Set Backs. || PURPLEPHONE

Every Decision Has A Consequence

(( FROM NOW ON: Every chapter with a * next to the name has an alternate version on FanFic.net under my user. Just gonna make it easier for you to know when to check it.))

Scott looked up and down the bar, but Oliver was absolutely nowhere to be seen.  Maybe he'd gone to the toilet or something and was going to get the drinks after...? He sighed. He hadn't meant to offend Ollie like that, by indirectly saying he only wanted his body - which he didn't! Sighing, he ordered a drink while he waited for Ollie to return.

"Can I get you something?" A lady beside him that he hadn't noticed was there spoke, her voice smooth silk. She was wearing hardly anything, with a black chain around her neck and sleazy-looking make up. "You look thirsty, hon. Why don't you buy a drink?~" She winked. "You look real innocent. I like it when they're innocent. Ten dollars for a lap-dance, going cheap for a first timer."

Scott started, reeling back, and couldn't control the grimace that spread across his features. Gross. "You're really not my type. Really. But here," He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, getting out a twenty dollar note. He handed it to the prostitute, "Do yourself a favour and buy yourself a jumper or dinner or something."

The prostitute looked down at the note, and then up at Scott. She snatched it from him hungrily - desperately - and disappeared off into the crowd.

"Hm. Not even so much as a thank you," Scott muttered to himself.

"Here's your Guinness," The bartender pushed a pint of beer over towards Scott.

"Thanks..." Scott mumbled, then hopped off of his barstool, deciding to go see if Ollie was in the bathrooms or something.

"Hey, wait," The bartender pointed at Scott's beer, looking confused, "You shouldn't leave your drink unattended."

"I don't care if someone drinks from it," Scott shrugged. "I'll just buy a new one. But I doubt anyone's going to mess with it, I'll be right back."

The bartender frowned at him, but nodded just slightly, "Alright then. Your funeral..."

Scott ran off through the crowd, looking for the male toilets. Spotting them, he pushed through the smoky dancefloor and the shouting, dancing people towards them. People yelled at him as he went past, and the bodies pushed against him until he felt like a salmon trying to swim upstream. Eventually, he broke through the wave of people and stepped through the entrance to the toilets, almost tripping over a drug needle. "Ugh, gross."

He looked around, but Oliver wasn't at the urinals, and all the stall doors were open. His shoulders slumped and he frowned. Oliver had lied when he said he was going to get them a drink. Had Scott really insulted him that much?

Turning around, he forced his way through the group of sweaty dancers until he made it back to the bar. Was Oliver upstairs, maybe? That, or there were some rooms at the back, used for people who'd drank too much to recuperate, though as you can imagine, the rooms were usually used for something slightly more innapropriate.

He saw that his drink was still there and untouched. Walking over to it, he picked it up and took a mouthful, scanning the crowd for Ollie or even Vincent, but he couldn't see any of them.

He sighed, taking another long draught. The night had started so well. Maybe it really was a stupid idea to have invited Oliver along. He just wanted to help him out...

His mind suddenly started to blur, and he put down his drink, whistling. Geez, what is in that thing? He realised he'd drank half the pint already; he needed to slow down. Standing up, he made the decision to go search upstairs and in the back rooms to see if Ollie was there.

As he stumbled slightly around, he realised the blurring in the back of his head wasn't fading. Actually, now, it was accompanied by a spark of heat in his abdomen. Huh, that was weird. He didn't usually get that reaction from drink that quickly.

Mentally dismissing it, he found his way to the stairs and pulled himself up them one at a time until he was at the small balcony. There were a few people up there, but the latino he was looking for wasn't one of them.

The blurring in the back of his head was getting worse.

That was really weird.

Suddenly, someone moved out of the way, walking across to talk to a friend, and Scott spotted Oliver's long, greasy black hair. Scott's eyes widened. "Ollie!"

Oliver looked around and locked eyes with him. He waved, "Hola, Scott."

Scott walked over to him - well. Walked was a bit of an overstatement. His legs felt like jelly, as if he was losing control of his body. He wibbled and wobbled half the way, and then almost fell into Oliver, "H-Holaaaa...~"

"¿Qué puedo hacer por ti?" Oliver asked, giving him a quick up and down.

"Look, Ol..." Scott almost forgot - what was he trying to find Oliver for? - "I'm... shh... shorry- 'bout... um... thingo..."

Oliver arched an eyebrow, "Are... you okay there, mi amor? You... you need to lie down? I think you've drunk a little too much."

Scott didn't argue as Oliver grabbed his arm and started leading him downstairs. He couldn't really do much but stumble along after him and try not to trip over his own two feet, which, by the way, were starting to get pins and needles.

Oliver opened the door of one of the empty rooms and pulled Scott inside, closing the door behind them. "How much did you drink, muchacho?" He asked, sounding amused.

"Uuhhhh..." Scott finally tripped over, ending up face-first on the single bed. "Umm...? Ju-Jusht one."

"I think you had more than one, querido," Oliver laughed, sitting on the bed beside him. "You can't get that drunk off one beer."

"M' not... M' not drunk..." Scott protested, rolling over onto his back and sitting up. He shook his head to clear it, getting rid of a little bit of the fuzziness. The pins and needles in his feet and the heat in his stomach were getting more intense every second. "Not drunk. Hadta findya. Hadta let you know... m' sorry."

"Sorry? ¿Para qué? You don't need to be sorry. I told you, I understand. I'm used to giving people what they want from me. I know what you want from me," Oliver explained. "And it's not a polyamorous relationship."

"N-No," Scott frowned, Oliver's words melding together into a stream of nonsense. "I don't- don't understand?"

"Here," Oliver said, and he leaned forward, pulling Scott into a long kiss.

((Omg I'm so not ready for the comments))