intheheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
intheheart) wrote2012-01-27 02:08 pm
intheheart) wrote2012-01-27 02:08 pm
Drinking Buddies
Title: Drinking Buddies
Rating: PG.
Summary: Aaron reacts to the events of Asplosion, and makes a new friend.
Date: August 2010
AU: FULL OF LULZ
Notes: I'm sorry, Aaron! Please don't kill me in my sleep. Also, yes, Torey is totally picturing Augusto in his boxers. Poor Torey. Approved by the excellent sarcasticsra. Torey and Isabella belong to her, Kelly, and Geena.
Aaron wandered the streets of New York in a daze.
All right, maybe not quite so much in a daze. He was certainly bewildered, but he wasn't bewildered enough to walk around in Brooklyn without paying attention to his surroundings. It was broad daylight, so probably nothing would happen to him, but Aaron had grown up in New York City and wasn't stupid.
Just... flabbergasted.
Yes. Flabbergasted was a good word for it. So was stunned. And shocked, staggered, amazed (in the traditional sense, where to maze meant to confuse), bowled over, astounded, flummoxed, dumbfounded, and rendered totally fucking speechless.
He needed a drink.
It had all started out so well. He'd gone to see his dad, like he did every Saturday morning, just to make sure. His dad had so few people around, now that his mom was off with Ben in the Peace Corps. Aaron liked to check up on him.
He had a key to his dad's apartment, and vice versa, in case of emergencies, so generally he just let himself in. His dad wasn't in the living room when he came in, but Aaron could hear someone moving around in the kitchen, so he'd gone in.
And saw Her.
She was a leggy brunette, objectively probably the most attractive person he'd seen in a while. She was also wearing one of his dad's button-down shirts and, as far as he could see, nothing else.
Aaron didn't have a problem with this, abstractly. The idea of his father having sex might gross him out (and oh, it did), but abstractly he thought it was a very good thing. His dad had been alone too much in his life. Aaron was happy for him, really.
Or at least he would have been if the woman in his father's kitchen hadn't looked like a college student.
He'd gaped at her for... a long time. He was pretty sure that he'd answered her questions to her satisfaction, but he really didn't remember much besides half-naked woman younger than me in my father's kitchen for God's sake! until his father walked in.
Also half-naked.
About then he started wishing seriously for brain bleach.
The talk that followed wasn't any easier. Her name was Isabella, she was in fact twenty-two, and she quite liked his father and was going to keep him, thank you very much. Aaron had managed the usual polite things, very weakly, and somewhat more sincerely told his dad that he was happy for them, he really was, no, really, it was just that the age difference was weirding him out a little and he needed some time to think.
He was pretty sure that his father interpreted "time to think" as "time to get roaring drunk and erase these mental images before we talk again, and by the way I really didn't need to see you in just your boxers, Dad," but he was also pretty okay with that, since it happened to be the truth.
And he really didn't need to see his father in his boxers. Ever.
Twenty-two. For God's sake.
He wandered into a bar, eventually.
The name over the door’s said, very simply, “Dan’s.” It looked like a nice place, although in his current state, Aaron wouldn’t have cared if it was a wreck as long as the booze was good and the patrons generally quiet. Dan’s definitely fit the second qualification, and as for the first, there was only one way to find that out.
Besides, the bar was a satisfying hard and polished oak. If the alcohol didn't work, he could always beat his head against it until the pain went away.
The bartender, who looked both quiet and understanding, took one look at Aaron's face as he hopped up on a stool and put a shot glass on the bar. "What'll you have?"
"Anything," Aaron said. "Just so long as it's very alcoholic."
"Tequila," the bartender decided, and poured him a glass. "Want to talk about it?"
Aaron thought about it. "Um. No. Thanks, though."
The bartender shrugged. "Not a problem." He slid the glass on over. Aaron downed it, coughed at the burning in his throat, and slid it back.
“Thanks,” he said. “Keep ‘em coming.”
Several hours later, he found himself staring down into another shot of tequila, with absolutely no reduction in total flabbergastment.
In fact, since he hadn’t had that much to drink (being poor), about the only change in his mental state was a tendency to think words like “flabbergastment.” Aaron heaved a sigh and let his head drop to the bar with a painful thunk.
The pain was actually kind of soothing. Aaron beat his head against the bar another couple of times, experimentally.
A big man paused on his way past the bar, looked at him oddly, and said, "You okay?"
Aaron groaned. "No," he said. "And if you don't want to hear about it I'd go away now."
"Well, now I'm just curious." The big man pulled a stool up and sat down, expectantly.
Aaron was tipsy enough by now that it sounded like a yes. "My father," he said, "is sleeping with a girl who's five years younger. Than me."
The other man was silent for a long moment, then said, "Dan? Another for both of us, on me." The bartender nodded and dematerialized.
Aaron stared after him, momentarily distracted. "Is he on wheels or something? He doesn’t make noise."
"Dan's just good at his job," the other man said, and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Torey."
He looked vaguely familiar-- like they'd met sometime before, or seen each other on the subway or something. Aaron's braincells started to track it down, then gave up in favor of marinating gently in a pool of alcohol. "Aaron Kendall," he said, and shook. "Nice to meet you."
"Yeah. I feel your pain."
Aaron stared at the bar and pondered beating his head against it some more. "No offense, but I seriously doubt that."
Torey smiled. It wasn’t a very happy smile. "My father had children with two women younger than me. Eight and ten years, respectively. I have a kid older than my youngest sibling."
Aaron thought about that for a moment. "Okay," he said. "You win. But I think I get some trauma points for walking in on them."
The bartender rematerialized and put the drinks in front of them.
"Might as well leave the bottle," Torey told him. "This is going to take a while."
"...I mean, I'm happy for him," Aaron said, slightly slurred. It was at least an hour and two bottles later. "He's my dad. And he's happy. My dad hasn't been happy in a while. And it's not like it's more than one. Or at the same time. That would be weird. Er. Weirder."
"It is very weird," Torey told him, in heartfelt tones. "And kind of scary. Ma got this really creepy smile..." He trailed off, and shivered. "Anyway. I got a kid my sister's age. It's strange as all hell."
"Right right right," Aaron said, and nodded until he thought his head would fall off. He reached up and propped it up with one hand. "Right. 'Snot weird like that. 'S just that she's twenty-two, you know? It's kinda freaky."
Torey nodded, wisely. "People look at people who sleep with people that much younger than people weirdly."
Aaron parsed that sentence. "Yeah! Yeah. Like that. And I really didn't need to see my dad in boxer shorts," he added, plaintively, and downed another shot.
“Oh, God,” Torey said, and had one himself.
Aaron opened his eyes the next morning and immediately closed them again.
Some damn fool, he thought blearily, had left his blinds open. Some other damn fool had gone out last night and had entirely too much to drink. The combination of said damn fools’ actions had left him with cotton mouth, a stabbing headache, and a painful sensitivity to light.
He threw an arm over his eyes and groaned. If the universe had been a kind and fair place, he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. Well, no, actually if the universe had been a kind and fair place, his father wouldn’t be sleeping with a twenty-two-year-old and poor Torey wouldn’t have a kid older than his youngest sibling. Therefore, to revise: if the universe had had any mercy, he wouldn’t have to get out of bed.
But he really, really had to pee.
He made it to the bathroom somehow, and then stumbled down the hall into his mercifully dim kitchen. Someone had left coffee makings set out and brought the newspaper in. Possibly the driver Torey had called to get them both home last night—which reminded Aaron, he should really call and say thank you for that. He knew he wasn’t the most pleasant person when drunk, and when he’d just been through something of that magnitude, well. Torey had really been very kind.
He made coffee, downed a cup, and made another before he felt remotely near human enough to settle down with the paper. Not that he actually read the paper in the mornings. He just sort of flipped through for something to stare at while he got his thoughts in order.
So, things to do today. Call his father and attempt to defuse some of the inevitable awkward. Call Torey and say thanks. Call Lars and arrange for a good old-fashioned bitch session. Band practice tonight, better take measures to ensure the hangover was gone by then...
Aaron froze as his eyes caught up with his brain, then flipped back a couple of pages.
It was a very small article, really. Hardly enough to warrant a picture, but nevertheless there was one, right under the headline asking “Shifts in Crime Patterns Due to New Corlioni Leader?" A picture of Torey.
Oh, shit.
The newspaper crumpled in his hands.
Torey. Salvatore. Salvatore Corlioni. That's where he'd seen him before. Aaron groaned, put his head down on the table, and banged it very gently against the wood two or three times.
Fuck. He'd just gotten blind drunk with a fucking crime boss.
...eh. On second thought, worse things had happened to him. Like his father sleeping with a twenty-two-year-old and letting him walk in on them. Besides, Torey had very kindly bought the booze-- very excellent booze it was, too-- and Torey had poured him into a car at the end of the night and sent him home, which was equally kind.
Aaron raised his head and massaged his temples. The hangover was bad enough without worrying about who he'd been drinking with last night, he decided, especially when Torey had been... well, nice. And understanding. He wouldn't worry about it.
Besides, it could've been worse.
Torey could've been Isabella's brother or something.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Aaron reacts to the events of Asplosion, and makes a new friend.
Date: August 2010
AU: FULL OF LULZ
Notes: I'm sorry, Aaron! Please don't kill me in my sleep. Also, yes, Torey is totally picturing Augusto in his boxers. Poor Torey. Approved by the excellent sarcasticsra. Torey and Isabella belong to her, Kelly, and Geena.
Aaron wandered the streets of New York in a daze.
All right, maybe not quite so much in a daze. He was certainly bewildered, but he wasn't bewildered enough to walk around in Brooklyn without paying attention to his surroundings. It was broad daylight, so probably nothing would happen to him, but Aaron had grown up in New York City and wasn't stupid.
Just... flabbergasted.
Yes. Flabbergasted was a good word for it. So was stunned. And shocked, staggered, amazed (in the traditional sense, where to maze meant to confuse), bowled over, astounded, flummoxed, dumbfounded, and rendered totally fucking speechless.
He needed a drink.
It had all started out so well. He'd gone to see his dad, like he did every Saturday morning, just to make sure. His dad had so few people around, now that his mom was off with Ben in the Peace Corps. Aaron liked to check up on him.
He had a key to his dad's apartment, and vice versa, in case of emergencies, so generally he just let himself in. His dad wasn't in the living room when he came in, but Aaron could hear someone moving around in the kitchen, so he'd gone in.
And saw Her.
She was a leggy brunette, objectively probably the most attractive person he'd seen in a while. She was also wearing one of his dad's button-down shirts and, as far as he could see, nothing else.
Aaron didn't have a problem with this, abstractly. The idea of his father having sex might gross him out (and oh, it did), but abstractly he thought it was a very good thing. His dad had been alone too much in his life. Aaron was happy for him, really.
Or at least he would have been if the woman in his father's kitchen hadn't looked like a college student.
He'd gaped at her for... a long time. He was pretty sure that he'd answered her questions to her satisfaction, but he really didn't remember much besides half-naked woman younger than me in my father's kitchen for God's sake! until his father walked in.
Also half-naked.
About then he started wishing seriously for brain bleach.
The talk that followed wasn't any easier. Her name was Isabella, she was in fact twenty-two, and she quite liked his father and was going to keep him, thank you very much. Aaron had managed the usual polite things, very weakly, and somewhat more sincerely told his dad that he was happy for them, he really was, no, really, it was just that the age difference was weirding him out a little and he needed some time to think.
He was pretty sure that his father interpreted "time to think" as "time to get roaring drunk and erase these mental images before we talk again, and by the way I really didn't need to see you in just your boxers, Dad," but he was also pretty okay with that, since it happened to be the truth.
And he really didn't need to see his father in his boxers. Ever.
Twenty-two. For God's sake.
He wandered into a bar, eventually.
The name over the door’s said, very simply, “Dan’s.” It looked like a nice place, although in his current state, Aaron wouldn’t have cared if it was a wreck as long as the booze was good and the patrons generally quiet. Dan’s definitely fit the second qualification, and as for the first, there was only one way to find that out.
Besides, the bar was a satisfying hard and polished oak. If the alcohol didn't work, he could always beat his head against it until the pain went away.
The bartender, who looked both quiet and understanding, took one look at Aaron's face as he hopped up on a stool and put a shot glass on the bar. "What'll you have?"
"Anything," Aaron said. "Just so long as it's very alcoholic."
"Tequila," the bartender decided, and poured him a glass. "Want to talk about it?"
Aaron thought about it. "Um. No. Thanks, though."
The bartender shrugged. "Not a problem." He slid the glass on over. Aaron downed it, coughed at the burning in his throat, and slid it back.
“Thanks,” he said. “Keep ‘em coming.”
Several hours later, he found himself staring down into another shot of tequila, with absolutely no reduction in total flabbergastment.
In fact, since he hadn’t had that much to drink (being poor), about the only change in his mental state was a tendency to think words like “flabbergastment.” Aaron heaved a sigh and let his head drop to the bar with a painful thunk.
The pain was actually kind of soothing. Aaron beat his head against the bar another couple of times, experimentally.
A big man paused on his way past the bar, looked at him oddly, and said, "You okay?"
Aaron groaned. "No," he said. "And if you don't want to hear about it I'd go away now."
"Well, now I'm just curious." The big man pulled a stool up and sat down, expectantly.
Aaron was tipsy enough by now that it sounded like a yes. "My father," he said, "is sleeping with a girl who's five years younger. Than me."
The other man was silent for a long moment, then said, "Dan? Another for both of us, on me." The bartender nodded and dematerialized.
Aaron stared after him, momentarily distracted. "Is he on wheels or something? He doesn’t make noise."
"Dan's just good at his job," the other man said, and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Torey."
He looked vaguely familiar-- like they'd met sometime before, or seen each other on the subway or something. Aaron's braincells started to track it down, then gave up in favor of marinating gently in a pool of alcohol. "Aaron Kendall," he said, and shook. "Nice to meet you."
"Yeah. I feel your pain."
Aaron stared at the bar and pondered beating his head against it some more. "No offense, but I seriously doubt that."
Torey smiled. It wasn’t a very happy smile. "My father had children with two women younger than me. Eight and ten years, respectively. I have a kid older than my youngest sibling."
Aaron thought about that for a moment. "Okay," he said. "You win. But I think I get some trauma points for walking in on them."
The bartender rematerialized and put the drinks in front of them.
"Might as well leave the bottle," Torey told him. "This is going to take a while."
"...I mean, I'm happy for him," Aaron said, slightly slurred. It was at least an hour and two bottles later. "He's my dad. And he's happy. My dad hasn't been happy in a while. And it's not like it's more than one. Or at the same time. That would be weird. Er. Weirder."
"It is very weird," Torey told him, in heartfelt tones. "And kind of scary. Ma got this really creepy smile..." He trailed off, and shivered. "Anyway. I got a kid my sister's age. It's strange as all hell."
"Right right right," Aaron said, and nodded until he thought his head would fall off. He reached up and propped it up with one hand. "Right. 'Snot weird like that. 'S just that she's twenty-two, you know? It's kinda freaky."
Torey nodded, wisely. "People look at people who sleep with people that much younger than people weirdly."
Aaron parsed that sentence. "Yeah! Yeah. Like that. And I really didn't need to see my dad in boxer shorts," he added, plaintively, and downed another shot.
“Oh, God,” Torey said, and had one himself.
Aaron opened his eyes the next morning and immediately closed them again.
Some damn fool, he thought blearily, had left his blinds open. Some other damn fool had gone out last night and had entirely too much to drink. The combination of said damn fools’ actions had left him with cotton mouth, a stabbing headache, and a painful sensitivity to light.
He threw an arm over his eyes and groaned. If the universe had been a kind and fair place, he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. Well, no, actually if the universe had been a kind and fair place, his father wouldn’t be sleeping with a twenty-two-year-old and poor Torey wouldn’t have a kid older than his youngest sibling. Therefore, to revise: if the universe had had any mercy, he wouldn’t have to get out of bed.
But he really, really had to pee.
He made it to the bathroom somehow, and then stumbled down the hall into his mercifully dim kitchen. Someone had left coffee makings set out and brought the newspaper in. Possibly the driver Torey had called to get them both home last night—which reminded Aaron, he should really call and say thank you for that. He knew he wasn’t the most pleasant person when drunk, and when he’d just been through something of that magnitude, well. Torey had really been very kind.
He made coffee, downed a cup, and made another before he felt remotely near human enough to settle down with the paper. Not that he actually read the paper in the mornings. He just sort of flipped through for something to stare at while he got his thoughts in order.
So, things to do today. Call his father and attempt to defuse some of the inevitable awkward. Call Torey and say thanks. Call Lars and arrange for a good old-fashioned bitch session. Band practice tonight, better take measures to ensure the hangover was gone by then...
Aaron froze as his eyes caught up with his brain, then flipped back a couple of pages.
It was a very small article, really. Hardly enough to warrant a picture, but nevertheless there was one, right under the headline asking “Shifts in Crime Patterns Due to New Corlioni Leader?" A picture of Torey.
Oh, shit.
The newspaper crumpled in his hands.
Torey. Salvatore. Salvatore Corlioni. That's where he'd seen him before. Aaron groaned, put his head down on the table, and banged it very gently against the wood two or three times.
Fuck. He'd just gotten blind drunk with a fucking crime boss.
...eh. On second thought, worse things had happened to him. Like his father sleeping with a twenty-two-year-old and letting him walk in on them. Besides, Torey had very kindly bought the booze-- very excellent booze it was, too-- and Torey had poured him into a car at the end of the night and sent him home, which was equally kind.
Aaron raised his head and massaged his temples. The hangover was bad enough without worrying about who he'd been drinking with last night, he decided, especially when Torey had been... well, nice. And understanding. He wouldn't worry about it.
Besides, it could've been worse.
Torey could've been Isabella's brother or something.