Fandom: Drop The Dead Donkey

Rating: PG13


The Morning After

by Sigrina


Groaning with the effects of last night's overindulgence, he woke up in a bed that was not his own.

Not that *that* was exactly a novel experience. After a life-time's debauchery, Henry Davenport was used to waking up in strange beds, often with some extremely strange company. He had never been known for his discernment where bed partners were concerned.

This particular partner was sheathed in bedclothes, hidden from view. Henry couldn't for the life of him put either a face or a name to the sleeping form.

Now that he was well-and-truly conscious, various body parts began clamouring for attention: his brain felt like a wad of cotton wool full of sharp pins; his throat was doing a good impersonation of a sand pit; his tongue had obviously been visited by a bird of undoubtedly foul and disgusting habits; his bladder was shrieking its own need at him and his back was reminding him in no uncertain terms that he was no longer a young man.

He rolled over, intending to get out of bed and find a bathroom where he could take care of at least one of his problems. He stifled a groan as movement sent twinges through his back.

His back.

And something slightly lower than his back. A mildly painful, vaguely familiar, ache...


On the floor a used condom and a bottle of cooking oil smirked mockingly at him.

Oh, shit.

Henry turned back to his bed mate and tweaked away a portion of the swaddling duvet.

The clear line of a decidedly male back greeted his eyes.

Oh, fuck.

Which was a very suitable oath, since he obviously *had* been fucked. Was fucked. Had fucked up completely. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He hadn't done this in a long time. He'd given up men about the time he'd got the job with Globelink. Women were safer. And he *liked* women. It was no hardship to devote himself exclusively to their pursuit.

So what had happened to change things last night? He forced his befuddled brain to remember...

It had been an office party to celebrate the 'Scoop of the Decade'. Henry had dived into the free booze. But things had quickly become a bloody bore. Sally and George started their 'poor me' routines and an annoyingly smug Damien had just wandered from person to person making smart-arsed comments. And Gus had been blathering on about team-building and bonding and other such claptrap.

So he and Dave had made their escape and had embarked on one of their Friday night 'drink as much as you can and try to pull any bird that isn't already wise to you' pub-crawl specials.

A clear, cruel, memory surfaced: a leggy blonde calling him 'Grandpa' and laughing at his seduction attempt. Dave giggling with glee...


Dave. Why hadn't Dave stopped him? Why had Dave let him pick up some...

Oh, bloody hell!

Bleary eyes sharpened incredibly given the incentive of sheer terror and focused on the unconscious body beside him.

Familiar hair. A familiar ear.

Oh, shit.

He had to get out of here. A lifetime of ill-judged, bloody idiotic stunts had still failed to prepare him for the reality of waking up in his friend's bed after obviously being fucked by said friend. Oh, God, he really *had* done it this time.

He had a sudden, overwhelming image of himself begging Dave to stop bloody messing around and *fuck* him, for Christ's sake. And hadn't he sounded so needy? So desperate? So pathetic. Dave probably despised him now.

Oh, shit and double shit.

The call of his bladder, the pain of his hangover, the dull throb of his lower back were all suppressed in his need to leave the scene of his crime as quickly as possible. He dressed quickly and quietly, with the skills learned in a hundred or more bedrooms. Thank God the bedroom door was wide open, one less obstacle with which to contend.

The door that led out of Dave's flat was a known quantity. Henry remembered from countless other visits that it didn't creak when opened and that it shut quietly.

Christ, he'd bollocksed up one of the best friendships he'd had going for him. Dave would never look at him the same way again. They'd never again be able to sustain that easy camaraderie that Henry had so valued and depended on. And all because he hadn't been able to control his damned libido.

He spared one last look at the unmoving form of his closest friend through the open doorway of his bedroom, before letting himself out of Dave's flat.


Dave waited until he heard the soft click of his door closing before he opened his eyes.

Well, he'd really fucked up this time, hadn't he?

It wasn't the first time someone had regretted waking up next to him in the morning. Hell, it wasn't even the first time it had happened with a workmate he'd actually given a damn about.

It was the first time he'd felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his body.

He snorted. God, he sounded like a 'Mills and Boon' heroine.

He'd well and truly done it, hadn't he? He should have been content with the friendship he shared with Henry. But no, he had to push it, had to take advantage of him when he was drunk and depressed.

Henry probably hated and despised him now. How the hell was he supposed to face the man on Monday?

Biting back a sob he turned his face into the pillow, wishing with a futile fervour that Monday would never come.



Grey, cloudy, Monday came with a depressing inevitability.

Dave slunk into the Globelink offices, slumped at his desk and tried to rub away the headache that was setting itself up as his constant companion.

Henry hadn't arrived yet. Dave found himself raising his head, heart in his mouth, every time someone walked in. By 10 am he was a nervous wreck, drawing curious looks from Damien. Christ, he couldn't go on like this.

When Henry finally did arrive it was almost a relief.

'Dave, got a moment?'

Relief over. Biting his lip he nodded and followed Henry to the roof.

'Dave, I...'

'Henry, look...'

They both fell silent and gazed unseeingly out over London's bustling cloudy vista.

'I'm sorry.'

Sorry doesn't mop up spilled milk, he quoted silently to himself.

'I shouldn't have taken advantage of you when you were vulnerable,' he continued.

'Vulnerable, advantage?'

There was such a wealth of emotion in those two word that Dave turned to look fully at Henry. The older man was gazing at him with confusion laced with indignation.

'Why in God's name would you think you took *advantage* of me?'

'You were drunk...'

'So were you.'

'Yeah, but you were at a weak point. That bird gave you the heave-ho pretty viciously.'

Henry was staring at him as if he'd never seen Dave before.

'So, you decided to give me a pity fuck, then?' he asked.

'Christ, no! How could you think...? I wanted....'

'You wanted...?'

Dave closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, staring fixedly at Henry's shoes.

'I wanted you. Laugh at me, why don't you? Or hit me? I wanted you. And I took advantage of you, forced you to...' he broke off.

'You're a idiot, you know. But that's all right, so am I.'

Dave raised his head, eyes widening at the strange tone in Henry's voice.

'How the blazes do you manage to pick up all those eager young things if you're worried about 'taking advantage' of them?'

Dave shrugged, 'They're just birds. Woo 'em, catch 'em, dump 'em or be dumped by 'em. They don't matter. You do. You're my best friend.'

'And did I seem as if I was being taken advantage of?'

Memories swamped him: Henry swearing profusely as he tried to deal with recalcitrant buttons; Henry writhing under him; Henry demanding that Dave should fuck him *now*; Henry meeting his every thrust with a wild abandonment...

'You seemed to enjoy what I did,' he admitted, 'but then, the next morning, you left.'

'Of course I left! I was bloody terrified. I was sure I'd lost the best friend I've got.'

'You haven't lost me.'


Dave met the other man's eyes.

'No,' he said.

'So we're still friends?'



'Just friends, Dave?' The voice was very soft.

Just friends? Just one night with Henry had left him wanting so much more. But he could do this.

'If you want.'

There, it was said.

'And if I don't want? If I want more? If I want you to bloody well 'take advantage' of me?'

Sunlight was breaking through the clouds. Suddenly, it looked like it was going to turn into a beautiful day. He could feel the absolutely *stupid* grin he had developed on his face.

'Some might say it's what I do best.'

'And, being good at the old 'taking advantage' routine myself, maybe I could show you a thing or two.'

Dave laughed. He couldn't believe they were having this conversation.

'It'll never last, you know,' he stated, as offhandedly as he could.

'Probably not,' Henry agreed.

'But it's never stopped me before.'

'Same here.'

I'll take every moment I can, Dave vowed seriously to himself. And I *swear*, I won't regret a thing.

'And when it ends, we'll go back to being good old drinking buddies.'

'I can live with that. Now, we'd better get back to work before Gus sends Damien to look for us.'

'Can I sit on your lap while you're working?'

'Bloody hell, no you cannot!'

'It'll upset Sally.'

'No, tempting though the prospect is.'

'Can I send you long lingering gazes whenever Damien's around? It'll really mess with his mind.'

'Far be it from me to veto any plan that brings confusion to Damien. Now, come on. A couple of hours work then we'll have a liquid lunch. What do you say?'

'Your very whim is my command.'

'Oh, remind me to keep you to that tonight.'

'Yes, Henry. Anything you say.'


The End