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The pounding in his head woke Chuck up too fucking early.
Before he even opened his eyes, he was berating himself for how stupid he was. Memories of the start of the night were slowly surfacing, a slightly drunk Chuck deciding it would be no big deal if he mixed his liquors, like he was a dumbass kid and not a 35 year old man who should know better. He groaned, a dull shockwave of pain reverberating around his skull until it wasn’t so dull anymore, until it felt like his brain was about to split in half.
Fuck. 35. Still subjecting his blood, brain, and liver to a poisoning he could barely handle at 25. Laying there, still feeling halfway drunk in spite of the utterly unspeakable hangover setting in. For a minute, or maybe an hour, the headache wringing out his grey matter was all Chuck could focus on. But then, abruptly, he realized there was a weight on his chest, draped over his body, snoring right in his ear. It wasn’t even quiet, this bitch was like a damn grizzly bear, which was insane considering how light she felt. As Chuck woke up a bit more, brain suddenly having the capability to process more than just pain, he pieced together that he’d somehow gotten laid last night. He was surprised. When Orange had dragged him out to the bar, Chuck had been in a pretty bad mood. He doesn’t usually pull when he’s like that, all touchy and easily bothered. He definitely didn’t deserve Orange trying to make him feel better, getting wasted with him at a bar full of hot girls that would probably all turn them both down.
But this one didn’t turn Chuck down at least. He brought a hand up to her waist, small, and to her ass, small too, but curved perfectly for his hand. It felt nice. He rested his hand there for a bit, smiling to himself about having pulled a babe with a cute ass, before grimacing as the headache got worse again.
Aftermath. He never thought of the aftermath in the moment. A few drinks in and he felt less like shit so he kept going, doing whatever felt right, felt better. Drinks himself straight into hangover purgatory, where his head hurts too much to even appreciate the sweet butt in his hands.
He was more of a boob man anyway, but she was asleep ass-up, chest pressed flat against him. It was hard to tell, Chuck could really only feel bare skin and the sweat between them, but her rack seemed somewhat lacking. So, not his best pull, but whatever. As that wave of pressure on his brain passed, he got into investigating the mystery babe on top of him.
He gave that little ass a firm squeeze, and she pushed up into his hands. Still asleep, still snoring real loud for such a little lady, but subconsciously pushing up into his touch. Cute.
He was finally awake enough to realize that his room was never this dark. There was a damn street light right outside his window, perpetually shining a bit of light into his room through the blinds that had been missing a few slats since before he lived there that his shitty landlord still hadn’t replaced. He would’ve appreciated that light now, to give him a glimpse at who he’d just slept with. He rooted around his brain for details but… it was just Orange. He couldn’t remember even talking to any girls that night. Just shooting the shit with Orange, both getting hammered while Chuck’s mood got infinitely better. He couldn’t even remember what had bummed him out in the first place, only how much better he felt after a few hours rambling about absolutely nothing with Orange, laughing over shit that wouldn’t be funny to anyone else.
Y’know. Like buddies do. Orange was a good friend, cheering Chuck up like that. But it didn’t connect the dots he was looking for.
What woman did he meet? The bartender herself was short, but she was busty. Chuck would feel a sweet pair of tits pressed up against him. And she was on the clock anyway, it's not like he’d have tried his luck with someone who was obviously busy. She was just the only lady he remembered from last night. She was kinda charming, Chuck couldn’t remember her face without this amused smirk, which… made him wonder what happened, what she saw him do and found so interesting. Ugh, he hoped he wasn’t weird in front of this girl he managed to hook up with. Not that it really mattered, apparently, since he got laid anyway. But it's never good to have the vague impression you did something interesting and not know what it was. He racked his brain, trying to remember anything about this skinny girl with a cute little butt. Fuck. Fuck. It was gonna be so awkward when she woke up and he didn’t remember her name. She was gonna be pissed. No way in hell was Chuck getting her number.
Maybe he could slip out. It’d be hard, she was asleep right on top of him, but he’d gotten out from similar positions. Found most of his clothes and escaped without an awkward morning-after conversation. Without having to face the aftermath.
“Fuck,” he grumbled, when, speaking of the aftermath, his head reminded him of yesterday’s overindulgence. Okay, so some consequences were unavoidable, even if he escaped he’d still spend at least all morning with this killer hangover. He grimaced. Then, he noticed the snoring in his ear had stopped.
Well. If she was awake now, if his one syllable of complaining woke her up, the least she could do was get off of him so he could raid her cupboards for aspirin. He wasn’t about to throw her aside, maybe he would’ve when he was younger and dumber but he’d grown a little less awful over the years. A little more polite. He nudged her shoulder until she showed some sign of life, a quiet hum from where she was laying, face slotted against his neck. His brain felt like it was bursting out of his skull. He nudged harder, hoping the rest of her body would get the idea and slide off of him.
Instead, he felt a soft little kiss get pressed into his neck. Okay, that was cute. That was sweet. But now wasn’t the time. He was growing more and more aware of the way every cell of his brain was splitting apart, and not in a mitosis way. He needed some water, some painkiller, and he’d even be nice and bring some back for her before he got the hell out of there.
He pushed her face away from his neck, gently but trying to get the point across that he wanted to get out of bed. Her hair was surprisingly short, but knowing that did nothing to help him remember her face, which she was brattily trying to nuzzle right back into his neck, her beard tickling his skin as she settled right back into where she’d been snoring all night.
Wait.
Backtrack.
He felt her ass again, for some reason looking there for answers. Still there, little but plump. Good shape, felt right in Chuck’s palm. Tight little ass. That much made sense. He groped again, she hummed happily. He knew what that all meant. He got that.
“I can’t believe we did that.” Orange said, voice creaky with sleep in his ear, and Chuck didn’t get that.
Well.
He got it. Like, he understood the implications here.
But he didn’t get… himself. How he ended up here. Naked. Under Orange. Who is also naked. Orange kissing his neck again. His own hands still feeling up Orange’s ass. He didn’t get why he was still doing that. Why he wasn’t jumping out of his skin. Throwing Orange off of him, getting out of his bed, running all the way back to Kentucky.
His hands were for sure sending the wrong message. It took focused effort to put an end to that, bringing them back down to rest on Orange’s hips. Orange shifted and Chuck felt his dick, fuck, felt his semi pressed up against his hip. Imagine that, you feel a man’s ass up after apparently fucking him and he gets a little turned on by it.
This was all a huge misunderstanding.
“You okay?” Orange muttered.
“Yeah.” It was so weird that it didn’t feel like a lie. Even the pain that had been taking over his brain all morning settled to the backburner. There were more pressing matters at hand here. He was naked in bed with Orange. They “did that.” Orange was rutting up against him, just barely moving enough to get friction off of Chuck, making his wants clear while idly waiting for whatever he would do next.
What would he do next? When was Chuck gonna wake the rest of the way up and explain: “funny story, this was a huge mistake and I’m not even gay,” and get out of Orange’s bed?
“You wanna touch my butt some more?” God. What? Like Orange wanted that… did he somehow not notice that he’s way out of Chuck’s league, and even if Chuck was actually gay, Orange should be kicking him right out of bed anyway. Nothing going on here made any sense, it was like he woke up in another reality. He wished Orange would just start saying shit Chuck could understand him saying in this situation, like “ Oh fuck no, get out of my bed Chuck, what the fuck? ”
Ugh. But instead the pressure’s on Chuck. He’s gotta be the one to stop making this little mistake worse, stop letting this misunderstanding get worse. Because that’s all it was, he reasoned. A misunderstanding.
“Yeah.” He said, against his better judgement. But his hands stayed locked in place, and he considered the pounding in his head again. Maybe this was a weird dream. Can heads hurt in dreams? Could he will the hangover away with lucid dreaming powers? He almost tried but…
God fucking damn it. If he could lucid dream anything away it should be his roommate, naked on top of him. Chuck was growing increasingly uncomfortable with how comfortable he was with all this. Why the fuck wasn’t he freaking the fuck out?
“Chuck?”
“What?”
“Are you freaked out?”
“Yeah. No. Uh...” He skimmed the entirety of brain for an answer, but only found aching and confusion. “I don’t know.”
Another kiss, this one on his shoulder. It was so weird, Orange’s beard on his skin. “It’s okay.” Orange muttered, assuringly, gentle.
It really was… And it shouldn’t have been. That nagging pain in his head persisted. His heart pounded so hard he was sure Orange could feel it. There was so much he had to address. He really drunk himself into a hell of a situation.
So why didn’t he feel bad?
Orange’s head rested on his chest now, giving up on getting action or conversation out of Chuck. It was pitch black in Orange’s room, the man really cultivated an ideal sleeping environment, but Chuck could almost feel those deep blue eyes looking up at him. He didn’t get it. He pressed a kiss to the top of Orange’s head, face nuzzled into his silky blond hair as if that was what Chuck wanted to do. He didn’t get it. He didn’t get how easy it was to just… have what he wants. And for this to be what he wants.
“Can we just go back to sleep?” Chuck finally said, arms wrapping around Orange’s back, squeezing him tight to his chest. Like he wanted him there. Because he did.
“Sure... You gonna be okay later?” Orange asked, face nuzzling against Chuck’s chest, and the beard still felt crazy on his skin.
“Could go either way. I’m gonna need you to fill in some gaps.”
Some gaps... It was all gaps. The whole thing was gaps. He couldn’t even think around his own disorientation right now.
“Alright… warning you now, it gets pretty gay.” He teased, but it cut the tension like a hot knife through butter just to hear verbal confirmation, Orange clarifying the whole situation by saying the word aloud.
“Yeah, no shit.” He pinched Orange’s cute little asscheek, teasing him right back. Orange whined about it, and Chuck let his hand drop back down to Orange’s hip, with a loose comfy grip, all too fond and familiar. It was so weird. It made sense. It felt right. He kissed Orange on the head again and lingered there, lips pressed against him just feeling it out, breathing in the smell of whatever he put in his hair that made it so soft.
Ugh. What a nightmare. It was all too damn right. Chuck drifted off to the sound of Orange snoring again, rhythmic noise almost loud enough to drown out the rhythmic pounding in his head, as if any of what was going on here should have been comfortable for him.
Weirdly, he was comfortable.
And weirdly, without even really getting it, with all the gaps still unfilled, it all kinda made sense.