Pairing: Adrian/Marcus.

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters owned by J.K. Rowling.

Summary: Written for the First Kiss Project.

"I'm taking a break." Adrian brought his broom down to the ground, stumbling slightly from a less-than-perfect landing. He shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand and squinted up at Marcus. "Come on, Flint, fifteen minutes."

Marcus touched down next to him, scowling. "Fucking hell, Pucey," he said. "We've only got two weeks before we go back to school, and if we want to make the House team--" Marcus gave him a suspicious look. "You do want to make the team? I'm not wasting my time practicing with you?"

"Of course you're not." He didn't want to make the team as much as Marcus did, but then again, he didn't think anyone wanted to make the team as much as Marcus did. It was one of the things Adrian liked most about Marcus, always had--the way he'd decided, when they were kids, that he wanted to play Quidditch, and would do anything it took to make that happen.

There wasn't anything Adrian wanted that much.

Then Marcus glared at him again, and he added, quickly, "I want to make the team, Marc-- Flint." They'd decided last year that first names were for little kids, but sometimes he forgot. "Marcus" had been his best friend since they'd learned to walk, and "Flint" was the boy who swaggered around Hogwarts like he owned the place, ignoring Adrian half the time and expecting him to do exactly what Marcus told him the other half. But this summer, he'd felt like he had the old Marcus back, so he dared to add, "But I also want to take a break. It's hot, I'm tired, and we've been practicing for three hours."

"Fine. If you're going to be a fucking girl, we'll take a break."

Adrian flopped down on his stomach in the grass. "Before you start insulting girls, should I remind you that my sister can still beat you up?"

"Pucey, your sister's built like a dragon," Marcus said, lying down on his back next to Adrian.  "She could beat up Hagrid."

"Not Rebecca. Alison."

"She's four."

"And she could still flatten you."

"Fuck off."

Adrian rolled onto his side and grinned at Marcus. "You're only pissed because you know it's true."

"Shut up, Pucey."

He grinned again, but said nothing, just lay there breathing in the smell of fresh-cut grass and letting the sun beat down on him, looking over at Marcus. He'd been doing that--looking at Marcus--a lot this summer. Just because they'd changed so much in the past year--Marcus was taller, broader through the shoulder, his face beginning to shift from what Adrian thought of as Marcus, the angle of his jaw getting sharper, the set of his features harder. At school, since he saw Marcus every day, he hadn't noticed, but this summer, when he hadn't seen him over once a week, he'd begun to see the changes, had begun to wonder if Marcus, his best friend, almost-but-not-quite his brother, was getting lost under "Flint," who Adrian didn't know and didn't much like.

Those doubts were the only reason he'd been looking at Marcus so much, of course. And a desire to annoy Marcus after the "fucking girl" comment was, of course, the only reason he looked over at Marcus and asked, "Hey, Flint?"

"What?"

"Ever kiss a girl?"

Marcus shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

"Who?"

There was a minute or so of silence, and then he said, "I haven't, and if you fucking tell anyone, I'll hit you so hard your teeth come out the back of your neck."

"I'm not going to tell anyone." And he wasn't, he had no intention of telling--not right now, anyway--so why the hell was he so pleased to hear it? Secrets were only exciting if they could be used against someone, and this one really wasn't that useful. "Me neither."

"Not really surprising, you weedy git," Marcus said, but he grinned as he did.

His mother had always said he was born to hang, and even the fact that no one in the wizarding world had been hanged for three centuries didn't make her meaning less clear; he never seemed able to leave trouble alone, and maybe that was why he looked down at an ant making its way along a blade of grass and said, "Ever kiss a bloke?"

Marcus's reply was quick and definite. "Hell, no."

The ant was wobbling is way along from one stalk of grass to another, and Adrian's stomach felt more than a little wobbly itself as he said, "Ever want to?"

"What do you think I am, a fucking Gryffindor?" His eyes narrowed then. "Do you want to?"

"Of course not." And then, the ant he'd been watching lost its footing and disappeared in the grass, and Adrian leaned over, closing the foot or so between them, his lips pressing awkwardly against Marcus's mouth.

And suddenly, gloriously, Marcus was kissing him back, his tongue even slipping, just barely, between Adrian's parted lips, and of course Adrian wanted to do this, he'd never wanted anything more than this, even though he'd only just thought of it now, and really, he was realizing that nothing at all had changed between them. Or everything had, but it didn't matter, because--

Then Marcus shoved him away, abruptly, and Marcus's fist smashed into his mouth, and all Adrian was left with was the taste of blood welling from his split lip, and the slight wobble of one of his front teeth when he pushed at it with his tongue, and Marcus's voice, cold and angry, saying, "Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking queer."

"Fli-- Marcus? I'm sorry, fuck, I--"

But Marcus had snatched his broom up and flown off, and Marcus was only a dot in the distance, and everything had changed.

And maybe there was something Adrian wanted as much as Marcus wanted to play Quidditch, after all, but it looked like he couldn't have it.