This is nothing like spin the bottle. The heat of a body against his own, the pressure of a hand at his waist, it’s new and it’s terrifying and it’s...great? Xavier presses himself against this stranger, happy to let him lead. To have an empty head. He’s just figuring out where his own hands should be going, slipping his fingers into Reid’s dark hair, when Reid breaks the kiss. An involuntary grumble of protest escapes Xavier’s lips.

He hardly notices the fireworks. Or anything, really, except the boy in his space. He wishes he could tell the shape of his lips. The color of his skin. His hair. Fucking anonymity charm. And why’s everything moving so slowly?

When Reid steps away the air that fills the space between them is an unwelcome shock of cold. Xavier takes a wobbling step back as the gears in his head sluggishly begin to turn again. “What? No. You don’t have to--You can’t just--”