I don't do enough original writing.

[merikuru]

I'm bored, I'm slightly buzzed, and it's a blue moon AND New Year's Eve.

Those things apparently combine into stubborn bastard plotbunnies.

Observe.


Kitaen was starting to realize that working night shifts really didn't afford much in the way of interaction.

Sure, it was nice to not have to deal with too many assholes, and the gas station-slash-convenience store where he was currently pulling in minimum wage to cover his half of the rent was situated far enough out of the way that it was pretty dead on a good day (he said a mental apology to the vampire lady who ran the place at that thought), but more often than not lately he'd find himself coming home and wishing he had someone to talk to. It wasn't as if he was alone - anything but, with the lump of fur and exuberance and hormones currently sharing half his apartment - but like normal people, if any of the people in that town could be considered normal, Ian pulled daytime shifts and was always conked out by the time Kitaen got home; when they were up at the same time, it was usually just a few short minutes of tired conversation while Ian sucked down coffee like it was going out of style and Kitaen cursed the existence of such early hours in seven different languages, pulled down all the shades and fell into bed. Always the same, and he hated it.

Just once, he thought as he fumbled his key into the lock and opened the door, he wished things could be a little bit different.

And then, all of a sudden, they were. No sooner had he shut the door behind him and gotten all of five steps into the darkened living room did he suddenly find himself with an armful of yipping, tail-wagging, slobbery fur that seemed damn determined to lick his face off, and he found himself flat on his ass before he could even reach for a light switch, wincing and hoping that fall hadn't put a kink in his tail like he was afraid it had. "Get off me," he started, quickly ran through possible scenarios in his head, and rather abruptly realized; it was a full moon, it was New Year's Eve, he had a good supply of alcohol in the back of his dingy little fridge, and from the smell of it, a good amount of that good supply had been consumed. "What the hell, Ian, you're plastered."

"Like a newly-finished wall," the werewolf agreed in a slight slur, leaving another trail of booze-scented slobber up the side of Kitaen's face. "Mmm. Missed you, Kit. You're late."

"Traffic." Kitaen's ears twitched and he tried unsuccessfully to remove Ian from his person. For a skinny, mangy wolf, his roommate-slash-lover could certainly be as immovable as solid rock when he tried. "Why are you drunk?"

"New Year's. Why not? Stupid full moon. Had to be a blue moon, didn't it. The one night I wanna get drunk off my ass and I can't even enjoy it properly. Hmph." Ian was proving surprisingly verbose and clear-headed for as drunk as he was, though the way he was drooling all over the werefox's face proved he was, indeed, off his gourd. "You should get drunk too, Kit. We never get smashed together. I left some for you," he went on cheerfully.

Kitaen closed his eyes at the implications of that and gave Ian another shove, managing to dislodge him this time. "How magnanimous of you."

"Kiiiiit." Ian sounded as if he was pouting, though it was hard to tell in the dark; it wasn't hard to hear his footsteps receding, however, and Kitaen knew he was being trusted to follow. Grumbling and resigning himself to getting no sleep for the next several hours, or at least until Ian fell into the drunken, snoring stupor that was sure to come, he pricked up his ears and followed Ian into the kitchen, flipping on a light on the way and resisting the urge to knock his head into the wall when he saw the mess of bottles on the table and counters. "For the love of...Ian, exactly how long were you drinking before I came home?"

Ian cocked his head, scratched behind one floppy ear. "...Couple hours? Drank it slow, I'm not that stupid."

"I never said you were." But they both knew he'd been thinking it, and Kitaen resigned himself to a few weeks on the couch if he didn't patch things up fast, reaching into the fridge and pulling out one of the remaining bottles. "You know what, you're right. Fuck it. It's New Year's Eve. I'm getting smashed off my damn tail and damn whoever tries to tell me otherwise to hell." He slit the foil wrapper over the cap with a nail and twisted it off.

Ian let out a whoop that sounded more like a howl. "Atta boy! Join me in the warm and fuzzies!"

The werefox snorted, took a long drink and sighed. Just what he needed after a long, boring night. "You're insane, Ian."

A few hours later saw the two of them on the couch, Ian curled up with his head in Kitaen's lap, and the last of the alcohol supply long gone; some old black and white B-movie was playing on the TV, leaving the werewolf howling with laughter so loudly that the neighbors, if they'd had any, would probably be banging on either the walls or the door and demanding the noise cease Right That Very Moment. (Kitaen vaguely thought he'd never been so glad to live in a nearly-empty building.) They were left uninterrupted, however, until the end of the movie, when Kitaen's eyes fell on the clock and he abruptly sat bolt upright, ears flicking sharply before laying to the sides in annoyance. "Ian, it's almost 4 AM. We--"

"Missed the ball dropping! Bloody hell," Ian cut him off.

"...that too, but we need to get some sleep. We're going to be dead on our feet tomorrow." Another silent apology from Kitaen, this time to all the not-quite-alive types that frequented the neighborhood, even though he was quite sure they had no idea what he was saying or thinking.

Ian groaned, covering his eyes with a paw. "Kit, it's bloody New Year's. Who's going to care if we're dead on our feet or not? We can sleep all damn day if we want to."

"I care," the werefox informed him shortly, standing up and trying not to feel bad about the startled yelp that ensued when Ian was dumped abruptly out of his lap. "Tonight was rough as hell, and as fun as getting plastered with you was, I now need to sleep it off. Do what you want, just so long as the apartment doesn't end up trashed and you don't wake me up." With that, he started for the bedroom, but paused and looked back over his shoulder at a low, unhappy whine, ears flattening again. "What now?"

Ian had picked himself up from the heap he'd landed in on the dingy carpet, but looked no less sad than if he'd still been sprawled flat on his face, his own ears flattened down and a doggy pout on his fuzzy face, complete with puppy eyes. He looked as if he was about to start crying, a surprising feat for a wolf. "...'m sorry, Kit. Really. Love you..."

Kitaen was suddenly glad it wasn't physically possible to melt into a puddle of goo, or else he was afraid he might have done. "...Yeah. I know. Just come to bed, Ian."

"You're not mad?" Ian's ears started to prick up, tail moving halfheartedly in the beginning of a wag.

"Keep asking me that and I will be," was Kitaen's response, continuing on into the bedroom.

After taking a moment to consider that, Ian's tongue lolled out of his mouth in a grin and he followed his lover. Maybe when they woke up, he could convince Kitaen that the bed didn't just need to be utilized for sleeping.

...As long as his hangover wasn't too terrible, anyway.