Boats and Blind People Are a Bad Mix

Joseph Addock did not particularly enjoy boats. He had enough trouble getting around when the land wasn't swaying beneath his feet. But when you get invited to a party on a yacht, especially when it's the party of the president of your company, you don't just say no. And even though Addock had rehearsed and typed a million ways to politely decline the offer, somehow Stephen had sunk his claws into the idea and found it too funny to let go. Somehow, the polite letters declining had never made it to their intended destination.

Addock had had one too many drinks. He had gone from comfortably buzzed to losing the slightest bit of decision making skills that he normally kept a very tight hold of, because if he didn't restrain himself, he often made very, very bad decisions. This is why he rarely drank, but he found that if the ground was going to be swaying beneath him no matter what he did, he might as well have a drink or two to at least enjoy it like he usually did.

He sat at a table with perhaps just the slightest bit too tight of a grip on the side of said table. He moved his head in the direction of a few conversations, but all of them were equally as boring as the rest and so he settled on eavesdropping on what sounded like two people fucking a room or so away. Not particularly surprising given the amount of alcohol and rich, single and horny people currently aboard, but unpleasant nonetheless.

Addock wanted this party to be over as quickly as possible.

Steven Gould guffawed far too loudly at someone's joke, slapping his hand onto Addock's shoulder with far too much force.

"Shit, can you believe this party?" he whispered into his ear, his breath heavy with the scent of booze.  "Wish you could see it, pal, I really do.  The tits on some of these broads, I swear to fuckin' shit."

He took another swig of his scotch.  "Why ain't you laughin'?  You're a blind man on a boat for chrissakes.  Have a complimentary prawn and a mini quiche."

Addock jumped, having been too focused on the unpleasant sound of people fucking to register that Stephen could never be too far away when that was what he desired more than anything.

"I'm gay, or did you somehow forget that, again?" Addock didn't meant it to come off quite as sharply as it did, but once the words left his mouth it was too late. His white knuckled grip on the boat had to be pretty clear to even Stephen. He took a short, controlled breath and said, "...sorry. I don't like the feeling of the ground moving underneath me. Maybe I need another drink."

Stephen snorted. "You're right--I can't believe I forgot the biggest punchline of all. A blind man, a queer, and a lawyer get on a yacht...'cuz they're all the same sorry schmuck! Classic."

He leaned even closer, pressing his drink into Addock's chest. "Of course, if you really need some help, I could take your mind off of this shit. I find that you make a motion of your own, you don't even notice the fucking boat. I fucking swear it, in fact."

His hair was slowly rebelling against his pomade and falling into his face, but it only served to make his appearance that much more relaxed and yacht-appropriate; despite how he waved his drink around, there was not a single stain on his blue suit.

Addock narrowed his eyes but very quietly said, "...What do you have in mind, exactly?"

Stephen rolled his eyes and forced Addock to take the scotch from his hand. "Drink up--you're gonna have to get plastered if you wanna justify being that slow. I'm talking about sex, you ignoramus. Jesus. How I had to be your fucking plus one to this party and not the other way around, I'll never know."

Addock gladly drained the glass, realizing after he had started to drink it that it was scotch (much to his distaste). He was rarely a hard liquor sort of man, even up until now he had been drinking primarily wine and whatever other fruity cocktails they would make for him, but that scotch had tasted surprisingly good considering his situation.

"Get me another one of whatever that was," Addock demanded. "Then we'll talk more."

He grinned wolfishly. "Never thought I'd say it, but you're starting to sound like my kind of guy, Addock." He motioned to a waiter and ordered two more scotches, one for each of them.

"So, I take it you're not big on being in the water, huh?"

"Figure that out all on your own, Sherlock Holmes?" Addock grumbled bitterly. As soon as the waiter brought his drink he took a ferocious gulp. "God, how much longer is this party supposed to go on for?"

"Maybe you should've read the fucking invitation, Watson," he replied without missing a beat. He sipped his Scotch, savoring the taste. "This party is vanilla as shit, too. Back when I was head of my own firm, you should've seen some of the bashes I used to attend. I saw shit that could end men's lives if it leaked, much less their careers. Who would've thought that my life would end first, huh?"

He laughed, raking his fingers through his hair. His chest hair peeked through the top of his shirt as he stretched.

"Yeah, who would have thought?" Addock commented dryly. He gulped down the rest of the scotch, tossed his glass aside and grabbed Steven by his lapels. "Let's go."

Steven grabbed him and yanked him back toward their seats, a scowl growing on his face.

"Wait. You don't think I'm a fucking loser, do you? Is that what this is about?"

Addock furrowed his eyebrows beneath his sunglasses. He looked at Stephen and frowned deeply.

"Why would I think that?" He asked in a tone he hoped sounded as non-sarcastic as he meant it to. "And what do you mean 'this'?"

"I'm not lower than you," he growled. "I'm not into pity fucks. If you honestly think that I'm stupid--that I deserve to be here, festering in a low position at your stupid firm--you can find someone else to take your mind off of the big, scary ocean."

He let go of him, smoothing the wrinkles out of his own suit.

Addock wrinkled his nose in distate. Sometimes, he forgot how much of an unforgivable prick Stephen was. But only for a few hours, at best.

"Whatever you say, Stephen," he replied coldly. "Maybe one day you'll give up that sad, pathetic perpetual dick measuring contest you're having with the world and grow up. Until then, I'm getting drunk in peace."

Addock stood up and found his way, not without some difficulty, to the bar.

Stephen stalked off into the crowd, festering with rage. It took him forever to even find a place to sit and be grumpy--much to his irritation, every quiet place on the boat was filled with people who were fucking.

Addock was having difficulty politely declining every awkward advance he got from every insistent and likely less desirable lady as the night went on. After twenty minutes of fighting for his life against one particularly horny lady, he had had enough entirely. Even if he was still sore about the earlier spat he'd had with Stephen, he'd much rather sit with him and make him fend off women than go at it alone. Assuming Stephen wasn't already fucking one of the broads, where would he go if he was Stephen...

The answer was the bar, after almost an hour of searching. Stephen plopped down onto a seat next to Addock, scowling darkly. If it weren't for his signature one-too-many sprays of cologne, he might've seemed like a stranger.

"You know, if you ever want to sneak up on me, you'll have to wash off that godawful cologne beforehand," Addock tried to tease and sound light hearted but given his current nerves he wasn't even timely sure he succeeded.

"Oh, you're going to mock that now, too?" he grumbled.