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There were a lot of things James liked about Christmas. Carols, mince pies, endlessly retrieving Christmas tree balls from where Fusker had rolled them under the piano. What he didn’t like so much was the mind-numbing round of parties he was expected to go to. Dull people, excruciating wine and appalling music that made him want to claw his own ears off, for the most part.
The only mitigating factor was if Jeremy was also present, because then he would complain in a loud, unabashed voice about all the things that were irritating James but that he’d never dare to say himself. No-one seemed to mind when Jeremy did it, and James wondered enviously what the trick was.
If he was honest with himself though, that wasn’t the only reason he was glad of Jeremy’s company. Not that he’d ever admit to anyone else the warm flush he got when Jeremy draped a tipsy arm round him at the end of an evening, or the way it made him feel when it was him and no-one else that Jeremy dragged outside to share a cigarette with. He hugged the knowledge to himself like a secret warm comfort through the winter, wondering idly if he’d ever pluck up the courage to do anything about it.
It was, by any measure, a spectacularly awful party. James, having absent-mindedly taken a sip from the sticky glass of punch he’d been handed on arrival had actually stopped in his tracks, screwing up his face in disgust.
He made his way over to the punchbowl, intending to pour it back in when no-one was looking, but then realised it was surrounded by a selection of other bottles. He studied the labels consideringly, wondering if anything he could add would actually improve it, or if it was truly beyond help.
He heard Jeremy arrive before he saw him, causing a stir on the far side of the room. James looked thoughtful. Jeremy was never overly fussy about what he drank. If James could get him inadvertently steaming, maybe he’d be able to tell him how he felt. At least then if it all went horribly wrong there was a chance Jeremy wouldn’t remember the next morning. And if he was drunk enough…
Without letting himself think too much about what he was doing, James quickly upended an entire bottle of brandy into the mix.
Hiding the bottle at the back, he made his way over to Jeremy.
“May!” Jeremy’s genuine smile of greeting did odd fluttery things to James’ stomach. “Thank God you’re here, I thought I was going to have to talk to Adrian all evening.”
The man standing at his elbow promptly slapped him round the back of the head and they both laughed.
“Have you tried the punch?” James asked casually. “It’s not bad. Quite a kick.”
“Really?” Jeremy’s eyes lit up, and he cracked his knuckles. “Right. Don’t go anywhere.”
He reappeared a couple of minutes later, with two glasses.
“Here.” He held one out to James and grinned. “If it’s so good I want to see you drinking it as well.”
Taking the glass in tentative fingers, James could hardly refuse. Took a sip at the same time as Jeremy. He managed not to choke, but it was a close run thing.
“Christ!” Jeremy examined his glass appraisingly. Blinked, shrugged, then took another swallow.
James smiled to himself. He hadn’t realised quite how potent the brandy would make it, but he had to admit it had improved the flavour.
Hours passed. The party seemed to have improved immensely, although James realised he couldn’t actually remember a thing he’d said to anyone. He groaned slightly as it dawned on him it might not have been the smartest move to get just as drunk as Jeremy.
He looked up as Jeremy walked over on his way back from the loo, managing to bang into every wall, guest and piece of furniture en route. Reaching James, he slid down the wall to sit next to him.
When had they ended up sitting on the floor, James wondered distantly.
Jeremy was frowning, as if concentrating on getting his words in the right order.
“May have - miscalculated,” he slurred.
James smiled, and hiccupped. “Not pissed are you?”
“No,” objected Jeremy with dignity, then promptly spoiled the effect by giggling.
“Your flies are undone,” pointed out James, helpfully.
“What?” Jeremy looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“Your flies. You forgot to do them up, you drunken flopsy.”
Jeremy looked down and snorted. Zipped himself up and muttered “You shouldn’t be looking in the first place, you big gayer.”
James promptly flushed deep red, and Jeremy studied him thoughtfully. Put a hand on his arm. “Let’s get out of here?”
They stood shivering in the cold air, ostensibly looking for a taxi but mostly trying to remember how to walk.
“I think,” said James carefully, trying to focus, “that I’m going to regret this tomorrow.”
Jeremy flashed him a look and smirked. “I’ve got a confession to make.”
James frowned. That was the wrong way round. Wasn’t it?
“No no no,” he interrupted. “I’ve got a confession to make.”
“You have?” Jeremy looked surprised, although it might just be that his eyebrows were drunk as well.
“Mmn.” James tried to remember what it was. Oh yes.
“I, um. Spiked the punch. With brandy.”
Jeremy was staring at him. “Brandy?” he echoed. “How much?”
“Bottle,” muttered James.
Jeremy started to laugh, and James was fleetingly relieved that he wasn’t cross. Poked him in the ribs to make him stop. “It’s not that funny.” Jeremy gave up trying to walk and think and laugh at the same time and grabbed James’ arm.
“Oh James. It is. It really is. D’you know why?”
James shook his head, a puzzled smile on his face as Jeremy’s infectious laughter took hold.
“Because so did I!”
“What?”
Jeremy nodded, still laughing helplessly.
“What with?”
“Vodka.”
“How much?”
They stared at each other for a beat, then simultaneously said – “Bottle!”
“Oh God,” groaned James, laughing in earnest by now. “We’re going to die. What on earth possessed you to do that?”
“Well, why did you?”
James stopped laughing and looked shifty. “Thought it might improve the flavour.”
“As opposed to just drinking something else?” pointed out Jeremy sceptically . “Anyway you were trying to make me drink it!”
James frowned. “And you made me drink it. After you’d spiked it.”
It was Jeremy’s turn to look shifty. “Yeah, well.”
“Yeah well what?”
“I thought it might – you know. Loosen you up. A bit.” Jeremy looked sheepish.
“Did I need loosening up so much?” James sounded hurt, and Jeremy grabbed his arm.
“No! Not like that, I didn’t mean – oh for fuck’s sake, come here man.”
As first kisses go, it was a little rushed, and awkward, and sticky from the punch, but it still sent a flood of warmth through James’ body like the alcohol never had.
They swayed a little, more than half holding each other up.
Jeremy smiled, sleepily. “You didn’t have to get me drunk, you know,” he murmured.
James smiled back ruefully. “Now you tell me.” They both laughed.
“For the record,” James added quietly, “neither did you.”
And he pulled Jeremy down into a second kiss, that became a third, and a fourth, that somehow became the next morning.
And the next.