Zac had started bouncing the heel of his squishy foot up and down on the floor about fifteen minutes ago. He kept glancing over his shoulders, for what purpose he couldn't really say, but it was possibly his way of trying to come up with a method of making Graves stop. The outlaw had offered to take him out for a drink after their match – they'd most likely need it, since their summoners were two teenaged girls – and Zac had of course agreed, to be polite. He'd thought the fact that substances like alcohol did not affect him would be obvious, as he did not have a brain for it to intoxicate. The booze just became a part of him, making him slightly larger with each pint. This wouldn't have been a problem; if Graves wasn't a competitive drinker.

For every pint Zac drank, Graves had two. The goo warrior watched the outlaw rapidly get drunker and drunker, until he'd needed to prop his companion up himself with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, I think maybe we've had enough, Malcolm...," He attempted to say gently, but the gun-slinging champion had merely shoved his paw away clumsily and slurred into his half empty tankard.

"Ya ain't even dizzy yet, Squishes. Ain't goin' nowhere 'til ah see ya a pissed up puddle o' goop on th' floor!" He chided, downing the rest of his ale and slamming the barrel like jug on the bar. "Johnny! 'Nother two!"

Johnny – the bar keeper – wandered over timidly, giving Zac a weary look, as if asking permission. The experiment smiled nervously at the shorter human, shrugging subtly. The young man nodded and fetched Graves' order, scurrying back and placing the drinks in front of them. Zac lifted the drinking vessel to his lips, just short of taking the first sip, averting his eyes from the liquid to stare at Malcolm. In his dark, dusty shale hair, Zac could see the beginnings of aged-greys peeking through. He frowned sadly, but was not surprised; Graves was pushing fifty, and was looking great for his age. He'd known the outlaw for the duration of his three years in the League, and they'd hit it off when they first shook hands. Back then, the goo warrior couldn't recall a single sliver of silver in the human's forest of head and facial hair. He was watching his friend grow old, but he himself never would. It suddenly dawned on him that he'd most likely have to watch all his friends pass him by through the years; all of them withering away and wrinkling as years became decades. He didn't want to see that.

"Oi, Zac..." He pulled himself out of his thoughts, vaguely noting he'd somehow managed to consume two more drinks, and looked down at Graves. The outlaw was bent over the edge of the counter, resting heavily on his elbows as he scowled up at Zac with glazed, dizzy eyes. "A was wonderin'... eh, but a ain't sure ya'll like eet..."

"Ask away, you know I don't offend easy." It did occur to Zac to perhaps fake being drunk in order to trick Graves into calling it a night, but despite the good intentions entailed, he didn't feel comfortable with lying to his friend. Malcolm took a moment, sighing and rubbing at his doubtless sore eyes, hands still in his well-worn leather gloves.

"Well now, with all that goop an' slime makin' ya up an' bein' thrown around, a was wonderin'..." He turned sideways, wobbling on his stool so much Zac flinched to give him stability and not fall to the floor. But Graves held strong, dropping one elbow on the counter and his opposite hand on his knee to keep upright, fixing his companion with as much of a deadpan look a drunk man could. "How in th' hell do ya'll have sex, boy?"

Zac raised a gooey eyebrow, scrutinising Graves carefully. Intercourse had never really been a matter he'd considered important; there were lives to be saving and battles to be won! He knew the general concept of human mating, his parents had giving him 'the talk' before, but he'd never actually had sex before. "I don't," He replied.

"What now?"

"I don't. Or haven't; I've never had sex." There was a long pause where the outlaw stared at him with an expression unreadable to the goo warrior. That could've been blamed on the alcohol, but Graves regularly looked indifferent.

"Ya'll tryna' tell me a guy whose voice makes gals cream their panties ain't never knocked boots with any of 'em?," He asked after a while, sweeping his arm outwards to emphasise his point. Zac shuffled – and consequently jiggled – in his seat; quite a few ladies had made passes at him in the past, at least in concerns to his voice. Not just women in his home town, but in the League as well. But Zac was raised as a gentleman, and while he wasn't above flirting, he'd prefer to take a lady out for dinner and a movie rather than just 'knocking boots'.

"Yes. I mean, no. I... I haven't ever slept with anyone." Graves made a chuckle he wasn't sure was mocking or amused, but he supposed his stutter made him seem just as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Big, tough jelly man's an innocent lil' virgin, eh momma's boy?"

"Hey now, mom's got nothing to do with this." Zac smiled at the proper, good natured laugh Graves then belted out. He then put a gloved hand on his green shoulder and gave him a light shove.

"Hoo nelleh, I think that's enough fer tonight!," He exclaimed in a withering chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Put it on mah tab, Johnny!" The boy gave a thumbs up from across the bar, sighing in relief at the sign that Graves was leaving. "Get me home then, Squishes," Graves commanded, getting off his stool himself and teetering dangerously on the spot. Zac was up in a flash, one hand under Malcolm's arm, the other around his back and on his side, letting him lean heavily into his hold.

"Right away," He smiled in exasperation, gently guiding Graves towards the door. They both took a moment to wave and say good night to Jax and Gragas, who were still chugging away at their usual seat at the back of the bar.

Zac dragged his companion back to the Institute of War, avoiding alley ways and their occupants, and by the time he was walking up the marble steps to the grand entrance, Graves was slung over his back with his large, squishy hands under the outlaw's knees. His friend was mostly unconscious, which was fortunate as he wouldn't have liked to be seen being given a piggy-back.

Walking through the halls, he spotted Akali and Ahri conversing quietly, leaning against a wall. He nodded politely when they noticed him. "Good evening, ladies."

"Evening, Zac. You two party too hard tonight?," Ahri giggled, resting one hand on the ninja's shoulder and holding her stomach with the other, trying to control her laughter.

"Something like that," He replied quietly, hoisting Graves up a little as he started to slip. He heard both girls giggling as he walked away, heading for the outlaw's room around the corner, but decided not to ask what was so funny.

He nudged Graves' door open with one foot, stepping into his chambers and heading towards the messy, unmade bed in the corner. While messy, the room seemed quite devoid of personal belongings; empty liquor bottles, take-out cartons and boxes of cigars were scattered over the floor and surfaces. He tried not to step on anything, eventually dropping his companion on the single bunk. "You're gonna have one hell of a hangover," He muttered, brow furrowing as he looked around at the mess.

"Oh well..." Zac peered down; in the lamp light, two warm, sparkly brown eyes stared up at him. Under normal circumstances, they were hardened and indifferent, but were still appealing to look at. Once again, the experiment found himself noticing age evident in Graves, in the creases and scars around the outlaw's eyes.

"You'll regret it when you feel like your head's split like a melon," He chuckled, patting Graves' chest. "Night, Malcolm." He turned to leave, knocking over a half empty Whisky bottle as he did.

"You really ain't the type ah imagine bein' a virgin." The goo man paused, then looked over his shoulder inquisitively. In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have paid attention to Graves when he'd had so much to drink, but his polite nature refused to ignore him.

"Can't really help that," He replied quietly. Graves' eyes narrowed; they lacked that tough and rigid demeanour, loosened by somewhere along the lines of seventy two beers. Only someone as tough as Graves – excluding Gragas, of course – could hold that much alcohol and still have room for more. But nevertheless, he seemed so much more calm and tranquil, so Zac took the opportunity to appreciate his friend's peaceful side. "Ladies tend to dislike touching slimy stuff."

"A'd think lil' miss foxy wouldn't mind."

"No, Ahri gets mad when I get myself in her hair," Zac clasped his hands together and twiddled his thumbs in embarrassment; his body was such an anomaly even the fox didn't want him.

"Poor thang." Graves' foot tapped and waved in the air, as if looking for a floor to hit, then managed to roll onto his side and push himself into a sitting position. Zac immediately darted forwards, hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down.

"No you don't! You're staying in bed whether you like it or-," Zac's artificial breath hitched as Graves mashed their contrasting lips together, making a strange squelching sound when goo hit skin. He held perfectly still, glowing, yellow eyes wide and staring, while the outlaw had decided to shut his.

It was longer than he'd expected, harsh and sloppy, but eventually Graves let go and drooped sideways, threatening to fall off the bed. Zac scooped his arms around him, pinning the human's limbs to his sides and swinging him back upright. "Okay... you're drunker than I thought." He had to be, if he was willing to kiss him. He tried once again to lay his friend down, but this time he was pulled down by his shoulder and onto the bed. "Woah! Malcolm, cut that out!"

"Ya'll taste like ale," Graves mumbled, pushing his lips against Zac's again. That'd be all the alcohol he absorbed which, now occurred to him, was the gun-slinger's favourite drink. He put his hands on either side of the man's head and pushed himself up, scowling down as Graves made a rarely seen, yet pleasant smile.

"Okay, that's enough. I'm going to bed," The goo man hissed, once again attempting to leave but was foiled yet again as Graves looped an arm around his stomach and rolled over, dragging him onto the bed beside him, pinned against the wall. Zac wasn't having that. "I will kick your ass."

"Naw, virgin's are always shy."

"I am never letting you drink this much ever again." With that, Zac launched himself off the bed and onto the floor by the door, then reformed and quickly opened it. "G'night, Malcolm," He said before shutting the door and bolting down the hallway to his own room.

As he leant against his own door, he sighed in relief and rubbed his forehead. Peace at last. Graves would be cranky tomorrow, but it was very unlikely he'd even remember his own name, let alone what had just occurred in his room. Zac made a tired, fleeting chuckle, when he suddenly felt a bizarre bubbling feeling in his middle.

"Hic!" He covered his mouth, looking shell-shocked and staring into space. "Hic! Oh no..." Hiccups. He only got those when high temperatures boiled his goo, forming bubbles in the controlled form of his body that rose up and- "Hic!" Did that. He groaned uncomfortably and hugged his tummy, sliding to the floor as the innate reflex continued. Why was this happening? He hadn't even seen Annie tonight – her bed time was hours ago, Thresh never let her stay up! - and there was no one else around with the ability to boil him. It then occurred to him that, when he was younger, whenever he or his parents had done something to embarrass him, he'd begin hiccuping. It was his own way of blushing.

Graves had made him blush.

If you were wondering; my friend and I decided Thresh does babysitting in his spare time, but Annie is his favourite. We're stupid like that.

Hail to the princess, baby!