That, at least, was something Blake knew he could come up with a (not that witty) retort for. "Oh yeah Damian, because you totally can't have some hot chick on your d**k anywhere but a bed. I've had enough sex in bar closets enough times to know that it could've been anyone." Which in and of itself was kinda terrifying but he could drop a condom on his junk in a coma. Plus he didn't usually bang chicks that didn't have some sense of personal responsibility aka were totally loaded on the contraceptives. Fully locked up tight, ready to not breed.

"I didn't do s**t to you except shove you off the goddamn wagon." His head hurt. His everything hurt and unfortunately he was fully sure that at least some point last night he got off. There was just a feeling that came with not being cocked and ready to fire; Vicky would've been disappointed if she'd asked to go a round at that particular moment. He was a man, not a machine, and he knew girls who had machinery for such moments. They were his ******** his eyes, wishing he were almost anywhere else, Blake gave the barest shake of his head. "I didn't do a goddamn thing." Like hell he was going to stay to argue the point any longer. Tossing his feet in his shoes, not even bothering for a shirt and still not realizing they weren't his pants, the lilac-haired man walked away from his First Bro out into the sunlight, hangover screaming in his head.

Even bitchy Vicky was preferable as he discovered, flopping down on her couch with a long, beleaguered sigh.