Pale ale
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A little Whoa Bessie Halloween featuring college Bucky and Steve.
Warnings for college drinking and foul language
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“I’m so glad these don’t have doorbells.” Bucky hip-checks the door to his dorm. He turns the lock with one hand and balances a 6-pack of beer on the palm of the other.
“You’re gonna drop those.” Steve crashes on James’s bed.
“No, I’m not.”
James turns around and grins. He hefts the weight of the package behind the opposite arm as if showing off a trick with a basketball. The flimsy cardboard wrapper doesn’t hold up to the weight of the tilting cans, and all six come tumbling down.
“Oh, shit.” James lunges for the can that lands on the foot of the bed while the rest crash to the floor. One particularly unlucky beer hits the corner of one of the bed risers, and foam gushes onto the carpet. “Fuck.”
Steve scuttles to pick it up, practically crashing heads with James in his rush.
“You’re gonna get in trouble if it smells like alcohol in here.” Steve’s eyes go wide with sincerity. “You have to stay on the good side or they won’t let me come in here anymore.”
“Relax.”
James tosses the rest of the cans onto his comforter. They roll toward Steve, who now sits criss-cross with his face in his hands. James throws his towel over the spill and steps on it. Then climbs onto the bed beside Steve.
“You know you worry too much.” It’s a statement. James is caught between indulging Steve’s anxiety and assuaging it.
“Yeah, well.” Steve looks up and visibly gulps. “We’re kinda close to the line. Like, a lot.”
“I’d be surprised if a single RA is patrolling for curfew.” James rolls his eyes. “I mean, if they man their posts at all. It’s always honor system on party nights.”
“I guess so.” Steve tries a smile, but it comes off as a grimace. “Upper class-men party it up more?”
“Eh, most people get out of their systems their first year. Seniors…” James shrugs. “I don’t know. They probably go to real parties off campus, since they’re old folks with IDs and all.”
Steve tilts his head. “Who goes to the frat parties, then?”
“Aw, probably some dumb kids…”James keeps his face carefully stoic and grabs the nearest beer. It spits in his face when he pops the tab.
“You’re talking in circles.” Steve narrows his eyes at James. “Unless you’re implying the Greek system is swindling the freshmen.”
“They’ve got to replace themselves somehow.” James holds the beer under Steve’s chin. “Here, drink up.”
“Watch yourself. I thought you were better than that.”
“Oh, I’m terrible.” James takes a beer for himself. He clinks it sideways against the one in Steve’s hand. “Somebody’s got to teach you right.”
“You’re only one year older.” Steve puffs himself up.
“And you’ve never pulled an all-nighter. Come on. Drink up.” James leans into Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve got to raise you right. It’s my job.”
“I guess…” Steve takes a swallow of his beer. The cap is more fizz than substance, and he coughs instead of swallowing. “Oh god.” Foam runs from Steve’s nose. He pulls his hand into his sleeve and uses the cuff to wipe his face.
“Remember to breathe,” James reminds him, trying not to laugh. “Breathe while you drink. Just not at the same time.” He knocks Steve between the shoulder blades with what’s probably too much gusto.
“That makes no sense.” Steve sputters again and pulls a face. “This is… kind of disgusting.”
“Meh.” James takes a long draught. “Yeah, it ain’t great.” He swills a bit in his mouth as he tries to sum up the flavor. “It’s… almost a pilsner. Just a little watery. But, heck, it’s from WalMart.” He points toward the cardboard packaging on the floor. “I should’ve told you to have low expectations.”
“How much do I have to have in order to get drunk?” Steve looks at James like he’s out of his mind.
“I don’t know.” James nurses his own beer for a moment. “Three? Maybe two?”
Steve blinks at James as if he’s out of his mind.
“What?” Then James realizes he’s calculated incorrectly, neglecting to account for their difference in size and stature. “Maybe just the one,” James backtracks. “Just drink what you have.”
Steve lifts his can back to his lips and cringes. “I don’t get it. People seriously go wild for this stuff?”
James laughs. “Drink it for the feeling, not the taste. A lot of options are tastier. I think they make pumpkin spice beer nowadays.”
“You could’ve got us some of that.”
“That’s sure some thank you.” James goes to cuff him in the side of the head, but instead he winds up smoothing the flyaways behind Steve’s ear. “I had to do a lot of work to get this stuff. It’s not like there’s much choice when I’m slipping a twenty to a guy with a pick-up truck.”
“I guess.” Steve sighs, then tips his head back and begins to guzzle.
James can hear the carbonation liquid popping as it runs down Steve’s throat. “Careful there. Remember what I said about breathing?”
Steve surfaces, gasping. He holds his can with the tips of his trembling fingers. “How much—?” Steve starts. “How much do you have to have to make you throw up?”
“It varies, I guess,” James says. “Usually after you’re drunk and everything.”
“Oh.” Steve bites his lip. “I don’t think I want to get drunk…”
“You don’t have to.” James tries to cool the back of Steve’s neck with his open palm. “Just, uh, try not to get it on the carpet.”
“Sure…” Steve slurs heavily.
“You said I’d be in trouble if it smells like beer in here.” James looks squarely at the wall and continues, “I think I’ll be in more trouble if it smells like, well, you know.”
He can’t last a second. Neither of them can. James busts out laughing at the same moment Steve lurches for the trash bin. James gets off the bed to sit at his side.
As James moves, two of the loose beer cans fall back onto the carpet. He turns his gaze from Steve to glare at them over his shoulder. These ones have the good grace not to explode.
