A/N: The only reason this was out so soon was because I had most of it written a while ago. I almost forgot about it, though. Heh, enjoy.

Brynjolf was sitting alone at the desk in the office, about to be done with sorting the documents as he hummed a tune to himself. He was in quite the good mood, as many things have gone right recently. The Guild is doing well, there's more jobs coming in and more Guild members to reap in the gold. He'd finished all his work early today and didn't even realize how busy he was until he found that he had more than enough time for himself. He was wondering what he should do tonight when the door burst open with a bang.

He jumped and dropped the stack of documents he had been holding, the papers scattered all over the desk and the floor.

Brynjolf sighed and rubbed his forehead. He turned to cast an accusatory glance over at the door and had to suppress a sigh when he saw Rowan leaning on the door frame.

"What on earth do you want?" He questioned as he bent over to pick up the papers.

"Bryn."

"Yes?" Brynjolf said without looking at him as he gathered the documents, lamenting about how he had to sort them all over again.

"Bryn," Rowan's voice got louder as he neared the table.

"What?"

"Brynnnnnnn."

"What?" Brynjolf snapped as he looked up and found the man leaning over the desk, peering down at him with clouded eyes.

He rose to his feet and placed all that he managed to retrieve onto the table as he studied Rowan cautiously, "What's wrong with you?"

A lazy smile crawled onto Rowan's face, his grin lopsided, "What's wrong with you? You're all fuzzy."

That was when the Guild Leader caught a whiff of alcohol on the other's breath. His expression changed to one of exasperation as he demanded, "Have you been drinking?"

"Hm… yes?" Rowan frowned, "Some Sam… offered me Ember… Red wine?" He smiled again, "How can I refuse?"

Brynjolf assumed that whoever this 'Sam' is was one of Rowan's bedmates and decided not to ask any questions. Then he thought about what the rogue had said and burst out, "You drank what?"

"Ember…shard wine?" Rowan muttered, confused. He swayed when he removed his hands from the table to do a strange little wave. Brynjolf was half-concerned that he would fall when the thief swiftly grabbed onto the table's edge, a dopey chuckle falling from his lips, "Burnt like 'lames."

"He gave you Emberbrand wine?"

Rowan giggled and uttered an affirmative, "Emper'rant vine."

"Gods, how are you still standing?" Brynjolf questioned, worried as Rowan tripped and fell into the chair behind him. He proceeded to lie in it like a lifeless doll.

There wasn't much he could say about how he knew nor would he be willing to explain why he knew but he'd known at some point that Rowan is a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. He apparently also knew that Rowan had ample self-control when it came to drinking. The Imperial would never drink on an empty stomach and he would only take about a bottle of mead at a time. In fact, Brynjolf had never actually seen him truly drunk at any point.

Emberbrand wine is three times stronger than mead and that is definitely too much for him.

Another giggle, "I dunno… We shared bottles? Two? Three?"

Brynjolf stared at him, agape.

"Bryn-y, the floor is moving," he complained with a groan as he leaned back in the chair.

"Careful!" Brynjolf sprung to action immediately as the chair rocked too far backwards. He grabbed Rowan by the shoulders before he could fall. The rogue let out an undignified yelp as he felt himself beginning to fall, then was suddenly pulled forward onto the other man. He leaned heavily on Brynjolf and let out an absurd laugh.

"I feel sick…" He groaned right after.

"Don't you dare throw up!" Brynjolf snapped as he shoved him back and held him back by an arm's length.

There was a long moment where nothing happened, just Rowan staring at him strangely. For no reason whatsoever, he grinned.

Brynjolf sighed, "We should get you some water."

Rowan gave him a too-bright smile, "Brynnnn, you're so nice to me."

"Whatever," Brynjolf said as he tried to decide on the course of action when Rowan unexpectedly reached for him. Before he knew it, the other man had placed a bruising grip upon his cheeks, through a surprising display of strength, pulled his face close and forcibly planted his lips onto him.

"Mrrmmph!" Brynjolf immediately tried to shove him off but he had clearly underestimated the power of drunk determination and uselessly floundered for a while as Rowan sloppily tried to pry his lips open.

Finally, he planted a hand onto Rowan's forehead and the other across the underside of his chin and forced him off this way.

"BY MERIDIA'S CURSED BEACON, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" He exploded the moment Rowan's lips were no longer near his own.

"Brynnn, noooooo," Rowan lamented as he tried to reached for him.

Brynjolf shot him a murderous glare as he dodged his hands, "You, bed, right now."

"Yes, I like the sound of that," Rowan smiled slowly.

"ROWAN."

Vipir yawned as he stretched languidly, having returned from the bathhouse and heading towards the bedrooms when the office door slammed open.

He turned and caught sight of Brynjolf walking angrily in the same direction, a protesting Rowan slung across his shoulder. Vipir stared at them incredulously until they disappeared through the door. He proceeded to slowly back away and walk in the other direction, which is towards the Flagon and pretended that he had seen absolutely nothing.

"Let me goooo," Rowan whined as Brynjolf kicked the door open.

The sudden noise startled Rune, the only other occupant in the room. The man sat up in surprise, setting down the book that he was reading under the dim candlelight.

He watched with wide eyes as the Guild Second scanned the room, identified Rowan's bed and threw him roughly onto it. There was a loud gasp of air as Rowan hit the bed. He groaned as he curled up into a ball and wrapped his arm around his middle.

"Ugh…" he groaned.

"Sleep tight, you cretin," Brynjolf uttered, his lips curled downwards in a nasty frown.

He turned to leave but Rowan somehow managed to put his hands out and hooked his fingers into the Guild Leader's belt.

"Bedddddd," he grinned like a lascivious lunatic.

"Hands off!" Brynjolf snapped, struggling to pry his fingers off his clothes.

Unseen by them, Rune silently crept out his bed and headed for the door.

Rowan was undeterred by this and started to crawl forwards, sticking to Brynjolf like a caterpillar climbing up a plant. He managed this with the lower half of his body still on the bed and hugged the Nord around his waist in a tight hug.

"So war-remth," he slurred, happily nuzzling against Brynjolf's stomach.

"Oh, for Arkay's sake," Brynjolf grumbled, raised his hand and proceeded to give the drunk Imperial a tight slap across the face.

"Ow!"

When Rowan let go, he shoved the man back onto his bed, grabbed a blanket from whoever's bed is next to Rowan's. Before the dark-haired rogue could react, he pulled him into a sitting position and swiftly wrapped the blanket tightly around his arms. He then lifted Rowan's legs while his top half was immobilized and wrapped the rest of the blanket around them, effectively forming what resembles a draugr wrapping or, in less macabre tones, a burrito.

"Bryn!" Rowan protested, struggling, wriggling like a worm.

"I told you to keep your hands to yourself," Brynjolf panted, hands on his hips.

"So un-fairrrrr!" He whined.

"Whatever," Brynjolf turned to leave, as Rowan started getting tired of struggling.

Before he even closed the door behind him, the Imperial was already asleep, snoring softly in the blanket as if he wasn't wide awake mere seconds earlier.