DISCLAIMER - No matter how many times I close my eyes and make a wish I still don't own these beautiful boys... more's the pity. This is purely a work of fiction, not intended to imply anything about these guys or their lives.

Written for the RPS100 drunken hijinks challenge.


"Oops, someone moved the step," Michael slurs, stumbling into Tom. A quick grab connects with a broad shoulder and Michael steadies himself.

"Either that, or you drank too much at the party." Tom shakes his head, lips quirking in amusement, then slides an arm around Michael's waist, supporting him. He doesn't object.

"Fuck, my keys..." Michael aims a drunken stare at the closed door.

"Try your pocket."

"Huh?"

Exasperated, Tom leans across, fishing in the pocket of Michael's tight jeans.

As long fingers dig deeper in their quest, Michael smiles, eyelids drooping lazily. Oddly, he doesn't seem so inebriated now.


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