AN: This is going to be a collection of related oneshots that chronicle Race's relationships. The plan is to have a good progression/growth, but we'll see if I can pull it off :) The title, as well as the chapter titles, are all Flight of the Conchords songs (which I do not own, but do love). Each chapter is inspired by a different song.

Chapter 1: A Kiss Is Not A Contract

Race and Jack were sitting in Jack's living room, the TV playing softly in the background. Jack's arm was draped across Race's shoulders, warm and heavy. Slowly, Jack pulled Race towards him. Their lips met in a rush of teenage hormones. Race caught handfuls of Jack's shirt, pressing him closer. Their tongues explored each others' mouths, teeth scraping and nipping lightly. Jack threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of Race's neck, and rested his other hand on Race's knee, tracing patterns with his finger.

"You know," Jack murmured in his ear, "my mom isn't going to be back tonight." His hand shifted further up Race's thigh, reinforcing his unspoken suggestion.

A stab of heat blossomed in Race's belly, followed shortly by an uncomfortable spark of something that felt like fear. Excitement warred with apprehension, sending shivers, both good and bad, up his spine. The feeling grew stronger as Jack's hand continued its ascent up his leg. Race put a hand softly on Jack's wrist, stilling his hand.

"Easy there, Cowboy."

"It'll be fun." Jack played with the button of Race's pants. "I promise."

"No, Jack." Race pushed Jack's hand away firmly.

"Don't be such a girl, Race," Jack replied sharply. Then he smiled, wiping the annoyance off his face. Jack tipped his head down to kiss Race.

Race leaned back, avoiding Jack's lips. "'Cause insulting me is really gonna make me want to put out."

"You're cute when you're mad," Jack drawled. He pushed Race back on the sofa and crawled forward, straddling his lap. His lips worked against Race's neck. Somehow Jack's hand ended up creeping under the waistband of Race's pants.

"Damn it Jack, cut it out!" Race yelled as he attempted to muscle Jack off him.

Jack leaned back, his smile gone. "Am I that unappealing?" Jack knew he was attractive. The question he was really asking was why Race was stupid enough to turn him down.

"You know that's not it," Race answered.

"Then what's the problem?" Jack prodded.

"We've been dating for under a month, Jack. I just don't want to yet," Race returned as he slid himself out from under Jack.

"But we've know each other forever," Jack argued.

"That's not the point, Jack."

Jack shifted further away, crossing his arms.

Race pursed his lips. "I think I should go."

"Let yourself out then." Jack's voice was cold, and Race heard him mutter the words 'fucking tease' under his breath as he walked to the door.

Race paused in the doorway, and looked back at Jack who was still sprawled on the sofa. "You're kind of an ass, Jack."

Race closed the door softly, resisting his urge to slam it shut. His anger burned slowly as he walked down the street. He raked his fingers through his hair. He was furious, both at Jack and at himself. He was mad at Jack for obvious reasons, and he was mad at himself because he already wanted Jack back. Less than ten minutes on his own, and he wanted to see Jack's easy smile, to feel the contact high from the confidence that exuded from Jack's very skin.

Race decided he was pathetic. It was not a pleasant realization.

Race sat at his desk, head cradled in his hands. He was still pathetic. He doodled listlessly on his homework; it was Friday night, and he no longer had anything better to do. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but he was indulging his bitterness.

He heard his window slide open, and didn't even look up at the familiar slip-thump of Spot slinking into his basement bedroom. Spot took in the sight of Race's slumped shoulders and unfinished math problems, and developed a pretty accurate idea of what had happened.

"So, you and Jack, huh?" Spot asked as he settled himself on the edge of Race's bed.

"I don't really think there's a me and Jack anymore," Race answered glumly.

"That bad?"

"Yeah." Race dropped his head onto the desk.

"Does it have something to do with the fact that Jack can be a sex-crazed douche?" Spot already had a hunch that it did.

Race snorted dryly. "Maybe. Apparently he doesn't like being shot down."

"Think he'll get over it?"

"I dunno." Race tucked his legs up onto the chair, rested his chin on his knees, and spun around to face Spot. "What was I thinking? I mean me and Jack? Like that was going to work."

"'Cause it's all your fault, right?" Sarcasm was as close as Spot got to sympathy.

"I screwed up, Spot," Race groaned.

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

The next week was awkward. Race wasn't sure where he and Jack stood with each other, but he was too proud bring it up first. So Race was doing his best to avoid Jack entirely. He was also trying to avoid thinking about how little time it took Jack to replace him. Only a few days passed before Jack had his arm thrown around a quiet curly haired boy with blue eyes. Race did his best to ignore the fact he was disposable, and tried not to take it too personally. He knew what Jack was like: Jack needed to be liked, he needed someone to impress.

Spot sat next to Race and watched as his eyes danced between Jack and the cafeteria food on his tray. He was tired of Race moping. It was time to do something about it.

Jack and Spot were not particularly close, but they were both at the top of the high school hierarchy. Jack was popular, while Spot was feared. Spot transcended the boundaries of the traditional cliques as a sort of enforcer. He knew everyone's dirty secrets, and wasn't afraid to use them to get what he wanted. And Spot always knew what he wanted.

Spot watched Jack and David together with a calculating gaze. There was something there, something he could use.

Spot caught Jack's eyes, and jerked his head toward the hallway. Then Spot walked out of the cafeteria without waiting to see if Jack would follow. He was leaning against the wall by the door when Jack stalked into the hall.

"You got something to say to me?" Jack turned to face him, bristling at the abrupt summons.

Spot just looked at him, and Jack did his best not to flinch under his cool stare.

"It's not my fault," Jack insisted.

Spot raised his eyebrow slightly.

"Are you gonna say something, or are you just enjoying the view?" Jack tried to provoke Spot into reacting.

Spot pushed himself away from the wall, enjoying how easy it was to get under Jack's skin. He sauntered slowly towards Jack. "You want to be an ass, that's none of my business. But you hurt Race, and then it is my business."

"It's not my fault he's a prude," Jack snapped.

Spot's lips twisted into a sly grin. "You really want your new pal Davey to find out why you dumped your last boyfriend?"

"We're not dating!" Jack protested, perhaps a little too strongly.

"Oh, so you won't mind when he finds out?" Spot widened his eyes in faux innocence.

Jack blanched. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Spot returned with a smirk.

Jack did his best to look unconcerned. "He wouldn't believe you."

"You want to bet on it?" Spot challenged.

Jack shrugged. He knew he couldn't win. To make it worse, he knew Spot was doing him a favor by talking to him without an audience present.

"If you didn't do anything wrong, why wouldn't you want him to know?" Spot asked pointedly.

Jack stared back sullenly.

"Just think about it," Spot threw the words over his shoulder as he walked away.

Jack did think about it, and it made him feel lousy.

Race sighed. It had been a long day. He got out of his class late, and was disappointed that Spot hadn't waited for him. He knew Spot was getting fed up with the funk he was in, and that made him feel worse. Race shuffled through the hallways, textbooks clasped in his arms. The corridor was deserted, except for a lone figure loitering by Race's locker. Race briefly considered turning around and walking away, but he figured he have to deal with Jack sooner or later, so he might as well get it over with now.

"You mind moving out of the way?" Race kept his face blank.

Jack slid to the side as Race opened his locker. "Look, I'm sorry. I was a jerk," Jack mumbled without making eye contact, clearly unused to apologizing.

"Yeah. You were." Race shoved his books into his locker, closed the door, and turned to face Jack. "So you're sorry."

"I am," Jack sounded sincere.

"I'm not taking you back." Race tried not to wince at the look of relief on Jack's face.

"No, uh, that's not what I was getting at," Jack had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I just wanted to apologize."

"Whatever." Both of them knew that 'whatever' meant 'it's okay'.

"Still friends?" Jack stuck out his hand, his face hopeful.

"God, and you called me a girl?" Race scoffed.

"C'mon Race, please?"

Race didn't have the heart to say no. His lips twisted into a slight smile as grasped Jack's hand. "If you hug me, I will knee you in the nuts."

Jack laughed and pulled him closer, but he angled his hips away just to be safe.