Chapter Text
Things could be a lot better for Sasuke tonight. He wants to leave this house party because it’s too loud and it stinks of stale breath and body odor. And dog. Too much dog, but what did he expect? It’s Kiba and his sister's place and he’s been here plenty of times before. Yet, that doesn’t really help him out–just because you know you’re going to be punched in the face doesn’t make it hurt any less. It’s not even just the smell—the house is hot. Sweltering. His skin prickles with unevaporated sweat that makes him itchy all over and, somehow, even crankier.
Being this drunk isn’t doing him any favors, either. His vision blurs to the point where it’s not dissimilar to what Sasuke assumes living in a dirty aquarium feels like. It’s absolute torture.
He hates parties. Or at least, parties he didn’t want to be dragged to in the first place.
Why did he agree to come to this, again? Aren’t they too old for this? The beer pong set up on a plastic folding table? The thud of a house music mix that borders on being too loud to hear yourself speak? The randos? Seriously—if he knew that Kiba and Hana were going to invite every living soul they had ever met and more, Sasuke wouldn’t be in this mess. He would have stayed his ass home. He isn’t even one of Kiba’s closest friends (or even a regular friend, for that matter) which puts his usual basement-level tolerance for trying social situations that much closer to nonexistent.
Also, Kiba’s place is always in need of a good scrubbing, and tonight is no exception. Sasuke should have brought some disinfecting wipes with him. The floor is sticky—everything is sticky. It’s gross.
It sucks, but he doesn’t have the choice to leave. He never had a choice. Sasuke is aware, like every other headache in his life, that this is all his huge idiot of a partner’s fault.
Fucking Naruto. If there was one thing he could change about his partner if given the chance, it would be to minimize how social he is. Even just a notch lower would be perfect. Naruto’s friends with everyone. Anyone. He’d probably get along with a wet paper bag.
Sasuke supposes really that this situation may be his own fault. He’s the one that fell in love with the moron. You can only be responsible for your own choices. He keeps choosing Naruto again and again and again, and Naruto chooses him every time, too. And then Naruto chooses to go out and spend time with their friends and drag Sasuke along with him. Because it’s more fun that way, babe.
Ugh.
Despite the overcrowding and the uncomfortable atmosphere, the night isn’t completely intolerable. For a party Sasuke didn’t want to attend, he sure didn’t turn down any drinks.
He may have overdone it, though. No one forced Sasuke to do shots, but he figured that it would be more troublesome than not to partake in the communal slosh fest. He gets harassed enough as it is. No one can accuse him of being a wet paper bag—he participates.
Plus, Naruto gave him puppy eyes when they arrived. C’mon, Sasuke. Have fun. Don’t do it for me, do it for yourself. Relax. The bastard even bestowed him with the gateway tequila shot he somehow had immediately acquired after stepping through the front door. Naruto had smiled at Sasuke, the smile reserved exclusively for him, and ugh.
He did the shot. Of course he did. He didn't even complain about not having any salt.
Cheerful and triumphant, Naruto squeezed the lime into Sasuke’s mouth when he was done. A decent amount of juice ended up dripping down his chin, and Naruto’s smile turned mischievous. He leaned in to lick Sasuke’s jaw clean, ending with a sweet kiss on his lips, calling him a good boy. Everyone they knew near the front door had rolled their eyes, and the people he didn’t know, well, who cares.
Not even thirty seconds into the party and Sasuke already had his face burning.
It's not fair. Sasuke’s stomach always gets hot when the idiot does that shit—captures everyone’s attention with his gravitational charisma and then intentionally embarrasses the hell out of Sasuke.
He had willed his face to remain unpleasantly neutral and his thoughts clear as Naruto grabbed his arm and yanked him along to go say hi to one of their friends. And Sasuke let it happen—that’s what a good boy would do.
Sasuke could only do so much to not look as wrecked as he felt. And the alcohol wasn’t doing him any favors. Being good, being acknowledged publicly as good, was worth his mouth tasting of motor oil for a bit.
However, Naruto was only getting started. He had pulled Sasuke’s body closer, whisper-yelling c’mon slowpoke into his ear. Forcing him along into the throng of their childhood friends, always pushing forward instead of staying still.
And into more shots.
And another one with whatever her name is (Tenten?) and Lee. And then one weird cupful of a homebrew beer that Choji allegedly made in his bathroom, and it surprisingly didn’t taste like pissed-in bath water. Followed by some water Hinata was handing out, somehow playing host in a house she didn’t even live in. So fucking weird. Everything was too weird and too much and Sasuke, drunk and in multiple ways uncomfortable, struggled to not act so negative and mean. He was good.
And so, Sasuke got loaded. Very quickly.
After zigzagging through the rooms with Naruto chitchatting with every single person in his path, including people neither of them knew, Sasuke’s goodness was reduced to dregs. Breaking away to breathe in some fresh, chilly spring air outside sounded downright euphoric, and he could not endure yet another instance of Naruto introducing himself to a random person he would never meet again. Sasuke needed a break. And tried to make a break for it, but the consequences of his actions said otherwise.
Sasuke, a little too drunk and clumsy, almost tripped. On a slobbered-on, well-chewed deathtrap of a dog toy abandoned in the middle of the floor. Of course.
Sasuke’s body had pitched back. There hadn’t been a moment to be embarrassed, because Naruto had saved him, arm outstretching at just the right moment. He steadied Sasuke, trying not to laugh at him as Naruto guided him to sit in the nearest unoccupied chair. In reality, the whole thing spanned a little more than ten seconds, but to Sasuke, it was downright whiplash.
Immediately, Naruto was fussing over him, glassy-eyed and giddy and oblivious to the smattering of onlookers glancing over at the two of them. He crouched down close to examine Sasuke’s face for damage they both knew wasn’t there. Checking if he was okay, fiddling with the neckline of Sasuke’s knit top as if that was the reason he had tripped. Naruto was too free with his feelings and open with his affection with or without liquor. Everyone that walked by saw just how much Naruto was touching him.
The public doting did things to Sasuke’s sloppy thoughts. Humiliatingly-powerful things.
Naruto had a knack for making him feel helpless. That was the most preposterous part of their relationship. Sasuke knows he isn’t helpless. He’s taken care of himself since he was a child. He pays attention to everyone, everything. More times than he can remember, he’s beaten the shit out of enough lowlifes to land them in the hospital, all because of a nasty look or a bullshit comment. Sasuke isn’t stupid, careless or unrealistic. The course of his life has taken helplessness out of his character description, and yet, here he is, dizzy and mute from his longtime partner coddling his drunk ass on a Friday night at 8 PM.
And he’s so into it.
If Sasuke watched one of his peers falling apart or acting this way, he’d probably call them a weak-willed loser. He’d position them in his mind as the ultimate example of what not to be.
But then again, they never had Naruto all over them. Never had him caring, caressing, or murmuring so close to their face that the ghost of his breath kisses their ear, their neck. Never had to suffer the deluge of compliments and then grow shy over how good it made them feel about themselves. Maybe they’ve gotten similar treatment elsewhere in their lives, but—it’s different when it’s from Naruto. They’re clueless about what his attention could do to them, how it's as good as paralysis, how vulnerable and understood it could make them feel. It’s not his fault that he’s so affected by this.
It drives Sasuke nuts. Innocuous gestures, like prolonged eye contact. Closing in on personal space. Naruto had scratched along the sweaty nape of his neck and into his hair, cooing silliness only Sasuke could hear. Seriously? A dog toy almost made you eat shit? Either you’re fucked up or you did that on purpose.
His critical thinking skills vanished. He simply became a sponge for Naruto’s affection and teasing, cemented to the chair with his eyes too wide, cheeks too hot. It short-circuited his brain more than booze ever could.
All the touching was feeding such a needy part inside him. The best thing about it all? Sasuke didn’t even have to ask for the physical attention. The casual touching. The affection.
Sasuke always waits for it to be given. Asking for it always feels so impossible. So he just doesn’t.
Which is beyond stupid and so frustrating. Nothing humiliates Sasuke more than asking his partner to touch him. To hug him. To press his weight and skin against him not only because it feels nice, but because his stupid heart wants the comfort. Because it makes him happy.
Sure, the absence makes the natural occurrences that much sweeter, but it’s never enough. The constant yearning for it makes him sick. There is a permanent pull in his chest that begs him to stop being such a pathetic freak and ask the man he’s been with for almost a decade to play with his hair when they’re on the couch together, to hold his hand when they’re at a cafe having lunch, to rub his back after a long day at work. He fantasizes about this kind of stuff, practically salivates over it. If he thinks about it, Sasuke’s basically edging himself.
It’s insane. It makes him feel insane and starved and so unbelievably stressed all the time, but then, when he finally gets something huge? When Naruto touches him out of the blue, like this, and for so long? It’s like being shot with a tranquilizer dart, covering his skin with goosebumps.
Maybe some part of him did trip on purpose. Naruto is smothering him. He feels high.
“Hey?” Naruto whispers, pulling Sasuke out of his disorganized brain space. “You’re just glaring at the wall, babe.”
Oh. He sure is.
His thoughts never catch up with him well like this (drunk, on the precipice of expressing emotions, catatonically turned on.) He’s yanked from his spiraling reverie into a present he doesn’t remember arriving in. Tastes the stale amalgamation of liquor in his dry mouth, smells dog, hears dog barking somewhere outside the house. His butt is no longer in that wooden chair, but now against something warmer, with more substance and give. Wearing a loose white tee shirt that smells like his own laundry detergent. Yummy.
He doesn’t remember when they settled into this somewhat quieter room, or how he ended up sitting in his partner’s lap on the floor, in a circle full of people he actually knows. There’s a part of Sasuke that feels like he should be more concerned about the memory lapse.
The overcautious warnings of his older brother surface, the same ones he used to drill into Sasuke the year leading up to his freshman year of college. Be vigilant. Watch your drink. Know where all your exits are. As if Sasuke was helpless.
All three of his warnings went ignored tonight. Sasuke has no clue what room he’s in, or how to navigate to the front door. He can’t recall what he’s been drinking. That’s not good. Slits in his short-term memory pepper through the evening. Who did they talk to? What time is it? If he wasn’t glued to Naruto at the moment, the apprehension would be hitting him.
It turns out, you don’t have to be helpless to make reckless decisions. You just have to be really, really careless and not sober. Years later, he’s angry that he now understands what Itachi was actually trying to say.
(And that he was kind of right.)
Yet, he’s only preoccupied with Naruto—Naruto’s hand cupped on his waist, the sensation of Naruto’s heartbeat thrumming through his own body as he presses up against Sasuke’s. Thump thump thump. Sasuke plays with the crystal pendant of the necklace around Naruto’s neck, the solid angles of the aquamarine dull against his numbing fingers.
“Whatever,” Sasuke mutters as he lets it go, crystal dropping back to rest against his partner’s collarbone. Only then does Sasuke realize that no one sitting near him, including Naruto himself, had said a word to him recently—not for a few minutes, at least.
Yeesh. He really isn’t doing himself any favors tonight.
“Don’t do that,” Naruto frets, leaning his face into Sasuke’s jaw, planting a too-wet kiss on his cheekbone. “Pretend to have fun once in your life, asshole.”
Sasuke doesn’t dignify that with a response. He just remains glaring, but retargets it to the game of spin the bottle that’s apparently going on in his proximity. He’s not playing (he thinks?) but Naruto is, since he’s sitting in the circle and engaging with the other participants, his volume obnoxious and grating. Sasuke’s grumpy silence can’t make his lack of participation any clearer.
Besides, these people should know better. He’d rather drink bleach straight from the jug than kiss everyone here.
Thankfully, despite all the distractions, Naruto is still touching him. He’s in Naruto’s lap, but there’s scratching on his hips above the waistband of his pants and underwear, along the knobs of his lower spine. Soft breath on his neck, Naruto’s body heat on full blast and bleeding into him, sweat and his deodorant so familiar and comforting. It is absolute heaven.
“Woooooow,” Kiba blurts. There’s scattered laughter subdued by the persistent throb of the house music from another room. “I get to makeout with Ino again. I love this game.”
“Ugh, yuck. You taste like wet dog.” She brushes her side bang out of her eyes and leans in conspiratorily to Sakura, winking at her. “I’m more of a cat person. Right, baby?”
Gross.
Sasuke tunes out the giggling and bickering that ensues, including the slurping and sucking of two drunk, annoying people sucking face.
His disinterest doesn’t last long. Sasuke listens when the bottle lands on Naruto. Because Naruto offers a dumb, apologetic and loud comment to someone across the circle. Only then does Sasuke realize that Shikamaru is crawling towards them, well Naruto, with the most sour look on his face.
His disgust outmatches Shikamaru’s on every level, because one, of course it would, and two, Sakura’s openly laughing at him. Pointing and cackling with tears in her eyes, mascara smudging on her lower eyelids. Sasuke just sits there in Naruto’s lap while both Naruto and Shikamaru swap spit mere inches from his face.
“Ha, gay!” Kiba yells, hands cupped around his mouth.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Shikamaru returns to his spot in the circle. He is so displeased. “This game is ass.”
Naruto squawks, feigning hurt. “You could at least say thank you.”
“Shut up,” Shikamaru snaps with little bite. “I said I didn’t want to play. There, I did. Can we pause for a few minutes?”
“And kiss you after you eat ten cigarettes? No way.”
“Alright, jeez—”
“Naruto, focus. Spin!”
After giving the empty bottle a good whirl, Naruto leans back, all smiles, and presses his spit-slick lips to Sasuke’s ear. Sasuke conveniently forgets some of that saliva belongs to Shikamaru. “I like kissing you better.”
He’s so glad the lights are dimmed. A flush washes over him. “You fucking better.”
Naruto’s spin lands on the spot to the left, giving easy access for him and Shino to do what they must. The kiss is brief, more of a peck than anything, and the game continues without much hassle.
All the while, Naruto continues holding him, cuddling him, all in front of their messy friends, casual petting that Naruto treats as no big deal. Sasuke stays quiet, his muted senses savoring the all-encompassing warmth up and down his back, his arms, his ribs. Above and underneath his clothing.
He’s drunk enough that he can easily admit that he likes this, being so undoubtedly Naruto’s, perched like a prized pet in his partner’s lap. Everyone can see it. He loves that they can see it.
Still, Naruto kisses the people around them when the bottle demands it, but he squeezes Sasuke every time it’s over. As if Sasuke needs the drunken reassurance.
He doesn’t, but it’s still nice to know Naruto cares.
Time is wispy, impossible to grasp. Sasuke is brought another shot. More of Choji’s beer that, okay, is amazing. Then another shot that he chases with more of the bathroom beer. It is minutes between each drink, or maybe an hour. He has no idea. Every swallow has him melting deeper into Naruto’s body. Sasuke feels like soup.
At some point, Naruto lurches forward to kiss someone. When they part, Naruto coaxes him forward, and Sasuke finds himself suddenly getting kissed, localized heat teasing between his teeth and tongue. He kisses back, clumsy but firm, because his brain tells him to, because Naruto told him to.
Only then does he see Sakura on her hands and knees in front of him, pulling away. Goddamit. She’s staring at him, really analyzing him like he’s a blood panel for a sick patient. The ambient noise disappears and Sasuke can only focus on his two closest friends. He loathes when they do this, when they team up to harass him. And somehow, it always works.
Sakura dabs the corner of her smeared, glossy lips. She says something unintelligible to Naruto, and Naruto’s body shakes with stifled laughter. She’s still looking at Sasuke when she settles back into her spot in the circle, her expression twisted into something he can’t decipher this many shots deep into the night, but whatever it is, it looks pleased.
“That was hot,” Naruto says into his temple. “Maybe you two should’ve dated. Or at least, went to prom together. Something before you both got gay.”
It’s difficult to formulate a coherent response, but with some struggle, Sasuke manages it. “You just want to watch me. Kiss people.”
“Duh,” Naruto grins, and kisses Sasuke in the corner of his wet mouth. “I like watching you get out of your shell. It’s sexy.”
Sasuke’s stomach flips. God.
Suddenly, he is too aware of the pleasant arousal tingling in his belly. How it mounts when he notices the prolonged weight of their friends’ staring at them, an audience to their flagrant canoodling. How his pulse quickens and the tactile sensation of their gazes tickles along his skin, all over him, dipping down, maybe discovering the soft bulge in his joggers. How they observe Naruto’s threaded fingers at Sasuke’s navel, thumbs stroking his clothed stomach in syrupy swipes, teasing too close to his cock. How they know how badly Sasuke wants Naruto to ruin him. They’re peering into a private window that Sasuke is desperate to keep open.
He really, really likes this – how shameless it is. Sasuke doesn’t care to hide away but stays confident and visible. He presses his stomach into Naruto’s hands and Naruto kisses his temple, still chatting with their friends.
Naruto has to know about Sasuke’s little thing. For all of Naruto’s obliviousness, he can be strangely perceptive. He probably figured it out a while ago.
Maybe he knew it years ago in undergrad when he had Sasuke’s cock in his hot, calloused hands underneath the packed bleachers at the football game neither of them cared about, but were dragged to by their friends. The whole thing had taken Sasuke off guard. There were other sparse pockets of people, passing joints and sharing cheap wine bottles, content in their own little worlds. It had been too much, feeling like he was being secretly scrutinized by these nobodies. Judged. Sasuke had shot off so quick and thick into Naruto’s fist that both of them just stared speechless at each other’s windblown faces. Sasuke remembers how his split lip had tasted, the iron tang strong in his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath beside a rusty support beam. Neither of them had any tissues on them, and Naruto shrugged his shoulders and licked it off his hand. Swallowed his spunk in plain sight. Sasuke had almost collapsed. He had been so deliriously horny the rest of the night. It fucked him up.
Or maybe it was when Sasuke had pinned him to the stall door in the movie theater bathroom when they went to that discounted matinee showing on a random Wednesday afternoon. That mildewy, dinky bathroom only had a few stalls, and Sasuke had pushed their hips together, grinding on his very startled but enthusiastic partner. They dry humped while other guys were filing in and out. Probably overhearing their choked-back sounds, the friction of their clothes rubbing together, Sasuke’s strangled exhales when he came barely silenced by Naruto’s lips. He stared up at the molding linoleum tiles and shuddered as Naruto finished against him, his teeth digging into Sasuke’s shoulder to keep quiet. It had been weird after to make eye contact with the guy checking their tickets. Sasuke had wanted to do it again (but bring a pair of clean underwear for next time.)
Or, who knows? Maybe what tipped Naruto off is more recent, like how every time they fuck in their tiny three-bedroom apartment, Sasuke can’t keep his cries soft, especially when they know other people are home. Every single time, Sasuke needs to bite a pillow and groan into it, his body twitching through his release, Naruto pounding into him from behind, groaning at him to shut the hell up.
Naruto has to know.
Why else would he start kissing his neck in the middle of this party? While other people shriek and makeout and chitchat around them, spinning bottles that Sasuke wants to shatter? It has to be intentional.
Sasuke tastes his heartbeat in his mouth, skin clammy and sensitive. Nothing stops him from grinding down against the body cradling him, no obstacles to tilt his head away so Naruto can access the spot behind his ear better. Heavy desperation punches Sasuke in the chest.
A single thought pops into his woozy mind. He wants Naruto to make him cum in front of everyone. That thought is enough to make him suck in a breath, lean more of his weight into Naruto’s body. Sinking into him.
“Hey, dorks.”
Sakura slaps Naruto’s thigh, and both of them jolt to attention. Sasuke’s heart leaps into his throat. Or maybe it’s all the assorted liquids sloshing around in his stomach?
“Behave,” she nudges them.
“I am,” Naruto pouts, voice level and unaffected. “Sasuke’s not.”
Sasuke doesn’t give a shit about behaving. He wants to wiggle around, he wants to empty his stomach, he wants Naruto to throw him down in the middle of the circle and ravish him there, in front of everyone. His fingertips and belly tingle. It’s dizzying.
Wait, he’s actually dizzy, he realizes. In a bad way.
Suddenly, it is clear that he is too fucked up. He cannot remember the last time he’s been so drunk. They should leave. He should go pee and chug some water. Naruto should say their goodbyes to prevent either of them from embarrassing themselves further in front of their longtime friends. As hot as it is, it doesn’t feel right. It’s out of Sasuke’s control and he lost the steering wheel sometime ago.
All this humiliating, regretful garbage happens with alcohol. It’s so much easier to shut out these complicated urges when he’s sober, for his inhibitions to actually inhibit him from impulsive decision-making. He’d never have the balls to try out this particular kink otherwise.
But, he can’t deny that drinking just makes him feel good. Free. So needy and unguarded enough to let it show, and he likes showing that side of himself to Naruto. He wishes he could do that all the time, and not have his body physically lock up and forbid him from expressing anything but low-grade annoyance. Sasuke enjoys the sensation of being untethered—and not feel any shame about it.
The urge to reciprocate Naruto’s affection sits there, more accessible and feasible than ever. Sasuke could do it—initiate touching Naruto himself, caressing his partner’s chest, the swell of his arms. Ask him what he wanted Sasuke to do to him. Maybe even ask Naruto to run his fingers up and down his sides. Bite his shoulder. Rest his hand on Sasuke’s ribs.
Right now, it just seems so simple. So easy.
The alcohol opens the floodgates to all those emotions and needs, and so many of them are affection, desire, and joy—all things he typically dams up because expressing them feels so demeaning. That desperate, desperate ache for attention is there too. To have people actually see him. To have Naruto see him.
Sasuke repositions himself, his side flush to Naruto’s chest, his arm slung around Naruto’s shoulder. He is so tired. Mouth close to Naruto’s ear, his eyes scan the group without truly seeing them, murmuring, “Let’s go.”
“Not yet,” Naruto doesn’t even look at him. “I’m having fun. Gimme a few minutes. Please?”
That’s not what he wants to hear. Sasuke hates being told to wait, especially for something so juvenile like spin the fucking bottle. Does Naruto not understand how much he wants him? How capable of being normal he feels?
He’ll show him.
With an uncoordinated move, Sasuke cups Naruto’s cheeks, leans in, and takes Naruto’s lower lip between his teeth. Tugging it, earning an interested gasp. Yes. Sasuke smooths his lips along Naruto’s, not quite kissing him, eying everyone as he dodges each of Naruto’s attempts to deepen it. He has to show Naruto what he’s missing. Show all these losers what Naruto has and they don’t. See just how good he has it.
“Take your slut home already,” Shikamaru complains, fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. He’s clearly antsy to go outside for a smoke but is unable to because of Ino’s head resting in his lap.
“Whoa,” Naruto pulls away from Sasuke, a little dazed from the tease. “Don’t call him that—”
“I think it’s bedtime,” Sakura smiles, but it’s not the kind of expression from earlier, it’s one Sasuke can decipher. It’s thinly-masked annoyance, something he knows quite well. “Everyone,” she says pointedly while looking right at Sasuke, “had too much to drink.”
“And some of us gotta work tomorrow.”
“Tenten, that has never kept you from a party.”
“Eat my dick, Sai.”
The arguing drowns in Sasuke’s ears. He doesn’t need to be told twice, especially not when Sakura is trying to obscure her scolding with that genial smile. He knows when he’s in trouble.
Sasuke does not stumble or sway as he stands up, despite the way his vision lurches with a swirl of color and light. He heads out of the room. He expects Naruto to be right behind him, but when Sasuke reaches the doorframe and turns around to share exactly what he would rather be doing than spinning a dirty vodka bottle on the floor in a dog-scented sauna of a house, he notices Naruto isn’t with him.
He’s still in the circle, and several people are leaning over to talk to him. Voices raised to be understood over the music. Their expressions are a cocktail of things that don’t look promising.
Like pity. Concern.
“—isn’t always like that, right? He’s—”
“—so bizarre—”
“Guys, he’s fine—”
“—he was eating you, bro.”
“—sure he’s doing okay?”
He can’t hear the rest of what anyone is saying, nor does he want to. The hot gush of need transforms into its opposite —a chilly slithering in his guts. This isn’t fun anymore. He doesn’t even know what was so enticing about all this. He feels terrible. He just wants to go home.
The next thing he knows, he’s outside breathing massive lungfuls of crisp night air. The occasional car whooshes down the block, slicing its headlights against the road and the Inuzuka siblings’ house as it zooms past. His stomach matches the car's speed, and then Sasuke is throwing up in a bush, bracing himself on the side of the building. He really is too old for this.
When he’s done, something catches his eye. Towards the backyard, even in the shadowy dark, he makes out the fuzzy outline of Akamaru silently watching him, his dark eyes glinting.
It’s not long before a solid grip catches his shoulder. Sasuke doesn’t even need to turn around to know who’s touching him.
“I don’t think either of us should drink for a while. That was a shitshow—” and then the heat in Naruto’s face cools. The grip on his shoulder softens. “Hey.”
Fuck, Sasuke knows he’s crying.
Hot shame and the roiling in his guts are the only things in focus. Sounds, sights and sensations seem so far removed from the miserable burn in his chest. Sasuke’s wet eyes can’t see much in the dark, and they see even less when Sasuke gets pulled into a tight hug, burying his face into the shoulder that’s always there for him, even though he seldom ever uses it. Now, when he finally does, it’s after he pukes. Great.
“Time to go home?” Naruto suggests eventually, smoothing his hand along Sasuke’s lower back. Sasuke, shaking and clumsy and not quite done throwing up, nods. Naruto orders a ride for them and gets someone to bring a bottle of water and some napkins.
Thankfully, Sasuke empties the rest of his stomach before getting into the cab. He has never puked in a car and he refuses to start tonight.
When they get home, the apartment is deserted. They abandoned Sakura and Sai at the party, and if those two know any better, they won’t come home for a bit.
Or, maybe they should, says the weak, horny part of his brain.
Ha. As if he could manage anything remotely sexual now. It would be a miracle if he could even maintain an erection, much less get hard. All of that sounds too daunting. He needs to go to bed.
When the door shuts behind them, Sasuke’s lungs seem to work better. The air isn’t stuffy with dog hair or sour booze. It smells like home, like Sakura’s soy candle collection, like the popcorn Naruto microwaved earlier in the day, like the acrid hint of the cleaning spray he took to the countertops after cleaning up dinner.
Sasuke’s tears dried out in their building lobby, and what remains is that usual heavy emptiness lodged in his chest. He’s silent as he dodges Naruto’s concerned look, instead opting to immediately brush the taste of bile off his teeth.
In the mirror, he views his spinning, unsteady reflection, and even this inebriated, he can tell that he looks like he got hit by a car.
When he only tastes mint, he returns to where he left Naruto by the sink. He sips from an enormous cup of water. Sasuke joins him at the tap, close, but not enough to touch. The glass is half full when Naruto offers it to him along with some painkillers.
Sasuke swallows the pills and the rest of the water down his raspy throat as Naruto studies him, piecing together exactly what he wants to say. Gaze lowered, Sasuke puts the empty cup in the sink.
“So,” Naruto starts, grazing Sasuke’s hip. Everything in Sasuke tenses, waiting for the inevitable, painful line of questioning. Or the scolding. The clear disappointment etched on Naruto’s face is not a welcome sign. “I think I’m ready for bed. I would say we should shower, but I don’t trust either of us not to slip and kill ourselves in there.”
“Yeah.”
That’s not what he expected. Sasuke doesn’t care that he must look stupid with how baffled he is. Naruto isn’t even looking at him, instead just heads to the bathroom, expecting Sasuke to follow.
He does, reluctantly.
Even if he can’t shower, he spends an embarrassing amount of time making a mess splashing water everywhere as he washes his face. Naruto keeps to himself, going through his own drunk version of his wind-down routine. Naruto’s the first one to head to their shared bedroom and Sasuke trails after him, even though he strongly considered taking some baby wipes to his gross body. Instead, Sasuke stumbles, dressing in fresh sleep clothes. The clean fabric feels wonderful against him.
Some part of him is thankful for the charged silence. A conversation, in their state, would be disastrous. It would be a huge misunderstanding. It would be a fight. About what exactly? Sasuke doesn’t know, but he feels raw and so unlike himself.
Naruto shuts off the light when they’re both in bed. Sasuke replays the foggy events of the night in a disorganized loop in his head. The touching. The staring. The humiliation.
The mattress creaks as Naruto leans over and kisses Sasuke on the cheek. He pats the space beside him in invitation when Sasuke doesn’t make the move himself. That relieves Sasuke of a fear he didn’t realize he was harboring. Sasuke tucks in against him, back snug against Naruto’s front. Arms snake around him and he clings to that one win as he immediately passes out.