“Jesus! Can you not?” Drew said, swatting Bas’s hand away from his ribs. He focused determinedly on the tiny soccer players running across the TV screen and tightened his grip on the game controller.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bas tilt his head like he was pretending to ponder the answer.

“Nope. Sorry. I’m afraid I’ve got to,” Bas said, before reaching out, with both hands this time, to tickle Drew again. One of Bas’s large, warm hands latched onto the faded t-shirt Drew had borrowed, while the other fisted into the borrowed sweatpants riding on Drew’s hips.

It was a lot like a fantasy Drew had had more than once, except in his dreams, Drew wasn’t one goal away from a victory, and Bas was holding him down for a far more compelling reason.

He elbowed Bas futilely.

“If this were a real soccer game, you’d have to dodge defenders, McMann, and deal with distractions.” Bas’s voice was breathless with laughter. “I’m just helping to make this more real for you.”

“No, you’re a real cheater! Stop! Foul! Penalty!” Drew yelled, squirming to the side and holding his arms clear. He focused on the screen, punched a button, and the crowd on the screen erupted into cheers and screaming.

“No!” Bas cried.

“Yes! Goooooooooal!” Drew said, jumping off the couch to pump his fists in the air. He smirked at Bas, who’d sprawled face-down and groaned into the cushion when the evidence of Drew’s vast FIFA superiority had flashed on the screen. “I’d like to thank everyone who made this victory possible, namely me. I dedicate this win to Dragon Puzzler, for the hours of intense strategy and hand-eye coordination.”

“You match jewels,” Bas mumbled into the pillow. “It’s not rocket science.”

“And,” Drew spoke over him. “I’d like to thank all the haters, namely you, for inspiring me to be the champion I am today.”

“So humble,” Bas muttered into the pillow. He slouched back into the deep red cushions and glared at Drew in annoyance. “Such a role model.”

“One of my gifts,” Drew agreed, resuming his seat. He looked over at his friend and grinned. Pouty Bas was adorable… and Drew had missed him so damn much.

Drew pulled his knee up to sit sideways on the sofa, draping his elbow over the back cushion so he could look at Bas fully. His dark hair was mussed and flopping across his forehead, dark lashes framed his blue eyes. His strong jaw and the broad chest that stretched out his t-shirt made him look like the football player he’d once wanted to be. Up in his closet, Drew knew Bas had a dozen thousand-dollar suits. His garage boasted both a sleek restored Charger and an Escalade. He had some of the most influential scientists, politicians, and businessmen in the world on his speed-dial. But looking at him now, no one would recognize him as a tech genius, or one of the richest men in Boston. With that sulky look on his face, he seemed more like a pissed off teenager who hadn’t had enough sugar recently.

And Drew had to curl his outstretched hand into a fist to resist the urge to smooth the hair off the man’s forehead.

Fuck.

This plan to get over Bas was stalled at the starting line.

When Bas had invited him in tonight, Drew had been so very close to saying no and hurrying back to the safety of his suburban house alone. Even now, despite the fun of beating Bas at FIFA - a joy that never got old, really - Drew wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision. He was in a weird place tonight, a little too vulnerable and way, way too aware of the man sharing the sofa with him.

The revelation Bas had shared about his relationship with Amy was fucking with his mind. It hurt that Bas had never confided in him about it, yeah. And it sucked that Bas had been about to tie himself to someone he didn’t love. But what Drew hadn’t admitted in the car was that it fucking killed him to think of how their engagement had broken Drew’s heart… and for no good reason.

Drew remembered with painful clarity the gut-cramping grief he’d felt the day Bas had decided to ask Amy out. Their parents had been trying to set the two of them up for years - Amy, with her sweet smile and boundless enthusiasm had seemed like the perfect foil for Bas’s intensity and single-minded focus. Bas had always found a way to wriggle out of it, though, telling Drew privately that although Amy was pretty, she was about as exciting and transparent as tissue paper. Bas never planned to settle down - he liked focusing on his work, hanging with Drew, and occasionally hooking up with random girls when the urge struck.

Drew had let himself believe it.

Then one random Saturday afternoon, he and Bas had been sitting on this very couch, playing games, trash-talking, and wrestling just as they’d done tonight, just as they’d always done. Bas had pinned him to the couch, childishly pissed about losing a game as he always was, and Drew had been overwhelmed with affection for the man. He’d smiled at Bas - open, unreserved, and unrestrained.

Bas had suddenly sat up and brought Drew’s mind to a crashing halt with just one sentence.

“So, I’m thinking of asking your sister out.”

At first, Drew had laughed out loud. But Bas hadn’t been joking.

“It’s time I stopped screwing around and got serious. We’re getting older, counselor,” he’d joked. “And besides, your sister’s cute. Like you but, you know, a woman.”

And Drew, like the fucking martyr he’d let himself become, had smiled through the blinding pain of that, had nodded and said all kinds of bland, encouraging things, but Bas had known, goddamn him, that Drew wasn’t really okay. Because sure enough, Bas had asked Amy out - had started escorting her to events and taking her out to dinner to the delight of their mothers. But he had never done more than peck her cheek when Drew was around. And he’d never discussed her with Drew again… until the day he’d proposed.

“It’s time to make things permanent. Amy’s ready. But I promise, nothing between us will change, Drew, except that we’ll finally be family. For real.”

Drew couldn’t remember ever drinking as much as he had the night he’d realized that the love of his life would be marrying his sister. The only way he’d reconciled himself to the idea even a tiny bit was with the knowledge that surely Bas must be deeply in love, even though Bas had never volunteered that information and Drew sure as fuck hadn’t asked.

Instead Bas had been a clueless idiot, and so had Amy.

Almost as idiotic as you, Drew reminded himself. Because he wouldn’t be tied in knots right now if he’d gathered the… the courage, or the will, or the basic sense of self-preservation… to step away from Bas at any point over the past fifteen years.

Drew sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“What?” Bas said, his eyes not moving from the FIFA main screen.

“What, what?”

With a groan, Bas shifted his head. “What are you staring at me and sighing for? Because you’d better not be pitying me, Andrew. I will have my revenge for this loss.” He narrowed his eyes playfully and clasped a hand to his heart like he was swearing an oath.

Drew shook his head and felt his heart skip a beat.

Dork. The man had no business being so adorably goofy or so good-looking.

And Drew had no business thinking about Bas like this - not ever, but definitely not tonight, when all he could think about was how shitty it had felt every time he’d let himself lose control with Bas and felt Bas retreat from him.

There were so many reasons why he and Bas needed to never cross that line again. Self-preservation was just one of the biggest.

“I was just thinking no one at work would believe that the president of Seaver Tech was such a child when it came to video games and vegetables.”

Bas rolled his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong. Pretty much everyone knows how I feel about both of those subjects. You, on the other hand, counselor?” He smirked. “What would all the little lawyer underlings of yours say if they saw you in my baggy sweatpants and raggedy shirt, doing your FIFA victory dance?” He tapped his lip thoughtfully. “Next time, video.”

Drew grabbed one of the throw pillows from behind him and aimed it at Bas’s head. “Next time, I kick your ass.”

Bas caught it, put it behind his head, and smiled smugly. “You could try.”

Without warning, Drew grabbed the pillow back, smacked Bas in the face with it, and put it behind his own head.

“Oh, there will be video,” Bas warned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. “I may make a company requirement that everyone must watch it and sign off, just like those sensitivity trainings.”

“The irony of that statement…”

“Is not lost on me,” Bas agreed solemnly. “But why own your own company if you can’t violate your company policies every now and again? I have a legal team to take care of shit like that.”

He patted Drew’s leg comfortingly, his hand lingering just a little longer than it probably should have. Then Bas leaned forward to grab the remote off the table, and Drew sucked in a sharp breath.

Could the universe not let two minutes pass without testing his resolve?

Bas sank back into the sofa and his t-shirt rode up just a couple of inches, exposing an inch or two of tanned, toned flesh, and a tantalizing line of crisp black hair that began just below his belly button. Drew’s throat went dry.

Apparently two minutes was too much to ask.

“I need another. You?” Drew asked, seizing the opportunity to put a tiny bit of distance between them. He jumped off the sofa and walked to the black-and-chrome kitchen behind the living room.

“Please. Hey, you wanna watch TV?”

“Okay.” Drew took a deep breath. “So, I was thinking about what Gary said…”

“Hey. I thought you said no talk of Russians, or Gary,” Bas reminded him.

Drew sighed and rolled his eyes as he opened the fridge. They’d made that agreement before they’d walked in the door tonight, and Drew wholeheartedly supported it… except that it would have been the perfect distraction right about now.

“Right. Fine. Tabling this discussion until Saturday. You want another Sam? Or the Nitro?”

“Is that an actual question? You know I only buy the Nitro for you,” Bas said. “How about watching Stranger Things?”

Drew grimaced, though Bas couldn’t see his face, and grabbed the two beers. “You know I can’t get into that one.” He grabbed the bottle opener magnet off the refrigerator and opened the bottles. “It freaks me out.”

“Still think that’s crazy. Dude, you’ve watched every season of Game of Thrones.”

“That’s death and sex, Bas. Not freaky shit coming out of the walls at me.”

He got back to the living room to find Bas scrolling through the menu on the TV, and Drew’s eyes were drawn again to that thick line of exposed skin above Bas’s plaid pajama pants, like a fucking tractor beam.

Christ. Tongue back in mouth, McMann. It’s a stomach for Christ’s sake.

But it wasn’t. It was Sebastian’s stomach, which made it more erotic than a thousand uncensored pornographic images.

He nudged Bas’s shoulder with the beer, and Bas reached up blindly to grab it and drink half of it down in one go. “You lose your shit over the weirdest things,” Bas said affectionately.

Oh, Sebastian, if you only knew, Drew thought. But all he said was, “Whatever.”

He took a spot at the opposite end of the red sofa from Bas, pushing himself into the corner. Staying as far away from temptation as possible seemed like a wise idea.

“How about this one?”

“Man in the High Castle?” Drew made the mistake of glancing at Bas and noticed a little droplet of beer clinging to the stubble just above his top lip. Fuck. He wanted to taste that droplet more than he wanted his next breath.

He forced himself to look away. “Yeah. Uh. Sounds great.” He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be paying much attention to the show anyway. He settled into the cushion, curled his long legs up, and held his beer in front of him like a shield against impulsive decisions.

Bas settled back into the cushion, propped his feet up on the table, and glanced at Drew. “There a reason why you’re all curled up there?” He sniffed his armpit. “I’ve showered today.”

Drew rolled his eyes. “I’m good here.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Bas grabbed Drew’s ankle, yanking him until their hips were side by side. “How can I steal your gross beer from all the way over there?”

Drew sighed as he propped his feet up on the table by Sebastian’s, and tried, tried, with every ounce of will he could muster, to focus on the TV despite the way his best friend’s body was throwing off heat just inches away.

Then Bas reached down and scratched at his own thigh, and Drew’s concentration snapped. He watched those long fingers brushing back and forth across Bas’s flannel-covered leg and had to swallow against the desire clogging his throat. Had Bas always smelled that good? Was he wearing some new cologne?

For years - fucking decades - they’d spent hours together with no tension in the air. They’d roughhoused and wrestled, gone swimming half-naked, and Drew had been fine. Fine. Because the line between reality and fantasy, between friendship and sex, had been clearly defined.

One stupid kiss in October, a couple of flirtatious looks Drew had probably misinterpreted, and one apparent jealous fit on Sebastian’s part, and suddenly when the guy scratched his own fully-covered leg, Drew could feel himself flushing from head to foot.

He forced his eyes back to the television and locked every muscle in his body in place.

Bas casually reached over and grabbed the beer from Drew’s hand, took a sip, and then shuddered. “Oh, yuck. I remember why I hate this stuff.”

Drew huffed, refusing to turn his head. Bas put the bottle back in Drew’s hand, and Drew couldn’t help but think of Bas’s mouth on the rim of the bottle, just like… just like…

He cleared his throat loudly. “I haven’t been here in weeks, so who were you buying the Nitro for?”

“Oh.” Bas settled more firmly into the couch, and his left knee slid to the side, bumping Drew’s. “Just force of habit, I guess. When I get some for me, I always get some for you. Just like I buy that disgusting olive hummus you like.”

Drew breathed in slowly, calmly, trying to still the butterflies that rocketed around his stomach at the throwaway comment. They were fixtures in each other’s lives. Best friends. Buying beer was not romantic. Olive hummus was not a declaration of love.

Sitting here like this was fucking torture. So what the hell was he supposed to do?

Drew’s phone chimed on the coffee table with a text message. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.

He could have leaned forward and gotten it, but instead he made a show of putting his feet down on the soft area rug and standing up to grab it, pacing several feet away as he checked the screen.

“That your mom? Say hi from me,” Bas said, eyes on the TV. He was well used to Mary-Alice McMann’s constant need to check in with her son.

But it wasn’t Drew’s mother.

[Hey, Drew. Thanks for your email! I was wondering if you were free Saturday night? We could do dinner? — Mark]

Drew’s eyes snapped up to Bas of their own volition, checking to make sure his attention was engaged with the television. How fucked up was it that he felt like he was some cheating husband stepping out on his man? Answer: very, very fucked up. Unhealthy. Not normal friend behavior.

Having dinner with Mark would be a good thing. Good and healthy. Another baby step along the plan.

He typed back quickly. [Yeah, Saturday sounds great. You can pick the place.]

“Hey, you’re missing the show,” Bas reminded him, flicking the control to pause it. “Come sit down.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” Drew obediently returned to the sofa, seated himself a foot away from where Bas sat, and held his phone face-down on his chest.

It chimed again, and this time Bas reached over, grabbing the phone from Drew’s hand. “Your mom is extra chatty tonight,” he said. And then he looked at the screen. “Oh.”

“Uh. My mom’s in Martinique,” Drew said lamely. “Until next week.”

Bas nodded, still staring at the phone, his face blank. “So. Mark?”

“Yeah. We, uh, met at a bar a few months back, but haven’t met up yet.”

Sebastian turned his head, and suddenly Drew was submerged in the blue fire of his gaze. “How ridiculous is it that I didn’t know you went to bars? I mean, it makes sense that you do. But…”

“But?” Drew whispered.

“We’ve never talked about it. You’re my best friend and we’ve never talked about you going out, or dating. I think…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drew said, a little bit desperately. “You’ve met guys I’ve dated.”

Bas huffed. “Cam, yeah. And when we were teenagers, maybe. Or that idiot you dated back in college, Tim.”

“Tom.”

“Whatever. He was a douche.” Bas shook his head. “But somehow along the way we stopped talking about any of this stuff. Like with Amy.”

“I guess.” The way Bas was looking at him right now — his eyes soft, vulnerable, confused — made it nearly impossible for Drew to keep from spilling his guts. From telling Bas that he hadn’t brought up his dates because none of them were important, that the only person he’d ever loved, the only serious relationship he’d ever wanted, was with his straight best friend.

He pushed himself to his feet. “It’s getting late. I should go.”

“Sit down, Drew.”

“Maybe that’s not…”

“Please?” Bas’s eyes were wide, serious, and as always, irresistible. “Just sit down.”

Drew hesitated.

Sit down and torture myself for another two hours? This was the definition of a bad idea, not conducive to restoring the balance in their friendship, nor to making a real effort with Mark. How many more times would Drew allow himself to be tortured because he couldn’t resist that pleading look in Bas’s eyes? He needed to stop this.

Bas took advantage of his hesitation, wrapping an arm around Drew’s wrist and yanking him back down so they were sitting side by side, their legs pressed together from hip to knee, then wrapped an arm around Drew’s shoulder.

Drew sighed. Apparently he’d be tortured at least one more time.

“So this show.” Bas gestured toward the screen with the remote. “It’s based on a book.”

“Yeah?” Drew sighed.

“It’s set in this world where the Axis powers won World War II, and conquered the United States.”

“Uh huh. Sounds super uplifting.”

“I know, right? You’d think it’d be all post-apocalyptic and stuff. And it is, in a way. But the real mind-fuck is that it looks just like some fifties’ sitcom on the surface. There are all these people just going about their business, living their lives even though the Nazis won. They salute the German flag, and they accept that this is the way things are.” His voice was low and quiet, intense.

“I mean, I guess that makes sense?” Drew said uncertainly. He didn’t understand Bas’s intensity. Could barely concentrate on his words. “They didn’t know any better, if that was their reality. Right?”

“Yeah! Yes. Exactly. They didn’t know better.” Bas paused, glanced down at Drew, and repeated, on a whisper, “They just didn’t know there could be anything different for them.”

Drew blinked.

“But then they find these films,” Bas continued. “Films that show the Allies winning. It freaks them the fuck out. They don’t understand what they’re looking at, right? It’s crazy, and they get scared. Because it makes them wonder… Is there something I should be fighting for? Should I have been doing something else? It shakes them to their foundations, Drew.”

Drew stared at the television, barely able to breathe. Was Bas saying what it seemed like he was saying?

“But even though they’re scared, they can’t stop thinking about the things that they’ve seen. And the way it makes them feel.” Bas’s voice was low, husky, and Drew was ninety-nine percent sure he didn’t mean to be breathing in Drew’s ear the way he was, but Drew’s dick didn’t seem to get the message. “Like maybe they didn’t realize just how unhappy they were until they saw the way things could be.”

Drew shut his eyes and exhaled. If he shifted his head a centimeter, his lips would touch Bas’s lips. And then… and then it would be Halloween again. Summer camp again.

Bad things happen when you lose control.

He pulled away, bending his knee up onto the seat and twisting to face Bas head-on.

“What are you saying, Sebastian? Flat out, without your sci-fi symbolism.”

Bas laughed softly and ran a hand over his face. “I was kinda hoping you’d be impressed by the symbolism.”

Drew quirked a brow, and Bas admitted, “Fine. I… I haven’t stopped thinking about the kiss on Halloween.”

And there it was, point-blank and out in the open.

Drew cleared his throat. “I kinda figured that by the way you disappeared for a solid month.”

“I apologized for that,” Bas said.

“Yeah, and as I said, an apology makes it all fine, obviously. As long as you had a reason.”

Bas rolled his eyes. “Give me a break.”

“I have.” Drew’s voice was hardly a whisper. “That’s why I’m here.”

“We need to talk about it. About the things you said after— “

“No. Nope, we don’t.” Drew flung a hand out in dismissal. “We definitely do not. Suffice it to say, I was drunk. I should never have said that.”

“Was it true?”

Drew swallowed, his throat clogged in a way that beer wouldn’t cure.

“Tell me, Drew. Did you mean it when you said you’d wanted it for a while?” Bas’s voice was cajoling now, pulling the truth from Drew’s chest, and he panicked. “Because I’m thinking I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets for a while.”

Drew jumped to his feet. “It’s too late to talk about that. I wanted to explain that it was all a mistake, but you kept avoiding me.”

“And you kept sniping at me.”

“And so did you!”

“Fine, then. Explain now.” Bas leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared up at Drew.

“No! No.” Drew pushed both hands through his hair. “I’m telling you, there’s no reason to talk about this anymore.”

“There’s a lot of reasons.” Bas blew out a breath. “Drew, I…”

“You disappeared for a month!” Drew exploded, hurt and terrified. “You wouldn’t return my texts, you didn’t even call me on Christmas!”

“You didn’t call me either.”

“Not because I didn’t want to! You’d made it obvious you wanted to avoid me. That Halloween had made you uncomfortable.”

“Because I was…”

“Freaked out? By the kiss? Yeah, shockingly enough, I got that loud and clear. But I don’t think talking about it is going to help anything anymore. We’ve moved past it now. I am going on a date with Mark.” Drew’s voice was nearly pleading. “So there is nothing to talk about.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No! No, for the first time in a while, I’m thinking very clearly, Sebastian. We are friends. Whatever alternate universe you think you glimpsed when we kissed, you’re not gay. And it would be a really shitty idea for us to dwell on that one event when what we need to do is move on. Get back to where we used to be.”

“Where we used to be.” Bas spoke slowly, like he was pondering this. “You know, Drew, I wonder if the reason you never talked to me about the guys you dated was the same reason I never talked to you about Amy.”

Drew’s heart pounded frantically, and his eyes flew to Sebastian’s face.

“We both knew it wasn’t right,” Bas whispered. “I’m straight.” He swallowed hard and stood up, just a foot away from Drew. “But tonight when I saw that text from Mark, I was fucking jealous. Jealous at the idea of you being out with him. I think maybe that was part of my problem with Gary too. And maybe Amy…”

“We’re not talking about Amy.” Drew’s stomach lurched with that dreadful combination of grief and relief he felt when he thought of his sister. He’d have given his life to save her, but only because that meant he wouldn’t have to see her live her life with Bas.

“I don’t know what any of this means,” Bas continued, ignoring Drew’s objections. “I have no conclusions, just facts and thoughts and… and I want to kiss you again. The right way, this time.”

Drew gaped at him. His eyes flicked to the television as he momentarily considered the possibility that he had been dragged into an alternate reality, or had perhaps fallen asleep.

And yet, even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have conjured the sensation of Sebastian’s finger running up from his wrist to his elbow, then dipping under the hem of his t-shirt to hook in his waistband and pull him closer; of Bas cupping Drew’s jaw with his other hand so, so gently, as though Drew might shatter or run away; of Bas pressing his lips - warm and strange and somehow familiar - against Drew’s.

Drew’s stomach flipped the way it did on a rollercoaster. His heart was in freefall, the ground was rushing up to meet his face, and it was going to hurt so badly when he hit. But he still fisted his hands on the sides of Bas’s t-shirt and let himself fly.