They were drunk when it happened. Someone had opened a bottle and it had been passed back and forth between them in the solitude of the cave. They had figured there was nothing to gain by it but a few moments of freedom and nothing to lose except for time.
They moved closer, shots poured faster, words and stories slurred into an angry rhythm. Remeber-when-we, did-I-ever-tell-you, and but-that-isn't-even-the-craziest-part echoed off the walls as two bodies shifted closer together, leaning on each others shoulders for support against the weight of intoxication. Then their faces were pressed against each other. Foreheads, noses, lips, pushed into the other person with a strange ferocity that neither of them was expecting.
Neither knew who started it, who was the one who initiated the act first. Who wanted who in this situation, who was to blame, who was being taken advantage of. There was an endless barrage of questions forming at the base of their minds. Both knew the moment they let go those questions would be like fireflies on the wind, brilliant to see and hard to catch.
So when they pulled apart they weren't sure what to say. They weren't sure what to do. They weren't sure how to feel. Simmons was the first to react. His body was numb from the drink. He forced air into his lungs and then tried forming it into sentences.
"I just... It was... It wasn't..." Simmons tumbled over words and phrases and feelings, "Alcohol," he grabbed the bottle and held it out in the air, "It's some crazy stuff." That was the only conclusion he could take from this. He couldn't decide if he had made the first move or not. What did this mean to him, and what did it mean to everyone else? He almost didn't want to know.
"Yeah," Grif nodded staring at the bottle as if it were the messiah. He grabbed it out of the air and pushed it to his lips, tipping it back and taking a long drink from it. As if somehow the bitter, burning fluid would fill him with infinite wisdom and understanding.
"Yeah," Simmons nodded, reaching forward and grabbing the bottle again tipping the liquid down his own throat.
It didn't hold any answers, but he figured if they drank enough they could forget about the questions.
He figured that, maybe if they drank enough, they could forget about everything.
