Ewan's never got pissed with a customer before, but then most of his customers haven't required much more than a blowjob or a quick fuck. Even the ones who've come round more than once, who've come round five times or ten, they just want his arse or his mouth or his cock. Just random body parts, that's all he is to them, and that's fine, really, because what does he want with them?
It's just Jude who's always fucking things up like this. Maybe he's blowing Jude in the backroom of a club and maybe he's getting money for it, but that's not it. That's not where it ends.
They go back out on the floor, grinding and snogging more than actually dancing, and they drink enough that by the time they stumble back to Jude's, Ewan can barely keep his eyes open.
Still, he pushes Jude onto the sofa, giggling as he falls down on top. He fumbles with Jude's belt and his fly for what feels like hours, but with Jude's help he finally gets them undone, gets Jude's cock out, warm and still a bit sticky from earlier. He bends down and kisses Jude, Jude's cock slowly firming in his hand-
-and then he's waking up. His head is pounding and the room is dark, but he's not in his own bed. He's not in a bed at all, he realises when he tries to roll over and runs right into the back of the sofa. The movement sends a spike of pain right through his head and he groans and pulls the blanket up higher.
He wonders if maybe he ought to go to Jude's room, if maybe Jude might want a fuck in the morning, but the thought of moving makes him sick and he falls asleep again before he can give it a second thought.