TITLE: Losing Air
AUTHOR: JackValentine
BETA: No beta this time. I'm actually looking for a second beta, to beta my fics when my first beta is busy. Guuuys? Help meee?
PAIRING: Jinder Mahal/Drew McIntyre
RATING: G
GENRE: Fluff, romance
SIZE: Drabble
WARNINGS: None
AUTHOR'S NOTE: They really touched me.
DISCLAIMER: Do not own the guys (I wish I did ^^)
Jinder felt like his whole body was unbearably heavy, like it was filled with lead. He felt sleepy and slightly dizzy. Mahal couldn't tell if his sight was fogged or if it was just the cigarette smoke, circulating slowly in the stuffed air of the chill out. Next to him there was Drew McIntyre, almost laying, slipping down lower and lower on the sofa. He couldn't focus his eyes on anything and there was a little lazy smile on his lips.
What united those entirely different men, apart from them both living and working away from home, was that they had the same reaction on alcohol. Getting drunk, both Jinder and Drew felt heavy laziness in combination with a warm languor. So they were just chilling there, unlike the other Superstars, who were dancing on the tables, buying drinks for the whole club and copulating in the nearby toilets.
Mahal took a look around. Two tables away from them there were Alicia Fox, Layla and Otunga, chatting loudly and drinking. Then there was Heath Slater, in the darkest corner of the chill out he had somebody pressed against the wall, the sounds of romping, laughing and wet smacks drifting from there, mixing with the pieces of a drunk talk, such as "…there are people around…", "…oooh mind your hands…" or "oh stop it!" The person didn't sound like wishing Heath to stop though and had a weird accent. Sounds, various sounds were coming from everywhere. The voices, the jingle of the glasses, the bass of the music flowing from the main hall – all mixing and intertwining into a rhythmic buzz, lulling Drew and Jinder even more.
Mahal looked back at his associate, who was now sitting straight, but still didn't look entirely awake. Jinder reached for him slowly and gently peeled the scrunchy fixing Drew's ponytail off. McIntyre's long hair fell on his shoulders weightlessly, covering his face slightly. Jinder smiled softly. Now Drew looked really handsome and feminine in some weird way, if it's possible to call a tall, fit, athletic man feminine. Despite all of the queerness of it, Mahal could see this hidden mildness in Drew, in the way he smiled, in the way he touched his hair all the time it wasn't tied, in the way he talked. Sometimes, the Scotsman seemed so fragile and awing, Jinder couldn't deny he liked it. He was attracted to the other man in some strange way, appreciating his fragileness, yet being amused by his masculinity. It felt weird and new, so every time Jinder touched Drew, every time they talked, he was exploring himself and exploring the nature of these indefinable feelings.
Mahal wrapped his arm around Drew's neck and dragged him a little closer. Jinder leaned in and lowered his head, intending to say something into McIntyre's ear, but hovered for a moment and just nuzzled his hair, inhaling the smell of shampoo and alcohol. The Indian caught himself thinking, that this position was perfectly comfortable. Even if he was told that he is allowed to do anything to Drew right now, he would probably change nothing; he would be just sitting there, hugging McIntyre, nuzzling his hair.
In a moment Mahal realized, that if he remains silent, it would get awkward, so he just started whispering meaningless things into Drew's ear, about the club, about how drunk he was, about the upcoming live events they are in, the words dissolving in the air, not making any sense.