@sufferbot wtf. this is your fault. look at what you made me do. i hope you’re happy.
Bitty/Chowder, 1.9k, T
Bitty’s not sure how he got here.
Here being sprawled out on the living room floor of the Haus, surrounded by the majority of his team, all of whom are engaged in an increasingly competitive game of truth or dare. He suspects it has a lot to do with the tub juice they brewed this afternoon, as per Shitty’s explicit directions delivered over skype.
Bitty looks over at Nursey, who’s attempting to do a handstand despite his own blood alcohol level and his normally-shaky relationship with gravity. Both Chowder and Dex are watching him with worry; Chowder’s eyes are wide and Dex’s mouth is pressed into a grim line. Bitty would be worried too, but the tub juice has been doing its job. He’s just the right side of tipsy, his head fuzzy and warm. He doubts anything short of a kitchen fire, or something equally traumatic, could sour his mood right now.
Nursey goes down hard, managing to clip Dex in the shoulder with a foot on the way down. The room erupts into laughter and cheering, swallowing up Dex’s loud complaints and Nursey’s predictable chill bro. Chowder hovers nervously over them both, trying his best to bridge that impossible divide between his two friends. Bitty tries and fails not to feel proud of him for it. Sweet, darling Chowder.
The next dare goes to Holster, who downs six shots of sriracha with scary efficiency. It’s horrifying to watch, actually. He doesn’t so much as wince as they go down.
Then Holster’s up to pick. With a devious look around the room, he purrs, “Chowder. Truth or dare?”
Chowder considers for a second. “Truth.”
The grin on Holster’s face means nothing good for the next words to come out of his mouth. “Who in this Haus have you fantasized about hooking up with?”
There’s the expected ribbing. Nursey elbows Chowder in the side and Dex smirks. Ransom straightens up a little bit with a look on his face like he thinks it’s going to be him, maybe.
Chowder’s face is red; whether from just the tub juice or from embarrassment too, Bitty doesn’t know. But he looks uncomfortable and Bitty is half ready to cut in and scold the rest of the boys. The you don’t have to answer, sweetie is on the tip of his tongue when Chowder flicks his gaze up at him, and the look in his eyes stops the words in his throat.
“Easy,” Chowder says with a smirk. Bitty watches in mute horror as Chowder gives him a thorough once-over, lingering on his bare collarbones and coming to rest somewhere around the tops of his thighs. “I’d bend Bitty over six ways to Sunday.”