"He sounds like a major douchebag," Clark announced.
The guy was half splayed on his desk chair, listlessly swinging side to side as he entertained himself by loosely throwing a baseball between hands. I laid on the floor, his carpet plush and doing wonders for the kink in my back. I had been on my feet for only a few hours, shelving books, but the strain had started to set in. Which meant I wasn't the best company for Clark, who I was scrambling to have time with as it was.
"Look on the bright side. No play means I get my Number One back," he chuckled, dropping the ball to his chest before rolling my way. His socked foot kicked me in the chest before a frown crossed his features. "Okay, get that tortured puppy look off your face. I didn't ask you to come over just so you could cry into my carpet over Deli Meats."
"I'm not crying, asshole," I huffed, sitting up far enough to glare at Clark. Though it didn't do much good since I was practically head-on with his crotch, housed comfortably in a pair of soft-looking sweatpants, the image of which made me slam my head back to the ground immediately. "Plus you called me over here to help with your history report as if I know anything about 1940's Germany."
"Didn't you do a report on the Cold War last year for extra credit?" Clark asked, furrowing his brow at the incredulous look I gave him.
"What?"
"You do know that the Cold War was between us and Russia, right? Jesus, Clark, do you read, like, anything?" I scoffed, earning a harder kick to my side.
"Okay, Cold War is a touchy subject for you," he muttered before getting out the chair, dropping into a squat by my bag. "I'm gonna steal some loose-leaf, hopefully, get at least an outline done for Mr. Franks to read."
When Clark pulled out a folded set of pages that were definitely not my loose-leaf pad I scrambled to my feet.
"I'll get it for you," I said, going to pull the pages from his hand. Clark sent me a look, jerking them out of reach before clambering onto his bed.
"What're you hiding Bow-Bow, love letters to Jessica or something?" he smirked, unfolding the page before rolling his eyes. "The fucking script. If you have such a hard-on for drama why not just write your own?"
"Fuck you," I said, dropping onto the foot of the bed as Clark shuffled to the headboard, the ceiling brushing against his shaved head. "Just give them back. I forgot to toss them out since there's no point in rehearsing it. Spencer's not coming back, he made it very clear."
Clark mumbled an affirmative, flipping the pages haphazardly before his eyebrows all but flew off his face.
"Beau, you didn't tell there was tongue action in this little play of yours," he smirked before blanching. "And not just with SW. You are aware this says you'd have to kiss another dude, right?"
"Yeah, why do you think Spencer was in such a hurry to quit." I scoffed, dropping back against Clark's sheets to stare at his ceiling. A few posters were taped to it alongside a couple blown up shots of the swim and baseball team. A creased photo of Tommo, Clark, and I as kids sat on his nightstand, our grinning faces staring back at me when I tipped my eyes its way.
"So shouldn't you be relieved? You don't have to kiss him, plus you don't have to waste time on that shitty play," he repeated.
"No play means no hours cut down. And believe it or not, wasting time sat on my ass watching other people act is better than being screamed at by children in the library for not doing voices when reading Harry Potter aloud."
"You gotta do voices man," Clark said, affronted. "Dumbledore requires a voice. Snape requires a voice, if you even dare."
"Jesus Christ."
"Okay, fine, whatever. Do your gay play. But even if you get Spencer back, you've never made out with anyone before," he teased.
"I have," I said, mildly offended enough to sit up and shot him an unimpressed look. "Kara Fykes."
"That was grade school man. Doesn't even count. I bet there wasn't even tongue," he laughed.
"There was tongue,"
"I meant from you."
"... Oh. Okay then no, no tongue."
"See, you're so sheltered Bow-Bow," he smirked, going so far as to shuffle down the bed and ruffle my hair.
"Stop calling me that," I grunted, punching his arm when he finally dropped his hand.
"Make me," he teased, inclining his head. For what, I wasn't a hundred percent clear on.
"Either way," I said, clearing my throat before laying back down. Clark remained, hovering by my side. "It doesn't matter if I'm sheltered if I can convince Spencer he won't burn for kissing me, I'm sure I can fake my way through the kiss – no tongue."
"The tongue's the entire point, Beau," Clark scoffed, thumping hard enough onto the mattress as he laid down that I near listed off the side. "Losing yourself in a make-out session is why people do it. And the hopes of sex, but you don't want to sleep with Spencer now do you?"
"God, no!" I answered, immediately, turning to glare at Clark. "And I don't want to lose myself in it. I just want Bella to get her 'revenge', whatever that's about, so I can get my service hours done and move on with my life. Having to kiss Spencer is just a means to an end."
"Still, you're going in to a make-out session with no experience. What if you clam up when faced with an audience?" Clark frowned.
"You seem very fixated on this," I said and Clark just shrugged, picking idly at his sheet.
"Not every day your best friend decides to go gay for pay."
"You do realize how offensive the majority of the things you say are, Jeremy," I scolded, surprising the both of us long enough that Clark's face softened and he muttered an apology.
"Alright, plant one on me." He sighed, spreading his arms as much as he could, looking very much the sacrificial lamb.
"What?"
"Kiss me."
And just like that my brain stopped working.
Was Jeremy honestly asking me to kiss him?
What universe had I traveled into? Had the power-out in the hall the other day actually thrown me into a dimension where Spencer was kind of an asshole and Clark was actually asking rather than just taking at opportune moments.
"You want me to kiss you?"
"I never said that, I'm just saying I can't let my best friend – my numero uno – get stage fright in front of everyone and blow his chance at a standing ovation. I'm offering myself as your director."
"I have a director, Bella. Should I be calling her over to practice kissing with?" I smirked, blinking harshly when Clark surged forward and a haze of chocolate brown met my eyes.
"Kissing a dude isn't something she can teach you. It takes dominance –"
"Jesus Clark, you're bordering on offensive again. Not all male interactions have to be aggressive," I said.
"That coming from experience?" he asked, seemingly genuinely curious. I flushed and shook my head.
"No, fuck off. Jesus," I muttered, trying to avoid his eyes and the raw openness that lay there. It didn't sit right with me, something about Clark's demeanor was throwing me off. The whole encounter had goosebumps riding down my neck, telling me to make up some excuse to leave. That I wasn't too far in to back out, to just take my community service like I was supposed to and never ever bring up this day with Clark again so long as I lived.
I didn't though, instead, I grabbed the back of Clark's head and pulled him closer. Hesitating at the last moment I swallowed hard, staring down at his mouth.
"The script said I'm supposed to grab the back of his head in annoyance before kissing him," I said, voice far too low to be heard by anyone but the pair of us. Against my mouth Clark huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling as he smirked.
"You've got the annoyance part down-pat," he teased. "Right down to the dip in your brow."
"My brows aren't dipping," I huffed back, purposefully straightening my eyebrows which only made Clark laugh harder.
"The day your eyebrows stop frowning when I'm around you is the day I know you've been replaced by a clone. You are never not annoyed with me," he smiled.
"What else did the script say?" Clark asked after a beat and I scrambled to remember, face suddenly a hundred degrees warmer.
"Spencer had a couple of lines here when we just stared at each other, daring the other to strike first."
"Who does?"
"Who does what?"
"Strike first, moron." Clark snorted.
"Oh," I said, shuffling a little when my arm grew numb. Clark's eye flitted to my shoulder and before I knew it the guy had me bowled over onto my back. Face passive Clark slipped on top of me, slotting a leg between mine before draping his arms across my chest after reposition my hand to his neck.
"You were saying," Clark prompted me to go on, as if he weren't literally cozied up against me in a way I never let myself imagine before.
"I can't remember what we were talking about," I blurted out, immediately hating myself.
"You're hopeless, Bow-Bow," he snorted, thumping my chest. "The script. What do you say after your moment of gay chicken?"
"Oh, right. It's Spencer's line, something along the lines of 'May the best man win'. It's kind of long,"
"So you guys have to hold the position for a while?"
"I guess."
"That's a lot of contact man, April's gonna love that," he laughed and I closed my eyes at that, shaking my head.
"Please don't bring up my sister right now," I blurted out and Clark laughed harder, fingers digging into my shirt for a moment before loosening.
"Sorry, sorry. Okay, lay it on me. The Director is in, and he calls for action. Literally."
It was on those incredibly awkward words that I forced myself to relax, shut my eyes, and pulled Clark's mouth to mine.
The entire experience was unlike Dovers. Where that had been a sneak attack, lead by Clark and ended by him just as fast, a Trojan horse that my stupidity enabled, I got to control this kiss. I held Clarks head in place as I pressed harder against his lips. Though of course, I should've realized the moment I got comfortable would be when Clark would throw a curveball. With no warning, his mouth went lax before he drew back just far enough to run his tongue along the inseam of my mouth, that collapsed open immediately and–
Oh my god.
I was totally gay.
Jesus fucking christ.
The second Clark's tongue met mine I was gone. I couldn't hide it in my subconscious any longer. My entire body lit up in recognition that yes, I was completely gay and in love with the sensation of his body and mouth against my own. The slick glide of him, the subtle shifts of his chest as he moved with my pace and rhythm.
Of course, I quickly reigned that, literally, prideful discovery right in when I realized my hand had begun to travel along Clark's back, rucking up his shirt far enough to drag along bare skin. Pulling it free I pressed both hands to his chest, lifting him up.
"Was that okay?" I asked, repeating myself when my voice did not come out appropriately. The sound was guttural, causing both of our eyes to widen.
"A couple notes," Clark said, and I preened at the dragging breaths he took. His mouth was a little wet, not yet red but darker than usual, and twin spots appeared on his cheeks from the lack of air. "One, not sure what your hand was trying to pull on since I have no hair. Maybe stick to the torso. Second, hand up the shirt was a nice touch but I'm not sure it was stage appropriate."
"Sorry–"
"Don't apologize, we'll just work around that," he shrugged, lifting off me and dropping back onto the mattress with his head on the pillows. "You'll be on top then,"
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, sitting up, confused.
"We'll practice that again, just this time you take my position. It'll give you more control," he said before smirking, adding, "and stop those wandering hands."
"Smart," I said, more to give myself a reason not to make it weird. Just because I had a sexuality Come to Jesus moment didn't mean I was going to make this a bigger deal than it needed to be.
It was totally normal for friends to do this.
To practice making out.
I could normalize this, I told myself. It was when I had pushed Clark's bent legs apart and he immediately pulled me flush against him, all but devouring my mouth, I began to second guess myself though. Ever since that first kiss all that time ago something had awoken in me, ready to admit that maybe I did feel for Clark more than it was normal to for one's best friend. Maybe I had hoped all his throwaway comments, suggestive behaviors, would lead somewhere. That he might finish what he started that night, so long ago, regardless of consequences. And that afternoon, it seemed like he finally had.
Wrapping a hand around the back of Clark's neck I kissed him harder, biting his bottom lip and claiming his mouth as mine because even if we never spoke of this again, part of me wanted to make sure it would be seared into our memories. Only when I shifted my body a little higher though did Clark let a punched out gasp against my mouth, finger digging into the dip of my back, and when I finally came to at the sensation of his skin grabbing mine did I realize that Clark was hard. Without thinking I groaned back, dropping to the crook of his neck to mouth at the hot skin there. His pulse echoed against my lips with every movement and before I knew it Clark's hands had slipped under the waist of my jeans, dragging over my ass slow enough to be deliberate.
Which, of course, was when the thump of hands landed on his bedroom door.
"Jeremy! Beau! Dinner's on, get your asses ready!" Mitchell's voice boomed through the wood. "And wash your hands, Mom wants you to set the table!"
Snapping my head up my heart went into overdrive, thumping painfully against my chest as Mitchell's voice wrung out before the heavy thud of his feet backing down the hallway echoed. Releasing a breath I moved to get up but Clark grunted, yanking me back down.
"We've got a couple of minutes," he smirked, surprising me when he surged forward for another kiss. Slower than before, the pace leisured and each pass of his tongue against mine teasing as his hands kneaded my lower back.
"Your mom loves punctuality though," I laughed, pulling back enough to catch Clark pout at the action before lightly clipping the curve of my jaw with his teeth.
"Whatever, kiss ass," he muttered before smirking as his eyes raked over me in a way that made me shift away from the attention only to be reeled back in. "An ass, by the way, the Director highly approves of."
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, flushing when he made to slid his hands down my pants again. "We need to set the table!"
Releasing his hold Clark watched as I scrambled to my feet, embarrassingly shaky enough from the entire ordeal that I had to grab the edge of his desk to right myself.
"I'm gonna wash my hands since I'm sure Mitchell's on a superiority high enough that he'll sniff them to check I used the lavender soap," Clark said, swinging off the bed casually. Beyond pausing to click his back out and adjusting his sweatpants the guy seemed unfazed, blowing past me on his way to his door. At the sound of his lock clicking open I let out a breath, glad know at least that Mitchell couldn't have walked in on us. Collecting myself, I took a moment before following him, neck heating up when I took in my own reflection in the mirror slung above Clark's head. My cheeks were ruddy and my lips looked like they'd swallowed down a popsicle too many.
Okay, wrong description, thank you perverted brain.
"Yo, Narcissus. Quit staring at yourself and finish cleaning up, I'm not setting the table myself. You're no longer a guest in this house, you're family. And family has to fucking work." Clark said, punching my shoulder after drying his hands. I briskly washed my own, following him out and into the dining room. Laying down the plates Clark had grabbed for me I frowned when I counted six.
"Who's the extra plate for?" I asked, scolding Clark at the mismatching chopsticks he assigned to each plate. As I corrected them Clark reclined against the cupboard housing the plates and cutlery.
"Jessica, obviously. She's trying to buy Mom's approval using wine, very unaware that Mom doesn't drink and therefore I'll reap all the benefits," he laughed and my stomach dropped.
"Jessica's coming here?"
How the fuck could I have forgotten Clark had a girlfriend.
Reacting without thinking I punched him, hard, in the arm.
"Jessica is coming."
"Yes, Jesus, you fucking spazz." he scoffed, rubbing the spot before shooting me a confused look.
"Your girlfriend is coming to dinner," I said, slowly though Clark still didn't seem to get the issue. "I'm going."
"What, dude why? She's not gonna make you a third wheel, Mitchell scares the shit out of her. I can invite Tommo along too though if you want?" he said, making to go get his phone from his room.
"What, no. The last thing I want is Jessica and Tommo after... after earlier."
Recognition dawned on his face then before his features hardened.
"Don't make this weird. That was just for your play shit, Beau," he said, tone firm.
"Clar-"
"I don't know why you're even bringing it up. All that happened was I was helping you not make an ass of yourself. It's not that deep," he added, moving to take the chopsticks from my hand, finally pairing them correctly.
Backing out of the dining room I looped back to his bedroom, shoving my stuff in my bag before hoisting it onto my shoulders. I didn't make it out to the front door though, running into Mitchell waltzing as he waltzed through the living room.
"If I knew table setting would make you bail I wouldn't have assigned the pair of you," Mitchell chuckled, gripping my shoulders in an attempt to direct me back to the dining room. "C'mon, you know I was messing with you, Beau. Mom's got enough food to feed an army, we're relying on you and Jessica to pack most of it way."
"I'm actually going to duck out. I forgot I have a stack of homework waiting for me," I lied, slipping from his grip. Mitchell cocked a brow, response cut off by Clark entering the room.
"What're you doing?" he asked, tone more bored than anything else.
"I'm heading out,"
"Jesus Beau, stop being so dramatic and sit down,"
"Fuck you, Jeremy, honestly," I said, tone steely but low. Louder, I called out to his Mom in the kitchen. "Thanks for having me over Mrs. Clark, but I have to go."
When her confused tone called back I made for the door, opening it and immediately striding down the driveway, determined to get as far from Clark as possible but also ready to get my role back.
*Let it be known... I did not initially draft the make-out scene to turn out so... smutty. Once I started actually writing it, the boys took over... my apologies... this was very embarrassing for me to have to edit through...*