We Shouldn't Have Met Like This

Sunlight. Really fucking bright sunlight. Shit, it burns.
Groaning, Jack slings his arm over his eyes and rolls over, burying his face into the pillow.
Huh. The pillow smells different, not the usual mix of his aftershave and the faint scent of his girlfriend's shampoo.
It smells like...sex.

The events of last night are hazy, blurred together in a jumble of way too many mixed drinks. His headache is proof of that. Jack takes a second to assess his body. His head fucking hurts. His upper body, where pressed into the mattress, feels bruised. And his ass fucking hurts, too. Shifting uncomfortably at that, Jack's arm brushes something to his left. Another person. His girlfriend, most likely. He probably passed out in bed when he came home from the bar, no doubt.
Tilting his head to the side, Jack opens his eyes a fraction, ignoring the burn of sunlight and instead turning to face his girlfriend.
But it's not his girlfriend. Unless she suddenly cut her hair into sweeping bangs and dyed it a caramel blonde, lost her boobs, and bulked up overnight.

"Motherfucker!" Jack hisses, scrambling upright and throwing back the covers. Ignoring the sharp throb of his head, he throws himself off the bed, stumbling backward.
In these few seconds, Jack notices two things.
One, he's naked.
Two, this is definitely not his apartment.
From where he is, pressed up against the far wall with his hands covering his manhood, Jack studies the scene in front of him and weighs the possibilities. He's naked, in a strangers apartment. On closer inspection, he finds the other male is also naked. His clothes are strewn across the floor, his jeans and boxers dumped on the floor next to the bed, T-shirt by the bedroom door and there is no sign of his shoes.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
As much as Jack wants to deny it, the facts are clear. He got pissed and got fucked by a stranger. Perfect.
Running a hand through his hair, Jack picks up his boxers and slips them on, attempting to make as little noise as possible. He does not want to have the awkward morning after talk. He just wants to grab his shit and get the fuck out of this guy's house.
He's just pulling on his jeans, however, when the stranger shifts and mumbles something, eyes fluttering open. Jack freezes on the spot, jeans half way up his legs. The male stretches before finally opening his eyes properly and seeing Jack, standing awkwardly at the end of the bed. He smirks, eyes running over Jack's body appreciatively. Jack squirms.
"Hey."
His voice is low and rough, faintly seductive. Jack coughs.
"Hi." He stands there, frozen, for another second before continuing to dress. The other male frowns.
"You leavin'?" he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he watches Jack dress.
"Yeah, I am. Where the fuck are my shoes?" Jack grumbles.
"I don't know, by the door? What's the problem, dude?"
Jack laughs bitterly in reply, picking up his T-shirt and yanking it on. He ruffles his hair before patting his pockets. His wallet is missing. Dropping down on his knees, Jack searches around on the floor.
The other guy swings his feet out from under the covers and stands up, yawning.

"Put your fucking dick away, Jesus!" Jack yells, shielding his eyes. The male shrugs, picking up his boxers from the floor and pulling them on.
"You weren't complaining about my dick when it was in your ass last night," he chuckles.
That makes Jack mad. He stands up, having finally found his wallet, and faces the other male.
"Listen..."
"Alex," the male supplies.
"Listen, Alex. Shut the fuck up and stay the hell away from me. Don't even fucking touch me. I'm leaving," Jack spits, venom on his tongue. With those words, he shoves his wallet into his jeans and throws open the bedroom door. He eventually finds his way through the maze of Alex's house and to the front door. Just as the other male said, his shoes are waiting for him. As he leaves, he makes sure the slam the front door with more force than necessary, letting the slam resonate through the house.

Upstairs, Alex shrugs as the guy, Jack he thinks his name was, storms out. In all honestly, Alex doesn't give a flying fuck what his problem is because he got some pretty awesome sex last night, from what he can recall.
He definitely remembers chatting with Jack at the bar, buying him drinks and subtly flirting with him. Alex was really good at that.
He remembers driving them back to his apartment and slamming Jack up against the door while they kissed. He remembers them both stripping off their clothes on the way to Alex's bedroom, making out along the way. And then, of course, he remembers the great sex.
Smirking, Alex scratches the back of his head idly, gazing around his room. His eyes fall on an object laying on the floor next to his bed, glinting in the sunlight.
A phone, definitely not his. Jack's?
He picks it up, pressing a couple of buttons before it turns on. The background is a picture of Jack and some girl making goofy faces on a beach somewhere. Rolling his eyes, Alex slides the unlock button and, to his surprise, it unlocks. Hasn't the guy heard of a password?
Deciding he'd rather not snoop, Alex throws the phone down on the bed and heads to the bathroom for a shower. He stinks of cheap aftershave and sex, and he's pretty sure there's something sticky in his hair. Gross.