greatamazingfeelingsboy

Entry tags:

au,
michael guerin

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He's not new, not exactly. Caleb's been here maybe a month or two longer than him, but he's the latest new kid to come to the city, so he's still The New Kid. His emotions are always a swirl of hope/boredom/excitement, tinged slightly with a bitter edge, like he's constantly got a bad taste in his mouth, or something. There's more to it, but Caleb can't pinpoint it. He's furtive, distrustful, but it's not an active thing. It's always under the surface, this dark plum purple that's not fear but not suspicion, either.

Wariness, he thinks.

His name is Michael Guerin, and Caleb hates the days he's not in class. His feelings are always so easy to latch onto, because he never has to try. He doesn't stress out. Class is easy for him, but he's going to fail out if he doesn't start participating, which is why Dufresne had suggested him when she'd told Caleb he should look into tutoring.

It's not like Caleb is dumb. He's usually a pretty good student. But he's under eighteen, so he still lives at the Children's Home. He's surrounded by pubescent kids, some of whom don't know how to control their urges, some of whom never fucking sleep, which means Caleb gets, maybe, two hours a night. He goes to school exhausted, has no focus, and has stopped being able to balance the most basic emotions. So his grades are slipping. If they keep slipping, he's going to be kicked off the team, which he really, really doesn't want, so he finds himself outside the auto shop some of the music kids said Michael works at part time, staring at the door like it might swallow him.

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"No, no, it's okay," Caleb says. He climbs in and sort of tucks his legs in and around the clutter, then shuts the door. He's hard, but he does his best to ignore it. As they drive towards the Home, Caleb can feel the last threads of the drunk party-goers fading. All that's left is Michael, warm and sunny and amber. He groans softly as he feels him, and reaches over to rest his hand on his shoulder, like he just needs that physical contact.

He's really hard, and he's really pent up, so driving isn't exactly easy. It's difficult, and he feels like he can feel something from Caleb, groaning when he touches him. He's never been psychic, not really, but maybe he's hit a point of being so turned on that he's surprising even himself.

"Fuck," he whines. "Caleb," he says, and his tone is so damn needy, because he wants this, so badly.

Caleb swallows hard, and he drops his hand from Michael's shoulder to his crotch, cupping his dick through his jeans. He wants to open those jeans up, reach inside, jerk him off — just, just to take the edge off. But Michael's driving, and the longer they take to get to the Home, the longer they have to wait, so he moves his hand to Michael's thigh, instead, thumb rubbing through the denim.

Michael yelps when he does that, and suddenly, he has to think about Caleb's hand on his thigh, the rubbing, and he has to drive, but also not let his powers get out of control. He's usually so good about them, but right now he feels frayed.

"Shit," he gets out raggedly. "Can you, would you," he breathes. "Just ease off, just so I don't wreck my truck." Seeing as it's his home, he would like to avoid that.

"Right," Caleb says, and it feels impossible, but he pulls his hand away and rests it on the console between them. "Sorry, sorry, I just. You feel good. I just— I wanna make you feel good."

He bites his lip, falling quiet and trying to balance Michael's arousal and his arousal and the need passing between them like arc lightning.

"Oh, you're gonna," he guarantees, with a laugh, because that's not off the table. "You're just gonna when I'm not going to kill the both of us," he adds, and keeps driving, feeling like there's this bolt of arousal that's somehow more and he can't even explain how it's just so much, just knows that it is.

Caleb laughs, a breathless sound, and tilts his head against the seat so he can try to focus. It feels like for-fucking-ever, but they get back to the Home, and he climbs out of the truck — makes sure nothing falls out with him — and tries damn hard not to slam the door too loudly. He adjusts his jacket to hide his hardon — just in case — and waits for Michael to round the truck and join him.

Then, they head inside.

Caleb manages not to pull him into a sloppy kiss until they're in that room with the door closed, and he moans softly when he finally gets to taste him again.

Michael's needing to drag up every last ounce of his strength to be able to do this without losing his mind, but he's doing it. They're going to make it work. Once they're inside, he's tripping and stumbling, laughing like the idiot who can't believe what's happening.

He grabs at Caleb's hair to dig his fingers in, grabbing at him to messily haul him closer, driven on by that moan which only turns him on even more, fighting onto his toes to get closer for the kiss.

Caleb groans, leaning into the kiss, curling down so Michael doesn't have to stretch so much. He cups his face, buries his fingers into his hair, pulls him close, like he can drink him in.

Pulling away to speak is the hardest thing Caleb's ever done, but it's important. His brow is furrowed in concentration, but he nods.

"I've, I've never done this before," he admits, and blushes a little. "I've, I'm. I'm a virgin."

Michael still likes stretching up into it, because it makes him feel like he's working for the kiss with his whole body, moaning as he drags his fingers down Caleb's shirt, and only letting him pull away to speak.

"I've done this with girls, but never a guy," he admits bluntly, and his mind flashes unfairly to Alex, to how much he'd wanted it with him, only he'd been so scared. That's been undone, now, and he looks up at Caleb. "I um, I usually like to let other people take control," he admits.

Caleb feels a flash of nerves, and he's not sure if it's his or Michael's. "Not, like, um, BDSM stuff, right?" he asks, and blushes again as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

"What? Fuck, no," he says sharply, because after being in foster homes as long as he was, he doesn't think that he could stand to even think about violence in any pleasurable way.

"I just mean like, I like when someone else calls the shots. And is, you know, on top," he says, not wanting to sound like he's lazy, but maybe it is wanting to just lie back and enjoy?

He nods, relaxing visibly at that. "Okay, cool," he says. "Um. Okay, so, like..." He's starting to overthink it, so he pulls Michael into another kiss. Maybe he can distract them both with more of this, and he can work himself back up to that carefree neediness he'd felt in the truck.

Michael drifts into the kiss, and while he just said that he doesn't want to take control, he's still the one who gives Caleb a little push towards the bed, straddling him with ease, and grinning as he does it, because maybe he likes a little bit of it.

So sue him.

"Let's start here," he murmurs, reaching down to squeeze Caleb's cock through his pants.

Caleb gasps when he feels that, and his hips jerk up into Michael's touch. "Fuck," he breathes, and laughs against his mouth. "S-seems like a good place." The nerves had brought him to half-mast, but Michael's attention gets him fully hard again, and he reaches between them, wrist brushing Michael's, to return the favor.

So that's good. Michael's pretty grateful that he's got his own experiences, and looks like it's working out so far. He shifts to give himself a little more room, so he can get his hand into Caleb's pants, breathlessly encouraging him as he gets over the underwear.

"Bet that's better," he teases.

"Yeah," he breathes, arching into the touch. "That's, that's better." He tries pulling at Michael's shirt, wanting it up and out of his way. He kisses over Michael's jaw and neck, trying hard to focus, to reciprocate.

Michael eases back to strip it off, happily shoving it in a ball near the door, where he can grab it later, tipping his head to the side so he can let Caleb at him. "Yeah," he gets out breathlessly, and he focuses now, staring at him.

"Wait," he says, because they need to be smart. "Wait. Do you have supplies?" Because he left all of his in his backpack in the truck.

Caleb's brain is frying, his hand halfway down Michael's pants, and he blinks, trying to catch up. "What?" he asks, looking up at him. "What d'you mean, supplies?" Caleb did say he was a virgin, after all.

Michael gapes at him, because he would've thought that Caleb at least knew this. He's feeling really experienced now. "You know," he says. "Condoms? Lube?" He could probably forego the first because Caleb's a virgin, but the second is really, insanely critical.

"Oh," Caleb says. "No, I, I totally have condoms." Those had been more hope than anything. "But I... don't have any lube. That wasn't something I ever, like, anticipated needing, I guess." Girls get wet, right? They're, like, self-lubricating. Guys... probably don't do that.

Michael squints at him, lying back and crawling off him. "You never jack off?" he asks in disbelief, but sighs, gesturing for the front of the home. "My truck, duffel bag side pocket," he instructs, and wriggles a little as he gets comfortable. "Since you're not prepared, you're getting it."

He reaches out for it, unlocks the doors with his mind from where he's lying, but he's already got his shirt off. He's not going anywhere.

"I— what? Dude!" But he doesn't argue beyond that. He reaches into his pants to adjust himself as he stands. "I've literally never used lube to jack off," he clarifies. He closes his pants and tugs his shirt down to try to hide the bulge. "Ugh, I'll be right back."

He's tempted to see if Michael has any alcohol in his truck, too, just to get them both feeling a little more relaxed. Caleb won't drink any, of course, but that wouldn't matter. He could just sip from his flask, and Michael wouldn't have to know it's just tea.

He gets out to the truck and finds the duffel back, the pocket, and the lube. Then he makes sure to lock the door when he closes it again, with no additional rooting for alcohol. As he steps back up into the room, he says, "Dude, your truck was unlocked. That is so unsafe. I locked it for you."

Michael is going to teach him about friction, but right now, he's just lying there waiting, glad that Caleb hadn't gone fishing through the truck, but, "Huh. Guess I forgot," he deadpans, even though he knows for a fact that he'd definitely unlocked it.

He grins as he waits and watches him, having stripped to nothing but his boxer-briefs, extending his hand for the lube. "Give it here, I wanna get myself ready."

Caleb doesn't seem to hear him at first. He's looking at him, taking in the sight of his body, and he swallows, stepping closer. But something's bugging him. As he hands the lube over, he realizes: Michael's lying. He hadn't forgotten to lock the truck. Does he have one of those keyless entry things? Does it reach the truck from here?

He doesn't know, and decides he doesn't care, because Michael had said something about getting himself ready, and Caleb is very interested in that.