Spin the Bottle is a ridiculous game to be playing. Especially if you're out of middle school. It's exponentially ridiculous to be playing it at at college.
Which is why it happens at 2am after an hours long ultra mega insane cram session. It's the sort of thing that happens when everybody's coming down off the caffeine and sugar high and they're all drunk on sleep dep.
Matt's voluntold to go first.
"Watch out all you hotties," Foggy says, leering, "Matt's got the bottle. He never fails." God knows what will happen when it's his own turn. Well, at least he'll get to live vicariously, watching Matt mack on a hot blonde, or a brunette, or something inbetween.
He can hear the hysterical edge of his own laughter when the business end of the bottle ends up pointed his way. "You ... you can get a do over if you want," Foggy says when he gets his words back.
"No, no, no, Foggy Bear," says Marcie, the cute blonde two chairs to his left. "This isn't golf, there's no mulligans in spin the bottle."
Foggy isn't sure whose face is flaming redder, his or Matt's.
"Right, then," Matt says as he stands up and makes his way around the table, lightly touching the chair backs to guide him.
Matt's hands cup his cheeks, and an impish grin flashes across his face in the split second before he darts in for the kiss.
Foggy expected a peck. On the cheek.
He didn't expect a firm, full-on-with-tongue tonsil mining.
(Holy fucking shit, Matt was an expert kisser.)
And Foggy didn't expect to give it back, either. But he did. Just as hard.
(And then there was that little breathy barely audible "uhn" that Matt made when they finally broke, his lips all wet and looking even more red and luscious than usual.)
(Plus the hungry stares from three of the women at the table.)
Matt stood and, without a word, trailing his hand along the chairbacks, made his way back to his seat.
"So," Foggy said, before the next person could take their turn with the bottle, "as you can see, there's plenty of that to go around, if anybody wants some more."
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Which is why it happens at 2am after an hours long ultra mega insane cram session. It's the sort of thing that happens when everybody's coming down off the caffeine and sugar high and they're all drunk on sleep dep.
Matt's voluntold to go first.
"Watch out all you hotties," Foggy says, leering, "Matt's got the bottle. He never fails." God knows what will happen when it's his own turn. Well, at least he'll get to live vicariously, watching Matt mack on a hot blonde, or a brunette, or something inbetween.
He can hear the hysterical edge of his own laughter when the business end of the bottle ends up pointed his way. "You ... you can get a do over if you want," Foggy says when he gets his words back.
"No, no, no, Foggy Bear," says Marcie, the cute blonde two chairs to his left. "This isn't golf, there's no mulligans in spin the bottle."
Foggy isn't sure whose face is flaming redder, his or Matt's.
"Right, then," Matt says as he stands up and makes his way around the table, lightly touching the chair backs to guide him.
Matt's hands cup his cheeks, and an impish grin flashes across his face in the split second before he darts in for the kiss.
Foggy expected a peck. On the cheek.
He didn't expect a firm, full-on-with-tongue tonsil mining.
(Holy fucking shit, Matt was an expert kisser.)
And Foggy didn't expect to give it back, either. But he did. Just as hard.
(And then there was that little breathy barely audible "uhn" that Matt made when they finally broke, his lips all wet and looking even more red and luscious than usual.)
(Plus the hungry stares from three of the women at the table.)
Matt stood and, without a word, trailing his hand along the chairbacks, made his way back to his seat.
"So," Foggy said, before the next person could take their turn with the bottle, "as you can see, there's plenty of that to go around, if anybody wants some more."