A Broken Sixpence 17/?
Hour 3; AKA Part 17
22:00 Cigarettes & Alcohol.
The third hour was more of a test.
First there were girls, and then there were boys with attitudes.
The flirting stated not with Miles and Alex initially, but with a couple of glances from down the bar. A gaggle of short shirted, vibrantly orange teens, were flicking their hair and obviously whispering about them as they lined up to get their Mojitos renewed.
‘Aye aye, that didn’t take long. I make that two each’. Clearly Alex was occupying his uninhibited state well.
Miles waved his hand between Alex’s face and the view. ‘Errrm, no mate, they’re all bog standard banshees, two a penny and just as common. And I’m not here for girls’.
‘Oh no ?’ Alex asked him, ‘Then why are we in a bar if not for the women ? It’s not like I can get myself pissed up’. As he was saying this, his hand snaked around a lock of hair just behind Miles’s ear. Miles shut his eyes against the intense pleasure, trying to stay focused on the sounds around him, exhaling a breath in the effort.
As Alex’s hand dropped back to his drink, Miles was able to look at him again with a rushing blast of the Chemical Brothers as he came back to reality. ‘Fuck it’ he told himself, leaning to kiss Alex in the brief gap before his mouth was busy with a drag or another question.
Alex knew that Miles hadn’t be able to take his eyes off of him, well since they met…but these last few hours that was intensified. It turned him on but also frightened him. He didn’t give a shit if anyone knew he was shagging a bloke. But he really liked Miles and this was the new, unexplored part. How the fuck do you choose how to play this out ? No-one else made him feel how Miles could, just by sitting next to him. Just by knowing him. He was thinking all this and realised he had been touching that curl that he always noticed. He registered Miles bringing his face closer to him and then their lips touching with the barest of exchanges.
The kiss was broken off by a drunk smashing back to back with Alex, followed by his two mates tipping lager around their feet as they grappled with the drunk’s flailing arms. A second or so later, Miles had appeared close to the sweatiest one, aiming into his stupefied face.