Fic!

[burntcopper]

This is atch a prequel to something else, but works as a standalone.


Title : Drinking Problem
Author : Gunbunny
E-Mail : kabukivice@beeb.net
Fandom : Dark is Rising Sequence
Pairing : Bran/Will
Rating : No sex and no swearing. Am slipping.
Summary : New Year's Eve party. Will isn't sober by any stretch.
Disclaimer : Not mine. Hers. :points to Susan Cooper:
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol.
Dedication : Dol, for telling me Will shouldn't do that, and Meg for giggling.
Archive : http://kabukivice.com/underskin , anywhere else feel free.


Will stumbles into the kitchen at the Evans' farm, helped by a friendly shove
from his cousin Rhys.

"You, boyo, are pissed."

"No I'm not."

"You're falling over your own feet, Will." Mary teases from where she's leaning
against the stove.

"I'm falling over them because this great lump pushed me. I have quite
enough of my own faculties left, thank you." Then he hiccups.

Mary giggles. "Oh, yes, sober."

"I didn't say I was sober, just that I wasn't drunk yet." Will replies. "Tipsy."

"Keep on telling yourself that, Will." Rhys replies, opening another beer.
"Terrible sight when an Englishman can't hold his beer. Much more
embarrassing than a drunk Welshman. At least we can sing."

"Hoi! I can sing. Several years in the choir." Will pauses, scrunching up his
face. "Can Bran sing?"

"Yes, Bran can sing." A voice says behind him. "I can play, too. Which is more
than you can, fumble-fingers."

"Bran!" Will exclaims, spinning around. "We thought the evil ... something or
other had swallowed you. Giant flying misteltoe. Haven't seen you all
evening. Where'd you go?"

"I was here. Just kept missing you, I think."

"Conspiracy, it is."

Bran smirks, nudges him out of the way. "Of course. Now let me at the beer."

"A drinking problem in one so young, tragic to see." Will says, stepping aside.

"No, a drinking problem was what happened last summer." Mary replies,
sipping her wine. "You missed your entire mouth. Still can't believe you did
that."

"James jogged my elbow each time. And he's never let me forget about it."

New Year countdown. "Ten-nine-eight-"

Bran glances at the clock. "Odd things, New Years."

"Yup." Will nods. He's had a bit more to drink, pushed on him by Rhys - 'Dutch
Courage' his cousin proclaimed. Rhys has never understood the concept of
subtlety. Though Will is starting to debate the merits of the whole concept,
but he's suspecting it could be the amount he's drunk.

"Two-one! Happy New Year!"

Bran grins. "Happy New Year, boyo."

"You too." Go round the room shaking hands and kissing people, Mary making
exaggerated kissy sounds for effect like she always has. The family just
groans reflexively when she does it in public.

An hour or so later - time's gotten a little fuzzy with the drink, so Will's not
entirely sure of it. His watch is on his wrist, but he's quite sure that it lies.
Quite sure, because the amount of time passing never seems to resemble
what it feels like is passing. He's decided to agree with Bran's staunchly-held
belief proclaimed one day in Bristol when they were running for a train that the
world spun on dawn, midday, and sunset, hours and minutes be damned.
Especially considering trains ran on a clock that was utterly out of sync with
the rest of the world.

Along with this thought comes one that often crops up, especially recently, as
a flash of white-blond hair catches his eye. The owner of the hair turns,
grinning, and catches his eye. He walks over and asks "What're you looking
so serious about, Will? Contemplating life, the universe and everything
again?"

"Nah. Trains and their inability to be on time."

"Ah, philosophy. Dangerous subject, there." Another grin from Bran,
accompanied by a twinkle in his eye. The twinkle's Will's downfall, because it's
inviting what happens next. Will leans forward, catching his hand in the hair at
the back of Bran's head, and kisses him. Somewhat seriously, taking his time
to explore Bran's mouth. He registers in the back of his mind that Bran doesn't
seem to be doing anything to stop him, but that's probably shock. Right now
he's just enjoying this one chance to savour the taste of Bran's mouth.

Will draws back, about to apologise and laugh it off. He's withdrawn far
enough to be able to focus on Bran's face, when he's suddenly jerked back in
with a hissed "You're not getting away that easily, you." This time he's the
one who's not responding, what with the slight shock, but eventually he gets
his brain into gear enough to participate in what is a very good kiss. They part
just enough to take in breath and start snogging again.

Somewhere in the background noise of the room, he can hear whistles and
laughter mingled with the music on the record player - they've stopped playing
the novelty records, which only goes to prove that John Rowlands and the
discount rack at the record store in town are a bad combination. They finally
detach, Will grinning shyly and Bran grinning triumphantly. "There now." Bran
says, giving him a peck on the nose.

They glance quickly at the rest of the room. Which is a combination of
shocked, drunken and amused expressions, the drunken and amused ones
outnumbering the shocked - and probably the ones who were cheering at
them snogging. John Rowlands is sitting on Owen Davies, who's gaping like a
landed fish. Will flushes, steps back a little and sways. Bran catches him. "Um.
I may have had a little too much to drink."

"Yep." Rhys grins. "I told you, complete lightweight. Bran, go and do
something with my cousin before he embarrasses himself completely."

"Oh, he can do that completely sober." Mary says from the other side of the
room.

"You heard them." Bran says, dragging Will out of the room, accompanied by
more catcalls.

"Filthy-minded people, Welsh farmers." Will comments blearily.

"That they are." Bran agrees as he tows him off towards a spare bedroom,
dropping him on the bed when they get there. "Now. Were you being serious
back there?"

"Serious?" Will asks, bemused, levering himself up to sitting with difficulty. The
bed's nice and soft and invites sleepiness.

"Serious." Bran repeats.

Will blinks, trying to think of something else beyond the amber eyes that're
currently filling his vision and taking over his brain. "Think so."

Bran nods. "Good." He moves forward, straddling Will's lap, cupping his head in
one hand, the other grasping Will's shoulder. "Think I'll follow Rhys'
instructions, then." He leans in, opening Will's extremely willing mouth with his
tongue. Will responds enthusiastically, enjoying re-acquainting himself with
the inside of Bran's mouth. His hands decide that they're being left out, and
latch onto Bran's waist. After a few minutes, he's introduced to the concept of
'horizontal with arrogant Welsh boy with his tongue down your throat and
hands up your shirt'. Well, it's not exactly a new concept. The tongue is,
though. Bran stops to pause for breath. "Mmm. This was a good idea."

Will nods lazily, floating away on a happy cloud of hormones and alcohol. "Not
disagreeing. C'mere." Bran grins back, lowers his head and starts busying
himself with tasting Will's neck. "Mmm. Nice. Keep... doing... that."

The change in his breathing makes Bran look up. Then prod Will. "Will?" He
prods him again. "Will?" Shakes him.

Will rouses slightly. "Mmm? Was nice. Did you stop?"

"Yes, you fell asleep on me." Bran says, glaring.

"Sorry." Will murmurs apologetically. "Won't do it again. Enjoying it." Famous
last words, as his eyes close again.

Bran waits a few seconds, but there's no further reaction forthcoming. "Will!"
Bran groans as Will doesn't respond. He buries his face in Will's shoulder. "Of
all the bloody stupid luck." The only response to that comment is a quiet
snore.

END