Lorien Loves Stohn

I Think You're An Idiot

I don't think I've ever seen anyone consume this much alcohol. Ever. Not even Sandor. In fact, I don't think that this is safe in the slightest. I know that twenty-one shots of vodka is automatically dead... John is on the seventeenth or eighteenth shot.

"John really!" I plead with him.

"Shuuut up! Let's daaaance!" He grabs my hand. He grabs my hand. Holy crap, I'm holding his hand. He may be drunk and on the verge of death, but I'll take it.

John raises his shot glass above his head and starts dancing. Some Korean song is playing and he is going crazy. I'm talking grinding (not against me, sadly), doing the "Dougie", Harlem Shake, everything. I gotta say, I'm totally into this drunk John. I ease the shot glass out of hand and start dancing with him. Well... not necessarily WITH him like I'd like to be, but more with a group of people.

It must be K-Pop night or something because every single song that is playing is in Korean. Korean was kind of like a second language to me because although I can understand a ton of languages, I've only really mastered English and Korean. Sandor chose it so we could communicate without most people knowing what we're saying. None of that's really on my mind though as I watch John "get his groove on".

John is a shade of light blue, but it doesn't seem like sadness. Maybe confidence or drunkenness? I don't know yet, but I know that he seems to be having a damn good time. He turns to me, the lights from the club casting an enchanting glow on his face.

"Nine I waaaanna talk to yooooou." He says, putting a hand on my shoulder. PUTTING A HAND ON MY SHOULDER. Okay, what is happening tonight?!

"Uh, go ahead. But, whatever you're going to say, I am going to assume it's the alcohol talking." I reply.

"When you kissssssed me-"

"Nope nevermind. We're not having this discussion. Especially not on a crowded dance floor with music blasting. Let's get you home." I try to budge a bit but John holds me in place. He's strong, even while he's drunk.

"You-" He laughs a bit, smiling to himself. "You didn't let me finish."

"And what are you going to do when you do finish? Huh? Tell me I'm a loser? Call me a faggot? Sorry, Johnny, but I refuse to take any cra-"

John moves his face very, very close to mine. His lips brushing mine. I freeze, totally unsure what to do.

"Well, Stanley Worthington..." He laughs. I don't mind how the heavy smell of vodka has replaced the peppermint that's usually there. And although it caught me off guard, it's almost sexy the way that my alias rolls off of John's tongue. I move my eyes from his lips to his eyes, which are boring into mine. "I think you're an idiot."

And that's the last thing I hear before he crashes his lips into mine.

It takes me a moment, but I kiss back. I wrap my arms around his waist and I put my heart and soul into this kiss. John tangles his hands through my long hair, pulling at it to try and get closer to me. I don't care that he's drunk. I live in the kiss and cherish every last moment of it. I move my hands to John's cheeks, pressing his face against mine.

The harsh odor of vodka leaks from John's mouth. Whatever. If John being on the verge of death from alcohol is what it takes to get him to kiss me like this, so be it. I didn't even have to manipulate his emotions. We stay this way, heavily breathing and pressed against each other, for way longer than we should.

Long enough for someone to tap on my shoulder and shout "Get a room!"

I pull away from John and lean my forehead against his, smiling to myself. John laughs again and says "I think we should do just that."

I'm too shocked to process what he's saying. "You... you think what?!"

"I said we SHOULD get a room." John smirks and looks up at me.

"WHAT?!" I can admit that this is like, my dream. This is exactly what I want. But I feel like this was way too easy.

"Did Stanley not understand?" There's that name again. John play-pouts and then smirks. "I want to get under the covers with you and-"

"Thaaat's enough for tonight. Listen, you're drunk, you're tired, you're not thinking straight, and-"

"You're right, actually. I'm not thinking straight. I'm thinking gay."

It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing.

"Yup. Home. Now."

I end up calling a taxi and we get back to the John Hancock center quick enough that John doesn't puke all over the back seat of the car. After getting all the way upstairs, I drag John into his bedroom. He's still on his drunk "buzz" from all of those drinks.

"Nine..."

"Yes, Johnathan?" I say curtly.

"I waaaant you..." John tries grabbing my hair and tugging me in, but I take hold of his hands.

"And if when you are sober you still want me, then hey, I'm not thinking straight either." WHAT AM I SAYING. I could take this opportunity now to get the guy of my dreams and what am I doing? I am fucking telling him no. But if I think about it, I know I'm doing the right thing. Worst comes to worst, John remembers nothing from last night and we both get on with our lives. And if I slept with him tonight... well, that'd be a mistake. Unless...

"Nine I want you." John moans, interrupting my thoughts.

I sigh and run my hands through my hair.

"Please. I know you want ME, Stanley." That's it. I snap.

"Fuck it." I say and turn to John. "I want you too." I flick the lights out with my telekinesis and I grab John.