Not Gay

Gareth Keenan is not gay.

Gareth Keenan is not a queer, poof, arse bandit, fairy, nancy-boy, shirt-lifter, ponce, homo, fudgepacker, poofter, or faggot, so when Tim kisses him (on camera, the wanker), he wipes his mouth and spits.

Gareth Keenan is straight.

While sober, anyway.

It was an office party.

Gareth, for the most part, liked office parties. They were opportunities to chat up girls and talk to his cowokers, but they were mostly uninteresting prats anyway, so it was mostly about chatting up girls.

Of course, it didn’t exactly help that most of the girls at office parties just weren’t good enough for him. Gareth always prided himself on having impeccable taste. Except for when he was desperate. And even then he had standards.

At this party, however, there were only a few girls there that were up to those standards, and Gareth wasn’t entirely certain they were clean, considering the blokes they were hanging off of.

One of them was talking to Tim. Tim! Of all people. Tim, with the funny hair, and the ridiculously stupid-looking puppy dog eyes. Tim, who had that whole “asking Dawn out while she was still going out with Lee on national television” incident. Gareth was certain he’d never done something quite that humiliating before. He was a far better candidate. There was no way a bird like that would go for Tim. No way at all.

He stood next to the water cooler, bottle in hand, and watched as they talked. He watched as the bird laughed at some moronic thing that Tim had said and felt no jealousy whatsoever. None. He had no need to feel jealous of Tim. Sure, there was Rachel, but she’d probably been a slut or something, and Gareth just didn’t do sluts. One of Gareth’s standards for women was “is not a slut.”

But the girl was still talking to Tim. Gareth would have to think this through, plan it out, like one of the Territorial Army exercises. It couldn’t be any harder than a Territorial Army exercise, could it?

First, he’d have to go up to them, say something witty and insulting to Tim, which couldn’t be too hard, considering all the incredibly pathetic things about Tim he could think of. Then, when she was suitably impressed with his superiority and Tim was suitably shamed by his inferiority, Gareth could move in, suave as a lion, and sweep her off her feet. Yeah, that was a good plan.

He walked up to them, all calm and cool and confident, and said (in quite a witty manner, even), “Eh, Tim, you kiss any blokes recently?”

They both turned to him, surprised. That was good, at least. Then Tim started looking a little irritated, and that was good, too.

Tim rolled his eyes. “What do you mean, Gareth?”

Gareth had him exactly where he wanted him. Sort of. “That time you kissed me.” Gareth smirked. “Which means you’re a gay,” he elaborated. He realized that there was the possibility for misinterpretation and added quickly, “And I’m not, because it was you,” he pointed at Tim, “kissing me.” He pointed to himself.

The girl was giggling, which probably meant that Gareth’s comment had probably done its job. Excellent. Tim would be leaving, and Gareth would be moving in, just according to plan.

Tim sighed heavily. “Gareth, will you just leave us alone, please?”

Of course, he’d want Gareth gone, what with showing him up and all, but Gareth was determined to stand his ground. “I’ll leave, if she,” That was suave, wasn’t it? “wants me to leave.” He looked at the girl pointedly, telling her with his eyes that they should just ditch Tim and get on with it.

But she just shook her head, a small, apologetic smile on her face, and Gareth’s stomach sank.

Fine. It wasn’t as if he liked her that much anyway. And would he want to sleep with someone who liked Tim? Not really. Another standard to add to the list: “knows a real man when they see one.”

As he walked away, he heard her whisper, “He’s a closet case if I ever saw one.” to Tim.

Of course, Gareth just couldn’t let such a large misunderstanding go uncorrected, so he turned back to correct it, “I’m not the gay one around here. You’re talking to the resident…” He looked around for cameras, just to make sure there wasn’t one behind him. “poof around here.”

He walked off again, confident that the record had been set straight (pun intended).

Gareth was perfectly capable of holding his liquor. It wasn’t as if eight beers would do him in or anything like that. He was just sitting on the curb outside the office, unable to get to his car and drive, because he was a little on the tired side. Nothing to do with being drunk, nope.

He saw the girl Tim was chatting up come out on her own, and he considered going after her, but it was a little hard to get himself off the ground. For some reason, whenever he tried, his head spun. Funny, that.

Someone sat down next to him, but his sleepiness made it a bit hard to see who it was.

“Eh?” he asked.“I didn’t get her,” Tim said, and if Gareth were capable of getting up and walking away, he probably would. Wouldn’t want to spend more than time than necessary with Tim.

“Probably realized you were a fairy after all,” Gareth mumbled.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Tim said, and it should probably be familiar to Gareth, but he can’t quite seem to place it.

“‘M not a lady,” Gareth said, and he really shouldn’t be slurring his words like that, because he wasn’t drunk.

“Shakespeare, Gareth. Maybe if you learned it, you wouldn’t scare off every woman you met.” Tim sounded like he was talking slower than normal, which probably meant that he was already sloshed, the lightweight.

And of course, Gareth couldn’t let yet another misconception go uncorrected. Though the words he was looking for were slipping his mind. “What am I going to need Shakespeare for? If I were, for instance, um,uh, in the jungle, would I need Shakespeare? Or would I need to know how to catch, uh, a monkey, for instance?”

Tim was shaking his head, or maybe that was just Gareth’s vision. “You don’t know how to catch a monkey.”

“I could! All you would have to do it grab its head and..” he grabbed Tim’s funny looking head, and when the other man pulled away, collapsed on top of him. “Oi, what did you do that for?”

“You’re drunk. Drunker than I am, you lucky bastard.”

“I’m not drunk.” He grabbed at Tim’s shoulder for support, not because he wanted to or anything, it was just the nearest thing to grab. For support.

His hand slipped and he landed on Tim again, and this time their foreheads knocked, and ow, that hurt. But then he was kissing Tim and it was weird, and he was tired, but he was not drunk.

Tim was the one who was drunk here (because Tim’s mouth tasted like alcohol, and Gareth was positive that was all the proof he needed). Tim was the one kissing him. Because Tim was the poof, and if anyone was kissing anyone around here, it was Tim kissing him. And if he was kissing back, it was just because Tim was taking advantage of him, in whatever state he was in.

Gareth was shoved onto the ground (and he could have stopped that, if he were so inclined, he had the training) with a little, uncomfortable “oof”.

“You’re drunk.” Tim said, pulling Gareth’s arm over his shoulder and lifting Gareth into something resembling a standing position.

“I’m not.” Gareth said, though he didn’t complain about being picked up.

They staggered off together into the parking lot, and when Tim dropped him off at his car, Gareth slumped to the ground and insisted, “‘M not gay, either.”

“Of course not,” Tim replied.

FIN.