Twelve Hours 1
Xander slurped at the dregs of his coke, choking out the last swallow when he sucked up air noisily. The two guys standing near him at the bar said something to each other and walked away.
Not that he could hear what they said –– what with the music going boom–boom–boom with a bunch of chi–chichi–chi–chichi–chis mixed in –– but from what he could tell, they weren´t really talking about how he was such a hot prospect. Not that he´d expected to be the guy with the most names on his dance card, and didn´t that have a prison–show–esque double–entendre written all over it? Weirdly appropriate, since he was in a gay club looking to hook up with someone, and since he´d ended up beating off the first time he got to see Oz without the static lines across the screen.
Not that penitentiary shower sex was at all a good thing to think about when mostly what he wanted to do was dance or talk or something equally non–terrifying. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look cool. Sure, he could probably order another coke (the bartender had raised his eyebrows and said "Try again," when Xander had asked for a beer), but he didn´t have a ton of cash on him, and plus what if he met some cool guy, and ended up missing out on exchanging digits if he had to run off to pee?
"Hey," a guy next to him said with a nod.
"Hey," Xander nodded. He nodded again right afterwards to emphasize how very down with saying hi he was.
The guy´s lips parted, and Xander leaned forward. He stretched out one of his arms along the bar counter so he could look more inviting.
"Um, I´m just going to ––" The guy moved towards him, reached around him, and grabbed a napkin. "Thanks."
Luckily the guy left right after, so Xander didn´t have to look like the biggest dweeb in dweebsville.
Maybe it was the clothes. He´d decided to go for a tropical–fun look, which translated into cargo pants, flip–flops, a rope thing that was supposed to be a necklace, and a Hawaiian shirt over his t–shirt. But most of the other guys in the club seemed to favor the tight t–shirt and jeans look –– not just on themselves, but on each other, judging from the hands in new–to–Xander places on the dance floor, the grinding kind of dances they were doing, the way some of them were sliding each other´s t–shirts up, skimming their palms over bare chests or even, holy moly, rubbing up against the other guy´s nipples or even dipping fingers past the waistbands––
"Or just out into the alley," the guy next to him was saying.
Xander really wished he had that last sip of Coke when he turned and tried to speak.
"If you don´t want to go into the back," the guy clarified.
When the guy pressed a drink into his hand, Xander took a swig without asking what it was first. It burned going down, and he coughed.
"Double–shot," the guy said loudly into Xander´s ear. He seemed to want to make sure Xander understood, but then it also seemed like he´d been jockeying to get his tongue into closer proximity, because . . . oh god . . . "They make it too weak here."
"What?" Xander asked.
"Top shelf," the guy said, like Xander would absolutely know what that meant. Meanwhile, his left hand had gone around Xander´s waist and crept down to stroke over his ass. "Nice," the guy said into his ear, and hey, there was that tongue again. "And something extra, for fun," he added.
"Fun is good," Xander said. His voice sounded breathy to him, and when the guy stepped up against him, pressing him against the wall at the end of the bar and not incidentally pressing himself against Xander, Xander took a shaky breath.
"You know it," the guy said with a grin.
Xander didn´t know where to put his hands. After feeling his fingers flutter, he settled them on the guy´s hips, then groaned when that obviously encouraged the guy to rub his hard–on against Xander´s groin.
"Where did you say you wanted to go again?" the guy whispered into his ear.
The music seemed louder somehow, but better, like it was weaving in and out of him. And the guy, whatever his name was, blurred in front of him until Xander couldn´t tell too well what he looked like.
"Alley sounds good," he heard himself say.
