JC thought Justin was cute when he was drunk. Well, more like he was cute when he was tipsy. Because when he was flat out drunk he tended to be less than his normally graceful self.

But that still didn’t explain what he was doing with the ketchup.

At first JC had panicked when he’d heard Justin scream. He ran to the kitchen and almost passed out when he saw Justin sitting on the floor, crying hysterically, his shirt covered in red.

“The ketchup!” He wailed.

“What?” JC asked, rushing to his side.

Justin pointed towards the kitchen cabinets that were covered in red as well, and that’s when JC noticed the ketchup bottle and realized that he probably didn’t want to know what had happened.

So he pulled a weepy Justin down the hall to the laundry room, peeling off his stained pants and shirt and sitting him on the machine while he worked on his socks (which, JC really did not want to know how he got ketchup on his feet.)

Five minutes later Justin was sniffling and giving JC his lost puppy look and JC knew what that meant.

He leaned in to kiss Justin, mumbling, “It’s okay baby. Accidents happen.” He meant to calm Justin down enough to get him into the shower, but Justin had other plans. He wrapped his legs around JC’s waist and pulled him towards him, sliding his tongue past JC’s parted lips and moaning softly over the hum of the washing machine.

When Justin placed his hands on either side of JC’s head and gently guided his mouth down his neck, JC knew he was lost. He moved back up for a kiss, and before he knew it Justin’s lips and hips had grown frantic and he was tongue-fucking JC and . . . humping the washing machine?

“Baby,” JC sighed, pulling away and looking between them at the clear strain in Justin’s boxer briefs.

“What?” Justin gasped, trying to draw JC’s hips back towards his own.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m . . . oh . . .” The machine kicked into overtime and Justin spread his legs. He grabbed JC’s hand and guided it between them. “Touch me.”

Part of JC was mildly freaked out that his boyfriend was getting off on a washing machine. The other part of him found it freakishly hot and he reached down to adjust himself inside his jeans.

JC rubbed Justin through his shorts, smoothing his thumb across the tip when wetness appeared.

“Oh Jesus,” Justin moaned, and JC knew he was close. His hips moved frantically, sliding his body against the machine and into JC’s touch.

JC rubbed harder and faster until Justin cried out and JC felt him come. Justin dropped his forehead to JC’s shoulder, shuddering. The washing machine whirred to a halt.

“Fuck,” he mumbled once he had regained his breath.

JC was silent; he didn’t know what to say. Justin slumped against him and pressed a sloppy kiss to his shoulder.

“C’mon babe, let’s get you cleaned up.” JC motioned for Justin to hop off of the machine. He peeled his damp boxers down his legs and helped Justin step out of them. He tossed the shirt, pants, and socks into the dryer and the shorts into the washer.

He turned around just in time to see Justin come up behind him and pin him against the machine. JC gasped at the vibrating sensation his hardness was pressed up against.

“Your turn,” Justin whispered as his hands reached for JC’s fly.