Jefferson (missinggrace) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2013-12-22 15:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | captain hook, mad hatter |
Who: Jefferson & Killian Jones
When: Saturday, December 21st, 2013
Where: Outside a random bar
What: A drunk conversation in an alley leads to something else. And Jefferson promptly runs away. Very mature reaction, obviously.
Rating: PG-13ish? Maybe R. Probably R. >_>
As his forehead rested against stone, Jefferson tried to remember why he’d staggered out into the alley that ran along side the bar. He didn’t smoke. He was pretty sure he didn’t smoke? For a moment, he was concerned there’d been an unbearable line in the men’s room and that he’d come outside to relieve himself, but he was convinced he wasn’t the type to take a piss in an alley under any circumstances. Mostly convinced. Christ, his head was spinning. But the balmy Hawaiian air did feel heavenly against the back of his exposed neck. Oh. That was it. He’d needed air. The more Jefferson drank, the friendlier he got. Mentally, he corrected himself: the more he drank, the more he embarrassed himself. Normally, that wasn’t such a crime. With Grace around, he wasn’t drinking all that often, anyway. But in Killian’s company, well, it was complicated. In more ways than he cared to admit. Which he would, admit, out loud if he wasn’t careful. The warning signs of imminent rambling had creeped through his drunken haze and he’d climbed to his feet with a strange little wave-slash-salute, muttering something along the lines of ‘I have to go...somewhere else...don’t leave me here alone okay five minutes’. Now he was second guessing that time limit. The air wasn’t clearing the fog in his skull nearly as fast he would have liked and his head hadn’t lifted from the wall even once. Clearing his throat, Jefferson pressed his palms against the bricks, as if he were going to push himself away, but instead he just sighed. “Come on, damn it. Awayyy we go,” he chirped under his breath, another half-hearted attempt to move doing nothing but making him laugh quietly at how ridiculous his life was. Killian had followed after Jefferson quicker than he’d be willing to admit, but lingered outside of the alleyway like a meandering tourist, trying his best (though likely failing) at not acting like a creeper. In order to look like he belonged, Killian had charmed an attractive blonde out of one of her cigarettes and was halfway through it by the time he turned a heel and decided Jefferson’s moment of peace was up. “Mate, you look like you’re having a moment.” Killian might have actually been nearly as drunk as Jefferson, but with years of experience under his belt operating on an entire bottle of rum, you wouldn’t have known it. His brain was fuzzy, but somehow he managed well enough to walk in a semi-straight line - albeit with a swagger that was far more exaggerated than normal. His pirate garb still managed to attract attention and notice, especially with wearing the red vest the ladies seemed to appreciate, but it was dark and the alley wasn’t lit for evening excursions. He took one last drag of the cigarette and dropped it down to stomp on it, the smoke slowly exhaling from his lips. It might not have been finished, but he had to prioritize his hand in order to clamp it down on Jefferson’s shoulder. “Need me to drag your drunk arse home? Or were all the pretty lasses getting to you?” Jefferson’s eyes had dropped shut as a wave of dizziness came and went, but they jerked open as he tensed at Killian’s touch. Rolling a squinting gaze towards his friend, he reached up to clumsily pat Killian’s shoulder in return. Unfortunately, he missed and mostly hit nothing but air until the last clap of his palm met chest. “I’m fiiiine. Just needed some air,” he said in a singsong tone. “It’s crowded in there. Still not used to...so many...people. People, I’m not used to people.” There was that rambling he’d been afraid of. Lovely. Jefferson shifted, successfully get his head up off the wall long enough to rest a shoulder against it. A lazy smile turned up one edge of his mouth. “Might have had...one too many, but hey, I’m good. Peachy.” “People.” Killian parotted, trying to keep the mocking look off of his face and failing. “That’s surprising, outgoing man such as yourself.” Though, it wasn’t like Killian didn’t know Jefferson could fake it. But he also knew that was all an act, pretending to be someone he wasn’t in order to make gain in his desire to fix things. He’d done the same as soon as the curse was broken and he was back to himself - had turned up the charm, played a few souls and not felt a guilty bone in his body for it. Jefferson’s lazy smile drew Killian’s eyes down to his lips for a brief second. He shook it off, knowing full well that as open to.. well, everyone, as Killian was, Jefferson was far from interested in him if the dismissed flirtations were any indication. Instead of lingering too long on his lips, Killian’s hand added a little pressure on his shoulder to steady his friend. “Feels good though, don’t it? Forgetting responsibilities for one moment and just letting go.” Wrinkling his nose at Killian’s sarcasm, Jefferson absent-mindedly latched his hand on to the other man’s lapel, tugging lightly as punctuation for the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “I don’t have any responsibilities, pirate. I have a daughter. Who, let’s face it...,” he whispered conspiratorially, “is everything I’m not and more than I deserve by a mile.” Jefferson realized belatedly that he was pulling Killian into his space and close-talking like he had a tendency to do when he was worked up about anything. He released his grip with an apologetic frown and smoothed out the fabric with a few haphazard brushes of his hand. “Though, I suppose you make a point. I’m grateful to have her back, beyond words, really. I just…” His eyebrows arched high as he grimaced and shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. Every choice is exhausting. I really need...to stop talking.” “Good lord, you’re depressing.” Killian was just drunk enough to lose his balance slightly when Jefferson tugged, and caught his hook on the wall behind Jefferson’s head. It put him in close proximity of his friend, and most would have shoved off and moved away awkwardly, but Killian already had issues with personal space and not respecting it. Whereas Jefferson was pulling his hand away, Killian was reaching his own up to tap on Jefferson’s vest. “You,” he started, eyes darkening slightly as he leaned over his male companion. “Are a father worthy, mate. Aye, she’s a brilliant little lass, intelligent and strong, but she learned a fair bit of that from you. The girl loves you, Hatter. Just be yourself, it’s surprisingly not that difficult to appreciate you.” Whether it was the night air, Killian’s nearness or all the talking, Jefferson’s head was slowly clearing. Not by leaps and bounds by any means, but where he might have only laughed drunkenly at the compliment and surprisingly straight-forward advice ten minutes ago, now he only stared at Killian in thoughtful silence for a long moment. Easier said than done, was the cynical thought that followed, but even he could get tired of being negative. Especially when liquor, and a hovering pirate, made all his constant worries seem distant and better thought about another day. “I’m trying. Just. Sometimes, I forget who that is,” he finally murmured, turning to slump his back against the wall with a dismissive way of his hand. “But enough about that. I can get home on my own, you know.” Jefferson’s attempt to shift the subject away from himself was neither smooth nor subtle. “If you want to...make a friend or whathaveyou,” he added in what he thought was a gracious tone but was really much closer to jealous and bitter. “I’ll be happy to remind you anytime you require it, mate.” And he would. Likely less so when he was sober, but Killian was generally free with the compliments if they helped friends. Mind you, majority of his compliments were flirtatious and charming and generally had an underlying idea of getting lucky, but he’d be willing to put that aside for Jefferson. Perhaps. It didn’t help that his eyes flicked back down to Jefferson’s lips and back up again, not as quickly as they should have. “A frie-” He cut off the words with a shake of his head, blowing out a breath. “I followed you out here, didn’t I, Hatter?” He didn’t budge from his spot, if anything it seemed like he was pushing himself just a little bit closer to Jefferson. Personal space be damned. “None of them keep my attention so well as you manage, mate.” Later, he’d blame the alcohol, or the atmosphere, or any number of reasons as to why he dipped his head down to capture Jefferson’s lips in a hesitant kiss that was more asking permission than it was forceful or demanding. It wasn’t as if he didn’t see it coming. Jefferson had started to smirk, every intention of making a joke about Killian’s attention span on a good day, when the descent of the man’s mouth to his froze him in place. His instincts warred with each other - one being to flee, in epically awkward fashion no doubt, and the other being to hook his hand around Killian’s neck and erase the surprising hesitance in that kiss with his mouth. The second instinct wasn’t as unexpected as he’d liked to pretend it was. It wasn’t the first time a man had kissed him - teenage Jefferson had made himself seem very available to distract people out of their beloved possessions, after all - but it was the first time he’d wanted to kiss one back. He could blame the alcohol all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he’d thought about this more than a few times. Neither instinct backed down in the end and, in true drunken Mad Hatter fashion, Jefferson managed to do a combination of them both. His head jerked back first, lightly thumping against the wall behind him, as a litany of unfinished, barely audible sentences tumbled from his mouth. “I--” “That’s not--” “Would you--” The words were unimportant seeing as he never really formed a coherent thought to go with them, anyway. The important part was probably how he snagged Killian by the lapels and pushed away from the wall in a roll that left the pirate pinned to it instead of him. Jefferson had intended to back away from there. He even let go for a second. But his splayed fingers didn’t stray far before digging back into the fabric. With a half-formed sound that was somewhere between a fuck it growl and an annoyed huff, Jefferson pulled Killian’s mouth back to his. Unlike Killian, there was no doubt in his mind that he would be blaming the booze tomorrow. Killian had been ready to back off. Ready to apologize with a laugh and blame the alcohol, make an excuse - any excuse - and get them both home. He’d felt Jefferson tense in surprise, which didn’t surprise him. It’d made him more hesitant, more gentle than Killian usually was, but those people usually weren’t ones he gave a flying fuck about. Or they’d already asked him to be less than gentle. But this was predictable, had started going the way Killian had expected, with Jefferson jerking away and Killian feeling an emotion that he wasn’t often prone to - embarrassment. He’d been with men before, not many, but it wasn’t a completely odd occurrence. He’d never been particularly picky about sex and who it was with, though he was often more attracted to the fairer sex and all that they had to offer. But men still struck his fancy from time to time, some simply because he’d been at sea for far too long and some because of a distinct interest. Jefferson fell into the latter category, and had for all the years that Killian knew him. Storybrooke had been a different story, with the different memories on his end and revenge shortly following, but even his Storybrooke counterpart had thoughts he never would have discussed. Bloody prude, that man. So just as Killian was ready to back off to not destroy the one true friendship he had, he ended up with his back flat up against the brick wall. A surprised bark of laughter emerged from his mouth, a stark contrast from Jefferson’s growling and grumbling. “Didn’t realize you had it in you, mate.” He let himself get pulled back in, and his one true hand reached up to grasp the back of Jefferson’s neck, hesitant first kiss replaced by a hot, open-mouthed kiss that was anything but innocent. Or alcohol induced, from Killian’s end. When the alcohol wore off, Jefferson would still remember how he pushed into that kiss and gave as good as he got. If the drunk excuse didn’t hold up in his own head, he would point at over three decades without the kind of touch that made his skin tighten and his pulse catch in his throat. Either way, it was a long, heated moment before reality kicked in and his fists unclenched from Killian’s coat. He abruptly shoved away, dragging a hand down his face and over his mouth. They were in a goddamn alley, for Christ’s sake. And they weren’t alone. Judging by the variety of looks on the faces of nearby smokers, most of them hadn’t missed the action either. One girl’s especially wide eyes and cartoonish smile earned a sharp frown from Jefferson as he dropped his hand away from his mouth and turned his back to their audience. “Christ,” he muttered indignantly. Onlookers or not, this was Killian. Arguably the only friend he had, certainly the only person who he could be himself around without feeling the heavy weight of judgement, and someone who wasn’t shy about the fact that he could find something attractive in just about anyone. The fact that him being male seemed like an afterthought of an argument wasn’t lost on Jefferson. His shoulders tensed as he pointed at Killian and opened his mouth to say something. Anything. Any second now, words would come out of his mouth and make this all go away. “I’m getting a cab.” It wasn’t even close to what he’d hoped to say, but he could still taste rum and cigarettes and goddamn it, it was distracting. “Alone,” Jefferson added with a frustrated grimace. “This didn’t happen, Killian.” Killian’s back hit the wall again with the shove, only this time his breath was coming in short and he wasn’t censoring the looks he was giving Jefferson through dark and hooded eyes. He could give a shit about onlookers, half tempted to swing his hook in their direction to get them to go away, but more of the mind to keep staring at Jefferson’s mouth. Booze could make you do stupid and rash things, but not usually to that extent. A part of him wanted to deny Jefferson that statement. Wanted to shove him up against the other wall and give the onlookers something to really talk about. But instead, his hand dropped away from where it had drifted to grab Jefferson’s vest. A snarky or flirty comment was lost on his tongue as he reached up to rub his fingers across his mouth in a contemplative way, rather than dismissive. He knew trying to further this would be a mistake, right now. In this moment, Jefferson needed to flee and trying to stop that was only going to worsen things. Probably. God only knew that Killian was just as bad at this when it was something other than no-strings-attached sex, which wouldn’t have been possible with Jefferson. So instead, he just kept his flirty come on’s to himself and only replied with a simple remark, eyes still not refrained enough to stop glancing at Jefferson’s mouth. “As you wish.” It was the easy way out, giving in simply, but he was fairly certain that the fight had been sucked out of him moments before. Jefferson was immediately convinced that any other reaction would have been infinitely less irritating and his eyebrows snapped together as he scowled. Whether the look was more out of frustration with Killian or frustration with himself was anyone’s guess. The only thing Jefferson knew for sure was that he needed to be somewhere else, preferably ten minutes ago. His eyes rolled upwards and then closed as he anxiously straightened his scarf. “Try not to end up...in a ditch,” he grumbled petulantly by way of goodbye, spinning on a heel only to lose his balance two steps later. The annoying smiling woman reached out to steady him and he waved her hand away frantically. When he did finally make it to the curb and into a cab, Jefferson was going to come to the sad realization that he was more than halfway sober. But for now, he stumbled through the small crowds outside the bar fueled by heated blood and embarrassment. |