Chapter 1

Sherlock saw Sebastian sitting in the middle of the library room, hovered over his textbook. Sherlock guessed he was working on their psych essay due the following week. Seb looked up and Sherlock tried to smile and wave. Seb glared at him and went back to his textbook.

Sherlock frowned momentarily, but quickly erased the look. Sebastian was an idiot, not nearly as smart as Sherlock. Sherlock didn't need a friend like that. So instead, he took a small corner table to work on his psychology essay. He was just delving into the world of Freud and beginning to forget the unfortunate incident with Seb when a fairly large presence sent a shiver up his spine.

Annoyed, Sherlock looked up. A tall college student was standing in front of him. He had blonde hair and was sturdily built with bright blue eyes. He gave Sherlock a kind smile, despite Sherlock's scowl.

"I saw what happened back there, with Sebastian." He had a gravelly voice and Sherlock twitched his ear; he didn't like it. "Ignore him," he went on. "He's an ass who thinks he knows everything. I wish he would just shut up in our psych class, don't you?"

Oh. Sherlock frowned without thinking about it. So they had psych together. Sherlock usually ignored the other students, except Seb, who just said the stupidest things, he couldn't ignore them.

Sherlock finally nodded in agreement.

The student hesitated, his smile hardening a bit as he struggled for something else to say. "Are… Are you working on your psych essay?"

Sherlock nodded again. Surprisingly to him, this… person was still there. For some unknown reason, this guy really seemed to want to talk to him. Sherlock considered asking him to leave. But Seb's face flashed in his mind, and he remembered his mother begging him to make friends.

All right. "Yes," he said. His voice cracked; he hadn't used it since class the previous day. He coughed and the student smiled encouragingly. Sherlock found him painfully condescending, but hell, someone was trying. "Are you?"

The man nodded. "Yeah." He shook his head with a chuckle. "That Freud guy had some really weird thoughts going through his head."

"Yes, well…" Sherlock wondered why he was doing this, but the words fell from his mouth before he could stop them. "Would you like sit here?"

His eyes lit up. "Yeah!" He gathered his stuff from the other table and sat across from Sherlock. "I'm Jackson, by the way."

"Sherlock."

"I know."

Sherlock looked up and Jackson smiled at him. Sherlock took in his new companion and nodded slowly. Maybe they could be friends.

Jackson did become Sherlock's friend, and after the first week, it was unusual for anyone to see them apart. Jackson was thankful Sherlock had gotten a single room, and the two spent a lot of time studying in the small room.

As time went on, Sherlock found, to his chagrin, that he was growing fond of Jackson in a different way. Sherlock being gay was nothing new to him. Sex was never really a big deal to him, to be honest, but when he did find someone he found himself attracted to, it was always a male.

And Jackson appeared to be that male. Sherlock tried to suppress it, reminding himself that his friend was straight, and he almost managed to squash his feelings.

Almost.

It was a chilly autumn Sunday afternoon, and Jackson was sitting on the floor of his dorm, doing and redoing his calculus. Sherlock shot him a look out of the corner of his eye; his shirt was disheveled and untucked, his pants ripped in the middle. Jackson looked paler than usual and his hair hadn't been brushed since at least Friday. There were dark circles under his eyes. Sherlock looked back to his laptop.

Jackson threw his pencil down, sighed, and ran his hands over his face.

Sherlock stole another glance, arguing with himself about whether or not he should ask what was wrong. Finally, he gritted his teeth and said, "Everything all right?"

Jackson half jumped, as if Sherlock speaking surprised him. He hesitated. "Um. Yeah."

"Please don't lie to me." Sherlock scrowled down the webpage.

Jackson chuckled. "I've just got something on my mind."

Sherlock sat silently, wondering if Jackson would elaborate or if he should ask.

"I have something to tell you, but I'm not sure how you'll feel about it."

Sherlock could feel Jackson watching him. He refused to relay any emotion to his friend. No one was worth that, not yet. Not even Jackson.

"Sherlock." The seriousness of Jackson's voice, however, pulled Sherlock from his mental dungeon. He sat up and rolled off his bed, coming to sit on the floor across from Jackson. Jackson smiled in thanks, but he looked nervous. "Sherlock, I'm gay."

Sherlock's heart stopped. Mentally, he willed his body to stop reacting to the confession before him. His stomach needed to stop doing flipflops. His heart needed to start beating again. Oh, wait, no, his heart needed to beat normally, not pound. His face needed to stop feeling warm. Shit, shit, shit.

"Sherlock?" Jackson was leaning forward now, worry flashing through his eyes.

Sherlock shook his head, trying to clear anything. "Yes," he croaked. "Yes, that's fine."

"It's fine?"

"It's fine." Sherlock looked down at his shaking hands. He had to do it. He had nothing to lose, right? "I mean." He coughed. "So am I."

Jackson gave him his signature big grin, a grin Sherlock noted seemed to be reserved for him. Jackson patted his cheek roughly. "Way to go, dude," he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Sherlock felt a shiver run up his spine and he wished Jackson would stop talking like that. Or touching him. Or smiling at him. Or… any of it.

"Are you cold?"

Shit.

"Come here." Jackson pulled the blanket off the bed above Sherlock's head and patted the spot next to him. "I'm cold, too."

"You're doing calc." Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how this counted as a reason not to sit next him, but it was close enough. Anything to keep from being that close to the friend he now knew he maybe had a chance with.

Until Jackson saw how his mind worked. Sherlock frowned; he hadn't showed off his deducing skills yet in fear that it would drive his one and only friend away.

Jackson shut his calc book. "I'm done." He stood up and tossed the blanket over Sherlock, seeing that he would not be moving. "I'm going to make tea, want some?"

Sherlock nodded silently. Jackson poured the water from a few of Sherlock's water bottles into a measuring cup and began heating it in the microwave. He looked through Sherlock's tea stash, deciding on a mint black tea. Secretly, Sherlock knew it was Jackson's favorite, which was why he'd bought it. Jackson dumped the loose tea into Sherlock's strainer in his pot.

"I don't know why you don't just use tea bags like a normal person," snorted Jackson.

Sherlock flinched at the term "normal person," and immediately prayed Jackson hadn't seen that.

Of course he had.

Jackson frowned. "Sorry, I didn't mean that." The microwave beeped and Jackson poured the water into the teakettle. He set the timer for five minutes and sat across from Sherlock. "Why do you hate it when I say things like that?" Jackson asked, his head cocked. Sherlock just blinked at him. They were not about to have this conversation, not with Jackson close enough that he could feel the other's breath against his face. "Sherlock?" Jackson reached out and put his hand on Sherlock's head. "Sherlock, let me in."

Sherlock took Jackson's hand off his head and laid it in Jackson's lap. Sherlock froze.

Jackson was hard.

And staring at him.

Hungrily.

"Truth or dare?"

Sherlock met his gaze. "What?"

"Truth. Or. Dare?" Jackson repeated. His voice was low and husky again. Sherlock's grip on his wrist tightened.

"Dare."

"I dare you to kiss me." Before Sherlock could say anything, Jackson jerked forward and smashed his lips into Sherlock's. Sherlock jerked back in surprise, but he was against the bed and Jackson still had his lips captured. After a moment, Sherlock relaxed into the kiss and Jackson eased up, pressing gentler against him. Sherlock closed his eyes. His lips were chapped and rough, methodical with his testing and tasting. Sherlock felt a tongue run across his lips and he opened to let Jackson in. Suddenly, Jackson pulled away, looking flushed.

"Sorry," he panted. "God, I'm sorry."

Sherlock reached out, desperate for contact again. He grabbed Jackson's shirt to keep him from moving. "I do not think that fulfills the terms of the dare." He pulled Jackson to him again. Jackson smirked against his lips and slid onto his lap. Sherlock gasped. He felt Jackson's hands beginning to work at his buttons and he began working down Sherlock's neck, nipping, biting, licking. Sherlock panted, dropping his head to Jackson's shoulder. Jackson grinded against him and he panted.

"Jackson, no, wait."

Jackson stilled everything and leaned back to meet Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock willed him to understand.

"I just—"

Jackson placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "It's okay, Sherlock. You're right. We should take it slow." He got off the other man and Sherlock groaned plaintively at the loss of contact. Jackson chuckled. He packed up his book bag. Swinging his bag over his shoulder, Jackson stole another kiss from Sherlock. "See you at dinner?" he asked, hovering above Sherlock's lips. Sherlock searched his gaze for something, but Sherlock wasn't sure what. He gave a sharp nod. Jackson smiled and ran his hand through Sherlock's hair. "Good." He shut the door behind him.

Sherlock stared after him, his body and mind feeling like it was in overload. He looked up to see that the timer had beeped, probably during the make-out session. Sherlock poured himself a cup of tea. He huddled against his bed, hands warmed by the hot liquid.

Sherlock thought about his deducing, and a rock formed in the pit of his stomach. Jackson still didn't know. Sherlock had a very bad feeling about this.