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The Halloween slash birthday party for Statice and Sorrel Seong was winding down for everyone except Arthur Olivares. The twins technically didn’t turn nineteen until the following day, but they both wanted a day with just their friends before the parties the following evening. Statice and Sorrel had already combined their magic to completely disable and power down the karaoke machine Arthur pulled out of their parent’s old stuff. Now, the group of witches sat around a little fire in the backyard of the Seong house, and Arthur chatted away about his favorite memories with the twins. Statice was long asleep in one of their folding chairs, and Sorrel shared an oversized one with Quinn, an old camping blanket thrown over both of them. He was pretty sure Daphne was the only one truly listening to Arthur, but Arthur didn’t seem to mind. Sorrel was singularly focused on the way Quinn curled himself up next to him, their shared exhaustion making the platonic touch easier for his heart to bear.
Sorrel leaned in closer to Quinn.
“Wanna get outta here?” He said it with a lightness and a waggle of his eyebrows, delighting in the way it made Quinn smile and laugh. They stood, and Quinn cocooned himself in the blanket while Sorrel stretched.
“Aw, quitters,” Arthur said, fondly teasing. Sorrel rolled his eyes.
“Daph, you got her?” Sorrel pointed at Statice.
Daphne waved them off. “Yeah, of course. Go, sleep. We’ll take care of all this stuff. And don’t forget breakfast tomorrow! Arthur and I are making those pancakes we saw on Chopped.”
“So, you’re making them?” Sorrel teased back. Arthur, not at all fazed by Sorrel’s comment, bumped fists with him as they passed. Quinn wrapped Daphne in a blanket-hug, and when they fell back in step together, Sorrel draped an arm over his shoulder.
In Sorrel’s room, Quinn let the blanket fall to the floor. Sorrel kicked off his shoes, and looked away when Quinn went for his pajamas to change, hiding the heat that rose in his cheeks. When he heard Quinn sit down, Sorrel pulled off his shirt and sweatpants, and joined Quinn on the bed. They sat with their backs against the wall, and Sorrel dropped his head onto Quinn’s shoulder.
“Did you get everything you wanted for your birthday?” Quinn asked softly.
An alternate version of himself, somewhere in a different universe, is telling Quinn no and pulling him into a hungry kiss. In this universe, Sorrel said, “Yeah.”
Quinn waited for a long moment, and just when Sorrel wanted to look at him, he said, “That wasn’t very convincing.” Sorrel huffed and threw his arm over Quinn’s shoulder, and tackled him back onto the pillows. He let Quinn’s quiet laughter wash over him.
“Give me a dream.”
They were facing each other, almost on the same pillow, and god, Sorrel wanted to close the distance between them so badly. He closed his eyes. He was tired, and felt like he was already being lulled to sleep by Quinn’s magic.
“What kind?” Quinn’s voice was so soft.
Sorrel thought he answered, and apparently he did because he slid across the pillow and did exactly what he’d chickened out doing so many times. His mouth slid perfectly against Quinn’s. And it was definitely a dream because Quinn didn’t hesitate before kissing him back. Sorrel’s hand went right to Quinn’s thigh and he pulled their bodies together. Everything was vivid and alive and he felt it all, just like all of the other dreams Quinn had ever given him.
Sorrel trailed his mouth along Quinn’s jaw, relishing in the tiny noises that escaped Quinn’s mouth. He kissed all the way to Quinn’s ear.
“I love you. I love you, Quinn. I love you so much.” He was candid in the way he could only be in the safety of his own thoughts.
“I – I love you too, Sorrel.” He felt Quinn pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wide and open and earnest. Sorrel moved back to kiss him again, hard and urgent. He rutted his hips against Quinn’s, relishing in the gasp Quinn let out against his mouth.
“Quinn— is this okay?” He ran his hand all down the side of Quinn’s body, letting his fingers trip over the waistband of his pajama pants, before resting on the curve of his ass. Quinn nodded to him.
Quinn rolled his hips and slotted his leg in between Sorrel’s. Even through the thousands of layers of Quinn’s clothing, he could feel Quinn hard against him. Sorrel gave Quinn’s ass one appreciative squeeze before sliding his hand back up to push away Quinn’s shirt and shove at the waistband of his pajama pants. He waited while Quinn awkwardly shimmied out of his shirt, shoving his glasses back up his nose when he was free. Sorrel took a few seconds to stare at the expanse of freckles and pale skin in front of him, before he moved back and dragged his tongue over Quinn’s collarbone. He’d seen Quinn with his shirt off countless times, and this was every bit as perfect as ever.
“Holy shit, Sorrel,” Quinn’s breathing was short and uneven. “Oh my god.”
Sorrel moved in to drag his teeth along Quinn’s collarbone again, this time pushing enough so Quinn was on his back and Sorrel could climb on top of him. Quinn’s hands fisted his hair as he moved to kiss his sternum, and then the soft dip of his stomach, letting his lips drag over Quinn’s freckled skin. He tilted his head and dragged his teeth along Quinn’s hip, before readjusting so he could reach for the waistband of Quinn’s pants again. With Quinn’s help, he pulled the pajama pants and boxers down and helped him kick them onto the floor.
He wanted to spend all the time in the world appreciating his view, appreciating the entirety of Quinn’s body and the trust he knew was being given, but Quinn’s hand returned to his hair in a subtle and silent push forward. Sorrel leaned down again and dragged his tongue along Quinn’s entire length, letting the metal ball tease at his tip when he reached the top. He tasted better than a dream. Quinn’s fingers tightened in his hair, and Sorrel glanced up through his eyelashes to see him bury a noise into the arm thrown over his mouth. God, he was gorgeous like this. The faint light from the small bedside lamp casted a perfect glow on his pale skin. Sorrel wanted to kiss every freckle on his body, and worship him the way he deserved. He wanted to hear the noises, even muffled, again and again, for the rest of his life.
For now, Sorrel settled for the way Quinn’s thighs seemed to shake as he wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock. He balanced on one elbow, and brought his other hand to wrap round the base of Quinn’s dick, much to Quinn’s buried appreciation. He moved his mouth as far down as he could, and teased back up the length with the metal bar. He could feel the sheet go tight as Quinn’s other hand twisted his fingers in the fabric.
“Sorrel, oh my god, you—” his words caught in the back of his throat when Sorrel moved his mouth and his hand together. “Sorrel, I’m going to—you have to—”
The shake in Quinn’s thighs told him what Quinn couldn’t manage, and Sorrel slid his lips off Quinn’s cock with a wet, obscene pop. He let Quinn breathe while he kissed the soft skin of his inner thigh and reached down to shove off his own boxers. He was aching to touch himself. When Quinn’s legs stopped trembling, Sorrel slid his hand under one of Quinn’s knees and bent it so Quinn’s foot was flat on the bed.
“Is this okay?” he asked, lips still brushing Quinn’s thigh. Quinn breathed out a yes, and Sorrel moved away, just enough to reach one of the drawers under his bed. He tugged it open, digging back farther than his parents or Statice would ever go looking. He wrapped his fingers around the small bottle and moved back on his knees between Quinn’s legs.
Quinn propped himself up on his elbows, and Sorrel stared at the gorgeous patches of red in his cheeks. Quinn’s eyes were wide and blown when he saw what Sorrel had. And Sorrel just had to kiss him, so he moved back to Quinn’s mouth, delighting in the friction against Quinn’s thigh as he did. He kissed Quinn slow and needy and with everything he wished he could say to him in the morning. He coated his fingers, and gave Quinn’s cock a few appreciative drags before moving his hand down lower. He rutted his hips shamelessly along the skin of Quinn’s thigh, burying gasps of his own. Quinn’s breath caught against Sorrel’s mouth when Sorrel grazed his fingers over the soft skin underneath his balls, and he felt Quinn shift his legs open to ask for more. He moved a single finger in slow, lazy circles, capturing every noise that left Quinn against his mouth. When he applied the faintest amount of pressure, Quinn scooted down so Sorrel would press harder. Sorrel kissed his hairline.
“You’re so perfect,” Sorrel whispered. He felt the puckered skin under his finger give way and closed his eyes to the sound of Quinn’s appreciative whine. “I love you so much.” He slid his finger in and almost out a few times, before adding another. “Quinn. Charlie.” He scissored his fingers, and Quinn turned his head and captured Sorrel’s bottom lip between his teeth. Even in his fervor, he was careful with Sorrel’s lip ring, and Sorrel loved the feeling of the soft pull between Quinn’s lips. Sorrel propped himself up on his free hand and pushed his tongue against Quinn’s. He used Quinn’s distraction to slip a third finger in, curling them up and muffling Quinn’s wrecked noises with his own mouth. Quinn reached a wild hand and tapped Sorrel’s arm. Sorrel pulled back from the kiss.
“Are you okay?” Sorrel didn’t want to freak and yank his fingers out, so he kept his hand frozen still.
“Other than the fact that you should’ve had your dick in me like ten minutes ago, I’m great.”
Sorrel answered him with another crook of his fingers, and was rewarded with Quinn’s mouth going slack and eyes fluttering shut. God, what he would give to be able to actually tease and love Quinn like this all the time. He wanted to have slow and soft and intimate moments with him, and fun and light and imperfect ones too. He wanted everything with Quinn. Sorrel slid his fingers out and pressed a kiss to his nose in apology when Quinn whined at the loss.
Sorrel blindly reached in the same drawer for a condom, and with shaking hands ripped open the package and rolled the condom on. Quinn, still shaky, reached his hand over and wrapped it around Sorrel’s, and Sorrel’s knees almost gave out under him as Quinn moved a tentative hand over him.
“Next time I get to do all of that for you,” Quinn said softly as Sorrel positioned himself back between Quinn’s legs. Quinn grabbed one of Sorrel’s pillows and slid it under him. Sorrel grabbed the bottle of lube and dripped more over Quinn’s hole, smiling at the way his breathing faltered. “God, you’re… If I would have known, Sorrel...”
Sorrel leaned over and kissed Quinn’s knee. “I know, me too.” He scooted closer. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Quinn brushed his hand down Sorrel’s arm, and Sorrel laced their fingers together. “I’m sure.”
With his free hand, Sorrel lined his cock up against Quinn’s hole. He met Quinn’s eyes one more time, so open fluttering with nerves and excitement. Sorrel wanted this to be perfect for him, because it was what Charles August Quinn deserved. He pushed in slowly, agonizing inch by inch, feeling Quinn’s body tense and quickly relax for him. When he was finally, finally all the way in, he leaned forward and kissed the birthmark on Quinn’s forehead.
“Okay?” Sorrel whispered. Quinn nodded under his lips. “Want me to move?”
“Just—” He thought for a moment that Quinn was going to adjust himself, but instead he moved his hand up to Sorrel’s cheek. “I love you too, Sorrel. You’re my best friend, and I’m so ridiculously in love with you.” He pulled him in closer and brought Sorrel’s lips to his, in a kiss that felt like a promise of a thousand tomorrows just like this one. “I’ve wanted to tell you so many times.” Sorrel kissed him again, and when he pulled back, Quinn said, “Okay, you can sex me now.”
Sorrel moved his hips back slowly, almost experimentally, before pushing back forward again. The anticipation through the night and the way Quinn threw his head back on the pillow had Sorrel praying that this would last, maybe forever.
He straightened up and dragged in and out of Quinn to the tune of every one of his gasps. The air around him seemed to swim with their magic as Quinn met every thrust of Sorrel’s. He held onto Quinn’s knees and rolled his hips with as much finesse as he could manage. He wanted every single moment of this to be perfect for Quinn, a wild thought wishing this was what it could be like all the time.
Quinn wrapped his thighs around Sorrel’s waist, and Sorrel doubled over when Quinn used them to pull Sorrel in harder.
“Fuck, Quinn.” Sorrel dropped his head onto Quinn’s shoulder. His arms were shaking, and electricity raced through his veins.
“Yes, keep doing that,” Quinn breathed, and Sorrel laughed against his collarbone. His body thrummed with static and pleasure, and a happiness that was beyond anything that belonged to this world. Quinn wrapped his hands around the bars at the top of Sorrel’s bed and braced himself to push back against Sorrel’s every move.
“I love you.” He punctuated every thrust with whispered praises. “I love you, Charlie.” Quinn bared his neck, and Sorrel dragged his teeth across the freckled skin. “You’re incredible.” He balanced on one hand and brought the other between them. He dragged his thumb over the leaking tip of Quinn’s cock before wrapping his fingers securely around it, matching each of his jerky thrusts with a drag of his hand. Quinn squeezed Sorrel’s bicep and let his head sink back against Sorrel’s pillow, mouth slack and eyes closed in bliss.
Next to his bed, the lamp flickered brighter. Sorrel was so close, and he knew Quinn was too. He could feel the shake in his thighs, the way his fingers dug into Sorrel’s arm. His and Quinn’s magic was all around them like the first time their magic combined in Quinn’s bedroom. White heat flooded his senses when he felt Quinn’s orgasm clench around him, and the feeling tipped him over the edge right after. Quinn whined when the feeling of Sorrel’s hand became too much, and Sorrel collapsed on top of him. Everything still swam around them as their breathing evened out. Quinn turned to him, and Sorrel met his lips with a soft touch. Sorrel reached up and brushed Quinn’s damp hair off his forehead. He felt impossibly happy, giddy even, and he couldn’t help the breath of laughter that escaped him. It seemed to be contagious, because Quinn laughed too.
“I can’t believe that happened,” Quinn said softly, voice rough and uneven.
“Me either,” Sorrel admitted softly. The condom was rapidly becoming uncomfortable, so Sorrel held the base of it and gave Quinn another apologetic kiss as he pulled out. Sorrel stumbled to his feet and crossed his room on shaky legs to grab an old towel to clean up with. He discarded the condom in his trash can and went back to Quinn. His best friend was normally so guarded about his body, and seeing him laid out and so open gave Sorrel all sorts of impossibly happy feelings. He longed for a time he could spend getting his mouth on every single inch of Quinn.
As much as he wanted to wrap himself around Quinn just the way he was, he knew his best friend wasn’t a fan of sleeping without something on, so he grabbed Quinn’s pajamas off the floor. He took his time carefully cleaning Quinn up, dropping apologetic kisses every time Quinn winced.
“Are you hurting anywhere?” Sorrel asked softly.
“Not really hurting,” Quinn said. “Sore I guess? But in a good way.”
When Sorrel was finished, he tossed the towel towards the general direction of his hamper and climbed back into bed. While Quinn pulled his pajamas back on, Sorrel pulled the blanket over them both. And with Quinn in his arms and his magic happy all around him, Sorrel drifted back into his dreams.
*
Sunlight passed across Sorrel’s face in a warm and welcome way. He could hear Quinn’s faint, even breathing on the bed next to him, and he had to force himself to not peek his eyes open and watch him sleep. His blanket haphazardly covered him, and when he shifted onto his stomach, the blanket brushed against his bare skin.
Sorrel’s eyes flew open. He was not wearing anything.
Memories of Sorrel’s dream from the previous night came back to him like a rush of electricity. God, whatever kind of dream Quinn gave him, it made his brain decide to make love to the Quinn in his dream. He’d never had such a vivid, real feeling dream before. And it wasn’t like it was the first time Sorrel had a sex dream about Quinn, or even the first time he’d had one with Quinn in the bed with him. But he always had the protection of his and Quinn’s clothing to make sure Quinn didn’t accidentally bump into more than he bargained for. And it never felt as real as that one did.
Careful to not make any noise, he rolled over to try to find wherever his sexed-up sleep brain decided to discard his boxers. Thanking every ounce of magic in the universe, he reached down and fished them off his bedroom floor and pulled them back on under the blanket.
The movement wasn’t without consequence, though, as he heard Quinn shift next to him. Sorrel wanted to roll onto his side to watch Quinn blink away the last few moments of sleep, but he stayed put in case Quinn heard or felt more than he bargained for last night. God, how had he even managed to strip while he was asleep? He wanted to feel out the mood of the room before he said anything.
He listened to Quinn reach for his glasses, and his heart ached for his dream to be real. If it was, he could roll over and kiss Quinn’s birthmark just like in his dream, and watch the sleep leave his eyes and a slow smile spread across his lips.
“Hey, you. Happy birthday.”
Sorrel closed his eyes. Of course Quinn knew he wasn’t really asleep. He bit his lip and tried to think of a response, but then he felt the bed shift, and fingertips slid across his stomach.
Sorrel froze. His whole body went rigid. What the hell?
Quinn reacted immediately, tugging his hand back.
“Shit, I— I’m sorry. I—”
Quinn’s words were littered with confused pauses, and Sorrel felt like the biggest idiot in the universe. He rolled over, and a flood of dream memories hit him. Quinn’s cheeks were burning with red, and Sorrel wished there was anything he could do to take his stupid freak-out moment back.
“Sorry, I just—” Sorrel paused, mind spinning. “I had a weird dream.”
Quinn’s face softened, and Sorrel hated himself.
“What about?”
“Nothing!” he answered too quickly. God. Maybe he could call that foreign exchange witch Danny and just rewind this entire morning. He broke the eye contact with Quinn and looked wildly around. “Oh hey, Daphne said pancakes at nine, right?”
“Oh, um, yeah.”
Sorrel’s heart ached at the dejected sound of Quinn’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at his best friend. His dream was so vivid, and he couldn’t look at Quinn just to see a casual friendship in his eyes. He needed to forget the dream, forget the openness and the requited feelings his brain created the night before.
The chill of his room after he threw off his blanket made him shiver, and he crossed his room towards his dresser. He was such a mess he dug through every one of his drawers until he remembered where his shirts were.
“Arthur said they tried to make these same pancakes last weekend. They did some kind of apple thing with it and—”
“A compote.”
Sorrel turned around. “What?”
“An apple compote,” Quinn said. His tone was completely flat, and Sorrel frowned.
“Oh…. Yeah. That.” He gave Quinn what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Thanks, professor.”
Quinn didn’t return his smile. Instead, he stood up from Sorrel’s bed and walked out of the room.
Sorrel stared at the door. His magic was so unsettled, he felt staticky and sad. He was acting like such an idiot. It wasn’t Quinn’s fault – not directly, anyway – that Sorrel couldn’t control his feelings, or his thoughts when he was asleep. He had to get a grip.
After he changed into clean clothes, he stood at his bedroom door until he heard Quinn leave the bathroom. When Quinn’s footsteps faded towards the kitchen, Sorrel left his room and crossed the hall to the bathroom. He could hear voices coming from the kitchen, so he quickly used the bathroom and washed his face. He took a few seconds to look in the mirror, and leaned in closer when he saw the redness of his bottom lip. He cringed. He must have bit it in his sleep.
The pancake cooking was in full swing when Sorrel finally made it into the kitchen. Statice had a soft, acoustic sounding playlist coming from somewhere, and Daphne directed Arthur on ingredients from where she sat with Quinn at the table, hand in hand.
Quinn wouldn’t look at him.
“Good morning, birthday boy!” Arthur said from the kitchen counter. Not feeling ready to face Quinn, Sorrel walked over to Arthur, and accepted a big bear hug from him.
“Here, stir.” Arthur shoved a whisk in his hand, and turned on the tap to add water to the batter. Sorrel watched the droplets float through the air and drip into the bowl.
“Only a cup, Arthur!” Daphne called from the table. Arthur redirected the rest of the water floating above the bowl back to the sink. Sorrel looked up from the lumpy mixture and used the cover of the cupboards to look at Quinn.
Sorrel didn’t know exactly what he was expecting as he studied Quinn’s face. Annoyance, maybe? Disgust? He might have asked about Sorrel’s dream, but he just as easily could have already known exactly what happened in it, and walking out of Sorrel’s room was better than having to reject him to his face.
What he wasn’t expecting to find was sadness. His glasses did a good job of hiding it, but Sorrel could see the tiny spots of red next to his eyes.
He had no idea what to do.
Not feeling very hungry, Sorrel picked at his pancakes while everyone else talked excitedly about Bran Walsh’s party later that night. When every single pancake was gone, Statice elbowed him in the arm. He looked at her, and she arched an eyebrow at him. He shook his head, and she frowned and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Happy birthday, bro,” she said quietly.
Sorrel said it back, but he didn’t really feel like celebrating.
Arthur slapped his hand on the kitchen table, making everyone else jump. “Okay birthday kids. Daph and I have to go back to my place before the party to change into our absolutely badass costumes – nope, no spoilers – but we have a few hours to hang before that. What’s on the agenda?”
Statice sat up, and Sorrel could tell she knew something was up because she waited for him to speak.
“Um…” He looked around the table. Daphne and Quinn weren’t holding hands anymore, but Quinn was dragging his fork through the leftover syrup on his plate, pointedly not looking at him. “Mario Kart?” He wanted something, anything from Quinn, even if it was a teasing protest against Sorrel’s favorite game.
Quinn made no indication that he even heard him. He moved his fork in slow circles, smearing the syrup to the edge of the plate.
“Yes!” Arthur cheered and stood from the table. “Dibs on the wheel controller.”
“You can’t dibs a controller at a house you don’t live at!” Statice followed him into the living room.
Daphne stood up from the table and put her hand on Sorrel’s shoulder. He was sure her magic was picking up every bit of confusing, embarrassing heartache he felt. It felt clear to him now. This was Quinn rejecting him and trying and failing not to pity him. “Go set up and pick a course. Quinn and I will clean up.”
Sorrel stood and looked at Quinn one more time.
“Quinn? Do… do you want me to set up Toad for you?”
Quinn looked up at him, and Sorrel immediately regretted saying anything. There was a hurt venom in his eyes that shattered Sorrel’s heart. And then, Quinn let out the most painful, unamused huff of laughter.
“Sure, Sorrel. Go ahead.”
Out of all of the words Quinn spoke to him that morning, the way he seethed out Sorrel’s name hurt the worst. Hanging his head and fighting back tears, he trudged his way to the living room.
Arthur was on his hands and knees in front of the Wii, so Sorrel walked over to the couch and sat next to his sister.
“So, are you going to be all you about this or are you going to tell me what happened between you and Quinn?” Statice said softly, bumping her arm against his.
Sorrel looked at her. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to know.”
“Well you don’t have to tell me every gory detail.” She scrunched up her nose.
He sighed, and in a low voice, said, “I had a… dream… about him last night, and he knows, and he’s upset, or hurt, or I don’t even know, grossed out, but I freaked this morning and he won’t even look at me now.”
Before Statice could say anything, Arthur whipped his head around. In a tone that no one but Arthur would describe ‘whispering’, he said, “You had a sex dream about Quinn!? While he was in the bed with you!?”
“Okay, just announce it, thanks.” Sorrel felt his cheeks heat up.
Arthur half crawled, half scrambled over to him and Statice, pulling himself up to his knees on Sorrel’s pants leg.
“Dude, he can read dreams!”
“No shit, sherlock,” Statice said. She turned on the couch to face him. “Are you sure he knows?”
“I mean, he has to. I… I asked him for a dream last night.” And I got everything I could ever want. I got the most perfect first time with Quinn, and it wasn’t even real.
“Wait, did he give you the sex dream?” Arthur asked.
“Can you please stop saying sex dream?” Sorrel hissed.
“He has a point,” Statice said, contemplating. “How do you know Quinn didn’t give you the dream as like, a weird, backwards Quinn confession of feelings?”
He thought about Quinn’s fingers trailing along his stomach that morning, and about his stammered apology. About Quinn’s anguish in his room, and the redness in his eyes at the table.
“Oh, god.” Sorrel gaped at his sister. “What if he gave me the dream, and I rejected him?” He buried his face in his hands. “Fucking fuck, oh my god. I’m such an idiot.”
He fell back against the couch, swearing to himself, but he had to cut his crisis short when Arthur slapped his knee. Sorrel looked up just in time to mask his agony before Daphne and Quinn walked into the room.
“I thought you guys were setting up,” Daphne said, brushing her fingers through Arthur’s hair affectionately before sitting on the couch opposite Statice and Sorrel. Sorrel wished Quinn would come take the final spot on the couch next to him, but he walked over to the empty loveseat. Sorrel stared at Quinn, wanting, begging him to just look over to him.
“On it!” Arthur crawled back to finish setting up Mario Kart. After turning on the Wii, he tossed the first remote to Sorrel. “Birthday boy gets to be player one.”
“Hey, I’m older!” Statice pointed out. But she was smiling and caught the player two controller without hesitation.
Arthur got everything else ready, and as the disc loaded, he crawled back over and sat against the couch between Daphne’s knees. Sorrel mashed the buttons to skip through the intro screens, watching the way Daphne absentmindedly brushed her fingers through the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck. If he wasn’t such an idiot, maybe he could be doing the same thing with Quinn. He loaded through all the gameplay selections, and his heart thudded sadly as he watched Quinn’s cursor scroll to Toad on the character screen. Sorrel already had everything on the game unlocked.
When they got to the screen to select what course to race on, Sorrel leaned forward on his elbows.
“I swear to god, Sorrel,” Statice said.
Sorrel knew exactly which cup, which map, he was going for. He clicked over as slowly as he could manage, watching the screen only out of the corner of his eyes. He stared at Quinn.
When his cursor finally landed on Rainbow Road, Sorrel took his fingers off the buttons and waited. He didn’t take his eyes off Quinn, even when Statice groaned and Arthur nudged his leg to make his selection.
It took him a minute, but Quinn finally turned around in confusion to look at him. When he met Sorrel’s eyes confusion changed to surprise, and surprise changed to a stark frown. Quinn’s eyes seemed to dart between his, and Sorrel begged him to get it. To see that he got it. To forgive him.
“Quinn?” He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of the upbeat game music.
He watched the controller fall out of Quinn’s hand and bounce onto the couch. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Quinn stood from the loveseat and stormed out of the living room.
Sorrel shot up off the couch and chased after him. “Quinn, wait!”
He turned the corner of the hallway just in time to see the door to Statice’s room close. Sorrel took uneasy steps down to the end of the hall and stopped outside Statice’s door. The giant poster of an album cover he’d never heard of stared back at him. He took a deep breath, and softly knocked on the door.
“Quinn? Can I come in? I… I really think we need to talk.”
Quinn didn’t answer. He waited, until it was too long for Quinn to just be deciding. “Quinn? Please say something.” He knocked again, and tried the handle this time, but it was locked.
Sorrel waited with his forehead against the door for what felt like ages, until he finally heard the click of the lock. He took a few moments to collect himself, and even though he had no fucking clue what he was going to say, he twisted open the handle to Statice’s door.
The light was off in Statice’s room, but thin lines of sunlight peeked through the curtains and lit the room just enough for Sorrel to meet Quinn’s eyes. He was sitting on Statice’s beanbag; he didn’t know how anyone could look intimidating sitting in a green beanbag chair, but Quinn managed. Sorrel took two tentative steps until he was in front of Quinn, and sat down on the floor in front of him. Quinn’s eyes were wet with tears, and Sorrel’s heart broke even more.
“Well, go ahead.” Sorrel felt his throat tighten. He hated being the reason Quinn’s voice shook as he finally spoke.
“Quinn… I… I’m sorry. For this morning. For…” He had no idea what to say, so he stopped talking. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Arthur’s words bounced around in his head. Did Quinn actually give him a dream about them having sex, or did his own mind do that?
Quinn let out a long, wet sigh. “Look. It’s. I mean… it’s not okay, but. Okay—” He took a deep breath and wiped under the frames of his glasses. “I know we didn’t really talk about what last night meant. But, god, Sorrel. You sat there and… and you told me you loved me so many times, and now you’re just going to act like nothing happened? I mean. I get it. Whatever. Obviously I read everything completely wrong. So can you just…” his voice broke on his words. “Can you just leave me alone so I can get over it? I don’t need you to sit there and pity me over fucking pancakes or hover over fucking Rainbow Road like I don’t know what you’re doing. I just… I need you to leave me alone for a little while.”
Sorrel blinked, and his tears fell.
He stared at Quinn.
“What… Quinn, what kind of dream did you give me last night?”
Quinn looked up from where he was wringing his hands together, eyes wide.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Sorrel was never going to listen to Arthur again.
“I asked you for a dream last night, and then… and then—”
“And then you kissed me. And then proceeded to tell me how much you loved me as I gave every single one of my firsts to you. And then you pretended like nothing happened the next day. Yes, Sorrel, I remember it pretty fucking well, thanks.”
Sorrel felt his lips part, but no words came out. Quinn brushed a fresh batch of tears away.
“We... that… I…” Sorrel stared at Quinn. “You didn’t give me a dream last night?”
Quinn’s eyes went wide, and his eyebrows creased his forehead. “No, Sorrel, I guess I figured the sex made you happy enough. My bad.”
Sorrel felt like he was in a tunnel. He felt like the loud, poster covered walls were closing in on him.
“No. I. We—” Sorrel stared at Quinn. “That was real? We… We had sex?”
“Is this a joke to you?” Quinn snapped. “Are you fucking with me? Is this just—” he choked back a sob. “—did last night really mean nothing to you?”
Tears rolled down Sorrel’s cheeks. “Quinn…” He sat up on his knees, and moved closer, and winced at the way Quinn tried to sink into the chair away from him. “Last night was everything to me. It was… Quinn, I thought it was so perfect that I had to be dreaming. I’m—” he scooted closer. “Quinn I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t get it.”
Quinn rubbed at his eyes again, and stared at Sorrel. “You thought you were dreaming about giving me a blow job,” he deadpanned.
Sorrel put his hands on the beanbag on either side of Quinn, and relief filled him when Quinn didn’t pull back. “Of course I did. God, Quinn, all of my dreams are about you. I—”
This was real. Every single heartbeat in this moment, every ounce of electricity in the air, everything around him was real, and awake, and alive.
“I love you, Quinn.”
Quinn moved the rest of the way forward and brought his lips to Sorrel’s. He could taste the salt of Quinn’s tears and he hated that they were because of him. Sorrel put everything he had into the kiss, groaning low in his throat when Quinn’s lips parted hungrily against his. He ached to be closer to Quinn, and climbed on him on the beanbag. Quinn’s hands dipped under his shirt and trailed all over his skin, and Sorrel bent down drag his teeth against the freckled skin in the crook of his neck.
“For the – ah – for the record, I love you too,” Quinn said. “Even if you thought our first time was a magic induced dream. God, you’re lucky I’m like, crazy in love with you.”
He laughed against Quinn’s skin. “First time? Does that mean there will be more times?”
“I mean—” Sorrell pulled back and looked at Quinn. “It is your birthday. And I can think of somethings from last night worth repeating. Possibly in daylight hours so there are no misunderstandings.”
Sorrel dropped his head on Quinn’s shoulder, feeling an impossibly giddy laughter bubble up. When he sat back up, he met Quinn’s eyes and smiled softly.
“Sounds like a dream come true.”
*
“You know, we could just move it into my room.” Sorrel stared at the bright green fabric stuffed into the fire pit in their backyard. He felt Quinn shiver next to him, so he threw his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder and pulled him close.
“Nope. You two sentimentally fucked on my beanbag, so you get to stand here and watch it burn.” Statice turned to him. “Unless you’d like me to melt your eardrums with country music instead.”
“Oh my god, again, we did not fuck on your beanbag!” Sorrel argued. But he was smiling. Quinn was next to him, he was Quinn’s boyfriend, and Quinn was Sorrel’s. He couldn’t find it in him to worry about anything else. “And we already bought you a new one, that you admitted you like better. Quinn has an emotional attachment to it, just let me keep it.”
“Which one of us has the emotional attachment?” Quinn asked airily.
“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do on my beanbag,” Statice argued, holding up a matchbook. “Daphne said, and I quote, ‘there is some serious love coming from your room right now.’” When I broke down the door, you —” she pointed the matches at Sorrel, “—had your hand—”
“You realize all of the filling in that is probably just going to float away in flames, right?” Quinn asked, interrupting her. “There has to be like, a city code against that or something.”
“Arthur, are you ready to do some fire control?” she asked across the pit.
Arthur waved from where he and Daphne sat together, curled up with a bag of marshmallows between them.
Statice ripped out one of the matches and folded the book over onto it. The struck flame glowed bright in the night.
“You’re not even going to say anything cool before you light it?” Quinn asked her.
She looked to both of them and smiled.
“If you two ever fuck on my stuff again, you’ll be the ones in the firepit.” With that, Statice tossed the match onto the fabric.
Gasoline made the effect way cooler than it probably would’ve been otherwise, and Sorrel squinted at the bright orange glow that erupted in front of him. When the outside cover burnt away, Arthur made a game of putting out all of the plastic beads that ashed up and tried to float away.
After spending a moment watching the beanbag melt and burn, Sorrel turned Quinn to him, and in front of the warm heat of the fire, pulled him into a kiss that was better than a dream.