Shaun contemplated the olive in his drink. Or at least tried to through the swampy concoction in his glass. Were there supposed to be ice chips floating in a martini? He took a cautious sip.
“Good god this is absolutely dreadful!” he spat out, looking much like a cat attempting to bring up a hairball. The unrelenting bitterness of far too much vermouth nearly burned a hole in his tongue. “I thought you were supposed to be a bartender!”
Desmond answered with a raspberry, sliding onto the couch beside him. “At a brewpub! I haven’t touched a back bar in like… ever! No pink fruity crap, no mocha-choco-bullshit-tinis.” He cradled the pint glass in his hands like a baby. “Beer, beer and more beer was what I was good at. Tell me what flavors you like and I find a brew that you'll love.”
“Really?” Shaun didn’t bother masking his disbelief.
“Yes 'really',” Desmond taunted with a hideous accent that sounded like it came from a Disney film rather than anything that ever came out of a true Englishman’s mouth. With a whole lot of smug satisfaction, the idiot paused to take a sip of his beer. "Try me."
Oh that was it. That was completely over the top. Desmond looked like the cat who’d got the cream, nearly purring as he cleared the line of foam he’d left clinging to his own lip with a flash of tongue.
“C..can’t be any worse than this rubbish," Shaun finally answered after an expectant look from the younger man made him realize that he hadn’t answered in far too long.
"Good. Tell me what flavors you like. For example, light or dark?"
"Depends on my mood."
This got a curt laugh. "No surprise there. Let’s see, sweet or not sweet?"
Shaun scowled at his own admission. "Sweet."
Desmond raised an appraising eyebrow. "Interesting.” The word rolled out of his mouth like he’d just taken a drag off of a cigarette.
They sat there for moments much longer than absolutely necessary, Desmond’s eyes flashing warmly as he studied the man before him.
“Ooh, I’ve got one that’s perfect for you.” The younger man dashed to the kitchen to rummage through his stash. There was the rustle of a drawer and some cabinets before he reappeared with his prize.
“You’ll like this,” he said, passing a full glass to Shaun. “Complex but not too busy. Some caramel notes, with some mild citrusy hops. Medium bodied. A bonus is that the alcohol content says this beer don’t fuck around.”
Shaun took a sip and tried to hide his surprise. It was delicious. Aromatic and flavorful, it went down smoothly.
“What’s it called?” he asked, admiring its copper color.
The cheeky arsehole was all innocence. “The Double Bastard.”
They went through one bottle- Desmond called the twenty two ounce size a ‘bomber’- then another as the bartender dazzled Shaun with an insane amount of beer aptitude.
It was somewhere in the middle of their fourth one that things got out of hand.
“Then there’s good head. Ohhh man, there’ss ssso much that can be ssaid about good head!” Desmond slurred enthusiastically, long legs deliciously sprawled out before him. “It’s all about the angles of how you handle things, the textures you get with each one- ya gotta make good head last for the best mouthfeel.” He seemed to wait for Shaun to be in the midst of another sip before adding “But I guess that goes for more than just beer, huh?”
Shaun sputtered, discovering that shooting beer out of one’s nose was not particularly pleasant no matter how drunk you happened to be.
“Fuck! You okay?” Desmond was dabbing at the other man’s trousers with a napkin, trying to sop up what had been spilled and failing miserably in the spectacular fashion reserved for those who were thought they were far more sober than they actually were.
“You trying to kill me?!? S-suh- stop!” Shaun fought against any more ‘help’, horrified at the massive twitch his body made at each gentle touch. “Stop it!” he bellowed while stifling a laugh.
“I don’t believe it!” Desmond made an experimental pass just below the other man’s ribs. The spastic jump and small hiccup confirmed his suspicions. ‘You’re ticklish!”
“Fuck you!” was the only thing Shaun could think to say before the younger man was on him.
“God damn, this is like Christmas and my birthday all wrapped in one!” Desmond hollered, making the other man dance under his hands without mercy.
It couldn’t be helped. The alcohol, the too close to intimate touches after another long night of longing and Shaun felt himself start to harden under the onslaught. He curled in, not drunk enough to want to expose himself, literally or figuratively.
Fool that he was. All it did was double Desmond’s persistence.
“Who knew? It’s always the quiet ones!” the bartender yelled, using his bigger bulk to pin the helpless man to the couch. “Or in your case, the not so quiet ones!”
Shaun went very still as a questing hand passed just over the head of his cock.
“What the-“ Desmond yielded a little in surprise.
Oh boy. Here it comes. The Englishman tried to steel himself for it. Fairy. Nancy. Queer. The last thing he expected was…
Desmond dropped to his knees between Shaun’s parted legs. “Is that for me?” the younger man asked almost in awe. “Shit, it is my birthday!”
Shaun tried to remember how to breathe as the man left sloppy kisses through the fabric all around his cock.
He hadn’t realized he had said anything out loud until Desmond froze, a slightly more alert look of worry on his face with his hand already half way down the front of Shaun’s trousers.
“Uh, maybe I should have asked this a little sooner but uh…are you okay with thi-”
“If you stop right now I shall eviscerate you with a letter opener and dance on your entrails!”
A hint of mischief peeked out from behind Desmond’s long eyelashes. “So, is that a yes?“
“Suck me, you infuriating idiot!”
There was little coherent thought left to make further comments. Though at some point in the future Shaun would only grudgingly admit there was little cause for complaint.