“Oh fuck.” Ceasar sat up in bed, his face buried in his hands. It was two in the afternoon. “Oh my, this is—no, no, no, oh no, oh crap, oh no.”
Ice scratched the back of his head nervously. “I guess you’re feeling better, huh?” he said.
“What the hell.” Ceasar grabbed Ice by the shirt. “You can restrain yourself when I’m hitting on you in the steam room, but all resolve goes out the window when I’m falling down drunk? What the hell,” Ceasar frowned, “I thought you weren’t that kind of guy.”
“I’m not that kind of guy!” Ice fumed, “Don’t you remember anything from last night? You straddled me and told me you liked me and then a whole bunch of dirty stuff I won’t repeat ‘cos you’ll get all embarrassed.” Ice crossed his arms and pouted. “If you’d done all that in the steam room I’d have jumped you there instead.”
Ceasar went red. “That was obviously the virus,” he said, “You should know better than to listen to me when I start saying stuff like that.”
“It wasn’t the virus,” Ice insisted, “it was all you, when the virus does it your voice goes all weird and you act like a psycho.”
“IF DOING SOMETHING LIKE THAT’S NOT PSYCHOTIC THEN—”
“It wasn’t even at all.” Ice, ignoring Ceasar’s growing agitation, grinned suddenly and pulled him closer. “It was cute is what it was. You draped all over me and hugged me, and you kept talking into my ear.” Ice manoeuvred Ceasar so he was straddling Ice’s hips, then put his arms around Ceasar’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. “Just like this,” he said, his lips at Ceasar’s ear, “saying how much you liked me and how bad you wanted me.”
Ceasar shivered. “I did not,” he said, and his arms were around Ice’s neck. “And anyway, I was drunk, you still shouldn’t have done it.”
“Nope,” Ice grinned into Ceasar’s shoulder, “But I’m glad I did it anyway. It’s not a bad thing, right?”
Ceasar pulled away and made a face, twisting Ice’s ear a little. “How do you do that?” he asked, “I was pissed at you about five seconds ago.”
“I’ll teach you,” Ice said, and leaned in for a kiss.