Parallel Lines

Point B

The flashing neon strobe lights in the dark club bounced off the drunken dancing bodies on the dance floor. Skin exposed girls, eyes hunting men. Hands wandering men, feeling intoxicated girls. His head hurt at the scene, 'Unsightly.' The rage club music blasted on the speakers didn't help either.

Eddy said it was a friend's welcome party. Of course, a friend and Eddy invited him, so he came. Even he's way past his 'party boy' prime, yeah, he came.

Seated alone in the most secluded seat on the club drinking iced tea-infused beer. His eyes roamed the establishment, from the giggling girls drinking, to the group of rowdy boys trolling, to his group of friends, to Eddy.

To Eddy who was on the dance floor, having fun with their friends. They moved and headbanged to the music. Laughed at their silly dances, 'Damn musician bones can't twerk.'

All while he avoided the gazes of hungry predators who'd gnaw on him anytime. Brett took another sip, he'd have to keep an eye on him and turn his own defenses up.

But it's been too long, and he already chugged down lots. 'It's time to go.' So he stood up, called out to Eddy and mouthed, "I'm going."

The taller man moved toward him. Smiling, with breath smells of alcohol and not-so looking drunk he answered, "I'll walk you home."

It was when they were out of the place. They had to walk separate ways. Eddy grabbed his arm and said, "It's closer... my place."

-

Then it happened.

Both influenced by drunkenness from alcohol or the other. In a room, where all the windows and doors are closed off from the outside's yonder. Moans and sighs escaped their mouths for they have a war of their own. On the bed, between the sheets, where they fought against each other for dominance, for supremacy, for power.

It was until a hand pinned both his hands above his head. Brett struggled to break free from the other's grasp but faltered. Because his drunkenness made his brain a mush, because it made him extremely weak, because it made him hungry, lusty, for him.

The other's tongue slid into his mouth, the taste of alcohol lingered on the muscle. It played all the way it pleased, with no resistance or whatsoever, his own tongue danced along with his.

The man's free hand went under his shirt, slowly, made its way to his chest. "Mmm..." Brett hummed as the hand glided over his skin. The man hovered above him made dips on the bed where his knees, one between Brett's legs, rested. The calloused hand roamed, caressed all of his soft and smooth. All was slow, and God, Brett hated it so.

His vision was blurry without his glasses, might have been tossed aside to God knows where, but he knew who the person on top of him was. He knew because of the low registered moans and whispers told him so. He knew because of the taste of the beer they were drinking earlier on the other's tongue told him so. He knew because of the feel of the hands as it roamed his clothed chest told him so.

The other person was Eddy.

"Brett..." A moan escaped the man as he tightened his grasp to Brett's hands. Sucking on the tongue of the willing body below him, tasting euphoria. His hand from Brett's chest went to the neck, rested there, felt the haste of Brett's pulse under his fingertips.

Brett wanted to lift his arms, to wrap around Eddy but he can't, for the man was larger than him, stronger than him, or that his body defied his brain's dictation. The hands stayed put above his head, pinned, unmoving.

The hand on his neck traveled down again to the hem of his shirt. He lifted it until the clothing exposed Brett's white bare stomach and chest. "Cute nipples," Eddy's free hand then trailed down there, pinched, rolled one between his fingers.