Lyrics to Death to All But Metal by Steel Panther (2009)

Man, this is bullshit, Lemy thought with a sigh. He sat back in his seat and stared down at the paper in front of him. There was a big red 75 in the upper right corner. Below that was a missive: Very creative but your use of grammar leaves a lot to be desired.

It was October 20, Lemy's birthday, and he was in English class - the gayest time of the day. He was good at math, he was good at science, and he was passable at history, but English...man, English was the guy hiding in the alley and when Lemy passed by he jumped out and started whipping his ass with a crowbar. And all Lemy could do was curl up on the ground and cry for his mother.

Usually.

Lately, he'd been sucking in all his classes: A 70 here, a 65 there...the best grade he'd gotten in the past two weeks was an 84 in math. An 84. Man, fuck that.

It wasn't his fault, though. He just had a lot on his mind.

Like L -

He shut that thought down like his name was Negan. Nope, not going there. It's a happy day, remember? The big 1-3? I'm officially a teen, brah. I get to watch PG-13 movies and shit now. I don't know if I can handle it. Whoa, that guy just said 'frick.' I need an adult. He was going to have a party later so he had that to look forward to. Parties are great. Cake, ice cream, presents…

...only he wasn't looking for it. As much as he hated school, he really didn't relish the idea of going home because L -

Something wet and hard struck him in the cheek and he winced. Ow, what the fuck? I know how JFK feels now. He turned his head, and Jimmy Preston was staring at him. Jimmy sat in the next row over, a couple chairs up. He was one of those homo jocks who dig slapping other men's asses and getting dogpiled by the rest of the team. He had black hair and blue eyes. Looked kind of like a rat, you know, his face. Real ugly for a football player. "Happy Birthday, Loud," he said.

Lemy peeled the spitball off his face and tossed it aside, then flipped Jimmy off with both hands. "Fuck. You."

The teacher, Mrs. Warden, picked that moment to turn from the chalkboard, because of course she did. "Lemy Loud!" she cried. "Stop making obscene gestures at once!"

Everyone twisted around to look at him, and he felt a rush of color in his cheeks. "Sorry," he said and hung his head. Seriously, how come you never catch that asshole? It's always me. Man, if I get jumped in the hall and the principal rolls up, I'm the one who gets in trouble for getting blood on he floor. Mr. Loud, pick up your teeth and follow me to ISS. Gay.

See, school sucks enough on its own, but people make it a thousand times worse. For one, everyone acted like a bunch of fucking toddlers, running, screaming, fucking loud, braying laughter, oh God, shiver. For two, they're all dicks. There's the black dude who kicked the back of his seat every day in math, the snotty, stuck-up bitch who sat next to him in science (she was hot but her personality made his dick retract into his stomach), that Ray dude in history who had jokes like his ho mama had sex partners. You look like Brett Michaels only gayer. Fuck you, Ray.

He had homebois, but, like, two out of 600 people, and sometimes, as they sat alone in the cafeteria, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, they were losers.

Nah, they were cool. Everyone else was a loser.

Presently, the bell rang and Lemy let out a pent up sigh of relief. Thank God, man, the day is done.

Now home.

Uh...can I take that sigh of relief back?

Grabbing his books, he got up and waited for everyone else to shove through the door before going into the hall. At his locker, he put in his combination (42-39-56...you can say she got it alllll) and jammed his books in. He slipped his ipod out, put it into his pocket, and poked one earbud in. Next he grabbed his jacket - olive drab military deal, ya know, cool - and shrugged into it.

School blows chunks, man. And not just because he was a loser with loser friends (even the chess club is cooler than me), but because he felt like...the subjects he was good at, he was good at, and everything else was a lost cause. When his mind wasn't preoccupied with Ly - he got 99s and shit in math and science. The other stuff….he just couldn't get the hang of it, you know? Like English. Nouns, verbs, fucking gerunds, it was so fucking confusing and his brain couldn't retain it all. Like there was a hole where that crap was supposed to go and it all leaked out as soon as it went in. He was never going to get good at it, so really, man, it was a waste of time. A frustrating bullshit waste of time.

He pushed through the main doors and went outside; the day was crisp and cool, the trees along the opposite side of the street blazing red, orange, and yellow. He paused, fished out his ipod, and went through the songs before settling on one, then put it back and started walking again. Loud, driving guitar filled one ear while the sound of his gay ass lil ass classmates screaming, giggling, yelling, and wailing laughter filled the other. Lemy glowered, looking so much like his sister Loan that he'd kill himself if only he knew.

Fuck the Goo Goo Dolls, they can suck my balls

They look like the dogs that hang out at the mall

Eminem can suck it, so can Dr. Dre

They can suck each other just because they're gay

Sometimes it really bothered him that he couldn't fit in with everyone else. Like...you know that shit he was talking a while back about being a misfit? He always felt that way, but when he was around other kids it was tenfold. He didn't like the things they did, he didn't act the way they did, he wasn't a petty little bitch the way they were, he was...I dunno...he felt like an old man trapped in a fucking daycare center sometimes.

They can suck a dick, they can lick a sack

Everybody shout, "Heavy metal's back!"

He blamed his Mom. She was the one who got him into old ass music no one else cares about, and it just spiraled from there. Next thing you know, he's walking around in an army jacket and a headband like it's 1985 and he's a sixties holdover. Hey, man, expand your mind, man, take a hit of acid,, it's groovy, man. No, he didn't really blame her. Hell, he liked the shit he liked. If no one else did, fine, whatever. You do you and I'll do me.

Death to Papa Roach, Blink 182

All those fucking pussies sounds like doggy-doo

Wearing baggy pants, spiking up their hair

They're not worth the crust on my underwear

Only these little ass kids out here weren't like that. They see someone who's different and they gang up on them and shit. He really didn't have it that bad, it was just frustrating. Really, really fucking frustrating.

Kills those fucking fuckheads who programme MTV

They can suck my ass with all the record companies

There's a book he never read called Stranger in a Strange Land by a cat named Heinlein, some sort of lame ass science fiction deal. He didn't know what it was about, but the title...man, that title spoke to him, because he was a stranger in a strange land, you know, shuffling his feet and looking around like what the fuck is all this? He saw this dumb ass movie once with the dude from Groundhog Day. He was in Japan or something and he's walking down the street and he's fucking towering over everyone like Paul Bunyan or something. It was a clever visual metaphor for his feelings of displacement, Lemy suspected. That was him. A giant among men. Heh.

Fuck Mariah Carey, death to Sheryl Crow

They can kiss each other on the camel toe

50 Cent's a fag, so is Kanye West

Shooting hot sperm on each others' chest

He was at the end of Franklin now. Four blocks from home.

And Lyr -

He sighed.

Have you guessed what I'm all fucked up about this time? I've been dropping mad hints, bro, because I don't wanna talk about it but I do. It's Lyra.

I'm in love with her.

Like...real love, not 'oh, she's my sister and she'll have sex with me if I only ask.' I think about her night and day, I feel weak and shaky when she's around, and when she's gone, I'm flighty and restless and constantly looking out the window for her. It's so fucking...man...it's torment, it really is. The worst part is: She doesn't feel the same way. I know she doesn't, and I know I shouldn't. Like really, dude, you have sex with a chick and fall madly head-over-heels in love with her? Us doing it was never meant to be...you know, that...it's...it's pretty much just sex. I knew that going in, but I can't help it, man, I love her. We don't have sex too often, because it's like a lie, and I can't take it. I mean, while we're going at it, she's mine entirely, and that's nice, but then it's over and she's not anymore, not matter how much I cling to her afterwards.

I haven't talked to her about it because, like I said, I know she doesn't feel that way about me, and it'd make me look like a sissy or something. Oh, you can't have sex without catching feelings? What a bitch.

There's more to it than just the bitch thing. Like, I don't want our relationship to be changed or different; kind of hard not to feel differently about someone when you know they're so lovesick over you they can hardly make it through the day.

He was at the foot of the walkway leading up to the front porch now. Toys and bits of trash littered the lawn. He stared up at it with dread and foreboding; the high school let out earlier than the middle school, which meant Lyra was already home unless she went to a friend's house, which wasn't likey . Today was his birthday, remember, and it was all hands on deck. Deep breath. Let's do this.

Turning off his ipod, he went up the walk and then inside. When he saw Lyra sitting on the couch, her arm thrown over the back and her feet kicked up onto the coffee table, a pang of...whatever the fuck that sharp, clawing feeling is...went through him, and he suddenly felt awkward. She glanced over and smiled warmly. "Hey, bro."

Every time he saw her face - her sultry eyes, her sensuous lips, the constellations of frecks swirling across her cheeks like soft and secret galaxies, his throat closed and his heart thumped like the back feet of that gay ass Disney rabbit (My name's Thumper and I suck dick). "H-Hey," he said, trying like hell to keep the tremble from his voice, "how's it going?" He shut the door and took his jacket off.

"It's going," she nodded, "you?"

I pine for you from afar, my love, and I dream of being where you are.

Yeah, she makes me wanna write sap ass poetry too.

"Okay," he said and glanced longingly at the stairs. Let me go yearn in peace.

Nope.

"Come here."

Lemy's cardiac muscle (I'm sick of saying heart, bro) did a seesaw thing. Down because I love you and being around you kind of hurts and up because I love you and I love being around you. I know, that doesn't make sense, but it's how he felt.

He hung his jacket up, went to the couch on leaden feet, and sat heavily next to her. She slapped his knee and rubbed; he broke out in hives and blood began to spurt out of his nose...metaphorically speaking, of course. "So, man, thirteen," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, thirteen." He flashed a nervous smile. "Uh, unlucky number."

Lyra laughed. "Nah, man, thirteen is cool."

"I guess," he shrugged. You don't contradict a girl you love, man; you agree with whatever she says. The Jews are a scourge and Hitler did nothing wrong. Uhh...sure, honey, whatever you say. *Note to self, this bitch is crazy*

She mouth to speak, but the door opening cut her off. They both glanced over, and there he was, Dad in all his white-haired glory. Lemy sighed and looked away. "Hey, Dad!" Lyra cried happily and jumped up.

"Hey, honey," Dad said.

Lemy's relationship with his old man had improved over the past few months...kind of. They hung out here and there, but it was more like two chums than best friends, you know? Dad was actually kind of lame. Why the hell every woman in the world wanted to jump on his dick perplexed the fuck out of him. This is my Ace Savvy comic book collection...I loved this stuff when I was your age. Ew, really? DId you love getting shoved into lockers too? Because I bet you were.

He wasn't as jealous of Dad now that he wasn't carrying about a massive unspent load while watching him get it on left and right, but when it came to Lyra, man...fuck that guy. Seeing him touch her and kiss her, and seeing her leading him up the stairs by the hand like she was now made him seeth; he balled his hands into fists and bared his teeth like a snarling dog, his face flushing and his eyes flashing red with rage. She didn't love Dad..she told him that and he believed her...but just knowing that Dad was with her...fucking her...stroking her body, kissing her throat, shooting his geek fucking child molester load into her…

It's nothing, okay. That's just how it goes. He and Dad were on an equal playing field as far as Lyra was concerned, so he shouldn't let it bother him.

But it did.

It really fucking did.

Can you blame him? You can't just sit there and watch the girl you love loving someone else...even if it is only with her body. It's…

Nothing. I'll deal.

He snatched the remote off the coffee table and turned the TV on. He didn't realize he wasn't alone until he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye: Leia was bending over the back of the couch, her hands splayed and a wicked light in her eyes. "Hi, Lemy," she said.

"Hey," Lemy said. He and Leia had a thing - she was his dom and he was her sub. Sounds weird when you put it like that, but it is what it is. Once or twice a week, she came to him and...do I have to spell it out for you? They sexed.

She leaned over the couch until her lips hovered inches from his ear; her breath puffed hotly against his skin and made him shiver. "I invited a friend to your party. I hope you don't mind."

Lemy's brow furrowed and he turned his head, their cheeks grazing and his lips coming to rest an inch from hers...so close he could taste her breath. "Whatever," he said. "Why would I care?"

Leia smiled and flicked her eyes up and now in a mad alluring way. "Because she has a huge crush on you."

Lemy's eyebrows raised. A girl...had a crush...on him? Bullshit. Probably another one of Leia's little games. She loved playing head games with him...which is why sometimes he was extra rough with her in bed. She liked it, though, so it really wasn't a punishment. "Who?"

Drawing back, Leia stuck her chin out. "Gwen Myers."

Alright, that name sounded familiar, like maybe Leia had mentioned her a few times. He tried to call up a picture of her face, but couldn't, which meant he'd probably never even seen her. "I don't know who that is."

"You met her at the lemonade stand."

Nope, still nothing.

"I made you take your shirt off in front of her."

He vaguely remembered that...there were two girls, one white and one black, and they were both hot. Not as hot as Lyra, but not bad.

"She really liked what she saw," Leia continued, "and she's been talking about you nonstop." She held out an envelope, and Lemy hesitantly took it. "Happy Birthday." With that, she spun and swished away, tossing a sexy glance over her shoulder before going up the stairs.

Alone, Lemy stared down at the envelope. Felt like there was a card inside.

A crush on me, huh? He couldn't lie, that tickled his ego a little. She wasn't Lyra, though, and if she wasn't Lyra, what the fuck did it matter? Every girl in the world could have the hots for him and it didn't mean shit if none of them were Her.

He sighed and ripped the envelope open. I hope there's money inside. Knowing Leia, though, there probably isn't: She'd rather part with a finger than a dollar. He yanked the card, and something dropped out and onto his lap. A Polaroid picture face down, its back facing up. Like when you put jam on your toast and it falls off the counter - always lands on the heavy side. He picked it up, turned it over…

...and froze.

Gwen (ah, the white girl, okay) lay back on a bed, her shoulder length brown hair pooled around her head like a dirty halo. Her eyes were narrowed sexily and her lips slightly parted, a pink blush spreading across her face. She held the hem of her pink skirt up just far enough to reveal the front of her crisp white panties.

Lemy's jaw dropped and his heart started to race. No, she was no Lyra, but the Lemy Log was starting to stir anyway.

Something was written across the bottom of the picture. Lemy squined. Come see me, it said.

Wow.

He was -

Wait a minute.

He held the picture close to his face. That blanket looks kind of familiar. Like maybe it's mine.

I-Is she in my bed? He looked up at the ceiling as though he had X-ray vision or something. Noooo..can't be. I'm gonna go up there, open my door, and Leia's going to point and laugh at me from the hall. Hahaha, gotcha.

His dick was twitching.

Then maybe we can fuck.

He was getting to his feet without realizing it, drawn the way a living smell cloud draws a cartoon character. He glanced down at the picture again: Those smoky come-here-big-boy eyes, those lips, the swell of her small breasts through the fabric of her gray sweater vest. Now he was hard. Well...someone better be in my bed. He crossed to the stairs and began to climb; when he heard Lyra moaning, his step faltered and his heart twisted.

Deep breath, Lemy, being a jealous little bitch doesn't become you, man, it really doesn't.

(It should be me)

It's your own fault for catching feelings, brah.

(I love her)

You just can't be happy...you always have to stress and worry over something. Boo-hoo, I'm a virgin then boo-hoo, I love Lyra. You're a fucking malcontent, dude. This is why no one likes you.

He was at his door now. He glanced over his shoulder, but didn't see Leia crouching anywhere waiting to laugh at him. That didn't mean she wasn't hiding somewhere, though. Hahaha, you believed me, dummy.

Like I said, she was into playing games. And teasing him. The last few times he had sex with Lyra, he only did it because Leia got him all worked up and then left him hanging; she'd snuggle up to him on the couch and rub him through his pants until he was leaking; let him finger her then suddenly need to leave without returning the favor; that kind of thing. She also liked tricking him...like she was probably doing now.

Whatever. It's my room, I gotta go in some time. I can play it off. No, I didn't believe you I just...uh...needed to get something.

(Like a Cotex for your seeping vag. Boo-hoo-hoo)

He laid his hand on the knob and turned it. The back of his neck tingled with expectation. Alright, let's see what's going on in here. He pushed the door open and stepped in, reaching the foot of the bed like that because closet, remember.

His jaw dropped.

Holy shit.

She wasn't lying.

Gwen was stretched out on his bed, her back against the headboard and her legs crossed at the knee. She lazily paged through a magazine, the feeble rays of the autumn sun falling through the window and setting her chestnut hair aflame. Her sleek legs rubbed slowly together, and his eyes went to her socked feet, then traced leisurely up...warm, sun-kissed flesh, the hem of her shirt lying limply across the tops of her thighs, her hips, her pert breasts. His dick was throbbing hotly by the time he reached her face; her cloudy brown eyes scanned the page, her head moving ever so slightly from one side to the other as she read.

She acted like she didn't know he was there, but from the way her cheeks burned and from the upward hilt of her lips, he suspected that she did.

He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. She glanced up, and her wicked little smile grew. "Hey, Freak," she said, her voice smooth and rich like honey. Lemy opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't form words, couldn't even fucking think of words.

Setting the magazine aside, Gwen got onto her hands and knees and slunk forward like a panther on the prowl, her back curved, her hips wiggling, and her butt lifted. She brushed her teeth across her bottom lip and flicked her eyes up and down, her gaze caressing him, making him tingly and warm. He watched dumbstruck as she approached, his body smoldering and his mind at full-fucking-stop. She drew up to her knees, their faces leve now, and laid her palms flat on his chest; his skin tightened under her touch and a shiver went down his spine. "Leia says it's your birthday," she said.

Lemy blinked. "Uhhhh...y-yeah, I-I guess."

She giggled and slipped one hand up his shirt, and he gasped at the warm feeling of her fingertips kissing his flesh. "She also says you're single."

S-S-Single? Uh, n-y-uh, I-uh...what was the question again?

"I am too," she said and pressed her body against his, her lips skimming his cheek and the scent of her perfume drifting into his nose. "Maybe we can change that," she whispered, and slipped her other hand into his shirt. She kissed the side of his neck. Her lips were soft, warm, and wet. She wiggled her body against his aching bulge and raked her nails playfully down his chest; a shuddery "Nngh!" burst from his lips.

She pulled back and stared at him with simmering eyes. "Do you want a girlfriend,, Freak?" Her eyes darted down and she lifted his shirt, exposing his quivering stomach.

He did...just not her.

He didn't think that, couldn't think it (he couldn't think anything) but that's the way it was.

She bent and placed a sizzling kiss near his belly button, then another higher, her nails kneading him. He moaned in the back of his throat and tossed his head back. She kissed higher, higher, slow, sensual, her wet lips like molten lead. When she kissed his nipple, he let out a long sigh. She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded and hazy, bursts of red and pink spreading across her cheeks. "Do you want me to be your girlfriend? Freak?" The last word came out as a husky breath.

Lemy responded by pressing his lips to her and kissing her hungrilly, his hands going to her hips. She kissed him back, her tongue clumsily massasing his and her fingertips stroking his cheeks. He knelt on the edge of the bed and she melted into him. He brushed the hem of her shirt up and cupped her bare hips in his hands; her silky skin radiated the heat of her desire, and Lemy's body ached to join itself to hers.

The kiss became deeper, their tongues dancing a frenetic waltz and their lips gnashing together. He pushed her shirt up her flanks, and she lifted her arms, the kiss breaking just long enough for him to slip it off and toss it aside. He stopped to try and appreciate her breasts, but she threw herself at him and nearly knocked him onto the floor; her lips welded to his and she grabbed his shirt in her hands. With a forceful yank, she pulled him back and they spilled onto the bed in a confusion of limbs, long hair, and lust, Lemy on top and Gwen beneath, his hands plundering her hair and hers scratching his chest and stomach.

He pulled her skirt down her shapely legs and flung it away; it caught on the desk lamp and hung there like a flag of victory. She looked at up him with a sly smile; her hair was fanned out around her head and her small breasts rose and fell as she silently heaved for breath. Lemy licked his lips and laid his hands on her shoulders; when he started to move them slowly down her body, she bit her bottom lip and hummed, her back arching slightly off of the bed. His palms brushed over her tits, her nipples as hard as his dick. He trailed his fingers down her stomach and to her panties; she purred and shook with need. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled them down; she lifted one leg and then the other. They came over her ankle and his dropped them onto the bed. She parted her knees, and her pink, glistening flower (sap ass, cliche, I know) was spread open before him. Her heat was intense, more so than Lyra and Leia's, and her smell was sharper, gamier, as though she didn't want him but needed him.

She licked her lips. "Like what you see, Freak?"

"Y-You're beautiful," he said honestly.

She smiled fondly. "Am I?"

He nodded.

"Show me."

She opened her legs wider, and Lemy shifted between them. Grabbing her hips, he prodded her with his dick, and she gasped; her fluid mixed with his, her heat became his heat, and when he thrusted, her body fused with his body, her walls molding to him like a damp velvet glove and his dick straining against her. She cried out and threw her hips against his, taking him deeper. Lemy hung his head and hissed through his teeth; she was tighter than either Lyra or Leia, and the feeling was so much different...beautifully painful. He drew back, and eased forward, his tip stirring her insides like an iron stirring embers. She dug her heels into the mattress, her legs in a rough M; his hips brushed them with every forward motion, and that addition sensation served to push him close to the edge. He paused and took a deep, steadying breath. Gwen looked up at him with confusion (and panic?) in her eyes. "What's wrong?" she panted.

"N-Nothing," he said,. Steady again, he thrusted, and she moaned, her hands going to her chest and sliding down to his stomach. Lemy fisted the cover and went faster, his hips slamming into hers and his dick reaching so deep it made him wince in pain. Gwen, eyes closed, tossed her head back and sucked air over her teeth; her pert breasts bounced with every drive.

Heat began to form in Lemy's stomach, and this time there was no stopping it; it picked up steam and started rushing up like a freight train rolling downhill; Switchman's sleeping, baby, and number hundred and two is on the wrong track and headed for you. Gwen sensed the coming apocalypse and wrapped her legs around his waist. "Hold my hand," she said in a needy whine, "please hold my hand."

His first time with Lyra flashed through his mind; they held hands too. He threaded his fingers through Gwen's and gave one last thrust, hitting her cervix just as his load exploded from him like an artillery shell from a cannon. He cried out like a little girl and crushed her hand in his. She rocked her hips and moaned so loud everybody in the house must have heard.

For a long time, Lemy stayed as he was: Head bowed, one hand planted on the bed palm down, the other holding Gwen's, his heart hammering and his lungs bursting hotly.

Godfuckingdamnmydude.

He swallowed and pulled out; a torrent of thick jizz gushed out and he winced. Shit, I just fucking washed these sheets. Oh well. Still had sex. He rolled off and let go of Gwen's hand; they lay side by side, both of them catching their breath. After a minute, Gwen shifted to her side, propped her elbow up, and rested the side of her head in her palm. She trailed one finger down his chest. He looked at her, and she was wearing a sinful little grin. "How was that, Freak?"

"Really fucking good," he said haltingly. That wasn't a lie; the physical aspect was hella good. Spiritually...he felt kind of cold, you know? With Lyra it was deeper, more meaningful. Like...I dunno, just what I said.

Gwen ducked her head and regarded him with evil eyes. "Did you think of your sister?"

Her words didn't immediately sink in...but when they did, his heart missed a beat. "What?" he asked quickly, fronting like he hadn't been balls deep in two of his siblings. Hey, he was down with incest, but that's not exactly the kind of thing you pound your chest about.

Gwen's finger skipped across his navel, drawing a shiver from deep within. "I know you're in love with Lyra. Leia told me."

"I'm not - wait, how does Leia know?"

Gwen laughed. "She says everyone does You're really obvious about it. Freak." She punctuated the last word with a finger tap against the top of his pubic mound.

Aw, man, is it really that obvious? I try to hide it, man, I really do, but...I guess I do stare at her a lot and act weird around her. Fuck. And here I thought I was being slick.

"I don't mind," Gwen said and leaned over his chest. She kissed his nipple, then flicked it with her tongue. She rolled her eyes up and looked at him as she did it, then pulled away and smirked. "Because I'm going to make you forget all about her."

Liby shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, leaned back against the metal frame of the swing set, and watched the street. She was wearing an oversized green army jacket over a black turtleneck sweater. The chilly autumn breeze rustled her hair and swept a strand into her eyes. She brushed it aside and glanced at Lacy, who sat in one of the swings and stared in the same direction as hdf. She wore a white sweater and jeans, her dirty tennis shoes scraping in the dirt. Their eyes met, and a smile passed between them.

Since getting together back in August, they had been constant companions; when you saw one, you knew the other wasn't far behind. In September, Lyra agreed to switch places with Lacy, now they shared a room. There were two beds in it, but they only used one.

They did many things together - sex and sports among them - but the thing they did most was train: After their encounter with Montoya and his goons, Lacy wanted to learn the ways of my sexy ass sister, and Liby wanted her to learn, because a gumshoe, she had come to realize, is like a regular shoe - useless without a partner. Liby spent hours and hours each week teaching her sister hand-to-hand combat techniques, how to shoot, how to pick locks, how to turn everyday items into weapons of mass murder, and, most importantly, how to move like the night...unseen, unheard, and undetected. You might not think it, but being sneaky is an art form that requires lots of practice to master.

And being sneaky was vital to Liby's plan.

Montoya was going to come back, no two ways about it. Given the publicity and federal involvement in The Royal Woods Warehouse Massacre, it probably wouldn't be for a while, but one day, he'd send a chopper squad right to their front door. The risk to her family - Dad, her mom, her aunts, her sisters, Lemy - was simply unacceptable, which lead her to one conclusion.

She had to strike first.

And for an operation of this magnitude, she needed a well armed, well trained Lacy by her side.

For over two months, she had been plotting and slowly gathering intel. Montoya was slippery; he was everywhere and nowhere, and you never knew where he'd been until two days later. Picking the right time, therefore, was extremely difficult, but she caught a break; she learned through a contact at the Costa Rican embassy in Washington that Montoya was hosting a party at his home on November 1 - by sheer happenstance the same day as Día de Muertos in Mexico...the day of the dead. How fitting, because that day Ricardo Montoya was going to die.

Everything was set up - she and Lacy were going to fly to Costa Rica, drop just off the coast of Montoya's private island, and boat in. She had the blueprints to his villa and had studied them again and again. Gaining access without being seen wouldn't be too difficult (despite the presence of roving guards with machine guns and Rottweilers), but getting at Montoya without causing a fuck ton of collateral damage would be. The partygoers were bound to all be scumbags who'd deserve a shot in the head, but Liby didn't particularly like chopping people unless she absolutely had to. It was either now or never, though, and if she had to rub out a bunch of people to keep her family safe, she would.

"How much longer?" Lacy asked, looking up and squinting into the sun. "Lemy's party starts in, like, half an hour."

Liby looked down at the Swiss watch on her wrist - it was waterproof, bulletproof, and if you pulled the dial out, it was a garrote. "Any minute," she said. "Frank is never late...we were just early."

As if on cue, a dark blue panel van with a psychedelic mural painted on the side pulled up to the curb and parked. "That's him now," Liby said and nodded.

"He drives a hippie van?" Lacy asked incredulously.

Liby pushed away from the swing set. "Yep, perfect cover. Come on."

They crossed to the sidewalk together as Frank got out and came around the front. A tall, gaunt man with wispy gray hair, a bald pate, and a narrow face, Frank was ex-CIA, and had worked a thousand secret missions for presidents as far back as George W. Bush. These days, he dealt in weapons; most of his stock was highly illegal, but that was okay, he only sold to the good guys.

Like most days, he wore a long dark gray trench coat and sunglasses. A cigarette jutted from his thin lips.

"Hey, Frank," Liby said happily as she and Lacy walked up.

"Afternoon," Frank said. He spoke in a clipped, hard boiled sort of way, like most men of action. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic." He grabbed the handle of the sliding door and pulled it open to reveal the cargo compartment: It was neatly stacked with crates, boxes, and plastic containers. He reached in and pulled one of the crates to him. "I threw this together for you." He removed the lid and sat it aside. Liby went up to it, her interest piqued: Frank always had the best hardware.

Inside, she spotted two HK416 rifles, each with night scope and M203 underbarrel grenade launcher attachments. "Ooooh," she said, sounding for all the world like a little girl in toy store. Her eyes scanned the rest of the contents: two FN Five-Seven semi-automatic pistols (each with under-barrel flashlight); a mixed assortment of pineapple and baseball grenades; frag grenades; night vision goggles; Nylon rope; and…

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, a hilt to her voice.

Without looking, Frank nodded. "Yep. High-yield tactical military-grade plastic explosives."

Lacy's eyes widened. She knew what plastic explosives were, thanks to Liby, but that other stuff must have meant it was really powerful.

Liby picked it up and spun on her heels. She was beaming, an enchanted light dancing in her dark eyes.. "This stuff is great," she said, "but you have to be really careful with it." She rocked back and forth on her heels; she was excited for this stuff the way other girls her age were excited for make-up and hunky pop stars. Lacy smiled softly to herself; Liby was never more beautiful than when she was jilling off over military stuff.

Putting the plastic explosives back, Liby turned to Frank, her ponytail swishing and her heels leaving the ground in an enthusiastic half-bounce. "How much?"

Frank took a drag of his cigarette and plucked it out of his mouth. "For you, five. You are my best customer, after all."

Liby reached into one of the jacket's oversized pockets and brought out a stack of bills held together by a blue band. She counted out five thousand dollars (Squee, it's a steal! I'm gonna bust a girl nut!) and handed it to him. "Make the drop like normal," she said.

Frank nodded. "Pleasure doing business."

"You too, Frank; say hello to Wanda for me."

Liby turned and flashed Lacy the biggest, cheesiest, happiest smile ever. "We got stuff," she said and fisted her hands in excitement.

Lacy couldn't help a giggle. "I see that." She took one of Liby's hands and twined their fingers. "Do you really think we'll need all of it?"

"I hope not," Liby said, "though I'm dying to use that plastic explosive. It's really fun. Like Play-Doh for badasses." She and Lacy both laughed.

For a while they walked in companionable silence, the cold fall wind washing over them and pushing fallen leaves along the sidewalk with a crisp sound. A red leaf fell from a tree and landed in Lacy's hair. Liby plucked it out and grinned. "Sorry I can't leaf you alone," she said, "you're just too damn hot."

Lacy threw back her head and laughed. "God, you sound like your mom."

"I can't help it if I fall all over myself to make you laugh," Liby said, "I like the sound."

Lacy squeezed her sister's hand and shot her an affectionate glance, their eyes meeting and holding. They came to a shuffling stop and turned to face one another. Liby stroked Lacy's cheek with the back of her hand and pressed their foreheads together. "I love you, Lacy," she said.

"I love you too," Lacy said. Their heads tilted and they kissed in a fall of leaves and autumnal sunlight, their love for each other manifest in the tender meeting of tongues, and in the way they held each other's hips.

When the kiss broke, they stared longingly into each other's eyes. "Come on," Liby said reluctantly, "we gotta hurry."

Holding hands, they started home.

Lemy sat uncomfortably on the couch, one bent arm resting on the armrest (resting on the armrest...yeah, no wonder you're failing English) and the other palm down on his knee. Gwen sat next to him, her arms folded over her chest and her legs crossed at the knee. What, uh, what do I say to this girl? It's kind of awkward because...I mean, you saw, right? 1: she knows I'm in love with my sister. 2: she wants to be my girlfriend. 3: I don't know her...like at all. And 4: It's just awkward, okay?

He tapped his fingers on the armrest and listened to the commotion coming from the kitchen: Lori, Leni, and Mom were making dinner and his cake, so it was a clusterfuck of people in there, everyone stepping on each other and shit. Outta the way, chowderhead; n'yuk, n'yuk, n'yuk; oh, a wise guy, eh? Gwen uncrossed and recrossed her legs in a quiet rustle of fabric, and Lemy stole a sidelong glance at them. They were nice. Hell, she was nice. As far as looks go, yeah, okay, I'm there, dude, but love goes far beyond superficial stuff, you know? Take Lyra: She gets me, man. She knows a lot of the same stuff I do, she understands most of the shit I talk about, the little pop culture references I make...the ones I laugh my ass off about but everyone else is like huh? We like the same things, for the most part, and we're both chill. This one over here...she strikes me as another Leia, and I don't have dick in common with Leia. We're family and we both like what we do in bed, but that's it.

Wait, why am I justifying myself? Lyra's the one I want, okay?

Only...she doesn't want me, man...not in that way. It hurts like a bitch, but I can't be all mopey about it because I get it, you know? We're siblings with benefits, and that's all we were ever supposed to be, but my heart got in the way and now...I dunno.

Putting that aside and just focusing on Gwen...I don't think we're a match.

The front door opened and Liby and Lacy came in, their hands clasped. "Hey, bro!" Lacy called as she and Liby went up the stairs. "Happy Birthday, Lem," Liby said.

Lemy lifted his hand. "Thanks."

Alone again, with Gwen, Lemy rubbed his knee. The silence between them was getting heavier and more awkward, and he was starting to hope she decided to leave. He glanced at her, and she at him, a vixon's smile touching her lips. She scooted closer; her knee was touching his now, her arm pressed against his arm. "So, Freak, what do you like to do?" she asked. His eyes darted to her pouty lips, then to her sparkling brown eyes. Why can't Lyra look at me like that?

"Uh...I work on stuff," he said, "like radios and VCRs."

Her brow pinched cutely. "What's a VCR?"

Lemy blinked. Seriously? I know VCRs haven't been in fashion for a while, but you've never even heard of them? Yeah, swipe left. "It plays...you know, it's an old school DVD player."

Gwen nodded. "Ah. Sounds boring."

Lemy nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, it's lame. I'm not very much fun. Sorry.."

She hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not looking to have fun."

She put her hand on his leg and dug her nails into the fabric of his jeans; a crackle of electricity shot down his spine and he jumped a litte, which made her giggle. She turned, swung her leg over both of his, and shifted into his lap; her weight was soft and warm, and her hands slid under his shirt, her head bowing and her hair brushing his face. He was blushing and starting to get hard despite himself. "I just want a boyfriend," she said and kissed his forehead.

"G-Great," Lemy said and flashed a sheepish smile. She ran her fingers through his hair and rolled her hips. Ummmm, shit…

"Maybe after the party we can go upstairs and play."

Lemy swallowed around a lump in his throat. "Yeah, sure, maybe."

Gwen kissed his forehead again, then climbed off of his lap - it was cold and lonely without her heat.

Damn it, I don't wanna be your boyfriend...but I'm so fucking weak. Like...whether I wanna be or not, all you gotta do is what you just did and I'm putty in your hands. Pretty fucking pathetic, huh? I'm the type of guy you can lead around by the dick; I'll do whatever you want just as long as you give me a little play now and then.

I gotta tighten up. Lyra might -

Nevermind.

Or not, because right then Lyra bounded down the stairs; Lemy tossed a glance over his shoulder, saw her, and tensed. Oh, man, there she is, be cool.

(She already knows)

She smiled and came over. "Hey, bro."

(How can I make her mine? I need her so bad, like air)

She looked at Gwen, who, Lemy just now noticed, had her hand on his leg...dangerously close to his ax. He couldn't help but think of her touch as possessive. "This your girlfriend?" Lyra asked with a little smile.

No! Don't be jealous, she's just…

Wait a minute.

If she's jealous…

Lemy smiled deviously. "Yeah," he said and slipped his arm around Gwen's shoulder. She preened like a satisfied cat and leaned into him, one hand splaying across his chest. "This is my girl. Her name's Gwen."

"Awesome," Lyra said, and the look in her eyes I'm-happy-for-ya-man made him frown. She turned to Gwen and offered her hand.. "I'm -"

"I know who you are," Gwen replied without looking up. Her tone was cold, dismissive.

Lyra's smile faltered and her arm dropped. "Oh, uh, okay." She glanced at the kitchen as if seeking a means of escape. "I'm gonna see if they need some help." She hurried off, and Lemy felt bad. Bad because it looked like she was kind of hurt...and because she didn't look the least bit jealous. He hung his head. Son of a bitch.

It was okay, though; he'd just have to ramp it up a little, you know? If she saw him being real affection and shit with Gwen, she might see him in a different light, like 'Whoa, she's a lucky girl, I want that."

Yeah, that's a good plan, right?

He turned to Gwen, and she smiled at him. He smiled back. What should I say? He tried to come up with something, but mercifully didn't have to; footsteps sounded on the stairs like a bell...a bell that saves you. He looked over his shoulder as his old man passed behind the sofa. "Hey, son," he said.

"Hey," Lemy replied.

Gwen twisted around, then turned to Lemy, her features puckered in a look of mild distaste. "That's your Dad?"

"Yep. That's, uh, that's pop."

"Ew, he's funky looking."

A laugh burst from Lemy's throat. At the threshold to the kitchen, Dad halted, his shoulders tensed; that made Lemy laugh even harder. Funky looking. LOL! It's true! Dad didn't move for a moment, almost like he was weighing whether or not to respond, then he disappeared around the corner.

Lemy shook his head and snickered. "Can you believe every woman he meets wants to fuck him?"

Gwen's face crinkled. "Ugh, gross. They must not have any taste." She slipped her hand between his legs and cupped his package. "I, on the other hand, do."

Lemy smiled. Good for me.

Now let's make Lyra jealous.

Oh, and they tried...or at least Lemy did. At dinner, he and Gwen sat next to each other, and he made it a point to hold her hand on top of the table, where God and everyone could see: Loan sneered; Liena tilted her head in confusion (like, do we have a new sister? Is she Auntie Lori's daughter?); Liby and Lacy looked at each other and shrugged; Leia watched with a smug little smirk (you owe me big for setting you up with my friend, Lemy Loud); Lupa stared blankly; Lizy and Lulu just didn't give a shit; and Lyra...fuckng Lyra. She ate and drank merrily and laughed at all of Dad's corny bitch ass jokes like he was Sam fucking Kennison or something. You're supposed to be eating your heart, not a hamburger!

After dinner, cake and ice cream were served because it's a birthday party, what else would they have? Lemy leaned over to Gwen and held the back of his hand to his mouth. "Hey," he whispered, "sit on my lap." He was looking at Lyra when he said this; she was oblivious.

Gwen's face lit up and she pushed away from the table. Lemy scooted his chair back and she sat on his knee. He snaked his arm around her hips and she giggled. Dad furrowed his brows but didn't say anything, Mom nodded encouragingly (that's my boy), and Auntie Leni cocked her head in a gesture almost identical to her daughter's (you, can, like, be with people outside your family?). Gwen picked Lemy's fork up, carved off a piece of cake, and brought it to his mouth, her other hand underneath, palm up, to catch any spillage. Feeding me! Good thinking! He wrapped his lips around the tines and moaned as if being fed cake by this girl was enough to make him cum. Look at me, Lyra, my girlfriend is feeding me birthday cake. Betcha wish it was you, huh?

Only, nope, Lyra was busy eating her own cake and chatting with Auntie Lucy.

Sigh.

Is she really not noticing any of this? What do I have to do, bend this girl over the table?

Gwen cut off another piece of cake and Lemy opened his mouth, only this time she didn't put it in, she slowly smeared it around his lips; her eyes twinkled and her mouth was open in a playful say ahhhh expression. Frosting coated his lips and chin. He winced and gamely waited for her to stop. I'm not a clean freak, but I like getting my food in and not on. You know?

"Oops," she said with a disingenuous hilt and sat the fork down. "I made a mess." She theaeded her arms around his neck and leaned in. "I better clean it up."

Huh?

She tilted her head and curled the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip slowly. Lemy's eyes widened and his heart stopped. She traced his mouth, her eyes staring naughtily into his; he slapped his hands to her hips and moved himself up...he was getting hard and goddamn this was so fucking hot brah like shit fuck damn. She purred and he couldn't take it anymore; he flicked her tongue with his and they kissed deeply, the taste of frosting and her sacchine saliva flooding his mouth. He ran his hands up her sides and jerked his hips again, the feeling of his dick prodding against her making him groan.

"Lemy?"

Gwen broke the kiss and Lemy looked across the table at his father.

"Not at the dinner table, please." He said this as casually as if Lemy had simply cracked a fart joke.

Lemy lifted a hand. "Sorry." He glanced over at Lyra. Did she see?

If so, she wasn't watching now.

You remember Grand Theft Auto 3? Someone would give you a job and if you fucked it up, the words MISSION FAILED flashed across the screen in big, humiliating letters. Yeah, that's what Lemy saw now. Haha, loser, you failed the mission, what a bitch, gotta go all the way back to Donald Love's place and start allllll over again. He blew a frustrated puff of breath through his teeth as Gwen sat up straight. She licked a dollop of frosting from the corner of her mouth and grazed her teeth over her bottom lip; she gave him fuck-me-eyes, he gave her I-wish-you-were-Lyra eyes.

After cake, he opened his presents. I won't even list who got him what because he just didn't care - he was down in the dumps and felt like crying. She's so achingly beautiful, so intelligent, so bright, so vivacious, so easygoing, so perfect. I don't fucking want Gwen. I don't want Leia or Lupa or anybody else...I want Lyra.

Just Lyra.

When the party was over, he walked Gwen to the front door. "I had fun today, Freak," she said and pressed her palm to his chest. He couldn't lie: He didn't have a terrible day either. Her being around blunted his depression a little, and he was thankful, because otherwise it would have been a totally sucktastic birthday instead of a very sucktastic birthday.

"I did too," he said.

"Maybe we can do something tomorrow?" she asked, her brows raising.

"Uh...I'm kind of busy," he lied, "maybe some other day."

A shadow of disappointment flickered across her face, but it was gone as soon as it had come. "Sure," she said. She pushed up on her tippy toes and pecked him, her teeth nipping his bottom lip. He shivered and she leaned heavily into him, her mouth dancing across his cheek. Into his ear, she whispered, "Don't cum with any of your sisters, Freak; save it for me."

She pulled away and smiled at his slack jawed shock. "See you later."

With that, she turned and walked into the gathering dusk.