One Shots

Seven Minutes in Heaven (R)

 

                                  Seven Minutes in Heaven

   I was one of those guys that took things in their stride and never really thought about the consequences until I was experiencing them. It wasn't a great way to live apparently, taking into consideration how many times I've gotten into shit due to my carelessness.

    I guess the fact that I was currently locked inside a closet with another guy, both of us drunk out of our minds, could be a fair example. See, I'd agreed to play this stupid game at this stupid party that I sort of just stupidly turned up at. I didn't even know the people.

    I agreed to play the game with a wave of my hand and a drawled, “Yeah sure...” as I stumbled about drunkenly. It wasn't too long that I ended up realising I'd agreed to play Seven Minutes in Heaven.

    Well of course the people at this party took advantage of my intoxicated state and threw me in with another guy, cause apparently that was more amusing than making out with a girl.

    How could they not be aware that I was gay from how on-point my hair was this evening? Straight boys couldn't achieve this shit even with the help of a stylist.

    Now normally I would be quite satisfied with being locked in a closet with a guy, but this guy didn't seem to be queer-friendly in the slightest. Well, that was an assumption based on the way he was literally pushing himself against the farthest corner of the closet, quite painfully, almost.

    “Chill, dude, I'm not gonna come on to you or nothin',” I muttered, stumbling around, trying to reach out for something to hold on to to keep me steady, but ended up grabbing an item of clothing that subsequently slipped off the coat hanger and well, that's how I managed to find myself on the floor.

    The guy took a few nervous steps forward, reaching out a hand to help me up which I took with a thankful nod of the head. He pulled me to my feet and steadied me with his hands on my waist.

    “Are you okay?” He mumbled by my ear, almost like he was using me for stability as much as I was using him.

    “Mm. We're gonna so fall over here if we don' find some other form of...of supp...ort?” I felt an odd giggle building in the back of my throat but pushed it back down with the little control I had left and cleared my throat, trying to regain composure.

    “That's okay,” he whispered. “I don't mind.”

    “You don't? Cause I mean my dick would be all up on your dick if we did end up falling on top of each other.” I leaned back, making sure he understood how serious the situation was right now. I became a slave to my horny needs once I got a few drinks in my system and restraining myself was not an option.

    He stared right back at me, with eyes that sparkled in the dim lighting of the closet, thats source was the swinging bulb only a few inches above our heads. He looked so enamoured by the mere thought of falling, tangled in each other's embrace.

    “I'm not against that, exactly,” he announced quietly. I furrowed my brows. “I would just rather if we weren't in such a compact place. I'm a little claustrophobic.”

    Ah, there it was. The explanation for why he'd come across as a homophobe. It took a while to fully register in my mind. Too long, apparently, for the bloke I stood with my arms wrapped around, who took it upon himself to make the last few minutes of the game something to remember.

    He slipped his tongue into my mouth in a smooth seductiveness that had sounds rumbling in the back of my throat, that I'd never made before. I blamed the drink. My fingers threaded through the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck.