. wine is so much SWEETER, TAG;; Jack

[Graham Kelton]

One of the best ways to cope with utter failure at life moving was, as Graham had just found out, to tear through the nearest club like a whirlwind on speed, feel up on as many good looking guys as possible, then go to the bar. Well, the latter wasn't part of his plan, but he'd grown overly tired of watching the tweaked out twinks clubbers spaz out around the dance floor, before passing out. That was something that didn't change from club to club, apparently. It was like that in New York, too. Though, he couldn't really say he was fond of the lighting after a while either. Or the music. Definitely not the music. When he left, he was momentarily blind and deaf.

That meant, should he have chosen to leave then, he would've been unsatisfied twice over. That made for a very unhappy Graham. Besides, the night was still fairly young. He had until 6am, with no place to go the next day; he had a rule against working on Sundays, he simply got by with the 'I'm religious' card, though he was certain that if he stepped foot in any church, especially after that lie and considering what he was, he would burn before he made it to hell. Sunday, however, was always his day to crash at home, no matter what. He'd usually club Friday night - come to think of it, he skipped work on Saturdays, too, to club that night - and sleep all day Sunday.

After leaving the club, being undecided about going back that night, the only other option was to drown himself in whiskey shots or glasses of vodka. Or both, a glass of vodka to rinse the shots down and to make him feel less angry about most likely have to jerk off. That was a downside of this place, or maybe he was just picky. ... Okay, considering some of the people he'd been with in the past, he definitely wasn't picky. Maybe he was just hesitant to dive head first into a crowd of new people ...

He let out a quiet snort, looking into the small empty shot glass that he held up to eye level. That was ridiculous. Mingling outside of clubbing was reason to get nervous, but when you were clubbing, you weren't making conversation and you wouldn't make conversation afterwards. Not having any other way to explain it, he just settled with the possibility that he wasn't drunk enough. He'd had a hell of enough poppers, not that he needed them, to surpass the drunk feeling. Now, however, he was slowly getting to the 'wasted by alcohol' phase.

[Jack Rose]

What a dreadful, demeaning, horrible name for a bar; Bottom’s Up… Bottom’s Up? Who the hell had thought that was a good idea? Jack detested the name, but as a book should not be judged by it’s cover, he supposed a bar should not be judged by it’s neon sign, and jack himself had actually spelt with quite a large number of the men he had met in this particular location. The English man sat at the bar, running his thumb over around the rim of his empty vodka glass absently, lost in his own thoughts of drugs, gambling, money and sex… ah yes, what it was to be wealthy and immoral.

He spotted a man close by in the corner of his eye, and turned on his stool bar to watch the dancing, chattering people and get a better look at this fellow. He was a little old for Tom’s tastes, but he was certainly attractive – that was obvious – and if 17 year olds were not out of Jack’s age range for possible attractions he didn’t see why men a few years older (or so Graham looked) should be. Still, though, it would do no good to jump to conclusions. Whilst doubting the man was straight (straight men tended to, as a rule, stay out of this bar), he probably wasn’t interested, and Jack was not the kind to approach a man and say “hey, you, wanna fuck?” no… he was far more eloquent and charming… but… right now… no. Jack looked towards the bar again.

“May I please have another one of these, please?” he held up his vodka glass. “And one for this gentleman also,” he gestured to Graham and smiled at the barman, who winked at him and went, with his tongue running across the back of his teeth, to fetch the vodka from the back room. It had been a busy evening.

“Jack Rose,” the English man introduced himself to Graham, putting a hand out to shake. “I believe I have seen you here before, have we perhaps met? Excuse me for being so forward…” It was a risky question to ask, as lots of people met Jack Rose but most of them weren’t exactly lawful, and the ones that were would like nothing better than to find an excuse to lock him up no doubt.

Soon their drinks arrived and Jack passed one of the small glasses over to Graham with a pleasant smile, and downed his own. It burnt his throat in a familiar way and the warmth on his tongue was delicious and comforting. Perhaps Bottom’s Up had more going for it than the title suggested after all…

[dla]

,...