“Bye.”
He waved vaguely as he shut the door, turning to search out the Mantodea. They were in the kitchen, putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Humming “Watermelon Crawl” under their breath, they moved the dishes Bryce had already loaded to the “correct” spots that made sense in their beautiful brain, then added the soap.
Their hair was piled in a messy bun, stray strands gracing their elegant neck. His fingers itched to reach out and touch, to brush the hair aside so he could press his face to their neck and breathe them in. He wanted to tuck himself around their fragile body and hold them close. And yeah, he wanted to know what they tasted like, if their lips would carry the flavor of their favorite tea or the minty lip balm they always used.
Crap, he’d have to tell them about his crush soon, before it grew too big too fast. He’d want to know if they weren’t interested in him sooner rather than later, to save himself some heartbreak. But not yet. He wasn’t ready to risk losing everything just yet.
“Oliver wants to take me out for my birthday,” he said as Zef straightened, turning to face him.
“That is a stupendous idea. How thoughtful of Oliver to suggest it.”
Well, if that was how Zef wanted to play it, Bryce would go along. “You’ll come too, right?”
“Of course.” They leaned against the kitchen island in front of him and reached out to straighten his shirt collar. “I would not miss it.”
“Good,” he said, capturing a flyway and curling it around his finger. “Your hair looks nice like this.”
Incredulous, they cocked an eyebrow. “This is what I do when I am too lazy to style it.”
“I like it. It’s comfy and cute,” Bryce said, and Zef blinked owlishly at him.
“Are you alright? You are acting strange,” they accused as they stepped around him, their hair sliding through his fingers like satin.
Like a pathetic puppy, he followed them to their room, stopping on the threshold to lean against the door jamb. “Am I not allowed to compliment you?”
Folding their fresh laundry, they sent him a chiding chirrup, deeming that enough of a response. With four hands, they worked through their laundry quickly, and Bryce glanced at the desk where their new laptop sat.
“How’s the laptop treating you?”
“It is functional and user-friendly,” they replied.
“But do you like it?”
With an amused exhalation through their nostril slits, they said, “It is a computer, Bryce. What is there to like or dislike?”
“So pragmatic,” he teased.
“Yes,” Zef agreed without a hint of jest.
“Still up for a documentary?”
Their wings buzzed in excitement. “Very much so.”
“And you still have your heart set on the BDSM one?” he double-checked.
As they opened their closet, they withdrew several hangers. “I find the psychology behind it fascinating. Do you not?”
“I do,” Bryce said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to make sure you know that it will probably get sexual.”
“Firstly, BDSM is not inherently sexual,” they countered as they hung up their dresses. “Secondly, I am fully aware of the sexual aspects of BDSM, fetishes, and kink. Thirdly, I am not a child, and I do not appreciate the condescension.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, fair enough. I didn’t mean to come across condescending. I just didn’t want another porn-meltdown moment.”
“Depictions of sexuality are not the same as pornography. Pornography, if we are speaking generally without nuance, is vulgar and demeaning, pandering to the patriarchy, portraying problematic stereotypes, and perpetuating pernicious sexual practices.”
“That was a lot of alliteration,” Bryce said, and Zef huffed.
“Sexuality and intimacy can be beautiful when exchanged between enthusiastically consenting adults who, at minimum, respect each other and, at max, love each other. Simply because I do not wish to take part in those activities does not mean I am repulsed by the mere existence of them.” Theycrossed all four arms over their chest and jutted their chin, as if to say,“So there!”
