Going AWOL or Crabs in a Barrel
He wasn't exactly Neil's type. Too fit, but muscular and blond, with short, gelled-back hair. No moustache, though. Less seventies porn star and more 'former prison' type. But Neil was desperate for a bit of cash and this man looked like he had some to burn.
Neil looked over his body. Dog-tags. So, not former prison, military. Denim grey and green eyes. Thick, gorgeous lips, but wonky teeth.
"You're staring fairly hard, bruv," the man suddenly said.
Oh, English. Neil gripped the bar; English accents made him go weak in the knees.
"Take a picture."
"I would, if I had a camera," Neil said after regaining his voice.
"Aren't you a bit young to be trawling gay bars? Are you here to get off with someone?"
"You, hopefully."
The man snorted. "No, no, my commission is worth more than your undoubtedly fine but probably underage arse." He bought Neil a beer anyway, pushing it over to him.
"You're English, aren't you?"
"Aren't you clever?" the man replied. "What's your name?"
"Neil." He usually lied, but since this man had no intention of fucking him, he didn't see the point in lying. "What about you?"
"I haven't got a name," the man replied, watching as Neil took a healthy swallow of his beer. "But people call me Hardy."
Neil reached out to touch the dog-tags, and Hardy grabbed his wrist before he got there. His grip was strong, on the quiet side of painful--it was a warning, and Neil could see it for exactly what it was. He was also starting to get hard. He'd sleep with this guy for free, but he wasn't even going to get that.
"Hardy!" Someone called over the thumping music, and Hardy turned his head, his mouth pulling into a smile. The man, a skinny man in grey trousers and a blood red cardigan came up to Hardy, touching his shoulder. He had slicked back hair as well, a thin face, but--
"Ah, bloody hell, lookit that," Hardy breathed. "Coulda been a twin."
The man, who did look like Neil; older, shorter hair, but the same face, looked over Neil and shrugged. "Sure, if I were a hooker."
"Ah, Connor, don't be rude," Hardy said softly. "Neil's a clever boy, maybe even a bit of a chameleon."
Neil watched the way Hardy's arm draped around his doppelgänger's waist, fingers possessive on his hip.
Connor tilted his head to one side. They stared at one another for so long that Neil seemed to forget where he was.
"It's always weird to see a different path," Connor said, finally.
"Tell me about it," Neil replied, looking at Hardy. "Thanks for the beer."
The music changed and Neil left; he could feel the eyes of the both of them on his back, and for the first time in his life he felt worried.
Neil looked over his body. Dog-tags. So, not former prison, military. Denim grey and green eyes. Thick, gorgeous lips, but wonky teeth.
"You're staring fairly hard, bruv," the man suddenly said.
Oh, English. Neil gripped the bar; English accents made him go weak in the knees.
"Take a picture."
"I would, if I had a camera," Neil said after regaining his voice.
"Aren't you a bit young to be trawling gay bars? Are you here to get off with someone?"
"You, hopefully."
The man snorted. "No, no, my commission is worth more than your undoubtedly fine but probably underage arse." He bought Neil a beer anyway, pushing it over to him.
"You're English, aren't you?"
"Aren't you clever?" the man replied. "What's your name?"
"Neil." He usually lied, but since this man had no intention of fucking him, he didn't see the point in lying. "What about you?"
"I haven't got a name," the man replied, watching as Neil took a healthy swallow of his beer. "But people call me Hardy."
Neil reached out to touch the dog-tags, and Hardy grabbed his wrist before he got there. His grip was strong, on the quiet side of painful--it was a warning, and Neil could see it for exactly what it was. He was also starting to get hard. He'd sleep with this guy for free, but he wasn't even going to get that.
"Hardy!" Someone called over the thumping music, and Hardy turned his head, his mouth pulling into a smile. The man, a skinny man in grey trousers and a blood red cardigan came up to Hardy, touching his shoulder. He had slicked back hair as well, a thin face, but--
"Ah, bloody hell, lookit that," Hardy breathed. "Coulda been a twin."
The man, who did look like Neil; older, shorter hair, but the same face, looked over Neil and shrugged. "Sure, if I were a hooker."
"Ah, Connor, don't be rude," Hardy said softly. "Neil's a clever boy, maybe even a bit of a chameleon."
Neil watched the way Hardy's arm draped around his doppelgänger's waist, fingers possessive on his hip.
Connor tilted his head to one side. They stared at one another for so long that Neil seemed to forget where he was.
"It's always weird to see a different path," Connor said, finally.
"Tell me about it," Neil replied, looking at Hardy. "Thanks for the beer."
The music changed and Neil left; he could feel the eyes of the both of them on his back, and for the first time in his life he felt worried.