Standing By

Getting Away

(Mitch)

"Scoo-ooo-oot!" I shrieked as my best friend collapsed limply on my my attacker, who rented under Scott's six-foot-three inch, 200 pound plus frame. "Scott!" I literally had no idea what the fuck I was doing, but I ran directly at the both of them, hands flying, ready to connect with anything that was within reach. Scott. Scott. My Scott. I was seeing red through my tears. It was a good thing I'd kicked the gun clear across the parking lot, because at this point, I'd have been inclined to use it myself, against this asshole that had just hurt Scott. If he killed him, I'd have no qualms whatsoever of shooting this man. Who was now screaming as I rained fists down on him as he lay trapped under Scott's body. Good thing he was so tall and muscular. Even unconscious, he could keep freaks like him down.

Scott lifted his head woozily. "Wait—what?"

"You passed out," I explained, pausing in my attack.

"Freeze!" somebody yelled, holding another gun at us. He shifted it down to me and repeated his instructions as it hadn't quite yet sunk in my enraged frantic brain. "Freeze!"

I froze. This, at least, was a cop or security or something official. I could see a badge on his broad chest. Holy shit, he was tall. He was even taller than Scott. Held my hands up, praying he wouldn't shoot me. How many times tonight am I going to be be held at gunpoint? So far, I was going for twice in an hour. And it most definitely was not the way I wanted to spend my wee morning hours.

Still pointing his gun at me, he spoke into his radio. "Suspect is white male in his twenties, dark brown hair, dark eyes, 5'9", 165 pounds. Missing person located behind the D.I.T. office building parking lot; appears injured."

"You idiot!" Scott snapped. "You got that backwards! That..." He threw a finger in my direction, nearly poking me in the eye. "...is the missing person. Mitch. This..." He gestured with his middle finger down at my attacker. "...is the suspect!"

"All right, get off of him, Scott," he ordered. "Mitch, you can step away."

I stepped away slowly and Scott peeled himself off the guy.

The security guy was still talking into his radio. "Correction. Suspect is white male in his twenties, light brown hair, blue eyes, 6'0", 200 pounds, long wavy brown beard. Missing person in D.I.T. office building parking lot, appears uninjured."

"That's Bob," Scott explained to me. "He was guarding me until I heard you call out for help. I ran off as soon as I heard you."

"My call for help?" I asked, puzzled.

"I said, get up!" Bob ordered, pulling the man to his feet. "Who are you? Got any ID on you?"

The guy was stupid enough to try to attack Bob, but Bob quickly overtook him and had him in handcuffs in no time flat. He dug a hand into his pockets and fished out five wallets, four watches, three wedding rings, two necklaces, and one ornate and expensive-looking money clip. "What's your name, boy?"

"I heard you," Scott said. "You were singing. Hallelujah. Kirstie's part."

"Oh—right!" I said. I gestured to the thief. "He wanted me to sing. Said he didn't want to kill a celebrity. Didn't want the notoriety."

Scott snorted at that.

The thief scowled up. "Make those two fags stop holding hands. That's disgusting."

"They can hold hands if they want to. It's a free country," Bob told him.

"Thank you," I whispered to Scott. "For—for coming after me."

"Always," he promised, squeezing my hand. "I love you."

Bob was going through wallets. "Been busy tonight, I see. I know you're not Mitchell Grassi, and you don't look like a Laura Porter, a Danielle Worth, or an Allison Vector. You Calvin Meader?"

"I love you too, Scott," I told him seriously. "More than words can ever say." I pulled him in a tight hug.

"Ugh! Now they're hugging!" Calvin groaned. "So. Fucking. Gross."

"Hey." Scott grinned a devious smile at me. "Want to really piss this guy off?"

"Sure," I said, raising my eyebrows questioningly at him. I no longer felt threatened by Calvin and would love to tell this guy to go fuck himself.

"Kiss me," Scott whispered, batting his beautiful ice blue eyes at me.

I didn't need telling twice. I reached my arms up and around his neck, pulling his head down to mine before pressing my mouth to his. He immediately parted his lips and my eyes closed tightly, concentrating on pouring my love on him, casting away my fears and worries for a minute. His lips felt so good on mine as they brushed mine softly, repeatedly, tenderly. I heard Calvin gag behind us.

"I'mma fucking throw up," he claimed. "Make those two faggots stop kissing. They are beyond gross. I shoulda killed the twink when I had a chance, singer or no singer."

"Are you saying this was a hate crime and attempted murder?" Bob asked loudly as more cops flooded on scene.

"Do I hate fags? Absolutely," Calvin asserted. "Are they fags? Clearly! Then yes, I hate them. All fags need to be taken away from society and killed."

"All righty then!" a stocky woman cop with short hair said. "Great! That makes things so much easier for us!"

"Ah hell," Calvin cursed, eying her and her rainbow bracelet.

"Only fitting," a tall black cop commented. "Baumgartner, want the honors?"

"Sure!" she said brightly, taking over for Bob.

Bob turned to us. "I know it's the last thing you want to do, but we do need a statement from you all so we can put this guy away. Um, you will have to stop kissing though."

I brought my lips together, trapping Scott's bottom lip between them and letting it go with a loud and adamant smack. "OK. I can do that. I got loads on this dude."