Polyamorous.

After breakfast, spending the day with Quenton isn't as awkward as I expected to be. We spend a good part of the morning watching movies, mostly Disney because they're my favorite and Quenton lets me pick every time. There's not an insurmountable amount of distance between us, but almost enough room for another body to fit there. There's the stinging urge in the back of my mind to move closer, but I can't just slither up next to him without an explanation. And of course, I don't have a specific reason; I just want to be close.

"Ani, you okay?" Quenton asks, face contorted in concern.

I smile sheepishly and look down at the space between us before looking back up at him. When our eyes meet again, the look on his face makes my cheeks redden, like he just knows something I don't. "W-what?"

"If you wanted to cuddle, why didn't ya just say so?" He grins, reaching across the space and curling a hand wrist and pulling me towards him.

A brief thought of fighting rushes through my brain but I push it down and allow myself to be pulled until I'm tucked into Quenton's side. It's warm finally and my body is grateful, feeding off of the heat that he provides. Another smile is passed my way, and this time, I actually smile back. This is Quenton and he's safe.

~

"Anaias, do you want to go for ice cream?" Quenton asks.

My head lulls sleepily in his lap and I remember getting into this position just as Anastasia was coming on. I groggily rub my face back into his thigh, attempting to snuggle closer. I don't understand how I sleep so much. But I guess all of the years spent in my father's home where I was deprived of sleep, food and pretty much anything essential to life are to blame.

"'M sleepy," I groan, and of course my stomach growls at that exact moment.

"And hungry apparently. C'mon, sleeping beauty. We'll grab lunch and ice cream and you can nap on the way."

His fingers run through my hair as he speaks and I purr, blushing when I realize what sound I've made. Quenton half-smirks at me and my stomach flutters, the face making him look ten times more attractive than he normally is. I sit up and push the feelings aside. This seriously cannot be happening. He's my brother's boyfriend and I do not think he's cute.

He leads me out and into the car, opening my door for me as well. The act is nice and I smile in appreciation, leaning my seat back. As soon as the dull roar of the engine sounds and Quenton heads out of the driveway, I feel a hand latch itself onto mine and I smile, drifting off into darkness.

~

Finally we're back at the house, once again perched on the sofa, ice cream in hand while we continue our movie marathon. I'm not really too focused on the television due to an awful case of wandering eyes. It's not my fault my brother has an attractive lover, who really, I should not be thinking of as attractive. There's no denying it though, especially when he laughs or smiles and full red lips are stretching around white teeth.

He and Callen are complete opposites in looks. My brother and I are darker featured, with brown hair and brown eyes. Quenton, on the other hand, is the epitome of the Aryan dream: blonde hair, blue eyes. And those damn freckles, scattered across his upper cheeks and nose.

"You've got ice cream on your face," is what draws me out of my thoughts.

"Whuh?" I ask, tongue coming out to hopefully lick it away.

"No, silly," Quenton laughs and a long finger wipes against my cheek and pulls back. Surely enough, there's actually ice cream on it, but compared to what's next, that's bit even the least but embarrassing.

That same ice cream covered finger makes it's way passed his lips, and when it emerges again, the ice cream is gone. My jaw drops and my face burns, feeling flushed and stomach tingling. I'm stunned because did he really just ate the ice cream he wiped off of my face? I can't even ask him what the hell that was because Callen walks through the door and the sight of him is enough to once again make the burn flare up.

There he is in all his slightly tanned glory, muscles flaunting themselves in the muscle shirt he wears. Attractive is the one word that comes to mind, for probably the sixtieth time today. But that's how my brain registers his appearance. Not oh, hey, my brother is home or i didn't know Cal had tattoos but more along the lines of something like, holy fuck, would you look at that. If I wasn't blushing before, I certainly am now and there's that stupid tightening in my gut that signals that I like this a little more that I should.

"Hey, baby," Que says.

"Hey, babe. Ani? What's wrong, baby? You look a little flushed."

I whimper, setting the rest of my ice cream on the table. "I don't feel so good. I'm going upstairs. Bye."

And with that I'm slightly running up the steps, quick to lock myself in my room. It's impossibly hot again, but there's no stiffening in my jeans to accompany it, thank god. I cannot be getting hot and bothered over my own flesh and blood and his boyfriend. I just can't. But I am. And it's driving me fucking insane.

Five minutes later, there's a knock at my door. I feel calm enough to answer it, so I do, staring sheepishly up at the taller brown-eyed male. I have to bite my lip and fight back the things my brain wants me to say as he stares me down, knowing eyes seemingly mocking me.

"Not feeling too good, huh?" My brother asks, leaning against the door way nonchalantly.

"Mhm. Just a little tummy ache," I lie. "I think lying down for a bit will help."

He half smirks at me and I want to punch him. "I haven't seen you all day, so maybe I'll lay with you. You can tell me how your day with Quenton went."

I want to wipe that smug ass look off his face because no, Callen, you can't lay with me. But the taller boy is making his way over to my bed anyway, patting the mattress. I leave the door open trudging over to the bed slowly. When I'm finally near, his hands pull me down by my hips, sending little shocks up my sides. Once again my lip is caught between my teeth and I'm trying to implement my brain-mouth filter because none of the things I want to say right now are appropriate and that's probably more scary than anything.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Callen asks, literally pulling my lip from the grip of my teeth.

"Nervous habit."

"What're you so nervous about? It's just me," he taunts, smile gracing his lips and all but splitting his face in half.

I want to tell him that this is the problem. It's just him. And just Quenton. And how the hell did I end up in a house with two terribly attractive grown men who touch me like I'm already they're lover. But then something hits me and everything comes together at once. This motherfucker is sitting with me and taunting me because he fucking knows. And if he knows that means Quenton knows. And suddenly I have bigger problems than my brother noticing that I bite my lip too much.