One Night

Prompt based on three of the 77 questions:

15. Did something you told yourself you wouldn't?

57. Drunk straight from a liquor bottle?

73. Still love someone you shouldn't?

Written for RaeKitano

There were some things Scotty told himself he wouldn't do: take hard drugs, get a tattoo, skydive. He'd never gone back on his word, even when his friends not so jokingly called him a wimp or he was offered the opportunity multiple times, and he was proud of himself for resisting. His mum would say that it showed real character to stand up to peer pressure but, if he was being honest, Scotty mostly held out because he didn't want to do those things.

While his older sister had been racking up life experiences, everything from a wild holiday in Marbella to landing herself in jail, Scotty had been content with his role as the good kid in their family. He was the one their parents could rely on, the one who didn't take unnecessary risks or make stupid decisions.

Until he met Alex.

Because he'd told himself a dozen times that he wouldn't go back to Alex and, a dozen times over, he'd broken that promise.

If Scotty was a better person, if he really did have the character his mum thought he did, he'd ignore it when his phone flashed Alex's name at one in the morning. Because he knew what this was, knew there was only ever one reason why he called, and he knew just as well how powerless he was to resist.

It was how he found himself making the familiar trip to Alex's flat. He took a cab across the city, letting his feet lead him into the building and then the elevator. The inside was mirrored and he could see his own reflection staring back at him, making him wonder what he was doing and why he didn't turn back while he had the chance.

That was a lie. Scotty knew why, they both did.

It was what had him knocking on the flat door, stepping back slightly to compose himself.

"Scotty." Alex's voice had a lazy drawl, to match the smug smile spreading on his face. "I knew you'd come."

He scowled. "I could still leave."

"We both know you won't."

Scotty shoved past him roughly to get into the flat, "Shut up, let's just get on with it already."

"You need to work on your foreplay."

"I know you'll give it up anyway."

Alex hmmed, following him to the bedroom, "One day, I might find someone else."

The light, offhand comment was exactly what Scotty had come to expect from him.

"You're an asshole." He hissed.

Alex grinned, tugging him forward by his shirt, "So punish me."

Their kisses were harsh and frantic, a rough meeting of teeth and tongues, because the first exchange between them was never gentle—not when Scotty hadn't tasted him in weeks. The need was rushing through him, like a dam that'd just been broken. He pressed his body flush against Alex, crowding him onto the bed, and crawling on top of him.

They didn't say a word but they didn't need to. The way their bodies moved against each other, it was almost a conversation in itself, the hard press of Scotty's thumb into Alex's hip and the way his breath hitched in response, eyes dark with something raw, something real. Scotty kissed Alex again, his fingers pressing into his skin hard enough to leave bruises, and he tried to forget the look. Because, for a few minutes, Alex had wanted him just as much as Scotty wanted Alex.

It never lasted.

The sex was great but it was the post coital cuddling that had Scotty coming back every time. After an orgasm, Alex was loose and pliant, openly affectionate in a way that absolutely wrecked Scotty. It hurt him more than he could put into words but, if he was being honest, he'd take Alex any way he could get him.

The second round was slower, more familiar. Alex draped a leg over Scotty, pushing himself up so he was straddling his waist, and let his hands run over Scotty's chest. He always set the pace when he was on top and Scotty let him, allowed the soft kisses and the velvet stroke of Alex's tongue pushing against his mouth. It was intimate, the way their foreheads pressed together, Alex's gasping breath against his cheek as he got closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck," he panted, "I'm gonna—"

"Do it," Scotty hissed, arching up.

They didn't come at the same time, Scotty lasting a few thrusts longer, but it was a close thing. They were both getting tired and Alex demonstrated that by flopping down where he was, wearing nothing but a pleased smile on his face.

Scotty shoved him off, "You're heavy, get off."

"You love it."

Scotty never stayed, and Alex never asked him to, because sleeping with the man was too close to what he wanted. And he'd done a lot of things with Alex that he said he wouldn't but he couldn't do that. He wasn't going to fool himself with something that would be gone in the morning.

So he forced himself to get up, to go through the familiar routine of dressing and then going downstairs for a drink of water. Alex didn't stop him, watching with tired eyes as he left.

There were a few plates and pieces of cutlery drying on the side of the sink. It was a reminder Alex had never tolerated mess in the kitchen, not even when they were freshers in university—back when this whole thing had first started. The neat organisation made it easy for Scotty to find a glass because Scotty knew the kitchen all too well and there wasn't a thing out of place. No, that was a lie, he could see a small lump on the counter, the dim lighting of the moon not helping him to identify what it was. He took a step closer, regretting it almost immediately.

Because he could recognise Alex's engagement ring anywhere.

And, that, there was the last step in the routine: the guilt.

He'd chase it down with alcohol, drinking straight from the bottle, because those were the nights when he needed it most. Scotty would get blind drunk, lying on the floor of his lonely flat, and he'd tell himself, again, that he wouldn't do this. He wouldn't subject himself to the pain. Because Scotty knew the score here, knew he was nothing more than a booty call to Alex, when Alex was his whole world. It was stupid, wishful thinking but he couldn't help hoping it might end differently one night.

Maybe, one night, he'd tell Alex he deserved better.

It wasn't tonight.

Tonight, he'd go to bed drunk. Tomorrow, he'd replay every second of last night and wonder what he'd done wrong. It was the cruellest kind of torture, one he subjected himself to willingly, and it made him miserable. It was why, with the optimism of a drunk, he promised himself it wouldn't happen again.

There were some things Scotty told himself he wouldn't do. There were some things he did anyway.