#jaytimrp

Timothy Jackson Drake wakes with a pounding headache and feeling like he’s been beaten with something hard. This, at least, he’s not that worried about-it’s the type of muscle ache that means he just had some vigorous, probably excellent sex-it’s happened before, he’s fine with that. The real problem presented is the fact that he currently has an arm slung loosely over himself belonging to someone that he cannot place, and moreover he’s wearing a ring on his left ring finger that is quite obviously a wedding band. Considering he and Steph were here, in LA, together, drinking, this presents a problem. Especially since he does not necessarily remember everything anything about the night before. Tim groans softly and turns his head to inspect the person spooning him-- an attractive, young man with wavy black hair, partly dyed white. At least Tim has good taste, and he commends his drunk self for that, at least. But part of him feels very, very foolish, and stupid, because there’s a wedding band on his finger that was not there before. He might throw up- actually, yes, he’s going to throw up. Disregarding his nameless bedmate, he gets up quickly from the bed, throws on a t-shirt (it is definitely not his) and finds the toilet. It’s a hotel room, he notes, idly as he feels like he’s heaving up everything he has ever drunk. “Oh, fuck,” he says, softly, as he puts the night and facts together. If he wasn’t so jumbled up in the head right now, and if it wasn’t happening to him, he’d probably be laughing. “Married in Vegas. Oh, fuck.” At least he didn’t sleep with a man who was already married (as far as he thinks). Still, Tim has to work this through, because he’s the CEO of Drake Industries, and this is the last thing he probably needs. He shuffles back out of the bathroom, after rinsing his mouth, when he notices a pair of sharp eyes watching him. Tim tries to pull himself together, but his voice still comes out as a chirp, “Uh, g’mornin’.”