This was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. They were best mates. They played football together and sometimes beat each other up a little bit, but that was as far as it went.

Yes, this was definitely wrong. Utterly, inescapably wrong. So why, he wondered as his lips pulled away from Bolton's, did it feel so right?

"We're not gay or anythin'," he whispered with shallow, panting breath and a rapid heart rate. Neither of them had scheduled this in the plans for their very manly, totally heterosexual sleepover. It had just happened. Paul had reached over to grab the bowl of popcorn and their lips had accidentally brushed, and he wasn't quite sure who had turned it into THAT, but neither of them had complained.

"Shut up," Bolton hissed, swallowing and turning away.

"But I mean... like, it doesn't, does it?" He was starting to feel a little panicked. He couldn't currently decide whether his emotions were embarrassed and ashamed, or excited and... A slight feeling of nausea pooled in his stomach. "Like, 'cause, everyone like, er, experimen-"

"Oh my god, man, you're makin' it worse!" Bolton whispered and he fell silent. Their eyes met in the semi-darkness for one awkward, silent moment. Then they looked away, staring at their hands or the walls or just ANYWHERE but each other.

The still silence made it worse. It made it quiet enough for him to hear the whispers in his thoughts.

His lips... so soft... so hot... want... lust...

With a pitiful groan he pulled his legs up and buried his face in his knees, trying to shut everything out.

Sitting behind him on the bed, Bolton cleared his throat.
"I liked it," he admitted, sounding disgusted, but also just a little bit... scared? Hopeful? Gentle? Paul lifted his head and turned to stare at his friend. "Sort of."

"...Yeah, I sort of did too," he murmured.

They both endured the silence for as long as they could before meeting in another rushed, slightly uncomfortable collision of lips. Paul scrambled onto the bed in a mess of willowy teenage limbs and stared down into his best friend's shimmering eyes. They gave each other awkward smiles before wrapping their arms around each other and pulling each other closer, into yet another rough, childish kiss.

"This isn't gay," Paul gasped during a break in the kissing.

"Definitely," Bolton whispered back, allowing his admittedly much weaker friend to pin him to the bed.

It wasn't romantic. It wasn't anything.

They were just best friends, they kept reminding themselves.

Just best friends.