Lessons On Kissing Guys (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 4

Looking around me, something seems off. Nothing seems 'right' about this place. And what's frustrating me is that I can't put my finger on whatever the fuck it is. Which only makes my anger soar.

I take in the fast, up-beat music, a smile on my face as I immediately veer towards the bar, taking in the florescent lighting and the way people dance, grinding together. Everything is too bright for me to be able to see anything properly, but I can tell that there are way too many bodies smashed against each other on the dance floor. Maybe after a couple of drinks I'll be able to loosen up and lose myself in the crowds of people.

Taking a seat at a bar stool, I immediately find myself being served by a good-looking guy - I mean, by a guy - and watch as he whips up my sambuca shot, before downing it. I love the feel of fire that travels down my throat and revel in it before slamming the shot glass down onto the table, asking for another.

A few minutes - and shots - later, I hear a husky voice saying; "Thought I'd find you here." The voice is too near, so near that I can feel the man's breath graze over my ear, earning a shiver in response. I almost slap myself. Why the fuck did I just shiver? And when I say shiver, I don't mean a completely random shiver, or a shiver of fear, I mean a pleasurable shiver.

I let my eyes flicker up, but the guy is gone. Before today, I didn't know it was humanly possible for someone to vanish so fast, but apparently it is.

"Another." I say to the guy at the bar, not bothering to read the name tag. He chuckles, and when I look up, I almost fall off of my chair. Has he been here all along? This faggot. "Who the fuck are you?" My words are slurred and I curse myself for sounding so damned imbecilic in this moment.

"Hey there, Lucas, is it? I'm Blair. I'm surprised I haven't told you already." He rubs the back of his neck, as if this were awkward. But from the smirk that soon takes over his features, I can tell he's just playing with me like the faggot he is.

"I never," my words are interrupted by a hiccup. Fuck this. I continue, "I never want to speak to you again. Fuck off." But the words are slurred and the hiccups seem to have taken over, completely lessening the effect of my words.

I stand up, in an attempt to get away from the prick, but before I can move an inch, I find myself doubling over, falling to the ground. Awaiting the impact, I'm surprised to find that my body never reaches the ground, and instead I find myself  being held up.

Opening my eyes lazily, I jump up again, in the process repeating the embarrassing fall and making myself look stupid again. But fuck, it's his fault for having his face so damned close to mine. I'm surprised I didn't end up smashing my face against his accidentally.

When his arms reach out to catch me again, they immediately put me upright, and I shake his hands from my shoulder. Grabbing the untouched shot from the counter, I down it, slamming the glass back onto the counter and rapidly weaving my through the crowded room, until I'm lost in the sea of people.

I close my eyes as I feel bodies brush against my own. Moments later, I feel someone grabbing a hold of my waist and brushing their body against mine. I lose myself in the fast, rhythmic beat, before feeling their lips connect with the skin of my neck.

Shivers run up and down my spine, and I turn my body to face them, my eyes still closed. As I turn, I feel the unmistakable texture of stubble rub against my neck and jump back in shock. What the fuck is wrong with this place? And with this guy?

Before I even open my eyes, I know who I'm going to see. What was his name? Blair. As I whisper the name to myself, I realise how good it sounds to be saying that, but quickly shake the thought from my head, almost slapping myself in the process.

"Get away from me." I whisper, shock contorting my features as his grey eyes meet with my brown ones. For a moment, I even feel afraid. Afraid of the fact that I keep running into the same guy, over and over, as if it were 'fate' or something - not that I even believe in the word, and if it were 'fate', it would have to be an extremely twisted one.

"You know," he stops for a moment to let a chuckle escape though plump lips and continues, "you really shouldn't keep interacting with gay people if you don't want to be with one."

"What the fuck? Since when have I voluntarily interacted with gays? They're faggots. Just like you." Venom seeps into my words and I can feel my anger piping as I stare at the bloke. Who the fuck does he think he is?

"Look around you, Lucas. Do you know where you are?" He takes a tantalizing step towards me and I find I can't move backwards as there are so many people surrounding me. He leaves barely an inch between us, before pressing his hand to my cheek and then moving it until his thumb is below my chin, tilting it upwards to look at him.

I move my head to the side, and he lets me, finally realising what is so fucked up with this place, why I can't stand it here, and why nothing about it seems right.

I'm in a fucking gay club.