Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4823636.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Fandom:
      Rooster_Teeth/Achievement_Hunter/Funhaus_RPF
  Relationship:
      Michael/OCs
  Character:
      Michael_Jones, Original_Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Pedophilia, Drug_Use, Original_Character(s), Underage_Sex, Mentions_of
      incest, Derogatory_Language, mentions_of_abuse, descriptions_of_violence,
      Sexual_Content
  Series:
      Part 2 of Love_Me,_Use_Me
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-18 Chapters: 1/5 Words: 17803
****** Miss Me, Lose Me? ******
by NotVerified, orphan_account
Summary
     This is an origin story for Michael from our Love Me Use Me series,
     so if you haven't read that you won't understand.
     Michael learns a lot in the Orphanage, love, heartache, friends,
     predators, the true meaning of forever.
Notes
     PSA: There contains many dark things in here, things we don't approve
     of by any means, the kids have dark pasts and Jackson is an asshole.
     Most of the things in this story are not okay, and we don't support
     it. Please take caution, there's a lot of nasty terms, bad adults,
     improper care, bad situations.
     That being said, it's a good challenge in writing.
     So, this might not be as great or exciting for you as the main story,
     but give the new characters a try. Everything was written before we
     even decided to post it, so we figured we might as well post this
     along with another arc coming later. It does give you a great insight
     to Michael's mind and how he grew up, and how that effects him in the
     main story. So if nothing else, bonus content.
See the end of the work for more notes
Jackson sat at his desk, ankles crossed and looking for all the world like the
picture of a school principal. Even though the suit jacket and slacks he was
wearing were old and cheap, he carried himself with the air of someone
powerful, the kind of person who typically looked down their nose at you and
said "I'm not angry, just disappointed." His black hair was barely even tinted
with gray, and it was slicked back, giving a professional appearance despite
its length. He usually wore more casual clothes, but he had just come from a
meeting with a few, bottom-rung politicians who were evaluating the annual
budget of his organization, a paltry sum that Jackson already dipped into when
he didn't have quite enough cash to fund his vices.
Michael took a right turn, and then a direct left, opening the door and walking
into where Reed's secretary was. She arched an eyebrow at him, dressed in a
high blonde ponytail with nothing warm about her. She was pretty though and
he'd heard all the things guys whispered about her in the hall. He sent her a
smile, completely laced with sarcasm.
"You're three hours late Mr. Jones." She said pointedly.
"Am I? That's a shame." Michael snarked back.
"You may go in, but be respectful and knock first." Michael only let out a
laugh, walking down the short hall and into the door at the end of the hallway.
A nurse's office was in the hallway, as well as a janitor closet.
Jackson, sighed, checking his watch for the second time in twenty minutes. The
newest troublemaker that needed disciplining was already three hours late, and
it made him grimace. Despite the sheer disrespectfulness of the action, he was
going to have to remain patient and calm, pull the boy's folder out and examine
it for a few moments, as if the information really mattered, and take out the
newest slip of paper in the stack. He didn't even know why he bothered keeping
track of the names anymore; they were all the same to him: disrespectful snot-
nosed brats who needed to be put in their place, but all he'd be able to do was
give them a stern talking to and revoke a few privileges.
Michael shoved open the door, sticking his hands in his pockets and kicking the
door shut. He knew he reeked of cigarette smoke, but once again he could really
care less. This office was familiar, and it didn't seem like much had changed
since last week. He slid into the chair opposite Reed, crossing his arms over
his chest and leaning back cooly.
Jackson sighed, pulling the boy's folder out from one of his desk drawers and
flipping through it. Michael had so many violations that he swore the damn
thing was going to get full one day. Finding the slip of paper with the newest
date on it, he slapped it down on the desk, sliding the folder next to it and
crossing his arms over his chest.
"So nice to see you in my office again, Michael. What did you do this time?"
The kid stank like cigarettes, but the fact that he was sitting in Jackson's
office meant that he'd been caught doing something more severe this time.
Perhaps another fight, like last week, but the boy's face was free of blood and
bruises.
"I 'unno. They said someone found something in my drawer when they were
cleaning it." Michael only offered a shrug, he wasn't sure what they'd found
considering he was literally the only one without porn or drugs, or smokes, or
something. He assumed he'd been framed, but he also assumed that Reed was
reading off what they found as he spoke.
Jackson looked over the paper, noting that one of the staff members had written
"Found a shitload of porn mags in his desks," in less-than-elegant script. He
sighed, scooting back his chair so that he could grab the box that contained
today's contraband. On top, there was a stack of magazines, more than one of
which featured a muscular man on the cover rather than the typical pin-up girl
in lacy lingerie, legs spread invitingly for whoever happened to pick up the
publication. He tossed the stack in front of Michael, crossing his arms and
leaning back in his chair, one eyebrow quirked as if he was waiting for a
reaction.
Michael picked up one, as if observing the material, he knew he could tell him
they weren't his, but he wouldn't believe him, not with his records. He
fingered through the pictures, humming lightly and tilting his head before
leaning back and giving him a cool stare. "Well, a man has needs."
Jackson resisted the urge to curl his lip in distaste; he understood the idea
of needs, but he didn't think /children/ should be reading porn-mags in bulk.
When he was their age, it had been illicit touches in the bathroom and his own
imagination until he'd reached orgasm, rather than some dirty slut spreading
her legs open for him across the page.
"Regardless, you shouldn’t have those in your room. You shouldn't be able to
buy them, should you?" He reached forwards, tapping a finger against one of the
more explicit magazines, one that had two, salivating men on the cover, along
with a list of obscene words detailing what was inside.
Michael only shrugged his shoulders matter of factly, they couldn't buy them,
or at least he couldn't, he had a baby face and the gas station attendants
assumed he was thirteen instead of fifteen, or sixteen. Not that it mattered,
if he wanted to fuck someone he would, he didn't have to get off from a dumb
magazine. Though those pictures were pretty boner inducing, confusingly given
they were men. He sent a blank stare to Jackson, blinking his eyes a few times.
Jackson pursed his lips, sitting back and crossing his arms, "Michael, I just
wanna know where you got these, how you got them. There's nothing wrong with a
little experimentation, but what if one of the younger boys saw this?" He
motioned to the magazines, as if they were a shared secret rather than some
sticky, second-rate publications. Now that he looked at it, /most/ of them
featured men in some way, from scantily clad adolescent boys with big eyes and
frilly panties, to larger men whose hands delved below the end of the magazine,
presumably to touch themselves.
 
"One of the kids whose snooping in my drawers? If that's the case then I'm
pretty sure they know exactly what they're looking for. I got them at the
store." He offered a cool stare and crossed his arms more tightly over his
chest. He was going to beat the shit out of whoever framed him.
Jackson sighed, running a hand through his slick hair. He picked up on of the
magazines, flipping through it idly. He had no problem with porn, not really,
just the whores who decided to display themselves on camera. It was
hypocritical, he knew, but he'd rather enjoy himself than worry about morals.
That should have been obvious, given how many quick fucks he'd had, but it was
the principal that mattered, not the actual material.
Michael sat there for a few moments before breaking the silence. "So, can I
go?" He really didn't want to sit here anymore, he had much better things to do
than receive a four hour long lecture.
Jackson clucked his tongue, tossing the magazine back on the table. It landed
half open, displaying a large pin-up that was… graphic, to say the least. A
smaller, blond man was bent over a desk, ass in the air and a coy smile playing
over his lips. He had his fingers deep inside his ass, and it was a sight that
Jackson normally would have found alluring, if it wasn't for the poor lighting
and the fact that he was in his office. "No, you can't."
The movement caught Michael’s eyes and he flicked his attention to picture. It
was obscene as fuck and he couldn't help the spike of arousal flowing through
him and the way his cheeks tinted. He wasn't gay, at least he'd never thought
he was, but the way his throat dried and he started to shift in his seat was a
little hypocritical. He let out a nervous cough, he'd honestly never been
exposed to this, of course there was talk, and everything, but it was all in
jest. He couldn't help the curious question, "Why would you want to finger your
own ass?" He didn't get it, they didn't teach that in sex ed.
Jackson raised an eyebrow; did they not even teach basic anatomy in sex ed
these days? He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, given the numerous times he
himself had been called a fag, even recently. The modern age was hardly more
accepting than the old one. "To get yourself off, or prep your ass for someone
else," Jackson explained, leaning back in his chair. If nothing else, he was a
teacher.
Michael furrowed his brow, it didn't seem anywhere near comfortable. He focused
on Reed's words, he understood that guys sometimes fucked each other in the ass
and that's why they would, that at least made sense. "Isn't that
uncomfortable?" He tilted his head curiously at him, breaking his attention
away from the image.
"Not if you do it right," Jackson surveyed the boy with interest, eyes raking
over every detail of his face. He was cute, for a brat, but still too young to
be anywhere near considered fuckable, and he was naive under all that anger. It
made his cock twitch- everything he could do to a boy like that, given the
chance. "You've got a bundle of nerves up there; feels like sin, apparently."
He'd never been much for fingering himself, but he'd certainly seen the effects
that a prostate massage could have on others.
Michael blushed harsher, hating himself for the way his eyes ran back over the
picture and he shifted in his seat again. "And people get off on that?
Fingering themselves?" It still seemed uncomfortable to him.
"Plenty of people. You gotta use lots of lube, though, or it hurts like hell."
Jackson crossed his arms, leaning back casually as if they were talking about
the weather, rather than how you could get off by sticking your fingers up your
ass.
"Oh." Michael murmured quietly, he felt like he wanted to turn the page, to see
what else was hidden in those pages, before they were confiscated. He shifted
to pull at his pants, fixing the bunching and trying to cover up the way he was
hardening.
Jackson looked him over, face softening into something that resembled kindness,
or, perhaps, pity. "Tell you what, Michael. You can keep those mags, if you
want, you just gotta promise me that you won't leave them in your room, okay?
You can keep them at my place."
"At your place? But... How will I even look at them if they're at yours..?" He
murmured, giving the man a hesitant stare, as if he was expecting him to say he
was kidding at any moment.
"You come over," Jackson looked like it was obvious, "What, you've known me for
12 years, and you've never been to my place?" He knew he hadn't; no one had.
You didn't piss where you drank, and you didn't bring a bunch of snot-nosed
brats to the place where you ate, slept, and beat off.
"11 years." Michael murmured, blinking at him like he couldn't believe what he
was saying. "You want me to come over? Why?" Michael honestly was wary, not
that he had anything to do or anywhere to go, but still... It was an odd offer.
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, kid," Jackson said, shoving the stack of
magazines further over to the boy. "Just come by my office around five, and
I'll drive you over."
Michael looked between Reed and the stack of magazines, before simply shrugging
his shoulders. "Alright..." He grabbed the magazines and took a few moments to
think about the most disturbing thing he could before standing up and shoving
the magazines under his arm, successfully hiding them in his hoodie. He opened
the door before turning around. "Thank you Mr.Reed."
"You're welcome," Jackson drawled, putting Michael's folder back in his desk
and relaxing back in his chair, "Just don't be late." He watched the boy’s ass
as he walked out the door, a nameless desire settling in his chest. Well,
perhaps not nameless: lust seemed to work pretty well. What could he say? He
was a sinner.
Michael stalked off, anger already settling along his body as he decided to try
to solve the mystery of who the fuck had thought it was a good idea to frame
him. Maybe he'd take a breather to actually look through the magazines first..
Jackson sucked his teeth, staring after Michael with a considering expression.
He let one of his hands slide off the desk, reaching down to roughly palm
himself. And yes, there it was: the telltale flare of lust and an animalistic
need to have something hot and tight around his cock. Something like the boy
who had just left his office… But not now. Not now, not even soon, because he
wasn't some pedophile who couldn't keep it in his pants whenever he saw a
little boy. No, he was patient… He could wait.
Michael shoved his way past a few kids as he walked down the halls, taking the
stairs at the front that led up to their rooms, taking a right turn down the
boys hall and up another flight of stairs. He opened the door to his room, six
beds were placed around the room, each with one bedside table and a wardrobe.
He noted Cameron in the corner and sent him a glare, taking out the magazines
and slamming them in his face.
"Are these yours?" He grimaced when Cam flushed and shook his head frantically,
Michael reached forward to grab the fourteen year old's collar. "Did you put
them in my drawer?" The younger boy only offered a small nod and that was all
it took for Michael to slam his fist at the kid's face, before picking up the
magazines once more and walking back to his bed. He knew the kid had been
abused by his dad for years, that he'd probably just set him back into a
trembling mess, not to mention his nose was gushing blood at this point.
Jackson glanced around his desk, gaze landing on a piece of paper containing
the information for some new brat that would be coming in soon. Apparently he'd
been fucked by his fag brother until his father found out and beat them both
for it… He shrugged; that would have to do. He placed the paper over his
abdomen, unzipping his trousers and fishing out his half hard cock. He began to
stroke himself languidly, biting his lip as he imagined Michael in the same
position as that model had been: bent over his desk with two fingers up his
ass, panting. Wanting.
Michael opened one of the magazines, eyes trailing hungrily over the pages, he
heard Cameron's footsteps leaving, door opening and shutting as the crying died
down. He was more fascinated by the pictures than anything, fascinated by the
way his face heated up instantly and his body got more excited than he thought
was even possible for him. He paused when his eyes flicked over a picture of
shirtless man, well toned with one hand gripping at his cock, head tilted back,
it was probably the least graphic, but it made Michael start working his own
dick, biting back a moan at the feeling and stroking himself faster. If he was
gonna do this, he needed to be fast in case his roommates walked in.
Jackson jerked himself off almost systematically, as if he'd done this a
thousand times before when it had only been a handful. He couldn't help himself
sometimes… One of the foster mothers walked in with a certain swing to her
hips, and all he could think about was tying her up and spanking her on the ass
like the dirty whore she was. A man came in with a complaint, and the next
thing he knew he was jerking himself off to the idea of putting the bastard's
mouth to better use. Now, it was that skinny, fiery wisp of a boy all naive and
desperate… Jackson would be happy to teach him.
Michael ground down against his hand, breathy pants leaving his mouth as he
used one hand to unbutton and unzip his pants, pulling his cock out and
stroking himself faster due to the new position, getting himself closer to the
edge quickly.
Jackson imagined opening Michael's ass up like a flower, pushing into him
slowly and pulling back out again, slamming his hips roughly against the boy
until he was a whimpering puddle of need. He imagined Michael on the cusp of
orgasm, panting breathily as he thrust back against him, tried to take in more
of the older man's dick like the filthy cockslut he was and- there. Orgasm
overtook him and he came, maneuvering himself so that his semen landed entirely
on the piece of paper he'd positioned just show; it wouldn't do to have messes.
Michael came with a quiet gasp, hand gripping tighter as he rode out his
orgasm. He fidgeted around for the tissues, cleaning himself up decently
enough, or at least as much as he was gonna make an effort too. He closed the
magazine, slipping it under the bed along with the others, tossing the tissues
into the waste basket and laying back against his bed to wait for five to come.
After he cleaned up, it was back to business until five came. He looked over
the budget, seeing what he'd need to cut if they didn't get any more money;
sorted through reports about troublemaking kids, new arrivals, complaints from
staff; and effectively blocked out all thoughts of the red-haired boy that had
been shifting uncomfortably in the chair across from him hours earlier.
Michael had fallen asleep for a few hours, due to the fact that he didn't
really feel like doing much else and since their room was about as interesting
as a blade of grass. He woke up at four thirty, quickly grabbing the magazines
and tucking them into his hoodie. He was mostly confused as to why Jackson
wanted him to go home with him, but figured he probably just wanted to give
Michael a more strict lecture or something.
The walk to the office was rather uneventful, and he was annoyed to see two
other kids obviously waiting to get punished. It meant he had to wait longer
than he'd initially planned, not to mention now he had to sit in a room with
the secretary. One of the kids looked to be about eight, and his face shown
guilt and worry, something that the younger girl , who was sat beside Michael,
was not sporting. He guessed she was either four or five, with blonde pigtails
and a scowl on her face.
Jackson sighed, buzzing himself through to his secretary rather than getting up
to open the door himself. She directed the next troublemaker his way; a boy who
had been caught hoarding desserts from the cafeteria in his room for later. All
it took was a simple, calmly worded explanation of what he'd done and the boy
was in tears, apologies flowing from his lips like prayers. Jackson sent him on
his way with an admonishment; tucking his name away in case he ever needed to
transport a couple ounces of heroin from warehouse to warehouse anytime soon.
Michael wasn't really sure when the young girl had crawled onto his lap or when
she started talking a mile a minute about what all she'd done that day.
Apparently, her name was Sophia she lived with unicorns, and she'd called a boy
a shithead, twice, and a girl a bitch. When the secretary nodded for her to go
in she'd grabbed Michael's hand and forced him to walk with her. "I'm not
scared of him." She assured Michael as he opened the door for her.
"Sophia," Jackson looked down at the girl imperiously, raising an eyebrow in
surprise, as if he hadn't already been informed of her misdeeds. "And Michael,"
he noted, a curious tone worming its way into his voice, making his Southern
drawl become more pronounced, "You're early."
"Hi Mr.Reed." She chimed, flashing him a smile, though it seemed too cynical
for a girl her age. She moved to sit in the chair, finally releasing Michael's
hand.
"I fell asleep, just woke up.. So I figured I'd go ahead and come down." He
murmured, moving to lean against one of the walls.
Jackson nodded, leaning forwards and putting his arms on his desk to get a
better look at the girl before him. "What did you do this time, Soph? You can't
keep cussin' at the mentors, haven't I told you? Good girls don't say that kind
of stuff."
"I didn't say anything that wasn't true." She spoke back, crossing her arms
over her chest. "They were being mean to me, and this one girl hit me and they
didn't do nothin' bout it."
Jackson grimaced; his staff weren't always the best at dealing with the younger
children. They preferred to turn a blind eyes and chalk everything up to "kids
being kids," even the bruises. "Yeah, well that isn't the way you make things
better. Next time it happens, you come to me, understand?"
"Yes sir." She nodded, pigtails bouncing as she did. She picked up on the cue
that he was dismissing her even quicker than Michael probably would have. She
slid from the seat, giving Michael's legs a hug before she opened the door and
left, letting it shut behind her.
"Ready to go?" Jackson asked, pushing back from his desk and grabbing the
folder that contained his budget notes… Not that he'd read over them. He'd
rather change into something more comfortable, grab some fast food, and watch
porn until he didn't feel like he wanted to know what Michael's lips felt like
around his cock.
"Yeah, sure." Michael murmured, running a hand across the back of his neck. He
leaned off the wall, moving to follow Jackson from the room. He was a little
unsure, but figured it beat staying here and being bored out of his mind.
Jackson lead the boy out to his van, parked strategically near the door so he
didn't have to walk as far in the mornings. He slipped into the driver's seat,
leaving it up to Michael whether he sat up front or in back with the car seats
and boxes of donated books.
Michael opened the passenger door, climbing up into the seat and shutting the
door. It was sad at just how exciting this was, he hadn't been in a car since
the return trip of his last foster home, a few months ago. This, however, was
different, this was a much nicer experience and truth be told this whole thing
made him feel special. He grabbed at the seat belt, tugging it over his body
and snapping it in.
Jackson put the key in the ignition and turned on the radio, carefully backing
out of the parking lot. He hummed along with the strains of rock music coming
from the speakers as he navigated through the streets, arriving at the small,
run-down brick construction he called home in less than five minutes. It was a
distance he could have walked, but what was the point of having a car if you
didn't use it?
Michael enjoyed the ride by staring out the windows, watching cars pass by
until Jackson slowed to a stop in front of the house. Michael was expecting
something a little more extravagant, with all the money he'd assumed Jackson
had. He unbuckled his seatbelt, opening the door and jumping down from the
seat.
Jackson turned off the car, making sure to lock the door behind him; Los Santos
and crime went together like bread and butter. He brushed past Michael
casually, unlocking the door and stepping into the well furnished interior.
Even if he couldn't afford a better house or a decent suit, the money he got
from dealing was enough that he could afford nice furniture, decent food, and a
medium-sized TV, much bigger than the tiny sets bolted to the walls of the
orphanage common rooms.
Michael scanned his eyes across the furniture and interior, he stood awkwardly
only a few feet inside, hands moving to his pockets as he noted the TV, he
wasn't really used to watching anything, most of the times the other kids
decided what to watch and when. Plus, every violent show was blocked either
way.
"Make yourself at home," Jackson drawled, motioning to the surrounding living
area. The open layout of the house revealed a small kitchen through a doorway
to their left, and the open door on their right offered a glimpse of Jackson's
bedroom. The older man stretched, arms reaching above his head so that his
slightly small shirt rucked up to reveal a sliver of soft stomach, "I'm going
to change out of this damn suit."
Michael nodded, moving to sit down on the couch, looking at Jackson when he
started talking. "Okay." Normally, he would've put on his confident attitude,
but he was out of his element and a little more nervous than he'd like to
admit.
Jackson moved into his room, shutting the door and shucking off his pants, suit
jacket, and dress shirt, before slipping into a white t-shirt and jeans. He ran
a hand through his hair, messing the slick strands into something a little less
professional and a bit more attractive, in his opinion. After one last
inspecting look in the mirror, he opened his door and walked back into the
living room.
Michael had sat in silence while Jackson left, fully aware of the fact that
this wasn't his place and he couldn't go around snooping or turning on the TV.
He glanced up at the man when he walked in, furrowing his brow slightly. He'd
never really noticed him before, or at least not in the way he was noticing him
now. He looked weird without the professional outfit, he looked more normal,
more handsome.
Jackson collapsed onto the couch next to Michael, leaning forwards to grab the
TV remote off the coffee table, before relaxing back into back into the
cushions, resting one elbow on the back of the couch. He pressed the power
button, beginning to surf channels idly and waiting for the boy decide to get
comfortable enough to speak.
"So, uhm..." Michael murmured awkwardly, staring at the TV as he flipped
through them. "This is a nice place..."
Jackson snorted, "Thanks, kid. It's a shithole, but thanks." He continued
channel surfing, tapping the button to change channels without really bothering
to look at what was onscreen.
"Well, it's better than sharing a room with five other kids." Michael shrugged,
the words weren't bitter, just a statement. He rested back against the couch
more comfortably.
Jackson stopped on a raunchy rom com for a moment, turning to the boy beside
him and raising an eyebrow, "Yeah. They giving you any trouble?" He wasn't an
idiot; kids went through each other's things all the time, and some people
didn't take well to the idea of their roommate being gay.
"No." Michael shrugged, as if any of the guys would bother him in their room,
he wasn't afraid of a fight and even if he stood shorter than most of them, he
was good at throwing punches. "They're all assholes though."
"Well if they do, you come to me," Jackson turned back to the TV, watching as a
couple kissed passionately on screen, stumbling back until the woman's knees
hit a coffee table and they came crashing down to the sound of a jarring laugh
track, "I don't tolerate that kind of shit. God knows I got called a fag enough
back when I was your age."
"Wait, you're gay?" Michael questioned, turning and furrowing his brow at him.
He definitely hadn't expected that, not with the rumors of him and his
secretary going around.
 
Jackson snorted, "Hardly. But if you wanna fuck men, that's what people'll call
you." He settled further back into the couch cushions, as if they were talking
about something completely irrelevant and only vaguely interesting rather than
his childhood.
"So you like both? Or how does that work?" Michael prompted curiously,
repositioning himself so that his legs were tucked under him.
Jackson turned his head to look at Michael, raising an eyebrow, "How do you not
know about this, kid?" He figured someone with gay porn mags stuffed into their
desk would have at least tried using the one of the orphanage's computers to
look up information about sexuality. Most of the sites were blocked, but he'd
made sure that a few of the reliable sources of information that he'd found
were free to view.
"Uh... I don't know." Michael muttered, flushing and looking back towards the
TV, was he supposed to know this shit? He hadn't even given a fuck until just
today.
Jackson sighed, a hint of pity creeping into his gut. The kid was probably
confused as hell as to why he wanted a dick up his ass, and the man couldn't
blame him. "Some people wanna fuck chicks, other people wanna fuck men. Some
people, like me, wanna fuck both. It isn't too hard to understand, but if you
have any questions, shoot."
"When did you start liking dudes, like how'd you know?" Michael questioned,
turning and tilting his head at him curiously.
"You want the clean version or the true one?" Jackson drawled, giving the boy a
lazy smile. Michael was 15; he could make his own choices about what explicit
things he did and didn't want to hear.
"Truth." Michael grinned back, he'd heard some pretty horrendously graphic
things from the boys his age, he was pretty sure he could handle it.
"Well, I was in boy scouts. Plenty of camping trips into the middle of nowhere
with just a tent to sleep in, or a cabin you had to share with half the troop.
You're young, and everyone's hormonal, and the next thing you know the kid in
the bunk next to yours is jerking off, moaning into his pillow. I barely even
remember his name, now, but I decided right then and there that I'd like to be
the one making him about to jizz himself." Of course, then he'd gone and given
the boy a helping hand, but he wasn't about to tell Michael that. Wasn't about
to discuss the shame, the humiliation… How neither of them had been able to
look at the other all day, and then that night they'd done it again. And again.
 
"Oh. I guess that would decide it then." Michael mumbled, moving up to sit on
his knees. "Did you act on it...?"
"I did," Jackson confirmed. It had been a month long expedition, full of
exploration, fishing, tracking, and anything else a 15 year old boy could have
wanted. His nights, though, had been filled with bit knuckles to muffle his
moans, a tentative, calloused hand on his cock… They taught each other how to
give blow jobs. And near the end, they'd tried to imitate the stories they'd
heard; what it meant to be gay, what it meant to be a fag. They had understood
why it was a sin; it just felt to damn good to be anything else. But they'd
been naive, and ignorant, and the whole affair had ended with the other boy
almost screaming when Jackson pushed into him. He'd silenced him by slapping a
hand quickly over his mouth; too paranoid to speak, to ask what was wrong, if
it hurt, but too desperate to stop moving his hips, stop slamming into the boy,
until he came so hard he swore he felt the Earth shake… But the other boy was
still sobbing underneath him, and was that blood? He couldn't apologize,
couldn't say a word, just ran back to the cabin and left the kid laying there
in the ivy. Hours later, he heard the telltale sound of footsteps on wood as
the boy limped back to bed. The next day, he claimed he'd gone to take a piss
in the middle of the night and tripped- that's why he was walking so funny,
that's why his pajamas were covered in dirt. No one mentioned the fact that it
was his back that was soiled, though he'd claimed to have fallen on his face.
Jackson looked away, and didn't speak. That was the last trip he took with his
troop.
Michael nodded his head, Jackson was braver than he would've been, he wouldn't
have dared to act on his impulses. Of course, even with the girl he'd fucked,
she'd done the persuading, grabbing him by his collar and tugging him into a
storage shed. It'd been an event to say the least, and he'd been the talk of
the orphanage for a while.
"What about you, kid?" Jackson raised a brow, running his finger through his
slick hair and messing it even further. He figured this was a show and tell
kind of deal; you listened to everyone else share so that they'd do the same
when it was your turn to present.
Michael shrugged, how did he explain that he hadn't known until today. "Uh, I
found out recently." He mused.
Well, that explained why he was so skittish. Michael was generally unrepentant,
both of his actions and of his personality. This, though… This was knew to him.
Jackson would be happy to teach him. "It can be tough," the man drawled, an
empathetic look on his face, "You got any questions, I'll be happy to answer
them for you."
"How does it work? Like do you have to wear a condom still? Does it hurt?"
Michael felt himself scoot closer subconsciously, hands moving to sit on his
lap as he looked at Jackson intently.
 
"It doesn't hurt if you do it /right/," Jackson stressed, mouth turning up at
the corners a bit. Michael looked so naive, so unsure of himself, so…
desperate. "And unless you've been with the person awhile, you use a condom
unless you wanna catch something nasty that'll make your cock turn black and
fall off. Don't they teach you kids anything in sex-ed these days?"
Michael paled at the idea of his cock turning black and falling off. "They
teach us how to put a condom on and what our bodies do, but not about fucking
guys." Michael shrugged.
Jackson frowned, brow furrowing for a moment, before he stood, making his way
over to the cabinet below the TV and crouching down to open it. He searched for
a moment, shuffling through the rows of DVD cases and VHS tapes, until he found
what he was looking for near the back. He took out two DVDs, tossing them to
Michael. "Those are pretty accurate. Pick one." Of course, they were hardly his
favorites, but he figured he didn't need to be getting hot and bothered in
front of this kid given that he was a few years from jumping him already.
Michael flushed, barely looking at what they were, instead tapping the one to
the left and setting it aside. He was a little confused by why they were doing
this but, he figured it wasn't that big of a deal either way.
Jackson grabbed it, opening the case and putting the disc in the DVD player
without flourish. He got up from his crouch, moving to sit next to Michael
again and grabbing the remote. He navigated through the TV settings until the
strains of cliched porno music began drifting through the speakers.
Michael tugged at his hoodie, burrowing himself in the material as he watched
through the first scenes. He was entirely too aware on the older man next to
him and he already felt a few shades redder.
Jackson scoffed at the clichéd dialogue. It was a standard "oh no, all my
clothes are dirty and I was wondering if I could borrow some" which quickly
devolved into the two men- one was large and muscular, while the other was
smaller, with reddish hair and a shy smile- tongue-fucking on the couch.
Usually actors in these kinds of films tended to stretch themselves beforehand,
but Jackson had purposely picked one that was half fingering, given how Michael
had reacted before.
Michael watched the make out scene with an intent stare, all the porn scenes
he'd watched were guys and girls, or girls and girls, but this was definitely
different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his body felt tingly and he
could quickly feel how hot his hoodie was. He wasn't sure why he felt so
embarrassed watching the two men frot around on screen, their hips bumping
against each others. It wasn't as if Jackson hadn't expected this, I mean, he
did put on a porno, and the situation was entirely odd, but Michael didn't
really know how people worked.
After a moment, the larger man stage-whispered something obscene in the
redhead's ear, and he moaned. The large man gathered him into his arms,
carrying him to a bed conveniently placed a handful of paces from the couch.
The redhead was promptly stripped and flipped over, the large man slathering
his fingers in lube that hadn't been there a moment before. Jackson's pants
began to feel tight, but he kept his relaxed posture, only looking at Michael
out of the corner of his eye; the sight of the blushing boy made his cock
twitch.
Michael shifted in his seat, hand moving down to tug at the crotch of his
jeans, trying to fix the annoyingly bunched material as he hardened in his
pants. He bit at his lip as he watched the man work the smaller one on the
film, eyes eagerly taking in the way he spread the man's cheeks to give the
camera a better view as he worked his fingers in. It seemed like it would be
painful, but the man's whimpers led him to believe that it wasn't as bad as he
expected, even if he was an actor.
"You'd want to use at least that much lube," Jackson commented offhandedly, as
if they were watching an instructional video rather than porn, "If anyone tries
to fuck you without stretching you first, do it yourself." The redhead on
screen arched his back, a lewd noise coming from deep within his throat as the
large man found his prostate, and Jackson's eyes slid over to Michael, curious
if they even gave basic anatomy lessons in health class, or if the boy would be
utterly surprised.
Michael raised his eyebrows of in shock at the random cry, flicking his eyes
over to Jackson's for a moment. "Why'd he scream? What happened?" He looked
back at the tv, eyes flicking across the scene again.
Jackson's lips curled up at the corners, giving him a slightly amused
expression. "Prostate. It's a gland about-" he held up a hand, touching his
index finger and thumb together to create a circle roughly the size of a
chestnut, "This big, and it feels like sin when you press it. Haven’t you ever
fingered yourself?” He raised an eyebrow, but he already knew the answer. He
just wanted to see Michael’s reaction.
Michael looked over towards him when he started talking, flushing harshly when
Jackson asked him, shaking his head feverently. "N-no..." He wondered what it
did feel like, wondered what it felt like to have someone else's hands up
there, what it felt like to have a dick in there... Or have his dick in
someones.
"I'll loan you some lube," Jackson said off-handedly, though secretly his mind
was racing with thought of Michael touching himself, unsure at first, and then
desperate. Begging. Begging for Jackson to replace his fingers, but /fuck/. The
kid was 15. He anticipated a lot more nights at bars and impromptu jerk-off
sessions in his office in the future.
Michael bit at his lip, turning his attention back to the tv and nearly yelping
at the fact that the man on screen was rubbing his dick across the smaller ones
ass cheeks, slow, teasing movements. It made him instinctively reach a hand
down to adjust again, he didn't doubt he'd be making a trip to the bathroom
very shortly.
Jackson returned his attention to the show on screen, resisting the urge to
palm himself. It wouldn't do to look like some horny teenager; no, he'd
restrain himself until Michael was gone and then watch something a bit more
stimulating. For now, he kept his posture relaxed as he watching the goings-on.
"C-can I- uh, where's your bathroom?" Michael squeaked out, practically trying
to sink further into his hoodie and away from the almost awkward situation. He
really couldn't take anymore of watching the man's on screen slow thrusts as he
slammed into the man.
"Sure," Jackson motioned towards the door to the half-bath, giving Michael a
sympathetic look. Well, it would have been sympathetic if it wasn't for the
layer of satisfaction surrounding the expression.
Michael scampered up, practically running to the bathroom and opening the door.
He shut it gently behind him and leaning against the door, breathy pants
falling through him as he moved a trembling hand to unbutton and unzip his
jeans, wrapping a hand around himself and stifling a moan.
Jackson took a moment to palm himself roughly through his jeans to relieve the
pressure, but the action only served to make his problem worse- as did the
thought of what Michael was doing in the bathroom. He grimaced, feeling like a
horny teenager again. He turned off the TV, silencing the string of grunts and
moans pouring from the speakers, and tried to think of something that would
kill his mood. The only thing that he could come up with, however, was the way
his secretary squealed in a way that made his dick soften even when he was
ramming into her hot, tight cunt. It helped, but only slightly.
Michael pumped himself quickly, letting his mind replay what he'd watched only
seconds before hand, imagining what it felt like, as his hips bucked of their
own accord. He moved to the toilet, not wanting to make a mess Jackson's
bathroom. He quickened his pace to an almost painful speed, sticking one of his
knuckles in his mouth to muffle his moans.
Jackson stretched his arms up, letting the pull of his muscles distract him
from his half-hard cock. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his
mouth; who'd have ever thought he'd be doing some yoga bullshit to get rid of a
hard-on?
Michael came with a cry a few seconds later, thankful that his hand muffled it
somewhat. He spilled over into the toilet before panting through the
aftershocks of his orgasm. He grabbed up some of the toilet paper, wiping along
his cock and tossing it uncaringly in the toilet. He took a breather before
stuffing his dick back in his pants and zipping it, flicking the button done.
 
Jackson settled back into a relaxed position on the couch, though his cock
twitched at the muffled cry from the bathroom. It wouldn't do to look anything
less than composed; Michael needed an adult, a mentor, not some perverted prick
who only wanted to fuck his tight, adolescent ass.
Michael flushed the toilet before washing his hands free of whatever semen had
managed to get on them. He opened the door, drying his hands on his jeans as he
walked to back to the couch.
Jackson shifted his gaze to Michael, residing the urge to grin wolfishly at the
boy's expression. He didn't speak, waiting for Michael to break the tension
stretching between them.
Michael let out a nervous laugh, running a hand across the back of his neck
before moving back to the couch and relaxing back unto it, tucking a foot under
him and letting his other leg bend, foot resting just in front of that one.
"Sorry." He murmured, avoiding the man's gaze.
"You're young; it happens," Jackson shrugged, giving him a lazy smile, "But I
am gonna need those magazines if you ever wanna do this again." It wasn't a
threat, just a statement.
"Oh, yeah, right." Michael nodded, he'd completely forgotten about the
magazines hidden in his hoodie pocket. He moved positions to shrug out of it,
tugging the fabric off of his head, shirt rising up as it got caught on some or
the fabric. He grabbed the magazines, tossing them haphazardly on the coffee
table before fixing his shirt.
Jackson let his eyes drag over the exposed strip of skin for a moment, before
grabbing the magazines and standing. He moved into the kitchen, looking for a
good space to stash them and settling on one of the cabinets. Even with his
significant height, he had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top shelf, and he
relished the idea of Michael having to come ask him to get them down every time
he wanted to get off... He wondered if he could get the boy to beg.
Michael set his hoodie on the back of the couch, moving to lounge out
lengthways and resting his head back against the arm of the sofa. Hands
fiddling with his ratty shirt. The sofa was even more comfortable than his bed
and he felt like he was falling into it.
Jackson strolled back into the living room, leaning over the back of the couch
and looking down at Michael, "You ready to go back, or do you wanna sleep
here?" It was only 6:30, but Jackson figured the kid could afford to skip a
meal in favor of some extra sleep; the cafeteria food wasn't healthy by
anyone's standards, and Michael was looking a little pudgy.
"I don't want to bother you." Michael murmured quickly. Even if the couch was
incredibly comfortable, he definitely didn't want to inconvenience the older
man.
"All you kids ever do is bother me," Jackson drawled, "I can deal with having
one snot-nosed brat sleep on my couch for the night." With that, he ruffled
Michael's hair affectionately and went back to the kitchen to make himself
dinner.
Michael practically beamed at the affection, a small smile falling unto his
face as Jackson walked away. It was different with foster homes, they always
wanted so much from him and the loving contact was always awkward and forced.
He felt hungry too, usually dinner was scheduled at five and everyone was
eating at five thirty. He didn't dare ask for anything to eat though, it'd be
rude and he was already being allowed to crash on the man's couch without the
fear of having his mattress flipped in the middle of the night.
Jackson fixed himself a quick salad, chopping up some leftover chicken and
adding it to the mix of lettuce, shaved carrots, and bell pepper slices. Of
course, the veggies had all come together in a plastic container, but it was
better than surviving off of ramen and take-out like a college student. As an
afterthought, he fixed Michael a smaller bowl; it would probably do him some
good to eat something green other than the cafeteria's lime jello.
Michael let out a yawn, hands moving to stretch up behind him as his back
popped audibly. He slipped off his shoes, curling himself up further on the
couch.
Jackson ate his salad quickly, setting the empty bowl on the counter before
moving back to the living room and setting Michael's salad on the coffee table
with a murmured, "If you're hungry," before heading back into his room. He read
for an hour or two, before jerking off for the second time that day and
slipping into a restful sleep.
Michael ate the bowl of salad, thankful to have at least something in his
stomach. He fell back onto the sofa once he was done, cuddling himself around
one of the throw pillows and falling into a sleep quickly.
 
___________
Cameron was gay. He'd known for years, and before that he'd only known
something was wrong with him. It wasn't a shock when he'd notice his dick
twitch when he saw Michael naked, unashamed as he walked out of the shower to
steal some other poor bastard's towel because he'd forgotten his. A flood of
arousal washed through him, and everything had clicked into place. He thought
he'd ruined everything when he'd stuffed the magazines he'd bought with his
fake ID into the older boy's dresser, but after the initial violence, there had
been nothing. No one called him a fag, or flipped his mattress in the middle of
the night; Michael hadn't told. And a spark of hope began to bloom in Cameron,
because what if he wasn't the only one? He started hanging out around the other
boy more often, brushing their fingers together idly and flirting in the most
subtle manner he could manage, given that they were so rarely alone together.
He'd thought he'd caught Michael staring at him when he changed once, and after
that he couldn't resist entertaining fantasies of what the boy might do to him
given the chance.
After the situation with Jackson, Michael had come to terms with the fact that,
yes, he was definitely gay, and no, he didn't think he found women even
remotely attractive. He'd started to develop a slight crush on Cam when he
decided it all, plus there was the fact that he knew the boy was gay, and that
way he didn't have to worry about the possibility of rejection. He assumed he
was just as curious as Michael was, which led him to where he was now. He was
walking along the halls trying to find the younger man, planning on dragging
him outside in the alley to smoke a pack that was currently residing in
Michael's pocket.
Cameron was curled up in a ratty armchair in the common room, reading. It was
an almost guilty pleasure, and he knew the other guys would call him a pussy if
they knew he'd rather read sci-fi novels than roll a joint with them, or sneak
into a strip club. Honestly, he preferred engrossing himself in a world of
robots and aliens, intergalactic conquest and strange romances. He often
imagined himself as the hero, and whatever busty alien woman he fell in love
with became a muscular man who more often than not happened to have a mop of
curly hair. That had led to some very interesting jerk-off sessions.
Most of the time, though, he just enjoyed losing himself in the story, tucking
his knees up to his chest and holding the book up so close to his face that it
made his eyes hurt; that's what he got for not wearing his glasses. They broke
too often, and the orphanage was hardly going to pay for a new pair every time
some jackass punched him in the face.
"Hey, dickwad." Michael greeted, walking forward and tapping the book so that
it bumped him on the nose. He stole the book from him not a second later,
planting himself on the armrest of the armchair and scanning over the words
with a curious. "Whatcha reading?".
"Ender's Game," Cameron made a grab for the book, giving Michael a half glare.
The older boy was never that interested in books, even if he loved Sci-Fi
movies, and Cam didn't want to be made fun of.
 
Michael laughed but handed him back the book, laying his hand over the pages
when Cam tried to read it again. "Come on, come have a smoke with me." He
prompted, "No blunts, just cigs, yeah?" He stood up from the seat and planted
his hands in his pockets.
"Uh, yeah. Sure," Cam knew he was blushing, but Michael was probably used to
that by now. His face got red as a tomato whenever the other boy was around,
and he flushed easily anyways.
Michael arched an eyebrow. "Let's go then." He promoted, had it been someone
else he probably just would've hauled him to his feet, but he didn't want to
cause the younger boy to flinch. He turned and walked out the door when Cam
finally got to his feet. "So, how've you been?"
"Okay," Cameron shrugged, following the other boy down the hallway, "I got
kicked out of another foster home about a week ago, but whatever. No Latino
family wants some fucking Mexican kid that can't speak Spanish. Not my fault my
Dad only taught me curse words." He grimaced, scuffing his foot against the
ground as if he could wipe away the memories and leave them behind in his
footprints.
Michael nodded his head in quiet understanding, offering a small smile towards
him. "Well, did you at least show them how well you could speak it by cussin'
them out?" Michael already knew the answer, Cameron was the quietest kid and he
was actually shocked he hadn't been permanently adopted. Michael led them to
one of the balconies, opening the door for them before climbing down across the
side and unto the ladder below. They were only allowed to go out in the
backyard under watch, or if they got permission but Michael didn't really want
to deal with it, and there were so many kids that snuck out, he knew they
wouldn't be noticed at all most likely.
Cameron followed him with a snicker, "Nah. They were real religious, too. I
figured I would've gotten beat or something." He dropped the last couple of
feet, stumbling slightly when he landed and ruining any chance of looking cool.
Michael smirked, letting out a laugh. "All the more reason to tell them to go
to hell." He slid an arm across Cameron's shoulders, walking them back behind a
few alleys and sitting down once they reached a corner of one. He slid a
lighter out, as well as a cigarette box, sticking one in his mouth before
offering one to Cameron. And patting the ground for him to sit down as well.
Cameron flushed at the contact, but chuckled at Michael's words, grabbing a cig
and sliding down the wall to sit next to the boy, "See, this is why you keep
getting kicked out of foster homes. If I was a pretty gringo like you, I'd keep
my mouth shut."
Michael let out a laugh at that, though the fact that he called him pretty left
a fluttering in his stomach. He leaned forward to light the cigarette in his
mouth, cupping the wind away and taking the white stick from his mouth, leaning
forward to cup Cameron's face with the hand holding the lighter. He slid the
stick into Cam's mouth before taking the one from the younger boy's hand and
lighting that one and sticking it in his own mouth.
Cameron flushed; the prolonged contact made his heart kick into overdrive, and
the experience felt more romantic than friendly, but that was probably wishful
thinking. He took a drag on the cigarette, looking away from Michael as he
breathed out, watching the smoke curl into the air and fade away.
"Hey, Cam. Come closer for a second." Michael prompted, bringing a hand to his
knee and trying to tug him to sit cross legged in front of him.
Cameron gave him a confused look, but complied, careful not to blow smoke in
Michael's face when he took another drag on his cigarette. He turned his head
back so that he was facing the boy entirely, hands resting on his knees, the
hot end of his cigarette pointing upwards.
Michael rested a hand on the boys neck, his other hand moving to take a drag of
his cigarette, holding in the smoke until he pressed their lips together
breathing out slowly, and letting the smoke blow around them.
Cameron would've choked on the smoke if it hadn't been for the fact that he'd
stopped breathing. He was frozen; the only part of him that was still moving
was his heart, thumping in his chest so loud he swore Michael could hear it,
and pumping blood to his cheeks. Everything condensed down, his entire life
narrowing into this one moment, this one point: Michael was kissing him.
Somehow, he managed to kiss back.
Michael pulled away to let the smoke drain away, before pushing back at Cam's
lips, flicking his cigarette over near a corner and moving the hand to push the
younger boy's chest until he was laying back on the ground and Michael was
pressing their lips together needily.
Cameron's cigarette was tossed away, smoking forgotten in favor of opening his
mouth to Michael hesitantly; he'd kissed a couple of girls, but he'd never been
very sure of what he was doing. This felt more natural, somehow, like this was
what was supposed to be happening in his life, for once. He wrapped his arm
around Michael's shoulders, tugging him closer.
Michael let himself fall mostly against the younger boy, making sure to support
himself at least a little bit as he slid his tongue into Cam's mouth, sliding
their tongues across each other and moving his other hand to stroke against
Cam's stomach.
Cameron knew his face was bright pink, but he didn't care. He didn't care about
anything but Michael on top of him, /kissing/ him. He didn't care about the
concrete digging into his back, or the fact that the first kiss that ever meant
anything to him was in a back alley behind an orphanage, or the fact that his
father had beaten him more often than he'd fed him. This... This was what
mattered.
 
Michael pulled away after a few more seconds, leaning back on his ankles and
shooting the boy a smirk. He ran a hand down the boys stomach, caressing his
skin with his hand softly.
Cam looked absolutely floored, looking up at Michael with a mix of admiration,
adoration, surprise, and confusion. "I... You..."
"Thanks for putting those porn mags in my drawer by the way. Never knew I was
gay before that." He hummed, pressing a sweet kiss to the younger boy's lips.
Cam flushed pink, letting his eyes slide to the side. "No problem... I mean, I
kinda got you in trouble so I dunno why you're thanking me..."
"I didn't get in trouble." Michael murmured back, tilting his head away with
his index finger and sucking a light hickey unto the side of his neck, licking
the skin afterwards.
Cam made a soft noise somewhere between a moan and a surprised yelp. He'd never
gotten a hickey before, never seen the appeal... He understood now. "Y-you
didn't?"
"Nah." Michael muttered, leaving out the details of staying the night and
watching porn with Jackson. He kissed the skin he'd just marked, tonguing the
bruise gently.
"Michael?" Cameron sounded utterly vulnerable, voice tinged with hope and want
and worry, "Dude, I don't... What are you doing?"
Michael sighed audibly, pulling back and arching an eyebrow at him. "What?" He
demanded, voice growing harsh and defensive quickly.
Cameron shrank into himself, pressing back against the concrete as if he could
melt away into it. "I- I like you, man, y'know? You're my fucking best friend
in this shit hole. And you don't do hard drugs or anything. I don't wanna fuck
it up just because I wanna jump your bones..."
"I like you too, asshole." Michael mumbled back, moving off of him and sitting
back against a wall. "But, if you don't want to do this anymore because you
think we'll ruin the friendship, then we don't have to." Michael shrugged, as
if it didn't matter to him at all.
Cameron shook his head, sitting up and putting his hands tentatively on
Michael's knees. "No. No, just- take it slow? I've never... Like, I've never
done anything, y'know? And you... You fucked that girl last year." He fumbled
for a cigarette, needing the rush of nicotine to ease his nerves.
"Of course." Michael smiled, lighting Cameron's cigarette for him. He tugged
the boy back next to him a slinging an arm around his shoulders. "We don't have
to do anything you're not ready for."
 
Cam settled into the embrace, wrapping an arm around Michael's waist and taking
a drag on his cigarette. "Okay, cool. I don't even know what'd we'd fucking
do," he laughed nervously, running a hand through his thick hair.
Michael took the boy's cigarette, taking a drag of the stick before handing it
back to him. "I'm sure you learned something from those magazines." He mused,
shooting him a wink.
Cam snickered, "Yeah, but I don't really want anything up my ass. No offense,
man." He'd tried fingering himself in the shower once and it had just felt
uncomfortable and weird.
"Well, that would be why you'd fuck me." Michael chuckled back, sliding a hand
to rest gently on Cam's thigh.
Cameron inhale sharply on surprise, inhaling a lungful of smoke and coughing
violently. "I- Okay. Um, fuck." He felt the heat rush to his cheeks, and he
couldn't help the stutter that made its way into his voice. Fuck, that
sounded... Amazing.
Michael patted his back as he coughed, laughter falling from his throat at his
reaction. He couldn't help teasing the man a little, leaning closer and
pressing his mouth to the man's ear. There was something about Cam that just
made him feel confident. "Hmm, bet it'll feel so nice to have you in me."
Cam shoved him playfully, laughing despite the fact that he was getting even
redder. "Oh my god, Michael. You can't fucking say stuff like that. I'm gonna
get a hard on."
Michael smirked, lighting a new cig and sticking it in the corner of his own
mouth. "You're pretty cute when you blush, y'know." He patted his thigh again
before taking a drag of the cigarette.
"Well good, 'cause I do it all the fucking time," Cam muttered, letting the
nicotine flow through his system and calm him. He bumped his shoulder against
Michael's, a small spreading across his face.
"We're gonna have to keep quiet about this..." Michael murmured, moving his
knees up and resting his elbows on them. "Even if we do, assholes are gonna
assume... I don't care personally, I'll beat the shit out of whoever says
anything- but, with the whole stuff with your dad, I don't want you getting
beat up for it...So... We should keep this shit private." He took another drag
of the nicotine, running his other hand across the back of his neck.
Cam nodded, "When you hit me last year... Fuck, I thought I was done for. Just
'cause I'm a fag doesn't mean I wanna fuck every single dude in the orphanage,
but most people don't get that I don't want to fuck their sorry asses, y'know?"
 
"I get it. Wouldn't have told on you, even if I was straight. We have enough
issues in this shit hole without causing more problems." Michael murmured,
leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Cam's mouth, pulling away quickly so
that it'd still be considered taking it slowly. It was difficult, he just
wanted to fuck and get it over with so that they could do it more, but he'd
take things slow because Cameron wanted to, and he got that.
"... Is it stupid that I want it to be special?" Cameron ventured after a
moment, looking down at his cigarette as if it contained the answers to all his
questions, "Fucking, or sex, or whatever."
"Making love." Michael corrected, "You want it to be making love, not just sex,
not just fucking but an actual human connection. Not just a way to get off.
It's not stupid, no." Michael understood, he just didn't know how special he
could make it, how special he could be.
Cameron chuckled, taking another lazy drag, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Makes me
sound like a fucking pussy though. Shouldn't I be all, 'Hey, hop on my dick'?"
"Probably, I guess you're just broken." Michael joked, shooting him a smile and
bumping their shoulders playfully together. He glanced up at the dimming sky,
he didn't give a shit if they never showed up, he'd take getting yelled at just
to spend a few more moments like /this/.
"That's what my Dad always said," Cameron made a face, stubbing his cigarette
into the concrete with a sigh, "But, whatever. I'll take being broken over
being hit, right?" He leaned into Michael, resting his head on the other boy's
shoulder.
"You're not broken, I was only kidding, you're perfect." Michael hummed,
tilting to rest his head on top of Cam's and putting out his own cigarette,
wrapping his arms around the younger boy and pulling him close. He felt bad for
Cameron sometimes, he hadn't learned yet to just forget all the shit, of course
he supposed it was hard when the problem was written all over you, along his
back, across his chest, the back of his neck. Michael was lucky, he'd been too
young when his mother killed herself due to postpartum depression, and it was a
miracle she hadn't taken him with her. He was too young to remember much of the
two years he spent in his room, caked in his own mess, hair matted,
malnourished. But he couldn't remember any of that, just knew that his father
blamed him.
"Thanks," Cameron murmured, snuggling into the embrace. He still treated
affectionate contact like a rare treasure, even after all his years in the
orphanage. "I feel fucking guilty, though. You're being so nice about this,
even though you wanna fuck me." Michael probably had tons of guys lining up to
sleep with him, but here he was, smoking with Cameron in a back alley.
"I don't just want to fuck you. I like you Cam, I mean it. I don't mind
waiting, alright? Don't sell yourself short." Michael muttered, pressing a
gentle kiss to his jaw bone and letting his hands rub along the man's
shoulders. It wasn't intrusive, just loving, or as loving as Michael was ever
gonna get. They both knew the moment he got back around his friends he would be
insulting the hell out of everyone.
"I dunno, man, I'm not exactly tall," the younger man cracked, giving Michael a
smile. "But if you're ever… y'know… I can help out or whatever. Blow jobs and
hand jobs don't count," he shrugged. That was what all the other boys said; you
had to actually /fuck/ a girl for it to count.
"Whatever you're comfortable with. /If/ you're comfortable, if you need any of
that as well, I'm more than happy to oblige." Michael smirked, laying down and
pulling the younger one on top of him, peppering kisses along the sides of his
face.
Cameron squeaked, flushing a vibrant pink. "Don't go all after school special
on me, man," he cracked, balancing himself on his hands and knees, arms
bracketing Michael's head. He leaned in to give the boy a deeper kiss.
"You were the one bitching about slowing down when we were making out." Michael
mused, locking a hand on the back of the younger boys head, gently pulling
their lips together more heartedly. He swiveled his hips experimentally.
"Yeah, well-" Cam started to reply, but Michael's lips cut off whatever snarky
response had been forming. He opened his mouth to the kiss, waiting for the
other boy to slip his tongue inside because /wow/ that had felt good. Weird,
but good. He breathed in sharply when Michael's hips thrusted up to meet his,
and suddenly he was very aware of the way the cloth of his boxers rubbed
against his cock.
Michael slid his tongue into the younger boy's mouth, sliding his tongue along
the roof of his mouth and flicking it across his teeth before grinding his hips
up again, because holy shit, that felt amazing and he honestly wanted to grind
up at the younger boy for hours.
Cameron let out a soft mewling sound that just made him blush harder- fuck, how
had he managed to make a sound that frickin' desperate? He rolled his hips into
Michael's experimentally, letting the other boy control the kiss because, hell,
he probably had a shit ton more experience than Cam did.
Michael let out a groan when Cam moved his hips down, a hand moving to his
lower back and press him harder against him. "Fuckin' hell, Cam..." He
murmured.
"Dude, we're in a fucking alley. Behind an orphanage," the boy let out a
breathy, nervous laugh, but continued to grind against Michael anyways. This
really wasn't how he'd imagined their first kiss going… Their first /anything/
going, but he liked it. Fuck, did he like it. He was already hard in his
fucking jeans.
 
Michael let out a laugh, letting his head fall back to the concrete and trying
to pull the younger man up higher on his hips, so that their dicks brushed
together more.
Cameron whimpered, ducking his head into Michael's chest with a soft, "Oh
fuck." He wasn't sure if he wanted the first time he came with someone else's
help, but that thought was quickly being drowned out by his mounting arousal.
He rutted into the older boy with abandon, dropping to his elbows so that he
could burrow further into Michael.
Michael ran his hands along the younger man's back, as his hips bucked up
against the younger's, circling them as he moaned out. He wasn't sure when the
make out session escalated this far, and he was stuck between not wanting this
to be the first experience the boy had and his own peaking arousal. He was the
older one, the more experienced one, he should make them stop, but his body
wouldn't allow it and he was quickly growing heated under the mounting
pressure. "Fuck, Cam, baby-.. Ah." He moaned out.
Cameron let out a low curse, face flaring red at the pet name. If he hadn't
been on the edge already, that certainly would have gotten him there, because
there was something about the way that Michael moaned his name that made him
ache. The boy was so… He couldn't even think of a word. What meant sexy, and
comforting, and perfect, but also a ball of steaming rage all at once?
"God, I could do this for hours with you, getting off just on the feeling of
you against me, holy fuck-" Michael breathed out, bringing their lips into a
searing kiss as he tried to grind his hips up enough to get the younger boy
off, he didn't really feel like he himself could last long.
Cam rocked against him, for a few moments, mouth opening in a silent moan that
turned vocal as he came. He muffled it in Michael's shirt, biting at the fabric
and the boy's collarbone that rested below it. It was entirely different than
jerking off to porn mags or his own imagination; this was hot and intense and
there was something distinctly /other/ about it that made him curse and bite at
his lip and breathily pant Michael's name once he finished.
Michael came when the younger boy bit at his collar bone and made the delicious
sounding cry that still echoed off his eardrums. He realized very quickly that
this was far different than being with a girl, and he enjoyed it much more, it
was easier, by a remarkable amount and guys were just generally more
attractive. He knew they'd both be climbing back inside with sticky pants and
Michael wished he hadn't been so caught up in the moment to prevent this mess
in their pants. He kissed at the boy's head sweetly. "Sorry.. I'm sure that
wasn't how you wanted your first real session to be.."
"No, I-" Cam stumbled over his words, finally settling for burrowing his head
into Michael's chest and giving him two thumbs up, “Awesome. It was awesome.”
Well, it was awesome besides the fact that there was a fuckton of jizz in his
pants.
 
Michael smiled down at him, content with just lying there for a few moments. He
ran his fingers through the younger boys hair. "Think they have the showers
still open?" He questioned, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky, they'd
missed dinner no doubt.
Cam shrugged, "Well, we can't get in anymore trouble than we're already in if
we get caught… So yeah. Open showers. Showers for all." He gave Michael a
cheeky smile, moving to kiss him quickly and stand up. The boy smelled like
cigarette smoke and sweat, which was simultaneously gross and a little bit
comforting… Familiar, maybe. God, did he want it to become familiar.
Michael got to his feet as well, tugging him back by his hand when he started
to walk away, winding his hands around his waist and pressing a sweet kiss to
his lips. "This is nice." He mused, before dropping his hands away and
beginning to walk back. Part of him wished they didn't have to keep it a
secret, that they could stay up all night making out in their room and no one
would bat an eye. He knew however, that wasn't going to happen. He pulled
himself up on the ladder, after adjusting his sticky pants, sliding in through
the door of the balcony.
Cam followed, happy to let the older boy lead. His pants were entirely
uncomfortable, but honestly, he was too blissed out to care. He'd just- Well,
fucked wasn't the right word. Fucked around with?- Michael Jones, and they
were… They were a thing. He felt absolutely giddy.
Michael pulled Cameron along with him, shutting the balcony door quietly, it
was what the workers called "down time." Which meant everyone was sent away
from the ground floors and to the common rooms to relax, while the younger ones
were helped and gotten ready for bed. Michael led them quietly towards their
room, peeking in and sighing when it was empty of their roommates, thankfully.
They must've been in the common rooms, which left the boys alone in the room.
Cam grinned, giving the air a small, dramatic fist pump. Thank God. Now he
could change without trying to hide behind a towel or some shit. Sure, he'd
always been a little self conscious, but it was more of a turn-your-back-to-
the-other-guys-when-you-change than a avoid-showing-a-single-patch-of-skin type
of thing. The other boys knew about his scars, even though he didn't flaunt
them, just like he knew about the birthmark on Brad's ass (not that he'd been
looking- it was hard to miss). Suddenly, he felt a little self conscious of his
appearance, because /fuck/, what if Michael thought they were ugly?
Michael slipped out of his shirt quickly, discarding the fabric into the
laundry basket designated for him specifically. He'd honestly thought of using
the shower downstairs, which was huge and public as fuck, or the inch by inch
one they had in their room, but now it seemed much easier just to grab a
washcloth from the bathroom, which he did. He unzipped and unbuttoned his pants
uncaringly, pulling off his boxers and wiping himself down of the leftover
gunk. He turned to toss it over to Cam, noting that he'd barely started to
undress.
 
Cameron caught the cloth, flushing for the umpteenth time that day when he
noted that it was covered in Michael's cum. He slipped out of his shirt and
pants quickly, boxers following shortly after; thank God his Dad had
concentrated on his torso. The unmarked parts of him were treasures, and /
fuck/, when had being normal become a treasure? He wiped himself off, tossing
the cloth into the laundry basket at the foot of his bed.
Michael slipped a fresh pair of boxers on, as well as a pair of sweats before
letting his eyes rake over the man's body, his eyes shown no pity, no sympathy,
just acceptance before he moved over and pressed a tentative hand along one of
the scars across his chest. They ranged from burn scars to whip scars, to belt
scars and he honestly couldn't imagine what it was like to go through that
everyday. One of his foster parents had taken a hammer to his arm when Michael
backhanded his daughter for trying to shove drugs down his throat cause he
wouldn't fuck her. But that was the closest he'd gotten to abuse and he was
already thirteen when it happened. He leaned forward to press a kiss to one,
pulling away when he was very aware that someone could walk in.
Cam twitched away from the contact instinctively, before submitting to the
gentle touch. He gave Michael a searching look, but found no pity, no disgust…
And that was what made his face crumple into something sad and broken. He was
used to pity, to long stares and whispers when he undressed, but this? This
silent acceptance and love? He'd never gotten that before.
"You're okay." Michael murmured, it was a statement, as if he was reminding him
that that part of his life was over. He pressed his lips gently to the man's
before pulling away and offering a smile. "Now put your clothes on, let's go
get something to eat."
"Yeah… Yeah, okay," Cam murmured, pulling a fresh outfit out of his dresser and
slipping it on, his mask of bravado returning once once his scars were covered.
"You think they'll let us into dinner? We're fucking late as hell."
"No, probably not. We'll sneak in, I'm fucking starved." Michael smirked,
grabbing a pullover hoodie and tugging it on over his head, before opening the
door and walking out, heading down the halls. He didn't know if anyone noticed
they were gone, but he surely hoped not.
"… What if they noticed we were gone? Like, fucking Brad and Jason and
everyone?" Cameron asked nervously, hand reaching out to squeeze Michael's for
a moment, "Do we just say we were smoking? Because Jason's gonna bust a gut if
he finds out you had cigs and didn't give him any..."
Michael sent him a smirk, offering a comforting squeeze back. "It'll be fine,
we just tell them we were smoking, it's not a big deal. We were smoking."
Michael peeked in the cafeteria, the group of workers that were still here were
all eating out of lunchboxes. It was a pretty bitch move in Michael's opinion,
given the fact that they all had to stomach the food. He opened the door
carefully, immediately dropping his hand from Cam's and moving to walk towards
the cafeteria line, despite the servers already trying to box the food up.
Cam jogged after him, stuffing his hands in his pockets to quell the temptation
to reach out and grab Michael again. He didn't speak; he didn't know what to
say. Everything was unfamiliar territory now; he'd never been in a
relationship, much less one he had to keep secret.
Michael grabbed a tray and a bottle of water, moving through the line as
quickly as possible, not bothering to so much as apologize for their lateness,
even when the woman made rude remarks about ungrateful bastards. Michael moved
to sit at the table with the rest of the guys, rolling his eyes when they
blasted questions.
"Where were you guys, jerking each other off in the bathroom?" Brad demanded
with a laugh.
"Nah, smokin'." Michael commented coolly, shrugging his shoulders and chomping
down with his usual air of confidence.
Jason looked downright hurt, and he glared at Michael, "The fuck, man? I always
let you hit me up for cigs when you're craving. Ungrateful little shit…" This
last was muttered into a forkful of rubbery pasta.
Cameron rolled his eyes, sitting down next to Michael and shoving a shoulder
against the boy to get him to move over, "Just because you live off of
nicotine, doesn't mean the rest of us are obligated to keep you alive,
dickwad."
Michael moved over, letting out a laugh. "Know something that's gonna piss you
off more?" Michael mused, sending Jason a wicked smile and taking another bite
of the food. "I left the last half of the pack outside." Okay, it was a dick
move but Jason got butthurt about every little thing.
"You're fucking kidding me," Jason breathed, looking horrified, "Please tell me
you're fucking joking- what if it rains? God, you /fag/." The expletive was
just that; a meaningless insult, but it made Cam's heart jump a little in fear.
That was probably going to happen a lot now that he and Michael were together;
that was one of Jason's favorite curses.
Michael laughed, shrugging his shoulders matter of factly before continuing to
eat at the bland food. "Doesn't matter, you're not getting any of them anyway."
"Fuck you," Jason muttered, glaring down at his rubbery pasta before shoving a
forkful into his mouth and chewing viciously. Cam snickered; honestly, it was
fun to tease the older boy, even if it sometimes earned you a punch in the
face.
Michael let out another laugh, twisting his fork through the now cold pasta and
shoveling it into his mouth. "He's just jealous that you spent more time with
Cam then him." Brad mocked, smirk falling unto his face.
 
"Well, I can't help it if Michael likes me better," Cam grinned, sticking out
his tongue at the pair and twirling his fork so that it picked up some of the
rubbery noodles on his plate. They were slathered in grease and some sort of
white sauce that the cafeteria people claimed to be Alfredo sauce, and there
were a few chunks of chicken thrown in. The boy grimaced; as soon as he was out
of this shithole, he was becoming a vegetarian.
"You missed a pretty bad fight, by the way." Brad mused, "Some twelve year old
guy beat the fuck outta this eleven year old girl, they were in the office all
fucking day- gave us all a free ride to do what we wanted because we couldn't
get sent in." Michael let his eyebrows raise and added a curious "Yeah?" to the
conversation as he swallowed down most of his food.
"You try to sneak into a strip club again?" Cam asked, raising an eyebrow. It
was a typical activity for the boys, and even if they'd only managed to get in
twice and gotten thrown out on their asses after about an hour both times, they
kept trying. Cam didn't really see the appeal of it; it was just girls in lacy
underwear shaking their asses on a pole, asking for money and giving you the
evil eye if you didn't tip. Then again, he was also gay.
"Of course we did, we only got to stay for fifteen minutes though, I think they
recognize our faces by now." Brad sighed out, slumping back in his chair
dramatically. "We wouldn't even have to go if the bitches here put out."
Michael let out another laugh at that, shaking his head. "They put out, just
not for /you/."
Cam snickered, which earned him a glare from Jason, who had decided to stop
sulking and turn his anger to this new subject. "Oh yeah, dickwad? Like /you/
ever get any. The only time you've ever cum in a girl was that bitch last year,
and you won't even fucking tell us about it. At least Brad and I get /
something/." By something he meant blow jobs in back alleyways by chicks who
wanted cigs, or a joint, or whatever Brad had decided to start reselling these
days.
Michael was mostly unphased, only rolling his eyes when Brad chuckled at the
insults. "I don't have to tell you when I fuck, or who I fuck, I don't kiss and
tell. But, for your information, the reason I don't tell you jerk offs about it
is because I don't want you two creaming your fucking pants." It wasn't true,
his first time had been sloppy and messy, and he'd fumbled more than once in
the storage closet. They were young and didn't know what they were doing or
even why they were doing it.
Jason snorted, and Cam turned red- fuck, why did he always do that?
Unfortunately, the other boy took note of his flustered state, a wolflike grin
stretching over his face. "Cam'll tell me what he's been up to though, right
Cam? We're buds."
Cameron only made a small noise that sounded something like a squeak and looked
down at his pasta, face turning an even deeper shade of red.
Jason raised an eyebrow, looking at the younger boy in interest, "No fucking
way, dude. You actually get laid?"
"Alright okay-" Michael sighed out, rolling his eyes. "I set Cam up with this
girl I met at school." He lied easily, covering up the younger man's inability
to deal with these sort of situations. "It was a double date, we went down to
the movies and snuck in." Thank God he'd spent the years here lying about all
sorts of shit, it made it easier.
Brad made a low hum, reaching across to pat Cameron on the shoulder. "Atta
kid."
"Fuck off," the younger boy muttered, swatting the hand away. Still, he managed
a half smile, because what the hell? He did "get some" even if it had been with
Michael in a back alley.
"So, she blow you or what?" Jason asked, sitting forward and leaning his elbows
on the table. Honestly, Cameron was pretty sure that the boy had a thing for
dirty talk or /something/, because he always demanded the details whenever one
of the boy "got sex'd" as he, embarrassingly, put it.
Michael pushed his tray of food away, the food was mostly gone and he propped
an elbow on the table and turned his head to the side to glance curiously at
Cam. Brad sat back as well, raising his eyebrows up curiously at the younger
boy.
"Um…" Cameron was suddenly very interested in examining the last piece of
chicken on his plate. How honest could he be without giving himself- and
Michael- away? "Yeah." Sure, let's go with that.
He realized his mistake, however, when Jason didn't back down. In fact, he
looked more interested than before. "How was it? I met this one chick who could
do this thing with her tongue that- Like, I don't even know how to describe it,
man."
Michael turned his attention to Jason with a smirk. "Remember that girl that
bit you?" He laughed out, Brad joining him with a chuckle and a shake of his
head.
Jason shivered, his face screwing up at the memory, "Fuck. You don't even know
how fucking much that hurt, or you wouldn't be laughing. Thought that bitch was
gonna bite my cock off."
"Well, at least you wouldn't have lost much," Cam interjected, taking a last
bite of spaghetti with an innocent look on his face.
Michael and Brad broke off into laughter at Jason's expense from Cam's insult,
the frantic giggles falling from their throats as they tried to stifle them.
"She- she probably didn't even notice you were in her mouth." Brad wheezed out,
sending them both back into immature laughter.
"See, it's a dick joke." Michael explained when Jason didn't laugh. "Because it
was too small for her to notice. And you wouldn't have lost much- cause your
dick is small." Brad continued.
"Oh, fuck you," Jason griped, "I don't have to fucking take this. I could get
any girl in this shit hole to suck me off if I wanted to."
"What, not any of the guys?" Cam raised an eyebrow, smirking at Jason. "Damn,
you must really be small if you can't even get a fag to blow you."
The older boy's face contorted with rage and his reply was spat out through
clenched teeth, "Like I'd want some guy's lips around my dick, you fucking gay
ass shit."
"I bet that's why Jason always has a towel on, he's insecure." Brad whispered
loudly to Michael, sending them both into a laughing fit, only laughing harder
when Cam commented and Jason delved further towards rage. They were beginning
to attract attention, their noisy table causing others to try to figure out
what was so funny.
Cam smirked, "Yeah, sure, man. But if I'm so gay, how come I don't wanna bone
you?"
Apparently, that was the last straw, because Jason pushed back his chair and
threw his fist at the younger boy's face. Cameron felt something in his nose
crack, and he bit back a yell, grabbing at his face with one hand. There was
something warm on his face- blood. He whimpered.
Michael looked between the two of them, laughter cutting off quickly as his
anger took over. "What the fuck asshole?!" He stood up from his chair,
realizing he only had a few moments to react, because the workers were already
racing over. He slammed his fist into the older boy's gut, uncaring about the
fact that Jason was definitely bigger than him. "You fucking cocksucker!"
Michael yelled out, the youngest kids eyes widening at the language.
Brad moved to grab at Cameron's face quickly, eyes locking with the younger
boy's. "You're here, at the orphanage. Not back home, stay with me." He
demanded, it was rare they ever hit each other, the four of them usually being
pretty close and honestly he thought of Cam as a little brother in a lot of
ways and it was natural to immediately go to his side and try to keep him from
flashing backing too hard.
Cameron's lip quivered, but he nodded, taking in a deep breath and letting it
out shakily. But as the adrenaline in his system began to wear off, he could
feel his nose begin to throb and immediately was brought back to the days when
his Dad wasn't in jail. Wasn't locked up far away where he couldn't hurt Cam
anymore. It was as if his father was right there, and the shouts of the kids
and staff alike blended into a roar. Useless. Broken. Worthless. He could feel
the phantom sting of a belt on his back, a cigarette stubbed out on his arm, a
beer bottle smashed on his shoulder.
Brad sighed when Cam's eyes glazed over and he focused on nothing in
particular, staring off into whatever traumatic events were reoccurring, he was
shoved away from him by a nurse and a therapist, another worker grabbing his
own arm and demanding to know what happened. He glanced up at the scrambling
boys being pulled away from each other with split lips and quickly bruising
faces.
Michael was full on screaming, his voice cracking and breaking insults at Jason
who was just as angry. It made his head hurt and he noted all the workers
trying to lead kids out of the building.
Cam let himself be pulled away by the workers, sobbing brokenly as the memories
washed over him. He slumped against the therapist, dragging his feet because
despite the fact that he wanted the memories to go away, he knew that they
wouldn't. He'd only get a pill to make him sleep, and everything would fade
away until there were just nightmares.
Michael wanted to kill Jason, that was official, he wanted to kill him for
making Cam go through that shit again, he knew it wasn't fair, he'd done the
same thing to Cameron before, but this somehow was different. Maybe he just
felt possessive, all he knew was that his head was going lightheaded from all
the struggling he was doing against the workers arms. They were asking if Reed
was still here, but Michael couldn't make out the answer, though he assumed not
given that it was six and it was rare for him to stay late.
 
Jackson sighed, scrubbing at his face with one hand. It had been a long and
difficult day. On top of the fight that had consumed most of his time, he had
to find a way to squeeze gluten-free meals into the orphanage's already tight
budget, as well as do his daily load of bullshit paperwork. But finally, he had
finished up, and barring any more complications, he could go home and /sleep/.
The secretary beeped into his messenger from the hallway outside. "Mr. Reed,
we've had another fight break out in the cafeteria between Michael Jones and
Jason Wright. Would you like to address the issue now or tomorrow morning?" The
secretary chimed, looking up at the worker that had brought the news.
"Fuck," Jackson cursed into the messenger, "No, bring them in- Wright first. We
can't let those two stew overnight." Someone would end up with a flipped
mattress and a bloody nose at least.
 
 
The secretary nodded, motioning for worker to bring them over. The next thing
Michael knew they were being dragged off, giving Michael plenty of time to
glare at Jason's back. Now they were gonna get in trouble and it was definitely
his fault. They shoved Michael into a chair in front of the secretary, none too
gently he might add.
Jackson didn't even bother pulling out Jason's file when the boy entered the
room; he'd been in trouble so many times by now, the man had memorized the
information written there. "Have a seat." He made sure to speak calmly, because
Jason looked like he might lash out again at any moment. Jackson wondered if
he'd even been taking his meds, or just cheeking the pills and selling them on
the side.
After a few moments of silence, Jason burst, explaining roughly that he'd "been
insulted" and that it "wasn't my fault, those fuckers provoked me!" Jackson
listened silently, his expression devoid of emotion. When the boy had finished
ranting, he sighed.
"You don't expect me to believe this shit, do you, Jason? Just because you deal
for me on the side doesn't make you teacher's pet. Go sit in the waiting room,
and I'll deal with you after I've heard Jones's side of the story." The boy
didn't move, and Jackson glared at him, "Now." He scampered away, tail tucked
between his legs.
Michael was tugged up by the hood of his hoodie, shoved in the direction of the
door when Jason walked out. He flipped off the worker that shoved him as he
walked his way into the office, shutting it behind him and sitting down across
from Reed.
"Michael. I haven't seen you in awhile," Jackson said, keeping his voice calm
as he crossed his arms over his chest, relaxing back in his chair. It had been
too long, really, since the boy had come crawling to him, asking if he could
come over.
"Yeah, I've been busy." Michael shrugged, he'd once gotten to the point of
going over at least twice a week, asking for the porn mags in the cabinet or
occasionally asking if he could watch a porno. He had things to do now, raves
to go to, cigarettes to smoke, people to hang out with, and now he had Cameron.
He rubbed at.his busted lip distractedly, as if this whole thing was
unimportant to him. He just really wanted to check on the younger boy.
"As much as I've missed our little get togethers," Jackson drawled, "I didn't
really want to see you like this. You mind tellin' me what happened?"
"We were trying to get a rise out of him, is all. I didn't expect him to punch
someone." Michael murmured, shrugging his shoulders once more. "He's a fucking
prick." He added, grimacing.
"So, what? He hit Mr. Ramirez, and then you hit him?" Jackson raised an
eyebrow. He knew the group of boys was close-knit, but he didn't understand why
Michael would stand up for Cameron specifically. The boy was more bark than
bite unless he got truly angry, which, admittedly was often, but it was a rare
occurrence that his rage was directed at his friends.
"Yeah." Michael answered simply, resting back in the chair and crossing an
ankle over his knee. "He has a past with abuse and I thought it was a dick move
to hit him when Jason knew that."
"Violence isn't the answer," Jackson reprimanded, but his mouth twitched up at
the corner at the cliche, as if he was saying it because he was obligated to
and not because he believed it. "Regardless, most people have a better reason
than that. You can't hit people just because they're annoying little shits."
"Well, I'm not most people and that's why I punched him." Michael muttered, he
didn't want to be here any longer and truth be told he had half a mind just to
walk out.
"Kid," Jackson sighed, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his desk, "I
don't want to punish you, but you gotta give me more than this unless you want
half you privileges revoked."
Michael furrowed his eyebrows at that. "You can't do that, that's not fair." He
whined out, huffing loudly. "I don't have any more to tell you."
"Yeah, well the system doesn't give a rat's ass about fair," Jackson countered,
"It doesn't matter if you were defending someone, you hit another kid, and I
can't let that go or else next thing you know, everyone's saying they were
protecting their friend. You don't get special treatment just 'cause I like
you. Unless this was a hate crime or some crap, I can't do jack shit."
"Fine, then punish me, whatever." Michael grumbled out, crossing his arms over
his chest and sitting back in the seat with a huff. It wasn't like telling him
that he had a crush on the kid would help anything. This thing was dumb and him
getting in trouble for defending someone was dumb. He wanted Jackson to come to
his side, to agree with him, but apparently he was taking Jason's side.
"Fine," Jackson sat back, digging around on his desk drawer for a form to fill
out, "You and Wright are confined to your room outside of meals, and down time.
I don't want to hear about anymore /spats/, you hear me? And tell Jason he's
got janitorial duty for the next two weeks."
Michael bit back the anger that was pooling in him as he glared at Jackson
angrily. He still didn't see why any of this was his fault. "Fuckin' fine,
whatever." He seethed out.
"Don't you /dare/ take that tone with me," Jackson snapped, pressing down on
the form so hard that an ink blot began to form. He glared back at Michael,
steely-eyed. "What did you expect to happen? You hit Wright so hard he's going
to have bruises. I can't let that go, Michael. If I did, every snot nosed brat
here would think that they could do the same thing. I recognize that you were
protecting a friend- that's why Wright's on janitorial and you're not. Do you
understand me?"
"I said it was fucking /fine./" Michael hissed back, though he shrunk down a
little at the man's strict tone. He knew he was most definitely toeing the
line, even when he mumbled an almost silent "Fucking cocksucker."
Jackson gritted his teeth, "Go. Before I give you something better to do than
mouth off." He pointed towards the door, rage barely contained.
Michael stood up from the chair sharply, basically stomping out of the office
and slamming the door shut after him. He walked forward, already trudging over
to Jason. "You have janitorial work for two weeks asswipe, and our privileges
got taken away, so thanks." He seethed out, walking away and up towards their
room. He was still furious, and the walk there was pretty much blinded by the
anger that was pouring from him. He barely looked at whoever was in their room
currently, only slamming open the bathroom and walking in, shutting it behind
him. He let out a yell, hands moving to his head and fingers curling in his
hair roughly.
After being forced to down a pill, the workers had led Cameron back to his
room. His legs shook- whether with fear or exhaustion as the drugs overwhelmed
his system, he didn't know. They left him to change into his pajamas, but that
proved to be too much work for his fumbling fingers and he collapsed on top of
his bed in just his boxer shorts. He tried to call out to Michael as he passed,
and only ended up producing a tired moan. He wanted to sleep, but he also
wanted Michael.
Michael slammed the back of his head into the wall a few times, just to let out
the painful fury inside him, letting out a deep breath and steadying himself.
He didn't want to be angry when he was around Cam and he let the calmness fall
over him before he opened the door and walked over to the boy's bed. "Hey, you
feeling alright?" He murmured.
"Tired," the younger boy muttered, voice garbled slightly. He felt like he was
floating, but he knew that feeling would go away as soon as he fell asleep,
replaced by the phantom terror of memories. He reached out to Michael
hesitantly, "I don't... Can you?"
Michael could barely understand him in the younger one's drug haze. "Can I
what?" He murmured carefully, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him
up a little so that he could pull the sheets down more before lying him down
and pulling the small blanket up higher. He linked their hands together,
rubbing his knuckles with his thumb.
"This. This is good," Cam murmured, snuggling into the older boy's chest with a
small sigh. Michael smelled less like sweat and cigarette smoke now, and more
like cinnamon mixed with the odd bar-soap smell that clung to Reed's office.
Michael ran his other hand through Cameron's hair gently, his head was aching
and he was regretting his earlier tantrum in the bathroom. He hummed quietly,
trying to keep Cameron calm until the drugs knocked him out. He wasn't great at
this whole comfort thing but he felt an odd protection for the younger boy, one
he didn't quite understand.
Cam felt himself drifting off, slipping fluidity in and out of dreams.
Michael's warmth seemed to keep the nightmares at bay.
Jason sulked down the hall to their room, running a hand over his shaved head.
Michael- that fucking cocksucker. Like he was any better than the rest of them
just because he didn't do anything hard. He was an angry bastard with a stick
so far up his ass Jason was surprised it hadn't punctured a lung.
Michael leant back to rest against the headboard, one leg resting on the bed
while the other braced himself on the floor. It was uncomfortable, but Cameron
wasn't completely asleep yet and he wanted to wait. Fuck the entire orphanage,
fuck the secrets, /this/ was so much more important.
Jason stormed into the room, ready to ream Michael's ass, no matter how bad he
felt for hitting Cam, but stopped short when he caught sight of the pair. Cam
was snuggled up to Michael's chest like a three year old boy. "The fuck?"
Michael blanked, mentally shouting at whatever higher being that he took it
back, and that they'd clearly misunderstood. Or maybe life was just playing a
lifelong cruel ass joke on him. He recovered quickly, pulling away and standing
up, crossing his arms over his chest. "What? You made him /flashback/ asshole,
they had to give him those fuck awful drugs."
Jason scoffed shutting the door behind him, "Yeah, I realize that, but why is
he cuddled up to you like a lovesick girl?" Cam, in his defense, was also
sleeping, body curling into itself in Michael's absence.
"Because he's drugged up?" Michael guessed, shrugging his shoulders before
moving back to his bed and tugging his hoodie over his head, shirtless body
moving to lay along his own bed. "Can you just like shut the fuck up? I have to
spend however many fucking days with you and you're already pissing me off." He
huffed out.
"Whatcha gonna do, hit me?" Jason sneered, flopping down on his own bed, "This
explains why you hit like a pussy; everyone knows faggots can't fight for
shit." He smirked at Michael, hoping to get a rise out of the boy.
"Fuck off, you fucking pathetic broke piece of shit." Michael spat out the
words. "Hey, has your dad come back to get you? No? Guess that makes sense, if
you were my son, I wouldn't want you either." It was a low blow, even for
Michael, but he was angry and his emotions were heightened, and he felt like
his head might crack in two.
 
"You fucking take that back, you worthless cocksucker," Jason hissed, sitting
up a clenching his hands into fists. "Maybe your Mommy killed herself because
she /knew/. Couldn't bare to think that she'd given birth to a fag." A small
corner of his mind wondered why Michael was taking this to heart. He'd probably
called everyone in the orphanage a faggot and then some; it was his favorite
insult.
"Seriously Jason, fuck off!" Michael called out in frustration. "If you don't
shut the fuck up and let me sleep, I'm going to suffocate you with a pillow to
do your dad a fucking favor."
"Quiet, you'll wake your boyfriend," Jason sneered, voice going singsongy on
the last word. Still, he rolled over, shucking off his shirt and throwing it to
the side, before sliding under the covers and shoving his khakis down his legs.
Sleep… Sleep sounded boring, but what else could he do?
Michael groaned but didn't otherwise say anything back, only tucking himself
under the covers and letting sleep overtake him surprisingly quickly.
End Notes
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