Like Riding a Bike

Tres:

His third time (or fourth, whatever) is the determining factor.

Of his already very dubious sexuality.

Naturally, this makes it more humiliating than all of his previous (and future, to think of it) sexual encounters fucking put together. The fact that it is with Toni – the one woman (apart from his mom) most capable of making him look like a WHINY PANSY ARTFAG – kind of makes it worse.

There really isn't any way to approach the situation normally, or logically, so one evening, when Hanna and the rest of the gang have retired from a night out on the town, he offers to drive Toni home – only to be reminded that the sun is rising in ten minutes, and honestly, there'll hardly be time to drive himself home, let alone her, so about he crashes at her place today? (god, why is he such a fail at EVERYTHING, nrrggh) He says thanks, and they drive back together, chatting amiably, in a way that may be comfortable even, except he spends the last two and half minutes of the trip realizing (the fucking hard way, as per usual) that the sun is set to, in fact, rise three minutes earlier than expected: he speeds down the rest of road screaming '' and gets out of the car as soon as they reach the building, before running – shrieking like a little girl, clutching boiling patches of exposed skin – to the safety of Toni's (mercifully dark) apartment.

Toni tentatively walks in a few minutes later, closing the door gently behind her – and finds him huddled in a ball in the darkest corner of the living room. She gives the sigh of someone who has had a lot of experience with traumatized vampires, and says: I'll get the calamine lotion.

Three hours of careful lotion application and maybe-just-a-little-crying on his part (see! WHINY. PANSY. ARTFAG.) later, Toni giggles and drops down on the couch, next to him. 'All done.' she exclaims, her bi-colored ponytail bobbing in delight. 'Now, is there anything you want to say, Mr. Achenleck?'

He supposes it's either now or never at that point, and kisses her.

There's a moment of stillness. Toni doesn't kiss back, but she doesn't push him away either. He takes that as a good sign, but pulls away anyway, quickly turning to look anything that isn't her face. Toni gives that sigh again.

'I was expecting a thank you, but I suppose that's alright too.' Silence.

(god, god, god it feels like he's swallowed his tongue or something – )

'Lemme guess. You've screwed couple of guys, and it felt pretty good. But you've never liked men before that, and you think you're straight, or at least just really confused. And now you're unsure about your orientation. Yes?' He can't do much else but nod.

(h-how does she – )

'So now you're using me as a kind of… sexual litmus paper? Am I right?'

(holy fuck SHE'S A MINDREADING WEREWOLF – )

'WHAT. I mean, NO – how do you even – but, no, I d-didn't mean it. Like that. When you put it that way – ' he manages to stammer – and fuck, he does sound like a dick when she puts it that way – but Toni puts a slim finger to his mouth, and he shuts up.

'Shh. Don't worry, hun. I get this a lot.' Toni gives a devious smile – and are her incisors sharp or what, holy hell – and places a hand on his chest. 'I'm in the theater business.'

About 56 minutes later, Toni is lying in her bed, her arms propped up behind her head. He lies next to her.

(and the sheets are pulled up to his face, and he may-or-may-not-be-crying-AGAIN)

Toni 'hmms' contemplatively.

'That was definitely a 4. Maybe even a 5.' She throws a quick glance over to his whimpering form, and frowns. 'Okay. Maybe not a 5. But definitely a 4. And a half, even.' She adds.

Though honestly, it hardly makes him feel better.

(oh god, he better fucking BE gay, he's never going through that again)

Then:

'We should probably be getting some cream for those scratches I gave you, huh? They shouldn't scar. Maybe.'

Oh fucking god.

Please be gay.

PLEASE.

A/N: I'm sorry Toni! You might be a little too... much for our poor Conrad here. Read to AFI's Miss Murder. I think it's fitting. (Please review!)