Work Text:
Boots was halfway through his third horrible attempt at a college application essay when Bruno bounded into the room and flung himself beside Boots on the futon. "Boots! Are you wasting time on applications again?" he demanded, craning his head to look at Boots' laptop screen. His breath ghosted over Boots' wrist, and Boots' heart stuttered.
"That's one way to put it," Boots said. He slammed the laptop shut. "Do we have any impressive extracurricular activities?"
"Impressive! Of course! We lead the school in near expulsions," cried Bruno.
"I'm sure the universities will be dead impressed," Boots groaned.
"All this worrying," Boots announced, "is a waste of time that would be better spent making out."
Boots choked. "What?"
"Making out!" Bruno repeated.
This couldn't be happening. (This was Bruno. Anything could happen.) "Make out with, with, uh…?"
"With me!" Bruno said. "Obviously. Is there anyone else here to make out with?"
Boots felt flushed and breathless and stupid. "But why?"
Bruno pulled a wounded face. "Do I need a reason to make out with my best friend?" he asked, leaning over Boots.
"Um." Boots cleared his throat. His laptop rammed into his stomach as Bruno pushed him gently against the couch. "Yes?"
Bruno huffed. "If you insist," he said, his breath warm on Boots' lips.
"Yes," squeaked Boots. His hands, of their own accord, knotted in Bruno's shirt.
Bruno bumped his nose against Boots' cheek. "Cathy bet me that she could make out with more MacDonald Hall students than I could."
Boots tried to sit up. He nearly slammed into Bruno's nose. "So you've been - what - you've been - "
"I'm up to thirty-one," Bruno said happily. He cradled Boots' face between his hands, and crooned, "Let's show Cathy Burton I'm a sex god."
Only Bruno could make out with half of MacDonald Hall and claim it as proof of his rampant heterosexuality.
"Pucker up, thirty-two. "
Boots shoved Bruno off the couch.
"Hey!" Bruno cried.
"I've got - things! Things that I really need to do!" said Boots.
Bruno rolled his eyes. "I just told you not to worry about your applications, Boots, I've got that all under control."
"Other things!" said Boots. He dumped his laptop, jumped over Bruno, and sprinted across the campus.
***
Boots went to Elmer first. It wasn't a logical place to start - Elmer couldn't be higher than thirty-two on Bruno's list of potential make-out partners, right? (Right?). But Elmer probably wouldn't make fun of Boots for asking, or tell anyone, or try to sympathize.
"Elmer," Boots said, leaning against Elmer's terrarium. "Have you seen Bruno lately?"
"Have you lost him?"
"In a manner of speaking," Boots said gloomily.
Elmer looked up at him, his right eye startlingly magnified by a jeweler's glass. He had nice eyes, Boots noticed: dark brown like Bruno's, flecked with shards of gold and green. "I've been training my honeybees for search and rescue missions," he said hopefully.
"I don't think that will be necessary," Boots said. "But thank you."
Elmer popped the jeweler's glass from his eye and considered. "I did see him last week- I remember the night particularly because the Crab Nebula was acting up. Allow me to consult my notes…" He snagged a notebook from his shelves. "Ah, yes. Last Friday at 11:45. He caused an almost disastrous gap in my observations."
"Did…." Boots' heart fluttered in his throat, and he had to clear it twice before continuing. "…uh, did he do anything unusual?"
Elmer's brow creased. "Does Bruno have a usual from which to deviate?"
Boots almost gasped with relief. "So he was just weird like normal, right?"
"Well," said Elmer. "Now that you mention it, he did show an unusual interest in scientific experiments that night. He showed me a peculiar new method of cheek swabbing." He popped his jeweler's glass back over his eye, and returned to the rock he was examining. "If you see him, tell him that the saliva samples we got had hopelessly contaminated each other."
***
When Sidney Rampulsky saw Boots coming toward him, he flattened himself against the bookshelf. The librarian's carefully arranged display of science fiction novels clattered down on his head, and Sidney went down with it.
"Is Bruno mad?" he cried, crab-walking away from Boots over the splayed books. "He said he wasn't and he shouldn't be, it's not like I meant to bite him, these things just - ow!" He had gashed his thumb on a loose splinter from the bookshelves.
Boots sighed and helped Sidney up. "How did you end up biting Bruno?"
"He asked me to kiss him," Sidney said, and looked at his feet. "Sorry, Boots…"
"It doesn't matter. I don't care who Bruno kisses," Boots said. He took a deep, calming breath. "You bit him?"
"Not on purpose! Mark had left a sock on the floor, and I kind of…stepped toward Bruno and slipped on the sock and my mouth just kind of reflexively closed, so I bit him. A little bit. But he seemed to like it! I mean - sorry, Boots."
Another deep breath. "It's fine. Bruno can like whoever - whatever he wants."
"And you're sure he's not mad either?" Sidney asked.
"I'm sure he's not," Boots said grimly. "He has to know he deserved it."
***
Dave Jackson's American flag swim trunks dripped on the tiles as he swung himself out of the pool. "Of course I made out with Bruno!" he said, snapping off his swim cap and running his fingers through his hair so it looked rakishly mussed.
(It made his hair look the way Bruno's did after a marathon session of plotting mayhem. Plotting necessitated lots of raking his fingers through his hair.)
Dave was still talking. "…three weeks ago!" he finished, wringing out his swim cap and snagging his towel.
"Three - " Boots sputtered.
"The worst part," said Dave, scrubbing his towel ruminatively over his abs, "is that no one back home is going to believe me. I make out with the hottest guy in the world, and I've got pics to prove it - "
"Pics?" squeaked Boots.
"To prove he's hot. Not that we made out."
Oh thank God.
" - and no one's ever going to believe me, because he's Canadian. It's going to be like convincing them I made out with the Easter Bunny."
"The Easter Bunny," said Boots.
"Maybe not the best metaphor ever," Dave said. He slung his towel over his shoulder and stretched, flexing his pecs. "See you in the dining hall," he said, and padded down to the locker room.
"It was a simile," Boots informed the chlorinated air, and stood in poetic despair until one of the freshmen accidentally splashed him.
***
Wilbur Hackenschleimer paused, knife and fork poised over his half-eaten steak. "I only did it because he said he tasted like a hot fudge sundae," he said. "I want you to know that, Boots."
"It doesn't matter," Boots snapped. "I mean, it doesn't bother me at all that Bruno made out with everyone else on campus, so really, whatever reason you had for making out with him is just fine. Why should you even have a reason? Reasons are clearly over-rated."
Wilbur looked at him sympathetically. Boots shut up. Bruno looked just like that on the (rare) occasions when his softer side poked past the practical joker.
Wilbur pushed his slice of German chocolate cake across the table. "Here," he said.
"I don't like coconut," Boots said, strangled. "I ate already anyway. I've got to - " he stood up, turned to go, then twisted back to look at Wilbur over shoulder. "Thank you," he said, and hurried off.
"He was lying!" Wilbur called. "He didn't taste like hot fudge at all!"
***
George Wexford Smyth III. If there was one boy in all of MacDonald Hall that Bruno would never stoop to kissing, not even to win a bet with Cathy, it was Boots' snide, stuck-up ex-roommate, he of the gigantic bank account and shriveled black soul.
"Bruno and I made out last Sunday," said George Wexford Smyth III, swinging around from his three laptops to look at Boots.
"But how? But why?" Boots howled.
"Because," said George, "we Wexford-Smyths are connoisseurs. I would no more turn down Bruno Walton that I would deface a Renoir. Now please leave. Your presence is over-extending my air filters."
***
"We're kind of in the middle of a foot rub here, Boots," said Diane, poking her head out the window of her and Cathy's room at Scrimmage's.
"Please," said Boots. "Please. Bruno has been kissing everyone at MacDonald Hall."
"Really?" said Cathy, poking her head out next to Diane's. "I think we have to hear this." Diane sighed dramatically. "We can continue the foot rub," Cathy said soothingly.
Boots climbed up and collapsed on their floor. Cathy propped herself against the headboard with Diane's feet in her lap. "So you and Bruno have finally realized that you're madly in love with each other?"
Boots sprawled on the floor. "No," he said. "Did you actually listen to what I just shouted?"
"The only part I really heard was 'Bruno's been kissing,' and then I didn't bother listening anymore, because who else would Bruno kiss?"
"Everyone else in the entire world," Boots groaned. "He's kissed Wilbur, Sidney, Mark, Larry, Dave, Pete - Cathy, he kissed Elmer. Elmer Drimsdale! He kissed George Wexford-Smyth III! I'm pretty sure Bruno would have kissed The Fish if the Fish wouldn't kill him for trying!"
Cathy and Diane looked at each other in amazement.
Bruno's fingers clenched on the carpet. "If only you hadn't made that stupid bet with him - "
"What bet?" said Cathy.
Boots sat up. "Didn't you bet that you could kiss more MacDonald Hall boys than he could?"
"No," said Cathy. "I would never make a bet I would win so easily. Where's the sport in that?"
"But Bruno said - "
Boots stopped. His face grew red.
"Boots," Diane started.
But Boots was already climbing out the window.
Diane flopped back on the bed. "That wasn't very nice," she informed Cathy, digging her heels into Cathy's thigh.
"No," said Cathy. She laced her fingers through Diane's toes, and a smile drifted across her face. "But it serves Bruno right."
"Matchmaker," Diane accused. Cathy laughed.
***
"Bruno!" roared Boots, storming through the door into their dorm room. "Bruno, we need to talk right now, and - oh, no." Most of their friends were sitting around the room, staring at him guiltily. "We need to talk privately," he said.
Someone wolf-whistled. A whispered chorus of "Shut up!"s followed.
Bruno picked his way through the crowd to lean against the door. "Hi, Boots," he said, his cocky grin tinged with nervousness. "We were just talking about you, actually."
"Great! Wonderful! All of you, get out!"
They filed out. Bruno tried to join the procession, but Boots grabbed him by the collar. He kicked the door shut after Wilbur lumbered out in the rear. "Cathy," Boots said dangerously, "says there's no bet."
"What! She's lying!" Bruno said.
"Diane backed her up!"
"But that's not fair! Diane loves Cathy, of course she backed her up! You'd back me up, wouldn't you?"
Boots choked. He let go of Bruno's collar.
"Because you're my best friend?" Bruno added hopefully, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I'm your best friend?" said Boots.
"Of course. Did Cathy throw something at you? Do you have amnesia? Of course we're best friends. We've been best friends since we were twelve."
Boots paced the room, fists jammed in his jacket pockets. "Why was I thirty-two?" he blurted.
"I may have miscalculated, actually. You might actually be thirty-three - "
"Bruno! How can there be thirty-two guys on this campus that you want to make out with more than me? How is that even possible? I'm your best friend! If I were making out with people on a bet, you'd be the first person I'd ask!"
"Really?" said Bruno.
"Yes!" yelled Boots.
"You wouldn't be worried that you'd…I don't know…kiss badly because you were out of practice? And ruin…" Bruno swallowed. "Ruin us. Ruin everything."
Boots' heart did a little tap dance. "Bruno," he said, trying to sound calm. "Even if you're a rotten kisser, you realize that could never ruin our friendship."
"No, of course not. But it might ruin…" Bruno looked a little awkward. It was maybe the most adorable thing Boots had ever seen. "Boots. You know I'm in love with you, right?"
Under normal circumstances, those words would have made Boots melt into a puddle. Even now, it took him two tries before he could say, "So Cathy has been telling me for the last three years," and even then it came out quiet and throaty.
"Yeah. It took her about a year to notice."
Boots grasped the back of his desk chair.
Bruno recovered his usual infinite poise. He turned away from the window and leaned against the sill, grinning at Boots. "Anyway, I'm an excellent kisser now," he said. "Everyone says so."
"Wilbur didn't. He seemed bitterly disappointed by the fact that you don't taste like a hot fudge sundae."
"He was one of the early kissees. He didn't get the full Bruno Walton experience."
Boots winced. "Bruno. Can we just never mention the fact that you made out with all of our friends? Can we just forget that ever happened?"
"Practice makes perfect," Bruno said firmly. He pushed off the window and crossed the room.
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," Boots said, leaning hard on his desk chair. "You're supposed to do your practicing with me, you idiot."
Bruno stopped, just a little too close. "Sorry," he whispered, but he was grinning. "So. How about it, thirty-three?"
"If you ever call me that again - " Boots began.
Bruno wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. His hands twisted in the hair at the back of Boots' neck, and he leaned in and brushed his lips against Boots'.
"Thirty-four," he said, and kissed Boots again. "Thirty-five." A harder kiss this time, and he stepped closer, backing Boots up against his desk. "Thirty-six." Boots' calculus book tumbled over the edge. "Thirty - "
Boots kicked off the desk and bore Bruno to the floor. "Stop counting," he breathed, lips brushing Bruno's mouth. He pressed Bruno's hands to the floor, and kissed him, and whispered, "One."