Electricity - 1. Chapter 1

"Is that what's his face Thompson, from that one sports team?" Andrew heard the obnoxiously loud question coming from the right side of the bar. He would usually ignore these types of statements, but the sheer absurdity and lack of football knowledge displayed meant that he had to at least take a look at the culprit. Of course it was of no surprise to him when he saw that it came from a youthful blonde twink, with a distinctively annoying voice, who was now full on gaping at him along with a gaggle of his giggling twink friends. Andrew took a swig from his beer and sighed deeply at the difficult decision in front of him.

He knew that he had two choices: The first one was to shake his head in visible displeasure, and hope that none of them would approach him for an autograph or a picture. The other choice was to wink and cheers to them, with his now almost empty beer. This second choice would ultimately lead to one of them making their way over for a flirty chat, and then it would usually end up with one or more of them in his bed at the end of the night.

Just two years ago, this wouldn't even be a conundrum for him. He'd wink and even throw in a smile, then cross his fingers in hope that more than one of them would approach him for some good times. The more the merrier, after all.

He used to love hookups, he used to live for them, and in the media (much to his and his family's displeasure) he was known as a notorious playboy. To his teammates, he was known as a "dog" (this was always said with much pride and admiration, like "My dog Thomspon, the slayer of ass."). No matter how quiet he tried to keep his dating life, his unfortunate choices in hookups kept the paparazzi and the tabloids well fed with amusing weekly stories. Pictures of him ducking out of hotel rooms with IG models, or men leaving his house at indecent hours while he was supposed to be dating someone seriously, became a norm for the public (and ensured that he got quite a few stern talks from his coach about keeping a more low profile). He just couldn't help that he had shitty taste in men. All he wanted was some nice ass, but in his case a nice ass always came with a side of drama and clout chasing.

However now, after hitting 32, the whole thing stopped being amusing to him. Back in his heyday he would live for the thrill of the chase, the thrill of seeing a new naked body in his bed. The thrill of being able to get with practically any man he desired. Now, he just wanted to wake up to something familiar and comfortable. Back then, he couldn't wait to be inside of another human being and get to cum in them. Nothing beat that feeling, it felt like being the King of the world (almost better that winning the Super Bowl, but not quite). But now? Now he just wanted to find someone whose pleasure he would actually care more about than his own. But no matter how many blind dates--set up by well-meaning friends--he went on, none of it clicked. Yes, they all ended up in his bed in the end, but he couldn't make a genuine connection with anyone. None of them left him with that spark of electricity he was looking to find, and more often than not they'd leave jaded and upset that he had used and discarded them with no care, which left him feeling pretty shitty about his own actions. But it's not like he was a heartless person, he just had some emotional issues to deal with. The problem lay in the fact that he wasn't good at handling any type of feelings. In fact, he spent a majority of his time avoiding and running away from feelings by throwing himself fully into his work. This ensured that he was a kick ass quarterback in the NFL, but it also left him little to no time for anything else, like proper dating. And now as he was getting a bit older, he was tired of the same song and dance. Tired of guys trying to expose him to media outlets, sneak pictures of him sleeping after a hookup and post them to Instagram, or try to get famous off of his name. He was tired of the cheap thrills. He was tired of it all.

As the first openly gay quarterback in the NFL, life wasn't exactly easy, but he really couldn't complain either. His teammates were super cool and never gave him grief about being gay, apart from some fun lockeroom banter and jabs here and there (but everyone got their share of those, not just him). The worst part of his job were the post game interviews, which always somehow found a way to get back to the subject of him being a gay man, and left him feeling frustrated. It seemed like the older he got, the less patience he had to deal with these things. He just wanted to do his job and be himself without it reflecting on the entire gay community. Without giving the papers anything more to talk about. Just this morning a blog had dubbed him with a new annoying nickname "Mad Thompson", after he got into it with a pesky paparazzi the other night, he was sure his mom would be positively thrilled to see that.

So the bottom line was that it's not that he no longer wanted to hook up, it's just that he had so much on his plate right now, and he was struggling really hard to keep his name out of the headlines, not wanting to contribute to the annoying "sex addict" gay stereotype all straight people seemed to hold about LGBT people, and most of all he really wanted to clean up his image so that the right wholesome guy of his dreams could come along and make his life complete. After all, his mom was nagging him about grandkids, and marriage, and if he was honest with himself, that's also something he craved in his life eventually. He didn't want to wake up at fifty, after his exciting career days were over, and still be on the prowl for some random ass. He was ready for something stable, something meaningful, something long lasting.

But just as he was thinking all that, the blonde twink gave him a flirty smile, and almost involuntarily, as if it were a muscle he had trained so long that it performed the action automatically, Andrew winked and raised his beer a few inches in the air. Now it was just a matter of time. A waiting game. He turned back to the TV, meanwhile Tony the bartender wordlessly replaced his beer with a fresh one. The silent relationship he had with Tony was one of the main reasons why he favored this particular bar above all others. "Bull's Eye" was unexceptionally average in every way, but on most nights nobody would bother him here, and he could watch his basketball games in peace. And Tony wouldn't give him a hard time about drinking instead of resting for whatever upcoming game he had, which he highly appreciated. He was tired of half-drunk dudes giving him advice on how to be a good football player. Andrew nodded a silent thanks to Tony, and they both turned back to the TV screen. The Warriors were trailing behind. He took a long sip of the fresh beer as Curry airballed a 15-footer, an unfortunate and ridiculously rare occurrence that made Golden Boy Steph seem like a mere mortal after all. Andrew shook his head in frustration.

"Buy me a drink?" it was the blonde twink. He snuck up so quietly and feline like, that Andrew didn't even notice. He chuckled at the arrogance that the young and beautiful displayed. The boy was cute, but Andrew had hoped it would be his brown haired friend with the ample assets that would come over.

"Tell you what, why don't you get your friend over there, and I'll make you guys drinks back at my place." This line was douchey and gross, he was well aware of it, but he didn't care anymore. As a good looking and muscular football player, there was a shit ton of behavior he got away with simply due to his money and social status. He acknowledged that it was unfair that this is the way the world worked, but he continued to use his privilege to his advantage anyway. He couldn't stop it, the feeling of being powerful and untouchable was too addictive of a drug to give up cold turkey.

The twink's face showed that he wasn't thrilled about this new development and change in plans, but Andrew knew he'd go along with it anyway. They all did. The groupies found it impossible to say no to seeing his place and being able to brag that they slept with him. Deep down he was ashamed that he empowered this type of behavior, but at the moment his other urges won out. As the twink made his way back to let his friend know about the indecent proposal, Andrew handed Tony a few bills and said "no change". Tony gave him an appreciative nod.

"Jesus, did you just move in here?" the blonde boy asked fifteen minutes later, as the trio entered Andrew's two story loft, housed in one of the most exclusive buildings in the Bay Area. It was a valid question, as Andrew's place was so bare and minimalistic, that it almost resembled a model apartment. Andrew ignored the question and made his way to the kitchen to assemble the promised drinks. He wasn't going to ask what they wanted, as from experience he learned that bottoms were too indecisive. So per usual, he took charge.

"You," he said looking at the blonde one, "I know what you like. Tequila based with a little bit of spice. Am I right?" He had years of practice in this field, and countless men who've been in his kitchen before, waiting for a drink.

"Right on the money actually," the snarky youth replied. Andrew nodded to himself, pleased, he was too good at this game. The blonde was quite pretty, but not really his type. However, he would make do for tonight. Andrew served up the perfect concoction, and then moved onto the other guy.

"Now you," he said looking at the brown haired one with the nice bubble butt, "you like yours sweet, fruity, and not too strong." The boy smiled. He was a shy one, he would need more than one drink to get out of his shell.

They chit-chatted on the comfortable big couch in the living room while watching the remainder of the Warriors game on TV. Andrew half listened to the guys talk, but his main focus was on the game. He preferred sports over boring small talk. He knew he didn't have to put much effort into impressing the guys anyway, he just needed them to be tipsy enough to let loose in bed. After all, three-ways weren't for everyone. After the third drink Andrew decided it was go time. He'd done this so many times before, that it was no longer awkward. He started with the blonde one, since he was more slutty and would probably be more open to whatever Andrew initiated, while the other one would simply follow along. After some kissing and groping, they all made their way upstairs to Andrew's big bedroom, which was no stranger to random naked men running around in it.

Despite his recent hesitations about hookups, at this particular moment Andrew had to admit to himself that it never got boring having two tongues licking on his cock. It wasn't something every man would get to experience in their lifetime, especially the straight non-atheltes. He laid back comfortably and let the boys do the work, while he interjected some dirty talk here and there. A part of him did feel bad for treating them like sex slaves, but he just wasn't motivated enough to try to please two hookups that looked up at him with eyes that said he was the most valuable guy in the whole wide world. He didn't have to work for their adoration: it was already there, already in place, freely given.

Hours later, when he woke up, the two naked bodies were cuddled up to him. He felt hot and stifled. His left arm was dead from the brown haired boy sleeping on it. He looked at the clock, it was almost six. He quickly and harshly got up, stirring his bed visitors.

"Wakey wake, I gotta head to practice."

The guys moved slowly.

"Morning," one of them mumbled out.

"Guys, last night was amazing, but you gotta go now. Here, let me give you some money for an Uber," he said and handed them a nice wad of cash. It was far more than any Uber could have cost, but it assuaged some of the guilt he had about the situation. "Wow," the blonde one quipped and rolled his eyes. Neither one of them looked pleased about getting kicked out like this, but they eventually made their way out and left Andrew alone. The morning after a hookup was always the lowest for him. There was the guilt, and then there was a feeling of shame at the pit of his stomach. Like he knew what he was doing wasn't right, wasn't pure. And then there was always the frustration that he had just reset the clock on finding an actual life partner. What good guy would want to be a part of this wild lifestyle that he was living? He was constantly working, he had a terrible reputation in the press, and his place looked like a museum. He wouldn't even want to date himself.

The thoughts continued to swirl in his head as he showered and then headed to football practice. Work always helped him forget about his personal struggles. He could get all his energy and anger out on the field and in the gym. He could focus his skill on something he was actually good at.

First was a nice morning weightlifting session which was followed by a head coach meeting. At the meeting the coach would go over that day's practice and his expectations. Then there was a few hours of practice, followed by media interviews, followed by more meetings, and the end of his workday would typically come anywhere from 5-7.

Hours later, when he was getting changed in the lockeroom post shower, one of the guys from the team began laughing while staring at his phone.

"Thompson, you dog," he finally managed to get out in-between laughs. Andrew knew that tone of voice too well, and knew it spelled press trouble for him.

"What?" he asked cautiously, pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head, as a few of his teammates listened in.

"Newest headline from the Bay Mail: My Wild Threesome With Quarterback Andrew Thomspon", his teammate replied. Andrew walked over and pulled the phone from his hand so he could read it himself. A full article, featuring pictures from the inside of his condo, and a headshot of the brown haired boy.

"Fuck," Andrew cussed at his own stupidity. He was usually savvy enough to confiscate phones when people entered his house, but last night he had completely forgotten. Not only that, but he totally misjudged brown haired boy as sweet and shy, when now he was not only spilling but also embellishing all the sexy details of their night together in the most popular online gossip blog. This would spread like fire online and trend for days. That little ungrateful traitor, Andrew thought to himself.

"You're my man, dawg, you never disappoint. Slayed more ass then all the NBA players put together," his teammate continued to laugh. But Andrew wasn't in a laughing mood. And predictably when he checked his phone, he had a multitude of missed calls from his mom, who was probably seething right about now. She hated seeing stories like this hit the internet. She always worried for him, and the implications it could have on his career and his health. He felt bad for putting her through all this. His old man could handle it, he didn't care, but it really affected his mom in a negative way. He needed to put an end to these stories and stay out of the press. Or at least get some good press for a change.

When he finally left practice, he drove his Lamborghini Aventador to a hip sushi restaurant nearby where he had a reservation with his ex-boyfriend Joel, and his new husband Drew. Joel was one of the only guys Andrew had seriously dated, and they miraculously managed to remain friends even after Joel found out Andrew had been cheating on him with IG models. Joel had a kind heart and was tight lipped when it came to Andrew's business, never publicly blasting him for anything (even when he had every right to), which was something Andrew greatly appreciated and did not take for granted. And now that he was married, there was no more lingering bad feelings and their friendship was more rock solid than ever.

Both of the guys were already seated at their usual private booth when Andrew arrived.

"Tough day?" Joel cheekily smiled up at Andrew and took a sip of his drink as he scooted to make space in the booth. Joel was one of the few people that could make fun of Andrew without it bothering him. Clearly he had seen the headline already. News spread fast on this side of town.

"Drew," Andrew greeted his ex's new husband with a fist bump. He knew Drew wasn't his biggest fan, but he was cordial enough, so for the sake of his friendship with Joel, Andrew let it slide. It's not like the feeling wasn't mutual, Andrew felt that Joel could do much better than a boring maritime attorney, but then again after what he put him through, boring was most likely exactly what Joel wanted and needed in his life. He felt an immense amount of guilt about the way he had treated Joel, but he was glad it was all in the past now and that he had moved on and found someone who made him happy.

"So how was the threesome, tell all," Joel continued prodding him in good fun. Andrew managed a small a smile.

"Not worth the fuss, that's how," he replied, putting his menu aside. They got the same thing every time anyway.

"And yet you can't stay away from those pretty boys, can you. How's my favorite Miss Elaine handling it?" Joel inquired about Andrew's mother.

"I haven't called her back yet," he admitted and sighed.

"Oh boy," Joe quipped, taking another sip of his Diet Coke.

"Why do you stress out over it, just admit this is who you are and embrace it," Drew chimed in, much to Andrew's annoyance.

"That's not who I am," he corrected him.

"Isn't it though? I mean, if you consistently repeat the same action over and over again, then that kind of makes you who you are. At least in my opinion." Andrew was just about to tell him that nobody was concerned with his opinion, but thankfully the waiter came by at that exact moment and eased the tension between them. Andrew did not want to get into an all out war-of-words with Mr. Know-It-All-Attorney and destroy his friendship with Joel. But as payback for Drew's attitude, he proceeded to order for Joel, something he knew irked the new husband greatly.

"You don't have to order for him, you know, he's not a baby," Drew commented after the waiter walked away.

"Oh shoot, did I do that? Damn, old habits die hard," Andrew replied innocently and Joel gave him a look that let him know he was onto him. Andrew shrugged sheepishly. Sometimes he just had to assert himself and let other men know their place. Sure, Drew might have been married to Joel now, but Andrew had been there first, and he wasn't going to let the other man ever forget it.

"Okay, don't rip me a new one for saying this, but as your friend I've gotta say it," Joel began and Andrew stiffened. Here came the speech about how he had to change his habits if he wanted to find the right guy. "You've talked a lot about wanting a wholesome partner lately, but no good guy is going to want to get anywhere near you if you continue doing this," Joel said, now in his serious tone. "You have a crazy body count, which is fine, but it doesn't match up to what you say you want. This isn't making you happy. It's just a temporary high. If you truly want what you say you want, you are going to have to make some major lifestyle changes. You are living the life of a permanent bachelor, and that's just not going to attract a serious, marriage minded guy."

Andrew was annoyed at how right Joel was. He had always wondered why things didn't work out between the two of them. Why did he have to go and mess up a good thing with his cheating ways? Joel was gorgeous, caring, kind and smart. He had been a thoughtful and trustworthy partner, and had never said "no" to Andrew in bed, so why did he need more? Why was he always so unsatisfied with everything? Why did he always have this unusual urge at the bottom of his stomach, making him chase the next thing, making him go for another challenge instead of being content with the great things already in his possession.

He couldn't answer himself, and he was worried that even with a therapists' help he'd never be able to truly know what the hell was wrong with him at his very core. Maybe he was just meant to be alone. The thought depressed him, so he changed the subject to Joel and Drew's new house, which Drew excitedly jumped on and continued blabbing about for the reminder of the dinner.

Later on at home, and upon Joel's urging, he finally called his mother back. The conversation wasn't pretty, but at the end of it he promised that he would change. That he would do better. No more headlines, no more late night outings and drinking. She didn't seem to believe him, and he wasn't surprised. Just like all the men in his life, his mom was also tired of his empty promises.

But he spent the next week working really hard at staying out of trouble and proving her wrong. His life consisted of work, and home, where he would mindlessly watch Netflix while eating dinner. No more bars, no more clubs, no more nightly outings with the guys. He was laser focused on work and even his coach noticed the change and couldn't be more thrilled about it. Everything seemed to be falling into place, and then...another headline. This time it was Joel who alerted him to it via text that read, "Don't pay that guy any mind, he has no right to judge."

To which a confused Andrew wrote back, "What are you talking about?"

"Oh...you didn't see?"

"See what?"

"How long have I been telling you to set up Google alerts for your name? Nevermind. Here," and attached was a link to a story in one of the biggest and most respectable LGBT magazines in America. The title read, "Why Andrew Thompson Continues To Give Gay Men A Bad Rep". Andrew stared at it, already feeling a silent fury rise within him just from the title alone. Why was he responsible for being the face of gay men in America? Why couldn't his actions be judged separately, and not reflect on his entire community? He was infuriated.

But the title was nothing compared to the verbal tongue lashing that followed in the actual article. The author, someone named Aubrey Miller, dredged up every single hookup known to public, every single mistake, and every single fault he could find with Andrew, and then blamed him for everything that was wrong with gay culture. Not only did he label him a "notorious man whore" but he went as far as to say that judging from all the stories, "Thompson appears to be as unimpressive in bed as he is on the field."

Enraged, Andrew called Joel. Before the other man even had a chance to say more than a hello, Andrew began a vicious rant, "Unimpressive? I'm a three time Super Bowl champion! I hold like five different records. I have more awards than I have shelves to hold them in my home. Does that guy even watch football? Unimpressive...freaking unbelievable. Who does he think he is?"

"Can I interject," Joel asked politely.

"What?" Andrew spat out, irritated.

"Let me just say, I'm on your side. Unfortunately, Miller is a well respected gay journalist, so you can't completely dismiss this. Before you start shouting at me, I agree with you, this guy is talking out of his ass and doesn't know you. But I think you're going to have to address this somehow, Twitter and Reddit are already having a field day with it. The gays are not happy with you right now, they feel like you don't do enough for the community. That you're selfish and get off easy because you pass as straight. You enjoy the best of both worlds."

"I'm an openly gay man in the NFL! What else do they want from me? I've literally had to pave the way. I donate to fifteen different charities privately, you know that." Andrew couldn't believe that he would even need to explain this, especially to Joel out of all people.

"Of course I know, but they feel like you don't do enough publicly, and you just continue to make all the straights think that all gay men are sex obsessed deviants."

"Are you even on my side?" Andrew asked, ready to throw his phone against the wall.

"I'm always on your side, I'm just telling you what the vibes are right now in the community. I want you to know what you're dealing with. You need to do some damage control. Get ahead of this thing instead of continuing to stay silent on important issues."

"He needs way more than damage control," Andrew heard Drew interject in the background, and he had to bite his tongue from unleashing all of his frustration on that annoying man.

After he hung up the phone, he reread the article three more times, and each time he got progressively more and more pissed off. He wanted nothing more than to punch the idiot that wrote it. It was pure garbage, and completely untrue. Yes, he had a playboy reputation. But he was a football player for Christ's sake, he wan an athlete, people threw themselves at him. He would have to be a monk to not take up any of them on their seductive offers. Aubrey Miller wouldn't understand because he was probably a troll looking dude.

Andrew was just a man after all, and he appreciated all the same pleasures of life that other men did, it just so happened that he was fortunate enough to have them all with a flicker of a finger. What did this Aubrey Miller know about anything? He was probably an annoying nerd or a bitchy twink or a non-attractive gay guy who was past his prime and taking it out on the most obvious target: a successful gay male athlete. Andrew couldn't believe that just as he was trying to clean up his act, this clown came messing it all up for him again. He couldn't believe how bad his actual luck was. Instead of discussing football, he would now have to dodge invasive and rude questions about his personal life, yet again. He was beyond pissed.

"Not doing enough for the community," he mumbled to himself, "unbelievable." What was he supposed to be, the gay Oprah? He was just living his life and enjoying himself. And then the idea struck him, if they wanted him to do more to for the community, he would show them. He would drive to the most famous gay bar in the area and he would make a huge show of it, show his support for his fellow gay brothers. He would show his face, take all the selfies in the world with the groupies and the drag queens, and he would play Mr. Nice Guy. He would measure the temperature and see if the gay community really was as pissed with him as Miller would have everyone believe.

He put on a nice pair of jeans and paired them with a black sweater that his mom had picked out for him, then styled his hair a bit more carefully than usual. He wanted to look like he gave a shit, like he was trying to impress someone and not doing charity work. It wasn't hard for him to look good, thanks to his mom and dad he was given a lovely combination of strong genes. He was a 6'4" hunk of a guy with piercing blue eyes and a nice set of black hair, and his strong jawline made all the twinks quiver. His body was perfectly muscular and proportional. He looked good, and he knew it, but he never made a huge show out of it. He simply felt comfortable in his own skin. He was happy with himself. He put on a fresh pair of white Air Nikes and set out for the night's adventure.

He didn't have to call the paparazzi--which for the first time ever he was actually thankful for--they were already in the area waiting for a famous gay singer who was inside to walk out. Upon noticing him the flashes started going off, and as a slew of voices from all different directions began shouting questions at him.

"Andrew, no hot date tonight?"

"Mr. Thomson, right here!"

"Are you looking for another threesome tonight?"

"Why is the gay community mad at you Andrew?"

He smiled politely and nodded at everyone while trying not to trip, blinded by the flashes. There was not going to be any "Mad Thompson" headlines, he was going to play this one right. He walked into the place a bit apprehensively. After all, maybe Joel and fuck guy Miller were right, maybe the gay community hated his guts and would "boo" him out of this place in a hot-flash. But quickly, his fears were washed away in a sea of adoration.

"Omg, Andrew Thompson!!!" came the most gay squeal from a chunky and hairy man wearing a leather vest. Andrew had to chuckle. He loved the uniqueness of his community, and all he characters it possessed. How could anyone ever say he wasn't a part of this? These guys were awesome.

"That's me."

"Ahhh! My boyfriend would die! He's on a work trip, would you mind FaceTiming with him real quick?" Andrew did not mind, not tonight. And for the next hour and a half, shockingly enough he received nothing but total and absolute love from everyone inside the bar. Guys just wanted to hug on him, take pictures with him, get his autograph, and hookup, meanwhile the bartender kept sending free drinks his way. Fuck this Miller guy, Andrew thought to himself, my people love me.

All the good vibes and positive attention put Andrew in a complete state of high, and since he was already in a gay bar he decided it wouldn't hurt for him to take someone home. After all, it would be a selfless act done for the sake of the community. And he didn't feel like being lonely tonight, he wanted someone to share his good mood with. He would even give them some tenderness and cuddle them afterwards. Bottoms loved getting cuddled. He looked around, trying to pick the lucky guy. There were a lot of dudes making eyes at him, but his vision landed on an exquisite backside, sitting all the way at the end of the bar. The guy was wearing a long white sleeve cotton shirt, and he had gorgeous brown curls, the kind that suggested he was most likely biracial. Andrew couldn't take his eyes away from that pleasantly shaped behind. Yes, he would be the one for tonight, Andrew thought and made a beeline for him.

He pulled up a bar stool next to the guy, now seeing his tan profile. The man seemed to be a few years younger than Andrew, but had a serious and very focused look to his face. He was just as pretty from the side as he was from the back, but his eyes remained glued forward. He was probably the only guy here who hadn't checked Andrew out or given him any sort of attention. This was puzzling to the quarterback, but he chalked it up to the guy maybe waiting for his boyfriend.

"Let me guess, you're here with someone," Andrew started the conversation. His pick up lines were lazy as hell nowadays, as he never really had to work on them. Guys would go along with him no matter how lame he sounded. He could do a caveman grunt and still pick someone up to take home.

But this one didn't seem to be impressed. He looked over at Andrew very slowly and stoically, and then rolled his eyes and sniggered, almost as if he was annoyed Andrew was even speaking to him. This was...unusual, and threw the typically self-assured football player off guard. But the guy's stunning and deep brown eyes and lovely round lips made him stick around and continue trying.

"Is that a yes?" he followed up. The guy still looked irritated as hell that Andrew was next to him and chatting him up. Nobody had ever shown him this amount of disdain for no reason.

"Did you come over here to gloat, Thompson?" the guy finally asked. He had a sexy raspy voice that turned Andrew on right off the bat. He fit all of his criteria, but how was Andrew going to get him in bed with that type of attitude? He was more confused than ever. Gloat? What was he talking about?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you think you've somehow won because every guy in this bar is enamored with you, then you're wrong," he replied. Andrew didn't get it. Was rude talk this guy's idea of playing hard to get? Some type of weird foreplay?

"I think we started off on the wrong foot. I'm Andrew," he said, going in for a handshake. The other man arched his eyebrows at him and completely ignored the friendly gesture.

"Is this a joke man?" he then asked, and now Andrew was really thrown off.

"What's the problem? Are you straight or something?" Andrew began to think that maybe this guy was here with a girlfriend and was offended to be hit on by another male. His attitude was so off from what he was accustomed to. But now the guy snickered.

"Are you serious? Are you actually serious? Is this really happening?" he laughed. Andrew laughed too, but more so out of confusion. Then suddenly the guy stopped.

"Okay, this is genius, let me play along. No, I'm not here with anyone," he replied, but Andrew was puzzled by his tone. It seemed like he was treating this whole entire thing like one big joke.

"Good," he answered, unsure of himself. "Let me buy you a drink then," he stated, and then asked the bartender to get his newfound friend another round of the vodka red bull he was sipping on, while Andrew got himself a beer. The man observed him silently, almost like he was studying him. Andrew felt like he was already failing some sort of silent test.

"Come here often?" Andrew asked, suddenly blanking on good conversation skills and reverting to lame pickup lines.

"That's really the line you're going with?" the guy asked, astounded.

"Man, oh man, you are a difficult one," Andrew stated, finally letting his frustration show a little.

"Difficult? No, I just have standards," the good looking man replied.

Andrew was slowly regretting his pick of the night. This wasn't going to be the quick pick-up job he was used to. He would need to really work on this one, and it wasn't even a sure outcome. But another glance at the guy's sexy lean body, gorgeous tan skin, luscious lips and that very enviable behind that Andrew had already envisioned smacking in his mind in a multitude of ways, as well as his handsome face, was all he needed to decide to stick with it. There was just something intriguing about the guy, something more than looks, something that put Andrew on edge.

"Alright, you want a deep conversation. Hit me with a subject," he said, settling into his seat for the long run and expecting the other guy to ask him about what it's like to be a football player, or a celebrity, etc. One of the usual obvious questions groupies always had for him.

"Gay rights," the guy stated plainly and seriously. Now it was Andrew's turn to arch an eyebrow. Gay rights was not something he fancied himself talking about tonight. Maybe Miller guy was partly right, maybe he was a shitty gay man, because the phrase "gay rights" was enough to make him want to take a nap. But nonetheless, if he wanted to impress this dubious stranger, he would need to give it a try.

"Gay rights. Huh. I mean, good, things are good. I mean I'm the first openly gay quarterback, and things are pretty good. You know, the guys joke around, but it's all in good jest. Nobody really gives me any grief for it. The press, the press is still brutal though. But that's just what comes with the territory, ya know?" Andrew felt pretty good about his answer, but the look on the other guy's face was as close to revulsion as one could get.

"Do you ever, for even one second, stop talking about yourself?" Andrew was stumped. "I said gay rights. You're a gay man in America, of course things aren't shitty for you. Have you considered what's going on in other parts of the world? When was the last time you checked in outside of your little sports bubble to see what's going on with the less fortunate gay men who are getting imprisoned, who are getting hung, who are getting shot, who are being thrown off buildings simply for loving someone? When was the last time you tried to help or do anything about it? When was the last time you even gave them a thought, or a Tweet to let them know they're not alone in this world? "

"Uhh," was all Andrew could muster.

"That's why I can't stand men like you. You're incapable of thinking about anyone else but yourself," he added, taking a sip of his drink and turning back to staring straight ahead, "and your dick." Now Andrew was getting pissed.

"Woah man, how about you chill on the judgement, you don't know me or what I do in my spare time."

Without even bothering to turn around, the man replied, "I doubt there's much to know. You're pretty transparent."

"Wow...what is that stick up your pretty ass?" Andrew asked boldly.

"So, what's next in your little repertoire?" the guy asked, showing a sarcastic level of interest, "You ask me to come home with you, right? Then you ply me with some drinks at that infamous two story condo slash fuck pad slash STD central. And then we have wild sex that centers and focuses only on you, and your pleasure, and your needs, while I'm just supposed to be grateful that you decide to deposit your cum somewhere in me or on top of me, like it's some goddamn gold potion of youth. Then, if you're feeling generous of course, you let me stay the night so I have a good story to tell my friends the next day. Am I somewhat close?" he asked, looking at Andrew with those beautiful yet angry brown eyes.

"Usually yeah, but I'm scared you'd stab me in my sleep so I think I'll skip the part where I ask you to come over tonight," Andrew replied.

"Good, saves us both the disappointment of what a night with you entails." Andrew was half pissed, but half extremely turned on by this guy's blatant dislike of him. He couldn't figure him out, but he felt a strange attraction flowing between them.

"I feel like you're passive aggressively flirting with me," he replied.

"If this is your idea of flirting, then I'm really glad I'm not going home with you tonight."

"Let me do this the right way. What's your name?" Andrew asked, trying to start over once again and get on this guy's good side. He needed to take control of this situation, he wasn't going to let some sassy guy with a nice butt run circles around him like this.

The guy smiled to himself, amused, then finished the rest of his drink. He got up and stuck out his hand. As Andrew grasped it, he felt something like a jolt of electricity pass through his whole entire body. It felt like magic. Was this the feeling, was this the electricity he had been craving and looking for all along? His heart sped up, but then the guy removed his hand from his grasp and opened his lovely shaped mouth.

"I'm Aubrey Miller. Thanks for the drink," he replied half smiling and walked off, leaving a shocked Andrew behind. The skin of his hand still crackling with sparks of electricity.