AUTHORS NOTE: This is my first fanfic in a long time, concrit would be awesome :)

Juice knows it takes six scotch's, four beers and two tequilas for Chibs' arm to start creeping around his shoulders, for those calloused fingertips to begin messing with his shaven hair, to trace the tattoos that adorn his skull. Juice knows if he gasps quietly and fidgets slightly as he downs his beer, those fingertips will eventually absently trickle over his neck and flutter over that sensitive spot Chibs recently discovered just behind Juice's ear.

Juice knows it takes another two tequilas for the older man to start finding every and any excuse to pull Juice close, to lower his tone to that dark Glaswegian growl and laden every word with innuendo and dirty promises. Juice knows that despite being under the gaze of the crew, he won't protest, he won't resist the attention. Juice knows all he'll do is direct that crooked grin of his at Chibs and attempt to suppress the shudders that roll over his body with every flick of those lips against the shell of his ear.

Juice knows the Scot likes to tease. He knows Chibs likes to play dirty, to work him up with light touches and filthy words until he's all but squirming on his bar stool. But Juice knows how to provoke the older man, how to move this along. Juice knows Chibs will watch every single time he puts his beer bottle slowly to his lips, he knows he'll practically be able to feel the other man's eyes burning into his skin as his adam's apple bobs with each swallow. Juice knows Chibs will have great difficulty not following the line of his hips, not stare as his shirt and cut ride up his stomach as he stretches across the bar for more tequila. Juice knows one flash of his particular brand of boyish grin will have the Glaswegian reaching for the nearest spirit.

Juice knows that a further shot of tequila or absinthe or whatever is closest will have the Scot dragging him off to the bathroom under the pretence that "I'm fookin' too drunk ter go alone, Juicy-boy needs ter keep watch so I don't drown in me own piss." Juice knows it's not subtle. Juice knows nothing is subtle as Chibs all but drags him across the club house. If the others notice, they don't let on; too pre-occupied with girls or drink, unable to see or think straight, yet alone process the Scotsman yanking the younger man towards the nearest dark corner.

Juice knows his heartbeat will lose all sense of rhythm at this point, he knows that it'll be pounding inside his chest, desperate to escape his ribcage. He knows that Chibs' grip will loosen around his wrist, that fingertips will ghost fingertips in a silent gesture as the corridor disappears beneath their staggering feet. Juice knows they will never make it far down the hallway. He knows the Scot's patience will run out and suddenly, forcefully push a palm to the centre of Juice's chest and bowl him into the nearest room with a bed, a couch, a floor, a wall. Juice knows they'll both be smiling at this point because this is the highlight of a few drinks in with lads. He knows that whatever garment that's adorning his chest will get ripped to shreds in the heated commotion, that there will be bruises in the morning. He knows that Chibs will run his mouth, drip compliments and proclamations of beauty over Juice's skin. Juice knows he'll believe Chibs, that he'll understand that every word is the truth.

Juice knows that the second Chibs' lips fall against his own he'll forget how to breathe, he knows that for the next however long forming sentences will be a challenge, that few coherent words will make it beyond his tongue.

Juice knows they won't be quiet, they're never quiet. He knows that Chibs will be beyond the point of caring at this point, that any notion of being caught has retreated somewhere into the back of the Scot's mind. Juice knows it's never gentle or slow. It's hard and fast and desperate. Juice knows that sometimes, he'd like it to be different.

Juice knows afterwards he won't want to leave. He'll want to remain wherever they are, floor, couch, closet. He knows he won't want to give up the heat of the other man's skin, the taste of the now lazy kisses. He knows over the past few months, the aftermath has grown longer, that Chibs will grasp for a reason to stay put, to keep his arms entwined around Juice for a few more minutes. Juice knows these minutes have started to rapidly turn to hours. Juice knows that he has to wake the Scot up once he starts snoring, that they need to move in case someone comes looking because Juice knows no one can find out about this.

Juice knows tomorrow Chibs will groan about his hangover, about the mysterious bruises, aches and bite marks that magically appeared on his skin overnight. Chibs will blame one of the girls. He'll blame falling over, he'll blame Juice and say it's the younger man's fault he passed out in the shitter, but he'll look directly at Juice as he speaks. Juice knows Chibs remembers and Juice knows not to talk about it, Juice knows to brush it under the carpet until the Scot inevitably lines up another six scotches.

Juice knows he wants more than this. Juice knows he wants more than an alcohol-fuelled fuck, Juice wants to wake up next to the Scot, to test what they have against the sober light of day because Juice knows they have something, at least he thinks they have something and he's not prepared to let that go.

Juice just doesn't know how to ask.