"No way. I am *not* going in there." We'd gotten two feet from the entrance to The Beat in the heart of Fortitude Valley when Chris had dug his heels in and drawn the line. "That is a *gay* club, Hayes. Not my scene."

"Do ya think Crash N Burn was mine? Get lost, Cheney. Besides, it's not a gay club it's just - openminded. And it's not like there's many other places still open." I grabbed his arm and tried to drag him through the entrance. Still, he resisted, pulling me close and speaking under his breath.

"I'm not a fucking fag, Hayes."

My heart sped right up as he said that. He was really, really scared. I think he was trying to convince himself more than me.

"No one says you are." I managed to keep my voice low. "Now, I went to your club - you gotta come to mine." I gave him my best pleading look. "It's just not fair otherwise." I don't know how, but it seemed to sway him.

"Alright - but if you tell anyone I'm gonna fucking smash you."

I fought the instinct to roll my eyes and dragged him up the stairs.

Now don't get me wrong, The Beat is no cross-dressing floor show, but it isn't exactly your average straight guy's cup of tea either. Chris stuck out a little from all the lithe glittery bodies in tight shirts and painted drag queens, but there were plenty of your average valley-going 'straight' patrons too - they just came for the cheap piss, good music and lack of cover charge.  Chris seemed to relax a little when he realised every gay man in the place wasn't going to grope him.

"I'm getting you a drink." I shouted over the thumping of a Madonna remix. Chris nodded, looking fairly calm, so I felt ok about abandoning him and approaching the toned and under-dressed bartender.

When I got back to Chris drinks in hand, he didn't even notice my approach. He was trying to meld with a wall, staring at something on the dancefloor that seemed to have commanded his complete attention. I slid up beside him craning my neck see what was so engrossing.

I knew the moment I saw it. There was a couple on the dancefloor, thoroughly involved with one another, as one only can at the beginning of a relationship, particularly when in a state of extreme intoxication. They were kissing with abandon, oblivious to the rest of the dancing crowd, lost in each other. They were also both male. One had his shirt off, exposing a slender toned stomach, being caressed by the other man, a blonde, wearing a sinfully tight shirt. Their hands were all over each other as they kissed, the sight so intimate but so liberating. They were beautiful.

And Chris was entranced by them.

"Hey." Chris jumped at my half-loud greeting. Spinning to face me, a slightly guilty look on his face. "Whatcha looking at?"

"Nothing." He answered too quickly, grabbing a glass from me and draining half of it in one gulp.

I slipped closer and pointedly looked in the direction of the couple. 

"Beautiful, aren't they?" I glanced at Chris, who'd now resumed watching them along with me. He made no answer, but didn't tear his eyes from the dancefloor. "And they say it's not natural." I added snidely.

Chris finally looked at me, a little spark of what could've been shock in his expression.

"So... are you?"

"Am I..?" I continued leadingly,

"Like that?" He gestured vaguely toward the couple.

"Queer?"

He nodded.

"I guess." I shrugged non-committally. "I mean, we all are - to a degree. How about you?" I was amazed my voice was coming out so level, my heart was beating fit to burst and my hands were shaking, making the ice cubes in my glass clink, I hoped Chris couldn't hear.

At first he went to shake his head, nose wrinkling a little, but halfway through the action turned into a shrug, his eyebrows raising and head tilting sideways in an "I don't know" motion.

"Ever tried to find out?" I couldn't believe I was saying it.

Again, the head shake.

"Want to?" It took every ounce of will in my body to keep my voice light and casual. This was a big risk, I knew, but I was tanked enough to try it.

He started to shrug, then shook his head, hiding his pretty blue eyes from me by looking down.

The feeling of disappointment was like a physical blow, right in my gut. I felt all the air in my lungs rush out. //Ok, bad move Hayes. Bad, bad, bad...// Then I did what any hard core partier would've done in that situation - when in doubt, drink more. I raised the glass to my lips and sculled as much bourbon as I could.

I'd just put my glass down on the bench, still out of breath from my long scull, lips wet with bourbon, when it happened.

He kissed me. 

I'd just dared to bring my eyes up to meet his, thinking I'd regained enough dutch courage to face him again, when his face filled my entire vision and his lips came down on mine.

It was clumsy at first, noses bumped, teeth clashed slightly, mainly because I wasn't expecting it, but once I realised what was going on it got a lot smoother, very very quickly. Chris has got a tongue like a snake, and he knows how to use it, diving into my mouth to play with mine. And those lips - damn - he was stroking them over mine, sensuous, firm and seductive, with the lightest brush of facial hair to spice things up.

The boy is a born kisser, there's no doubt about that, and I got to enjoy his prowess to the fullest extent. My hands found their way up his arms to caress down his back. At some stage I felt Chris's hands rest lightly on my waist, and that's where they stayed, as if he was afraid to move them any further. I slipped one of my hands to his wrist and moved his hand upwards to my chest.

"It's alright Chris, you can touch me if you want to." The boldness of my words even surprised me. 

He took my lead and pretty soon we would've begun to look like the couple on the dance floor - lips locked, kissing passionately, hands all over each other. I hadn't had a decent make out session with a boy in a long, long time and with Chris it was so *raw*, so *hot* and it felt so damn *right*.

After that point, it all starts to get hazy. I mean, sure, it was blurry with intoxication before, but after that strong, physical memory of kissing and groping with Chris I really start to lose details. The rest of the night for me is just a vague collection of images and impressions. The tickling of spikey hair sliding through my fingers. Slick desire and the press of hardness into my thigh. The gentle brush of fingers down my cheek. Endless, endless depth in blue eyes. The brush of Chris' fingers as he took my hand. Bite of cold air and hardness of concrete beneath my arse. Waiting. Cobwebs on the cab sign. The press of Chris' thigh against mine in the rolling vehicle. I remember feeling safe. I remember feeling tired.

I don't remember getting home.