"Fuck." Emilio sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. A few more curses slipped his lips. He dragged his nails across his scalp, closing his eyes. Wrong decision — it only made the images look more vivid. His erection was throbbing but he refused to help himself. Not while the remnants of that dream were still floating through his head. He had been lying on this bed, had done the same things he'd done with Juan two weeks ago. 

Only this time, it had been Rory's heated skin that was explored by his lips. It was Rory who he took in his mouth, who grunted his name. His mouth felt dry, there was a sour taste in it as if someone had really dumped his semen in it. 

Another series of curse words left his lips. Where were these disgusting longings coming from anyway? 

 "Fuck you Juan," he grumbled. "This is your fault, asshole."

He got up from the bed, stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water in his face. There was a weird feeling in his stomach and he simply couldn't push it away. It was high time that he reset his brain. He headed to the kitchen, scraped together some breakfast and returned to the bedroom where he opened his laptop. He would watch porn — normal porn — until his thoughts were normal again. 

After half an hour, Emilio closed his laptop, heaving a deep sigh. Leaning with his elbows on the closed the device, he ran a hand across his face. "What the fuck am I doin'." Watching porn wasn't the same as before. He was way too focused on how his body and his thoughts reacted to what he was seeing, so he was barely excited. At least, he was telling himself that was the reason for his lower libido. 

For a while he stared at the wall in front of him. Quickly, his thoughts returned to last night. To how close Rory had pressed himself to his back when he increased his speed, to how hard they had laughed hiding for the cops, to the stupid things they'd talked about and to the way his heart had skipped a beat when Rory had pulled him on his feet. His glance wandered off to his hand; he turned it so his palm was facing the ceiling. He tried to remember how it had felt; Rory's hand in his. 

"Fucking hell," he grumbled as he realized what he was doing. Quickly he pulled back his arm. His head was a fucking mess, just as bad as when he woke up. Or maybe even worse; he had a pounding headache now. Opening his laptop again, he started up Battlefield V, determined to play that game until his head was only filled with bloody pixels. 

At least three hours went by before the bedroom door was opened. Emilio had paused only one time to take a piss and grab a beer. He looked briefly over his shoulder to give Juan a nod, then he turned his attention back to the screen, assuming that Juan would grab some things and go to Dana. He however didn't; he sat down on the bed. 

Emilio wasn't in the mood to quit his game; he was finally doing well. Fanatically he kept clicking away, turning up the volume a bit more so he was completely shutting his friend out.

. . .

Juan wasn't stupid. He knew very well his friend didn't want to talk to him, but exactly therefore it had to happen. In the end, he grabbed a pillow and flung it to Emilio's head. It hit his head and fell on the desk. Cursing, Emilio turned around. 

Juan smirked. "Enough gaming, nerd. You're acting weird for over two weeks, you better tell me what's going on."

"I'm fine," he grumbled. 

"You can't even look me in the eye while saying that."

Emilio clenched his jaw. "I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Well I am and you're in my room."

With obvious reluctance, Emilio moved his chair closer to the bed. "Well? Talk."

Juan shook his head. "As it seems, you have a problem with me. Just tell me what's going on."

"I don't have a problem with you."

Annoyed, Juan frowned. "Come on dude, how long do we know each other? Most of our lives! I always tell you everything."

"That's not my problem. I got nothin' to say to you."

He got up and was about to leave the room, but Juan jumped up and grabbed his wrist. Roughly, he dragged him closer so they were facing each other. "What the fuck man. You're never like this. Did I say something hurtful? Since that night —"

"No!" Emilio snapped. 

There was an emotion in his eyes that Juan couldn't identify. Panic, maybe. Worry replaced his frustration. "Are you in trouble?"

"Just leave it. It's nothing."

Juan's shoulders slumped down. "You never lie to me," he said quietly. 

A silence fell in which only Emilio's heavy breathing was audible. 

"I just wanna help you, E..."

"You've been of enough help!" he snapped. "In your stupid drunken stupor!"

Juan gritted his teeth. Emilio really had no right to say something about being drunk.  "So I said something when I was drunk. Just fucking tell me what it was man. You're smart enough to see that this isn't going away like that, right? Whatever I said — I'm sure I didn't mean it anyway."

Emilio let out a joyless laugh. "You really think I care about words? I'm not you!"

His words hit him hard indeed; he made it sound like he was a poser. He shook it off. Instead of responding immediately, he studied his friend's face. There was still unrest in his eyes. Juan tried to come up with another way to get Emilio to talk. 

"I thought our friendship was stronger than this," he said eventually. "I thought we could tell each other everything. But I guess I'm the only one who dares to trust."

"This has nothing to do with trust," Emilio objected. "I just don't wanna talk about. Why is that so hard for you?"

"You're avoiding me for over two weeks!" Juan answered. "While you live in my fucking apartment. I wanna know what I did to deserve this."

"Believe me, you really don't wanna know," Emilio grumbled. 

Juan gave him an annoyed look. "I do. So stop coming up with excuses and tell me what the hell is going on."

His voice sounded snappy now too, but it finally seemed to shake up Emilio. He bent his head. "We did things, okay? That night that you were so drunk. And you don't remember and I do and it's fucking awkward."

Juan frowned. "What kind of things?"

"What kind of things do you think?" his friend snarled. 

"Did we fight? Did I give you that shiner?"

"You wish you could punch like that," Emilio huffed. 

Juan sighed. Things only became vaguer. He really didn't know what Emilio was talking about. "I won't let go of this, so you may as well tell me right away. Whatever it is — I just want to get over it and act normal again."

Emilio's eyes shot to his. Nervousness had displaced his anger. "We kissed," he said. "You happy now?"

Juan's eyes widened. He hadn't known what to expect — but not this. "We kissed? What do you mean?"

"You wanted to know how it was to kiss a guy and so we kissed."

Slowly, he shook his head. It made no sense. He would have remembered something, right? And even if he had really suggested kissing — why the hell would Emilio agree? "This is bullshit. You're just telling me some stupid story to blow me off."

"You really think that —"

"I didn't kiss you!"

Emilio's laughter sounded mocking. "Whatever man."

"I would never do that to Dana."

"You thought she would find it funny."

Juan shook his head. This was making no sense at all. "Why the hell wouldn't you stop me?"

Emilio's cheeks showed a rare red tinge. "You were persistent," he mumbled. 

Defeated, Juan sat down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't imagine it was really true — but he could neither think of a reason why Emilio would lie about it. It would explain his current behavior, for he knew how homophobic his friend was. 

He took a few deep breaths. "A drunk kiss. Okay. Well — that's not the end of the world, right? Nor the end of our friendship." He looked up. "Or did I traumatize you with my kiss?" With a joke, he tried to clear the air. 

Emilio however kept silent and avoided eye contact, his hands were deep in his pockets. 

"Where did it happen?"

Emilio's eyes darted aside. "There," he muttered. "In your bed."

Juan looked over his shoulder, tried to picture it. It was strange not to remember anything. He had been in a fight with Dana, therefore he'd gone to his own room. How that had ended in experimenting with his best friend, he really didn't know. 

An awful feeling crept upon him. What if they'd gone further than kissing? 

He locked eyes with Emilio. "Did we only kiss?"

He couldn't imagine he'd wanted to do more than that — but he could neither imagine he had wanted to kiss his friend and apparently he'd done that too. 

Emilio looked away. 

"E?" he insisted. He wanted the whole truth now.

"No," he said snippily. "You gave me a blow job. And I fucking don't know why I let you."

Juan's eyes widened. What?! "No way..."

"Yes, Juan," he snapped. "You told me I acted like a virgin and you wanted me to down a bottle so I was drunk enough. We made out for over fifteen minutes and then you kissed every inch of my body and sucked my dick. And when you were done, I gave you the same treatment and ever since I can't get rid of those disgusting images and now I'm afraid I became a fucking faggot! And you don't fucking remember a second of it!"

Juan swallowed as he saw the tears spring in Emilio's eyes. He really didn't know what to say. He just couldn't believe he had really done something like that. 

"Are you sure you weren't high? Or —"

"Fuck you Juan!" he yelled. "Shut your fucking mouth! I never should have told you, I knew it! For if there's one thing that's gonna ruin our friendship it's this! You happy now you know it? Now you have to explain to your girl how you blew your best friend?"

Juan felt sick. He just didn't understand. Frozen, he watched Emilio leave the room, slamming the door shut as he went.