[Featured in FreetheLGBT: Diverse Literature reading list and Humor: Young. Dumb. Full of Fun list]
Colin Mitchell, a photographer at a well-known store, Snapshot, is openly gay--mostly. His ideal experiences are sexcapades that are always subtle, n...
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Peter could hear the pounding in his head transform into an intensely loud sound in his ears, especially now that the music had stopped and everyone was at a standstill. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles turning white with how hard he was trying to get himself together. He didn't mean to punch anyone, especially someone like him. But Chase had struck a nerve and once the words had reached his ears, he could only hold onto himself for so long.
From the floor, Chase stared at Peter with wide eyes. The hit had come as a surprise, even to Peter who made the move, and he was still in the position it had subjected him to. Immediately, his eyes glazed over as he stood, spitting out red-tinged fluid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, slowly moving closer to Peter.
"You're one of them, aren't you?" He grinned, revealing teeth streaked with scarlet stains. "Like that fucker she hangs out with."
Peter wanted to say something but words won't form in his mind, let alone translate into speech. He could only feel the pairs of eyes staring at him. Judging him, from every possible angle. He kept his head down as Chase's body moved closer, holding his breath in order to keep himself from inhaling the alcoholic stench that emanated from Case's bloodied lips.
He felt hands push back on his chest, making him stumble into Dakota. Before he could steady himself the hands hit him again, and again, and again. It was aggressive, it was fast, he couldn't find his footing and he fell on his butt. The people who had circled him and Chase moved back, giving them more room, exposing him.
Chase bent over Peter, taking him by his flannel shirt and tugging at it with a shaking fist. "Answer me you little shit."
Peter looked away, an action which angered the obviously drunk host. In a matter of seconds they were on their feet again, Chase dragging Peter, still holding his shirt. A couple of buttons popped of, hitting the floor once, twice, then rolling away.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, will ya?" Chase yelled.
"I would... but my eyes don't need to be traumatised."
Peter's eyes started to water, an effect of the sting that spread across his cheek. Chase slapped him again, getting a small strangled gasp from Peter.
Chase's hand went up to Peter's reddened face, thumbs pressing into his skin. "You've got a smart mouth."
"At least it's smart." Once again, Peter wished his mouth would stay shut for once, just once. He regretted speaking even more when the people around started snickering, the growing sound acting as a fuel to the host's irritation.
He gripped Peter's arms and twisted, till his face contorted in pain and the crowd hushed. Peter's hands were behind his back now, moulded in a shape that shouldn't be physically possible. Peter started blubbering in a mute tone that only he could hear.
