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Chapter Text

Hobie watches Miles plummet through a window chasing after the most recent villain causing trouble in the wrong dimension. Some kind of mad scientist--an off-shoot of Doc Ock with syringe tentacles--who's been using civilians as guinea pigs for his concoctions.

Hobie swings up to the windowsill, peers down and is relieved to see that Miles finally has his hands on the slippery little bastard. For all his little gadgets, the scientist is no match for Spider-Man's super strength, and Miles has him pinned to the floor beneath him.

Hobie has every intention of swinging down and helping Miles web his limbs to the ground, but he hesitates--something he'd end up kicking himself for later. Miles has been so eager to prove himself in these missions, but keeps getting one-upped by his partners. He's yet to be sent on a mission without a babysitter, and by no means is Hobie here to be some authority figure. If Miles has got it, he's got it.

But he hesitates too long. Before either of them can react, a mechanical limb snakes out from behind the scientist and stabs into Miles's shoulder. Miles cries out, and it's all the scientist needs to pry himself out from underneath him.

"Careful, Spider-Man," the scientist taunts, rising to his feet, "Some of my testing didn't yield the most orthodox results. This variant of the toxin--Love Serum--works quite differently, actually! You better hope you have a gentle hand with you; it's known to be fatal if left unattended to. Good luck!"

"That's the best name you could come up with?!" Miles jabs, still clutching at his shoulder, a pink substance leaking from the puncture. As the scientist skitters away, Miles calls, "Pervert!"

Concerningly, Miles doesn't give chase, staying kneeled on the floor. That's when Hobie leaps through the window, firing a webshooter at the villain. "Hold on, now! You've still got me to worry about!"

His web wraps around one of the legs and he pulls, but instead of halting the villain it simply separates from the suit. The limb comes hurtling towards him, and he flips over it with ease, hearing it crash into the building behind him.

The area outside the lab is a wide-open space without many buildings to swing from, and even missing a leg the villain is making great distance in a short amount of time. He'd have to chase him on foot.

He shoots a concerned glance towards Miles.

"I'm fine! Go after him," Miles insists, but the way he's leaning towards the ground tells a different story.

Instead, Hobie calls for backup on his watch, telling them which way the villain is heading. Miles makes a noise of complaint, letting his head drop. His sigh is audible.

Hobie approaches him after he's done informing the other Spiders, kneeling down beside him. "How you feelin'?"

"I told you, I'm fine," Miles says, strained despite his words. "That guy's never tested his stuff on spider-people before. It probably doesn't even work on us. Go after him."

"Quit tellin' me what to do."

Hobie glances in the direction the villain went, then back down to Miles.

"Look, if he's wrong, then there will be other chances to catch him. If he's right, well, there's only one of you. …Don't look at me like that, you know what I mean."

Miles just sighs, pulls off his mask. His skin is already starting to darken, damp with sweat, and he's panting. It's hardly been a minute.

"You got a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" Hobie asks. He doesn't know if he could logically get Miles to them in time if so, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"Uh… No," comes his hesitant answer.

Hobie pulls off his own mask, considering his options. He could call for Gwen, or even Pavitr--someone closer to Miles's age than him--but as far as he knows, they're both on their own missions. And Miles probably wants as few people to see him in this position as possible.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, then." He tries not to let his own uneasiness show in his voice. He's five years older than Miles. Not that he cares about laws per se, but… he still feels like he'll be taking advantage of the poor boy.

He's thankful that it's the dead of night and the lot is vacant. In his condition, he doesn't think Miles would make it somewhere more private even if Hobie physically dragged him there. Glancing around, Hobie spots a security camera outside the entrance to the building, and uses his webs to cover the lens.

A shudder runs through Miles, and Hobie places a steadying hand on his uninjured shoulder. Miles whines at the touch and leans into it, and it takes everything in Hobie not to recoil.

"Easy. I'm gonna help you out, mate. Don't worry."

Miles glances at him, eyes lingering a little too long with a look that makes Hobie's stomach twist. That kind of hunger looks out of place on Miles's otherwise innocent features.

"Let's just start slow, yeah? And get you out of that suit. You look like you're about to overheat."

Miles nods absently, moves the hand clutching his shoulder to the back of his suit, then is wracked with something that has him groaning and placing both hands in his lap while his thighs squeeze together, fingers twisting into the fabric.

"I… can't."

Hobie nods, and moves to unzip Miles's suit himself. Miles sighs as his skin hits the cool air, his flush reaching his neck and shoulders already. Hobie lets his suit drape around his waist as Miles's shrugs out of the top half. The boy's muscles are toned, though he's just a little too scrawny to resemble an adult. His small pecs heave as his breath picks up and sweat dribbles from the exposed skin between his collarbone.

Miles squirms in his suit, trying to find some kind of relief. "This is crazy."

"For sure. But we'll get you through it." Hobie hooks his fingers into Miles's suit to pull it down around his hips. Miles gives him such a pleading look as he does it that Hobie wants to turn around.

He won't let himself. This is for Miles.

He doesn't mean to tease the boy, even if part of him is stalling. Hobie helps him kick off his suit completely, leaving him in his boxers--which are soaked--as he lays back on the ground.

Huh. Hobie had no idea he was trans. He feels bad that Miles was robbed of the opportunity to tell him himself--yet another thing to add to the growing list of things on Hobie's conscience.

Hobie moves back to put some distance between them, and Miles whines at the loss of contact.

Hobie pulls his glove off with his teeth. "Just try 'n relax."

Miles looks so... lewd like this, flushed with half-lidded eyes, legs spread, hips arching as he tries to rub himself against the air. Hobie's cock is starting to take an interest, despite his reservations, and Hobie internally curses at it.

"I'm gonna touch you, alright? Just to get you through this," Hobie warns.

Hobie places a hand on his thigh, moving it up until his fingers brush against the damp fabric of his boxers. Miles's body jerks in response, legs spreading wider, inviting.

Hobie strokes his pussy, and the boy mewls at the contact. "Just breathe, yeah? In and out."

Hobie pushes the fabric of his boxers to the side and slides a finger easily inside him, curling it as it enters. Miles's thighs quiver, and his back arches off the floor.

Hobie's hand moves steadily, Miles's hips bucking up to meet it. Hobie tries to ignore the way the boy's pussy tightens around his finger when he curls it, the way Miles's hands scramble to grab something to hold onto, how he's trying to grind against his hand, desperate for friction.

"Another one. Please," he whines, his voice so sweet. Hobie complies, sliding a second finger in next to the first, watching his digit sink down to the knuckle in one smooth thrust. His thumb moves to rub at Miles's clit.

Miles is moaning now, a mess beneath him, and it's getting to Hobie. He feels sick to his stomach, a headache forming in the back of his skull, yet his cock is pressing against the inside of his suit, and he can feel it leaking in a sticky mess. He bites the inside of his cheek until it's bloody.

Miles's whole body is trembling, and he's panting like a dog in heat, whining with each breath.

"It's alright," Hobie reassures him, even though Miles doesn't seem to be listening anymore. "I've got you."

Hobie speeds up his hand, watching as his face screws up with pleasure. Miles's back arches again, his head going back and his hands clenching against the concrete.

Hobie feels like he could throw up, but that sick feeling isn't enough to suppress his libido, his dick throbbing incessantly in his pants at the sight of Miles going mad with lust.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down. He's going to make the boy come, whether Miles loves him or hates him after this.

(Hopefully it's the latter.)

He keeps going, and... going, and his arm hurts and Miles hasn't come yet. Frustration is etched into Miles's features, a far cry from the pleasure from moments ago. He's shaking his head, sweat dripping down his forehead.

"It's not enough," he gasps, his teeth gritted.

Hobie is taken aback. "What do you mean it's not enough?"

"I need more. I need--" Miles's hand comes down on Hobie's wrist, the one moving between his legs. His touch is scorching. "I need something inside me. It's not enough."

Hobie goes still. "You want me to--?"

"Please," Miles begs, "It's not enough."

Hobie can't take it anymore. He feels like he's going to snap, like he's going to go insane.

"No." He's not about to whip out his cock and fuck a child into the ground. "Not havin' none of that. I'll get you there."

Miles looks devastated. "But--!"

"I know you can do it," Hobie encourages, though he's lying. He just needs to get it over with, so he can get away from this place as quickly as possible.

He withdraws his fingers, to Miles's audible dismay, and hooks them into the waistband of Miles's boxers, pulling them down and off his legs in one swift motion.

Miles looks properly confused as Hobie lays out on his stomach between his legs, pushing them apart.

"What are you doing?"

"Gonna lick you out," Hobie says bluntly, and he means it.

"Like a cat?"

Hobie laughs at that. "Not exactly. Don't worry about it."

He doesn't give Miles a chance to react before he slides his tongue along his pussy lips, making the boy buck and whine. He wastes no time, tonguing his clit as his fingers slip back inside him.

Miles seems satisfied enough with it, head rolling back against the floor as his thighs squeeze around Hobie's head. Miles is so receptive to everything that Hobie is giving him, moaning like a pornstar as he does.

Hobie tries to focus, to just pretend this is like any other fuck, but the more Miles reacts, the harder it gets. He can feel the tremble in the boy's thighs as he presses them against his ears, muffling the pitiful noises that have been pouring out of him for the past few minutes. His cunt is twitching around fingers, his clit thrumming underneath Hobie's tongue.

The smell and taste is making his head spin, and he's never been more turned on in his life. He's a fucking pedophile, he can't believe this is happening to him.

Miles whimpers, and one of his hands finds purchase on the back of Hobie's head, pressing him further down into him. "Right there! Don't stop."

At this rate, Hobie is going to soil his pants. He grinds down onto the concrete floor desperately as Miles pleads, but there's not nearly enough friction to satisfy the way he's throbbing, the heat coiling in his gut.

Somehow he still manages to ignore his cock, in favor of licking and sucking between the kid's legs. It's like he's fucking possessed. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, until Miles is back to being a drooling mess beneath him.

Miles is whining, his hands finding Hobie's wicks as Hobie keeps sucking his clit, his fingers rubbing at the spot inside him that makes the boy go wild.

"Oh, god," Miles pants, "I'm gonna--!"

His thighs tighten around Hobie's head, and he's spilling all over his mouth and chin. Miles is writhing under him, gasping and moaning as his fingers dig into Hobie's scalp. Hobie can't even think as he fucks Miles through his orgasm, the boy's pussy quivering and contracting around his fingers. He's just relieved that it's over.

When Miles stops twitching, Hobie pulls back, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Miles is breathing hard, his body limp and eyes fluttering shut as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

Hobie can't stand to look at him, to look at what he's done, so he stands and turns away, trying to ignore the tightness in his pants. He wants to go home, go to bed, go anywhere but here. He could shower for a year and still not feel clean.

Instead, he stands there, listening to the heavy breathing of a boy he just molested.

"Hobie..." Miles croaks behind him, and Hobie's stomach flips. He wants to crawl out of his own skin, but he forces himself to turn around.

"You alright?"

Miles is still lying on his back, his hands limp and his legs spread. "It's... It's not gone."

Hobie glances over him, seeing that his skin is still flushed. That desperate look still hasn't left Miles's eyes.

"What?" is all Hobie manages, his brain coming to a screeching halt.

"It still hurts." Miles is leaning forward, hooking his fingers into himself, a clumsy, desperate attempt to repeat Hobie's earlier motions. "It's not enough."

"Miles, are you serious?"

The boy looks up at him, eyes pleading, begging. Hobie's heart is beating a mile a minute, his stomach churning.

"I need you to help me," he says, desperation in his voice. The movements of his hand looks painful now, hammering in and out of himself. "Please."

"There's nothin' my dick can do that my fingers can't," Hobie insists, mostly to himself. Miles isn't having any of it, shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut tight.

"I don't know, maybe it's like... an antidote," he says. "I just-- I need you. Please. Please."

"Fuck." Hobie is panicking. He knows Miles is only thinking about his body's needs, but he can't even wrap his head around the thought of what he's about to do. Miles is still a kid, even if both of their bodies are trying to convince them otherwise.

He doesn't know how long he stares at Miles, watching him drive his fingers into himself in a way that would be painful to a sober body. When he does move, it doesn't feel to his own accord. He finds himself kneeling between Miles's legs again, Miles's hands finding his shirt and clawing. He unzips his pants, already painfully hard, his cock curving up towards his stomach.

He casts one last wary glance towards the webbed camera, like it'll catch him in his worst moment, then back down at their bodies. Miles watches, his face a mixture of awe and need.

Hobie positions himself, rubbing the head of his cock along Miles's pussy. Miles bites his lip, his fingers digging into Hobie's skin.

And then he's buried to the hilt inside a child.

And it feels so good.

His wet, sucking heat is tight around Hobie's cock, and he can feel the kid trembling beneath him. Miles's legs come around his waist, pulling him in further, his heels digging into his back. Miles is squirming beneath him, his hands sliding up his shirt and clutching at his back. His lips are parted, breath coming out in hot bursts against Hobie's skin.

He moves his hips robotically, in and out, and tries to suppress the shiver that runs through him each time Miles moans.

He's been with girls who were tighter than this. He's been with boys who were noisier. But Miles is... something else entirely. The boy's body is reacting to Hobie's, and it's like he's sucking Hobie's cock inside him. Hobie can't tell if he's feeling the toxin too or if he's just reacting to the way Miles is pulling at him. Hobie's head is swimming with the feeling of being inside Miles, with the scent of sex and sweat and lust. It's a mess, a mess of bodies and limbs and moans.

"Hobie," Miles whines. "Hobie. Hobie."

His name becomes a mantra to the boy, and Hobie has to clamp a hand down around his mouth to keep him quiet. He's trying not to think about the fact that he's fucking a kid, but the sounds Miles is making are making that impossible.

"You've gotta be quiet, Miles," Hobie gasps. "I can't--I can't do this if you keep moanin' like that."

He keeps moving, even as Miles starts to make those same sounds around his hand, and it feels good enough that Hobie can almost pretend it's someone his age.

Miles is clinging to Hobie like he's the only thing in the world, his hands in Hobie's hair, tugging at the wicks. Hobie shuts his eyes tight as he pumps his hips, trying to lose himself in the familiar sensations.

But it's difficult. This is, objectively, bad sex. If he lost himself to habit, he'd be biting his partners neck, taking it slow, teasing them. Not like this, Not this awkward, uncomfortable thrusting into a kid too impatient for foreplay, just trying to get it over with.

He uses the hand not covering Miles's mouth to shift the angle of his legs, pushing them higher. From the sounds he makes, it has a pretty big impact. He's tightening and spasming around Hobie's cock, trying to drink him up. This boy is so full of desire, eager to please and be pleased, innocent and yet not.

Hobie's head is swimming, his blood racing. He's just jabbing himself into him, hoping it's enough--and by Miles's reactions, it is. There's nothing pained or desperate in him anymore, only ecstasy, as if Hobie is the best thing he's ever felt. Maybe he is.

He keeps moving, tries to keep his voice down, and just keeps thinking of anything but this. He tries to think of nothing. Of his tour schedule, of the streets of London, of how it'll be cold when he goes home. He tries to think of the guy he got a drink with last night. The one with the tattoos and the cocky grin. The one who'd showed up to his shows to learn his words, the ones he sang about identity and transgression. He thinks of the way his body had felt under his fingers, lithe and solid, and the taste of him on his tongue.

"I'm so close," Miles whispers against his hand, and that makes Hobie's stomach drop. It makes his hips stop moving, and Miles whines, trying to push his hips forward.

Miles sounds so sweet, so desperate. He's a wreck, tears streaming from his eyes, sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbone, hands clinging desperately to Hobie's clothes. He's trying to kiss Hobie's fingers, nipping and licking at them.

Hobie pulls his hand away, and Miles tries to kiss him instead. Miles's lips are parted, tongue darting out to try and taste him.

Hobie hesitates, fighting the urge to pull out completely, but finds his hips move forward to their own accord, pushing in again.

He lets Miles kiss him.

He kisses him back.

And it's awful.

It's nothing like kissing his past partners. But Miles is sweet against his mouth, moaning into the kiss as Hobie slides his cock in and out of him, his whole body wracked with pleasure. His hands are bruising Hobie's shoulders and there's a franticness to the motions, like at any moment Hobie will just pull away.

Hobie is shaking. His stomach is twisting, his heart pounding. Miles is pulling at his shirt, his hands sliding underneath to grip at his skin, and it feels so good that Hobie wants to throw up.

He breaks the kiss, resting his head on Miles's shoulder as he thrusts in and out, in and out. Miles is panting, chanting his name, begging for him not to stop. Hobie wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to run away.

But he can't.

He just keeps fucking the kid, trying to get this over with. Miles's voice is breaking as he cries, and Hobie doesn't know if it's from pleasure or pain. He doesn't stop, keeps moving in and out until Miles is shaking against him, and then--

And then--

Hobie feels it.

The walls of Miles's pussy are squeezing around his cock, rippling against it. He feels Miles's body jerk against his, and hears him let out a strangled cry, muffled against his own hand. His legs lock around his waist, his fingers digging into his skin. He's twitching against him, his pussy pulsing around him as his hips grind.

And it's like Hobie's body has been given permission.

He comes inside Miles, and it feels so good, so fucking good. It's the best orgasm of his life, his mind going blank as he spills into the kid.

He's in heaven, he's in hell, he's everywhere at once.

He rides it out, feeling Miles spasming around him.

When Miles's legs finally release him, Hobie doesn't collapse against his chest. He's quick to pull out, put space between them.

But, out of habit, he pauses to take one last look at Miles, the blissed out look on his face as he relaxes against the concrete, the come--his come--oozing between his spread legs.

He scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over his own pants as he tugs them back up. He stumbles a few feet away and heaves, bile rising up the back of his throat and spewing onto the ground. He stands there, bent over, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing as he empties the contents of his stomach. He hears Miles make a confused noise behind him, but doesn't turn around.

"Feelin' better, mate?" he asks, panting, his voice rough.

"Yeah," Miles responds after a pause. Hobie is sure he's never heard such relief in his voice.

Hobie is already pulling on his mask before Miles can continue, ready to forget all of this.

"I should be saying something about 'dinner first', right?" Miles tries to joke as the sound of a long zipper permeates the air.

Hobie forces himself to laugh. It's all so stupid, so morbid and horrible. His throat feels like it's full of glass, but he's relieved to hear some normalcy in Miles's voice - nothing like the pleading arousal of before.

"If that was an invite," Hobie says dryly, "that's a resoundin' no."

"No! I was just… Uh... Well, thanks for your help."

"Don't mention it." Please.

"Are you--?"

"Just get some rest," Hobie stops him. He's already picking out home on his watch. "I'll see you around, yeah? Maybe next time I'll give you a bit more attention."

Miles snorts.

"Yeah, we'll see."

Chapter Text

Hobie has never been big on giving reports. He keeps it vague when asked, simply telling Miguel that he kept Miles company while he rode out the effects of Doc Ock's chemicals.

He doesn't know what Miles tells him.

He feels jumpy, like at any second someone is going to scream at and call him a pedophile, and he'd deserve it.

He tries not to think of it--to not remember the way the boy clung to him, how sweet he sounded when Hobie made him come, how he kissed him. It's a constant feature of his dreams, and when he wakes, his cock is always hard. Easily the guiltiest masturbation sessions of his life.

He can't quite meet Gwen's eye when she comes around to play. Pavitr's smile is too kind to bear.

He tries to break the strings of his guitar when he plays, wants them to finally snap and cut him open, but they're weapons and he designed them to hold. He settles for letting them cut through his calluses and shred his fingertips.

The thing that frustrates Hobie the most about what he did is that he has no reason to be mad at himself. He did nothing wrong. He was helping a boy in need.

But it feels like an excuse.

He knows the others are starting to notice, but it's just another thing to be angry at himself about. They're heroes, for fuck's sake. They're supposed to save people, not worry about him.

He drinks himself into oblivion most days; it's the only thing that keeps Miles out of his head. He tries to take partners, but even in a drunken state, they just feel like Miles.

It was inevitable that they would see each other again, as much as Hobie tried to arrange things so that they wouldn't. They see each other in the halls of headquarters late at night, when nobody has any business being up and doing anything, and Miles lights up like he always does.

"Hey, Hobie!"

And Hobie feels oddly relieved. He realizes that, though he had been pushing the thought away, he was worried Miles would be traumatized by that night. That everything Hobie's been going through wasn't even a fraction of the pain Miles was in.

But he looks happy. Healthy. Not at all traumatized by being fucked into a concrete floor.

He can't muster the same enthusiasm. "Miles."

He can't help but notice the way the boy is holding himself differently. He seems... bashful. The thought makes Hobie's stomach twist.

"Haven't seen you in a while. You okay?"

Hobie is unable to stop the bitter laugh from bubbling out of his mouth. "Why do you ask?"

Miles's face falls a little. "It's just that you've been acting weird lately. You used to be fun."

Hobie scoffs. "Don't know what you're talkin' about. I'm always fun."

Hobie brushes past him, heading further down the hall.

"Yeah, okay," Miles says, not letting it go.

Hobie clenches his jaw.

"I mean it. Gwen says you're always drunk and playing the same old songs. Pavitr says you don't ever go out."

"Hm."

"...I'm starting to wonder if--"

"If what?" he snaps, stopping, not even knowing why he's being short with the kid who doesn't deserve it, not when it's himself who's done so many things to be ashamed of.

"...If you're mad at me," Miles finishes, something crushed in his expression that rips Hobie to pieces.

"No," he insists right away. Then, as carefully as he can manage, "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Well..." Miles fidgets as he speaks, gaze flitting around. "...One might argue… that it was kind of, sort of, maybe my fault that Doc Ock got away."

"No," Hobie refutes forcefully, shaking his head. He feels nauseous. "That was me, I--"

Hobie realizes he's crumbling, and gathers himself, running a hand through his wicks. He straightens up, puts back on the arrogant, unaffected façade that doesn't reveal the broken person beneath.

He does his best to smirk, to make light of the conversation, to lighten the mood. "Nah. We're good, bruv."

Miles is watching him, frowning. Hobie can't bear to look at him.

He feels Miles's hand on his arm, a light squeeze. "Is it about what we did?"

His touch is warm. Too warm. Hobie's heart starts to hammer. He can't take this. He wants to get away from this conversation, get away from Miles's hopeful eyes. He was worried the boy would never be able to look at him again, and now here he is, looking at Hobie like that, like everything's normal.

It isn't. It never will be.

He brushes the boy's hand off his arm, tries walking off again. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Miles stubbornly trails after him. "Hey, that's not fair. It happened to me, too. You can talk to me, man."

Hobie stops, whirling to face the boy. He tries to keep the anger out of his voice, tries not to be too mean, but it slips through.

"You don't have a problem with what happened. You're not a creep like me."

Miles looks genuinely taken aback. "You're not a creep."

"No?" Hobie tries not to sound so desperate, tries not to feel like he's drowning. He wants to lash out, to yell at Miles until he understands. And he's up in Miles's space, Miles backing away until he's up against the wall. "Then why can't I get you out of my head, hm?"

"Hobie." Miles sounds confused, like he doesn't understand what Hobie is saying, but Hobie's too far gone to stop himself.

"I can't stop thinkin' about it. I can't stop thinkin' about you. About... how you felt around me. How sweet you were." His voice is low, hoarse. "About how you kissed me."

Miles's eyes widen and Hobie can see him swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Hobie takes a step forward and Miles presses back into the wall, a deer in headlights.

"I need you to understand what I'm sayin'. You don't have any idea what this is doin' to me. And every day I think about it more and more, and every day it just gets harder to deal with. It's killin' me." Hobie is breathing hard, but so is Miles, like he can't catch his breath. "And you're not havin' any trouble because you're just a kid."

Miles looks like he's been slapped, his mouth hanging open as he tries to form a response.

"Why do you think I've been avoidin' you?" Hobie continues. "Because I can't stand to look at you. Because every time I do, I see your face beggin' me for more."

Hobie has the boy pinned up against the wall, his voice barely a whisper now, almost lost in the roar of blood in his ears. He wants Miles to understand, he needs him to.

"And every time I see you, I think about you naked on the ground, your legs spread as I fuck you into oblivion. I think about your tongue on my fingers and your lips on my mouth. And it was so good, Miles. It was so good. And it should never have been that good."

Hobie takes a deep breath, feeling like he's going to vomit. He wants to stop talking, wants to crawl under the covers of his bed and never come out, but it's like he can't stop the words from spilling out of him.

"You have no idea how horrible it is to feel that way about someone who's still a kid. To feel that way about a kid who I--" He falters, clears his throat, "Who I felt like I was takin'. Because I did. I took somethin' from you, something that didn't belong to me, and I don't think it will ever be given back. You don't owe me anythin', Miles. You're a good kid. I don't know why you ever thought of me as someone worth your time. But you deserve better 'n me."

He finally backs off, stepping away from Miles, who has both his hands pressed to his mouth, his eyes wide as saucers.

Hobie shakes his head, looking anywhere but at the boy. "You can hate me, you can tell the others about me, just... leave me alone."

Hobie starts to leave, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

"I'm sorry."

The words catch him off guard, and he freezes in place.

"I'm sorry I didn't know," Miles continues, his voice tight with emotion. "I'm sorry it was so hard for you. I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

Hobie lets his head fall back back with a hard exhale. "Miles--"

"I think you're really great, and I really like hanging out with you." His voice is strained, but firm. "And I don't know why you're talking like that."

"'S just what happened, Miles--"

"No, it isn't," Miles insists. "You're talking about it like you did something wrong, but you didn't. It was bad, it was a bad situation, but you helped me. I don't-- I don't care if you liked it or something, you did a good thing! You didn't hurt me, so you don't need to be feeling so bad!"

Hobie rubs a hand over his face, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Miles--"

"No!" Miles exclaims, "I'm not gonna let you do this! I'm not gonna let you blame yourself when it wasn't your fault! You're a hero, man. And I'm a hero. I'm not going to let you treat me like I'm some kind of victim--"

"Alright! Alright!" Hobie cuts him off, finally turning to face him. "I don't need you to lecture me. I get it."

Miles huffs, crossing his arms. "Good. 'Cause I don't like the way you're talking about yourself."

Hobie wants to laugh. "You don't need to be worryin' about me."

Miles frowns, clearly not satisfied. Hobie rolls his eyes, sighing in defeat.

"Just come here." He reaches out, pulling the boy into a tight hug. Miles stiffens at first, but soon relaxes into the embrace, his hands finding Hobie's vest and clinging tightly. Hobie rests his cheek on top of Miles's head, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Hobie mutters into his hair.

"I know," Miles replies, his voice muffled against Hobie's chest.

They stay like that for a moment, Hobie just taking in the feeling of Miles's body against his. It's the first time in weeks that his mind has been clear, and he feels lighter.

Miles pulls away first, looking up at Hobie with a hesitant smile.

"So... are we good?"

Hobie snorts, giving him a playful nudge. "Yeah, mate. We're good."

Miles grins, seeming relieved. "Okay, good. 'Cause I kinda missed hanging out with you."

Hobie smiles despite himself. "Yeah, yeah. Me too."

They settle back into their usual hangout patterns. Hobie still can't look at Miles without hearing him whine his name in the back of his mind, but he tries to take Miles's words to heart, and tries not to feel too bad about it--at least in front of Miles.

(He's a wreck inside on their next mission together, the utterly ridiculous fear that the same thing will happen again gripping him in a vice. It took an hour for his hands to stop shaking afterwards.)

It's fine. He likes Miles, Miles likes him, and he doesn't seem… harmed by what happened, so everything is fine.

Hobie doesn't take people to his shithole of a universe often, usually not unless they're in dire need of somewhere to go, but Miles insists, and Hobie caves.

(He does a lot of giving in to Miles lately.)

His London isn't like Miles's New York - it's darker and more broken down, with narrow, sagging alleys filled with grit. The air is thick with smoke and grime. The city seems like it's always waiting for something bad to happen, the people desperate and hungry. Hobie doesn't really want Miles to be privy to the worst parts of it, so he takes him directly to his own personal squat - an abandoned canal boat.

"This is where you live?" Miles asks, peering inside the boat's dark interior.

"Not too posh, is it?" Hobie chuckles, ducking inside. "Watch your head."

Hobie lights a few candles, bathing the cramped space in a warm glow. The boat has electricity, of course, but it's been through its fair share of abuse, and most things like windows and light fixtures have been smashed. Miles looks around, taking in the small kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. From rear to front, it's cluttered with odds and ends and a random mish-mash of things - electronics and computer parts, stray tools and bits of string, half-finished projects scattered in various stages of progress. The furniture is used, second hand, rickety, with worn chairs and mismatched end tables.

"You sleep on a fold-out sofa?" Miles asks, poking at the couch in question.

"Better 'n the ground," Hobie replies, flopping down onto it with a sigh.

Miles sits down next to him, bouncing experimentally.

"Not bad," he says, leaning back against the cushions.

Hobie raises an eyebrow. "Expectin' somethin' worse?"

Miles shrugs. "Kind of."

Hobie snorts. He leans back against the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"So," Miles starts, "why didn't you want to bring me here?"

Hobie gives Miles an incredulous look. He gestures. "Take a look."

"Yeah, but..." Miles trails off, seemingly at a loss.

Hobie sighs. "Look, Miles. This place isn't exactly kid-friendly, yeah? Lot of dangerous shit lyin' around. Shit you shouldn't have to see."

Miles frowns. "I'm not a kid."

Hobie puts his hands up placatingly. "Alright, alright. You know what I mean, though."

Miles settles back against the sofa, still seeming displeased. Hobie pats his shoulder.

"I'm glad you came, even if it is a shithole."

Miles cracks a smile. "It's not that bad."

Hobie laughs, nudging him. "Cheers."

Miles shifts closer to Hobie, their shoulders brushing.

It had taken some time for Hobie to be comfortable touching Miles again. In the beginning, Hobie flinched at even the slightest contact, recalling Miles's burning skin under his hands. But he forced himself through it - he loves touching people. He loves hugs and high-fives and fist bumps. And Miles deserves it, too - he's not gonna deprive him of simple comforts.

Now, Hobie welcomes Miles's closeness, trying not to think of how small his shoulder is compared to his own. It's simple, non-sexual touch. He can handle that.

Miles relaxes against Hobie, like he can read his mind. His presence is comforting, and Hobie finds himself leaning into him, too.

They sit in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company.

"You seem, like, agitated lately," Miles says eventually, breaking the quiet.

Hobie just hums thoughtfully.

Miles nudges him. "No, seriously. Is everything okay?"

"Dunno what you mean," Hobie deflects, keeping his eyes forward.

Miles shifts beside him, turning to face him.

"It's just... You've been kind of tense. And really hard on the bad guys. More than usual."

Hobie exhales, not meeting Miles's eyes.

"Just havin' a bad week, mate."

"Does it have anything to do with... y'know...?" Miles trails off.

"No," he answers quickly, honestly. "No, it's got nothin' to do with that. We squashed that, remember?"

"Okay, but-- I just feel like you've been avoiding me."

Hobie runs his hand through his wicks, sighing. "I'm not avoidin' you. I'm just-- goin' through some stuff, yeah? Don't want to drag you into it."

Miles frowns, resting his hand on Hobie's thigh. "Hey, you can talk to me. We're friends."

"Miles." Hobie puts his hand over Miles's, squeezing. "It's nothin' you need to worry about."

"But I want to." Miles leans closer. "I care about you."

Hobie can't help but notice how close Miles is, his soft skin, his parted lips.

"Miles--" Hobie swallows thickly, his heart pounding.

"If there's anything I can help you with..." Miles trails off.

Hobie bolts upright, pushes against Miles, putting some much needed space between them.

"I can't do this again," Hobie mutters, his voice strained.

Miles sits up, too, his brow furrowed.

"Do what? What's wrong?"

Doubt gnaws at him. Had he misunderstood? Was Miles just-- showing kindness? Not making advances? Fuck. What's wrong with him, jumping to that conclusion?

Miles is still looking at him, his eyes full of concern. Hobie takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

"If I'm bein' honest, maybe it is about that night. Not about you, but... about me." Hobie rubs the back of his neck, not meeting Miles's eyes. "I just-- I haven't had many dates since then. Haven't wanted to."

Miles is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed.

"Dates? You mean... you haven't hooked up with anyone?"

Hobie shakes his head, letting out a humorless laugh.

"Can't even think about it."

Miles tilts his head, looking confused.

"Why not?"

Hobie scoffs. "Are you jokin'? How can I even think about hookin' up with someone after what happened?"

Hobie stands, pacing across the tiny boat. Miles follows him with his eyes, watching Hobie's movements.

"After what happened?" Miles repeats, sounding lost.

Hobie groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't play dumb. It ain't cute." Hobie stops pacing, turning to face Miles. "You know what I mean. After what happened between us."

"I know what happened," Miles insists, his brow furrowing. "But I don't get what that has to do with anything."

Hobie throws his hands up in exasperation. "What? You-- Miles, mate. You can't be serious."

Miles frowns, his fists clenching.

"I'm being totally serious. It was a bad situation, Hobie. But it's over. You shouldn't let it stop you from… you know."

Hobie stares at Miles in disbelief, shaking his head.

"Un-bloody-believable." Hobie resumes his pacing, his hands shaking. "You-- Miles. You really don't get it, do you? You really don't get it."

Miles jumps to his feet, following Hobie's path.

"Get what?" Miles demands, his voice rising.

Hobie whirls around to face Miles, his hands balled into fists.

"How am I supposed to touch someone else after touchin' you? How am I supposed to kiss someone else when your lips were on mine? How am I supposed to fuck someone when you're always on my mind, Miles?"

Miles seems unfazed by Hobie's outburst. He stands his ground, though his eyes flicker away in thought.

"...Well," he starts slowly, "if you're always thinking about me, and you're all pent up--"

"Don't finish that sentence," Hobie warns, the tips of his ears going hot.

Miles falters, his fists clenching. "I'm just saying! Maybe-- I could help."

Hobie goes very, very still.

"Help," Hobie repeats, his voice flat.

Miles shrugs, looking away, cheeks flushed. "Yeah, help. You know. Get it out of your system...?"

Hobie lets out a bark of a laugh.

"Get it out of my system? You haven't heard a word I've said." Hobie turns away, unable to face the boy.

"I have!" Miles insists, slipping around him to face Hobie. "It's not my fault you're not making any sense! You liked it, you didn't like it - which is it?!"

Hobie lets out a frustrated noise, digging his fingers into his hair. He can't believe Miles. He can't believe this conversation is happening.

"Neither! Both! It's complicated, Miles. It's-- fuck!" Hobie paces again, his heart hammering. He can feel Miles's eyes on him, can feel his frustration.

Hobie stops in front of him, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You wouldn't understand," Hobie mutters, not meeting Miles's eyes.

"Try me," Miles shoots back, his arms crossed.

Hobie takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"You can't understand. You're too young."

Miles frowns, anger clear in his features.

"I'm not that young." Miles steps forward, jabbing a finger into Hobie's chest. "And you don't get to decide that."

Hobie wants to laugh, but there's nothing funny about this situation. Miles is so close, so determined. Hobie could bend down and kiss him.

He won't. He can't.

"Miles," Hobie sighs, his voice thick. "Mate. Please."

Miles's jaw clenches, his fists shaking.

"Please," Hobie continues. "Please don't make this harder than it already is."

Hobie searches Miles's face, his eyes, and he sees his anger, his frustration. But he also sees his worry, his concern. Miles cares about him. Miles wants to help him. Miles is too good, too kind. Hobie doesn't deserve him.

Hobie brings his hand to Miles's cheek, cupping his face. Miles stiffens, his breath catching. Hobie strokes Miles's cheekbone with his thumb, and Miles relaxes into his touch, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"You don't know what you're askin'," Hobie murmurs.

Miles opens his eyes, his brow furrowed.

"Maybe I don't." Miles covers Hobie's hand with his own, his fingers warm. "But I'm asking anyway."

Hobie exhales a shaky breath, his heart pounding. Miles looks so sweet, so earnest. Hobie can't say no.

Hobie leans down and presses his lips to Miles's, and it's like a dam breaks inside him. Miles responds instantly, his lips parting, his hand curling into the front of Hobie's vest. Hobie pulls Miles flush against him, deepening the kiss, and he feels Miles melt into his touch.

Christ, Hobie could come from this alone for how much he's Pavlov'd himself.

Hobie pulls away, breathless, his lips tingling. Miles whines at the loss, chasing after Hobie's mouth. He holds Miles at bay, pressing their foreheads together, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Miles," Hobie breathes, trying to gather his thoughts. "Miles, we shouldn't be doin' this."

Miles lets out a little huff of indignation. Hobie feels Miles's fingers pushing at his vest, and Hobie grips his wrists, stilling him.

"Are you listenin' to me? This is-- it's a bad idea."

Miles just noses at Hobie's jaw, his eyelashes fluttering. "Bad ideas are fun."

Hobie lets out a strained laugh, his resolve wavering. Miles's warmth against him, Miles's smell... He doesn't know how he survived without this.

But they shouldn't do this. They can't. There's-- no excuse, this time.

But Miles grinds up against him, desperate, and all Hobie can think of is how hot he is and how badly he wants to be buried in Miles.

It hits him like a slap to the face, the gut-wrenching truth of it:

He wants to. He wants to touch Miles - badly.

He feels sick and horny all at once. Miles is young. Miles is precious, naive. Miles looks up to him, admires him.

Hobie shouldn't, but he wants to lay him out like a meal. Spread him open. Stuff him full, have him drunk on Hobie.

And he wants to fucking kill himself.

Hobie's breath catches in his throat and he swallows thickly.

Miles isn't having any of it, wrapping his arms around Hobie's neck and pressing up against him with shameless friction.

"I don't wanna take advantage of you," Hobie grits out, his fingers curling around Miles's hips as he struggles to hold himself still, to not simply buck against the gorgeous boy rubbing his soft mound up against Hobie's thigh.

"Dude, it's fine. This is fine. Please," Miles breathes against his cheek before dropping his head to mouth at the crook of his neck. He scrapes his teeth over his skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses over Hobie's throat.

"Miles--"

"Come on, please. I've... thought about this," Miles admits, "a lot."

Hobie hates the small noise that escapes his throat, hates the way his cock twitches at the thought of Miles in his bed, fucking himself. He can't help himself from tilting his head, giving more access.

Miles eagerly latches on again, lips sealed over the space just below Hobie's jaw. It's perfect and terrible, excruciatingly exact, right where Hobie loves to be kissed and sucked and bitten.

This is so very wrong.

"Miles-- Christ. Miles." Hobie can hear the raw desire in his own voice, knows that Miles can hear it too when his hips jerk forward, seeking out more friction.

He's got this kid wrapped around him, begging him to take him, willing him, holding nothing back-- just like that night. Except, except there's nothing forcing this reaction out of Miles this time. It's his own want, his own desire, no matter how misguided and poorly founded it is, and that makes Hobie feel even more ashamed.

But Miles is leaning into his hands, wanting him, his lips wet, his voice sweet and desperate in Hobie's ear:

"Please. I need you," and Hobie's fucking made of flesh and bone. That's really all it takes, because what he wants, what he's always been like when it came to sex, is to serve someone's pleasure. The sensation of being wanted, of doing a good job of fucking someone is what gets him off.

Hobie hears a thump, feels an impact reverberate through the floor. Too late, he realizes he was the one to push Miles onto the sofa bed. And then he's climbing over him, between his knees, spread wide open and willing for Hobie, and kissing him hard.

Miles whimpers into his mouth, his tongue flicking out to meet Hobie's. His hands find their way under Hobie's vest, skating up his sides, sending sparks flying through his body. Hobie pulls back, his heart pounding.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, his body betraying him as he finds himself grinding down into Miles.

"It's okay," Miles assures him, his voice high and strained.

Hobie buries his face in Miles's neck, breathing him in, the warmth of his body. Miles's arms encircle him, holding him tight. He can feel Miles's heart racing, matching his own, and it scares him how natural it feels, how easily he fits against Miles.

"Miles," Hobie sighs, his voice shaky.

"I know. I know. It's okay," Miles soothes.

Hobie draws back, gazing down at Miles. His skin is flushed already, his eyes dark and shining. He's beautiful.

Miles must see the hesitance in Hobie's eyes, the way his gaze flickers away, because he's reaching up, taking Hobie's face in his hands. He guides Hobie back down, pressing their foreheads together.

"I want this," Miles whispers, his thumbs stroking Hobie's cheeks.

"How much," Hobie has to ask. Has to hear Miles say it.

"So much." Miles squirms, making a small noise. "Ever since then-- No, ever since I met you, Hobie, you've always been on my mind, and--" Miles hesitates, taking a shaky breath. "--And not just in a, y'know, friend way."

He's earnest, his hands gentle, the very image of innocence.

He continues, "When you were... holding me, you made me feel... I don't know. Wanted. So good. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was weird and gross, but-- but you made me feel good, Hobie." Miles's voice goes soft, tender. "I want you to feel good, too."

It's almost too romantic, practically making a confession of love instead of just giving him permission to fuck the kid. But it stirs something deep inside Hobie all the same, his heart clenching in his chest. Miles's sweetness, his naivete... It's so sincere, so sweet, and god, he is gorgeous and willing.

"Miles..." Hobie mutters, swallowing thickly.

Hobie wants to feel good, too. Wants to put the whole mess behind him. Is this how to do it? Miles wants to help him.

"Is it okay?" Miles asks, his brow furrowed. "Am I... am I doing something wrong?"

Hobie frowns, shaking his head. "No, course not, love. You're perfect."

Miles lets out a nervous laugh, squirming under the praise. "I don't know about perfect..."

Fuck, there it is. Something to latch onto that isn't how immensely fucked up this situation is. Something he can fix. With his dick. He'll make Miles feel perfect, fuck some sense into him and soothe his anxiety-riddled brain, at least for a night.

"Gorgeous," Hobie adds, because if they're going to do this, they're going to do this right. He presses a soft kiss to Miles's lips, soothing the blooming anxiety he can sense. His hand trails down Miles's body, his fingers running along the hem of Miles's pants. "And smart." He grasps the edge of Miles's sweatshirt, pulling it upward and exposing a peek of skin. "And bloody talented."

Miles lets out a little gasp as Hobie presses an open-mouthed kiss to the smooth plane of his stomach. Hobie lifts his head to look up at Miles, his gaze hooded. "So gorgeous," he repeats, hushed.

Miles squirms at the praise, his face flushed, his eyes wide. "You don't-- don't gotta--"

Hobie presses another kiss to Miles's stomach. "I want to," he murmurs. "I wanna make you feel so good, love."

Miles makes a choked sound, his hands clutching Hobie's shoulders.

Hobie hooks his fingers into Miles's waistband, glancing up at Miles. "This okay?"

Miles nods. "Please."

Hobie sinks to his knees before Miles, hooking his fingers into Miles's pants and briefs and pulling them down in one fell swoop.

Miles leans forward, propping himself up on his elbows as he watches Hobie. His pussy is already puffy and wet, glistening with slick. Hobie's mouth waters.

"You ready, sweetheart?" Hobie asks, his fingers curling around Miles's thighs.

Miles draws in a shaky breath, a breathless laugh escaping him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm-- yeah."

Hobie can't resist - he drags his tongue up Miles's folds, licking up the wetness collected there. Miles lets out a gasp, his thighs tensing. He dips his tongue deeper, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Miles's cunt, gently sucking his outer lips.

Miles breathes hard, his fingers curling into the sheets.

Hobie has to bite back a groan, the taste of Miles finally hitting him. The warm salty sweetness hits the back of his throat, the smell of him - pure Miles - filling his senses. There's a knot in his stomach, tying himself so tightly with shame and want. He feels wretched.

But it can't stop him.

Hobie spreads Miles wider, laving his tongue against his inner folds. He laps up Miles's slick, pressing closer, and he feels Miles shift his hips upward, rolling them towards Hobie's face. He hears Miles's breath catch as he slips deeper, Hobie's tongue entering him. Miles's fingers rake across his scalp, his heels pressing into Hobie's back. Hobie hums, his nose brushing against the soft mound of his clit.

"Hobie..." Miles moans, then catches himself. "Am-- am I allowed to do that now?"

"You better," Hobie replies, a light threat edging his voice.

Miles's giggle transforms into a high-pitched whine as Hobie sucks his clit, trapping the bundle of nerves between his lips. His fingers grip Miles's thigh harder as he seals his lips over his clit, pressing the flat of his tongue against it. He slides his middle finger along his folds, coating it in slick.

"Oh--!" Miles can't hold himself up anymore, slumping backward into the sheets. His fingers dig into Hobie's scalp, anchoring himself. His thighs quake as Hobie presses the tip of his finger to Miles's entrance, just a whisper away from breaching him.

"Yes or no?" Hobie mutters. It's only fair.

"Yes," Miles breathes.

Hobie circles it around his entrance, drawing out more slick, just to listen to Miles's gasping, to see his legs shift wider, inviting, begging. He finally slides his finger in, the delicate stretch of muscle enveloping him, and Miles is warm and wet and soft inside, a soft sucking sensation surrounding his finger as Miles clenches in a gasp. It's not as easy a slide as it had been the first time, his walls don't practically crush him in their clamping tightness, but that's probably a good thing. His body isn't in overdrive. They can do this… normally.

He lets Miles acclimate. As he holds it still, he grazes the finger pad against his swollen textured inner wall, up and down, dragging, and slowly gets him used to the feeling of something inside him. "All good, Miles?"

He gasps, "--yeah," and it goes straight to Hobie's cock.

Hobie eases in and out, sucking Miles's clit as he strokes him inside. Miles seizes up, a half gasp turning into a long, shuddering moan, squeezing him inside. Hobie chuckles against him.

"Aw, there it is. Just listen to you-- makin' such sweet sounds."

He'll let himself drown in this, and then it'll all be over. It'll be fine. The part of him that feels things will be finished when he comes. And then he won't have to feel a thing. Just make this boy happy.

He curls his finger, prodding, searching for that spot that'll drive Miles wild. Miles arches off the bed when he finds it, his cunt squeezing around Hobie's finger. Hobie does it again and again, sucking his clit hard, and Miles practically shouts, grinding against Hobie's face.

"Hobie!" he whimpers, his hips twitching.

It kind of strikes a-- pang of anxiety through him. Miles sounding like that, saying his name like that. A sound that's replayed in Hobie's mind every day since he'd heard it. It's nice to hear, if he's honest, something he'd jerked off over -- even if he hadn't gotten off afterward, too disturbed by himself to relieve the arousal in the end.

But it also makes something in Hobie twist sharply. His arousal, his desire, feel heavier, filthier. He knows he shouldn't, knows this should fill him with disgust, but fuck, hearing Miles say his name is so gratifying.

Hobie is careful to time his thrusts into Miles with the gentle massage of his tongue to his clit, keeping the motion and rhythm steady as Miles squirms.

He's toying with the idea of adding another digit when Miles kind of... scrambles away, sitting up. "Wait, wait, wait."

Hobie immediately assumes the worst. Something's wrong; Miles changed his mind, realized how fucked up this whole situation was, or fell into a traumatic flashback of their first time together. That'd make two of them.

Miles is panting, pussy twitching and drooling between his legs.

"I'm almost-- I don't wanna... finish yet."

Hobie almost laughs at himself, relief hitting him hard. This beautiful idiot. He wants more. Not less.

"Don't wanna come yet, hm?" Hobie grins, wiping his mouth. "Got somethin' else in mind?"

Miles hesitates in a way that Hobie recognizes is just insecurity and inexperience. "...Yeah."

"What is it?"

Miles looks up, his gaze flicking to the ceiling. There's a nervous smile on his face as he rubs the back of his neck. "Uh. Well, I..."

"Whatever you want, babe," Hobie encourages. Miles just smiles at him, shifting, then pats the space beside him.

Hobie crawls up onto the bed, settling beside Miles, and Miles is on him in a second, swinging his leg over and straddling his lap as he presses their mouths together, pushing Hobie into the bed. Hobie's hands find his hips, amused by his eagerness.

"You did all the work last time," Miles finally explains as he pulls back, panting. "So it's my turn."

Hobie catches on. He tilts his head, giving him a sideways smile. "I barely worked you. Think you can take it?"

Miles puffs out his chest. "Pfft. I'll be fine."

Hobie rolls his hips up, his bulge pressing right against Miles's hot cunt. Miles jolts at the contact, his breath catching. He can feel the heat of his slick sliding through his clothes.

"Alright, then," Hobie offers, rolling his hips again, stroking the hard ridge of his dick against Miles's soft pussy. "Show me what you can do."

Miles grinds back with a nod, locking his eyes onto Hobie's as he bites his lip. Hobie sucks in a breath, giving a low groan of appreciation.

Miles runs his hands over Hobie's chest and shoulders before drawing his hands down his abs. His cock twitches, his whole body primed in anticipation of Miles touching him as Miles's fingers inch slowly downward, toward his pants. He touches the top of his belt, running his fingers along the leather before he reaches the buckle.

"Can we get rid of all this?" he asks with a small gesture.

"If that's what you want."

Miles doesn't falter. "It is."

Hobie helps him with the belts, because there's, well, a lot of them today. Miles tosses the last one across the room with particular force. Then it's a combined effort to get his fly undone, if only because Miles is impatient and doesn't wait for him to finish unbuttoning before he's pulling down his zipper.

Miles doesn't want to move for him to take off his pants, just raising his hips instead while flinging off his own shirt, so Hobie wiggles his pants down to his thighs, just enough to get his cock out.

And Miles's cunt is hovering just above him, and Hobie realizes this is his last chance to back out before he willingly, irreversibly, fucks this young boy. One final hesitation before his ruin. He knows he won't.

"Wow," Miles breathes, oblivious to his turmoil. "That's so cool."

Cool? Hobie shakes himself a little from the reverie of impending doom to look at him. He's looking down between them at Hobie's cock, hard and curving into the air. There's a hungry look in his eye as he bites his lip, apparently admiring the metal barbells adorning him.

It's kind of a grounding reaction, really. Familiar, but not in an unpleasant way. He's used to getting comments on it from new partners.

"I didn't see them last time," Miles tells him. "Or-- are they new?"

"No, love." Hobie smiles, giving him a laugh. "They were there." He can't resist lifting his hips a bit, letting his tip tease at Miles. "You just had other things on your mind."

Miles shivers, his hands splaying out over Hobie's belly. "Th- they're hot."

Miles says 'hot' like it's a foreign word to him, stumbling off his tongue unnaturally. And Hobie eats it up. Miles is trying, pushing outside his comfort zone, through self-doubt and embarrassment and years of shame being trained into him, to communicate what he likes, what he finds attractive. And Hobie gets to be the first to hear it.

"Yeah?" He smirks. "You like 'em?"

"Y-yeah, I think so."

Miles isn't touching Hobie, probably shy or intimidated or just-- doesn't want to fuck things up. Hobie decides to reach around, his fingertips gently pressing along Miles's lower back and following the curvature of his ass. He squeezes it to feel Miles's grip tighten around his body, to pull him closer and slot him against Hobie's cock.

Miles shivers.

The sensation strikes straight through Hobie, a bolt of lust, but he doesn't press into him, doesn't even urge him, not yet. He waits to let Miles do whatever he will.

Slowly Miles starts rocking his hips, angling them and rubbing the length of Hobie's cock between his folds, gasping softly with each stroke. "Is-- is that good?"

"Oh, love." Hobie grinds into him. "You can rub me until you come, if that's all you want. Feelin' you get wet on me-- It's good. It's so good. Just keep goin' like that."

"That's not all I want to do..." Miles mumbles, trails off. But, emboldened, he relaxes his body, and, still working on an even rhythm, lowers himself further, letting Hobie's shaft settle and lay more prominently against his heated cunt, his barbells and ridge rubbing along him now.

And oh, yeah, that's good. That's really, really good.

He strokes the soft plane of his back, the light muscle there, along his spine. Miles sighs, fingers digging lightly into Hobie's stomach.

Miles continues this a while, his breathing gets heavier. Wetter. Hobie suppresses the impulse to thrust. At times Hobie's tip slides past his entrance, pushing, so close to stretching him open. An errant thrust could have him slipping in, but Hobie stops himself. Resists.

He can't stop himself from tightening his hands on Miles's hips, though, urging him slowly downward, wanting him, needing him, just-- a little bit.

"Okay, okay. I'm..." Miles starts, his voice high and a little unsteady.

"You don't have to," Hobie reminds, easing his grip immediately. "Like I said, whatever you want."

"This-- I want to. I'm okay, I'm ready," he tells him, sounding more and more certain with every word.

When Hobie nods at him, encouraging, he guides Miles to lift up slightly, just enough to angle himself properly to press the blunt tip of his cock to his entrance. He doesn't enter him, but prods against him, testing him, telling him to start when he's ready.

And Miles-- oh, Miles-- he does not ease himself down. He just forces it all in at once, slamming his hips down, and even Hobie has to take a sharp breath at the feeling; he can't imagine how it is for Miles.

Probably not good, given he's as stiff as a board as he tries to adjust, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. Hobie can feel how tight he is, body resisting the intrusion.

Hobie would laugh if he wasn't so shocked.

"That hurt?"

"No." The squeak in his voice tells another story.

"Easy, babe." Hobie squeezes his waist lightly. "Go slow."

"But..." Miles starts, peeking his eyes open.

"We got all day," Hobie insists. "Take your time."

"...That's not how they do it in the videos?" Miles finally continues.

Hobie blinks, processing his words.

He does laugh this time, slapping a hand over his face, because-- god, what is he doing?

He's slept with virgins before, but even virginal adults know that porn is unrealistic. This is a kid, a kid-kid, who doesn't have more experienced friends to gossip about it with, hasn't heard dozens of stories to set his expectations accordingly.

And his first time, his body was in such a state that he probably could have done all of this without pain, without being prepped. Hobie could see that warping his sense of his body's capabilities.

"What?" Miles huffs, flushed with humiliation.

He doesn't mean to keep laughing, knows in the back of his mind that it probably makes Miles feel horrible, but he can't help himself; it's the only thing masking the massive ache of guilt in his chest.

"Been doin' your research, have you?"

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"Ain't you cute," Hobie sighs, finally reeling himself in, brushing his fingers across Miles's cheek. "Takin' notes so you can try it on me? You should've said somethin'. Could'a shown you."

Miles looks like he doesn't know what to make of things, like he doesn't know if he should be offended or embarrassed or if everything's okay.

"Well, you didn't go slow, before, either," Miles points out, defensive.

That knocks the smile right off Hobie's face.

He honestly doesn't remember what he did, exactly. He has no idea how gentle he was, how rough, or slow, or fast. He just did what he had to, what he physically could, to get Miles off. The thought that Miles remembers it with more clarity than he does scares the shit out of him.

"Ah, yeah," he laughs, trying to cover his sudden discomfort. "I'm havin' flashbacks now that you mention it."

Hobie hears something in his own voice crack a little, feels it tear at his heart, but covers it by slouching back and giving Miles a grin.

His breath hitches when Miles pulls back slightly and, despite looking a little miserable, stubbornly tries it again. He raises his hips and drops back down, trying to take Hobie as he did before.

"No." Hobie says it almost harshly, gripping his hips tight, stalling him. "Not gonna happen like that."

Miles wiggles a little on Hobie's cock, wincing but not as bad as the first attempt. "I can take it."

"Don't care. We're not doing that." Hobie meets his eyes evenly. "Either you do this right and slow down, or we're not doin' it at all."

The ultimatum clearly shakes him up a bit, like getting off his cock now would kill him. It deflates his stubbornness, and his shoulders drop. Miles can read him well enough now to know he's not going to budge, so he exhales a long, shuddering breath. "Okay." He licks his lips. "What do I do?"

"Nice and easy," he tells him, the soft tips of his fingers drawing small circles along his thighs. "Get comfy. Lift up. Then back down, a bit. Let yourself get use to the way it stretches you out, just a little bit at a time."

And he does.

Miles sets his hands against Hobie's abdomen, stabilizes himself, and begins to slowly rise, stopping just shy of where Hobie's tip penetrates him, before inching back down. After several shallow repeats, he eases himself a little further, and the difference is quite apparent. Miles's eyes flutter shut, his fingers curl, and his mouth parts in a gentle whine, brows knitting together.

"There we are," he purrs, hand gliding up his flank. "Don't that feel a lot better?"

"I guess..." Miles answers mildly, shrugging one shoulder, doing nothing to wipe the look of ecstasy off his face.

Miles rocks his hips on Hobie's lap, gently riding him just to feel the head rub his inner walls, and Hobie lays back, lets Miles get comfortable in taking him, in trying out what feels good for him.

Once Miles's movements turn easier, less resistance, he lets him get into a real rhythm, with longer strokes, just his tip up his cunt, then back down to his root.

Once he has that, he pulls his knees a little wider apart and rolls his hips in encouragement, drawing out a surprised little gasp. "Yeah, baby... Keep doin' what you're doin'. So good..."

Miles ducks his head, looking shy. But he doesn't falter, pulling back so just his tip rests within him, before rocking his hips back down, taking him into his hot, wet cunt in one movement. Hobie moans a little as he's swallowed into him. His cock twitches.

Hobie distantly thinks that, like, maybe they should have a condom or something. Maybe he needs to teach Miles about that, too. Should be a responsible adult in some part of this. He wonders how much of a fit Miles will throw when he pulls out instead of coming straight into his cervix.

Hobie lifts his hands, trailing the backs of his knuckles down the inside of Miles's thighs before opening his palms to slide them up his thighs and squeeze his hips appreciatively.

"How's that, love? Feels good?"

"Yeah," Miles answers slowly, looking sly. "Can I go faster now?"

Hobie raises an eyebrow. He snaps his hips up into him once, twice, watches Miles gasp and double over a little, trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah, babe," Hobie starts, enjoying the fact that this basically-virginal teenager wants him hard and fast. "If you can handle it. Don't hurt yourself."

He gives him a squeeze, which he assumes is all the consent Miles needs, since he presses his palms into Hobie's abdomen and uses them for leverage to shift his hips more vigorously.

And oh, fuck-- this is what Miles was trying to show him, what he'd learned, and it's-- good. Really, really good. Better than it had any right to feel. He's moving his hips in circles, in patterns like he's-- Hobie had no idea he knew this, absolutely no idea.

Miles watches his face as he bounces on his cock, lips parted with his breathing. Hobie can see the flush high on his cheeks, the bit of shine under the line of his hair, and he looks so smug.

Fuck, he thinks, slamming his head back into the cushion and clutching onto Miles's waist a bit tighter, struggling to control his breathing as Miles rides his cock and makes him feel out of control.

"Am I doing this-- ah-- wrong, too?" Miles teases.

Hobie's hips flex automatically, bumping up to meet Miles. It sort of throws him off his rhythm for a second, and he moves his hands down to Hobie's hips to pin them to the bed with superhuman strength. Hobie groans, half in pleasure and half in misery at being forced to stay still when every inch of him is craving to be inside.

"No, baby," he manages. "You're perfect."

Miles looks so pleased with himself. He doesn't let Hobie's hips buck, just keeping them pinned and making him a sweaty, squirming mess beneath him.

Hobie feels something low and tightening and hot building in his gut, searing hot. It's not the wild frenzy he felt the night Miles was in need, but this gradual build, slow and steady.

Fuck, Miles is never going to let him pull out at this rate. He can see the interaction now - Hobie making his pleas and Miles stubbornly holding him there and fucking him to completion.

He'd be lying if he said the idea didn't turn him on a bit.

Miles's hips start to stutter, the cadence he set with Hobie lost. He pants and whimpers, his thighs quivering with the effort of it, sometimes almost pausing at the lowest part of Hobie's shaft, pressing his cunt down firmly like he needs to feel it deep inside. The exaggerated motions, Hobie realizes, probably feel a lot better for him than they do for Miles.

Hobie tries to get his brain working enough to form words, rubbing at Miles's thighs to encourage him. He wants to give him permission to abandon whatever mission he's set out on, just focus on what feels good to him. Hobie, for his part, is more than happy to have Miles just sit there on him and grind his cunt against him, let the barbells and notches rub against him to please them both.

And that's exactly what Miles ends up doing, pressed flush to Hobie's pelvis while he rocks back and forth, a frustrated whine leaving his throat like it's not what he wants to be doing but can't resist. He's rubbing his clit over Hobie's skin, the head of Hobie's cock as deep inside him as it'll go..

"Good boy," is all Hobie can think to say to encourage this. "Go ahead."

Everything starts to come unraveled, for both of them. Miles doesn't have the poise to watch Hobie's face or to hold him down anymore; his hands slip from his body, but Hobie has no desire to move. Just rests a hand on Miles's trembling thigh while he bounces and humps into him, totally helpless in the way his body grinds against Hobie's pelvis, takes the way he stretches him out for granted.

Miles is almost whimpering, like he's too desperate to even moan. It almost doesn't sound like him. And then he comes, twitching, bucking and twisting on his lap, nails biting into Hobie's stomach. His thighs clamp around his hips, his pussy convulsing and massaging around Hobie's cock inside him.

Hobie breathes carefully, forces his muscles to relax, to ward off that incessant throbbing in his dick that begs him to thrust.

Miles looks amazing. He comes down slowly, his expression blank but relaxed. Hobie continues to rub his thigh comfortingly as Miles continues a few tired grinds on Hobie's cock, rubbing it against his walls and nudging at his sensitive cervix.

"So good," Hobie praises again.

He's clearly exhausted and Hobie doesn't blame him, but Miles looks between them, raising his hips up despite the strain.

"But-- You didn't-- I can keep..." he pants. He lowers his hips back down and jerks when his clit brushes Hobie's skin, too sensitive. He twitches and shivers. His hips start to squirm, unsure of what he's trying to accomplish, if he even wants to be on his cock or not.

"'S alright."

Hobie decides it for him, gently rolling them so Miles is on his back on the mattress. He pulls out of him slowly, noting the way Miles twitches at the sensation.

"Just didn't wanna come in you, that's all, love," he assures, but Miles looks far, far away from being comforted, scrambling up onto his elbows.

"Why not?!"

Hobie chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on his thigh. "I got no interest in a lil' Hobart runnin' around. Got too many people to take care of as is."

"I can use my hands?" Miles insists, despite his trembling muscles. "Or my mouth? I don't know how to do that, but you can teach me--"

"Miles, babe, you've already made me feel amazin'. Let's leave it there, hm?"

"But I want to make you feel good. I want..."

Miles trails off as Hobie, sighing, gathers up his legs, pulls him to the end of the bed, and sinks his cock between his thighs, both his ankles hanging over Hobie's shoulder.

"Look, I'll come on you, if you want, okay? That enough?"

Miles looks tempted, the gears in his brain turning.

"...But..."

Hobie just starts moving his hips, because Miles can't argue about this if Hobie has already come. And with the way it feels with Miles's hot, slick skin enveloping him, it doesn't take long.

He growls as it overtakes him, clutching Miles's legs tight as he fucks his thighs, every thrust spurting a rope of come across his abdomen and up his chest. At one point a shot is fired so far it actually hits his neck and collar bone. By the time he's done, spent and shaky and satisfied, Miles is looking down at the mess with apparent fascination.

Hobie catches his breath, finally releases Miles's legs and eases them back onto the mattress. "You better be satisfied," he drawls, and Miles's widened eyes move up to look at him instead.

And then the brat has the nerve to look disappointed.

He at least looks a little conflicted, too, eyes darting away, and he doesn't voice whatever's going through his head right away. Hobie just flops down on the bed next to him and lays back, trying to ease the hammering of his heart.

His post-sex high gets real sour real quick when he starts getting really close to drowning in the guilt over what the fuck he just did, his sense of well-earned euphoria rapidly dissipating. He'd been successfully distracted while sexing up the damn kid, but now that he wasn't, he's back at feeling like a human piece of shit.

"It's just..." Miles starts carefully, turning to look back at him. The kid looks like he's thinking about his words, like he's careful with how they're expressed.

"You made me come," he finally says. "You made me feel so good, and I really, really wanted to do the same for you. But I couldn't..."

He sounds really, really let down that he - supposedly - failed to please Hobie. There's almost a tinge of realization in his voice, like there's something inherent about him to it, and that is a far cry from what Hobie had wanted him to get out of this experience.

Hobie sighs, long and suffering. His heart starts throbbing, his gut clenching with nausea. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until blobs start dancing behind his eyelids, knowing exactly what his next words are going to be, the truth of them.

"You can get me back next time."