The Queer Principles of Kit Webb

by Cat Sebastian

“Ugh, I don’t know why I like you,” Percy said, and then immediately regretted it. And then immediately after that, he allowed himself to briefly wonder why it was a bad thing to admit. In addition to the past half hour—which admittedly could be explained by a host of other things besides anything so tender as liking—there had been weeks of laughter and conversation. Admitting it shouldn’t even be significant. Happily, he was spared further reflection on this boring and fruitless topic by Kit’s mouth sliding over his own. It was different from their earlier kisses, slower and less urgent. Lazy, even. One of Kit’s hands sifted through Percy’s hair and Percy arched into the touch. Right when Percy was starting to wonder if this might be the time to take off the rest of the clothing that they both still, unaccountably, wore, Kit went still. At first, Percy didn’t realize what had happened. He thought, perhaps, that Kit had hurt his leg. Then Kit climbed to his feet, shoving Percy behind him. He took out the knife he kept on his belt and snarled, “Show yourself,” at a figure that had emerged on the threshold of the door that Percy had left open. Percy was calculating how long it would take for him to reach the case of weapons he had stupidly abandoned near the front door. “Yes, well, I plan to, Kit,” said the stranger. “Keep your hair on, will you.” A funny thing happened to Kit’s face, then. He went so pale that Percy thought that maybe he really had been injured. And he drop...