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John Laurens is drunk when Alexander arrives at the tavern. Extremely drunk, singing Nottingham Ale, his arms slung around Lafayette and Hercules’s shoulders, eyes closed in ecstasy.
“I thought we were having a meeting,” says Alexander upon arriving.
Hercules holds up his own pint. “We are!” he crows, cheerfully, and Lafayette shrugs.
“You were late.”
“I was writing,” says Alexander apologetically.
John keeps singing, “Nottingham ale, me boys! Nottingham ale! No liquor on earth is like Nottingham ale!” while Alexander looks on.
“‘Ee az ‘ad a lot to drink,” says Lafayette unnecessarily, and Alexander laughs. They make their way to their usual table in the back corner, Lafayette shifting most of John’s weight onto Alexander as some kind of punishment.
Once seated, John drapes his upper half across Alexander, his chin resting on Alexander’s shoulder.
“You made it,” he says, loopily, and Alexander smirks.
“I did,” he says patiently. He’s always felt protective affection for John, but never more so than when John is drunk and touchy, blurring all the lines between them.
“I missed you,” mumbles John, his eyes half-lidded with sleep and ale and something else, his lips touching the sturdy fabric of Alexander’s coat.
“Get a room," says Hercules sarcastically, and Alexander moves to push John off him slightly. But John isn’t having it, clinging to Alexander with a firm, resolute grasp.
“How many pints has he had?” Alexander asks, and Lafayette arches an eyebrow at him.
“Just one, and zen you were late, so anozzer, and now zis is the third.”
“I’m fine!” shouts John too loudly, head still resting on Alexander’s shoulder. “We can still have our meeting.”
“You’re wasted, Mr. Laurens,” says Alexander, and John smiles lazily, nuzzling against him.
“I like when you call me that,” he says, and the back of Alexander’s neck turns pink.
“Alright, alright,” he says. “You’re a very affectionate drunk.”
“Y-yeah, but,” slurs John adamantly, “I mean it sober, too. You’re very…” He pauses, apparently looking for the right word. “...handsome.” He turns to Hercules and Lafayette, who are sitting on the other side of the table with twin expressions of incredulity and mirth. “Isn’t Alexander handsome?”
“Very,” agrees Lafayette dryly, and Hercules guffaws.
“I knew you had a way with the ladies, man,” he says to Alexander, eyes wide in jest, “but I didn’t know you had a way with the men, too.”
“He’s just drunk,” repeats Alexander, as John starts to fidget with the buttons on his coat. “It’s my fault. I showed up late.”
Lafayette glances sidelong at Hercules, a calculating smile creeping onto his face. “Well,” he says, “I zuppose eet is your job to take care of ‘im then, no?”
“What do you mean,” says Alexander flatly, and Hercules brightens considerably.
“You’re the reason he’s drunk, so you can make sure he gets home alright. Lafayette and I have done more than our share of entertaining our drunk friend here.”
“Oh, God,” says Alexander, but it’s too late. Lafayette is too formidable, and John is too drunk.
“Yes, I want to go home,” says John sleepily. “I’m very tired all of a sudden? Is anyone else very tired?”
“Yes,” says Lafayette, “Alexander ees. Maybe the two of you should retire to bed.”
Alexander sends him a dirty look over John’s head, while Hercules snickers beside him.
“You guys are dicks,” he says, before pushing John off himself and helping him up. “Alright, John, time for you to go home.”
“Yes,” says John breathlessly, “take me home.”
Hercules punches the air in mocking celebration while Lafayette claps with delight.
“Very mature,” says Alexander to them as John wraps his arms around his neck. “John, off.”
John complies but still needs help stumbling out of the tavern, leaving Alexander grateful they’d chosen a tavern closest to his house.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” says John, quietly. Alexander can feel his weight against his side as John slips his hand into Alexander’s coat pocket, his fingers brushing Alexander’s waist.
“You didn’t embarrass me,” says Alexander firmly. “I’m not worried what other people think of me.” He exhales, his breath rippling into the cold night air. “You were just joking around. It’s what friends do.”
“Yeah,” says John, and Alexander swears there’s a note of disappointment there. “And you’re my best friend, Alexander.”
Alexander smiles in spite of himself and the turn the evening’s taken. “You’re my best friend too, John.”
They reach John’s house after a few more clumsy minutes, John searching for his keys for far too long before remembering he put them in the inside pocket of his coat.
Alexander seizes them from him without ceremony, letting them into the house and away from the cold. They stumble upstairs, John’s eyes flitting closed every now and then until Alexander rustles him awake. Once in his bedroom, John flops onto his bed, spread-eagle, looking pensively at his ceiling. There’s the ghost of a fire in the fireplace opposite the bed, so Alexander stokes that while John wrestles with his shoes, flinging them off his feet and into the opposing wall with a thud.
“I don’t want to be a sad drunk,” says John, and Alexander turns from the fire.
“You haven’t been a sad drunk, so don’t start now,” says Alexander, warningly. There’s a pregnant pause.
“Will you stay?” asks John, and Alexander exhales deeply. John hastily adds, “Not the whole night. Just for a little. Just until I fall asleep.”
Alexander looks over at him on his bed, his hair framing his face like a halo, shirt sloppily half-unbuttoned, breeches partially unlaced.
“Okay.” He straightens, swallowing thickly. “I’ll stay because you’re my friend.”
Something passes over John’s face that Alexander can’t place, but he scoots over in his bed to let Alexander onto it. Quiet settles over them both.
“I’m happy you’re staying,” says John, and he’s looking at Alexander so intently that Alexander rolls onto one side to match his gaze.
“Go to sleep,” he says, but John doesn’t make any effort to close his eyes.
“Sometimes I think about where we’d be if we never met,” whispers John. “I don’t think I’d like it very much.”
A warmth spreads through Alexander’s chest. “I don’t think I’d like it, either.”
John inches closer to him. Alexander wills himself to move but can’t somehow; it’s like his limbs have stopped functioning properly.
“I meant everything,” he confides quietly. “Everything I said at the bar. And more. I mean it all.”
Panic and desire hurtle through Alexander’s veins. “You’re not making any sense,” he says, and he should push John away as he nears yet again, but he can’t.
“Aren’t I?” asks John, and his face is so close now that Alexander can’t focus on his eyes anymore, so he closes his. He knows John is going to kiss him now, he’s known it since the bar when John had draped himself all over him. He should stop him; John is drunk, but Alexander isn’t good enough of a man. His mouth is sweet and light if a little sloppy, there’s an insistent and needy pressure and a little saliva, John’s tongue slipping slightly between Alexander’s lips. It’s a good kiss; dizzying and lovely. John pulls back after, looking at Alexander shyly.
“That’s all,” says Alexander. “You’re drunk. That’s all you can do.”
John frowns but sighs in resignation. “Okay,” he agrees. “Then tomorrow. Tomorrow, when I’m sober, you’ll see.”
“Okay,” says Alexander. “Tomorrow.”
John is drifting off now, eyes closing tenderly. Alexander slips from his house, the secret kiss seared onto his lips.
In the morning, John wakes up with a painful hangover, his clothes half-on, and forgets the whole affair.
Alexander never forgets.
They never speak of it again.
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