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Seymour noticed something immediately when walking into the bar: there was a LOT of gay-friendly signs... and people. Tables were full of people, and some were even playing card games like rummy. But it seemed like every single person was talking to someone of the same gender. It made him a little nervous, even as warm jazz relaxed the atmosphere. He had never been in a place full of people similar to him... at all. He crept around to keep his distance, following Orin silently to the bar counter.
Orin sat down on the right side of the semi-circular counter, which conveniently had one spot left available: the seat next to Orin. Seymour quietly sat next to him, and they were quickly greeted by a bartender who vaguely resembled one of those Urchin girls. Her nametag read "Marvelette," which the men both swore was the name of a popular music group. Her voice was cool and professional, compared to the spunk of the girls at home.
"My name is Marvelette, what can I do for you two tonight?" The bartender's steady voice relaxed Seymour's nerves, let him know he was safe here. Let him know Orin was safe here with him.
Seymour was about to order his drink, but Orin was quick to interject.
"I'll get a round of Double Diamond, if you got it on tap. And this guy will have..." Orin considered what Seymour would like, which was a first for him, "...a gin and tonic on the rocks."
Marvelette nodded. "I'll get that for you both in a moment."
As the bartender walked away, Seymour turned to face Orin with a look of endearment, but... slight concern. "I... You really didn't have to do that for me- I would've-" Seymour stuttered for a moment, wondering why anyone would do something like that for him. Especially Orin.
"Not a problem. I'm assuming it's your first time at a bar? Ya look like a spring that's about to bounce, kid." Orin replied, to which Seymour nodded. In truth, he was a virgin to many things, given that he thought his only purpose in life was to be miserable and spend every day at that god-forsaken flower shop.
Marvelette returned with the drinks: a fancy-looking gin and tonic, and a Double Diamond beer that looked straight out of a commercial. She bowed and added, "Let me know if either of you need anything else."
Seymour, as she turned away, took a small sip of his drink. His face turned into one of curiosity as he let the taste simmer on his tongue.
"Well, how is it?" Orin wheedled, distantly hearing the slight fizz of the tonic water over all the chatter and clinking of glasses.
"It's... got a little... punch to it. But- it has me feeling okay." Seymour's finger circled the rim of the crystal glass, hearing the resonance and sighing happily. "I... kinda want more, actually."
"Haha. Welcome to the world of alcohol, Seymour." The dentist replied, watching the florist suck down his drink intently. It was... kinda hot.
"It's Sey—wait, you- you got it correct this time." The florist noticed in pleasant surprise, and he actually cracked a small smile as he finished his first drink. Orin nodded and ordered him another round of gin and tonic.
And so, around an hour went by, and about four drinks went down each, getting them each a little drunk (Seymour moreso than Orin). They met a few new people, some even recognizing Seymour as a local celebrity. Most called his plant "a giant avocado," which Orin agreed with. Throughout that hour, the previously meek florist became progressively more clingy and more confident, especially towards the once self-assured dentist. Being touchy, nearly kissing him a few times. Even leaning against him at some point. Simple, yet queer behavior, especially from someone who could hardly muster a sentence or two most of the time.
Now it was Orin who could hardly speak. A cute guy, who actually liked him. Who, in a way, saw him through his self-sabotaging. His sadistic wants. It made him want to tear up, despite everything that told him boys don't cry. Despite his usual desire to take out his strong emotions through inflicting pain upon others. He rested his head on Seymour's shoulder, letting tears streak down his face. He was always getting intoxicated, but never quite thinking in that state. But, now that he was, he felt... bad.
Seymour's hand began to gently comb through Orin's hair, and he melted into the touch, even through all remaining inhibitions telling him to back away. He just sat there for a moment, as if they were the only two people in the whole world. The previous chatter of the room turned into a distant hum, any resolve that remained dissolving.
To make it all worse, Seymour—who now seemed far more confident than the version he'd found jerking off in a dingy basement—suddenly whispered while combing through his hair, but with a newfound possessiveness to the action, "Shh, it's okay... let me take care of you. I've got you."
Jesus, where'd the kid find this level of confidence? It was just alcohol. But, before Orin could stop himself, he whined, butting his head up against Seymour's hand instinctively. It was pathetic, given that Seymour was shorter than him. Weaker. But his body was betraying him now that his inhibitions were entirely desecrated.
Seymour's hands raked through Orin's hair, coercing him to look at him. "You poor thing... has nobody treated you like this? Perhaps you deserve something special..."
Oh...?
Oh.
Oh.
Orin's face flushed at the implications, but he hardly had time to process what it all meant as Seymour's gentle (yet calloused and bandaged) hands whisked him to the men's restroom, through crowds that he did his best to avoid altogether. Alas, the world was blurry and disoriented, and he had little idea what actually happened between being at the counter and actually being in the bathroom.
But, once they were alone together, Orin—who was pressed against the door—knew for certain that hands were snaking to new places, places that neither had bothered to feel during their first time together. Their lips became locked in a passionate kiss, and Orin felt more fervor from that damned florist than ever. It was a wet and messy kiss, for sure, but it seemed each of them were thoroughly enjoying it—hands in hair, jackets quickly tossed to the side, bodies slowly sinking to sit on the ground. Their hips ground together as they savored each other, only increasing their desperation to feel everything.
The florist parted the kiss, slowing the desperate friction as he inspected the dentist's flushed face—all blissed out when they'd hardly done anything. His hands came to cup Orin's face, a gentle and reverent action that not even Audrey would have the courage to do.
And he whispered two words.
"You're beautiful."
The words made Orin's brain short circuit. He whimpered softly as his hips jolted into Seymour's, looking for more pleasure, more frisson, more Seymour. He could only whine in a hoarse voice half an octave higher than normal, crying out, "Please-please, oh my god—"
Seymour's eyes darted to Orin's tented leather pants, and, curiously, he pressed a palm to his erection. To his surprise, the dentist under him was instantly affected by his touch, moaning softly. This gave him a million different ideas, but none of them seemed rather clear.
"Well... I suppose if you're that pent up, Doctor..." Seymour was considering how to satisfy the very tipsy and malleable Orin, who was already blissed out and desperate. He considered himself among the lucky few to be able to see him like this. "...do you do... butt stuff?"
Even through a drunken confidence, Seymour still seemed blissfully stupid. Orin snapped out of his trance momentarily to stare at the florist and his awfully blunt question, "I mean- yes... but... um- Are ya- sure?" His words seemed to escape him, being short with a notable lack of confidence to them. However, the other party nodded as if it was something he'd always been sure of.
"Alright... Then I'm fine with it too." Orin allowed Seymour to take his scrub top off, and Seymour proceeded to just stare for a moment once it was off. The dentist's body wasn't anything special—in fact, it was more like the average man's body with a slight beer belly—but Seymour couldn't help but ogle at it, which surprised him.
It was then Seymour started pulling down the leather pants that the dentist had worn, which was a slight challenge. But Seymour was thorough, and was able to pull them down halfway. And quietly, Seymour purred, "Could you, and this sounds a little... embarrassing... I'm aware, bend over the toilet for me?"
And, for some odd reason, Orin crawled in order to comply. Which made more blood rush to Seymour's dick than he'd like to admit. The top half of Orin's body rested over the toilet seat cover, his arms crossed. He was kneeling from the waist down, except his ass was in the air. This would be embarrassing to sober Orin.
But Jesus, it was hot to drunk Orin.
Seymour (to the dentist's absolute bewilderment as he briefly turned to look at him) pulled a tiny jar of Vaseline from his jean pockets. He noticed the other's bemused look and simply murmured, "It's multipurpose,"
...okay?
Before Orin can properly prepare himself, a vaseline-lubed finger slid into his ass, and his breath hitched violently. Some unintelligible string of words along the lines of 'Wait-I wasn't ready-Oh my god-" spewed uselessly out of his mouth as Seymour pumped the finger in one, two, three times before adding another one.
This rhythm continued for a while as Seymour watched in fascination. How Orin's body responded to every thrust, how different he acted compared to that moment in the tiny supply closet. The way Orin would so often clench or shiver whenever Seymour's fingers would intentionally graze his prostate or when Seymour'd scissor his two fingers through.
Orin's mind danced with pleasure, unusually warm pleasure. Until that was interrupted by Seymour's fingers leaving him. He whined at the cool air grazing his stretched ass, a particularly unpleasant feeling, but one that didn't last long, as Seymour finally pushed into him slowly, and with a lack of certainty that suggested that he was still somewhat of a virgin. As he did so, he cooed, "Just... tell me when it's too much, okay?"
Of course, Seymour was of average length—five, maybe six inches—and was not exactly a master at this. But there was this passion that swelled between the two that couldn't be quelled, and it amplified what the two felt. It took a moment for the dentist to adjust to Seymour in him. It was... different, especially because he had never done this with him. And Seymour had never done this at all.
"Okay, I think... I think I'm ready." Orin strained out, immediately feeling Seymour begin to thrust. His thrusts were messy and uneven, but they had a pace—a somewhat fast pace. And it seemed like, already, neither of them would last very long. The alcohol made their sex drive way better, but made their time worse.
"S-Seymour..." The dentist stuttered, but was very clearly trying to say something, "I- uh- when I said I- mmm didn't care about your f—feelings, I lied- I do care. I care about ya—"
The florist nearly stopped his thrusts (which had become better once he'd found a rhythm) in a sort of jubilation. "You do...?"
"Yes- and I'm- uhm- sorry it took for all this to happen for me to say it- oh my god..." Each thrust felt deeper, felt like it was getting more into uncharted territory—and it was possibly the most blissful feeling either had felt. And they were chasing that bliss. Running towards a mountain top, almost.
Seymour's hand, one which had previously been gripping Orin's hip, moved to caress the dentist's bare back. And that's what did him in. Orin's hole clenched tightly around Seymour's cock as he came onto the tile with a sharp cry of the florist's name. The other was soon to follow, his climax being milked out of him uncontrollably by the tight squeeze. Panting and light whining echoed through the room as the two finally rode out what remained of their highs.
And then, silence.
Seymour pulled out of Orin, and while not a particularly pleasant feeling, it was much more comfortable flaccid. He cleaned off whatever remained on him, before moving to a still blissed out Orin and doing the same. He didn't bother cleaning the floor, though. And he finally spoke up, about something he'd been wondering since they've been here: "What... What does this make us?"
Orin seemed to finally be calm, more or less like a mix between his sober and drunk self. He got up to grab his jacket and scrub shirt, while pulling up his leather pants, and replied, "Whatever ya want us to be... I guess?"
"Is-... is boyfriends too, um, on-the-nose?"
"I dunno. I don't think ya'd want me, not after how I treated her."
"She- She doesn't matter. I'll forgive you, Doctor Scrivello—as long as you make an effort t-to be better."
Orin nodded silently.
While it wasn't the most ideal place to get together, it at least held a good memory.
And they'd be having a (perhaps not-so-pretty) conversation about this when they sobered up, for sure.