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“How do you kiss?”
Chase poses the question like it means nothing. He poses it lying on his stomach, twirling a pencil around his fingers, looking down at the sketchpad he’s been idly doodling onto. He acts like it means nothing even as the boy lying across from him chokes into his fist.
“Wh-what?”
Chase raises his eyes towards Buddy, notices the flush on his face and his stammer, and immediately looks back down. His gall betrays him; a blush of his own rises in his cheeks, spreading eagerly outwards from the tip of his nose to his ears. He spins the pencil around, and around and around and around, maybe to distract the attention away from himself with the movement. “How do you kiss,” he repeats, and then when Buddy doesn’t add anything: “You know, like… on the mouth.”
His eyes burn holes in the paper as he refuses to meet Buddy’s gaze.
And maybe that’s a good thing, because Buddy has sat up now, trying his very best to retain his casual elegance even as he is victim to a coughing fit. Not that his composure is upset, or anything like that. He was just… not expecting that question.
Not expecting it from Chase.
His face burns with the heat of the sun as he rubs his nose, finally convincing his lungs to slow down. He is very glad that Chase did not have to witness that.
Still… he finds himself grasping at straws, trying to return to the exact same composure he could easily parade before.
When Buddy doesn’t answer, Chase’s face grows more heated still, but in a different way. He looks up, choosing to stare out the window over Buddy’s shoulder instead—at the lavish, fairy-tale castle grounds he has seen a million times before. “I was just wondering if you… if you knew,” Chase continues, pushing the eraser of the pencil into his cheek.
Buddy wishes he could respond. He wishes he could pull out another careless taunt as he always does, dismissive, sarcastic… it would at least afford him some protection. But something about Chase’s question… something about Chase… seems to ease through the cracks in his walls. And despite his careful hold over his mind, it starts to work through the question… the movements, the logistics… of the action of kissing… and, most notably, of kissing Chase.
Chase.
Lying on his stomach in front of him, wasting away their plotless free time, the pencil in his hand held loosely enough that it happens to swing around from the center of his cheek to his lips.
Fluster sears Buddy’s expression.
“Well,” Chase says, his eyes yearning for something else to look at and this time finding the ceiling. “I was just asking ‘cause I d-don’t know how… to kiss.” The pencil slides from his loose grip and goes rolling across the floor. He doesn’t retrieve it. “But I need to.”
One of Buddy’s eyebrows raises. “You need to,” he repeats. His stomach falls, as he wonders if perhaps this conversation is nowhere near what he had interpreted (hoped?) it has been… perhaps there is another lover, or something along those lines…
“Yeah, Buddy. For the future. ‘ C—’cause… I mean… I’ve told you how I want to be a famous singer one day, right?” Chase fiddles innocently with his sleeve. “And I’m sure I’ll need to know how to kiss when I’m famous.”
“Of course,” Buddy breathes. Somewhere along the line, his heartbeat has returned to him.
Chase’s eyes skate to him, and then away again.
“I mean… it only makes sense that I get in some practice before I’m famous… right?” he mumbles. Buddy’s heart speeds up more. He has understood this conversation correctly. “But I don’t really… have anyone to…”
“Practice with,” Buddy said softly.
“Right.”
A split second of silence hovers between them… and then Chase moves the paper aside, swings his legs around so he’s sitting, and then shortens the gap between them.
“Buddy… I have a question,” he says lightly.
Buddy swallows. His mouth is dry. “Okay,” he says softly.
He is close, isn’t he? So close Buddy can make out the peach fuzz on the tip of his nose. “I was wondering…” Chase murmurs. “You know, if you wanted to…”
“For practice,” Buddy croaks.
Chase’s eyes dart around his face. “For practice,” he repeats. Affirmative. And something else… excited, maybe? Can Buddy dare to hope?
Not that he cares.
Their awkward contract made, they sit there a moment more, hesitating, testing the waters of intimacy by simply sharing the room and the space. Chase doesn’t dare meet Buddy’s eyes; he suddenly understands what it means to have butterflies in the stomach. He feels like he’s just gotten up to give a speech in front of every person in the world. He’s terrified that Buddy’s shock is going to turn from awkward allowance to anger… but it doesn’t.
With a sigh, Buddy stretches, his back coming to rest against the princess’s bed—then he frowns, reconsiders, and settles on top of it instead. “Well, come on, then.”
Chase’s eyes widen. “On the bed?”
“I’m not kissing you on the rug,” Buddy sniffs, carefully watching the wall. “I have class, you know.”
Chase’s eyebrows contract.
Then he lets out one startled laugh.
“Right,” he says, still giggling. “Of course. Class.” He gets to his feet and sits next to Buddy on the bed, his legs slung to one side, his body curved to face him. Nervous eyes dart to meet Buddy’s own as they both come to regard the space between them, and what is meant for it in the near future.
“Sit closer,” Buddy says, after a moment of analysis. Chase scooches up next to him.
“Like this?”
Buddy tilts his head, frowning. Then he says, “Mmm… let’s make this easier. Sit fully on the bed.” And he moves backwards to sit in the very center, his legs crossed.
“...Like this?” Chase breathes, yet again, desperate on the constant for Buddy’s approval. Their knees brush each other’s. He tries to push down the nerves—because this is just practice, just practice, all that’s happening is that Buddy is teaching him how to kiss… it doesn’t mean anything… and his heart most certainly should not be doing the sort of things it is doing.
His mind goes fuzzy as one of Buddy’s hands come to rest against his cheek.
“From my… er… expansive knowledge,” Buddy says, his voice wry, “I think the hands ought to be involved.”
“O-oh?”
“Yes, it heightens the intimacy, and the… well.” Another blush rises to Buddy’s cheeks. “Hands ought to be involved.”
Chase nods, the word intimacy a welcome loop in his mind, and hesitantly reaches out with his own hand. It hovers uncertainly in the air for a moment before Buddy takes it in his own and puts it against his shoulder, hesitates, and then moves it to rest against his clavicle instead. The hand on Chase’s cheek moves to hold Chase more tightly, his thumb in front of the ear, the pads of his fingers against Chase’s neck.
“So…?” Chase mumbles.
“So lean forwards and kiss me,” Buddy says.
Chase flushes.
But because this is a lesson, he agrees.
The first time their lips meet, it is clumsy and unpracticed. Chase is more focused on the way their noses bump together than he is on the touch of their lips. At once he pulls away, surprised. Buddy’s hand on his neck seems to forget its purpose for a minute, because it wavers, in half a mind to keep Chase’s face nearby in case he changes his mind… and then it remembers, and the hand slides away, allows Chase to lean backwards.
“Oops,” Chase says, pressing his lips together. His eyes squint, sheepish. “I kinda messed that one up, didn’t… Buddy?”
He realizes that Buddy’s expression has not changed from the moment their lips collided, except that his eyes have opened again, staring wide and blue into nothing at all. Blush covers his cheeks. His lips are slightly parted, before pressing suddenly together. He looks transfixed, in every facet of the word.
“Buddy,” Chase says again.
Buddy blinks and then shakes his head. “Right,” he said lightly. His unused hand twitches on his knee. “Right, that… yes.”
“Good diagnostic?”
Buddy stares at him like he has two heads. “Diagnostic?” he repeats. “W—oh! Oh. Yes. A good… a very good diagnostic.” He shakes his head physically, like there is something wrong with it.
“It could have been longer, though,” Chase says softly. “I barely had time to… th-think about it. I was mostly focused on our noses.”
“Noses…?” Buddy murmurs in a haze. Abruptly, something of it seems to clear, and he straightens. “Oh—right! Yes, noses! Noses, those were… yes.” He shifts, his knees again brushing Chase’s own. Chase realizes that he is leaning instinctively towards Buddy, like a flower to the sun, and straightens his back. Maybe he didn’t move back as far as he thought he did from the kiss; maybe he just has sucky posture. “The noses were a problem. I think people tilt their heads when they kiss.”
Chase blinks. “Wait… you think?”
“Er—yes?”
“You mean you haven’t kissed anyone before?”
Buddy flushes. That… is technically true. Technically, he just had his first kiss, although Chase pulled away too quickly for him to enjoy it. Well—analyze it. Of course. “W-well,” he says. “I haven’t really had the opportunity to—” He realizes how dumbstruck Chase looks. “What? Is it really that surprising?”
“Aww… you don’t have to pout,” Chase says. Buddy flushes and quickly works to remove the scowl from his face. “I don’t know, you just have an air of…”
“Of?” Buddy prompts.
“Practiced magnetism,” Chase states seriously.
Buddy stares.
Then he snorts.
“Maybe we should just kiss again,” he suggests, leaning forwards and again resting his hands against Chase—this time experimenting with putting them on his waist and back. He can feel Chase startle and straighten underneath his fingers.
“Right,” Chase says. “I think that’s… the best bet.”
“Mhm.”
“We need to focus on our education, after all.”
Buddy laughs again. “Of course.”
“Now that I know you’re a newbie at this, this’ll be interesting…” Chase murmurs, his eyes lowering to Buddy’s lips.
“Shut up. Tilt your head this time.” Chase does so, and Buddy scrutinizes him. “More.”
“More?”
“Yes.”
“I’m gonna break my neck, Buddy…” Despite the whining, Chase obeys, until Buddy is satisfied with the angle. “Oh my God, this is so presumptive for someone who hasn’t even kissed anyo—”
He is interrupted by Buddy’s kiss.
And now he feels it, in its entirety, with all distractions out of the way. His hands waver where they have remained on his knees until Buddy impatiently moves them to his chest. A directive from Buddy’s hand allows Chase to lean in closer, and they stay like that for a moment, hearts throwing themselves against chests in an effort to meet each other.
The only pause comes when Buddy pulls away for a moment—“Turn your head less.”
“Less?”
Chase’s scandalized squawk is silenced by more kissing.
After a long moment—longer than either of them probably care to admit—they break apart. Chase can feel Buddy’s chest rising and falling in a pant underneath his hands; he isn’t much better. “So…” he mumbled, fingers playing with the rhinestones on Buddy’s outfit, strangely reluctant to move away.
“So?”
“D’you think people are right when they say it comes naturally?” Chase asks, deciding to avoid the awkwardness by looking at Buddy’s chest instead of his face… which isn’t hard. “Kissing, I mean?”
“Oh, I thought you meant derby racing,” Buddy says seriously. Chase frowns at him, and he recovers the awkward joke with another one. “By kissing, do you mean on the mouth, perchance?”
Chase’s mouth cracks into a smile. “Shut up,” he says, whacking Buddy with the back of his hand. It’s… cute, the way Chase smiles.
It is ever so transfixing. Somehow moreso, than the lingering feeling of his lips on Buddy’s.
…Interesting.
“Maybe,” Buddy says softly, watching Chase. “With the right person.”
“The right person, hm?” Chase’s smile is shy, apprehensive.
“Sure.” And then Buddy is leaning forwards again, and Chase makes a noise of surprise—but eager reception—when Buddy kisses him fully unprompted. They linger on it for a moment before breaking it apart again. “Well?”
Chase blinks, flustered. “W-well?”
“What’s my grade on that one? I hope you’ve been taking notes.”
Chase cracked a grin. “Er… I’d say a solid B.”
Buddy scowled. “A B?”
“B plus.”
Buddy’s expression was still sour as Chase leaned forwards once more.
But by the end of their so-called “kissing practice”, both of their “grades” were definitely up to an A.