Storytime! So gay... so very, very gay...

From the start of our relationship, storytelling has always been an important element of bonding for Hannah and me. At night we often read out loud to each other or I will make up a bedtime story for her to listen to until she falls asleep. More often than not I'm the one who gets put to sleep but that's beside the point.

Sometimes my bedtime stories are innocent and about animals and mythical beasts. Sometimes they are epic Dungeons and Dragons type adventures. Most of the time though, regardless of setting, they are romantic (a.k.a. smutty) in nature. And because I'm a big old pervert I usually make the 'mating couples' same sex, related, or involved in some heavy BDSM. Because that's just how I roll. 

Last night's story was cutesy. Before bed Hannah and I had just finished watching Junjo Romantica Season 3 and were feeling particularly fond of jealous semes, embarrassed ukes, and light-hearted angst. So the setting for my story was of course college life and my protagonist and love interest were the nerdy virgin and the rebellious older boy. I do enjoy a good archetypal pairing of The Fool with The Devil. 

I'm going to chronicle it here for fun. This is going to be quick writing (don't expect amazing prose) and will involve male/male romance. I figure if you've followed this blog for very long the latter will not surprise you in the least. With that said, here's some word vomit:

Donovan Sharpe was the kind of boy who didn't go to bars. So how he ended up at Balboa the night before fall semester started was a bit of a mystery. Maybe he just wanted to feel normal for once, like he wasn't a complete antisocial loser who preferred books to people, or maybe he thought this qualified as an act of defiance against "the man." His brother was always telling him that he needed a little defiance in his life. But Donovan was more about compliance than defiance. Perhaps he was at the bar trying to comply with the expectations of every other college kid he'd ever met. Drink. Fuck. Party. Have fun. Well, he supposed he could at least drink. But not too much. There was class in the morning after all.

So he went out to the bar best known for regrettable hookups, mob-like brawls, and a stunning consistency for health code violations, looking for trouble. Maybe trouble. Mostly looking to eat something and have a beer. He ordered the Rocky Burger and Bud-Lite. 

Weirdly enough, on this night, right before classes at Hamilton Bay Community College were about to start up again, the bar was practically deserted. He guessed the fighting, fucking, fun crowd must have stayed home in preparation for classes tomorrow. That suited him just fine. On the few other times he'd been out to the bar -- dragged by those who pitied him enough to be seen with him in public -- the atmosphere had been chaos. This was better. He preferred the quiet.

When he finished his burger he brought the plate to the bar and took a seat there. The bar tender asked if he was ready for another Bud-Lite but he shook his head. 

Someone entered the bar. The air in the room changed. Barometric pressure or maybe cologne.

Donovan turned to see who had just come in and for a split second everything seemed to move in slow motion, like some bad guy intro from an 80's flick. There was a man there, walking - more like strutting - into the bar. He wore black leather pants and a black leather jacket. His shirt looked like this:

Donovan didn't know what Eisbrecher was but he figured it was music that could only give him a headache. However, it wasn't the man's shirt that really struck him; it was the man's eyes. The man had entered wearing a motorcycle helmet, but he'd just taken it off. Donovan found himself staring at at pitch black tousled hair, matted to the forehead, framing along the cheeks. All tufts pointing toward ice-blue eyes. And the man stared right back. He raised and eyebrow and looked around the bar then approached.

"This place always like this?"

Donovan swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "You mean, is it always this blessedly empty? I wish. It's usually a madhouse."

"Well, that's a relief," the man said and chuckled. "No offense, but I hate dead bars." He took the seat right next to Donovan. "I'll have a Guinness, please."

Donovan looked away then. This many was totally not his type. Which, he supposed implied that he had a type. Which was utter nonsense because the only chemistry he'd ever had between himself and another person was during science lab last year when the beaker exploded all over his partner. Donovan was a rock. He was island. He was all the lyrics to that song.

"So what you do for fun around here?" the man asked.

Donovan looked up. "What?"

"I just moved to town. So I don't really know the scene yet. What do you suggest for kicks?"

"Oh, I'm not the one ask about kicks. Or scenes. Or fun. Or anything you'd probably enjoy." He shook his head and lifted Bud-Lite to his lips.

"Wow." The man grinned. "Okay, forget about me for a second. What do you like?  What's a fun night for Mr. Lite-Beer?"

"You'll laugh."

"No, I won't." The man said.

Donovan narrowed his eyes. "I like reading."

"Really?" The man said and nodded with consideration. "Where do you like to read?"

"In bed."

"In bed. I see." The man was quiet a minute. His lips curled into a sly grin. "Naked?"

"What?! No!"

"That's too bad." He took a gulp of Guinness. "So what do you like to read?"

Donovan stared into the man's blue eyes for a moment and then looked at his beer. It was almost empty.

"Books. I don't know. Stuff. Look, I just came here for a burger. I don't even know you..."

"Name's Peter." The man hailed over the bartender. "Another round of whatever piss beer he's drinking please. It's on me."

And five beers later Donovan had told him pretty much every book he had in his personal library. They'd talked about music and poetry and science. Nothing too heady, just fun facts and popular ideas. They talked about Peter's shirt and the man even played an Eisbrecher tune on his phone and held it up to Donovan's ear. He was right, it was music that would give him a headache. And yet he didn't pull away, he leaned into the phone and picked out the a few German words he knew. All in all it wasn't too bad. And the music smelled like musk. Or maybe it was the man's wrist, dabbed with some earthy cologne, that smelled so good.

---------------------------------------------------------------

I was going to write out a lot more of the story thus far but this is all I'm in the mood to spit out. Also Hannah and I have decided to RP these goofballs a little bit. A lot has changed since I wrote this blurb last Friday (yeah, I know I'm a late poster!): Donovan's name has been changed to Declan and his major is now English and Writing. Peter is much the same, though we've learned now that he's much more insecure than he lets on. Yay for storytime!