In Heat (Part 3)
#3 of In Heat (By Chapter)
PART 3
Hammer's was a low-key gay bar on the outskirts of downtown right against the riverfront, and though it was friendly enough, it wasn't exactly Cheers. The smell of old smoke and older weed hung around the place, and the graffiti on the bathroom walls wouldn't have made it onto primetime television for sure. The light was muted, the wood paneling dark, and the brass railings around the room tarnished where the frequent rub of hands didn't shine them. A Coors sign in eye-shattering neon flickered above the bar, reflecting off the bottles and illuminating the grinning life-sized cardboard underwear model (and his airbrushed abs) flexing underneath it.
It wasn't one of the clubs, with their thumping techno, flashing lights, and grinding bodies, but that was alright; I normally reserved those for my Saturday nights anyway.
Stifling another yawn, I edged up to the counter, a Lincoln in hand, and ordered a couple of beers from the bartender. He was a young man of mixed heritage only slightly older than myself. His skin was the color of strong coffee, and he always seemed ready to combust, both from the constant crackling energy around him and the fact that he wore the phrase 'flaming queer' as a badge of honor; in this case, also literally, since it was scrawled on one of the buttons on his red vest in Technicolor letters. Trey -- and yes, that's his real name, I'd checked; it's like his parents wanted him to be gay -- greeted me as usual. I was one of his favorite Friday-night regulars. "Yo, man. There's a real hottie that came in tonight, and when I saw him I thought of you. Sent him back to your hot-spot." His dark eyes turned wistful. "If I didn't already have a steady..."
"A steady what? You've known Preston a week." Though to be fair, that was a really long time, where Trey was concerned. He plowed through men faster than Chuck Norris in an eighties action flick.
"Nine days," he said with pride. He was serious. It said something about a man when he considered a week and two days to be a long-term relationship. I gave up, shrugged, and thanked him for the beers and the potential beau before he turned away to practice his unique brand of customer service on someone else.
Propping my hip against a stool, I idled for a minute as I took a swig, openly ogling a few of my fellow fags who were slow-dancing out on the floor to some jukebox ballad I wasn't familiar with. They say hindsight is 20/20, and the hindquarters currently in my sights definitely scored a 20, tight and well-muscled, and sheathed in their skin-tight black leather shell.
I didn't want to interrupt them, since they, and the hands of the friend they were dancing with, seemed to be getting along really well, so I checked myself out in the mirror behind the bar before heading over to meet my potential friend for the night. I was a study in monochrome: a black button-up shirt worn open over a white tee tucked into a pair of tight black jeans -- which I had to adjust after my scrutiny of Mr. Hindsight. The outer shirt was stitched in simple but stylish patterns with silver thread, and the black shoes I wore had a matching swish, which only served to accentuate the color scheme.
I looked good in black, and I wanted to be noticed tonight.
The place was slow for Friday evening, though it was still busier than the rest of the week. Couples occupied more than half the tables, with singles mostly mingling at the bar, and there were only a few women dotting the crowd, as expected. Only one table had a man and a woman sitting together -- likely a gay guy and his lesbian friend out on the town to put back a few, what with all the empty bottles on the table and the drunken laughter that erupted from a lame breeder-joke (their term, not mine).
I angled toward my intended destination, and a quick glance showed me that the man was indeed sitting there, as predicted. He faced away from me and wore a light gray cowboy hat of all things, but I could see his heavy shoulders in a long-sleeved shirt with a pale green and baby-blue mankolam design -- that's paisley to you -- and his firm posterior in snug-but-comfortable Levi's, and something about his shape tugged at the familiarity-recognition centers of my brain.
Before I could chew on that for more than a second, though, I was distracted by Rodger and Lee, a couple of guys from our GSA group who paused in their groping make-out session just long enough to call my name and wave. I smiled and said 'Hi' as I took a few more steps. I'd hooked them up, and they were nice guys; I hoped they were happy together, and they certainly seemed to be. But they only distracted me for a moment. With luck the man at my table would be willing, and he'd be cute enough to make me forget that Texas drawl and those ice-blue eyes...
...which were now staring out at me from under that cowboy hat. "Hey there, son. Fancy meetin' you here."
"M-Mr. Whyte! What are you doing here?" My voice cracked with an embarrassing squeak, which certainly didn't help matters. I coughed into my fist, my ears burning. I suddenly wasn't feeling tired any more.
"Havin' a drink." He jiggled his bottle for emphasis. It was an imported beer I'd never had. "And call me Robert, or Rob, if you want. You've earned that much." He held out his hand in invitation; it was toward my usual seat. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I've been meaning to talk to you anyway. And if the guy up at the bar was referrin' to you when he tossed me back here, it sounds like you've had the same thing on your mind."
I pulled up a chair and straddled it, resting my forearms across the steel frame. "Actually, I just got here. The bartender is Trey. I'm a regular here on Friday nights, and he's taken it upon himself to be my...ah...talent agent." The admission was a little embarrassing, but I had the irresistible urge to play straight with him.
...So to speak.
"Really, now. And here I didn't even know I was auditioning." His voice was amused, and that cocked eyebrow and sly twinkle matched it perfectly. "So am I in the running for male lead?"
"I...uh..." Wow. He was so flirting with me, and I didn't know how to respond. Oh, wait, of course I did. "Yeah. All the other guys sucked." I grinned. "And not in a good way."
He grinned back. "Lucky me."
Something he'd said clicked in my brain. "Wait a minute. 'Robert Whyte'? As in 'bob-white'? Really?" My expression was disbelieving.
"Yup. My parents thought they had a sense of humor." He rolled his eyes. "You're one of maybe three people to get the 'joke' though, if it can be called that. Congrats."
"So... You're gay too, huh?" It was a pitiful segue, but oh well. I glanced at Rodger and Lee snogging in a booth an aisle over. "Or do you just like the atmosphere?"
He followed my gaze and chuckled. "Nah, I'm queer as a three-dollar bill, but not near as cheap."
"I've never seen you in here before."
He hesitated for a second. "To tell the truth, I was kinda lookin' for you. Some of your GSA friends told me I might be able to find you here. That Trey fella seemed eager to help for some reason. Now I know why." He winked.
I took a swig, taking a moment to find my balance. Those eyes made it damned hard. "You said you wanted to talk to me? This is about what happened after class Wednesday, isn't it."
He nodded. "I do, and it is."
"Are you okay?" I'm sure the worry was evident in my voice, but I didn't care.
"I'm fine. Just needed a couple of days to rest, is all. And lots of Gatorade. I guess I've gone a bit soft since moving out here."
Memory flashed on a body composed entirely of solid muscle, and my eyes flicked from heavily bulked-up arms to broad shoulders to sculpted chest, hidden by a thin veneer of cloth. He certainly wasn't 'soft,' and after that thought surfaced, neither was I. "You're kidding, right?"
I think he noticed where my eyes -- and my thoughts -- had strayed. "Let's just say I've adapted to the cooler temperatures 'round here, and thought I could handle the sudden heat-wave. I couldn't. Nothing wrong with that, though I was more than a bit stupid for letting it go as far as it did. Sometimes I let my pride get the better of me. They say you gain wisdom and humility with age, but some of us have relapses now and then."
"How long has it been since you moved to Oregon?"
"Too long ago, but don't change the subject. I wanted to thank you for what you did, though I could've lived without Nurse Williams and her posse of interns barging into my office and catching me in my skivvies. Even so, you did good." His eyes were boring into me again, though I couldn't see anything but sincerity in his expression or his voice. It made me feel warm inside, and mildly giddy. I didn't want to make more of a fool of myself, so I stamped down on the feeling as best I could.
"You're welcome. I did enjoy the part that had you in your underwear, though. I would've liked it more if you had helped." I could practically feel the lusty twinkle in my eye as I said it.
He actually blushed, but he still smiled. "Me too, son. Me too."
And just like that enjoying our little sponge-bath didn't seem so bad.
©Lycanthromancer
10/14/2010