Disclaimer: Let's have a show of hands: who thinks I know these men and this is all true? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller? That's right: it's all lies. All of it. I don't make any money from this either, because who the hell would pay me?

Warnings: Insecurity/angst, excessive fluff, swearing. Also, please note the first person comes from Norman's perspective. I know that's not really something that is a warning, but I hate it when I have no idea who is narrating.

A.N.: So I was googling Sean to try to figure something out (I don't remember what at this point) and the suggestions included "Sean Patrick Flanery plastic surgery" and apparently a large portion of the universe thinks he looks crazy different between BDS movies. Am I the only person who thinks he just looks like he aged in the ten-year gap? Seriously, people, do we have such high expectations of movie stars that the fact they age makes us think something is wrong? I'm pretty sure I lost faith in society at that point. I would like to take this moment to thank Sean Patrick Flanery (via thought beams or if he's reading this, which would be hella awkward, but he should definitely review) for aging like a normal human.

~PurpleRanger

Title

Let me be very clear: I was beyond ecstatic when Sean asked me out three weeks ago. Hell, I'm still insanely happy. He's the perfect man: handsome, funny, a great conversationalist, he has two black belts… the list goes on. We've been friends since we filmed the first Boondock Saints – I try not to think about how that was ten years ago because I don't like feeling that old – and I've always looked up to him. However, our relationship is missing something. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm the biggest dick in history. I'm not saying that the physical portion is the only important part of a relationship, but he asked me out three weeks ago and he still hasn't kissed me.

Yeah, I'm starting to wonder if there's something wrong with me.

It's not like I misunderstood him: he made it crystal clear that he was asking me to be his boyfriend, not like "oh, hey, we're friends, let's go catch a movie," but real asking out. And he's definitely had opportunity for it: we've been to two movies, had dinner together seven times (three times in a restaurant, four times in either his or my apartment), and hung out "just the two of us" for countless hours.

I'll be the first to admit that I was scared of him kissing me for a couple days. I was having, as Romeo says in our script, a period of adjustment. I had never dated, kissed, or even been attracted to a guy in the slightest before. Neither had Sean (I asked). But it only took me a few days to come to terms with how I feel about Sean and the fact he is a very manly man. Since then I've been waiting and waiting for him to kiss me. And, in case you didn't catch it earlier, he hasn't. Not even a close-lipped peck. Not even on the goddamned cheek. Again, I'm getting worried there is something horribly, horribly wrong with me and Sean doesn't want to risk getting it near his mouth.

I'm thinking all of this while lying in bed, waiting for the alarm to go off and make me start my day. I like going to the set, because Sean always gives me secretive little smiles in between takes, and whispers in my ear that I look good. It makes me all warm and happy inside. However, I've decided that my goal today will be to find out if there is something majorly wrong with me that's driving Sean – well, his lips at least – away. I think I will invoke the sacred man-privilege: I will get another guy's honest opinion on me. I won't tell him it's Sean who isn't kissing me… I'll make up a girlfriend. Her name will be Kelly. I'll get Cliff to tell me. He's truthful (from what I've seen of him so far, at least), so I'm sure he's willing to point out any major flaws.

My alarm blares just as I reach this conclusion. I reach over blindly and turn it off, then roll out of bed to start the day.

Sean and Troy are talking about something. I have no idea what, but I don't really care. I'm glad Sean is distracted, because I need to talk to Cliff. Troy called a ten-minute break and I'm pretty sure two minutes are already up. "Hey, Cliff," I say quietly, walking over to where Cliff was standing alone, hands in his pockets. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Cliff looks up and grins at me, like he knows from my voice I feel kind of awkward. "Sure, Reedus. What's up?"

I realize I have not thought this through very well and try to think quickly. "Well, it's… do you promise not to tell the others?" I plead, feeling more and more ridiculous. "It's kind of embarrassing."

"Sure, man. I'm the fucking soul of discretion."

I kind of doubt that, but I'm desperate. "Well, I met this girl a few weeks ago, Kelly, right?" Whenever I'm nervous I phrase my thoughts as questions. "We hit it off right away and all that. So we've been dating or together or whatever you want to call it for three weeks or so… and she doesn't seem to be receptive to the idea of me kissing her." It would sound weird, I realize way too late, if I am expecting a girl to make the first move. Curse society and its standards. So my mind works double time, trying to make this sound like your average heterosexual relationship stuff. "I mean, she leans away when I lean in close, and keeps her face at least a few inches from mine at all times. So, the point is… do I have any huge problems that you think are causing this? Do I have bad breath, weird body odors, or anything of the sort? I'm kind of freaked out about it all, you know?"

I have to hand it to Cliff; he listens closely throughout my entire little speech, and doesn't seem to be laughing at me at all. To be fair, he is an actor, so maybe he's just hiding it. "I really wish I could help you, Reedus, but I don't think you have any horrible faults. As long as you act like your normal self around her, I can't see what the hell is turning her off. You smell fine, your breath is fine… I'm sorry, really. Maybe she's just a stuck-up bitch and a total waste of time?"

I grin at the last remark, then clap him on the shoulder in a masculine fashion. "Well, thanks anyway, man. At least you've taken out some possibilities, right?" I walk away, thinking hard. Sean is obviously not stuck-up and is most certainly not a waste of time. I'm actually pretty sure he's perfect, but that's beside the point.

So if I'm not gross – and that's a serious relief – maybe I just need to send some positive signals Sean's way. Since I was hesitant at the start of our relationship, maybe he is simply trying not to pressure me or make me feel uncomfortable. We're having dinner together tonight, so maybe I should start giving him some subtle hints at what I want.

I'm still standing in the middle of the room, thinking about how to give said hints, when I feel a chin rest on my shoulder. I smile slightly, recognizing the smell of Sean's deodorant and of him in general. "Penny for your thoughts," he says, the smile evident in his voice.

"Well, I was thinking about tonight," I say, deciding this is a perfect time to implement my new master plan. "Instead of going out, let's do dinner at my place. I'll do the cooking, and we can watch movies after dinner; we can stay up later than usual since we've got tomorrow off." Getting him alone and out of the public eye is key, since we can't jeopardize the film by being found out.

"I like the sound of that," he tells me, and I get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. "Do you have food or should we go grocery shopping after we finish up?

I a mental cabinet inventory. I have Ramen noodles and a box of Scooby-Doo fruit snacks. "We should probably pick up some groceries," I say. "I'm kind of running low on food at the moment," I add as an explanation.

Sean raises an eyebrow. I feel like he knows I just have shitty food in my cabinets. Maybe he has some health-freak sixth sense. Before he can comment, however, Troy yells for us, and it's back to work.

I pull into an empty parking spot in the grocery store parking lot. Sean pulls into the spot next to me as I get out, and we walk the short distance to the store while going over the script changes that Troy made for tomorrow's scenes. They are pretty small changes, but Troy is insistent that they happen. Frankly, I just do what Troy says and leave it at that. I prefer to go with the flow.

"So… do you have a plan for dinner?" Sean asks as I grab a grocery basket from a stack near the door. Well, yeah, I think. Get you to kiss me. Hopefully.

"Um…" I try to think of something I can cook well. I really don't want to seem like a bad cook in front of Sean. "Let's see what kind of fresh pasta they have," I suggest, using the theory that you really can't go wrong with fresh pasta. I really hope they have something like ravioli that doesn't require decisions about sauce and whatnot.

Apparently God loves me, because there is fresh cheese ravioli. I grab the clear plastic box (it worries me that "fresh" now comes in a box) and drag Sean to find the sauces. "Not making it yourself?" he teases.

"I honestly think that pasta sauce in a jar is just as good as homemade, and it takes a hell of a lot less work," I reply. This is all true, I'm just neglecting to mention that I can't actually make pasta sauce.

"Whatever you say," Sean tells me as we walk up to the check-out area. Luckily the store isn't very crowded – let's be honest, who spends their Friday nights at the grocery store? – and we check out in record time. We walk back through the parking lot to our cars and drive to our apartment building.

It's pretty awesome that Troy rented apartments for the duration of filming. I feel a lot more comfortable in an apartment than in a hotel room; I guess it feels more personal and homey. It's especially nice that Sean and I are in the same apartment building; people don't really notice if we're at each other's places, as our cars are in normal placement. It's not like Sean spends the night or anything so blatant (also, we've only been dating for three weeks; he's great and all, but I tend not to jump right into a sexual relationship, not to mention that the idea of being the bottom in gay sex still really scares me), but I feel like people would find it suspicious that we are together so frequently.

Sean catches up to me on the stairs, and we walk up to my third-floor apartment in silence. I hand him the grocery bag so I can dig my key out of my pocket and open the door. As soon as I close the door behind us, Sean turns to me. "You looked really hot today," he tells me. "I've wanted to say that all day but Billy was with us almost all the time."

"Thanks," I say. "You looked pretty nice yourself. Those jeans showcase your ass rather nicely." I lead the way to the kitchen; I'm really hungry at this point. Sean follows me, continuing the conversation.

"Nice to know you look. Next time I'll bend over a lot." What the hell is he saying? How is it that he keeps throwing in slightly – okay, very slightly – sexual banter, and he still hasn't kissed me? We stare at each other's asses and we haven't kissed. This is a fucked up relationship.

I grab the grocery bag at him, feeling a tingle of happiness run up my arm when my hand meets his. We make eye contact and I smile widely, just happy that I'm his. He smiles back, and his blue eyes light up and holy crap he is actually the most attractive man I have seen in my life.

I give myself a little mental shake and keep moving, setting the food out for preparation. I get water started on the stove, then pull out a couple of beers for us to drink while we wait. We sit down on opposite sides of the tiny kitchen table – oh, the joy of the shitty furniture in pre-equipped apartments – and each take a sip of the cool liquid. It is so nice to just relax with Sean over a beer after a long day. Filming for this movie is really draining, what with the long days, the deep themes, and all the action sequences.

I lower my beer-hand to the table, still clutching my bottle. I use my free hand to play with the label, trying to peel it off perfectly, without leaving any bits of white. Sean reaches across the table with his non-beer-hand and stops my hand from peeling. He laces his strong fingers through mine. I feel happiness bubbling throughout my body.

I resist the urge to look down and check if I became a thirteen-year-old girl holding hands for the first time.

My romantic life went downhill after I broke up with Helena. Mingus became my main focus, so for a few years it didn't really bother me. As Mingus got older, however, he got more independent, little by little, and I wasn't constantly doing fatherly stuff. He would go to daycare. He would go to real school. He would go to a friend's house for a play-date. He would go to sleep-over birthday parties. I had a lot more empty time on my hands. I tried dating, and it didn't work very well. I found that not many girls cared about my art or my life outside of movies; with my little bit of cult classic fame, I became a small-scale star, and put up with the shit major stars get. Even the sex felt empty; I find sex to be most enjoyable when I actually care about the person. I want a lover, not a penis-receptacle.

All this just goes to say that Sean got me out of a rut. He likes looking at my paintings and photographs. He loves the fact I'm an artist, glad to see that I excel in something he doesn't. I feel like I have a right to feel overjoyed every single time we hold hands. My love life was up shit creek, then Sean supplied the paddle.

"Earth to Norm, do you copy?" Sean makes radio noises with his mouth. I swear, he does the best voices and impressions.

"Sorry," I apologize. I'm a major space cadet; I think it comes with being an artist. "It's been a long day, you know? I feel like my concentration just kind of dies after having to listen closely to Troy's every word for hours and hours." This is true. I think I have a certain number of "concentration hours" built into each day, and after they are used up I have to work really hard to pay attention to anything, even my completely and totally marvelous boyfriend.

Sean laughs a bit. "Yeah," he agrees, "I feel that sometimes too. It doesn't help that Troy really likes bossing people around."

"I wonder what he does when the Boondock cast isn't around for him to yell and swear at." I giggle a little to myself as a thought strikes me. "I can just imagine him with little finger puppets of all of us, yelling at the different fingers to 'get the fuck over here' or something like that."

Sean laughs harder and longer this time. He lets go of my hand and his beer and starts imitating Troy's voice, yelling random commands at his fingers and making them obey. I decide he can entertain himself like that for a while and get up to check the water. Luckily all my brooding and hand-holding time has been longer than it felt, so the water is beginning to boil. I dump in the ravioli and set the timer. Fresh pasta doesn't take long to cook, so I need to heat up the sauce quickly. I plunk a bunch of it into a bowl and stick it in the microwave.

My mother would be ashamed. I apologize to her in my head.

"Sean, babe, could you grab a colander from the cabinet next to the fridge and put it in the sink?" I say over my shoulder as I stir the pasta a bit. I really should have planned ahead to maximize efficiency but I am not known for my organization.

Sean fortunately understands my vague directions and locates and places the colander correctly. He even goes the extra mile and retrieves the sauce from the microwave as the damned piece of technology starts its annoying, high-pitched beeping. He really is the ideal man.

The timer goes off, so I turn it and the stove off. I grab the pot from the stove and dump the pasta and water into the colander. I put the pot on a cool stove circle, then turn back to the sink. After getting the pasta nice and dry, I put it back in the pot. Sean brings over the sauce and puts it in, and I stir the whole thing.

"Good team effort," I say, high-fiving him. This is my first homosexual relationship, and I really can't get out of the habit of high-fiving Sean all the time. Seriously, if and when we have sex, I feel like I'm going to get this crazy and insatiable urge to high-five him in the middle. And that's going to be really fucking awkward. There isn't a word to describe how awkward that situation will be, but if there were, it would sound like Chewbacca being slapped with a sea lion.

I get a couple plates out and spoon ravioli on to each of them. Sean takes forks out of a drawer and we sit down with our food. Okay, Reedus, I say to myself. Time for the subtle hints. I haven't really been able to think of very many subtle hints, but I am very proud of the one I thought of in the car on the way home: the "lean in close during dinner" plan. It's genius, I know.

I position myself strategically on the edge of my chair and lean in a little bit. I grab my beer and take a drink. Sean, on the other hand, digs into his food with gusto.

Then stops.

"Um, I know that we tried hard and all," he starts, "but this tastes weird. Like it's wrong. Ravioli shouldn't taste like this."

"Is it the pasta or the sauce?" I ask him.

He's about to reply, but his eyes bulge a bit and he jumps up from the table and vomits in the sink. He then runs to the bathroom to vomit into the toilet. I rinse out the sink quickly and then walk to the bathroom, hearing a flush as I do so. I take this as a good sign. It's not. I go into the bathroom and see that Sean is kneeling over the toilet, throwing up again. I crouch down next to him and put a hand on the back of his neck.

"I am so, so sorry, baby," I tell him. I really am. "Next time we'll just eat my Ramen and Scooby-Doo fruit snacks."

He manages a weak grin. "It's not your fault the pasta is fucked up." He looks like he's about to continue... but then he turns his head back down and transfers even more of the contents of his stomach to the toilet bowl.

I rub his back for a few minutes. After a while, he looks up at me. "Thanks for trying to make a romantic dinner, Norm," he says in whisper, as if afraid talking louder will make him throw up again. "As much as I would love to watch movies with you tonight, I think I should really go back to my place and try to sleep."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I reply, trying not to show my disappointment. "Let me walk you up, though, okay?" He nods his agreement, and I pull one of his arms over my shoulders and stand us up.

We walk to his apartment – one floor up has never felt so far away – and I make sure he is safely inside before going back down to my apartment. It is only when I get back into the kitchen and start cleaning up that I let myself feel all my frustration.

This really isn't fair. My life isn't a romantic comedy, so there shouldn't be all sorts of wacky shenanigans stopping me from kissing Sean. I throw the rest of the pasta and, just to be safe, the sauce in the garbage angrily. Fucking grocery store gave me some shit that got my boyfriend sick. I rinse off the plates and put them in the dishwasher, recycle Sean's beer bottle, and drain mine before turning my attention to seriously cleaning the sink. I scrub the whole thing with a soapy sponge twice before I'm satisfied.

I go to the bathroom and flush the toilet to get rid of the rest of the vomit. I then find the toilet bowl cleaner and put that in. Vomit really freaks me out. I cannot overstate how happy I was when Mingus stopped spitting up, and I was probably happier than he was when he got over any stomach bugs he's had since.

I wash my hands and then stand aimlessly in the bathroom. It's still pretty early in the evening, so I'm not tired. On the other hand, I am way too pissed off at the world to do anything on my current painting. I'm about to give up and resign myself to lying awake in bed for a few hours when I remember that I haven't taken a shower yet today. We hadn't been doing any major action today, so I wasn't sweaty at the end of the day and what with asking Sean over showering had slipped my mind.

I reach into the shower and turn the knobs to get the water started. As it warmed up, I go to the bathroom to take off my clothes and put them in the laundry basket. I walk back to the bathroom completely naked. I miss being able to walk around naked all the time, but with Mingus around I feel that it's inappropriate. I also distinctly remember Helena thinking it weird that I sometimes ate my cereal before putting on any clothes. No wonder we broke up.

I stick my hand in the shower; the water's close enough to being hot, so I get in. I let the hot water pour over my aching body – still aching from yesterday's action shots – then bang my head against the wall a couple times for good measure. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Other people have relationships filled with kissing; I have a relationship with no kissing yet, and the added bonus of vomit. For the first time in ten years, I actually feel invested in a relationship, I actually like the other person, and it's the one relationship that's had an awkward lack of affection. Fuck.

I pick up the bar of soap and run it all over my body before straightening up and rinsing it off. By now, the water is nice and steaming hot, just the way I like it. I then grab the two-in-one shampoo-conditioner stuff (I am nothing if not lazy) and rub that in my hair before washing it out. I manage to get a bit in my eye, and that stings like hell. I guess God just likes proving that it can always be worse.

I am obviously way too frustrated about something that I have no control over. I am really not a very emotional person most of the time so this is kind of weird for me. I need to calm the hell down. I turn off the water, dry off, and put on a pair of flannel pajama pants. Upon wandering into the kitchen and opening the freezer, I find that I have a box of rocky road ice cream that I forgot about. I get myself a bowl of it, then sit down on the couch and engage in self-pity while watching The Princess Bride. I bet Buttercup never tried really hard to make a romantic set-up and then had to deal with bad pasta and a vomiting Westley. That bitch had everything.

I crack my eyes open, annoyed with all the light coming in through my window. The clock tells me that it's nine in the morning. Well, at least I managed to sleep in today. I feel like I always wake up when I have to get up for filming and then I'm grumpy all day. I sit up and scratch my head. I should go check on Sean. It's late enough that's he's probably up, and I want to make sure he feels okay after last night.

The idea of checking on my boyfriend gives me the motivation to get the hell out of bed and start my day. Well, that and I really have to pee. I go to the bathroom and relieve myself. Then I wash my face, run my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to make it stay down, and brush my teeth. I wander back into the bedroom and find some clean clothes – I really need to do laundry soon – and get dressed. Satisfied, I climb the flight of stairs and knock on Sean's door.

I hear some footsteps and the door opens. Sean is standing there, dressed only in jeans and looking more tired than usual. "Hey," he says, stepping back and letting me in.

"Hey, yourself," I say as he closes the door behind me. "How are you feeling, Sean?" Regardless of how he feels, he looks really good. All that karate does wonders for his abs and pecs and let's get back on topic.

"Tired," he replies. I could already tell that. "I didn't throw up anymore after I left your place, so I think I just slept off the worst of it." He drags an exhausted hand through his hair.

"I'm glad you feel better," I tell him. "Don't overdo it today, okay? I know you are Mr. Always Active, but you should keep it calm today."

He nods in agreement. "Do you want to hang out? I don't want to just sit alone in my apartment all day. We could watch movies likes we planned to do last night." His suggestion makes me smile. We walk over to the couch and I sit as Sean picks out a movie for us. He slips the DVD of Rio Lobo – I guess all our references to Duke Wayne in the script made him want to watch a good Duke Wayne western – and comes back to sit on the couch with me.

I have a thought. Another good time for the "faces in close proximity" plan. Sean sits down right next to me, and I go for a sideways cuddle. He puts his arm around my waist, and I lean my head on his shoulder, angling my face at the perfect slant so not only can I see the movie, but also my breath ghosts across Sean's neck. Score one for Norman.

Or not, as it turns out. We watch the entire movie like that, and I swear Sean doesn't notice. That little fuck. I'm trying really hard, and it's not making a dent. We put in another movie – Shaun of the Dead – and I keep trying the "ghosting breath" theory but it fails again. This is ridiculous.

When I go back to my own apartment at six, leaving Sean to get some more rest, I decide that I need to change plans. I'm upping the ante. Instead of subtle hints, I'm moving on to slight seduction. Phase one will begin tomorrow: I'm going to spill things on my shirt so that I'll have to remove it. Then Sean will be looking at my body all the time. Well, obviously I have to wear a shirt while filming, but other than that… Phase two will have to wait until I think of it.

Okay, it's fucking early. I really need coffee. Luckily, there is always coffee in the make-up trailer. More importantly, however, is the fact that this coffee provides the perfect spill opportunity. Especially because Troy blocked out two hours for a meeting with me, Sean, and Billy at the start of the day. Perfect amount of time for Sean to ogle me and decide that he really wants to kiss me as soon as we're alone.

I stumble into the trailer tiredly. I am really tired, but I need to look even less coordinated than normal if I don't want to seem like some freak who spills coffee on himself for shits and giggles. Sean and Billy look up from the chairs they're sitting in, and Sean raises an eyebrow at me.

"Did you sleep last night, Reedus?" he asks casually.

"Not nearly enough," I respond. I lurch over to the coffee pot and grab a mug. I pour the coffee in as if it takes crazy amounts of effort, the way it does when I haven't slept in days. I'm doing a great fucking job, if I do say so myself. Granted, I'm a professional actor. One would hope I could pull the off easily. I turn around to go sit with my costars, then have a little stumble. My coffee slops over the side of the cup and all down my shirt. Excellent.

"Fuck! Shit!" I shriek, only partially acting. The coffee is really fucking hot. "Christ, this stuff is fucking scalding me! Jesus!" I slam my mug down on the counter next to me and rip my shirt off. "And I don't have a shirt now. Wonderful." I sound angry but on the inside I'm partying. I've pulled this little stunt off and now Sean will be distracted and hopefully get all hot and bothered and want to do some serious kissing as soon as we can get away.

Sean gets up from his chair, finds some paper towels, and hands them to me. As I mop the coffee up from my chest and the floor, he takes my mug and pours me another cup, which he puts on the table near the chairs. I feel a little bad for setting this whole thing up, since he's being beyond nice about it, but if the fucker had kissed me in the past three weeks it wouldn't have been necessary, so I push the guilt away.

I throw my shirt in a corner of the room. Neatness isn't exactly my strong point. I take a seat in the chair in between Billy's and Sean's, and take a sip of my coffee. "Thanks, Sean," I say quietly, turning to smile at him. "Well, that woke me up pretty well."

Sean grins back with his ridiculously charming smile. "You'll wish you weren't so awake when Troy starts talking. What I wouldn't give to be able to fall asleep during his little talks..." Sean puts on a cheesy wistful expression.

Billy laughs. "You lads need to learn how to fake paying attention," he tells us. "Actually listen for about one minute out of every ten, and ask a question or make a comment on something he says during that minute. Works like a charm." This is extremely good advice which I'll probably be using in the next couple hours. Troy talks as much as that stupid Jar-Jar Binks guy from Phantom Menace, but with more swearing.

I get into a discussion with Billy about how we avoided paying attention when we were in school. Sean isn't really joining in. I sneak a glance and see that he's staring at my chest. This is very good.

"Did you ever do any of that, Sean?" Billy asks suddenly. "Or were you a golden boy?"

"What?" Sean asks, looking rather confused. Major victory for Norman. I got him good and distracted looking at my body.

Fortunately for Sean's pride, but unfortunately for my master plan, Troy walks in at that very moment. He's already talking a mile a minute, and I decide I should really try Billy's "one minute in every ten" trick.

We're finally starting today's filming. That meeting lasted two fucking hours, and I only got away with barely listening for one of those. On the plus side, though, I used that hour to come up with phase two of the plan: neck-nuzzling. The breath-on-the-neck thing didn't work, but this is less subtle. It can't be taken as an accident of head positioning. The only problem is I'm impatient; we're on set, working, but I want to implement my plan. I guess I'll try to do it sneakily during our short breaks.

Luckily, Troy calls a break within a few minutes so he can talk to Billy and one of the camera guys. I walk up behind Sean and rest my chin on his shoulder. Being the same height is very convenient. I glance around; everyone else seems to be occupied, setting things up or talking to each other. I turn my face and bury it in Sean's neck. This can't fail; I thought of everything. I've even made sure I'm on his right side so I don't smear his tattoo.

Sean doesn't move a fucking muscle. I bring my head back up so I'm just resting my chin again. I can't risk nuzzling for too long, or someone might see. "You smell good," I whisper into his ear.

"I love having your attention, baby," he whispers back, so quietly even I can hardly hear him, "but you can't do that here. We're in the open. Everyone can see."

"I checked first, everyone was occupied," I mutter defensively. Does he really think I'm that stupid?

"I'm not mad at you, Norm, and I know you're being careful, but…" he's silent for a few seconds. "We can't be too cautious, right?"

I nod, a little grumpy with him now. I can see his point, but I want a fucking kiss. "We hanging out tonight to make up for our last, failed attempt?"

"Sure," Sean says, talking normally now. This conversation can seem totally innocent to outsiders. "Troy said we're getting off at six tonight, but we're doing some action so I want to shower first. I'll do that and pick up some take-out and be at your place at quarter to seven?"

"Sounds good to me," I tell him, then wander away towards Troy to see what's going on. Sean's mention of showering just gave me a wonderful idea.

I glance at my watch. It's 7:42, so I wrap my towel firmly around my waist. I haven't totally dried my hair, so it's dripping all over my chest. It's rather annoying, but it's worth it because this plan is genius. If my chest distracted Sean this morning, imagine how he'll react now, when I'm still wet and only wearing a towel. I made sure to get in the shower late enough that I'd just be out when Sean arrived. I suppose I could have just jumped back in for a wet-down at 7:40, but that would be cheating, not to mention wasteful.

I hear a knock on my door. I walk out of the bathroom and across the apartment to let Sean in. Even before I open the door, I can smell the Chinese take-out he's brought with him. I'm really hungry, and it smells really good. I open the door. "Sorry, lost track of time, got in the shower late…" I apologize, letting Sean in. I take one of the two bags he's carrying and lead the way to the kitchen.

"It's okay," Sean says. "Here, I'll get plates and food set up while you get dressed."

I have no choice. It would be weird to not get dressed after that comment, and he's being so nice by doing the work. I go into my bedroom and look through my clean clothes. Thank God I did laundry after leaving Sean's last night. I put a little more thought into my clothing choice tonight. I find some underwear and jeans and pull them on without much thought. All my pants are pretty much the same. I look around and find a gray button-down shirt. Score. I put it on, roll the sleeves up to my elbows, and go back toward the kitchen. I'm almost there when I think of another idea. I look through my CD collection before settling on Cascada. I had forgotten until now that I own a Cascada CD. I was probably in denial. I take it out of its case and bring it into the kitchen with me, where I stick it into the crappy CD player/radio. The beat of "Every Time We Touch" fills up the little room, where Sean is finishing putting food onto two plates. I take a deep breath, hope for the best, and walk up behind him. I turn him around, put my arms around him, and pull him close to me. I sway our bodies with the music, all the time silently praying that he will finally take the god damn hint.

I look straight into his eyes. Christ, but his eyes are beautiful. I'm concentrating so much on how gorgeous they are that I don't notice them getting closer. Suddenly, Sean's face is less than an inch away from mine, and I can't breathe properly. Then, finally, after three fucking weeks, it happens.

Sean leans in and kisses my lips softly.

He pulls away slowly afterwards, as if unsure. I lean my head in and give him a kiss. His lips are perfect. They are firm yet soft, somehow. I'm in awe of how amazing he is, how he's the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me. That awe is probably why the pathway from brain to mouth shuts down, and somehow "About damn time!" slips out.

I really didn't mean to say that, and it probably shows in my face because Sean takes one surprised look and bursts out laughing. "What are you talking about?" he asks.

"You asked me out three weeks ago," I tell him. He nods, still nonplussed. "Well, you hadn't kissed me until now, even though I kept trying to give you hints."

"Okay, this is kind of awkward," Sean says, though he's still grinning widely.

"What?" Now it's my turn to be confused.

"I was sort of waiting for you to kiss me," he confesses. "I've never dated a guy before, so I just thought the other guy would, you know, lead things off."

"We're ridiculous," I tell him, but I don't care. This is a perfect moment. Even with my embarrassing music choice. I hope he doesn't notice.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he replies, leaning in for another kiss.

He stops before reaching my lips. "Hey, Norm… is this Cascada?"

A.N.: The boys finally cooperated with me. They were a little stubborn for a while, getting stuck at shirtless Norman (to be fair, it's a distracting thought). I would like to thank Laura for the song suggestion. And before anyone thinks about it, I know that pasta with something horrible wouldn't make you vomit that fast (unless it was laced with Ipecac in which case you may want to consider whether or not the pasta-people hate you) but that's why it's fiction. Because I control the magical vomit-inducing pasta. And, as always, I would love any reviews.