Big Book Of Smornby One Shots

Open Mic Night (N)

TW: Blow jobs, Smoking, Drinking

Being a music student with any sort of technical experience had it's advantages at uni, Ross was allowed to work in the sound booth of the student union in exchange for free drinks every weekend. Open mic night was every Friday; almost the same people came each week but you'd occasionally get the odd one who decides they are Beyonce and then were so shit they'd never come back. This week the small bar and stage area were absolutely packed with students, the atmosphere was great. It was the end of exams week, pay day for most and everyone seemed to have enough drink in them that the normal groups of huddled together friends were non-existant, being replaced by people who normally wouldn't dare speak to one another laughing along side each other.

Ross' day dream analysis of the room was interrupted by a loud knocking on the plexi-glass window of the booth. "Ross mate Jack and coke?" one of the bar men, Trott shouted his muffled voice just loud enough to hear over the music.

"Yeah go on then, but not the cheap stuff I want actual Jack." Ross shouted back. He asked him the same thing every week, then after his reply always winked at him and went to make his drink. Normally he would then get the set list of people up to play for the night but this week was 'wing it week' meaning anyone could just jump up when they felt like it, the only down side being that they couldn't have any backing track. The first hour or so was like normal, the crowd singing along and applauding the performers after each song. Most of them sang crowd pleasers, old classics (sweet child of mine, baba o riley and bohemian rhapsody were common), the most recent pop song or comedy song (one guy came most weeks to sing 'we're taking the hobbits to Isengard') so when Ross heard an unfamiliar calm and sweet voice he couldn't help but turn the master volume up on his mic and acoustic guitar.

The man that was perched on the stall singing like a fucking angel had unkempt brownish ginger hair, an even more ginger beard and was strangely wearing camouflage trousers. Ross stared at him during his entire set, transfixed by his adorably cute smile that broke out every now and then when someone wolf whistled or applauded. The man caught his eye a few times and Ross swore he was blushing, thinking it was probably just the stage lights he shook the thought out of his mind. At the end when he thanked everyone someone had obviously shouted something because the man said "Sorry, you're very pretty but i'm very gay." and winked. To be honest he nearly choked, what were the bloody chances? Ross left the booth and instructed one of the other technicians to hold down the fort for ten minutes while he went to get a drink and a smoke.

"Did you hear that guys voice? Jesus christ I nearly melted." Ross said to Trott, leaning on the bar.

"I thought you'd be more into his face mate, you like lanky ones don't you? I've seen you sneak out back with more than a few." Trott smirked, pushing a glass over to Ross' hand.

"How could you not be into him, he's a god." Ross huffed looking oddly grumpy.

The woman behind Trott turned to address Ross. "You've got a face like a sick puppy, you heard him he's gay just go and talk to him." She reached out to hand Ross another glass.

"Fuck off Sarah and what if he doesn't like..." Ross swirled the liquid in the glass. "Gin?"

"I've served him before, this is his favourite kind." She crossed her arms and looked smug.

"Both of you fuckin' ganging up on me i've got no chance." He smiled as he walked away, scanning the room for the browny ginger mop of hair. After a few minutes of looking he couldn't see him anywhere, deciding he'd probably gone home he gave up, pushing open the fire door that led to the smoking area with his elbow. He didn't even know any one else was out there until he heard a voice behind him.