Friday, January 21st
A typical Friday night, though in reality
it was less than typical. Tom, rather than sit and brood at home, took himself
down to the local. Sat with a pint of lemonade in front of him, watching a
droplet running down the outside, he glowered as though everything was its
fault. 'Waste of space anyway, bastard.' He drank down a good part of lemonade
and sat it back on the bar. It should have been something stronger but...maybe
he would get to that later. He was concentrating so hard on the drink and his
thoughts he never even heard someone talking directly to him. Not at first
anyway.
"Hey,
do you usually ignore someone goodlooking talking to you?" 'Confident. Not really in the mood for
this.' Tom turned in his seat and looked up at the man speaking, hoping he
pulled off looking confused. "Sorry?" he asked in response. Looking
him up and down Tom shaped an 'o' with his mouth and raised his brow turning
away. "Better luck next time."
The
guy, whoever he was, appeared to mull over the response he'd been given.
"You're seriously saying you're not interested? Come on, tell me I'm wrong
and I'll back off," he proposed putting his hand on the bar. Tom eyed it
up.
He'd
been drinking a bit. Enough to raise his confidence, not enough to start slurring.
Still reasonably safe then. It was an easy blow off as well, all he had to do
was say, "You're not wrong." And where the hell had that answer come
from? It certainly wasn't what he'd planned on saying.
The
guy took up a seat next to him at the bar, facing out toward the dance space
-currently empty-. Tom concentrated his attention elsewhere, at the spirits
lining the shelves. In his periphery the guy was tapping the bar, likely in
thought. 'Thinking what line he's going to use more than probably.'
"Tell
me something about yourself."
Again
unexpected. Weren't one night stands usually pretty informationless? Not that
he'd ever engaged in one. What would he know about it?
"Here,
I'll go first, Nate," the guy said and held his hand out.
"James,"
Tom said never even tasting the lie as he cast a sideways glance to the guy's,
Nate's, whatever's, hand. Taking it meant...something. Nate was already
interested. Still...Tom reached over and shook, hesitantly/cautiously. "So, James, you comiserating? If
you are you're starting off slow." Nate nodded to the lemonade as he
withdrew.
"What
do you care?"
Nate
rose a shoulder. He also grinned. It looked devious. "We could take your
mind off of it," he said as he moved closer and took Tom's chin in his
hand. That mouth coming in was, belatedly, tempting. It was also the wrong way
at the wrong time. Realising all of that succeeded in the mouth almost making a
connection with him. Tom raised a hand and gave Nate a shove backwards. He
collided with the chair sat behind and stumbled a step back. Tom raised his
hand.
"Back
off. I am not interested," he spoke, his words deliberate and slow. The
guy should get the message that way. No. He came straight forward again and
forced Tom to raise an arm and block. The guy's breath smelt more strongly of
alcohol than Tom had realised. Perhaps he'd had more to drink than he showed.
"I
told you to back off," Tom said tersely and seperated them. In his
peripheral vision people were looking. If it ended in a fight then at least he
wouldn't get tossed out. Hopefully. Tom remained stood, glaring quietly, arms
loose and legs wide. 'Dominance.' He kept subvocalising and hoped it would
project.
Nate
straightened himself out and laughed as though the entire thing was a joke. To
Tom's somewhat relief he also turned and drifted elsewhere in the pub.
Tom exhaled slowly and sat back down
holding his head in his hands. This night was going from bad to worse.
