Troye's pov
"Who wants uh- I'm really drunk, wow- who wants to fuck?" I shout over Jacob's trash music.
I stagger around and into the crowd of sweaty bodies, having the greatest intoxicated smile you could imagine. Oh, drunk Troye, we may regret this tomorrow.
Common sense thrown out the door, I spot Jacob still dancing with that same girl. This is it! I need someone and I need them now. And what better choice than one of his best mates.
"Jesseeee," I slur.
I grab him by the jacket and pull him in close, "Do you wanna fuck?"
He gives me an odd look, shaking his head no.
"Sorry, little man, I don't swing that way." He speaks with a pitiful expression.
I let go of him and throw my hands in the air, "That's okay! I don't either!"
Confusion grows off of his pores, "What're you saying?"
Looking back at Jacob who's preoccupied with a twerking lady then back to Jesse, I let out a little hmph.
"I want to fuck with Jacob." I admit.
"Ohhh," He nods, "I see."
"Do you?" I question.
"Yeah, you want to make him jealous like he does to you."
I scoff though he's right, "Nooo. I-"
"Oh hush and turn around." He directs.
I turn around and lean down as he places a hand on my back. This is it, the epiphany I've surely waited my whole life for. Dancing with a man. Dear lord.
"I don't know how to- how to do this." I admit.
"You're fine. Just go with the beat of the music." He instructs, placing two hands on my hips.
I sway my hips to the beat and find myself actually doing as he said. I ignore the looks I get from others and smirk as my eyes land on Jacob, who is glaring at me. Turning back around, I loop my arms around Jesse's neck and pull him in for a kiss. He chuckles into it, pulling away.
I'm startled as I'm jerked back by none other than Jacob.
"What do you think you're doing?" He inquires in a bitter tone.
Jesse let's out a sorry mate and lets himself be swallowed back into the crowd.
I shrug, "Dancing."
"Come with me." He demands, grabbing my wrist and leading me to the thankfully empty washroom.
"What do you want?" I ask.
And this, right here, is an example of drunk words are sober thoughts.
"You." He utters.
I step closer and look up at him, "I'm right here."
A hand to my face, he caresses my cheek.
"I don't know what you're doing to me." He admits, looking down at me with dewy bloodshot eyes.
I stand up on my toes and pull him down closer, pressing my lips against his. He responds to easily, his hand moving to my neck as he kisses me so softly. So unlike us. He parts his lips and laps his tongue over my lips. I let him in and slip my way into his mouth, smiling as he has my tongue between his teeth.
It was a perfect moment. Alas, in the life of Troye Sivan Mellet, something must always go wrong.
Feeling my belly lurch, I pull away in seconds, smacking a hand over my mouth. I receive a concerned look from him. I wave him off, silently asking him to leave as I bend over the toilet and hurl into it.
"Fuck," I whisper.
