The strokes of the marker on his skin were soothing, almost rhythmic, as it glided across Stan's arm. He watched lazily as the ink seeped into the minute lines that crisscrossed the skin, the ones that you didn't normally see, not unless you looked closely. It feathered out, almost imperceptibly softening the bold black swirls that flowed from Kyle's pen.
"Okay. Flip your hand over." Stan did as he was told, and Kyle began tracing along the heel of his palm. It felt like the faint rasp of grass in summer. Stan twitched a bit. He couldn't help it; it tickled!
"Stay still, dude!" Kyle caught Stan's wrist, and Stan caught his breath. He could feel heat crawling up the back of his neck. Crap. He peeked at Kyle to see if he had noticed, but the Jewish boy was intent on his work. He had caught his tongue between his teeth as he always did when he concentrated, as if his friend's arm was a physics exam.
As if in a dream, Stan slid his fingers down Kyle's palm, entwining them with pale, freckled digits. When he glanced up again, he saw that he was not the only one flushed.
Feeling bolder, he caught the red-head's other hand, not caring that it still held the marker, and brought it up to his face. Kyle was mere inches away now, and their breath hitched and intertwined, dancing between them like the swirls on his arm. The eddies of air seemed to pull them until they met in the middle.
Stan shivered. Kyle's lips were warm and chapped and tasted of peppermint. They stayed that way for a few moments, before pulling away gently.
"Stan?"
"Yeah?"
"You've got ink on your nose."
He laughed, as he heard the words for what they really meant.
I love you.