Sarah, er- Mrs. Rogers is making hot cocoa for us this morning... But only because she has to leave extra early for work. When we woke up (I was already there, as I had slept over the night before) the hot cocoa was already made and set in the kitchen counter still steaming with a note under Steve's gold and green mug.

Be back before dinner. Be good (that means you, Steven)!
-Mom

"Ugh she's so embarrassing," he grunted, crumpling up the letter and throwing it to the floor.

"Awww, c'mon Steve... She's not that bad. I think it's actually kind of... ya know, cute," I added. He looked at me like I was mad.

"Buck..." He smiled and started laughing. Then, I joined him. We could have been laughing for hours, because that's what it felt like.

"Alright... Alright..." I finally caught my breath. "Let's drink these before they get cold."

"Probably a good idea," he raised an eyebrow at me as he took his cup and walked over to the table. We sat across from one another and were joking around the whole time. I would crumple up a napkin and throw it at him and he would throw it back when I wasn't looking... Spitballs... Pencils... Anything and everything was a useful tool to throw at the other.

Then I threw an eraser at him and it bounced back. We both reached into the center of the table to get it when I accidentally knocked over his mug of hot cocoa. "Shit, Steve, shit.... Ugh, sorry..." I stood and rushed over to his side of the table. It had spilled all over the table and all over him, too.

He chuckled, "it's fine, Buck, really. It's not even hot anymore..." he laughed, "it's actually kinda, ah- cold."

"Lemme help you, Steve..." I speed walked to the kitchen and got some napkins to clean up the mess. I put most of them on the table to clean up the Christmas themed red and green plaid tablecloth. "Stand, lemme help, Steve."

"Uh, okay..." he stood and looked down at himself. The bottom of his white button up shirt was stained chocolate brown and his beige slacks were darkened and dripping.

"Okay... uhhm..." I got down on my knees and started padding down his pants when I realized what this must have looked like. I felt my face turning red and my skin boiling, but I wouldn't get up until it was at least somewhat dry.

I was literally on my knees before him at... uh, just the right height. I closed my eyes because I couldn't bear to face the music.

I stood. "Alright... It's, uh, mostly dry. Maybe-"

"Yea. Maybe I should get changed," he headed towards his room, "you coming?" Well shit, Steve, when you say it like that...

"Yea, yea. Coming," I replied as I headed there with him. I followed behind him, step by step, trying not to look at him too much (even though it was unavoidable). And this is something I thought about often, how I felt about him. I wonder if my lack of interest with the dames is wrong... I wonder if it's just Steve who I like, or if it's a general attraction to... guys.

He interrupted my thoughts when he started unbuttoning his shirt. I felt my eyes grow wide as I watched him work as well as try not to get caught. Not that it would matter much though, he doesn't think any more of me than what I am: his best friend.

He turned around to face me and his eyes met mine. He just looked at me for a moment, never pausing or lagging with what he was doing until he smiled. "Wanna get me a new shirt?" He asked.

Not really. "Uh, yea..." I walked to the dresser and plucked out a shirt that looked a little... small. I turned around and he was unzipping his slacks. Look away, look away, look away!... God I can't. I can't and I can't even say that I want to. I felt my eyes drifting all along his body and I couldn't find the courage within myself to look away. "Here," I extended my hand along with the shirt, that'll stop my ogling him.

His pants were around his ankles and I could see his light blue underwear had a hot cocoa stain on the front too. "Uhh, Steve, you want some new underwear and pants too?" I asked, trying not to sound weird. Not that it normally would be weird... just that now that I feel this weird pit in my stomach every time I see him, I've lost all of my senses.

And there go the underwear, mother of god, I think I'm dead. I've turned fifty shades of red in the past fifteen minutes alone and I don't know how much more of this I'll be able to take before my boner is evident through my jeans.

So I looked away.

He put on his new underwear and light blue jeans as well as the somewhat tight white t-shirt. As I n watching him do so, I wondered what I was going to do with myself in the following weeks. I was going to be spending every day with Steve and now, just looking at him, I'm being driven out of my mind.

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James_BuchananBarnes