how you make a boy feel
Title: Good Intentions [5/?]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Mike/Tre
Rating: R
Summary: Let's just go to your room.
Previous parts: found here
It was easy to fail the test. For one thing, Mike had loathed Gatsby. When he came to the short answer portion, he filled the lines with rants of his disgust for the characters, the symbols, and the plot itself. But between irritated scribbles, Mike would glance towards the front of the room for a glimpse of Mr. Armstrong. It was the first time he had seen someone biting their lip as erotic.
He had never been so attracted to another man before. It was the reason - among others - that he refused to admit, to himself, that he was gay. His experience with other teenage boys could be explained by his loneliness. As if a girl had ever glanced his way, or he had the courage to speak to one in a flirtatious way. It was easier with his closeted friends, who just as curious as him, because it didn't mean anything. Especially because they weren't really his friends. Just trysts in the dark.
Except Tre. He was different, and Mike wasn't naive enough to pretend he wasn't. It didn't have anything to do with appearance, though Tre was certainly easy to look at. Tre was his closest friend; his lifeline to reality. Without him, he had nothing. Maybe Mike loved him. The logistics didn't matter.
His head was spinning by the time the majority of the class had finished. Leave it to a random substitute to make him question everything. He wondered if he would stand out, for the obnoxious replies on his exam questions. The thought made him regret them. What would Mr. Armstrong think of him?
And what the fuck did it matter anyway?
The bell ringing was the greatest relief he could have been granted.
Tre met him at his locker at the end of the day. He was wearing his usual smirk, and he leaned against the locker adjacent to his while Mike stuffed his trigonometry binder into his backpack. "You're not really doing the homework for math, are you?"
"I have to compensate for failing that English test. Speaking of which," Mike paused to slam the metal door shut and sling his bag over his shoulder, "you were right about the substitute."
"Did I fucking tell you, or what? I might actually push my nap to US history now, so I can spend English fantasizing."
He laughed. "What's the difference?"
They spent the twenty minute walk to Mike's house talking about music. Tre was obsessing over an R. E. M. record, but Mike was in a Beatles phase. It was a common topic they discussed. Not only was it the strongest thing they had in common, but it was how they had met. At the local punk club, Gilman Street, they'd run into each other during a gig by a band named Nasal Sex. Tre bummed a cigarette off of the gangly, but vaguely familiar, teenager, and they ended up talking, leaning against the club's wall, for hours. Until Mike was out of cigarettes.
Mike's first conversation was also the first he had with someone his age in a very long time. In a lot of ways, it changed his life. It gave him a true companion.
Of course, he had never admitted this to Tre. The humiliation would have been unbearable. He was lucky enough to have Tre spending time with im. Scaring him away wouldn't exactly be what one would call a smart move. Then all of his attempts to impress Tre would have been futile.
"Do you want a soda or anything?" Mike asked as they entered through his front door, kicking their shoes off onto the mat. "I think my mom finally went grocery shopping the other day."
"Nah. Let's just go to your room."
The Pritchard's home was quite small. It lacked even a basement, which meant everything was crammed into the single floor ranch. It was a simple explanation for the clutter, although it really wasn't messy; just cramped. However, the room that belonged to the sixteen year old was much different.
Clothes, both clean and dirty, were strewn across the floor. This was because Mike used his dresser to store his books. He spent his summer at garage sales, buying novels and works of non-fiction for quarters. It was the perfect place to hide them from Tre. Not much else occupied the room, except for the twin sized bed in the corner and a bass guitar propped against the wall beside it.
Mike had just tossed his backpack into a pile of fabric when Tre attacked. He pushed him onto the bed so that the springs in the old mattress groaned, and swallowed his surprised gasp with an urgent kiss. The contact was returned with fervor, as Mike multi tasked between shoving the comforter away and inching up until his head found the pillow. Tre moved with him, grunting slightly at the friction of their bodies.
This is how sex worked with Tre. It was always fast, nearly panicky, not that it bothered Mike. They were a pair of teenagers. A good fuck was a quick fuck. Anything else was practically worthless.
The clothes came off in a hurry. As they hit the floor, they became immersed in the sea of random articles, but they weren't too worried about the trouble Tre would have finding his favorite Van Halen t-shirt later on. Their only concern was skin. Bare skin. Mike's fingers danced over Tre's shapely hips with a throaty moan, because he had been craving the touch for weeks now. Each time he succumbed to the arousal every hot shower coaxed, it was the stocky boy he imagined.
When Tre slid into Mike, it was painful. For one thing, the single sachet of lube Tre had stolen from the drug store barely covered the entirety of his length. Another, it was their third time of full on sex, and Tre was the only person Mike had ever gone all the way with. Mike wasn't fully used to having on object invade the cave of his ass. If he wasn't so worried with maintaining his dignity, he would have told Tre to stop his very first time. Luckily, he held on for the blissful moment when his prostate had been nudged. The orgasm that resulted from his loss of virginity had been mind numbing. Something Mike doubted he would ever forget.
Which was why he ground his teeth together and dealt with the discomfort for the third time. It wasn't all that easy, since his lover lacked the patience for allowing him time to adjust. The moment his pulsating member was surrounded in the unbelievable heat, nothing else mattered. The pleasure overcame the few brain cells that remained his continuing affair with illegal substances. So Tre didn't notice the winces Mike gave.
He wasn't a very considerate sexual partner. When it came to sex, Tre was very self-centered. In reality, he was like that in general. It wasn't so much that he was selfish, because there were times when his generosity was impressive. But when a certain sensation, such as hunger or arousal, took over, that was it.
But it didn't matter, not to him. The pleasure Tre caused him simply by being with him, atop him, inside him, rocked his nerves so completely. His own hand was perfectly capable of pumping forth the climax, when assisted by steady thrusts and animallike noises.
Also, when the act had been completed and breath had returned to panicked lungs, Tre made up for his lack of sexual attention with cuddling. To know him, you would not make that guess about him. His casual demeanor suggested a blase attitude, where when it was over, he would wipe his grimy forehead and light a cigarette. What a misconception it would be. Tre preferred to maul Mike with his beefy, drummer arms and pull him as close as possible.
Mike supposed that he loved Tre. It didn't exactly scare him, which was probably more frightening than anything. Because he viewed it logically. Tre was the closest person to him in his life. How could he not have strong feelings for him?
"That substitute had you going as much as me, huh?"
A little confused. Mike's eyes found Tre's upon hearing the question panted to him. He breathlessly murmured back, "What do you mean?"
Tre smirked. "You moaned his name."
--
Comments? <3
Author: Molly
Pairing: Mike/Tre
Rating: R
Summary: Let's just go to your room.
Previous parts: found here
It was easy to fail the test. For one thing, Mike had loathed Gatsby. When he came to the short answer portion, he filled the lines with rants of his disgust for the characters, the symbols, and the plot itself. But between irritated scribbles, Mike would glance towards the front of the room for a glimpse of Mr. Armstrong. It was the first time he had seen someone biting their lip as erotic.
He had never been so attracted to another man before. It was the reason - among others - that he refused to admit, to himself, that he was gay. His experience with other teenage boys could be explained by his loneliness. As if a girl had ever glanced his way, or he had the courage to speak to one in a flirtatious way. It was easier with his closeted friends, who just as curious as him, because it didn't mean anything. Especially because they weren't really his friends. Just trysts in the dark.
Except Tre. He was different, and Mike wasn't naive enough to pretend he wasn't. It didn't have anything to do with appearance, though Tre was certainly easy to look at. Tre was his closest friend; his lifeline to reality. Without him, he had nothing. Maybe Mike loved him. The logistics didn't matter.
His head was spinning by the time the majority of the class had finished. Leave it to a random substitute to make him question everything. He wondered if he would stand out, for the obnoxious replies on his exam questions. The thought made him regret them. What would Mr. Armstrong think of him?
And what the fuck did it matter anyway?
The bell ringing was the greatest relief he could have been granted.
Tre met him at his locker at the end of the day. He was wearing his usual smirk, and he leaned against the locker adjacent to his while Mike stuffed his trigonometry binder into his backpack. "You're not really doing the homework for math, are you?"
"I have to compensate for failing that English test. Speaking of which," Mike paused to slam the metal door shut and sling his bag over his shoulder, "you were right about the substitute."
"Did I fucking tell you, or what? I might actually push my nap to US history now, so I can spend English fantasizing."
He laughed. "What's the difference?"
They spent the twenty minute walk to Mike's house talking about music. Tre was obsessing over an R. E. M. record, but Mike was in a Beatles phase. It was a common topic they discussed. Not only was it the strongest thing they had in common, but it was how they had met. At the local punk club, Gilman Street, they'd run into each other during a gig by a band named Nasal Sex. Tre bummed a cigarette off of the gangly, but vaguely familiar, teenager, and they ended up talking, leaning against the club's wall, for hours. Until Mike was out of cigarettes.
Mike's first conversation was also the first he had with someone his age in a very long time. In a lot of ways, it changed his life. It gave him a true companion.
Of course, he had never admitted this to Tre. The humiliation would have been unbearable. He was lucky enough to have Tre spending time with im. Scaring him away wouldn't exactly be what one would call a smart move. Then all of his attempts to impress Tre would have been futile.
"Do you want a soda or anything?" Mike asked as they entered through his front door, kicking their shoes off onto the mat. "I think my mom finally went grocery shopping the other day."
"Nah. Let's just go to your room."
The Pritchard's home was quite small. It lacked even a basement, which meant everything was crammed into the single floor ranch. It was a simple explanation for the clutter, although it really wasn't messy; just cramped. However, the room that belonged to the sixteen year old was much different.
Clothes, both clean and dirty, were strewn across the floor. This was because Mike used his dresser to store his books. He spent his summer at garage sales, buying novels and works of non-fiction for quarters. It was the perfect place to hide them from Tre. Not much else occupied the room, except for the twin sized bed in the corner and a bass guitar propped against the wall beside it.
Mike had just tossed his backpack into a pile of fabric when Tre attacked. He pushed him onto the bed so that the springs in the old mattress groaned, and swallowed his surprised gasp with an urgent kiss. The contact was returned with fervor, as Mike multi tasked between shoving the comforter away and inching up until his head found the pillow. Tre moved with him, grunting slightly at the friction of their bodies.
This is how sex worked with Tre. It was always fast, nearly panicky, not that it bothered Mike. They were a pair of teenagers. A good fuck was a quick fuck. Anything else was practically worthless.
The clothes came off in a hurry. As they hit the floor, they became immersed in the sea of random articles, but they weren't too worried about the trouble Tre would have finding his favorite Van Halen t-shirt later on. Their only concern was skin. Bare skin. Mike's fingers danced over Tre's shapely hips with a throaty moan, because he had been craving the touch for weeks now. Each time he succumbed to the arousal every hot shower coaxed, it was the stocky boy he imagined.
When Tre slid into Mike, it was painful. For one thing, the single sachet of lube Tre had stolen from the drug store barely covered the entirety of his length. Another, it was their third time of full on sex, and Tre was the only person Mike had ever gone all the way with. Mike wasn't fully used to having on object invade the cave of his ass. If he wasn't so worried with maintaining his dignity, he would have told Tre to stop his very first time. Luckily, he held on for the blissful moment when his prostate had been nudged. The orgasm that resulted from his loss of virginity had been mind numbing. Something Mike doubted he would ever forget.
Which was why he ground his teeth together and dealt with the discomfort for the third time. It wasn't all that easy, since his lover lacked the patience for allowing him time to adjust. The moment his pulsating member was surrounded in the unbelievable heat, nothing else mattered. The pleasure overcame the few brain cells that remained his continuing affair with illegal substances. So Tre didn't notice the winces Mike gave.
He wasn't a very considerate sexual partner. When it came to sex, Tre was very self-centered. In reality, he was like that in general. It wasn't so much that he was selfish, because there were times when his generosity was impressive. But when a certain sensation, such as hunger or arousal, took over, that was it.
But it didn't matter, not to him. The pleasure Tre caused him simply by being with him, atop him, inside him, rocked his nerves so completely. His own hand was perfectly capable of pumping forth the climax, when assisted by steady thrusts and animallike noises.
Also, when the act had been completed and breath had returned to panicked lungs, Tre made up for his lack of sexual attention with cuddling. To know him, you would not make that guess about him. His casual demeanor suggested a blase attitude, where when it was over, he would wipe his grimy forehead and light a cigarette. What a misconception it would be. Tre preferred to maul Mike with his beefy, drummer arms and pull him as close as possible.
Mike supposed that he loved Tre. It didn't exactly scare him, which was probably more frightening than anything. Because he viewed it logically. Tre was the closest person to him in his life. How could he not have strong feelings for him?
"That substitute had you going as much as me, huh?"
A little confused. Mike's eyes found Tre's upon hearing the question panted to him. He breathlessly murmured back, "What do you mean?"
Tre smirked. "You moaned his name."
--
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