John woke up with a splitting headache and a sore…everything, actually. It felt like he'd been beaten and then run over and left for dead. Memories of the previous night swam up through his hangover slowly and in the wrong order: He and Seb laughing together in the backseat of a cab, Seb leaning on his shoulder; Seb slipping a few pounds under an empty glass; John drinking alone, grimacing at his whiskey and trying to forget why he was there; Seb leaning against the wall in the alley way, his eyes closed and his clothes rumpled; Sherlock's ghost, narrow-eyed and climbing into a bland black cab; Seb bent over and groaning—
A wave of nausea rolled through him at that last image. "Oh, what have I done?" he breathed, putting his hands over his eyes. His best friend, his only friend…
A tiny tri-tone trill sounded from John's beside table. He rolled over—with effort—and picked up his phone, dreading seeing Sebastian's name in his inbox.
It was Sebastian that had texted him, but the message was surprising: Just woke up. Pretty sure I got hit with a car at some point last night. Speaking of, we're good, right? I hope you're not daft enough to think any of that was serious, ya cunt.
Despite himself, John laughed and wrote back: All right if you are, you rotten minge. One of the rules of texting Sebastian was that one always needed to use creative cursing. He added: Pretty sure the same car that hit you hit me as well, btw.
He was brushing his teeth when Seb texted him again. Yeah, I'd say the pub is right out tonight. 'Hair of the dog' my arse. Need something greasy to cure this. Dinner?
John was considering this with sweaty palms when Seb sent his next text: It's not a date, you git. Be at that pizza place down the road from your flat in twenty or I'm officially crossing you off my Christmas card list.
Once again John found himself laughing and shaking his head. Where would he be without Sebastian keeping his sense of humor about him? Half three, he wrote back, smiling. I need a shower.
Not a date, Romeo, came the reply. Twenty minutes.
xXx
It was a little uncomfortable at first, seeing each other after that. They joked more than usual (which was saying something) and cursed every other word. The only acceptable topics for conversation were of the manliest variety: women (and the various ways they'd give them a shagging), sports (which was a little harder, since Seb was a big rugby fan and John only followed footy, and just barely at that), and war (which was easy, both of them being vets, and what they always fell back on in an awkward silence). They drank together still, but carefully, each of them obviously nursing their way through one pint, two, before making some excuse to head home (in decidedly separate cabs).
Eventually the awkwardness was mostly smoothed over, and the only times John ever even considered that night were when something in Sebastian's inflection or expression reminded him of the way Seb had growled, "He broke something that was mine." John didn't even want to think about what those words meant so he never brought it up, but that didn't stop it from drifting into his mind now and again. Mostly, though, it seemed like things had gone back to normal between them within a few short weeks, and John was thankful for that.
xXx
He had every intention of going to Harry's for Christmas- was actually on the way to the bus station, with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder- when Harry sent him an error-ridden text insisting that something had come up and he'd better not come round. Angry at having wasted his time, and finding himself nearer Seb's neighborhood than his own, he quickly typed: Home?
Just got in, Seb responded as John settled down on a bench. Apparently I get Christmas off this year. Thank God, what would all my friends and family do without me?
John snorted. So far as he knew, Seb didn't speak to his family. And although Seb did mention various acquaintances, John had never met anyone he'd call a friend of Seb's in the three years he knew him. Harry's gone off the wagon, so that's my Christmas shot. He tried not to think of the old friends who'd like to hear from him, of Lestrade and Molly and Mrs. Hudson, as he added: Worst of it is that I'm about three blocks from the station. Yeah, she JUST canceled.
It was ten minutes before he got a response, but the answer he got made him grin. 3 blocks from the station is 5 blocks from my flat, which means you're in luck Johnny boy. Brought home some duty-free Puerto Rican rum, pretty sure I can muster up some ham sandwiches or something. A proper Christmas feast!
xXx
It didn't surprise John at all, really, that he found himself much less sober than he'd intended. Christmas dinner had turned out to be just slices of ham, actually, because Seb couldn't be arsed to buy bread before he left and all the shops were closed.
"A toast," Seb cried, raising his shot glass drunkenly.
John raised his, as well, blinking away the bleariness as best he could.
"To our wits." Tapping his glass once on the table, Seb downed his rum. John followed suit with a cough and a wince, and Seb chuckled.
John's head was swimming. He laid it down on the cool table, letting his eyes fall closed, but slowly became aware that Sebastian was staring at him with abnormal focus. "Whaa?" he mumbled, glaring up at him.
Seb grinned and spread his hands out in front of him innocently. "Just thinking."
"What about?"
"A topic which we've unanimously decided to ignore," he said, his voice both teasing and nervous.
John sat up a bit. "And?"
"And nothing." Seb pushed away from the table and made it as far as the kitchen doorway before slinking back down, his back pressed up against the frame.
"No, no." John stood and wobbled over, sliding down in front of Seb, his own back on the other side of the frame. "Tell me."
Their legs had already become tangled, and Seb smirked at them before looking, hazily, at John's eyes. "I was wondering if you'd ever buggered a man before. I mean, before me."
John would've laughed if he was sober. Instead he gave a small and thoughtful: "No. Never." Licking his lips, he asked (in the same small voice), "You ever…well. Ever done that before?"
Seb's lips curled up into an almost rueful smile. "No." He considered their legs for a moment before giving a grunt and muttering, "Felt good, though."
That strange rush of heat spread across John's belly again. He swallowed and looked levelly at Seb, trying to decide if he was playing at something or not. Smirking a bit, Seb sat forward and met his gaze. "Your go, soldier," he whispered, and that was enough.
