"Drink up." Nino pours the last glugs of wine into Jean's glass and leans back in the booth, that end-of-the-night smile on his face, his arm resting easily along the back of the seat like it's curving around a lover's shoulders.
Jean raises the glass. It's a good vintage, dark and plummy, a little astringent at the back of his throat. Even sunk this far into the evening, he can still appreciate the nuance of the bouquet, even if he's not sure he could articulate it any more. He sips, aware that Nino's eyes on are on him and of very little else. The noise and lights of the bar smear together and when he puts the glass back down it tips, ringing against the table and spattering a few red drops.
Nino sets it upright. "We're done," he says, and holds his hand up for the bill.
"Mmm." Jean slides out of the booth and stands carefully. He's been drinking with Nino for so long, he's good at it now: he can navigate the room without lurching into someone, without getting turned around. He just has to launch himself and he'll follow the right path like it's a silver thread glowing in the air.
He follows the thread to the men's room and leans one hand on the wall while he pisses. It's a pleasure he doesn't take lightly, that release from pressure that goes on and on, and he's disappointed when it ends.
He opens his eyes and there's Nino at the next urinal, looking over at Jean shaking himself off. "I'll see you outside," Jean says and walks along the silver thread, out the door, onto the street.
On the edge of a pool of light from a street lamp, Jean takes out a cigarette and clicks his lighter, once, twice before it catches. He takes a drag and holds in the smoke until he feels the nicotine buzz in his head, sharper and higher than the more expansive wash of drunkenness.
He lets out the smoke in a plume and it hangs in the cool night air for a few moments. Nino comes out of the bar and they stand on the sidewalk together, not speaking, while Jean smokes the cigarette down, flicking ash carefully so the breeze won't carry it back to them.
"It's time," Nino says and takes Jean's arm, leading him along the silver path that winds down the blind alley. When they get to the end, in the shadows, Jean stands with his back to the wall and takes one last drag.
Nino puts one hand on the wall and leans in, covering Jean's mouth with his own, and Jean breathes his smoke out into Nino. Nino pulls back, holds his breath until he has to cough.
"I would give you a cigarette," Jean says, "if you asked for one."
"Turn around," Nino says.
Jean drops the cigarette on the ground and turns. He puts his hands against the rough brick, right where he can dig his nails into the mortar if he has to. He's been drinking with Nino for so long.
Nino comes up behind Jean and runs his hands down Jean's chest to the waistband. He pulls Jean's shirt out and up until it's crumpled up under his arms and Nino's hands are sliding over Jean's skin, teasing at the hair that runs down his belly.
It's too cold to be so exposed and Jean shivers. Nino thumbs both Jean's nipples and Jean shivers again. Nino leans against him, a little warmth on Jean's back, and puts his mouth on Jean's ear. "You always drink so much."
"I drink what you pour," Jean says. He's beginning to feel the burn inside, like the nicotine buzz, but deeper, stoked by Nino's hands and voice and body.
Not like the first time, back in school, Nino gentle but unstoppable, taking Jean apart in his own bedroom, before he was old enough to drink or even smoke to take the edge off. Since then he's learned how to feel.
Nino reaches down and grabs him through his trousers, rubbing at his dick, and Jean isn't sure he'll get it up, he's pretty hazy tonight, but Nino is good at this, he knows Jean's dick, and he strokes it, breath still hot on Jean's neck, until Jean is hard, or hard enough.
"I'm going to put it in tonight," Nino says. He doesn't always, sometimes they rub against each other, sometimes Nino fucks Jean's thighs. Sometimes Nino leans against the wall while Jean kneels on his folded overcoat and sucks him off, one hand on his own dick, though he doesn't always bother.
Jean could undo his belt and zip but he just waits for Nino to take care of it and spreads his legs as far as he can when his trousers are around his ankles. Nino squeezes Jean's ass, then starts to open him up, pushing a cold smear up inside of him.
It's easy now to relax, let Nino's fingers press into him, as familiar as his own hand in the shower. He bends down further and braces his legs. Nino runs both hands up the inside of Jean's thighs. He steps back and Jean can hear the condom wrapper tear. Nino rubs his dick between Jean's buttocks. Then he pushes in.
This is familiar too, but Jean still bites his lip. Nino holds there for a few moments. He puts a hand on Jean's dick and strokes him back up, he's always generous with the reach around. Then he fucks Jean, slow at first, then faster, breath grunting out of both of them into the night air.
Jean stares at the cigarette on the ground, smoke still curling up from it, wishing he had it between his lips. His legs aren't cramping but they're threatening and his back is a little sore. He hopes Nino will come soon.
"Can't you at least struggle a bit?" Nino says.
"I don't mind." Jean can feel his own orgasm hovering, floating somewhere nearby where he can reach out and catch it. He closes his eyes, focuses on the feel of Nino's fingers sliding over his dick, and — just there — he's got it, he's coming, flaring, unwinding, while Nino swears because he didn't get his hand away in time.
It's over sooner than the piss was and Jean starts to feel the cold again. "We'll miss the train," he says and Nino laughs before he jerks his hips and collapses onto Jean's back.
Nino waits until he's soft before he slips out, one arm wrapped around Jean's chest and his cheek against the back of Jean's neck. After he moves away, Jean pulls his clothes back together. Before he zips up, he takes another piss against the wall, nothing much, but he'll regret it on the train otherwise.
He pulls out another cigarette and lights up. "Next week?"