“Oh.” Arthur’s brow was still furrowed as he looked at his empty cocktail glass. “Oh no,” he said seriously. “Vodka and absinthe—what if I’m drunk?” His blue eyes went comically wide. “What if I’m drunk on Rory’s birthday?”

“Why would he mind?” Pavel said curiously.

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it, and Rory’s heart did a twist, watching even his drunk mind remember to bury the truth. “I don’t,” he interrupted quickly, before Arthur had to come up with an explanation. “C’mon, Ace, let’s get you a cab.”

“I have my car,” Arthur protested. He stood up, and then promptly lurched, catching himself on the back of the chair. “Whoops.” He leaned heavily on it, the chair looking dubiously able to support him. “Actually, Rory, maybe you should drive.”

“Or maybe neither of us should, seeing as you’re half seas over and I don’t know how.” Rory eyed Arthur for a moment. They had to be careful, but Arthur was teetering, and Rory wouldn’t be the first man to help a zozzled friend make it out. He ducked under Arthur’s arm and his knees nearly buckled; geez, Arthur was solid.

With effort, he took a step, pulling Arthur toward the back door. “Let’s go, soldier.”

“Mmm.” Arthur, bless him, was obviously trying not to put all his considerable weight on Rory. Trying, but failing. “I like it when you call me that.”

Rory bit back his squawk. He glanced up best he could, but luckily no one seemed to be giving them a second look.

“Not as much as bello, though,” Arthur went on. “Or any of your other fiendishly lovely Italian. Sorry, I get a bit talky after several drinks. Am I terribly heavy?”

“Nah,” Rory lied. It wasn’t like he minded being squashed by Arthur’s muscles. “And I could listen to you all night.” He wanted to drink that voice in, he was so happy to hear it again.

He managed to get the back door open and Arthur into the back hall. “My, how the tables have turned,” Arthur muttered to himself. “Served a dose of my own medicine. Hoisted on my own petard.”

That was cute, whatever it meant. He couldn’t wait to get Arthur somewhere he could kiss him. “What’re you mumbling about?” Rory said as he looked up, squinting at Arthur in the dark back hall.

“I accidentally got you drunk here once and had to carry you out. And now I’m in the same boat,” Arthur said ruefully. “And several other analogous idioms.”

“Yeah, you are.” There was no one else in the hall, so Rory chanced it, tilting his face up. He couldn’t quite reach Arthur’s face with his lips, so he bumped his nose against his scratchy jaw. “But you got me back to your place safe. And I got you now, Ace, I’ll get us back.”