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Title: The Chemist and The Ass
Rating: PG
Pairing: Chazz/Jimmy (Unrequited, probably, but read however you'd like it to be *g*)
Summary: Chazz thinks Jimmy might be more entertaining if he could just get him drunk.
"It's the same stuff that's in your precious anti-bacterial wipes, MacElroy." Chazz was looking at Jimmy across the table with that look Jimmy knew meant he wasn't going to back down.
"That's a different type of alcohol, idiot."
"What are you, a chemist now?"
Jimmy rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as Chazz pushed the shot glass toward him again. "Why?"
"Because you might be a lot more fun to be stuck in this cabin with if you didn't have that stick up your ass all the time."
"There's nothing up my ass! Shut your face, Chazz!"
"C'mon, it might even help your balls finally drop, princess."
Jimmy frowned, his lips pursed and trying to look defiant. "My balls are just fine without your help, thank you very much."
"Sure, if you like them tiny and hairless..."
Jimmy glared, remembering how his father had once shown him slides of a diseased liver when he was five that had made him cry... but... he hated having to back down from a challenge from Chazz. And really, could one tiny shot cause all that?
Jimmy eyed the little glass with a look of apprehension and disgust on his face, then shouted, "Fine, you ass! I'll do it!"
"Go ahead, Mary."
"I will! You just watch!" Jimmy picked up the glass, trying not to think about what he was doing and slammed it back. It burned his throat and made his eyes water, but he tried not to act like it hurt. "There! Ha!" he managed to choke, wishing his voice didn't sound so pained.
His false "macho" (if you could call it that) act didn't last long, however, when his stomach revolted of its own free will. He shot out of his chair and ran for the bathroom.
Chazz spent the next hour kneeling on the tile next to Jimmy and holding his hair out of his face. He even nodded and hummed appreciatively when Jimmy moaned, on more than one occasion, that he hated him.
Jimmy couldn't help but milk his sickness a little longer than necessary. In spite of the locale being less than desirable, the feeling of Chazz's large fingers sifting through his curly locks was too nice to give up too quickly. Maybe drinking wasn't so bad after all.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Chazz/Jimmy (Unrequited, probably, but read however you'd like it to be *g*)
Summary: Chazz thinks Jimmy might be more entertaining if he could just get him drunk.
"It's the same stuff that's in your precious anti-bacterial wipes, MacElroy." Chazz was looking at Jimmy across the table with that look Jimmy knew meant he wasn't going to back down.
"That's a different type of alcohol, idiot."
"What are you, a chemist now?"
Jimmy rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as Chazz pushed the shot glass toward him again. "Why?"
"Because you might be a lot more fun to be stuck in this cabin with if you didn't have that stick up your ass all the time."
"There's nothing up my ass! Shut your face, Chazz!"
"C'mon, it might even help your balls finally drop, princess."
Jimmy frowned, his lips pursed and trying to look defiant. "My balls are just fine without your help, thank you very much."
"Sure, if you like them tiny and hairless..."
Jimmy glared, remembering how his father had once shown him slides of a diseased liver when he was five that had made him cry... but... he hated having to back down from a challenge from Chazz. And really, could one tiny shot cause all that?
Jimmy eyed the little glass with a look of apprehension and disgust on his face, then shouted, "Fine, you ass! I'll do it!"
"Go ahead, Mary."
"I will! You just watch!" Jimmy picked up the glass, trying not to think about what he was doing and slammed it back. It burned his throat and made his eyes water, but he tried not to act like it hurt. "There! Ha!" he managed to choke, wishing his voice didn't sound so pained.
His false "macho" (if you could call it that) act didn't last long, however, when his stomach revolted of its own free will. He shot out of his chair and ran for the bathroom.
Chazz spent the next hour kneeling on the tile next to Jimmy and holding his hair out of his face. He even nodded and hummed appreciatively when Jimmy moaned, on more than one occasion, that he hated him.
Jimmy couldn't help but milk his sickness a little longer than necessary. In spite of the locale being less than desirable, the feeling of Chazz's large fingers sifting through his curly locks was too nice to give up too quickly. Maybe drinking wasn't so bad after all.