Short Stories (BoyxBoy)

Stay (BoyxBoy)

Stay (BoyxBoy) 

It was a dark, loud night. A party.  

The music was pumping from wall to wall. People were grinding against each other and drinking; thumping music blasted throughout everyone's eardrums. There was no time for talking.  

I didn't know where my girlfriend was, and to be quite frank I didn't really care - I was feeling a bit tipsy anyway. The place was packed with people and nobody could move an inch. Two in the morning and the party was in full swing, full of drunken happiness.  

"Two beers," a guy dressed in black pushed himself up to the bar, beside me. He didn't bother with politeness, but the barmaid shook her head and served him anyway.  

He shoved the bloke on the stool next to me off and grunted.  

"Oi!" the man in his early-thirties shouted, but the dark man ignored him. His black jeans were stained with drink, I noticed, but the man either didn't notice or care.  

The barmaid returned in a record amount of time (for the busy club) with his drinks and handed them to him. He winked at her to make her blush and started to turn around. I saw him scan the room speedily, but he eventually shrugged and pushed the spare bottle towards me.  

I guessed he couldn't be bothered to find him mate or girlfriend - like me, who'd left to get drinks over half an hour ago.  

"Thanks," I shouted over the music, but he probably only saw my lips move. Nevertheless, he shrugged as if to say 'that's all right'.  

I grabbed the beer and happily started to drink. I watched as he did the same, but in a more laid-back, nonchalant manner. If anything, he looked bored.  

I knew my girlfriend was relying on me for a lift home, but I didn't really care, and thought the warmth of my bed sounded like a very good idea right now. Yawning, I clambered off the stool, still carrying my beer. I yelled a goodbye at the man who'd paid for my drink, but he just raised his eyebrows and shouted something back. I mouthed 'what?' at him and he reciprocated my actions.  

In the end. He just pointed to the exit and we stumbled out together.  

"What were you saying, mate?" I slurred as we leaned against the exterior wall of the club.  

He looked confused, "What were you saying?" 

I pondered for a moment. "I've forgotten," I laughed honestly and he did too, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He shoved one under my face and I took one, gratefully. So much for quitting last month.  

He slowly breathed in the smoke and blew it out easily. He held the cig in one hand as he fixed his hair with the other.  

"I love fags," I muttered before realising what I'd said, but he laughed. He had quite a soft laugh, but a genuine one.  

"How are you getting home?" he asked. It was the first time I realised he was slurring his words too.  

"Drivin'," I shrugged, "If I ever find my car." 

"You pillock," he dragged, "You'll fuckin' kill yourself. You're bladdered, mate." I nodded; I guess he was speaking the truth. I slumped down to the ground and sat cross-legged. He sat beside me.  

"It's cold, isn't it?" I stuttered.  

"It's summer," he smiled. He had a very white smile. It shone.  

"It's a cold summer," I agreed.  

"Yeah," he stretched the word, but instead of sounding sarcastic, it just sounded soft. And sexual.  

"You have green eyes," I pointed out, actually pointing to his eyes: a shiny emerald colour. He smirked.  

I felt very dizzy. Surprisingly, seeing as I'd only had two bottles of beer. Or maybe three... 

My hand ran down his cheek as I started crying. "I'm so drunk," I murmured. He nodded.  

My lips puckered as I leant forward. His skin was a beautiful tan colour, his eyes, his hair, him.  

I leant in further and made contact with him. His nose, to be exact. But then my mouth moved lower.  

"I'm going now," I stuttered.  

His lips.  

"Stay," he smiled.