Who: Rory and Wes Where: Their house on Ludlow When: Monday night, June 18 Status: complete
For the first time since their arrival in Point Pleasant, Rory had the itch to gamble and was unable to ignore it. It started simply enough with the purchase of a couple lottery tickets on the way to work. But then while at work, he found himself checking in online, looking up stats on games he no longer had access to. It rattled around in his head, constantly begging for attention, until Rory bowed out of work, claiming to be sick. He’d caught a bug and it wasn’t going away without proper treatment.
What he really wanted was a card game, but there wasn’t one to find in Point Pleasant until later that night. So instead he drove to Bangor and spent the day at the casino and raceway. He started small, not wanting to lose more than he could afford, but after a couple big wins and a couple more drinks, Rory began to take bigger risks. Bigger risks resulted in bigger payouts. They also resulted in bigger losses. But that just meant he needed to play again! To win and make up the difference! It was a vicious cycle, one he knew better than to get wrapped up in, but it happened anyways. Before he knew it, his wallet was empty and he was forced to stop. Rory twirled the keys to the car in his hand and considered pawning it, needing just one win to turn things around, but realized that if he lost the car he couldn’t even get home. With no money and no car, he’d be forced to sleep on the street, and that was too big a risk, even for him. If he lost the car, he might lose Wes, and that wasn’t a gamble he was willing to take.
He was about a mile from the house when the car finally rolled to a stop and Rory had to continue on foot. The gas light had been on for a solid thirty minutes, but without even a dime left, there was no money for gas. It made him miss his credit cards and the ease at which he could overspend when necessary. He knew he would make the money back--tomorrow! Unfortunately, no one was going to take his word for it, not even the guy at the liquor store. He was cold and tired by the time he walked in the door and headed straight for the fridge to nab himself a beer. Maybe one of those lottery tickets would provide him the pick-me-up he needed, but that was a long shot and he knew it.
Rory wasn’t the only one who had woken up feeling out of sorts. From the moment Wes shuffled to the bathroom for his morning piss, he wanted a drink. Not just a beer with breakfast either, but hard liquor. He ignored the craving as best he could as he got ready and went into work, but he didn’t make it until lunch time before he was swinging by the gas station for a beer. Wes drank it in his work truck and that kicked off a binge like he hadn’t had in years. At some point he remembered to call into the office and he told them he was sick and going home, even though he was already there and had downed a neck of whiskey by then.
Wes didn’t question where Rory was until night had fallen, and even then it was in a slow, fuzzy sort of way. He’d been too busy drinking to think of texting his boyfriend to see where he was, and it wasn’t until Wes heard him come in through the door that he realized how late it was. He was thoroughly drunk but still on his feet, everything choppy and spinny if he moved too fast. So his shuffle from the living room to the kitchen was slow and weaving, a mostly-empty liquor bottle still clutched in his hand. “Where you been?” he asked, squinting at Rory’s silhouette against the fridge light.
Rory looked up to see Wes in the shadows as his hand wrapped around a can of beer. He’d spent the last ten minutes wondering what he would tell his boyfriend and had hoped he’d be at least one drink down before he had to confess. “Around,” he said, shutting the fridge and plunging back into darkness as he popped the top on his can. He took a long sip that turned into chugging, suddenly desperate to feel the buzz that beer could bring him. Liquor would have been quicker, but there was something about downing half a beer in one go that just felt good. “What’ve you been up to?”
Wes hadn’t wondered too hard where Rory was before he came home, but seeing Rory now, draining a beer in the dark kitchen and saying he’d been around, made him suspicious. All the booze surely had something to do with that, but Wes couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted with unchecked anxiety. “Around, huh,” he muttered, not quite making it a question. Wes moved in closer to see Rory better, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deep. Rory smelled like men -- smoke, booze, sweat, and was that a foreign cologne? -- and Wes’s stomach twisted further. His first thoughts weren’t about gambling, though they should have been. All he could think was that Rory had been at a club full of other men, good looking ones, probably, and he was home so late ... “Y’smell like other guys,” he said flatly, the words a little slurry. “Fuckin’ around on me, Ror? Huh?”
Rory stepped up to invade Wes’s personal space when he moved closer, but then froze, his lips turning down at the accusation. He’d made a lot of bad decisions over the course of the day, that he couldn’t completely deny, but it hadn’t included cheating on Wes. His head had been too lost in the game to even consider it. “The fuck? No,” he said, pushing past Wes as he began to scrounge for something to eat. Another pitfall from spending all his cash was that he’d no longer had money for food. “I’m not a fuckin’ cheat,” he muttered. A flirt, maybe, on past occasions, but he couldn’t even claim that today and it was offensive that Wes would jump to that conclusion right out of the gate.
It had everything to do with Wes and his insecurities and fears -- not to mention all the alcohol he’d been drinking all day, it was probably a miracle he was still conscious -- and not much to do with Rory himself. Wes knew that under normal circumstances he wasn’t good enough for Rory DeAngelo, that they were only together because they were stuck that way. His handsome, charming boyfriend had lived a life where he could do whatever and fuck whomever he wanted, so it made a twisted sort of sense in Wes’s boozy brain that Rory would go back to that eventually. Not because he sucked, but because Wes did. The little push made him sway on his feet and he leaned heavily against the counter and took another swig from the rum bottle in his hand. “Where y’been, then?” he asked again.
Rory’s eyes tracked the bottle as Wes took a swig, finally noting the smell of booze about his boyfriend. He’d been surrounded by it all day, so it hadn’t exactly stood out at first, but now he could tell that Wes was drunk. Completely wasted, judging by the way he swayed back. Rory was a touch jealous and took another long sip off his can in an effort to catch up. Liquor would have been more effective, but he didn’t really want to chase his beer with rum. “I just needed to get out,” he argued. “Have some fun for once. There’s nothing to do around here.” If he’d known Wes wanted to get wasted, maybe he’d have come home and they could have some fun together, but his mood was still sour over the thought that he’d gone and gotten off with someone else.
Well that sounded dodgy as fuck, didn’t it? None of it was a specific answer for where Rory had been. Somewhere having fun, obviously, but who knew what kind of fun that had been. Fun specifically without Wes, because he hadn’t called or texted or stopped by to see if Wes was home or anything before he’d gone wherever he’d gone. If he’d been clear-headed, Wes would’ve understood that was healthy, they weren’t supposed to be together constantly, and Rory deserved to have his own fun ... but tonight it stung. Especially since Rory wasn’t telling him anything. Wes tilted the bottle up again to drain the rest of it. “Yup,” he said once he’d swallowed, not even tasting the rum anymore. “Fuckin’ sucks here. Fuck it.” He tossed the bottle into the sink and heard it break. Wes barked a laugh and shuffled over to see the damage. The window above the sink showed him the driveway, lit by the security light he’d put in early on. He squinted and realized he only saw his own vehicle. “Where’d you park?” he muttered.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rory snapped as the bottle shattered in the sink. “That’s gonna be a bitch to pick up.” Not to mention, but if it caused them plumbing problems, it was going to be expensive, and they didn’t have the cash to cover it. He began picking the glass pieces out of the sink one at a time, carefully holding the shards in his palm as he glanced out the window to where his car should be parked. “It’s in town,” he muttered. “I ran outta gas.” It was a conversation he’d been hoping to avoid, though he realized he’d have to own up to it eventually. Even if he walked back to get the car first thing tomorrow morning, he couldn’t fill up the tank without some money from Wes. He could, perhaps, slip a twenty out of his wallet once he passed out, but that didn’t feel like the brightest idea, especially if his boyfriend was having some trust issues.
Wes was tempted to shove him out of the way so he could clean it up himself, but Rory already had glass in his hands. “Just ... fuckin’ leave it, I’ll get it,” he muttered sourly, but he was halfway distracted by processing the news about Rory’s call. He’d run out of gas and walked home? In this crazy bullshit town? Had he been hoping Wes was asleep and wouldn’t notice him come in or something? Maybe so he could get in the shower before Wes saw him. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” Wes slurred back, one hand gripping the edge of the sink for balance. “You didn’t even call me? M’supposed to know where you are. ‘Specially ‘round ...” He waved his free hand toward the window to indicate the whole stupid town. What if the bowler hat man had shown up again? Or something worse?
“Right, like you’re in any condition to come get me,” Rory said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t know how drunk Wes was at the time, but that was beside the point. He continued to pick up the glass one piece at a time, ignoring Wes’s offer to do it for him. “It was only a few blocks. Or, I thought it was a few blocks. Took longer than I expected. It’s no big deal. I handled myself back home just fine. I can handle myself here.” Yes, there’d been a creepy man in a bowler hat, but that was just the one time. Rory wasn’t going to stop going out at night just because they’d gotten spooked by some creep. He heard about things all the time, but he’d had his gun on him this time. It was just a couple miles back to the house, probably less than crossing Central Park end to end.
He could handle himself. Rory didn’t need him, of course he didn’t. He could handle himself while he spent hours off doing something mysterious to ‘have fun for once,’ and then walk himself home when he ran out of gas, all without even thinking about Wes. Of course he could. He’d obviously been fine, where Wes had been drinking all his calories today and doing his best not to feel anything, alone. Part of him wanted to whine and push and ask Rory again where he’d been and why he hadn’t called -- nevermind that Wes hadn’t tried to call him either -- but it seemed easier just to shut down instead. “Sure, cool, okay,” Wes mumbled. He turned to weave his way out of the dark kitchen, bouncing one shoulder off of the doorframe with a little ‘ow’ as he went. There was another bottle with liquor in it somewhere in the living room, and he wanted it.
Wes’s dismissal should have been an invitation to drop it, but Rory never could leave well enough alone, especially today. He felt his anger bubble up, and while he couldn’t pinpoint why Wes’s response bothered him so much, the fact remained that it did. His hand clenched around the glass, bits of it cutting into his palm, and he swore under his breath before dumping it in the trash. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped, grabbing a rag to help stop the bleeding on his palm. “You don’t think I can handle myself? That I’ll somehow get myself killed on a two block walk?” A little voice in the back of his head reminded him it was a lot farther than that, and that there were things in the dark here that he probably couldn’t out run, but he didn’t want to linger on those. He’d had a lifetime of people suggesting he was less than for one reason or another and he refused to take it from Wes, not after the day he’d had.
Wes winced as Rory’s angry voice followed him out of the kitchen. He was the drunk one, but something about it reminded him so much of when his dad would drink and take everything he said the wrong way. “No, Rory, that’s not ... what I said,” he replied over his shoulder. The fact that Rory had cut himself sailed right over Wes’s head, along with the obvious explanation of where he’d likely been all evening. He climbed over the back of the couch instead of walking around it, still intent on getting to that bottle. He needed to drink enough to not be conscious anymore, and just deal with this bullshit in the morning. “You handle yourself, s’fine. You don’t need me. S’cool. I’ll jus’ ... drink. And rot.” He’d devolved into muttering to himself as he pawed through the beer and liquor bottles littering the floor in front of the couch. He knew one of them had more in it, he just had to find it.
When Rory realized that Wes was going off to pout and drink more, he charged after him, circling around the couch to see their entire supply of liquor bottles littered across the floor. “Like hell you will,” he muttered, snatching the bottle out of Wes’s hand, then proceeding to grab as many as he could. His hand didn’t matter at the moment, he could deal with that later. What mattered right now was stopping the little pity party that Wes seemed intent on having over something that Rory couldn’t even comprehend. “Did you drink all this today?” he asked, picking up a bottle of bourbon that he was sure had been half full as of last night. “What the hell? You just sit at home and drink today?” He really didn’t have any right to judge, but he didn’t care. He was mostly annoyed that there was so little left for him.
“Ror, no,” Wes grunted as he reached to try and take the bottle back. His fingers slipped right off of it, so he tried to pick up something else but everything felt so clumsy and hard. With a noise of frustration, Wes flopped onto the couch cushions. The accusing questions were aggravating, like Rory was judging him or something when he’d been the one who was just gone. “What d’you care?” he snapped back, sweeping one foot to kick a bottle closer to Rory’s feet. “You’re not here. What’d you do all day, Rory?” God, he wanted another drink. It was like a compulsion, and he leaned over to try and reach a vodka bottle that looked like it had another swallow in it. Why hadn’t he bought more at the liquor store? Fuck. He tried to remember if there were any good pain pills or anything in the house. He just wanted to sleep.
“It doesn’t matter where I was all day. It’s not an excuse for you to drink yourself to death,” Rory argued. He couldn’t fathom why Wes was wasted on a Monday night. If he knew how close Rory had been to wagering the car, that might be a valid excuse, but that hadn’t even happened. And Wes had yet to learn that his wallet was empty, so it wasn’t that. Maybe if he finished a bottle himself the logic would come to him, but Rory hadn’t had near enough to drink to understand what was going on. Seeing Wes reach for another bottle, Rory snatched it before he could grab it, then opened it to take a sip for himself. His hand was starting to burn, the blood mixing with spilled alcohol a reminder of the cut he’d gotten, but he would treat it later. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened? Why’re you drinking?”
Was he drinking himself to death? That gave Wes a bit of a pause and he looked around blearily at all the empties he’d created over the course of the day. He knew he had a high alcohol tolerance, but damn. Maybe Rory was right to snatch it all away and he should listen to his boyfriend ... but the part of Wes that was hurt and sulky didn’t want to do that. It just wanted to keep drinking until he found sweet oblivion. He squinted up at him, mouth opening to say something else, before he noticed the blood streaked on some of the glass in Rory’s arms. “Is that ... are you bleeding?” he asked, concerned now. Had he made Rory bleed? Fuck. The demanding questions sank in belated. “I dunno, nothin’, I just ... wanted to get fucked up.” That was a vast understatement of how he’d felt all day, but Wes currently didn’t have the vocabulary to properly describe any of that.
“Well, I think you accomplished that.” Rory’s problem was that he had no idea when Wes had started drinking. If he’d started around noon, then he was probably fine, even if it was a slow rot of his liver, but if he’d waited until getting off work, then there was a chance that he was fucked far beyond what Rory could tell. Based on his stumbling and slurring alone, Rory was certain he didn’t need another drop. It was a harsh call, considering the day he’d had and his own form of binging, but he could argue that he hadn’t hurt anyone, including himself. Well, except for his hand. “I cut it on the bottle in the kitchen,” he said, waving that direction and dismissing it as a problem. He sighed and ran his unbloodied hand through his hair. “When did you start drinking? Is all this from the last couple hours?”
Wes groaned like Rory was giving him a pop quiz and shifted restlessly around on the couch cushions. He didn’t want to answer questions. He wanted the room to stop spinning and to go to sleep. And have another drink. That need was right there, pulsing behind every other thought. He’d always been able to hold his liquor pretty well, and he’d been drinking since he was far too young for it, but he couldn’t remember ever craving it like this. Like getting so toasted that he couldn’t stay on his feet for long just wasn’t enough. Wes flung one arm over his eyes and sighed. “Started ... ‘fore lunch,” he muttered. He barely remembered going to work at all now, and he knew this had been an all-day binge, so he probably wasn’t going to die of alcohol poisoning.
“Kay,” Rory nodded, a flood of relief washing over him as he decided Wes was probably not going to need a trip to the ER. If he’d been drinking all day, it should be spread out enough, though it still begged the question as to why the all-day binge. Rory lifted Wes’s legs and flopped down at the other end of the couch, unscrewing one of the few bottles that appeared to have anything left to drink in it. “Guess we both had a shit day then.” Now all he wanted to do was drink, but there was barely anything left for him. He supposed he could grab another beer, but that would take moving Wes’s legs and getting up.
Still feeling sulky and put out, Wes did that for him, pulling his knees up to his chest as he turned onto his side to curl up in a fetal position. He wasn’t a small man, so it was a bit awkward on the couch, but whatever, he could barely feel anything anyway. He just didn’t feel like cuddling at all with a boyfriend who wouldn’t even tell him where he’d been all day. It was pretty obvious where Wes had been and what he’d been doing, however fucked up it was, it was only fair that Rory be just as transparent, right? “Thought you was out havin’ fun for once,” he muttered, his upper face still buried in the crook of his arm.
“Started that way,” Rory murmured, swirling around what was left in a bottle of vodka. Not his favorite to drink straight, but it would do well enough. “Went up to the casino in Bangor. Won about two grand. Then… lost two grand.” He’d lost more than that in the end—he’d lost everything he’d put in. He’d forgotten that he needed the money to get home, to help them pay their rent, to pay for fucking food. There was no one to loan him money, and there was no credit card to fall back on. Credit cards left a trail, something they were looking to avoid. He could have possibly robbed a gas station on the way home, but without Wes at his side he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. So he’d done the best he could with what he had left, which wasn’t much. It fucking sucked.
That got Wes’s attention and he lifted his arm to look at Rory, though his vision was swimmy and unfocused. “You were gambling?” he muttered, but that didn’t really need to be answered, did it? Of course Rory had been out gambling, why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? His own personal bullshit had made him sure that Rory had been out having a blast and cheating on him, but it sounded more like he’d been throwing chips and dice and cards instead. Sex could happen in casinos too, of course, but Rory being Rory made it very unlikely. His focus was always elsewhere. With some grunting effort, Wes made himself sit up, squinting over at his boyfriend’s profile. “You broke even?” he prompted, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He got the sense it was worse than that, but he was really drunk so it was hard to trust his senses.
“No,” Rory grumbled. He should have stopped when he was ahead, but he was always chasing the chance of more. And he should have quit when he broke even, but then he wanted to try and win it back. If he won once, he could win again. Except it hadn’t worked out that way. His luck had run out and the harder he tried to put some extra money in his pocket, the bigger the hole he dug. He didn’t want to admit to Wes, but he was going to find out at some point. There was no way to hide that he was broke. “They cleaned me out,” he said, eyes on the bottle, rather than Wes. He was going to be pissed and it made Rory want to curl up and hide. He could deal with the anger, but he wasn’t drunk enough to deal with the disappointment he was sure was coming.
Neither of them made a ton of money at their jobs here in Point Pleasant, but the low cost of living made that workable, at least. They didn’t have a ton of wiggle room in the budget, however, and definitely didn’t have enough extra that Rory losing everything wasn’t a big deal. No wonder he’d been cagey about where he had been all day. Wes groaned and flopped back against the arm of the couch, covering his face with his hands for a moment. He was too drunk to think very thoroughly about the logistics, how they were going to cover bills, that sort of shit, he just knew that meant financial trouble. “Goddammit, Rory,” he muttered, unable to put much bite into it. He was too tired to really be pissed at the moment, just worried. “You were doin’ so much better.”
“Shuttup,” Rory muttered, giving Wes’s legs a little push. He knew Wes had a right to be pissed and the farther he got from it, the more he realized how bad he’d screwed up, but he hadn’t intentionally fucked them over. He’d started small, planning just to have a little fun, and then it had all snowballed out of control. It was a familiar story with him, yet it still surprised him every time. Either the lure was too strong, or he was too weak, but it always got the better of him. “I’ll find a way to fix it. Pick up an extra job or something. I dunno. But I’ll fix it.” He wasn’t going to dig them deeper, nor was he going to run. They’d built something worth keeping and he refused to be the reason it got ruined.
It was frustrating and Wes knew he would probably stress out more once he sobered up and could actually think about money, but for now, he couldn’t help but be kind of relieved that it wasn’t something worse, like cheating. The two of them had been flat broke before, they could deal with some financial hardship. Wes pushed himself upright again and reached for Rory to pull him into a clumsy sort of hug. “I’ll work some overtime,” he murmured. “It’ll be okay.” Luckily they had separate finances, and Wes had some money of his own. He could cover their necessities for a while, he thought.
Rory let himself be pulled into the hug, leaning against Wes as he closed his eyes. Wes having to put in extra hours made Rory feel even worse, but he was glad it was an option. He was glad he hadn’t had access to Wes’s money, otherwise he probably would’ve blown it all too. Or maybe he’d have won big and they could’ve splurged on something fun. It was wishful thinking, but he knew he should count himself lucky. Wes could’ve been a hell of a lot madder than he was now. “‘m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never left work to gamble before.”
The way he phrased it made Wes frown a bit in thought. He’d never left work to drink before, either. He didn’t even consider himself an alcoholic, even though he’d been behaving like a bad one all day long. What were the odds that he and Rory would go on their own separate benders? It was so weird. He knew he didn’t have the brainpower to figure it out at the moment, though, so he tried to focus on comforting Rory. That seemed more important. Wes petted his hair a bit and sighed. “S’okay,” he mumbled, even if it wasn’t really. It was too late now, though. Like so many other things. “I dunno what ... I dunno. I never left work to drink b’fore either, so ... fuck us both, right?” Wes chuckled faintly.
Rory knew on some level that their mutual vice binge was weird, but he chalked it up to coincidence. There was nothing else that made sense. Tomorrow they’d be better equipped to deal with the consequences, but right now all Rory wanted to do was wallow and soak up Wes’s affection. He still didn’t understand why Wes would ever think he would cheat on him, but he wanted to ensure that that thought never crossed his mind again. “Stupid fuckin’ day,” he mumbled, nuzzling into him. He smelled like liquor and sweat, like a man that’d gone on a bender, but Rory didn’t care. He was mostly Wes beneath it all and that was a comfort. “We should go to bed. See if it’s better in the morning. I just need to wrap up my hand first.”
Wes couldn’t explain it, but something was strange. He also couldn’t really wrap his head around what it meant for them that Rory had blown all of his money, but that was something else to think about tomorrow. Tonight he didn’t feel like he could think anymore. Rory’s weight and warmth felt nice against him, and all he wanted to do was go to bed and cling to each other. They were all they really had, in the end. “Oh shit yeah,” Wes muttered, pulling back to look at Rory’s hand. He knew he was in no shape to help, but it did look like it needed some first aid. And it was his fault Rory was bleeding. “C’mon there’s ... stuff. In our bathroom.” Wes moved to get up with a tired little groan.
Rory didn’t want to mess with his hand, but he knew if he didn’t, then he’d regret it when there was blood all over the sheets. Hand wounds were such a bitch. It felt like they reopened every five minutes. “Okay,” he sighed, pulling himself to his feet. “Let’s get you in bed, and I can get this cleaned up. It’s not that bad. Just bleeds a lot.” If he’d let it go until morning, he probably wouldn’t have cut it in the first place, but he’d been feeling stubborn. Apparently it was just one of those days. Rory stuck close to Wes as they climbed the stairs, not at all sure how stable Wes was on his feet, and only left him when he was close enough to fall into the bed if he wanted to.
It felt all wrong to be the one who needed a little help up the stairs when Rory was the one bleeding, but that was what happened when you drank like a lunatic, Wes supposed. He wanted to help with Rory’s hand, but the bed was far too tempting once he could see it, and Wes crawled on top of the mattress while Rory went to their bathroom. He got hot all of the sudden, a delayed reaction to the exertion of climbing the stairs, and he started to squirm out of his clothes. Wes got his shirt off but his pants got caught around his lower thighs and he gave up, sighing as he let his limbs flop and closed his eyes. The world was spinny, but not in a way that made him worry about puking yet. He was going to hate himself in the morning, he felt sure.
At this point, Rory was glad there hadn’t been enough liquor left for him to really over-indulge. It still sounded good, and he might hunt down another beer once he’d taken care of his hand, but he could see that getting Wes into bed had to be a priority. Another ten minutes and he doubted he’d have been able to get him off the couch. He took a few minutes to clean and wrap his hand, then grabbed the small bathroom trashcan to set beside Wes’s side of the bed. Just because he hadn’t gotten sick yet didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility. He could feel the beer downstairs calling him, but he helped pull Wes’s pants off instead, telling himself he could be a good boyfriend and still drink himself to sleep. After the day he’d had, he deserved it.
Wes mumbled something incoherent as Rory helped with his pants. It crossed his mind to try and flirt his way into some sort of sex to make them both feel better, but his body was not cooperative, every limb heavy now that he was horizontal in bed. He crawled his way to the section of the bed that was more or less his spot and flopped there again. “C’mere a minute,” he murmured, reaching for Rory. He could only keep one eye open at a time, it seemed like, but that was enough for now. He wanted to hold onto his boyfriend for the few minutes of consciousness he had left, both for himself and to satisfy some compulsion to comfort Rory some more.
Rory really fucking wanted that beer and sighed when he realized he wasn’t going to get it quite yet. He’d fucked up bad enough that he owed Wes a cuddle if he wanted one and doubted he would last that much longer anyways. If the craving was still there afterwards, he could go have a little pity party all by himself. Rory toed off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers before climbing up the bed to curl up with Wes. As much as he wanted that drink, it was nice to be held, especially after the day he’d had. “Sorry about today,” he mumbled, resting his head on Wes’ chest. He hadn’t even expected this to be on the table after Wes found out, so maybe it was a good thing he was so drunk right now. It had softened the blow.
It was a little bonus that Rory stripped before joining him, though Wes’s eyes didn’t want to focus very well at the moment. All of his warm skin felt good though, and Wes pressed in close when Rory laid down, wrapping both arms around him. He grunted in response to the apology ... he probably owed one of his own, but it seemed smarter to do that later, when he was sober. He wasn’t good at apologizing in the first place, and he was surely worse at it when he was drunk. “Don’ worry,” he muttered fuzzily, eyes closing as he breathed in Rory’s smell. It was there, under the casino stink, and Wes wanted to burrow into it and sleep there for days. “Jus’ want you.” Maybe it didn’t make much sense in context, but that was how Wes felt at the moment.
Rory didn’t like apologizing, but he was smart enough to know he should when he’d blown his half of their income. It was going to put a strain on things and the very least he could do was apologize. Though he still intended to get back up, he cuddled up against Wes and allowed himself to shut his eyes for a moment. After the chaos of the day, the highs of his wins and the sinking defeat of his loss, he needed this more than he was willing to admit. It soothed his soul, gave him a moment of peace, and even the draw of another drink couldn’t tear him away once he’d settled in. “Not going anywhere,” Rory replied, not completely able to follow Wes’s thoughts from one to another, but it was still true enough. He was right where he wanted to be.