Too Young Eyes

Ryan was staring up at Pete with too-young eyes. He didn’t know if that was because he’d woken Ryan up at three in the morning or if he really was too young. Ryan was lying at his back, looking like a doll, face too-pretty, eyes too-young, body too damn fuckable. It wasn’t Pete’s fault. It wasn’t.

His fingers immediately hooked around the waistband of Ryan’s pajama bottoms, pulling them down entirely too quickly. The younger boy gave a small gasp and grabbed Pete’s comforter, pulling it over himself, covering his body, eyes wide open and ready to pop. His breathing was heavy, his lips moving but unable to form words.

“Are you a virgin?” Pete asked, taken aback slightly by the childlike action.

Ryan shook his head, biting his bottom lip.

“Have you even been with a boy?”

“N-No.” His voice was shaking, his bottom lip trembling, his eyes still too-young. Did he not understand? Did he honestly think his body didn’t make men want to fuck his brains out? Was he a prude? A tease? A child?

“It only hurts for a minute.”

Ryan didn’t say anything. When Pete tried to pull the comforter from his hands, he let his fingers relax, let the fabric slip from his body. He didn’t look when Pete pulled his boxers off, squeezed his eyes shut, imagined a box that he could be safely put in, flaps sealed, no one would know.

He made a face when he felt the fingers slip inside of him, nearly screamed when he felt Pete’s cock inside of him.

“Shut up!” the man hissed. “Do you want to wake up the whole fucking house?”

Ryan opened his eyes, face cloaked in pain.

“I’m sorry.” Pete apologized, sighing. “Just, bite your lip or something. It only hurts for a minute.”

The boy turned his head, staring at the wooden headboard, counting in his head as the tempo increased, as the headboard started to rock, as the mattress started to squeak. He forgot how long a minute was, but he knew this was definitely longer than a minute.

“Wait. Stop.” he said suddenly.

“What?” The man stopped, but he sounded angry, aggravated.

“I can’t.” Ryan said, turning to look at him. “Brendon . . .”

“You’re not dating Brendon.” And with that, the tempo started up again.

The boy turned his face back toward the headboard, trying not to cry. The headboard rocked liked an invisible wind was blowing from first one side and then from the other. He brought his hand up to touch the solidity of it, but fell short. Pete’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he squeaked, his hand falling back on the pillow.

It took about three minutes for his toes to curl and his muscles to tighten, for those strangled noises to work their way from his throat, for Pete to smile in accomplishment.

Afterward, Ryan pulled his pants back on, turning his head when Pete tried to kiss his mouth and all but running from the room. He opened the second guestroom door, throwing himself into Brendon’s bed, and burying his face in the younger boy’s chest.

Two brown eyes opened slowly. “Ry?”

The older boy whimpered.

“Bad dream?”

Ryan nodded. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Mhm.” Brendon ran his hand down Ryan’s bare back, kissing the top of his head.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” The younger boy replied immediately, sleepiness evident in his voice.

“For real? Like, really for real?” Ryan’s voice too-young, eyes too-young. The entire situation was too-young.

“Of course I love you.”

“But, like, love-love?”

“What’s wrong, Ry?” The sleepiness was ebbing away, but the warmth and gentleness was still in his voice, enveloping Ryan in a cocoon of comfort.

The older boy lifted his head, sliding up his best friend’s body and kissing him softly on the mouth. “Like that?” he asked.

Brendon gave a smile. “Okay. Like that. Now go to sleep, Ry. It was just a bad dream.”