9. dash
Billy knows he's drunk because it doesn't occur to him that he's kissing a man until after his hands are up the guy's shirt, looking for two very specific things that aren't there.
It, much like many of the other rather odd situations Billy's found himself in prior to the nuclear holocaust that ended his worlds, started with ambrosia. Okay, that was a bit fancy of a word for what he'd had. Hooch was probably more accurate.
He still doesn't know how he'd ended up in the deck crew's poker game. Maybe it had been a pity invite from Cally – someone he always ended up in conversations with while waiting for the shuttles to get moving again. Probably, it had been a pity invite from Cally. That and an overwhelming weariness stemming from too much time in the company of women.
He thinks it's probably a good idea that he only noticed he hadn't had a substantive conversation with another male for almost six months just that week, otherwise this might have happened sooner.
Kissing a guy is... much different than kissing a girl. Guys – okay, the guy – aren't as soft. They're still kind of soft inside the mouth. You can't really callus up a tongue, probably. But. He feels like he can push back where he really, really couldn't with a girl. Shove and be shoved. Another thing, they don't smell as good. Engine grease and dust mingling with sweat and scent of unwashed man is not something he'd ever found all that appealing.
Still. He it hasn't exactly stopped him yet. It's actually kind of hot.
And he's very, very drunk.
He remembers winning a few hands. And talking old Pyramid games and video games and bad dates. He didn't fit in until probably the fourth shot, and probably won't fit in later – especially since he seems to have their boss's hand down his pants and okay, thinking was a little hard there for a minute – but for just then it felt good. It felt okay.
This is just an extension of that.
Maybe.
He moans somewhere in the back of his throat, skimming a hand across the other man's shoulder and side, and is abruptly released.
"Not outloud, you..." The rest of the sentence is cut off as a small knot of crewman suddenly pass by the outside of the hatch they'd stumbled into. Laughing and joking, their voices fade as Billy just stares at Chief Tyrol. Gods, he doesn't even know the other man's first name.
"I..." He doesn't know what to say. He wants to kiss him again.
He doesn't. Mostly because he's very, very drunk.
The hatch opens easily, and he only trips a little bit on the way out the door. The Chief doesn't call after him. Not really.
Running is surprisingly easier to do in the open hallways. Door after door streaks by him and the grating underfoot starts to ring as he gains his stride. Through empty corridors and into main hallways where people are, he runs. An odd sight, the president's aide running and disheveled. He'll worry about it tomorrow.
The noise of people disappears quickly as he runs down the corridors, back towards the shuttle bays. He doesn't let himself think about what he's running from, he's too drunk for that. Just loses himself in the adrenaline.
Maybe.
