Posts tagged Drunken escapades
Posts tagged Drunken escapades
((Trigger warning: This story involves people under the influence of alcohol in sexual situations, and are therefore unable to give reasoned consent. All parties involved in these situations are in committed relationships, and would likely be getting it on with or without the influence of alcohol, but please take care in relation to your own limits))
“Knave,” Fandral said, his eyes narrowed. “Best you watch your actions.”
Hogun gave him a faint, tight smile. “Defend yourself, if you have the skill.”
For a long, tense moment, they just stared each other down, eyes narrowed, hands out and loose. Fandral moved first, snagging the dice from the table and shaking them between his cupped palms. With a wicked grin, he gave them a toss.
They hit the table and rolled, rattling to a stop. Fandral let out a hoot, pumping a fist in the air. “Aye, a twelve!” he said, smirking at Hogun. “Best that, if it can!”
Hogun nodded, picked up the dice, weighing them in his palm. Without any warning, he flicked one at Fandral, hitting him square in the forehead. “Ow!” Indignant, Fandral clutched his head, sputtering at Hogun. “You cheat!”
Hogun shrugged. “Not against the rules,” he said. He flicked the second one, and Fandral ducked.
“It’s not IN the rules, either!”
“We require a ruling from the field,” Natasha said. She pointed a finger in Tony’s direction. “What says the ruling body?”
They all looked at Tony, who arched an eyebrow, and gave the matter due consideration. “It was hysterical, so I’m going to allow it.” Hogun smirked at Fandral, who threw up his hands, collapsing back against the couch. “Hey, you roll the dice, you take your chances.” Tony took a sip of his coffee, his free hand carding through Steve’s hair. Steve reclined in his lap, head comfortably balanced on Tony’s knees. He was wearing one of Tony’s oversized MIT sweatshirts, and pleased about it. Steve was doing his best to eat from a take-out container, and that wasn’t going well. Luckily, judging by the empty cartons scattered around them, he had to be getting full.
“Why would you allow that?” Sif asked, smiling at Tony. She was sitting cross legged on the floor as Darcy painted her fingernails a fiery orange.
“Sif, we’re playing ‘Mystery Date,’ I have the right to do whatever is possible to maintain my sanity. A better question might be, why are we playing ‘Mystery Date?’”
((Warnings: This story involves people under the influence of alcohol in sexual situations, and are therefore unable to give reasoned consent. All parties involved in these situations are in committed relationships, and would likely be getting it on with or without the influence of alcohol, but please take care in relation to your own limits. ))
“Call,” Steve said, and his voice was unaccountably triumphant.
Tony tossed his cards out, and watched as Steve studied them, his face scrunched up in concentration. He looked at the cards in his hands, then back at Tony’s cards. Tony leaned back and let this play out. It was a nice view, since he’d managed to win most of Steve’s clothes off of him.
Of course, he was missing far more of his own clothes than he’d anticipated, because despite his drunken state, Steve was a damn good poker player. If he could concentrate on not discarding the wrong cards for more than a hand at a time, he’d be a force to reckon with.
As it was, he mostly naked and having a hard time sitting up.
((Warning: This story will contain sexual situations involving individuals under the influence of alcohol, and thus are not capable of full informed consent. All sexual situations will involve established partners who would likely be getting it on with or without the alcohol, but please use caution with respect to your own comfort level. Also, this story will be very silly. I need silly right now.
The first part can be found here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/39391191226/avengers-fic-the-best-of-life-and-asgard-pt-1 ))
“Okay, the important thing is that we all remain calm,” Tony said. He paused. “Mostly me. It’s important that I remain calm.”
There was a moment of silence. “Your attempts appear to be less than successful,” Thor pointed out.
“I would like you to not call attention to that.” Tony choked on a yelp as Steve’s arms closed tight around his waist, lifting him bodily from the floor. “Or this. Don’t call attention to this, either.”
“As you wish,” Thor said, grinning at him. “It is hard to miss, however.”
Tony tried to glare at him, but it wasn’t particularly effective. It was hard to be intimidating when he couldn’t quite manage to get his feet back on the ground. Or when he was pretty damn sure that Steve was sniffing his hair. When Steve sobered up, the two of them were going to have a discussion about this.
“Have we a plan?” Lady Sif asked, because she was a practical sort of lady. Practical and cheerful and with a core of steel that Tony respected. It was she who had made their excuses to their hosts while Thor collected the Warriors Three and gathered everyone here.
She hadn’t so much as blinked at the tableau they’d presented. Tony was impressed by that. Between Clint and Phil canoodling on the couch, Hulk snoring away on the floor, Jane and Darcy doing a cancan style dance with Natasha singing in off-key French, and Steve attempting to get what remained of Tony’s clothes off, it was clear that the situation was completely out of control. Sif had merely arched an eyebrow and hiked up her skirt with one hand, stepping delicately over Hulk’s limp arm and catching a vase that Darcy had decided to throw across the room.
Tony liked Sif. A lot.
“I might be drunk.”
“You are most certainly very drunk, sir.”
Tony considered that. “Armors ares- Armor are- The armors are locked?” he managed at last.
“Yes, sir. I will not permit you to access them, or any of the more dangerous equipment in the workshop. Which is, honestly, just about everything.”
“Jarvis. Always keepin’ me from blowin’ shit up.” Tony saluted the ceiling with his bottle. That was harder than it should’ve been, because he was upside down on the couch, his legs on the backrest, his spine on the seat, and his head and shoulders hanging down towards the floor. As he hefted the bottle in a salute to his AI, he ended up dumping half the contents on his face.
Sputtering, coughing, he flailed towards upright, and unbalanced himself, rolling off the couch and onto the floor with a thump. Which was fine, being facedown on the floor was fine, because at least this way his head would stop spinning.
“I like the floor,” he said, his voice muffled against the concrete.