Warning, this story contains profanity.
Word count: 6, 441
Written May 17, 2020 at 12:19 AM. Posted May 23, 2020
Far from town, in a field owned by someone's grandfather, or uncle, or possibly a distant cousin twice removed, a group of fourteen teenagers parked their vehicles and turned up the volume on a portable speaker someone synced to their phone. While a rap song played loud enough for their ears to cringe, a few boys built a pit and stacked it with old planks and chopped up logs swiped from a woodpile. One girl chased two others with an insect held in her palm, and another girl sat idly on the tailgate of one of the trucks, lazily swinging her legs while she scrolled through her phone.
Milo watched this all as he and his buddy Trist gathered sticks from the woods edging the field. Shadows clung to every tree trunk, plunging them into near darkness as they ducked under branches and stepped over knarled roots. Trist waved his phone around, shining it's flashlight down at their feet as they walked and up at the trees on occasion when he checked for the branches they'd need. When he tripped over a root and nearly cracked his head into the trunk of a tree, Milo jumped forward and grabbed his arm, steadying him.
"Thanks, man," Trist breathed, catching his breath. Straightening, he looked around and laughed. "Let's try this way."
Picking along behind his friend, Milo listened to the laughter coming from where they had left the others. It sounded like everyone was having fun, and he couldn't wait to rejoin them and laugh too. Maybe he'd even finally get the balls to ask Paisley out.
And maybe I'll make out with Trist, he thought sarcastically, puffing a breath of laughter through his nose.
They reached a tree with familiar leaves and Trist removed a pocketknife from his jeans. Handing Milo his phone, Trist sawed at the thin branch until it broke off, then he handed the stick to Milo to hold. Meanwhile, Milo held the light steady and searched the ground near the tree for any fallen branches. The dark, rich scent of earth and decaying leaves brought back memories of all the times he'd ever set foot in the woods. Growing up in the country meant there was usually little to do that wasn't outside, at least until companies finally started expanding their networks to give rural communities like Milo's internet and cell service. As it was, his family used dial-up for the better half of his life, until another company moved in and gave them high speed—which wasn't actually high speed when compared to a classmate's internet in town. Cell phones didn't even work on the section of road he lived on, unless he sat in a very specific spot of the attic. Yet if he drove a few minutes up the road to Trist's place, he'd have perfect service.
The perks of living on a hill, he supposed.
Once they'd gathered enough sticks for everyone, they made their way back to the group to find the firepit already blazing at a steady rate. Milo dropped his armload of sticks a good distance away from the fire, then turned to accept a can of coke from Trist's cousin, James. With a nod of thanks, he popped the tab and took a sip, crossing his arms. Someone had tossed down a thick plaid comforter, and the two girls sitting their smiled up at him and scooted over to make room for him to join.
Lowering himself to sit cross-legged beside them, he looked up at Trist and held out his hand for the pocketknife. "Hand that here."
Trist passed over the knife without a thought and went off toward the vehicles, probably to find the food they'd be roasting. The heat of the fire warmed Milo's front as he took up a stick and began whittling down one end, the crackle of the wood nearly drowned out under the heavy base of a pop song. Wood shavings fell in his lap, but he ignored them and kept shearing the stick down to a sharp point.
In total, there were nine boys and five girls. Aside from two nineteen-year-old boys, the rest was an odd mix of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. Everyone wanted to have a good time, let loose away from parents and responsibilities, where the infinite possibilities of summer could have a chance to flourish. For some, that meant getting drunk and doing stupid things to be embarrassed about later when they were sober. For others, it was a time to take risks, like Milo planned to do. Paisley sat opposite him, the bonfire raging between them while she half-turned toward her friend and talked about something Milo wished he could hear. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulder as her head tipped to the side, listening to her friend's reply. It must have been funny because her eyes scrunched up as she laughed, her face light and open.
"I think it's done, bro."
Milo snapped to attention on the guy bending down in front of him. Trist yoinked the stick away from him and straightened, his eyes on the needle-like point. He turned and drove the tip into the embers at the edge of the pit, burning off any bacteria that may have clung to it. Milo ignored him and started on another.
Smiling charmingly at the girls sharing their comforter with Milo, Trist offered them the finished stick and held up the bag of marshmallows he had found. Milo sighed through his nose as he watched the girls share an amused glance before one of them accepted the branch. Unfortunately for Trist, the girl who accepted was James' girlfriend, Erika.
"I hope you've got better moves than that, Tristen," Erika teased, calling him out.
Trist's smile became strained. He placed a hand over his heart and pretended to stagger back. "Erika, you wound me. If I was trying to wow your friend, I'd be offering her a different stick." He winked at the brunette sitting on the other side of Erika. It was hard to see in the firelight, but Milo didn't miss the blush warming the girl's face.
Erika fake gagged, and Milo hid his grin in his chest, looking down at the spear he was creating.
"That's hardly appealing," Erika told him, scrunching up her nose.
"I don't know," said her friend, flicking her gaze over Trist appreciatively. "I think he's got a lot to offer."
Erika whipped around, auburn ponytail nearing slapped Milo in the face. "Megan!"
Megan only shrugged, unapologetic.
Grinning, Trist plucked the stick from Milo's hands without a word and drove that one into the embers, too. Milo stared for a moment at his empty hands, rolled his eyes, and took up another branch. He vowed to punch Trist if the guy tried to take another one without asking.
While the three joked around, Milo's eyes went back to Paisley only to catch her gaze from across the fire. Her lips tilted up in a shy smile and Milo's heart somersaulted in his chest. He smiled tentatively back, causing her smile to widen before she turned to her friend, never taking her eyes off Milo's. Those lips formed words that Milo couldn't hear, causing a nervous feeling in his stomach as he watched Paisley's friend glance at him and laugh before saying something back. His smile slowly wilted, unsure of himself now. Were they laughing at him? All signs pointed to yes, but he didn't want to believe it. Paisley switched back to look at him and she tilted her head at his frown. Her friend tried to get her attention but she didn't look away. Her hand smoothed down the fabric of her sundress and Milo's eyes dropped to it, following the path it took over her flat stomach and down over her thigh. He flicked his gaze back up, face warm at being caught staring at that place on her body. She only smirked and finally turned away for good, falling back into conversation with her friend. Milo slowly released a breath, realizing a half-second too late that his hand was empty.
Above him, Trist stood with Milo's stick in hand, smirking knowingly. He bopped Milo on the head with the stick, then danced away laughing when Milo took a half-hearted swing at him.
"Yo, stop messing around," James chided, snatching the stick from Trist. "Some of us are waiting to break out the smores."
"Fuck off," Trist laughed, shoving his cousin. He dropped down on Milo's other side and took up a stick. "Pass me a knife or something and I'll start whittling some spears. At this rate, Milo's gonna still be here when we set the fireworks off."
"I'd like to see you do any better," Milo retorted, though without any real heat.
Trist bumped his elbow against Milo's as James chucked him another pocketknife. "I'm just messing with you, man. But seriously, you've been staring off into space. Pais still got your eye?"
Slumping, Milo stayed quiet. He didn't need to confirm what Trist already knew. Being fairly close since birth, they knew each other well enough that he didn't need to say anything for Tristen to notice who had caught Milo's interest. It wasn't like he was very good at hiding it, either.
"Are you going to at least ask her out?" Trist pushed, tossing down his finished spear. He paused, spying the one that Milo was unnecessarily whittling further, and threw that one down too with a grunt. "Man, you've got it bad."
"Maybe," Milo admitted, in reference to his friend's question. "I'm just not sure if she'll say yes."
"What are you afraid of? That she'll laugh in your face?"
He jabbed an elbow into Trist's ribs, causing the guy to laugh.
"No—But what if she does?" he asked, remembering her laughing with her friend while they both shot him sneaking glances.
Trist shrugged. "Then fuck her. Least she can do is let you down gently; she doesn't gotta make fun of you for trying."
Easier said than done. Milo knew if Paisley laughed in his face, he'd die of mortification.
Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but he'd definitely feel sick enough to leave. He wasn't confident enough to hang around after such a humiliation, not like Trist who had a knack for turning all jokes at his expanse into something that made it seem like he had meant to do that. Milo wasn't like that, he preferred when people didn't make him the butt of their joke. People often mistook him as shy because he wasn't outgoing and was awkward, but he wasn't. Being the centre of attention wasn't his thing, and though he could admit to coming off as dumb thanks to the awkward genes passed down to him from his dad, he had no problem with telling it like it was. When Trist dished it out, Milo would give it back just as good.
They finished the stack of sticks and left the finished ones propped up with their bottom ends stabbed into the ground. As the night wore on, Milo found the mood changing as one of the two older boys passed around the beer they had all chipped in on. A guy he only knew as James' buddy helped the other older boy set up the fireworks while a couple of the girls stood in one of the truck beds swinging their hips and raising their hands as they sang along to a Taylor Swift song. Two guys egged the girls on, grinning as they whistled and cheered. Erika sat in James lap, watching the dancing and singing in amusement while James hugged her waist and roasted marshmallows over the fire. The flames had died down enough that it could be called a campfire and not the roaring bonfire it had been, the intensity of the hear receding enough that a breeze blowing over Milo raised goosebumps on his arms. He got his hoodie from Trist's truck, which he and Trist used to get there. Shrugging it on, he grabbed his spring coat just in case and shut the door, turning back to the group.
Someone turned down the music and then the two guys setting up the fireworks were shouting in unison from about a couple hundred feet away. "Three . . . two . . . one . . .!" There was a sizzle as a firework was lit and then they were sprinting away, the younger of the two diving for the dirt when the thing went off like a rocket toward the sky.
All of them tipped their heads back to watch as the firework exploded in a cloud of smoke and red sparks, the bang loud enough Milo flinched, feeling it like a punch to the chest. Several people whooped and hollered, and the older boy who had set off the firework laughed as he jogged back to the launch site to set off another. The guy who had dived for cover slowly shoved to his feet and backed away, rejoining the rest to watch from a safer distance.
Milo sipped his beer and meandered over to the fire. Picking up a stick, he loaded it with marshmallows and held it over the embers at the edge of the pit, striving for an overall golden toast. By the time he had them toasted to perfection and was sliding one off with his fingers to eat, there came another sizzle and poof as the guy manning the fireworks set off another. The sky lit up white and red, one right after the other, a tip of the hat to their countries national colours. These two popped and sizzled as two balls formed on the darkened background, blotting out the stars. More cheering followed, and the next round of fireworks came sooner, sending a volley of three into the sky. When the lights faded out, Milo switched his attention to the others, curious to see their expressions, only to find that a few were otherwise engaged in something that had nothing to do with the lights display happening in the sky.
Erika was straddling her boyfriend's lap, her hands in his dark hair and one of his hands curved around her waist, the marshmallows on his stick a ball of flames as they hung forgotten in his other hand. One of the guys who had been egging on the girls dancing in the truckbed was making out with Paisley's friend against one of the trucks—fortunately not Trist's, which was covered in a fine caking of mud halfway up the sides.
Milo wasn't really surprised. He'd expected it to come to this eventually, he just didn't think it'd happen so soon. They'd been there a little over an hour, and yet already two couples had broken off and it wouldn't be long for more to follow. Would he find himself with Paisley, separating themselves from the group to have some alone time? He wasn't about to assume she'd sleep with him, but maybe if they could just wander off and talk, he'd be happy with that.
Ten people left; three girls, seven guys. If the plan had been to break off into couples, they really should have tried to find a few more girls. Trist was working on the brunette from earlier, so he couldn't count on hanging with his friend instead and James was already consumed by his girlfriend. Milo didn't know the other guys that well, but he supposed he could find something to talk about. If he had to.
Where was Paisley, anyway? Looking around, Milo nibbled on his second marshmallow as he counted heads and watched for those sleek blonde locks. He paused, doing a double-take. In the burst of light from another firework, the results were obvious. Two girls, six guys. The other older boy was missing along with Paisley.
Milo downed his beer and grabbed another, his chest tight. A part of him had to be sure though, so he wandered away from the group toward the cars and glanced inside each one. Out of five vehicles, it was the last one that sent his heart dropping to his feet. The jeep's black paint and black metal bars camouflaged it among the darkness, it's details flashing into existence with each burst of a firework. A bare leg, a thigh, a dress hiked up obscenely. If it hadn't been for the guy's head bobbing between Paisley's legs, Milo might have been turned on—this was the girl he'd been thinking about for months, and he could see every bare inch of subtle skin below her navel. Watching her get eaten out by another guy was torture and he wasn't a masochist, so he wordlessly looked away and left, retreating back to the relative safety of the campfire. He'd wanted an answer and he'd got it, but it hadn't been what he'd hoped for.
He downed more beer and gorged himself on marshmallows, feeling stupid for even caring. At some point, the fireworks ran out and someone handed him a sparkler. He squinted at it as if it held all the blame for why he felt as depressed as he did, and even Trist laughing and snapping a picture of him in passing didn't break him from his glare at the thing.
"What'd it ever do to you?" Trist asked, staggering as he practically fell to slump down next to Milo.
"Paisley's getting ate out by some other guy," Milo stated monotonously, his eyes tracking the sparks as they burned their way down the stick.
"Damn . . ." Trist rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow.
Milo nodded. Damn indeed.
"That sucks, man," Trist continued. "I know you liked her, but I kinda figured this'd happen."
Turning his head, Milo looked at him in askance.
Trist shrugged. "I'd heard things, but you know me, I don't like to believe rumours. And I knew you liked her, so . . ."
"What rumours?"
Avoiding Milo's gaze, Trist traced one of the white lines on the plaid comforter with his index finger. "I was told she likes older guys. Tall, broad, got a bad boy rep? Erika says the girl's got a track record of picking the wrong guys."
Milo sucked his teeth and stirred the fire with the butt of his stick.
"You're a good guy," Trist stated. "And that's why she wasn't going to pick you."
"That's such bullshit," he grumbled into his can, because seriously, why was him being a good guy such a problem? Shouldn't girls like that?
Shoving to his feet, Trist used Milo's shoulder to leverage himself up until he was standing. "I'll be right back," he said before disappearing toward the vehicles.
Milo debated calling him back and telling him that that was where Paisley and the guy had been doing the deed, but thought better of it. He didn't want to be the jerk who told everyone about Paisley's sexual exploits, even if a sick part of him wanted to shame her for it. He hadn't asked her out; he had no right to judge what she did.
Trist returned a few moments later with a cigarette and a lighter. He dropped down next to Milo and grinned. "We're gonna get lit, my friend, and end this night right."
Eyeing the cigarette being passed to him, Milo realized with a start that it wasn't the kind you bought at the convenience store. What Trist had given him was a joint.
He'd never smoked pot a day in his life, but seeing everyone else having fun around him, breaking off into couples or—like the three guys laughing hysterically at each other out in the field—risking permanent disfigurement by one-upping each other with daring acts featuring the leftover sparklers. He wanted to be a part of that—not the disfigurement part, but the having fun one—and here Trist was, offering him an escape from his thoughts and a way to loosen up.
Sliding the joint between his lips, he leaned toward his friend and allowed Trist to light it. The first couple of puffs he choked, unused to inhaling pure smoke. He knew the basics—place stick between lips, breathe in through mouth, remove the stick, exhale through mouth. If he was more experienced he might have tried exhaling through his nose, but that level of ease was beyond his current comfort level so he stuck to exhaling the smoke through his lips.
After the second puff, Trist held out his hand and Milo hesitated, staring at it. He handed the joint over and watched as Trist brought it to his mouth, his lips touching where Milo's had just been. It could have been the weed, but at that moment tingles began in Miles in fingers and toes and spread inward, travelling up his spine to the base of his skull. He shivered and breathed out shakily through his nose.
Releasing the smoke gradually above their heads, Trist leaned back on a hand and held the joint up to Milo's lips, his eyes on the end he was now pressing against his buddy's mouth. Milo reached up to take the joint but paused with his hand half-risen. His eyes on Trist's face he parted his lips and felt the smooth glide of paper entering his mouth. Sealing his lips around it, he breathed in and Trist's eyes lifted and locked with his. The joint pulled out and before Milo could release the breath burning in his lungs, Trist's lips were there, pressing firmly against his. His eyes fell shut and he didn't move. Couldn't move. His mind was blank as it took in the feel of soft lips pressed to his, a wide mouth firmly planted on his own. Among the taste and pungent smell of weed was the sweetness of marshmallows and the yeasty taste of beer. A tongue snaked out when he didn't resist and dapped at his lower lip, before taking the plump bit of flesh and suckling on it.
Milo gasped. Their eyes flew open and Trist pulled back, licking his bottom lip. Milo's tongue copied the motion and he was surprised to find he didn't mind the taste. He was even more shocked to realize he hadn't minded the kiss either. Quite the opposite in fact.
Trist scrubbed at his hair and looked away. "Fuck," he breathed, his hands trembling as he screwed shut his eyes.
Touching his fingertips to his mouth, Milo's gaze flew to his friend's. He'd kissed those lips and he'd liked it.
"I uh . . . I hadn't meant to do that," Trist explained, sheepishly. His face was turning red in the firelight and he avoided Milo's gaze. "Sorry man."
"Then why did you?" Trist wasn't into guys, as far as Milo knew, so this entire thing was really messing with his head. It didn't help that he was pretty sure the weed was already working its way through his system.
Trist snubbed out the joint and stared at the fire as he thought, raking both hands through his hair. He tugged at the poor strands. "I shouldn't have done that, but your mouth . . ."
Milo dropped his hand and squinted at his friend. He wasn't sure if he should ask.
They didn't keep secrets; that was the thing. But right now he felt like Trist was keeping a big one from him.
"Are you gay?" he asked as gently as he could, trying not to sound judgemental.
"No." Trist sighed. "I like girls, but sometimes . . . Don't judge me for this, 'kay."
Milo nodded, checking to make sure no one was listening. Most of them had disappeared to have their own private moments of lips meeting lips, while a few remained behind. The girl who'd been sitting on the tailgate of a truck scrolling through her phone was now laying back on a blanket across the fire from them, her attention still stuck on her phone. Three of the guys—the same three who'd been messing around with the sparklers—were laughing loudly from somewhere over near the vehicles, probably teasing one of their friends while they tried to get laid.
"Sometimes I look at a guy and I think, hey, he's pretty hot," Trist admitted, propping an elbow on his raised knee. Using his thumb to scratch absently at a spot on his chin, he continued, "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but right now I'm not really sure why so I'm gonna. I think you're pretty hot, and when you took a drag off the joint? That made me hot."
Milo blinked, his mind a bit scattered. Somehow all that came to mind was: "You wanna make out?"
Trist cocked his head and looked at Milo from beneath his furrowed brow. "Do you?"
They stared at each other for a suspended amount of time, before Milo leaned over and pecked Trist on the mouth. Pulling back just enough that he could look at his friend with a heavy-lidded gaze, he rasped, "Yeah, I do."
That was all the encouragement Trist needed.
Milo awoke to find his back stiff and sore, sunshine glaring in on his face as if it were God himself shooting daggers at him in disapproval. He stretched out his legs only to have his bare toes come in contact with something solid. Each breath he took made him more and more aware of the heavyweight pinning him down, the heat of another person nearly scorching him at every point of contact of their skin. And there were a lot of points of contact.
Opening his eyes, Milo squinted under the bright rays of sunlight shining in through the back window of the truck. The grey interior looked familiar, but his mind wasn't awake enough yet to remember why. Hair tickled his cheek and he dipped his chin, looking down at the even more familiar face and body fast asleep on top of him. Their upper half was spooned against his side, half on top of him and half taking up precious inches of the bench seat, their legs tangled with his. Most of his left side hung over the edge of the bench seat, and his legs protested every movement after being confined to a bent position because the truck wasn't nearly wide enough for him to lay down in.
He laid there for some time, not willing to move. He'd never slept with someone pressed up against him, and even knowing it was Tristen currently cuddled up next to him didn't make him any more willing to abandon this moment. Besides, he had a lot to think about.
Trying to remember everything that happened last night so soon after waking up was near impossible, and Milo didn't look forward to possibly spoiling this moment. He wasn't enthused with the knowledge that he might have done some less than straight-bro things with his buddy last night, but he wasn't sickened by it either. He wasn't going to lie to himself; he'd enjoyed whatever he and Trist had done. Judging by their state of dress—or lack thereof—he was going to guess they'd done quite a bit. Their jeans were still on, thank god, but Milo's were undone and hanging low, as if they'd been preparing to go further and then stopped for whatever reason.
Probably the mixture of too much alcohol and weed, he thought wryly. He wouldn't put it past them to be unable to get it up, given the amount of beer he'd consumed, then coupled with the weed . . .
Trist began to stir and Milo held his breath. Blue eyes squinted against the light, a hand coming up to rub the sleep away. Then the eyes stared at Milo's bare chest, which was a mere three inches from Trist's face.
"Either I'm still dreaming or— Never mind, just no one pinch me," Trist muttered, his voice a low rasp, rough with sleep.
Milo huffed a laugh.
Trist reached over and tweaked Milo's nipple, causing Milo to swat him away. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair and looked around.
"Definitely not a dream, then." Those blue eyes swung Milo's way and swept him over from head to toe. He flushed, suddenly self-conscious. His pants weren't even done up, for Pete's sake. "Regrets?"
Milo licked his lip. "No. You?"
Trist shook his head and yawned. "None."
Silence settled over the cab, with each boy watching the other carefully. Finally, Milo sat up and scooted back to get more comfortable. He crossed his arms over his lap, aware he should do up his jeans but uncomfortable doing so while his friend watched him so intensely, his stomach began to flutter with a new kind of feeling.
"We cool?" Trist enquired, squinting at Milo.
Milo bit his lip, and something tugged low in his gut when Trist's eyes flicked to his mouth and got stuck. When he leaned slightly forward, Trist followed suit, and then they were meeting in the middle, lips sliding against each other. Trist's hand slid into Milo's hair, combing through it and getting caught in the tangles. His wide smile was obvious against Milo's mouth.
"Yeah," Milo whispered against Trist's lips. "We're cool."
A knock on the driver's window startled both of them and Milo whipped around to spy the old man standing outside peering in at that with a frown. Trist scrambled out the back door on the passenger side, hastily pulling on the first thing his hand landed on—Milo's t-shirt. Being slightly broader in the shoulders than Milo, it was snug across Trist's chest and arms.
"Hey, what's up?" Trist greeted the man. Having grown up with the guy, Milo was the only one capable of noticing when Trist was nervous. His voice didn't shake, but it lacked the usual humour and lightless than it usually carried. Milo hung out the door and leaned on the roof, watching the exchange.
"I wasn't sure what I was driving up on when I saw your truck just sitting here," the man explained, adjusting his farmers hat. He scratched at the stubble along his jaw as he looked curiously between the two boys. "I knew Joey brings friends around for a bit of no-parental fun, but usually they're gone by the morning."
Milo surveyed the site, surprised to find the place empty of all but the trash they left behind. The firepit sat, a lonely charred circle in the short grass. A few marshmallows sticks lay scattered like fallen soldiers.
"Yeah, we uh, we kinda passed out and must have overslept," Trist replied with a sheepish laugh. He stuffed a hand in his pants pocket and gestured with his chin toward the truck. "We'll get out of your way now. Sorry about your field."
The man waved off Trist's apologies. "As long as you're being responsible, I'd rather you slept in my field than be driving on the roads with a few drinks in ya." Studying the two boys, he lifted his hat and scratched his head as he awkwardly added, "And, uh, if you boys need a place to do whatever it is you were doing in that cab—ya know, where you can be discreet about it—well, uh, my field's always here. I don't usually come out here until around eight or nine in the morning . . ."
Milo's eyes widened. Was the man seriously offering them a place to hookup so their parents wouldn't know?
Trist processed that much faster than Milo did and thanked the man, promising to keep that in mind.
The man nodded once, satisfied with his civic duties done, and returned to the tractor he had parked nearby. Once he was disappearing over a knoll, Trist's shoulders began to shake as he burst out in laughter.
"Oh my god," Milo groaned, burying his head in his arms. "He thinks we fucked."
Trist snickered. "He wouldn't be far off, though."
"Funny, I don't remember your dick being in my ass," Milo quipped dryly.
"You saying you're gonna bottom for me?" Trist was teasing him, but his face still burned at the thought and he clenched his thighs. It wasn't something he'd ever given thought to before, and this wasn't the right time to unpack all of that, so he pushed the questions of Would he? and Did he want to? to the back of his mind to comb over another time. And he would figure out the answers to those questions eventually because wasn't that what guys who hooked-up did? Or would they stick to less intimidating things, like handjobs and oral?
This was neither the place or time to be considering all they could be doing together.
Oh jeez, now he had the image of Trist going down on him in his head.
"Do you remember much of last night?" Trist asked, slowly choosing his words.
Milo lifted his head from his arms. Trist was studying the grass at his feet, his brow furrowed in thought.
With his mind having had enough time to wake up fully, Milo knew what answer to give. "Everything."
Trist glanced up, his face still tipped toward the ground. "Really?"
Milo nodded.
Huffing in disbelief, Trist questioned, "And you're not . . . freaked out? You're okay with it?"
He shrugged, tapping the fingers of one hand thoughtfully on the navy blue paint job. "I told you: we're cool."
"Yeah, but I figured that meant you didn't remember anything beyond, like, the first ten seconds of kissing." Turning fully to face the truck, Trist cocked his head and stared up at Milo as a breeze blew over them, tugging at the ends of Trist's dark hair and lifting goosebumps along Milo's bare skin. "So you remember when I took off your shirt? When you groped my ass? When we—"
Face burning hotter than the sun, Milo cut him off loudly. "Yeah, all of that." The last thing he could handle was Trist mentioning how they had practically fucked with their pants on, Trist's hips pressing down on his and grinding to a sweet rhythm that would have had Milo coming apart if he hadn't been so wasted.
Suddenly a grin spread across Trist's face. "Okay then, good to know."
Milo eyed him suspiciously. "What's with that look?"
Trist opened the driver's side door, but before he slipped inside he leaned on the roof and his grin turned cheeky. "So you wouldn't mind if I tried to kiss you again?"
Stomach fluttering at the thought, Milo tried to act indifferent, shrugging his shoulders and staring at his fingers as he drummed them on the roof. "I suppose if you wanted to . . ."
Barking with laughter, Trist ducked inside the cab and Milo followed. Sliding between the seats, he slid into the passenger seat, only then remembering he wasn't wearing a shirt. He turned to reach in the back for his hoodie, but Trist met him first. One hand coming up to cup the back of his neck, Trist leaned in and captured his mouth, luring Milo into yet another kiss. He didn't mind, even if he didn't want to let his buddy know how much he enjoyed it. Just last night he'd been picturing a moment like this where he'd be exploring Paisley's mouth while her hands drifted into his hair. Instead, the hands in his hair belonged to his male friend, and he wasn't the one exploring. Trist had taken to plundering Milo's mouth as they deepened the kiss, Milo's hands coming up to hold onto Trist's forearms. Pulling back, he placed a kiss to his friend's wrist, in no hurry for Trist to take back the hands tangled in his hair.
Trist brought his forehead to Milo's and rested it there as he panted. "I do want," he whispered, in reply to Milo's remark.
Milo snagged another kiss and then pulled away for good, grabbing up his hoodie from the floorboard in the back. He pulled it on and zipped it up, aware of Trist watching him. Once fully dressed, he peeked at his buddy from the corner of his eye.
"I could do worse, I guess."
Trist's eyes widened, then he broke into a grin and began swatting playfully at Milo, who laughed. "You asshole! Don't diminish my greatness, I'm top-tier, baby. One of a kind. A work of art!"
"Okay! Okay, I take it back. Stop!" Milo continued laughing as Trist stopped swatting him only to grasp him by the shoulders and shake him.
"'Could do worse' my ass. You—"
"You're fucking amazing, Trist, now stop," he chuckled, smiling so wide it hurt. "I want you, too!"
Trist sat back, releasing him. "You mean that?"
Heart racing from Trist's attacks, Milo tried to catch his breath. Shoving up the sleeves of his hoodie—was it just him or was the inside of the truck suddenly stifling?—he nodded.
"Cool," Trist breathed, letting it drop at that. He might have known for a while that he was into guys, but Milo hadn't—he hadn't even entertained the possibility. So Milo was grateful when Trist cut him some slack and let him deal with this new discovery on his own.
Starting the truck, Trist turned up the radio and got them out of there, headed toward home. While they drove, Trist rolled down his window and propped his arm on the sill, and Milo took the opportunity to study him. Dark brown hair shaved close on the sides, with longer strands on top falling in his eyes thanks to sleeping in the truck. Blue eyes that caught him looking, lined with long thick lashes and accented by heavy eyebrows and a straight, narrow nose. A strong jawline that was unmistakably male, covered in a fine patchy stubble. He spied the tiny mole just below Trist's chin on the right side, a spot he'd noticed a time or two but never really focused on before. Every detail added to the image that was Trist, making up the boy Milo's known his whole life. Yet he'd never seen him so clearly.
They'd made a mistake getting drunk and then smoking a joint, and it could have ended in disaster any number of ways, at any time. Trist had taken a huge risk kissing Milo, but Milo had also taken a risk kissing him back. At any moment one of them could have ended it and claimed it all to be a big mistake, and it would have ruined their friendship. Milo still worried about every day that came after this one—was he okay with going further with Trist? Could he tell his parents? Would they last past summer?
He didn't have the answers to those questions, but he knew one thing: he didn't regret what they did.
A/N: I wasn't very subtle with the foreshadowing. Go back and see if you can spot them 😉
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