The music came into the little room sounding muffled and miles away, though the bass still shook the floor. Ariel had managed to kick the door mostly shut behind himself and Wes. They were more or less alone in the room full of dark shapes. Ariel remembered from earlier that the walls, though the looked a light shade of gray now, were a yellow that made him wonder about the sanity/taste of Mitch's parents. But that didn't matter now. He didn't care how ugly the walls were.
Wes stood in front of him with his back against the ugly-ass wall, one hand up rubbing at his neck like the awkward teenage love interest in an adolescent-appropriate romantic comedy. It brought a delighted smile to Ariel's face, made even wider by the words that next came from the boy's mouth. Honestly, there was little distinction, when it came to the singer, as to what constituded flirting and what constituted talking to someone. Being suggestive was in his nature, like dancing. And bowties. But here in the front room, with him several drinks deep, without a bowtie, it was the suggestive part that came to the forefront.
He inclined his head at the compliment by way of thanks. The hair fell back into his eyes. Normally, if sober, it might have pleased and amused the older boy to continue down the path of silly, euphemistic conversation. As it was, he was not sober. He could sense the not-so-subtle hesitance radiating from Wes and had a brief internal struggle - should he go in for the killss or ought he be sensitive to the other's doubts? After all, what indication, besides the fixing of Ariel's hair and allowing himself to be pulled into an empty room, had he given of interest?
Unconsciously, the older boy closed a few inches of space between himself and Wes. He stood on his tiptoes again, making sustained eye contact to see if he was going to be stopped, and pressed a tentative kiss on the taller boy's lips - which, by the way, were very soft. (And this is the part where Robin Williams gave Ariel a standing ovation.)