ʜᴀʟ ❖ ᴄʏᴏn : a bottle of vodka

ALL CHARACTERS ARE PART OF HALCYON | DO NOT STEAL

---

Characters: Alarick Reindhart / Wen-Jian Song

Timeline: After the first episode, but before the second episode.

Summary: Of lost inhibition and desires just out of reach.

---

"All dressed up in black and white and you're dressed in that dress I like," he half-whispered, half-sang as he leaned lazily against the doorframe, his eyes roving up and down the brunette's body in a mock once-over.

"I brought you a present, gorgeous," He waved a bottle of cheap, clearly last-minute vodka in the air as he invited himself into the room, careful to keep the door from slamming shut behind him. "I figured the hospital wouldn't give you anything good."

Alarick hadn’t much enjoyed being confined to a hospital bed for the juncture he had spent there. Number one he had a lot of business to attend too. There was researching Riley, there was attempting to unmask their not-so-masked savior, and then there was formulating how they can explain losing Errol and snagging two random (but criminal) dead bodies in the wake. Number two Alarick felt like he had lengths to achieve to be up to par to his previous B-1 level. He was a lot better at manipulating water in the past, and wanted to make that his shining ability. There was also his physical detriment. While he was in quite a decent shape he was held back by his injuries- and he shouldn’t be. And number three, who was taking care of Mister Grey? His poor cat was probably attempting to learn how to use opposable thumbs to get kitchen doors open.

All of his worries and concerns quickly evacuated his brain as soon as he felt a shadow grace his doorway. That head jerked to the side to see Wen. “How did you exactly get that in here?” Addendum a really drunk Wen. “Ah no- they actually pulled my pain medication a few days ago. Now I’m just in here to make sure that the wound doesn’t get infected.” Alarick grumbled. “And what is this about gorgeous-? Wait- wait- I know you want to butter me up for something. What is it now Wen? Because it won’t work.” He stated in his most stale of tones, but otherwise leaned over to get his clear hospital-mandated SOLO cup. “But it might- just might if you give me a drink of that, and sit your godly perfect rear on this bed.” His other hand patted the spot next to him- it didn’t take much movement given the fact that it was already bandaged up and kept close to his body.
Alarick wasn’t his usual dapper self- but he had managed the hospital to at least let him not wear that horrible smock and to be able to at least don his boxer briefs and a short sleeved undershirt. His hair was disheveled, and his glasses were on- but all and all he still looked like a decently informal version of his usual self.

"Nurses love me," Wen answered, his words slightly slurred from over-intoxication and something else. His cheeks were flushed from too-much to drink and his eyes were cloudy—dazed—with already-not-heres. But his stride was oddly well-paced, completely absent of unnecessary sway. "And that's right! My ass is perfect!" He laughed as he climbed onto the bed, too far gone to have any inhibition, too far gone to have shame and reason convince him this was a bad idea.

"Wanna touch?"

But if he was serious about the offer, he didn't give the other man the chance to decide. Instead, Wen, sitting closer than strictly necessary, started to pour an unconventional-sized shot into the proffered cup, spilling some along the way. "Bottoms up, baby."

“Yes yes I am very aware that all the women folk love you,” Alarick stated as he rather dispassionately shook his hand in Wen’s direction. “But I can never tell if it is because they think you are gorgeous or if their maternal instincts kick in: ‘oh look at this poor child- all dressed up with no one to care for him’.” He jested but only partially. Those eyes paid an obscenely close attention to Wen as he announced how grand his rear was and then offered a touch. Alarick may have taken him up on that offer if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that he was not being serious- or if he was, he was too drunk to realize what sort of commitment his mouth was making for the rest of his body.

“Be careful,” he chided. “Don’t throw any on my wound or I may involuntarily punch you out of the sheer amount of pain that causes.” With that he took the drink. Not only was it hot it burned all the way down out the sheer alcohol content of it all. Alarick wondered how Wen was even standing given the fair share of what he had had from it.
“So what is bothering you princess?” He stated and waved his cup in front of the other. “I’ll need some more to get on your level of comprehension though.”

Wen breathed out, exhaling deeply as the alcohol burned the back of his throat and tingled in the roof of his mouth. He could feel his toes curling in his boots, but he kept going. He poured another shot for himself (he had had the foresight to bring at least one glass) and another one for the brunette. But Wen was pouring an inordinate amount into the cup this time—well past the limits of a shot, well past the limits of anything plausibly drinkable.

"I'll kiss it better then. You'll like it, promise." He grinned lopsidedly at Alarick, his face only centimeters away from contact, only a breath away from crossing a line Wen had never crossed before. "Say"—he ignored the other man's question, but didn't pull back or move or anything to put more distance between himself and the brunette, something he was apt to do in the past—"You like me, right?"

Well- Alarick thought bemused- Wen is extremely drunk. The man was on a level that he had never had the honor of seeing before, and by all means it managed to skew the other’s personality into being somewhat (gasp) likeable. Or maybe Alarick’s version of ‘likeable’ was someone that was keen to flirt with him no matter the situation. It wasn’t that everyone had to come onto the agent- he just enjoyed it when attractive males did.

So he took another drink and glared at it. This would take a few painful gulps to get down and probably thrash in his throat all the way down to his belly. But from what he could tell about the first shot was that it was already warming him up a bit. Alarick was nowhere near the red bleary eyed mess that Wen was, but it might not be long given the amount that the blonde doled out.
“I’m sure I would,” Alarick stated skeptically as Wen invaded his personal space. “Hey?” He responded back slowly and eyed the other’s intentions with extreme wariness. “Of course Wen- I always have. But I don’t understand your inflection there. I mean you’ve been one of the other few Pulvis users in Sidereus that could pull their weight, and I won’t lie that you are easy on the eyes- even if you are overly aware of it.” He paused. “As much as other ‘attractions’ go- you have told me again and again that you are as straight as an arrow and not to waste my time. So I haven’t.” Alarick then found his eyes dithering over the other’s face for a long moment before speaking again. “Are you telling me now that you think not? Because if that is the case I do believe that changes things quite drastically.” He brought uninjured arm upwards and placed his hand against the other’s hip in a possessive manner.

"Oh?" Wen grinned at the gesture, his smile pressing crescents into his cheeks. "And what if I was?"

The blond leaned in, stealing a kiss that tasted like alcohol and missing-inhibitions, like forbidden fruit and exciting promises. It tasted of late-night passion and early-morning regrets. It tasted of everything right and wrong. It tasted of a moment where nothing else mattered.

"If you want more, you're going to have to finish the rest of this bottle," Wen breathed huskily, his voice a blend of practiced sensuality and blatant desire. "Drink up, Alarick."

And, in that moment, all the things Wen had meant to say—had wanted to say—was thrown into a box, sealed, and shelved for some other day. It was only put out of reach, but not out of sight.

Something was wrong with Wen- Alarick decided quickly. Yet as much as his logical mind attempted to give him the pragmatic solution to a baited moment- his body pretty much told his mind where it could shove it and barreled on further. Of course it didn’t help that Wen was attempting to make the other agent nurse alcohol much like water- or air for that matter- and if that had a tendency to skew anything it was usually both inhibitions and reality at once.
Apparently it decided to form a reality where Wen was as queer as Alarick if not more so.

Unfortunately if the agent had any reservations about this entire ordeal it flew right out the window as that hot kiss landed on his lips. So Alarick was unsure if this was some sort of odd hospital-induced wet dream that would get awkward for him if a nurse checked up or if he honestly hadn’t drank enough to really start caring less about the truth of the matter.

Those eyes came to the bottle as the challenge was made, and he looked upon it with a heavy bit of skepticism. ‘I might murder my liver first,’ as Alarick’s first go-to response but it never left his lips. Instead he took the bottle and parted from it a might swig that burned all the way down. By the time he had a few heavy drinks- he was unsure how much was left in the bottle and honestly really failed to care. It was somewhat roughly placed on the bedside stand to give him a free and uninjured hand to take advantage of Wen with.
The warmth ignited in his heart and brain faster than a wildfire would take fields. He found his lips pressed back hotly against Wen’s own, and his fingers curling through that stark blonde hair at the back of his head.

At the second kiss, Wen melted into the stiffness of hospital bedding and cheap, scratchy blankets; his back falling against the unyielding contour of too much spring and not enough foam.

But, not once, did he open his mouth to complain.

Captured by the kiss and too-eager hands, the blond saw and thought of nothing else. All he wanted was more of the warmth. He wanted the passion of every touch, the fire of every stifled moan. He wanted the brunette to push him down, to envelope his body in a heat different from the burn of alcohol.

And then, as Inhibition lost her last hold, Wen whispered, "I want you."

Those three words were the key to a flood gate or a very simple turn of a knob or simply the culmination of pent of feelings that had hollowed themselves out and made a home in Alarick’s body for years.

“I never thought I would hear that come out of your mouth- princess.” He stated austerely- barely parting his lips enough to let the words flow through. Those lips seized Wen’s again and he let loose a guttural moan into the other’s mouth as he plunged himself further into his burning need. Slowly he lowered the blonde onto the bed, and hovered over him like some predator claiming its’ prey. While Alarick favored his wounded arm- he was still able to put enough pressure on it so he was firmly situated over the blonde. He brought it up rather sweetly and his digits became plucking at buttons and pushing away fabric from Wen’s chest. His kisses trailed down the other’s neck, to his collar bone, and then inevitably to his chest.
He pulled up momentarily to sink back into his heels. It was then he repositioned his mouth lower over the other’s waist- and brought the brunt of his teeth against the button of his pants. Alarick was quite the aficionado of removing clothes with his teeth- it was part of the charm of being an experienced lover. Inevitably he was able to release the button from its’ tight hold, and he felt much like a child opening a present. Yet he let the moment longer- his hot mouth breathing over Wen’s crotch. Those eyes flicked up in question- did the blonde really want it?

The things that happened next made Wen's back arch and his toes curl. It made his body burn and his heart race and his brain blank with white.

"I love you, Su-Min," he breathed aloud, his voice thick with pleasure as his fingers tangled deeper into dark hair. "I love you so much..."

And then his chest rose at a steady pace of up, down, up down. His head turned to the side and his eyes closed, leaving his eyelashes feathered shadows above his cheeks. He looked at peace—completely unaware of his undress state and even less aware of the other person still awake in the room.

One moment Alarick was coaxing the sweetest noises from Wen’s lips, and the next the blonde was praising someone named Su-Min. The man halted his kisses and lifted his head up- no officially foggy from the alcohol intake. Those eyes sluggishly blinked and those synapses clicked in place as to what just happened. His golden haired god(dess) had just referred to him as a woman (or at least that was the assumption) before passing out whilst their sexual rhapsody was being conducted.

“Su-Min?” Alarick stated harshly- with a bit of a slur. “You are unbelievable Wen.” With that he pulled himself back upwards and glance down at his own clothed form. A few moments ago he had found his underthings quite crowded, but now everything was losing steaming and finding themselves quite flaccid and unimpressed.
With an injured arm Alarick hoisted his comatose compatriot up and somewhat jauntily managed to throw the other on the visitor’s couch in the crowded corner of the room. It stung but fortunately Alarick was too drunk to really care at that moment. Instead he watched as the blonde’s body flopped on the couch somewhat lazily.
“I’ll show you Su-Min.” He remarked callously and hobbled to the other’s legs- yanking the stylish pants from Wen’s body. He then hobbled over to the dirty linens bin and buried them underneath old towels, bed sheets, and pillow covers. Wen would have to manage himself out of a hospital without pants- Alarick decided.

With that he raggedly hauled himself back into bed and nabbed the vodka bottle to drink away the rest of his conscious thought. After James he didn’t know if he would ever find passion again, and then there was Wen reminding him of that near-kiss they shared so many years ago.
Damn blonde.
At least he was smart enough to bring something to numb the inevitable pain he would cause.