turps

Brendon likes the way that Dallon smiles. He likes that Dallon laughs and ruffles his hair and doesn't fuck with his head.

It's different. It's a kind of safe that he hasn't known before, so when the beer is running low and Sarah's eyes gleam as she throws out the dare, Brendon doesn't hesitate.

He moves toward Dallon and his easy smile, his ridiculous raised eyebrows, and he cups his jaw.

"This better not end up online," he says, ignoring the laugh of the others, and he leans in and kisses Dallon.

Dallon is still smiling when their lips meet. It's a wide smile - unlike the small curve of lips that Sarah favors - and it's easy - so different from the strain that Ryan had carried around.

It's good: the way Dallon tastes, the way he lets Brendon set the pace, but there isn't anything more there. There isn't the gentle buzz of knowing that this will make him happy, make him safe, and it isn't the all consuming lust that was always laced with doubt and anxiety.

It's just a kiss, and when Brendon pulls back, he laughs, ducks in, and kisses Dallon again - just a peck - before he sits back down.