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He should have stopped.
Stopped drinking, when the liquor he'd spilled down the sides of his mouth while downing it didn’t tickle or burn his skin any more, but just felt wet.
Should have stopped when his face went numb.
Tonight is not one for stopping. Anything, for that matter.
One more night it is instead for fucking up peoples lives. For disappointing the ones he loves; again. And the alcohol doesn’t even seem to make a dent trying and muting down all that blame and guilt.
All Chen Yi ever seems to be good for is trying.
Time is a little fractured. He's missing half-seconds here and there, but he waits a moment, just exists, and then they’re mostly complete again, belatedly, inside the present-past-future fuck up intoxication makes of his brain.
He misses a stretch when the glass got out of his grip and on the table, but then his fingers are around the bottleneck again.
Then Ai Di is there, not only inside his head, but there. Sounding hurt and angry. Angry for Chen Yi, or hurt by his doing, Chen Yi can’t tell, it mixes together, always does.
All Chen Yi does is try to take the blame, try to make it makes sense the only way he knows how to.
Hands shake, slap at Chen Yi, then words. Words that wrap themselves around him, sticky and damp, but maybe were also already under his skin before they were even spoken.
He clings to those hands, those pushes and slaps.
Chen Yi’s face is wet. Some of it may be tears.
Time skips again, but Chen Yi thinks he will remember it later. His mind now can’t use it, hears it, sees it all, sees nothing. His mind now just wants. Something.
Something that is gentler on him, forgiving, despite his many flaws and shortcomings, something that feels warm.
Something other than the inside of his own head. He thinks he just felt echoes of it a moment ago, but forgot what it was.
He’s grappling for more alcohol. Grappling with someone for something else.
Someone. There is someone. They are colliding.
Some words stick out, an echo, a feeling, so Chen Yi repeats them, when he thinks he is asked a question:
“You said you’d always watch over me.”
Someone to look out for him. To be on his side, when it gets too tiring to always watch out for everyone else. Someone’s eyes on him. There is someone like that, he thinks he remembers. It feels safe.
That, he wants that.
The kissing is so nice. Those lips on him fit his taste perfectly, this body’s rhythm on his own, their rhythm together that would be even better, if only Chen Yi could be a little bit more in control of how his head sits on his shoulders right now; but like this he can only sway, be swayed in the push and pull of the waves and tides their joined movements are made of. It’s so, so nice.
He wants his weight tossed around in it, much in the way the momentum of intoxicated vertigo already pulls at his senses, wants to be thrown, until his back hits walls.
He’s stripped of his sweater, sat upright, and there’s skin on skin. The arms around him are hard-muscled and pull him in so tightly it almost bites over the bones of his shoulders. It makes Chen Yi think they might just be strong enough to hold him.
It’s a moment of such profound and unexpected peace, it puts his mind into a stupor.
Everything is warm. Is aching bliss. He wants to stay, melt into it more.
He’s pushed back onto pillows.
A face comes into focus, from swimming lines, like having been too close to see clearly, yet out of reach. Right in front of him.
With that face comes the pain it exudes, a pain that Chen Yi almost knows. It’s sweet, so sweet, even if he can’t all comprehend it.
There are tears on Chen Yi’s face then that are not his own.
Ai Di is crying. Ai Di is here and he is crying.
And Chen Yi can’t have that. Never could. Wants to kiss it all away, if not better.
So he does.
Tonight’s for free falling. He’s set loose, unanchored by the cluster fuck of it all, the guilt, the alcohol. He’s tumbling.
He could kill tonight. Only maybe he couldn’t. He could die tonight. One small death. Or maybe a thousand.
He flips them over and starts kissing those lips, that face he knows, instead of just being kissed.
Chen Yi knows that body, its physicality, its feel. They’ve always collided, for fights, for training, for play.
How it makes sense to fall back on that he doesn’t know, but Ai Di gets on top of him again, fumbles, kicks off their pants and it makes sense, that naked slide makes so much more sense now than it doesn’t.
How he deserves Ai Di giving him all this he can’t figure out, but he’s distracted, hard, by taking it as it is given. Pulling Ai Di closer even, between his legs hooking over calves. Down by a hand between shoulder blades, a hand on Ai Di's neck, more of that skin against skin and gliding friction.
Suddenly Chen Yi wants it bad.
Wants even more, wants deeper, wants inside. He played with his own fingers last night. Sure, Ai Di's dick is different than his own fingers, but it should be fine, right? He’s convinced that he can take it.
He deserves a little sweet pain after all this, right?
He doesn’t quite know if he’s babbled all that out loud.
Because Ai Di doesn’t seem as convinced, shushing, evading, just thrusting down gently, wetly along Chen Yi’s balls and the crack of his ass. Never putting enough pressure, as if that was an acceptable compromise.
Yet Ai Di’s arms keeping him up above Chen Yi are shaking at the elbows.
Time skips, or it doesn’t, just is sped up by his intoxicated impatience, and Chen Yi’s own fingers are bent down inside himself, testing the give. Ai Di is cursing. Is gone, then is back; and then there’s more wetness, more slaps and slapping away of Chen Yi’s hand.
When the slow slide and blunt pressure just over his hole resumes, Chen Yi reaches down, adjusting the angle to have him where he wants him to be, pushing up. He thinks his lips might be bitten again, a little, inside a kiss.
No, not a night for stopping. One for giving it all up instead, maybe. And why not. If it feels warm allover like this?
Chen Yi’s heartbeat shifts into overdrive, acidity of alcohol at his throat, clawing at his brain. His own sweat makes him shudder, cool on burning skin, it’s such a rush, such a race for time lost, losing.
There’s a half moon of fingernails biting at his hip, their pretty sting like four points of light against the darkness behind his eyelids. Time’s a little fractured again.
It comes together with the dull sweet thudding pulls inside, then Ai Di’s hand is on his dick.
Chen Yi blacks out in an orgasm that is everywhere and nowhere at once. Like not completely his own, like nothing he can quite own, but that is all of him at that moment yet the same.
.
The next morning, waking up, he has to start sorting his entire reality anew.