May I offer: Drunk Bdubs at the charity stream afterparty with Etho
It turns out that flirt-fighting with your best friend is even more fun and addicting in person than it is without a face involved, and they've indulged heavily during the whole event. The only times Etho or Bdubs are caught looking at the other without smiling stupidly is when they are in-character, pissy or teasing or professional, putting on a show for everyone and themselves.
Once they're done working, Bdubs is worn out and overstimulated. Etho's holding up better, thanks to the adrenaline, and goes easy on the drink. Bdubs doesn't. He wants to stay out, this time, so neurotoxin it is.
Over the course of the evening, he never stops sticking to Etho, but he deviates from their script more and more. First he's more touchy and less avoidant of personal topics, then he's needy and demanding attention, then he starts riling Etho up with their antics again—except that now, he's playing dirty. He's treating Etho like the spouse that's holding out on him. The innuendo crosses into sexual, repeatedly and with increasing boldness, and Etho is having a very hard time.
He can handle drunk behaviour, he can gloss over the questions that hit too close to home, play along, laugh things off, but this is still Bdubs, and he's hitting Etho's weak spot with pinpoint accuracy and an ignorance that can only be described as cruel.
The mood at the party is exuberant and loud, and Bdubs is certainly not the only one that's had a glass too many. The hermits find the guy hilarious, even more so when he's taking this joke to unprecedented levels.
"Why don't you give him a kiss, Etho, don't you see how he's pleading?"
"I think he deserves some love, don't you agree?"
"Awww, I feel so bad for Bdubs."
Bdubs' hand has come to rest on Etho's neck, tugging on a strand of hair in the nape.
"Ethooo," he drawls, and Etho can smell the red the table's been sharing nauseatingly close to his face.
Bdubs has him pinned. Etho staunchly fixates on the flimsy dried flowers that stand between their glasses, hands scrunched in the low-hanging table cloth. Then, suddenly, he hears "I'm starting to think you don't like me". It's just a bit too quiet, too vulnerable for the situation to ignore, and he turns to search the face he's been mapping out greedily over the last days.
"I d—" He doesn't get any further, nor does he get a look. Bdubs slips right into the opening he's created.
The man's wet lips take hold of Etho's like it's easy. A walk in the park. To Etho, it's more like a sled ride down a rugged hill. Scratchy stubble presses into his face; the taste is foreign, of dinner, grapes and flesh. They've had the same. The kiss stretches time, yet it's over in a breath.
When they part, Etho gasps incredulously, the crowd is howling, and Bdubs whispers "gotcha!" before he leans back in laughter.
Etho stands. "I think it's time to leave."
"I agree," Bdubs declares merrily, "perfect opportunity to end this night with you wonderful people on a high note. Take me home, Etho!"
A beat passes. Their exchange happens wordlessly. Then, Etho extends his hand, palm side up.
"Whatever you wish, honey."
