The thing with having a boyfriend who's bi? He happens to like girls.

I grimly regard the way he's checking out the new one. I think she's come with Ava, but whatever. She has straight blue hair and heavy make-up, but other than that she seems rather hesitant. She keeps close to the door while she looks around the room curiously. Her brows furrow as she comes across Skyler and Ava making out on the couch, and she quickly goes on with her scrutiny, until her eyes come to rest on Rodeo.

They size each other up, and I feel myself tense. The only reasonable thing to do is suggest subtly that he's taken, right? I reach out in the most casual manner I can muster and rest my hand on his thigh.

He gives me the look.

I roll my eyes and retreat my hand, leaning back with my arms crossed over my chest as I sulk slightly. I get it that he doesn't like public displays of affection, but come on. I'm trying to make a point here. He's mine. She can go ogle someone else.

"Hi," she actually walks up to us. She's got some fucking nerve, for real. I glare up at her as she grins, "Got a smoke?" Oh, puh-lease. She's so cheap.

"Sure," Rodeo produces a pack from one of his backpockets, and offers her a cigarette. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he lights it for her with his silver flicker, and how she cups her hand around his and bows her head too close. Slut.

"I'm Summer, by the way," she blows out a puff of smoke and straightens.

"Rodeo. And this one goes by the name of Ace," I shoot him an irritated look which he ignores. Summer nods at me and I nod back stiffly, watching her turn back to him, all smiles and batting eye-lashes. Whoever sane dyes their hair blue? It looks fucking stupid. Well it looked good on Rodeo once, but--

"Care for a drink?" he asks her.

I raise my brows while she acceps, and shake my head curtly when he turns to offer me one. I watch them walk away together towards the kitchen, and fuck. This is unbelievable. She's been here for how long, ten minutes? And she's already stolen my boyfriend. And he, as usually, is not protesting very hard. I fucking hate him sometimes.

At other times, I really don't.

I brood, staring darkly in the direction of the kitchen. Chicks are absolutely crazy about him. But who wouldn't be? He's fucking gorgeous. Dark hair and green smoky eyes, and he's always squinting them slightly like he's flirting with you the entire time. But try to figure him out, and you'll fail miserably. You think he's one thing but he turns out to be another. It's taken me long enough to get to know him a bit, and even now he keeps me amazed. This, and other things.

Like ridiculously jealous.

I stand up abruptly and head for the kitchen, finding them next to the fridge, and she's fucking batting her eyes out at him. He's already got one hand flat against the fridge door, slightly above her shoulder. His back is to me and I pause in the doorway, frustration prickling over my skin.

That asshole.

I start forward, separating them rather rudely as I reach for the fridge door. "'Cuse me," I say just for kicks, not even looking at him while I take out my beer. But I glance at her, pointedly, warningly, before retreating, walking out without so much as a single look back over my shoulder.

If she takes it as anything other than 'back off, bitch', she's incredibly dense.

Why am I still bothering with him? Well...

If you could've seen him before – before we got together - he used to sleep around like a hustler. Right now, it's mostly just flirting. He fucking plays with me and I let him, every single time. I guess he finds it hilarious or something. The thing is, he hates bounds. He hates to be tied down, and I could never do that to him. His constant flirting used to hurt me a lot, still does, but I'm slowly learning not to demand things of him, and just let us be. I get jealous all the time, but I know I have to give him some space if I wanna keep him. Because in the end, it's always me whom he comes home with. Has been for years.

Doesn't stop him from hitting on anything that moves. Especially if it has boobs.

I go out onto the balcony, beer in hand, and I lean against the balustrade. If you could see me, I'm nothing special. Skinny, kinda short, kinda gothic. But really, I couldn't bother with the make-up. I do my eyes, and that's it. He likes it when I wear eye-liner, says it makes me look androgynous. Might as well turn him on if that's all it takes.

"Hi, are you emo?" a voice asks next to me. I turn my head and come face to face with a small girl wearing clothes that look like she's made them herself in the dark. This party is just full of freaks.

"How do you figure?" I ask, already slightly annoyed. What the fuck is it with people going around assuming stuff about me?

"I dunno. You look emo."

I sigh, leaning my crossed forearms against the railing and my chin down on top of them. Emo. Christ.

"Emo's believe life ends at the age of eighteen," I tell her. "I'm nineteen."

"Oh," she says thoughtfully.

Yeah, oh.

"So what's your name?" Shit... Does she ever shut up?

I exhale, glancing at her. "Why do you wanna know?"

"I wanna make friends," she shrugs. "I don't have a gay friend yet. Is Rodeo your boyfriend?"

Jesus.

"Who are you?" I ask her incredulously. She looks fourteen.

"I'm Chad's sister." Ah. I guess some Chad person is actually having this party.

"Does Chad know you're drinking?" I nod at her glass with some weird blue substance in it.

"He fixed it for me," she says proudly. Some brother, no shit. "So. Are you and Rodeo going out, or what?"

I open my mouth to tell her to mind her own fucking business when suddenly a pair of arms envelop me from behind, a husky voice murmuring in my ear, "Hitting on minors now, are we?"

I snort, keeping rigid against him, even if my skin is already beginning to crawl with anticipation, "That's your specialty."

Freak Girl beams hopefully next to us, and I roll my eyes. Seriously.

Rodeo chuckles, before giving Freak Girl a friendly look, "Could you leave us alone, sweetheart? We wanna fuck."

I almost choke. Freak Girl doesn't look very shocked, but rather disappointed Rodeo's telling her to go. She leaves reluctantly, and I hiss over my shoulder,

"Jesus, dude. She's like, fourteen."

"You've seen her face. She loves gay sex."

I snort. "So now you're back to being gay, huh. Seriously, man. I just can't keep up with you these days," I say dryly.

His hands stroke under my shirt, and I swallow thickly. Damn him.

"You say it like it's a bad thing," he mutters, breath tickling the back of my neck. All I wanna do is arch into him, just the right way, so his lips and the front of his jeans could press against me. I don't.

"Tell me how it's good," I mutter.

"Well," he says, his voice dropping a sexy notch, "For one, it keeps life interesting--"

"For you or me?" I cut in wryly.

"Both of us. I like knowing they all wanna fuck me--"

"No shit," I mumble irritably.

"--and you like knowing they can't because you already are. Admit it."

I pout, forgetting he can't see it.

"I still don't like you flirting your ass off with everyone," I mutter.

"Including you?" he asks, bringing his lips close to my ear. He starts nibbling on my lobe and I close my eyes, exhaling shakily. I'm really fucking sensitive there and he knows it. Bastard.

"That's, uh... different," I mumble, hating that I'm losing it against him just 'cause I can't seem to be able to think with my upper brain when he's around.

"How?"

"You're with me. You're supposed to be flirting with me," I reason weakly. "Where's your little girlfriend, anyway?" I ask in a sharper tone, putting my hands over his in order to stop their dangerous tendency to wander all over the place. Quite predictably, I end up guiding them.

He nuzzles at the back of my neck. "It's so fucking hot when you get jealous."

I ignore it. "What, you couldn't get it up for her?" I mutter mercilessly.

"Not really."

I pause, surprised by his honesty. Usually, he would be teasing me till the boiling point, and then-- but now he just seems sincere.

"She turned you down, or what?" I mutter incredulously.

"I turned her down. She was in my face the whole fucking time."

Oh.

I turn my head to the side slightly, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He's got this look about him which he sometimes gets just after we're done fucking. Soft but intense, and it always gets me.

I look back straight ahead, sucking in a quiet breath.

"You're messed up," I tell him.

"You messed me up, baby."

His hands splay across my stomach, large and warm. If he doesn't stop touching me, I might--

"Don't you just know how to sweet talk a guy," I mutter, leaning forward against the balustrade instead of back into him like we both want me to.

He snorts, shifting to the side slightly so he's resting his right hand next to mine on the railing. He lifts his another one, gently scraping his fingertips across the back of my neck, just below my hairline. Another spot which drives me crazy when he touches it and I bite my lower lip, determined not to give in too easily.

"You know what I mean," he mutters, eyes trying to catch mine. I keep them stubbornly on the horizon where the sun is already fighting its way up, turning the sky orange and pink.

"I never know what you mean. You say one thing, but mean another," I mutter back, beginning to feel emo. Damn Freak Girl, she was fucking right.

I think he smiles. "Sometimes you're just like a chick," he comments softly.

I almost snort at that. "Guess that's why you're still with me, huh?" I answer dryly.

His gentle stroking stops. He stares at me for a long charged moment, before I feel compelled, forced, to look back. Our eyes meet, and heat rises to my face at his expression.

"I can't believe you're still so fucking insecure after all those years," he says darkly.

"Ah, fuck you," I shoot back, suddenly feeling much more exposed than I'd like to be. I push away from the balustrade, turning on my heels to go back inside, but his long fingers wrap around my wrist, jerking me back. "Let go, dude--" I say warningly.

"Tell me what the hell is your problem," he hisses next to my ear. I scowl and pull my hand free from his grasp, turning to face him even though looking at him is the last thing I wanna do right now. "'Cause you're not half as bitchy when I'm around guys as you seem to be when it comes to chicks."

No shit, Sherlock.

"You don't know how it is, do you?" I ask him impulsively.

"What?" he snaps.

"Being with a bisexual."

He stares at me, taken aback. I stare back, darkly, frustration simmering just below the surface of my skin, ready to lash out.

"I thought we've been over that. I'm with you now, I told you," he says in a low voice.

I snort. "Yeah. Until you realize you're missing out," and it takes a lot for me to say that. But I have never said it before, and I couldn't hold it back any longer. It's been eating me alive ever since we got together. Three years.

"Missing out on what?" he mutters.

"On chicks! What do you think?" I explode.

He exhales, looking incredulous. "You're not serious, are you?" he asks, brows going up.

For some reason, it drives me even madder.

"I'm fucking serious! How do you think I feel when you just fucking have to look down the shirt of every girl we come across?" I demand, my voice rising.

"Ace, Jesus--"

"Fuck you. You don't know how I feel, do you? Knowing I will never be exactly what you want? 'Cause I won't ever grow a pussy you know, if that's what you're counting on!"

He's shocked. I can tell. He's staring at me like I've grown two heads. Screw him. I start turning around again, and again he stops me, even faster than the last time.

I yelp softly in surprise as he pushes me against the balustrade, blocking my escape when I try to get away again.

"Rodeo—" I start warningly.

"You're so fucking dumb," he says harshly.

I scowl at him, finally quitting trying to get away and simply leaning back against the railing, crossing my arms over my chest. "Gee, thanks babe," I mutter wryly.

He exhales in exasperation.

"How could you ever--" he starts impulsively before pausing, and straightening. He closes his eyes briefly as if to compose himself, and then looks back straight into my eyes. "How could you ever think you're not what I want?" he asks in a softer tone.

I sulk, keeping my arms in front of me protectively. "Maybe 'cause I lack the feminine instinct?" I suggest snottily.

"Shut up," he snaps.

I roll my eyes and look away, my whole pose radiating defiance. If I'd known this fucking party would turn into this, I so would've stayed home. I hate that he knows how insecure I am about what's between us. I hate how it makes me feel like I'm stupid and hopeless and ridiculous.

"I'm going to say it just once, so you better listen hard," he starts in a firm tone, eyes boring into mine. I finally shift them back to his, tensing at the fierce determination I find there. "If I wanted to be with a woman, I'd find myself one. If I wanted to be with anyone else, I'd dump your skinny ass. I don't."

I shift nervously, fidgeting under intensitivity of his gaze. He's never said anything like this to me. I don't even know what to do with it.

"But—"

"There's no butt there for me beside yours, alright?" I roll my eyes at his crappy joke, but I'm already beginning to float. "Or, beside your small dick," he adds, raising an eyebrow.

I look at him sharply. "It's not small."

"It's not," he admits. "But you should've seen your face."

I inhale. "You asshole—" I start saying before I'm swiftly cut off by his lips against mine. He kisses me, and it's almost liquid in the way it's slow and deep and extremely urgent, and I can't fucking breathe. How he is with me usually leaves my head spinning, but this... Christ. His fingers thread through my hair and down across the back of my neck, and my crotch gives a sharp desperate twinge. Shit-- He breaks away, resting his forehead against mine, his breathing erratic. We watch each other heatedly and his pupils are so wide you can hardly see the green anymore.

I swallow, licking my lips that are still covered with our combined spit, and tingling like crazy.

"I do think girls are pretty," he says slowly. "They're soft and curved in all the right places. But none of them has ever made me lose control like you do."

I let myself beam openly, raising my hand to run the back of my fingers down his cheek.

"I'm gonna keep looking down their shirts, if only to wind you up a bit," I start rolling my eyes, and he grins, showing off his white teeth, "But then I want you to remember this," and he grabs my hand and brings it down against the hard front of his jeans. I gulp, "And this," and he leans up, pressing his lips to my forehead softly. I melt.

He pulls back then, and shakes his head at me. "You're hopeless."

Yeah, well. Nothing he's gonna say from now on is gonna ruin my good mood. Except--

"I demand some rights," I blurt.

He has already been turning towards the door leading inside, but he pauses now and frowns at me over his shoulder. "Huh?"

"I wanna be allowed to grope you whenever I feel like it," I say firmly. "So no more looks. They piss me off--"

"Oh, shut up," he says, grabbing my hand and dragging me inside where people are already crawling around on their fours.