Michael Finally Grows Up © 2006 by Rowan McBride. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced in whole or in part without author's permission.

*****

I grabbed Michael's hair and yanked his head to mine as I crushed my mouth to his. He moaned as he kissed me back with everything he had– still enthusiastic, still totally graceless with his affection. I loved that.

He tried to push me back onto the mattress, but it was easy to stay upright. He was so much weaker than me.

And, of course, that drove him nuts.

I felt his little erection pressing against my thigh as he licked my ear.

"Hurt me, Avery."

There it was. His very favorite phrase, his big switch.

As usual, I ignored the tremor of unease that went through me whenever I heard it. It was what he liked, after all. I grabbed his wrist, bent his arm behind his back. "Like that?"

His answer was a little moan of ecstasy.

Still gripping his wrist, I flipped him over, pressed him face down into his pillow. He struggled against me, really struggled, but it was useless. I let his face up, allowed him to turn his head for air before shoving his cheek into the pillow as I spoke low into his ear. "You'd better raise that ass for me, or you're really gonna get it."

Sometimes he obeyed, sometimes he didn't. He must have really been desperate for it tonight, because he raised his ass into the air without a moment's hesitation.

I reached under him, grabbed his prick and gave it a jerk. Using his pre-cum, I lubed up my own cock. "You want it, don't you?"

His moans grew louder.

"That's not gonna do it tonight, Michael. Beg me."

"Please. Hurt me, Avery."

"Gotta do better than that."

"Avery! I need you so bad. I want you to ram your big cock into me."

Because I was pretty hot, myself, I let him off at that. I spread his tight cheeks and rammed my ten thick inches into him.

Michael screamed, then whimpered as I stilled inside of him.

God, the first time I heard that sound I damned near left the bed to call 911. Now I could tell the difference between when I was really hurting him, and when he was just letting go.

Knowing how he liked it, and feeling generous, I pumped him hard, relentlessly. Every impact jarred our bodies, every thrust tore some new sound out of him.

As always, he came too soon. I continued to pump his ass, ignoring his little whimpers for awhile, ignoring the fact that his body trembled with fatigue. But I never pushed him too far, and so I forced myself to come long before I would have liked.

I pulled my cock out of him, then flipped him over before laying on my side next to him. Still drawing in deep breaths of air, he reached over the side of the bed, put on his flannel pajamas, both the top and bottoms. I guess you really can't take the farm out of the boy. He always covered himself up at night. I don't think it was because he was shy. Well, not around me, anyway. I think he was ashamed of his small, delicate body. The only times he ever went naked was when he was in the shower, or having sex.

This, of course, was not an issue for me.

I was naked now, and I would stay that way until I got dressed in the morning.

Michael crawled close and I stayed still as he slipped his arms around my body. Curling up against me, he dropped a few soft kisses on my shoulder, my neck. "Thank you, Avery."

His eyes drifted closed almost immediately. I stroked his hair until I was sure he was asleep, then gently pushed him to his side of the bed.

Michael... he was tender, open with his affection. Although I'd gotten used to that, I still hadn't learned to return it. And so I preferred to protect my space when I was asleep. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy having close contact with him. It was that... Shit, I'd always been fucked up when it came to intimacy. Although I felt closer to this child-like man than I had to anyone in my life, I was still me.

And every day it surprised the hell out of me that he stuck around.

*****

Hours later, I sat cross-legged on the mattress, watching Michael sleep. Five years, and I never got tired of it. He had such an arresting face. Half a decade had given a depth to its character that had me wanting to wake him just so we could fuck.

But Michael would never last another round tonight. He had, far and away, the worst stamina of anyone I'd ever met. No matter how roughly I flipped his switch, I'd never gotten him hard more than twice in a single night. My libido lamented that fact. I've been known to fuck for hours, to go seven or eight rounds a night. And now that was a thing of the past.

Somehow, I didn't mind so much.

I reached out, fingered his mouse brown hair a moment. Because he was a lawyer, Michael always kept his hair conservative. That suited me just fine. I wouldn't want anything to hide his face. I could never understand why he didn't want me to paint him. So what if he wasn't conventionally beautiful? He fascinated me every time he walked into a room. Didn't that count for anything?

A red flicker from the digital alarm clock caught my eye and I knew it was 4 a.m.

Time to start my day.

I eased out of bed, but I wasn't really worried about waking Michael. He slept like the dead. I pulled on some sweats, hit the button on the coffee machine, and went for my run. Six miles on an average day, but it wasn't unusual for me to stretch it out to ten.

My sex life had more or less fallen off. I needed to channel that energy somewhere, and all I had was this and art. The art would come right after my shower.

Two hours later I was sitting on my cherry wood stool, wearing only a pair of black pants as I stared at a blank canvas. Michael was still asleep, but I could hear his voice in my head.

I squeezed some red onto my palette, darkened it to a smooth crimson.

A smear of crimson against the white. Too much white. Too clean. Too pure.

I grabbed the black, used it to encroach on the blood red smear across the canvas. The red started to drip, to run. I almost fixed it, then let it go.

No, what this needed was a slash of bright silver.

Feverishly I mixed the color. Too dull. It should flash. The only point of light. With my bare hand I worked it into the canvas, just above the crimson, just below the black. Nothing else. Just this. Jagged and sharp and...

I went back to the white, eradicating every last bit of it. There was no escape. Only darkness. The flash of silver was not salvation, it was–

"Good morning, Avery."

My entire body started when he slipped his arms around me. Instinctively I reached up to shove him away from me, then I realized it was just Michael. But not before I got red and silver paint all over his suit. "Shit," I said, breathing hard. "I'm sorry about that."

He laughed, hugged me tighter. "My fault. I know better than to interrupt you while you're painting."

My breathing started to calm. "And yet you do it every morning."

Laughing again, he kissed my cheek. "I can't help it." He peered around me to look at my canvas. "Woah."

I turned my head and my eyes widened.

"That is one scary piece, Avery. What's it mean?"

I stared at it in shock. When did I... Why did I...? "What do you think it means?"

"I think it means you had another nightmare last night."

Nightmare. Michael had been living with me for so long that he knew all about those times when I woke up drenched in cold sweat. He always tried to get me to share, but I never did, because most of the time I just couldn't remember.

Like now. With this horrible, fucked up painting.

"What are you going to call it?"

I looked at him again, suddenly glad that he hadn't removed his arms from me. "What?"

"Does it have a title yet?"

Only one word reverberated in my head. "Please."

Michael shivered. "That makes it even more creepy."

"You don't like it?"

"No offense, Avery. I know that this particular style of your painting always brings in an amazing amount of money, but your others bring in just as much, you know? Whenever you do one of these, I worry about you."

My silvered hand crept up to cover his. I noticed absently that it felt a little different, but I couldn't figure out exactly what it was. Probably my own shaken nerves. "I'll have the gallery come by today to pick it up. That way you won't have to see it when you come home."

"So it's finished?"

It had to be. I couldn't look at it without bile roiling up inside of me. "Yeah."

"I can't say I'm disappointed. Well, I'm going to put on a fresh suit."

He started to pull away and I panicked. No. Don't go.

"Michael..." I grabbed his wrist and pulled him close, dragging his mouth to mine in a desperate kiss. His hands slid around my naked torso, caressed my back as he lost himself with me. His enthusiasm chased away the shadows still lingering around me, and my lips slowed against his as I found I was now able to enjoy him. Just pure, simple enjoyment. No darkness. No silver.

We finally broke apart, and now he was the one breathing hard. "What was that for?"

"I can't give you a good morning kiss?"

He grinned. "I love you, Avery."

Always so free with that. I reached up, caressed his cheek with my knuckles. "Go on, get changed. If you have time, we'll share a cup of coffee."

Michael leaned forward and gave me a brief kiss before going to the closet.

I turned to the latest Avery Scott original and shuddered.