(no subject)

The morning sunlight streams through the window, making a rectangle of golden light on the bed. Ordinarily, Alain likes it that way. He likes waking up to the sun.

This morning...

Eyes crack open. "Ow." Eyes squeeze shut in a wince.

The light hurts. So does the sound of his voice. Even without, his head is pounding.

Hangover. Oh, yay.

He sits up, slowly, rubbing his forehead. He has a pretty good idea that he looks like shit right now.

And that's when the memories start to flood back -- fuzzily -- and his eyes open in alarm, and then flinch shut again. "Fucking--"

He remembers coming to the party, and the early stages of mingling when he wasn't terribly drunk. And then some terrifyingly strong mixed things, and then it all gets rather fuzzy. Somewhere in there there's kissing someone. And Lilly on his lap. And a vague memory of Crowley sprinkling beer on him and saying something about a honeymoon, and then a discussion of... weddings in Hell? Or something.

He really, really hopes he didn't embarrass himself too much. And has a sinking feeling that he did.