Who: Blake and Eli What: Waking up with a hangover Where: Aubade When: The morning after the carnival Warnings: Mature topics
Blake woke the morning after the Valentine’s carnival with a fairly mild hangover by his standards. He was laying on his back on the couch, still in the suit he’d been in the night before. His tie was on the floor, and a few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. The night before was a little hazy toward the end, but he did remember Eli calling Preston over and over, and eventually leaving him to his depressing task and drinking until he fall asleep on the couch. Not an ideal way to spend Valentines Day, but that was alright. He could make up for it tonight with someone who had been equally disappointed, and the bars would be full of them.
Blake rolled off the couch and onto his feet, walking toward the bathroom with the distinct goals of taking a piss and getting some aspirin. He remembered only while he was walking that he had no idea where Eli had ended up, or if he was even in the apartment still. “Eli?”
Eli was, in fact, still in the apartment. He had woken up sprawled on Blake’s bed, having spent the better part of the evening leaving voicemails on Preston’s cellphone, mostly inarticulate things about not understanding and about things Blake had said. He woke with a headache that kept him from doing anything more than groaning as he held his head, and a level of embarrassment that was never-before-seen, which was an accomplishment for him.
Shoving the whiskey-stained jacket off his shoulders, Eli ignored Blake’s annoyingly loud voice and made his way to the master bathroom with a groan and a mutter, and he turned on the shower and did the best he could to brush his teeth with toothpaste and his finger. He took a shower, hoping to wash the smell of booze out of his pores, and when he stumbled out of the bathroom a few minutes later it was in the crumbled clothing from the night before and wish his damp hair dripping water between his shoulder blades.
Eli walked into the living room, groaned at the opulence and fairly snarled at Blake. “He didn’t come?” That surprised him, and there was no need to indicate who the he in question was. “Tell me you have some bloody aspirin and good coffee,” he added, padding toward what he assumed was the kitchen.
By the time Eli had made it into the kitchen, Blake was sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, waiting for the thundercloud to roll in. His hair was at some extreme and fairly interesting angles, and he still hadn’t changed out of his clothes from the night before.
Blake slid the bottle of aspirin across to the other side of the table. “Coffee’s in the pot,” he called. Blake wasn’t particular about what kind of coffee he drank - he likely couldn’t have told you the brand even though he had it every morning, since he’d added it to the list of groceries he had delivered ages ago and never bothered to change it. Something relatively expensive and dark enough to blot out the sun on hungover mornings like this one. “He never said he was going to come,” he pointed out, a little belatedly.
Eli walked over to the coffee pot and he grimaced as he lifted it. Expensive coffee wasn’t the same as good coffee, and this was more bite than anything else. He served himself a cup regardless, and he took a pained sip to swallow down the two aspirin. “No, but I assumed-” he said, not finishing the sentence. “I would have, had the roles been reversed.” He would have, and that was the problem. Eli tended to see Preston’s actions compared to what he would have done in the situation. “Let me guess, you would have found someone else to take home, had it been you on the telephone instead.” Not so much bite in that statement as there could have been - merely Eli’s honest opinion.
"You would have," Blake said, thinking much the same thing. "It'll be fine. Now Preston and I I'm not so sure about. I think he might have the impression I filled your ears with lies and then took advantage of you while you were wasted."
"Yep," Blake said, unperturbed. It was true, so there was no reason to disagree with it. "Just so you know, I'm pretty sure someone was snapping pictures of us last night, so I'd avoid the society section of the paper today if you don't want to know what you look like drunk from the eye of a member of the paparazzi."
Eli leaned his elbows on the counter, and he didn’t look up until Blake mentioned the paparazzi. “Oh, honestly, truly?” he said, as if the possibility pained him more than the headache did. He rubbed his forehead, and he tried to concentrate through the dull bang bang bang behind his eyes. “Your opinion of- I can’t even call it a bloody relationship, what you do - your opinion of sexual relations between people is something I have difficulty with. Preston’s concept of it is something I have just as much difficulty with. Assuming what he said is true, that is not currently sleeping with anyone else, why all the secrecy and the loan?” He shook his head. “And he did say he didn’t want a relationship. I wasn’t bloody misinterpreting that. Lovers, that’s what he wants to be. Quite the grown up word, don’t you think?” he asked, turning the coffee mug in his hand. “And he mentioned testing, also, which implies multiple partners, given what my research indicates.”
Blake rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Do you always go into sex like you're brushing up for a fucking deposition?" he asked. "There's problem one. Problem two is you doing that thing where you ask me a bunch of questions you should be asking him again." He wrapped his hands around the mug. "Depends on what kind of testing we're talking about here. With HIV, there isn't much point if you're fucking around. Those tests are usually a couple months retroactive because they look for antibodies that won't be there yet if you just got infect last week, so all they do is tell you that you were clean a couple months ago, really. Unless you've been together that long and you're sure he didn't stick his dick near anyone else in that stretch, it doesn't tell you jack shit. Everything else, though, yeah, that's more immediate and more to make sure you haven't picked anything up from one of the five other people you slept with that week. That sounds more like what you're talking about. When did I become gay school?" he asked the air, and swallowed some more coffee.
“Five other people that week?” Eli asked, because he had been listening to everything up until that point, and that managed to take over all thought in his mind. He groaned, took another sip of the terrible coffee, and when he talked it was with a touch of uncertainty that didn’t normally mar his speech. “I’ve been researching, and I’ve been going near places, without going in, mind, and there are meetings-” He cut himself off there. “The point is that it’s different than dating women. When you date women, you buy them dinner and they come over to your flat and you have sex. And if you sleep with another woman at that point you’re a bastard. I was never a bastard. So, you see, I don’t understand this lifestyle. And asking Preston just makes him worry that he’s going to be the one to ruin my life with this,” he explained, making a grand gesture at the last word. “I’ll frighten him off if he knows I’m panicked. And yes, I am slightly panicked.”
Blake felt like thumping his forehead against the table until Eli stopped talking about 'going to meetings' but he managed to refrain from doing so, if only because it might bring his headache back to full force. "Eli," he said flatly. "I'm only going to say this once. You can't have a fucking panic attack about how to do it right. It's a relationship. Being gay doesn't create a magical set of new rules. Yeah, most women expect exclusivity out of a relationship. Some gay men don't. But a lot of them do. If Preston doesn't want that, those are his rules, not gay rules. Every gay guy isn't Preston. Or me, for that fucking matter. A lot of them want to take you out to dinner and wine you and dine you and fuck you and not fuck anyone else. It comes down to Preston, and what he wants. He's also not allowed to freak the fuck out because you're not a goddamn psychic and he has to spell things out for you, and you can tell him I said that. If he wants something open, if he wants to be with you and fuck around, then those are his rules and you have to decide if you want to live by them since he's apparently unwilling to bend. But have you even asked him?" He set his coffee aside. It had gone tepid, and he was giving up on it. "People do a lot of stupid things for people they care about, like change their rules. You're new. That doesn't mean you don't get to give him a set of demands." He began pushing himself up, stopped, and pointed a finger at him. "And don't go to any more meetings. Fuck me, this is ridiculous." Then he actually did get up, dumping his coffee out in the sink. "Relationships aren't about going to meetings and learning all the steps." He turned around, leaning against the sink. "Your problem isn't being gay all of a sudden, your problem is that you're crazy about somebody who wants to fuck around."
“You are mistaken,” Eli said with absolute certainty. “I attempted to take him out on a date,” he began, fingers curling around the cooled cup and his gaze firmly focused on the liquid inside. “I’ve no idea what men do on dates, and I was nervous. I ended up making a mess of it. I don’t, apparently, know how to not look at him in public. And I’ve no idea what men do together. Don’t try to tell me it’s the same, because it isn’t. I’ve already tried that, you see. I believe it’s about pretending. Pretending you aren’t together, pretending to only be acquaintances or business associates. And then pretending not to notice when your calls aren’t returned and he doesn’t come home for stretches of time.” He looked up. “Five men a week? Truly?”
Blake stared at him. "Why wouldn't you look at him in public? Has Preston gone on any medication in the last couple years? Cracked, or something? Because I'll tell you right now, I have looked at him a lot in public." The more Eli went on, the weirder the whole situation sounded. "...has he gone back in the closet or something? Why the fuck would he want you to pretend you're business associates? That's not what being gay is about, not what being gay and being out is about, anyway."
Blake shrugged. "Yeah, but that's me. And if I was committed to somebody, it wouldn't be." That statement, he felt, was a mistake as soon as he said it, since it implied he would commit to someone, or had in the past. 'Exclusive' would have been a better word, probably. "Four men a week when you're not exclusive and you have a lot of disposable income? Sure. Four, five, six. Admittedly, it's more like three men, two women, but hey."
“The pamphlet I have says anal sex puts you at greater risk of contracting HIV and even condoms are not foolproof, especially in the gay community. Four men a week seems exceptionally risky,” Eli said with a frown. “And I can’t imagine Preston doing risky things like that,” he added, and then, as if he’d just realized there was a possible solution to this. “Unless you agree with Preston that sex does not need to involve penetration to be intercourse?” He had a rapt expression on his face, like a student in a particularly interesting class. “He doesn’t like putting his personal life out there, Blake. I don’t know the circumstances of your relationship, but I don’t think Preston is the sort of man to snog another man in public.”
"Probably." Blake clearly didn't care much about what was and was not risky, though whether that was indicative of anything deeper was up to Eli to decide. "And no, you don't have to 'penetrate' for it to be sex."
Blake began searching drawers for cigarettes, even though he was fairly sure he'd never put a pack in there. He didn't feel like walking all the way to the bedroom right this second. "Oh, that's what you mean. Look, we were together for a few months, and no, he didn't want his sex life public, but I promise you I never pretended to be his 'business associate.'" Blake sighed, leaning on the table. "I'll continue to beat the dead horse - they're not rules of being gay, they're rules of Preston. Personally, you may have noticed, I don't have any fucking problems with being seen with guys in public because I don't give a fuck. Preston does. He's got a public face to maintain for his job and, far as I can tell, a boatload of issues."
“What did you pretend to be, then? Eli demanded.
"Nothing," Blake said, flatly. "I just didn't make out with him in public. Not usually my style, but we weren't together that long. I think if it had gone on much longer I might have broken him of it.”
Eli rubbed his eyebrow with one finger, and he finished the horrible coffee and pushed away from the counter. “I’m not certain you understand,” he said, looking at Blake. “Has anyone beaten you to a bloody pulp for what you are?” he asked plainly, and then he looked around at the money and opulence of the apartment. “Or does all this protect you from it somehow?”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a flare of anger across Blake's face, raw and immediate. It was obvious Eli had touched a nerve, though how or what one wasn't clear. "Yeah," he said, looking around the room. "Yeah, no, being rich has really made life simple as hell for me. Everything was always fine. I've never seen a dark cloud as long as I've been living. You ready to go yet?"
Eli knew he’d hit a nerve, though he didn’t know what or how. He didn’t need to be told twice, however, and he shoved the mug away and turned for the door, not caring about wherever he left his jacket or his bloody shoes. He slammed the door shut behind him, muttering angrily about impossible men, and he ignored the looks the businessmen gave him as he climbed, shoeless, into the elevator.