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There's a very good reason Arin doesn't drink. He'll say that it's because of the taste, but, really, that's only a part of the reason. There have been hundreds of times that he's put disgusting shit in his body, shit that tastes worse than the occasional beer. The taste is only half of the reason. It all goes deeper, tunnels into a deep, dark fear in the back of his head that Arin tries to file away. He doesn't like being out of control. The thought of alcohol weakening what little brain-to-mouth filter that Arin already has, the possibility of letting his real thoughts and feelings out, whether or not he wants to...that shit has him swearing off of alcohol for the rest of his life.
"I'll be right back," Arin murmurs, sliding off of the couch. His body feels heavy, sluggish. He'd already knocked back the designated shots for the stream and, when Ross offered to donate two hundred dollars on the spot if Arin drank one of the beers that Ross had been drinking all night, he was quick to agree. Surely a beer couldn't be as bad as the shots? It all tasted like shit and, now, Arin's stomach rumbled, the mix of alcohol and all of the bullshit that he'd eaten earlier in the stream mixing in a bad way.
"Oh, shit!" Ross hoots. "Arin's going to throw up!" He starts cackling.
It's so late in the night that Arin can't be sure how much they've raised or if anyone is still watching them. Suzy is in front of the camera, running over the rules for donating, and Barry is handling the messages, so no one stops him as he moves clumsily towards the Grump Room.
He isn't going to throw up. He's done worse to himself. His head is swimming, though, and he feels even more tired than he had been before drinking. His chest feels weird; he feels weird. Arin collapses onto the long couch. It's pretty gross, smelling faintly like sweat and coffee. He should probably get it steamed or something.
He presses his face into the couch and groans. Somewhere, he catches the scent of Dan's cologne, clinging to the fabric. Arin huffs. What a fucking trick, making him think of Dan right now. Well, shit, he can't honestly say that he hadn't been thinking of Dan every day since he'd left for Portland. It just feels worse, now, somehow, the absence of Dan more intense.
Arin's eyes slip closed. He can feel it already, the thoughts that terrify him, the ones that he works so hard to keep away. He can feel them shaking loose in the back of his brain.
Before he's really aware of what he's doing, Arin's got his phone in his hand. When he focuses back in on his movements, he sees that he's tabbed to Dan's name. Arin knows that it's a bad idea, a horrible idea. His body feels light and weighted at the same time. His mind is coming loose. Still, he hits the call button.
Arin isn't aware of the time; he's not really aware of anything except for the breath catching in his chest. He actually isn't sure whether or not he wants Dan to answer, except its Dan and he's Arin and it may be late but, still, Dan answers for him.
"Hello?" Dan says. He doesn't sound like he was sleeping, but his voice is low and dim. It sends a tingle down Arin's spine.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Fuck, Arin hadn't actually talked in a few minutes and his voice is as heavy as his limbs, slurred at the edges.
Dan laughs. "I could say the same to you. Is the stream over?"
"No," Arin says. "Well, I don't know...maybe."
"Maybe? Where are you?"
Arin is quiet for a moment. It feels like he should just hang up and go back to the main room of the office, go and entertain the people sacrificing their time to watch them be jackasses. He just...he misses Dan so much. Had wanted him here tonight so badly.
"Grump Room. Did you know that the couch smells like you? That's fucked up, dude."
Dan laughs again and Arin smiles, his eyes closed and his phone clumsily pushed up against his face. "You sound weird," Dan says after a moment of silence.
"I'm...I think that I'm drunk?" Fuck, well, it sounds embarrassing to admit that he, as a twenty-eight-year-old man, is drunk off of three shots and one crappy beer, but that's where he's at.
"Holy shit, what? You drank alcohol? Fuck, why am I not there?" Dan sounds giddy and Arin can picture him, maybe sprawled across his hotel room bed, smiling like a fucking idiot. Arin is smiling, too.
"I wish that you were here, man." Shit, he doesn't mean to sound so soft and wistful. His own tone is scaring him. His mind is foggy.
"Aw, you miss me?" Dan aims for joking and it could be that easy. Arin can direct it a different way. Alcohol is his enemy, his brain is fucking bullshit, and Dan is on the phone.
"Like, so bad. Why aren't you here? I miss you, fuck."
Dan is quiet, a small, stunted moment where Arin almost thinks that he could fall asleep because, in the back of his head, he can hear Dan breathing softly along the line.
"I'll be home soon," Dan says. Then, almost like an afterthought, "I miss you, too."
Arin's mind is starting to unravel, all sober thoughts dissolving. It's his worst fears coming true. "I shouldn't drink," Arin says.
"Because you get all sappy?" Dan teases.
"Because I get afraid. Because I can't stop it."
The atmosphere shifts and all of the teasing slips out of the room. Arin feels bad for Dan that he's trapped him in this conversation, surprising him at three AM with an Arin that he's never met before. Fuck, Arin doesn't even know himself right now.
Except...that's a lie because, right now, Arin's never been closer to his real self.
"Arin, are you okay?" Dan asks. He sounds concerned and Arin aches to see him. If Dan was right next to him, he'd feel better; he'd...
"I'd kiss you," Arin says, finishing a thought that he should have never voiced to Dan.
Dan laughs, but it's nervous and high-pitched. Arin's stomach rolls with baby food and beer.
"Oh, I get it. You don't drink because you can't control all of your gay thoughts."
Dan is joking, clearly teasing, trying to get that mood back, but all of the wind has gone out of Arin because that is exactly fucking right. He was scared shitless to drink because he can joke about fucking guys, but, if he's drunk, then the joke morphs into his very real desire to fuck guys - specifically, Dan.
Arin has been quiet for too long...probably. He isn't sure. Time isn't on his side right now.
"Um..." he says because he doesn't know how to say 'yes.'
"Oh," Dan says, his voice dipping again. "Oh, Arin, I'm -”
"Would you kiss me, too?" Arin asks. "If you were here and we were on this couch together and I leaned over and kissed you...would you kiss me back?"
There's silence. Arin's sure that Dan has hung up. With any luck, he can play this all off as a joke come Monday when Dan is back in California.
"Fuck," Dan says. "Fuck, Arin."
Arin bites his lip. That wasn't a 'no.' Dan didn't hang up.
"Because I wanna kiss you," Arin plows on, completely unable to stop himself, to quell the thoughts that he's always hidden. "Fuck, I wanna do a lot more than that."
"Like what?" Dan asks, his voice barely above a whisper. It makes Arin's blood heat in his veins. He closes his eyes and pictures Dan next to him, hovering above him, asking what he'd do next.
"I really want your cock," Arin says around a soft slur. "I wanna suck it. Want you to -”
Dan gasps. The sound makes Arin groan. Suddenly, wildly, he's so desperate to see Dan, be around him, and be able to touch him because maybe Dan would let him.
"Dan?" Arin says, his voice rough around Dan's name.
"Will you tell me more?" Dan asks, his own voice sounding tight, off.
Arin's heart is beating a mile a minute in his chest. His eyes are closed. His cock stirs in his basketball shorts. He's keyed up, scared, but he wants to touch himself and he wants Dan to talk him through it. He's not sure what’s happening right now. He just knows that he doesn't want it to stop.
"Like...you think that you're too skinny, but I love your fucking body, dude. I just wanna push you down, touch you." Arin's cock is definitely hard now, tenting in his shorts. He bites his lip, teases his hand down his stomach, but he isn't going to touch himself. "Would you let me suck your dick?"
"Fuck," Dan says, his voice shaking as he answers. "Yeah, fuck, Arin, I would. I'd let you suck me off. You'd probably be so fucking good at it."
They have never done this before. A line is being blurred and crossed, and he’s not sure that it is a good thing. Arin can't stem the flow of images from flooding his mind, seeing it in hazy alcohol vision, Dan on the couch and Arin between his legs, his mouth moving along Dan's cock. He can't fight the urge, same as he couldn't fight the thoughts that made him call Dan in the first place. He slides his hand down to his dick, touching himself through his shorts.
Arin must make a noise, maybe a hiss or a gasp, something, because Dan is swearing. "Are you...are you touching yourself right now?"
"I...yes. I wish that it were you. I want it to be you."
Dan groans, quiet, but it makes sparks shoot along Arin's cock. He can't. He has to. He slides his hand into his shorts and touches his dick. In the very back of his mind, he's aware of the stream and his friends and his fucking wife all very close by.
Arin's cock is hot in his hand. He's heard tales of whiskey dick, but that doesn't seem to be a problem for him. If anything, the alcohol is making him feel warmer, looser, his thoughts tumbling like rocks in his brain. Arin starts to stroke himself, slow at first, but the fabric of his shorts is fucking up the slide of his fist and he wiggles his hips against the couch until his shorts are bunched just below his knees. Now his cock is free. He spits into his hand to make the slide easier.
"Holy shit," Dan says across the line, miles and miles away. "Arin, I..."
He waits for Dan to finish, hand on his cock and petrified that Dan will hang up, will tell him to stop, but the thought doesn't pick back up. Arin strokes his cock a little faster now and pictures Dan sitting in the room, watching Arin because he's afraid to touch. Arin would be afraid, too, but he's drunk and momentarily fearless.
"Really want...I just...I want you to fuck me."
Dan moans and it isn't at all quiet and Arin can hear the slight rustle of fabric and the metal clink of Dan's belt. He knows. He knows that Dan's going to touch himself. His cock twitches in his hand as he pictures Dan trying to get a hand down his pants, touching himself while he watches Arin jerk off.
"Bet your cock is fucking huge. I'd still try to take it all. I'd want you as deep as you could go."
"Oh, my God," Dan says. He's got a hitch to his voice, the single hottest goddamn thing that Arin has ever heard - except for the moaning.
Arin's dick is leaking. He spreads the pre-come around with his thumb, tries to make the slide wetter. He can't believe this, not any of it. It doesn't feel real, some hazy, alcohol-related dream. The ramifications of tonight...he's leaving that for sober Arin to deal with. Right now, this Arin is going to take what he can get and he's going to like it.
"I bet..." Dan is saying. His voice is strained. Arin would give anything to watch Dan jerk off. Fuck, he wouldn't even touch. He'd be fine with just watching Dan's long fingers curled around his dick, stroking as he watches Arin from the sidelines. "I bet that you'd be fucking tight."
Arin moans, thankful for the soundproofing in the room because he couldn't keep the sound inside. His hand speeds up over his cock. The sound must encourage Dan to continue because he keeps talking before Arin can collect himself.
"I'd want you on your back. I'd get your arms over your head, hold them down because your fucking arms make me so crazy. You have no idea. I'd get your shirt up, too, test out your little nipple theory because I wanna see how much you'd like it."
"Fuck," Arin bites out. He tries to cradle the phone between his shoulder and his ear, braced against the couch so that he can use his free hand to slide his t-shirt up. He isn't willing to lose the hand on his dick. He gets his clumsy fingers on his nipple and pinches the sensitive skin, tugging and twisting lightly. His whole body shivers, jerking to life under his own touch. He's unraveling fast to images of skin, and Dan, and the promises that Dan is making over the phone. He wants all of that so fucking bad. "I'd let you do anything that you wanted to me."
Dan moans again. It's a sound that Arin could get used to, wants to get used to, wants to feel pressed against his skin. Everything is hitting him in this moment: his pleasure, the foggy, sleepy feeling addling his brain, his nerves and excitement. Arin is a bundle of feelings, of pin-points and emotions that are rapidly deteriorating. He doesn't want to exist outside of this moment, this scene with Dan, because, if it's over, who knows what happens then? It’s all okay right now because of the context, because of the situation and the alcohol, and Dan being so far away. If one thing were different, if they gave each other time to think about this… it might all fall away around them.
Still, it'll be over sooner than Arin wants it to be. His hips press up to meet the slide of his fist. Arin squeezes at the base of his dick, desperate to hold off his impending orgasm for just a little longer. He needs more time.
"I'd fuck you," Dan says again. Now his voice is wet, harsh around sweet panting, "Keep you down on the couch and make you beg for it." Arin has never heard Dan like this before. It sets his blood on fire. He lets Dan's voice drown him, consume him entirely. "I'd fuck your tight, little ass 'til I was close and then I'd pull out and come all over you." Dan's breathing is rough and his voice is deep but tight in this goddamn sexy-ass way. "Where would you want it, Arin? Tell me where."
Arin isn't sure that he can even answer. He's so close, his hand moving impossibly fast and Dan's voice right in his ear like a trick, like he's here. If he concentrates, then he's sure that he can still catch Dan's scent lingering in the room.
"Arin," Dan groans. It pulls Arin back, grounds him in a way.
"I...on my face. I wanna taste you. Fuck, I'd suck you off. Let you come in my mouth." Dan whines and Arin mimics the sound. He can't hold off for much longer. "I just wanna hear you," Arin says. "You sound so fucking good. You - you always do."
There's a lull in their speaking. Arin is aware that they're listening, panting into the phone, hearing each other jerk off because they both must be close. Arin catches all of those fucking beautiful sounds falling from Dan's mouth. At the same time, he's unaware of what he sounds like, what noises that he's making for Dan to listen to. Arin is too close, slipping over the edge; he's aware as he comes that he's saying Dan's name, chanting it like a goddamn mantra as he tips over the edge, falls down into bliss, and comes over his fingers. Distantly, he hears Dan come after him, like Dan had wanted him to go first. Dan moans, deep and long, breaking it with a sharp swear.
Arin's body is so hot, his breathing harsh as he comes down from his orgasm. His mind reels, foggy. He's so tired. He doesn't want to deal with anything. Did he and Dan really just do that? Did they just have phone sex? Arin’s whole body is numb, confused. Dan's trying to catch his breath on the phone. Arin basks in the sound, knowing that he had a part in it. His dick twitches, sticky against his stomach, his own come coating his fingers.
"Remind me to steam the couch," Arin says, which isn't the best thing to say after having a sudden sloppy session of phone sex with his best friend, but, if he doesn't tell someone, then he's going to forget.
Dan laughs, but it's different, winded and soft. "Fucking really? We might as well get a new couch."
"I didn't come on it."
Dan groans weakly. "I...I'm not sure what happened here, Arin. Really..."
Arin groans. He wipes his fingers on the inside of his shorts without thinking because, shit, he's supposed to go back and face the others and now he's got come sticky against his thighs. He doesn't want to explain anything, deal with anything. He doesn't know how. Never had he thought that Dan would be able to reciprocate anything, not that Arin ever wanted to admit that there was anything he was willing to give that needed to be reciprocated. Now here they are and Arin isn’t quite sure how they got there. Wouldn’t be able to explain it.
"I"m drunk," Arin says, "And tired."
"And your livestream is still going," Dan says.
"Fuck."
Arin can practically hear the smile in Dan's voice. It makes his chest hurt, makes all of him hurt. Why is Dan so far away?
"It's okay. We'll talk about it when I get back. When you're sober. If you want to."
Arin isn't sure. He's the lucky one because he's drunk. He's one-hundred percent sure that he's not drunk enough to forget one second of this, but Dan doesn't know that. He could pretend that it didn't happen. He has an excuse. As far as Arin knows, Dan isn't drunk, so his participation is a little more telling. That scares Arin, the same as everything that he's truly ever wanted scares him.
"I..."
"It's okay," Dan repeats. "I'll call you before I board the flight back home."
Arin doesn't deserve Dan, not really, but he's got him and he never wants to let him go. He wants to say that, but, even with the liquid courage, he's not brave enough. This isn't the right way, the right scenario, to tell Dan just how much he means to him, how much it scares him.
"Okay," Arin says, instead of 'I love you' or something else that means more.
"Go wash your hands and get back to your livestream before they think that you've died in the bathroom or something."
Arin huffs out a laugh. His eyes are so heavy and, honestly, he doesn't want to move. He wants to keep Dan on the phone with him and listen to him breathe until he falls asleep. Arin forces himself to tug his shorts up. He feels hot and gross.
"Goodnight," Arin murmurs into the phone. He feels too raw, too bare.
"'Night, buddy," Dan says. He sounds no different, no more fucked up, because of what just happened. Arin isn't sure what that means. He wants to ask, but, then, Dan's hanging up. Arin holds the dead air for a second before he tucks his phone away and tries to compose himself.
He can't honestly say that drinking tonight was a giant mistake...maybe a little mistake that Arin ran with. Maybe it'll spiral out of control, turn into something that Arin can't deal with...or maybe it'll be okay. Maybe it'll be the best thing that's ever happened to him. He doesn't know. He'll let tomorrow's Arin deal with it.