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“Baby, are you a prophet?” Zachary asks Dorian, swinging their joined hands between them. “Because…because I can see myself in your future.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
“Love,” Dorian replies with raised eyebrows, “do you know what I can see in your future?”
“Mm?” He bumps into Dorian’s shoulder and he cannot tell if Zachary is being affectionate or just very, very unsteady on his feet.
“ Bed ,” Dorian says with conviction in his voice. “Because you are very intoxicated.” He pauses. “Maybe also something to eat.” He kisses the side of Zachary’s head and Zachary giggles very drunkenly, his glasses slipping almost all the way down his nose; Dorian reaches to push them up.
“Yeah, but…” They are at the door to their apartment now, wandering home from a very long Harbour party that involved a vast amount of drinking- the Ball, the crossdressing ball, and this has made getting home a lot worse because Zachary is absolutely terrible at walking in heels and Dorian is only marginally better. Dorian is a lot better at holding his alcohol, too, and has also had far less to drink than Zachary has. “But, Dorian, feel- feel my dress, look-” He is grabbing his skirt, a fistful of the champagne-pink silk, trying to get Dorian to touch it. Dorian is more concentrated on getting the door open.
“Why, my love?”
“Because- because it’s made of boyfriend material ,” Zachary says very insistently, flicking the handful of fabric at Dorian. Dorian laughs as they step inside, closing the door behind him.
“My sweet, sweet husband,” Dorian sighs affectionately, pausing immediately in the entryway to take off his heels and finally give his feet some respite. Zachary looks vaguely aimless, wandering into the center of the room before realizing he’s trying to take off his own shoes. He flops down in the center of the couch in a huff of silk which billows slightly. The dress is very flattering. Dorian is wearing a rather larger, more elaborate gown, as he usually does; his is purple and layered and studded with golden stars, and came with matching gloves which he now strips off and lays carefully over a coat hook in the entry. Then he turns to Zachary. “Did you need help with your boyfriend-material dress or are you going to be able to get it off yourself?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine ,” Zachary assures him, wobbling as he stands up, though slightly less since it is now without the added heels.
Dorian eyes him a bit, then decides he trusts Zachary, based on experience, to not completely pass out on him. “Alright. I’m going to the bathroom, do you want to change into pajamas while I do?”
“Yes, yeah I’ll do that,” Zachary nods, heading over to the bedroom with a lot of purpose for someone who is weaving back and forth so hard he nearly crashes into the doorframe.
“God, I love you,” Dorian mutters under his breath as he watches him disappear into the bedroom.
He goes to the bathroom, wondering if Zachary will actually manage to change, and the question is answered as soon as he comes out. Zachary is standing in the bedroom doorway, still elegantly draped in champagne silk that is slightly rumpled, and leaning against the doorframe in a very exaggeratedly seductive pose.
“Dorian, Dorian, Dorian. I’m not like other girls,” Zachary grins, barely holding back laughter- Dorian can see it in his face. Dorian stops across from him, rolling his eyes.
“Alright, I’ll help you get changed-”
“No no no! No! I’m not like other girls because-” He giggles a bit, and Dorian raises an eyebrow. “Because I don’t die when I’m killed .”
Dorian’s expression becomes pained. “Zachary, that’s not funny ,” he insists, though the drunken delight in Zachary’s face is too much for him to feel anything but warm. Zachary laughs, and Dorian crosses the room to him, wrapping him up in a swift hug, which Zachary returns, looping his arms around Dorian’s neck. Dorian meant the hug to be quick but it is not, because Zachary is so lovely and warm and alive in his arms, still laughing softly into his shoulder, tangled up in silk that he probably couldn’t figure out how to wrestle out of. “You’re ridiculous when you’re drunk,” Dorian tells him, kissing his cheek.
“Noooo, I’m- I’m flirting with you,” Zachary insists as Dorian pulls away reluctantly, leading him with a hand on his back into the bedroom. “So that you’ll go on a date with meeee.”
Dorian looks at him, amused, before he turns him around so he can get at his zipper. “Ah, a date, is that what you want? Darling, I will go on a date with you whenever you please.”
“But- no that’s not the point I’m flirting with you, Dorian-” Dorian unzips the dress, letting his fingers graze over Zachary’s skin just for the joy of touching him. “Because I love youuu. I love you- soooooo much.”
“I love you, too, my sweet darling Zachary,” Dorian murmurs with a wide smile, pressed into Zachary’s shoulder and neck, kissing him over and over.
“ And -” Zachary nearly shouts, very vehemently, turning around in Dorian’s arms as the dress slips off his shoulders and falls to the floor. “And I have a BIG crush on you.”
“You do ?” Dorian teases him with mock surprise. “Oh, well, I also have a big crush on you. Shall I grab you some pajamas?”
Zachary beams and grabs Dorian to kiss him, and Dorian kisses him back, looping an arm around his waist as the other arm goes to open one of the dresser drawers beside him. He pulls out a pair of pajamas and presses it into Zachary’s arms, which he accepts.
They both get dressed for bed- Dorian makes it out of his gown by himself, draping it over the back of a chair and throwing on pajama pants and a robe. Zachary struggles a bit with the buttons on his shirt- “Why didn’t you just put it over your head, love?” and a shrug- so Dorian helps him, pressing kisses up his chest as he buttons.
Zachary leans on Dorian’s arm as they head back to the kitchen, pausing rather frequently at Zachary’s insistence for more kisses. Dorian is happy to oblige. When they finally make it to the kitchen Dorian lifts Zachary up as he kisses him, setting him on the counter, where he seems content to sit and watch Dorian bustle around the kitchen, fixing cups of coffee for both of them and sending down for a tray of assorted food from the kitchen- bread, cheese, some fruit, other small snacks. Zachary perches on the counter and sips his coffee, looking quite content.
But then he suddenly jumps in excitement as Dorian turns away to retrieve the tray from the dumbwaiter, kicking his feet against the cabinets. “Doriannnnnn, wait come back come here-” He nearly spills his coffee as he sets it down on the counter, holding out his hands and making grabbing motions with his fingers.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming, love,” Dorian assures him, setting the tray on the counter beside Zachary and popping a raspberry into his mouth.
“Dorian,” Zachary begins, gripping Dorian’s shoulders, “are you- a library book ? Because I’m checking you out !”
Dorian laughs and leans forward to kiss him with raspberry-stained lips. “You are a nerd,” he accuses him. “An absolute insufferable nerd, do you know that?”
“Yes, but you -” He grabs Dorian’s face between his hands, and Dorian lets him, smiling and closing his eyes at the soft stroking of Zachary’s thumbs across his cheeks. “ You are also an insufferable nerd- a dork , you’re a dork Dorian, absolutely insufferable nerdy dorky…but I suffer you.” He kisses Dorian’s forehead, pulling him closer. “Because…” His voice trails off and he kisses Dorian’s face more, and Dorian, holding him by the waist and leaning into this shower of drunken affection, is quite happy.
“Because you love me?” Dorian suggests, nuzzling Zachary’s neck.
“No no no- well, yes , but…” Zachary pushes Dorian away slightly so he can see his face again, beaming so earnestly that Dorian would kiss him if he didn’t so badly want to hear whatever nonsense he is about to say. “Dorian. Dorian are you a library book-”
“You’ve already said this one-”
“Because I like you,” Zachary finishes, which elicits a burst of laughter from Dorian.
“That doesn’t make any sense, ” Dorian argues with a wide smile on his face. “Love, you’re quite drunk, please have some more coffee and some food-”
“No, it does make sense,” Zachary argues back, “because- because I like library books. And I like you. So it makes sense.”
“Alright, whatever you say, love,” Dorian grins, brushing a curl from his forehead and kissing the skin he exposes there. Zachary smiles as if this is a great victory.
They spend a few minutes just kissing each other, holding each other close, hands tangled in each other’s hair, tasting each other’s lips. Zachary gives good kisses even when he is quite drunk and not very coordinated; Dorian cups his neck, his face, runs his hands over his back, feels him there sitting on the counter and wrapped around him.
But after a few minutes of kissing Zachary pulls away and looks mildly distressed.
“But Dorian. Dorian,” he says anxiously, wrapping his legs tighter around Dorian’s waist.
“Yes, love? Are you alright?”
“Dorian, please don’t be a library book,” Zachary pleads, grabbing Dorian’s face very tightly in his hands, “because I don’t wanna give you back- oh my GOD no wait I don’t want you to be a library book- Dorian -”
His eyes are suddenly very wide and he is holding on to Dorian very tightly and Dorian’s chest tightens, hoping he has not entered the phase of being drunk where he gets very sad about extended metaphors, and knowing that he almost certainly has.
“Oh, no, don’t worry, love, I’m-” Dorian strokes Zachary’s back a bit faster, more firmly, trying to reassure him as he watches the hazy worry in his eyes. “I’m definitely a book you own. Definitely. You don’t have to give me back.”
“But- but I said you were a library book…”
Dorian pulls him close, cradling his head to his shoulder. “Maybe I’m a library book you stole, and the library burned down, and now you owe me to nothing and no one,” he suggests in not much more than a whisper, lips pressed against Zachary’s ear. Zachary relaxes a bit in his arms, humming his agreement. “And you peeled off the barcode and scribbled in all the pages and put me on your bookshelf and now I am yours forever. And a library that doesn’t exist is never going to come looking for me.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s- that could be it, yeah,” Zachary mumbles, sounding a bit unsure. He sounds a little teary and even though Dorian knows that he is only drunk and emotional and this is very funny and Zachary will laugh about it in the morning, right now he is very much overcome with the urge to make him feel better.
“You should have some coffee and some food, love,” Dorian insists again, squeezing Zachary affectionately. “Here-” He unwinds one arm from Zachary and breaks off a piece of artisan bread from a loaf on the platter. “Eat this, please.”
Zachary obliges, taking the bread from Dorian and munching on it mournfully.
“You’ll feel better about this when you’re less drunk,” Dorian murmurs into his hair, “because you’ll remember that I am so obviously and always yours and no metaphor about books or any other delightful but ridiculous pickup line you give me will change that.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Zachary agrees, words slightly muffled by a mouthful of bread. “But Dorian-”
He swallows the bread and reaches for his coffee, which Dorian hands to him. He takes a long sip before he continues. “If you and I were a pair of socks , Dorian- like your- your stupid purple toe socks or something, if we were a pair of socks…”
“We’d make a great pair?” Dorian finishes, and a beam breaks across Zachary’s face.
“Yes! Yes yes yes we’d make a great pair. A great pair. Dorian, we should get married.”
“Zachary, my sweet, sweet Zachary, we are married.” Dorian’s heart is so full and so warm and Zachary in his arms is the most wonderful feeling he’s ever felt.
“We should do it again, though. That was fun, Dorian, wasn’t it fun?” He pulls away a bit, arms still looped around Dorian’s neck, eyes sparkling. “We should…we should get married every day. But we have to- how do we get divorced? So we can get married every day?”
Dorian is laughing, and cannot stop laughing, watching Zachary explain this plan between mouthfuls of bread and sips of coffee. “My love, this is your best idea yet,” he tells him, grinning at him. “Adding it to the great List of Ideas Zachary Has Had While Drunk, to be read afresh in the morning.”
“ Good ideas,” Zachary reminds him, and Dorian nods.
“Yes. Good ideas. Alright, love, are you just about ready for bed?” They’ve finished most of the food platter, fingers stained with berry juice and mouths tasting of coffee.
“Yeah,” Zachary mumbles, pulling himself closer to Dorian again and tightening his legs around his waist. Dorian does not have to be asked- he scoops his arms under Zachary’s legs and lifts him, holding him to his chest, the most precious thing he has ever held.
There is, in fact, a real book in their bedroom- a notebook, a fancy embossed one with a leather cover and a ribbon bookmark, and a small pocket concealed in the spine for a pen. This is where Dorian keeps, among other things- a few very bad love poems he and Zachary have composed together while drunk, a pages-long list of reasons why Zachary loves him that he woke up to one morning after falling asleep one difficult night when his insecurity was at a high point- the List of Ideas Zachary Has Had While Drunk. It is a list that they reread periodically for entertainment and in the morning, it will be high time they read it again.
He scribbles down the idea- get divorced and remarried every day for the rest of our lives - as Zachary snuggles into the blankets, having the presence of mind to take off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. And then he sets down the notebook, and flicks off the light, and feels Zachary tugging at his sleeve.
“Yes, just a moment, my bumblebee ,” he says, switching fluidly from English to Arabic, getting the pillows settled so he can lie down.
“Dorian,” Zachary mumbles into the pillow, mostly asleep already. “Are you…”
His voice trails off as Dorian settles down and pulls Zachary into his arms, holding him to his chest. His favorite person in the world. He kisses his nose, and Zachary’s giggle is a sleepy one.
“Are you French? Because…because Eiffel for you.”
Dorian sighs happily.
“Zachary,” he whispers, “there is nobody I’d rather have flirting with me than you.”