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“Eat shit, Nurse,” Dex said, taking another swig of his beer. “I told you that you didn’t stand a chance.”
“No fair, man. I totally would have won if you hadn’t blue-shelled me there at the end,” Nursey grumbled. He set down the Wii remote and got to his feet, trying to figure out how drunk he was. No dizziness or major balance fuckery, it seemed, but his head definitely felt kinda fuzzy. Now was probably a good time to start chugging some water; he still had homework to do later. He went to fish his water bottle out of his backpack.
“I only blue-shelled you because you blue-shelled me the last lap,” Dex said. “I won that fair and square.”
“Psh. If I were sober—”
“Dude, you only had three shots. You’re 6'2". You’re fine.”
“Yeah, but you only had, like, a beer and a half, so between the two of us, I’m definitely the more impaired one here.”
Dex rolled his eyes. “Just admit I won. Stop being such a sore loser.”
“Well maybe you’re a sore winner.”
“I know you’re an English major, but ‘sore winner’ is not a thing.”
Nursey shook his head in mock outrage. “You come into my house—”
“Your house? This is my dorm room, Nurse,” Dex laughed. “You’re in my dorm room, playing on my Wii, drinking my alcohol.”
“...Touché,” Nursey admitted, returning to his spot next to Dex on Dex’s couch. He was probably sitting a little closer to Dex than was strictly necessary. He could try to blame the shots for that, but like Dex said, he was a 200-pound hockey player. Three shots of Fireball spaced out over the last hour really wasn’t much for someone his size. If he hadn’t been a city boy with no driver’s license, he could probably still legally drive.
The real problem, Nursey thought as he glanced at Dex out of the corner of his eye, wasn’t the alcohol—it was his stupid crush on his attractive yet probably tragically straight teammate. But that wasn’t really something he liked to dwell on.
“I’ll tell you what, Nursey,” Dex said. “Let’s race a cup. Whichever one you want.”
“Are you challenging me, Poindexter?” Nursey asked, grinning. “Because if you are, you’re going to lose.”
“That’s a lot of confidence for someone who lost three of our last four races.”
“I’m just a guy who knows his own skills,” Nursey said. “My Mario Kart skills are dope, the previous few games notwithstanding.”
“Wow, ‘notwithstanding.’ Aren’t you fancy?” Dex said, drawing one of his legs up onto the couch. Nursey tried not to get distracted by the sight of Dex’s bare feet peeking out from his jeans. “Fine,” Dex continued, “If you’re this confident, then you have to give me something if I win.”
“Like what?” Nursey asked, raising an eyebrow. Dex gave him a considering look.
“You buy me a six pack of Sam Adams when your new fake comes in the mail.”
“Alright, done,” Nursey said. “What do I get if I win?”
Dex shrugged. “I’ll do your next poetry assignment?”
“As much as I’d love to watch you struggle, bro, I do not want your poetry getting submitted to my professor for a grade.”
“Okay, then I’ll do your Calculus homework.”
“I finished Calculus last semester, man. And it hashtag-sucked.”
“Can you not?” Dex asked, but he was still smiling and looking at Nursey like... something. Nursey couldn’t quite put his finger on what that expression meant. It sort of made Nursey feel drunk—or, drunker than he was. He didn’t want to look away.
“Are you taking suggestions?” Nursey asked.
“I guess so. Shoot.”
“How about if I win,” Nursey said, “you have to kiss me?”
If Nursey could have stretched his leg up far enough to put his foot in his mouth, he would have. Honestly, what the fuck was he thinking? Why would Dex ever agree to—
“Sure, okay. Deal,” Dex said nonchalantly. “Is the Flower Cup cool with you?”
“What?” Nursey asked, a little stupidly.
“I asked if you were cool with the Flower Cup.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Nursey said, even though the Flower Cup was definitely not what he’d been hoping to get clarification for. Shit. Holy shit. What the fuck. What had he just gotten himself into?
The first race was a total disaster for Nursey. He fell off the edge three different times and got far enough behind that not even a bullet could get him out of 12th place. Dex didn’t do all that well either, thankfully; he pulled in 7th after one of the CPU’s tripped him up with a shell. But Nursey was definitely going to have to step up his game if he wanted to win this thing.
He did his best to focus on the next three races, but it was damn near impossible, what with Dex sitting right next to him and the possibility of a kiss hanging over his head. What if this was just a joke? Was Dex really serious? Was he just messing with him? Nursey could feel himself sweating, the controller starting to feel slick in his hands. Somehow, he managed to sneak ahead of Dex after two more races and then, miraculously, kept the lead on the last race. Neither of them even ended up on the podium, but, well. Nursey finished 6th, and Dex finished 8th. Nursey won.
Fuck.
“Shit. You really did beat me,” Dex said, setting his controller on the arm of the couch.
“Uh,” Nursey said. It was all he could manage.
“You know, for someone as ‘chill’ as you are, you look really nervous,” Dex said. “Are you okay? We don’t actually have to—”
“No, no. I mean, I’m fine. ‘Sall good,” Nursey floundered. Had Dex always been sitting this close?
“...Okay,” Dex said. Then, more subdued, “Let’s do this.”
Suddenly Dex’s lips were there, hovering just a breath away from his own. Nursey couldn’t help it—he leaned in, meeting Dex halfway and slotting their mouths together. It was short and chaste. Their lips met for barely a second before they parted again, flushed and unsure of how to move on.
Nothing felt real. Nursey was vaguely aware that Dex was saying something, so he nodded, trying to pretend like he’d been listening. Dex just frowned, his lips pressing together in a thin line. All Nursey could think about was kissing him again. Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs.
“Nursey,” Dex said quietly, and Nursey finally managed to meet his eyes.
For a moment, they were still. Then Dex moved, and Nursey moved, and thank God, they were kissing again. Dex’s lips parted ever so slightly and his hand came up to rest lightly on Nursey’s shoulder, and that was it. Nursey was gone. Dex tasted a little like beer, but his lips were soft and wet and warm, and Nursey didn’t think he could ever get tired of this. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he had his hand cupping the back of Dex’s head and his other hand on the small of Dex’s back and he was pressing forward, and Dex was pressing back. He was pretty sure one of Dex’s hands was carding through his hair. If he died right now, he would die happy.
When they finally broke apart, Nursey could barely catch his breath. Dex’s whole face was flushed, his freckles fading into the redness of his cheeks. On impulse, Nursey tilted his head forward and pressed a small kiss into the apple of his cheeks.
“God, you’re such a fucking sap,” Dex murmured, his voice light and breathy.
“What did you expect?” Nursey replied. “I’m a poet.”
“Hah,” Dex laughed, and then paused. “If it wasn’t already clear,” he said, a little hesitantly, “I like you. You know. Like that.”
“Oh,” said Nursey. “Oh, yeah. Me too.”
“Cool.”
“Chill.”
“Psh.”
“What?”
“You’re just really predictable, that’s all,” Dex said.
“Wow,” Nursey said. “I’m hashtag-wounded.”
Dex shoved him off the couch. Nursey didn’t even mind. It was worth it.