lexininja prompted 11. things you said when you were drunk CaseyxRaph
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"Jesus, Casey."
Raphael glowers down at his best friend, who snickers and looks up at him shamelessly with a gappy-toothed grin.
"Heeeeeeeeeyyyyy!" Casey snickers, spreading his arms wide and leaning back on his knees, away from the puddle of sickly-sweet smelling puke in the gutter. "Raph! Bro! Come to join the party?"
Raphael snorts in disgust and rolls his eyes, hands fisted on his hips. "Come to crash the party. C'mon, you knucklehead. It's bedtime."
"Party pooper," Casey pouted as Raphael steps off the curb and hoists Casey to his feet, slinging a limp arm over his shoulders, supporting the skinny teen with one arm wrapped around his waist. Casey reeks of vomit and beer, smoke and sweat, and Raphael wrinkles his snout and scowls.
"You stink like you went swimming in an ashtray, Jones." At Raphael's instigation, they begin lumbering down the footpath, Casey stumbling hopelessly, leaving Raphael practically dragging him along.
Casey giggles drunkenly, punches Raphael lightly on the plastron with one loose fist.
"You can give me a bath if you like," he leers and Raphael feels his cheeks darken. He hates Casey like this, hates that he only puts words to the hints that flicker in the jet depths of his eyes when he's smashed. Hates that he's too much of a coward to challenge him on it when he's sober.
"Yeah right," he snaps irritably as he gets Casey up the stoop of his building and through the sagging glass doors. "I lay a finger on you and I risk getting alcohol poisoning through absorption."
Casey wheezes hysterically as he staggers up the stairs, Raphael propping him up.
His shabby apartment is silent and dark, his father and sister still missing. Raphael helps him over to the couch, shoving him none too gently back onto the cushions, then stomps over to the kitchenette to get him a glass of water. Casey is sprawled across it when he returns, drooling up at the ceiling with a dazed expression and Raphael heaves out in exasperation, and chucks the glass of water in his face.
Casey sits up sputtering, his hazed eyes clearing abruptly as he glares up at Raphael in indignation, shaking beads of water from his hair and face.
"Hey man, what the fuck? What's your problem?"
"Seeing you act like a jackass," Raphael fires back. "How d'you think you woulda got home if I hadn't showed up?"
"Woulda managed," Casey pouts, slouching back into the cushions, his dark eyes glaring moodily to the side, looking dishevelled and disturbingly gorgeous, however bad he reeks.
Raphael rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Don't bitch to me about your hangover."
He turns to go, but Casey bolts forward with more speed than he would've thought possible, trashed as he is.
"Don't go. Not yet."
Raphael freezes, looks down to where Casey's hand grips his wrist, looks back to his bleary-eyed friend who can't quite conceal the glitter of anxiousness in his gaze.
"Okay," he replies after a long moment, and settles down on the floor in front of the couch, finding the remote under a pile of dogeared magazines and empty noodle bowls and flicking the TV on as Casey slumps back down on the couch.
After ten minutes or so, mindlessly watching some Jean Claude Van Damm trash from the nineties, he glances back at his friend, expecting to find him unconscious. He is startled to find Casey, stretched out on the cushions, staring at him with eyes that glisten, his chapped lips slightly parted, one skinny arm flung up and over his head, strands of wet hair plastered across his forehead.
Raphael shifts uncomfortably, turns back to the TV. "Quit staring."
There's silence then but for the muted roar and shriek of the movie. Raphael holds his breath, feeling Casey's gaze upon him as keenly as though the other boy had grazed his knuckles down the side of his neck.
Then Casey speaks again, and Raphael's heartbeat rises like thunder:
"Never thought I'd find another dude so hot as you."
