Video of the song Lucas sang for his solo above (it's really good just saying) (also the lady laughing can suck my ass)

For every moment that Lucas was with me that night, I was smiling. How could I not be, when I was finally experiencing a part of my life that I'd deprived myself of for so long?

       The moment he left, so did my smile.

      Because the moment he left, someone else surged forward to take his place. Someone I knew well and didn't want to see. Someone who brought all of his friends with him as well, because he was never quite alone. He kissed my cheek softly in greeting and whispered ruthless nothings in my ear. Then he rubbed my shoulder, consoling me, as his friends released their fury. He told me to listen to him, like a father speaking to his son; he told me that it would help. He would make things better—I only had to listen. His friends backed off then, retreating to softly supporting his sayings.

       But they threatened me, too. He was an absent-minded fellow, and they muttered, when he wasn't paying attention, where I would end up if I didn't listen. With them, they said. On top of me, crushing me, suffocating me. They would kill me. Or at least, they would hand me the knife.

     They were silent when he was focused again, though. They respected him—after all, they worked for him, not with him. Without him, they would not exist. Not within me, anyways.

     His name was Paranoia. And his friends, his friends were Fear, they were Regret, and most horribly, they were Hatred.

     I did have my own defense, yes. I had my new friends—I had Confidence, I had Acceptance, I had Bravery. But they were exhausted. They'd been fighting for so long now, without a break. Paranoia and his gang had rested recently, up until now. They were ready for a new war—my friends were not. My friends lost.

     They fought bravely, though. They argued that we could do this—nobody but Lucas and I would have to know. Then we would be off to New York—just a few months from now—and it wouldn't matter who knew.

     They said that this, even now that it had happened, was nothing bad. Nothing was wrong, or impure, about our actions or feelings.

     They told me I would be good for him. That he really liked me, and in his own ways, he needed me as much as I needed him.

      Paranoia and his buddies clapped back just as fiercely. I would get caught, they said. I would lose everything, all for one measly boy. I would be hated, I would never get out of here.

     This was wrong, they whispered, sometimes yelled. Thinking and acting were very different, and acting would be my end. This was where my friends won, because I was past that mindset. I refused to fall into it again. I wasn't wrong, I wasn't dirty. Maybe I still struggled with that sometimes, but not enough to go back. I promised myself I would never go back.

     Everywhere else, we lost.

     I was bound to hurt him, they told me, over and over. I was toxic for him. I wouldn't be there for him. I didn't deserve to be there for him. I was selfish and needy and unsympathetic and mean, they shouted, so loud I felt my brain would explode. My personality was ugly, I believed that much without their verification. Their word made it fact.

     And so I descended, with my enemies on my heels, into a restless, tearful sleep. I awoke to a painful day, filled to the brink with internal argument which I always seemed to lose. I was so screwed up, coach nearly benched me at Saturday's game.

     I didn't want to get caught. I didn't want to hurt Lucas. Those two didn't seem to mix together well.

     Paranoia didn't fully succeed, at least. I wouldn't stop what I had with Lucas, not so soon after it had begun. I would force a smile if I had to. I could pretend to be alright—I'd been doing it for years. I wanted this relationship, and I was determined to keep it.

     If it costed me my mental health, so be it.

I was expecting that I wouldn't actually have to  do much faking until the following Friday. At least not to Lucas. I faked okay in front of my peers all the time—it was the only way I could survive. Lucas was much more difficult, though. I'll put it like this: if my fellows at school looked at me and saw aluminum foil, Lucas looked at me and saw seran wrap.

      However, Sunday afternoon was accompanied by a text from the one and only.

My house is empty, be here in 20
-Lucas M

Which was succeeded by a follow-up.

Fuck that rhymed someone sIGN ME
-Lucas M

It made me chuckle, which was refreshing. Even when he had no idea what the fuck was going on in my head, he still knew what to say.

You're such a dork
-Nate J

Also I'll be there in 30 I'm not some kind of wizard
-Nate J

I may or may not have been laying in bed since morning, doing absolutely nothing to prepare myself for the day ahead.

I was anxious as I drove to his house forty-five minutes later—oops—because I had absolutely no idea how I'd go about acting like everything was fine. I'd never been able to do it around him to begin with. And I was scared that once he realized how much I was freaking out, he would freak out and, like most normal people, not want to get involved with someone who didn't even fully know what they want.

That problem, for all the stressing I'd done, turned out to have a shockingly simple solution. The moment Lucas, with his pretty-boy smile, opened the front door, I didn't need to fake it. I was so damn happy just to be in his presence, it was almost scary.

      Paranoia was still there in the back of my mind, that was for sure. In his gravely voice, he warned me that the moment I left, I would meet him again. He'd be back, rested and ready to fight.

      But for the time being, I could hang out with Confidence and Acceptance and Bravery and Lucas. 

There was a new obstacle now, though. It was called "the awkward tension between two boys who have no idea where they are or how to approach the situation but really really like each other and therefore are reduced to stuttering, blushing, horribly awkward piles of hormones".

"Hi," he breathed, smiling in greeting.

"Hey."

I wasn't even inside yet and the tension was already Kim K thick.

I expected Lucas to step aside and let me in, but he simply stood in the doorway, smiling at me.

"Can I, er, come in?"

Lucas' eyes widened as he seemed to realize that he was blocking the entrance entirely. His cheeks turned pink and he quickly shuffled to the side, sputtering out several apologies. As I stepped past him into the house, I accidentally stepped on his bare foot, causing him to yelp, and now I was the one furiously apologizing.

In other words, we were a mess.

"God," Lucas groaned, putting his face in his hands. "Why are we like this? Let's just, like, try to be normal, yeah?"

"Right," I coughed. "Normal is good."

Good, yes. Easy? Hell no. As it would turn out, being normal was much easier said than done. There was a strange formality in the air, as neither of us knew quite how to act around one another. Do we hug? Kiss? Or do we just act like friends? Are we just friends?

The first thirty or so minutes that I spent with Lucas in his room were full of uncomfortable silences and small talk. We seemed to be apologizing for something every other minute, and we used filler words such as "Um" and "Er" and "Like" every other sentence.

There was a different kind of tension, too. A less awkward but equally uncomfortable kind. The type of tension that arose every time we brushed shoulders, or when our hands touched on accident. Which was momentously stupid, because before today we spent our time together cuddling like lovers. Now that we actually were something along those lines, we were acting like strangers.

We were both starting to get
frustrated with ourselves and each other, I could tell. But we were also too confused and suddenly shy to do anything about it, at least for a while. Lucas piped up eventually though, being the braver of the two of us.

"This is ridiculous," he sighed. "Why are we acting like we met on Grindr two hours ago?"

Confused, I asked, "What's Grindr?"

Lucas waved his hand dismissively. "The point is, we've gotta stop being dumb, because it's really freaking annoying. Let's do something . . . Help me practice my lines."

I didn't hesitate. "No way."

Lucas crossed his arms childishly. "Why not?"

"You're just gonna make fun of me," I whined. He shook his head insistently, but I could see him already holding back chuckles, and we hadn't even started yet.

"See?" I exclaimed. "You're laughing just thinking about it! No way, not in a million years."

"Please?"

"Fine."

Fuck. Why did that always work on me?

Lucas grinned triumphantly and grabbed the script from his nightstand. He shifted through it, scanning the pages before he chose which one he wanted to go over, and handed the book to me.

He didn't last four seconds before he laughed.

I decided to play into it, though. I was already a bad actor, so why not just be worse? It made him laugh, at least, and his laughter was probably the single best sound on the face of this planet.

I upped the antics, and was proud when he cracked up even more. I was exaggerating now, being much too theatrical—ironically—but Lucas loved it, so, by default, I loved it.

My drama display mellowed when I flipped the page and saw what was on it. A soft blush coated my cheeks as my lips curled into a grin. "You're sly, Morgan."

He didn't say anything other than his next line, but I caught his mischievous smirk. He'd thought this out all too well.

My eyes couldn't stop darting between the lines I was saying and the stage direction printed not far below. My stomach rose in anticipation as we neared it. Three lines away. Two lines. One.

Lucas' hand moved under my chin, gently gripping my jaw. He used his hold to pull me closer, until finally his lips met mine and the tension in the air seemed to dissolve, like a cloud blown apart by a jet of wind.

Then he leaned back, laying himself onto the bed and pulling me with him so that I was directly on top of him. The script fell, forgotten, out of my hand as I settled between his legs, filling any space separating us.

He bit down gently on my lower lip, and a sudden rush of heat surged through my body. As much as I loved Lucas' personality, I could never ignore the insane physical attraction I felt toward him. And now we were together, alone, as close to each other as we could possibly be. I'd be crazy not to make the most of the situation.

And so, I opened my mouth, and for the first time in my life, I was full on making out with a guy. Lucas' hand slipped along my jaw into my hair, and I could feel him thawing under me. I wasn't sure I could handle how soft his lips were, or how he pulled at my hair, or how his other hand gripped my lower back, just low enough to drive me mad. When my hands slid under the hem of his shirt, yearning to feel his soft, muscled skin, and he arched his back below me, I was sure I nearly burst into flames.

     My body responded naturally; my hips grounded down against his, uncontrolled. I didn't have time to be embarrassed, because the sound that Lucas made in response spurred me on to do it again. And when I did, his hips rolled upward to meet mine.

     There was nothing sweet or innocent about it anymore. It was rough and ardent and too hot for me stop and think of how fast we were moving. To hell with it—we were eighteen, we could do whatever the fuck we wanted, as soon as we fucking wanted.

      But then Lucas was pushing gently at my chest, and I sat upright in fear that I'd done something wrong. Maybe this was moving too fast.

     Lucas sat up, too, and I worriedly said, "Is everything alri—"

     I never got to finish, though, because Lucas simply pulled his shirt over his head and took my face in his hands, smashing his lips against mine once more. A noise of surprise sounded from my throat, but I responded instantly and with equal fervor. My hands moved of their own accord to feel every inch of his chest.

      It seemed like only seconds before my shirt was discarded, too. I grabbed his hips and pulled him onto me, his legs on either side of mine. I abandoned his lips to kiss along his jaw, down his neck, his chest. He groaned as I left indiscreet marks on his skin, all-the-while my hands sliding lower and lower, until I reached behind him. He had such a perfect body, it would be a crime not to appreciate it all.

    He explored my upper half, his hands sliding up and down my chest, my back. Everywhere he touched, my skin seemed to burn for second after. "Jesus, Nate," he groaned.

      I just about lost it. I found Lucas' lips again, and I kissed him hard. A sort of battle ensued—a messy clash of lips, teeth, and skin—as we both sought control of the situation. Lucas was the first to cave; he subdued and just let me kiss him, let me touch him and hold him and have my way with him him.

My body was ablaze with a new kind of heat I'd never felt before. My mind was a fuzzy blur, I felt entirely intoxicated—I was drunk on Lucas. And god, I never wanted to be sober. I wanted more, I wanted to get fucking wasted. They way his body curved into mine, chest to chest, sharing our heat, extinguished every ounce of rationality in my brain.

I'd thought for so long that I'd never feel this. Had sleeping with girls, when I knew I'd never be attracted to them, been stupid and dickish? Yes, but we already know I'm stupid and a dick, so there's no surprise there. I'd never felt anything though; not a thing. Nothing real, at least.

Now that I was here, meshing with someone who I was so attracted to it hurt, I finally understood what the fuss was about. I'd never been so turned on in my life—never even thought I could be—and I didn't want to miss a thing.

I dragged my face away from is, finding satisfaction in the way his lips chased mine for a brief moment. "Random thought," I said; my voice came out low and husky and practically unrecognizable.

Lucas pressed a kiss below my ear, one hand running absentmindedly down my chest. "Hm?" He hummed.

I decided to just say it bluntly. Why beat around the bush? "We should have sex."

Lucas backed up to look at me, his eyes rounded in surprise. In an awkward response to his silence, I added, "Just saying."

Lucas blinked. "Right now?"

"Unless you don't want to," I said, feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Lucas' lip quirked up into a grin. My eyes followed his hand as it left my skin, moving down to the hem of his jeans. Unbuttoned, then unzipped. Looking down at him now, I realized that he was just as excited as I was.

"I've heard good things about you," he said, wrapping his arms loosely around my neck. "I've got high expectations."

I smirked. I was pretty confident in my abilities. "I don't think you'll be disappointed."

He leaned forward and captured my lips again. My pants were the first to come off, then his. There was so little clothing separating us now, and I fell in love with the way his body fit with mine.

"You better rock me, Nathaniel Jean," Lucas murmured against my lips.

"Fucking hell," Lucas breathed as he fell back into the pillows.

I grinned, maybe a little proudly, and scooted closer to him, placing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into my side. "Did I meet your expectations?"

He softly kissed my neck, then my cheek. "You surpassed them by a tenfold," he said, which made me feel giddy all over again. "But I'm sure you already knew that."

His fingers traced random circles into my chest. He rested his head against my shoulder and hummed contentedly. "How are you feeling?"

How was I feeling? Words couldn't describe. I was elated. And exhausted. And exhilarated. "Fucked up," I said. When Lucas furrowed his eyebrows, I added, "In a good way. I just feel really . . . Different. Good different. Awesome different."

Lucas smiled. He rolled away from me and reached over the edge of the bed, coming up with his underwear and mine. He put his on and tossed mine towards me; it landed, quite unpleasantly, on my face.

"Gee, thanks," I groaned as I peeled the underwear from my face and pulled it on, all the while making my disgust apparent in my expression.

Lucas scooted back next to me. "Seventh grade Lucas is pissing himself right now."

I laughed. "Seventh grade Nate is sprinting to confession with a tent in his pants."

Lucas snorted. His hair tickled my neck. "Sounds like twelfth grade Nate, too."

"Oh my god, too real."

I leaned over and kissed him for no good reason, and then pulled away with a smile as I realized that I could kiss Lucas Morgan for no good reason. This was too damn good.

"So we're, like, dating, right?" I asked. Lucas scoffed.

"That was the single least romantic way you could've asked me out, Jean. Is this how you woo all the girls?"

"No, but I don't actually like all the girls," I said, which succeeded in making him blush.

He smiled. "I'd never have pictured Nathaniel Jean as my first boyfriend, you know," he mused.

"No?" I didn't hide from my voice the satisfaction that I felt knowing I was his first real relationship.

He shook his head. "Nah." Then he pressed his lips against mine, just for a moment. "I'm glad you are, though. What kind of stereotypical high school gay would I be without dating the closeted fuckboy jock?"

The next week, it turned out, would be really fucking frustrating.

Seeing Lucas Morgan every damn day—in the hallways, eating lunch, at practice—without being able to do so much as talk to him, would be the death of me. To finally have him and be entirely unable to show it seemed horribly unfair.

On Monday afternoon, in the locker room before practice, Shawn had decided to speak up about something that caught his attention.

"Dude, what the fuck happened to you?" He'd asked Lucas, gesturing toward his brother's torso. Lucas had glanced down at himself, at the small bruises that marked his neck and collar and chest, and looked back up with a smirk.

"You wouldn't want to know."

Absolute disgust had entered Shawn's expression when he realized what Lucas had meant. He'd stormed past his brother, red faced and spitting homophobic slurs.

Lucas and I had locked eyes then. His smirk grew, and I may have been fostering one of my own, too.

But that was an exchanged glance. And that was all we shared for the next few days—glances. I hated that. I hated hiding. But hiding was all I'd ever known. And the idea of coming out of hiding . . . I didn't even want to imagine it. It was, by far, my biggest fear, and I didn't have a fourth of the Bravery I'd need to face it. I wasn't nearly as strong as Lucas, and I didn't try to be.

I'd originally planned to make them wait longer before they had any smexy times, but if I'm completely honest I can't see them waiting. It would be more romantic, yeah, but kinda unrealistic in my opinion. They're horny teenage (technically young adult) boys, and they've already spent so much time drowning in sexual tension. Maybe it would be different if either of them were virgins, but they're clearly not lmao. I can't imagine sex being a super big deal to either of them, but then again that's just me.

Also yes I know I didn't write smut. Why? Because I didn't want to. I'm really not comfortable doing it, and I haven't done it before, and that's all there is to it. Sorry y'all.

Also I know I kinda hinted at Nate topping but who do you guys think tops?? Just curious XD