Sebastian sat in the backseat of the McLaren with the rigid posture of a man who had been invited to a royal wedding and was terrified of committing some unforgivable social faux pas. His back was ramrod straight, his knees pressed tightly together, his hands placed formally on his thighs like he was posing for a portrait titled "Academic Anxiety Number Four." The leather seat beneath him was softer than anything he had ever sat on, and it was making him deeply uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to relax into it or maintain his current position out of respect for the vehicle's obvious expense.
Kota, meanwhile, reclined his seat back a few inches with the casual press of a button, crossing his arms behind his head and letting out a long, relaxed sigh. The motion was so effortless, so completely at ease, that Sebastian found himself staring at the way Kota's biceps flexed against the sleeves of his white hoodie.
"Is that—is that appropriate?" Sebastian asked, his voice coming out slightly higher than he intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Reclining the seat, I mean. In a luxury vehicle. Without asking permission first. Not that I don't know the answer. Obviously I know. I've reclined in many luxury vehicles. Countless luxury vehicles. I'm simply checking to see if you know. For your own edification."
Kota turned his head slightly, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Theo was right. You are kind of cute when you're flustered."
Sebastian's brain stopped functioning. Completely. The entire Oxford educated apparatus of his mind ground to a screeching halt, and from somewhere deep in his chest, a muffled, strangled sound escaped. It was somewhere between a squeak and a whimper, and he prayed to every academic deity he knew that Kota hadn't heard it.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. Cute. He called me cute. Was that flirting? That was definitely flirting. Nobody calls someone cute in a platonic way in a luxury vehicle while reclining their seat. That's romantic context. That's intimate context. Should I flirt back? What do people say when someone calls them cute? "You're cute too"? No, too obvious. Too forward. Maybe something subtle. Maybe a compliment about his eyes. His eyes are very nice. Very dark. Very intense. Is he expecting me to make a move? Is this where people kiss? In movies this is where people kiss. The driver and the passenger in the luxury vehicle, the seat reclined, the sexual tension building. But I'm not in the passenger seat. I'm in the backseat. Does the backseat change the protocol? Are there different rules for backseat kisses?
He looked at Kota, his mind racing through possibilities. Kota was still looking at him with that lazy grin, his dark eyes half lidded, his broad shoulders relaxed against the leather seat. He looked like he was waiting for something. Expecting something. Maybe he wanted Sebastian to be bold. Maybe he wanted Sebastian to take initiative. Should I undress? No, absolutely not, they're in a car, in a driveway, in broad daylight, undressing would be completely inappropriate and possibly illegal. But what if he wants me to? What if the casual relaxation is an invitation? What if I'm supposed to read between the lines and understand that "cute when flustered" actually means "please expose yourself to me right now"?
He looked at Kota again. Kota wasn't looking at him anymore. He had turned his head toward the window, watching the trees pass by as Theo drove them through the gated community toward the mansion.
OH NO. He stopped looking at me. Did I mess up? Was I supposed to respond? Was I supposed to flirt back immediately and now the window has closed? The flirtation window. It's closed. I missed it. I was too busy thinking about whether to undress and now he's looking at trees instead of me. I've ruined everything. I've ruined the shopping trip before it even started. Theo is going to be so disappointed. Kota is going to think I'm strange and unresponsive and—
"Sebastian," Theo called from the driver's seat, his voice carrying that familiar, gentle amusement. "You're muttering to yourself again."
Sebastian's mouth snapped shut. "I wasn't muttering. I was—I was reciting poetry. Silently. In my head. Where muttering doesn't happen."
Theo chuckled but didn't press further. A few minutes later, the McLaren pulled up the long, winding driveway of the Hawthorne mansion. The massive estate loomed against the morning sky, all marble columns and floor to ceiling windows and perfectly manicured hedges. Sebastian stared at it with the wide eyed wonder of someone who had grown up in a modest Oxford flat and had never quite adjusted to American excess.
"I'll be back in a bit," Theo said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I just need to change into something that doesn't look like I got attacked by a rogue button remover. You two wait here." He slipped out of the car, his borrowed shirt billowing slightly in the breeze, and disappeared through the massive front doors.
The car fell silent. Sebastian was alone with Kota.
His mind went into immediate overdrive. They are alone now. Alone in the car. Together. Just the two of them.
This is the part where I should make small talk. That's what people do when they're alone together. They make small talk. What do people talk about? The weather? "What nice weather we're having." No. NO. That's what old people say. That's what people say at bus stops when they've given up on life. I am not an old person at a bus stop. I am a young, vibrant academic sitting in a luxury vehicle with a very attractive man who called me cute.
Perhaps something seductive. Yes. Seductive small talk. I can do that. How hard can it be? Just lean forward, lower my voice, and say something like—"So you gonna fuck me or not?" NO. TOO CRUDE. What am I, a streetwalker? A common harlot? I am an Oxford graduate. I have a degree. I wrote a thesis on Joycean epiphanies. I cannot simply ask a man to engage in intercourse with me in the backseat of his boyfriend's car.
OH. I need to sound cooler. More casual. More like someone who does this sort of thing all the time. Someone who is very experienced with being alone in luxury vehicles with attractive men. I'll just say something simple. Something smooth. Something that acknowledges the situation without being too forward. I'll clear my throat, lean forward slightly, and say—
He cleared his throat. "Looks like it's just the two of us."
Kota turned his head from the window, a small chuckle escaping him. "Yeah. Just us."
Kota reached out with one hand, his arm extending toward Sebastian's side of the car. Sebastian's heart stopped. His mind went blank except for one single, blaring thought: HE'S GOING TO KISS ME. I KNEW IT. THE BACKSEAT PROTOCOL IS REAL. HE'S GOING TO KISS ME AND I HAVE TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT KISS AND OH GOD WHICH KISS DO I CHOOSE—
French kiss? No, too much tongue for a first kiss in a car. Too aggressive. Butterfly kiss? Too juvenile. Eskimo kiss? Too cold. Spider Man kiss? He's not upside down. Single lip kiss? Too specific. Too hard to aim. Forehead kiss? Too paternal. Earlobe kiss? That's not a kiss, that's foreplay. Cheek kiss? Too European. Too platonic. Air kiss? Absolutely not. That's for socialites and people who don't actually like each other.
The hand was getting closer. Sebastian's brain finally short circuited and landed on the most basic option available. Standard kiss. Just lips. Press them together and hope for the best. He could do that. He could definitely do that. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Kota's.
Kota's eyes widened. For a split second, neither of them moved. Sebastian's lips were pressed against Kota's, dry and slightly chapped, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that little wrinkles formed at the corners. But Kota didn't pull away. He didn't push Sebastian back. His hand, which had been reaching for the window button to let in some fresh air, changed course. It cupped the side of Sebastian's face instead, rough palm against smooth skin, and he kissed back.
The kiss deepened. Just slightly. Just enough that Sebastian felt something warm and electric shoot down his spine. It wasn't the frantic, desperate kissing he had seen in movies. It was slow. Deliberate. Like Kota was giving him time to figure out what he wanted. When they finally pulled apart, Sebastian's face was bright red, his lips slightly swollen, and a completely dumb, dazed smile was spreading across his face before he could stop it.
He looked away immediately, staring out the window at the perfectly trimmed hedges. "Shit. Shitttttttttttt. That was—I didn't—you were reaching for the window, weren't you? You were just reaching for the window and I assaulted you with my mouth. I'm so sorry. I'm going to open the door and walk into traffic now."
"You're fine," Kota said, and he was smiling. Actually smiling. Not the lazy grin from before, but something softer. "Relax."
Sebastian looked down at his hands, still clenched on his knees. He couldn't relax. He would never relax again. He had just kissed his coworkers boyfriend in the back of a McLaren. There was probably a special circle of hell reserved for people like him.
The driver's side door opened and Theo slid back into the car, now wearing a fresh, perfectly pressed button up in pale lavender. His hair had been quickly brushed, and his cheeks still carried a faint flush from the earlier activities. He looked between Kota and Sebastian, his eyes landing on Sebastian's crimson face and the slightly dazed expression still lingering there. A slow, teasing smirk spread across his lips.
"So," Theo purred, his voice dropping into that knowing, playful register. "What did you two do while I was gone?"