It takes Elliot some jiggling and soft cursing to get his door unlocked, hands unsteady, and Blake can’t tell if it’s nerves or the drinks Elliot had at the party. Blake won’t say he has second thoughts, because he made a choice here, knowing full well how wrong this could go, how much it could screw everything up, but the more he watches Elliot, fiddling with his key, tripping over the threshold, stumbling out of his boots, the less convinced Blake is that this is the right decision.
“Hey,” Elliot says as soon as the door is closed and then he’s right there, hands on Blake’s sides, tipping his head up and Blake meets him halfway, kisses him, a soft whine escaping Elliot’s throat before he kisses him back, pushes, until Blake’s back hits the door.
Elliot gets out of his coat, drops it, his lips still on Blake’s, moving down the side of his neck when his fingers move on to undo the buttons of Blake’s coat. It joins Elliot’s on the floor. His hands are everywhere, running down Blake’s chest, then back up, one curled around the back of his neck, the other one tugging off his hat, getting caught in Blake’s hair, and Blake can barely focus, wraps his arms around Elliot and keeps him close.
There’s nothing careful about the way Elliot is kissing him right now, it’s like he’s been waiting for this, has been starving for it and can’t get enough, teeth grazing Blake’s bottom lip when he pulls away, only to press a kiss to Blake’s throat, hands finding their way under Blake’s sweater, burning hot against his skin.
Blake gets his fingers into Elliot’s hair, tugs, and Elliot moans, lips still on Blake’s throat.
“Come on,” Elliot says, pulls him away from the door and down the hall. He trips over absolutely nothing on the way and laughs.
“Elliot,” Blake says, but can’t finish because Elliot is kissing him again as he guides him into his bedroom.
Elliot doesn’t turn on the lights, so the room’s all shadows, but Blake can see Elliot’s bed, part of it illuminated by the hallway light.
“Elliot, how drunk are you?” Blake asks, because he honestly can’t tell right now.
“Not drunk.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“A little,” Elliot says, fingers digging into Blake’s sides. “I want to… Blake. I don’t just want this because I’m drunk.”
“Okay, but…”
“You don’t want to,” Elliot says.
“We shouldn’t.”
Blake hates this so much. Two minutes ago, he was willing to let Elliot do whatever he wants with him.
Elliot takes a step back and lets out a breath. “I’m not that drunk.”
“I know, I… I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Elliot says and that’s probably a lie. He looks small, like he wants to hide from Blake, turns his face away when Blake tries to look him in the eyes.
“Elliot.”
“I’m not mad because you don’t want to sleep with me,” Elliot says.
Blake believes him, because Elliot isn’t that kind of guy, but he’s mad about something, and it’s probably Blake’s fault.
“This is so fucked up, I’m so sorry,” Elliot says. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come in the first place.”
“I can go,” Blake says. It’s not that late. He’ll go home and think about his life and his choices and he’ll sleep in his own bed and maybe he’ll let the cats sleep on his bed, because by the time he makes it home, he’ll be miserable.
Elliot frowns. “Do you have to?”
“No, but… It sort of sounded like you wanted me to?”
“Please stay.”
“Okay,” Blake says and Elliot goes in for a hug, face pressed into the crook of Blake’s neck, arms wrapped around him tightly. They stand there like that as the minutes tick by, neither of them letting go.
Elliot eventually tugs himself away, finds Blake a shirt to borrow, disappears in his closet and comes back out in boxers and a shirt, then disappears into the bathroom while Blake pulls on the shirt that Elliot handed to him. Blake dumps his jeans and his sweater on a chair in the corner, then slips into the bathroom when Elliot is done.
Elliot left out a toothbrush for him. He’s already in bed, sitting up, when Blake pads back into the bedroom. He’s over on the left, leaving room for Blake, which means Blake probably isn’t sleeping on the couch. Blake climbs in next to him and it’s less awkward than he thought it would be.
He’s done this before, it’s familiar even though it’s been years.
“Okay?” Elliot asks. It’s an echo of the first time they slept in the same bed, back in Norwalk, where they were supposed to be sharing Blake’s room, Blake on a mattress and Elliot in his bed. It was the same question back then, when Elliot had already settled against Blake, breath tickling his neck.
Blake nods and reaches out, relieved when Elliot flops against him, with very little grace, and tucks himself against Blake, the exact same way he used to. Blake kisses the top of Elliot’s head because he can’t help himself, then scoots down a little to get comfortable.
“Happy New Year,” Blake mumbles. It must be midnight by now.
Elliot hums, curls his finger into Blake’s shirt. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
Blake sees that as what it is, a request for him to not sneak out in the middle of the night. Which, honestly, he hadn’t considered yet, but likely would have considered if he’d woken up before Elliot and had found himself with a choice to make. Now that Elliot said that, though, Blake can’t. As much as he’d rather write tonight off as a slip-up they should forget about quickly, he knows this is more, and they do need to talk about it, even though he
