Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.

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Butterflies

When Jack imagines his first kiss (hush, it's normal for a sixteen year old at an all boy's prep school to not have kissed someone yet), he envisions it with a girl with flowing hair, light or dark it doesn't matter, and soft eyelashes that gently caress his face when she closes them. His dreams of the blessed event involve a sweet-smelling female who is completely taken by him, dresses conservatively, smiles like a lady. What he is not expecting is Simon's face inching closer to his, timid warm breaths as those thick lashes close when their lips touch, the smaller boy leaning gently into him.

When he has his first kiss, he is expecting it to be a perfect setting (hey, he was secretly a romantic at heart, don't judge!); outside, in the late evening, when it is just slightly chilly so he can draw an arm around her and pull her closer. The wind will egg them on, ruffling their hair as they smile awkwardly and slowly ease into the kiss. It could not have happened like this; in his basement, an old movie on mute on the telly, sitting on a ragged couch next to the noisy heater. The light bulb is flickering, but the screen keeps a steady glow in the room, casting shadows on their faces.

He will have mustered up all his courage and invited her on a date; he would have planned it excessively because he is obsessive compulsive and would show up on her doorstep with flowers and a sheepish smile. He will not have just approached her in her homeroom and said choir practice had been called off because Ms. Malloy's son had come down with a cause of the runs and so he was going to spend his night watching old movies, and would she like to join him? Because the basement is never a date spot; it is, stereotypically, a rape spot, and no girl in her right mind would have agreed. But it was Simon; the Simon who knew him better than any girl, and said yes.

He would not have met her from choir; no, he would be at an event for fashionable people and he would see her from across the room, shake his hair into a fine mess, before approaching her and striking up a conversation. He would not have had to deal with her being silent and unsociable for a couple of months and she would not have bloomed and started talking after that. She would not spend time with that horrid Ralph and would not have gone chocolate shopping with him for Valentine's Day. Because he would be the one to give her chocolates, not the other way around. He would not have a box of half-eaten chocolates up in his room right now, if the kissable girl in his dreams was with him.

(He would never say they were delicious.)

The girl in question would be around his age; her lips would not be small and young against his; she would not be so small that he could easily overcome her and have his way with her, if he so wished. The girl would be substantial; she would not insult him, she would not give him condescending smiles across the room, she would not have just popped the kiss on him, no matter how chaste, without warning, just when the movie had reached a boring point.

And yet, when Simon kisses him, the dream girl disappears from his mind. His lips are not soft like Jack had expected, and he does not have the curves that are the mark of a woman. Puberty has been late to call on him and his voice still has the hint of high octave. But the moment Simon kisses him, Jack gently eases the boy back so Simon is half swallowed up by the back cushions of the ratty couch and kisses back, using a finger to sweep the bangs out of the latter's face. He feels Simon's hands gingerly slide up his chest and come to a rest around the base of his neck, and they exert a soothing pressure. Jack doesn't want to suffocate the boy; inhaling sharply through his nose, he breaks away, one arm comfortably nestled behind Simon's back, and the other hovering uncertainly over the boy's knee. Simon's flushed face and hazy eyes make him follow through on the last step and he sets his hand experimentally on skin.

Simon does not mind. He does not throw barbs or make sarcastic remarks. His dark eyes stare into Jack's blue, a soft smile gracing his face as their breaths mingle in the narrow space between their faces. "Wow," he whispers, taking a hand and resting it over his stomach. "This is what butterflies feel like."

He knows this is Simon's first kiss too and he's only playing it off like nothing; but Jack knows better. He recognizes the exhilaration in his eyes because he knows he feels it too. He never expected to breach this wall of security; but now that he has, he feels free. It is better than flying, better than dancing, better than the rush of adrenaline he had when he chased the neighborhood cats with Roger. Once you're in, you can only go further. Jack sees the anticipation in Simon's eyes and a breath, because he is going to say a cheesy line he only planned on using with a girl, but in this case, it's perfectly okay.

"Then give those butterflies to me," he murmurs, and Simon's smile grows but he doesn't need to speak because Jack's next kiss speaks volumes.

End

Note: You can say it. You were waiting for this to happen.