"Whoa, whoa," Shawn breathes, when Cory pushes his vest back off his shoulders. He doesn't have a lot of breath at the moment, and the words come out like outtakes of air, barely audible; it's the first pause for breath they've taken.
Cory's voice is squeaky and nervous, none of the confidence of the gesture behind it. He doesn't try to play it cool, doesn't try to make a joke, although he could, could play off the whole last ten minutes as nothing but one extended joke. Thanks for breaking my fall with your lips. And then a strained smile and a too-slow, staccato laugh, to shrug it all off with. Instead he looks right into Shawn's eyes, and if Shawn asked him to apologize, he would. This is the Cory that Shawn knows.
"No," he smiles, "no. It's okay. Look." He pulls the vest off, flings it over Cory's shoulder to the floor. He still has two layers of shirts on. It isn't as scandalous as it seems. It is the pause itself that is a scandal, this opportunity to stop, to pull away and fix collars and run fingers through hair, pretend it never happened, look to the side. But neither moves away. Cory just takes Shawn into his arms again; Shawn links his fingers behind Cory's neck.
"Does this feel—" Cory starts.
Strange? Off? Wrong? They've been best friends since elementary school and now they're making out on Shawn's bed. It's the oddest thing he's ever done.
"Right?" he finishes.
Cory smiles. Shawn kisses one corner of his mouth, then the other, then right in the middle, lips connecting to lips and Cory presses him back into the pillows again, and he can't help thinking that he's probably lost his mind—but he doesn't miss it. Not at all.