So, this is a rather random T-ranges-testing bonus kiss: One I'd written because it popped out midway, but it didn't have a prompt, because that prompt list didn't want any drunk kisses. But here, have it anyway!

A Drunk Kiss

Usually, Tuxedo Mask wasn't that uncoordinated. Though to be fair, usually the world didn't spin that much on him, either. He was so drunk it wasn't even funny anymore.

He stumbled, falling over the balcony with one foot catching at the railing and shrieked gracelessly, turning as to not fall onto his precious cargo in his arms.

She made little more than a grunt, pressing her soft hands further into his shoulders and neck, her heated, flushed cheeks brushing against his face in overtly cuddly motions.

He fought a little with his balcony door - the usually so easy mechanism suddenly felt like it needed advanced engineering to get it open, and carried Usagi inside, little sequined party jacket and smudged red lipstick and all, and collapsed with her on the bed in purest, undiluted relief.

He'd boasted they'd be fine. Who cares that they'd missed last train, he'd carry her home, the distance was nothing.

Turns out he was kind of an overconfident drunk who lost his sense of direction altogether.

Her voice was muffled against his shoulder and he adjusted his hold on the back of her head a little so she could move it up just that bit to his throat and he could hear her.

"Inside," she mumbled, rubbing against him. And then something he wouldn't have understood if he didn't have very thorough training in understanding Usagi when there was something blocking her mouth.

'You don't have to hide my face anymore', it was, or something along those lines.

Oh.

He unlocked his hold around her head and let his arms drop limbly to his sheets with a harsh exhale.

Everything was totally spinning.

"Detransform?" she mouthed against his throat, the red of her lipstick surely painting him colorfully, and he grunted and did as she told.

The magic fluttered beneath her, but she didn't move a muscle, dropped on top of him like dead weight.

"I'm never gonna drink again," he moaned, all fours stretched out and Usagi still clutching at him.

"You say that every year," she mumbled at his throat.

"I mean it every year."

"...mhm," her sleepy voice hummed, the vibration catching against him pleasantly.

"I really hate Minako's birthday parties."

"Mhm," she said, and started moving in slow, arching, languid ways, and started to kiss up his throat with an open mouth and her hot tongue, then down to his collar, ripping at his buttons with clumsy fingers to get at his chest, and he let it all happen with too deep breaths and closed eyes.

"I forgot my shoes," he complained. "And my jacket."

"Mhmm," she hummed again, and dragged her teeth down his collarbone, then her lips, dropping lingering, suggestive kisses.

Her fingers were surprisingly nimble and fast as she unbuttoned his shirt all the way blindly.

"I'm too drunk," he moaned, arching against her mouth on his skin in ways absolutely counter-argumentative to what he was saying.

"Me too," she agreed against his navel, and he shuddered.

"My head is swimming. Whoever said this was supposed to feel light? I feel so heavy."

"Mhmm." Her lips against his hipbones, wet and hot and addictive where her tongue had dipped against the dimples in his skin, her hands at his belt.

"This is awful."

She stopped, and he ripped his eyes open and moved for the first time since he'd collapsed in the bed, propping himself awkwardly up at his elbows to look down at her.

"No!" he protested too loudly, too drunkenly. "Keep going!"

She looked absolutely alcohol-flushed, and absolutely gorgeous, glitter make-up smudged around her sparkling, suggestive, lit eyes.

She lowered herself back on him, moved her mouth back on his skin and dipped her tongue against him and he sighed, her lips smirking, stretched against his abs, and he collapsed back down to her lips brushing against the ridges between the muscles.

"Hmm," he hummed, letting the heaviness claim him.

He tried to get her shoes off her, kicking at them with one leg halfheartedly, contemplated whether to move and try to get her out of her little party jacket - the sequins scratched against his torso a little uncomfortably when they caught against his nipples, but decided it was entirely too much work. He kicked at her foot, trying to nudge his socked toes into her shoe to get it off - she was wearing ballerinas, how could this be so hard? And sighed in relief when he heard the plop of her second shoe finally landing on the floor.

She sighed again in that way she made when she wanted him real bad, and rubbed her flushed cheeks and face against his chest, dropping sloppy kisses against his skin all the way.

He frowned, but kept his eyes closed, his whole body back to unmoving. "You're rubbing all that glitter on me, aren't you?" he accused.

"I am, yes."

"Hm."

The bed would be full of glitter again. He wouldn't get it fully out for weeks, again.

But really, this time, he couldn't bring himself to care. Sighed and bit the side of his lip when she managed to get his belt open.

They'd been making out on Minako's couch when they got kicked out after all. Better continue that in full.

Obvious Setting Tag: Post-Stars.

In fact, narratively this is definitely after one of my other stories, too: Tequila Makes Your Clothes Fall Off, in the Lemon Tree series.

Anyway, absolutely established relationship here, and in the real world, make sure you and your partner have talked how to work consent in abbreviated states. (Sex educator voice off now, lol, sorry.)