Pas Mal

Mike

"So it's three in the morning and we are discussing radical feminism." He laughed suddenly after a long silence. 
I couldn't help but laugh with him. This was our three in the morning: cheap beer and crap cigarettes and hate groups we don't care about. The freedom to lie outside on the grass, thinking of the things we never thought to give a damn about. I felt like I'd known him since forever, and this was our town. Our own freedom to say whatever went through our heads, without anyone else knowing. 

"Who wouldn't want to be discussing radical feminism right now?" I joked, twisting my head to look at him. 

Stuart Richardson had to be the one to fuck with my head. The one to really confuse me. Stuart Richardson was rather tall, his height exaggerated by his stupidly large muscles. His eyes were the same deep blue as the sky; infinite and soul destroying blue. Every little line on his face twitched with each different emotion. It was strange to feel the little rainbow butterflies flitter around my stomach whenever he flashed that cheeky grin. I felt as though I could argue with him and have a conversation with him, and not just talk. His (drunken) opinions delighted me in such a way that I felt close to him. I was conscious of what I said or did around him, hoping to make the best impression. Only Stuart Richardson could do this to me. No other man would ever have this hold over my mind. 

"We could be inside, where it's warm. But we're here, discussing hate groups and getting drunk." He slurred, giggling as he hiccuped. 

"Why, are you cold?" I asked. 

He glanced towards the stars and smiled again. "It'll be light soon." He yawned. I could see the tiredness in his eyes. Wouldn't it be amazing if they could change colour, like the sky did? First thing in the morning, they would be a hazy pink glow, and last thing at night they would be a deep purple, shining like stars. 
I crawled over to him and pulled the cigarette from his lips, stubbing it against the grass. I tipped the rest of our beers into the soil too, and pulled him to his feet. "Let's go in then, you need to sleep." He yawned, and followed me inside. 

He lived alone on the ground floor, but he explained that Regan had lived with him for a while. "We went out, but she just like, wanted sex all the time." 

I dumped the bottles in the recycling bin and slipped off my shoes. Stuart had crashed on the couch, his head resting on the arm of the couch. His black hair was a complete mess, bits of damp grass still hanging in it. I smiled warmly at him. 

"Come on, let's get you to sleep." I sighed, taking his shoes off. He giggled. 

"Are you going to undress me, Mikey?" He teased, smiling at me with his drunken sleepy eyes. 

I raised an eyebrow at him, concealing my inner embarrassment. As far as I could tell, Stuart wasn't gay. Maybe he just got a little gay when drunk. "If I have to," I replied honestly, hoping he didn't take it sexually. "It would be great if you could do it for me."

He produced an overdramatic sigh and stood up, ripping his shirt off over his head. His muscles were bigger than I first thought. I smiled at him. He was stupidly beautiful, and also a man. 

"Bed, come on. It's getting light." I ushered him into his bedroom.
He had found a single bed for me to sleep on, placed on the other side of the room. I stumbled around in my dizzied state of mind, bumping into things. I blushed as he heard him slip from his tight blue jeans, forcing myself not to look. The distinct thud of a body hitting the bed, and the traumatised screech of the springs beneath it told me he was in bed. 

"Right, try and get some sleep." I commanded, pushing my own jeans down before turning to look at him. He was lying at a strange angle, his legs spread and arms above his head. He grinned teasingly at me. 

"Can you sleep with me tonight?" He asked innocently. "I'm cold." 

"Sleep under the covers then." I commanded in protest. He groaned and squirmed, his eyelids falling heavily. 

"I don't want to!" He whined. His stretched his hands out towards me. 

I sighed, giving in. I pulled a shirt on, and gently placed myself down by his side. He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head on my chest. He looked so sweet, his eyes closed and his face completely calm. Our bodies just moulded, like they fitted together as one. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around his bare torso. I wasn't surprised to feel that my arms seemed to slot perfectly into his slimmed waist. He nuzzled my chest as he began to drift off. 

"Goodnight, Mikey." He yawned. 

"It's morning." I corrected sarcastically. He chuckled. 

"Aren't you tired?" He asked, and I felt his hair tickle my chest as he shifted to look up at me. I glanced down, and was overwhelmed by his blue stare that seemed to glow in the darkness. 

I could barely speak, amazed that a man, a man could be so beautiful. It confused me. He didn't have the attractive, defining features of a woman and yet I couldn't think of anyone who had made me feel like this before. This wasn't just a drunken attraction. This wasn't just the alcohol, erasing every memory I had of a beautiful girl. Stuart Richardson was beautiful, and he was also a man. 

"A little." I managed nervously. Satisfied, he smiled and looked down again. Was he looking at my crotch? Oh God, was he? No, Mike. He's straight. And so are you.

"Can I get a blanket?" He asked. Without waiting for an answer he sat up and reached for a plain red blanket. I helped him drape it over our shoulders, and once again let him nestle in to my side.

"Better?" I asked, waiting for him to stop squirming around. He suddenly fell still with a sigh.

"Yeah. Bonsoir." He said quietly.

"Bore da." I replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He aks, pushing himself off my chest to look at me.

"It's Welsh for good morning. Sleep, I'm tired now." I smiled sleepily at his confused little face.

He didn't say another word. I could tell by his breathing that he was fast asleep. I couldn't sleep. I lay awake, praying that when I was sober I wouldn't feel this attraction towards him. I wasn't gay. Frank and Sean are gay, not me. Stuart is straight too. He dated Regan. Maybe she turned him gay. No, impossible. Is it? I don't know. In the morning, Stuart would just be another guy. I hope he leaves me when he wakes up, and acts like it never happened. I didn't want to be in love with a man. Men might be able to love each other, but I just can't. I sighed and held him tighter. He was warm, and his skin felt so soft. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend he was a woman. They call that gay for pay, don't they? When they give you money to do gay porn. I could do that.

Stuart squirmed again and mumbled something in his sleep. His hands came up from my waist to massage my clothed chest. The hands felt stronger and firmer than what I was used to. It calmed my restless mind. His strong, male hands were just as calming as any woman's hands. I sighed and nestled down into the bed, shifting to cuddle Stuart closer. He slipped his legs between mine and unconsciously helped me get comfy. He looked so sweet while he slept. His black hair was so messed up without him doing much. I smiled to myself and rested against him, deciding to enjoy his company while I could.