Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something that Iso had come to learn over the almost year of him being an agent of the VALORANT Protocol was that there was never a shortage of celebrations within the base. There were the standard birthdays and holiday parties that had to be expected, as well as the smaller celebrations of successful missions, personal achievements, or even a simple get-together to have drinks with the other agents. But when there's a twenty-six-person team with the same goals and many things to celebrate, the parties tend to blur together after a while.

That isn't to say Iso didn't find enjoyment in these events, though. Even with his social battery being a little below what might be considered the "average", he found himself often looking forward to these events. It gave him a sense of normalcy and belonging, which was something he never truly felt in his years prior to being an agent.

Now, though, he had found his home, his place in the world. And with that place came friends— and with those friends came the parties.

Today's party, in particular, is for Gekko's birthday.

The structure for this celebration is no different than any other. There's music playing from a speaker somewhere in the corner of the common room, and the kitchen area is full of food, snacks, and beverages of both alcoholic and nonalcoholic nature. The party is still fairly young, and everyone is still sober enough to be considered coherent, so the atmosphere is relaxed.

But Iso knows it's only a matter of time before the alcohol starts to kick in and things really start to get wild. He's learned from past experiences that it's best to get some socializing in before it gets to that point, as he'd much rather avoid the awkwardness that comes with being the only sober one in a room full of young adults.

It's not like he has anything against people who drink. Nothing like that. He just doesn't like the idea of losing control of himself in that way. He's seen first hand what alcohol can do to people and how it can change their behavior.

Even before joining VALORANT, he never touched alcohol himself. Working for the Scions as an assassin always meant staying vigilant and alert at all times in order to avoid any potential danger. And, in the unlikely event that something did go wrong, it was necessary that he could think quickly and react accordingly to whatever situation presented itself. Drinking alcohol was simply not an option for him.

Though he won't lie that he has used the effects of alcohol to his own advantage in the past. Another thing he learned was that people are much more willing to talk when they've had a few drinks in them. It was a tactic he used more than once when gathering information or trying to get close to a target. They were a lot easier to manipulate when their inhibitions were lowered.

Easier to kill, too. Not that he ever needed to rely on that factor.

And even after he joined the VALORANT Protocol, where the constant threat of danger wasn't as present, he never saw the appeal in drinking. It just seemed like a lot of unnecessary risk for very little reward. The agents have tried in the past to get him to drink, but he's always been quick to refuse. No amount of begging from Jett or teasing remarks from Phoenix will ever be enough to convince him that the benefits of alcohol are worth the negatives.

But he's not going to let his own preferences keep him from enjoying himself at Gekko's party. That would be unfair.

Besides, he can still have fun at the parties without needing a drink. The company is more than enough for him.

At least that's the case right now, while most of his fellow agents are still of sober mind. In a few hours, when the alcohol really starts to flow and the music gets louder, he's sure he'll be finding his way back to his own room. That's just how these events always go for him. He'll make his rounds, have some conversations, and then slip away once things get too crazy.

That was the plan, anyway. But his plan is quickly derailed by the very man whose birthday is being celebrated.

Gekko's always been a touchy one. He's not afraid to show his affection towards those he cares about, and Iso has become used to that. It's something he's learned to accept, and even appreciate. A casual arm around his shoulder or a light touch on his back is not something he minds anymore. At least, not from Gekko.

Iso's come to trust the other man enough to allow the occasional physical contact. One might say that he even enjoys it, in a way. It's a far cry from where they were just under a year ago, when Iso was still trying to navigate the confusing and unfamiliar realm of genuine relationships. It's a work in progress, still, but Gekko's always been nothing but patient with him.

And tonight, those fleeting touches and casual affectionate gestures seem to be coming a little more frequently than usual. Much to both Iso's delight and his dismay.

It's not that Iso doesn't appreciate the attention or the sentiment behind it. He does, really. But it's also what keeps him from slipping out of the party and retreating back to his room. Every time he finds himself preparing to leave, Gekko is there, an arm around his shoulder or a hand on his back like he's used to, drawing him back into the fold of the party. Laughing and talking and smiling, and Iso can't find it in himself to leave.

A part of Iso is wondering if perhaps this is intentional on Gekko's behalf. If he knows Iso usually slips away from the party once things start to pick up, and that's why he keeps finding ways to keep the other here. Iso doesn't have much evidence to support this claim, and he isn't going to ask, but he can't help but wonder if that's the reason.

Or maybe he's just delusional. That’s also a totally valid possibility.

Either way, he finds himself staying at the party much later than he planned.

"C'mon man, just one drink."

The voice catches Iso off guard, pulling his focus from the music and his own internal musings. His gaze turns to the source, and he's not entirely surprised to find Gekko holding a red cup in front of his face, swirling the liquid inside as if to entice him with its contents. He leans closer to the assassin's face, giving a half-lidded look that's practically begging.

Gekko's had a few drinks himself at this point. Iso can tell by the light flush on his cheeks and the slight slur of his words. He's not completely wasted, but definitely not sober either.

Iso raises an eyebrow, giving a curious look as he meets the other's gaze. "You know I don't drink."

Gekko sighs, letting his head hang forward slightly as if he were exhausted by the answer. "Yeah, but... it's my birthday."

Iso gives a quiet chuckle at that, shaking his head lightly. "And? What's that got to do with anything?"

Gekko straightens up, looking at Iso with a serious expression. "Well, I mean.." he pauses, thinking for a moment. "...It'd be a nice gift if you had just one drink for me. Since you didn’t get me anything."

It's such a dirty tactic, playing the birthday card. A low blow, really. The only reason Iso hadn't gotten Gekko an actual gift is because the other insisted that the party was enough, and that he didn't need to bring anything. And now he's trying to guilt Iso into having a drink? It's almost cruel, in a way.

"I figured my company would be enough. But I guess I was wrong."

He's not being serious. He doesn't feel hurt or offended or anything like that. And he's certain Gekko knows it's a joke, but that's part of the reason why he said it in the first place. Banter like that is something the two of them have always enjoyed, and it's a dynamic that's been built over many months of working together and spending time in each other's company outside of their duties as agents.

So it doesn't surprise Iso when Gekko plays along. He juts his bottom lip out into an exaggerated pout, looking genuinely hurt for a brief moment before his expression breaks and he laughs from the prolonged eye contact. It's a warm, comforting sound. One that brings a smile to the assassin's lips as well. "I'm not saying that. You know you're more than enough."

Iso can't help the small laugh that escapes him at the other's words. He feels a bit of warmth in his cheeks at the compliment, which he's quick to hide by looking away and lifting his hand to cover his mouth.

"Then what more could you ask for?"

"A drink from you." Gekko's still holding the cup in front of him, and he gives it a little shake for emphasis. "It's just one. I'm not asking you to down a whole bottle of tequila, man."

Iso takes in a breath, looking at the other for a moment before letting his gaze fall to the cup. He looks at the liquid inside, swirling and sloshing against the sides of the plastic with the movements of the other man's hand. It doesn't smell bad, at least not to him. Though he's not sure that's a good indicator of anything.

He looks up at Gekko again, finding those brown eyes staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Iso's lips press into a thin line for a moment, considering his options. A small part of him doesn't want to give in. Doesn't want to break his streak of sobriety just to please the other.

But the rest of him doesn't really mind the idea of doing something out of the norm, just this once. It's only one drink, right? What harm could it do?

"...Fine."

The word comes out of his mouth before he can really think about it, but he knows once he says it that he can't take it back. He watches Gekko's face light up with joy as he takes the cup from him and lifts it to his lips. It's a small sip, not even enough to fill his mouth, but it's enough to taste the liquor.

Much to his surprise, the drink is... pleasantly smooth. Not overly sweet, which is always a good sign in his book. And no discernable bitter aftertaste either. Just a subtle hint of something that reminds him faintly of cherries or raspberries or something of that nature.

The burning sensation in his throat afterwards, however, is not quite as pleasant as the flavor on his tongue. It makes him cringe slightly. Not in pain—just a mild discomfort that quickly dissipates.

Overall it's not terrible. It certainly could've been worse.

"There we go. Was that really so hard?"

Iso doesn't fight the tiny curl of a smile at the corner of his own mouth when he glances over at the birthday boy, who looks far too satisfied for his liking. The assassin takes a breath in, and gives a playful roll of his eyes, though his expression remains amused. "Yes." He says, dryly. "That was absolutely horrendous. Never again."

"You're such a bad liar."

There's a soft hum from Iso, who doesn't bother denying it. Not out loud, at least. Instead, he simply gives a light shrug before taking a slightly larger, yet equally tentative, second sip.

He doesn't exactly know how to respond to the other. He knows the drink isn't bad by any stretch. But the implications it holds for him make the drink feel almost tainted somehow. He doesn't want to think that, but he can't seem to help himself, and he can't help the faint twinges of anxiety it sends through him at the thought.

"Alright. It could be...worse."

It's a vague, noncommittal response, and they both know it.

But it's enough to satisfy the other man. He grins, taking the cup back and downing the rest of its contents in a single swig. For some reason, the sight of Gekko putting his mouth where Iso's had been a few moments earlier makes his face feel warm again. He quickly brushes it off, blaming it on the alcohol and not anything else. Because two sips of alcohol are totally enough for his body to already have a reaction. Definitely.

"That's what I thought," the other man finally says, with a small grin. Iso finds his eyes drawn to the corner of his mouth as the words come out of it. It's a small action, really—just the tiniest twitch of a lip.

Yet the way that single corner curves and the dimple creases his cheek, and his eyes scrunch just the smallest fraction makes something warm in Iso's stomach. It's an odd sensation, but not unpleasant. Just unfamiliar. Like an itch. He can't help but stare, his mind going blank for a moment as he tries to make sense of this new feeling.

He doesn't fail to notice the way Gekko's eyes seem to linger on his face for a beat longer than normal. Or the way they flicker downwards for a brief moment, then up again. It's so quick he almost thinks he imagined it. Almost.

But when he meets the other's gaze and catches his eyes before he manages to look away again, Iso can tell he wasn't mistaken. There's a look there that he can't place—something that feels almost foreign despite how often the two spend time together. Iso can feel the heat from his own cheeks intensify, spreading from his neck all the way to the tip of his ears as he watches the other closely.

A small part of his brain wonders if Gekko's thinking the same thing. He wonders if the other's feeling that same, indescribable sensation in the pit of his stomach, or the way the world seems to narrow down to the space between the two. But then again, how could Gekko possibly know what he's feeling? Iso doesn't even know.

The only thing he's sure of right now is the way Gekko is looking at him. Like he's the only person in the world.

It makes his heart skip a beat.

There's a pretty flush spread on his tan skin from the drink, and those deep, beautiful brown eyes have a slight glossy finish to them. His pupils look dilated— like he's focusing very hard on something.

He's so busy admiring how attractive Gekko looks in this exact moment, he barely notices when he leans in close. Incredibly close. Uncomfortably close, Iso's mind would normally declare. So close Iso can smell the alcohol on his breath, and the scent that Iso can't help but think of as "warm". And he's so distracted by the intoxicating scents he only just registers when Gekko's nose nudges Iso's own.

The sudden closeness startles him, and he instinctively recoils a little. Gekko doesn't move, however. His eyes remain trained on the assassin, staring intently, as if trying to study his reactions. His gaze drifts down once again for only a brief moment, but this time Iso knows he didn't imagine it.

Gekko's staring at Iso's mouth. And for a split-second, the assassin's own gaze flicks down as well, taking note of the way Gekko's lips are slightly parted.

"Gekko?"

He's answered with another inch lost of space, and Gekko's breath ghosting against the assassin's face as his eyes slide halfway shut and he stares.

"Hmm?"

"You're kind of in my bubble right now..."

Iso doesn't really care about his personal space at this moment. It's an attempt to see what kind of response the comment gets, really.

Gekko blinks. Once. Twice, as he leans back enough for Iso to no longer be practically seeing cross-eyes. Then, he smiles.

"You let me into it."

And the way his voice sounds— low, hushed— does strange things in the pit of Iso's stomach. Or maybe the strange things being done are being caused by Gekko's hands suddenly finding a resting spot on Iso's left thigh. Either way, it makes Iso feel weird.

A lot of things are making Iso feel weird, these days, if Gekko is involved.

"I—You invited yourself in."

The attempted correction comes a couple beats later. His attention is still focused on how close the two of them are, and how easy it would be for Gekko to just lean in again... But he doesn't. Instead, he moves his head, tilting it to the side as if trying to find some new way of looking at him from this new perspective.

"I didn't think you'd let me stay."

It's a simple sentence. Not much more than an observation, yet somehow, there's something more there— some kind of unspoken implication underlying the surface. A question, maybe. Or a request. It's vague enough that Iso isn't really sure what it's meant to be. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Swallows.

"I'm okay with it." He eventually says. He tries to sound casual about it, but he's pretty sure it's obvious there's some kind of hidden message being passed. Iso's not sure if either of the two knows what that message is, exactly. It's hard to think straight with Gekko so close to him.

And when Gekko's response to his statement is leaning forward again, so close their foreheads are almost touching? It only gets that much more difficult. He's sure, at any moment now, he's going to snap out of whatever haze he's found his way into and remember where the boundaries between the two of them should be.

But, for some reason, it doesn't happen.

"So, you're not gonna kick me out anytime soon?"

Iso's tongue feels heavy and awkward when he opens his mouth. "Not as long as you want to stay."

A warm hand squeezes his thigh, just above the kneecap. This is dangerous. Gekko is dangerous . Because the way he's acting right now, Iso is finding difficult to resist. The way his body seems to respond before his head has time to catch up isn't fair at all.

Because he knows that Gekko isn't in the clearest state of mind right now. He knows the other's actions are most likely fueled primarily by the liquor. He swears he can taste the faint hints of it in the shared breaths between the two.

Meanwhile, Iso is in complete control of himself. At least, in theory he should be. Yet somehow, even with the two small sips he consumed, Gekko's actions feel so addicting. It makes his body crave more of that sweet, warm buzz. More of that intoxicating presence that's so hard to get enough of. He's afraid he might be falling into a trap.

There's a pause. A brief silence in the otherwise noisy and bustling common room. And Iso can see a number of different expressions flit through the eyes across his, while the hand on Iso's left knee lifts to hesitantly cradle the back of Iso's head.

Iso's own hands come to life, lifting up from their resting position in his own lap and reaching outwards to touch. To touch Gekko, whose lips part as Iso's hands land gently on the man's arms, like he intends to push him away. As much as he doesn't want to stop, he can't take advantage of him. Even though it would probably be worth the risk. If anything, it might even get rid of that awful itching sensation that feels like it's going to consume his insides whole.

If only it wasn't such a bad idea. If only Iso didn't care .

But he does.

It seems like Gekko understands Iso's intentions from the touch alone. A soft noise escapes the man, a sort of disappointed huff, and Iso feels an apology on his lips. But before he can voice them, another voice rings out. Both agents look over to Jett, who is standing at the edge of the room with an amused look on her face.

"Alright guys, who's ready for some Beerio Kart!?" There are a few people here who clearly had more to drink than Iso, because the cheers they send her are enthusiastic to a ridiculous degree.

Gekko turns back to Iso after she calls for it. There's an expectant grin there, though the corner of his mouth doesn't lift like it does when he smiles, or smirks in that smug sort of way. He lets his hands slide off from their respective places on Iso's head and thigh, leaving behind a cold feeling of absence, like an empty void.

"I know you wanna bail. You usually do around this time," his words slur together, as if his mouth can't wait long enough for him to finish. "Don't make me call you a liar twice in one night, okay?"

Guilt is what first fills the void in his mind and body as he's given a free pass to leave the party early. It makes him feel gross as Iso lets his own touch fall away. He knows he should just take it. If he stays any longer, the weird things going on inside of him might spill outside and cause an embarrassing mess.

Games like these always lead down that path. It's a lose-lose scenario, really.

The sensible part of his brain reminds Iso that Gekko would understand if he left. Hell, he probably won't even remember it by tomorrow morning. He's given a way out. He should be relieved. So why isn't he? Why is he actually considering participating in something as ridiculous and immature as a Mario Kart drinking game?

There must be something seriously wrong with him.

Whatever.

"Maybe I could ...stick around. A round or two won't hurt."

Even though he can barely hear himself say it, Iso knows Gekko has caught every single word when that lazy smirk curves up in a wide smile. Seeing Gekko's happiness brings his own feelings of anxiety down a considerable notch. When that guilt doesn't disappear completely, and instead is joined by a swarm of butterflies, Iso can't decide whether to laugh or to sigh.

He's an idiot.

But he's not left with much time to think about it, because now he's getting dragged to the center of the room, where everyone's gathered on the ground and couches around the flat screen TV. There are several colorful controllers already being passed around. Mario Kart 8 has already been loaded on the shared Nintendo Switch, with the catchy menu music replacing what was previously playing on the speakers..

Phoenix is looking over his shoulder and catches his eye. The firebird raises a eyebrow in a silent, but incredibly effective question.

Iso doesn't have to say a thing. His pointed gaze makes the message clear.

For the love of god, don't make a big deal out of it.

That only earns him an infuriating, shit eating grin. Phoenix nudges Jett, who takes notice of his death glare. She looks as surprised at his presence as a deer caught in headlights. He can practically see her thinking, 'he stayed?' . It's almost funny how easy they are to read.

Almost. More like, almost humiliating. They make him feel so transparent.

"How did you manage to get him to stick around?" Phoenix's arm is slung around around the back of the couch behind Yoru as he asks the question. His eyes follow Gekko as he takes a seat on the couch across from them.

"He's a lot more open-minded than people give him credit for," is Gekko's response. He pats on the open spot beside himself, which is the only space available among a room packed of already tipsy agents. Iso takes a seat.

Phoenix hums, then directs his attention to Iso. There's this look on his face which tells him that he has questions. A slight quirk of the eyebrow, a smirk at his lips. And Iso's sure the reason he can read Phoenix so easily is that Phoenix is letting him see that. Which makes him wonder what his own expression gives away.

Of course, it doesn't take long for him to open his mouth again. "Did you finally give up the dry streak and have a sip? Because that must have taken a hell of a lot more than peer pressure to happen."

Yep, there it is. He's really got his own reputation to blame. But the alcohol hadn't been a major factor in his final say, really.

"I'm here of my own volition." It's an honest reply, but he's not going to give any of his real reasons to Phoenix, who would probably twist his own logic into something to tease. Iso's aware that he's here because of the birthday boy who's got an arm laying comfortably over his shoulders. That's none of anyone's business. "What, I'm not allowed to want to hang around?"

Phoenix raises his arms. "Hey, man. If it gets you to drink with the rest of us, I'm not gonna complain."

"I never said—"

Killjoy, thankfully, cuts in before they can continue to bicker. "Okay! I'm explaining the rules of the game. Everyone pay attention."

The agents in the room turn towards her and quiet their own chatter. Killjoy makes her way to the front of the room where she turns around to face everyone. Her large round glasses reflect the bright colors of the game title as she speaks.

"So, basically we're going to be doing the grand prix cups on 200cc," her hand gestures towards the various different alcoholic beverages that have found themselves in front of the players, "and you drink depending on where you place during the races. If you get first, you're fine. If you're somewhere between second through fourth, that's one shot of whiskey. Fifth through last, you have to take a shot of tequila. And at the end, whoever is placed the lowest on the bracket..."

Her lips curl up in a teasing smile, and the German glances at the absinthe that's off to the corner of the coffee table. Everyone knows where the rest of her sentence is going before she even says it.

"...has to take half a shot of that."

Iso turns his head towards the bottle. It's the strongest liquor available in the common room right now. It's also the most vile, as Iso's learned from the others during their previous drinking endeavors. Something that Breach had brought back from his hometown in Sweden. Apparently it's pretty expensive, according to Breach. But Gekko's birthday was apparently a special enough occasion for the Swed to go and buy some for him.

The assassin can't imagine having to drink half a shot of that . The thought sends his insides twisting uncomfortably.

Killjoy takes another look around the room. "Everyone got that? If so, we'll be starting off with a shot of soju to kickstart our game!"

The collective noise of understanding is almost immediate from everyone but the lone assassin. Iso watches as the joy-cons are handed out to each of the other agents as they also, one by one, raise the shot glasses and take their shot. When Iso is handed his joy-cons and soju shot, he's not sure about any of this anymore.

There's a hand around his shoulder that pulls him closer, and he turns to look at the source. Gekko, with a surprisingly sincere expression, as he speaks just for the two of them. "You don't have to drink, if you really don't wanna. Just play with us."

Iso's head turns away. He's aware. The problem is that he feels compelled to try. For some reason, he really wants that weird feeling in his gut that the sip earlier had given him. And he wants Gekko to feel that satisfaction Iso had seen in his features at watching the other finally give in and let his walls down. To finally break his 'reputation'.

So Iso downs his shot, being the last of the agents to do so. And he doesn't let his displeasure with the drink be too apparent, because he knows the other's probably looking. The liquid goes down fast and burns on the way down, just as it did before, leaving his insides and his chest uncomfortably hot.

But there's a short lived pleasant feeling as the liquor works through the system. Iso thinks that's what he likes. That feeling, and the warmth that spreads to his cheeks. It's like the feeling that one gets after a successful mission. That sweet, short-lived rush.

When Gekko notices his action, Iso can sense it in the way the fingers of his left hand squeeze his right shoulder just once. It's a tiny thing. Barely even there, if one wasn't paying attention to every detail like Iso was. And Iso feels an almost sickening amount of satisfaction from the small touch.

God, when had the two of them gotten so close that these small actions could have such a huge effect on him? When did his personal space bubble shrink from a ten foot radius to only five inches?

It's scary to think about. So, he pushes the thoughts away. He's here to play a drinking game, after all. Not dwell on his own confusing feelings and their origins. He has to focus on the matter at hand, and on winning, at that. If he doesn't want to end up having to drink the disgusting Finnish absinthe. Which is, unfortunately, easier said than done. Iso's not exactly a pro at Mario Kart.

The group of eight start the match. They choose their characters and the cup they want to play. The characters are chosen at random since it doesn't really matter, and the Mushroom Cup is picked for them to play. It's a basic cup, for beginners. Shouldn't be too hard to place decent. At least, that's what he thinks before they begin. Iso quickly finds out that he was very, very , wrong.

It's not the game itself that's difficult. It's the fact that the rest of the players are so competitive. Apparently all evidence of their motor skills being affected by their drinks is nonexistent. They're still as good as ever.

Meanwhile, Iso has only ever played this game once, maybe twice with Gekko, and he's pretty sure the other man was going easy on him. So Iso's not used to the controls and keeps falling off of maps and getting hit by various items from the other agents. It's a little embarrassing how badly he's struggling. Maybe if he was sober it'd be easier.

Needless to say, he places dead last in the first race. And he's stuck with a shot of tequila. While the rest of the agents are cheering and jeering at their opponents and celebrating their own victories, Iso's reaching for the tequila shot glass. Regretting his life choices. He's trying not to let his frustration show, but it must be pretty obvious, because he hears someone snickering from the couch opposite him.

Iso's head whips around, and his glare is met with a shit-eating smirk, coming from Jett. She really has the nerve to laugh at his misery. He can't imagine how she could be enjoying his loss, when she herself is drinking a shot of whiskey. Though, at the same time, he can kind of see how someone as competitive as her would enjoy seeing other people losing.

"Something funny?"

He's met with more snickering. "Yeah, actually," Jett replies between her laughter. "Just watching you struggle. You're awful at this."

"You placed sixth. You're drinking too."

"Yeah, but not as bad as you."

She has a point, and the fact that she does irritates Iso more than the loss itself. It shouldn't bother him. He knows it's stupid, but it does. Maybe it's the fact that the only other person who has seen him play is Gekko, and he never commented on his skill. Or lack thereof. He'd simply laughed it off and offered Iso a chance for a rematch.

Jett's words just strike some sort of nerve. He's not about to let her win that easily.

The woman lifts her own shot glass off the table, raising it up high before tilting her head back and downing it. The way her face twists in a grimace is enough to make him feel a bit better about his own predicament.

So Iso drinks his shot too. His decision is immediately followed by a wave of regret. Because the liquor tastes absolutely horrid. It's bitter and burns his throat much worse than soju and whatever Gekko had given him earlier. Iso can't help but scrunch his face in disgust. It makes Jett laugh harder, and the assassin's tempted to just flip her off.

"Play better next time," she says, and Iso can't even think of a witty remark. He's too focused on how gross the tequila tastes. It's awful.

The next race starts all too soon. Iso feels like he hasn't even fully recovered from the last one, but he feels like he's playing somewhat better. Or the others are just worse. Either way, he doesn't care, as long as it means he won't be stuck with tequila again. This time, when the race ends, he's placed in fifth. Just barely avoiding the worst spot.

At least the whiskey doesn't taste quite as bad. Just strong. It burns like hell on its way down his throat. And he can't seem to swallow fast enough, and there's this feeling like it might come back up if he opens his eyes. But that passes fairly quick, and then all that remains is the heat and a lingering buzzing in his head.

By the end of the fourth race, he's already downed another two shots of whiskey. It makes the next match far harder to navigate as his reflexes aren't as sharp, and the whole game starts to melt together. Before Iso can really tell, he's no longer paying much attention to his position or whether he's winning or losing, just focusing on trying his best to stay ahead. The loud cheers in the common area as well as the music and sound effects onscreen start to meld together, making him feel dizzy.

But it's a good kind of dizzy. Everything is soft and blurry at the edges. He feels light. Giddy.

To his surprise, he doesn't even end up in last place at the end of it all. Barely sixth, but it's enough to save him from drinking that vile absinthe. Phoenix ends up being the one to take the shot. And he's absolutely miserable when his face makes contact with the shot glass.

Though his attention on the scene quickly disappears when a certain someone leans heavily against him. The other man is grinning at him like an absolute goofball. Unfocused, with his eyes lidded halfway as he whispers to him. Well, maybe it's more accurate to call it a poor imitation of whispering, when his voice is loud enough that everyone else could hear him clearly. Had anyone been paying attention.

"Good game," he tells Iso. "Didn't think ya would actually place higher than last."

His hand reaches to grab Iso's, fingers intertwining clumsily. And Iso lets him.

"Ouch," Iso replies. It's meant to sound snarky or offended. But instead it comes out far less aggressive. "You really didn't have much faith in me, hm?" There's no real malice behind the question. He knows he wasn't the best player in their previous matches together. That much has already been established.

"No, I meant—" his words are slurred. He takes one hand away and rubs his eyes. "Ya did better than before, and— it's good, you're doin' a lot better. With everything."

Iso blinks. His mind is too hazy to fully process what Gekko's trying to say.

"What?"

"You're doing good," Gekko repeats himself, as if that'll make things any clearer. It doesn't. "I'm proud of you."

It's not something he ever expected to hear from anyone. It's a nice sentiment. It's just hard to take it seriously when the person telling him is drunk, slurring their words, and can barely keep their eyes open. It makes Iso want to laugh. But he can't, not when he's also drunk and can feel the world around him spinning.

"I— You're saying the dumbest shit," Iso tells him. His free hand reaches up and ruffles the other's green locks. They're surprisingly soft against his palm. He likes the way the other leans into his touch. "Dumber than usual. Maybe I'm even dumber for thinking you sounded wise for two whole seconds."

It gets a smile on the other's face, despite the light-hearted jab at him. And Iso thinks about how beautiful of a smile it is.

God. That is definitely something that the sober version of Iso would never dare say, or think, of him.

The night doesn't stop there. As soon as their first game of Mario Kart is finished, they start up another grand prix with a different cup. Iso doesn't even get the chance to protest. Because his body is acting on auto-pilot, and he doesn't really have much control over what he wants. Or rather, his wants are a bit more... selfish, right now. It's more focused on having fun with his colleagues. With Gekko, especially.

This round of drinking and Mario Kart goes by even faster than before, though not because he's necessarily getting any better at the game. Rather, he starts to not care so much about his placement, which allows the alcohol to truly take hold and blur his senses. He doesn't remember drinking the second shot of tequila he downs. Nor the last shots of soju, or whiskey.

Instead, he's too focused on how Gekko's hands keep lingering in places he wouldn't dare while sober. Always subtle. Barely grazing. As if trying to not bring any attention to themselves. One moment his hand is resting comfortably on Iso's left knee. The next, the very same hand has found it's way trailing up his inner thigh. And then back down, before repeating it all over again.

It makes it even more difficult for Iso to focus. If he had any hopes of winning at Mario Kart, they were quickly dashed by those hands.

And Iso doesn't even know what the fuck to do in return. His own hands stay put on his controller. It's almost infuriating how one-sided this all feels, but at the same time, he's not sure what's appropriate to reciprocate with. Especially in front of other people. He doesn't even want to think about the kind of situation that would arise if he tried to do something, anything, in retaliation. But it's so hard to think straight with those warm hands teasing and teasing and—

"Well well well," Killjoy's voice snaps Iso out of whatever trance he's fallen into. Her words cut through the fog of the alcohol, bringing his focus back to the present moment. She's looking at him with a smirk that's just as mischievous as Jett's had been. "Looks like we have our loser for this cup."

It takes a moment for Iso to realize what she's referring to. The assassin looks at the screen. Sure enough, there it is. His name in the bottom slot of the rankings, just beneath Yoru, who barely managed to scrape by with seventh. When had the race even ended? Had Iso even finished it at all? He can't remember.

He also doesn't even get a chance to protest or even complain. Because his mouth feels too dry. His tongue feels like it's tied up in knots, unable to speak properly. All he can manage is a dumbfounded, "Huh?"

Raze snorts from across from him. She's already downing her shot of soju, having been fourth. "Hope you're prepared, because you're gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow."

Killjoy is quick to follow, giggling to herself as she sips from her whiskey. Her expression turns a bit smugger. "Ja. Have fun with that, Iso. I'll be surprised if you can even make it to the morning." She looks over at Gekko, nodding to the bottle of absinthe sitting on the table, "Would you mind doing the honors, Gekko? Make sure he gets the right dose."

Iso feels like he's going to throw up. And not from the idea of drinking the absinthe.

His eyes catch a glimpse of Gekko's hand retreating from its spot on the inside of his thigh, the feeling of absence immediately being felt in its wake. There's a small hum as Gekko takes the shot glass in his free hand, and picks up the bottle of absinthe, pouring the shot glass full. Some of it spills onto the coffee table, but no one seems to care. That problem is for whoever has to clean up this mess.

When it's filled up to the halfway point, he sets the bottle back on the table and picks up the glass with both of his hands. The liquid sloshes around the shot glass, threatening to spill over the edge. But somehow, it doesn't.

There's a pause, where they're both staring at each other. And Iso can see it in his eyes, that look. Like earlier. That intense stare, with the way his eyes narrow slightly as they roam over his face. And his gaze stops at Iso's lips again, like before. His tongue darts out to lick at his own, leaving a shine.

"What if we shared the shot?" Gekko's voice is low. It makes something in the pit of Iso's stomach churn. "Since I kinda distracted you. S'not fair to make you suffer through all of it alone." His mouth curls upwards, just a little. It's playful.

And Iso feels that same feeling again. Like he's about to burst into flames. Or do something stupid.

So he says the stupid thing.

"...Do whatever you'd like."

A grin slowly spreads across Gekko's face. He brings the shot glass closer to his own lips, and Iso expects him to only drink half of it per their agreement. Instead, the birthday boy throws his head back and downs all of it. The entire glass of liquor is drained within a few seconds, and then it's gone. And for a moment Iso thinks Gekko is a fucking dumbass.

That thought disappears as Gekko sets down the shot glass and lunges at him. Suddenly his back meets the sofa cushion beneath him with a force, the crown of his head bumping against the polyester, cushioned by one of Gekko's hands. Iso sees stars for a split second, his stomach swooping. A startled, shaky breath escapes his lips.

And then there's another hand holding him there, pressed against his collarbone. It moves from his collar to cup his chin, and tilt his face up. He blinks, the stars disappearing.

There's only Gekko, hovering over him like an eclipse. Replacing the light of the room above them with a dark shadow. His face is so close, eyes searching. Looking for an objection. A reason to stop.

He's not getting either.

So their mouths connect, followed by vague shouts of encouragement and cheers in the back. Iso feels himself shudder, and gasps at how forceful it is. Yet his lips still part in invitation. And it's an invitation that gets answered with an eager, almost excited energy. As if he's been holding this back.

Liquid fire pours into his open, accepting throat. It's absolutely vile, and it leaves a horrible aftertaste with a strong burning sensation that lingers in his mouth. He nearly chokes. The burning is like a punch to the gut, hitting him with an overwhelming intensity. Making him cough, though his coughs are muffled against the lips that refuse to budge from their place on him.

He swallows it all down in two gulps. Some of it spills, dripping past their mouths and onto the sofa and fabric of Iso's hoodie, though that's the least of his concerns right now. The heat still persists. And so does the kiss. Or whatever the hell one would call this.

Gekko's tongue runs over his, lapping at the last traces of the disgusting drink. As if trying to soothe that burning itch. And Iso's own, hesitant tongue responds in turn. He can feel Gekko shifting from where he'd been previously, and there are hands sliding over and around him. Fingertips trace circles along his sides before dipping downwards and settling on the small of his back.

His brain buzzes, and Iso lets out the tiniest of sounds, his free hand flying up to hold onto something. Anything. His fingers cling onto the fabric of Gekko's top, pulling him in as a shuddery whimper is swallowed into a deeper kiss. Iso's eyes are lidded as he stares up at the other. All the assassin sees is a flash of that intense, dark look before those pretty eyelashes flutter, hiding from him again.

A small hum of a groan rises in Iso's throat. His mind is swimming in the sensation. He has half a mind to push Gekko away, to tell him to quit being so... fucking... whatever. He can't even come up with a coherent thought.

"Hoy, get a room you two!" Neon's voice breaks out between their heated moment. She laughs after saying it.

Gekko finally lets up. Iso sucks in some much needed oxygen as they separate. That warmth lingering still, even after all that absinthe has disappeared. The two of them turn to look at her, Gekko wearing a slight smirk.

"Damn, can't a guy have fun at his own party without being judged?" He teases back as his hand rests atop Iso's. The one he had placed on the back of his head earlier. "Maybe we will get a room. Whaddya think, Iso?"

There's a silent request in his eyes when their gazes cross again, even if that same, teasing smile lingers. And Iso knows exactly what it's asking. He's certain that the other would back off if Iso denied the silent request. Gekko is respectful enough for that.

But he can't seem to get himself to say 'no'— not when that burning itch from before has only intensified from that kiss. And it's a craving that needs to be satiated. The alcohol has only added to that hunger in his stomach. Like a drug addict chasing his next fix. His head nods once in confirmation, before a shaky 'okay' leaves his lips.

"Okay." He repeats again. "I guess we could— do that." He doesn't have to be more clear.

That gets him a bright, wide smile, the kind that Iso finds so incredibly charming. Gekko helps him off of the couch. They barely acknowledge any of their colleagues as they leave, and neither of them pay any mind to the few snarky remarks they receive from Jett or Phoenix.

Both men leave the room and stumble down the empty, dark hallway, heading for the elevator. The door shuts behind them, with Gekko pressing on the up elevator button before turning to face him.

He's giving that look again, and his hands reach out for Iso's waist. When the assassin doesn't stop him or give a signal to pull back, he tugs Iso closer.

"The absinthe tasted disgusting. Don’t…tell B-man I said that."

Iso huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, it did." His arms circle around Gekko's neck, fingers tracing his jaw, then moving upwards. They play with his ear. "And I won’t. I expected nothing less of something Breach picked out. Three hundred dollars? That's an crazy amount for something that tastes so fucking bad."

Gekko grins. His forehead bumps with Iso's, gently pressing them together.

"It's about the experience , man." is Gekko's answer. Then he adds, "...And it was worth it, though. Because of you."

It gets his face feeling hot all over. But he's not gonna let Gekko have all the glory of seeing his flushed cheeks. His hand cups the base of Gekko's head, and tilts it towards his own. There are soft gasps of laughter between the both of them when Iso's mouth misses and his lips end up landing somewhere just above the corner of Gekko's own, but it works. Iso can hide from Gekko's wandering gaze this way.

"...Yeah," he breathes out a reply in between their laughter and the pressing of lips to each other's faces, wherever they can land a hit. "You just wanted to see if I'd let you kiss me. You got lucky this time."

"Damn. I'm that obvious?" he jokes. "Can't fault me though, can you?"

Iso rolls his eyes. "Mmm, guess not. Happy birthday."

He mumbles it into the side of the man's neck, planting his own feather light kisses along it. It gets him another low laugh. The vibration is felt against his own lips, sending chills across his skin. Gekko's fingers move to thread themselves in the hair behind Iso's neck, messing with it and raking through the messy mop of raven locks. The feeling makes a soft sigh leave the smaller man as his grip on his partner tightens.

The sound of the elevator ding signals its arrival, and they both barely step away in time to walk towards it. The metal doors open for the both of them to take, and there are two pairs of feet, walking inside, and then the doors shut.

Iso pushes the top floor button, the elevator starting its journey up a second layer. There are no words that pass between the two, but the silence is not awkward at all. Rather, there is something else. Anticipation, perhaps. Tension. He can feel Gekko watching his reflection through the mirror-polished surface on the metal. The shorter male's gaze never wavers, nor falters.

There is another 'ding'. And the doors open to the residential floors of HQ, quiet save for the hum of the fluorescent lights above. Both men stumble out in a hurry, not caring about how disheveled and desperate the display makes them appear to be. Keeping each other from tripping over their own legs as they head down the hallway to Gekkko's bedroom.

They stop in front of the door labeled with the number '22' on the front. Iso watches with an amused smile as Gekko clumsily presses his hand against the biometrics scanner, trying to get it to read properly. It shouldn't be difficult to have one's hand up against the wall, but Gekko is trying his best and can hardly stay upright, let alone keep a hand on the scanner. But after a few moments, a quiet beep indicates his access granted and the door opens in a small hiss, revealing the dark room inside.

It's a little messy at first glance. Clothes overflowing from the hamper, several wrappers strewn across his night stand, the trash overflowing with various items. But it's a controlled chaos. One that fits Gekko quite well, in its own strange and amusing way. But that's not relevant right now.

What is relevant, though, is Iso being pulled forward into the room. He barely has time to catch his footing again when his back meets the wall beside the doorway. The door behind them shuts, closing in its quiet hiss. And his lips are once again met with those same eager, hungry kisses. Though this time, Iso finds himself responding with similar energy. Now there are no observers. Nobody to make embarrassing remarks about the state they're in together.

So, he can be selfish. He deserves a moment of selfishness. Even though it goes against all rational logic. Even if this will come to be something that haunts his every waking moment after tonight.

"Iso," Gekko breathes his name out in a low sigh as his hands slip underneath the assassin's hoodie, and his fingers splay across the fabric of the t-shirt beneath. The warmth of his palms leave a burning sensation in the wake of his touches. Like he wants to feel everything and anything that's beneath those pesky layers of clothing. "You're— so fucking hot. Y'know that?"

Iso nearly laughs. He bites his lip, trying to keep himself composed. "Am I?"

A low hum. Gekko leans in to kiss and suck on Iso's neck. "Mhm. You are."

His hands start to push the hoodie upwards, revealing the rest of the white undershirt. Iso pushes forward off of the wall a bit to allow the large clothing article to be pulled over and off. Those warm fingers return to his torso, sliding up and over the contours. Feeling, memorizing each rise and dip of his skin.

Iso's left knee finds itself resting in the crook where Gekko's hips meet his thighs. He grinds that knee upwards to see if he can get a reaction. And he does.

A breathless, low noise rises up from the man in front of him, who leans forward into his shoulder, burying his face in Iso's neck. That sound sends the heat straight downwards, a shudder following close. A hand grips the front of his shirt. Iso's own hands move, one hand going to rest upon his partner's thigh for balance, while the other finds itself resting in a mess of green locks.

"Sorry," he whispers an apology against Gekko's scalp.

But he doesn't receive anything back, aside from a small hum, which is enough. The knee between Gekko's legs rocks slowly against the growing heat, causing Gekko to sigh into his neck again.

What confuses him, however, is the lack of physical evidence that the other man is affected by his ministrations. It doesn't seem like there is anything happening in Gekko's sweatpants, but maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. After all, the noises, his expressions and actions all show how affected the man is. At least, he hopes.

Iso doesn't get to think about it for long, thank god. Gekko pulls back, reaching out for him. He holds both sides of the assassin's face, looking at Iso with this gaze that makes him want to melt. Gentle thumbs stroke over his cheekbones, slow and sweet, making a soft sigh pass his own lips.

"Bed," is all Gekko says. And Iso nods in agreement, letting himself be pulled by his arms towards the unmade bed. The back of knees hit the edge, and he falls onto it with a soft fwump .

He scoots backwards, his back meeting the soft pillows that smell like the man hovering above him. Sweet like vanilla. It's such a warm scent. Comforting.

The mattress sinks as Gekko climbs on top of him. There's that look again. Intense and focused, dark and wanting. It makes the heat in Iso's stomach intensify. His legs spread to accommodate Gekko between them. Those same hands from before push underneath his shirt, rucking it up and over his chest.

Gekko smiles. "Que lindo." 

Iso's cheeks feel hot. And it only grows as his shirt is pulled up and over, leaving his chest exposed to the cool air. The clothing article is discarded somewhere to the side. His eyes follow the motion of the shirt, then look back to Gekko when it lands on the rug. He's not sure what to say, so he doesn't speak. Just watches and waits for what will happen next.

He's rewarded with more kisses. They're scattered all over, from his jawline, to his collarbone, and down his chest. Each press of Gekko's mouth against his skin is like a shock of electricity that sends shivers through his entire body.

It's accompanied by a slight pressure applied to his inner thighs, trailing higher up. He's left panting quietly beneath the other as those hands tease him through the thick fabric of his sweatpants. Squeezing his half hard length. It's torture. And Iso's not sure if he loves or hates it. But he doesn't want it to stop.

Wanting to return the favor in some way, Iso reaches downwards between their bodies. His hand sneaks beneath the band of Gekko's pants, trailing against the coarse hairs that grow along his pelvis until it rests atop the front of the other's boxers, and he tries to search for something.

But... there isn't anything. No sign of any sort of bulge, or any indication that the other man is aroused at all other than a small patch of moisture at the front.

And then it hits him. Iso's eyes widen, and he stares at the ceiling for a second, just processing. He doesn't mean to seem so surprised. But he can't help the way his brain seems to stop working momentarily. It's not bad, or a turn off. It's just unexpected. Because it never occurred to him before, and now it's all that occupies his mind.

But the way he freezes up must seem off to Gekko. Because the kisses halt, and the hands stop. When Iso looks down again, he notices the look in the other's eyes. Worry. Fear.

"Sorry, I forgot—" Gekko starts to pull back, his voice small. "If this is— I mean, if you don't want to..."

Iso's heart sinks. He doesn't want Gekko to feel embarrassed. Or rejected. "It's okay." He says quickly. His free hand moves to cup the side of the other man’s face, pulling him back in. "I didn't know. It's alright, Gekko."

Gekko's shoulders relax. His expression softens. It's not quite a smile, not yet. But he seems less tense, at least.

"You sure?"

Iso nods. He leans forward and presses a reassuring kiss against Gekko's lips, lingering for a few seconds. When they part again, there's a hint of a smile on his face. "Of course."

Gekko seems to consider his words. Then, slowly, the smile returns. The worry is gone. And Iso can see the relief written clearly in Gekko's features. How that tension in his face has vanished, how his shoulders are no longer tensed.

That makes Iso relax more in turn. The hand in Gekko's pants shifts, rubbing against that spot, trying to coax out some sort of noise from the smaller man. A pleased sigh escapes through those pretty lips, a shiver following. Gekko's thighs are trembling in an effort to stay still. And Iso's finding that the reactions are addicting.

Usually, he'd want to take his time with this. But that fire that's burning in his core makes it impossible to stay still. He wants to see him too. To touch him. Iso's other hand reaches up to grasp the fabric of Gekko's sweater.

"Off," he says in between his heavy breathing, "take it off. Please."

Iso can feel Gekko's grin in his skin. He lifts himself up, pulling away from Iso, who whines softly. But then he's pulling his sweater over his head and shoulders, tossing it aside along with his t-shirt. He doesn't remove his tape bindings though. Leaving his chest wrapped and covered, though Iso doesn't mind one bit.

Not when he's admiring everything he sees. Tan, freckled skin, lithe muscle. The slightest amount of pudge to Gekko's stomach. His body is beautiful. Every single bit of it. From his arms and his chest, the curve of his shoulders and the slope of his neck, the line of his hip bones just visible above his sweatpants.

The sight takes his breath away.

Soon their sweatpants and boxers follow, forming a heap with the other discarded clothes. Now both men are naked and exposed on Gekko's bed, nothing in the way of each other's gaze. Gekko settles between his thighs again. There's nothing separating them but the cool air of the bedroom.

A hand wraps around Iso's cock. It's a sudden touch that causes him to gasp, but the noise is swallowed up by a hungry mouth. His head falls back. A quiet, stuttering moan escapes from his throat.

Gekko is doing no better than him. Iso can feel the other man's slick dripping onto his heated skin as he ruts his dick against Iso's thigh. He's grinding into the limb, desperate. Creating a wet mess that makes everything slippery. His moans are breathy and quiet, muffled against the column of Iso's throat. And Iso can't get enough of the sounds.

Despite being turned on beyond belief, it's taking a surprising amount of effort for him to get fully hard. Even with Gekko's warm hand stroking his length. There's the occasional squeeze and tug, and his hips try to buck upwards into the fist. But still nothing. Or rather, barely anything.

As if reading his mind, the hand stalls. There's a slight laugh, which gets him to pout and look back down. Gekko is smiling at him, leaning over his abdomen to stare up at him with a hint of amusement. It makes Iso's face feel hot. For the first time in what feels like his entire life, he's... genuinely embarrassed.

"Sorry, I don't know why—" he begins, but the words die in his throat. He doesn't know what he can say. "It's not because of you. I promise, it's not—"

Gekko interrupts him with an actual laugh this time, his hand continuing to work him up the best it can. "It's okay," he tells him. "It happens. Whiskey dick, y'know?"

"...Whiskey dick?"

"Yeah. When ya get drunk, it's harder to get hard."

Iso feels his face heating up even more at the simple explanation. It makes sense, he guesses, but that doesn't mean it's not humiliating. "Oh."

"Mmhm. But it's fine," Gekko murmurs. There's this devilish glint in his eyes. "I can work with this."

Iso's not sure what that means. But he can feel his heart skip a beat. "You can?"

Gekko grins. "Yeah. Just trust me."

The smaller man continues his ministrations. The way he strokes Iso is more deliberate now, slower. Every so often, he'll rub his palm against the underside of the head of his dick, and it makes a small jolt run through Iso's body. The other hand, the one that isn't currently occupied, moves to press against his own dick. It's rubbing in circular motions, which makes his hips twitch. The wet slide is obscene. But it feels so good.

Iso's head falls back against the pillow again, his mouth opening with a soft sigh as he watches. Every little thing that Gekko does is driving him insane. The way he touches him. The way he's touching himself. The way he's looking at him like he's something precious. It's making his toes curl and his legs shake ever so slightly. His cock is twitching, and despite its semi-soft state, there's a growing heat in the pit of his stomach.

"Fuck." The word leaves Gekko's mouth in a breathless pant. "Need more."

Iso is in a daze. He blinks up at Gekko, who's hovering over him. His pupils are blown wide with desire, and a pretty blush has settled on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His breathing is heavy, and the hand on Iso's cock is still moving. He's looking right at him, expectant.

"What do you want?" Iso asks after a moment. He's still catching up.

"You. Inside." is the answer he gets. It's short, simple, and to the point. "Please, Iso. I wanna feel it."

He's not even given a chance to properly respond before Gekko is clumsily flipping their positions, his back hitting the mattress, bringing Iso with him. Iso's cock slides between his legs, pressing against his dick. The slick mess of heat there feels heavenly. It's warm and inviting, and Iso wants nothing more than to sink into it. To feel that wet heat around him.

But he's still not fully erect yet, and it makes Iso's face heat in embarrassment again. But his partner doesn't seem to care. Gekko's legs wrap around his waist, pulling him close until there's no space left between them. His hands rest on Iso's shoulders, trailing down to rest on his back, pulling him closer. He grinds up again, rubbing himself against the underside of Iso's shaft.

The friction is delicious. It's enough to have Iso's eyes flutter shut, his breath leaving him in shaky pants.

"Shit—" he hisses. He braces himself, his elbows on either side of Gekko's body.

Gekko chuckles lightly. But there's something strained underneath that laugh. "You good?"

The assassin nods, unable to find his words. His hips give an involuntary thrust, sliding between Gekko's slick folds. Still not entering quite yet. And it makes him whimper.

He feels a hand slide between them, with two fingers slipping into that mess. They sink into that welcoming heat with a lewd squelch, which is met with a breathy gasp from Gekko. He works himself open for a moment. Then those same fingers wrap around the head of Iso's dick, pulling the length down so that it presses against the source of that slickness before sliding off and away. And now Iso is lined up properly with his entrance.

Well, as properly as he can be with his cock not at its full size, at least. If it weren't for the alcohol and Gekko's earlier reassurances, Iso might have actually been upset at this predicament. But he can't find it in himself to be. Especially not when the person under him is making those pretty noises and looking at him like that. It's a blessing and a curse, really.

"Do you have a condom?" Iso asks, still trying to think straight. His brain is muddled from the alcohol and the arousal. It's a miracle that he even thought about it at all, if he's being honest. "We need—"

Gekko shakes his head. "Don't have one. Don't care." he cuts Iso off, leaning up to press a kiss against Iso's lips. He can taste the lingering burn of absinthe. "It's okay."

The words make him shudder, and suddenly every alarm bell in Iso's head is ringing. Telling him that this is a bad idea. He's drunk. They're both drunk, and this is going to have consequences. There will be repercussions. He needs to stop. To slow down, to think about the situation.

"But you— we shouldn't. What if you get..."

Iso doesn't finish the thought. He doesn't have to. Gekko's expression softens slightly. It's fond, amused, and just the slightest bit exasperated. But it's a good look on him nonetheless. His eyes are so damn beautiful. Like molten honey.

"Then you'll have to be my baby daddy, I guess," he tells him with a laugh, "and take care of me and our lil one."

And Iso can feel his heart stop. His throat closes up. It's a joke, of course it is. Gekko's teasing him, and it shouldn't have made him react this way. He doesn't know why he did.

"I... Gekko—"

But he's interrupted again. This time with another kiss. A deeper, longer one that steals what's left of the air from his lungs. "I'm joking," Gekko assures him. There's a sad smile on his lips as he glances away, avoiding Iso's eyes. Like he's been reminded of something painful. "I'm not gonna get pregnant, don't worry. It was a… joke."

The way he says it is enough to make Iso realize there's some kind of story there. Some kind of past. But now isn't the time or place for it, and it's none of his business if Gekko doesn't want to share. Tonight is Gekko's special night, and Iso doesn't want to ruin it. Doesn't want to spoil the mood, especially with the other man still underneath him. Still wet, warm, and willing.

And the alarms that were going off in his head earlier have died. Suppressed by the mixture of several different alcohols and the feeling of Gekko. Sober Iso would probably hate him for this later, but the decision is already being made for him. He'll deal with the consequences tomorrow. He wants to take care of his this beautiful, perfect person beneath him, even if neither of them will remember it the next morning.

Sober Iso can hate him later. Sober Gekko, on the other hand... he hopes that sober Gekko doesn't feel the same.

So, he lets go.

Iso leans down, closing the distance between them and capturing Gekko's mouth with his own once more. His hips rock forward. And despite the whiskey dick, Iso's cock is just barely hard enough for it to slip into the warm heat. The feeling of being surrounded, enveloped and caressed in such a manner has him sighing into his partner’s mouth.

It's like heaven on earth. And Gekko is his angel. An angel that makes a high pitched whimper as Iso enters him. Whose thighs squeeze tight around Iso, who trembles as he feels the muscles flexing there, trying to hold him still. Trying to keep him inside.

"Oh fuck—" Iso groans, breaking away from their kiss. "You're so warm, Gekko..."

"Mmm," Gekko hums. His arms wrap around the back of Iso's neck, holding him close. "S'nice, right?"

"Yes. God, yes."

Gekko chuckles, scratching his nails gently down Iso's back. He's a lot more composed than Iso right now. Not the reaction that the assassin was hoping for in all honesty. He knows that without being at his fullest size, the effect isn't nearly as impactful. Especially with how drunk they both are. But he'll still try. He has to.

So he pulls out. Just enough for the tip to stay in before pushing back in, as deep as he can manage. Their pelvises grind against each other for a moment as Iso tries to get as far as possible. And Iso is finally rewarded for his efforts.

The other man lets out a whiny, stuttering moan. Sweet music to his ears that he wants to hear on repeat. It makes Iso's heart soar and a sense of accomplishment settles within his core. So he does it again. Again, he pulls almost fully out of the slick entrance, and thrusts in as much as he's physically able to.

Again. Another cry.

And again. He keeps doing it, setting up a pace, slow yet steady, wanting to savor every little sound, every single reaction, all for himself. He wants Gekko to feel good. Wants to make him feel amazing. Maybe it would be enough for him to remember how good he feels, even when he's sober.

"Iso. Iso. Iso, please ." The words fall from Gekko's mouth with a needy sob. "Yeah, just like that. Keep going. You're doing— mmmm, so good for me."

Hearing this makes a whine escape from his own mouth, muffled into the crook of Gekko's neck. Every bit of praise is making his heart pound. And god does it motivate him to keep thrusting. To not give into that part of his mind telling him how sloppy and graceless this all is.

His hand sneaks downward between their bodies, finding Gekko's own swollen dick and pressing. Rubbing with a circular motion, in sync with the movements of his own hips. His fingers catch and slip over that sensitive spot at the end, which is met with an arched back and a lewd moan.

"Yes! Yesyes. Just like that, just—!" Gekko's words are broken apart, interrupted by more pretty noises and shuddered breathes. His arms squeeze around Iso tighter. "Don't stop, don't—"

Iso doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon.

His thumb is rubbing across that spot repeatedly. Each swipe, stroke, or firm press coaxes more of those sweet cries from Gekko. Until the smaller man's body begins to tense, tightening like a vice around him. Gekko's muscles clamp down around his cock, squeezing and contracting rhythmically. And his legs tighten so firmly around Iso, he's afraid he'll break in two.

He's sweating and tired. And despite not wanting it to end, the effort he's exerting is taking its toll. Still, he doesn't let up, continuing with the pace he set. Pushing through the burning in his muscles. Through the ache that's beginning to set in. Iso's body feels like it's on fire from the exertion, and it only adds to the heat he can feel building up within him.

The bed creaks with every thrust. Gekko's moans have become higher in pitch, and his words are slurred together as they echo against the four walls of his room. Barely coherent. And it's such a lovely sound. Coupled with the squelching of Gekko's pussy, and the slap of skin against skin. A filthy song plays, solely for them to listen and enjoy.

"God, you're so pretty," Iso finds himself mumbling without thinking. But it's true. Gekko is by far the most beautiful human being he's ever laid eyes on, even when he looks like he's falling apart. Even when his hair is disheveled and sticking to his forehead with sweat, or his face is flushed pink with his pupils blown wide with pleasure. "So pretty..."

"S-Stop it," Gekko breathes, voice hitching at the end. He's wearing a watery smile, and he rolls his hips upwards, meeting Iso halfway through another thrust. "You're so corny. 'M not pretty."

That gets a breathless laugh out of the man above him. Iso never took Gekko as the bashful type. He’s apparently fine with being told he feels warm, but not that he’s pretty?

He slows his hips down, and removes his hand from Gekko's dick, planting it besides the birthday boy's head instead. With the sudden pause in all activity, Gekko whines loudly, looking up at him in a haze. Iso stares right back, eyes roving over every bit of his partner that he can see. Like he wants to commit all of it to memory.

It's a shame it'll probably fade when the sun rises. Along with all of this.

But for now, it's a blissful moment in time. Something that Iso never wants to let go of. Ever.

"Alright, fine. I won't say anything if you don't like it," Iso tells him softly.

To his surprise, Gekko shakes his head. "'S not that," he argues weakly. His voice is trembling slightly as he speaks, and there's an emotion hidden within that quavering tone that makes something twinge in Iso's chest. "Just— mmh. It's stupid, don't worry 'bout it." One of Gekko's hands comes up to touch the side of Iso's face. A gentle caress, tracing the shape of his cheekbones. "Call me whatever you'd like. Just don't stop."

Iso smiles, tilting his head to plant a kiss upon Gekko's wrist. He takes it as a sign that he can keep going, so he continues.

"So you're okay with cute? Or maybe handsome. Gorgeous?"

Iso whispers them against the hot skin. He starts up the motion of his hips again, keeping them at a slow pace as he lists out compliments. Each thrust punctuated by another praising remark, spoken in a gentle tone. Most of them seem to be well received. Though some get a strange reaction that he doesn't dwell on. As long as Gekko is feeling good, that's all he cares about.

His fingers return to circling Gekko's dick, rubbing the wetness there along its surface in smooth strokes. The combination of Iso fucking him at a languid speed while rubbing it steadily works Gekko right towards the edge. His eyes are screwed shut, his body twitching and rolling with Iso's every thrust. A steady stream of broken whimpers pours out of his mouth, as well as little huffs and pants of air.

"You're amazing. Absolutely breathtaking," Iso says with a sigh. There are so many things he wishes he could say. So many thoughts he wants to convey, but can't. Words that would most likely ruin the mood.

How Gekko is such a talented person. How his passion shines through everything he does. How he lights up a room just by stepping into it. Or how, despite having been here less than a year, Iso already loves spending time with him. Wishes he could spend even more time with him, even outside of missions. Things that someone like Gekko would most likely brush off as flattery in this scenario.

Things that may just drive a wedge between them if said freely, out in the open. So he swallows down the words. Keeps them to himself.

"And you sound so nice too," is what ends up leaving his lips, because it's easier to say and safer to express. Something innocent. Not so heavy. Not so frightening. "You always do, but this— God, I didn't think..."

Another cry leaves the green-haired man beneath him. Gekko turns away, hiding his face in the pillow, biting down onto it to stifle any more noises that threaten to spill forth from his throat. Iso is having none of it though, and uses the hand that's not rubbing and massaging his partner's dick to gently turn Gekko's head back to face him.

"Don't. Please don't hide. Your voice is beautiful." Gekko whines low in protest at his words. Iso feels his walls clench around him in response as he speaks. "You should let it out more often..."

"Fuck you." Gekko spits out, but the venom is absent. Instead there's only desperation laced in the insult. His back arches off the sheets, hips lifting off the bed with Iso still buried deep inside of him. "Please, I... I need—"

There's no need to explain. They've been playing this game for a while now. Of pushing and pulling. Building up the heat until it's almost boiling over, and then letting it cool off again before repeating. They're both desperate to reach that release, yet the knowledge that they want it so bad makes it sweeter in the moments where it almost happens.

So he pushes Gekko back down, and snaps his hips up, matching the pace that he was at before. Harder, rougher. Not caring anymore if he loses control. Just wanting Gekko to come first. Because Iso doesn't have a clue of if or when he might orgasm due to the amount of alcohol he consumed. All he knows is that he doesn't care about getting off as long as Gekko does.

Iso would give him everything—if only he could. He would give Gekko the world, and then some. Anything he wanted, Iso would do his best to provide. All he had to do was ask.

Is this...normal? For him to think of his friend like this? Perhaps not. But then again, nothing about tonight has been particularly normal. And maybe that's okay, for once. Maybe Iso doesn't have to be in control all the time. Maybe it's alright to let go and allow himself to feel without worrying about what comes next.

Maybe it's alright to be selfish.

And so he is.

He chases after his desires, knowing full well the consequences.

A series of curses and praises tumble from Gekko's lips. All directed at him, telling him how great he feels and sounds. Asking him not to stop and urging him on faster. Hands tug at his hips, encouraging him forward. Nails dig into his back as his partner arches up into him. It all blends together into white noise, but it's still loud and clear as day. Ringing in his ears and filling his head until he thinks he might go insane.

"Iso!"

The shout echoes in his ear. Desperate and hoarse from all the noises Gekko has made, it cuts straight through the haze like a knife slicing butter. And Iso knows what's coming right after.

He rubs the nub of Gekko's dick quickly. The motion is erratic and clumsy, and maybe it's because of that combined with the rough fucking, but it works like a charm. Because moments later, Iso gets to witness something beautiful.

"Oh fuck..." Gekko's voice trails off into a high keen, and Iso can feel the warm, wet gush of fluid that follows. The way the muscles around him contract and release, over and over again. Iso can feel it—all of it. And he wants nothing more than to follow Gekko over the edge. But he holds on. Just for a little longer. Just for a few moments more.

Gekko's orgasm is a thing of beauty. A work of art. And Iso is so thankful to be the one that can witness it. To be the cause of it.

Even through his blurry, alcohol-induced vision, he sees the way Gekko's brow furrows and his jaw drops open mid-moan. How his lashes flutter over those lovely brown eyes that shimmer in the low light. Glistening with unshed tears. There's that pretty flush that runs all the way from his face down to his chest, and that shine of sweat upon the freckled expanse of skin.

He brings a hand up to cup Gekko's cheek. And their eyes meet. Those pretty, chocolate colored eyes. They're glazed over, unfocused. But still bright. Shimmering with unshed tears. And Iso can see his reflection within them, the desire and adoration, and a hint of something else. Something he can't quite put a finger on, but that he recognizes nonetheless.

This is usually the point in which he would reach down to grab his hand, entwining their fingers. Yet there's hesitation to do so. As if an instinct is holding him back from completing that simple act.

Gekko solves his conflict for him. Reaching up with both arms, grabbing Iso's hands by the wrist. And with a smile and an encouraging tug, Iso allows them to be brought down to the mattress and linked with Gekko's. Fingers slot between fingers. Thighs tighten around his waist. His face heats up in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered admiration.

"God, you're...perfect." He doesn't even realize he's said it aloud until he hears the words leave his lips.

Gekko blinks at him owlishly for a second before shooting him a lazy grin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Iso ducks his head, turning to look at where their bodies connect. At the space between his partner's legs and how they cling onto him so nicely. The place where they're joined together, with that delicious wet mess surrounding him, tight and welcoming. It makes his cock throb inside. And Iso can feel the corners of his lips curl up slightly despite the growing ache in his lower half.

The ache becomes more prominent as time goes on, though. Becomes something urgent. An itch he can't quite scratch. Something insistent. Something that tells him to hurry up, to move faster, harder, to find release. And he tries.

With renewed vigor, Iso pushes forward once again, sliding easily into that slick heat. Overstimulation causes Gekko's thighs to quake around him. But he's smiling, nonetheless. Smiling even wider than before. Like there's genuine joy behind those sparkling teeth and shining eyes. Gekko lets his legs fall further apart, allowing Iso easier access.

"Take your time." His words are barely above a whisper, breathless from what transpired just now. "I want you to feel good too, cariño. Cum for me."

Iso nods mutely and obliges. Pressing kisses against the tape bindings and exposed collarbone as his hips stutter, fucking into the overstimulated male underneath him. Groaning at the sensation and sight as Gekko keens beneath him from the sensation, whispering gentle encouragements into his ears.

He loses track of how much longer he lasts. Too lost in the sensations coursing through his body as he continues chasing his own release. Trying to keep himself present enough to focus on Gekko, making sure he stays comfortable even after finishing. But eventually, it all builds up until he can hardly take it anymore.

With a few more shallow thrusts, Iso buries himself as deep as he can and releases. A shuddering moan escapes him as his cock twitches and spurts. Filling Gekko's womb with a hot, sticky mess. He can feel it leaking out around him, running down his length to drip down onto the sheets below them.

The rush is dizzying. His vision goes white, and he can't breathe. He can't think. He can't do anything except ride out the waves of pleasure washing over him. 

His body seizes up, and he jerks forward once more. Twice. Three times. Until finally he collapses on top of Gekko. He's panting hard, lungs burning as he sucks in as much air as possible. His limbs are trembling from the effort he'd put in, and every inch of his body is screaming at him to rest.

Iso can feel Gekko's hands on him, stroking his back. Running through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Bringing him back to reality one sense at a time. He can't help but relax under the touch, even if his mind is racing. Trying to process what just happened. What they'd done together. And what it means for the both of them.

But he's too tired. And he can't seem to form a coherent thought, let alone sentence. So he stays silent, focusing on catching his breath instead. Letting the post-coital bliss wash over him and lull him into a state of calm.

A few minutes pass before he feels Gekko squirm. The man's hips are shifting as if he's uncomfortable. And Iso is suddenly reminded of their compromising position—Gekko laying flat against his own bedsheets and Iso draped atop him. Iso's spent, softening length is still buried within Gekko, slowly slipping out. Iso pushes himself up quickly on his forearms and pulls out with a slick sound.

It makes him bite his lip and sigh softly. He glances downward between them, and can see a mixture of fluids trickling from between Gekko's folds and pooling on his thigh. A pang of guilt shoots through his gut when he thinks back on what they've just done. It's almost enough to sober him up, and yet, it's still so hard. He's still so damn tired.

"Shit," he breathes out. "Did I...was it... Are you alright?"

Iso looks up again. But all that's there on Gekko's face is a dreamy grin, the corner of his mouth tilted upwards as his eyes flutter. He seems content despite everything. Happy even. A sight that makes Iso's heart flutter in his chest. The way he smiles so peacefully and sweetly makes him forget all about the mistakes they might've made.

Gekko shifts and winces at the soreness. He takes a moment to catch his breath before answering him. His tone is light and carefree when he speaks. "Never better."

It's enough to bring a small smile to Iso's lips. It makes the knot of dread that's settled within his chest unravel and loosen its grip. And he allows himself a brief moment of relief.

"I should clean you up." Iso murmurs after another beat of comfortable silence passes between them. "Do you have any...?"

"Top drawer."

Iso nods. With care, he shifts to pull his nightstand's top drawer ajar, grabbing a packet of travel wipes from it. They'll do for now.

The cleanup is quiet, but not awkwardly so. The wipes are cool and wet against their heated skin. Iso takes his time, being sure that he doesn't hurt or bother the other man more than necessary. Wiping off the sweat from his chest first, and then cleaning Gekko up the best that he can with what he has. Then Iso disposes of the dirty tissues in the trash before grabbing their boxers and putting them back onto their respective bodies.

Once he finishes, he flops back down next to Gekko, the exhaustion finally setting in. His eyes are heavy, and he can feel himself drifting. The adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins has dissipated. Leaving him drained and weary. But satisfied nonetheless. And the alcohol in his veins is making it difficult to stay awake.

"Mmm. Thanks," he hears Gekko murmur. He's already curling against Iso, arms winding around his neck and face nuzzling into his shoulder. "Wanna stay. Warm. With you."

The words come out in a drowsy mumble, slurring together as sleep threatens to claim them. And Iso doesn't fight it. He lets himself be dragged under too. Lets himself be lulled by Gekko's soft breaths tickling the side of his throat. By the rhythmic beating of his heart, and the rise and fall of his chest.

Iso closes his eyes. And it's not long before he, too, falls into a peaceful sleep. Forgetting all about the mess they've created until morning. When the harsh reality will finally set in.