Title: She Kisses Harder (1/5)
Title: She Kisses Harder
Author: inmyth
Pairing: Original male/male slash
Genre: Romance, Drama
Rating: R
Summary: Ryan and Craig have been best friends since the day Craig whacked Ryan's face with a bucket when they were both four-years-old. Now as the years have piled on, so have Ryan's feelings for Craig. Will Craig accept Ryan's affections or will their friendship turn stale like two weeks' old bread? M/M Slash.
Beta: Thanks to gregoria44 for being kind enough to look this over for me.
AN: This story is finished and is split into five chapters. A chapter will be posted each week, or whenever my lovely beta gets back to me with the chapters. This story is dedicated to my boinkie-kins: Ryan who is an awesome awesome awesome words-fail-to-praise-enough type of writer. He just rocks, do check out his brilliant contribution to the world of fiction.
It’s Friday Night. House party thrown at Brenda Hamil’s in celebration of her parents getting a divorce and her mother lying in a drunken stupor at some bar or another. A night of no adult supervision, no pesky brats to tattle seeing as Brenda’s dad got stuck with them, and an unending flow of booze. Brilliant, right?
Well. It would be if I were not me and if I were one of those rich kids who can’t take a step outside their house without at least five different credit cards tucked cosily in their wallets that were most likely made out of some poor animal’s skin. Bitter, much? The fact is, I’m so totally at the other end of the spectrum from those people that the colours in the middle make me dizzy. To say that I’m a total outcast at this party would be a severe understatement. So, why the fuck am I here?
I’ve asked myself the exact same question for the past half hour that I’ve been sitting here miserably on one end of the couch, nursing a piss warm bottle of beer, and trying to ignore the face-sucking going on barely two inches away from me. This house is big enough; surely these people can find another vacant couch to continue with their breeding and thus over-populating this tiny little planet to sickening proportions.
I’m glaring mutinously down at my half empty beer bottle, sloshing the liquid around idly when I am jolted completely off the couch, spilling the rest of the beer down the front of my t-shirt. To say that I am seething is, again, another grave understatement. Am I the only one noticing the amount of understatements going on here?
I turn around to retort something very acidic, yes lots of toxic poison… errr acid, when he leans forward and reached round my shoulders to thump me on my back. I blow my too long hair out of my eyes and look up at my tormentor. Craig Lamar grins back at me from where he’s sprawled himself shamelessly on the couch. Well, at least the couple with no respect for privacy have finally buggered off.
I narrow my eyes at the boy as his grin threatens to split his face in two. His hazel brown eyes twinkle in mirth and his stupid black curls fly every which way as if they were laughing at me too, which I wouldn’t put past them. Craig pets the seat beside him in invitation, and grumblingly, I concede and get up to go and sit next to him.
I wipe at the beer stain in futility. What on earth possessed me to wear a fucking white t-shirt to this stupid party? Oh yes, right, because Emily said it would look hot on me. Pfft. That has to be one of the most absurd things I’ve ever heard, but out of fear of one of her rants, I grudgingly agreed. And this is how I get repaid. With a fucking stain the size of China and shit! It’s on my jeans now. Great. Thanks, Emily, really. Thanks a fucking lot.
See, I’m the sort of person who gives off these god-awful vibes. The sort that say, ‘Hi, I’m a 40 year old Egyptian perv suffering from a mid-life crisis. ASL?’ Shuddup, it happens. So, yeah, no-one in their right mind, or any mind at all, would ever find me hot. It’s such a ridiculous idea that I had laughed like a loon in her face seconds after she had suggested it.
But like the fucking wimp I am, I gave in to her manipulations and after much whining (on her part) and bitching (on mine), I finally agreed to come to this stupid party.
Craig thumps me on the back again. “Hey, man, having fun?”
I give him my penguin death glare. You know the one where those black beady eyes of theirs stare you down and you know that they’re plotting away for world domination? Yeah, that one. Pity it doesn’t work as much as I’d hoped. It only causes Craig to go into a fit of laughter. Bastard.
Craig Lamar. My amigo. My best friend. Mon copain. My partner in crime (I watch, he commits, he gets caught, I run away). We’ve been a constant presence in each other’s orbits for about - wait, one, two, three - basically; we’ve been friends since we were toddlers. He snatched away my bucket when I was playing in the sand box, so I started wailing as you do when you have the mental capacity of a four year old, and he thought fit to whack me across the face with said bucket and the rest, as they say, is history. I even have a scar from that bucket whack on the corner of my left eyebrow to prove it.
That’s all fine and dandy, really, except for one minor detail. Craig Lamar? My amigo? Is also the love of my life or, the love of however many years I’ve lived so far… so life, right? I don’t think I’ve ever not loved him. Well maybe the time when he whacked me across my face and my thought pattern was something along the lines of, “Die, evil-bucket-stealing-kid, die!” Yeah, that got me mad like some mental case. Or, I think it did, because well, it should. The guy stole my bucket and whacked me with it, how can I not hold a grudge?
I don’t think of myself as gay. No, Craig is gay in the sense that homework is gay. Me? I’m as cool as a cucumber, except for those times when Craig puts his arms around my shoulders in a display of macho camaraderie. Yeah, that doesn’t leave me very cool for long. Did I happen to mention I’m a horny seventeen-year-old fuck? No? Well there you have it.
Craig is the definition of sex. Yes, look up sex in the dictionary, you’ll find his caramel brown face next to it. Uh-huh, that hot. His parents are both from half-White, half African-American descent, and Craig is one fine produce in my opinion and that of the entire student body who are inclined that way. But they don’t matter.
Standing at almost six feet and two inches with a grin that could melt hearts, and eyes that are as warm as the Caribbean sun, it’s no surprise that the guy makes my knees quiver.
“Ryan? Dude?” He waves his hand in front of me as if I’ve completely spazzed out, so I blink to prove him wrong. “You kind of spazzed out on me, man!”
I slap his hand away and slouch down into the couch, our thighs brushing together in the most fleeting of brushes. He puts one arm around my shoulder and the other around my waist to pull me closer so that our sides are completely pressed together. He’s wearing a faded grey Billabong t-shirt over jeans that are ripped… well, they’re ripped all over, let’s just say. If people didn’t know any better, they would think we were camper than a Christmas tree, but it’s good that they do. It’s also good that they know Craig has been in a year relationship with the bane of my existence: Sophie Richardson.
It’s a known fact that we can’t stand each other’s guts, and the only reason we even attempt to be civil to each other is for Craig’s sake, and only if he’s actually around. Craig, being the naïve, unaware boy that he is (bless his heart) completely fails to see why his girlfriend is such a witch.
Classic scenario, really: Jock, Cheerleader. It’s like some unwritten rule that they have to go out. To each their own, I suppose. But it boils my blood to dangerous degrees when I see the witch place her hands with carefully manicured nails (sharpened to gouge innocent people’s eyes out) on Craig’s arms. Glaring at anyone who dares look his way in anything but a platonic fashion.
What sucks even more is how much they compliment each other. Sophie has dark brown hair that falls stylishly around her shoulders and dark brown eyes that are further accented by the heavy amount of mascara or whatever she smears around them. She also has a rack to die for, apparently, not that I have an opinion about her breast size whatsoever, but that’s the talk of the locker room, anyway.
“So why the long face, Ry?” he whispers hotly in my ears. I don’t think he was trying to go for hot, but it was hot, ok? Deal with it.
I shudder against my better judgement and Craig grins at my reaction. Bastard. I use my hand that isn’t trapped beneath half his body to push at his chest, albeit half-heartedly. Only a crazy person would push Craig away. Crazy, I tell you!
“Urgh, gerroff me, you freak,” I groan.
“Why? I thought you were all for man-on-man action!” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Oh, and he also knows I’m a bum boy. Just because I don’t think of myself as gay doesn’t mean Craig won’t take every opportunity to remind me of it. I hate stereotypes. I hate him, too.
“Fuck off. I’m not in the mood,” I say.
“Don’t be such a wet rag, dude. Listen, lemme get you another beer and why don’t you join us at the pool house? There’s a court there too, we can shoot a few hoops and you know, just have fun, man!” I hate it when he uses that whiny tone, as if I’ve refused to let him go trick-or-treating on Halloween or something.
“I don’t wanna.” Ever the petulant one, yes.
He rolls his eyes. “Your excuses aren’t gonna work tonight. You’re out to party, and that’s what you’re going to do.”
Without giving me so much as a chance to protest, he glides up and pulls me along with him. Remember that part about me being a total outcast in this social circle? Well that’s because Craig’s a basketball player and most people present in this party either have an athletic inclination, or are loose enough to do anyone, if asked. I don’t fall into either of these categories. In fact, I don’t even fall under the same subject, let alone category.
I’m the sort of person who could slink away into non-existence without anyone batting an eyelid. Just one of those people who aren’t quite cut out for social politics, which is why it baffles so many when they see Craig with me, his arm thrown across my shoulder casually as if I’m just another one of his basketball team mates.
So it isn’t really a surprise when I feel my intestines clench into a giant, elaborate knot, as Craig guides me towards the pool house. He waves over to a couple of the guys dribbling a ball around the court, which is basking under floodlights.
We, or rather Craig, is greeted by cheers and shouts as he enters the pool house. He lets go of my shoulder and immediately walks towards Sophie, bending down to place a kiss on her more than eager lips. Slut. As Craig seats himself down next to her, he looks back at me in annoyance.
“Come on, Ryan!” He pats the vacant spot beside him like he did back in the house.
I shuffle my feet uncertainly, the venomous look Sophie is shooting me hardly making things any more comfortable, but after a moment of indecision I shrug and walk over to where Craig is sitting in what now looks like a circle of about twenty people. If Sophie doesn’t like it, she can go fuck herself. This is my best friend. Mi amigo, mon copain and all that.
Brenda, our hostess, raises an empty bottle of wine and taps an equally empty champagne glass against it. She flicks her straight, blonde hair over her shoulder, her blue eyes glaring everyone into silence as she starts to stand up from where she was sitting.
“All right!” she says loudly. “This is how it’s going to work. We’re going to play Spin the Bottle, but with a twist!” I have to say; the manic glint in her dilated pupils doesn’t help me feel any easier about this whole thing. “Every time the bottle lands on someone, the participants have to drink a shot of vodka. The drunker the merrier!”
Cheers go all around the circle. I glance at Craig and see him grinning ear to ear. When is that boy ever not grinning ear to ear? Urgh. Understatement time. I really, really, really don’t like the route this evening is taking. I look around the circle to see if I can see any familiar faces. There are a few people from my classes, oh and Emily, thank God! But she’s the one who got me into this mess to begin with and as our eyes connect, I know she won’t be any help after the enthusiastic thumbs up she gives me. I groan inwardly.
“Nu-uh.” Brenda hiccups and giggles as she sways on her feet. Maybe she should sit this one out. “All of you guys move around. Where’s the fun otherwise?”
A few people groan as they’re made to stand up. I turn around to tell Craig that I’m not feeling very well after all, but it’s not his profile that I find sitting next to me but some random girl’s whom I can safely say I’ve never seen or met before. I look around the circle in panic. He couldn’t have left me, could he? No, he wouldn’t do that. Just then I see him sitting opposite me in the circle, a bit to the right, and Sophie a few people along from him. I don’t think she looks very happy about the arrangement.
It’s not long before the game is under full swing. As people throw back shot after shot, the kisses become far raunchier than I would like. It’s not as if I’m: ‘Hetro - eww,’ but I also have no desire to watch people snog each other’s faces off.
So far, I’ve only had to kiss two girls. The first being someone who sits two seats in front of me in Calculus, nice enough girl, pretty if I were to go for her sort. The kiss was brief, and for that I’m more than grateful. Swapping spit with a girl - not an experience I want to repeat after my freshman year prom. The next was distinctly more mortifying, simply due to the fact that Miranda (she shares Art class with me) was completely rat-arsed. She slobbered more than she actually kissed me. I had to literally unglue her from my face. Eww.
I resume my place in the circle, which has become tighter over the hour as about half the people have completely plonkered out. There are about nine or so of us left now. I have half a mind to pretend to be knocked out too, but then again, I don’t really trust these people enough to close my eyes. Conundrum. Hmm I like the word conundrum. This situation is such a conundrum. Drum drum drum -
“RYAN!”
“Huh?” I look up startled.
Craig is regarding me with an odd light in his eyes. I look around to see that everyone is looking at me expectantly. What the… and then I look down to see the bottle pointing towards me. I look up again and find Craig moving closer to me.
“This is sick, man!” some jock or another mutters in distaste.
“Shuddup, Carlo!” That was Brenda, I think. “I want to see this. Hurry up, Lamar!”
What? No. No, no, no, no. Craig wouldn’t, he - no, he can’t. He wouldn’t. Not in front of all these people. Not that he would in private either, though - no, mind in the gutter. NO!
Craig laughs nervously. It’s strange; I’ve never seen him nervous. His forehead crinkles in the most adorable manner and he’s chewing at the corner of his lower lip. Brenda offers him a shot glass and he downs it in one gulp. A shot glass is handed to me too, but I’m too horrified at what’s going to happen to care where it came from. I knock the glass back, wincing as the vodka burns down my throat. I look at Craig again, perplexed.
“Craig, I -”
“Ryan.”
I find my mouth suddenly going dry. I don’t dare look at anyone else. See the thing is, no-one aside from Craig and Emily know that I - well, I like to bum boys. I can’t even imagine what this will do to my non-existent social status. I’ll be like a - a minus outcast! Yes, that’s right! A minus outcast. Oh God.
Craig kneels right in front of me, his eyes looking at me solemnly.
“Get on with it, boys!” shouts Brenda from across the circle.
Craig nods as if confirming something and then in one swift motion, his lips are upon mine for a millisecond before he pulls away. I didn’t realise I had closed my eyes until I open them. I see Craig smiling at me nervously, leaning on one of his hands, while the other one scratches at the back of his head.
“Puh-lease. You call that a kiss, Lamar?!” Brenda objects, and I hope to God she’s not going to march over to me to show Craig how it’s really done. “I hope that’s not how you kiss Sophie, or it says a lot about her level of standards,” she sneers.
I look at Sophie, who’s sitting there with her eyes narrowed at Brenda, her lips set in a thin line, fists clenched in her lap.
“I don’t think -” she starts.
“What?! You chicken?” Brenda scoffs at Craig and then she turns towards Sophie and raises a challenging eyebrow. “Have no faith in your boyfriend?”
All this while, I’m looking at the other occupants of the room, other awake occupants that is, and most of them have the same devilish gleam in their eyes as Brenda does. My heart sinks to somewhere around my bowels. This cannot possibly be happening to me. I knew coming here was a bad idea. Oh why did I not listen to the cynic in me and stay away from Emily’s bright ideas and this stupid party?!
“Craig?” Sophie calls to him. He doesn’t turn around to look at her.
“All right,” he whispers instead, and I’m sure everyone hears it. No, it’s not all right, dammit. I want to scream at him but he’s leaning close to me again. “All right,” he repeats.
His hand comes up to hold my chin in place and I feel the soft brush of his lips once again on my own. I wait patiently for him to withdraw once again, my lips closed against his stubbornly. It’s when I feel his other hand coming to rest against my neck that I open my eyes, and stupidly, my mouth. His tongue brushes against my lower lip, before entering my mouth. He tastes like cinnamons, hot and spicy and ohhh - was that a groan? Did I fucking groan?
My hands find themselves buried in his soft hair, even though I don’t remember moving them, and I pull him closer. The kiss deepens as my tongue swipes against his, tantalisingly, and he bites down on my lower lip, sucking on it and I can’t believe this is happening -
“Stop it!”
Craig jumps away from me, and I’m left looking like a stupid twat. My mouth open and eyes glazed over from the kiss. I look towards Craig but he’s already scooted back to his seat, a lazy grin on his face, as he winks at Brenda.
“That good enough for you?”
Brenda giggles. “Hot.” She turns to look at Sophie who’s still standing, glaring down at me as if I’ve murdered her first-born, or stolen her boyfriend, and I have done neither, thank you very much. “It’s all a bit of fun, Sophe.”
She nods, clearly shaken, and uncurls her fists before sitting down in her place with a huff. The game resumes around me. I glance towards Craig again, but he’s busy watching Sophie kiss some girl. I touch my lips with trembling fingers. As corny and tacky and cheesy and shoot me, as this sounds, my lips still tingle from the warmth of Craig’s mouth.
I - I don’t know what to think. It’s a stupid game of course but a part of me can’t help wondering if it was all for show or maybe - there I go again with my delusions. Craig has a girlfriend for fuck’s sake. He’s… he’s happy with her, and I should be happy for him. It was just a stupid kiss for a stupid game in a stupid party with stupid people. That’s it.
I glance at him a third time and find him staring back. He smiles at me and winks before turning his attention away. Yeah, just a stupid kiss.
I hope everyone will be too plastered to remember this come Monday morning. Or I think I’ve just committed social suicide.
Part 2
Concrit welcome.
x-posted
Author: inmyth
Pairing: Original male/male slash
Genre: Romance, Drama
Rating: R
Summary: Ryan and Craig have been best friends since the day Craig whacked Ryan's face with a bucket when they were both four-years-old. Now as the years have piled on, so have Ryan's feelings for Craig. Will Craig accept Ryan's affections or will their friendship turn stale like two weeks' old bread? M/M Slash.
Beta: Thanks to gregoria44 for being kind enough to look this over for me.
AN: This story is finished and is split into five chapters. A chapter will be posted each week, or whenever my lovely beta gets back to me with the chapters. This story is dedicated to my boinkie-kins: Ryan who is an awesome awesome awesome words-fail-to-praise-enough type of writer. He just rocks, do check out his brilliant contribution to the world of fiction.
It’s Friday Night. House party thrown at Brenda Hamil’s in celebration of her parents getting a divorce and her mother lying in a drunken stupor at some bar or another. A night of no adult supervision, no pesky brats to tattle seeing as Brenda’s dad got stuck with them, and an unending flow of booze. Brilliant, right?
Well. It would be if I were not me and if I were one of those rich kids who can’t take a step outside their house without at least five different credit cards tucked cosily in their wallets that were most likely made out of some poor animal’s skin. Bitter, much? The fact is, I’m so totally at the other end of the spectrum from those people that the colours in the middle make me dizzy. To say that I’m a total outcast at this party would be a severe understatement. So, why the fuck am I here?
I’ve asked myself the exact same question for the past half hour that I’ve been sitting here miserably on one end of the couch, nursing a piss warm bottle of beer, and trying to ignore the face-sucking going on barely two inches away from me. This house is big enough; surely these people can find another vacant couch to continue with their breeding and thus over-populating this tiny little planet to sickening proportions.
I’m glaring mutinously down at my half empty beer bottle, sloshing the liquid around idly when I am jolted completely off the couch, spilling the rest of the beer down the front of my t-shirt. To say that I am seething is, again, another grave understatement. Am I the only one noticing the amount of understatements going on here?
I turn around to retort something very acidic, yes lots of toxic poison… errr acid, when he leans forward and reached round my shoulders to thump me on my back. I blow my too long hair out of my eyes and look up at my tormentor. Craig Lamar grins back at me from where he’s sprawled himself shamelessly on the couch. Well, at least the couple with no respect for privacy have finally buggered off.
I narrow my eyes at the boy as his grin threatens to split his face in two. His hazel brown eyes twinkle in mirth and his stupid black curls fly every which way as if they were laughing at me too, which I wouldn’t put past them. Craig pets the seat beside him in invitation, and grumblingly, I concede and get up to go and sit next to him.
I wipe at the beer stain in futility. What on earth possessed me to wear a fucking white t-shirt to this stupid party? Oh yes, right, because Emily said it would look hot on me. Pfft. That has to be one of the most absurd things I’ve ever heard, but out of fear of one of her rants, I grudgingly agreed. And this is how I get repaid. With a fucking stain the size of China and shit! It’s on my jeans now. Great. Thanks, Emily, really. Thanks a fucking lot.
See, I’m the sort of person who gives off these god-awful vibes. The sort that say, ‘Hi, I’m a 40 year old Egyptian perv suffering from a mid-life crisis. ASL?’ Shuddup, it happens. So, yeah, no-one in their right mind, or any mind at all, would ever find me hot. It’s such a ridiculous idea that I had laughed like a loon in her face seconds after she had suggested it.
But like the fucking wimp I am, I gave in to her manipulations and after much whining (on her part) and bitching (on mine), I finally agreed to come to this stupid party.
Craig thumps me on the back again. “Hey, man, having fun?”
I give him my penguin death glare. You know the one where those black beady eyes of theirs stare you down and you know that they’re plotting away for world domination? Yeah, that one. Pity it doesn’t work as much as I’d hoped. It only causes Craig to go into a fit of laughter. Bastard.
Craig Lamar. My amigo. My best friend. Mon copain. My partner in crime (I watch, he commits, he gets caught, I run away). We’ve been a constant presence in each other’s orbits for about - wait, one, two, three - basically; we’ve been friends since we were toddlers. He snatched away my bucket when I was playing in the sand box, so I started wailing as you do when you have the mental capacity of a four year old, and he thought fit to whack me across the face with said bucket and the rest, as they say, is history. I even have a scar from that bucket whack on the corner of my left eyebrow to prove it.
That’s all fine and dandy, really, except for one minor detail. Craig Lamar? My amigo? Is also the love of my life or, the love of however many years I’ve lived so far… so life, right? I don’t think I’ve ever not loved him. Well maybe the time when he whacked me across my face and my thought pattern was something along the lines of, “Die, evil-bucket-stealing-kid, die!” Yeah, that got me mad like some mental case. Or, I think it did, because well, it should. The guy stole my bucket and whacked me with it, how can I not hold a grudge?
I don’t think of myself as gay. No, Craig is gay in the sense that homework is gay. Me? I’m as cool as a cucumber, except for those times when Craig puts his arms around my shoulders in a display of macho camaraderie. Yeah, that doesn’t leave me very cool for long. Did I happen to mention I’m a horny seventeen-year-old fuck? No? Well there you have it.
Craig is the definition of sex. Yes, look up sex in the dictionary, you’ll find his caramel brown face next to it. Uh-huh, that hot. His parents are both from half-White, half African-American descent, and Craig is one fine produce in my opinion and that of the entire student body who are inclined that way. But they don’t matter.
Standing at almost six feet and two inches with a grin that could melt hearts, and eyes that are as warm as the Caribbean sun, it’s no surprise that the guy makes my knees quiver.
“Ryan? Dude?” He waves his hand in front of me as if I’ve completely spazzed out, so I blink to prove him wrong. “You kind of spazzed out on me, man!”
I slap his hand away and slouch down into the couch, our thighs brushing together in the most fleeting of brushes. He puts one arm around my shoulder and the other around my waist to pull me closer so that our sides are completely pressed together. He’s wearing a faded grey Billabong t-shirt over jeans that are ripped… well, they’re ripped all over, let’s just say. If people didn’t know any better, they would think we were camper than a Christmas tree, but it’s good that they do. It’s also good that they know Craig has been in a year relationship with the bane of my existence: Sophie Richardson.
It’s a known fact that we can’t stand each other’s guts, and the only reason we even attempt to be civil to each other is for Craig’s sake, and only if he’s actually around. Craig, being the naïve, unaware boy that he is (bless his heart) completely fails to see why his girlfriend is such a witch.
Classic scenario, really: Jock, Cheerleader. It’s like some unwritten rule that they have to go out. To each their own, I suppose. But it boils my blood to dangerous degrees when I see the witch place her hands with carefully manicured nails (sharpened to gouge innocent people’s eyes out) on Craig’s arms. Glaring at anyone who dares look his way in anything but a platonic fashion.
What sucks even more is how much they compliment each other. Sophie has dark brown hair that falls stylishly around her shoulders and dark brown eyes that are further accented by the heavy amount of mascara or whatever she smears around them. She also has a rack to die for, apparently, not that I have an opinion about her breast size whatsoever, but that’s the talk of the locker room, anyway.
“So why the long face, Ry?” he whispers hotly in my ears. I don’t think he was trying to go for hot, but it was hot, ok? Deal with it.
I shudder against my better judgement and Craig grins at my reaction. Bastard. I use my hand that isn’t trapped beneath half his body to push at his chest, albeit half-heartedly. Only a crazy person would push Craig away. Crazy, I tell you!
“Urgh, gerroff me, you freak,” I groan.
“Why? I thought you were all for man-on-man action!” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Oh, and he also knows I’m a bum boy. Just because I don’t think of myself as gay doesn’t mean Craig won’t take every opportunity to remind me of it. I hate stereotypes. I hate him, too.
“Fuck off. I’m not in the mood,” I say.
“Don’t be such a wet rag, dude. Listen, lemme get you another beer and why don’t you join us at the pool house? There’s a court there too, we can shoot a few hoops and you know, just have fun, man!” I hate it when he uses that whiny tone, as if I’ve refused to let him go trick-or-treating on Halloween or something.
“I don’t wanna.” Ever the petulant one, yes.
He rolls his eyes. “Your excuses aren’t gonna work tonight. You’re out to party, and that’s what you’re going to do.”
Without giving me so much as a chance to protest, he glides up and pulls me along with him. Remember that part about me being a total outcast in this social circle? Well that’s because Craig’s a basketball player and most people present in this party either have an athletic inclination, or are loose enough to do anyone, if asked. I don’t fall into either of these categories. In fact, I don’t even fall under the same subject, let alone category.
I’m the sort of person who could slink away into non-existence without anyone batting an eyelid. Just one of those people who aren’t quite cut out for social politics, which is why it baffles so many when they see Craig with me, his arm thrown across my shoulder casually as if I’m just another one of his basketball team mates.
So it isn’t really a surprise when I feel my intestines clench into a giant, elaborate knot, as Craig guides me towards the pool house. He waves over to a couple of the guys dribbling a ball around the court, which is basking under floodlights.
We, or rather Craig, is greeted by cheers and shouts as he enters the pool house. He lets go of my shoulder and immediately walks towards Sophie, bending down to place a kiss on her more than eager lips. Slut. As Craig seats himself down next to her, he looks back at me in annoyance.
“Come on, Ryan!” He pats the vacant spot beside him like he did back in the house.
I shuffle my feet uncertainly, the venomous look Sophie is shooting me hardly making things any more comfortable, but after a moment of indecision I shrug and walk over to where Craig is sitting in what now looks like a circle of about twenty people. If Sophie doesn’t like it, she can go fuck herself. This is my best friend. Mi amigo, mon copain and all that.
Brenda, our hostess, raises an empty bottle of wine and taps an equally empty champagne glass against it. She flicks her straight, blonde hair over her shoulder, her blue eyes glaring everyone into silence as she starts to stand up from where she was sitting.
“All right!” she says loudly. “This is how it’s going to work. We’re going to play Spin the Bottle, but with a twist!” I have to say; the manic glint in her dilated pupils doesn’t help me feel any easier about this whole thing. “Every time the bottle lands on someone, the participants have to drink a shot of vodka. The drunker the merrier!”
Cheers go all around the circle. I glance at Craig and see him grinning ear to ear. When is that boy ever not grinning ear to ear? Urgh. Understatement time. I really, really, really don’t like the route this evening is taking. I look around the circle to see if I can see any familiar faces. There are a few people from my classes, oh and Emily, thank God! But she’s the one who got me into this mess to begin with and as our eyes connect, I know she won’t be any help after the enthusiastic thumbs up she gives me. I groan inwardly.
“Nu-uh.” Brenda hiccups and giggles as she sways on her feet. Maybe she should sit this one out. “All of you guys move around. Where’s the fun otherwise?”
A few people groan as they’re made to stand up. I turn around to tell Craig that I’m not feeling very well after all, but it’s not his profile that I find sitting next to me but some random girl’s whom I can safely say I’ve never seen or met before. I look around the circle in panic. He couldn’t have left me, could he? No, he wouldn’t do that. Just then I see him sitting opposite me in the circle, a bit to the right, and Sophie a few people along from him. I don’t think she looks very happy about the arrangement.
It’s not long before the game is under full swing. As people throw back shot after shot, the kisses become far raunchier than I would like. It’s not as if I’m: ‘Hetro - eww,’ but I also have no desire to watch people snog each other’s faces off.
So far, I’ve only had to kiss two girls. The first being someone who sits two seats in front of me in Calculus, nice enough girl, pretty if I were to go for her sort. The kiss was brief, and for that I’m more than grateful. Swapping spit with a girl - not an experience I want to repeat after my freshman year prom. The next was distinctly more mortifying, simply due to the fact that Miranda (she shares Art class with me) was completely rat-arsed. She slobbered more than she actually kissed me. I had to literally unglue her from my face. Eww.
I resume my place in the circle, which has become tighter over the hour as about half the people have completely plonkered out. There are about nine or so of us left now. I have half a mind to pretend to be knocked out too, but then again, I don’t really trust these people enough to close my eyes. Conundrum. Hmm I like the word conundrum. This situation is such a conundrum. Drum drum drum -
“RYAN!”
“Huh?” I look up startled.
Craig is regarding me with an odd light in his eyes. I look around to see that everyone is looking at me expectantly. What the… and then I look down to see the bottle pointing towards me. I look up again and find Craig moving closer to me.
“This is sick, man!” some jock or another mutters in distaste.
“Shuddup, Carlo!” That was Brenda, I think. “I want to see this. Hurry up, Lamar!”
What? No. No, no, no, no. Craig wouldn’t, he - no, he can’t. He wouldn’t. Not in front of all these people. Not that he would in private either, though - no, mind in the gutter. NO!
Craig laughs nervously. It’s strange; I’ve never seen him nervous. His forehead crinkles in the most adorable manner and he’s chewing at the corner of his lower lip. Brenda offers him a shot glass and he downs it in one gulp. A shot glass is handed to me too, but I’m too horrified at what’s going to happen to care where it came from. I knock the glass back, wincing as the vodka burns down my throat. I look at Craig again, perplexed.
“Craig, I -”
“Ryan.”
I find my mouth suddenly going dry. I don’t dare look at anyone else. See the thing is, no-one aside from Craig and Emily know that I - well, I like to bum boys. I can’t even imagine what this will do to my non-existent social status. I’ll be like a - a minus outcast! Yes, that’s right! A minus outcast. Oh God.
Craig kneels right in front of me, his eyes looking at me solemnly.
“Get on with it, boys!” shouts Brenda from across the circle.
Craig nods as if confirming something and then in one swift motion, his lips are upon mine for a millisecond before he pulls away. I didn’t realise I had closed my eyes until I open them. I see Craig smiling at me nervously, leaning on one of his hands, while the other one scratches at the back of his head.
“Puh-lease. You call that a kiss, Lamar?!” Brenda objects, and I hope to God she’s not going to march over to me to show Craig how it’s really done. “I hope that’s not how you kiss Sophie, or it says a lot about her level of standards,” she sneers.
I look at Sophie, who’s sitting there with her eyes narrowed at Brenda, her lips set in a thin line, fists clenched in her lap.
“I don’t think -” she starts.
“What?! You chicken?” Brenda scoffs at Craig and then she turns towards Sophie and raises a challenging eyebrow. “Have no faith in your boyfriend?”
All this while, I’m looking at the other occupants of the room, other awake occupants that is, and most of them have the same devilish gleam in their eyes as Brenda does. My heart sinks to somewhere around my bowels. This cannot possibly be happening to me. I knew coming here was a bad idea. Oh why did I not listen to the cynic in me and stay away from Emily’s bright ideas and this stupid party?!
“Craig?” Sophie calls to him. He doesn’t turn around to look at her.
“All right,” he whispers instead, and I’m sure everyone hears it. No, it’s not all right, dammit. I want to scream at him but he’s leaning close to me again. “All right,” he repeats.
His hand comes up to hold my chin in place and I feel the soft brush of his lips once again on my own. I wait patiently for him to withdraw once again, my lips closed against his stubbornly. It’s when I feel his other hand coming to rest against my neck that I open my eyes, and stupidly, my mouth. His tongue brushes against my lower lip, before entering my mouth. He tastes like cinnamons, hot and spicy and ohhh - was that a groan? Did I fucking groan?
My hands find themselves buried in his soft hair, even though I don’t remember moving them, and I pull him closer. The kiss deepens as my tongue swipes against his, tantalisingly, and he bites down on my lower lip, sucking on it and I can’t believe this is happening -
“Stop it!”
Craig jumps away from me, and I’m left looking like a stupid twat. My mouth open and eyes glazed over from the kiss. I look towards Craig but he’s already scooted back to his seat, a lazy grin on his face, as he winks at Brenda.
“That good enough for you?”
Brenda giggles. “Hot.” She turns to look at Sophie who’s still standing, glaring down at me as if I’ve murdered her first-born, or stolen her boyfriend, and I have done neither, thank you very much. “It’s all a bit of fun, Sophe.”
She nods, clearly shaken, and uncurls her fists before sitting down in her place with a huff. The game resumes around me. I glance towards Craig again, but he’s busy watching Sophie kiss some girl. I touch my lips with trembling fingers. As corny and tacky and cheesy and shoot me, as this sounds, my lips still tingle from the warmth of Craig’s mouth.
I - I don’t know what to think. It’s a stupid game of course but a part of me can’t help wondering if it was all for show or maybe - there I go again with my delusions. Craig has a girlfriend for fuck’s sake. He’s… he’s happy with her, and I should be happy for him. It was just a stupid kiss for a stupid game in a stupid party with stupid people. That’s it.
I glance at him a third time and find him staring back. He smiles at me and winks before turning his attention away. Yeah, just a stupid kiss.
I hope everyone will be too plastered to remember this come Monday morning. Or I think I’ve just committed social suicide.
Part 2
Concrit welcome.
x-posted