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The first time Bojan kissed a boy he was thirteen, drunk on syrupy wine and the adrenaline of being the only thirteen-year-old invited to hang out with ninth-graders.
Katja, a girl with beautiful brown hair and piercing green eyes, was two grades up from Bojan and somehow took a liking to him. Bojan was cute, confident, and had a loud personality – a mix that drew people to him. Still, catching the eye of the older girl was a big deal, and it had been the talk of the school for the past month. Funnily enough, there wasn’t anything substantial to gossip about – Katja occasionally sent him a wink across the cafeteria, asked about his day when passing Bojan and his friends in the hallway and once in a while it turned into a longer conversation where she would roll her eyes at Bojan’s jokes with fond exasperation. Those little tokens of attention were enough to get everybody talking and, consequently, increase Bojan’s popularity.
A thirteen-year-old Bojan was desperate for some action. He had kissed a couple of girls before, a chaste press of the lips, followed by embarrassed chuckles and rosy cheeks. He was craving the experience the older girl could offer – he hoped she would let him touch her breasts, maybe even take her top off completely.
Katja’s parents had left for the weekend for their summer house outside of Ljubljana, and the girl didn’t hesitate to invite over the whole of ninth grade. And Bojan. A stylish and spacious flat was cramped with drunk teenagers, dancing and drinking the cheap liquor they managed to acquire. A group in the living room was playing truth and dare, and Bojan was buzzing with excitement. With everyone’s hormones running wild, they chose dares a lot more often than truths. Nika dared Andrej to make out with Mila, Andrej dared Nastja to take off her shirt, Nastja dared Peter to perform a lap dance for her, Peter dared Katja to French kiss Marta for ten seconds while the whole room counted out loud.
“Okay, my turn,” Katja tapped her chin, looking at the group. “Bojan.”
Bojan perked up. He was starting to feel left out. Even though he was invited to play the game with the group, barely anyone knew him before the party, yet they all were aware that he was younger, throwing depreciating jabs at him every now and then. He laughed them off every time, but his confidence was taking a hit. He couldn’t wait to prove himself.
“Bojan, truth or dare?”
Everybody’s eyes were on him. Bojan wasn’t willing to let his lack of experience show in case the question would be about sex as it had been whenever someone picked truth.
“Dare,” he smiled at Katja, tilting his chin up.
“Wonderful,” her eyes crinkled, a mischievous smirk making its way onto her face. “I dare you to kiss Nik.” She paused dramatically before adding, “With tongue.”
Bojan chuckled at first, thinking it was a joke. He heard a couple of other people laugh, probably sharing the sentiment.
“Hey, you all made Marta and I make out. It’s only fair we see some boy-on-boy action now,” Katja looked pleased, and not at all like she was kidding.
Bojan made an effort to not let his smile falter and turned to Nik. Nik was an attractive bloke; he was tall, blonde and had pouty lips that were too full for the sharp angles of his face. Nik shrugged his shoulder seemingly unbothered.
“Okay, you perv, it’s not like it’s a big deal.”
It was a big deal. A massive even. Bojan let Nik lead the kiss, obediently opening his mouth and letting Nik push his tongue in. He tried his best to mimic what the boy was doing while his hands rested awkwardly at his sides. It wasn’t the proper first kiss Bojan was hoping for – a little too wet and forceful, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
As soon as the boys parted, the room erupted with a loud cheer. Bojan looked around, eyes wide, only to catch several girls staring at them with something that looked like hunger and arousal.
“Wow, that was hot,” Katja’s voice sounded lower than usual as she winked at Bojan.
Several drinks later Bojan was making out with Katja in her bedroom, his hands under her shirt, battling with the uncooperating clasp of the bra.
That was the night it became a thing. Every time Bojan got drunk at a party, he would make out with a man.
It never really meant anything – merely a way to draw attention at a party and get with the girls. Somehow – and Bojan found it confusingly absurd – if he outright hit on a girl, it rarely led to anything but flirting, but as soon as he would kiss a guy in front of others, the girls were all over him. Maybe it was some kind of reverse psychology. He didn’t know and frankly didn’t care enough to explore.
The guys always seemed to be on board with it too, some more than others. Sometimes it was just a long peck on the lips, sometimes one of them would slip some tongue, once or twice it was a heated kiss with tiny moans – but it was always accompanied by delighted squeals from the girls. Bojan drew the line at anything that wasn’t public. There was a guy from the university, Bogdan, who invited Bojan out for a smoke only to press him against the wall on the balcony, pushing his leg between Bojan’s and his tongue into Bojan’s mouth. For a moment, Bojan went along with a kiss, enjoying the feeling of being desired, but as Bogdan rolled his hips, his dick unmistakably hard in the trousers, Bojan gently stopped him and stepped away, all apologetic smile and puppy eyes. They laughed it off and never talked about it again.
While in university, Bojan’s band, Joker Out, started to take off, the gigs they booked were getting bigger and more frequent. His acting career and the bandmate’s connections were working in their favour. Bojan quickly learned that the ‘kissing boys’ thing worked as well on stage as it did during parties. He never went as far as tonguing his bandmates – after all, their families were watching, - but he would dance over to Kris, or Jan, or Martin to give one of them a quick peck on the cheek or brush his lips against the neck. And just like the parties, the crowd screamed and cheered in excitement every time, and just like the parties, it never meant anything.
When Conor from Wild Youth pulled Bojan into a kiss during the Eurovision pre-party, Bojan eagerly went along. He threw his hands around the man’s neck, pressing his lips against Conor’s. Bojan pulled away as soon as he felt a wet brush of the tongue trying to make its way into his mouth. They both laughed as the contestants and guests wolf-whistled and applauded. Everyone was so predictable, it was funny.
Käärijä, or Jere, had quickly become Bojan’s favourite person in the whole of Eurovision. No matter the language barrier, mainly on Jere’s side, they seemed to connect instantly on some deep subconscious level. Jere was loud and he was fun to be around, always going along with whatever antics Bojan came up with. Jere was also incredibly tactile with those he liked. And without a doubt, he very much liked Bojan.
The first time Jere kissed Bojan it was a soft brush of lips on his neck as they were dancing, tired and a little drunk, during the pre-party in Madrid. Out of habit, Bojan glanced around the room with a huge grin, expecting a loud reaction from those around him, but nobody was paying them any attention. Bojan looked back at Jere. The man gave him an easy smile and continued dancing as if nothing had happened. Bojan contemplated pulling Jere into a proper kiss, as the broken pattern made something stir inside him uncomfortably. He needed people to see and react – that was the rule.
The second time Jere kissed Bojan they were in Amsterdam. This time it was a press of lips against Bojan’s as they were standing at the bar, waiting for their drink order. Jere hadn’t changed out of his performance costume yet – he abandoned his bolero somewhere, and it was just leather trousers and a very naked chest. At some point during the conversation Jere ran his hands through the hair, moving the fringe away from his face. The leftover hairspray made the hair stay up, sticking up at awkward angles.
Bojan couldn’t help but coo at Jere, “I can finally see your whole face. It’s Jere’s face, not Käärijä’s, yeah?”
Bojan was making a joke, but Jere didn’t laugh. He tilted his head to the side, his expression curious, eyes scanning Bojan’s face.
“You like Jere’s face?” he asked softly.
“Yeah, Jere is even more handsome than Käärijä,” Bojan playfully palmed Jere’s face, smiling at the man.
The contact of their lips was so fleeting, Bojan almost missed it. He immediately looked up at the rest of the contestants gathered at the bar, but once again there was no cheering. Instead, he caught people watching them with tiny smiles, averting their eyes almost instantly as they met Bojan’s confused stare. Bojan dropped his hands from Jere’s face.
“I think you handsome too, Joker man,” the softness of Jere’s voice squeezed hard at Bojan’s rib cage, making it hard to breathe.
Bojan couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. It was all wrong, and he was desperate for things to feel right again. At the pre-party in London he kissed Conor again. He made a show of wrapping himself around the man, pressing his body close and moving his lips, mouth open to let the man explore it with his tongue. Usually, he wouldn’t feel anything but the happy adrenaline of being the centre of attention, but this kiss was bitter. As they parted, Bojan heard a faint exclamation of surprise from several people in the club, but it was the confused and judging glares that made him nauseous.
Bojan was sitting on the couch, his mind rushing in fruitless attempts to process the situation, when Jere approached him, Diet Coke in hand and a sad look on his face. He didn’t sit down.
“So you think Conor handsome too.”
Bojan thought the sentence was meant to be a question, but it sounded like a statement.
“What?” was the only thing that he managed to come up with.
“It’s okay,” Jere shook his head, his laugh bearing no humour. “I should know Bojan is player. All pretty boys break heart.”
“What?” Bojan parroted. “Jere, I have no idea what you are saying.”
Jere let out a sigh that sounded frustrated. Bojan wondered if the irritation was aimed at him or at not being understood, language once again getting in the way of the man expressing his thoughts.
“You kiss Conor. You think he handsome, yes?”
“I kissed Conor because I thought it was a fun thing to do,” Bojan was surprised at the sharp defensiveness that seeped into his tone.
Jere frowned. “I don’t kiss because it fun thing.”
“Well, you don’t and I do. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
Bojan was getting aggravated. Jere’s limited vocabulary and awkward sentences usually served well for a joking exchange between them, but it was clearly not enough to carry a serious conversation. Bojan watched Jere sigh again, more exasperated than before – the man threw his head back as if he was trying to collect his thoughts or struggling to remember appropriate words to express them.
The third time Jere kissed Bojan, he pulled him up hard by the front of his shirt, almost ripping the buttons of the delicate fabric, and mashed their lips together, pressing them so violently Bojan wasn’t sure if he imagined the copper taste in his mouth.
“I kiss you because I like you,” Jere spat out as he glared at Bojan, still holding onto his shirt.
A light shiver went through Bojan’s body and his stomach clenched under Jere’s intent gaze. His voice was coarse and sounded alien to his own ears when he responded.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry I gave you the wrong idea. It’s just some harmless fun.”
Jere visibly deflated, the corners of his mouth dropped down and his eyebrows knitted together. It broke Bojan’s heart and he wished so hard he could take his words back.
“Okay,” Jere nodded absentmindedly. “Okay. Friends, yes?”
Bojan nodded, trying and failing to ignore a lump forming in his throat.
The fourth time they kissed, it was Bojan who dragged Jere away from the Finnish delegation and into an empty changing room on the first day in Liverpool. His hands were shaking as he gripped Jere’s hair and pull him in for a kiss. Bojan could barely control himself as he licked and licked into Jere’s mouth, pressing the man so close they almost lost balance. A gentle push to the chest made Bojan break away from Jere and he rested his forehead against the man’s shoulder, breathing hard.
“It is for fun too?”
Bojan’s head snapped up to look at Jere. The man was beautiful, and it almost physically hurt how much Bojan missed him over the weeks they were apart. A hopeful expression danced across his face, eyes impossibly blue and lips pressed into a thin line.
“No, not for fun. Never again for fun,” Bojan shook his head vigorously, almost making himself dizzy.
“Good,” Jere beamed before wrapping his arms around Bojan’s neck.
It was the most amazing kiss Bojan had ever had in his life – he was aware of how cliché he was, but he kept imagining the fireworks erupting inside his chest, the warmth overtaking his body like a tidal wave.
After that, Bojan almost lost count of their kisses. Their stay in Liverpool was full of urgent press of lips, heated touches, and several mind-blowing orgasms. The kiss on the night of the grand final felt like sadness and heartbreak. The kiss on the day they were leaving for home tasted of desperation and promises. And there was no one to witness any of them, Bojan carefully protecting what they had from the prying eyes. What they had was not for anyone’s entertainment, it was only theirs to share.
The first time Bojan kissed Jere in front of other people was backstage at Tavastia. He was so overwhelmed by the charged atmosphere of the upcoming show and so incredibly happy to be around Jere again that he couldn’t help himself. As Jere was talking to the band, Bojan stepped into his space and wrapped his arms around the man’s middle, burying his nose in the soft black hair and inhaling the lingering fresh zesty smell of his shampoo. Bojan let Jere turn around, keeping his hands loosely clasped around the man, and as Jere opened his mouth to speak, Bojan bent down to catch his lips in a kiss. If Jere was surprised, he didn’t indicate it in any way, slowly moving his lips against Bojan’s, palms firm against his chest. Afterward, Bojan forgot to look around the room or to listen for the people’s reaction; he rested his forehead against Jere’s and gave him a soft playful peck on the tip of the nose, making the man giggle.
They shared a lot more kisses – both in private and in public. The scariest of them all was when Jere kissed him during Joker Out soundcheck in Ljubljana on the open stage. Bojan was messing around on his guitar and thought it was funny to play a cheesy love song to Jere. The moment Jere’s lips touched Bojan’s, they heard the high-pitched screams coming from the fence feet away from the stage where apparently fans had already started queueing, hours before the gig. Jere smiled apologetically at him, immediately stepping away from Bojan. And while Bojan despised the loud cheer, he held on to Jere, not letting the man get too far.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into his mouth. “Let them scream, it’s not for them and I don’t care. Do you?”
Jere shook his head and kissed Bojan again. They both ignored the uncontrollable roar from the small crowd with the phones out and aimed at the men.
The sweetest and most anticipated kiss came when the real estate agent called to inform them that their offer on the apartment in London was accepted. Bojan and Jere were on their first long holiday, just two of them – there was something incredibly liberating about being able to be a proper couple, enjoying little mundane things without being recognized and continuously stopped for autographs or pictures. They held hands on the way to the restaurant, kissed on the beach, had sex by the pool of the villa they rented – it was marvellous, and Bojan thought he would explode from being so fucking happy.
Bojan never realized that throughout their relationship, he was carefully cataloguing every kiss he shared with Jere. There were thousands of them by the time they celebrated the first anniversary of officially becoming a couple, and each of the kisses they shared was special and was only for them, even if there were people around to witness it.