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Strange As Angels

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Tony sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth discreetly. What? Contrary to popular belief he is (on occasion) capable of (limited) discretion. Why else would he have pulled Jimmy Whats-His-Name into the Boathouse's bathroom instead of blowing him as soon as they got through the door? Not that there's any real risk of getting caught in the first place.

Jimmy (Jamie? God he's so over Jameses and this one's gotta make it an even half-dozen), has zipped up and is standing awkwardly with his hands in his windbreaker pockets.

"Hey, so... Thanks, ki- man."

"No problemo," Tony smirks as he gets to his feet, hanging his thumbs through his belt loops, framing his erection and licking his lips.

"Oh, uh. There's this Deke party..."

Tony tilts his head to look up through his lashes and carefully (seeing as Jimbo here wasn't exactly gentle) pulls his bottom lip through his teeth. This always works better on girls than guys, but he's hoping for at least a quick handy before dorkus jets.

"So I should bounce."

Fucking crew douches. No class at all. And Tony's been thrown out of the best boarding schools in the country; he knows all about class.

"Sure," Tony shrugs, "Maybe I'll see you there," he continues with casual cruelty, just enough bite to bring a touch of embarrassed fear to the asshole's eyes.

"Umm, yeah..." Jimmy-Jamie flushes, looking kind of nauseous and Tony doesn't even consider curbing his impulse to mess with dick- the 'straight' ones always bring out the worst in him.

"Unless you wanted to go togeth-"

"No! No, that's cool, I've got- I'm meeting some of the crew out front and we're heading over as a group, so..." Tony manages to hold back the derisive laughter that wants to break free, finding some random to bang is better than showing up with this loser anyway.

Less out of an urge to put Jamie-boy out of his misery and more out of the need to get the taste of the blink-and-you'd-miss-it encounter out of his mouth, Tony interrupts him, "Whatever, dude. Did you get-"

"Oh, yeah, here!" Tony knew he put up with upperclassmen for a reason.

He grabs the smaller than he'd like (an unfortunate pattern for the evening he hopes to break) vodka bottle and immediately slams a double, then he pulls another mouthful and swishes it around a bit, savoring the burn before he swallows again. Cheap as it is it's not worth spitting out. He's really gotta find someone with a little taste to bank roll. His terrible fake ID (Tony Edwards, 21, New Mexico) used to be good enough to keep the good one (Tony Carbonelli, 18, New York) from being questioned, but ever since last month's fucking Enquirer cover they're both useless hunks of plastic.

Speaking of useless hunks. Tony takes a couple steps back so that Jimmy-Jamie-James can edge past him. He downs another shot (his fourth for anyone playing along with the home game) and forces himself not to cough, giving a lazy salute as the bathroom door swings shut.

He drinks quietly by himself, perched up on the counter next to the sink, swinging his legs and alternating sips of water from the faucet as he finishes off the bottle.

Well and truly buzzed he leaves the Boathouse and vaguely wonders (but not actually caring) if he'll make it across the street to the welcoming lights of the DKE party.