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Sebastian knows he shouldn’t do this. It’s a terrible idea. But to be fair, he's young, and most of his ideas are terrible, and very few things in life bring him more joy than winding up his sister.
At the moment, he and Ominis are holed up in Sebastian’s bedroom. Ominis is perched on the bed with his phone in hand, while Sebastian sits cross-legged on the floor, eagerly rummaging through Anne’s make-up bag, which he stole from her room. She’s going to lose her mind when she finds out, but honestly… Sebastian is a boy, a twin, and young. Annoying his sister is practically a sacred duty. Especially now that she’s started shopping at Sephora, talking about boys, and pulling kissy faces whenever she takes a selfie.
“What even is this?” Sebastian asks, holding up something that looks like a tiny, slightly threatening pair of tongs. Ominis raises an eyebrow. He’s not exactly assisting in Sebastian’s little raid — mostly because he’s also friends with Anne and doesn’t want to make her any angrier than necessary — but he’s also not stopping Sebastian from inspecting her Sephora mascaras and Tesco lipsticks like some bargain-bin news presenter.
“I’ve no idea,” Ominis says dryly. “I can’t see it, and I know absolutely nothing about make-up.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes and resists the urge to lob what he’s pretty sure is an eyelash curler at him. Ominis looks like an angel sitting there on Sebastian’s dark green duvet, and it almost hurts to look straight at him.
Sometimes it feels as though Ominis is too lovely, too impossibly good to be real. Too good for the shabby flat Sebastian shares with Anne and their uncle. Sebastian swallows hard, pushes away the inappropriate thoughts he has about his best friend, and keeps digging.
“An eyeliner!”
He attempts to apply it in the mirror, but ends up looking like a disgruntled panda who’s escaped from a zoo. He describes it to Ominis, who bursts into laughter, the sound of it squeezing Sebastian’s heart painfully tight. Quickly, he ducks his head back into the make-up bag.
“Look! A lipstick!” he says, delighted, holding up what is undeniably a red lipstick.
Sebastian doesn’t know much about make-up, but he’s fairly sure this one’s expensive. He’s about to put it back when the idea strikes him.
“Come here.”
Ominis frowns. “What?”
“Wait, I’ll come to you.”
Sebastian crouches down in front of his best friend, trying to ignore the sharp tug in his chest when he gets dangerously close to Ominis' grey, beautiful eyes. Before he can change his mind, he uncaps the lipstick and gently takes hold of Ominis' chin. Ominis goes completely still, caught in the middle of a breath.
Sebastian swallows, suddenly not quite as confident in his plan.
“Part your lips,” he whispers.
Ominis obeys.
Carefully, Sebastian presses the red bullet to the lips that are already pink and full. For a boy, Ominis’ lips are surprisingly plush and thick, full in a way that makes Sebastian pause for a fraction of a second. He’s never applied lipstick before — not on himself, not on anyone — but the motion feels absurdly natural, as if he’s been doing it all his life. The lipstick glides over the gentle rise of the Cupid’s bow, a curve so delicate it almost feels like a secret. He follows the plush sweep of the lower lip, watching how it gives ever so slightly beneath the pressure, how the colour blooms against the natural pink. He angles the lipstick to reach the corners without smudging, presses a little firmer to even out the colour and make it richer.
Ominis sits frozen. His cheeks burn hot, though Sebastian barely notices; he can’t take his eyes off Ominis' mouth. This close, he can see the tiny birthmark just beneath Ominis' right nostril. The faint, pale down beginning to grow along his jaw — Ominis will need to shave soon, too. The room is silent enough that even their breathing seems too loud.
Sebastian’s fingertips burn where they rest against Ominis' jawline. Like the rest of his family, Ominis' features are sharp and clean, his cheekbones striking. Sebastian wants to run his fingers over every inch of his face, as though he were the blind one needing to map faces, not Ominis. As though Ominis were a sculpture shaped by God himself, and Sebastian is desperate to feel the craftsmanship.
“Are you finished?” Ominis whispers, and Sebastian jolts. The movement makes his hand slip, dragging a streak of lipstick across Ominis' cheek. He clears his throat.
“Yeah, just— hold on …”
He wets his thumb, wipes the mark away, and takes a moment to admire his handiwork.
Ominis' cheeks are still flushed, his lips slightly parted. And his mouth… He looks like sin. Like temptation itself, wrapped up in a light shirt and neatly combed hair. Against his white teeth and fair skin, the red lipstick stands out starkly. He looks like a vampire who’s just fed. And Sebastian wants to be his next victim.
When Sebastian doesn’t speak, Ominis lets out a small, uncertain cough.
“Does it… does it look good?” he asks quietly.
Sebastian doesn’t know what comes over him. Maybe it’s the closeness, the intimacy of holding Ominis' face in his hands. Maybe it’s the way Ominis still hasn’t pulled away, even though Sebastian absolutely should have let go by now. Maybe it’s the shape of those already full, teasing lips forming the words, but now bright red and glossy.
He leans in and presses his mouth to Ominis'.
It happens so quickly he doesn’t even have time to think. Ominis' lips are warm and soft, like cushions, slightly sticky from the lipstick. Sebastian’s eyes fall shut automatically, while Ominis sits frozen, eyes wide open.
The kiss doesn’t last long. Three, maybe four seconds.
Sebastian pulls back, though his hand is still cupping Ominis' jaw. The lipstick has faded a little, smudged at the edges. When Sebastian licks his own lips, he can taste the waxy smear of red.
Ominis' eyes have closed, and he doesn’t open them again. Sebastian can’t tell whether he’s grateful or terrified. He loves looking into that grey whirlpool, but right now he has no idea what he’ll find there.
Ominis flicks out his tongue and licks his lips, instinctively. More lipstick smears away. Sebastian’s mouth waters even more.
“Ominis …” he whispers, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He might have ruined their entire friendship, and if that’s the case, he wants to make this moment last as long as possible before he has to let go.
“Again.”
Ominis' voice is barely a breath, but he tilts his head and pouts those inviting lips, and who is Sebastian to refuse? He presses his mouth to Ominis' — this time more confidently, more deliberately. Ominis lets out a small sound, and Sebastian wants to chase it straight down his throat.
When they finally pull apart — maybe a minute later, maybe ten — the lipstick is smeared around Ominis' mouth. Sebastian suspects he’s got red smudges all over his own, too. But he couldn’t care less: Ominis still looks like sin, like temptation incarnate, but now Sebastian has tasted it.
He swallows. Has no idea what to say now. And then—
“Sebastian Sallow!”
They both jolt. Bloody hell. Anne.
“Shit, she’s going to kill me,” Sebastian hisses, trying to wipe the lipstick off Ominis' mouth with his sleeve as footsteps approach down the hallway. It’s pointless — Ominis' lips are still far too red to look natural.
“No one’s allowed to kill my boyfriend,” Ominis mumbles, smiling crookedly as Sebastian clumsily scrubs at his mouth, and Sebastian goes rigid.
Boyfriend.
The word warms him from the inside out, sends the butterflies that have lived in his stomach since he first saw Ominis flying through every nerve in his body. He can’t tear his eyes away from Ominis — not even when Anne bursts through the door and threatens to tell the entire school about the time he accidentally changed in the girls’ locker room, unless he pays for the lipstick.
Sebastian thinks it’s definitely worth it.