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Childs' Play

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It was a hot summer's day during the school holidays. And by hot, I mean really hot, you know, the type of hot you don't usually get in my part of the world. I mean, you'd expect this sort of weather in some sort of, I don't know, tropical place or something – but most definitely not in my part of the British Isles!

It was almost… unnatural. In a completely normal way. I mean, it wasn't abnormal, in any sense, but the fact that it was so sweltering hot just was… strange. I'm not making any sense here, am I?

It's the heat. The heat I tell you.

It does weird things to young minds.

Trust me on this.

I know.

Anyway, I was sitting on my windowsill at some random time in the morning, having woken up early since I couldn't sleep – damn, that, heat! Yes, that's right. I was sitting on my windowsill, the window itself wide open to tempt in a cool gust of air, a fan I stole from the lounge room buzzing lazily on top of my bed. I was still half asleep, still wearing a pair of boxers.

At some point in time after awaking, still encased in my dazed stupor, I had pulled out a notepad and pen from my desk. The pad looked up at me, all white and blue lines and smiling red margins. I think it wanted me to write. Too bad my mind was too lazy to.

"Darren…"

Annie.

She creaked the door open and poked her tongue out at me.

"Yes, Annie?" I asked. For a little sister, she was a good one. Not annoying like most little sisters I knew – which was not many! – and a bit too smart for her age, but hey, that's television for you. It makes us kids grow up waaaay too quickly.

She pulled another face at me.

"It's hot!" She cried.

Then she disappeared.

I blinked.

Little sisters were strange people.

I was just about to blink in confusion when she popped her head in again.

"By the way, Steve's at the front door!"

"Can you let him in?"

Too late – she was already gone. I could hear her feet sprinting down the stairs.

Gah. How could she still be hyper in this heat?

I didn't understand it.

Minutes later, Steve had wondered into my room, his shirt sticking to his body with sweat, and had fallen onto my bed facedown.

""llo Steve," I mumbled, the heat warbling my words. Steve replied. I think he said something along the lines of '-king hot…' You know, things that I couldn't possibly repeat. That was Steve for you.

We sat there for a while, not talking, the fan making an annoying buzzing sound. There wasn't a single wind blowing through the window, either. Dammit. That really sucked.

"Wanna go to Tommy's house?"

Steve was talking. I think.

"Why?"

"He has a pool."

"Oh yeah."

"Let's go."

"Lemme get changed first."

"That'd be handy."

"Yes it would."

I didn't move. Five minutes later:

"Darren, are you gonna get changed?"

"Oh yeah."

Slowly, I peeled myself away from the windowsill – I had gotten stuck to it, my sweat gluing me to wood – and searched my room for a clean pair of board shorts and a shirt. By the time I had changed, Steve had managed to roll off the bed and was lying in front of the fan, his arms stretched out, his eyes shut. I thought he was asleep. So I poked him with my foot.

"Oi, are we going or not?"

He opened an eye.

"Just waiting for you to finish."

I pulled a face and helped Steve to his feet.

It took us forty-five minutes to get to Tommy's house, where it usually would have taken us ten. Blame Annie: we wasted five minutes arguing with her, trying to tell her not to come, five minutes arguing with mum, trying to get her to tell Annie not to come, five minutes being yelled at by dad, who was trying to tell us to take Annie with us and fifteen minutes waiting for Annie to get changed. Not exactly those exact times. Just a rough estimation. Do I look like a watch?

Knock, knock.

We were standing outside Tommy's door, towels wrapped around our necks, sweat all over our forehead. Annie was swaying on her feet, as if she were about to faint. Oh well. It was her fault.

After another series of knocks, Tommy finally answered the door, his hair wet, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He glared at us.

"What are you doing here?"

"Pool," Steve grunted.

"Oh."

"Yep."

"So…"

"Let us in."

Tommy scowled.

"Now that more of you have come, I'm gonna have to make you something to eat, aren't I?"

"Food is good," I piped up. Tommy pulled a face.

"That's what Alan said."

"He's here?"

"Yep."

See, when boys talked normally, it was usually some sort of grunt. The heat just made that grunt even worse. We sounded like cavemen.

Annie didn't care though. She pushed straight passed Tommy and ran through his house, out into the backyard. I vaguely heard her crying out a hello to Alan, and then to Tommy's dog Honey. She loved Honey.

Enough said.

Needless to say, it was only moments later when Steve and I joined Alan in the pool. At first we just lazed in the water, enjoying the cool change of temperature. Annie was off running around in circles as Honey the golden retriever chased her. Or his tail. Honey was a strange dog. He had a female name, yet was very much a guy (he still had a 'full package'). But he liked to drag his backside along the ground. And chase his tail. And hump you.

Oh dear.

Soon, we had progressed to races. Then underwater fights. Then water soccer, which was interesting.

Then Alan had to stand up.

"I'm going to the toilet!" He announced proudly – then marched out of the pool and straight into the house, forgetting to towel himself dry. Tommy swore.

"He's gonna get the tiles wet! Mum's gonna kill me!" He cried, jumping out and following him.

Silence.

It was only me and Steve left.

You know how I said before that the heat did strange things to young minds?

Well, trust me on this. It does very strange things to the young. I know. I was a victim of this.

Tommy's pool was a nice one, built in-ground with pebbled lining and a diving board on one edge. The board was directly in front of the backdoor, hiding anyone who sat under it from view.

I happened to be sitting under said diving board, taking advantage of the small amount of shade, my eyes slightly closed to fight off the glare of the sun.

That's when Steve surfaced smack bang in front of me, making me jump back and hit my head against the pebbled walls.

"Ow!" I began to cry – but Steve's hand shot out and covered my mouth, making the sound peter off. I frowned, and he took his hand away, inching closer towards me. There was something strange about him, something I couldn't quite place. Something like…

"What are you doing…?" I asked him softly, moving slightly towards the side. His arms snaked forward, pressing against the wall on either side of me, boxing me in.

No escape.

He tilted his head to the side, looking at something.

"I just… want to try something…an experiment…" He said softly. I realized what he was staring at so intently:

My lips.

He brought his left hand up, his eyes still slightly unfocused. He ran his thumb down my cheek, following the curve, went over my bottom lip. I shivered at his touch. It was strangely hot, despite the fact that he was covered in water.

His other hand, though… it was traveling down. Down. Where it wasn't supposed to go. Where only my hand went, and only on special occasions at that.

I noticed I was biting my lip, and gasped as I felt blood draw. Steve's thumb paused in its traveling, then slowly rolled over the cut, wiping away the blood. His other hand, oh, his other hand...!

Then he had closed his eyes and pressed his lips against mine.

What I felt was… strange. A clamouring mass of emotions broiled within me – disgust, wonder, fear, enjoyment – enjoyment! – and other strange feelings I had never felt before, some that made me tremble to my core, others that left a strange, warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. It tickled.

Oh wait. No.

That wasn't the feelings that tickled.

That was his tongue.

And his other hand.

I gasped, trying to push him away, but he pushed back harder, pressing me against the wall with his entire body. I was squashed against the pebbles, the sharp little stones digging into my back, his chest pressed warmly against mine, his hands roving and exploring places no other male should have touched. I was running out of breath. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were screaming – for air, for air, get off me, get out of my mouth, stopkissingmeilikeittoomuchpleasepleasestopsteveilikeitandidon'twanttolikeit –

"Ewwwwwwwww!" Annie whined from somewhere to my right.

Immediately, Steve sprang away from me and jumped from the pool, grabbing Annie by the shoulders.

"Annie, never tell anyone you saw that happen!" He cried. She glared at him, then smiled.

"Okay!" She cried. "But you have to kiss me too!"

Steve glared at her. But that was all I heard. I guess he must have kissed her, because I never heard anything about it when Tommy and Alan returned, Tommy bearing a plate of chips he over-cooked in the oven.

Either way, I had sat there, my lips feeling bruised and swollen, my lower body feeling ravaged, tainted, impure. And strangely…

I looked down.

And groaned.

Experiments. When your best friend suggests anything like that – and your best friend is of the same gender as you – never trust them. Oh, and if you do accidentally trust them, and something does happen – they'll never remember it. Trust me. Steve forgot all about the incident. Strange, I know.

But it was a strange day.

A strangely, abnormally hot day in summer.

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A.N Oh dear. Another drabble. I apologize. That was horrible, wasn't it? T.T

It's not my fault. I was just struck with the desire to write a DarrenSteve. Bleh. I don't write Darren good.