Tim McGee glanced around him nervously and clutched the drink he held a little tighter. Swiping at the sweat running freely down his face, he pushed down the feeling of being trapped and moved closer to the bar behind him, pulling away from the heat and unnerving closeness of the other patrons. The club had been advertised as air-conditioned, but he felt worse that he had before he and his best friend had entered. Searching the crush of Friday night bodies for the hundredth time, he had no luck spotting his companion, but it didn't surprise him. The lights were dim, the club was popular and the writhing mass of humanity shifted constantly, making it impossible to pick out one face.
He grimaced as he sipped at the now watered-down cranberry juice and ginger ale in his glass. The flavor was greatly diminished, but it was wet and still relatively cool, which was a relief to his arid tongue and throat. Sighing, he drained the last drops of liquid and turned to the bar to request another, adding the exorbitant price of even non-alcoholic drinks to his growing list of gripes about clubbing. Before he could extract his wallet, however, a hand lightly touched his wrist and he paused, startled as he looked up into bright, animated green eyes. The voice that went with them landed easily on his abused ears.
"May I? If you're not okay with it, I understand..."
"Uh... no. I mean, go ahead. I don't mind. Cranberry and ginger."
"Cool." the other replied, paying for both drinks and handing Tim his fresh glass.
"Yeah... Oh, I'm Tim, by the way."
"Just Tim?"
"Right, sorry. Tim McGee."
"Anthony. Good to meet you."
"Anthony? That's a bit formal isn't it?"
"I prefer it 'till I get a handle on you. Maybe then you can call me Tony."
"Ah." Tim responded vaguely, taking a small mental step back in order to assess the situation and his own feelings. The stranger had thrown him a little, but he didn't feel un-safe or frightened, so he cleared his throat and spoke up again. "Can I ask... why?"
"Why the drink? It was a courtesy... an empathic gesture, that's all."
"Empathic. You mean you felt sorry for me." Tim said with a touch of indignance. He'd been pitied and commiserated with through most of his teens and early twenties and he was tired of it.
"No sorrow involved. I felt for you. Big difference."
"I'm not here alone."
"I know. I saw you come in. I also saw your buddy drop you here at the bar and walk away... almost an hour ago. He hasn't been back to check on you since."
Tim ducked his head, flushed a little and answered quietly.
"That's what he does... what I wish I knew how to do. I keep giving in and trailing after him to clubs, hoping I'll just... pick it up somehow."
Anthony snickered and shook his head.
"The only thing you're likely to pick up is a loser or a disease. Probably both. These places aren't geared to long-term commitment, trust me."
"Who says that's what I'm looking for?"
"Please... you might as well have a sign around your neck that says ' Stick a ring on my finger and I'll follow you anywhere '."
"That's not fair! I'm not that clueless *or* that naïve." Tim retorted.
"You've got a baby face. In here, that's all it'll take. One wrong move or the wrong word and your innocence is wiped out... maybe your good looks with it. You need to go home before bad things happen."
"I can handle myself."
"That's what you think."
"I'm staying." Tim reasserted stubbornly.
"Shit..." Anthony mumbled under his breath then addressed himself to the younger man again. "You stick close to me, then. You'll be safer in my orbit than with anybody else in here." He announced, taking Tim's drink and setting it on the bar.
"Hey..."
"I'll buy you another one later." He promised, grasping Tim's hand and pulling him into the crowd.
"Wha... what are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I love this song... classic Madonna absolutely rocks."
"I... I don't dance..."
"You don't have to channel the Bolshoi Ballet." Anthony countered, slipping his arms around Tim's waist from behind. "Just listen to the lyrics... everything you need to know's in the song..."
--- Swayin' room as the music starts
Strangers makin' the most of the dark
Two by two their bodies become one.
I see you through the smoky air
Can't you feel the weight of my stare
You're so close but still a world away
What I'm dyin' to say...
Is that I'm crazy for you
Touch me once and you'll know it's true
I've never wanted anyone like this
It's all brand new. You'll feel it in my kiss
I'm crazy for you... ---
Tim McGee depended on his mental processes. Familiar routines, computer codes and algorithms soothed and comforted him. In that moment, however, as he was rocked slowly in a stranger's embrace, he was losing his hold on all things logical and it shocked him that he couldn't seem to care. His grip slipped even further and all his joints tried to liquefy when Anthony leaned in and kissed him.
"You okay, Tim?"
"Hmmm? Ya... okay..." the young man forced himself to respond, wondering if it was possible for one's brain to actually melt.
"Good. Song's almost over."
"Oh? Pity..."
"Yeah, it is. I'm gonna go now. Promise me you'll go home? This world isn't for you. You're too sweet... and you don't need this to find somebody." Tony whispered as he gently disengaged.
"Yeah... yeah, I promise..."
"Good man. Night, Tim..."
"Night..."
By the time Tim's mind found traction again and the loss of contact registered, Anthony was gone.
--
ON THE PHONE: THE FOLLOWING MORNING
"Timmy. Hey where'd you go last night? You finally decide that a little anonymous, no-strings action wasn't gonna kill you?"
"No way. You know me better than that, Chris. I just finally got sick of the scene and went home. I'm looking for a soul-mate, not a wham-bam-maybe I'll see you around."
"I know you are, buddy. So I should count you out for next weekend, then?"
"Yeah. Sorry."
"No, I understand. You're an old-fashioned guy, Timmy. You won't find what you're looking for in a club."
"Maybe not... but I found a little courage, and that's a good start."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. See you at work."
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