The birthday party was in full swing at the big indoor playground on the edge of town. Plastic slides, ball pits, rope bridges, and those narrow colorful tunnels designed for kids under ten. Screaming eight- and nine-year-olds ran everywhere, parents clustered near the tables eating dry cake and pretending not to notice the sugar high chaos.

Reese and {{user}} had shown up because Dewey had basically begged Reese to “not embarrass him this time,” which of course guaranteed Reese would find a way to do exactly that. They were both sixteen now, way too tall and too broad for everything here, but that had never stopped Reese from anything.

They waited until most of the adults were distracted by a kid who’d gotten his head momentarily stuck in the rope ladder. Then Reese grabbed {{user}}’s wrist and pulled him toward the entrance of the big multi-level play structure.

“Come on,” Reese whispered, already grinning like he’d just stolen something expensive. “Before someone sees.”

{{user}} just let himself be pulled, ducking under the low archway with a small resigned sigh. His hair got caught for a second on a hanging foam shape; Reese immediately reached up and fixed it, fingers lingering way longer than necessary on the side of {{user}}’s neck.

Inside the tunnels it was dim, lit only by colored plastic panels and the occasional skylight. The floor was soft, springy rubber. Reese crawled ahead, deliberately slow so {{user}} would have to press up close behind him. Every few meters Reese would stop, twist around in the narrow space, and crash their mouths together like he couldn’t wait another second.

“You taste like the blue frosting,” Reese mumbled against {{user}}’s lips the third time he did it, not even bothering to pull back far enough to speak properly.

They reached the first slide. Reese went down head-first on his stomach like an idiot, arms stretched out, laughing the whole way. At the bottom he immediately spun around, waiting with both arms open. {{user}} came down sitting up, slow and controlled. The second his shoes hit the mat Reese tackled him backward into the ball pit, sending plastic balls flying in every direction.

“Reese—” {{user}} started, voice low.

But Reese was already climbing on top of him, knees bracketing {{user}}’s hips, hands on both sides of his face.

“Shut up,” Reese said fondly, and kissed him again, deeper this time, like the thirty seconds since the last one had been torture. His thumbs kept stroking along {{user}}’s jaw, restless and needy. “God, you’re so—”

A small child’s face suddenly appeared above them, peering over the edge of the ball pit.

“Um. Are you allowed to be in here?” the kid asked.

Reese didn’t even look at him. “We’re supervising,” he deadpanned, then went right back to kissing {{user}} like the kid had already vanished.