Page 70 of Demons Dig Donuts

Great, now the room was spinning.

Right.

Still drunk.

Indy shifted forward, dropping his head on Mr. Heiss’s chest. He closed his eyes and let his arms curl around Mr. Heiss’s neck as he mumbled, “Sorry. Gettin’ all dizzy.”

“Are you all right?” Mr. Heiss placed his hands on Indy’s waist, drawing him in. He brought the dance to a stop, but he didn’t let go. He sighed. “If you’re going to puke—”

“I’ll aim right for your face,” Indy muttered.

“Thank you.”

“You’re so very welcome.”

Mr. Heiss nosed at Indy’s hair, drawing in a trembling breath that rumbled like a growl. “You really are… something.”

“Blood bag, meat sack, dumb whore…”

“Never called you a whore.”

“No? Well, it was implied.” Indy glared up at Mr. Heiss, but he was too easily distracted by Mr. Heiss’s lips. “Hey, are we gonna make out? Because, you know, even though you’re still the king of assholes, I’d be down to—”

“Not tonight.” Mr. Heiss chuckled, sweeping Indy up into his arms. “Your little mortal flesh vessel needs rest.”

“That’s a super creepy way to just say I need to sleep and sober up.”

Mr. Heiss carried Indy to the bed. “You need to sleep and sober up. Better?”

Indy groaned as he stretched out across the sheets, blearily glaring up at Mr. Heiss. “You know, it’s barely been a day and I still don’t know if I wanna fuck you, fight you, or just hate you forever.”

“I’ve been known to have a strong effect on mortals.” Mr. Heiss stepped back. “Sleep now.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Indy rolled over to grab at the pillows.

Mr. Heiss lingered. “If you need to throw up, the—”

“Oh my God.” Indy groaned. “I know where the bathroom is! Jesus Christ.”

“Good night.”

“Nighty night, asshole.”

“Sleep well, meat sack.”

And sleep well, Indy did.

He woke up sprawled diagonally across the large bed, having twisted the blankets, top sheet, and fitted sheet right off the mattress and all around himself like a burrito. He let himself become more functional before trying to untangle any of it, yawning and stretching lazily.

He had one foot completely outside the nest he’d made, and he snorted out a laugh when he saw the plush Sonic of that slipper staring up at him.

God, he really needed to get his own clothes.

Especially if this situation was going to take a while—how long would it be? A week? Months? Mr. Heiss had nothing but time to wait around for Indy to die.

But last night…

Maybe the pizza didn’t mean anything, though Mr. Heiss should have logically let Indy starve, but the dancing? The waltz and the laughter and everything else?