling both himself and Griffin closer to the blonde in the bedroom like a boat and a buoy toward the middle of a storm, “It’s not cheeeeeeating as long as you don’t get caaaaught.” Thomas mocked his friend as the storm seemed to settle inside of his own chest, thunder and lightning begging to be let out through some sort of violence.
“I’m going to kick your ass - and then, I’m going to call my sister, and she’s going to come over here and kick your ass, you stupid, useless moron.” The dark feelings seemed to bubble and burst all in one quick second, and if Thomas could have taken a breath and really looked at the situation for what it was, and the jealousy that seemed to eat at him, the conflict likely could have been avoided. But the thick stench of sweat and alcohol from Griffin, and the same aroma from Jamie’s room seemed to override any sort of consideration that Thomas could have provided. And with that, he dropped Griffin like a sack of fucking potatoes and darted for Jamie’s face, hissing when his hit landed. Thomas was too busy cradling his knuckles to know if he’d even hit his damned target, but the swelling would be worth it if he’d gotten to cause Jamie some sort of agony he’d have to live for the next few days too. Once the blind rage passed and Thomas was left shaking, clutching his wrist like grandmother’s prized fucking pearls, he finally bit words for Griffin instead, “I don’t care that my sister doesn’t have a goddamned dick - she’s - he spouts all of this holier-than-thou bullshit that he doesn’t even follow! He just committed sodomized, pre-marital sex! And he wasn’t even on top!”
The words felt hysterical, and the laughter that left Thomas wasn’t one filled with any sort of joy; it was hollow and empty, or maybe not empty, but only filled with envy and anger. He darted for Jamie again, hissing between his teeth.
JAMIE ::
James wasn’t sure when he realized that there wouldn’t be any coming back from this. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Thomas this pissed, and that was saying something. Hell, in the past, he’d helped talk Thomas down from being this pissed at someone else. Now the fury was totally directed at him, and he fought the instinct to move back as Thomas dragged himself and Griffin closer. He wasn’t a coward. “It’s not cheating if I don’t even know his name!” It was. It absolutely was, but he’d learned from the best how to navigate with a broken moral compass. This was quite literally a situation of how what someone didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He’d done this for years, from hurried hookups behind the bleachers to an empty dugout, sneaking out at midnight and meeting someone he’d used to go to Sunday school with. It was a sin, sure, but he wasn’t gay. He went to confession after every incidence, and he was forgiven. It was just that simple.
“Don’t,” he warned, his expression going from worried to murderous. “Tell her, Thomas, and I swear to God.” Might as well add taking the Lord’s name in vain. Today couldn’t possibly be any worse. In that moment, the bubble burst. It occurred to him briefly that Thomas could have set Griffin down nicely, but then it was too late as he felt pain exploding across his cheek. Thomas packed a pretty decent punch, even if he didn’t much look like it. For the moment, he resigned himself to it, didn’t hit back even though his fist balled up by his side and he wanted to. He’d stumbled back after the initial punch, but he regained his footing. And then Thomas was talking again, listing off all the big sins, sins that were meant to be kept in private, in the confessional booth, just him and the priest. That alone made him itch with rage, but he held back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he didn’t really want to hurt Thomas. But then he laughed and it all went to hell. He surged forward at the same time Thomas did, and they collided. “Fuck. You!” He threw the next punch, hoping to land a matching shiner, putting his full force behind it. He didn’t care anymore. “It doesn’t count as pre-marital,” he growled, “if it’s not a possibility to marry.” He still couldn’t make himself use the right pronoun.
GRIFFIN ::
Now, granted, he had been wanting to lie down, but hurtling to the hardwood without any warning hadn’t exactly been ideal. Griffin laid there, still more or less grateful to be off his feet, listening to an argument that probably would have seemed a fuckton more intense if it hadn’t sounded so underwater. He even missed the first punch, arm thrown over his eyes as he willed the room to knock it off with the spinning - but he did here the telltale sound of two bodies colliding, and forced himself up onto his elbows. And then onto his knees. And then onto his feet.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey -“ The man had exactly one word in his vocabulary at the moment, which he repeated as he stumbled over to a mound of limbs made up of his two best friends. He was already pushing it, with the walking, but the attempt to pull one of the guys off the other almost knocked him right back of his feet. He survived, though - until a rogue fist that may or may not have been meant for him caught him right in the gut. He reeled back, taking one, two, three steps towards the door before doubling-over and vomiting in the corner of Jamie’s room.
Well, it had been inevitable. At least now that part of the night was over. “HEY.” There he was. Still just as unsteady on his feet, but with renewed frustration, Griffin threw himself back into the mix.
THOMAS ::
"You probably wish you could! I'm pretty fantastic!" Thomas screamed over the man, attempting to shove Jamie, and petulantly ignoring Griffin until the guy practically took an arrow for him, projectile vomiting in the same space as them. "Nice fucking job - punching the fucking drunk. Want to talk to God about that too? You like things in your ass and you hit your best friend!"
Griffin managed to get between them and Thomas couldn't help the muttered, "You fucking reek, dude-" that left him, his arm reaching out to swing wildly at Jamie over the other man's shoulder. How ridiculous, they must have looked, three grown men throwing punches and shouting expletives at one another in the middle of the night. If the neighbors banging on the wall were anything to go by, they probably agreed with him.
"Don't touch me - don't you fucking," Thomas hissed as a spare slap managed to get him right in the nose, rust immediately dripping over the bottom portion of his face, "I'm going to tell her so fucking hard, you son of a bitch," He whined around the hand cupping his nose and mouth, practically shielding himself with Griffin's larger body. "I can't stand you two - I - it smells like shit in here," The babbling continued, even though he really couldn't smell anything with his nose full of blood clots.
JAMIE ::
“I was on top!” Jamie insisted, shoving back at Thomas. He really hadn’t intended to punch Griffin, but he was the one who’d ended up throwing himself in between the two of them. What did he think was going to happen. “I was aiming for you, asshole!” His blood was really boiling right now, and Jesus, how had this night managed to go so horribly wrong? It had started out hot and fun and devolved into, well, whatever this shit show was.
“Oh, come on,” he groaned as he heard Griffin lose his dinner in the corner of his room. Add that to the list of shit that he didn’t want to deal with. He’d be cleaning it up, of course, because Griffin clearly wasn’t in any state to, and he didn’t want his room to smell like puke while he waited for Griffin to sober up and handle it. The one last slap was admittedly satisfying, but he had to calm down. He had bigger problems on his hands. He had to convince Thomas not to tell her.
It occurred to him way too quickly what he had to do, the only way he was going to appeal to Thomas’ sense of reason. “Fine!” He shouted numbly. “Tell her. But who else do you think is going to be with her? We break up, she ends up an old fucking spinster for the rest of her life. Is that what you want for her? Huh?” He gave one more shove to prove his point. “You tell her, and you break her fucking heart. And for what? Because I’m getting a little on the side that she can’t give me? I’m the perfect boyfriend, Thomas. She won’t get better than me, and you know it.”
GRIFFIN ::
Somehow managing to dodge what could have been a really unfortunate elbow, Griffin was perfectly content with standing between his roommates now that things had boiled over and resolved into a simmer; still hot, still able to burn, but not quite as active. The shouting, he was pretty desensitized to. Between the three of them, someone was perpetually shouting at the other two, or two were shouting at each other, or two were shouting at one (he was usually the one, and he was usually inebriated). It was a special occasion when the trio were all shouting, though, which is normally what got the neighbors involved. Griffin reached over to land his fist on the wall three or four times, acknowledging their neighbor’s participation.
His back was turned to Thomas, who, though taller, was probably less of a real physical threat. As a result, he missed the bloody nose, but he did catch sight of Jamie’s split lip and the scarlet mark that was going to bloom into one hell of a bruise. “Better tell ‘er ya got mugged,” he suggested, finally throwing over a glance over his shoulder to survey the damage that was Thomas’ face. “Botha you. Ah, fuck, are you bleedinon my shirt?!”
Griffin was quiet for the rest of Jamie’s tirade, mostly because this was not his fight, but also because he was on both of their sides, so far as thinking the other was a royal fucking asshole. Kate was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he didn’t love the idea of her getting fucked over, but he would have been smart enough to not let an asshole like James anywhere near her to start with. And furthermore, he’d mean what he’d said, inarticulate as it may have been; monogamy was a societal construct, sexuality was a spectrum, and this was probably the best case scenario for both of them, really. Kate got to seriously level up in the boyfriend department, and Jamie got a doting woman on his arm for the sake of appearances.
“I think,” he opined on a big sigh, running a hand through his hair as though he was going to lay down some actual wisdom - but that wasn’t his brand. “I think that we should get nachos.”
THOMAS ::
Clicking his tongue, Thomas swished the copper around in his mouth, glaring daggers at his roommate. He probably looked like he'd been bobbing for apples in fake blood at this point, but it felt oddly satisfying to look a little deranged compared to his normal well-kempt state. "Should I let her be with a cheater and a liar anyway? Yeah, real fucking smart, asshole --" Even with Griffin's knocking effectively breaking the tension, the neighbors yelling back through the wall, there was something still boiling under the surface.
Something volatile, something that went by the name Jade.
"You don't need any nachos," He murmured, somewhat numb, yet manic. Auto-pilot had taken over, his palm running over his face, and Thomas wiped the mess on the back of Griffin's shirt. Eyes never leaving Jamie's, Thomas slowly slipped forward face impassive, blank. "One more thing," Oddly calm, Thomas reached out with a gentle, blood-smeared hand and laid the palm of it on Jamie's shoulder. He let the moment settle, let the silence take over for a moment, until it was bordering on confusing, before throwing himself forward and headbutting the man in turn, immediate pain blossoming behind his forehead, and spraying them both with his now-unclotted nose. "Bitch," he snarled under the waterfall of blood, before groaning and taking a hasty step back toward his drunken friend, ready to use him as a shield again if need be.
JAMIE ::
"Why, so you can throw 'em up in a different part of my room?" He usually had the decency to at least make it to a communal space, and yeah, James was still a little pissed that he needed to be taken home at all when the two of them had planned to be out and about for the night. It was a valiant effort, trying to get the two of them back on the same side so they could stop with the arguing, but deep down, Jamie knew this wasn't the kind of fight that Thomas would just get over. He'd fucked up, big time, and now instead of facing the music, he was doubling down. It had all seemed so innocent, harmless even, when it was just him and the flavor of the night. If what's his name that started with a D hadn't been so fucking hot, maybe this whole thing could have been avoided.
He ventured a glance at Thomas, partially hating himself for the fact that he'd messed up such a pretty face, but a small little part of himself was satisfied at the damage done. Served him right. How fucking hard would it have been to just turn around and go somewhere else for ten minutes? By that point, the hookup would have been kicked out, and they could all pretend that it had never happened. Jamie could have been blissfully ignorant, and honestly, that was one of the most underrated states a person could be in.
When Thomas put a hand on his shoulder, he tried to keep his expression neutral. As much as he hated to admit it, that hand on his shoulder had grounded him many times in the past, and its presence was all tied up with feelings of comfort and safety, feelings he definitely wasn't getting just now. Sure as shit, next came the sucker punch in the form of a headbutt, and the "Ow!" was almost equal parts pain and surprise. "Asshole!" he groaned, and he couldn't even get to him without Griff getting involved again. "Griffin, just get out of here. This is between me and him, and some of us can't take a hit." Unfortunately for him, all of the hits were starting to take a toll.
GRIFFIN ::
“Ahhrgh, God damn it,” he growled as he felt Thomas’ hand smear his bodily fluids down his back, rolling his shoulders in discomfort before yanking his shirt off, rolling it into a ball and tossing it out into the hall. At least the blonde’s shirt was just as fucked, he noticed, attention on the slightly taller man as he approached James. Good, fine, Thomas would say his final piece and then everyone could just - “Fuck!”
Before he could fully process the sudden movement and the accompanying spray of gore, Thomas has slipped behind him and he was staring down Jamie, the youngest of their dysfunctional little crew. “C’mon, Jay, jus-go lay down,” he muttered, intending to give a good-natured push to the kid’s chest, but still intoxicated enough to not know his own strength. The adrenaline he didn’t realize had been streaming through his system turned it into a fully aggressive shove, and Griffin felt the muscles in his shoulders tense as some part of him anticipated retaliation. Blue eyes flashed. “Go ta’ bed, Jamie.”
THOMAS ::
"Suck my dick, Pearson--" Dark pupils dilated at the shove, watching with intense interest. It wasn't often that Jamie and Griffin disagreed wholeheartedly, or at the very least enough to get into a physical altercation. Usually it was Thomas gravitating toward the violence, toward harsh words that stung and bit at insecurities - usually he was the flint and steel basking at either of his friends' heels.
Still, it ignited something in him, to see Griffin shove the younger man, even if unintentionally. While they all agreed to disagree at who really was whose best friend, Thomas liked to believe he was just as much of a fire as he was the glue keeping them together. "You shoved him, man," The words were weirdly tense, odd even to himself, in the quiet of the room. "You gonna take that?" Blue eyes flick to Jamie's.
JAMIE ::
For a second, he considered it. He wasn't going to just lay down, but getting himself to a different room, where they kept the cleaning supplies probably, and doing something else was probably the best way to handle this. But then he shoved him, hard, as if to make sure to drive his point home. "Seriously?" he demanded, his own gaze accusing.
"You're seriously gonna take his side? I woulda come to get you too, and then none of this would have happened." He shoved back, not knowing or caring if Thomas was close enough to catch him. "You go to bed. I have someone else's mess to clean up, as usual." The puke in the corner of the room wasn't going anywhere, after all.
GRIFFIN ::
As he stumbled back into Thomas, Griffin’s ego maintained that he never would have budged if he’d been sober. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t; really, how often was he truly sober, so there wouldn’t be exactly an opportunity to find out. If he’d been sober, he also probably wouldn’t have lunged for Jamie, taking him out at the waist and forcing him to collapse onto his own mattress. “Said, LAY DOWN,” he repeated, scrambling to straddle the man’s hips, and trying to grab at his wrists. “Enough!”
The word was paired with a death glare to Thomas, who may not have been pinned under him, but only because it was physically impossible for Griffin to sedate both of them at once. “You’re both douchebags!”
“I called you,” he muttered after a moment, still slap-fighting James for submission. “You were busy.” It was completely lost on the brunette, of course, that his current position wasn’t terribly different from the way they’d stumbled upon Jamie a few minutes before.
THOMAS ::
Despite the urge to cover his throbbing nose from any more of the crossfire, Thomas stood back from the other two men, eyes dark and irritable. Thomas was the reliable one - was the man you called when you needed someone to get you out of a mess, or pick you up at the bar on a Friday night at 9pm because you were so drunk you couldn't see straight. He was the ultimate provider, the best friend any guy could ask for. Clearly, Griffin appreciated that more than Jamie.
"Am I interrupting?" He blinked his eyelashes prettily, words mocking as they left his lips. His shirt was the only one left on, and it was...incredibly sticky at that point, if he was being honest. With a grimace, he plucked at the collar, hissing when his hand came away sore. He would be bruised and battered, and rough the following day - no amount of cover-up was going to suffice to hide the giant bowling ball of a bruise on his head, or the massive swelling of his nose. He'd talk like a fucking Lollipop Guild member for a week at this rate.
"I went to pick up this clown while you were out here blowing some guy." Thomas stuck his chin up, defiant despite the angry look sent to him by Griffin, who was oddly being the sensible one (not that Thomas would ever admit that. To anyone. Ever.)
JAMIE ::
James was honestly taken aback by Griffin's sudden lunge in his general direction. He was stupidly effective for being drunk, and Jamie wanted to be mad about it, but he was suddenly distracted by how Griffin was just on top of him like this. He blamed that on the surprise of it all as well. Griffin never would have gotten him into this position if James had seem him coming.
Ignoring the insult, he frowned when Griffin mentioned that he had called him. "Well, what the hell." He could have sworn he would have noticed a phone call from his best friend, but apparently hookup's dick game was too strong. Usually he was much more reliable than this. "Shut the fuck up, Thomas," he said, and the only reason that Griffin was still on top of him was because he didn't want to hurt him on accident. Again.
His face hurt and he wanted to either drink or take some ibuprofen or both and clean up the fucking mess that was still in the corner of his room. "Christ, get off me, Griffin." Why was he the one being restrained instead of Thomas? Thomas started this shit. He gave a considering expression before going for Griffin's ticklish spot instead, hoping the sudden distraction would give him some leeway to get out from under him and back toward his original target who couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his own damn life. "I didn't blow him, I was on fucking top!"
GRIFFIN ::
If he’d been able to read the other man’s thoughts, he probably would have chuckled, the low one that was particularly disarming when it was paired with his trademark sideways smirk. Sure, they’d blame it on the “surprise” and not the decade of running tackle drills before and after school, five days a week. Drunk as he was, muscle memory was a hell of a thing.
That, and puking up a stomach full of bourbon.
“Wash up, look like a fuckin’ horror movie,” Griffin ordered in Thomas’ general direction, not moving a muscle, not just yet. If the two of them were going to lunge at each other again, he could sit right there all night - or at least until the hazy, spinny kind of sleep that went along with being this sloshed came to claim him. “You, jus’ stop talking,” he muttered, quieter considering that James was only so far away from him. “Nobody cares ‘fya sucked a dick, Pearson.”
When he eventually slid from the younger man’s waist, Griffin moaned in relief at the feel of a mattress beneath him, bribing his body to move with the promise that if he stretched out just the slightest bit, he’d finally be able to close his eyes. “Why’s yer bed so nice?”
THOMAS ::
A flash of something dark flickered over Thomas' face, his struggle with authority desperately trying to rear its head. With a calming breath, he tried to pull that little voice inside of his head that sounded like his dumb, quack sister that reminded him about breathing exercises and adrenaline. After counting to 10, Thomas gingerly pulled his collared shirt over his head, the polo wet with moisture and a stink of dried blood. Scrunching his nose, he dropped the offending garment into Jamie's hamper, on top of clothes probably covered in some dude's jizz. "Looks like you have a roommate tonight," He pointed out helpfully, making his way toward the bathroom.
He was back a quick moment later, having procured the small cleaning caddy from under the bathroom sink, including the hand-held spot cleaner. It was uncanny, how many times they'd had to clean up 90% alcohol-vomit, and Thomas hated that he'd grown so used to it after 15-odd years of knowing these morons. "Take your shoes off, you heathen," Thomas spit at Griffin without much effort behind it, focused instead on cleaning the puddle out of the corner of Jamie's room.
After scrubbing for a few odd minutes, and one glare in Griffin's direction later, Thomas picked himself back up, knees aching with the effort of the movement. He was getting old. He stored the cleaning products back in the cabinet and found himself leaning against the doorframe when he re-entered the room. "What food do you want, Griff?" Thomas asked, placated and quiet after the fall-out of so much drama. Getting his face bashed in was a reset button, apparently. Annoying, but effective. "I'm not dealing with the whininess when you're hung over tomorrow."
JAMIE ::
"He started it," James muttered in response when Griffin told him to stop talking. It was juvenile, but he couldn't help it. This whole thing could have been avoided about six ways to Sunday. If Griffin hadn't gotten drunk, if Thomas hadn't immediately started raging about it, if he hadn't brought someone home in the first place. It was pretty clear that they were all partially to blame for this shit show, but the petty side of him wanted to be the one that ended it.
He still had no idea if Thomas was going to tell Kate, but that seemed like a problem for future Jamie. For now, he just wanted to wallow in his failed hookup. He figured that since he hadn't even gotten the chance to get off from this one, there wasn't really a need to do any sort of confessional. Jamie scoffed at Griffin's next words. God cared if he sucked a dick, which also, he hadn't. "Don't tell anyone." These words were directed at both of them, quiet, yet deeply meaningful. He didn't know what he'd do if people found out. Hell, his two best friends had just found out, and he wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.
Jamie had no idea where Thomas was going when he headed out of his room, and a part of him wondered if he was going to make that phone call. Anxiety prickled all over his body, and he had to remind himself to breathe. A moment before he was going to get up and follow him, Thomas came back with the cleaning supplies. A begrudging "Thanks," rolled off his lips as he sat up in bed to address Thomas' next words. Rolling onto his knees, he took off one shoe and tossed it out into the hallway, landing with a thunk. The other came next, tossed in the same general direction. "PB&J?" he asked Griffin, knowing that it'd be best to go for something easier on the stomach.
GRIFFIN ::
This was how the world worked for Griffin Rollins, the way it had always worked. He did what he wanted to do, it made a fucking mess, he smiled and fumbled his way into some unintentional wit, and it all ended up being taken care of ... usually by one of the two bloodied men who were currently milling around the room, no doubt accomplishing just that. He didn’t open his eyes to check. That was the way he preferred it, really; if he never fully noticed just how much other people did to save his ass time after time, he never fully needed to thank them.
“Nachooooos,” he moaned at the mention of food, knowing full well he’d likely pass out before anything that required delivery would arrive at the apartment. As it was, he was already slipping in and out of consciousness. The bed smelled like sweat and Jamie’s shampoo, the sortakinda expensive stuff he got frustrated at Griffin borrowing when his own had run out. It still came from the drug store, but from the higher shelf; not the 3-in-1 body wash bullshit that Griffin smeared through his own hair.
“Go shower,” he mumbled to both and neither of them.
THOMAS ::
With narrowed eyes, Thomas turned to retreat into the kitchen, slapping together a few hastily made sandwiches (which were still entirely too neat, cut diagonally into two separate pieces) and brought them back to the bedroom, just in time for Griffin to begin bossing him around again. "What, this isn't doing anything for you?" Thomas pointed to the bloody mess on his face, chest, and arms.
Rolling his eyes, Thomas passed Jamie the plate, their hands brushing as he released the paper to him. Always something unbreakable, when Griffin was involved. Thomas would have loved to frequently use real plates and cups, but when a bumbling, drunk idiot was constantly falling around your apartment, it was better to have something that couldn't accidentally kill you. "If anyone needs a shower here, it's you. The landlady lives 5 miles away and I'm sure she can smell you from here."
Despite his deflections, Thomas really did need a shower. His blood had become caked and sticky on his skin, drying into flakes that made him want to scratch at his skin like a mangy dog. "Just...eat." With a tired sigh, Thomas ran a bruised hand through his hair, closing his eyes for just a moment. How did he always end up back here?
:: END ::
