I got a splinter from helping my mom in the yard.

  Elliot would wave a hand over his ailment, and just like that, it was gone. He hadn’t needed to try or focus at all.

  His magic was always eager to touch him.

  Afterward Damon would jump around the room, singing and dancing as if Elliot’s magic somehow gave him a boost of energy, made him even more Damon-like.

  Damon wasn’t weirded out by his powers at all.

  He was weirded out by Elliot.

  He made it a point to never touch him anymore, and he’d flinch if they accidentally brushed against one another. He dropped a plate that he was passing at the dining room table when their fingers bumped.

  They stopped playing video games side-by-side, too. Instead, Damon sat on the bed, while Elliot was on the floor. He hadn’t tickled him, ruffled his hair, or tackled him since the awkward wrestling match last week.

  It was probably for the best, but Elliot missed it. He missed having an excuse to touch Damon. He missed his best friend acting normal.

  Damon probably just needed an adjustment period. He’d eventually see that Elliot wasn’t going to come on to him or try to fuck him or something.

  He hoped so, at least.

  In some ways, things had gotten better. Elliot had finally figured out the trick to get his magic to cooperate.

  Unfortunately, the trick was having Damon in the same room with him.

  He’d started bringing his best friend to his training lessons at the clinic under the guise that he wanted to show Damon his magic. It was easy to slip into the healing flow state when Damon was next to him. Something about his presence got the spark of Elliot’s magic to catch. Fired him up and steadied his mind all at once.

  “It’s fine,” Grandmama whispered when they were out of earshot. “Some people use crystals to align their energy, some use wands, or religious totems. You use a person. It’s no big deal. Once you get used to conjuring magic, you won’t need him anymore.”

  “Right,” he said.

  Somehow, he didn’t think that was possible.

  “Okay, you boys go try these on, and we’ll see which size looks best,” Ms. Montré said, shooing them into the back of the suit rental store.

  “How long do you think this is going to take?” Elliot asked Damon as they went into their dressing rooms. “I hate malls.”

  The fluorescent lights. The pushy salespeople. The stupid smiling people in the giant marketing photos hanging on the walls.

  “I don’t know,” Damon said. “Like twenty minutes?”

  Elliot took off his shirt and slipped on the collared button-up. Twenty minutes. It was just twenty minutes. Then they would go back to Damon’s house and play games together, and that uncomfortable itch of wrongness he felt when he was overstimulated would dissipate.

  “Wait. You’re gay,” Damon said. “You’re supposed to like shopping and trying on clothes.”

  Elliot snorted. “Ha. Ha. Very funny,” he deadpanned as he pulled on the dress pants.

  “Sorry.” Damon’s voice lost its humor. “I shouldn’t joke like that.”

  Elliot rolled his eyes. He left his dressing room and knocked on Damon’s door. “Let me in.”

  “What?”

  “Let me in your dressing room.”

  The handle unlatched, and Elliot slid inside. “Knock it off.”

  “I’m sorry,” Damon said. “That joke was so inappropriate, and I don’t want you to think I have a problem with you or that I’m stereotyping. I was just ragging on you like we usually do, but I need to be more careful and less—”

  “Damon!” Elliot grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Stop. Stop freaking out all the time. You can make gay jokes with me. You can be a dick like you usually are. Stop fucking apologizing for it. I don’t want your apologies or for you to keep tiptoeing around like you’re afraid if you touch me, I’m going to take that as an invitation to jump you.”

  “I don’t think that!”

  “No?”

  “No!”

  “Okay, then why did you quit cheating in our games?”

  Damon licked his lips. Elliot forced himself not to lower his gaze to watch.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never cheat,” Damon said.

  Elliot raised an eyebrow. “You’d shove me or mess up my hair when I was winning, and I’d kick you back, and if all else failed, your sadism would come out, and you’d tickle me and wrestle me to the ground.”

  Damon winced.

  “We’ve done that once since I told you I was gay. And you freaked out.” Elliot ran a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “And I get it. You’re uncomfortable, but I’m not going to try anything, and I know you’re straight, okay? If you don’t ever tickle me again, I will praise the lord, but I just want you to act normal. Alright?”

  Damon rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry, man. I’ve been a shitty friend.”

  “Stop apologizing.” Elliot flicked his ear.

  Damon huffed a laugh and smacked his hand down. “Yeah, okay.”

  His smile didn’t meet his eyes. His gaze was cast down, watching as Elliot tucked the tails of his collared shirt into his dress pants. Elliot buttoned them up and stared in the mirror, knocking his shoulder into Damon’s.

  Damon swallowed and met his gaze in the mirror. His eyes traveled down Elliot’s body and up again. “You look nice.”

  Elliot smiled and fixed the collar. “You do too,” he said with as neutral a tone as he could muster.

  The button-up shirt fit Damon so well. The fabric pulled taut over his muscled chest and arms, making a sexy silhouette of his tapered waist. Elliot didn’t see Damon dressed up often. The last dance they went to together was probably in the ninth grade. They’d both been gangly and awkward. Now, Elliot was still gangly and awkward, but Damon was the quintessential embodiment of the perfect prom date.

  The perfect prom date for Chelsea, Elliot reminded himself.

  He scurried out of Damon’s dressing room and back into his own, grabbing the jacket and slipping it on.

  “You know, you basically admitted you miss me tickling you,” Damon said. “Which, if anything, makes you more a masochist than I am a sadist.”

  “No!” Elliot said. “I fucking hate it. Never ever do it again.”

  “I’m going to. Now that I know how much you love it.”

  “No! If you tickle me again, I’ll…”

  “What?” The door clicked as he opened it. “What will you do?”

  Elliot stepped into the open space outside the dressing rooms. He couldn’t think of an adequate punishment because Damon’s eyes widened, and he breathed out, “Wow.”

  Elliot’s spine tingled as Damon drank him in. He wanted to preen, wanted Damon’s eyes to stay on him like that forever.

  Ms. Montré came around the corner and clapped, snapping Elliot out of his fantasy.

  “Oh, look at you, Elliot!” She came over and brushed the tops of his shoulders and yanked on the jacket to check the fit. “You look perfect. He looks so good, doesn’t he, Damon?”

  “Yeah,” Damon said, his voice a little hoarse.

  “Did yours not fit?” Ms. Montré asked.

  Damon shook his head and handed over the jacket. “Too small.”

  She’d already grabbed alternate sizes and handed Damon a different jacket.

  He slipped it on and stepped in front of the mirror. He spun around, checking the back before buttoning the jacket like a suave secret agent or something. He’d gotten a fresh haircut yesterday. It was buzzed in the back and the sides. His short, tight curls expertly shaped on the top.

  Elliot was a slob compared to the perfection of his best friend. Why Damon was even friends with Elliot, a shy and pimply gamer nerd, he didn’t know.

  Elliot’s tiny inconvenient crush was not only stupid but downright delusional.

  “So handsome. Such beautiful boys.” Ms. Montré said. “I can’t believe you both are all grown up.”

  “Mom,” Damon whined.

  She waved him off. “I’ll find ties to match your dates’ dresses.”

  When Ms. Montré was out of earshot, Damon asked, “So if you were taking a guy as your prom date, what tie would you get?”

  “Huh?” Elliot realized he’d still been staring at Damon and yanked his eyes away.

  “If you were taking a guy, like, what color tie would you get since neither of you would have a dress to match?” Damon clarified.

  Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know. Something basic, I guess. Blue or red, maybe.”

  Ms. Montré reappeared and waved around a hot pink tie and a bright orange tie. “Found them!” She held them up to their necks, and they made disgusted faces at each other in the mirror.

  “Kinda wish I was taking a guy,” Damon mumbled.

  Elliot huffed a laugh, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

  Me too, he thought. Me too.

  Chapter Ten

  Damon spent three weeks trying to figure out if he was gay.

  He checked out every guy he came across and asked himself if he wanted to do anything sexual with them.

  He didn’t.

  He watched gay porn, and found it a little…disturbing. His stomach felt vaguely unsettled through the whole thing.

  He asked the internet and took stupid tests, stumbled upon internet forums, and it was all inconclusive…

  It honestly just confused him more.

  But since he had no proof he was gay, he must be straight, which meant he didn’t have to avoid wrestling with Elliot anymore.

  It was a huge relief. Damon missed touching him. He only realized how handsy he’d been with Elliot after he’d made the conscious decision to stop touching him.

  Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder while they played video games. Squeezing Elliot’s arm at school. Pulling Elliot into hugs and headlocks and messing up his hair.

  You know, best-friend stuff.

  Now things could go back to normal, just like Elliot wanted.

  “Dude, stop.”

  “Sorry, I can’t stop being awesome. I was born this way.”

  “No, you’re cheating. You, lousy cheater!” Elliot shoved his shoulder into Damon’s, and they fell into their usual pattern.

  “I’m not cheating! You just suck.” Damon gave over to his instincts, to the most natural thing in the world: horsing around with his best friend.

  Shove. Push. Kick.

  Controllers thrown.

  And it began.

  Damon smushed Elliot to the ground, and Elliot pushed his chest and flung him off. There was a little scrambling between the two as they both swung their arms trying to get the other into a headlock, but Elliot faked Damon out and went for his legs. They tumbled to the floor with a loud thud, stopping only a second when Ms. Montré yelled up to ask if they were okay.

  “We’re fine, Mom!”

  “We’re good, Ms. Montré!”

  Then they were back at it, fumbling and elbowing and dodging. Somehow Damon got Elliot turned around so Elliot’s back was against his chest. Damon locked his legs around Elliot’s waist, and swooped his arm under Elliot’s armpit to grab the back of his neck, getting him into a half nelson.

  His other hand ended the match by fluttering his fingers on Elliot’s sides.

  “No,” Elliot whined, elongating the word. “Stop. No. Tickling.”

  Damon just grinned and continued his—okay, admittedly a bit sadistic—tickling.

  “I hate you!”

  “No, you don’t. You love me, and you love this.” Damon put his hands under Elliot's shirt to get a better tickle going.

  Elliot was laugh-crying, but still not calling for mercy. He started wiggling left and right, trying to slip out of Damon’s hold, rubbing his ass on Damon’s crotch and bending his head back so his short huffs of laughter hit the back of Damon’s ear.

  Elliot was so pretty with his face flushed and his eyes glistening with tears from laughter. His warm, lanky body pressed against Damon, rubbing on him.

  Damon tensed, his hands stopping a second before Elliot caught up to what was happening.

  They both froze.

  Damon’s arms loosened their hold. Elliot could have scrambled away, but he didn’t.

  They stayed where they were. Damon’s legs wrapped around Elliot’s waist, and his hardening cock pressed into Elliot’s back.

  Elliot was panting, his chest moving in rapid pulses. “Damon?”

  “Yeah,” he croaked. His throat was tight. The room seemed hotter.

  “It’s fine. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Damon’s face heated, and his palms began sweating.

  “It happens, man,” Elliot said, trying to be nonchalant, but there was a hitch in his breath.

  Damon wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, glancing over Elliot’s shoulder to his lap, to the growing bulge pressing against Elliot’s mesh shorts.

  Something warm twisted inside of him. A slow, prideful smirk took over Damon’s face. His chest puffed out a little.

  Ha! Yes! Elliot was sexually attracted to him. He laid awake at night, annoyed that Elliot claimed Damon wasn’t his type, but now he had proof that was a lie.

  And…Damon had the proof that he might not be so straight after all.

  He inhaled a ragged breath and blew it out slow. Elliot shivered a little.

  Damon rested his hands on Elliot’s thighs, near his groin. He could still play all of this off as an accident. One big accident.

  But Damon didn’t want that. Had any of it really been an accident? Any of it at all? From the moment he’d met him, Damon knew Elliot was special.

  Damon slowly rubbed his hands up and down Elliot’s thighs, brushing closer and closer to the tented area, waiting for Elliot to stop him, to get up and leave.

  He didn’t.

  Damon’s hand slid over Elliot’s hard length. Elliot sucked in a breath as Damon thumbed the head through his shorts.

  “Do you remember when we jerked off together at the beach?” Damon asked.

  “Yeah,” Elliot said, voice rough as sandpaper.

  “I think about that all the time.”

  “Having a threesome?”

  “Yes. No. Sorta.” Damon’s hand traveled lower, gently cupping Elliot’s balls. He found he wasn’t repulsed by this at all. Touching a guy’s balls.

  Damon was the opposite of repulsed. He wanted to explore Elliot’s body. Wanted to see him.

  “I think about the noises you made,” Damon said, slipping his hand under Elliot’s shirt. “About how fast you came. How fast I came. How it’s the only thing I jerk off to anymore.”

  Elliot’s throat worked with an audible gulp.

  Damon caressed the soft hair of Elliot’s happy trail, giving Elliot a chance to stop him before Damon continued lower.

  “Damon,” he said, low and breathy.

  He closed his eyes as Elliot’s voice traveled up his spine. “Just like that. At the beach. You said my name just like that.”

  “What are you doing?” Elliot hissed through his teeth.

  Damon flattened his palm over Elliot’s stomach. He ran his nose through the straight blonde hair above his ear. He smelled so good, so unlike a girl’s fruity floralness. Elliot smelled like the familiar piney musk that he’d come to associate with his best friend, with both safety and excitement. “I want to make you come.”

  Elliot inhaled shakily.

  He waited, but Elliot didn’t say anything, didn’t give him permission, so he added, “Can I?”

  “Yeah. Yeah,” Elliot said, wiggling his hips.

  Damon’s hand wandered under his waistband and gripped Elliot’s hard cock. “Have you been hiding this from me the whole time?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Damon’s chest felt lighter; something euphoric filled him. “How?” Damon circled his thumb on the head to spread the precome.

  “I have a spell to help constrict blood flow so it’s not as obvious.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  Elliot’s legs were trembling.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” Damon asked, removing his hands and pressing his palms to Elliot’s thighs.

  Elliot nodded. “Yes. It’s fine. It’s good. Yeah.”

  Damon huffed a laugh, his lips near the back of Elliot’s ear. He tugged on Elliot’s shorts, and Elliot pushed them down to just above his knees. Damon didn’t hesitate to grip him under the head and give him an exploratory stroke.

  His dick was hot and smooth, and from this angle Damon could simply be jerking himself off. Except he wasn’t. This was Elliot. Elliot quivering in his arms. Elliot panting into his ear. Elliot’s precome leaking onto his fingers. Elliot’s hands squeezing his thighs.

  Elliot’s moans as Damon licked and kissed up the side of his neck. He tongued the outside of his ear, sucking and nibbling the lobe as he jerked Elliot faster.

  His other hand wandered over Elliot’s hip, and along his torso, for once being extremely careful to not tickle him. He brushed over his nipples, and Elliot thrust up a bit.

  Hmm, so he liked that.

  Damon fingered one nipple and then the other, playing with the hard buds until Elliot said, “Damon, I’m close.”

  “Come for me then,” he whispered into his ear, eyes locked on Elliot’s lap.

  Elliot tensed, his fingers dug into Damon’s thighs, knuckles white. He choked out an agonized moan that Damon cut off by slapping his hand over Elliot’s mouth so his mom didn’t hear.

  Elliot’s come coated both of his thighs and Damon’s right hand. He slumped and leaned back, resting on Damon’s chest.

  Damon released his mouth, and Elliot’s head lulled a little as if following his retreating hand. He reached over to grab a tissue to clean them up. Neither of them said anything as Damon wiped his hand and Elliot’s legs clean.

  Elliot leaned forward to pull up his shorts, but instead of returning to his position—a position Damon would have gladly spent the rest of the night in—he turned around, kneeling in between Damon’s legs.

  Elliot licked his lips. His hesitant gaze darted between Damon’s lap and his eyes. “Do you want me to...”

  Damon was so fucking hard it hurt, but he tried to play it cool. “I mean, not if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do me any favors.”