Sweethearts

"Jesus Christ!" I put my hand in front of my mouth to stop the liquid from coming back up. I look back up and the bartender is smirking at me. My face gets hot as his hazel eyes look right into mine. I look away. "Sorry, but, Jesus Christ." This makes him laugh, and he grabs the glass back from me.

He leans over the bar so I can hear him over the blaring pop music. "It's ok babe, I'll make you a pussy drink." He's still smiling as he grabs a new glass.

I try to grin back like I'm in on the joke. "Sorry man, that was like gasoline to me," I shout back. I take the opportunity to continue studying him. He's shirtless except for a leather harness hugged by wiry orange hair all over his chest and stomach. I wonder if that's against some kind of health code but it's not like I care. He's free. Who am I to stifle that? The same orange wires sprout from his chin and upper lip. There's no hair on his head, which is reflecting the blacklight over the bar like it's polished.

"Here, Baby. Vodka cran, heavy emphasis on the cran." He hands me a new drink and winks at me with his surprisingly long eyelashes. He looks so soft in his kind face and gorgeous eyes, yet undeniably hard and masculine. I take a moment to respond, realizing I'm stuck gazing at his eyelashes.

"Yeah, thanks so much. I swear I would have just choked it down if you hadn't seen me do that." He laughs again, a deep baritone laugh accompanied by a wide smile. This time the warmth is in my stomach as his reaction makes me grin and his still too strong vodka cranberry makes its way into my system.

"Don't worry about it, but hey don't blame me, you're the one who asked for a surprise." He gives me another luscious wink and turns to help a drag queen to my right.

I'm glad there's a show tonight. Trying to look comfortable alone at a bar where everyone is already in couples and cliques isn't one of my strong suites. It will be better when there's something to command my attention and when the alcohol helps me loosen up. I get the sense that everyone here already knows each other, like they've been friends for years and like their families already know they're gay, like they're at home in their skin and in this bar.

I heard it picks up after the show. I hold onto that hope, gazing out to the mostly empty dance floor. Surely this place is too big to cater to this small a crowd on a Saturday night. I check my phone, 8:54. I decide to find a seat in the back room for the show. It's a sizable space with a stage and several tables and chairs scattered around. Most of the tables are already taken; one up front is reserved for a bridal shower, the subject of which is being fed shots by a woman with a "maid of honor" sash on. Four other women laugh and exclaim loud enough to be heard over the music all the way where I stand. I scan the room for a semi isolated seat.

That's when I see him. Or I think I see him. I only catch a glimpse of his profile when he takes a drink and stretches. I wonder if I could even recognize him from behind as I squint and study his body, trying to see under his muscles to his bones, to what he might have looked like thinner and more youthful. He's wearing a black shirt, an oversized denim jacket, and brown leather satchel across his body. He's at a table in the back, a high rise with six seats, in the frontmost chair. Alone. I take the seat furthest from him at the table, hoping to get a better glimpse to decide if this is a ghost or just a stranger. I wonder if I'll be able to catch a whiff of tobacco and mentally remind myself that even if I do, plenty of people smoke, and maybe he quit.

Before long the show starts and the first girl comes out. I let myself get distracted from the potential stranger sharing a table with me as Queen ElizaBitch starts her performance to Janet Jackson's "Rock With U". I start to feel the alcohol working in me. She dances emotionally, her black sequin dress glittering in the spotlight before she rips it off to reveal a matching bikini. The crowd erupts into cheers and the bride in the front row drunkenly throws a handful of ones in her general direction. Queen ElizaBitch makes her way between the tables, collecting dollar bills as she goes, working her way around the room.

To my surprise I find myself genuinely enjoying myself. My eyes follow her, captivated by the performance. I grab two ones and hold them out to her as she dances closer to me. She comes up to me and leans forward, inviting me to put my bills in her silicone breasts. The crowd cheers when I do and she give me a smile and a wink before moving back to the front of the room. My eyes follow her, a huge grin on my face. I watch her move until my eyes stop on him. His intense gaze startles me out of the trance. My smile drops and I feel the blood rush from my face. I just stare. I don't know what else to do. I know it's not a hallucination, not another curly black haired man I'd rubberneck on the sidewalk before feeling foolish for hoping. He breaks eye contact and stands from the table. He just leaves. My heart drops like a stone in my chest and I watch through the colorful lights as he walks out of the back room.

I suddenly feel very sober, ready to abandon my $10's worth of drag show and go home. I'm just stunned. I consider going after him, making him talk to me, trying to get a punch in before he lays me on my ass. I know I won't. I'm just waiting so I don't have to see him again on my way to my car. Before I can make the choice to get up and leave I feel a hand on the small of my back and smell the strong scent of tobacco. That's enough to give me chills and a deep warmth in my gut that I felt spreading across my whole body. Then I feel his breath on my ear.

"Weren't you going to say hi?" He moves from behind me to sit in the chair to my left, dragging it closer to me.

I lean forward, not as close as he was to me. "I wasn't sure it was you," I say at almost normal volume which he can just hear above the music.

"And now that it is?" He keeps facing the stage but puts a hand on my knee.

"Hi," I stutter. He laughs, and puts a glass in front of me.

"Cheers," He says and touches my glass with his identical one. I take a sip. This drink is very similar to the first one I had, but without as much sickening sweetness. "To old friends," he adds, and moves his hand just slightly further up my thigh. I nod even though he's not looking at me. My body buzzes with adrenaline and I just want to drag him outside and ask him where the fuck he's been. I want to scream at him. I want to kiss him. I want to put my hands all over his body and convince myself he's solid and real and here. I still kind of want to hit him. The second queen came and went. By the time I remember I'm sitting in a drag show, Seoul London is halfway through her rendition of "Pink Pony Club" by Chappell Roan.

I lean forward to yell in his ear, "Hey, where were you?"

At the same time he turns to me and asks, "Want to go outside?" I nod.

He finishes his drink and gestures for me to do the same. I internally cringe as I try to act like this isn't painful for me. Once my glass is just ice he grabs my hand and leads me out an exit to the back lot of the club. He pulls me several feet away from the exit into a dark spot of the wall. Once he's satisfied with the distance he puts both his warm palms on my shoulders and gently pushes me against the brick wall. Before I know what's happening he has a hand cupping my cheek and his lips have descended upon mine. My body starts reacting, as I crave the feeling of his skin against mine, of sharing his warmth. I part my lips and kiss him back, taking his soft tongue into my mouth and letting out a desperate moan. All too soon, he pulls away. I feel like a vampire and he ripped his vein off of my teeth. I'm hungry for him.

"I've been thinking about that for years," he whispers gruffly.

"Then why'd you stop," I try to lean back into him but he puts his palm on my chest and gently moves me back against the wall. He opens his mouth to speak but then shuts it.

He's silent for a second, probably debating whether or not to address the questions he knew I had. Where did you go? Why are you here? Did you love me like I loved you? Maybe he didn't know my exact questions but we could both feel the tension of them looming.

I hear myself speaking before I know what it means. "I don't care about that right now." He furrows his eyebrows. His hand slides from my cheek to my waist.

"About what?"

"I don't know. Any of it. I mean I do care and I'd like to talk to you but-" he cuts me off with a kiss. In any other scenario I might be annoyed but I'm grateful not to have to explain myself. I'm grateful to have his tongue back in my mouth. His hand on my waist feels hot and I want more of him.

I finally gain control of my hands and bring them both up to lace through his black curls, pulling his mouth harder against mine. This time he moans, and the sound makes my clit throb. He positions his leg opposite the hand on my waist to be between my legs and leans into me. I moan loudly into his mouth. I feel his lips curl into a smile against mine as I grind on his thigh. His hard cock is pressing against my stomach. I'm reminded how small I am. I feel smaller than I probably am compared to him, but he knows how to manipulate my body, to take control of me.

He pulls away from my mouth and kisses up my cheek to my ear. I shudder forcibly and feel some of my strength wane, my knees weaken. He leans close into my ear and whispers, "Do you still like this?" He places a gentle kiss on my earlobe and I drop my back hard against the brick wall to keep balance. His body follows me, falling with me, his leg putting more pressure against me. I feel him throbbing against my stomach. He has to place both hands under my arms to keep me upright while I melt into him, his tongue lighty tracing my earlobe. He stops and presses his nose against the side of my head. He inhales me, taking in deep breaths while I try to catch mine. I look forward into the dark parking lot trying to ground myself but my head is spinning. The parking lot in front of me soon follows, as I have trouble focusing my eyes on the street lights.

The only sense I can fully tap into is touch, and I feel it so much everywhere. Mostly I feel his hard cock pressing into me like steel. Before I can even understand my view of the world shifting downward, I'm on my knees. My drunk cold hands try desperately to undo the brass button to his black jeans. It feels sharp against my numb fingers and by the time I get his zipper down I'm impatient to have him in my mouth. I pull his jeans just under his ass and take the opportunity to grab him with both hands. It's muscular and I squeeze him hard, pulling him roughly into me, pressing my mouth against his cock through his boxers. I rub my face up his body until I reach the waistband. His tip is extended past his waistband and I lay it against my tongue, moving upward and collecting his precum on the tip of my tongue. He moans loudly and falls forward, catching himself with his arm against the wall behind me. He grabs the back of my head by the hair with his other hand. He doesn't push or move me, just grips. I lick up the length of his cock towards the exposed tip, and take it in my mouth, leaving him still restrained by fabric. I gently lick his drooling slit, resulting in his grip on my hair tightening.

I'm so wet I worry I might come just from the friction of my jeans. I let him take control, pumping his clothed groin against my open mouth. I take a moment to reach to my own pants and undo the button, touching myself through the slit in my briefs. I turn my head to the side and quickly spit into my hand, then turn back to let him keep using my mouth.

Instead he returns his hands to my armpits and raises me up. I make a dissatisfied moan as he places me on my feet. The protesting doesn't last long because he shoves three fingers into my mouth. The move briefly stuns me but I don't mind. I extend my tongue and let my eyes roll back. He pushes into my mouth until I gag, then takes the fingers out of my mouth. He uses that hand to feel inside my boxers. He puts a finger on either side of my clit and rubs. If it weren't him I might be embarrassed that he could feel me hardening in his hand. He slides his palm lower, having to lean to be closer to my height, and teases my entrance with his middle finger. For a moment the world falls entirely out of focus. The streetlight over his shoulder expands into a fuzzy ball that takes over my vision.

I collapse into him, letting him hold my weight upright. "Oh fuck," I moan into his shoulder. He's pumping into me with two fingers, curling them upward and touching a part of me I've never felt on my own. "Christ, Matthew," I breathe into his shoulder before gripping his jacket between my teeth. He pulls his hand out and uses my wetness to stroke himself. He steps closer, so much closer, and strokes his head against my swollen clit. He uses his other hand to grip my hair and pull me closer to him. I can barely keep my feet under me, my whole body trembling violently. His deep breaths blow across my ear.

"Hey!" A voice is yelling from the distance, a silhouette under a streetlight facing us. Matthew freezes, his hands still gripping me but his breath is much quicker. "I knew you'd be here, you cocksucker!" The figure starts running toward us. Matthew pulls away and shoves me behind him in one movement. Before I can see where it came from he has a bottle in his hand.

The figure is only ten feet away when Matthew hits the bottle against the wall and holds the glass shards up in defense. "Stay away," he says through his clenched teeth. With his free hand he drags his pants back up and buttons them. I fumble, trying to do the same.

He slows and starts walking toward us. My mind is spinning. I can barely keep my weight on top of my legs without Matthew pressed into me let alone make sense of what I'm seeing. The figure is stepping closer slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on Matthew's face. "You need to get away from him," the man yells to me. "This guy's a psycho."

Matthew takes four brisk steps towards the man who backs up quickly, raising his hands up. When they get near the door of the bar I see Matthew lunge toward him. I can't breathe or get my brain to believe what I'm seeing is real. Matthew swings his bottle and opens a long wound along the man's cheek. It's not too deep but it stuns him. In another swift movement he grabs the heavy plastic standing ashtray and swings it into the man's knees, eliciting a loud cry. I still haven't processed what's happened when I hear Matthew running toward me and feel his hand tighten around my arm. He tears me backwards and I start running so his tug doesn't knock me over.

"Where did you park?" He asks as we disappear into the darkness where the bar's parking lot ends.

"In the lot on Seventh and Park," I pant, trying to keep up.

"Alright. Got your keys?"

I try to check my pockets. "Can we slow down please?"

He sighs impatiently and starts pulling me closer to the building. He stops behind the dumpster and crouches down, dragging me with him. "Ok, find your keys." We're still close enough to hear the man groaning in pain.

I fish them out of my jean pocket. "Who is that guy?" My vision hasn't stopped spinning even with no light and a lack of things to see.

"It's a long story, but I swear once we start driving I'll explain everything." Even without seeing his face I can hear the desperation.

"Ok," I hear myself agreeing.

"I'll drive." I put my keys in his hand and he grips my hand back tightly, pulling me up and guiding me away from our hiding spot.

"Alright Eric, we're gonna walk to that corner of the building, stop and look, and then sprint to the lot one block down. Once we get past that corner, no stopping." He slips my keys into his front pocket and intertwines my fingers in his, keeping my hand firmly in his grip as we run.

Soon we're across the street and diving into the next segment of darkness of a residential neighborhood with wide streets and no lights. Matthew doesn't haven't to pull me much. For the most part I'm keeping up with him, even when my head pounds each time I hear our footsteps echo back at us.

"Where are you parked?" He asks when we get to the lot. I point toward the opposite corner and he walks quickly.

"Right here, the Honda." He unlocks the door and slides in. As soon as my door is shut I lean my chair backs and shut my eyes tightly. "Oh my god." It's silent in the car but I can hear the blood rushing in my ears like a hurricane. I hear Matthew catching his breath, then the familiar sound of my key entering the ignition and the engine turning over.

He starts driving in the opposite direction of the club. "I know this is a lot to process," he starts, his voice strained, "I'm in some trouble, and I can explain everything. Can we just go to your place for a while and lay low?"

"Who was that guy," I hear myself asking groggily. My arm is over my eyes blocking out the sickening strobe of the streetlights.

"He's no one you need to worry about, I promise. What are your cross streets? Maybe we can finish what we started." I feel his hot palm rest on my thigh. I don't move my arm.

"What street are we on?" I gag, the movement of the car stirring up all the alcohol.

"Going north on seventh."

I gag again and turn my head toward the door. "Right ok," I sit up pressing my forehead to the window. "Uh, just keep going, turn left on Elliot. No wait, pull over please." He pulls the car off to the side but before he can stop I have the door open, spilling my guts into the street. I dry heave a few more times. He puts a hand on my back and rubs.

I feel more sober once we're back at the apartment, though I have to lean on Matthew every few steps. He helps me to the couch, keeping an arm around me as we sit, rubbing his other hand up my thigh. He tosses his satchel on the ground near the couch. "Matthew stop," I mumble, leaning back into the couch. "What's going on with you? Where have you been? Who was that guy? Is he going to follow us here?" Matthew pulls his arm from around my back but leaves the other on my leg.

He sighs. "Look- it's not- I don't want to drag you into anything. I'm running out of options here. To be clear there's no evidence of me doing anything, but that guy, he's trying to kill me." My eyes snap from the ceiling to his face. "I'm trying to get to Nogales, across the border from Arizona, I have friends there. I just need to wait for this to die down. I swear, I didn't do anything," he grabs my hand with both of his and gazes into my eyes. His eyes are wide and serious, his mouth pulled into a line.

"What the fuck is happening, Matthew?" I whisper. He squeezes my hands.

"I swear to god, I didn't kill anyone." I sit up and pull my hand away.

"

Kill

anyone? Someone died?" I scoot away.

"The guys brother, we hooked up, I fucked off and a week later he winds up dead. I wasn't even in the state when they found him, he's just freaking out because he didn't know his brother was gay. That's my fault, somehow. I swear I had nothing to do with it."

I have to relax my eyebrows because the furrow is exacerbating my headache. "So what? He wants to kill you? Go to the cops."

He scoffs. "Seriously? Look, no one suspects me, there's nothing pinning me to anything, no one even knows we hooked up besides his brother. I'm not doing anything to incriminate myself. Cops aren't your friends, Eric. They don't want to solve the crime, they want to close the case. I've been to jail. I'm an easy target."

"You really think he won't follow you to Mexico?"

"He can't. He's undocumented. He's not gonna risk it even if he managed to find me."