Fic: As Time Goes By

[coffeebuddha]

Title: As Time Goes By
Author: coffeebuddha
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Characters/Pairings: Kevin Ryan/Javier Esposito
Word Count: 1503
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Summary: In which Kevin drinks and Javier helps.
Notes: Written for the anon ficathon at ryanandesposito.

​The living room window is open, held up by an old, thick dictionary with a broken spine that Kevin found in a pile of Jenny's books. The air is frigid and tastes like rain​ when he ducks his head out and slowly inhales through his mouth, his hands braced on the windowsill as he peers down at the street, where the roar of traffic mingles with half audible conversations and the occasional shout or peal of laughter. ​It's stifling in the apartment, too stuffy and hot, even though it's the middle of winter.

One more thing to complain to the super about, he thinks as he absently pops open the buttons of his shirt, hissing a breath out between clenched teeth when ​a breeze hits ​his sweat dampened undershirt. His skin prickles and tightens, and he shivers and pushes away from the window, his shirt hanging loose on his shoulders.​

There's an empty bottle of ​whiskey​ laying on its side on the coffee table, one last drop of amber liquid clinging to its lip, threatening to drip on an open bridal magazine. Javier's on his back in front of the table, his folded legs tucked underneath it. He's trying to watch the shot glass balanced on his forehead with crossed, mostly unfocused eyes and his hands hover around it, gently correcting it whenever it threatens to overbalanced​.​ Kevin snorts with amusement and Javier's head immediately turns​ toward the sound, the glass toppling off and rolling ​away across the carpet.​ Javier frowns, stretching his arm out to ​pat at the floor like that'll bring the ​shot glass back into reach. He wriggles a little bit, his torso twisting in ways that can't possibly be comfortable, but doesn't show any signs that he plans to actually make the effort to move. His shirt strains across his chest and shoulders and the hem rides up centimeter by agonizing centimeter over his flat stomach. Kevin swallows hard and bends to pick up the shot glass, nearly overbalancing in the process, and stumbles back to Javier's side.

It's the wacky heating in the apartment that's making his mouth dry and his neck flush. He just needs another drink. The whiskey bottle spins in a half circle when he pokes it, but it doesn't magically refill, even though he's thinking all sorts of happy, positive thoughts at it. If there's such a thing as an alcohol fairy, Kevin could really do with one right about now.​ Javier makes a sound that can only be described as a giggle, and Kevin belatedly realizes he was talking out loud. He tries a glare, which only makes Javier giggle louder, and Kevin very valiantly refrains from kicking him in the ribs. Instead, he weaves around him and heads to the kitchen, where he rummages around until he finds what he's looking for. ​

Javier looks alarmed when he comes back, even going so far as to sit up, eyes huge, and say, "Bro." Granted, the knife's big, but that just makes it easier to see when Kevin lines it up over the lime. Javier watches him warily, like he's trying to decide whether to call the ambulance now or after Kevin's chopped a finger off. Of course, that only makes Kevin that much more determined to cut the most beautiful, perfect lime wedges Javier's ever seen. Which, you know, he doesn't quite manage--one's barely more than a sliver and another one looks decidedly mangled--but ​the knife stays steady in his hand and Kevin offers up a silent word of thanks for his senior year of college when he pent a semester working as a bartender.

He'd ended up spending most of his wages giving pretty girls and the occasional guy drinks on the house and almost ended up not graduating because he kept sleeping through classes, but he'd learned to mix a martini that could make a grown man--well, Castle--weep, realized he didn't have the coordination to spin a bottle like Tom Cruise in Cocktails, discovered women were more willing to go home with him if he gave them a drink and let them tell him all about how their job sucks and they think their dog might be plotting to kill them, and found out that sometimes when it comes to something like handling a sharp object while completely shitfaced, practice makes perfect.

Javier turns the tequila bottle over and over in his hands while Kevin arranges the wedges into a mostly straight line and licks up a trickle of tangy juice running down the side of his ​arm. He almost misses the way Javier's eyes narrow​, dark and intense as they watch his tongue move over his skin. The air's doing that weird thing again where ​it's almost too thick to breathe and Kevin drops his arm, scrubbing it dry against his jeans.

"Okay," he says brightly, shoving two shot glasses in front of Javier, who still doesn't seem ​particularly convinced, but at least now he's looking at the glasses instead of Kevin, and for some reason that makes it a little easier to suck in a breath. "Fill 'em up!"

"Do you remember what happened the last time we drank tequila together?" Javier glares at the bottle in his hand like it's a suspect he's trying to intimidate an answer out of.

"No?"

"Exactly," Javier says, managing to fill that one word with a whole lot of subtext that practically screams 'you're an idiot and this is one of your stupidest ideas yet', but he cracks the seal on the bottle and more or less fills the glasses without spilling too much anyway.​ "You're an idiot. I think this is probably one of your stupidest ideas yet, and that includes the time with the cake and the toaster."

Kevin flaps a hand at Javier, too pleased at his ability to read his partner to be bothered by what he's saying. "I'm allowed to make stupid decisions tonight and you're obligated as my best friend to help me make them."

Javier winces, pushes a shot closer to Kevin. "Right. Sorry, bro." When Kevin shrugs and licks the back of his hand instead of answering, Javier creeps a little nearer and bumps their shoulders together. "She say what time she's coming by to get her things?"

"Sometime after my shift's started," Kevin says. He's sprinkling salt on his hand with a lot more care than the act warrants, but at least it means he doesn't have to look at what's sure to be a sympathetic look on Javier's face. "First rule of Drink Club, bro. First rule."

"Don't talk about Drink Club?" Javier asks. He's salting up the stretch of skin between his thumb and forefinger and studying the lime wedges.

"No, that's rule two," Kevin says, snatching up a piece of lime while Javier continues his obvious internal debate over which wedge he wants. "First rule is 'don't talk about exes who decide they're in love with your premarital couple counselor two weeks before the wedding'."

"Right. My old Drink Club must have skipped that highly specific rule."

"It's almost exclusive to our local chapter," Kevin says with a nod. Before he can talk himself out of it, he licks the salt, downs his shot, and bites into the lime. After an almost unnoticeable pause, Javier does the same. "Play it again, Sam."

Javier snorts, but reaches for the bottle again. "Don't think that quote really works here."

"Sure it does." Kevin lists to the side, leaning into Javier's hard warmth. His toes tingle, the tips of his fingertips too, and the room feels like it's slowly tilting back and forth like a seesaw. "The tequila is the song and you're Sam. Ilsas may come and go, but you're constant, always there for the good times and the bad. Sam's overlooked and underrated, but he's the kind of guy Rick can rely on not to disappear on him."

"You're not making too much sense there," Javier says. His voice is a soft rumble that Kevin can feel vibrate through his body, and he presses his face into the curve of Javier's neck so he doesn't have to look at him when he says, "You'd never disappear on me or let me down."

Javier shivers and bounces his shoulder until Kevin acquiesces and blinks up at him. There's an odd look in his eyes that Kevin can't quite place when he dangles a shot glass in front of Kevin's face and says, "Drink."

Kevin tilts back a little and shakes his head. "Don't have the salt and lime ready yet."

Javier lifts his other hand, already prepared with a smear of salt and holding a wedge. "I've got you covered, right?"

"Yeah," Kevin says. He catches Javier's wrist in one hand and pulls it toward his mouth so that he can feel the slight sting of the salt catching against his lips when he says, "Yeah, you do."

Javier smiles at him, slow and sweet and full of promise, and Kevin licks.​

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