Jesus Christ, what happened?

His neck is stiff, sore and stuck in its current position for a few moments until he manages to squint open his eyes, becoming vaguely aware of the unfamiliar surroundings. He realizes that he's woken up in a place that certainly wasn't his own bed. Scratch that, he wasn't even in a bed. Why did he feel so weird?

Sitting up suddenly in alarm, his hissed at the painful sensation of cold where he certainly should not be.

"What the fuck!"

He was covered in ice. In a bathtub, covered up to his stomach in painfully cold, melting ice. His muscles ached from the combination of inactivity and the fact that whoever had placed him in here was apparently trying to slowly freeze him to death. He shivered. He looked around the room, the pink-coloured tub offset by seafoam green wall tiles, in what looked to be no top of the line motel bathroom. Where was he? He must have been exceptionally drunk (or exceptionally horny) to settle down here, of all places. A rather alarming thought came to him suddenly.

Oh fucking hell, someone had cut him open, didn't they?

"Fin-ally... I was beginning to think you'd drank yourself into some kind of alcohol-induced coma. It's nearly 1."

He jumps slightly at the voice. Who the hell was this? He certainly didn't remember him from last night. "Where's Tommy?"

The boy rolls his eyes. " I have no clue who you're talking about. Is that your giggly friend from last night?"

The blonde swallows, trying to unsuccessfully move his legs and shake off the stiffness that was doing nothing to ease his hangover. He looks the figure over carefully, enough to take them in fully, he was petite and black-haired, a small bag by his feet. Whatever he drank last night with Tommy was apparently enough to send him so overboard that he'd actually gone out and picked up a whore off the street. A male whore from the looks of it.

"You don't remember me, do you? I guess you were pretty far gone by the time you decided to talk to me."

Johnny's face expresses every horrified sentiment that he had time to think about before he even speaks. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me... " He looks down at himself and over his lower half, expecting to see a shoddy attempt at suturing in whatever place this little twerp had so carefully carved out one of his kidneys from. He was thankful his little organ-thief had the decency to at least keep his underwear on him.

"Do you mind telling me why I apparently picked up a black market whore? Where have you cut me?"

"Ex-cuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry what else am I supposed to call you? An escort who so happens to take a little more than just your money? Instead of the usual cash, you also take my organs? Where's a phone, I'm calling 9-11 before I bleed to death." He couldn't find any trace of blood for that matter, but that didn't make the situation any less serious in his alcohol-raddled brain.

"You watch too many horror movies." He's smiling, and Johnny is ready to leap out of the tub and throttle him. He would if he could regain feeling in his lower half.

"Do you mind explaining why the fuck I'm in ice then?"

"Ice-water."

He throws him a sneering glare, "Why am I in ice-water?"

"You were sick."

"So what, you try to freeze me to death in hopes that the bacteria somehow die too?"

"I read you're supposed to ice an injury, you hit your head and I thought you might be sick from all the alcohol, so I put you in a cool bath. The water was kinda warm, before I dumped the ice in."

Hit his head? Then what is the point of ice on his lower body? Johnny rolled his eyes, He wasn't the smartest one apparently. "Where hell did you even read- you know what nevermind. What alley did I pick you up from?"

He looks incredulous. "You didn't pick me up in an alley, for your information. Do you seriously not remember how we even met?"

"No, I don't!"

"Oh boy."

"Can you just tell me what the hell is going on?" He regains enough mobility to finally step out of the freezing tub and sits down on the floor, grabbing a towel from the rack and covering his body in it up to his chin. He sat, on the gaudy-tiled floor, shivering violently. "I take it you're responsible for this," he gestures to the tub. "What were you planning on doing? Giving me hypothermia for the fun?"

"I was trying to do you a favour. You were so drunk last night that by the time we stumbled in here, you had smacked your face off the nightstand just trying to get a condom out of your wallet. Then you puked on the floor, half on me by the way, and proceeded to try and kiss me straight afterwards. It was quite the sight."

Another thought came to his mind. "Did we... uh, oh god-"

"Are you kidding? You were so drunk I'd be surprised if you could get it up even if you hadn't nearly knocked yourself out. You tried though." It's full of snark, a tone that has Johnny more irate by the minute.

"Oh thank god." He looks him over again, seemingly offended by his little comment. He was dressed nicely for what he was at least, no skin-tight dress or shorts barely covering his ass, but jeans and a half-tasteful v-neck. A familiar half tasteful v-neck... hey wait!

"You're wearing my shirt!"

"You threw up on mine."

Oh of course. "How exactly did I meet you last night then?" He didn't remember going to any red light district, nevermind actually looking for one of these things. Did he lose Tommy by then too? Where is Tommy for that matter, off passed out in another seedy motel? Or god forbid, in a holding cell because they had apparently tried to buy their way to a good time last night?

His mystery hook-up takes a seat on the bathroom counter, and Johnny takes note of how small he actually is. What was he, like 100Ibs soaking wet?

"A gay bar. You walked in, eyed me, sat down on a booth with that giggly friend of yours and proceded to chuck bar peanuts at me for half an hour before you actually came up and so gallantly offered to buy me an appletini." After a few seconds of looking at the blonde's blank-faced stare, he continues. "Then you asked me what my name was, if I was busy and if I'd like to come up to your hotel room. I agreed since you were cute, and well, you know the rest."

Johnny's eyes widened. He and Tommy had walked into a gay bar, on this side of town? Fucking where? And when had they rented a hotel? Jesus Christ, he was never gonna drink again. "So you're not a prostitute?"

He scoffs. "No. Do I look like one?" He looks somewhat self-conscious and Johnny quickly regrets his words.

"No, I just uh, I just guessed I suppose."

"Well, I'm not. Is this how you treat all your drunken one-night stands?" He slips down from the counter, standing there with a hand on his hip, looking Johnny over expectantly.

"No," He thinks for a moment. "How about you let me make it up to you?" There was a trance of suggestive promise in his tone. The ice water chill had left his body and he was warming up all over. He was beginning to remember why he approached him in the first place. He is cute. As weird, snarky, and demanding as he is.

A brief exchange of flirtatious eye contact, and a brief deja-vu feeling settles over them in the first incidence of real coherency since meeting one another.

He crosses his arms. "Maybe. We can discuss it over breakfast, your treat of course. You have enough cash on you for a nice meal for the two of us. I guess I was your first of the night..." He winks, and the corners of Johnny's lips curl up. "And in the case that you probably don't remember my name, it's Daniel, for the record."

Johnny stands up, intent on getting dressed for their apparent breakfast date. "Well, in that case... good morning, Daniel."

He smiles again, "Good morning, Johnny."