The birthday boy swore that he wouldn't let a drop of alcohol touch his lips, and Matt didn't know who to kill first, his mother for being an overprotective freak, or Jason for overhearing his sarcastic comment. It was embarrassing as hell to be celebrating his 25th birthday, and have his best friend announce to the world that he couldn't drink at his own party because he'd made a promise to his mommy. Just like that, to the too many people crammed into his small apartment, "Matt told his mommy he wouldn't let a drop of alcohol touch his lips." As if he had meant it. Even his mother had sighed and told him not to take that tone with her; she was only concerned that he shouldn't engage in binge drinking.
Not that he was a religious man, but thank god Shelley was a slutty exhibitionist who took Matt's burning red cheeks as an excuse to slither through the mocking crowd, plaster her body against Matt's, and announce that everyone had to drink for him, demonstrating by taking a hefty gulp of her beer, and giving him such a kiss that… wow, by the time she was done, she had to know that he still had his tonsils, and he was pleasantly a quarter hard.
The challenge was taken up by everyone, with varying degrees of thoroughness, as Matt was passed from person to person. Some of the girls kissed like Shelley, while others giggled into his mouth, and his geeky friends pecked him so fast that the beer dripped down his chin, and oh yeah, Chris had definitely been hiding that he was gay, because no straight guy would grind his hips against Matt's like that, all the while trying to suck his face off. Not that Matt minded. He'd never believed in being bound to one set of rules and regulations.
Many people were drinking the cheap beer that Jason had bought, but several had carried in their own beverages. Vodka, rum, Jagermeister, tequila… a sip, a mouthful, blended with different sodas and mixers, kissed into Matt's mouth until his head was swimming from the booze and the sensation of lips on his own, hands holding him, bodies brushing against his. Cool and warm, soft and firm, Matt had never known so many touches in such a short amount of time.
After he'd been kissed by everyone who had been invited to his impromptu birthday party, and a few who hadn't, he escaped into the kitchen, slumping against the refrigerator, pressing his forehead to the white metal, trying to make the world stop swirling. He felt drunk and horny, and wasn't sure if this was a great birthday party, or the most frustrating and tantalizing experience of his life.
"Hey, birthday boy."
Matt flopped over, his shoulders hitting the refrigerator, to see John McClane in his kitchen, holding a bottle of Bud. He wore a black sweater, blue jeans, and black shoes, looking casual and freaking hot, and fuck, when had he arrived? How many people had he watched kiss Matt? And why did that matter anyway? "Hey. You came."
"Yeah. I came in about halfway through." He didn't need to specify halfway through what. "Lucy had to study."
Matt flushed. "Yeah. That was… just a joke thing." He cleared his throat, trying for dignity, because something about John always made Matt want to both challenge him and live up to his absurdly retro standards. "Tell Lucy I'm sorry she couldn't make it."
"I'm glad she didn't." John prowled closer, crowding Matt against the refrigerator. "I wouldn't have wanted to watch her do this." John tilted his head back, taking a long swig from his beer, and then claimed Matt's lips with his own, and that was the perfect verb, claiming, no hesitation, no giggling, no awkwardness, just 'hi mouth, you're mine now.' John's arm was a steel band around Matt's waist, giving him no chance to escape from the full-body press, and fuck, John was hard too. This time Matt was the one grinding his hips, one leg flailing, wanting to wrap around John's hips, while John stayed still, a solid, unmovable rock of a man.
When John released him, Matt fell back, his head thunking against the refrigerator, staring at him, wishing his head was clearer so he could figure out what the hell happened. John didn't look any different, his normal bald, grizzled, macho self, not at all embarrassed to be kissing a guy.
John ran his thumb slowly over Matt's lower lip, the beer bottle brushing on his cheek. "Your lips are swollen."
"Kissing will do that."
"I've been listening to music newer than Creedence. Holly loaded a bunch of stuff to one of those MP players for me. I like that song 'I kissed a boy'."
"It's 'I kissed a girl'," Matt corrected him without thinking.
"No." John gave Matt another kiss, hard and slow, the taste of his lips and tongue even more potent without alcohol diluting their purity. "I kissed a boy. And I liked it." He tilted his head back, Adam's apple bobbing as he drank down the last of his beer. "You want more when the crowd's gone, give me a call." He prowled out of the kitchen, leaving Matt feeling wrecked, held up only by the solidness of the refrigerator.
"Hey, the old guy left," Jason said, entering the kitchen. "You okay, dude? You look weird. Like you're plastered."
"Yeah. I'm great. I'm having the best birthday ever." He patted Jason on the shoulder. "Besides, how can I be drunk? Alcohol hasn't touched my lips once."