I'm sure Steven doesn't act like this when he's drunk, but roll with it. Fully recommend watching this concert cos it's incredible.

1999: Japan, Osaka

"WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS!?" Steven yelled in utter despair. "How could you- Joe, your...y-your beautiful hair, and it's-its so...short! Why Joe, whyyyy!?"

"It'll grow back!" Joe shouted, jarring his arm out to the side. Then his hand slapped his face, fingers catching and pulling his lip. He already had a headache. "Fuck me, I don't get why you're cryin' about it!"

Yes, the toxic twins- fifty one and forty nine respectively, married with a handful of kids ranging from twenty two to eight, were arguing over a haircut just moments before they went on stage.

"But you don't understand!" Steven despaired, gulping in a deep breath of air to keep his head aligned. "What am I supposed to hold onto whilst you suck me off, o-or even when we're kissing!?"

"Wow," Joe marvelled sarcastically, subconsciously twisting his wedding ring on his finger. "Is sex all you think about? I get my hair cut, cos, y'know, I fancied a change, and all you can think about is sex? What the fuck, Steven."

"Of course I think about sex! I am sex and guess what? You married me, so that makes you sex too!"

Unfortunately, the singer wasn't wrong. He was, however, being hypocritical when his hair was fairly short as well, just about reaching his shoulders, and had blonde streaks in it.

Joe, in his frustration, clutched straws in the air, nails curling into his palms, knees bending for a moment, and jaw working overtime to stay razor sharp.

"You make no sense!"

"SEX, JOE!" Steven was back to yelling, and pushed his face closer. "ASS FUCKING. GAY SEX!"

"Wha- WHAT THE FUCK!?"

With a growl to end the glaring contest, Steven started pacing, automatically rubbing his bare left shoulder, and then cursing yet again when he realised he was smudging the fancy ink that had been painted on his skin for tonight's show.

"You cannot go on stage like that. I refuse to let you." He scowled to himself, pushing and holding his own hair on the top of his head. "I need to find you a hat- the pink one for Pink. Shit!"

It was a miracle they had calmed down enough to hear the knock on the door.

"Stage in two, boys!"

Steven was too busy muttering profanities to himself to care, barely even stealing a second glance at his husband who was quite difficult to miss in his bright pink shirt and SHORT HAIR.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. Next time I'll ask for your permission to get my goddamn haircut."

Joe had already lunged for the door, but he turned around one last time.

"And yes I am going on stage like this, for the millennium, and I'm not wearing a fucking hat. So fuck you."

The door slammed shut.

Steven gripped the back of the chair he had stopped in front of, and threw his head back.

"FUCK!"

<>

It's funny how the moment they're on stage, all their personal problems disappear.

The concert was insane, the setlist revolving around the fact it was the millennium with the likes of Full Circle, Let The Music Do The Talking and Chip Away The Stone.

Joe smiled a lot, Steven was his usual hyperactive soul strutting about on stage, and Joey, Brad and Tom, well they always played perfectly and enjoyed watching their married bandmates interact to get the crowd going.

Even with the interlude in the middle, the toxic twins were back to joking for the camera, specifically about Joe forgetting his makeup and Steven saying, 'I can lend you some of mine.'

And as for the New Years celebrations, the Train Kept A Rollin' right until the countdown.

The Aerosmith families came on stage in the haze of whooping, firework explosions and rain of confetti, and Steven and Joe shared a kiss and a long hug, whilst being attacked by their youngest kids to be picked up.

Of course, it was also Tom's birthday so Steven made the crowd sing Happy Birthday (though it was technically the New Year at that point), and then with the fitting final song being Sweet Emotion, and the band farewells, the concert was done, the year two thousand had begun, in Japan at least, and the after party could commence.

Steven had bounced off stage with a bottle of Champagne clutched in his hand and it didn't take him long to finish it when most of it ended spilling out his mouth, whereas Joe, being the responsible father he was, made sure the kids got to the hotel safe.

It was unnecessary, because when three of them were adults: Liv, Mia and Adrian, they looked after the littluns, particularly the troublesome duo of Taj and Roman who were constantly causing trouble.

The junior toxic twins, as it were.

"The kids are fine by the way."

Slightly surprised by the voice and approaching footsteps, Steven took the second Champagne bottle away from his lips. He had to look away from Joe to swallow.

"Yeah," he said casually, trying to act like he already knew, and not that he had been caught slacking with his parental skills. "I know."

"Are you drunk!?"

"No-wuh! I saved you some!" Steven was outraged at the accusation and shook the bottle in Joe's disappointed face. When there wasn't much sound, he did it again, and then squinted at the dark tint and realised there wasn't really much left. "Oh, well I did..."

Joe snatched the bottle with his left hand, but didn't finish it. He just put it down in the corridor backstage they stood in, glad that it was no longer bustling with Roadies, techies, and band crew.

It was actually surprisingly quiet.

"Do you know what we're doing, and why I'm not allowed to shower and go to bed?" Joe asked, holding Steven by the shoulders because he was about to slouch down the wall.

The singer woke up again, eyes focusing on his handsome husband, and then he stretched a lazy grin.

"Is twister time, baby. We're gettin' hammered," he said quietly, holding back his laughter like he had just told a secret. Then he broke away from Joe's hands, crouched dramatically in the corridor, snapping his head in both directions, leaped up and puffed out his chest with an almighty, "AWOOOOO WOWOAH!"

Joe, bless his innocently sober brain, had no words.

Absolutely none.

<>

The game of twister was amusing before alcohol was involved, and you ended up in awkward positions with friends (or your crushes) and you were a pussy if you were in charge of the spinner and call outs.

At least that's what a mildly drunk Steven insisted.

"Yo, Joe you're up. Left foot yellow."

"Guys, I don't want to play. I already said."

"C'mon, it will be fun! Loosen up a little!"

With Brad's instruction and Joey's encouragement with his own right hand on green, Joe still shook his head. Steven started making chicken noises which was very funny from a guy bent over on the polka dot mat and drinking out of a straw. And when Tom, the birthday boy, kept nudging it away with his toe when the singer was looking upside down through his legs, Steven was adamant there was a 'FUCKING GHOST' in the room.

He should really have his martinis and cocktails taken away from him, but Joe just kept getting evils followed by puppy dog eyes when he tried to intervene.

In the end he just gave up and slouched on a beanbag, watching his bandmates play twister under the influence of alcohol.

With a thumb smoothing under his chin, the side of index finger curled and dragging between his lips, Joe made his answer clear with his frown alone.

So, he watched Brad shrug, and take the left foot yellow instruction himself, deliberately standing over Steven's arched back and immediately gaining Tom's approval.

Now they had no dedicated spinner.

"Jooeee, spin the spinner!" Joey hollered very unnecessarily, because one, the background music wasn't that loud, and two- "Piss off, Tom! Cut it out!"

The drummer was batting the knee that kept nudging his shoulder in an attempt to throw his balance.

Joe couldn't remember his second reason, as his eyes took in the sight of a bunch of late forty year olds (because Steven was alone in the next decade) messing around with each other, cheating by falling onto an elbow or knee, but they were tipsy and clearly having too much fun to abide perfectly by the rules.

It was no wonder Joe felt the smile lift the corners of his mouth, partly because of the straight (gay) view he had of Steven's butt which looked great in his jeans with the stitched patterns of flowers down the legs and on the pockets, but he quickly made it fade before someone caught him.

"Fine," he huffed, pushing himself out of the beanbag.

The mat scrunched up dangerously as he walked past, but none of the four occupying it fell (significantly) and Tom's boisterous laughter took over Joey's adorable laugh when his ribs were tickled and he really wobbled keeping his right hand on green and left foot a step back on yellow.

Big kids. The whole lot of 'em.

"Whose go is it?" Joe asked, downing the rest of whatever was left in a red cup next to the spirits they had been provided with to help him 'loosen up'.

"Hamilton," Brad provided over his shoulder, smiling wildly.

"You, know Lj-

"-Geeyalf." Steven burped the rest of Joey's grumble of 'LG', comically at the perfect time. "My my, 'scuse meeyya-" He burped again, releasing a hand to knock a fist to his chest. "Oh, good Lord..."

"I don't think you should be in that position," Joey chuckled, glancing through the tangle of limbs to the flop of brown locks with dyed blonde streaks tumbling past the frontman's reddening face from being upside down.

"Whaddya mean? He's used to being bummed by Perry."

"Ahh, you took the words right out of my mouth!"

A smug Tom and an elated Brad high fived, as they stood over a fidgeting Steven who continued to suck from a straw.

"Alright birthday boy..." Joe flicked the spinner with his finger nail, ignoring the comments, "Left foot red."

"Easy," Tom replied, simply adjusting his stand so both his feet were on the mat. "Joey's turn."

"I swear, if you-

"Right hand blue," Joe interrupted and then he realised what that instruction meant. He smirked.

"No, no, Joey that's boring. Put your hand right...here."

Tom pointed with his finger to the blue spot right in front of him, essentially so he could be more annoying.

"I don't like this game," Joey complained, twisting so his hand could move from green to blue, and so he was even more involved in the jungle of legs and arms.

...and bums and dicks.

After a few more rounds, they basically left Steven on all fours, even making up a fake instruction to cross his wrists and ankles over red and blue, but he was easily the most wasted out of them all and didn't question it, and it meant he was the one to fall on his stomach and provide an end to the game.

The four of them stood up, arguing and laughing, and either sat down on the couch or took a bathroom break, which Steven announced quite loudly that was where he was going.

For Joe, being in charge wasn't quite as painful as he initially thought, and he actually quite enjoyed himself. But, he was just as glad he wasn't involved in the game, especially when the boys kept making up rules to make positions more...interesting.

"Mmm, can I take this off?"

An obviously drunk Steven pushed himself against Joe's back, and his fingers reached around to fumble the final two buttons undone.

His lack of coordination was the hero of the day.

"No, you cannot," Joe denied, peeling the hands away, but one of which just ended up sliding in between his open shirt anyway and going straight for his nipple.

"I love you," Steven mumbled, breathing a kiss into his neck.

Ordinarily, the guitarist may have let him have his fun, but they were at Tom's birthday party, and they would have an audience pretty soon.

"Stop," Joe said, taking the hand smoothing across his chest away, and swivelling around from the lips and tongue that made his sexual fantasies a reality. "Not now."

Steven, surprisingly, wasn't in the slightest offended. He just concentrated to take a step closer, and smiled with his alcohol influenced droopy eyes.

"How 'bout this. Weee play juan game...me and-a you." Steven poked his chest proudly and then Joe's whilst keeping a serious pout. "If I win, you take your shirt off. And if you win...I take mine-" He grabbed the hem of his vest which had a Japanese symbol in fuschia, and then flicked his wrist out. "-off."

"Did I hear a new round is happening?" Tom asked enthusiastically, eating a fancy stack of sushi on top of the sofa so his feet were planted on the cushions.

Brad and Joey also turned their heads.

"Nuh-uh." Steven wagged his finger, crossing his feet with his next unsteady step. "Only moi and Joe-oowoh-oowoh."

The bassist was already nodding his approval. "Well, then. That's even better."

Unfortunately, as much as Joe tried to argue, he was dragged over to the twister mat by his husband, and given a friendly slap on the arse to get him to put his left foot on blue when the spinner had decided his fate.

He was visibly questioning his life decisions and envied a warm bed.

"Steven, right foot red."

With a lunge, the drunk singer smacked his foot down on the fourth red dot, and Joe watched it appear out of the corner of his eye, sighing quietly. He just knew he was-

"Joe, left hand green."

He glared at a smugly seated Tom with the spinner in his hands and with Joey and Brad peering over each one of his shoulders, held back a growl, and reluctantly chose the dot on the same row as his foot.

Already he was crouching down.

"Left foot red, Tyler."

Snickering at who knows what, Steven put his foot on the red dot adjacent to Joe's left foot. He could have chosen any of the remaining five dots and yet, he chose that one.

Joe refused to look up. He already felt like he was being done dirty and was in for a teeth grinding couple of minutes.

"Okay Daddy One. Your turn again."

"Hey," Joe scowled, lifting his head. "Shut the fuck up."

"Excusez moi. I am Daddy One," Steven piped up, unashamedly sliding his hand down his front to rub his dick through his jeans. "Shi-gimme 'nother drink."

"Right foot blue, Anthony."

Tearing his eyes from Steven's fingers and how Joey was already handing him a beer, Joe provided another fitting glare for King Tom on his throne.

At least someone was enjoying themselves.

"Steven, right foot ye-"

Brad moved the spinner a notch.

"Right foot red," Tom corrected, smirking.

"I saw that!" Joe exclaimed, relaxing his position. "And Steven already has his foot on red!"

"Your knee is down!" The bassist pointed at the mat.

"I don't give a-"

"Steven, right foot red," Brad repeated calmly.

"Nawkay," he slurred in response, putting his beer down. He moved his right foot that was already on red, to the next dot so both of his feet were in the same rows as his husband.

(If you've managed to picture this, you should know what position these two have ended up in 😈😈😈)

"And finally, Joe, why don't you put that right hand on green."

The guitarist was livid. Tom hadn't even bothered to spin the piece of shit, and had plucked out the instruction from his evil lair.

Grumbling, Joe's hand smacked down on the green, and he was officially on his hands and feet, with his husband standing behind him.

"Oh, Steven. You can put your hands anywhere you want by the way."

Before Joe exploded with rage, his hips were being held, and just as he suspected, the wasted singer was horny.

That rubbing earlier wasn't just a scratch.

"I can-" Joe bit his lip, trying to angle his head over his left shoulder so the chattering trio wouldn't be able to read his mouth. He lowered his voice to a hiss, "I can feel your hard-on, Steven."

"Hmm, ooh yeah. Yeahhhh." Steven shuffled his feet closer, grinding his cock that was getting gradually harder by the movement. "Fuuuuck'mmm."

Joe would be lying if hearing his husband's grouchy moans didn't stimulate something in him too. Especially, when he saw the gracefully parted lips, or the scrunch of eyebrows or the tease of a long tongue to the corner of his mouth when he was caught staring.

There was still young lust between them, that was for sure.

"Holy shh-" Joey covered his eyes after he had been tasked to dig out a bottle of Whisky. "Get a room!"

On his hands and feet and having his hips pulled back in a slow rhythm, Joe couldn't say anything. He was actively letting Steven grind his cock against his arse, anyway he liked, and he didn't have the power to stop it.

If he wasn't careful, his leather trousers would be tight soon.

"You're right," Tom agreed from the sofa, over the drunkenly exaggerated moan. "Joe, would you please take your husband away before he busts? I know it's my birthday party, but I didn't hire a live porno."

That did it. That sliced through the cloudy haze of desire.

Joe scrambled to his feet, pleased he hadn't drunk very much, and reached for Steven's wrist to pull him close before he started winging.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have made the position sexual."

Tom tossed the spinner onto the mat. "There's nothing sexual about a game of twister, babe."

If it wasn't for Steven clutching and tugging his crotch with his free hand and rolling on the sides of his feet with how his knees buckled, Joe might have stayed to address the rest of the band.

Say what, he didn't know. Do what, probably nothing. But what he did know was that he didn't want his husband embarrassing himself because he was drunk, especially when someone was bound to tape it on video.

Why? Because he cared. He cared a whole damn lot. Joe loved Steven, both inside and out, for all of his perfect imperfections, more than life itself.

He couldn't describe it and honestly, he didn't want that explanation. He just knew it was true love, and he held onto it day in, day out, and right now he was holding the wrist of love and listening to its yearning humming.

"Happy birthday," Joe gritted with a forced smile, and then tugged a mumbling Steven out of the party room which had apparently given him a raging boner.

The corridor was cool; backstage in big concerts always had the AC blasting, and a corner later, they were passing a few of the dressing rooms.

It was going well, the plan to get back to the hotel looking strong, until Steven bit down on Joe's shoulder, and rolled off to one side so his back hit the white wall.

"Mm'so haarddd," he whined, and good lord did he sound desperate. He looked the part with the squeeze to his cock and the hand gravitating up to hold his sweaty hair on top of his head. "Please, touch me."

Joe watched the writhing body slump and all of the facial expressions plead with him, but really they belonged in porno.

"Hnn-ohh." Steven made a gap by pulling his jeans away from his hips, "Joe-oowo, please-"

One stride and Joe was trapping him against the wall. He wasn't angry, though he did have the urge to clamp that slurring mouth shut, he was just concerned about the volume and the risk of being caught.

"You're so...loud," he whispered, so his voice didn't echo.

The statement was, naturally, met with a drunk smile and a shuffle against the wall. Regrets were seeping through about letting the frontman get this wasted.

"Is'not 'bout lookin' pretty. Itz about feeling-" Steven's eyes fluttered closed when his hand evidently ventured underneath the intrusive layers. "Gooooood."

Joe glanced down at how jeans were pushed out by knuckles in the crotch, and the waistband of boxers (thankfully not a thong this time) had appeared all wonky over the top.

He sighed. "You're not going to make it to the hotel, are you?"

Steven shook his head defiantly, curling his lower lip under his teeth, and exhaling an extremely lustful deep breath through his nose.

The things this man required. Constant sexual reliefs and attention were the top two on the never ending list.

So, Joe ended up in the dressing room where they had argued about four hours prior, and helped Steven sit down on the chair he rotated to the centre.

The singer slumped and spread his knees.

"I don't like touching you when you're drunk," Joe said, undoing the button on the very tight jeans. He tried to avoid touching the hard lump as much as possible. "It feels wrong."

"Th-lemme do it."

And then he was batted away.

It wasn't rude and by no means was Joe hurt, but Steven was clearly just very horny and had waited too long. However, it was strange how the grunts during the shuffle of clothes made Joe turn around like his presence was intrusive.

He guessed the argument still hung in the air, ridiculous and childish as it was, and maybe it got to him more than he wanted to admit.

But, hearing that delightfully drawn out moan of the first touch of skin on skin, still made Joe wish it was his hand. And closing his eyes, deepening and slowing his breaths, that was exactly what he imagined.

"S'much already. Joe, my lo- oh ffffuuck, look at my cock."

The heat teased in the crotch of his black leather. His toes twitched, fingers flinched, but Joe didn't turn around.

As Steven was touching himself, Joe felt like he couldn't. He gently swayed on his feet, almost as if he was falling asleep, and was glumly reminded how much he valued his husband's approval and opinion.

Without it, and definitely without his guitar, he was shy and self conscious, and that was exactly why the argument about his haircut was deeper than it appeared to be.

"Watch me."

If the gruff voice didn't interrupt his thoughts, he might have found himself walking out of the dressing room, and spiralling into his mess of insecurities and his deepest fear of losing the man he loved.

So when Joe obeyed, stayed, pushed past the darkness that he had worked so hard to stay out of the shadows- conquer by just talking and opening up to Steven, he was relieved to know his sexual feelings hadn't been swallowed up.

Steven, in a word, was masturbating. He didn't care that his jeans were pushed down to his thighs, or his vest was twisted across his chest, or his hair was a mess and sticking to his face, because he was making himself feel good by jerking his right hand on his hard cock, left just cupping his balls so his thumb smoothed the snug skin, and that was the confidence Joe strived to have all the time.

Not necessarily just in sexual acts, but this was how he had learned in the first place, and would continue to learn for the rest of time.

"C'mere," Steven said, lifting his chin with the very hint of a smirk.

Joe gulped, feeling a little flushed now that he was witnessing his masturbating husband. It wasn't exactly new, but it was definitely hot.

Very, very hot.

Sighing dramatically, Steven rolled his head to his right shoulder. Honestly, it was a fifty-fifty chance whether the action was alcohol influenced, or just something he would do naturally when he was bored and annoyed.

"JoJo J-J-Joe bear, cummmm heeeyerrrrr!"

The volume made Joe's cheek twitch. The name...well, that reaction was definitely below the waist, so he made his way over slowly, concealing the fact he might have been a smidgen turned on, and kneeled to one side.

"Yeah?"

"Smile."

"Smile? Why?"

"Cos I love your smile." Steven raised a non-sticky hand to his cheek. It had been on his balls, but they'd seen each other from their worst angle, although they assured each other time and time again, there was no such thing.

Even with the glossy alcohol glaze making brown eyes wander around his face, he saw so much love looking back at him, and that alone would always make him smile.

The hand then moved into his hair, sliding up the back and tugging the short cut with scrunched fingers.

"M'sorry 'bout your hair. Wait, no I mean I dooo like your hair like this. I just prefer it longer."

Joe didn't need an apology, and hearing it made him realise that. He still thought Steven was a narcissistic sex guru, quite possibly with a serious issue and needed to get his head out of his arsehole and stop licking his own balls, but then it wouldn't be Steven.

It was just who he was, however much it felt like Joe had married a man-child, and even their kids had greater levels of maturity.

But the couple- Tyler/Perry- they were magnets. They repelled each other with their insufferable differences, and attracted helplessly with a force of understanding, honesty, appreciation, trust, confidence, encouragement...

The list of values could go on, but then you'd be reading a bunch of synonyms, and that would make you want to go zzzzzzzzz.

"You want me to help you finish?"

Steven nodded and shifted his hips in anticipation.

So, Joe wrapped his hand around the thick cock like he had done so many times before and gently started jerking it again. He was leaning forward on his knees to capture the lonely lips in a kiss, a strong bite of booze on the tongue that sloppily licked into his mouth, and Steven was getting nearer his orgasm as his intermittent moans got closer together.

The grab and addition of Steven's hand on top of his own to increase the pace, the feet that clamped around one of his legs, and then finally, the bursts of cum that were deliberately caught between their bodies, decorating knuckles, made it worth every last drop.

"God, you make a mess," Joe muttered, looking down at the jizz mark that was now on his pink shirt. He stood, considered taking it off, but with how Steven was recovering and (attempting) to cover his modesty, he figured it wasn't best to encourage sex.

He was happy to keep his potential stiffy tucked away.

"Ca'we go back and play turkey twisler- I mean twist 'n' shout- OH FUCK ,THE BEATLES!!!"

Alarm bells rang. Joe's eyes went wide. His fingers froze with the task of tucking his shirt in to hide the damp mark.

To put it simply, Steven and his love for The Beatles became inseparable when he was drunk. The very mention of the band, and that was him gone until he either fell asleep or passed out.

"No, Ste-"

"WELL, SHE WAS JUST SEVENTEEN, EE-WANGA WANGA WANGA, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!"

Mentally face palming, Joe already knew the show he was in for. He rushed to get his husband to stand up before he started rolling on the floor, but when he was singing at the top of his lungs, bouncing his foot like he had ants in his pants, and pretending to play guitar, it was very difficult.

"-WELL SHE LOOKED AT ME, YAOW YAOW YAOW, AND I, I COULD SEEE-"

Seeing a chance, Joe scooped him up with an arm around his waist which was very necessary from the poor, wriggling balance, guided a smudged inked-up right arm over his shoulders, and then manoeuvred them both out of the dressing room.

He may have slowly been going deaf in the process, tapped on the chest like a drum, but it was either that or listening to an entire album, which this time was apparently, 'Please, Please Me' before he could get a word in.

"-WELL MY HEART WENT 'BOOM' YA-KAKAKAKA! WHEN I CROSSED THAT ROOM! BA-DOMBA DOMBA DOMBA-"

"You're not even singing Twist And Shout." Joe couldn't help but laugh, but that was also for the fact that Steven's jeans weren't even zipped up. "And Lennon definitely doesn't scream like that."

"-NOW I'LL NEVER DANCE WITH ANOTHER WHOOOOOOOOOOOO! SINCE I SAW HER STANDING THERE!"

By this point, Steven had freed himself for the solo, freestyling in the corridor with his stomping air guitar, actually singing it, and then, with invisible sticks, made tongue twisting, lip smacking noises along the lines of: 'chutter chutter-de-chicketa-chicketa-brrrrraaaaah' for the drum fill that led into the lyrics again.

Joe just stood there in adoration, this time without a care in the world about the volume, because this was the man he loved doing what he did best.

He was smiling at the spinning, the head bashing so sweaty brown locks with blonde streaks flew all over the place, fought back the laughs at the the hollering whoops and the hands that went: *clap-clap, clap* because Steven knew every single layer of the song, even drunk.

Welcome to the year two thousand, they said. Here's to another thousand years.

For these two, they kicked the first year off with a concert, a couple of games of twister, a wankie (yes, that is a wank + handie) and now Steven, with his eyes scrunched shut for the finale and hands firmly on Joe's shoulders sang:

"YEAH, WELL I SAW YOUU STANDING THERE! BOM-BOM-BOM WAOOWAHHH!"

"I love you so fuckin' much," Joe chuckled, hugging him tight. He didn't care about the smell of sweat, the dirt, the booze, or the aroma of fluids, he just wanted his nose buried as deep as he could in the crook of his husband's neck.

Joe wasn't surprised by the lack of response, in fact just feeling the weight slump against him, made him smile again.

Why?

Because Steven had passed out singing, falling into his arms like a puppet, and it was going to be an absolutely brilliant story to tell the kids.

<>