Chris and Tommy…

"If you scratch anymore, you'll permanently scar yourself." Tommy announced as he sat down on the opposite end of the couch, away from the miserable Chris. Chris just rolled his eyes before getting up and grabbing the lotion again as he shook his head.

"Scars add character, right?" He asked with a shrug as Tommy just grinned before putting his sock clad feet up on his coffee table.

"Depends what you mean by character. I've already seen the one's on your arms. Does Jude know you were a user, Chris?" Tommy asked nonchalantly as Chris stiffened before turning back toward the couch—his itching forgotten.

"She does now. Do you have a problem with that, Quincy? From what I hear, you had the same problem with alcohol. Is that why you carry nothing stronger in this house than those nasty Red Bull energy drinks?" Chris asked haughtily as Tommy raised a brow up at him before getting up to walk over to his refrigerator.

"You care for one, Chris. It looks like you could use the extra stamina it gives you for working out. I see you're lacking a little in muscle definition." Tommy commented as he tapped his own now naked chest. Chris just shook his head as he paced across the room to face Tommy.

"You're an asshole, Quincy." He stated simply as Tommy stared him directly into the eyes before nodding thoughtfully.

"So I've been told before." He reiterated before closing the door of the fridge forcefully and walking over to a cabinet located underneath his sink—leaning over gingerly before grabbing a brown, paper wrapped bottle hidden inside the dark, hidden depths. He unwrapped it carefully before grabbing two shot glasses and walking back into the living room. Chris narrowed his eyes as he followed closely behind.

"It's Whiskey, eighty proof—a bottle a friend of mine gave me years and years ago. You can hardly get it that strong anymore. Sit down." Tommy commanded softly as he motioned toward the armchair opposite the couch before placing the two shot glasses in the middle of the glass-topped coffee table. He filled them both as Chris sat down both determinedly and a little uneasily.

"Straight up?" Tommy asked as Chris nodded. What the hell were they doing? If Jude were there, she would have said it was some screwed up version of male bonding. Tom called it a way of forgetting—of letting Chris know exactly where he stood on the Jude issue. Tommy held his glass up into the air in a mock salute gesture before downing the liquid quickly—clenching his teeth as the burn made its way down the back of his throat. Sweet Jesus! Chris's jaw tightened as he did the same before coughing at the strength of the amber colored fluid. Tommy chuckled.

"You slept with her yet?" Tom asked suddenly very seriously as he refilled the glasses. Chris looked over at him with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not drunk enough yet to reveal anything like that." Chris stated simply as Tommy downed another shot before staring Chris straight into the eyes almost menacingly. Chris grabbed his shot and upended it before finally sighing.

"No, I haven't although I've probably gotten a whole hell of a lot further than you have." Chris proclaimed as Tommy leaned back against the couch cushions irately before turning up the bottle and swigging some of the liquid before filling the glasses again. Of course Chris probably had. It's not like Tommy had ever been in a position to do or be anything to Jude other than her producer and the man that always broke her heart. And he wasn't sure why he had even asked. He knew Jude better than that—knew she thought things through way too much—analyzed it too deeply. If she had loved Chris enough to sleep with him, then they wouldn't be broken up now. It gave him renewed hope. He pulled a dime out of his pocket before nodding toward the glasses.

"Take a shot, man. If it lands in the whiskey, I have to down my glass. If it doesn't, then you have to." Tommy remarked with a wry raise of his brow before throwing Chris the dime. Chris caught it in midair with a sneer. He didn't even say anything—just took aim and shot. It landed wide and Chris shrugged as if to say 'oh well' before letting Tommy take the dime. Tom took his aim and shot. It landed dead center into the middle of Chris's shot glass. Chris looked over at Tommy warily before picking up the liquid and downing it—coughing again as he did. Tom awarded him with a small smile as Chris set it back down on the table only to have it re-filled.

"I have a feeling you've done this before." Chris remarked simply as Tommy shrugged.

"I'm the alcoholic remember." Tommy stated as Chris almost laughed. He was already beginning to feel a little fuzzy around the edges while Tom didn't even seem to be fazed in the least. Tom took another swig from the bottle as Chris threw the dime again—this time watching as it landed in the glass and then bounced out again. Damn! Tommy just shook his head before downing the glass anyway.

"At this point in the game, I figure it's about time I give you a little help." Tommy muttered as Chris started to sway a little bit.

"I really do care about her." Chris stuttered as Tommy nodded. He handed the bottle to Chris who upended it. Chris didn't even cough this time.

"Bet you don't itch anymore do you?" Tom asked as Chris started laughing. No, he really didn't. Both men lounged a minute in silence before coming to some sort of silent truce.

"It's her decision." They both said simultaneously as Chris handed the bottle back over to Tom. It's almost as if they had finally come to terms with their competitive natures.

"Damn, what's in that stuff, man?" Chris asked as Tommy laughed before laying the bottle down shakily. He was beginning to feel the effects now too.

"Well you know they say that the best whiskey is made out of too much honesty and a passle of loose tongues." Tom stated wryly as Chris laughed hard enough he fell off the chair. Tom guffawed.

"No shit." Chris gasped out as he tried pulling himself up again only to lay sprawled instead out on the carpet. Tom peered down at him a moment blurrily.

"Just know that if you got a wretch, get to the bathroom first." Tom remarked as Chris saluted him from the floor before passing out. 'Yep,' Tommy thought to himself as he upended the bottle once more. 'what right do I have to a girl seven years my junior? What right at all?'