A/N: I've had stories like this on my mind for a while now, I guess. Never thought about actually writing it until recently. There's no sex or anything yet, and I don't think there will be. If I change my mind, I'll change the rating, but until then, read away!


April 28

I'd been wearing his jacket all day. It was cold and he offered, and it smelled so good. You know how everyone has their own smell, like their house? His is sweet, almost like exotic fruit, and honey. That day he wore cologne, too – I couldn't place the brand, but I liked it.

At first, Johnny, Eddie and I were all together, under the tree we always hang out under. Sometimes Johnny gets it into him to climb up, and he'll go halfway to the top. I'm talking about a big tree here – full grown pine, with branches like arms that are often interpreted as other parts of the human anatomy. I tried climbing once, and I was too afraid to bring myself more than five branches up. When I started to panic, Eddie had to lift me up and out of my hold on the lowest branch, about six and a half feet up.

It was about seven when Eddie's dad called him in to eat, leaving Johnny and I alone, sheltered from the early spring drizzles by the arching groups of needles.

The night before, we'd been flirting, and I thought that was all it was. We sent each other texts meant only to turn each other on, until midnight.

"So…" He said once Eddie was gone, and I had a feeling we were both thinking the same thing. How much of what we said the night before could come true?

I repeated what he said, and he nodded as if he could read my mind.

What Johnny and I have is complicated. He liked me when we first started hanging out, and even though he told me, I acted like I didn't know. I wanted to be his friend, and that was it. I'd already had enough friendships turned awkward from dating – Eddie and I were just starting to accept each other again, since we came to a mutual breakup because we were bored and both wanted to move on.

Now, Johnny and I were choosing not to label ourselves. It was a little strange for me – I was starting to like him, and I knew he wanted to be more than friends; he made it clear without ever directly saying it. Neither of us wanted a relationship, though, so we got away with it just fine.

"Have you honestly never made out with anyone?" He asked me, bringing up what I confessed to him a while ago. Blushing slightly, I shook my head.

"The farthest I've ever gone with a guy was what I did with Eddie." He and I had kissed. Not even real kissing – the whole time we were together, we held hands and pecked each other when we were alone or in front of our closer friends.

"Would you want to be able to say you've done it?" He asked, his eyebrows raising slightly in anticipation. I close my eyes for a moment and suck in a breath, and smile as I nod my head. When I look up, his dark blue eyes seem even darker, and full of hope.

His eyes always get that way when he's excited.

He takes a step toward where I stand, leaning against the tree. In a few seconds, he's standing in front of me, leaning down with one hand on each side of my body like I've seen in the movies. He and Eddie are two of three people our age who are taller than me, a gigantic 5'8".

"Are you sure?" Johnny asks, and I don't know how I could possibly say no. I make a wise-crack about how it sounds like he's talking about sex to try and get my mind of my stomach, which is so overflowing with butterflies I think I might throw up on him.

And so, he brings his face down to mine, and the contact of his lips makes me jump at first. Knowing what he wants, I immediately open my mouth for him, and his tongue flicks inside.

I open my eyes for a second; I'm shocked. After so many years practicing on my hand, it's far from what I expected. The feeling of another person's tongue is, needless to say, wet. I just wasn't really thinking about it.

For the first few seconds, I don't like it. Why would people do this? Put their tongue in someone else's mouth? Before it happened, I'd been anticipating a beautiful, sexy moment, but all I wanted then was to pull away.

He presses himself closer into me, closing any distance between us. I'm hyper-aware of his leg between mine. My breath hitches, and he takes his head back for only a second.

When he goes back in, our teeth bump against each other, but he brushes it off and gets us back on track. This time, I have a little bit better idea of what I'm supposed to be doing. I don't open my mouth so wide, and I've figured out his pattern. I'm starting to see what people see in frenching.

We go on for a few minutes before I decide I'm ready to stop. I wriggle my way out of his hands, which have moved to around my waist, and turn my face the other way.

"You done?" He asks huskily, and I instantly regret my action. I'm not done, but it might have had something to do with the fact that I just had a vivid flashback of last night's dream. I sigh, and go back to him.

We just stand there, leaning against the tree as close as we can possibly get, intensely making out. I let his hands slide from my hips to my ass, and he uses the advantage to pull me even closer.

Before long, we've sunken to the dirty, pine needle-littered ground below, and I've made my way above him. I consciously think to put my arms around his neck. His are moving their way up my back, underneath my shirt, and for a scary second, I think he's going to bring his hands around to my breast.

The next, I realize I was right.

Johnny's moving much, much slower now. He doesn't want to overstep any boundaries, but I know that if he tries, I'll let him grab me. I've already gone this far, haven't I?

The first time I feel him under my bra, it's only his fingers grazing against the side. My breathing steadily picks up. Understanding that I'm not going to be the one to stop him, he fits his whole hand over my left breast. His hands are a little cold, and the feeling makes me involuntarily suck in air, divided into three sharp, consecutive breaths, and my nipples harden at his touch.

After that moment of embarrassingly loud respiration, a car door slams from the other side of the street and Johnny and I both jump out of our skin.

"Maybe we should stop," I mumble, and, reluctantly, my friend agrees. It's that thought that brought me to what I said next: "What does this make us? Friends with benefits?" One part of me wants him to nod and agree, because that's the best thing we could do. Another part wants him to kiss me again and ask me if I want to go out sometime.

All he does, to my unhappiness, is shrug and give me a pathetic "I don't know." I know Johnny, and I know I'm not going to get anything better from him today.

I look at my phone, depressed, and realize I was supposed to be home ten minutes ago.

"I'll see you…not tomorrow, but the next day?" He says he'll be there.

I give him his jacket back and take my skateboard home, going as fast as I can to get out of the cold. It takes only a little under five minutes to reach my house, and when I get there, I go straight for warm pajamas.

I decide against changing my shirt, though. I'll sleep in it tonight, I know.

It smells like Johnny.