Title: K.I.S.S (Keep It Sweet and Simple)

Summary: “In the future I’m going to look back on this incident and pinpointing as the moment when I started falling in love with my best friend.”

Characters/Pairings: One-sided Janus/Faulkner

Notes: Because they needed a short-story just for themselves.

He’s doing it again, that weird, intense, trying-to-burn-a-hole-in-your-head stare. He’s been doing that since he got here an hour ago. At first, mildly amusing. Now, rapidly pissing me off. “Faulkner, is there anything you want to get off your chest or am I just that sexy?”

If that doesn’t get him to start talking, nothing will. Sarcasm is a great can-opener when used wisely by an expert. I am an expert. Of course, Faulkner couldn’t just blurt it out like he usually does. No, he has to think it over carefully.

“Have you…do you…uh…how do I say this?”

It’s either endearing or annoying how much he’s fidgeting and blushing. Currently, I’m leaning towards annoying. I love Faulkner dearly but sometimes he just makes me want to strangle him. “Just spit it out.”

He takes a deep breath and looks at me straight in the eyes. I brace myself. That determined look is very dangerous for what little sanity I possessed. Oh boy, here it comes…

“How do you kiss properly?”

…That wasn’t so bad. The last thing I expected him to say, but not that shocking. Hold on, that’s wrong. The last thing I expected him to say was, ‘let’s have hot monkey sex on the floor’. But we should focus on his question first. “Why do you ask? Don’t know how to kiss?” I mock.

His pale pink face is now almost the crimson red of a setting sun. How…cute? Yes, I said cute. Does that give an indication of my more than friendly affections for Faulkner? It should. Faulkner doesn’t know I have a crush on him, and if I have anything to do with it, it’ll remain that way. “I do but how do you kiss good?”

I had to repeat the question out loud just to see if I understood correctly. “How do you kiss good…as in how do you make the kiss pleasurable for the other person?”

He nods. I try not to laugh but when a fifteen-year-old asks you ‘how to kiss’ not laughing is almost impossible. He gives me an affronted stare, as if I was crushing his ego. Wait, I am crushing his ego. Oops.

I get my laughter under control. “Firstly, why me?”

Faulkner starts picking at the lint on the couch, a determined scowl on his face, which is his way of saying ‘I’m embarrassed but I’ll answer ‘cos you’re my best friend’. He never could keep a secret from me for long. “I was talking with some guys, the uh…’gay crowd’.” Yes, we do have those at school, and I’ve probably done something with all of them at one point or another but that’s not here and now. Faulkner talks to them because he talks to everyone, regardless of…anything. “And uhm – they were complaining about how no one knows how to uh…kiss properly anymore.”

I just have to ask. “You were actually listening to this?” There may be hope for Faulkner yet.

“Yeah, but only because I was there and bored!” he hastens to reassure me. Obviously he’s still in denial about his bisexuality. “Anyway. Then Cain said it wasn’t true. He said he knew someone who’s made kissing into an art. You. And everyone agreed.” I have to admit, that made me feel all warm and fuzzy. “So, have you really kissed all of them?”

And done lots more than simple kissing, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Yeah, so?”

His eyes widen but he has the sense not to say anything. “Righto. So I was talking to some girls a few days after. And Naomi, that blonde girl, was squealing about how good a kisser you were. Then everyone else started squealing and saying all that sappy girl stuff.” I remember that. Naomi Watson, one of the bimbettes of grade nine. It was a one-off thing behind the sports shed that I am most definitely not going to do again. Cute but brains the size of a maggot.

“So?”

“Well, seems like everyone agrees that you’re the best, y’know, kisser around. So...uh…how do I say this…” I don’t tell him he’s repeating himself, I think he’s under enough pressure as it is. “…canyouteachmehowtokiss.” One second he can’t complete a sentence, the next second he going a hundred miles per hour.

I’m sure he just asked me to teach him how to kiss but I really don’t think I can trust my ears. “Teach you how to kiss.”

He just nods. Nods, I tell you. And I thought I was crazy and shameless. “You can’t tell someone how to kiss!” I erupt, “You either do it well, do it horribly , or learn by practice.”

There’s some silence. Maybe he’s given up on this idea then. No, wait. He’s getting that determined look again. Somehow, I know this is going to be so much more shocking than before. Oh, god. “Then kiss me.”

I was right. “Excuse me?” I can almost hear my sanity breaking into tiny pieces.

“Kiss me, the way you kissed those people. You said you can only learn by practising, right?”

I don’t think he’s getting the idea here. “Yeah, but not on me. Why not ask someone like Alexandra? She’s plenty good. Uses her tongue well.”

“…I didn’t need to know that. But that’s not what I’m talking about. All the girls and guys say you’re the best and my dad told me to only learn from the best.”

I was tempted to say, ‘I don’t think your dad meant for you to apply it to activities involving swapping bodily fluids’. But his dad works as a stripper, so I could be wrong. “That’s not the point! Have you thought that I might feel uncomfortable about this?” For all the wrong reasons, I add to myself.

“Why? You’re kissed guys before. And it’s your duty as my best friend to teach me about kissing if I ask.”

“Does that mean I’d have to teach you about sex if you ask?” I shot back.

“I dunno. Would you want to?”

I stare incredulously at his unusually brazen manner. “No!” Okay, I lied. I would want to, if only to get rid of this tiny crush on him. Scratch that, replace the word ‘tiny’ with ‘monumental’. Totally not what I should be thinking about right now.

Great, now he’s giving me this puppy dog stare. “C’mon! You’re the only one I can trust not to spread it around if I’m crap. Please. Remember how I didn’t tell Nicolaos about how you…cut yourself and stuff.” He looks so very uncomfortable as he says this. I know it freaks him out that I’m a regular cutter, but it’s true that he has never once told anyone. He has helped me out more than once. And he’s a good friend. And I do want to kiss him…

“I hate emotional blackmail,” I finally say. He gets it.

He whoops and attempts to strangle me via hugging. “Cool. Now, sensei, teach me.” I don’t believe this. He actually looks completely secure with the fact that his best friend is just about to kiss him. Never mind, I’m feeling insecure enough for the both of us. Damn hormones.

“Are you sure?” I ask as I rearrange myself on the bed. He’s sitting across from me with his legs crossed. The only way I can make this comfortable is for me to kneel in front of him and lean in.

He looks vaguely nervous but it soon disappears. I really can’t back out now. “Yes.”

I hate this. I take a deep breath and pray to God that I can keep my cool. I balance my hands on his shoulders and he automatically places his hands on my hips. Instincts really suck. I take care to only stare at his lips and not his eyes as I lean in closer. I pause, a few centimetres away from contact. I really, really, don’t want to do this but this could be the way to ridding myself of this ridiculous affections I have for him. I take a shallow breath – he smells of peppermint – then I kiss him.

No matter how confident he looks, as soon as my lips touch his, I know that he’s feeling some doubts. But it’s too late to stop now. He has surprisingly soft lips for someone who never does anything to protect his skin from the weather. At first he doesn’t respond but as time went on, he loosens up when he realises I’m not going to succubus him. I take some time doing the normal routine of simply massaging his lips with my own. If I think he can take it, I might move onto the more…heated stuff.

I feel his hands come up onto my shoulders and tangle with the hair at the nape of my neck. Oh, dear God. I’m sure he’s just looking for something to hold on to. But is he trying to provoke me into going further? I can be patient but I’m not a saint. The second I think he can handle it, I step up the ‘lesson’. It’s simple enough to nip his lips sharply and the gasp the action produces allows me to slip inside. Faulkner freezes but I don’t give him a chance to pull away. This is possibly my first and only chance to get this much action with Faulkner, I’m going to milk it for all its worth.

I’ve slept with plenty of people but I have to admit that this act of simply kissing Faulkner probably turns me on more than ever. I suppose it’s one of the perks of being with someone I genuinely like, rather than simply lust after. I know that Faulkner had no idea what to do when I pushed this lesson further but to his credit, he adapted remarkably well. He has a nice tongue too. Nice, soft, and slippery. And I know he can tie a knot in a cherry stem…so…yeah, we all know what that means.

The only problem he had was inexperience but Faulkner has always been a fast learner, and this time is no different. When he starts getting the hang of being on the receiving end, he begins imitating me. Since this was technically his lesson, I ease back on the aggressiveness. He pushes forward, biting my bottom lip sharply, then a quick flick of his tongue in apology. Yeah, he’s a really fast learner all right.

I wouldn’t know how long this lasted. All I know is that Faulkner is an instinctual kisser, the best kind of kissers. And I’m probably never going to be able to get this memory out of my mind.

When it was finally broken up, mainly due to a desperate need of oxygen, we stare at each other for a bit. He looks like he’s not sure whether to be shocked or pleased. I have to say, he looks even better when he’s all flushed and mussed up. Then Faulkner’s modesty catches up with him and he goes bright red. I might have responded with a blush of my own but I have a reputation as a shameless man-whore to uphold so I smirk instead. “So? Still think I’m the best?” I ask.

“I…” he trails off, looking anywhere but at me. Aww, he’s shy. Serves him right for making me kiss him. Not that I didn’t want to, but he still shouldn’t have forced me. “You aren’t that bad,” he finally mutters.

“Not bad!” I squawk, “Take that back. I’m the best, dammit!” It’s good to see him smile at my words. It would have been excruciatingly bad if he continued to be uncomfortable around me. It’s not like I’m exactly overflowing with friends and I can’t afford to lose the few that I do have.

He sits silently for a while. I don’t interrupt him. I know for a fact I’ve just stolen his first kiss – he would’ve told me if it wasn’t – and that has to be a little hard for someone as straight and conventional as Faulkner. “It…” he begins, looking at me tentatively, “It was good, I guess. But it was kinda strange too, no offence.”

“So you don’t want to learn from me anymore?” I ask, teasing him with some nice, uncomplicated humour. Right now, he needs that more than he needs me coming on to him.

“Uh…um…not really. It’s not that I didn’t like it or anything,” he hastens to reassure me, “I mean, I learned a lot from it but you’re my best friend and a guy and it’s just weird. Y’know?”

Yes, I did know. I was just as uncomfortable as him, except in my case it was because it was hard not to jump him right then and there. Sadly enough, I don’t think Faulkner had that problem. “Yeah. It was kind strange for me too.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“No. I promised, remember?”

He smiles at my answer. He knows that I would never break my promise, especially ones that I’ve made to him. I smile back and slide off the bed, returning to the computer while he goes back to his assignment. A minute later, it was as if the kiss never happened. I’m not sure whether I should be upset about that. You’d think that something so obviously intimate might cause a ripple but we just slipped back into being best friends. Hmph, sucks to be me.

It’s only just as Faulkner is about to head home that he makes a final reference to the ‘study session’. He pauses in the doorway and looks back at me. “This doesn’t change anything, right?” The look on his face was a mix of guilt, worry, and hope.

I don’t hesitate in providing the words he needed to hear. “No, of course it doesn’t.”

I was lying.

In the future I’m going to look back on this incident and pinpoint it as the moment when I started falling in love with my best friend.