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“I just want to kiss you, man.”
Meeks leans in closer as he flicks his eyes down to Pitts’ lips before darting them back up.
”You’re drunk,” Pitts says.
”So are you,” Meeks shoots back.
He moves past the taller boy’s face and whispers in his ear.
“Just let me. Please.”
Pitts knows he’s supposed to say no, tell Meeks he can do it in the morning, when he’s sober, when he means it. But Pitts also knows that he won’t do it tomorrow, and he really wants his roommate to kiss him, anyway.
So when Meeks asks again, he says yes. The redhead pulls him in softly, with both arms around his neck. Pitts rests his fingers against his shoulders and leans into his mouth.
He kisses Meeks delicately, almost like the boy was made of glass. Meeks kisses him deliberately, almost like he means it. Pitts moves the hand on best friend’s shoulder down to his hip as the other boy slides his own hands up to the dark curls swirling around the nape of Pitts’ neck.
The shorter boy’s lips are impossibly soft. They practically melt into his. It all feels natural, more natural than any of the girls Pitts has kissed before. He doesn’t have to force himself to like it. Meeks doesn’t seem to, either, because he grazes his friend’s lip with his tongue before slipping it in his mouth.
“Steven.” Pitts almost never called his roommate by his first name. He reserved it for arguments, when yelling “Meeks!” seemed too unserious for the situation.
But they weren’t in a fight, not right now, not with the way Meeks grins before saying, “Gerard.”
The brunette bites Meeks’ lip gently as he swirls his tongue, coaxing a quiet groan out of his friend. In turn, the shorter boy leans down, and his mouth falls away from the other’s lips. Pitts obliges as Meeks tilts his chin up slightly to pepper kisses along his jawline. He moves even further, down to his throat, and sucks a bruise onto it.
After leaving enough hickeys for Charlie to make fun of in the showers, Meeks travels back up to Pitts’ mouth. They kiss again, slightly desperate, albeit for different purposes.
“See, it’s not so bad, isn’t it?” The redhead smiles as he pulls away, his hands still on Pitts.
He wants to tell him, “No, it isn’t bad at all. In fact, I enjoyed it immensely. I just wish you weren’t, like, blackout drunk or whatever. But it was good.”
He doesn’t say that, obviously. Instead, he sighs and agrees.