Title: Those Little Phrases I Hate

Author: Scylla the Healer

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Warnings: PG-13 for language. Boyfluff…barely recognizable boyfluff, though. Tristan/Dev. I'm not explaining it.

Note: For some reason, Dev's generally the drunk in a drunk scenario. I don't know why. Neither Tristan nor Dev advocate teenage drinking in any way. They do, however, advocate teenage sex. Hell, they live it, people. This was based around one of those little catch phrases that I've come to hate in fiction. "Take me." Like a guy would ever say that! So therefore…the guy must be incredibly drunk first. And think it's the most brilliant come-on he's ever heard. *snicker*

Oh, and they don't belong to me, regrettably. Pity. I have such plans for them, too. They're the property of K.T., Viz, 4Kids Entertainment…ah hell, who cares? On with the fiction!

- ~ -

"Take me."

The words panted in the dark, and it was all I could do to just stop myself from going absolutely, electrically numb. Numb like somebody just plugged you into a car battery, heh. Especially coming from him. Shock. I really never expected to hear those two words from him!

"C'mon, Tristan, what're you afraid of?" The softly slurred words reminded me that this probably wouldn't be 'consensual' in the morning.

He's…not sober. So I can't. No matter how much I want to.

It'd be kind of rude to just…dump him off my lap, though…

"You can't be serious," I replied, voice flat.

"Oh, but I am," He answered, in that slightly husky, sarcastic, incredibly sexy tone that never fails to turn me on and annoy the hell out of me. Usually within seconds of one another. Yes. I am officially a freak. But he knows that, and he doesn't give a damn, so that's all right with me.

"I doubt that."

"Why?"

I checked the level of vodka in the bottle on the coffee table across the room. It was a third empty. Okay, so some of that was me. But when dad leaves the liquor cabinet unlocked and takes mom out to dinner, you experiment, right? Don't you?

Funny. I always figured Dev to be a bit more experienced about this kind of stuff. Well, serves me right for assuming too much. He is kind of skinny, after all. Somebody with that little body mass should be teetery a lot faster. Hey. The health book says so. Not that I'm going to suggest doing a net search to confirm this. I did it for a report. I learned a lot about the human condition. More than I wanted to know, in some cases. And I also learned how to make seventeen different kinds of vodka-based drinks.

Dev poked me.

About damn time, too. Otherwise I'd have missed everything important.

"Hn?"

"I asked, why?"

"Why, what?"

He paused. And then…giggled. "I forgot." And then he leaned down to kiss me.

Who plugged that damn car battery into me again?

"Oh, I remember," Dev's voice was husky now. Sultry. Like he meant it. "I wanted to know why you didn't think I was serious." He brushed my jaw. "Do I sound serious to you?"

"You're one of those touchy-feely drunks, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Dev," I sighed, "That bottle over there," I pointed, "…tells me that you can't possibly be serious. Nobody could be serious after that."

He paused, obviously considering this. "I thought drunk sex was supposed to be hysterical."

"Only in the movies," I confirmed, and rose, nudging him – regrettably – out of my lap. "Come on. Let's go to bed. I'll explain to my parents why you're still here tomorrow morning." I chanced a look at the vodka bottle, whistling innocently with its hands behind its back on the coffee table. Still a third of the way empty. And open. Two very large differences that my father was sure to notice the next time he looked at that bottle. "Maybe I should go ahead and sleep with you," I snickered a little ruefully, turning back, "it'd be a hell of a lot easier to explain once dad gets a load of that bottle."

"Drunk gay sex is easier to explain than sober gay sex?" Dev questioned in a moment of coherence as he clung to my elbow, and then my shoulder for support. Yep. No doubt about it. He…was drunk. I took pity on him and wrapped my arm around his waist.

"Probably not," I admitted. And tucked him into bed like a little kid.

They found us the next morning. And thank God, I was not naked – and I'd been mortally terrified of finding myself in that state, thanks to Dev's weasel-wily mind.

Dev thanked me for not sleeping with him while he was drunk. I ignored the sarcasm in his voice. Chalk it up to natural skill and a wicked hangover.

The next time…we were both sober.

Did it count that we were giggling like drunks?

~Owari~