#forced intoxication

It started with Dennis loudly spluttering and coughing after downing a bourbon shot at a dingy dive bar.

"Eugh, I fuckin' hate bourbon, it's so nasty!" Dennis croaked as he set the glass down, crinkling his nose against the burn in his throat that felt like lava.

"That's 'cus you're drinking bottom-shelf bourbon, Whitaker." Jack drawled, leaning back in the booth as his eyes flicked around the room. Dennis took the opportunity to let his eyes dip down the front of his splayed out body before dragging them back up to his face. God, his boyfriend was hot.

Trinity slammed her shot glass back down on the counter and pointed an accusatory finger. "You callin' me cheap, Abbot?"

"Yep." Jack answered easily. "You're a bunch of twenty-something med kids. You guys can't afford good bourbon."

The comment fired off a round of groans and jeers that just seemed to fuel Jack's good mood, chuckling into his own whiskey glass.

"Put your money where your mouth is and buy us top-shelf then." Trinity challenged with a smug little grin as she leaned over the wooden table on her elbows.

"Good bourbon's wasted on the lot of you, I've seen Dennis drink a shot from the bar mat ."

"It was a dare! I got 25 bucks!" Dennis scoffed, settling back into the cushions as the group roared with laughter. "Besides, I don't need my alcohol to taste good, I just need it to get me drunk!"

Jack was, originally, from Kentucky until… damn, until he was about 24. Coming up to Pittsburgh with all his southern charm and an accent to boot that had other students calling him "Jack Daniels" until he graduated. All that to say; he knew his bourbon. He had a pretty extensive collection- scotch, straight whiskey, bourbon, rum- he left the clear liquors to Robby. That was more his thing. It all sat in a dark walnut liquor cabinet that housed his records and his cigars.

The Liquor cabinet he knew Dennis had never even touched.

Knowing that his sweet thing's only had alcohol to get drunk was- well, it was normal for his age. It didn't sound like he knew better. Definitely didn't have his daddy teach him from the scraps he's picked up on from his home life.

The thought of Dennis flush from the alcohol and swaying into Jack's orbit, lips wet with liquor was a thought he'd have to file away for later.

That was about when they started paying tabs and collecting their things- a shambling group of giggling young adults and Jack herding them like a livestock dog to the car. Thankfully most of them lived close, each one getting dropped off until it was just Dennis and him sitting in the front seats.

"Next time we have a night in I'm making you drink some good bourbon- the kind that'll put some hair on your chest." Jack murmured, letting Dennis fumble with his hand on the shift stick so he could twine their fingers together.

"Shit's gross." Dennis replied, smacking his lips like he could still taste the offending shot.

"Not my shit." Jack promised.

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Jack loved this leather armchair.

He loved the way Dennis fit between his legs when he sat on the floor in front of it more.

They were maybe 8 bottles in, and at this point it felt like a little ritual.

Dennis's cheek was pillowed on his denim-clad thigh, playing with the laces of his boots as his eyes traced the big silver buckle of the thick leather belt that Jack probably bought before he was born. It had an intricate Caduceus on the front, the snakes twined elegantly between a set of wings, with little rays shooting down from it. Jack had gotten it as a gift when he graduated med school.

It shined in the low light with Jack's movements. The clink of class and the burbling pour of liquid, maybe a half of a shot at best, before the bottle was set down with a heavy thud on the dark walnut cabinet. And then- he liked this part best- Jack's curled finger brushed under his chin, tilting his head up and pressing the rim of the glass to Dennis's lips.

They all burned, but not nearly as badly as the shot he had with Trinity and the girls. Dennis dutifully swallowed and smacked his lips lightly

The first couple had Dennis coughing and spluttering, teary-eyed as Jack gently scolded him not to waste liquor. "That sip was probably worth more than all the drinks you got at the dive bar, sugar." He had to take a sip of the liquor and lean down to press a boozy kiss to the boy's lips.

"What notes do you taste, Den?"

This was the part he liked the least, not that he would tell Jack.

Dennis sighed and let his head thunk back down on Jack's thigh, lightly rubbing his cheek across the fabric of his jeans. "I don't know, they all taste like vanilla and hand sanitizer."

Jack tutted and brushed a hand through Dennis's hair. "Uh-uh, try again." When Dennis didn't answer, he popped the back of his knuckles lightly against his cheek. "Look at me when I'm talkin' to you, Den."

Dennis's baby blues flicked up to Jack's, huffing out a noise that sounded suspiciously close to a whine. His head just felt so heavy, he didn't want to make up some bullshit about notes of dark chocolate or leather or whatever else Jack insisted was in the drink.

"Ummm…caramel?" Dennis asked. Jack's face was passive as he waited for more. Shit. "Um, I… there was something fruity? Maybe?"

"Mhmm, dates. Good, Dennis, what else? Just one more." Dennis breathed out through his nose, letting the lingering flavor wash through his mouth and out his nose.

"…leeeaaather-?" Dennis drawled out, unsure as he watched Jack's face for any sign of agreement.

Jack paused for only a moment, letting the answer linger in suspense before he broke it with a soft huff and a fond smile.

"Attaboy, Dennis. Good boy."

Dennis melted into the touch as Jack pet his hair and leaned down to give him a kiss.

Jack's hands moved to under his forearms, gently helping Dennis up. He swayed heavily- he hadn't gotten up since they started and the alcohol was hitting him like a sledgehammer.

"Oh, bless your heart.." Jack murmured, helping the wobbly-legged boy into his lap. "You can't hold your liquor that well, can you kid?"

Dennis frowned as he settled back on Jack's thighs, now slightly taller than him, his brow furrowing as he fought through the warm malaise of his mind. He had drunk more alcohol here than he had since his tailgating days.

"I c'n handle it." He insisted. The slight slur to his words gave away his true level of intoxication.

Jack grinned- fully this time, the kind that made the fine lines by his eyes deepen.

"You can handle it? Sugar, you're drunk as a skunk- I'm the only thing keepin' you upright right now."

The sentence came out on the rolling back of a deep chuckle. Dennis could feel it vibrate through where his hand was resting on his chest. Jack's own hands on Dennis's waist squeezed gently to remind him of the structural support of his boyfriend's deliciously muscular arms. Dennis hummed and looked down at him, his eyelids low.

"You should lay me down then."

"Should I?" Jack asked softly, taking in the sight of Dennis's intoxication. God, he was so sweet for him, so pliant. If Jack were a worse man…

But that's part of the enjoyment. Dennis trusting him enough to shoot back the next sip each time.

Trusting him enough to handle him into his lap without asking for more.

Trusting him enough to take care of him the way that daddies should.

"Close your eyes, Den." Jack murmured.

Dennis let his eyes flutter closed, diligently waiting for Jack to press the glass to his lips. Maybe he could get one last boozy kiss from his boyfriend. Instead of a small sip of sweet liquor he was met with water. Dennis made a noise in the back of his throat in surprise, drinking and drinking and drinking until the last dredges of it, till his stomach felt bloated with liquid.

"Alright, lets get you in bed." Jack announced, patting Dennis's thigh with his hand.

"What? Nooooooo-" Dennis whined, slumping forward to bury his face into Jack's neck.

"Ohhh, you poor thing." Jack cooed, smoothing a hand over Dennis's back.

"You got me all drunk n' you won't ev'n do anythin' fun." Dennis said miserably, his words running together. His tongue felt so clumsy in his mouth.

"We can go snuggle in bed if you get up, sugar." Jack murmured. "Might even let you hump my leg if you're good and do as you're told."

Dennis groaned one more time before clumsily shuffling off Jack's lap and standing up, clinging to the armchair as he stood up.

Jack chuckled and kissed his temple once he was standing, holding out an arm for Dennis to take and escorting his boy to bed.

.

.

.

It happens! Threats can work, though Lars is easier to handle if he's really drunk...

They come inside one night through an open window. They watch you for an hour, just monitoring. Maybe you're a heavy sleeper who doesn't need help staying asleep. Maybe you're a light sleeper, and they quietly plan on how to keep you out while they do what they need to.

Maybe you wake up feeling sticky. Or even sore with a headache from what they used to keep you oblivious as they manhandled you.

You wouldn't notice until you find hand-shaped bruised on your skin. Or maybe even bites.

Or maybe someone's semen splattered on your face in the morning.

They take more each night. They up the dosages, they squeeze and slap harder.

It's like they're not even trying to keep you from waking up anymore.

And maybe it's more fun for them if you wake up to them fucking you senseless.

Maybe they like it when you scream.