"And no tear too and you took my whole dick in.."
Lance couldn't help but blush, the way Ansel stared at him made him feel ashamed.
He was still on the rug when Ansel stood up, placing the documents inside the briefcase and arranging his clothes.
"Do you need a lift home?"
Lance shook his head, he came here with Henry, he should at least go back with him.
Where was Henry even?
"Very well, you can leave the room when you're ready.."
Lance watched Ansel leave the room, holding the briefcase in hand.
He stared at the bottle of whisky on the table, he was already drinking today, might as well have a celebratory drink now that he has gotten the money to clear his debt.
He had gotten to the second shot, when Henry burst into the room.
But Lance was already totally wasted, he had only taken two shots but he didn't know how potent the whiskey was on his already intoxicated system.
"Fuck! I go out for two minutes and I'm searching for you for 45 minutes. Are you testing my patience Lance. Fuck.."
He grabbed Lance by the chin, and hissed angrily.
He was totally wasted, just what did he drink?
Henry turned to the table, to see a nearly empty bottle of Talisker storm.
"..."
Was he crazy? This whiskey had 46% alcohol potency.
"Fuck Lance, who's room did you enter?"
Lance's head lolled back, eyes glassy, lips parted in a lazy, drunken smile.
"Ansel… Lowell…"
Henry froze.
For a full three seconds he didn't breathe.
Then the rage hit him so fast the veins along his neck stood out.
"Ansel Lowell? Are you insane, Lance? Of all people, you go into his fucking room?"
Lance blinked slowly, as if confused why Henry was shouting.
He giggled—actually giggled—and slumped into Henry's chest like he mistook him for a couch.
Henry dragged him upright by the arm, no gentleness left in him.
"Look at me. Look at me, Lance."
Lance raised his head lazily.
"Henrryyyy… you're so loud… my head is spinning…"
Henry tightened his grip. "What did he do to you?"
Lance's smile stretched, hazy and pleased.
"He… mm… I sucked his dick…"
Henry's vision went black at the edges.
Lance kept talking, oblivious to the dangerous water he was threading, his breath hot with whiskey.
"And I didn't even mind if he was gonna choke me with his fat dick… I thought I'd die happy at least.."
Henry slammed him against the wall so fast the picture frame rattled.
"Shut. Up."
But Lance only moaned.
It wasn't from fear or pain.
It was that disgusting, humiliating, masochistic sound he only made when he was getting roughed.
Henry's jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.
"Fuck, Lance… you're drunk and horny over someone else again."
Lance rubbed against him, hips moving slow, lazy, completely debauched.
"Henrryy… warm… wanna… ngh…"
Henry grabbed Lance's throat, thumb pressing lightly, just enough to make Lance gasp.
"How dare you suck his dick?" Henry growled.
"That bastard. Of all people, you let him have you?"
Lance's lips parted, breath shuddering. "Why're you madddd…?"
Mad?
Henry was livid.
Jealous.
Wounded.
He leaned in until their mouths almost touched, his breath shaking with restraint.
"Why are you okay with everyone else except me?"
Lance stared at him, pupils blown wide, totally wrecked and not understanding a damn thing.
Henry's voice dropped, raw and bitter.
"I can't kiss you when you're sober. You don't even mind that I'm holding you like this because you're drunk. Because, tomorrow you won't remember a thing.."
His fingers tightened slightly around Lance's jaw.
"And you won't take my money. You won't look at me the way you look at those useless men on your OF. I know what you do there, Lance. I saw it. I jerked off to it like an idiot because I'm in love with you and you're letting strangers fuck you for crumbs."
Lance blinked, swaying, a sloppy smile tugging at his lips.
Henry looked so done.
Done, angry, hurt, jealous, and still so desperately obsessed.
"Tell me again.." Henry whispered dangerously, "what did Ansel fucking Lowell do to you?"
Lance didn't answer.
Not because he was refusing but because his head finally slumped forward, his entire body going slack in Henry's grip.
He was out cold, just like that.
Henry stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast with anger boiling under his skin with nowhere to go.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
With a sharp exhale, he bent down and hauled Lance onto his back.
"Fine. Whatever. We're going home."
Lance murmured something that sounded like "…warm…" and buried his face against Henry's neck.
Henry hated how good it felt.
His mood was rotten by the time he got them outside.
Rotten through the taxi ride.
Rotten as he fumbled with Lance's keys, trying to keep the drunk idiot from sliding down the hallway wall.
Inside, Lance immediately tried to walk on his own, lasted three steps then tripped over absolutely nothing.
Henry caught him by the waist, irritated beyond belief.
"Stop moving."
Getting his clothes off was supposed to be simple, but Lance made even that impossible.
Lance kept twisting, sighing, whining under his breath like every brush of Henry's fingers was a tease.
When Henry pulled his shirt off, Lance shivered and tipped his head back.
When Henry went for his belt, Lance let out a sound so desperate Henry nearly threw him onto the bed out of frustration.
"Are you serious right now?" Henry muttered under his breath. "You were with another man not even an hour ago."
Lance didn't hear him.
Didn't understand anything anymore.
He only knew was that he was buzzing, hot and burning with desire.
Henry finally got his pants off, tossing them aside.
And Lance—God—Lance moaned when his back hit the mattress, arching like he wanted more.
Like a twig, Henry's resolve snapped.
He grabbed Lance by the jaw and kissed him.
Not gently.
Not sweetly.
Not like he'd imagined it a hundred times before.
It was angry.
Frustrated.
A kiss he wouldn't dare give him if Lance were sober.
Lance melted instantly, fingers weakly clutching Henry's shirt.
Henry pulled back, breathing hard, staring down at him.