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“I’m trying to threaten you here.”
“What will you do to me?” I murmur.
“Punch you in the face,” he says, his voice cracking when I dig my nails into his nape, just under his ear.
A smile teases my lips. “I’d like to see you try.”
He glares at me, becauseof coursehe does. “I’ll withhold sex from you.”
A laugh erupts out of me. “Yeah, okay, now that I’dreallylike to see you try.”
He tries to shrug me off him, but I just drag him closer, bringing our lips together. Humming against his flesh, feeling his breaths puff against my lips, I murmur, “Could be fun. Seeing how long you last before you break.” I drop a hand to his crotch, cupping his dick through his jeans. He’s not quite hard, but he does twitch against my palm. My smile grows.
“Asshole,” he grunts, biting my lip.
Humming, I swipe my tongue out, licking his top lip. “Baby.”
Teeth and snark give way to plush lips and lazy tongues, but all too soon the kiss ends, interrupted by the sound of a phone vibrating along the hard floor. I drag my mouth away from Waylon’s and look over my shoulder to where his phone lays on the floor next to the foot of the sofa. I wonder when and how it got over there. The screen is lit for a beat, just long enough to show a text fromSatan.
Where are you?????
Waylon drops his mouth to my neck, groaning.
I give his hip a pat. “Come on before Ivy starts a witch hunt.”
Standing, he runs his inked hands through his black hair, trying to fix some of the mess. I smooth down my black Pink Floyd shirt, smirking when I remember what Waylon said earlier.
Just as we reach the bottom of the stairs, I pause with my hand on the knob and turn toward Waylon. Only inches separate us, his scent and body heat enveloping me like my favorite blanket.
“I know the whole label thing stresses you out,” I say softly.
He stills, some unnamed emotion rippling over his features. The bulb hanging above our heads casts just enough light to show the gold flecks threaded through his hazel eyes.
I wet my lips with my tongue, reach up, and palm his cheek. “And I know you’re still figuring out who you are, what you like…” I trail off, searching his face. “But just remember, there’s no right or wrong way to be queer, okay?”
His eyes crease at the corners and he gives a stilted nod.
I duck my head, meeting his uncertain gaze. “There are norulesto being queer. No benchmarks you need to meet. Despite what society might like to say, being queer is as fucking human as you get. It takes more work to try and keep up with the status quo, and meetingthosedemands, than it does to just be…you.” He reaches up to cup my jaw. “You belong. Okay?”
His throat bobs and he gives a small nod.
“All that matters is that you’re you”—my lip curves up—“and you’re mine, and that is fucking worthy of a place in this community.”
* * *
We findeveryone gathered in the kitchen.
Well, almost everyone.
Phoebe and Jeremy are missing.
“There you are,” Ivy says, stomping over to us. She grabs Waylon’s hand and drags him over to the couch where she’s got an assortment of rainbow feather boas spilling out of a brown paper shopping bag and other Pride themed accessories she must’ve bought for the parade.
While Ivy’s still dressed in all black, she’s now got a blue, pink, and purple feather boa draped around her neck and a bi flag sticker of the same colors stuck to her left cheek. Glitter shimmers around her eyes that wasn’t there earlier, and when she turns away, the light catches on some she must’ve sprayed into her hair.
I shudder at the thought, already knowing I’ll likely be scrubbing my scalp raw later tonight. There’s just no avoiding it, I suppose.
“Hey,” Shawn says, appearing next to me. He brings a bottle of water to his lips, tipping his head back to chug it down.
