He shouldn’t be able to kiss, is your first thought.
With your second thought, you’re kicking yourself, because really, when you
have a sixteen year old boy perched casually on your lap, and his hands are
roaming your chest, and his tongue is doing things to you that your tongue never
could have managed when you were sixteen, you should be thinking that this is A
Very Bad Idea.
That’s not what it feels like.
It feels spectacular. He really does know how to kiss, skillfully and deeply,
with just enough roughness to make it exciting, with just enough sweetness to
make it beautiful. His tongue is slicking the inside of your mouth with the
taste of cherry cola and salt and Justin, and its beautiful, just like he
is.
You know you should break away, because this is his house, and his mom lives
here and he’s not even supposed to be up this late. You were just watching a
movie, you half-asleep, sitting on the couch, when he came back from the kitchen
and draped his long, coltish legs over yours, staring at the screen like it was
no big deal.
It wasn’t, really. After all, you’re all affectionate with each other, you
and the rest of the guys, but you and Justin in particular, since you’ve known
each other so long. Like brothers, you thought, but if you ever felt that way
before, the thought was knocked out of your head by his body sliding along yours
until his butt was in your lap, by his hands sliding around your neck like they
were meant to rest lightly at the top of your spine, by his tongue reaching out
to brush against your mouth until you moaned and opened for him. Until you let
your tongue touch his, and your arms betray you to wrap around his skinny
adolescent body.
You’re twenty years old, and you’ve known him since he was eleven. This so
shouldn’t be happening.
But you can’t seem to stop it, so when he shifts himself on top of you so
that he’s straddling your lap, you let it happen. You feel his erection grind
into your stomach and let him moan into your mouth, and your fingers
treacherously draw themselves over the long, artfully curved plane of his back,
feeling his skin heat beneath your hands through his thin t-shirt, feeling his
muscles flex. He has the body of a man already, the face of a child. Jaded eyes.
Pouty mouth that is currently drawing on your lower lip.
You remember yourself at that age, and can’t help but compare. Child star,
innocent eyes. A mere baby.
Justin is not. You’ve known him long enough to know that he’s not a child, no
matter what his age.
So you don’t pull away, even though someone could walk in at any time. Even
though you know Lynn would have you kicked out of the group, and have you
arrested, and probably call up everyone you ever worked with on MMC.
You don’t stop, even though this one little kiss, and whatever happens after
it, could literally ruin your life.
You know that Justin, arching gracefully beneath your hands, moaning, kissing
you in a way that no one has ever kissed you before, is not a child in any way
but the legal sense. But still, you shouldn't be able to do this. He shouldn't
be allowing you to do this, shouldn't be inviting it with his short little pants
and the way he arches against you. But he is, and somehow, you can't bring
yourself to feel bad about that.
THE END