Usually, he enjoyed the thunderous waterfall sound made when his stream hit the drain just so, but tonight, being more than a little drunk, Prof. Sandburg was having some trouble with his aim. He almost missed the urinal completely when the bathroom door banged open loudly, letting in the full force of the techno dance music thudding like a heartbeat just outside. He craned his neck to see who was entering behind him.

Shit! It was that big guy who’d been watching him all night. Having finished his piss, he hastily tucked his moist dick back in his khaki Dockers and turned to leave. An arm – a large, muscular arm – shot out in front of him, braced on the wall, blocking his path.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to wash your hands, Chief?” A wry smile teased at the corner of the man’s mouth, even as he played at stern.

“I’m... I... My friends are waiting. It’s a birthday party. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Blair hoped this non-sequiter would convey his lack of interest – his “straightness” – without offending. The tight black T-shirt the other man wore emphasized his greater size and muscles.

“We can have a little party of our own, right here.” Now the man moved so his other arm was also braced against the wall; Sandburg trapped between them, facing eye to eye (well, eye to Adam’s apple) with this sizeable stranger in the men’s room of a seamy gay bar.

“Sorry, man. I don’t, um, swing that way.” There. He’d been straight about being straight.

“How do you know until you’ve tried?” One of the ensnaring hands left the wall and travelled down Blair’s grey Henley. “Nipple ring. Nice touch… for a straight guy.” A grin that could only be defined as shit-eating grew on the stranger’s face, ice blue eyes warm, with laugh lines (not crow’s feet – no) at the corners. He looked as though the existence of the nipple ring had put the lie to Blair’s words. What? Was there a law Blair’d missed? Only gay guys could pierce their nipples? And how had this guy felt the tiny gold ring through several layers of fabric?

“What’s your name, kid?”

Kid? What the hell? With immediate emotional alchemy, nervousness (well, fear really) quickly transmuted into pissed off. “It’s *Professor* Sandburg,” he loftily informed his pseudo-captor. “And you would be…?”

“Teacher’s pet,” came the reply, said quickly in the time it took for the lips to descend over Blair’s.

End