He was never one for the bar scene. But with the Arbiter sitting across from him, looking equally as appalled as both off duty humans *and* Elites were making drunken fools of themselves, John couldn't help but chuckle.
Thel Vadum' shot a cocked brow at the Demon, his unspoken statement heard through the dry gaze alone:
'Do you *see* why I do not drink?'
"I get it." The Chief chuckled again, ignoring the stares around him as he downed his mug of beer. It wasn't just because he appeared to be talking to his drink, but because he had that helmet propped, unworn among the discarded peanut shells atop the table. He heard awed whispers of Spartan and good look all around. But he was used to it.
Not quite used to the way the Arbiter stared, though. Yeah he did have artfully proportioned facial features, a good head of solid black hair on his head, and he was told 'stunningly' blue eyes. But he never cared for it. The only visible scar was the one across his nose from being hit across the face and knocked around in his Spartan suit. Gel padding and advanced armament could only do so much. So while he could easily ignore the others' stares, when he caught the intense gaze of the Arbiter, he couldn't quite make the heat that curled up from his belly go away.
The other three occupants on the table didn't seem to notice, however.
"Sarge?" One undoubtedly drunk marine slurred, his Hispanic accent thicker as he inquired for the hundredth time, "Shouldn't you still be in the hospital?"
"Ramirez, like I told you the other million time, shut yer goddamn yap. Ain't nonya business what I do on my spare time. Can outdrink a greenhorn like yerself any friggin' day, regardless if I'm in a full body cast or not." Sergeant Johnson retorted, drink sloshing on the table as he slammed his mug down in emphasis.
The Chief agreed with the young Marine, but he knew better than to argue with the Sarge. That never had a happy ending.
As they continued to banter away, Chief looked once more around the bar, overhearing a drunken conversation nearby.
"-yeah, I know. Lisa slept with one of them the other night. She said he was HUGE and just *really* good in bed-"
John nearly choked on his drink, head down as he listened more intently.
They could NOT be talking about what he thought-
"No, I know. Elites, who knew they'd be great in the sack!"
Unthinkingly, the Spartan's blue gaze flicked up to see the Arbiter watching him intently. Had he heard too?
Images of dreams he had thought forgotten pushed themselves to the surface without the Spartan's consent. The Elite's tall form. The way that body would move gracefully between silken sheets. The imagined sounds.
Chief cleared his throat.
The imagined heated caresses.
Suddenly he didn't think hanging out with the Arbiter was such a good idea. That stare had heat rising, unbidden, to his naked face.
He made to stand, reaching for his helmet just before, a mumbled excuse about to tumble through his lips. But a large hand atop his own stopped him, a deep voice questioning, "Hold, Demon. What is that change in your complexion?"
"Too much to drink." Chief lied.
"You have consumed about 11 tankards of alcoholic beverages and have not once altered in shade or color, I doubt it is because of the drink." Thel caught him in the lie.
The Elite was too smart for his own good.
"And you hardly touched yours." Chief, nothing else to say, shot back.
"I do not prefer the dulling of the senses. But I have tasted it. For you. As promised." The Arbiter pointed out.
"Well, it must be the dulling of the senses you mentioned earlier getting to me. I'm gonna call it a night." The Spartan got to his feet, reaching once more for his helmet.
But the gear was scooped up and tucked safely at the Arbiter's side, as he rumbled, "Allow me to assist. You do not have the full capacity of your faculties. I will escort you to your quarters."
Reminding him exactly the kind of thinking that had gotten him into this mess in the first place, the Spartan felt his face flush a deeper scarlet. How naked he felt without that gold visor. He cursed inwardly, noticing the intensely curious look about the Elite as he observed with a tilt of his head.
"It is happening again." He stated deeply.
"I don't want to be a bother." The Chief rushed to explain, speech stiff as he tried to cover up his woes, "It's just a helmet. And we are in neutral territory. Earth is the last place that'll be seeing some action for a while."
"It is no trouble. I insist." Thel would not back down.
The Sanghelli could hardly believe the crease furrowing the Demon's brow. Was the Spartan showing signs of concern?
John floundered for an excuse. If only it were as simple as saying 'no' to be done with it.
"C'mon Chief. Cut the Arbiter some slack. He found you, out in the middle of nowhere, between the asteroids of Tanzania and in the quadrant of hell-knows-WHERE. He prob'ly jus' makin' sure you don't get your sorry ass lost somewhere again." Sergeant Johnson butted in, before turning with his beer back to his other conversation.
The black man hadn't said it. But the words were implied.
He owed the Arbiter.
BIG time.
And if he wanted to walk the Spartan to his room, why the hell not?
Not like anything could go wrong.