Interruptions for Coffee –truesarcasm
"What is with this problem you have of barging in on everyone the middle of then night!" Tom yelled as he threw the door open. He found a visibly drunk Doug Penhall, swaying on the spot. "Jeez, what are you doing here?"
"What are you talking about?" Doug's words slithered together and he staggered in the doorway, his heavy jacket flapping around him. "You do this all the time, you're always there at….2…in the morning…and…" he turned and sat on the couch.
"What happened? I thought you guys were going to play pool." Tom said as he closed the door. Walking forward, he draped the blanket he had pulled off the bed over Doug's shoulders. Doug was shaking a little, probably from the walk from the bar (not far from Tom's apartment), but he didn't have his jacket closed. "Sit still, I'm going to make some coffee."
"It's a shame you didn't come…there was this real cute blonde...and we got beer…" Doug's voice trailed off.
"Did you have fun Dougie?" Tom called from the kitchen, looking around to see Doug picking up random objects and turning magazines.
"Yeah, there was lots of beer, and I was talking to Blowfish outside for a while…" He flopped back on the couch, letting his head sink into the cushions. "I didn't really remember where I parked my bike, so I just walked here, to sleep, or something…" His voice trailed away. Tom turned his attention to the percolator, which was now making soft popping noises.
Tom heard the couch cushions creak with movement and Doug appeared on the other side of the counter with his eyes still glazed over, but a strong awareness filled within them.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry to wake you up…I just can't really remember…why..." His face glazed over again as he pulled out a chair and sat. Tom could tell that he was entering that soft stage after being very drunk; the stage of slipping back into being a sober, functioning adult. Tom just found himself laughing.
Turning himself to find two coffee mugs he set the down on the counter, he went to get the creamer out of the refrigerator. The timer on the kettle sounded with the closing of the heavy metal door, and suddenly Doug was there.
Tom took a startled step back, but Doug's expression remained the same. Hard thought creased his brow and he looked down on Tom's face. Tom, staring too hard back at Doug, didn't feel his hands come and grip at his forearms. Tom just couldn't move. He still was clutching the creamer, bulking under his hands as Doug face started to move towards his. He couldn't find words to get anything in motion, he just found himself, waiting, for the time that it took Doug's alcohol enabled brain to find his mouth.
He could taste the cheap beer as their mouths met, bar food on his lips (greasy hamburgers, he guessed) and Doug's stubble scratched at his chin as he was sure that his was doing the same. Tom wasn't aware if he was kissing Doug back; all he knew that his was happening. He wasn't stopping it and he didn't know if Doug would remember the next morning.
A few long moments building to their awkward conclusion, Doug pulled back and stumbled away. Eyes wide and fixated on Tom's, he looked wildly around the room, as if wanted to find an explanation for what just happened (he had i kissed /i his best friend). Tom just stood there with the now hourglass shaped carton of creamer, opening and closing his mouth.
Knocking against the doorway to the kitchen, Doug disappeared back to the entrance hall and a few seconds later the door slammed shut.
Tom just tossed the carton in the trash, turned off the percolator, and went back to bed. That didn't mean that he want back to sleep.