Now, as transgenics, you and Alec thought that neither of you could get drunk, it’s a safe assumption. So with that assumption, both of you proceeded to drink what felt like a whole liquor store dry, got absolutely shitfaced, and the rest of the night was a blur. What happened, what the hell happened? Max would kill you both.

Ugh, the pounding in your head was killing you.

You’d woken up slowly, and you’d felt a warmth around you that you couldn’t help but lean into and tried to use it as an escape from the dizziness of a hungover. Then the warmth tightened around you, around your waist, and you realised it was a person. Alec, who was bare-chested, spooning you.

Shit, holy shit. You were also bare-torsoed, but your bottom halves were still on. Did you two drunkenly have sex or something? You remembered kisses, heavy breaths, swearing, but nothing that included taking your bottom halves off. Then again, you got too drunk, so maybe you did. Your legs did feel sore.

“Don’t go.” Alec murmured, being an unconsciously clingy bastard in his sleep and nuzzling into your neck, but then a quick slap from you to his arm woke him up. Shit, what the hell? Who dared disrupt his sleep— oh, shit. Fuck, you did. Fuck. Shit.

His first instinct was to look your bare top half over, and not bad, you were actually pretty gorgeous— nope, not the time. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out if he’d gone to third base with you while he was drunk. He was in his boxers, but that didn’t prove anything. Fuck, what if you did?

Why was this so hard to figure out?