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If it weren’t three o’clock in the morning, I never would have agreed to play truth or dare with Snow. (It’s only fun when you’re in secondary school, or when you’re properly smashed.) But when you and your best friend are both in that state where everything is funny and nothing feels entirely real anymore, you agree to pretty much anything. Especially if your best friend has the prettiest and most convincing pout.
The game isn’t too crazy. We’re both too tired and boring to come up with any good dares, so we’ve been passing truths back and forth for almost an hour now. It’s getting hard to think of new things to ask Snow; I’ve known him for almost six years. We spend most of our time together, and he’s at my house almost every weekend now. His dad works a lot, and even when he’s not working, he hardly pays attention to his only son. Snow tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, even though he knows that I can see how much it does. So every time he shows up on my porch with a pillow under his arm, a bag of clothes, and an apologetic smile to my family, I don’t complain. I soak up as much of him as I can. He needs someone to appreciate him.
“Truth or dare,” he asks me now.
I turn to look at him, and he has his eyes closed, an easy smile tugging at his lips. His bronze curls are falling onto my plush living room rug and the warm light from the fire makes all of his features look softer. I turn away before too long.
“Truth,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time that night.
He takes in a deep breath, like he’s trying to prepare me for something big and scary to come from his mouth. Part of me wishes he would ask me something big and scary. Something like, “Are you as attracted to me as I am to you?” Or you know. Anything along those lines would be just as wonderful.
“What do you think your parents really think of you? Like, honestly. None of that sarcastic and dramatic shit,” he says with a laugh, and I can’t help but laugh too. Once the silence settles over us again, I take a quick moment to think about it.
“Honestly,” I say slowly, drawing the word out. Snow giggles again, even though it’s not that funny. Snow might be even further gone than me.
“I think my dad is still a little disappointed with me. What with being hopelessly gay and all.” Snow gives a sad little mm sound. After I came out two years ago, we had long talks about this. Or rather, I sobbed and Snow listened while rubbing my back. “But I think he still… believes in me? Believes that I can make something of myself. And Daphne, I think she really loves me like a son. And I think my dad loves me too, but it would be nice to hear him say it every once in a while.”
There’s a shuffling sound beside me, and I turn my head to watch Snow shift onto his side. He props himself up on his elbow and his cheek smooshes against his fist. I can’t help but smile fondly at him.
“Malcolm’s lucky to have you,” he says, his voice a little thick from exhaustion. “You’re wicked smart, talented, ruthless. In the best way possible, you know?”
I’m hoping that the darkness of the room hides my blush. Even after all these years, I’m still turned to mush every time Snow is soft with me. If you can even call this kind of talk “soft”. He’s only complimenting me, it’s what mates do.
“I don’t think my dad believes in me. I mean, he use to. We were all smart in primary school, weren’t we?” He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
My heart aches for him. I wish he felt like he was enough. He’s enough for me. I don’t say that though. Instead, I say “You’re still smart, Snow.” There’s a long pause, and the fire pops.
“Yeah, but not smart enough. Not smart enough for him.” He says it more to himself than to me, so I decide to drop it for now.
“Truth or dare, Snow?” I ask softly.
“Dare.”
My stomach does a funny flip. “Mixing it up, are we?” He nods, and I stumble around in my brain to think of something. “Alright. Read me an item off of your search history.” If this was his dare for me I think I’d faint, but Snow is much more innocent. (At least I think he is.) (Oh, lord, why am I thinking about Snow searching for not-so-innocent things now?)
Snow barks a laugh, and his eyes widen a bit when he remembers that my family are all asleep. He fishes his phone from his pocket, and the brightness of the screen makes him squint. “Uh.. the last thing I Googled was ‘ancestor of the horse’.”
I snort, and I’m much too tired to be self conscious about it. “Boring.”
“Is not!” Snow retorts. “They use to be super tiny; like twenty centimeters! How can that be boring?” He looks a little more awake now as he defends his curiosity voyage.
I do my best to turn my smile into a smirk. It kind of works. It’s a little too soft, like all of my smiles directed at him. “Well, I stand corrected.” The way Snow beams at me makes me swoon. On the inside, that is.
He sits up so that he’s cross legged and he tilts his head to the side. His curls tumble a little bit with the motion and it’s ridiculous how my heart skips a few beats. “Truth or dare?”
I’ll feel extremely lame if I choose truth after he chose dare. He’ll probably tease me for it too, and we can’t have that. So instead, I force myself to mutter a disinterested, “Dare, I guess.” I sit up too, feeling too vulnerable to continue laying on the floor.
Then he smirks, and something glints in his eyes. Why am I immediately regretting my decision? Why do I feel like my insides have just been put through a blender? Why are my palms sweaty? (Gross.)
Snow taps on his chin like he’s thinking, but with how much of a show he’s making of it, I feel like he already knows what he’s going to ask me to do. Probably something embarrassing that he can hold over my head for a while. Something he can tease me about when we’re having one of our petty squabbles.
“Give me a hickey.”
Oh. “No.” And then my brain catches up with my mouth. “Wait, why?” Did Simon Snow just ask me to kiss his neck? In a dare? (Am I bothered that it’s a dare? Honestly, no. I should have expected something like this from him. The tosser. He never thinks much about these kinds of things.)
I’m trying to keep my cool (on the outside at least) so that Snow doesn’t think that it’s a big deal to me.
He shrugs. “Because I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like. ‘Cause we’re two bored teenagers and it’s nearly four in the morning.” He blinks at me and plasters on his most innocent looking face.
I think I might faint.
“Uh… I’m… if you… Fuck.” Snow is usually the one to stumble over his words, but he’s really caught me off guard with this one. My brain has lost all power and I can’t seem to get anything besides nonsense to come from my mouth. Snow laughs at me, good naturedly like he is about everything else, and scoots towards me a little. I close my eyes and don’t move back.
“Do you not want to? You don’t have to, Baz. It’s just a dumb dare, I won’t take it personally or anything.”
Calm yourself, Basilton. Don’t let him know that you’re panicking. I open my eyes. “Backing out already, Snow?”
He thrusts his chin out and up and I’m surprised that he doesn’t cross his arms to complete the look. “I am not! Just giving you the chance to, that’s all.”
I really want to. It scares me how much I want to. What would he taste like? What sounds would he make? Would he let me kiss him properly on the mouth after? But then what if he didn’t? And what would that mean? Well, I guess it would mean that Snow is just a horny seventeen year old boy who’s comfortable enough in his sexuality to let his gay friend kiss his neck and then not think anything of it. I couldn’t blame him for that.
But what if…
“Alright, Snow, come here.”
He blinks at me, and he seems frozen for a moment, until one corner of his mouth quirks up. It’s almost a smirk, but he’s not putting enough effort into it to be a proper one. He moves closer to me until our knees are touching. Christ, I’m already blushing like mad.
If I had it my way, I’d have him crowded against a wall. Press my body as close to his as I could get it, push one of my legs between his until my thigh was flush against him. I’d kiss him hard and deep, and suck on his neck until his knees buckled. Until he had to wrap his arms around me for support, his breathing ragged and hot against my ear.
Ahem. Alright, Basilton, pull yourself together. Let’s not get all hot and bothered and scare him off. Speaking of.
“Snow, I have to tell you. This is not me taking advantage of my straight friend because of how lonely and gay I am. You know, that whole stereotype of gay men solely going after straight men is completely ridiculous in itself. I mean, why would we waste time with someone who can’t reciprocate-“
“Baz!” Simon places his hand on my thigh and that effectively shuts me up. “I asked you, remember?” His eyes are shining like they do when he’s trying to hold back laughter. It makes me a little angry, but more fond than anything.
“Besides, who said anything about me being straight?” he says casually, like he didn’t just take the oxygen from my lungs.
“Sorry?” I mumble stupidly. A classic Simon move. He’s rubbing off on me, I suppose.
He waves his hand in the space between us. “Not important right now. We can talk about it later.”
Only Simon Snow would think a discussion of sexuality is “not important right now” when a boy is about to kiss your neck.
Christ.
I’ve never done this before. I mean, the only people I’m out to right now are Snow and my immediate family. I haven’t dated anyone because the only person I’ve ever wanted to do anything with is sitting in front of me right now. He’s the only one I’ve thought about in a romantic way since I met him six years ago. I guess the only way to do it is to… do it.
“Ok,” I answer softly, and before I can overthink it, I reach my left hand out and gently hold the back of his neck, my fingers brushing the shorter hair. I resist the urge to let my hand travel up to his curls and tug.
Then I’m leaning forward, but I don’t go for his mouth like I want to. I don’t want him to think that this means more to me than it does to him. Instead, my lips brush against the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers.
“Alright, Snow?” I ask, barely pulling back. I don’t want to look at his face.
I hear, see, and feel him swallow. It’s a whole scene. “Uh, yeah. It’s just… no one’s ever, uh, kissed me anywhere but my mouth before.”
Oh, right. Snow has dated someone, unlike me. Agatha Wellbelove. Beautiful, talented, great fashion sense. A bit stuck up, but then so am I. The two of us might have gotten along swimmingly if she hadn’t had Snow wrapped around her manicured finger for three years. They dated from fourth to sixth year. What terrible timing I had figuring out my feelings.
It doesn’t make sense to me that Wellbelove never kissed him anywhere else. Every time I catch a glimpse of exposed golden and freckled skin I have the desire to lick it. Though, others aren’t as disturbed as me. Honestly, who can’t control themselves at the sight of a little skin?
“Right,” I say, and then I lean back in. My lips are on his warm skin again, and this time I make the kiss a bit more open. I think Snow is bunching his fists in the fabric of my shirt. I won’t comment on it now, though. Not when I can feel his pulse quicken under my tongue.
I suck on the skin there, roll it between my teeth, and then I hear Simon let out a soft but sharp “Oh”.
His hand is on my thigh again, and I think my brain might be properly melting because all I can think is his hand is on my thigh his hand is on my thigh his hand is on my thigh. When he squeezes a little, I feel a bit faint.
I’m really trying to keep my composure here, but the sounds Snow is making are driving me insane. Little puffs of air close to my ear make my stomach flip, and when he lets out a soft moan I feel it go directly to my crotch.
Yeah, I think that’s enough of that.
I pull back. “Alright, Snow. You’ve had that teenage experience. How do you feel?”
His mouth is hanging open a bit, and his eyes are wide. I’m trying my best not to make any eye contact, though. He still hasn’t said anything, so I try to lighten the mood with more banter. “Well, I did a great job for it being my first go, in my humble opinion. That’s quite an attractive mark.” And it is. It’s a good size, dark, and still a bit shiny from my spit. Straight up pornographic. (Do people give hickeys in porn? I’m not sure. I haven’t watched enough to know. I get too flustered to finish a clip.) Snow doesn’t have an answer to that comment either, and I’m starting to feel self conscious. Maybe it was too much for him.
Taking a shaky breath, I put my hand over his (the one that’s still on my thigh) and say, “Simon.” That’s all I can get out, because in the next moment his other hand is on the back of my neck and his mouth is on mine.
After I get over the initial shock of Fucking hell, Simon Snow is kissing me, I tangle my fingers in his curls and tilt my head a bit to properly kiss him back. I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I’m anxious I’ll do something wrong, but Snow takes the lead. And Christ, does he know how to kiss. He does have experience, after all.
I quickly push that thought from my mind. I do not want to be thinking about Wellbelove right now, especially as Snow runs his tongue along my bottom lip and tugs it between his teeth. His hand is squeezing and rubbing my thigh, and I just cannot help the embarrassing whimper that escapes my lips. He pulls away from my mouth and kisses my jawline on the way to my neck. I’m breathing so hard and my heart is beating so wildly I feel like I’ve just won a football game.
When his mouth meets my neck, hot and wet, it feels like too much. Is this what it felt like for him? I feel like I could die. I could catch fire right now. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, trying to steady myself. I let Simon go for a bit longer, but when his teeth scrape against my collar bone I have to push him away a bit. It’s a lot harder to do than I would’ve liked. “Simon,” I say, and I’m once again embarrassed at how harsh my breathing is.
He immediately pulls away so that he’s not touching me anymore. He looks a bit panicked, and kind of like he’ll bolt any second. “Sorry! I’m sorry I just… I got a bit carried away, I don’t know I-“
“Snow, it’s fine.”
“No, I shouldn’t have- I should’ve at least, you know, asked or… I’m so sorry, Baz, I-“
“Simon,” I cut him off and take his hands in mine before he gets the chance to rake them through his hair. After that point he closes in on himself. “It’s lovely and all that you’re worried about consent, but did I seem like I wasn’t enjoying myself at any point during that?”
We’re both blushing like mad and I’m trying to be the calm one in this situation. My heart is anything but. It doesn’t help at all when Snow briefly glances down and says “Oh.” There’s an awkward pause that makes me want to fall through the floor, and then he says, “So I’m not straight.”
I laugh nervously and run my thumb along his knuckles. “I kind of picked up on that, Snow.”
He looks down at our hands and sighs, a small smile starting to replace his panicked look. “It felt impossibly good when you kissed my neck. I can’t believe there was a time in my life when I thought I was straight.” He laughs at that, and it makes me smile and blush harder.
The silence settles again and I use the moment to brace myself for what I’m about to ask. “Why did you kiss me?”
He looks up at me, and suddenly I feel fifteen years old again, when I first realized how I felt about him. That was an odd year. I didn’t like it when he touched me (or rather, I liked it too much), and I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I thought that he’d figure it out if he looked hard and long enough. I thought he’d figure it out, figure me out, and he’d be disgusted. He’d push me away, never speak to me or look at me ever again, and then that would be it. We wouldn’t be friends anymore. I’d lose the most important person in my life.
“I guess because I… I wanted to. Yeah, I wanted to,” he says. Simon Snow, my best friend. The boy that I’m hopelessly in love with. Or rather, maybe not so hopelessly. And then he keeps going. “Baz I… I have to tell you something. It’s rather embarrassing, so please don’t laugh,” he says, grimacing slightly.
I nod. “I won’t laugh.”
He looks away from me, down at our hands again, and laughs self consciously. “It’s taken me awhile to figure things out. My sexuality, I mean. I still don’t really understand it, but I know that I’m not straight. Because, well, uh.” He takes a deep breath, and says so quickly I think I misheard him, “Because of how often I think about you.”
I don’t laugh, but a wicked smirk pulls my lips and I can’t help but say, “I made you question your sexual orientation? I’m flattered, Snow.” Beyond flattered. The world may be tilting on its axis.
He bumps one of my knees with his and says, “Alright, don’t be a git about it.” He’s smiling too, a bit bashfully. “Is that… is that ok? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Right now I am the farthest from uncomfortable. Simon Snow just told me that he thinks about me a lot, in ways that made him rethink his sexuality. Oh, how far my mind is running with that new information. I realize that I haven’t answered his question, so I turn one of our hands so that I have access to his palm. Without breaking eye contact, I press a kiss to the heel of his hand, right above his wrist. He looks like he’s stopped breathing.
Encouraged, I press another kiss to the middle of his palm, and the tip of his index finger. I really, really want to put that finger in my mouth. So I do. I swirl my tongue around it, and am rewarded with a low groan from Snow. It makes me feel hot everywhere.
“Fucking christ.” Simon Snow swearing is easily one of my favorite sounds. I pull his finger from my mouth and it makes a positively filthy wet pop sound. Once he has his hand back in his own possession, Snow uses it to yank me to my feet. I’m stumbling behind him as I ask, “Where are we going?”
“Your room,” he says simply.
“Oh. Yes. Very good, then. Carry on, Simon.” I willingly let him pull me up the stairs, thanking whatever higher being is up there for the glorious outcome of our silly party game.