“They’re iiiiiiin!” sang a voice of excited exclamation, the cheer of it easily emanating down the hallway and into the ears of Patrick McClellan as the teen sat at the kitchen table. Considering that last he checked, the 18 year-old senior was home alone, the sudden and unbidden presence of someone else in the house was odd enough to draw his attentions away from the last bite or two that remained of his chicken parm as he allowed the sandwich to rest on his plate.

“Did you just break into my house?” he asked rather lackadaisically of his guest as she strode with clear confidence down the hallway, her brown eyes meeting his own as she approached the kitchen. Of eye-drawing interest, though, were the two rather large white envelopes being held to the side of one of her long, toned legs. “And go through our mail?”

“Used the spare key under the flower pot, actually,” Quincy Novak replied with some amusement as she entered the kitchen, clearly picking up on the inherent accusation within Patrick’s first little question in regards to her methods. “I’m not lazy. And I didn’t “go through” anything,” his best friend and neighbor added, holding the twin envelopes aloft as her saunter toward the table came to its end. “One of these was in our mailbox, so I just walked over and grabbed the one in yours. No “going through” required.”

“Technicalities, Quinn,” Patrick remarked, taking an opportunity to finish off his sandwich, “technicalities.”

“Maybe,” Quinn replied with a smirk, running a hand through her long blonde locks to more neatly arrange them behind her typical half-ponytail, “but even still, I’m technically correct. The-“

“-best kind of correct,” Patrick finished in unison with his friend, earning a snort.

“Oh hah hah, finish my sentences, you’re so smart and clever. Well alright then, smart guy. You ready to put up or shut up on these things, then?” she goaded with a few small waves of the two envelopes, that smirk turning competitive.

“You really in that much of a hurry to lose again?” he shot back, eyebrow raised as he basked in his own cool confidence. This would mark the sixth and final bet between the two, a tradition that had started back in 7th grade, and going into it he was five-for-five. And he fully intended to finish up perfect.

“More so ready to have my favorite person all to myself for the summer,” Quinn replied, and there was no lack of understanding between the two lifelong friends about her meaning.

“I’m sure. But hell, sure, let’s get this over with. The grass out there is looking kind of tall –I’m sure you noticed it – so this is good timing. I’m ready to not have to cut it for…six whole summers now?”

The taunt earned a bemused snicker from Quinn as Patrick rose from his chair and slid his plate to the side, and she replaced it soon enough with a light toss of the envelope that bore his name. For the last time, the two friends faced off, and neither one of them could hold their upbeat composure as their eyes met and a solemn silence born from this finality threatened to suffocate the two.

“Well, let’s open’em up, then,” Patrick finally suggested after an uncomfortable moment. In tandem they took their respective envelopes, peeling the tops open and fetching the slip of paper awaiting within each. It was with that same unity and a suddenly rekindled competitive spirit that both slammed their report cards onto the wooden table, the two instantly pointing to the letters of relevance.

“A- in English,” Patrick declared, already assured of his victory. While not up to his usual standards, it was still a more than acceptable personal result for what was usually his worst subject – particularly since he had been in Mrs. Wilson’s class, and the teacher was well known as one of the tougher, more pedantic graders at the school. Still, under most circumstances he might have had cause to worry – Quinn had surprised him with a higher grade than expected in her math courses before. Of course, this semester wasn’t a case of most circumstances, and by Patrick’s figuring the worst that could happen was a draw.

It was ultimately an assurance that quickly came to an end as he once more looked Quinn in the eye, letting him see the smile slowly forming on her face.

“A in Pre-Calc,” she informed him with palpable smugness, and Patrick could almost feel his stomach sink in a haunting prelude to what was to come.

“Bullshit,” he stated in flat disbelief of both his friend’s grade in her own most challenging subject and whom she had received the grade from. “Stanley doesn’t give As.” Even he had only gotten out of her class with an A- the semester before, and math was basically his life.

“Oh she does now,” Quincy informed him matter-of-factly, smile still gleaming. And with an annoyed glace downward, toward the tip of her pointing finger, the young woman appeared to be correct. “Apparently she took a lot of the complaints about how hard her class is to heart for this semester. Switched to grading on a curve.”

“That’s not right,” Patrick murmured, unable to look away from the little letter resting beneath Quinn’s fingertip. “That doesn’t mean you actually…”

“All that matters is what’s on the card,” Quinn interrupted, quoting the long-standing rule that bound this little bet with as much smugness as she could manage. “So speaking technically, yeah, I actually did do better than you. Best kind of correct, huh?”

Patrick simply shook his head, barely acknowledging his friend’s taunting words, nor the source of them. This wasn’t real. His luck wasn’t that bad, was it? He hadn’t just lost due to the sudden application of a grading curve, had he?

“God, this is great,” Quinn exclaimed amidst an eruption of giggles. “You really can’t believe you lost, can you? Like, you seriously can’t.”

All Patrick could really offer in reply was a slow shake of his head as his summer prospects began to evaporate into the fit of giggles being had at his expense.

“Actually, how about I give you a hand on that front?” Quinn asked playfully, momentarily confusing the already bewildered Patrick. “You know how they say that “seeing is believing?” Well, how about I give my best friend some help and let you get a closer look.”

In the instant it took for Patrick’s eyes to snap upward, his fate already having been sealed by a sharp crack emanating from Quincy’s fingers and supplemented by a flurry of words he couldn’t even begin to understand, no matter how many times he’d heard them over the years. His stomach lurched, and the world around him was reduced to an all-consuming blur of colors without form. By the time such things reasserted themselves, the hapless teenager was in a much different position, with a much different perspective. The beige tile of the kitchen floor had been replaced with a field of white that dwarfed a football field, easy, and in front of him the otherwise pure landscape was pockmarked with black ink. He supposed that if he could see it from above, he’d recognize it as an ‘A’ with nary a hint of a minus size, but that wasn’t happening given his current situation. Nor did he care to study it for particularly long – the fact that he was now down here said all that was needed.

Of course, the lightly tanned wall resting beyond this accursed letter said more through its presence alone than most people said in a lifetime. The ridged wall of Quincy’s fingertip towered above him quite a bit, dwarfing most houses on their block at this scale. Fuck, he was small. Some minute fraction of an inch, if he had to give any kind of guess.

“Believe it now?” the young witch questioned from countless feet above.

“Kinda have to, don’t I?” the significantly reduced human admitted in defeat, earning a snicker even as he sighed. Point made, his friend’s resting digit began a slow retreat, though Patrick knew that he’d be getting much closer to it in short order. Fixated, he followed the finger’s journey back across the table, up and until the moment where something of a bit more interest asserted itself upon him – or rather, somethings. Far in the distance stood Quinn’s mighty legs, each tanned tower of muscle giving most skyscrapers a run for their money as her thighs rose up and over the table before the bare, toned skin disappeared into the form-fitting hug of very flattering – and very short – pair of crimson and white shorts.The retreating hand, he noticed, was now resting rather comfortably and confidently upon her hip, and Patrick couldn’t have stopped his eyes from tracing up the remainder of the girl’s overwhelming form even if he had wanted to – and he most assuredly didn’t, especially as his gaze travelled beyond the vast material of her grey shirt and normally small but now anything-but bust to meet the smiling face so far beyond his reach, full lips now forming a decidedly different kind of smile.

God, she was beautiful. Outside, and in. And seeing that beauty magnified to such a scale…well, there was a reason he was as calm as he was in spite of his friend upgrading from demi-goddess to full-on deity.

“Just to make sure we’re clear,” Quinn started, having apparently noticed that the rather pleasant journey his eyes had embarked on had come to its end, “the deal is that for the rest of the summer, I get you like this whenever, wherever, however long and however small I want you, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick responded as he slowly shifted into acceptance of his defeat. “That’s the agreement.”

“I just don’t want you thinking I’m going beyond that stuff,” she explained kindly, brown eyes trained softly on his position.

You know I’d never think that, Patrick thought. And while the witch couldn’t quite read minds – at least not yet – he was certain this was a situation in which she didn’t need to, if the slight amounts of red creeping onto her cheeks was any indication. Quinn wouldn’t ever go beyond the boundaries he himself set. It was a truth so central to their relationship that he felt no need to say it, even as his magically-inclined friend sometimes felt the need to assure him of it. That she had never reduced him to this admittedly pitiful stature without his express consent, and in spite of her rather apparent interest in such a thing for years now (an interest he had consented to participating in more than a few times), was something he was immensely conscious of. It was a measure of self-restraint and respect that made Quinn…well, Quinn. And while this little bet served to garner his unspoken consent for a rather extended period of time, the fact remained that he had consented fully and honestly to such a thing when he had made it.

“Oh, so hey,” Quincy suddenly piped up with another gleaming smile, “since “technically” is our word of the day and all, I figure you’re technically the runner-up here. And silver medalists usually get a prize too, right? So I figure that since you’ll be spending so much time with me, I’ll go ahead and keep this stupid yard of yours under control for the summer anyway. Sounds good, right?”

At that, Patrick had to stop himself from chuckling. He was sure it was entirely coincidental that saving him from having to manually mow the lawn worked out largely in her favor in terms of his free time.

“Sounds great, actually” he answered upward, and yet again Quinn easily caught on to the words he hadn’t said – if that raised eyebrow was anything to go by, anyway.

“You’re being such a good sport about this,” she stated, “I love it.” That one of his friend’s hands began to rise into the air after that little statement was not a thing that went unnoticed, and the unfurling of its index finger earned quite the squint from the tiny human. “So much so I think that deserves a reward, too.”

Patrick’s eyes widened as the tip of the witch’s digit plunged between her lips, and he didn’t have to guess in regards to why. No, he knew this too well. Far too well. And he watched with a mixture of trepidation, awe, and anticipation as that tip exited with an exaggerated POP. Exited, and began to lower, pointed straight at him the entire time. Even from over a thousand feet away, he could note the film of saliva that now covered and clung to Quincy’s fingertip.

It was a trait he would soon share with the viscous liquid as the fingertip descended, overtaking the entirety of his vision before overtaking Patrick himself. The fingertip didn’t even to exert any pressure, the coating of saliva collecting his speck-likeform and hugging it into the warm ridges of Quincy’s finger with the greatest of ease. With another lurch of his stomach, Patrick rose with the finger, though this rise was slow and rather considerate. With some effort, Patrick was able to twist himself around slightly, enough so that he could face the landscape of his captor’s shirt zooming by.

Before long, his ascent reached its apex, and just as this fingertip had done just a moment before, Quincy’s full countenance now overwhelmed his vision as he was held before it. Those beautiful brown eyes regarded him with so many things, good things, and Patrick felt as if he might melt before them. And her toothy smile…well, that was always a welcome sight, though one that soon vanished as her lips closed in around it. The “why” of that little detail soon became apparent, as Quincy’s pretty face was soon replaced within his vision solely by her full lips, ready and willing to receive him in what was not their first kiss – and what would likely not be the last, at least not for the few months left before their respective paths diverged.

Patrick welcomed the press with great appreciation, welcomed the force of Quinn’s plush affection upon his mite-like body. Met and returned it, at least as best he could, which turned out to be better than he might have initially thought. It was easy to return the kiss with one of his own – Quinn’s lips had essentially become half of his world, and he relished the placing of several long, deep kisses upon them up until lip and finger parted ever-so-slightly, the saliva that adhered him to the latter winning the small little battle for him that ensued.

“Let’s make this a great summer, ‘k?” came Quinn’s voice, as soft as it was sad at the unsaid presence of a word that terrified the both of them.

“Yeah,” Patrick replied in kind, and with that those waiting lips parted to accept his current host between them once more, the digit plunging past their inviting surfaces once more, but this time with something new. Past the lips and past the teeth he went, fully subsumed by the dark and humid cave that was his friend’s mouth. Hints of various food and drink reached his nose, not all of them particularly pleasant, but Patrick couldn’t say that he minded. Especially not as something new arrived – something wet, something slimy.

The tip of Quincy’s tongue. And with the greatest of care, the whale of a muscle began to lick, began to lap, and as usual Patrick could only assume that it was the witch’s doing that he had not yet been collected by the hungry creature. It was something he was thankful for, as the gentle monster laid into him with what amounted to a constant full-body massage. The diminutive young man even found himself moaning, just a bit, in reaction to each press upon him, and in more than just simple relaxation as the realities of this situation were not lost upon him.

Eventually, though, his little massage came to an end, and with that end came the arrival of the need to satiate his friend – something she was all too eager to receive, as she suddenly slurped him off her fingertip before the digit beat a hasty retreat. Patrick now found himself amidst several collected pools of saliva along the surface of Quinn’s tongue. Another lurch of his stomach signified a rising of the sensual beat beneath him, and he found himself momentarily pressed into the roof of his hostess’s mouth. Slightly uncomfortable, but thankfully short-lived. The tongue fell again quickly enough, Patrick’s body now pressed firmly into its surface, and that was when the true fun began. Quincy’s tongue began to shift, began to contort, curling upon and surrounding him in a unique embrace few would ever get to experience. That feeling of a massage returned, though this was mostly incidental to what Quinn was truly doing – the witch was sucking on him, with great interest and vigor as the girl moaned in thunderous appreciation of his presence within the churning embrace of her tongue, copious amounts of saliva surging all around in a maelstrom of pure affection.

All in all, lost bet aside, Patrick figured he could think of much worse ways to experience what might be his final months with the love of his young life.