greatamazingfeelingsboy

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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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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.

Michael grabs for the lube and shifts a little on the bed, sliding his fingers inside his boxer-briefs, not taking them off just yet as he starts to work himself open with two fingers, adjusting a little, because he's done this out of curiosity before, but this time it feels different.

It was weird, honestly, doing it on his own, thinking about Alex, but this time is so much better.

"You ready?"

Caleb's watching him, slowly stripping out of his own clothes — slowly, because he keeps getting distracted by the way Michael's hand moves in his underwear. He wants to see, maybe wants to help. He's got his jeans open, but when he moves closer to the bed, he crouches beside it.

"Can... can I suck your dick?" he asks, a hand on Michael's bare knee.

Michael's laughing at that, because, "Uh, yeah," is his eager, desperate plea, because that's the best thing he could think about, and he's frantically pushing his fingers into the hem of his boxer-briefs, shoving them down, whining a little at even the thought of Caleb's mouth on him.

Caleb nods, and he helps Michael shed his underwear, then slides his hands up his thighs. He's never sucked a dick, ever, but Michael is hot amber in his belly, excited butterflies in his chest, and he wants.

He wraps his hand around Michael's erection, getting a feel for it, before he leans forward and pulls the head into his mouth. It's a strong, unfamiliar flavor, but not entirely unpleasant. Caleb lacks any sort of finesse, but as he slowly works out a rhythm, bobbing his head and using his tongue, he hopes he makes up for it with enthusiasm.

Michael's had this happen before, because the girls he'd been with were at the group home with him before, and they were just bored, a lot, so they did pretty much everything you could do.

Still, it's Caleb, and he's so tall and hot and different, and the way he's working is tentative and sweet and kind of nervous, but he's into that, if he's honest, so he's not about to complain. "Yeah," he encourages. "Doing good, that's it."

Caleb pulls him in deeper, emboldened by the encouragement. He keeps it slow, until Michael's pleasure becomes too much for him to ignore. He moans softly, reaching down with one hand to rub his own dick through his boxers. Carefully, he starts moving his hand in time with his mouth, using his spit to slick the way.

Michael tries to steady his breaths, but it's not an easy task, not the way that Caleb is working him over like that. He breathes out slowly, and then lets himself enjoy it, even as he reaches down to tangle his fingers into Caleb's hair, his dick too far.

Fuck, this is definitely so good, and he moans his name, to give him that encouragement.

Caleb moans around him in response, body shuddering at the rush of pleasure they're both feeling. He pulls his mouth back and off, lips pink and shining, face flushed.

"D'you wanna come like this?" he asks, voice slightly wrecked.

Michael swallows back the need and tries to put thoughts in his head instead of just babbling and pleading. What does he want? The instinct is to rush and say that yes, he wants that, but then he calms down.

He shakes his head. "I wanna come with you inside me," he gets out, roughly.

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