Underage Drinking and More Teenage Clichés

by rosemilagros

C.J. Cregg is hosting a party on behalf of student council. Sam finds the night to be more than he anticipated, especially after Josh has the bright idea of starting a game of spin-the-bottle. Josh/Sam, Sam/Toby, CJ/Carol (posted originally on AO3)

"I didn't know student council did anything besides bake sales and prom and… y'know, that kind of stuff."

Sam opened his mouth but he was not entirely sure how to respond. The guy sitting next to him looked more like a college dropout than a high school student, all reddish stubble and beady eyes and the dawn of forehead wrinkles. It was conceivable that he was in fact not a high school student and hadn't actually received an invitation to this party. Sam didn't recognize him, and in one way or another Sam recognized everyone from school. He thought about calling him out on it—"So, what grade are you in?" "Who do you have for physics?"—but both C.J. and Josh had independently told him to be cool tonight, and he figured making a scene over an unconfirmed party-crasher that wasn't causing any trouble might violate that precondition.

He cleared his throat. "Well, officially, this isn't a student council-coordinated event. We don't condone the consumption of alcohol by minors." The guy shook his head and pointed to his ear, signalling that he couldn't hear over the music. Sam reddened when he realized the prudence of his statement. "Student council isn't supposed to support underage drinking," he said, leaning in slightly. Reiteration really helped to fester the self-loathing.

The guy eyed him behind a disconcerted half-smile and nodded politely. After a few moments of silence he rose from the couch, leaving Sam alone with the red plastic cup C.J. handed to him when he arrived. He sighed and stared down at it between his hands, regretting, for the hundredth time in the past three hours, not having stayed home tonight.

Josh assured him many times that he'd have a blast, but the only people who seemed to be enjoying themselves were three sheets to the wind. A week ago, when C.J. instructed Sam to spread word about the party, she made it abundantly clear that this was not an official student council event and therefore she, as an individual acting completely of her own free will without any linkage to student government, did not need to hold qualms about serving alcohol. That being said, everyone on council was required to be there and promote their benevolence and good name.

The West Wing High School Student Council was not what anyone might call popular with the student body lately, or administration for that matter, especially after Josh Lyman was correctly quoted by the school paper as saying, in reference to the entire West Wing football team, "Our school board is happy to accommodate an institutionalized gang of 1.5 GPAs leeching money for new elbow pads and jock straps…while teachers scrounge to stock their classrooms with supplies as basic as pencils and paper." Further on, Josh declared a necessity for a shift in the school's budgeting: "We're blowing money on new football uniforms every season while the marching band has been reusing the same sweat-stained overalls and feathered hats since 1975. And this isn't just about uniforms, which aren't cheap. We're talking about money that could be spent on art supplies, healthier food options, or maybe, who knows, fixing that leaky toilet in the boys' locker room. We should be focusing our funds on the education of students who aren't blessed with the athleticism necessary for a college scholarship these days."

And so, as part of damage control procedure in cases like these, C.J. stepped in with one of her famous blowout parties, the intention of which was to remind everyone that student council members were just another part of the peer group. There had been no mention tonight of Josh's slap in the face to the football team and although it didn't seem to weigh on anyone's mind while they were being served drinks by his friends, Sam suspected some kind of apology would have to be made within the next few days.

C.J.'s house was massive and absolutely gorgeous—a red-brick colonial revival with pretentious iron gate, six-column portico, well-groomed hedges, four chimneys, a two-storied front hall, and the most intricate floral wallpaper Sam had ever seen. If it hadn't been late November the in-ground pool and patio out back would likely have been the party's focal point. Instead, everyone crowded in the expansive basement with its warm lighting and mahogany wainscoting, playing pool and air hockey and talking and dancing or hovering around the wet bar, music videos running on several 60" wall-mounted flat screens, the surround audio as loud as it could go.

This is where Sam spent most of his night, sunken into the basement's cozy suede couch, facing its enormous entertainment center—the largest he'd ever seen, along with the one upstairs in the Creggs' family room—occasionally straying between the pool table and bar. He was overdressed in a navy sweater and khakis, which he hadn't felt too insecure about until Josh's jest about a Lands' End catalog and a boating trip to Cape Cod.

Despite promising to stick by his friend's side the entire night and make sure they both had a good time, Josh had waited only until there was a drink in his Sam's hand before abandoning him, undoubtedly in the direction of a girl. Now he sat on the couch, alone, unsure if he should pray for someone to talk to or for all of them to keep ignoring him.

He got up to take yet another walk through the house—a half-hearted search for Josh, but mostly an attempt to not look like a sober nerd sitting alone on the couch, which was difficult when he really was a sober nerd sitting alone on the couch. The only people here he was close with were C.J. and Josh and Toby; the first of which was too busy being a hostess to hold his hand all night and makes friends for him, while the second and third had vanished into the crowd shortly after arriving. Toby had only shown up in the first place because C.J. insisted he do so, and because it was C.J. insisting, and it could be presumed that he would return a bit later to convince her he'd been there the whole time. Josh, if he had already left with someone, wouldn't be heard from until tomorrow afternoon.

There were, of course, a few other people Sam knew from class and student council affairs but none of whom he was very close with and none of whom he felt comfortable following around for the duration of the party. He would have taken his leave hours ago if his ride was anywhere to be found and if C.J. hadn't made him promise to stay for clean-up.

Sam left the basement and climbed the steps to the kitchen, sleek and spacious, white gleaming cabinets and sparkling granite countertops. Two girls appeared at the top of the staircase as he ascended and he muttered an unnecessary apology, pressing his back against the wall to let them pass. They didn't seem to notice.

It was much quieter in the kitchen now that the party was dying down, but music still pulsed through the floor in a way Sam found strangely relaxing, and after a while, terribly irritating. Donna Moss stood by the sink, staring at nothing and eating potato chips out of the party-sized bowl balanced between her arm and waist.

Sam stood beside her and reclined against the counter with a sigh. "Hey, Donna."

"Hey, Sam." She plucked the red cup from his hand without looking, gulped, and handed it back. She didn't appear to enjoy the taste and Sam didn't blame her. "Enjoying the party?" she asked, still grimacing.

"No. You?"

She shrugged. "Could be worse."

He took a few chips and shoved them into his mouth while Donna once again took the drink from his hand. They sighed in unison.

"Have you seen Josh?" he asked.

"Unfortunately yes. He's making out with Mandy Hampton in the living room."

Sam paused, letting this weigh on his shoulders. "I thought they—"

"They did. C.J. invited her. Apparently she was supposed to get some football players to come, but they didn't show. Doesn't seem to stop her from being the life of the party, though." Donna devoured several more chips but not before Sam perceived the resentment in her voice. He couldn't determine whether it was aimed toward Josh for making out with Mandy, or at Mandy for making out with Josh, or the general idea of Josh making out with someone who wasn't her. Whichever it was, Sam was familiar with that same feeling.

Donna swallowed and shoved the snack bowl into his hands. "Excuse me. I have to go wash my eyes out now." She disappeared from the kitchen, shoes clicking against the hardwood floor.

Sam took a deep breath and stared down at the bowl. Josh could at least have the decency to fixate on a girl that still went to their school, someone in their class Sam could focus his frustration and unhappiness on, someone he could tear apart during group projects and classroom debates as some sort of revenge. Maybe Josh could even find someone he clearly didn't like all that much so Sam wouldn't have to lie awake at night blinking at the darkness and wondering if they would last through graduation. He drowned his bitterness in a sinful amount of potato chips.

Thinking better of licking out the residual salt and crumbs from the bowl, he instead left it in the sink, washing the grease off his hands with dish soap. He tried not to look toward the hall as he dried his hands. The living room was around the corner and off the front hall, a little out of his view, and if he just took a few steps out there he might have been able to catch a glimpse of Josh and Mandy. His chest burned in jealousy at the very thought of them together, but the burning waned into a deep-seated pressure when Sam realized how pathetic a jealousy it was. He would never share anything like that with Josh, not even something so vacant and hormonal, and it was ridiculous to exhaust himself with daydreams and false hope.

Sam glanced at the sliding door to the patio and stepped outside.

It was freezing and pitch-black beyond the throw of light from the kitchen. The air was heavy with the moisture of rain yet passed and Sam had no trouble filling his lungs with it. He watched his breath materialize before him and shoved his hands into his pockets. The stone patio shone wet and raindrops fell sporadically from a wooden arbor partially attached the house, one or two tapping his shoulders and tickling his scalp.

Beyond the pool and well-groomed lawn, C.J.'s backyard was nothing more than trees and a shallow hill leading down toward the highway. Every few seconds came the distant rush of a speeding car sloshing over the wet road. It took Sam a moment to notice he could no longer hear any noise rising from the basement—not that the music or chatter had been bothering him for any reason but their volume, but he found this silence fairly enchanting. It was gratifying to be close to such revelry but be absolutely at peace, alone in the darkness and the silence, no one knowledgeable of his presence here.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Sam flinched.

Toby Ziegler stood near the edge of the patio in half-shadow: the outline of a heavy black coat and cigar raised to his lips, the orange-red ring at its end burning against the dark. He blew dense smoke into the air, his voice calm and heavy like sleep. "Hey, Sam."

In the twelve months since first meeting Toby, Sam had failed to make sense of his ill temper and eccentric behavior outside of the theory that he was born an old man. Toby drank coffee and read the newspaper every morning whether it was a school-day or not, he had no sense of fashion, did not like to have fun, complained about everything, and probably held the national title for most impressive beard grown by a high schooler; and now, to progress his imitation of a Walter Matthau-type gone Mr. Darcy, he stood on the patio smoking a cigar and avoiding a party.

"I thought you left," Sam said, pretending Toby hadn't startled him. He took a few steps forward to stand beside him nearer the house and shivered.

"Not yet," he breathed out. "What brings you out here?"

Sam looked down at his feet. "Well, I was having such a good time in there, I decided to step aside and let someone else have a turn before all the fun ran out."

Toby didn't laugh; Sam didn't expect him to. Rarely did his lackluster attempts at humor go over well with any crowd. Toby exhaled two rings of smoke, gray and defined against the cold.

The sky was almost cloudless tonight and the stars shone sharply against it like diamonds, crisp and breathtaking. Sam effortlessly and silently identified Cassiopeia over the horizon, along with the easier constellations like Orion and Ursa Major, but he knew his recognition of these stars wasn't very impressive and he was too afraid of being wrong about the more difficult ones to point them out to Toby.

"The stars look beautiful," he blurted instead, but Sam knew his companion well enough to guess he wasn't the type to be intrigued by stars or constellations or nature or beauty and Toby did not say anything to indicate otherwise. A biting gust of wind swept through the yard and against the house, rustling what few leaves were left on the late-autumn trees and stirring the already fallen from the ground. Sam shivered.

Toby watched him and held the cigar carefully between his teeth as he unzipped his coat. He handed it to Sam, who hesitated before pulling it on. It was huge and the collar reached just below his nose when he pulled the zipper up, overwhelming him with the stale scent of tobacco and cheap cologne. Toby's body heat lingered inside. Sam pulled the material tighter around his torso to conserve its warmth, wrapping his arms around himself in a loose hug. "Thank you," he mumbled into the fabric.

Toby nodded, taking his turn to endure the cold and disguising his shudders as deep breaths. Sam watched his shoulders rise and fall as he once again brought the cigar to his lips, sweater shifting pleasantly across his chest, using the other hand to run a hand through his curly hair. It occurred to Sam for the first time since stepping outside that Toby was, legally, too young to be smoking. Toby had never before seemed too young to do anything. He was only two years older than Sam but from both a social and authoritative standpoint the difference felt like decades.

He could not instantly recall the details of their state's tobacco regulations and even if he could, he felt too subordinate in their relationship to lecture Toby on anything, especially something as unfashionable and redundant as the dangers of tobacco. He worried only mildly that an officer would at any moment leap out from behind the bushes and put them under arrest.

Toby Ziegler served as Secretary of the West Wing High School Student Council and his most mundane tasks were typically passed off to the Assistant Secretary—yours truly, S. Seaborn. Sam was perpetually busy this time of year with classes and the debate team and mock trial coming up, but he never seemed to mind the extra work Toby assigned him. He enjoyed doing it, but seldom for the work itself; it was an excuse to seek Toby out during a free period, whether to turn in a report or tell him everything was taken care of. As Toby sometimes pointed out, Sam could go directly to Mr. McGarry to turn something in because that's where most of these reports ended up anyway, but he liked Toby, and he liked being able to say, "Look what I did, I finished what you told me to do," and Toby would give him a seconds-longer consideration than usual before reminding him of another menial task that needed to be completed.

He and Sam first met under unfavorable circumstances during last year's student council elections, circumstances involving a speech that Josh was required to give if he wished to run. He had his eyes on Head of Student Council and tried to rope Sam into writing the speech for him with honeyed words and later bribery and although Sam resisted at first—isn't the whole point to write it yourself, Josh?—it didn't take more than three crooked smiles to win him over, free of charge. As it turned out, in addition to commissioning Sam, Josh had bribed Toby Ziegler with $50 to write 800 words of speechwriting gold. When the rumors picked up and word got around to administration, they were all three called to the principal's office for a talking-to by Dr. Bartlet and Mr. McGarry. Sam, despite being in the least amount of trouble, was the most nervous of them all, wringing his hands and trying to apologize on Josh's behalf. Toby remained deadpan throughout the whole thing, which wasn't difficult between two of Dr. Bartlet's long-winded sermons and Josh's arguing and mouthing off. They were all released without so much as a slap on the wrist, but Sam knew this was only because of both adminstrator's favoritism of Josh; which no doubt influenced Dr. Bartlet to go easy on them all. By the time election day rolled around, festering gossip and skewed teenage values had secured Josh as the most popular candidate and he won by a landslide.

"Did you have anything to drink?" Toby asked after another release of smoke.

Sam looked up. He remembered his red cup on the kitchen counter, his initials scrawled on the side to distinguish it from the rest. "Just one beer," he said. "And I think it was watered down."

He thought he saw a smile cross Toby's lips, but in the dark it was difficult to tell. "She does that for the underclassmen sometimes," he said, referring to C.J. "That was all you had?"

Sam twisted his fingers inside the pockets of Toby's coat. "Yeah."

"Good kid," he said, patting Sam's back.

It was rare for anyone under the age of 30 to praise him for his aversion to alcohol, and Sam knew he probably shouldn't have taken Toby's remark as a compliment on account of it being most likely intended to mock him, but his heart was swollen with pride at the small chance Toby genuinely meant what he said.

Toby extinguished his cigar against the arbor. "Let's go inside."

x

Josh, though he technically wasn't licensed to drive past midnight, sober or otherwise, was assigned by C.J. as the designated driver for those guests of hers who were unable to walk a straight line from the coat rack to the front door. This wasn't a problem for Josh, seeing as his mouth had been too busy flirting and kissing all night to do any actual drinking. Sam and Donna were in charge of determining who was fit to drive and apprehending car keys as the visibly impaired attempted to walk out the door, rapidly making them the most unpopular party hosts in existence. So far they had only stopped two girls who were already sent away in a cab and a group of three who appeared to have had some miscommunication as to which of them was supposed to be the designated driver.

He and Donna stood on the portico at either side of the open door, shivering despite their winter coats and resisting glances toward the driveway where Josh and Mandy caressed beside his car. Sam crossed his arms and shuffled his feet; Donna leaned against a pillar, facing away from the couple.

He really liked Donna. He was well aware that she was in love with Josh. This allegedly made her competition or something, but as things were, neither of them had a chance in hell with the school's most eligible bachelor. They were in this boat together, surrounded by Josh's irritating charm and the curse of wholly loving and hating him. Though he and Donna never spoke to one another about their fondness for Josh or acknowledged it in any other manner, it was good to know someone was there with him, someone cognizant of how utterly frustrating it was to love Josh Lyman.

Sam watched her as she sighed and frowned. She hadn't mentioned anything about Josh and Mandy since they spoke in the kitchen, and Sam wondered if she was even aware of the scene they were performing several yards behind her back. He tried to ignore it as well as she. "Did you have a good time?" he asked, trying to make small talk.

Donna shrugged. "It was unbearable, but then I had a drink, and it was slightly less unbearable." Her eyes focused on him. "But if C.J. asks, I had a wonderful time and it was the best party I've ever been to." Her words were deliberate and emphasized, so Sam took her seriously, though he doubted C.J. would ever ask him about it. Donna closed her sentence with a yawn; she was visibly exhausted and just watching her eyes flutter closed a second longer than a blink burdened his muscles with a instant desire to crawl into bed.

Their small talk was short-lived and Sam reverted to distracting himself with the figures in his peripheral vision, tempting him to look toward Josh's car and watch the couple's fondling, an action that would do nothing but pierce his heart and deepen his longing to take Mandy's place. He was just about to do it, knowingly hurt himself by looking over there, but someone sooner appeared at the door and caught both his and Donna's attention.

Toby pushed open the storm door. "You guys gonna help clean up or are you enjoying freezing your asses off out here?" he asked, leaning against the door frame.

Donna pushed away from the column. "Is everyone gone?"

Toby nodded and held the door open for her as she stepped past him. His eyes drifted back to Sam.

He raised his forefinger—just a second—and went to the edge of the porch, leaning toward the driveway. "Josh!" he echoed across the lawn. Josh and Mandy disjoined and looked his way, but Sam could not distinguish between curiosity and embarrassment on their faces, only able to hope it was the latter. He signalled a thumbs up and Josh returned it in acknowledgement. The two were back to smiling and petting one another before Sam had time to turn away.

"You okay?" Toby asked once the door was closed behind them.

"Yeah, why?" Sam noticed the pitying angle to his eyes.

There was no response.

While he and Sam were clearing the ground floor of dishes and plastic cups and hoping not to find vomit in the bathroom, Toby scornfully mentioned something about an afterparty. An afterparty, or any other sort of gathering with slight resemblance to a party, was the last thing that interested Sam right now, but the notion became progressively appealing when Toby specified that it would only be a handful of them in the basement with whatever alcohol was left over and that Josh might be joining them when he got back.

C.J. and her friend Carol stood downstairs behind the wet bar, each holding a glass of wine. Across from them were Bonnie and Ginger, two freshmen from student council with whom Sam was very familiar. The four of them had clearly begun drinking more recently than their departed guests. They giggled and tilted back and forth with laughter and Ginger brushed her fingers across Sam's chest when he sat next to her at the bar. Toby grabbed a beer from the fridge.

It wasn't long until they urged him to have a drink as well; Bonnie suggested using up what orange juice was left for a screwdriver and Ginger simply passed off her cup and told him to try it and before long Sam's choice of drink became an argument in which his input was not welcome. Finally C.J. informed them that as the host it was her obligation—nay, her duty—to finish off any unconsumed alcohol and she would be choosing who got what.

Unable to have their way being that neither of them were the bartender nor the owner of the wet bar, however C.J. was only by default, Bonnie and Ginger climbed down from their seats and left the wet bar in favor of the couch a few feet away.

C.J. poured off the last of some vodka labeled Marilyn Monroe Strawberry into a cup of lemonade. "There you go," she said, placing it on the bar in front of Sam. "I've never tried this stuff with anything but daiquiris but I have been told on multiple occasions that my creations bear the mark and ingenuity of a mixology wizard."

Toby stood a few feet away at the edge of the kitchen area, leaning against the wall and watching them. Sam was aware of him only out of the corner of his eye. He stared at the cup, unsure how to turn it down after so much fuss. "I don't doubt your powers of mixology, C.J., but I think I've had enough for tonight."

She smirked. "You had what, one beer?"

"One watered-down beer," Carol added.

"It's delicious, Sam. Try it."

He pushed the cup toward her. "More for you."

"It's a fruity cocktail," she said, pushing it right back at him. "You're gonna look like enough of a pussy if you do drink it."

"Don't pressure him," Toby commented.

C.J. turned her head, as if she had forgotten he was standing there, and a smile spread across her lips. "Can't knock it if you don't try it," she said.

Toby took a swig of beer, his eyes fixed on her. He stepped forward and when he stood beside him Sam felt a hand slide from his shoulder blade to the small of his back, and although the contact caused him to draw a quick breath, he was by this time accustomed to Toby's unexpected touches. "Last month at the D.A.R.E. assembly," he said, "weren't you the one handing out brochures about the dangers of giving into peer pressure?"

Carol giggled into her wine glass because she knew it to be true and C.J. tried to hide a smirk as she sipped hers. Sam, despite his support from Toby, couldn't help but be a little curious about the slapdash cocktail she had formulated. After all, how potent could something be when 50% of it was named after a blond movie star? "I could just try it," Sam shrugged, lifting the cup from the counter.

"You sure?" Toby watched as he raised it to his lips.

Sam nodded. The drink didn't taste like alcohol when it first hit his tongue, just strawberry lemonade, but the bitter taste of it promptly struck him, and the distinctive warmth soon set in to his chest. C.J. smiled satisfactorily when he brought the cup away, and she and Carol left to join the other girls. Toby stood next to him, his hand still on Sam's back. "One drink," he instructed.

Sam took another swig as he walked away, almost rebelliously, and grabbed the bottle from where C.J. had left it on the counter.

They didn't wait for Josh to return before counting up the night's profits. Everyone sat in a circle on the freshly-vacuumed floor of the basement, TVs and music switched off, a few plastic cups and on the coffee table and an empty snack bowl all that remained of the party. It was eerily quiet, Sam thought, when he considered the liveliness that took place little over an hour ago in this same room. They waited quietly as C.J. separated all of the funds into equal-looking stacks, several quarters in a pile to the side, and marked down a few numbers on a piece of paper.

She thought aloud: "OK. I didn't count up the entrance fees yet. That can be my relaxing Sunday activity, along with the APUSH essay I have yet to begin… but I'm gonna guess it'll total up to $200. For the shots I spent $90 on vodka and a little over 10 on Jell-O, so that's a hundred off the top. 120 shots, there were 7 left over. $3 a shot, 113 shots… that's…"

"339," Sam chimed. "539 including the estimated entrance profit."

"Let's not jinx ourselves. We'll keep it 339 for now. Minus the hundred, plus the 28 I spent on Solo cups, so minus 128… that makes a total profit of…" She looked up at Sam.

He smiled. "$211."

"$211. Well, now we can afford confetti for prom."

It didn't take long between the seven of them to count out, by some miracle, a perfect $339, 128 of which C.J. pocketed. By some combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and C.J.'s instance that they count the profits tonight because otherwise she would end up doing it all herself tomorrow morning, a spell of weariness bechanced them. Just as C.J. put the last bills away in her lockbox, Toby had begun to slump over with his elbows on his knees, Ginger looked like she was in danger of collapsing onto Bonnie's lap, and Bonnie onto Carol's. Donna was spread out on the floor, all but knocked out. The only thing that kept Sam from joining them was his last sip of cocktail.

"How do you even plan on getting to use that dirty money?" he asked, pouring the last bit of vodka into his cup and watching as C.J. finished counting out another stack of one-dollar bills. "I don't think you're going to be able to make a $300 deposit without Mr. McGarry asking some questions."

She shrugged, wrapping a rubber band around the wad and placing it into the lockbox with the others. "I'll just tell him it's a generous donation."

"Or you could just keep it for yourself," Toby proposed, lifting his head.

"There's always that," she said with a smirk. "Say, I might be able to make a career out of this. The next big thing for entrepreneurs: throwing parties for rich suburban kids and profiting from overpriced Jell-O shots."

Carol elbowed her. "Hey, I'd invest."

C.J. titled her head teasingly. "You got the proper funds, sweetheart? I'm a very serious businesswoman, so no messing around here. I need at least a quarter mil for start-up."

Sam watched them closely and smiled behind his cup. Ginger slipped into a fit of slaphappy giggles and Bonnie tried to shush her before the laughter caught on. Even Toby seemed to loosen up as the two played out their stupid act.

"Really?" Carol looked offended. "Fine. Business partners, then. You handle finance and I'll perfect our gelatin-to-vodka ratio. We'll have to keep the recipe a secret and hand it down from generation to generation."

The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut and everyone aside from Toby and Donna looked up in surprise and mild paranoia that C.J.'s parents had decided to come home at 1 a.m. on a Sunday morning, two days before they were scheduled to, and walk straight to the basement without making any noise upstairs. They all breathed easy when Josh appeared at the bottom of the staircase. He stopped when he noticed them all staring.

"Miss me?" he smirked, beginning to unzip his coat.

C.J. sighed. "Oh, wonderful, you're back. Now you can drive everyone home," she said dryly, turning the key on her lockbox and pushing it toward the wall.

"Hilarious," Josh replied with equal dryness, throwing his coat down on the couch as he came to join them. Sam finished off the last of his cocktail as he sat down between Toby and Donna. C.J. leaned further and further away, pushing the lockbox until it was conspicuously hidden under one of the barstools behind her.

"So, what'd I miss?" Josh rubbed his hands together and rested his palms on his knees. "Seven Minutes in Heaven? Spin the Bottle?"

"No—" Toby's immediate protest was drowned out by cheers of delight from Bonnie and Ginger, as well as Donna, who found new vitality since Josh sat down beside her. There was a part of Sam that told him to sit this one out, that he would only embarrass himself if he didn't, but there was another part, presumably the part full of vodka, that couldn't help but imagine kissing Josh and having an excuse to do it, and if they kissed just once, surely Josh would be so enchanted that he'd want more, and it was this impaired portion of Sam's logic that conquered him.

They used the bottle Sam had just finished off—what would have been an impressive accomplishment if the bottle hadn't been nearly empty when he started. Ginger was the most excited about the game, and she urged Toby to play with them after his many complaints. He agreed to participate due only to the fact that he had 'nothing better to do', despite having a car in the driveway and enough sobriety to make it home safely. Donna now sat upright, letting her hair down from its ponytail and smiling at the stupid things Josh was saying to her. Sam was smiling as well, mostly from adrenaline and uneasiness, and he couldn't stop the blood from rushing to his face. He tried not to stare at Josh.

Bonnie explained the rules, the first of which was that turns would be taken clockwise. Secondly, the minimum amount of time for each kiss was three seconds. Thirdly, everyone got one pass; after that, they'd have to bow out of the game. "Also," she said, pausing to smile at Ginger, "if anyone spins on the same person twice, they have to spend seven minutes in the closet together."

Toby muttered to himself. "This is the stupidest fucking…"

Sam had never played spin-the-bottle or anything like it. He thought that teenagers never really did things like that; who would want to have to kiss their friend with everyone watching? His situation was unique, of course, being that he actually wanted something more with his friend.

None of the kisses were very surprising in that, if Sam had to imagine a situation like this and how one person would interact with another, everything turned out to be predictable. The bottle didn't spin very easily against the carpet, causing many of the participants to be paired with the person next to them. Josh sat one person away, Toby between them, and Sam hoped that he would be able to gage the spin to land a little farther. It was cheating, he knew, but he was desperate. He wasn't the jealous type, but after several turns and not being spun on once, Sam felt somewhat neglected and grew bitter, especially after Ginger and Toby kissed much too close to his face for comfort and Josh was spun on twice in a row, once by Carol and once by Bonnie.

C.J.'s first turn landed on Josh as well. Their kiss was short and sweet, and Sam did not think much of it, but his interest was piqued when Toby cleared his throat and bowed his head, looking up only after several seconds.

"You always kiss boys like they're your grandmother?" Josh asked.

"Only when they look like you, Josh."

Carol's spin went full circle to C.J., and everyone watched in gross fascination as the girls spent a full 30 seconds with tongue and all. Sam tried to be as interested as Josh and Toby were, but beyond astonishment at the fervor between them he couldn't find much appeal, and focused instead on Toby's fingers drumming along the neck of his beer bottle. The room was quiet when the girls pulled away from each other. C.J. smiled and Carol hung her head, but a grin was clearly visible.

"Damn," Josh breathed, earning an elbow in the ribs from Donna.

It was Sam's turn before he knew it, and he hesitated before giving the bottle a strong twist. It passed the circle once and almost spun out of alignment before settling between Toby and Josh. Sam felt his heart harden.

Josh looked sideways at Toby. "Does this mean we have to joust?"

C.J. leveled her chin to the ground and closed one eye. Sam didn't have time to cross his fingers or even know what to hope for. "It's Toby," she said, sitting up.

Toby didn't bother moving very far. Instead, he reached out and drew Sam in, resting a steady hand under his ear. His mouth was warm and soft, and Sam could taste tobacco and beer still on his lips. Time slowed, and afterward he couldn't say for certain how long it lasted—a few seconds at least, but not more than would make anyone else uncomfortable. He was at once warmed and unsettled, and only noticed when he pulled away that his hand was resting on Toby's leg. He wanted to be drawn in again, closer, with no one watching, but Toby was just as soon taking his own turn. He and C.J. spent a little more than thirty seconds tonguing each other to the increasing protest of everyone else.

Somewhere along the line Sam stopped crossing his fingers for Josh and started hoping for Toby again, for that sensation which could only be described as comforting goosebumps. He felt that within those brief touches, especially for someone whose first kiss had been very disappointing and only two months ago, Toby had spoiled him beyond excess.

On Sam's next turn the bottle landed on Josh, and he remembered why he was excited to play this game in the first place. Josh didn't make a move until Sam leaned forward first, and he quickly got the impression that Donna wasn't the only one in the room knowledgeable about his feelings.

"I'm gonna use my pass," Josh said hurriedly.

Sam stopped, on his hands and knees, already halfway across the circle; as if this wouldn't be humiliating enough while standing in a dignified position. "Oh." He had a sudden desire to fall down the side of a jagged cliff.

Josh smirked, like it was a joke. He and Sam, two friends, only friends, guy friends, kissing in front of a group of people that would live to tell the tale? It was a joke because a kiss between them could never be serious; it had to be a joke. "Sorry, pal."

Sam smirked too, and pretended to be unaffected.

When Josh's next turn arrived he returned to smiles because he got to kiss Ginger again, muttering "Bit heavy on the lip gloss," as they separated, which he must have thought was funny or charming or something. Ginger rolled her eyes and pushed him away but this was the reaction he was searching for and he laughed. Sam sat, legs still crossed, trying to act like every last bit of spirit hadn't been ripped from his very soul moments ago.

C.J. and Toby kissed again, on her turn. She crawled across the circle to reach him, earning howls from Bonnie and Carol, and Sam couldn't help but smile at the way she stared into his eyes and raised a hand to stroke his face like the climax of a romantic comedy. Then she kissed him briefly and pulled away, and Sam chuckled along with the rest of them. Toby even smirked.

Sam's next kiss was with Donna, who didn't look nearly as intimidated as he did when the bottleneck pointed to him. She crawled most of the way over and Josh didn't miss the opportunity to glance up her skirt, earning a slap on the back of his head from C.J. Sam leaned forward a bit.

"Hey," Donna said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Sam sighed nervously and she kissed his neck and cupped a hand between his ear and her lips: "Try to make him jealous." Then her lips were on his and it took Sam a moment to process the words. Her hands were in his hair and he did his best to mirror her, brushing back a tress of blonde hair and holding it against her head with his palm. It lasted for less than a minute but there was tongue and it wasn't exactly intolerable, and although Sam hardly knew what a good kiss felt like, he got the impression that Donna wasn't much more experienced than him. It must have at least looked impressive, because when they smiled and pulled away, everyone was staring at them in astonishment.

"Well shit," Carol said, and they both tried to hide their blushes as everyone broke out in smiles. Sam noticed that Josh wasn't as amused, but he smiled nonetheless when he caught Sam's gaze.

Sam couldn't determine whether it was his lucky day or not when his next turn landed on Toby. They were just about to kiss when Bonnie interrupted them and reminded everyone of the established rule about spinning the same person twice.

The closet contained several board games and an old coat and a stool that matched the ones at the wet bar, and although it was surprisingly roomy, no closet had room enough for the awkwardness Sam suffered when Bonnie winked at him and shut the door. Exposure and vulnerability crawled across his skin like a fever and he wanted to pull the string on the light bulb above them to mask himself it with darkness, but he didn't want to confirm any suspicions Toby surely had about his self-consciousness or fear or whatever it was that he felt.

Sam kept his eyes on the floor and rubbed his arm and did not look up when Toby shifted forward.

"Hey," he said softly. Sam smiled and his eyes flashed up briefly in reply. He hunted for anything to save him from this situation, something like water coming in under the wall or the house being on fire or signs of a medical emergency that either of them could be having, like a heart attack or stroke or something equally dire and totally plausible for a healthy teenager. Sam's fingers brushed the seat of the bar stool behind him and he pulled himself onto it because it was something to do, and it allowed him to avoid standing closer to Toby than necessary.

Toby matched his movements; he stepped forward and smoothed the back of his fingers over Sam's arm, relaxing him from his defensive position. There was a strange amount of energy in his touch, something chemical or magnetic or beyond Sam's understanding, because without warning he felt powerfully tired and had the desire to fold into Toby's broad chest and close his eyes and perhaps fall asleep there.

There wasn't a lot of time to think about it between when the bottle was spun and now, but Sam assumed Toby wouldn't be by any means interested in doing anything with him for seven minutes, especially in a closet, and for that reason he conceived they would just sit here for a while until the clock was up, and Sam wouldn't have to take part in anything he would regret later on, anything that would fill him with shame and mortification every time he laid eyes on Toby for the rest of his life.

But Toby laid bare his impatience; his eyelids lowered with hunger and he moved toward Sam, slowly, asking his permission. Sam gulped and a tremor ran through his body, not because he didn't want Toby to kiss him and was afraid to say no, but because he was afraid to say yes.

"Can we shut the light off?" he asked abruptly. Toby paused before momentarily letting go of him to do so.

Everything felt heavier in the dark. His heart pumped faster, each breath was louder, and the closet felt significantly smaller. The light coming in from under the door in a thin yellowish slit looked farther away. Hypersensitive to each movement in the dark, he felt Toby move closer and lay a hand on his thigh.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he said, his hand sliding up toward Sam's hips. His voice sounded like it was everywhere. "All right?"

Sam nodded, but he didn't know if Toby could tell, and he rested his hands on Toby's chest as his lips pressed against Sam's neck. "Anybody ever tell you how cute you are when you get a little drunk?"

He couldn't respond, but it wasn't as if he tried, and he didn't resist when Toby wrapped an arm around his back and almost lifted him off the stool, his legs wrapping around Toby's hips and drawing him closer.

Sam never knew kissing could feel this good, or that such a small part of the body was capable of giving and receiving so much sensation. He struggled to learn how to use his tongue against Toby's so he stopped trying and allowed him to do all the work; he was the one who started this after all.

His hands moved up from Toby's chest to grip his shoulders and his legs tried to grip him as well, one rising to rub against him and attain better traction. Toby loosened his hold in response but grabbed the outside of Sam's thigh—Easy, babe, I'm still in charge—and released his lips, kissing his jaw instead, his neck, any exposed skin. His hands moved between Sam's thighs.

"Josh," Sam breathed, and Toby's mouth kissed him once more before all movement ceased. They stood for a moment in total silence and Sam realized, with an increasing amount of nausea and blood to the face, his mistake. His legs fell but his hands remained on Toby, who heaved a sigh. He pulled back and reached up to switch the light on, Sam's hands trailing down his chest to his stomach. He was too ashamed to look anywhere but the floor. Toby's breath was labored.

They stood like that for a long while, Toby watching Sam, Sam watching the floor, hands rested on his belly, Toby's hands on either of his knees.

"I'm sorry," Sam said after what felt like an eternity.

Toby waited in silence, let the words soak into the air, into both of their ears, until Sam regretted saying them at all. He kissed Sam gently, a warm hand on his neck, and they kissed and touched lightly until Bonnie knocked on the door and told them time was up.

Spin the bottle got very unpopular after that, especially after Donna fell asleep on Josh's thigh, Ginger quit, and C.J. closed off the wet bar.

Sometime then it was not expressly stated but it became collectively understood that they'd all be staying the night, aside from Bonnie and Ginger, whose parents were apparently more protective than everyone else and not enthusiastic about letting their daughters stay out all night. Josh offered to drop them off on his way home, but decided he would rather come back to C.J.'s tonight and put off facing his parents until the morning.

While they were pulling on their boots and zipping up their coats and Josh was getting in some last-minute flirting, Sam hugged the girls goodbye and everyone else did the same. Toby kissed Ginger's cheek before she turned to Carol, and then slipped a hand on Sam's back while they weren't looking. "Go with them," he muttered under his breath, like an order, as if there was a secret between the two of them that should have explained its relevance.

"Why?" Sam replied in a whisper, but Bonnie came over to Toby just then and hugged him and thanked him for such a wonderful night, like they were departing relatives at Christmastime and Toby was the sole source of their merriment tonight.

"Sam's gonna come along and make sure Josh doesn't try anything funny," he said after kissing her and everything was laughs and eye rolls from there, and by the end of it everyone expected Sam to come along. Josh handed him his coat and he was unable to refuse. He scowled at Toby before they left.

Bonnie's house was not too far from C.J.'s and Ginger made plans to sleep over, so they didn't have to drive halfway across town to drop her off as well. The drive there was loud music and inside jokes between the girls and Sam nearly having a panic attack when Josh took his hand off the wheel to reach back and squeeze Ginger's leg and the car swerved into the opposite lane. He stayed silent the entire ride but thought their antics were entirely too juvenile for this hour on a Saturday night, when every Washington County cop on patrol and bored out of their mind was eager to nab some intoxicated teenagers.

Josh left the car running at the end of the driveway and walked them to the door, almost like a true gentleman. Sam watched from the passenger seat as they rejected his last and most pathetic advances of the night. Ginger gave him a light kiss on the lips because she had the most to drink out of all of them and who among them didn't have a scintilla of fondness for him, but Bonnie just rolled her eyes and closed the door after her third time saying, "Good night, Josh."

He came back to the car with a smile on his face, directing it at Sam as he pulled on his seatbelt and began to back out and again as he turned the radio to classic rock. Sam stopped trying to contain his laugh and let out a snort when Josh began to bob his head ridiculously and move his mouth to the lyrics, the percentage of which he knew was next to zero.

"What are you so happy about?' Sam asked, considering that Josh hadn't had a drink all night.

"Girls, Sam. Girls," he said, making a right turn. "Wonderful, wonderful girls."

"You're talking like someone who actually got lucky tonight." He didn't know what to think of Josh sometimes—whether to categorize him as a hormonal, misogynistic skirt-chaser or a lovable hopeless romantic, or perhaps an egomaniac that had to be reassured by every girl in the room that he was charming and attractive.

Josh's grin widened. "That's not the point, buddy." He kept his eyes on the road and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "There's no such thing as disappointment when it comes to cute girls, mi amigo. Whether they kick you on your ass or let you have theirs, a guy should honor any amount of recognition a lady gives him."

Sam smirked. "You're so full of bullshit."

"Well, yeah," he shrugged, "but I'm cute. Cute boys like us can get away with large amounts of bullshit." Josh smiled at him as they came to a stop sign, dark eyes twinkling in the extravagant lights of a house on the corner, prematurely and beautifully decorated for the holidays. Sam felt a rush of nervousness, and he leaned forward and kissed him.

He tried to kiss like Toby did, soft and passionate, but Josh pushed him away before he could try and the car jutted forward when he temporarily released the brake and Sam's elbow hit the dashboard.

"What the fuck are you—" He spat and wiped his mouth, almost as an afterthought. Sam immediately felt the shame swell in his face and chest and a shooting pain in his arm. "Jesus Christ, I'm not a fucking faggot." He placed both hands on the wheel, steady, evenly apart. Sam stared at the cup holder between their seats, listening to Josh's breathing as it slowed and to his own heart as it did the same.

C.J.'s house was only a few turns away and in less than five minutes they pulled into the driveway.

Sam stayed in the car for a second or two longer and gave Josh a head start. He dallied in the driveway, hands tucked into his coat pockets, neck tilted back. There were clouds moving in overhead, canvassing the stars. He shut his eyes and hit himself over the forehead.

He got in the front door just in time to hear another slamming upstairs, and he guessed that Josh hadn't been quiet about climbing the stairs either. Toby stood in the hallway in pajamas, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised. "What the hell happened?" he asked before Sam had even shut the door. He didn't answer, and the next second C.J. was at the top of the steps, looking down at both of them.

"What the hell happened?" she asked.

Toby looked at Sam expectantly, but he must have seen something in his eyes or on his face, because his gaze softened. He then looked back up to C.J. "It's Josh's time of the month, apparently."

C.J. narrowed her eyes. "You wanna rethink your choice of idiom there, Mr. Ziegler?"

"He's having a hissy fit?"

"Much better."

Carol appeared next to C.J. in a bathrobe at the balcony, running a brush through her long hair. "Is everything alright?" she asked, the least troubled out of all of them.

"Josh had a hissy fit," C.J. answered.

"About what?"

They both turned to Toby, who spread his arms. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Something about Mandy," Sam lied. They all groaned in irritation and Carol disappeared back toward C.J.'s bedroom.

"All right. Well," C.J. took a deep breath. "Tell him to keep it down. Donna's already asleep and we're going to bed in a little bit." They nodded at her and she made a turn to the bedroom. "Oh, and Sam," she said, glancing back. "I left some pajamas for you and Josh in the guest suite. Toby, you're taking the couch, right?"

"Yeah."

She bid them good night and Toby waited until he heard her bedroom door close to say anything. "Something about Mandy?" he inquired.

Sam took off his coat and hung it on the coat-tree beside the door. "Yeah," he said.

Toby was unconvinced and Sam knew it, but it was doubtful his interest extended enough to push the matter any further and act like he cared. Even so, Sam found himself hastening to escape his scrutiny. He put one foot on the staircase before it dawned on him that Josh was upstairs, and that they would be sharing a room tonight, and he remembered there being only one bed in the guest suite. This would not have seemed like a bad idea an hour ago and C.J. without a doubt had no angle in pairing them together, but the thought of walking into that room right now churned Sam's stomach.

"Are you going up?" Toby asked, still watching him.

"Yeah," he answered, and paused. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"No."

"You want a cup of tea or something?"

"Yes, please."

Toby brought him into the kitchen and placed the kettle on the stove. Sam sat at the counter and watched as he pulled two mugs from the cabinet, his movements easy enough to say he already knew his way around this kitchen fairly well. When Sam considered it, Toby seemed remarkably comfortable for being in someone else's home and had been giving off that impression for the greater deal of the evening. He wondered how long he had known C.J. and how many times he'd slept in this house and made tea in this kitchen. He thought back to the game downstairs and the gross amount of detail he absorbed after the two spun twice on each other. Toby pulled a box of assorted teas from the pantry.

"Hey, Toby?" Sam asked, looking down at his hands. "When you and C.J… downstairs, before…"

"During that moronic game?" He spoke as if he already knew what Sam was going to ask.

"Yeah."

"It was just for fun."

He watched as Toby chose two packets of tea without asking his preference and returned the box to the pantry. "OK."

The kettle whistled as Toby tossed one of the packets at Sam and the sound curled his toes. Their mugs filled with a satisfying gurgle and release of steam. Sam tore open his packet—some chamomile blend for sleep—and watched as the water billowed into a bright amber.

"I tried to kiss Josh," he said.

Toby stopped twirling his spoon and looked up, then somewhere over Sam's shoulder. "You mean when we…?"

"In the car," he specified, lifting his head. "After we dropped off Bonnie and Ginger."

He paused. "Why?"

"Gee, I don't know, Toby. It's not painfully obvious that I like him or anything."

"Well, yeah, and it's not painfully obvious that he doesn't feel the same way?"

Sam took the sugar bowl from Toby's side of the counter. "Hindsight's 20/20."

There were a few seconds of silence and Sam pulled at the string of his teabag, still too hot to drink.

Toby sipped at the side of his mug. "What did he say?"

"Josh?"

"After you kissed him."

"He, um…" Sam trailed off, at first because he couldn't accurately recall what Josh had said, and when he did remember he became too ashamed. He stared down at the tea, letting its steam rise into his face and tingle against his cheeks. He knew Toby wouldn't let this go, whether for the humor of it or his interest in Sam's well-being, so he took a deep breath. "He wiped his mouth… like I tasted bad or something… and he said he wasn't gay." Sam, for the first time in a long time, felt angry at Josh. "He said, 'I'm not a faggot'."

He couldn't bring himself to look up at Toby or even begin to guess what his expression was like. Pity, probably. Ugly amounts of pity. Sam felt a lump at the back of his throat that tasted like the onset of tears, but they weren't a serious threat and he suppressed them with steady inhalations.

After a long while, Toby sighed. "He really said faggot?"

"Yeah."

"So what?"

Sam furrowed his brbow and looked up. "Excuse me?"

Toby side-eyed and shrugged. "Josh Lyman's a jackass. So what?"

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "He's a jackass... but he's a jackass that I'm in love with!"

Toby chuckled into his mug. "In love, Sam?"

Sam wanted to take back his words, but he knew this would only invite more heckling. "I would appreciate if you held off trivializing my genuine emotions until Monday at least."

"No, really, I want to hear about this. When did you first realize it was true love? 6th grade? Did you leave love poems on his desk in science class?"

"Stop."

"Shall I compare thee to a Bunsen burner…"

"Are you always like this when you're drunk?"

"He's gay, Sam," Toby said. Sam felt his heart stop. "And you've never seen me drunk."

The room around them went still and the quietude of the hour deepened. The clock above the fridge ticked as evenly as it had before, but Sam felt time moving so slowly he would have sworn he could count milliseconds on his fingers. Toby stared at him, awaiting a reaction.

"What?" Sam asked, a bit late to pretend like he hadn't heard.

"Josh. He's gay," Toby repeated, leaning on the counter with one hand. "Well, bi, maybe. But he likes guys." He raised the mug to his mouth, but this time he did not drink. "Certainly likes you."

Sam wrinkled his forehead incredulously. "No."

"OK."

"Josh isn't gay, Toby,"

"I said OK."

"But that was a I don't feel like explaining myself OK and not a you're right OK."

"OK."

"He's not gay."

Toby put his mug down on the counter. "And he really isn't straight either, Sam," he said, spreading his arms contentiously. "Even if he was, he'd probably still have a goddamn hard-on for you."

"You're much less eloquent when you're drunk."

"I say again, you haven't seen me drunk."

"Yeah, OK." Sam sipped his tea.

Toby sighed. He turned back to the pantry and skimmed over the items inside. "Josh has always been cool with you liking guys, right?" he asked, choosing a yellow box from the shelf.

Sam shrugged. "We've never really talked about it."

"But he knows?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

Toby turned around. "And you think that someone who obviously cares for you very deeply—" His arms were spread out again, one hand holding the box of shortbread. "—would get so angry without some other thing going on?"

Sam corrected his posture and his gaze drifted from his tea. "So, you're saying, what? Josh is angry because he likes guys and I reminded him of that?"

"He's angry cause, in whatever world he's living in, he thinks he's straight. He's seen what gay kids get treated like and he doesn't want to deal with that shit. He knows he's got a thing for you, but so far it seems like the only thing he's got figured out. You think he's looking forward to finding out he's gay?"

"Bi."

"Whatever." Toby waved his hand. "He probably liked it a little too much when you kissed him. That's what set him off."

Sam crossed his arms over his stomach, and became aware of a bruise on his elbow when his fingers made contact with the tender spot. He remembered the scene in Josh's car, the brake giving out for a second, his arm colliding with the dashboard. "Now you're saying Josh doesn't want me… because he's so grossed out by the idea that he could like guys?"

"If you want to put it that way."

"But, you don't really know if he has a crush on me," he said. "Even if you're right about him being gay… it doesn't mean he has a crush on me."

He paused. "Everybody has a crush on you."

Sam smirked and clasped his fingers around his mug, cupping it between his hands. The heat tickled his palms. "Everybody?" he asked.

"If you're expecting me to spout sonnets proclaiming that thou art the finest beauty in all the land, it's not going to happen," Toby answered. Something glimmered behind his eyes. "But, yeah. You're pretty enough to gain some attention."

They spent a while together in the family room adjacent to the kitchen, separate from the living room where Josh and Mandy had employed most of their night. Sam sat on the couch with his legs crossed and a blanket over his shoulders, finishing his tea. Toby sat next to him, turned sideways with his arm propped along the back of the couch, speaking softly, his eyes on Sam. The light was dim, shining only from a warm table lamp on Toby's side of the couch.

Sam's exhaustion became evident from the way his eyelids hovered when he blinked, the yawns he gave off that never seemed to echo a response from Toby. The soft blanket slid off his shoulder as he moved to brush a lock of hair away from his face, and Toby reached out to pull it over him again.

"You need a haircut," he remarked, without a smile, and Sam looked down at the empty mug between his hands, the teabag sagging at the bottom.

"I should probably go up to bed now," he said, reinforced by a yawn. He didn't know what time it was and he didn't want to. Hopefully C.J. wouldn't mind if he slept in a little longer, maybe past noon.

Toby took the mug from his hands and Sam thought he was going to stand up, but he only leaned forward to place it on the coffee table. He put his hand on Sam's arm and rubbed a thumb over its smooth underside, just missing his bruise. "In a bit," he said.

They kissed, compassionate and aimless, with little pauses for dialogue and breath and Sam's apologies when his mouth made an unintentional noise. Toby kept a hand on his leg, smiling at each unnecessary apology, and eventually told him to shut up after the fifth or sixth instance. Sam rested his palms against his chest while Toby taught him little tricks with his mouth and how to use his tongue. Sam tried to apply the advice he was given but, if Toby's derisive smirks were any indication, he failed miserably. When he became self-conscious about his performance it was agreed there would be no more tongue and Toby's kisses became short and teasing, as if his goal was to taunt and entice Sam until he was begging to stay with him on the couch for the rest of the night.

Eventually he became too tired to keep his head up or move his lips. There was now a severe constriction between his thighs, and he knew he might have to grab some tissues and stop in the bathroom on his way to bed. Toby walked him to the bottom of the steps and they kissed some more before he ordered Sam to get some sleep, sending him up with the blanket still around his shoulders.

At the top of the steps he remembered Josh and the entire reason he hadn't gone to bed sooner. The door to the guest suite at the end of the hall was closed and he was cheered by the lack of light around its borders, supportive of the likelihood that Josh was asleep. Trying to slip into bed undetected beside a heavy sleeper was infinitely easier when said heavy sleeper was already unconscious.

Sam could still feel the stiffness between his legs and it was difficult to slink tactfully down the hall. He knew exactly which door led to the guest suite, at the end of the hall to his right, where earlier C.J. had instructed him to hide all of the home's valuables before they were either broken or stolen. Unfortunately, he had no idea which was the bathroom, and he was too nervous about waking someone up to begin opening doors at random. Going back downstairs to use the first-floor bathroom would have been a good idea if it didn't require explaining to Toby that he was just looking for somewhere to jerk off.

There was a bathroom in the guest suite, but it was a gamble that he'd ever make it there with Josh in the way and he didn't want to have to sneak past the bed with his hands laid precautionarily over his crotch like a fig leaf. He crept the rest of the way to the door and took a deep breath before turning the knob.

The room was thick with darkness but Sam could still make out Josh's sleeping form under the covers of the enormous bed. There was more than enough room there for the both of them, which was one of few things to be grateful for about this sleeping arrangement. In the dim light from the windows he could see the outline of the door to the bathroom, slightly ajar—one less obstacle that put Josh's favorable unconsciousness at risk. He had approached the doorway when the sheets rustled.

He watched as Josh's shadow turned over in bed. "Sam?"

He held his breath. "Yeah?"

Josh sat up in bed and switched on the table lamp. He couldn't have been asleep for more than a couple of hours but he was already slovenly with it, crinkled boxers and undershirt, his fluffy hair twisted upward in an almost gravity-defying mess. He rubbed his eyes against the light and Sam adjusted the blanket around his shoulders to cover the rest of his body, including the lump in his jeans. They stared at each other for a moment. "Hey," Josh said.

"Hey."

"Um… C.J. left some stuff for you." He turned, indicating a pile of clothes and a toiletry bag on the dresser, among the various expensive vases and decorative saucers Sam had hidden here before the party. He nodded. Another moment of silence.

"I was waiting up for you," Josh said, his hands still gripping the sides of the mattress and feet hanging over the side of the elevated bed.

"I was in the kitchen," Sam explained.

"Yeah. I heard you and Toby talking."

He felt a twinge of panic in his chest. "Oh."

"I meant I just heard your voices," Josh added. Sam normally wouldn't be so convinced, but there was an incontrovertible sincerity in Josh's voice that he could not dismiss. "Were you guys talking about me?

Sam stared at him. "Not every conversation I have is about you."

"That's not what I mean," he snapped, then sighed at the brutality of his voice. "That's not what I—" He sighed again and hung his head. "It was just the way you… I thought you might…"

"We were making out," he said.

Josh's head tilted upward and his eyes met Sam's. "What?"

"Toby and I were making out. Downstairs. Right before I came up here."

He grinned and shook his head, but after a pause the smile dissipated. "You're not joking."

"Why would I be joking?"

"I don't know. He just…" Josh straightened his posture and Sam thought he saw another smile flash across his face, "doesn't really seem like your type."

Sam crossed his arms, letting the blanket slip somewhat from his torso. His confession hadn't broken down Josh's arrogance quite like he hoped. "How do you know what my type is?"

"I don't. But the taciturn guy with a suspiciously mature beard that sits at the back of the class and doesn't raise his hand even when he knows the answer wouldn't have been my first guess. You're pretty much the exact opposite of that guy. You are the exact opposite of that guy."

"So, the loud… babyface shave that sits in the front row and raises his hand when he doesn't know the answer?"

"Yeah."

"That's me?"

"Yeah." He stood up and Sam was reminded of the one-inch advantage Josh had on his height, which he found charming when he considered all of the variables that went into their respective heights and the numerical probability of the difference being only an inch. Under other circumstances, such as these ones, when Josh's behavior was not particularly inviting of warm or charming feelings, it annoyed the crap out of him.

"Sounds more like you."

Josh gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Depends on how you look at it."

Sam rolled his eyes. The concern below his belt had diminished, but there was still a present itch that needed to be scratched and it was, to say the least, distracting. He wasn't sure how comfortable he would be with nothing but a thin wooden door standing between him and Josh while he jerked off, but a shower would supply the needed concealment, and the stench of sweat and alcohol he had gathered over the course of party provided a solid excuse. "Look, I have to—"

"Was he—?" Josh blurted, looking down at his feet and scratching the back of his neck.

Sam waited. "What?"

"Was he, uh…" He cleared his throat and looked up from the floor to the lamp. "Was he good? Toby, I mean."

Sam paused and his gaze fell from Josh's face. "Yeah," he smiled. "He was… yeah. It was really nice."

Josh sniffed, still not meeting Sam's eyes. "Probably not as good as me, though."

He snorted. "Wow. All right, Mr. Insecure."

"I'm just saying."

Sam took the blanket from around his shoulders and threw it on the bed. "Yeah, well, it's not like you gave me much comparison," he retorted, crossing the room to retrieve the stack of folded clothes and toiletry bag C.J. had prepared for him.

"I'm not gay," Josh said.

Sam's back was still turned, and he waited a moment before heading for the bathroom. "You said that earlier. It's starting to sound like a defense."

"Look, that's… I stayed up because I wanted to talk about that." Josh followed him into the bathroom, pushing back on the door when Sam tried to shut it in his face and quickly gave up.

He took the toothbrush out of its packaging—C.J. must have had a hoard of them lying around somewhere to provide them each with a fresh one on such short notice—and tried to ignore him. "I wanted to apologize," Josh said.

Sam stopped as he uncapped the toothpaste and stared at the tube for a few seconds before glancing at Josh in the mirror. "Go on."

"I know I overreacted, and I was stupid and insensitive." He took a breath, "I'm a dumb, insecure straight guy, and I behaved like a dumb, insecure straight guy… and I should probably stop doing that if I wanna keep being friends with you. But, bottom line, I should have handled the situation better. I value our friendship. I'm sorry."

Sam paused with the toothbrush halfway to his mouth. "Did you just Google 'how to apologize to your friend'?" He leaned on the sink and began to brush his teeth. Sadly, Josh could still be heard over the noise.

"Look, man. You caught me off guard, all right? Mandy got me all worked up for nothing, and then you come in and pull that only-have-eyes-for-you routine right after—"

Sam paused his brushing, unsure of what Josh was implying.

Josh stared back at him and there was a slight look of panic in his eyes, as if he had just let out a secret. "I'm not gay, Sam. I'm a youthful, maturing guy, I got the voracity of a youthful, maturing guy." He took a breath. "And it's not my fault you're gorgeous."

Sam stared at him, blankly now, heart still pumping with anger and, now, some other emotion: nervousness. He recalled this same feeling in the car on their way home, just before the disaster of a kiss.

Josh moved forward and leaned on the sink with one hand. There was a smirk on his face, but it quickly disappeared. "Spit out the toothpaste."

"Why?" Sam asked, holding his bottom lip out like an underbite to keep all of the foam from spilling out of his lips.

"Promise not to get mad?"

He studied Josh's body language and shook his head.

"Cause I want to kiss you," he admitted.

Sam hesitated, and spat the toothpaste into the sink. He turned the faucet and rinsed his mouth, and Josh handed him a hand towel to wipe the excess from his lips. They locked eyes as Sam brought the towel away from his face. Josh smirked and closed the distance between them, one hand on Sam's hip and the other touching his face.

He always imagined Josh would taste natural and sweet, like applesauce and cinnamon—not that he'd thought about it so extensively, of course, or bothered to write it down in much broader detail in a diary or anything like that—but all he could taste was overpowering mint toothpaste and bland spit, like the dry feeling of thirst. Josh wasn't as good as Toby. He didn't send goosebumps down his neck and spine, but Sam did want more of it, and his fingers pulled at the collar of Josh's shirt, telling him to continue.

Sam had imagined doing this a thousand times, but the real thing was less like a math class daydream and more like the thoughts he had in the shower or woke up to in the middle of the night, and he wasn't sure which fantasy he would've preferred to come true. Either way, he couldn't complain, and he wasn't complaining now. Josh moved him against the sink and slid his hands into Sam's hair before letting him go.

Sam looked down, away from his eyes, studying his fingers on Josh's collar. He didn't look into his face but he could tell that Josh was smirking. He could feel Josh, as hard as himself, poking into his thigh, a strange sensation he didn't know what to think of.

Josh kissed his cheek. "Put on your pajamas." Sam looked up just as the door shut behind him.

The pajamas mentioned were long-sleeved, plaid and matching, presumptively once belonging to either of C.J.'s brothers. When Sam put them on they were a little too big and in order to hold up the pants he had to tie the drawstrings tight around his waist. Studying himself in the mirror, he realized that looked like he had stepped out of the pajama section of a department store catalogue. He washed his face and brushed his hair and folded his clothes into a neat pile that he left on top of the toilet, and performed all of these tasks with calculated delay.

He tried not to deliberate; if he deliberated too long he might not go through with it, and if he didn't go through with it he would always regret it, and probably end up spending the entire night in the bathroom with the door locked, worrying and cursing himself and maybe falling asleep in the bathtub and in the morning probably waiting until he was certain Josh had left before coming out. Then he could book a flight to Europe, change his name, and live out his days in the Spanish countryside where he could wallow in his shame and regret. So he didn't think about it, or the pangs of guilt and doubt in his stomach, and opened the door slowly.

The lights were off in the bedroom; it was the same pitch-black he encountered when he first entered the room and, like before, Josh was a barely distinguishable figure lying in bed. Sam closed the bathroom door behind himself quietly. "Josh?" he whispered, despite knowing he was there.

The covers moved. "I'm in bed."

Sam stepped forward with his hands extended to feel before him. "You wanted me to change into pj's so you could shut the light off?"

"I got tired."

The bed was huge and long and elevated higher than Sam expected, but most of all it was insanely comfortable and he felt substantially smaller when he crawled onto it. Josh was warm and Sam found him quickly, pulling his feet up to slide under the sheets. He only realized how cold he was when the heat of Josh's body reached him and made him shudder and pull the covers up to his chin. Josh slid an arm underneath him and Sam welcomed the warmth even as he was drawn into a kiss. It was pleasant and casual and Sam wasn't quite sure what he'd been so worried a few minutes ago.

Josh shifted to wrap a leg around him and Sam combed his fingers into the hair at the back of his head, only his second aggressive move of the night. He shifted his hips and Josh moved to his neck, dragging a hand from his waist to pass between their legs. Sam couldn't tell which of them he was trying to grope, but he gave a short gasp nonetheless. "Josh," he moaned, gripping his shoulder, but Josh shushed him with a kiss and tugged on his pants, slipping a hand inside and stroking him. Sam gasped again and dug his fingers into Josh's arm.

After several more kisses, Josh let go of him to sit up on his knees. The blankets fell behind him and Sam was left exposed without the warmth of another body against his. Josh pulled down his boxers, not bothering to push them past him knees, and was quickly on Sam again, kissing his neck and wedging his hips between his legs. Sam felt a sudden guilt, like the kind he had felt in the bathroom.

He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Josh?" he asked as sweetly as he could.

He replied with something mumbled against Sam's skin before he returned to sucking kisses under his jaw.

"Josh…" he mumbled, pushing gently against his chest. "I'm kind of tired."

Josh's hand was making its way down Sam's side again when it cut short. He lifted his head. "You wanna stop?" he asked, hair hanging down from his forehead, odd-looking and fluffier than usual from this angle.

Sam bit his lip again and his eyes drifted down, focusing on Josh's arm instead of his face and Sam's hand there, holding onto it for support. He nodded, afraid that Josh would be angry with him. Yeah, he'd definitely have to move to Spain after this, or somewhere even more remote: Eastern Russia, or maybe Antarctica. He began to play with Josh's collar again, a pathetic attempt to assuage him.

The electricity was gone from the air, and Josh sighed. He looked away from Sam now. "Can you just…" he paused. "I don't know, relax?"

"I'm too tired."

"You're not the one that has to do all the work," he pushed.

Sam scrutinized him. "Did you assume this whole time that I was going to let you top me?"

"Well, yeah." Josh slid off but kept an arm around his waist, stroking the skin under the hem of his shirt affectionately. "Anything else would just be kinda gay." He tried to move in again, but Sam pushed him back.

"But turning me over and fucking me—that's not gay?"

"I told you, I'm not gay. You're just…" he sighed. "Really fucking hot."

He pushed him away again. "I'm sure that sounded a lot more charming in your head." Sam turned onto his other side and stared up at the ceiling and its swirling plasterwork. No shapes stuck out at him like they usually did in ceilings like this—typically an animal or a face, but now, nothing. "Toby said something like that earlier."

Josh's head was down on the pillow, no longer propped up and looking at Sam, glaring instead into the shadows of the room. There was a confused hesitation. "He said that you're really fucking hot?"

Sam snorted.

"Not that he isn't right, it's just doesn't really sound like something Toby would say."

"He said everyone has a crush on me, and that you'd like me even if you weren't gay." Josh laughed and Sam turned his head. "What?"

"Nothing. It's… we did this polling thing last year. Yearbook club asked us to do these dumb surveys for the 'student spotlight' section or whatever. So," Josh sat up, leaning on his arm and half-turning to Sam, "we came up with these questions like, which teacher is the best dressed, what class do you wish you would you skip for the rest of your life, blah blah blah. And there was this one—" He smiled and started laughing again.

"Oh God, what?"

"There was… there was this one. C.J. came up with it because we just needed one more before we were done, and everybody else was tapped out. So, as kind of a joke, we decided we'd ask, 'Who's your student government crush?'" He paused. "Sam, I swear to God, 80-some kids out of a hundred answered your name without hesitation."

Sam's lips curled into a smile. "You're lying to me."

"Swear to God."

He smirked and Josh started to chuckle again, his eyes locked on Sam as he pulled the covers up to his chin shyly. Josh's hand slid over the covers, wrapping around his waist. He leaned over to press his mouth against Sam's. They remained there for a few moments, Josh's lips and tongue the only discernible movement, and Sam did not react until Josh tried to hook a leg over him.

He broke the kiss. "Hey, c'mon," he said, pressing against his chest.

Reluctantly and with a scoff, Josh let go of him and laid his head down on the pillow once more. "Yeah, whatever."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned onto his side again, thankful to the huge bed for eliminating any prospect of physical contact. A few minutes passed. He tried to allow his thoughts to wander, to become less aware of his own breathing and the strangeness of how he could differentiate between Josh's body heat and his own even as they melded beneath the sheets and the wind blowing against the house and the faint shadows cast against the wall by the window pane and the trees beyond. For all of these reasons or for one less tangible, Sam could not procure any peace of mind. It had to be close to 4 or 5 a.m. now, which meant he wouldn't roll out of bed until noon or possibly later, which meant it would be hell waking up for school on Monday. The thought that plagued him all night immediately returned: he should have never come to this party.

Josh wasn't snoring or breathing heavily, which was only significant because it meant that Sam had no way of determining whether he was asleep or not. He took his chances and sat up. What little of the room's floral decorations he could see were turned bluish and gray in the dark and, beyond reasons Sam could rationalize, this sunk his heart. He stood up.

"Where're you going?" Josh asked in a groggy voice as he reached the door.

Sam turned to look at him. He must have caught him off guard in some early stage of sleep. His question wasn't angry or accusatory, but curious and a bit insecure, because he couldn't dampen his pride enough to ask Sam to stay, even if he meant it.

"I'm gonna go lay downstairs with Toby," he said, hoping it would hurt Josh but knowing it wouldn't. He planned on going downstairs only for a glass of water but now bothering Toby seemed like an appealing idea.

Josh followed him out of the room and Sam noticed when he reached the stairs, but he only stopped for half a second and did not look over his shoulder to acknowledge him.

Toby lay on the sleeper-sofa in the family room, the same one he and Sam kissed on little over an hour ago. He laid on his stomach and his face was turned away, but he was evidently asleep by his soft snoring. This was a way Sam had never seen him, unguarded and unfathomably approachable. He stirred only when Sam crawled onto the bed next to him. Josh stood in the doorway, watching.

"Toby…?" Sam whispered, laying a hand on his shoulder. His temperature was searing.

He groaned with livid irritation at being woken up prematurely and grudgingly turned over. "What?" he croaked, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I don't know," Sam muttered. "Can I lay down here with you?" He was painfully conscious of Josh's presence in the room and tried to operate as if he wasn't there, but Josh's eyes on him felt like extra weight on his muscles, like gravity was increased by his presence. There were more thoughts in his head than there needed to be, thoughts that told him not to make this about Josh, even as he wanted to be alone with Toby but also wanted Josh to see him being alone with Toby, like he could have fun without worrying about Josh all the time.

Toby sighed and sat up. "Honestly, Sam, for your sake, I'm hoping this turns out to be some weird sex dream," he said, reaching out to rub Sam's arm. "What's going on?"

"I just wanted to lay down here…" Sam started, trailing off when Toby's gaze wandered over his head at what could've only been Josh stepping forward from the shadows of the doorway. Sam did not turn to follow Toby's eyes but he could feel him standing next to the bed, could sense his crossed arms and hard gaze.

"Sam refuses to let me fuck him cause he thinks I'm gay and I'm lying about it." His voice was like a child telling on their sibling to an adult.

"That's because you are lying," Sam gibed.

"I'm not gay."

"You know every time you say that it becomes like 10-times less believable?"

Toby stared up at Josh, but he stared through him. "Oh God, this is a weird sex dream."

"He's being an idiot," Sam remarked.

"It's 5 a.m."

Josh scoffed. "I'm not the one who came running down here to cry and complain because his feelings go a little hurt."

Sam looked over his shoulder. "The only reason you followed me down here is because I didn't want your dick and you think Toby's the reason."

Toby hung his head. "This is seriously happening."

"I know the reason. It's because you're a fucking prude."

"Oh, c'mon. You can do better than that. If you think you're the—"

"It's 5 in the goddamn morning!" Toby shouted over them, his hands splayed. They stared at him. "It's 5 a.m. and you woke me up to, what? To argue about some stupid love-hate bullshit in front of me?"

Neither of them answered. Toby rubbed his forehead and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and fleetingly Sam thought that he looked much older than he and Josh's ages combined. "OK," he breathed, glancing up at Josh. "Let's go."

Sam watched as he stood from the bed. "Go where?"

"Upstairs," Josh supposed.

Toby laid a hand on Sam's back and held the other out, inviting him to stand. "I'd tell you two to go back to bed on your own but I could take bets on how long it'll take you to find your way back down here." Sam took his hand and stood up, handing Toby his pillow when he gestured at it. "And staying down here would subject C.J. to the horror of finding the three of us piled on her couch tomorrow morning."

"No way I would willingly share that couch with either of you anyway," Josh said half-heartedly, shutting off the lamp.

Toby slipped his fingers between Sam's as they left the family room. "Are you really going to spend the night with us?" Sam asked.

Toby glanced at him. "What's left of it."

The guest room was just as dark and quiet as they left it. Josh was the first to jump into bed, warming against the pillows like he hadn't slept for days. Toby turned the lamp on and threw his pillow toward the headboard. He looked up as Sam headed for the bathroom.

"I'll be right out," he lied when he noticed his suspicion.

Toby's cold stare did not falter. "Sam," he said.

"What?"

"You can jerk off after sunrise. C'mon."

Josh lifted his head from the pillow with sudden interest and Sam flushed with embarrassment and resentment of Toby for being so blunt. "I don't want to get stains on the bed in the event that… y'know…"

"Hey, if he gets to, so do I," Josh chimed.

Toby glanced at him. He sighed in exasperation. "Ten minutes," he said to Sam.

Josh looked back at him. "Then can I—"

"No. We're going to bed."

Josh had just begun to protest when Sam slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. He was unfamiliar with the thickness of these walls and how much noise could be heard between them, but after realizing that Josh and Toby's bickering was still audible he decided to take the precaution of turning on the fan in order to avoid any potentially embarrassing vocalizations being overheard. It effectively drowned out their voices as well. Sam utilized the tiny hotel-sized lotion included in his toiletry bag and there was, delightedly, a box of tissues on the counter. He thought about Toby and Josh together, then imagined being between them, and it did not take him very long to finish. He flushed the used tissues and shut off the fan before washing his hands. He couldn't hear any noise outside the bathroom which was either a good sign or a very, very bad one. He shut off the light before returning to the bedroom.

The lamp on the nightstand was still on and partially blocked his view of the bed, but when Sam stepped forward he instantly stopped at what he saw. Josh lay on his back, legs bent at the knees and spread apart, boxers around his ankles as Toby kissed him and stroked between his thighs. His face was strained with pleasure and he emitted agitated whimpers that indicated Sam was only witnessing the tail end of what was taking place. Toby slowed his hand and looked around the room for an instant before noticing Sam and ordering, "Get me some tissues."

Sam grabbed the box from the bathroom without hesitation and pulled out three pieces to hand to Toby. He watched with vulgar captivation as Josh's pelvis heaved upward and Toby clamped one hand over his mouth to suppress his escalating moans, using the other to grasp the tissues between his legs. Sam handed him a few more when he realized wouldn't be enough.

Josh settled into an immediate stupor afterward that Sam found almost contagious when laid down next to him. Toby was washing his hands in the bathroom and they listened to the noisy plumbing of the old house, its water rushing through the walls. He and Josh were both on their side, facing each other; Josh struggled to keep his eyes open. "Hey," Sam said, because there was nothing else to.

"Hey," he replied, much softer. His voice was soaked in disgrace.

Sam slid his hand up to touch Josh's, laying limp on the mattress. He didn't know if he should be angry. He could have been in Josh's place if things had gone marginally different, but he didn't actually mind all that much, especially now that he had the best spot on the bed: the middle.

Toby shut the light off and pulled the covers over Josh's shoulder before climbing into bed on the other side of Sam. He wrapped an arm around him and nestled against him without a word, not even a good night, but Sam supposed that phrase no longer applied in their part of the world. He took a deep breath and snuggled into the soft pillow and the cozy, expensive sheets, focusing on Toby's warm body against his and Josh's fingers still intertwined with his own.

He woke up to an empty bed. Summer was long gone and they were late in autumn now, but Sam was still saddened each morning he failed to hear the birdsongs and only upon regaining full consciousness understood the reason why.

It was raining outside and looked like it had been for a while now, not pouring and not drizzling, but dropping down in slow and steady streams as if today it could not be bothered to fall as quickly as gravity wanted it to. Sam's head spun when he stood up; he didn't know if that was an indication that he'd slept too long or too little or had just enough to drink last night.

Toby was downstairs in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon over the stovetop with an apron tied around waist. Sam sat down at the counter and Toby poured him a glass of orange juice. "You slept in," he said, plopping the glass in front of him before returning to the stove.

Sam was still too tired to form as many words as would have prefered, so he substituted with a heavy sigh and drank the juice. It was cold and fresh and unlike any other aspect of this gray morning and cleared his mind better than any cough or sigh. "What time is it?" he said.

Toby pointed with a spatula to the analog clock above the refrigerator. "12:41."

Sam let out a groan of disgust at himself for sleeping so long and took another gulp of orange juice. Toby grabbed two plates from the cabinet. "Did everyone else go home already?" Sam asked.

"Josh left with Donna about an hour ago," he said, scraping a heap of scrambled eggs and several pieces of bacon onto one of the plates. "C.J. and Carol are still asleep." He turned around and placed the food in front of Sam. "So, if you keep your voice down, we might be able to enjoy the peace for a while longer."

Sam smirked but was still hung up on the first statement, about Josh. The boy had a tendency to hide his face after any incident that could conceivably warrant a serious conversation. He would not actively resist Sam but he would most certainly avoid contacting him and, if Sam called, he would make up some excuse not to see him and get off the phone before Sam had a chance to say something like "I think we should talk about last night."

Sam took the fork and knife as Toby handed them to him. He could sense Toby's lingering observation even as he salted his eggs and took the first bite of bacon. He didn't look up until he was well into chewing, when Toby had been staring at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. Sam raised his eyebrows, questioning him without opening his mouth.

Toby sighed.

"What?" Sam asked.

He leaned forward and looked down, both hands laid flat against the countertop, holding his breath while the words formulated inside his head. "I don't want to get caught up in whatever… girly, high school melodrama you two have going on."

Sam scooped some eggs into his mouth. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his brow knit. His hand relaxed, still holding the fork.

Toby took another deep breath and looked toward the window. He took a slip of paper from his back pocket and laid it on the counter, playing at its edges and spinning it around with one finger. "You looked upset when I said Josh was already gone."

Sam's eyes fell and he shrugged. "I was… a little, I guess. I mean it's not… unexpected. Josh has never been very courteous, per se, but… I mean, it's not like he snuck out specifically to avoid me." He looked up as Toby grumbled and tossed the paper he'd been holding toward Sam. "What is it?" he asked, thinking, for a brief moment, that Toby had written something down for him instead of tasking himself to say it aloud.

"From Josh," he answered.

Sam wiped his fingers on his pajamas to avoid soiling the paper with bacon grease and opened its singular fold. Josh's writing was in black pen, an unusually professional kind of ink for him, but one that could not disguise his inept handwriting. It was better than Sam remembered it being in middle school or even freshman year and it was better than the writing of most boys their age, all rigid and irregular, not yet finding that happy medium between cursive and print.

'Sam,'; the note began very simply, and from there the writing strayed considerably from the paper's ruling. 'Sorry, had to take Donna home. You're probably gonna wake up and see I'm not there and read way too much into that because you read way too much into everything. So that's what this note is for, and because I knew Toby wouldn't tell you anything I told him to tell you.' There was a break between sentences. 'Your lips are really soft by the way. And you looked cute in those jeans you wore last night. Love, Josh.'

Toby was turned away when Sam finished reading the letter, loading from the frying pan and onto his plate. Sam stayed quiet when he turned back to the counter and did not do much to disguise his smiles and blushing.

"Stop it," Toby said.

Sam looked up, a bit surprised. "You're bossy today."

"Just stop doing that thing."

"Being happy?" he suggested.

"Is that what that is?"

He observed as Toby cut into his over-easy eggs with the side of his fork. "You're a lot nicer when you're trying to kiss me."

Toby chewed without interruption but kept his eyes on Sam, who tried to match his apathy and cold stare but failed.

Sam knew that whatever had gone on between him and Toby last night, however he felt about it—and right now he wasn't at all sure of what he felt—was purely for short-lived amusement and not much was meant by it. Toby, Sam speculated, had a hypersexual propensity he concealed from those it did not concern and, as a result, several past relationships of a secretive and explicitly carnal nature that could have began with harmless encounters much like the one he took part in last night. He tried not to be intimidated by what this meant for their friendship, a word Sam had never before used to describe the familiarity between them. It wasn't the ambiguity of where they now stood that bothered him—he had no desire to seek out a definition for their relationship—but found himself agonizing over Toby's expectations.

Sam had always been moderately fascinated by Toby. There was something undeniably appealing about him, either in spite of or strangely enhanced by his terrible sense of fashion and messy hair, and he did not have a hard time believing Toby had whatever he desired when it came to sex and romance. He was dowdy and unexcitable with a less than amiable disposition; but a quality of sensuality was there, embedded in his soft and firm voice and languid eyes and brusque manner.

Last night was not the first night he had experienced attraction toward Toby or felt that he was deliberately drawing Sam in. There were moments before, studying alone in the library together or walking down an empty stretch of hallway or stopping on the stairs to speak about something important between classes, when Toby would touch his arm or his hand or his back and Sam's heart would stir with allure and he knew this feeling could not be one-sided. In these moments he wished for the courage to lean in and press his lips against Toby's, but the school bell or an unwelcome classmate never failed to interrupt him. This sporadic attraction was as fundamental and primitive to their relationship as learning each other's names. Their recent physical intimacy was simply an extension of that attraction, as meaningless and casual as Toby's flirtations with C.J. or his severity toward Josh, the perception of which Sam would have to reexamine when his thoughts were not already so full and confused emotions and the echo of Toby's hands on his body.

Toby collected both plates when they were done eating. There wasn't much left of the eggs and bacon but they fixed a plate for C.J. and Carol, depending entirely on who got to it first, and Sam began to clean the stove and counter space where they had eaten. He felt Toby's disapproval as he moved around him in the kitchen, most likely thinking something about Sam being too busy of a houseguest. Together they rinsed the dishes and, upon opening the dishwasher, found there was already a load that needed dried and put away.

They were dishes from the party, mostly platters and serving utensils and the enormous punch bowl no one had drunk from. Sam tried to restrain his thoughts but he could suppress his curiosity and frank confusion at what had went on between Toby and Josh last night. He had never before examined their relationship; he always assumed Toby was annoyed with Josh as much as the rest of them and his feelings did not extend beyond that. As for Josh, he had shown only amusement at Toby's annoyance and insensitivity to excitement. He never considered that either one of them could be attracted to the other in any capacity.

"Is there something between you and Josh?" Sam asked as he dried a plate. He could see in his peripheral that Toby stopped moving. Sam placed the dish with the others in the cabinet.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you," he replied.

Another trivialization of his feelings. Sam supposed he was jealous, but that didn't justify Toby teasing him, especially when Toby knew of his feelings for Josh long before last night and had blatantly thrown it in his face. Josh was to blame as well, having known, however recently, of Sam's attraction to Toby—and yet there he found the two of them in that unseemly position, neither caring when he walked in on them.

Toby sighed when he realized Sam's genuine dismay. "It wasn't a thing," he said, choosing a small bowl.

"Wow, that really cleared things up. Everything's all better now," Sam replied dryly.

His eyes widened. "It was a half-assed handjob!" Sam glared at him, unfazed, before returning another dish to the cabinet, and Toby's lips spread into a weak smile. He wagged his finger at Sam as if he he had just caught him in a lie. "Uh-huh, see? I said I wasn't gonna get dragged into this." He exhaled through his nose like the hint of a laugh and took another dish from the washer.

"Dragged into what?" Sam said, trying to maintain his irritation and not sound as if Toby had gotten ahead of him in this conversation.

He continued putting away the dishes, neglecting to dry several, as if this would prevent him from being dragged into whatever he was talking about. "The melodrama. I've had enough of it. You and Josh can quarrel all you like but don't expect me to get involved."

Sam knew that Toby's last serious relationship hadn't ended well; no one seemed to know for certain the circumstances surrounding his and Andy's falling out. Sam felt that this is what Toby was alluding to when he asked to be kept out of the drama.

"It was late, he wanted to get off, I knew it would shut him up." Toby closed the dishwasher and put his hands on his hips. "OK?"

Sam looked up at him gradually. He tried not to hold onto his anger so that it wouldn't fester into some deep-seated resentment; he tried to truly believe that whatever went on last night between Josh and Toby was not an indication that he might be further excluded from what may come in the future. "OK," he agreed. For now, things were casual. Nothing was expected of either of them, or of Josh, whatever strange role he played in their relationship. "But, you don't… I mean you don't love Josh or anything, right?"

Toby paused. "Are you serious?"

Sam shrugged.

"I think you worship him enough for the both of us." Toby just stepped forward and placed his lips on Sam's when the sound of footsteps on the staircase alerted them.

Sam pressed a few buttons on the dishwasher to make it look like he was doing something, successfully getting it to run after a few tries, and Toby opened the fridge to remove the carton of orange juice Sam had put back minutes ago. C.J. entered the kitchen fully dressed, which was more than either of the boys could say for themselves, with her hair wrapped up in a towel.

"Morning, boys," she said, snatching the orange juice from Toby's hand. "Sleep well?"

posted originally on ao3, 2015-01-08 (archiveofourown org/works/3141239)