This idea was born thanks to my free time and my sick enjoyment.
Disclaimer: I don't own Overwatch. This work was wrote with the mere purpose of entertainment. Any attempt of plagiarism will be punished.
Thanks.
"You don't have the hígado, Jack. Just give up"
"I don't know what that means, but I'm not quitting, Gabe"
Even though his words were strong, the blond knew better when he accepted a bet made by the Blackwatch commander. Gabriel wasn't someone to be too indulgent when it came to their "little games", like Ana normally called them when he and the others had enough free time from being agents. Exactly like it had been that one time. It had started as a simple taunting about his dislike to spicy food and scaled to a whole new level when Reinhardt mentioned his dislike to strong alcoholic drinks. He didn't see the funny thing about that, the blond just preferred the smooth taste of the beer over the burning shot of mescal, but apparently that was all Gabriel needed to pull out a bet with the others supporting him and, like the drunken idiot he had been, Jack had accepted without hesitation.
"Just drink the damn thing already!" Tobjörn yelled from somewhere in the back, impatient to see Jack make a fool of himself. Ah, what a friend.
The thing is… now that the commander was able to think with more brain instead of testosterone and alcohol, there must be some kind of trick. It looked just too simple for a bet to drink a glass of… pulque? He remembers his friend calling it that.
Even when it could be as strong as tequila, it was so easy.
Jack narrowed his eyes, not really sure if five dollars were worth it. Gabriel would constantly bullshit through this kind of things, why should there be any difference this time? But while there was that tiny voice of reason speaking to him, there was also the one screaming "Do it now, you moron!"
And away it went.
At first it tasted salty, with bits of sweetness, but when he was ready to let it go through his throat… it lingered half the way.
What… the fuck?!
The poor blond choked, painting his face with an intense red while stumbling to make his way to the trash can until he threw up. That was something the blue eyed man wasn't expecting. A chorus of roaring laughter accompanied his grunts and gasps, kneeling in an effort to catch his breath. Part of the pulque still dripped from the corner of his mouth and when he finally faced everyone, the laughter just intensified.
It wasn't enough that the pulque was damn slimy but the fucking thing was white. Oh no.
"Did you like it, scout boy?!" asked the goatee man who was holding his own stomach at the sight of his friend, knowing very well what the drink would be like to the blond who never heard of such.
Reinhardt, out of mere curiosity, took the glass and gave a long gulp to know what the great hustle was about. At first he was caught out of guard with the texture of the beverage, but forced himself to drink it. The taste wasn't any problem, but… why was this wretched thing so slimy? This particular characteristic made him really confused.
"Why this thing does feels like spittle?" asked the burly german in a lightly innocent manner and, thanks to that, the ones who were calming down already, started to cry with laughter one more time.
"Oh my god!" cried out loud Jesse, holding onto his bourbon like his dear life with Gerard at his side whipping some of the beer he spat from his mouth… and nose.
No matter what, there was always fun during the men's night out.