"No. I do want to hate you; you're just making it impossible," came his breathless reply.

He looked at the blood leaking out of the cut, a strange mixture of boredom and amusement written on his face. "I suppose we were..." Birkin groaned. "Every time I drink, the night ends in sex." An airy chuckle came out of his mouth. "I'm not sure if that means I should - ngh - stop drinking or become an alcoholic."

Birkin noticed he was starting to get dizzy, and his eyes momentarily rolled back in his head. Though, between the drinking, the anesthesia, the blood loss, and Stein jacking him off, it wasn't hard to imagine he'd be getting a little lightheaded.