A Weeend of Revelry: Night 01

A slow warmup to a three-part story. To keep you interested for part two, first an ending teaser...enjoy!

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The air was silent except for the hot, heavy, slow breathing of Troye on his chest. Despite the smooth and soft skin of his abdomen brushing against him, Cameron staved off the urge to get hard again. He kept his arms wrapped around Troye's back and tried to put his mind to rest. Was this really what he wanted? Had all of this been boiling up to this point? Or was it just the alcohol?

It all felt so foreign. He wasn't that experienced in the first place aside from his own hand - but Troye's was different. The texture of his palms, the movement of his fingertips, and when he went from tugging at his thighs to teasing with his finger...it was all new, and unique, and exciting. The things he had read were never so sensual and romantic as it all had seemed tonight.

The sheets were damp with sweat, but the feeling and the smell weren't displeasing. He knew it was a mixture of theirs, and stained with the sweet scents of their deodorants and colognes. It was beautiful. Troye was beautiful. Troye loved him. He loved Troye. And like Troye, he was quickly drifting into sleep.

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This weekend was going to be awesome. Troye's parents were taking his little sister up to New York with them, and (after some argument) let him stay home. "We've been there before. Seen it once, seen it always," he convinced them. Of course, he had ulterior motives; his parents, as much as he loved them, were pretty heavy drinkers.

The bar that merged the kitchen with the living room was buried in dozens of bottles full of every kind of liquor. Flavored whiskey, vodka, and rum occupied every inch of granite, with the most precious and frequented drinks chilling in the mini fridge. Half of those on the counter were unopened, and the other half were rarely touched. What that meant for him and Cameron?

A really, really fun few days together.

Cam told his parents he was staying at Troye's all weekend (starting Thursday night and ending Monday around noon), which, given this summer, wasn't unexpected. They were fairly relaxed, and merely acknowledged his plans with "okay, text us if you need anything." This should reasonably be expected by any parents at this point - he could drive, had his own job at the bookstore; in almost all regards, he was becoming an adult, and there wasn't much they should or could do to control him. The only setback was attending community college meant being home all the time. And so, the stage was set.

He texted Troye to let him know, as expected, that he was good to go. Troye responded with all the hype in the world, anticipating how much they would drink, what video games they'd pass out playing, which of their friends they would voice call with in the midst of their frivolity. They had never had this sort of fun before - only quick sips stolen from mostly-empty shot glasses at their parents' parties, away from each other and not nearly as exciting. To find out what being drunk felt like would be an adventure, and they would love nothing more than taking that adventure together. Unlike most of their friends, they didn't get to go out and go crazy for their recent double-21st birthday party - work never sleeps, and bosses care little about your birthday!

They had been close friends for a long time. Neither of them were born here, and had moved here by the time they were becoming their own individuals in middle school. They bonded over having similar families (both had a younger sister and parents in their mid thirties) and things most boys share - down to the personal details. Summer camps, baseball, and video games kept them together outside of just high school as they spent as much time together as they could. Some semesters they had classes together, but for most they didn't, finding time together when exchanging social drama over lunch.

When they weren't at camp, summers were a blur of spending the night at each other's houses (usually Cam's) and diluting their bloodstreams with dangerous amounts of caffeine, pulling all-nighters as virtual soldiers and tacticians. A rare day would roll around when one would have a close call sexual encounter, "making out" with a cute girl at the park or receiving a stray brush of fingers on their thigh under the cafeteria table. They always shared the details - surely drawn out much longer than the event itself - and would chuckle about the other's lack of experience.

They never talked too long, though. Unknown to open doors, they both had some questions about what they wanted for themselves. Troye had taken to admiring some of the finer things about the baseball uniforms; Cam had the occasional inclination to read more-than-slightly gay erotica. Neither was totally secure about where they stood, and hadn't dared to venture out in search of those experiences for fear of social obliteration. More than one story they each told was at least slightly fabricated or exaggerated.

For the most part, they both put those feelings aside and only pondered over the thoughts when alone. In that way, they'd only really skimmed the top of the subject of sexuality with each other. Maybe the subject would come up when they're blasted?

Cam packed his bag while he and Troye messaged back and forth. Most of the conversation was taken up by Cam asking what he needed to bring in the way of games, snacks, and clothes (i.e. swimsuit.) Troye defended his lack of food options with a dismissive "hey, I'm the one providing the drinks ;p."

Consequently, half of Cam's bag was occupied by various chips and things made of chocolate, the other half stuffed with an abundance of clothes in the event he drank too much and needed some spares. Carefully laid on the top were a few of their favorite games, his best controller, and his laptop. He couldn't be more excited, and every minute waiting for Troye's family to take off felt like an hour.

As the clock ticked down to 10:30 - the time Troye's parents set to leave, hoping to arrive in New York in the early morning - Cam received one last text about potential supplies: "Uh were you planning on bringing your bottle? You might want it with how you're going to feel hahaha." He was referring to Cam's bottle of, as the label says, "personal lubricant," imagining how horny he'll probably get as a result of being intoxicated and more than likely watching some racy movies (or more.) He blushed, but responded "Ah haha yeah good idea." He tossed it in the side pocket of his bag, and was finally ready to go.

Dinner had been uneventful and Cam's parents were already settling in for a movie and sleep. He occupied the last hour watching YouTube on his phone, primarily watching videos of drunk gamers in mental preparation.

At just after 10:45, his video is interrupted with a subtle buzz and notification across the top edge of the screen. "They're gone!" The text was followed by a string of emojis: beer bottles, champagne glasses, and obnoxious faces. The time was now.

Cam picked up his heavy bag and glided across the hardwood floor, supporting the weight of all his supplies with one hand and reaching for the door with the other. "See you Monday," he called out. There may have been a mumble in response, but it didn't matter. He skipped outside and let the door close itself behind him.

The ride was short. Troye lived just ten minutes down the road. Cam scrolled through the radio, finding the most intense parts of various pop songs and putting them on full blast. His singing was drowned out by the noise, and the intense vibrating of the whole interior of the car kept raising his spirits and his heart rate. A million thoughts a minute flashed through his head of drink mixes, thrilling co-op games, late-night drunk and honest conversations.

He turned onto Troye's quiet and brightly lit street. It was mostly empty; it was moving season around here, so half the houses were unoccupied and owned merely by the realtor's sign out front. He pulled into the driveway taken up by a single gray sedan, recovered his bag, and headed up the sidewalk.

His heart was pounding. Four days of inexplicable fun awaited him behind that door. He half-expected Troye to run out the door already hammered and waiting for him to jump in on his coop match. He didn't, but the thought that he might have put him in a good enough mood to walk through the door. He did so, bursting in like he owned the place. He threw open the screen and the hard plastic door, Troye glancing over to acknowledge his presence but too deeply involved in his game to say much. "Hey!" he shouted, racking up three kills while Cam tossed his backpack next to the TV.

"Hey! COD 4?" he asked, plopping down next to him on the couch.

"Hell yeah. This is my best game in a while," Troye replied, an indiscernible mess of noise emitting from his controller. His reflexes and skills with his fingers were incredible.

"I'll jump in next game." Cam grabbed his bag and settled into place in the corner of the lofty couch, already settling down for the night. It was late, but it would be much later before the night was over. He dug through his backpack, subtly ignoring the bottle of lube packed next to his bags of munchies.

He pulled out his personal effects and took a minute to freshen up with deodorant (it was hotter in Troye's house, and the jumble of running technology made it worse.) Fresh 'none' scent wrapped under his arms. Better than sweat at least.

Troye's match came to a close at the right moment and Cameron jumped right in. They had their process down to a science, and he managed to get his account connected and sign into the game before the next game fired up. Time for some serious ass-kicking.

"After this game we'll crack open...something, haha." The silence on the alcohol was already broken. Oh yes, a good weekend was ahead.

"That's totally good with me!" Cam couldn't wait just thinking of all the memories they'd make, stories they'd tell, records they'd set in this one night, not to mention the rest of the weekend.

"How much do you think you can take?" Troye posed, undertoned halfway through with the clicking of their joysticks. Not that he actually knew the first thing about units of alcohol, but at least it warmed up the frivolity.

"Uhh not that much," was the response. Fairly cautious answer.

The small talk over the game continued, but they kept up Troye's winning streak. They ended up playing another game because they feared losing their skills once the seal on whatever liquor they picked was broken. As they came to a close on the second game, Troye shot up and started straight for the bar.

"I'm so ready, dude." He started to fumble through the levels of bottles, fingertips tapping the caps of the strongest spirits. "Any idea what we should try first?"

"I don't want to go too hard too fast. Maybe something flavored--sugary?" In actuality, he wanted to wake up tomorrow and not remember the last week. But he really didn't know how much he could take before that would happen, and he wanted interesting things to happen first.

"Okay, then there's basically mixed fruit vodka or schnapps. Pick your poison." Troye himself went for a nondescript, artificial berry vodka that wasn't opened - he wanted it all. Before Cam could even make a decision, Troye had a cup filled to the brim with ice and sickly sweet, almost pure alcohol. "Cheers," he murmured as he took a sizable taste-test.

Cam gave in, either because he wanted to keep pace with Troye or just so he would have a fun night - couldn't decide which - and poured himself some peach-flavored vodka out of another unopened bottle.

"Haha sweet, we'll both be gone by the end of the night," Troye chuckled. Secretly, his throat was on fire and he wished he'd picked a lighter drink - he just wanted Cam to jump into it. He was hoping if he could peer pressure Cam into drinking that fast, he'd sooner change into some cooler clothes. (Subtly, though half unintentionally, he had also bumped up the temperature a few degrees before Cam got there.)

Cam took his first sip. "Ohhh wow! That is rough--" he choked out before coughing. They didn't know it, but they had just picked two of the strongest drinks in the house. Only a few others had that kind of concentration.

Once they had about a shot worth out of their glasses, they both settled back in to their places and hunkered down for the long haul. Over the next hour, though their ability to dominate the game began to dwindle, they built up pretty thin blood. In all, they had already downed three shots - give or take, since Troye was keeping slightly behind.

"Yikes, I feel so warm--" (he burped) "--I'm gonna go turn the heat off." Troye's plan wasn't quite working out. Maybe he had less of a tolerance for heat than he thought Cam had.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to change real quick. Don't start the next game without me--actually, want to switch to coop?" Cam picked his spare set of gym clothes (also his pajamas) out of his bag and moved toward the bathroom to change.

"Yeah sure, and you can just change in here, thermostat's in the hall." Troye wandered down the hallway leading to his bedroom, far enough away to give Cam minimal privacy for a quick-change.

He looped his fingers in the sides of his jeans and pulled them straight off, stopping to step out of them, as Troye reached the small terminal in the side of the wall. Troye turned the temperature from 78 to 72, knowing that by the time the whole house cooled they'd already feel even warmer than they do now. He flipped the plastic casing back down just in time to catch a sight in the shining screen's reflection that he didn't expect, but certainly was hoping to see--

The back of Cameron's head, down to his toes, almost completely bare. He had only his tight boxer-briefs on, and was just pulling his shirt over his head. The ripples around his shoulder muscles were thick and clean-cut, the dimples near his hips inviting him over. His smooth, tough ass was hugged by the only fabric he was wearing. Troye was dumbstruck. He didn't want to move, both for the perfect angle for the sight and to not alert Cam that he was about to come back.

Cam was oblivious, thinking Troye was further down the hall, and wasn't hurrying to put his change of clothes on. In the same way he stepped out of his jeans, he stepped into the open legs of his shorts at the same time as pulling his thin sleeveless shirt over his head. In a few seconds, everything exposed was covered again, and he stuffed his other clothes back into his bag.

Troye snapped out of it when it was all gone and, embarrassed, hurried back pretending to not have seen anything. That moment, he hoped, will never come to light outside of his own mind.

"Alright, do you have it set up?" His voice broke slightly as he approached, due in part to the alcohol but mostly out of estranged nervousness. He plopped back into his seat--so he thought, missing the edge and instead sitting with his back up against the couch cushion.

"Yeah I--ahaha, good job. Feeling good?" Cam laughed at him.

"You betcha," Troye bolstered, attempting to make even eye contact with him.

"Nice. You still have so much to go!" Troye's glass was still halfway full, though Cam had already almost finished his own, not noticing the difference between the two glasses. "Keep it up. Anyway, yeah, coop's open."

Feeling somewhat dizzy but not really "drunk," Cam hopped up and went back to the bar to refill. He enjoyed the small victory that he only needed to pour half a cup of the room temperature alcohol into what he had, and the temperature of it all came to a nice cool middle ground. The smell was nauseating, yet full of a pleasurable berry scent.

Naturally, as soon as it settled, he swallowed a whole mouth full. He nearly coughed it back up before swallowing because of the intense stinging rush. He muffled his cough with a low grunt, wiping away the smallest bit of water from his eye to hide his shock from Troye.

He looked over at Troye with as little suspicion as he could muster with what control he had over his facial muscles, and smiled. The night had only just begun - it was only coming around to 2 am.

Troye used both controllers to set up their game and waited patiently for Cam, mostly uncaring and focused on the image he had in his head. He was slowly coming to the realization that he was much more interested in Cam than he had been in anybody for years...and as more than just a guy-friend. Or maybe that's just the vodka talking.

They continued down the game's story for half an hour or so before Cam joined Troye on the floor. The last gulp had just hit him, and he had been sipping the whole time. Soon he'll be gone. Yet, Troye still hadn't downed a full cup, and wasn't going nearly as fast as Cam was. The difference in tolerance was apparently pretty big. Or Troye was trying to stay focused.

By the end of the hour, both had exhausted their ability to concentrate on the game and decided to swap to a movie. Neither had a particular genre of preference, so they settled for one neither had seen before - some love triangle movie with two guys and a girl or something. They didn't have the brainpower to focus on what it was about anyway, and instead would probably spend the whole time on their phones until they passed out.

Troye queued it up, hit play, and laid down from where he was, his head lined up with the middle of the screen (despite not looking at it anyhow.) Cam propped himself up on the armrest, almost just above Troye, with his full head of soft, brown hair at the edge of the end cushion.

Before Cam had begun to change clothes, he had decided to freshen up. A new coat of deodorant and the smallest spritz of cologne cooled him down and recreated his signature scent; the aroma of artificial, "dark" cinnamon and an almost whiskey-like air that breezed away from him replenished his failing senses. But that wasn't the point of freshening up, and Troye had decided not to say anything despite being able to clearly tell the change in the air.

At this hour, the world was pitch black and quiet. Not even the light of the street lamps outside pierced the thin curtains covering the front windows. The only source of sight was the movie, and every flicker of color reflected off of Troye's hair and up to Cam. A warm orange-brown haze had fallen over the room, mostly because of the color scheme of the movie, and caused in part by the tunneling effect of the alcohol. Everything was, in all meanings of the word, cozy. Cam occasionally glanced up at the film, but had already tucked his phone away in his pack, and was slowly drooping more and more over the armrest. He felt safe and happy to be there with Troye, wrapping himself in those feelings as a blanket to fall asleep under.

Yet, Troye was wide awake. Every waft of air from above that passed by Cameron was torture. His eyes were on the screen, but his vision was a blur - all he could see was the image in his head, quickly morphing into fiction sweetened with impossible risqué scenarios. He wanted desperately to turn his head and look up at him, but without looking suspect, he couldn't risk the awkwardness of glancing. What if he said something about earlier? Would Cam be uncomfortable? Would he leave, or go sleep in his parents' room because of it? With the wild images playing over and over in his head, nothing was clear enough to be sure that he could confidently reveal what he was really thinking to Cam.

Not to mention, he had finally, slowly finished off the second half of his drink, and he was almost out of control. Ignoring the growing disturbance below - encouraged by what seemed to be an emerging romance between the two guys in the movie - he adjusted down further to rest his head on his arms, and soon, rather than Cam, he saw black.