9. "What if I want to kiss you?"

Darren's POV on chapter 9 of As a White Knight on His Steed

Have I mentioned that being with Chris was the best thing ever? No matter what we were doing, it was just the best. Dealing with munchkins who'd never been on a horse before, and taking them out on trail rides, and eating in the dining hall, and waking up at the crack of ass to round up the horses – I loved it all.

I most especially loved the evening campfires. Music has always been my passion (well, my acknowledged passion) so playing guitar and singing every night was heaven. I can play just about anything by ear, and I still remembered the words to all of the old cowboy songs from when I was a camper. I couldn't resist giving Chris a little wink-wink, nudge-nudge every time I launched into "Happy Trails"…

So here's the thing about me: as I pointed out a while back, I can be Captain Oblivious sometimes. But certain things are so glaringly obvious that even I can't miss them.

All week, I'd been feeling something prickling just under my skin, but I couldn't quite pin it down. On Friday, though, it finally came to a head.

Chris had hurt his back that morning, trying to lift a hundred-pound hay bale by himself. He tried to shrug it off and power through the day, but it was obvious that he was in pain. Even after taking a hot (or as close to hot as it would get) shower that night, his back was still in such knots that he could barely stand up straight. So, like any good friend would, I plopped down on his bunk and offered him a back-rub.

"I borrowed this liniment from Zach," I told him. "He swears it will have you feeling better in no time."

"Is that the stuff he rubs on the horses?" Chris asked suspiciously.

"Yeah. But it says right on the bottle that you can use it on people, too. C'mon."

Chris walked stiffly over to the bed and lay down on his stomach with a groan. I straddled his hips and began pulling up his pajama top.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding flustered.

"Well, you don't expect me to put the liniment on over your shirt, do you?"

Chris grunted, and then shifted so that I could remove his shirt. He gasped as I drizzled the liniment over his back, but I could feel him begin to relax as I worked it into his sore muscles. I took my time, kneading at the tight spots until one by one I could feel the knots release.

Then Chris made this "mmmm…" noise, and – Oh My God – instant boner! I instinctively leapt off of him, and I must have been halfway up to my own bunk before I could even mumble something about hoping his back felt better. Utter mortification. I lay there for the longest time, unable to sleep, using all of my willpower trying not to jerk off.

According to a recent survey I read somewhere, 90% of teenage boys said that they masturbate, and 10% lied. Just kidding. I know that there actually are people out there who are asexual, and I don't mean to make it seem like I think there's anything wrong with that. I guess my point is just that I'm not one of them. Like, seriously not. I think sex is fucking awesome. But for me, it had always been a strictly DIY activity.

At that moment, though, my entire, vast store of obliviousness was crashing down around me. Chris was my best friend, but I suddenly realized that I wanted him to be so much more than that. Like, very, very, very, infinitely much more.

The next day, I was punch-drunk on nervousness and lack of sleep. Was Chris going to say anything to me about the night before? Should I say something to him? How royally was I likely to fuck things up? And why did he have to look so unfairly attractive first thing in the morning?

If my grandmother had been there, she would have said I was acting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Which was actually kind of a helpful thought, since picturing my grandmother at least guaranteed that I wouldn't be getting any more inappropriate hard-ons.

All morning, I tried to focus on my work, but it wasn't easy with the relentless questions swirling around in my brain. Chris obviously could tell that something was wrong, but we were so busy with the horses, and the campers, and then the parents coming to pick them up, that I just shrugged off all of his attempts to talk.

I knew that I was acting like a nutjob, but I simply couldn't stop. By the time we finally got a break that afternoon, I wouldn't have been surprised if Chris was ready to slap me. Hell, I was ready to slap myself.

But Chris surprised me. Instead of trying to get me to tell him what was going on, he invited me to go out for a ride. Because he's brilliant.

Once we were on the horses, and away from the main camp, I was able to calm down enough to realize that I really did want to talk to him. I waited until we reached a secluded meadow, then slid down off of my horse and ground-tied her. Chris followed suit.

I'm not always the most articulate guy. I'm more of a blurter and a rambler, actually. But this conversation seemed too important to just bulldoze my way through without thinking. And the problem with trying to think before I spoke was that I was really confused. I felt like my brain had short-circuited, and now I just kept getting error messages.

Since I couldn't figure out what I wanted to say, I finally decided to go with a question. "Chris, can I talk to you about something?" I asked hesitantly.

"Of course. You know you can always talk to me about anything."

"How did you know you were gay?"

Chris seemed surprised by my query. "It was pretty obvious," he said. "I got crushes on boys instead of on girls."

"But how did you know they were crushes? How did you know you didn't just really like them, and admire them, and want to be like them? You know, like maybe they were your role-models, or something."

"Well, I've had plenty of role-models, like my Speech and Debate coach, or David and Ryan. But I never wanted to kiss any of them. If you want to kiss someone, it's a crush."

I could feel my throat closing up, but I forced myself to ask the next question. "What if I want to kiss you?"

"Then I think you should."

The blood was pounding in my ears so hard that it took a moment for me to register his answer, and another moment to wonder if I'd heard him correctly. I wrenched my eyes off of the ground and stared at his face. His cheeks were pink, his lashes were lowered, and his lips were parted. That was all the invitation I needed.

Stepping forward, I kissed him, quick, before I could lose my nerve. His lips were a revelation.

I pulled back just long enough to tell him "I think I'm gay."

"Oh, thank God," Chris sighed, and he leaned in for another kiss.

End Notes: I wanted to keep the conversation from my original story intact in this chapter, with a change in perspective but not a change in dialogue. However, as I was working on this, I realized that although Darren identifies himself here as gay, I actually wrote him in Chapter 6 as somewhat demisexual. Of course, those two orientations needn't be mutually exclusive. I don't think that the 18-year-old Darren in this story is familiar with the term demisexual, though, and so he's identified himself simply as gay, based on the fact that he's attracted to someone of the same sex, without realizing that (in addition to not being attracted to women) he's not attracted to men in general, but just to Chris, as a result of their close emotional bond. Does that make sense?