→ Brennan was the last one out of his department that night around eleven fifteen. He hadn't meant to stay so late but he'd gotten caught up in reading an issue of one of the old papers he was working on. That was the problem with the job, really. He got sidetracked easily by reading everything. So far though, no one had come in to yell at him about it and he still managed to get a fair amount of work done, so he figured it was okay. On his way through the lobby though, he had to laugh as he saw that the night secretary had Sigmund cornered. He seemed to be on his way out as well and she seemed to be wheedling for a invitation for after work drinks. Spotting a chance to rescue Sigmund, Brennan walked up and put a rushed and frustrated look on his face. "Sorry that took so long, Sigmund. I feel really shitty that I asked you for a ride and then was late." He turned to look at the secretary with a smile. "Isn't he great? Giving me a ride all the way across town on his way home?" He tugged at Sigmund's sleeve and headed toward the door. "Night!" He called back to the woman, figuring Sigmund would take his cue and follow.

→ A lot was happening all at once--or at least it seemed like a lot. He was trying to politely dodge the woman's advances while still maintaining her willingness to cover for him with the boss, and save him the good donuts in the morning. Seeing Brennan instantly grabbed his attention, and made him just a little more tense. But when he realized what Bren was doing for him, his tension eased and he tried not to look too relieved. "See you Monday," he smiled at her. The woman was not pleased to say the least and she eyed Brennan like she was going to make his life miserable from now on if she could. Once they were out of earshot, Sigmund groaned. "I think you just made an enemy for life. She's been planning that ambush for weeks, I just know it. But thanks for taking the bullet."

→ "Oh...did I? Well, shit," Brennan sighed, shrugging his shoulders with a little smile. "You looked pretty distraught so I figured I could handle a little rescue mission. You know, as another thanks for the awesome job you got me," he added, giving Sigmund's hip a little bump as he headed across the parking lot toward where his car was. He actually had it tonight. "How've you been?" He asked, pulling his beanie on. It was the kind with the earflaps and little strings he could tie under his chin.

→ It was probably the cutest hat in existence and Sigmund was captivated by it for a second. They'd seen each other every now and again since the drinks. He'd even made a point sometimes to run into him by 'accident.' It wasn't stalking, it was just--proactive. Still, he wasn't going to push things. But when happenstance deigned to bring them together, it was much better than Sigmund's poorly orchaestrated attempts at chance meetings. "I've been all right. Staying far too late at work for my own good. I think Sandra thinks it's for her benefit."

→ "Well of course it is," Brennan replied. "Because you are so obviously into something divorcees with bad dye jobs." He covered his mouth with a mittened hand, unable to keep the giggle from coming out. "I'm sorry. That was totally assy of me." Stopping at his car, he put the key in the lock and opened the door. "Well, this is me," he said. "What are you up to tonight?"

→ Making sure the pack hadn't eaten each other was what he was up to tonight, but that was every night. And he wasn't going to tell Brennan that. "Um, probably some CNN, some rice krispies, and bed." Saying it out loud made him feel old and he pulled a bit of a face. "You?" Sigmund tried to shift the focus back on to the other.

→ "Are you sure you don't want to stop by the store on the way for some depends and denture paste?" Brennan couldn't help but tease Sigmund. He really didn't find him old and boring. The teasing just came naturally. "I don't know...my girlfriend was supposed to drive out this weekend but something came up I guess. So...I was thinking I'd down one of the six packs of beer in my fridge and play some Halo. I know, not very exciting but definitely more thrilling than CNN and rice krispies," he teased again, resting his arms on the top of the open car door as he looked up at Sigmund with a shit eating grin.

→ "Halo?" He had no idea what Brennan was talking about. "Somehow being informed and full beats out a hangover and god know what side effects from whatever Halo might be." He had to laugh at the denture joke, but only because a werewolf with dentures was probably the most amusing mental image he'd had all day.

→ "It's a video game, old-timer," Brennan grinned, reaching out to give Sigmund a little poke in the chest. "What do you say you come over and give it a try? Then if you drink some of my beer, maybe it will save me that hangover," he smiled brightly, pulling the most enticing face he could muster. It wasn't that he was desperate to hang out with someone really...at least he didn't like to think so. He was just disappointed that his girlfriend hadn't come up in two months and he spent so much time in class and at work, it left precious little time for friends.

→ Sigmund laughed. "You must be incredibly lonely to try and wile me away from my rice krispies." But he smiled and glanced furtively over his shoulder to make sure Sandy wasn't finishing up and leaving to catch them in the parking lot. "You're like my main source for liquor these days, how messed up is that? But yeah, that sounds good. I'll follow you over in my rig."

→ "Yeah, yeah," Brennan rolled his eyes, fighting the blush that wanted so badly to appear on his cheeks. Yes, he was incredibly lonely, but he wasn't about to admit that to Sigmund. "Rig? What are you now? Some kind of renegade construction worker?" He hopped into the car and shut the door before Sigmund could reply and made a little shooing motion toward where the older man's truck was, a few spaces down.

→ Sigmund opened his mouth to offer a quip in return, but was cut short. He mouthed the words 'not fair' at Brennan before taking off to his truck. When he got inside he did his best to spiff himself up for reasons slightly beyond even himself.

→ The mouthing of the words made Brennan laugh and he waited for Sigmund to get situated in his truck before taking off from the parking lot. It only took about twenty minutes to get back to his place and after he parked his car in the reserved covered parking space, he walked over to Sigmund's truck first so they could go up to the apartment together. "You drive faster than most oldies, I'll give you credit for that. You actually kept up with me," he grinned, tugging on the strings of his hat just for fun.

→ Sigmund couldn't stop himself from reaching forward and tugging at those strings too. "Sorry," he laughed immediately after doing so. "Those things are too tempting." Walking inside with him, he was eager to see Brennan's place. You could tell a lot about a person by their territory--er, apartment. "I didn't want to lose you; I'm usually much more sensible."

→ Brennan laughed when Sigmund tugged at his strings and turned around to lead him up to the third floor of the apartment building they were parked in front of. "This is how I get my exercise," he huffed, going up the stairs. Letting Sigmund into the apartment, he was glad he'd cleaned. Sure, it had been with the intention of getting laid when his girlfriend arrived but he was glad he'd cleaned just the same. He had two couches, mismatching of course. You couldn't afford matching furniture as a poor college student. There were a few pictures on the wall, mostly video game and music related, and he had two video game chairs in front of his tv, the focal point of the living room. "Welcome to mi casa. Sit," he smiled.

→ Sigmund didn't quite know where to carry out Brennan's command. "With such a diverse offering of seating, how could I possibly decide?" He remembered those days, even though they seemed farther back than he wanted to admit. The nod of his head was approving though, and he shrugged himself out of his jacket, definitely not winded in the slightest.

→ "Flip a coin," Brennan suggested, heading out to the kitchen to grab some beers. When he returned, he'd lost the puffy jacket and mittens but he was still wearing the beanie. He loved it and wore it constantly when it was even slightly cold outside. Holding out a beer to Sigmund, he flipped the light in the corner on so that they could see a little better. It was Bud Light with lime. Definitely a college student's pick.

→ Lime. He bit his bottom lip to curtail a smirky sort of smile that threatened to overtake his face. It wasn't a condescending feeling so much as an endeared one. Taking the offered beer, he sat down on one of the couches. "So--Halo. It sounds kind of like an angel cult. Tell me you're not in a cult; you're too nice a kid to be in a cult."

→ "Angel cult?" Brennan laughed, practically spitting beer all over the place as he fought to keep it in his mouth. "Come sit over here," he said, plopping down in one of the video game chairs. "It's the best place to play. Kay, this is a first person shooter so..." he set his beer down to set up the game. "And I'm not a kid, grandpa," he added out of the corner of his mouth.

→ "Are too." He said childishly about Brennan being a kid. It was a joke, but it was also one of his own well placed reminders to himself not to get too comfortable. Coming cautiously to the chair, he sat, finding the thing a bizarre invention and not quite understanding why the floor wasn't just as good. Sigmund was still holding onto his beer because it was familiar, and he knew how to hold a bottle--unlike the controller Brennan was starting to weild.

→ Sigmund would soon find out why the chair was better than the floor. The game powered on and the speakers in the chair came to life, music echoing behind their heads and vibrating their seats a little. "Tight, huh?" Brennan grinned, passing one of the controllers to Sigmund. "Okay, so..." he began, pointing at all the different buttons on it and explaining what they did so that Sigmund would have at least half a chance of getting a handle on the game.

→ The sound was more alarming than 'tight,' but Sigmund had spent many years working in the city and immersing himself in human culture and he was able to grow accustomed to the surround sound quickly. His eyes followed Brennan's instructions quickly, clever mind picking up what it could. "Right." He nodded firmly, determined to at least make a good showing.

→ Taking another drink of beer before the game started, Brennan gave Sigmund a few more instructions. "Okay so, you're on my team. You want to shoot the blue guys, alright? And if someone starts humping your head after they shoot you, don't take it personally. It happens to every....OKAY GO!" He said, immediately launching a rocket at the other team's base.

→ The arrows were supposed to point you in the direction you were going, but when he moved them the screen whirled around and he tried desperately to orient himself. It was easier to lean forward in hopes the guy would go, but that didn't work so well because he nearly rocked forward off the chair. Yelping when seemingly out of nowhere he was killed, Sigmund frowned at his controller as if it might be broken. Throwing himself back into the game, he started to improve a little.

→ Brennan kind of laughed a little at the look on Sigmund's face when he was killed. "Don't worry. You'll get better. It took me forever to get the hang of it in the beginning." He quickly took out two of the other team at once, running over for a celebratory teabagging before running off to hop on the nearest Warthog. "Shit, shit, Sigmund! Right there! LEFT GO LEFT."

→ Sigmund's body went left, unfortunately he wasn't hooked up to the game. "I'm not coordinated enough for--what in the hell were you doing to those people?" He squinted at the screen then gave Brennan a sideways glance. Still, he was trying to go left as instructed because clearly left was safety. When Sigmund found the trigger button, he shot wildly at nothing.

→ Brennan laughed again as Sigmund very nearly wound up in his lap. "You don't have to move your body to make your character move," he informed him with a smug grin. Just as Sigmund was about to be killed, Brennan ran over the blue guy with his Warthog. "Okay, jump on the back. We have to go get the flag," he told Sigmund, glancing over at him. "Get on!" He laughed. "And I was...doing a victory dance?"

→ "Victory dance, porn, same thing, right?" He actually managed to get on the vehicle through some miracle of technology and he settled into a gunner position, not expecting to do much good. Still, putting Sigmund in the driver's seat would have been a strategical error.

→ "Oh shut up!" Brennan laughed. "Everyone does it. It's like...tradition," he said, taking off toward the blue teams base. "Okay so like...shoot people," he told Sigmund, giving him a nudge. "Anyone who tries to get near us, shoot them," he told him, a little more frantically this time. "Come on, come on, we can so get the flag! It's right fucking there!"

→ Sigmund was worried Brennan was mad at him. The smell of his adrenaline was confusing because there really wasn't any sort of danger that should have triggered such a reaction. As he got the hang of the game, he was able to take out a few attackers. "What flag? What flag!?" He was starting to get worked up too.

→ Of course, Brennan wasn't mad at him. He was just getting hyped up because the taste of victory was so near. "Oh good. Fuck yes, Sigmund! KICK THEIR ASSES. Okay, stay there. STAY." He hopped off the Warthog and hurried toward the flag. Within seconds he was back on the vehicle. "Okay, same fucking thing. We gotta get back to the base. RIGHT THERE. BEHIND US. SWING THE GUN AROUND." Brennan got ridiculously hyped up and foulmouthed when it came to Halo.

→ Of all the things Sigmund had been expecting to find out about Brennan tonight, this was not one of them. From the sound of it, Brennan was a hardened war hero, but Sigmund could still see the way his beanie ears flapped with his frantic speech. Sigmund fell into the rhythm of the game, missing a couple of times, but ultimately taking them out. "Don't suppose we could pull over for a victory dance." He smirked.

→ "Oh my God, you're a fucking Halo prodigy," Brennan cursed, speeding back toward their base. "My friends can't even take out that many dudes at once," he informed Sigmund as he navigated around a hill. "And no...no victory dances yet...I'm so close, Sigmund. SO FUCKING CLOSE. SHIT." They were about to be attacked from the left and there was no way Brennan was going to give up the flag this close to the base. "KILL THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS. BRING THE PAIN, SIGMUND." He sped up, heading to the right to get away from them.

→ Feeling a little like he needed a huge swig of beer, Sigmund didn't dare take his hands from the controller for fear of what Brennan might do. He also had to wonder what the neighbors thought of these late night missions. Hand-eye coordination quite good, Sigmund proceeded to kill said motherfuckers, feeling just a bit like a warrior and he had to admit the feeling was good.

→ Thankfully for Brennan's sake, it was a college kid sort of apartment complex and all of his neighbors were up, probably doing various other things that were worse than late night Halo missions. "OH FUCK ME YOU DID IT!" Brennan hollered, swinging the Warthog around in front of the base. He jumped off the vehicle before it had even come to a halt and made a run for the doors of their base. In a matter of seconds, the victory screen appeared and he jumped up, fist pumping in the air as he did a literal victory dance, his earflaps swinging violently. He gyrated his hips back and forth before realizing exactly who was sitting there watching. "Oh, um...good game, Sigmund," he squeaked, plopping back down in the chair to try and nonchalantly have a sip of beer.

→ With the controller still held loosely in his hands, Sigmund could do nothing but stare at the display. He'd have to ask Nixon if they put some sort of programmed drug into this game, because that's all that would explain this. After a few long seconds of still just staring after Brennan sat down, Sigmund finally broke into a smile. "Good lord--Halo is serious business. I'd hate to have seen you lose; you may have pummeled me."

→ lol brennan is a spaz Brennan laughed a little at that, taking another drink of his beer. "Naw, not you." Plenty of his friends had recieved beatings though after royally fucking up a mission, back when he actually had friends coming around to play games, back before he'd gotten too busy for them. "You did really good, man. You should come over more, play more, kick more ass."

→ Sigmund had always considered himself more of a pacifist, but he didn't suppose viritual killing sprees were going to hurt anything. When Brennan said he'd done well, Sigmund actually felt accomplished. "Clearly I need to do some more hunting expeditions or something with this new found talent. Or come over more, that would work too." Finishing off the beer he set the bottle down. "I think we actually have one of those at my place, maybe I'll practice." The other wolves would think he was crazy.

→ "You do? Oh sweet! If you get online from there we can totally play each other!" Brennan's eyes lit up and he finished off his beer as well, hopping up from the gaming seat. "You want another beer?" He asked, taking the empty bottles. "Or a grand tour?" Not that there was much to show off. It was a one bedroom apartment. Wouldn't be much of a tour at all, really.

→ Walking around was preferable to Sigmund though, and he stood, following Brennan a little ways. "Beer and a tour? Something tells me there isn't a no open container rule around the rest of the place." Brennan's genuine excitement was invigorating and Sigmund was left to wonder if he ever ran out of energy.

→ The answer was of course, no. Brennan never ran out of energy, mostly because there was no one around to wear him out in any fashion. "You can have as many open containers as you want," he laughed. "So that's the living room slash dining room. I eat on the couch." Opening the fridge, he grabbed two beers and opened them, handing one to Sigmund. "I don't really cook much in here though. I usually eat out. I mean, when I have money. I don't count sandwiches and ramen as cooking and those are what I normally have." He moved off down the hall, motioning for Sigmund to come too. "Here's the bathroom," he pointed. "In case you need it," he grinned. "Aaaand, my bedroom which is actually clean because I thought I was getting laid," he pushed the door open, noticing the alcohol had loosened his tongue again. The room WAS clean. More music and movie posters, a computer at a desk, and a full sized bed with a brown duvet and Spiderman pillowcases. "Oh shit," he sighed, when he saw the pillowcases. "I was going to change those but then she wasn't coming so I thought why bother and bla bla bla I'm boring. Okay." He put the beer down on the nightstand and finally took off his beanie before flopping down onto his bed, which rolled beneath him. A water bed.

→ Sigmund took in everything, almost embarassed when he realized he was hanging off of every word that came out of Brennan's mouth. When he mentioned getting laid, the man took a swig of beer to cover up any sort of reaction he may or may not have had to that image. "Is it that Spiderman kills the mood? I've never noticed that before." Not that he owned a lot of Spiderman bedding, or that the look of pillowcases ever mattered in the kind of sex Sigmund usually had. "Why was it that she couldn't come, again?" He watched Brennan's body move in small waves on the bed.

→ "I don't really know," Brennan admitted. "Something about a really big project that she had to work on all weekend with one of her professors." He flopped over onto his back and slid his hands beneath his head for support. "And I don't really know about the Spiderman pillowcase...she just always kind of sighs and stares at them and looks at me like I grew an extra head," he said, staring up at the ceiling. "Wanna try out the motion of the ocean?" He grinned, scooting over to make room for Sigmund. Everyone who came over always wanted to lay on his bed because really, who had waterbeds anymore?

→ Sigmund shook his head. "No, I'm good standing. Don't want to get seasick." He managed to be utterly casual, even though Brennan was making him a little nervous. "I'm not sure most women understand the importance of graphic novels in a guy's life. They're a perfectly viable decorating options." Sigmund liked comic book heroes; they made sense to him with their morals, and codes of honor.

→ "Well I'm glad someone thinks so," Brennan replied, reaching for his beer. He took a few swigs, downing almost all of it. Setting it back on the dresser, he rolled back onto his stomach, looking around the room. "Maybe you would prefer the beanbag," he pointed over to it, next to the bed. The bed rolled a little and tugged his shirt up when he pointed, exposing a small sliver of skin between his tshirt and the line of his briefs that were peeking out about his jeans.

→ Sometimes he had to wonder if Brennan did these things on purpose. If he was a more frivolous man, or given to fantasy, he would imagine that Brennan was trying to give him signals, speaking to him in code that said it was all right to make the first move. But logical Sigmund knew, sadly, that really wasn't the case. He could not, however, keep his eyes from that line of skin and his fingertips tightened ever so slightly around his beer bottle. "Or we could go back into the living room. Are you planning on having a nap?"

→ "No," Brennan laughed, hauling himself up from the bed. He grabbed the rest of his beer. "I just don't hang out in the living room much I guess." He was more accustomed to lounging around in his room. Heading over to one of the couches, he plopped down on one end, waiting to see where Sigmund would sit. "We could play a different game, or watch a movie," he suggested. "Or we could have another beer and just sit here," he added with a smile.

→ The living room was more of a safe area, and while Sigmund didn't exactly like mapping out Brennan's apartment like a war zone, the metaphor was not entirely lost on him. "Are you already done with that one? You really did intend on drinking the whole six-pack tonight, didn't you?" As he sat down on the couch, he relaxed back, holding his only half-empty bottle on his knee. His limbs were long and when he sunk down into the cushions, it accentuated his spidery build. "Sitting? What, you think that's my speed?"

→ "Uh-huh," Brennan nodded, answering yes to both the question about the beer and the question about Sigmund's speed. "Aaaaaand," he added, quickly finishing off the beer in his hand. "Yes, I am done with this one. Please sir, I want some more," he said in an accent straight out of Dickens. But instead of getting up, he just leaned over to rest his head against the back of the couch. "It's a Saturday. I don't have work or class tomorrow. So what not get drunk?" He reasoned, even though Sigmund wasn't asking for one.

→ Holding up his hands, he laughed. "No, you're absolutely right. It's a good time to get utterly smashed, especially since you're already home with a strange guy anyway, right?" A joke, though it rang a little oddly in between them, but Sigmund hoped he was just imagining that unsettled feeling. Shaking his head, he stood up. "I'll get us both another, okay?" He used that opportunity to finish his own, just about chugging it the whole way down.

→ "You're not strange," Brennan replied, handing his empty bottle to the older man with a smile. "You're Sigmund, the guy who wouldn't let me skip out on the career fair," he grinned, laughing to himself a little. That was how he described Sigmund to his girlfriend when he talked to her on the phone. Kicking his shoes off, he closed his eyes and waited for Sigmund to bring his third beer. When Sigmund opened the fridge, he would see that there was a second sixpack sitting there untouched as well. "Are you getting hungry or anything?" He called lazily. "We could order a pizza or something." He had a credit card for emergencies and would gladly put a drunken emergency pizza on it.

→ Food was beginning to sound like a good idea for both of them. A hungry werewolf and a drunk boy might not have been the most prudent combination in the world. Not that Sigmund ever lacked control. "Yeah," he replied back. "I'll buy. What do you want on it?" He returned with two beers and handed one to Brennan without sitting down so that he could go right to the phone.

→ "Anything," Brennan replied, beaming up at Sigmund when he brought him the beer. "Whatever you like," he told him, holding onto his third beer tightly. "You don't have to buy. I can buy. My card is in my wallet." He turned onto his side to show Sigmund the lump from his wallet buried in one of his back pockets. "Be sure to get deliveryyy," he slurred a little. "No drinking and driving, Sigggmund," he grinned.

→ He rolled his lips inward, forming a grimmace. But the expression wasn't a bad thing, more a marriage between amusement and reservation. That third might have been a mistake, but a mistake that pizza might remedy. "Don't be silly. I'll pay. I don't even eat Ramen anymore." Because no one ate Ramen if they didn't have to financially, or cooking skill wise. He went back for the phone in the kitchen and dialed up one of the fliers stuck to the fridge. Meat was his topping of choice, lots of different kinds of it. "Twenty minutes," he informed as he sat back down on the couch and angled his body toward Bren. "You're officially drunk, I think. Two beers? Really?"

→ "Shut up, I am not!" Brennan protested. "I'm just happy! It's Saturday night and I'm done with work and school for the week and I'm not alone like I thought I was going to be and you're actually really fun to hang out with and I don't even fucking care that she's not here because you're here and pizza is coming," he paused to take a deep breath and just ended up taking another swig of beer instead of continuing on his tirade. Brennan wasn't a huge guy and he really didn't drink all that often, so when he did, he was a little bit of a lightweight, even if he wouldn't admit it.

→ "You're drunk." Sigmund said again, but this time he was far more delighted about it because Brennan was hell bent on denying it. "Drunk, drunk, drunk." Even alphas could be terribly petty, and everyone liked winning. "I love how you say 'actually,' like it's a big surprise how people without breasts and pretty hair could be interesting on a Saturday night." It was clear that he was kidding, loosening up quite a bit himself, not because of the alcohol, but because of the way Brennan's energy had shifted and he could smell distinctly a mixture of booze and genuine, relaxed pleasure coming off of him.

→ "Well generally the people with breasts and big hair mean you're going to get laid," Brennan informed him, using his beer bottle to point at Sigmund for emphasis. "And that is what Saturday nights are generally all about. But this Saturday night is good too. Halo, beer, and pizza are a close runner up and I am totally not drunk. Look. I can touch my nose," he said, touching his own nose with the beer bottle. Then he hauled himself up from the couch, smiling down at Sigmund. "And I'm not wobbly yet...I'm not wobbly...am I?" He asked as he started to walk across the floor while trying to keep his eyes on Sigmund. Okay, he was a little wobbly but he really only got really wobbly after he'd had more than just a few beers. His friends usually left him by the toilet when he was drunk because they didn't trust him to get around on his own.

→ Sigmund leaned forward on the couch, having the feeling that being prepared to catch the kid was a good stance to take. "Generally, if you're straight that's what it means." Not that Sigmund was out crusading for gay rights or anything, but he always felt the need to mention the fact that it existed. He hid enough about himself from the world to be hiding that too. "Also, you're wobbly. And in denial, apparently."

→ "Okay, if you're straight," Brennan acknowledged, turning around to walk back toward Sigmund. He didn't have any gay friends and not that he would have asked this while sober, the question just kind of came out. "How do you know? If you are? Or aren't?" He'd never really thought about it before. Was it possibly to be gay without knowing it? Or bi without knowing it? That was a weird thought. At least while drunk. He wobbled back over toward the couch, and kind of tripped over the leg of the coffee table, landing right next to Sigmund on the couch.

→ When he looked over at the other, he was exceptionally close, and Sigmund's eyes dilated a little. "Um, it's different for everyone, I guess. If you're attracted to men, you might be a little gay, you know? Some people are curious, try it and hate it. It's just one of those things that--I don't know." Sigmund didn't know how to explain it and thought that there really should be a handbook for these things. "Does it bother you that I am?"

→ "No way," Brennan replied, shaking his head for emphasis. "I mean, if I did, I wouldn't have invited you over right?" He reasoned, patting Sigmund's knee. "I like you a lot. You're a really nice guy and a good friend...I mean, you know," he said, thinking that maybe Sigmund didn't consider him a friend exactly since he was so much younger. "I kissed a guy once," he confided randomly. It had been during an unfortunate landing of spin the bottle while drunk in high school but he wasn't going to admit to that bit.

→ "And?" Sigmund asked without thinking it might sound too interested in the outcome. The knee patting bordered on condescending, but Sigmund knew Brennan didn't mean it that way. Still, in the back of his mind he'd sort of thought that maybe he would confess a steamy attraction to him and they would tumble into that waterbed followed shortly be a happily ever after. Or something. No one could make Sigmund feel as stupid as Brennan did.

→ "And..." Brennan replied, definitely not meaning to be condescending. He just wanted to be close to Sigmund for some reason. He enjoyed the older man's presence and influence in his life which had definitely been looking up since they'd met. "It wasn't gross or anything," he said with a smile. "I mean, I didn't think it would be. It was just...different," he said, looking over at Sigmund and leaving his hand on the older man's knee for the moment. He tended to get touchy-feely while drunk.

→ "Different." Sigmund repeated, trying to determine the underlying meaning of the word. Absent mindedly, he licked his bottom lip and finally took a drink of his newly opened beer. Leaning his head back, he shut his eyes, wanting to separate himself from how close he was to Brennan and how good he smelled and looked. But Sigmund was a creature of many other senses and his nose didn't stop working, nor did his ears stop hearing the light breathing of the other paired with his heartbeat thudding faintly in the background.

→ "Well yeah I mean, it was different from kissing a girl. Not bad different," he said, not wanting Sigmund to think he was dissing gay kissing. Because he wasn't. "Have you ever kissed a girl?" He asked, looking over at Sigmund. He peered at the older man curiously, watching him there as he leaned his head back. His heartbeat sped up a little as he worried that he'd upset the other.

→ The quickening beat made Sigmund open his eyes and he smiled warmly, liking the sound of fast better than slow. "Yeah. It was all right. I didn't particularly like it." As Brennan's tongue loosened, so did Sigmund's. "It was wet. And not to say that women kiss wetter than men; it's just that I'm far more distracted when I'm kissing a man because it's rough and engaging and there's often nothing yielding about it."

→ "Oh," Brennan nodded his head, trying to think back to that time he'd kissed that guy and he supposed that what Sigmund was saying made sense. "So it's kind of more challenging?" He smiled, still just looking at Sigmund. His heartbeat was still racing as he pondered the subject of conversation. He'd never really thought about doing anything else with a guy, mainly because his girlfriend was always there. Well, she wasn't always physically there, but she was...there. She was his girlfriend. Brennan rubbed at his head before taking another drink of beer.

→ Sigmund laughed. "No, I think it just turns me on more, is all." He had to drag his eyes up from Brennan's mouth to even talk. Letting his head angle forward again, he breathed a sigh of relief as the pizza arrived. He jumped up from the couch, springing with so much grace he couldn't possibly have been affected by the alcohol. Grabbing his wallet, he exchanged cash for the pizza and brought it inside. He set it on the coffee table in front of Brennan and made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "Ta-da."

→ Brennan couldn't help the little shiver that ran through his body when Sigmund spoke those words 'turns me on more' and took a quick drink of his beer to try and settle his racing heartbeat. He wasn't sure why he was having this sort of reaction to having Sigmund so near, but he was glad for the moment alone when the older man hopped up to get the pizza. Smiling, he leaned forward to open it when it was set on the coffee table and pushed it toward Sigmund. "You bought it. You get the first slice," he said.

→ "You have some really bizarre college boy rituals, don't you. Should I do a story on you? Headline Local Tribe of College Students Renew Ancient Ways of Teabagging, Pizza Rules." He moved his hand across an invisible newspaper. Still, he dipped down to grab a slice and resumed his place on the couch, the exact place because he liked the way it made his breath shallow and his stomach twist warmly.

→ "Hey I didn't invite the teabagging or the pizza rules," Brennan laughed, grabbing a piece for himself before settling back against the couch. His knee was pressed against Sigmund's outer thigh now but as tipsy as he was, he wasn't exactly aware of the concept of personal space. "You know you have to stay here for awhile," he said. "It would be very very very very irresponsible of me to let you drive home," he said, waving his beer at Sigmund. In all honesty, he wasn't trying to hit on the older man, really. He just liked his company and didn't want to be alone and liked his company...and that was it. Sort of.

→ The torture of the press of Brennan's body was fortunately subverted temporarily by the pizza. Pepperoni had magical powers against the werewolf brain and Sigmund settled into devouring the slice with just a fraction too much gusto. "Actually," he began between bites. "It's drunk driving that's irresponsible. I, however, would be sober driving so it would be perfectly acceptable."

→ "You're not sober! You can't be! You've had just as much as me," Brennan mumbled into his pizza. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on and probably wouldn't remember these odd hormonal feelings tomorrow. Feelings stemming from a night that was supposed to end up him having sex coupled with the talk he and Sigmund had been having. He finished off the slice of pizza and then took up the beer again, guzzling down quite a bit in one go.

→ "I'm taller than you, and with--I don't think it exaggerating to say--quite a bit more muscle mass than you. It takes a lot more to get me drunk." Even if Brennan didn't remember, Sigmund certainly would. The way his body was reacting, brain boiling in chemicals that sent electric flags, scents into the air around Brennan were just about enough to make Sigmund crawl on top of him. The magic pepperoni only had so much power to distract. "You just don't want to be alone overnight, even if it's just some co-worker on your couch." Was that mean? He didn't know, some of his control lost in the shuffle of want and denial.

→ "Psh," was Brennan's only reply. He wasn't quite sure what the odd feeling in his chest was when Sigmund said that, so he snatched up a second piece of pizza to occupy himself for the moment. "I'm just fuckin' with you," he said around a mouthful of food. "It's not like I'm really going to make you stay here. I don't care." He gave Sigmund a little smile so that he wouldn't think he was mad and then returned his attention to the pizza.

→ The sensory input wasn't matching Brennan's words and the wolf in Sigmund shifted about, annoyed with stupid human confusions. Either the other wanted it, or didn't. His body was saying yes to some extent, but his behavior was saying no. Control, Sigmund always had a complete handle on it--except now. He could feel it loosening, slipping. Reaching his hand out, he took the slice of pizza away from Brennan, not liking that it was taking attention away from him.

→ "Hey, what the hell," Brennan complained, furrowing his brow at Sigmund. "You totally just stole that piece of pizza right out of my mouth, you know," he added, just looking at Sigmund as if he somehow might be able to figure out why the older man was behaving so strangely. "You should have claimed that piece ahead of time. There was no claiming done, so it is rightfully mine."

→ Sigmund felt himself get closer, even if his brain was telling his body to stop. "Too many pizza rules," he said, but his voice had dropped a little, going thin. His body kept moving, and everything felt as if it had slowed to a crawl. Eventually though, his mouth had replaced the pizza and he was kissing this kid, this energetic, beautiful, drunk college kid. Sigmund's brain yelled, but his body didn't care.

→ Brennan had never been more shocked in his life. He definitely forgot about the pizzat hat had been snatched from his hand though. For a moment he just stayed still, having a minor freak out but then once he took a moment to realize what Sigmund was doing felt nice, he sort of kissed back, momentarily, until his brain came up with the idea that this meant Sigmund wanted to have sex with him. Cue freak out .. Freak out . occurred when he realized that he was still kissing back, more aggressively by the moment too. He just decided to blame it on the alcohol and go with it. For now. If clothes started getting removed, he might have some sort of small heart attack.

→ Very much on the outside of Brennan's internal terror, Sigmund was also insanely distracted at the moment. All he could feel was the increasing vigor of the kiss and his hand came up to rest against Brennan's jaw, feeling the bend of it with his fingertips. When he went home later that night, he would angst over the fact that he'd taken advantage of Brennan and probably ruined their friendship. But the taste of Brennan's mouth and the way Sigmund's tongue slid so easily between parted lips was all enough to console him right then.

→ When he felt Sigmund's tongue slide into his mouth, Brennan gasped a little, a tiny 'oh' coming from his lips as he kissed the older man a little harder. The guy he'd kissed in highschool was nothing like Sigmund. Sigmund was bigger than Brennan, more muscley as he'd noted before, and had a little scruff on his face but not even to bother Brennan. In fact, he realized that he actually kind of liked it. At first, he didn't even notice that his hands had come up and were pressing against Sigmund's chest for support but when he did, he liked the way his body felt.

→ The push against him didn't feel like a request to get away, so Sigmund kept going, fingertips moving from jaw to the back of his neck. This was even better than he'd imagined, especially when he didn't let pesky logic get in the way, like the fact that Brennan had a girlfriend. But eventually, thought won out and he broke the kiss. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sat back, deciding to lie and blame the alcohol. "Oh god, I'm really sorry. I'm more drunk than I thought I was. I'm really, really sorry, Brennan." He stood up, going to look for his keys that he'd set down someplace so he could go.