P.S. Take a moment to stare at my new default icon. I know I am.
"Wow, really?" Tom was surprised, even though he'd suspected Bill might not have much experience.
"Yes, really." Bill blushed fetchingly - did people even do that anymore? - and looked down at his hands. Then he glanced back up at Tom. "I know, I'm a freak. Nineteen years old and I've never even been kissed."
"No, hey," Tom objected, not-so-subtly picking up the box of cosmetics and shifting it to the other side of him. Bill's eyes were still wide and he still looked ready to bolt at any second, but he hadn't run yet. Tom counted that a step in the right direction. "I don't think you're a freak. It's just, you're beautiful, and beautiful people get a lot of offers, you know?"
Bill tried to scoot over further when Tom moved closer to him, occupying the middle of the cushion Bill was on, but Bill was already at the end of the couch. "I've had offers," Bill said faintly. "But most of them are from straight guys who think I'm-"
"A girl," Tom guessed, and Bill nodded, the miserable expression returning to his face. "Well, I don't think you're that either. I mean, I did, but then I realized I was just gay."
Bill let out a strangled snort and immediately raised a hand to cover his mouth, as though he'd startled himself.
"If that's the only problem, seriously, that means there's no problem at all," Tom said coaxingly. He wasn't sure why he was working so hard for a simple kiss, aside from the fact that Bill was the most gorgeous, perfect individual Tom had ever met or probably would ever meet. On second thought, that reason right there was plenty good enough. He held out a hand, not extending it too much so that Bill wouldn't feel threatened. "Please, Bill?"
Bill's free hand twitched and lifted, but before Tom could award himself a congratulatory mental fistpump, Bill paused. "I can't, though, Tom," he said, though he sounded torn on the subject. "I'm sorry, but, I'm. I'm kind of waiting for love?"
Tom's train of thought promptly crashed into the metaphorical equivalent of a concrete barrier. For several long seconds, he really couldn't even comprehend what Bill was telling him. "You mean, like," Tom said haltingly. "You're saving yourself for marriage or... or something?" He didn't think gay marriage was legal in Illinois, which made him think, for an appalling moment, that Bill would never be able to have sex. To a nineteen-year-old like Tom, who was in possession of a more than healthy sex drive, the idea fell somewhere between decapitation and castration on a scale of horrifying notions.
"Oh, no no!" Bill told him quickly. "Oh god, no. I just want, well." Bill broke out with the most stunningly wistful, dreamy smile Tom had ever seen. "I want to love and trust whoever I'm with."
"But," said Tom, fumbling for a good counterargument. He had never been the romantic type, although he had cried for fifteen minutes after the end of The Notebook, so the concept of waiting was somewhat foreign to him. "But how will you know if you love somebody, or could love them, unless you try it? Love at first kiss, right?" He didn't think that was exactly how the saying went, but Disney relationships certainly seemed to function that way.
"Well." Bill eyed him uncertainly.
"We have a lot in common. We're both Cubs fans," Tom pointed out. "We both like, uh, cosmetics and stuff." Sure, his love of makeup had just blossomed when he'd opened the front door and found Bill standing on the porch, but Tom didn't think it necessary to point that detail out.
"And I do-" Bill blushed again and ducked his head. "I do think you're cute, too."
"There you go!" said Tom encouragingly, uncurling his hand from where it had wilted, disappointed, on his thigh. He held it out to Bill again, and this time Bill took it, giving Tom a tentative smile. "So, we're trying a kiss, right?" Tom checked, just to be sure.
"Okay," said Tom. "Okay," and when he leaned in, Bill made a nervous little sound but didn't move, and their glossy lips brushed perfectly together.
Thank you, Avon, Tom thought blissfully.