Remedy [MxM]

Chapter 01: Alcohol at Bars is Expensive

This chapter has been edited on 2/1/2016 to be better written, and there are some slight changes. Enjoy!

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Hey there. How's it going? I bet you're wondering what this story is about. No? Well too bad, I'm telling you anyway.

My name is Arden McHale. I'm the oldest child of Siobhan and Leopold—I know, I know, it's the greatest name you've ever heard—McHale. I also happen to have a younger sister who goes by the name of Elizabeth. Or Lizzie. Or "Spawn of Satan", for the adventurous. I'm twenty-four years old, born May 22nd, and I've been dating the most amazing woman for the past year.

Well. I thought she was amazing. That is until she cheated on me with...okay, I don't know who he was, but he's an ass. I mean, here I had the most amazing relationship in the whole world, and this guy comes along and fucks it up. Literally. So she's no longer "the most amazing woman". Now she's just Linsey. Or "that bitch/whore/cunt" slash any other harsh insult I can come up with for those nights that I'm feeling more sorry for myself than usual. Which happen more often than I care to admit, but, who's keeping track anyway? So, with that being said, you may be wondering, "Arden, where are you now?"

Sitting in a bar with half a bottle of beer, pondering the reason as to why women are such cruel bitches. And why alcohol in a bar is so damn expensive. I was busy frowning into my nearly-empty bottle when a pair of hands came into view, making me look up. Only to the bartender's chest though, because from experience their faces usually hold some sort of either, A) sympathy that you have nothing better to do than waste money at a bar, or B) a smirk because you have nothing better to do than waste money at a bar.

"Want another?" he asked, and I sighed in response, tapping the side of the bottle before scrunching up my nose. Not very attractive, I know, but why should I give a fuck? It's a guy. I didn't need to worry about looking attractive.

"Nah. I'd rather not get completely wasted tonight."

I could see him nod before he offered to take the bottle from me, and I released my grip on it, watching him move away with it. The bar was one I usually went to, considering there weren't very many in my area that were an acceptable distance. I wasn't driving ten or fifteen miles just to go get drunk. For all that I could just find the nearest liquor store. It'd probably be cheaper too. Why wasn't I just doing that then? Fuck.

"You know we close at one," the bartender mentioned suddenly. Frowning, I looked up and around the bar, noticing the time from the clock on the wall. When did it get so late? A quarter to one and it was almost empty except me, him, and some people in the back who were either really friendly, or they were in the middle of a public orgy. The thought had me shuddering slightly, turning back around on the stool to face the bar again, and consequently the bartender.

Now, I could admit, I may have been staring at the bartender longer than what was strictly necessary for just acknowledging someone else's presence. I could chalk that up to being drunk though. It wasn't like he was bad looking. Bangs stopped just above his eyes, dark hair, five-o-clock shadow with black rimmed glasses...and I'm checking the guy out. Okay. Apparently my drunk self is a little gay. No big deal.

The bartender noticed me staring in his general direction and rose an eyebrow while glancing around. "Can I help you?" he asked, a little rudely in my opinion, but I'm not the type of person to be deterred easily.

Now, just to get this straight, for the record—what I meant to say to the guy was, "I think I drank a bit more than I meant to." However, due to unfortunate circumstances, or fortunate depending on how you look at it in retrospect, this is what I actually said: "Nice ass."

Don't ask me how it happened. Because to this day, I still don't know. The guy's eyes widened and he stared back for a few seconds, blinking and not saying anything while my brain caught up with what my mouth had just let out. "Wow. I'm really sorry." I said again. "I think I'm more drunk than I wanted to be." I still didn't get any sort of answer from the bartender though, and after a second I couldn't help myself as I snorted. "Okay, sorry if you're not used to strangers complimenting your ass." I added, holding up my hands. When he finally moved, he started stuttering, taking his glasses off and averting his eyes as he pretended to clean them.

"Oh, um..I-I...uh...yeah, I...hm," he murmured. That was a hell of a switch from the guy who'd been rudely asking why I was looking at him only a couple minutes ago, but hey, I'd take it. I found myself smirking a little as I leaned forward on the bar, trying to catch his attention.

"In all fairness though, you do have a really great ass."

Oh yeah. I'm drunk if I'm hitting on a guy. I've never even thought about fucking a dude—okay that's probably the biggest lie I've ever told in my life. But, come on. Who hasn't at least thought about it?

The guy froze again, and I smiled wider. "Okay, I'll just be blunt. I'm drunk, I have nothing better to do, and you're sexy as hell. Or at least your ass is. So I think we should go back to my place. And I think you know where my thought process is going."

He nearly dropped his glasses, making me laugh quietly as he rolled his eyes. However, I will note that he didn't outright tell me no, so he had to be at least considering the sudden, drunken proposition. Seduction wasn't exactly something I was great at, and it was sloppy as hell when I'd had a couple drinks, but it seemed to be working just fine for the bartender. It sorta made me wonder how often he was approached by people, and if I was just the lucky sap he was tired of saying no to for the night.

"C'mon." I pushed. "What else are you doing tonight? Or this morning, if you will."

He hesitated before putting his glasses back on and sighing, giving me a vaguely irritated look for a minute or two. At the last second I was sort of worried he'd tell me no anyway, with his expression and the way he was fidgeting. In the end though, when he finally replied, I had to restrain myself from making an embarrassing victorious noise.

"How close is your house?" he asked.

"Five miles."

"I walk here. My house."

Fuck yes. Arden McHale, master seducer of all men and women near you. Oh, look at that, seductive and hilarious.