I'm a loser, baby…

… So why don't you kill me?

Samuel Rodrigues wasn't an avid drinker—maybe the occasional beer here and there, but he never drank himself into oblivion. With his job, he couldn't afford having his senses numbed by alcohol. That is, unless he was frustrated to a point where he didn't have any more fucks to give about maintaining his cool and composed demeanour. Samuel Rodrigues wasn't one to half-ass things, so if he had to get drunk, he fucking got drunk.

At some point, when he had already lost count of how many drinks he'd had, Sam had kind of started to regret it, but it was already way too late. So there he was still sitting in front of the counter in a small, cozy bar, ordering one shot after another.

Ugh.

Sam knew very well why he was doing this, what exactly he was trying to drown, and the worst was he also knew it was no use. He would see Blondie's face even in his damn sleep. Why, why, why did he have to be crushing on Raiden of all people, like a stupid teenager? Yeah, Sam really didn't have anything better to do than get infatuated with someone who couldn't remind him enough of the fact that he was goddamned married and had a kid.

A+ job, Sam, the swordsman thought as he toasted his drink to himself.

But fuck if Raiden wasn't just ridiculously attractive. How did he even manage that with half a face, for fuck's sake?! How did he manage to look so fucking cute, with that stupid tuft of stupid, fluffy, white hair, like a stupid fucking snowflake, and shit son he just wanted to touch it and pull at it and—

Sam stopped himself before he could finish that thought. He grumbled to himself, downing what was left of his drink in one go. He didn't come here to think about Raiden! He needed to—needed to—focus. Fuck. Sam cursed himself for the god-knows-what time, fixating his drunken gaze on the empty glass in front of him.

The moment the bartender stopped in front of him to remove his glass, Sam looked up to him and grunted "Another, please," but the old man shook his head.

"I think that's enough for one night, my friend," he said calmly, watching Sam's disappointed face. There was no anger because of the denied alcohol—those hazy, big, dark eyes just made him look like a kicked puppy. "'S not that I'm kickin' you outta here or somethin', but maybe you should go home, call it a day…"

Sam didn't say anything. He just lowered his head, shoulders hunched forward. Maybe the guy was right. God damn it, it was so hard to focus… yeah, focus… away from—

Away…

Wasn't that the whole reason why he was here?

Raiden was going away…

By this time tomorrow, they'd be on holidays on Maverick. A whole two months off—if there was no emergency that called them back. And it was obvious where Raiden would be going. There had been no need to say it, but Courtney had asked about it and Sam had happened to be within earshot.

"I suppose you're going to see your family, right, Raiden?"

"Yeah, it's—it's about time."

"I'm glad you're able to go, have a good time."

"Thank you, Courtney."

And just like that, Sam's mood had gone down the drain. A few hours later, he'd entered this stupid bar. He knew he was behaving like an idiot; of course Raiden would be going to see his family, and of course he'd want to spend time with his own damn wife. Why was he even surprised? And yet, Sam was seething. Not only because he sure as hell preferred Raiden to spend the holidays with him, but because he was letting this whole ordeal get to him. Hell, he was getting drunk because of it.

At some point, the bartender had disappeared, probably because he had to go and tend to other customers, but Sam didn't even notice.

He fixed his gaze on a burnt spot on the counter, attempting to get a clear head so he could think straight and maybe appear less miserable to the rest of the world… clearly failing. Whatever, anything that involved thinking was too much of an effort now anyways. The alcohol was doing its work; his senses were dulled, his head was pounding, everything was blurry and swirling around—

What Sam also didn't register was the moment he took out his phone and went straight to the letter P in his contacts.

Had he been another person, he probably would have had a tiny voice in the back of his head, telling him how fucking bad of an idea this was, but this is Jetstream goddamned Sam we're talking about—Jetstream goddamned Sam drunk to the point of no return, so he had already pressed call pretty boy, and was now waiting for said pretty boy to pick up the phone.

Beeeep… beeeeeep… beeeep…

Sam grunted, clumsily rubbing his forehead. The annoying beeping sound was hammering on his head, why the hell didn't it just stop... ugh…

Beeeeep—

"Sam?" Raiden's firm voice made Sam shoot up his head, somewhat startled.

"Ra-Raidennn? Raaaiden!" Sam slurred, genuine surprise in his voice. Wait, why was Raiden talking to him? On the… phone? Wait… oh. Oh. Oh shit, he called Raiden. Sam was momentarily alarmed, but it was not enough for his brain to make the decision to hang up— instead he giggled lazily. "Rai…den… no, no, Jaaack…"

On the other end of the line, Raiden was thoroughly confused. "Sam, what the hell?" he asked, frowning. Raiden waited for an answer, but he only got more chuckling and Sam mispronouncing his name, amongst other gibberish that Raiden didn't understand.

"Sam... are you drunk?" The cyborg's voice had somewhat of an edge to it, and it made Sam get his shit together, even if just for a short moment.

"Drunk? Me? Oh, come on, pretty boy, don't be ridiculous. I'm fine… per…fectly… I'm not drunk, I'm not…" For fuck's sake, why couldn't he focus for longer than two seconds? He felt like he wasn't even in control of his own mouth, like the words that came out of it just blurted out of their own will.

Sam heard Raiden groan. "What the fuck, how are you drunk, you don't even drink regularly—"

"No, no, pretty b—"

"Don't you pretty boy me now. Where the hell are you?" Raiden's tone had become even sterner, and Sam flinched involuntary.

"W-why are you yelling at me, Jack, it's—"

"Samuel. Where. Are. You."

Something in Sam pushed him, wanting him to tell Raiden, but even in his current state, he had some pride left. Or well, stubbornness. Or… something.

"Why do you want to know? I'm fine, I told you. And—and you're fine, too. Daaamn, you're fine."

"Sam!" Raiden warned him—threatened him—exclaimed. He wasn't even sure of what he wanted to say—or how. Honestly, the cyborg was about to throw his phone against the wall. Before Sam could utter another word, Raiden spoke again. "That's it; I'm coming to pick you up. Tell me where you are. Now."

Of course, the Brazilian protested again. "I don't need you—to come—I refuse!"

"I don't have time for your shit, Sam. I don't know why you're drunk—I don't even want to know. Just tell me where you are, I'll pick you up and get your sorry ass home."

That last sentence kind of struck Sam. His mind started dwelling on thoughts and possibilities it really shouldn't—it wasn't even his style to think like this, was it the alcohol's doing?

The samurai's face fell, and he groaned.

"You're a pain, Jack… A goddamned pain…"

Raiden bit back a "look who's talking" to avoid any further quarrelling, since Sam seemed to have given in. Hopefully.

There was a moment of silence in which Sam cursed himself to hell and back for calling Raiden—and cursed himself even further because he was actually looking forward to the cyborg coming to get him. But who was he trying to fool? Sam clearly was in no condition to get home on his own.

"Sam?" Raiden's voice rang in his ear again, but it was much softer than it had been during the rest of their conversation.

"Ugh. Fine. I'm… I'm in that one bar… the one K-Kevin spoke about… with the nice and old bartender…" That was the best description his brain could come up with. "Y'know which one, right…" All of a sudden, the samurai felt so tired… god damn it, this was why he never got drunk…

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there in a bit, don't even think of leaving."

"Y-yes, pretty boy." There was a small snarl and the sound of hanging up; Sam stared at his phone for a moment in some sort of stupor, as if he just couldn't wrap his mind around what had just happened. To be honest, he wasn't fully aware. In his tiredness, everything seemed even less focused, passing him in a daze, just a whirlwind of sensations.

So when the door opened and Raiden walked in, Sam's eyes widened in surprise the moment he caught sight of him—fuck, that face and that white hair stood out goddamned everywhere—, for several reasons. The obvious, that Raiden was actually there, he had actually come to pick him up. The other also obvious reason… Raiden was in his civilian body.

Sam was so used to see Raiden in his usual combat body, it hadn't even crossed Sam's mind that that wasn't going to be how he would be leaving for his holidays. Clad all in black, he seemed even paler than usually and… strangely elegant. A long coat swirled against the back of his legs in time with his steps and a grey scarf hung loosely around his neck. Raiden scanned the bar for Sam and quickly found him—Sam was just gaping at him, his expression slowly going from 'holy shit!' to 'hoooly shit'. Yeah, just what Sam freaking needed: Raiden looking ridiculously good in everything he wore.

"You're wasted," Raiden deadpanned, standing in front of Sam. He was starting to feel a little self-conscious with all that intense staring Sam was giving him, but the cyborg simply blamed the alcohol for it.

"I'm splendid," Sam returned, wondering how he even managed to pronounce that without fucking up. Raiden probably wondered the same, because he lightly raised his right eyebrow. Shaking his head, Raiden patted Sam's left arm.

"Come on, let's go."

But Sam's gaze was fixated on Raiden's face. Civilian body or not, he saw Raiden's face every day and he knew how it looked like. So he saw it instantly—two eyes, instead of that black makeshift eyepatch he wore over his left eye. And of course… a scar, almost as if it were mirroring Sam's own one, a scar Sam himself had given him back on their first encounter. Sam couldn't stop looking at it. Shit, shit, shit…

"Sam." Raiden snarled, a deep frown on his face, and Sam felt himself being pushed off the stool. Thankfully, that tore the samurai's eyes off Raiden's face, and soon enough Raiden was dragging him to the door—not without having to turn around midway because Sam had forgotten his leather jacket (him complaining about how Raiden wanted him to freeze to death in jeans and a t-shirt was kind of difficult to ignore), and not without the bartender smiling and waving to them, "Good, I see you got someone to pick you up, have a nice night!"

Finally, they got on the move. The walk to Raiden's car shouldn't have taken as long as it did, but god damn it, Sam couldn't stop tripping over his own feet every two seconds, which made him either curse or giggle—which in turn made him stop, because his drunken state didn't allow him to do more than one thing at once. And Raiden's scent was intoxicating him, it was even worse than all the freaking alcohol, and oh my god how was he going to survive this?

Raiden, on the other side, readjusted Sam's left arm over his shoulder and kept hauling him around impatiently. Suddenly, insisting on picking Sam up seemed like a lot worse idea than he had initially thought. Thank god Sam wasn't wearing the armour plates on his artificial arm.

"Jack, Jaaaack, god damn it, don't be so rough—oh, holy s—," Sam tripped again, and weren't it for Raiden supporting both of their weights, they'd both be facing the ground now.

"God, get it together, Sam. We're almost at my car." Raiden snarled, taking a deep breath before starting to walk again.

It took them a few more desperate minutes, but they made it. The next challenge was getting Sam actually into the car. Raiden tried to open the passenger's door without having to let go of Sam, but that only resulted in Raiden awkwardly pressed against the window and Sam humming lowly into his ear… one hand curled around the cyborg's waist.

Raiden cleared his throat. "S-Sam—" Oh god, his voice did not just do that. The cyborg tried to slowly push Sam away, a suspicious heat starting to gather around his cheeks. There would be no colour due to the lack of red blood cells in his system—on the contrary, one could even go as far and say he paled even more thanks to the rush of white blood—but Sam knew him well enough to notice his fluster.

As if struck by lightning when he felt himself being pushed aside, Sam let out a shaky breath and staggered backwards, gripping at the polished surface of the car for support—equally flustered by what had happened just now. He opened his mouth, but Raiden was avoiding his gaze. The cyborg silently opened the passenger's door, and gestured Sam to get in, still without looking directly at the swordsman. Sam stood still for a short moment, as if preparing himself mentally and physically to carry out the action on his own. Still not saying a word, he tried… first one foot… hard grip on the door handle… then the other foot… Sam pulled himself onto the seat, just barely scraping his head on the roof molding. Well done, Sam. Only then did Raiden quickly make his way to the driver's door and slipped into the car.

Both remained anxiously silent during the ride. Raiden tried to stay focused on driving, until the silence was too uncomfortable for him—he needed to say something, anything, but what? Gripping the steering wheel harder, Raiden cleared his throat, eyes quickly flickering to Sam and then back on the road.

"Must be the first time I see you completely wasted," he said—literally the first thing that shot through his mind. Even if Sam didn't answer, hearing his own voice relaxed the cyborg a little.

A grunt came from the Brazilian, who was fidgeting with the buckles on his leather jacket. "'m not wasted, Jack… just… enjoying the little ple…pleasures of life."

No, Raiden probably wasn't going to swallow that one. They knew each other enough to know how the other ticked, and Raiden knew drinking wasn't Sam's thing. And even less to get shitfaced alone in a bar.

Sam was right—his slightly offended voice made the cyborg roll his eyes, and Sam could've sworn he had never heard a more sarcastic tone coming from Raiden. "Yeah, sure."

"What? There's a first time for everything!"

"If you say so," Raiden knew better than to argue for too long with someone drunk, especially knowing what kind of drunk he was. Or well, had been. In any case, it was better to shut up now. Besides, they had finally arrived to their destination—Sam's apartment.

… And maybe that should've been it. Maybe Raiden should've walked Sam to the door, then give him a nod, nudge his shoulder and go back to his car. He maybe shouldn't have accompanied Sam up to his flat, and he certainly shouldn't have let the samurai trap him against the door after he had said he was going again.

"Wait… Jack..." Sam's face was looming dangerously close to the cyborg's, looking at him intently. God, wasn't he supposed to have dignity or something like that?

"Sam..." Raiden was starting to feel hot on his face again, for several reasons.

"Jaaack… always so… angry…" Sam slowly shook his head, while Raiden let out a snarl.

"Excuse me, who is keeping me trapped against a door?"

But Sam wasn't listening anymore. The moment he'd told Raiden to wait, a thought had been set aflame in his mind: It was now or never. The rational part in Sam was trying to avoid what his currently dominant one was about to do—too late. He took a shaky breath and then Sam leaned forwards, closing the distance.

His lips crashed onto Raiden's—harsh, demanding and urgent.

Raiden's breath caught in his throat when he felt Sam's lips against his—admittedly, he did not see it coming. Anyone else probably would have, but Raiden… his eyes widened, the sudden, rough touch sending a jolt of electricity from his lips all through his spine. His cheeks were burning, and he had no idea how to react. Sam, on his part, had no intention of letting go just yet. Not a man to half-ass things, remember? And it was when one of Sam's hands made its way to the back of Raiden's neck and pulled him closer to him that Raiden suddenly knew very well how to react.

All it took was Sam's fingers scraping along a part of him that was still his—his spine.

Raiden parted his lips, exhaling a shaky breath into the kiss.

"S-Sam…" All the gears in his brain stopped working at that very moment, and he found himself kissing Sam back with almost the same urgency.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck, this was wrong. And yet, there he was, relishing the sensation of Sam's hot, wet lips almost melting with his own—and fuck if it didn't feel good... too good. Maybe now was the time to be glad there was no metal jaw between them.

Taken aback by Raiden's sudden enthusiasm, Sam staggered backwards, but Raiden was quick to grip the collar of Sam's jacket and pull him back against him. Sam groaned in response, the sound sending another load of sensations to Raiden's spine. His reaction was to bite Sam's bottom lip—bite it hard—just to elicit another sound from him. And Sam delivered; a pleasure to Raiden's ears.

The samurai pressed himself flush against Raiden, starting to roll his hips, grinding his crotch into him. His nails scratched harder along the nape of Raiden's neck, causing the blond to squirm at the touch. Sam was in a half-daze, still not fully believing Raiden was going along with this. He'd been almost completely sure the cyborg was going to push him away, but the way Raiden was ravishing his lips felt too real for him to be imagining it due to an excess of alcohol. In other words, he was not going to hold back. With a growl, Sam managed to catch Raiden's tongue between his teeth, biting and sucking at it as if it were the last thing he was meant to do on Earth. Raiden hummed, moving one hand up to tangle it in Sam's ponytail. His face felt way too hot, his breath was way too ragged for a cyborg, but oh my god was he enjoying this, and for once, he was glad for the lack of red blood in his system. Raiden dug his nails into Sam's scalp; the delighted, deep rumble in Sam's chest while he kissed the cyborg even harder and fiercer made Raiden's brain turn into jelly.

Eventually, they were forced to break apart even if just for a short moment to catch their breath. Feeling like they had no seconds to waste, they clashed their lips together again, as if it had been some sort of a magnetic force what had pulled them back together. This time, Sam roughly yanked Raiden away from the door while blindly taking clumsy steps backwards until his backside met another solid surface—his living room table. Yes, that would suit his needs just fine. Even if he was drunk, Sam had noticed one thing about Raiden—one thing he'd been suspecting ever since he'd started thinking about Raiden in a manner he probably never should have.

He wasn't sure at what point he had gotten rid of his leather jacket—maybe it had been Raiden?—nor when Raiden had lost his own coat and scarf (god, how he hated to be still drunk right now), but Raiden's cool hands were roaming freely under Sam's shirt, clawing at his back while they drowned each other in hot, open-mouthed kisses again, and he could feel himself get harder every passing second. Fucking hell.

Unconsciously, Raiden had been pushing himself further and further onto Sam, to the point where he was almost straddling him. Sam had hooked one of Raiden's legs up to his thigh and was rubbing himself against it; his other hand was tangled in Raiden's hair. He was so invested in their spontaneous pose that he forgot his initial reason of bringing them both to the table for a moment. Grunting, Sam bit Raiden's upper lip hard enough to draw some of that white blood and make the blonde yelp loudly. He then lapped it up—or at least tried to, even if he ended up smearing it over both of their mouths. In turn, Raiden yanked Sam's head back by his ponytail. Had Sam been able to see Raiden's face when he groaned loudly, he would have seen one of utter ecstasy. Raiden was being pushed more and more to the edge of something he did not know how to overcome, but right now, he couldn't care less.

The samurai licked his lips, the strange taste of Raiden's artificial blood on his tongue, before he firmly gripped the cyborg's backside and pushed himself and Raiden off the table. He thanked the gods that Raiden's civilian body wasn't as difficult to handle as his combat body, or else this little move would've been somewhat more difficult to pull off in his current state. Sam turned Raiden around fast enough so he wouldn't lose his balance from the sudden and abrupt motion—and fast enough so Raiden wouldn't have time to react—and bent the cyborg over the table, positioning himself behind him.

"Fuck—Sam—" Raiden rasped out as he looked back at Sam. Those were the first articulate words in the last half an hour.

Sam smiled slyly, his deep, brown eyes literally burning with anticipation. Bending down to press himself against Raiden, he rolled Raiden's shirt up, exposing his back. Even if Sam knew this was just artificial skin, he couldn't help but marvel at it.

"S-Sam, wait—" Raiden began, when it suddenly dawned on him what Sam was about to do.

Too late.

Sam first pressed his lips against Raiden's spine, and then traced the same spot with his tongue—the sensation that ran through the cyborg made him firmly grip the edge of the table, and it took him everything he had not to arch his back.

"—Fuck!"

God, Raiden had no idea how to deal with this. With Rose, these things didn't happen since—well, since he had lost nearly all of his body. The lack of sexual organs on his new body had complicated things, to put it one way. With Rose, intimacy never got to the point of raw, heated passion like this—he was always in control, always with a cool mind, but now… now he was overloaded.

With Rose, it was all safe…

With Rose…

Rose…

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If Sam kept this up, he wouldn't know how to respond. He felt Sam's considerable erection pressing against his backside, the weight of his body, his ragged, hot breath, and a burning tension that dared to take over him… he had let Sam go way too far. Sam was drunk, and he had just gone along with it. The two of them had gone way too far.

If Sam kept this up, he wouldn't be able to find a reason to make him stop.

"Sam—Sam! Stop." Raiden tried to push himself off the table with little success. It was enough to get the Brazilian to stop, though.

Sam's head snapped up, giving Raiden a heavy-lidded and confused look.

"Stop, before… we do something… we'll regret… later…" the cyborg panted, propping himself up on one elbow and trying to pull down his shirt with the other hand. Frowning, Sam didn't back away just yet.

"Regret? How?"

Raiden took a deep breath. "I—You're—you're drunk, Sam. You—this was a bad idea, I shouldn't have let you—I—" he broke off, trying to get to his feet again, and this time, Sam did back away. 'I have a family', was probably what Raiden was going to say.

Fuck, he was already regretting it. He should have fucking known. Hell, he did fucking know, and yet...

Harshly scratching the back of his neck, Sam turned away from Raiden. What a moment ago had been fiery passion was now thick and uncomfortable tension. Sam swallowed, unable to loosen the knot that had formed in his throat. He suddenly felt as if the effects of the alcohol had been completely wiped from his system, leaving him empty and numb, only to be gradually drowned in regret and guilt.

"—You… you should… go." He said, his voice sounding too far away for him, too detached.

He heard Raiden take a shaky breath, followed by the rustle of fabric.

"I'm sorry."

Sam couldn't bring himself to turn around.

After the cyborg's words, there was the thud of a door, as lethal as a scythe.