The Morning After

The phone's catcall squirmed its way under the covers. The ringing passed over the hills and valleys of Aurelio's fluffy black comforter and worn green sheets. The sound found the soft corners of his skull and nestled in there, curled around itself like a small dog and settled down for the wait.

The phone was so fucking loud, and it hurt like a son of a whore.

Aurelio groaned and floundered his way up through the covers and to his phone, left charging on his bedside table.

"Aurelito!" Over the phone, Max's voice sounded even more tinny than usual. "Buenos días, princesa!"

Aurelio struggled around in his bed, then finally emerged as if rising up from his grave. He struggled to find words to express the anger he felt thrumming in every bone, on topics ranging from his hangover to Max calling him a princess. He came up with a groan.

"Fuuuuuck."

"The caf's closing in thirty minutes," Max said. "Get your ass down here, ahora."

"Your awful Spanish..." Aurelio moaned. "'S making my headache worse..."

"Your vodka-redbulls last night," Max countered far too cheerfully. "They're making your headache much worse. Now drink some agua—"

"Agua," Aurelio corrected his accent.

"Ah-goo-ahhhhhh?"

"Shuddup."

"Drink it, deal with my still-in-Spanish-102 accent, and get down here before you miss out on a free meal."

"Th'food sucks anyways," Aurelio said. He thought he sounded remarkably cogent and reasonable, for all that he was still hiding under the covers and keeping his eyes screwed shut. "We should jus' go out."

"Do what you want," said Max. "I'm not going with you this time."

"You really won't come, even—"

"Not happening," said Max. "Not again. I have shit to do. Reading. Studying. Problem sets. You might have them yourself."

"Hmph," Aurelio grumbled. "We could go to that place with the blueberry pancakes..."

"I'm not doing it this time!" said Max. "You'll go alone! I don't care if—"

Max kept rambling as Aurelio held the phone away from his ear, glared at it, and punched the end call button. He flicked the phone to silent, turned off vibrate, and threw it back on his table. Just five more minutes.

"It is no matter," said a voice from the floor. "I shall escort you to any mid-afternoon breakfast of your choosing."

Aurelio froze for a second, giving himself a chance to process this new information. His brain, a loose sack of pain stuffed unceremoniously into his too-tight skull, was still pounding. His bones felt hollow, and his mouth tasted bitter. He wanted a solid hunk of Exedrin HangoverTM. He wanted to add pillows to pad his joints, block out the invasive sun that stabbed through his blinds, and put the rest of the world on hold in a separate universe for a few hours until he was ready to face it.

But he couldn't, because there was a guy in his room that he didn't actually remember meeting, let alone taking home.

Aurelio kicked the covers off, and in the process noticed his pajama pants. He plucked at the pants, soft and black and smelling of coriander and cedar and just a hint of something that Aurelio barely remembered from his childhood. The first house he had lived in, before his parents divorced, had a mess of this plant growing wild next to the back door.

Romero, his mama had called it. Rosemary.

Aurelio loved these new pajama pants, but he did not own anything that smelled like rosemary anymore.

"'s this yours?" he asked of the floor.

"All that is mine is yours," said the voice without a hint of irony. "You need not be concerned."

"Uh...thanks," said Aurelio. "But, uh..."

The voice on the floor hadn't revealed itself. His voice—well, it sounded like a him, all low and a bit gravelly like a Strokes song—was all that Aurelio knew. He hoped that seeing this guy would jog his memory.

Aurelio sat up in bed and let the waves in his head and the grey clouds in his vision slosh and then stabilize. He remembered hanging out with a group of girls, getting dressed down for the party with a Coke (unspiked) in his hand. Then stopping by the power hour for maybe 20 minutes—that's 20 shots of beer, 1.5 ounces each, 30 ounces total, so less than 2 real actual drinks. Then Max dragged him away for a game of king's cup with his CS friends, and maybe that was the problem, because he still had some Coke but now it was with rum. Lots of rum, apparently. And didn't Max say something about vodka redbull? And judging from the lingering taste of lime and salt on his lips, tequila had been involved. Probably not even the good stuff.

The party had been on the top floor of Maddox dorm, and Aurelio remembered that there had been a line for the elevator. So...so he took the stairs, and someone barfed on his shoes at some point, and—oh! He danced with Marco, which was great, but then Marco got carted off by his over-protective cockblocking roommate and Aurelio was still dancing. Aurelio was still dancing and Max must have left with Jen because they'd been together for a while, long enough to leave the parties early, and Aurelio was still dancing, running his hands over his chest and laughing to the ceiling. And Aurelio was still dancing and that's the last thing he could remember.

Aurelio could feel the memories floating just out of his reach. The more he tried to catch them, the farther away the memories seemed, until Aurelio wondered if he had only dreamed the last night.

But there was the guy lying on his floor. Aurelio crept forward on his bed. He swung his feet to the cold wood and sat, looking at the guy on the floor.

The stranger lay back across Aurelio's floor, with his spare pillow tucked behind his head. He held up in his soft hands a copy of Never Let Me Go, which Aurelio had been meaning to read for a long time now. His smooth sun-kissed blonde hair fell in waves across the pillow and his hand. His arms, tucked behind his head and holding up the book, were fit but not bulky. His smile was sweet and sensuous, his eyes dark and smoldering, his nose aristocratic, his clothes perfectly mussed. He was gorgeous, unreal, like something out of a gay man's fever dream sent into Aurelio's bedroom.

He was so not Aurelio's type.

Aurelio was still perched on the edge of his bed, shirtless, sans underwear, with his new pants hanging low on his legs. Nervously he ran his hand through his hair, and his fingers came back dusted with glitter.

Aurelio had a flash of memory from the night before. He was standing in the bathroom, amongst a crush of people gathered around the keg that was balanced precariously on the toilet. He was pressed up against the counter and took the opportunity to check himself out in the mirror. The chick next to him, who was shaking the sparkles out of her chemically straightened hair, leaned over and spoke. Her voice was far too loud and her lips moved around Aurelio's ear like a kiss. A sloppy, drunk, awful kiss.

The girl had said, "Glitter—it's the herpes of craft supplies."

Now, sitting in his bed facing his apparent Prince Charming, Aurelio chuckled lightly. The boy smiled back at him, and his teeth reflected so much light that Aurelio winced. Aurelio snatched his phone and rolled over while he texted Max.

"stranger in room. dont remember last nite. please advise."

Aurelio's arm was glitterified now, as was his worn pillowcase.

"I don't even know what happened," he mouthed his explanation to the pillow, judgmental bitch that it was. "I didn't drink that much, right? And I've never forgotten anything before."

His phone buzzed with Max's text: "fuck man thats scary. dont no what to tell u."

Aurelio closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Max's helpfulness aside, it was almost two in the afternoon: time to face the day.

Aurelio crawled out of his bed and stood up for the first time. His blood momentarily forgot where it was supposed to be going, opting instead to run around like some kind of frantic intern. His vision tilted and he reached out to stabilize himself, but the guy was right there.

"You are not well," he said. "You should rest; I can get you what you require!"

"I wasn't gonna faint or anything," said Aurelio.

"Please?" the stranger asked. His eyes made him look like a cartoon woodland creature.

"Right, OK, whatever," said Aurelio. He pointed at his purple camelback buried from within a mess of semi-clean clothes and old problem sets. "OK, see the water bottle?"

"Yes, of course!" he said. He sounded like a puppy gone to retrieve a tennis ball. "It's only half full, shall I—"

"It's fine," said Aurelio. He snatched it from him and gulped it down greedily. The water tasted like kissing a man who didn't take care of himself. Eric also handed him a bit of mouthwash, which solved that problem. "Thanks."

"Any time," he said sincerely.

"Right," said Aurelio. "So..."

"Yes?" The guy's eyes were wide, open, trusting.

Shit, Aurelio thought, running his fingers over his forehead, smoothing away the wrinkles that were several decades from appearing there. This was going to be brutal.

Better to do it fast, though. Like ripping off a bandaid or taking a shot of 151-proof rum or confessing unrequited love.

"So," Aurelio said again. "Did we fuck?"

"I'm sorry?" The guy winced.

"I'm sorry yes or I'm sorry no?" said Aurelio. "Look, I'm sure you were great and memorable and whatever. But I must have lost count last night, and I don't remember anything, OK?"

"I didn't—you would truly think that of me?"

"That you were capable of having sex?" said Aurelio. He grinned lightly. "Should I reconsider?"

"Well, um—" the guy hesitated, and Aurelio felt his delayed-reaction guilt kick in. He shouldn't be accusing this stranger of taking advantage of him. What if Aurelio had been the bad guy last night?

"Shit, I'm sorry," said Aurelio. "It's just—this has never happened to me before, OK? And you're in my room and I don't know your name and I'm so hungry but I'm too sick to eat and—"

"Eric," Eric said, sticking out his hand. Aurelio shook it from his place on the bed.

"I'm Aurelio, but I probably already told you that."

"Several times, in fact," said Eric. He grinned, flashing a hint of his perfect teeth from between his perfect lips, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "May I—"

"Oh, yeah, 'course," said Aurelio. He scooted over on the bed and shoved the comforter back so that Eric could sit. "Sorry, the desk chair's like a bed of nails."

"Oh, thank you kindly," Eric said, and he sat down, one arm on either side of Aurelio's bare chest. Aurelio wondered if this guy was trying to pull something, go for broke now that he was sober enough to make it good. Like that shit would get him anywhere with him. This guy was no Marco, he was all light and soft around the edges—not physically (the guy was actually ripped), but emotionally.

"But that's not what I was asking about," said Eric. "I meant to say, may I ask you a personal question?"

"If it's about last night, I won't be able to answer, 'cause believe me, I don't have a clue—"

"Why did you do it?" Eric asked, earnestly. The man was nothing if not earnest. "Why drink so much if it makes you feel so bad? Why try to go out and have fun if you're not going to remember it?"

Aurelio opened his mouth and stared for a second before he found the words to say, "Excuse me? Who are you to tell me how to live my life? Fuck you very nicely up the ass. I didn't go up to you and tell you that you look like a fucking Ken doll and you're boring and you talk funny and your love life is helpless, did I? I could have, but I didn't."

"All right," said Eric, shrugging. "What else?"

"What?" Aurelio looked at that last statement, looking for the anger, looking for the bait.

"I'd love to hear what I should improve on," Eric said earnestly. "Real, honest feedback is incredibly difficult to come by."

Aurelio shook his open hands next to his own skull, miming a head explosion. His face twitched indecisively from expression to expression, unsure how to do justice to the righteousness of his anger.

"All right, Eric—it was Eric, right?"

"I thought you already knew—"

"It's for effect Eric," Aurelio hissed. "Eric, something is very off about this. I want to know who you are, and how you ended up in my room."

Eric nodded wisely. Aurelio had jumped off the bed, heedless of headache, and was learning against the wall next to his desk with his arms and legs crossed so that his bare torso was protected my a thick layer of bent limbs.

"I'm Eric Stiles. Junior, Psych major," he said. "I live in Maddox, third floor. We met—"

"Wait, wait..." Aurelio whispered. "I can remember...we met because I accosted you in your room."

He tucked his knees up to his chest, holding his head in his hands. His skull wasn't doing a good enough job holding things in; it needed assistance from his hands. Aurelio remembered things now. He remembered knocking on some random door, searching because someone told him there was good riot punch in room 327, but this was 372 and there was a guy in there sleeping. Eric. With his blond hair all mussed and sleeping shirtless and he had—

"Oh God," Aurelio moaned. "Prince Charming."

He'd grabbed Eric around the neck and asked to kiss him, and then he'd fallen on him. And he was blonde and sweet and cute, no matter Aurelio's type, and he'd dragged him on the dance floor and called him Prince Charming and danced around him.

"I'm so, so sorry," Aurelio said to his knees. He'd bang his head on his knees like some kind of penance, but everything already hurt enough. "I'm never drinking that much again. Ever."

"It's all right," said Eric, and Aurelio jumped and almost hit him with the force of his whiplash. Eric was right next to him. Eric's hand was on his back, rubbing happily at the top without his hand moving even an inch lower. He was looking right into his eyes. Aurelio was wearing no shirt, no underwear, and what he realized must be Eric's pants, and the guy was still being crazy nice!

"To be honest," Eric said. "It was actually pretty flattering. No one's ever done that before, you know?"

"What, forced themselves on you?" Aurelio asked. "Oh God, I'm a horrible person."

"Hey, you didn't force anything," said Eric. "And you listened when I said no. You just...you pursued me. No one's ever done that. No one's ever—"

"Demanded—"

"Asked," Eric corrected.

"Asked you to come home and sleep with them, and when you wouldn't, asked that they sleep on the floor?"

"Yeah," said Eric. "That. And there was a reason that I, um, that I went along..."

He sat back on his heels so that both of them were curled up in themselves, on Aurelio's floor, needing a bit of comfort. Aurelio realized then that he had a bit of an idea, but he needed to tread carefully, this time.

"I would like to take you up on that offer for lunch," Aurelio said. "Very much. But first, I'd like to kiss you."

By the time he'd finished speaking, Eric was right in front of him, Then Eric was there, and their lips touched. It started off gentle and innocent, one of those kisses that said, "we're waiting for marriage."

Then Aurelio ran his tongue across the seal of Eric's lips, and then both of their mouths were open. Aurelio was bold, but Eric met him in the middle, sucking on his tongue and exploring the other man's mouth.

Eric's hands were the first to wander, as they inched down Aurelio's back. Aurelio threaded his fingers in that ridiculous blond hair, tightening his grip when Eric's hands grabbed his ass and squeezed.

Aurelio broke away, gasping. His hangover was completely forgotten—lust was a better cure than painkillers. He ran his fingers across Eric's wrist and up to his bicep, under the sleeve of his shirt. Who sleeps in a shirt, anyways? Aurelio would have to remedy this.

"May I?" Aurelio asked.

"God, please," Eric moaned. Aurelio took a while to divest him of the shirt, because his hands were shaking with want, and because Eric kept interrupting him with kisses.

Before Aurelio could get his own clothes off, Eric picked him up and deposited him on the bed. Eric's hands were steady and sure as he ran them over Aurelio's chest, tweaking his nipples and grinning when his cock visibly jerked. Eric's hands moved down to knead the entirely un-subtle bulge in Aurelio's pants, and the brunette lifted his hips invitingly.

Eric peppered Aurelio's skin with gossamer kisses as he slipped his pants down with agonizing slowness.

Aurelio growled with impatience, hooked his legs around Eric, and rolled them over—not an easy feat on a twin XL bed.

"How did you—ohhhhh fuck," Eric lost his trail of thought as Aurelio quickly slipped his pants and boxers down and began to stroke what he had uncovered.

"Oh, did I not mention?" said Aurelio, grinning eagerly as his hands reached lower, to caress Eric's balls. "I've been doing yoga for years. I'm very flexible."

Eric moaned, tugging at Aurelio's pants in hurried, distracted little jerks. Finally Aurelio ripped them off and tossed them to the side so that they were pressed together, skin on skin, kissing

Eventually, Aurelio tore himself away to rummage in his bedside drawer. He pulled out a condom and bottle of lube. Eric lay on the bed watching him with hazy, unfocused eyes. It took Eric a second to pull himself together and remember that his mouth could be used for speaking too.

"Your, um...your hangover?" he asked.

Aurelio flipped his hand to the side as though tossing the concern aside.

"Not a problem," Aurelio said. Then he remembered that Eric was nicer, nicer than probably anyone he'd ever dated, and he might be using Aurelio's hangover as a polite way to decline sex. "But that doesn't mean...if you don't want to..."

"Oh, I want," said Eric.

"Oh, gracias a dios," said Aurelio, and he jumped back on the bed, landing straddled on Eric's legs with his weight on his knees. He rolled the condom down Eric's prick and spread the lube in slow, agonizing strokes.

Aurelio prepared himself quickly, reaching a few slicked fingers back to his ass. Eric stopped him, grabbing his hands.

"Hey," Eric said. "There's no rush."

Aurelio laughed and tossed over the lube, trying to act like the way Eric looked at him and held him was normal. Like it was just lust curling in his stomach, and not something altogether new tightening his chest.

Eric took his time opening Aurelio up, adding one finger then two, scissoring them and stroking until he found that spot that made Aurelio's knees grow weak. Only when Aurelio was a shivering pile of nerve endings did the blonde lie back down and help Aurelio settle on him. Eric held Aurelio's hips while he thrust slowly into the other man.

Aurelio felt gloriously full, and the slight burning was nothing compared to that sensation. He started to move, rocking his hips back and forth, but Eric held him still. His hands were soft, and his fingers moved across Aurelio's skin in tiny caresses.

"Wait," Eric said between his unsteady breaths. "Give yourself time. I don't want to hurt you."

Aurelio smiled, almost sadly, at the sweetness of the gesture. He remained still until the pain of waiting outweighed the pain of stretching, and then he began to move again.

Aurelio rode Eric, keeping his eyes locked on the other man's form. Eric still looked like a Disney prince, but one that had been stripped bare, exposed down to the wiring and set free. He was bucking wildly, his hands racing across Aurelio's skin like he wanted to be everywhere at once. The feather-light touches on his dick made Aurelio groan with frustrated desire.

Their movements became frantic, and Aurelio felt as though he could sweat out all of last night's toxins.

Eric gasped out, "I'm close—I...I want..."

"Me too," Aurelio's voice was rough, scratched like an old record. He reached down and began to stroke himself along with Eric until his eyes went glassy and his breath stopped.