Snafu may have been drunk last night.
“If that says what I think it does, I am breaking up with you,” Gene promises fiercely.
Snafu may have been Very drunk last night.
Not that he takes responsibility for that. Oh no. That was Gene's fault. He had been gone for two whole weeks. Gone on some dull research trip that Snafu was very much not invited on. Not after last time.
Snafu had been lonely and missing Gene the whole time. The remedy for which was to find some good company for his misery and then drinking with that company until he forgot about it.
That company had been Burgie, who was in much the same boat, since Florence was gone off to Australia for a family visit.
The two of them had rather sensibly decided to meet up while their SO's were out of town to drown their sorrows together.
Last night in particular might have gone a little far. But, considering the fact Snafu had been celebrating in preparation for Eugene's long awaited return, it really wasn't his fault.
“What were you even thinking?” Eugene asks, sounding strangled.
Snafu finds the strength to open his eyes at that. Lifts his heavy head from the pillow and blinks sleep crusty eyes. He has to squint against the harsh morning light coming in through the windows. But once he does it's all worth it.
There's his boy! Snafu's heart sings at the sight. Gene is still standing in the doorway, holding tight to his battered suitcase, dressed for comfort, an old pair of sweatpants and a too tight t-shirt that had been conspicuously missing from Snafu's closet ever since Gene's departure.
Snafu drunk in the way Gene's face was all red from too much time in the sun, freckles standing out cutely.
Or maybe the redness was just because of how mad he was, just now. There was a lot of anger lighting up those beautiful brown eyes of his.
“I don't remember,” Snafu says honestly, then plays it cool, flashing the smile that usually had Gene melting. “But knowing me, it was probably something like, 'Dear lord, do I love my Genie'.”
“That is not going to save you,” Gene grounds out, even though Snafu can see the way his eyes soften while he mouth remains hard in that special way of his, when Gene was trying to stay mad because he thought it was the proper thing to do.
Snafu grins all dopy. He might still be a touch drunk, he notices.
Last night was a story his mind remembered in fragments that got more disjointed and blurry around the edges as the night progressed.
He remembers meeting Burgie at the bar. That had been fun, as always. He remembers drinking. He remembers drinking A Lot. He remembers pissing a lot too. Then he remembers seeing a nature show about birds on the bar's flatscreen, which reminded him about Gene, and how much he loved Gene. Then there was a lot of crying about how much he loved Gene. Which started Burgie crying about how much he loved Florence, which ended in the two of them making a vague series of plans about how they were going to show the immeasurable fountains of love they had for their partners. He does remember napkins covered in crossed out designs and letters of passion written with a messy drunk's hand.
He doesn’t remember the Tattoo parlor at all, apart from the lingering impression of a red vinyl chair and Burgie clutching his hand in a crushing grip while a needle buzzed against flesh.
He has absolutely no memory of stumbling back home, stripping buck naked, and presenting himself artfully on their bed for Gene to find once he walked in the room.
Yet here he was, Ass bare and a small part of it stinging in the open air.
He looked over his shoulder, curious as to what he had decided to go with in the end.
Fuck. He realizes with only a drop of remorse that what was on his ass was not even the best one he had come up with.
“Burgie's is worse,” He tries a desperate bid to lessen his own transgressions by throwing his drinking buddy under the bus. A moment of clear recollection strikes him. “He's got 'Flo's favorite ride' written on his ass-”
“I don't care what it says on Burgie's ass,” Gene hisses, incensed. “I care what it says on your ass!”
“Well it is my ass, Gene,” Snafu scoffs. He doesn’t think Gene is being quite fair about that. This was America, and he had the right to do whatever he wanted to his own ass.
“It's my name on your ass,” Gene points out, looking like he might very well explode.
Snafu plays dumb. “'Sledgehammer' isn't your name, Genie,” he explains reasonably, “It's the name of a very powerful tool used by a trained professional to fuck my ass.”
Gene stares at him, absolutely Speechless. Snafu tries not to enjoy it too much. When the gears start turning again, Gene drops his suitcase on the floor, then jumps onto the bed in the open space next to Snafu.
Snafu gets all excited for a moment, thinks he's finally gotten Gene to see things his way and they might be about to do something fun.
His hopes are dashed when instead of kissing him, Gene buries his face in his pillow and screams.
“You have a nice trip, boo?” Snafu grins once Gene comes up for air.
Gene looks at him seriously “The next time you wonder why you haven't met my parents yet,” He announces, eyes a little wild, “Please looks at your own ass and remember this.”
Then he shimmies out of bed and leaves the bedroom, slamming the door behind him as he goes.
Snafu listens to the sounds of Gene stomping around the kitchen, the fridge door opening. He was probably furiously pouring himself a glass of milk to calm down, Snafu thinks happily.
“He'll come around,” He grins to himself. Then tries, and fails, to roll out of bed.
His ass fucking hurt.
“Genie!” Snafu yells at the closed door. “Come help me get up!” He's met with silence. “I need to piss!” He adds helpfully.
Silence for another beat. Then the frustrated clatter of dishes being tossed into the sink.
Gene's footfalls came back down the hall towards him.
Ah, Snafu grinned into the pillow. His boy was back.