Lia stopped suddenly just as Fort slipped into unconsciousness. Looking down upon his slack face, Lia gasped, and released her grip on him. He slumped to the ground, a few drops of blood escaping the wound on his neck before healing an instant later. The girl simply gaped at his lifeless form for a moment, horror dawning upon her as she realized she may have killed him.
She carefully straightened his limp form on the floor, and pressed a hand on his chest, over his heart. Relief, intense and warm, filled her body as she felt a faint but steady thumping. His chest rose slightly with a shallow breath underneath her touch, and she let her own breath out in a rush.
Looking toward the ajar door, Lia wondered how she was going to move him out of the bathroom. She could see the corner of one of the beds, and it seemed grotesque to leave him lying on the bathroom floor. Bracing herself, she scooped him into her arms, planning to drag him as best as she could. As she straightened, however, she found that he seemed to weigh very little, and she was able to maneuver him to the bed with very little effort.
Arranging him on the bed and sliding in next to him, she let her eyes wander over his face. He was even more pale than usual, and his lips were completely void of color. She could feel his blood rushing through her veins as images rushed through her head. It slowly dawned upon her that the images were what Fort was dreaming. She closed her eyes, allowing the images to overtake her, and was soon fast asleep next to Fort, both dreaming of the same memory.
"Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, holding a weak supposal of our worth…"
He was sitting at the bar, downing the last of too many shots of whiskey and sucking smoke out of a cigarette, trying to hide the fact that it was making his eyes water and his lung ache.
"Fuck theatre," he mumbled, his words slurring together. "Fuck Shakespeare, and especially fuck licentious girlfriends who hump Hamlet behind your back." He wasn't talking to anyone particular, which was probably a good thing considering the incomprehensible mutterings that were escaping his lips.
Sliding gracelessly off of the stool on which he was drunkenly perched, he stumbled, causing the man next to him to spill his entire beer down Fort's clean white shirt. He simply stood there, glazed eyes looking upon the giant wet spot now soaking through his once crisp shirt. The man, still clutching his empty beer glass, looked appalled, and yelled something that Fort couldn't hear over the dull roar of bar noise.
Fort indicated that he couldn't hear, and the man jerked his head pointedly toward the bathroom. He numbly followed the man, his mind hazed by the alcohol. All of his senses were dulled, and he did not hear as the lock clicked shut after he had entered, even as the sound echoing through the empty bathroom. He stumbled over to a sink, working at the buttons on his shirt.
His fuzzy mind had already forgotten about the man, but Fort's eyes caught his reflection in the mirror, revealing the grey-eyed stranger hovering just behind him.
The young drunk man spun clumsily around the face the stranger. The man simply stepped forward, reaching toward his half-open shirt. Fort took a quick step back, but was stopped short by the edge of the sink against the small of his back. The man stopped his forward momentum, looking at Fort. Their proximity was closer than Fort usually found comfortable with a man, and yet, he felt drawn to close the short distance, despite his current position of retreat.
The man seemed to sense this acquiescence, and leaned forward, his eyes flicking from Fort's eyes to his lips. The young man was frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. Their lips met, and Fort swallowed a moan. The texture of a man lips against his was an alien sensation, and strangely exciting. Fort tentatively shifted the angle of his mouth, deepening the kiss. His hands were still propped against the sink to support his drunken body, but soon his fingers were itching to explore.
He brought a tentative hand up to the man's chest, lighting brushing the soft material of his shirt. The man moved closer and murmured his approval against Fort's mouth. Through the fog of alcohol Fort felt the sharp stab of arousal. An erection was already stirring in his slacks, a miracle considering the sheer volume of whiskey he had imbibed.
Fort blushed and broke the contact between their lips, lowering his eyes. The man lightly pressed his fingers under Fort's jaw, tilting his face back up.
"What's your name?" Fort blurted. The man smiled a slow careful smile.
"Ambrose. And yours?" His voice was smooth and dark, like a forbidden taste of some dark ripe fruit. Fort was struck with the necessity to lie, to hide his real name from this man that he was strangely attracted to.
