🍾🥂Snippets 1/6 - Laurent

*post-VN, established relationship

If there’s one thing the huge and largely empty apartment can be good for, it’s hosting celebratory parties.

The lack of baubles to break, the extra bedrooms for the guests to crash at, and most importantly, the spacious living room with a kitchen on the side makes the place a perfect social gathering hub.

The only downside is the cursed couch... Your ass is practically numb, and you’ve only been sitting there for ten minutes to catch a well-deserved break from all the socializing you were engaged in previously.

The sky outside is almost bright again. The streaks of ultramarine light peering through the unveiled window shift on the floors as the morning approaches. It’s calm. For once, it’s the good kind of peace, not the one that heralds the storm.

Reed’s out cold somewhere in the spare room, hogging all the pillows he could possibly find. The girls are on the balcony, nursing the last of the cider Jewel brought over. From somewhere on your right, resounds the muffled echo of running water, plates clunking together, and Flavio - inebriated yet unable to sit still - singing along with the newest hit the presenter is looping on the radio.

Laurent, who’s only just finished gathering and delivering all the empty dishes, perches himself next to you, gifting you with one of his rare smiles.

“Everything all right?” His shoulders are more or less tense, as always, and you can bet his brain runs fifty miles an hour, already focused on the next case he has to solve.

“Yeah.” Closing the small gap he’s left between you, you press your thigh to his, feeling it tense, then relax. “Everything’s peachy.”

Your fingers, that are loosely wrapped around a half-full bottle of fruit-flavored vodka, curl at the contact, momentarily stealing your focus.

Throughout the party, Laurent has only sipped from it once. And that’s been ages ago. That simply won’t do. Especially on such an occasion.

“Then, why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Laurent’s not one to be fooled, of course. “Like you’re planning mischief.”

“Mischief,” you repeat with a faux scoff. “It’s always trouble with you, isn’t it?”

His mouth purses, but his eyes gleam with naked amusement. “I never said it would be unwelcome.”

“Oh? Okay.”

Reaching for a pair of clean shot glasses that were left on the coffee table, you pour therein the alcohol - half for you and a full for Laurent. Then, you hand one to him and keep the other to yourself.

At the expression of pure dismay that flashes across his face, you snicker, “Not what you expected?”

“No. Though, I probably should have.”

A part of you desires to ask what exactly had he imagined. Mostly, you want him to unwind. That, and you’ve never seen him drunk before. Call it curiosity, though it’s far from idle.

Sizing him up challengingly until he finally acquiesces, you raise the glass for a toast. After he indulges you, you down your drink within a second, just so that you don’t miss him deal with his.

The reaction is... disappointing. He doesn’t even flinch like you expected him to. Then again, his default expression rarely gives way to competition.

Concisely, you entertain the thought of having him finish the whole bottle, but that’s when you hear him mutter something under his breath.

Ah, scratch that. You got exactly what you wanted.

“What was that?”

He doesn’t reply, brushing a palm across his face. When he takes it away, you have to bite your lips to stop yourself from grinning like a lunatic.

In the span of the five seconds after the alcohol hits his bloodstream, Laurent’s entire face grows ruby-red, and certainly not from embarrassment.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, face straight, though unable to hide the giddiness from your voice.

“No.” The statement comes way too fast. It doesn’t slur, but the flush negates the words, spreading further down his neck, disappearing behind the collar of his dress shirt.

Your eyes fix themselves on the first button, hands itching to undo it. “Another drink then?” He shakes his head, and you laugh. “A shame. You look cute like that.”

Laurent truly makes a great work proving you that he can, in fact, blush harder. You understand exactly why he refused to play along until you were left - mostly - alone. If one shot turns him into putty, you can’t wait to see what a couple can do.

It doesn’t take much convincing on your part. It never does. He starts shaking his head even as his hand reaches for the glass. He drinks a second shot, throwing his head back.

This time, it’s even faster. His brow furrows over his glassy eyes, in a grimace that’s more confused than annoyed.

He’s wasted, just like that, completely gone. It shouldn’t be a good look, but hey. Maybe it’s the novelty of it that brings you to cup his jaw, feeling the heat of his skin against yours.

As you brush a thumb over his cheek, his mouth parts, eyes sliding at half-mast. He sways forward, seemingly with a purpose other than burrowing himself into the cradle of your hands.

Like this, your faces are only a breath away. Once you open your mouth to call out his name, his attention falls to your lips. You feel his throat move where it is pressed to the line of your arm.

He’s first to make a move... Whatever that move was supposed to be,  you can’t be sure. He must have missed his mark if the quiet grumble is any indication.

His lips do brush against your cheek, as his forehead drops to your shoulder. Twisted like that, the entirety of his weight shifts.

Unable to hold him up, you fall backwards. Your chest jumps as you stifle another wave of laughter.

Laurent doesn’t budge. Between one breath and the other, he’s swept into the Dream World, body and mind too loosened up to fight it.

It’s only you and the couch now. Ah and the memory of Laurent’s face slowly fading in and out of focus.

So what? It was worth it, even if your back begs to differ.