“You’re texting me from the driveway?” Matt couldn’t help but say it out loud. He wasn’t sure what part was more surprising. The fact that John was texting at all, or his professed location.
Speaking of surprises, this whole night had been kind of a new experience for him.
Matt figured this happened to everybody at some point – the first time someone you’re sharing a bed with makes plans to be somewhere you aren’t. He hadn’t even put much thought into it last week, when John first mentioned that he might be out late-ish tonight with ‘just the guys’ from work. But the odd fact was, that as the evening grew closer, Matt had found weird little doubt-things slipping in past his mental firewall all week.
They hadn’t been doing this long enough for Matt to invite himself along, and it was going to be all cops anyway, so it’s not even like he could fool himself into thinking he wanted to go.
He wasn’t even sure what his issue was, anyway. John was more than capable of taking care of himself, and he knew John was always meticulously careful about drinking when he was at home.
But then tonight was Joe’s birthday, and it was sort of a special occasion.
And, come on.
Matt knew John’s charms first hand. He’d seen the way women throw themselves at him – it was like an all-ages free-for-all, it was actually sort of frightening – and, whatever Matt could say for what his own charm might have to offer, John liked girls. Preferred them, probably, was the truth of the matter, no matter what Matt had been teaching him about the joys of guy-on-guy lately— and oh, God, Matt didn’t even want to think about the whole new realm of possibility there. Because John also – whether he would admit it or not – liked to flirt.
It wasn’t like there was any reason for him not to, come to think of it. Their relationship wasn’t defined as anything yet per se. Still, Matt was reasonably sure John wasn’t going to just up and bring somebody else home to where Matt was camped out on the couch with his phone flipped open and his game of Grand Theft Auto left on pause – totally not waiting up for John, by the way.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust John or anything, but Matt couldn’t help it. He was worried.
Especially considering the texts.
-probably head home soon. what aer you upto? 12:02 am
-not watching porn and eating rolo ice cream in the nude, that’s for sure. take your time. 12:02 am
-l;ksdmo7u so mcuh 1:43 am
-what? where r u? 1:44 am
Just as Matt was re-reading the last message for probably the sixteen million, four thousand and twenty-third time, and wondering about the protocols of calling in a missing persons on a member of the force, his phone buzzed again in his hand. He blinked down at his screen a moment, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from sleep deprivation, or the mass quantities of Red Bull he’d had – totally not, kinda completely, absolutely waiting up for John.
-rdivewyay .\ 2:16 am
Nope, not hallucinating. Shit. Matt got up and went to the door, hoping like hell John was talking about their driveway.
John was in their driveway all right. In fact from the way he stumbled across the threshold when Matt turned the knob, it was reasonably likely he’d been leaning on their door. Matt didn’t want to know how long.
He couldn’t really ask, with a sudden armful of leather and detective, anyway.
“Oof, you weigh a ton. Whoa. …Hi.”
“Hhai,” John slurred, happily, when he’d righted himself enough to sway gently up against the hallway wall.
“How was the bar?” Like Matt couldn’t tell. He didn’t even bother to hide his smirk, as he took John’s phone out of his hand and placed it on the little table by the door.
“Terrible.” John grinned. “Drank too— maybe a biiiit too much.” With this, John started to laugh. Okay, what he was doing might actually be classified as a ‘giggle’. “Hadda switch to whiskey. Told ‘em, I said, draft beer my ass. My boyfriend’s jizz tastes better ‘n that shit.”
“You told them that huh?” Oh, sweet Lord of the Rings, it was worse than he’d feared.
“It did!” Here, John got very serious. “I like yer jizz, Matty. Tastes…kinda fruity sometimes. …Heh. Fruity. Whoa.”
John swayed forward into him again, but this time Matt was ready for it.
“This,” Matt grunted, getting an arm under John’s and wrapping it around his waist, “is why I don’t drink. Ooh. Okay. Let’s get you upstairs.”
“Thass the best idea I had all night.”
“I thought of it.” Why was he arguing with a drunk? Frack.
“Nahbut, I thought of it too. Alllll night,” John informed him, sloppily, leaning heavily into him and pushing his nose into Matt’s hair.
And Matt was so not grinning from ear to ear like a monumental dork. And even if he was, John would never know it, with his face pressed into Matt’s neck like that, warm and rough and pleasantly reassuring.
“Missed you,” John told him, mouth moist against his skin, and Matt knew damn well what that was supposed to mean.
“Please,” he said, urging John forward. “You couldn’t get it up right now if I had Claudia Schiffer and half the cast of Bonanza up there.”
Apparently John took that as a challenge, because the clumsy nuzzling stopped and the arm that wasn’t draped over Matt’s shoulders moved so that uncoordinated fingers could start to fumble at John’s belt buckle.
“Good luck with that.” Matt moved them a few steps closer to the stairs.
John’s pants were the least of their worries. Matt would be happy if they managed to get his shoes off before he passed out and completely took over their bed in a broad sprawl of heavy limbs and hot whiskey breath.
In the morning, John will tear the medicine cabinet apart looking for aspirin. He will wave off Matt’s suggestion that he call in sick, and answer with a non-committal grunt in response to Matt’s tentative, but kind of important, question as to whether or not he happens to remember outing himself to a pack of cops over a pint of shitty draft.
But one too-long shower and several cups of coffee later, John looks more or less like John again, so Matt figures he probably doesn’t have too much to worry about. After all, they say when the drinks start flowing is when the truth comes out.
…Boyfriend, John had said.
He’s almost a little annoyed he didn’t think of trying this on John himself, ages ago.
Now at least he figures that if a little draft beer is going to loosen John’s tongue that much, the thought of anybody getting the wrong idea about John’s availability next time he decides to hit the bars with just the guys from work, will be one less cause for concern.
Although if the grateful way John kisses him on his way out the door for finding the aspirin bottle in the bedside table is any indication…Matt suspects the next ‘outing’ might be a little while off anyway.