CrazyAngel

Steve sat in the back of the cab and played over how the night had led him to be here, sitting next to another guy, heading back to an unknown apartment on a Friday night. Glancing across at the man next to him, whose face was lit only by the streetlights as they passed under them, he shook his head, amazed at how he'd got here.

The day had started badly. Working in Manchester, he'd had to get the early train up, which was followed by a day of constant meetings and calls. When he'd finally managed to get out, he'd gone to the bar where he was meant to meet his date, the reason why he was in Manchester in the first place, only to find out she had cancelled on him.

Sitting alone in the bar, he couldn't face going back to his own apartment and spending the Friday alone, so he'd found somewhere to grab some food and a drink. Even after taking his time, it was only 9pm, and so, he despondently trudged back to Piccadilly station to catch the train home.

Whether it was subconscious or just random, he found himself not taking his usual route back. In the early days when he wasn't familiar with the city, he'd found that going down Canal Street, where the majority of the city's gay bars were, as the easiest way to navigate to work, and it was on this route that he now found himself wandering down.

Steve didn't consider himself gay. He just didn't find men attractive, and although he watched some gay pornos, it was the act of sex, rather than the actors that would turn him on. He'd found that more and more he would turn to gay sex to turn him on, finding daydreams of being fucked by another guy were hotter than fucking a girl.

Halfway down Canal Street, which was starting to become busy with the Friday night partiers, he came across a guy handing flyers out. Idly he looked over the paper that had been thrust into his hand, and saw that the bar in question was offering two for one cocktail before 11pm. A flash of daring crossed his mind, and he decided to enter the bar and see what it was like. After all, he thought, it's not like anyone would try and hit on me, his dark mood at being stood up earlier still hanging over him.

He managed to find a seat at the bar, and ordered a couple of cocktails. Slowly sipping one, he glanced round the room, finding himself getting lost in people watching. After a while, and well down on his second, he'd turned back to the bar and was messing on his phone, when a voice offered him a drink.

Glancing up, he noticed a guy about his own age, early thirties, with short dark hair and piecing blue eyes looking expectantly back at him.

"Sure!" he replied, not wanting to seem rude, as the guy turned back to barman to order the drinks.

"Phil," the guy said, sticking his hand out in greeting.

"Steve," Steve replied, taking the hand which had a remarkably strong grip.

"You looked like you needed it!" Phil said as he passed the glass to Steve.

"Really, was I looking that bad?" Steve said, genuinely surprised.

"Not really, just, you had that vibe about you," Phil replied, taking a sip form his own drink, "if you want to talk then go ahead."

And so, Steve did, and the more he did he found himself opening up to this stranger, telling him about all kinds of things, starting with being stood up, but then moving onto things about his life, and before he know it they were chatting away. He felt comfortable chatting with Phil, like he was genuinely interested in him.

It was only after the second or third drink he remembered where he was, and that actually he was being chatted up. Part of him wanted to run out there and then, but the other part, maybe made brave by the drink, told him to stay, to enjoy the attention that the guy was lavishing on him.

They continued to talk for ages, the bar now getting fuller and at some point the music was turned up and the dancefloor began to fill. After a little while, when both their drinks were finished, Phil pulled Steve by the hand and shouted to him.

"Come on, let's dance!"

Steve let himself be pulled along, having a secret enjoyment of dancing, but generally never having the confidence or opportunity to do so.

They made their way onto the dancefloor, surrounded by bodies moving to the beat and slowly started to dance. At first, they were separate, both in their own spaces throwing some shapes. But in time, Steve noticed that Phil was dancing closer to him, moving up against him, until they were almost together, their now sweating bodies pressed together a Phil moved up behind him.

An R