"How does Banks feel about lasagna?" my mom asked over the phone.

"I don't know, I haven't asked. But he's not a picky eater," I responded with my phone perched on the edge of my dresser so that I could attempt to style my hair in the mirror. The party was already alive two floors below me, but thankfully the bass of the music wasn't loud enough to be heard through the phone.

"Okay, well ask him, will you?" she urged me. "I want to make something nice when he visits. Will he need the guest room? The sheets are kind of dusty, so I'll have to change those."

"No, he'll stay with me. I don't want this to be a big deal, Ma."

"Of course this is a big deal, Liam," she insisted. "Not because he's a boy but because you're introducing us to the person you're dating. You hardly ever do that. And from what we've heard from Quinn, you're quite smitten."

"Smitten," I repeated the word with amusement. "This isn't the fifties."

"I'm saying that I haven't seen you this excited about a partner before, and Quinn agrees."

"I don't like you and Quinn talking about my partners," I protested, although it was a futile complaint. Quinn was always filling in our parents on parts of my life I didn't tell them about directly. She wasn't a snitch, never telling them anything to get me in too much trouble, but loved to gossip about things like who I was dating.

"She's only said good things," Mom assured me. "And I want to make a good first impression. Is this his first relationship with another boy as well?"

"No, he's very gay."

Ever since I told my mom that I'd be bringing Banks home for a long weekend in the spring, she'd been talking about it non-stop. Talking about the meals we'd eat, the activities we'd do as a family to get to know him. We'd only be spending about half a day with Sara and the soccer team, so there was so much room for other things. And so many ways to embarrass me, which I was sure would be inevitable. Especially if Quinn decided to spend the weekend at home too.

"I'm really excited to meet him," she continued to gush. "You've been glowing since Christmas, I can tell."

"Yes, yes, I'm very much in love. Which is why I don't want you scaring him off," I said, finally feeling satisfied with the way my hair laid across my forehead. I was wearing a pair of plain black joggers and a maroon v-neck t-shirt.

"Is he nervous about meeting us?"

"No, I don't think so. He doesn't really get nervous," I said to her. If anything, I was the nervous one. They'd undoubtedly say something embarrassing about me that Banks would then sink into, never forget, and bring up every once in a while for the rest of our lives.

"Well, good. We'll be on our best behavior, I promise," she promised.

"I'd appreciate that. I have to go, the guys are waiting for me downstairs," I told her to end the conversation.

We traded 'I love you's and 'goodnight's before the call ended and I stuffed the phone into my pants pocket, leaving the room. I pretended not to see Ollie and Morgan making out in the hallway of the second floor and continued as quietly as possible to the party on the first.

Kenji and Bridgette were playing beer pong against Walker and Beth. It was a major relief that they'd worked through their argument, because I really didn't want to be involved in the reason they were having issues. Sam was nowhere to be seen and I was sure my roommates wouldn't relent on their ban of her from our house.

I waved to a couple of people as I scooted through the crowd to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the pile on the counter.

This was the first big party we were having at the house after I kissed Banks in front of everybody and then Sam called me a fairy and poured her drink on my shirt. So, I was getting some funny looks that I pretended not to notice.

"There you are," Banks appeared from the beer pong room, cornering me by the fridge. "What took you so long?"

"Mom called," I said. There was a group of Walker's LARPing friends socializing by the liquor table, so I kept my hands to myself despite their itching to reach for his hips. "Wanted to know if you like lasagna."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

Blushing, for some reason, I added, "She's very excited to meet you. Wants to make a good impression and all of that."

"Is she freaking out because I'm a dude?" he asked.

"I don't think so," I said honestly. "I just don't bring people home very often. I told her you probably do like lasagna but she said I should ask just to be sure."

"Ollie said your dad is terrifying," he responded with an amused grin.

"He's not," I promised. "He's a big guy, but he comes in peace. You'll like him."

"And the rest of your family?" he prodded.

I wanted to assure him that it would all go beautifully with no hiccups at all. But I didn't want to lie to him, let him walk into something he wasn't prepared for. So, I gave him the truth, "I honestly have no idea. I don't talk about this kind of stuff with the rest of my family, so I'm not sure how they'll feel about it."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little," I admitted. "Dealing with Sam was easy because I really couldn't care less about what she thinks of me. But if something like that happened with my own family... I don't know. It would suck."

It wasn't my cousins I worried about, but my aunts and uncles that were religious and tended to be more conservative that I was really nervous about. I didn't like confrontation, but if they tried to say anything bad about Banks or our relationship, they wouldn't be leaving me any choice.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to all of that," he said, taking my hand in his before he started pulling me back into the more public areas, passed the beer pong table, and into the living room where somebody set up Guitar Hero. I hadn't seen that game since I was a little kid, and the nostalgia of it seemed to excite the entire party.

"I used to be ridiculously good at this game," Banks said in my ear as he snaked his arm around my waist. Casual, yet still somehow setting my entire body on fire.

I wondered if that would ever go away. If he'd ever be able to just touch me in the most simple kind of ways without making me feel like I was about to explode.

"I believe that," I responded after sipping my beer. "You're very good with your hands."

He laughed into the side of my neck, kissing my jaw lightly just as Chris caught my eye across the room. Our eyes met and I flushed a little bit red. He knew I was with Banks, but he never commented on it.

I had a horrible imagination of the guys feeling weird about me being in the locker room with them, making crass jokes or alienating me from the team. From the jokes I'd hear in high school, jocks could be one of the most homophobic groups of men and I had no idea how they'd take it.

I remembered what Banks said when he came out to me and I asked him if he thought I was hot. The embarrassed rage that coursed through him then.

"I'm not going to try to peak at you in the shower or roofie your drink or whatever it is that you're worried I might do," he had said, like he'd dealt with these accusations before.

Is that what they would think?

Chris didn't seem to even bat an eye at the way that Banks was draped over my body, but what about the other teammates?

My relationship with Banks was stirring up so many parts of my life. My family, my team, my friends, they were all going to have to reconfigure the image of me they had in their heads. I was having to reconfigure the image of myself I've always had.

And still, I never doubted for a second that this was the right thing to do. I don't think I'd ever been so sure about a relationship before. Not with a single one of my ex-girlfriends did I look at them and think that I'd upend my entire life just to be with that person.

But I would, for Banks. I'd burn everything to the ground if I had to. Fight every single person in the world who tried to tell me that our relationship was wrong.

"Hey, it's open. Let's play," Banks pulled me closer to the guitars after two people finished their song. He seemed totally unaware of the direction my thoughts seemed to meander. I blinked them to the back of my mind and picked up the second plastic guitar.

I was never really good at this game, since my parents never bought it for me or Quinn when it was popular, so I knew I was probably about to get my ass handed to me. Especially when I chose the medium level of playing and Banks went straight for expert.

"Medium, Liam?" he smirked at me. "That's pitiful."

I could only shrug. "Less humiliating this way."

It was better to stay at a level I knew I could manage than try to keep up with him on expert level and totally wipe out.

Even if I was usually good at the game, I was still distracted by the romantic thoughts I'd gotten stuck in earlier, and I was also catching sight of his fingers in my peripheral vision. Long, thin, bony at the knuckles. He easily maneuvered the buttons that acted as chords, flicking those long fingers across the fret with intense focus.

"That was really embarrassing," Banks said to me, smirking as he completely demolished me three songs in a row.

Morgan and Ollie had made a reappearance from upstairs, their faces still pink and flushed, as they took over on the guitars for their turn to face each other.

"The only reason I let you win is because you look really adorable when you're up on your high horse," I insisted with absolutely zero believability. "You get a this little dimple."

I ran my thumb along the dimple of his victorious smirk and then finished off the rest of my beer so that I would stop being so sappy.

Banks smiled at the compliment and then offered me one quick kiss. "Whatever you want to tell yourself."

I couldn't even blame the beer for my sappiness, because I only had two cans all night, but I still managed to stare at Banks the entire time. When he laughed at a joke Bridgette made or when he started singing along to a Led Zepplin song playing on the loud speaker.

When he pulled out a black Sharpie and started drawing 'tattoos' on anybody that wanted one. He mostly drew animals, little piglets or dragonflies or something like the snakes on his arm. He would hunch over his canvas, narrow his eyes with focus, sometimes flicking his tongue over his bottom lip.

Why was that tongue flick so fucking sexy? How did he make everything look so good?

"Damn," Walker said when he stood beside me as Beth was getting a giraffe tattoo on her forearm. "You really do have it bad."

"What?" my neck snapped in his direction.

He nudged his chin toward Banks, only a couple of feet away but too focused on his drawing to hear what we were saying. "I can actually see hearts in your eyes, dude."

"Oh..." was it really that obvious? I mean, of course it was, because I'd been ogling him all night.

"Good for you," he added. "You haven't had the best taste in girls, so it's nice to see you really happy."

I didn't know what he meant about my bad taste in girls, but I guess Sam was a shining example of that bad taste, so maybe I didn't even have to ask.

"Yeah. Thanks."

When Beth's Sharpie tattoo was done, I cut the line and took her place in the chair across from Banks so that our knees were bumping against each other. Sitting, facing each other like that, it reminded me of the time we were studying in my room. The first time he kissed me, so quick I didn't even realize it happened until it was over.

"I want my turn," I finally said, holding my arm out toward him. "Dealer's choice."

He flashed me a crooked smile as he uncapped the marker and touched it to my skin. "You got it."

Watching that tongue flicking motion from so up close was even more intoxicating than before. I wanted to capture it in my own mouth every time he ran it along his bottom lip, leaning over my arm to hide his design from me until it was over.

"So, what's going on with you tonight?" he asked randomly.

"What do you mean?"

Some of his dark curls fell over his eyes. "You've been staring at me a lot."

"I think I always stare at you a lot."

"It's been more than usual today," he said. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," I assured him with a noticeable waiver in my voice. "I've been thinking about how much has changed, I guess. Just, in my life. Telling my family and my team and my friends about us, how they'll all think of me differently. Not bad or anything, but just different than how they saw me before. And I'm thinking of myself differently too and... and I've never thought twice about it. It's never even been a question. From the second I realized you were gay at that drag show, I knew what I wanted. And then ever since that first kiss in my room, I've known that I'd throw it all away to be with you."

He glanced up at me through his fallen strands of hair, studying me for a long time.

"I love you," I said evenly. "More than I've ever felt for anybody else, I think. Like I really, really love you."

Banks swallowed hard and then said, "I love you too, Liam," before he tilted his chin back down to finish the drawing. When it was done, I was able to see it. A bowling pin eating a chicken wing, placed in the softest part of my forearm, right below the crease of my elbow.

"You like it?" he asked.

I responded by asking "Can we go upstairs?" and trying not to sound too desperate.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he kissed the skin right below the Sharpie ink on my arm. "Lead the way."

So I did, eagerly pulling him by the hand through the crowd. When anybody would try to stop me to make conversation, I responded on the shortest, most polite way I could before continuing on until we got to the second floor.

I thought about leading him up to my room, where there would be another degree of separation between us and the party, but his bed was so much bigger. Besides, everybody was being so loud downstairs, they probably wouldn't hear anything anyway.

Once we were in the privacy of his locked room, Banks immediately had me pressed against the wall, his hands sliding up my shirt, lips on mine.

"Loving you has been a million little deaths," he mumbled against my mouth as he moved furiously to pull my shirt off of my body, letting it land somewhere by my ankles. "I died a little the second I walked into the house and laid eyes on you. And then when Oliver told me you were straight. When you touched my wrist, that first time we had wings and you stopped me from touching my face."

He was kissing my neck, whispering his words directly into my skin, his hands roaming freely over my exposed torso as I ran my fingers steadily through his hair.

"And then when you were asking if I thought you were hot, after the drag show, and I thought you were uncomfortable. I died, thinking you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore. I was so afraid of losing you."

"I wanted you to think I was hot," I exhaled, resting my head back on the wall as I started pulling at his shirt until he lifted his arms and let it drop to the floor. When he pressed his bare chest against me, I could feel his heart beating against mine. "I wanted you to do something about it."

I didn't realize that's what I wanted until later, but that's what that little beat of adrenaline was inside of me. I wanted him then, I was just only starting to realize it.

"I died when I kissed you," he continued, sinking his teeth into my neck, just below my left ear. I could feel his breath on my neck when he spoke. "And I absolutely fucking lost my shit when you kissed me after Thanksgiving. Every time I thought you'd run, you just leaned closer."

Feeling impatient and dizzy with desire, I gripped either side of his hips and pulled him into mine, grinding my growing erection into his jeans.

"I love you so much, Liam," he groaned. "Every single thing about you is deadly."

When his lips found mine again, I kissed back ferociously, starving, as desperate for him as I'd ever been.

Suddenly, I was pressed against the dresser, leaning my hips into the corner of it for balance as Banks slowly pulled my joggers down to my feet until I could step out of them. The entire time, murmuring gentle praise about how much he loved my body, my kisses, my muscles, my dick.

And then he was on his knees in front of me and I was the one muttering incoherent things to him through ragged breaths. I loved his mouth, his hands, his shoulders, his laugh.

He knew exactly how to move his tongue to get me to unravel against him. Knew every button to push until I was a writhing, groaning mess.

"Banks," I manged to rasp, pulling him off of me when I got too close to finishing. "I, uh, I want to do this."

He let his forehead fall against my lower stomach, catching his breath as I ran my fingers through his hair. "What do you want?"

I pulled him back up to me, kissing him harder than I ever had before. "You know," I mumbled against him as I started undoing the button and zipper of his jeans until we were standing in front of each other practically naked. We already looked like such a mess.

Banks with a flushed face and spit on his chin, straining hard against the front of his boxers. Me, standing against him, naked except for my own boxers that were now pushed down my thighs. A complete mess for each other.

I put my palms out on the surface of the dresser to stop myself from collapsing.

"Tell me," he demanded, biting my bottom lip between his teeth. "I want to hear you say it."

I pushed my hips forward, practically humping his hip with the movement. "I want you to fuck me."

"Are you sure?" he whispered while he turned my body around against the dresser until I was facing the mirror, bent a little at the hips. And then my boxers were dropped to my ankles and kicked to the side.

"Yes," I answered easily, my voice strangled with desire. "I've been thinking about it. A lot. For a really long time. I want to do it."

He kissed the crook of my neck, down to my shoulder blade, against my heartbeat. "You're fucking perfect," he sighed before pulling a bottle of lube out of the top drawer of the dresser. I'd never been so turned on in my entire life, my body was shaking for his touch, his voice, his mouth.

And I hadn't felt perfect, or even close to it, in so long. For years, I'd been broken and messy and stupid. My confidence was destroyed with my knee, but he kissed me like he truly believed what he was saying. And with a mouth like that, it was hard not to believe him too.

Banks started out slow, with the familiar touch of his fingers. Those long, nimble things that I'd watched scramble across a plastic video game guitar a couple of hours ago as I imagined this exact scenario.

He moved slow, careful, watching my reactions in the mirror, kissing my shoulder. Everything was so tender it could have made me weep. Nobody has ever taken care of me like that before.

"Ready?" he grumbled, his voice gravelly and deep with a tremble on the break between syllables, as he lined himself up with me. One hand on my hip as both of mine were braced against the dresser in front of me.

I couldn't muster up the brain power to respond with anything coherent. Could only focus on feeling him where nobody had ever been before, wanting desperately for him to go further. I just nodded, looking at him through the mirror, as a strangled groan escaped my throat.

"I've got you," he muttered through the noises that were leaving me. Blissful, intense noises that I'd never heard myself make before. Banks kissed my shoulder, his own breath tight and ragged. "Relax, Liam. I've got you."

He pressed his hips deeper and my mouth made a perfect circle. Staying there, buried halfway inside of me as I adjusted to the foreign sensation, relaxing my body the best I could.

Once Banks could feel me starting to push back against him, he gave me more. I groaned out a long string of curses, toes curling, nails digging against the wood grain of the dresser.

"You're doing so good. So fucking good," he murmured praise directly into my ear. His voice was trembling and I could feel his body shaking against mine. I liked knowing that he was unraveling just as much as I was. "So good for me, Liam."

He screwed his eyes shut as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, whispering more praise and moans and curses against my sweat-slick skin.

I was in heaven. Pure, sweet, bliss as Banks sawed back and forth into me as I adjusted slowly to his size, allowing him deeper.

I wanted Banks like this forever. A sweaty, whimpering mess on my shoulder, his breath on my neck. Until I tilted my chin to the side and found a way to connect our lips. He kissed me deep and slow, the same way he moved inside of me.

Everything went white and fuzzy around the edges, like I was floating more than standing anymore, leaning my weight on the dresser as the noises coming from my chest were getting harder to press back.

And then Banks wrapped one arm around my hip. His fingers gripped my dick, stroking me from both sides as he muttered softly in my ear, something about me being so hard for him. I could barely hear it over my own throaty groans.

I was in heaven. I wanted this forever.