Michael drops down beside him on the sofa and manages to unscrew the lid of the shaker on his third try, fingers slippery with sweat and intoxication. He takes a swig and hands it to James, their glasses forgotten on the coffee table.
“It’s just as good straight from the bottle as it is with all the fancy bits.” His accent is stronger, his voice husky with intoxication and fatigue, and James’ stomach quivers at the lilt of his words. “Though I can get you an olive, ‘f you’d like.”
James shakes his head. “No, it’s okay, stay here.” His arm is around Michael’s shoulder, and when did that happen? He turns his head to puzzle at their new position and-
And he’s right there, slouched low in the crook of his side, their faces so close he can feel Michael’s breath on his cheek, hot and heavy with vodka and musk and-
They’ve definitely had too much to drink, because James dips his head and captures Michael’s lips in a sloppy kiss. It’s slow and wet and when James moves away for a second to put the tumbler on the ground, out of the way, Michael arches up for him like their lips are magnets. James wraps an arm around his waist and pushes him down on the couch more forcefully than he really needs to and their tongues slide together, hungry and greedy and wanting.
He pushes Michael’s knees apart, dropping in between the spread thighs to rut against him. Michael groans into his mouth, his hard cock pressing up against James’ stomach through his sweatpants. James pulls away, tugging the soft fabric down his legs and tossing them onto the floor by the spilled vodka. He fumbles at his own belt, undoing his jeans frantically. A quick glance at Michael makes his fingers slip- the other man is staring at him, swollen lips parted and hair mussed. There’s a light flush visible on his high cheekbones in the glow of the streetlamp outside, and his chest heaves shakily. It takes what little restraint James still has not to grab a handful of Michael’s hair in his fist and yank him forward like a barbarian.
Instead he thrusts his hand out, caressing Michael’s cheek. Stubble rasps under his palm as he drags his fingers across the other man’s lips and his breathing grows even harsher as Michael opens his mouth and begins to suck, his tongue swirling indecently in the whorls of James’ fingertips. It’s filthy, it’s fucking lewd. Hissing, James jerks back and kisses Michael using his dry hand to raise his hips off the pillow he’s lying on top of. He pushes a finger into him and his cock twitches at the choked-back gasp Michael lets out, at the scrunch of his brow, and Jesus he’s so tight.