Lynn Loud grabbed her gym bag from her room (she carried this thing every day, and every day she almost walked out the door without it) and went down the stairs. The living room was empty, and before she went out the door, she called out to make sure she was really the last one out.

On the porch, she locked the door and turned, stopping dead when she saw her brother and Ronnie Anne Santiago walking away. Her eyes narrowed and her teeth bared.

She didn't like Ronnie Anne. One day not that long ago, she punched Lincoln in the face and left him in a heap on the ground. That alone was enough to make Lynn hate her, but then, suddenly, she and Lincoln were friends, and it was obvious to everyone around them that they liked each other. That really made Lynn mad, because people like Ronnie Anne, bullies, don't understand Lincoln. Lynn did. He was sensitive and kind and fragile, like a Faberge egg, and in this world, people like that are victims.

That's why she worked to toughen him up. Sure, you can be kind and nice and considerate the way he was, but you had to be careful, because there was always someone looking to take advantage of you. It's like football: Everywhere you turn, there's a guy coming after the ball, and if you aren't physically and mentally tough, you're screwed. She tried to tell him this, she tried to make him understand why she did the things she did, but he didn't get it. Plus...she wasn't the best at articulating what she was thinking and feeling. She loved Lincoln and she just wanted him to be okay. That's all.

The thing that scared her was this: He was just a nice guy. Full stop. You could punch him in the arm until he became so calloused it could deflect a bullet, you could build him into a musclebound giant, you could sit him down and tell him about every way you can be hurt, screwed, used, and taken advantage of, and in the end...he would still be a nice guy because that's that the way he was.

And you know what they say about nice guys: They finish last. From what Lynn had seen of life in her near fourteen years, they were right. Nice guys (and gals) always got the shaft. It pissed Lynn off, but what could you do? You're tough or you're lunch.

Unfortunately, her brother was lunch.

But lucky for him, she wouldn't let him be served. Oh no. Not Lincoln. Lincoln was special. She loved Lincoln, and there was no way in hell she was just going stand by while the world made a meal out of him.

Which is why she didn't want him hanging around with Ronnie Anne Santiago.

It was clear that he liked her, and that on some level she liked him too, but you know what? The guy who comes home drunk and beats the shit out of his wife likes her on some level too, the woman who nags her husband and calls him names every day for forty years until he finally keels over from a heart attack, free at last (thank God!)...somewhere deep down, she likes him too. Liking someone, hell, loving someone doesn't mean you treat them right. In human relationships, there is always a dominant and a submissive, one who is in charge (and often relishes being in charge), and one who is not. Sexual relationships, marriages, friendships, it didn't matter, it was always the same. To Lynn, the idea of being submissive, of being, say, a fifties housewife completely under the control of her husband, was intolerable. It made her sick. Being the submissive to a stronger person is a fate worse than death, and Ronnie Anne was the stronger of the two.

Lynn didn't like that. She would feel differently if Ronnie didn't punch him in the face, but she did, and Lynn couldn't help but see that as a harbinger of their entire relationship. Ronnie aggressive and forceful, Lincoln meek and putting up with her shit because he was a nice guy and loved her. Lynn didn't want that for her brother. She wanted better, and she knew he could do better.

Sighing, she hefted her gym bag and started for school.


Ronnie Anne's grin widened when Lincoln walked up. "Morning, lame-o. Nice bags." She punched him in exactly the same spot Lynn punched him earlier, and it took all he had not to wince or cry out.

"They're designer," he said as they started walking. A cold wind blew her hair against the side of his face, and he could smell her shampoo. It was intoxicating.

"You having trouble sleeping?" she asked.

"Not really," he said. When the words were out he realized he should have said something about her being in his mind and keeping him awake. Would it sound sweet or creepy, though? He didn't want it to sound creepy. He wanted to make her turn to mush, not file a restraining order. "You know me and mornings."

"You don't get along, right? Neither do me and mornings."

"I guess that's something we have in common," he said, and stole a quick glance at her. Was that touch of red on her face from the wind or from him?

An idea struck him, and he reached out and touched her cheek, grazing his fingers lightly along her flesh. She pulled instinctively away. "What are you doing?" she cried.

"I just wanted to see how cold you are. Your face is red."

"You ever hear of asking?" she, looking away; Lincoln could hear her smile anyway.

"Eh," was all he could think to say.

"How would you like it if I did that to you?" Before he could reply, her hand was pressed to his face, and he head was against his shoulder. Her touch was warm and surprisingly gentle. Or was he only perceiving it that way?

"I didn't do that to you," he said.

"Pretty much."

"No," he said, "I touched you. You're pushing me."

She laughed. "No, I'm not."

"I'm about to fall in to the street. What if a car comes along and hits me?"

"Eh. I'll visit you in the hospital."

He shot his hand out and dug it into her soft side. She uttered a high-pitched squeal and jumped back. "Hey! I'm ticklish!"

A devilish grin spread across Lincoln's face. "Oh, you are?"

"Lincoln, you better not..." she started, but he sprang at her, and she ducked. "Lincoln! Knock it off!" she laughed.

He went after her again, and she evaded again, but this time her feet tangled and she fell back onto the soft grass at the edge of someone's lawn. Lincoln's heart crashed to a halt. "Are you alright?" he asked quickly.

"I'm fine," she said, panting. "Now help me up, jerk."

He reached out and she took his hand. In that moment their eyes locked, and something passed between them. Ronnie felt it, too; for a second, she simply looked at him, her eyes searching his, her heart suddenly racing. She squeezed his hand, and he brushed her knuckles with his thumb. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, and her face turned a beautiful shade of red. She ducked her head, breaking eye contact. "Don't just stand there. Help me up."

Coming out of his reprieve, he pulled her to her feet. Standing, her face bare inches from his. A gust of wind tossed her hair, and it tickled his cheek. She brushed it out of her face and they gazed deeply into each other's eyes.

Her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and back again. He smiled at her, and she couldn't have stopped herself if she wanted to; she leaned gently in, and he did likewise, the tips of their noses brushing and their lips meeting. Blood crashed in her temples as she parted his lips with her tongue and tentatively explored his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around hers, and her knees went weak. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeper, more urgently, their teeth scraping together. He caressed the side of her face and slipped his hand into her hair, his fingertips grazing her scalp and sending tendrils of electricity down her spine. She pulled away from him and rested her head against his chest: She could feel a stupid smile on her face.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him as the cold wind blew around them: She felt so warm in his embrace. She looked up at him, and his smile looked as goofy and lopsided as hers felt. She didn't care, though. It was okay, because Lincoln liked her and she liked him.

"That was pretty nice," she said breathlessly. "You could use some work, though."

"Yeah?" he asked.

She nodded. "We can practice." She hugged him then shoved him away. "Now come on, you're gonna make us late."

Ronnie walked the rest of the way on gelatinous knees. She still couldn't believe that that actually happened, and when she thought about it, her heart soared. She took Lincoln's hand in hers and threaded her fingers through his. He looked at her, a little smile crossing his lips. She glanced at him. "What?"

"Ronnie Anne Santiago is holding my hand," he said. "I never thought I'd see the day."

She shrugged. "Gotta show everyone you belong to me."

"Is that so?"

She nodded. "You're my boyfriend. Right?"

Lincoln scrunched his lips and rolled his eyes up toward the sky. "Hmmm."

She squeezed his hand as hard as she could and cocked her head , her lips pursed and the corner of her lips turned up. "Ow, alright!" he laughed. "You're my girlfriend."

Hearing that made her heart bounce. She smiled and held his hand tighter. "You know what, lame-o?"

"What?"

"I'm pretty happy to hear you say that."

"I'm pretty happy to say it," he admitted.

When they reached the school, she took him in her arms and hugged him, her hand instantly reaching up to flick his upturned tuft of hair. He giggled. She never imagined it would feel this good to hold him, to cradle him in her arms and pour out her love. She vowed then and there to always love Lincoln, to always protect him, and to always nurture him. He really did belong to her, and she intended to provide everything his heart, soul, and body could ever need.

Because that's what you do when you love someone.


Royal Woods Consolidated is on Schoolhouse Road (original, huh?) next to a stand of forest a mile wide. Lynn usually walked with her other siblings, but today she found herself alone, which happened from time-to-time. She was lost in thought, her gaze downcast and her thumbs jammed through the straps of her gym bag, and didn't see Lincoln and Ronnie Anne ahead until she was almost on top of them. At the last minute, she glanced up, and froze when she saw what they were doing. Kissing. Passionately. Her arms were around his neck and his hands were in her hair, long black strands spilling through his fingers. Lynn's stomach turned, and when the kiss broke, she found herself ducking behind a bush, her body moving on pure instinct.

"That was pretty nice," she heard Ronnie Anne pant. "You could use some work, though."

Lynn's fist unconsciously balled, her fingernails digging into the soft padding of her palm.

"Yeah?" Lincoln asked.

"We can practice...now come on, you're gonna make us late."

Lynn winced at a pain in her jaw, and realized that she was grinding her teeth together. She poked her head out from behind the bush, and saw her brother and that controlling bitch walking away.

Great, she thought with an angry sigh, she was sinking her claws in. By this time next year, Lincoln would be doing her laundry, cleaning her house, and rushing to put her dinner on the table before she came home, because if Ronnie Anne doesn't have her dinner on the table, there will be hell to pay.

It was inevitable. In every human relationship, there is a dom and a sub. That's just how it works. Lincoln could find a sub to his dom if he looked, but subs are almost always attracted to doms. What Lynn saw was nature taking its course.

Well, if Lincoln needed a dominate partner, he could do better than Ronnie Anne Santiago. He needed...

Someone like me.