I’ve never kissed another guy before. Getting him pushed into me doesn’t count; it wasn’t really a kiss, and my teeth had hurt for the rest of the day. Really kissing a guy, though? I never thought about it.

It’s not like I’ve kissed that many girls. I can’t say the earth moved on those--what, three maybe--occasions, either. Kissing Sakura hadn’t been bad, but it was weird. She was a friend. It hadn’t worked. She felt it, too. Dealing with her is much easier since the attempt, though, because we don’t wonder any more.

I still wonder about Naruto, which is stupid as hell since he’s at least as much a friend as Sakura. And I was waiting too long, standing too close, leaning forward just a little while I worked up the nerve. He waits, like he’s expecting me to say something. Maybe tell him something I don’t want overheard. Shit, he’s an idiot. So am I. What the hell am I thinking?

He doesn’t protest when I touch his chin and tilt up his face. It’s surprise, though. That blank sort of compliance that comes with being too shocked to actually tell what’s happening as it happens, instead of two seconds after the fact. I can tell mostly because I kept my eyes open.

Like I was going to risk missing? As perfectly appropriate as that would have been, I’m not that stupid. I kiss him, and I’m perfectly aware that his lips aren’t really moving under mine like Sakura’s had. They’re warm, and loose, and dry. I don’t even dare open my mouth. I just brush my lips over his experimentally. Then I step back.

From an objective stand point, kissing Sakura was better. She actually did something.

Naruto blinks and gawks at me like I just grew an extra head. I suppose he’s entitled to that, but it makes me uncomfortable. I look away, licking my lips before I realize what I’m doing. They taste strange. Not like anything in particular, really, but foreign. There’s something unmistakably not me on them.

After a moment, Naruto sputters, “What the hell was that?”

I half turn away from him. I don’t really want to meet his eyes. That wasn’t fair of me, but what was I supposed to do? Ask, hey, mind if I check something out? Just close your eyes for a second while I kiss you. You see, we seem to have all this chemistry or tension or something, and I want to see if there’s a spark. Fuck, I still didn’t know if there was a spark. What the hell does a ‘spark’ feel like? I get the distinct impression that a spark is sort of like that earth moving thing--a really inadequate metaphor.

I’m quiet too long. I can feel him waiting for an answer. An actual answer, not just a cue to start a fight.

So I sigh, and I say, “I wanted to be sure of something.”

“You wanted to be sure of something?” he repeats, totally incredulous. “What the hell did you want to be sure of?”

“I wanted to be sure,” I start; I’m still not sure what to say. “I guess I want to be sure we’re just friends,” I finish, and I know it sounds lame, and I know his giving me one of those looks of his. I don’t really want to look to find out which one. I do anyway. Look, that is, and see what face he’s making. “To see how it was.”

It matches his tone, all surprise and disbelief. He’s looking straight at me, but his face is about a third turned away, so it seems like he’s trying to watch me around his nose. I snort because otherwise I would have laughed at him, and I don’t really think that’s the right thing to do right now.

For a long moment we just stand there, him waiting for more and me not sure what to add. My cheeks heat up. What else is there?

“And?” he demands after a moment, gesturing broadly with his hands and with his eyebrows.

I stop to consider. And?

I turn the answer over one or two times in my head before I say it aloud. I’m not really sure. I mean, there wasn’t a spark as such. The earth and sky hadn’t opened up. There wasn’t even a sure knowledge that, yes, I like this, or no, this is wrong. I would have settled for that latter.

At last, I answer.

“It wasn’t as weird as I thought it would be.”