Fast Car Drinking (o)

[Malcom Black]

You had up days, and you had down days. Malcom had lived by this mantra for most of his life. Good days were when you were on top of the world. Maybe the girl you’d liked had just kissed you on the cheek. Maybe your sister’s boyfriend had finally gotten a job. It didn’t matter. Things would look up. You’d feel happy. Maybe even at peace, who knew?

And then there were the down days. And the good days were there to make sure you survived ‘em—those days when you felt like you were closed in a well with thick, heavy water seeping into your mouth, nose, ears, throat, and you couldn’t fix it, couldn’t save yourself, couldn’t breathe…

Ahem. Not that Malcom felt that way on a regular basis. Nope, nope. He was well adjusted, normal: a cheerful and average citizen if ever one could be found. Even if he did tend to wake up screaming some nights. Nope. Normal. Average. Clean. Sane.

Which was why he was currently drunk at the bar, long after most of the other patrons were gone, staring mournfully at the bottom of the glass. Why was he seeing that? It wasn’t fair. He looked imploringly at the bartender, but was pretty sure he’d already been cut off. So he pushed it away from himself and folded his arms on the counter in a completely undignified position, propping up his chin on them. His eyes half-lidded shut, and he focused on the music that could be heard over the clinks of glasses; the hum of the dishwasher under the bar that rocked through his whole body, soothing in its persistence; and the scrape of wood on a concrete floor. His lips curved into a smile.

Hey. He liked this song. Completely ignoring the other patrons, he began to hum along. He didn’t have a bad voice. He could stay on key and he was great at drinking songs. But with one too many drinks and a complete lack of focus, “not bad” had been turned into something roughly akin to the sound of a dog howling along with its favorite tune.

”You got a fast car…leave tonight or live and die this way…!”

The lyrics weren’t in order. He didn’t care. He swayed in his seat to the rhythm, then swayed right off of it and into the person sitting next to him.

Whoops. He blinked up at them, fuzzy.

“You got a fast car?” he asked. “’Cause I want one. Getting’ away sounds real nice right now.”

[Edward Scott]

Edward had planned on coming out tonight anyway but his conversation with one of the people he went to college with had ended rather abruptly causing him to mostly because Edward didn't feel like arguing about useless bullsh*t. He just wanted to be left alone to type and pretend that he was not the only person on earth who was hopelessly in love and was about to make a choice between work and love. Edward flinched when he felt the bump against him and he quickly caught and steadied the guy that had fallen into him with an awkward smile at the other fellow.

Edward could tell that the guy was way beyond drunk and his shoulders slump slightly. His eyes shot to the bartender when he felt the bar tenders eyes on him. Nooooooo. Edward gave a groan still holding the guy steady.
"Why is HE MY responsibility? "
He shouldn't have asked that. He could see the slow smile on Joe's face his eyes widened in disgust for the bartender.

"Well, Ed, Funny you should ask that. You two have so much in common. Both sitting there, moping and driving away good paying customers with doom and gloom. Plus... you owe me about ten of those and besides, you are a sucker for the pretty ones anyway."
Pretty? Edward shot the guy beside him a look and sighed before gently moving the guy so he could lay across the bar instead.

"Stay right there okay?"
Edward said softly to the poor drunken male before he closed his laptop and slipped it into his shoulder bag. Since when had be become the sober guy helping out the drunken one? It was totally the wrong way around.
"Call us a cab, Joe."
Edward said eyeing the drunken guy with a soft smile.

He moved his hand to brush through the other guys hair. Those dull eyes certainly had a sparkle in them. That face was a little too familiar if not a little too tanned. Soft, boyish.
"You're gonna be fine. I'll help you. Okay? We're getting out of here."
Edward whispered as he stroked across the black hair before getting up to go behind the bar while Joe was on the phone. Tonight would be a long night. He'd have to spend most of it in the bathroom with adorable stranger guy.

Man... too much like nights spent with Drew drunk. Edward grabbed a plastic bag and slipped back round to slide the dark haired guy's arm around his shoulder gently easing him up when Joe ended the call.
"Thanks Ed. Get over whoever broke your heart. See ya."
Edward smirked and nodded to Joe. Easier said then done.
"You have a name? I'm Edward. I'll repeat that to you in the morning, handsome."
Edward teased as he lead the dark head out.

Campus would be safest for him. He couldn't just leave the guy on the street could he?

[Malcom Black]

Malcom had the vague impression that people were talking about him. Okay, so it wasn’t vague. There weren’t a lot of other people in the bar, and besides, the way that the young man next to him was holding him steady and had then looked over at the bartender made Malcom, even in his drunken state, make some pretty clear connections. Besides, he wasn’t that bad off. He could handle his liquor. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it didn’t matter right now.

“I’m not a pre’y one,” he informed the bartender with a shaky wag of his finger. “’m an army sergeant. Security officer. Not pretty…” And then he lapsed into silence as he was pushed up. He would have lied and said he wasn’t a chatty drunk, but he kind of was. He watched Ed put his things away, confused as to why the boy was even taking any interest in him at all. He was a lot younger at him for sure. Besides, put Malcom in a cab and he’d be fine. He didn’t do this a lot, but after learning how aware you could be while driving on adrenaline from his experience in war, he was really careful about driving after a few drinks. Most of the cabbies knew him well by now. But in the meantime, he fetched his wallet and very carefully and with exaggerated care removed his card and passed it to the bartender.

“His tab ‘n mine, please.” This time his bad day wasn’t because of his brokenness. Or because he’d lost at cards or because he now had a big debt to pay off. This was the exception to the rule. Besides, Malcom when he was flush liked to spread the wealth around. He let his head fall back onto the bar, and didn’t even move when the other man started stroking his hair. Although it was weird. Why was he being pet? Was it normal to pet people where this kid came from? He might have mumbled under his breath, but he didn’t fight it and didn’t protest when he was pulled out of the stool.

“I can walk,” he pointed out, leaning his head against the other man’s shoulder. “But thanks I think. Name’s Malcom. People call me Mal a lot. Not sure why. Like you being called Ed. Kinda. Anyways. ‘m not handsome. And I’m definitely not pretty. And I don’t get why people keep saying that.” He blinked the fuzziness from his eyes, then leaned forward as a cab arrived. “Where we going?”

[Edward Scott]

Edward was the one to be taking Malcolm's card back from Joe and at some point he'd have to put it back in Mal's pocket, which was going to be a laugh if the guy was both straight and drunk. Oooo looking forward to that one. Edward had to stiffle his laughter when he heard Malcolm deny that he was both pretty or handsome.
"We'll agree to disagree on that compliment then I think and I know you can walk but I'm just trying to protect you from injuring yourself when things start jumping in your way as things tend to do when one has had a few too many."
Edward half whispered at Malcolm in a low voice as he lead the poor drunk out the bar.

When they were outside he was asked where they were going and Edward cupped the head on his shoulder hoping to still whatever worries Malcolm had if he had any at all before sliding it back into place around Malcolm's side.
"I don't know whether it's safe to send you home to whom ever is waiting for you or if you're even gonna go home instead of fall asleep on a park bench so I'm just gonna take you to my dorm room where you'll be safe. I promise. "

The taxi pulled up in front of them and Edward opened the door helping Malcolm into it before nudging him up a little so he could sit down.
"Vermont University."
He said to the taxi driver before sitting back and pressing the plastic bag to Malcolm's chest.
"That's in case you wanna throw up. You throw up in there okay?"
He moved a hand to rub at the back of Malcolm's neck which was always a relief to him when he was drunk.

[Malcom Black]

“They do.” That Malcom could agree with. Compliments completely forgotten, he leaned forward, more than happy to discuss a topic that always bothered him when he was drunk. “Glass doors are the worst. They just appear! Outta nowhere! And poles. Poles are bad too. I think they just hide right between your eyes and wait to smack you.”

Malcom had a vendetta against poles. Especially lampposts. One day he was going to meet a Magneto-equivalent and sweet-talk him or her into bending one in half for him. For no particular reason, really: just because he wanted it done and he thought it would be as cool as hell.

Malcom hadn’t ever grown up.

He was petting him again. Nah. Just holding him. Which was weird. He could walk just fine. Had he been sober, the whole nanny-ing act that Edward was pulling would have had him running screaming in the other direction. Or wearing the long-suffering look of the middle brother with way too many older sisters. But as he wasn’t, he just lolled his head.

“I live alone. Didja just say dorm?”

He seemed to be processing that while Edward helped him into the taxi.

“So what, you’re a student?” he demanded after a moment, brought back to the important fact at hand. Warning lights were flashing in his head, and even though they were a bit fuzzy around the edges, Malcom knew better than to ignore them. “At the college? College is nice. I never went. Not my thing. Don’t like books. Better than at Hammel. I’d lose my job if you were for Hammel. Could still lose my job. You gotta be at least ten years younger than me—thas no good.” He leaned forward to the cabbie and nudged his shoulder playfully. “Oi. Back to my place, eh? And then you can take him back to his. My reputation isn’t so great than I can afford bad things. And though you and I know better, he don’t, and they don’t.” He tapped the side of his nose knowingly, then slumped back into the seat and eyed him as he gave him the bag. Gently, he pushed it back.

“This ain’t my first circus, kid. I can handle myself. But if you’re gonna keep doing that…” He sighed happily and leaned against him again. “I wouldn’t complain."

[Edward Scott]

Edward let out a soft chuckle when he heard the agreement about things jumping in your way when being drunk. Oh my God. That was sooo something Drew would have done. Agreed and been all cute about it. Edward watched the other male with a bemused smile nodding in agreement every so often.
"It's horrible. Completely horrible. I agree."
Edward closed his eyes when they were in the taxi and relaxed into the seat beside the guy until he got asked about the the dorm.

"I'm a med student..."
Edward muttered then his eyes fluttered open and locked on tall, dark and drunk. The anger and hurt came from surprise at first. Surprise that he was shot down due to his age. He wasn't even that young. Twenty three wasn't young. Out of habbit he turned his head away and began to rub at his chin for a moment in order to calm himself down. His eyes snapped shut and he flinched when he heard the order for Malcolm to be taken home.

Edward sighed softly as he felt the weight against his chest shoulder while he was rubbing at Malcolms neck. This was a waste of his time if he was considered a kid wasn't it. Edward's grip tightened and he pushed Malcolm away from him, a tight smirk on his face.
"Firstly, grandpa. I'm not a kid. Secondly, I was trying to help you. Thirdly, you have no idea how good I am at what I do. F*ck reputation - stop the car please-. "
Edward shot stopped his growling at Malcolm in order to announce to the driver who was groaning with all the different requests he was getting.

Edward opened the car door and slipped out the car.
"Just so you know Malcolm. I wasn't gonna sleep with you anyway."
Not because he didn't find Malcolm hot. No that was the point. He found something too familiar in Malcolm to want to sleep with him as just another bit of fun.
"You sound like you enjoy being pathetic anyway."
Edward slammed the door.

There was no use for him. Malcolm seemed perfectly capable of taking care of himself and perfectly able to take care of himself from here on in. Edward didn't know why he'd bothered anyway. He hunched his shoulders against the cold breeze sweeping the streets and stuffed his hands in his pockets. A frown crossed his features when he pulled out a plastic card from his pocket and a smirk touched his lips when he got a look at the name on the card. Malcolm Black.
"Whoops."

Edward held the card over a bin he was about to pass... but paused unable to do it. He couldn't. Those brown eyes and excitable sounds in Malcolms voice. The drunken chatter. He'd probably either have Malcolm visit the Uni or he'd have to visit Hammel. He'd give it a week and see what happened.

[Malcom Black]

Malcom, in turn, was baffled by the sudden anger that Edward seemed to show toward him. What? He was a lot younger than him—young as his…sister? Or maybe his brother, Isaiah. When you got drunk and had nine siblings, it was really hard to keep track. Secondly, Malcom hadn’t even known that Edward sleeping with him was in the cards. And had he been a little more sober, he probably would have slammed the door in the kid’s face for just suggesting it.

The part about enjoying being pathetic bit, though. Malcom almost shouted after him, almost tried to show some indication that he did NOT like being pathetic and that even if he did, it didn’t matter because he WASN’T pathetic, so there. But he didn’t get a chance to, because the man was already gone and the cab driver, perhaps eager to get his drunken charge home, was leaving. Malcom managed to make it into his apartment and shut the door, promptly crashing on the couch.

It was only that morning when he rifled through his wallet to try to figure out what the bill had been, wearing a pair of sunglasses indoors to stop his head from aching, that he realized he had lost his credit card.

Or, more appropriately, who now had it.

"Shit."

((Annnd wrapped!))