Stix

Instead, his focus finds itself on Stan's face and how the softness of his jaw is starting to widen now that they are freshmen. Once the summer is over, they'll be high schoolers; which means new experiences abound, and Ford needed to be prepared for that too.

He didn't want Stan to leave him behind.

His hands reach out and grasp at Stan's bare shoulders, exposed by the thin tank top of some band Ford has no interest in, his own hands are clammy but the chill of them only causes Stan's lips to twitch upwards in a grin.

"Remember, it's just practice," Stan says those words, and in a blink of an eye, their lips meet.

It's weird and awkward when Stan's chapped mouth presses against his own, and for a while Ford can't move. He freezes, his hands squeezing at his twin's shoulders as his mind is suddenly buzzing with noise. Bells go off in his skull, and he finds its all too much, too awkward, too odd. Too weir-

Stan's tongue slides over his lips and the wet sensation is enough to make Ford gasp, sucking in a lungful of air before his mouth is suddenly filled with his twin's tongue. It slides in clumsily as Stan guides him down into the sand, the warm grounding weight of his body over Ford's is enough to make his brain fall silent.

And finally, he regains the ability to move, his tongue cautiously brushing against Stan's and suddenly the weight on him increases because the sensation of their tongues sliding wetly over one another sends sparks down both of their spines. A noise slips from one of their mouths, possibly both, and Ford's hands are now in Stan's hair. Threading into the pomade slick strands for something to hang on to as their lips part, only to meet once more in wet sucking 'pops' whenever they break for air.

Neither of them knows what they're doing, and that makes it okay because it's practice.

It's practice.

It's practice.

They kiss until they're lightheaded. Until Stan's body is so hot, his hands almost burn Ford as he catches his wrists, pushing them into the sand as he holds him down. His glasses are fogged from their breathing, his hair sticking to the damp skin of his forehead as he gasps for air, and leans his head back to stare at the setting sky. He feels like he just ran five laps around the gym, but he knows all he's been doing is laying down. He shouldn't feel as worn out as he does, but he can tell he's not the only one because Stan topples down to lay next to him, panting and tugging at the collar of his tank top to try and peel the fabric from his flushed and sticky skin.

"How was that?" Stan asked breathlessly, but his lips are lifted in what Ford knows is a confident smirk, so he answers honestly.

"Weird."

Stan laughs, the sound full and warm as he turns to look at him, their eyes meet and Ford wonders why his chest feels tight, but chalks it up to lack of air.

"Not 'too weird'?"

Ford thinks on it, before shaking his head. He should probably say 'yes' because anyone else in this situation would, but that seems..dishonest.

"Not 'too weird'."

Stan perks at this, and pumps a fist into the air in victory.

"Hey, I'll take it! If I can make a girl look half as wrecked as you do right now, I think I'm on the right track!"