Survival Of The Fittest

((Peter Siu continued from High Gloss Highs))

Four hours. Twelve drinks. Or was it thirteen? It was a bit hard to keep track when a person had to pour drinks for others, or finish somebody else's drink because they couldn't hold their booze. The party was still going loud and strong, although it seemed a bit less crowded in the house than it did about an hour ago. Most of the lookers were gone, but some of the noises from behind some locked doors indicated that they hadn't all left the house.

Peter took a swig from drink number fourteen. It was supposed to be a martini, but the proportions had ended up wrong. And Justin didn't really have the right ingredients for a proper martini. Speaking of Justin, Peter hadn't seen him around since about the halfway point of the party. He was probably enjoying some cute sophomore kid. And Peter had thought that there was some chance of reenacting a blast from the past.
Why the fuck would you want that?
Peter's liked his spot leaning against the kitchen counter. Drinks were in close reach, and the view let him keep an eye on the people in most of the rooms. These parties brought together all kinds of interesting, good-looking, attractive people. Like that guy over in the other room with the- ah damnit, his cup was empty. Peter absently reached out over the counter and fished for a bottle or can, and came up with some beer.
Are you checking out another guy? What is wrong with you?
Peter kept his eye on the other boy. Some people were just better at keeping his attention than others; he wasn't staring at all. Peter sipped absently at the beer he had picked up. Ugh, Coors Light.

((Macon Carmody debut))

Macon stood outside in the cold, a few meters to the left from him a boy and a girl made out relentlessly against the brick wall, even further to the right five or six 10th graders clustered together, smoking cigarettes and chatting exicitedly. Oooh, a big kids party, big deal. He took the last drag from his own cigarette, the embers at the end sizzled and the paper burnt away until only the filter was left inbetween his coarse fingers. He flicked what remained away, and watched as the orange glowing spiralled away into the darkness. He was thirsty now, he looked once more at the teenagers surrounding him before heading back through the patio doors.

Some people had left, not many but the party was noticeably less rowdy. He got there an hour late and even then he knew the house would run dry soon, the booze always ran out before the party got going. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shin length cargo pants and looked around once more, scanning the great room for the last drops of the sweet, sweet alchohol he craved.

Aha. God bless Lily St Cyr.

Over there, in the kitchen next on the counter against the far wall...beer cans... some were tipped over and the others presumably empty. But no, behind the blender and the mug tree...there was...a forgotten, half empty bottle of Wild Turkey sandwiched between the blender and the wall. He slid his hands out from his pockets and cracked his knuckles, he licked his dry lips and stepped fowards, edging around the kitchen counter. That was when the sole of his converse all-star met the puddle of malibu and coke on the kitchen floor. He slid for second before grabbing onto the counter to keep his grip, his feet suddenly stopped but his upper half carried on fowards. His bicep crashed into Peter's shoulder and embarrasment took over.

"Uh, sorry." He croaked, and his eyes met with the Coors Light clutched in Peter's grip. Oh, score.

Peter hadn't really been paying attention to the approaching person. His mind had wandered off on some tangent about that shirt he had seen at Guess earlier that week. A rush of motion brought Peter's focus back to reality and the next thing he knew, some guy had almost knocked his beer out of his hand. The impact still made some of the beer slosh up and a little bit splashed onto his shirt. The guy was apologizing, and Peter turned to say a few nasty words for messing up- whoa.

The first thing that crossed Peter's mind was that this guy was reasonably large and muscled. Unlike most of the big burly football players, this guy's arms and chest were lean and toned. It was not a common sight, usually reserved for primetime soaps. There was a strong urge to touch it to make sure it was actually real.
That doesn't mean you should actually touch it!
The second thing was that Peter recognized the guy from around school: Macon Carmody. Not in any sports or any major clubs, which would explain how Peter knew so little about him. Peter couldn't give up a chance to learn more about his fellow classmates, and drunken socializing was something he had gotten adept at over the years in St. Paul. He looked up into Macon's face and flashed a smile, as his fingertips traveled up the arm and drew a lazy arc on Macon's chest.
Wait. What the hell is going on here?
"So, Mac," Peter said, taking care not to let his words slur, "I don't see you at these parties often." Peter's hand came to a rest on Macon's sternum. In a more sober time, there would have been careful scrutiny of facial features and responses. Of course, all that Peter could tell now was that Macon was quite good looking.
Except his hair's too long, his beard isn't groomed, and his nose is crooked.
"How are you enjoying it? Anything or anybody catch your attention?" It was pretty amazing what some liquid courage could do. Hell, this was the same kind of thing that had gotten Peter entangled with Justin. Peter didn't really remember who started it then. Then again, something like that didn't matter now.
Justin started it. And you're gonna be just like him now.

Peter looked weird, just for a split second. He turned and his mouth was open as if he was gonna go "You know what betch, FUCK YOU!" like on the Kelly sketches from Youtube. He stopped and staring up at Macon, his expression changed like his interest had been piqued. Through those stylish thick-framed glasses his eyes had gone from peircing to slightly...well it looked like he was checking Macon out.

Well, Macon wasn't a complete recluse and he did know a few snippets of information on at least two thirds of the students in his grade. Peter Sui was one of the people he was somewhat familiar with. Macon knew Peter was manorexic, he also knew that Peter liked his drink. Whether he wanted to get drunk, or just couldn't hold it, Macon didn't know. But yeah, Peter was always just, a teensy weensy bit camp. Well his best friend was a girl, he was a little sassy for a guy and just now it looked like he was checking somebody out. Some of the girls were leaving and the party was starting to become a sausage fest. So statistically...

Peter smiled, and traced his finger up Macon's arm. Macon looked down and watched the digit as it came to a stop in the centre of his chest. "Oh." He murmured, wondering whether or not to feel flattered or awkward.

"So Mac," Peter said. Under the slurring it was hard to distinquish whether he was adding a hint of seduction to his voice, or if it was all just part of Macon's imagination. "I don't see you at these parties often."

What? Like ten of these have been held at my house!...Well I am in the smokers area alot... That was besides the point, even if Peter hadn't confirmed it, it was obvious he was flirting. So he's either a fruit or just plain greedy.

Peter hadn't removed his finger, ""How are you enjoying it? Anything or anybody catch your attention?"

Sweat began to form at Macon's temples. His skin was beginning to feel warm and he just knew his cheeks were going to flush red. He remembered a couple of times when a girl asked him off and he automatically shunned her, with enough emotion to maybe be compared to a robot. But a guy? This was serious. Sure Macon was gay, and he wanted to actually experiment with somebody other than his hand, but this was just creepy.

Macon raised his hand and gently brushed away Peter's finger, before placing his hand on the back oh is head and giving an awkward smile. You're losing your cool. Did you know that bucko? He was practically melting, any second now he imagined himself bursting into a fit of girly giggles and batting his hand going, "Oh stop it you beast!"

"Oh, I'm always at these shindigs." Macon replied, trying to keep a firm voice. Shindigs? You suck.

((The contents of this post have been redone and merged into the following post))

Peter drunk was far less perceptive than Peter sober. From what he could tell in his drunkenness, Mac was acting fairly receptively to Peter's advances. Point one: Mac hadn't reacted to Peter's flirting with a violent outburst, or even disgust. Point two: it appeared that Mac was starting to turn a bit red in the face, and Peter reckoned it wasn't from the booze vapour floating in the air. Still, Mac had rebuffed Peter's initial move, so it was time for something a little different and subtle.
You can't DO subtle with this much booze.
Subtle. "It's get boring after a while at these parties, doesn't it?" Peter was a bit distracted by the body to look at Mac's face, so he quickly corrected that. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke floating around, so Peter just drowned it with another gulp of his beer. He waved the beer bottle in front of Mac. "Although I do know some ways of making it less boring…." As he said that, he leaned forward, closing the small gap between their bodies.
Failure at subtlety in three, two, one.
Mac muttered a question about how much Peter had drunk, but Peter had shifted focus to Mac's reaction to the tactile stimuli. It definitely looked like his face was flushing as he tried to make conversation. After a few moments, he looked around nervously, and though Peter couldn't see anyone actually paying attention to them, Mac gently pushed on Peter's shoulders and taking a half step back. His hands seemed to linger a little longer than normal.
You're imagining things. Stop. Walk away. Go home.
Mac had apparently asked a question, which he was now repeating. It was quite the stupid question, but Peter wasn't going to screw his chances by being an ass about it. "I'm honestly not that drunk. I mean, I'm not puking my guts out and I can still walk straight. That's gotta count for being sober right?" Not that he would ever actually admit it if he were drunk. Mac looked around nervously again, then whispered something about being discreet.
Don't fall to temptation. This won't end well at
It took a moment for things to settle in. In another time, place, or circumstance, Peter might've reacted the same way and in a way, he could sympathize with Mac. Fear and self-doubt made for a terrible combination. Peter downed the rest of his beer and placed the bottle on the countertop, then reached with both hands and gently grasped Mac's wrist. "I know a place that's more private," he said, lightly tugging Mac to the hallway. Mac disengaged his arm after a few steps, but continued following nervously.

Peter was very familiar with the interior of Justin's house. Two years of parties and a year of dating was a lot of exposure to this place. At this time of the night, the bedrooms would most likely be occupied. Peter could only think of one place away from prying eyes that was most likely empty. Peter walked down the hall way, and opened the second door on the right. There was blackness beyond the door, but he already knew the way down the steps to the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. As he walked down, Peter would look back every few steps to make sure that Mac hadn't run away, or more embarrassingly, slipped down the staircase. Mac had taken slow careful steps, at least until the lights flickered on.

The basement area was mostly unfinished and devoted to storage. One wall was lined with unopened boxes. Some plastic lawn chairs were stacked up on one side, next to an old small sofa. Down here was also where Justin kept a fridge stocked with liquor for those emergency parties, but that wasn't what Peter was down here for. Sure enough, the basement was empty. "Wait a sec," Peter said as Mac reached the bottom, then went back up the stairs to close the door. Best to not draw attention to what would be happening here.

"I don't think anybody will be disturbing us down here," Peter said as he walked back down the stairs. Mac still looked a little bit tense, but that could probably be fixed with the right touch. He moved over in front of Mac and reached out to give him a light shoulder massage. "You need to relax. It's no fun if you're going to be all uptight about it." Peter's eyes traced over the features of Mac's face, taking note of all its nuances. It reminded him of Justin, of the many things about him that were attractive. But that was a time long past, and Peter had put that all behind him. Still, there was something interesting about Mac, and Peter wondered just how far he could go in just one night.
Nowhere would be just dandy.
Assuming, of course, that Peter was the one leading.

Peter wasn't totally ready for the kiss when it came. Maybe he had been slowly drawing Mac's face toward his, and he took the initiative. Or maybe he was just tired at how slow Peter was going and wanted to move it up a notch. Or maybe a dozen other reasons, meanings, and outcomes. Peter didn't have the frame of mind to sift through all of them. When was the last time Peter had actually kissed someone? It must've been a while ago because he felt like he was being drowned in the flood of intimacy.

Peter was determined to stay in control though. Experience was something he had, and it was just what he needed to call the shots. Mac's initial kiss was raw, unrefined emotion; Peter pulled it in, deepening the kiss from raw emotion to focused passion. At the same time, his hands flitted over Mac's chest and abdomen, strategically applying light teasing touches.

Breaking off the kiss took some effort, both physical and mental. Peter pulled back from the kiss and looked right into Mac's eyes. His hands had stopped moving, now rested against the waistband of Mac's jeans. "I'm not going to push you," he said softly, "just tell me when to stop." This wasn't just about himself after all.
It's the only way to stay sane from all this.
Mac wanted it bad. Peter could see it in his eyes, hear it in his words of acceptance, and feel it pressed against his own body. Peter responded in kind, snaking his hands under Mac's shirt and running them up his muscled back and shoulders, before pulling him close for another kiss. Mac's hands were at work too, he noted, roughly imitating his own previous movements. It was not masterful work, but the touching and illusion of intimacy was enough to get Peter really in the game. The jeans he had worn to the party were fairly loose, but they sure didn't feel like that anymore. He pulled Mac closer to his body and began to slowly grind his crotch against Mac's. From what he could tell, Mac was enjoying this at least as much as he was.

The kiss was broken off again, so that Peter could pull Mac's shirt off over his head. Mac's torso was even more impressive without the coverings of fabric. Without the shirt, he looked quite like a model for Abercrombie and Fitch. Small, weathered hands brushed over the warm exposed skin, and came up to tease and pinch the sensitive nipples. Mac seemed to want to do the same; he had already removed Peter's tie and was in the midst of unbuttoning the shirt, his hands shaking with what Peter could only imagine was anticipation.
Good thing there's a t-shirt under. More layers for him to work through gives more time to stop before everything goes to hell.
Peter shuffled around, leading Mac right in front of the sofa, and then pushed him down into a seated position. A hand trailed down, over Mac's defined abs, and came to rest over the erection struggling against denim. A firm grasp elicited sensual moans of pleasure from Mac, just what Peter needed to hear to spur him on further. He drew a line of light kisses down the side of Mac's neck as his hand deftly unbuckled the belt barring access to the inside of Mac's pants. Peter's hand slipped under, bringing the separation of skin from skin to a single thin layer of cotton.
It's not too late to stop, to turn back and get out. This isn't worth it.
Mac's breathing had quickened, Peter noted as his mouth had gotten low enough to gently suck on a nipple. His hand was also at work, stroking the hard cock straining against knit cotton. The moaning from before was now being consistently interrupted by the panting, and it now sounded more like Mac was whimpering. Which Peter found quite hot.
Just like with Justin and Brian.
It reminded him of days long past: of the days of long ago, when he was happy lying next to a close friend; of days of bliss, spent hand in hand with someone that used to love him. There were memories of days of intimacy, wrapped in the arms of someone who cared, hearing words of endearment and encourage-

"You disgust me."

There were memories of the mountain of mistakes made before: words which were meant to help ended up hurting; opportunities not taken when paralyzed by indecision; feelings that were now quashed with cold cynicism. This path he was on would just send him spiraling back into these memories, locked in the past.
There are things to learn from the mistakes of the past.
He didn't want that. But it was now far too late.
You don't know where this rabbit hole leads. An adventure awaits.
Macon uttered a low moan, and his hip buckled under Peter's hand. It was evident what was happening, and Peter responded by quickly retracting his hand. As Macon orgasmed in his boxers, Peter took a few steps back to pick up his discarded tie. He kept his focus on Macon, taking care to try to let as little shame and anger and sadness slip through his mask, and waited until Macon's orgasm had subsided and they made eye contact.
You can't fix the past in the present. Just enjoy what's already here.
"This… this was wrong of me," Peter said softly. He closed his eyes and sighed. It was too hard to look at Macon and stay calm. "I'm sorry Macon. Forget this ever happened." He spun and headed for the stairs leading up. He didn't want to see how Macon was reacting, or hear anything he might be saying. Peter didn't stop walking until he was out of Justin's house and standing by his car.
What are you running from?
He wanted to do something to relieve some stress, like punch a hole through a window. But that would just cause needless damage to his own hand. It was best to just file the events of the night away and process all the repercussions later. There was a half-full flask in the glove compartment, for "emergencies". Peter sure as hell wanted to drink it all to help forget.
Drink to forget. Drink to remember.
But it was a Saturday night, and he had a choir to direct in the morning.


((Peter Siu continued elsewhere))