Sugar Heart Ch. 04

He stopped snoring and sighed, stirring a little. I felt a gentle prod against my hip—his morning wood. How I wanted to grab hold of it! I grabbed my own instead.

"Morning," I whispered as I stroked myself languidly through my boxers.

"Mmm," he mumbled, lifting his head slightly. His auburn hair was even wilder than usual. He wiped the side of his mouth, and then the damp spot on my chest. "Oh... I... I drooled on you," he rasped in a hoarse, sleepy voice. "S-sssorry!"

"I don't mind," I chuckled. "Drool on me all you like. Man, you are the cutest!"

He groaned a little and pressed his face against my neck. I hugged him close, making my sluggish arm tingle even more forcefully. I clenched my fist a few times to encourage circulation. He noticed the movement and lifted his head to glance down at my hand, but quickly his attention was hijacked by what my opposite hand was doing. Slowly he peeled back the blanket and discovered me idly stroking my intense morning hard-on. He grinned, kissed my cheek, and thrust against my hip a little.

"Waking up with you... it's just... the best," he whispered.

"Mm-hmmm. I hope we get to do this lots more."

He placed his hand alongside mine, helping to stroke my cock. I sighed happily. He continued intermittently rubbing his own hardness against my hip, which was almost too much for me to bear. I moaned each time I felt the press of his excited little tool, leaving no question as to my interest in it.

He saw me looking at him with lustful intensity and trembled. His hand slid on top of mine, and he breathed hard. Rolling partway onto his back, he moved my hand with maddening slowness off my bulge, and onto his own, keeping his eyes fixed on mine.

"Ohh...," I groaned, pushing up into a sitting position so I could see him better.

"Ah—!" he gasped, pressing both hands over mine and grinding against my palm.

"Oh, Buddy!" He was very small, but rock hard. I was as touched by his trust in me as I was aroused. Touching him was at least as enjoyable as being touched by him. I rubbed and stroked him through the soft fleece of his adorable pyjama pants, and he writhed and whimpered, keeping his gorgeous eyes firmly fixed on my face. His responsiveness thrilled me. I tried different movements, squeezed, petted, gently gripped his testicles—all the little noises he made, his rapt expressions, his pleasure-fuelled squirming, it all overwhelmed me. I was so addicted to this sweet boy. I wanted to have his whole body in my mouth and just swirl him around with my tongue, suck on him like a piece of candy.

"Buddy, you're incredible!" I exclaimed.

His eyes widened and glinted brightly in the sunlight filtering through my curtains. "Y-yyyou're not... d-disappointed?"

"I've never been less disappointed!"

"B-b-but I'm so... p... pathetic. So... little."

I stroked his hair with the hand that wasn't stroking his erection. "Little does not mean pathetic!" I said vehemently. I smiled in remembrance of him sucking on me, and how he couldn't seem to take in much more than the head of my cock. I imagined sucking on his smaller tool, and how easily I could take in all of him. "I can think of some major advantages to being smaller. But seriously—you have nothing to be ashamed of. I didn't earn a big one any more than you earned a small one. We all make do with what we've been given. Mine's never given me any advantages in life. And sexy is soooo much more than just anatomy. You are one sexy little beast, Buddy, and you turn me on like crazy." I gave him a firm squeeze.

Buddy smiled up at me until tears brimmed and spilled over, rolling down his temples. I brushed them away with my thumb and grinned back at him. He let out a long, happy sigh and started grinding against my hand even more enthusiastically. His freckled cheeks were ruddy with joy. I couldn't look away from his eyes—blue, green, and grey all at once, and shining with ecstasy. We fixated on each other as I stroked and squeezed him, and he thrust against me, and I could tell by his shifting expressions that he was getting close.

"You gonna cum in your pants again, Buddy?" I whispered heatedly. "You gonna cum for me?"

He nodded rapidly, his breath coming in little gasps now. His eyes grew very round, and he squeezed my hand hard up against his cock; I could feel it throb even through two layers of fabric. His mouth flew open in an agony of pleasure, and his eyes rolled back as he arched and then bucked excitedly, making gleeful crowing noises.

"Ohh, that's a good boy," I whispered, gently cupping his softening tool. I beamed until my cheeks ached, having completely forgotten my own arousal until Buddy snaked a hand down into my underpants.

"Will you... c-c-cum for me, too?" he stuttered.

"You bet!" I breathed as he pulled my cock out and began jerking me with both hands. He was flushed and drowsy-eyed, still plateauing from his own climax, but his enthusiasm for pleasuring me was not at all diminished. With his bottom hand he tugged rhythmically; his top hand pulled and twisted and teased the head of my cock. It felt amazing, except for a little chafing.

"Hang on one sec," I huffed, reaching over to a nearby drawer and pulling out my bottle of lube. "Hold out your hands."

He smiled and offered me his palms, which I drizzled liberally with the clear liquid. I could tell by the way he looked at it and slowly rubbed his hands together experimentally that he'd never used lube before. His smile widened, and he aimed it in my direction as he returned his glistening hands to their previous work. His eyes widened, his mouth slackening as he discovered the tactile pleasure of a lube-slicked hard-on. His movements were even quicker now—tugging, squeezing, pulling, twisting, and occasionally pausing to slide his fingertips over the subtle contours of my hardened cock, or grip my balls. The slippery friction ramped up my arousal at a dizzying rate, and his affectionate explorations were an extra thrill. He even showed a bit of interest in the hair down there, gently combing his fingers through the dense, tightly curled thicket that was a shade or two darker than the sandy colour of the hair on my head.

"You're s-sssso hhhot," Buddy sighed. "So... t-tasty."

He leaned down and popped the shining purplish head of my cock past his lips and sucked on it like a lollipop. I loved the wet noises his busy, lube-slicked hands made as they worked on me, and his hot mouth with its occasionally slurping and eager suction was bringing me quickly to the brink.

"Buddyyyy... ohh... yes! Buddy, oh fuck... just like that... ahhh—!"

I cried out and spasmed with blissful release, shooting several spurts of cum directly into his mouth. He kept his lips tightly sealed around me and continued working his hands until I'd calmed and he had swallowed the last of my issue. He finished by licking me several times thoroughly from balls to tip.

"Buddy, you're incredible," I sighed, twitching a little at his handling of my hypersensitive equipment.

"You are," he whispered, nuzzling my belly and then kissing one of my palms.

"Come up here and kiss me," I urged, gesturing to my mouth.

"Mm-mm," he murmured, placing both hands in front of his mouth. "M-mmmorning breath. I'm g-gonna go brush. And... ch... change my underpants." He adjusted his PJ pants and flashed me a sheepish grin.

I laughed and blew him a kiss as he climbed over me to scurry off to the bathroom with a slightly awkward gait.

I waited a few minutes before following him to the bathroom, listening at the door. I heard the toilet flush, then a rustling and a zipping sound that must have been his backpack. I heard him wash his hands, and then begin brushing his teeth.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

The knob rattled as he unlocked, and then he opened the door, smiling at me around the toothbrush that protruded from the corner of his mouth. He was still in his pyjamas, to my delight.

"Cutie," I chuckled, kissing his forehead before standing at the toilet. He squeezed in beside me, watching me pee with an impish expression while continuing to brush his teeth. I put my arm around him, unable to resist laughing again.

After washing up I started brushing my own teeth. Buddy again squeezed up next to me. My bathroom was pretty cramped, and there was barely enough room for us both to stand in front of the sink. I gave him a gentle hip-check, and he shoved me back, nearly choking on his toothbrush as he held back giggles. We jostled for position, both beginning to laugh and, in the process, inadvertently spitting and drooling toothpaste foam all over the counter.

When we'd stopped goofing around and Buddy finished brushing, he grabbed a small zippered pouch from his backpack and dumped it out onto the counter. There were several pill bottles, plus a couple of asthma inhalers. I spit out my toothpaste and rinsed, then gave the counter a quick wipe.

"That's quite the little pharmacy you've got there," I remarked, standing behind Buddy and sliding my arms around his middle, curious about his morning routine. He looked embarrassed, and I squeezed him and kissed his cheek. "It's okay. Show me."

He sorted through his collection and quietly explained everything to me. He took antidepressants for emotional symptoms and beta blockers for physical symptoms of anxiety. He also had Ativan for severe attacks.

"I t-t-t... try not to t-take these...often," he said, tucking away the tranquilizers. "They're... habit-forming, and, um... k-kinda awful if you t-t-take too many. I h-hhhad... a bit of an... uh... addiction... after my m-mmmom died."

I met his eyes in the mirror, and then he looked down. "What happened?" I asked softly, squeezing him close to my chest.

He licked his lips and took out his daily pills, swallowing them easily, without water. "F-ffor a while... I c-couldn't calm down without them," he mumbled. "I'd take another as s-s-sssoon as the last wore off. You're not... supposed to. I knew that. But I... um... uh... I dunno. I felt... too... um, overwhelmed. After a while... I'd get... sorta dizzy... d-disoriented... and had t-trouble breathing. Like... beyond my usual asthma." He had an orange and a blue inhaler. He picked up the orange one and took two puffs, holding his breath between each.

"After I st-started getting... h-h-hhhallucinations... I knew I had to quit," he continued, putting all of his medications away. "Bernie helped. He... wasn't in any great shape either... after she died... but... we, uh... h-hhhelped each other I guess. Withdrawal... was the worst. I d-didn't sleep for... d-d... days at a time. Felt... r-really hot, and sick... could hardly eat. Everything ached. I couldn't stand the light. Anything... would send me into p-panic attacks. All I could do was... just lie in a dark room. Bernie... he was really great. He brought me water...uh, ice packs... p-puke buckets... uh... Gatorade. He took me to the h-hospital a few times... when I couldn't keep food down for too long."

"Shit... that sounds like a nightmare," I whispered, pressing my cheek against the top of his soft head. "How long did it last?"

"C-couple of months. At least... t-till I could, um... eat and sleep all right, and... be m-m-mmmore or less functional. Some symptoms... took almost a year to go away. Since then... I've only taken Ativan a c-couple times. Serious em-mergencies only. Been about... mmm... eight months... since I needed it last."

"That's good," I said softly, once more catching his gaze in the mirror and squeezing him tightly against me. "I'd hate to see you suffer through something like that again. Do you think you'll get to a place where you don't need most of this stuff at all anymore?"

He placed his arms over mine affectionately and leaned back against my shoulder. "I'm sss-supposed to. Eventually. These... drugs... it's not good to, uh... be on them, like... forever." He sighed and shut his eyes for a few moments. "I didn't need meds... quite as much... when I hhhad... my mom."

I watched him carefully. "She took good care of you, hmm?"

Buddy nodded. "She always... knew what to say... what to do. B-B-Bernie, uh... he takes p-pretty good care of me, though. As he can."

"I'd like to take good care of you," I whispered. "Like you've taken care of me."

He turned around, circled his arms around my neck, and hopped up, wrapping his legs around my waist. I held him like a child, adoring the feel of his warm body against me, squeezing me, needing me. Still, I couldn't help the little thread of worry that tickled at the back of my mind. What if I couldn't take care of him? What if Bernie couldn't? Did Buddy have the inner strength to take care of himself if he needed to?

I thought of how lost, abandoned, and hopeless I'd felt in recent days, how ready I'd been to give up on life. In retrospect I couldn't believe I'd allowed myself such weakness. Buddy had saved me—I was sure of it. But I shouldn't have needed saving, and Buddy shouldn't need it either.

"Buddy," I whispered against his ear, "I might not always be around. Bernie might not either."

"D-d-don't say that," he stammered, his arms tightening around my neck.

"It's true though. I do want to take care of you... but you're the best person to do that."

"I'm not," he mumbled in a muffled voice as he pressed his face into my neck. "I... I'm a mess."

"You weren't a mess when you were talking me down," I pointed out. "You were so, so strong... and so smart... and totally together. You have it in you somewhere. Buddy... do you ever get therapy?"

"C-can we... not... t-t-t-talk about this?" he whimpered. "Please..."

I sighed. I felt it was a conversation that needed to happen, but I was completely torn as to whether I ought to push him or back off. I was only just getting to know him. "I think it's important," I said gently.

"P-pancakes!" he forced out. "That's what's... important. "C-can I make you pancakes? D-do you have bread? W-wwwe could... we could... have French toast!"

"Buddy...."

He unlocked his grip from my neck and waist and slid back to the floor, pulling away from my arms and leaving the bathroom.

"Buddy!" I followed after him as he went straight to the kitchen and opened up my refrigerator. "Please don't be upset with me."

He pulled out a carton of eggs and set them on my counter next to a loaf of bread. "I'm not," he mumbled.

"You are upset though!" I exclaimed. "Can we not play games and pretend? That's not the kind of relationship I want."

He paused and dropped his head. "Yes... I'm upset," he whispered. "B-b-but not... with you."

"With yourself then...? With who, with what?" I stood behind him as I had at the bathroom sink and began to massage his thin shoulders. "Talk to me. Please?"

"Mmm... Richard...," he breathed, shutting his eyes and relaxing a little beneath my gently kneading hands. "There are... maybe a l-lllot of things we sh-should, uh... talk about. But... I just... don't want it to be now. I h-hhhaven't ever... had such... dreams come true before. Being with you... Richard... it's been... p-p-perfection in a way I... I never thought, um... truly p-possible. I know things won't always be... perfect... but right now... I just, um... w-wwwant to enjoy this d-day with you... and not... w-worry about... serious things."

I slid my hands up to his face and turned his head to one side. I leaned over his shoulder and kissed his lips, holding still in that gentle embrace for some time. "Okay, Buddy," I whispered finally, smiling. "That's fair. Let's have a perfect day together. A perfect day of no worries for either of us. And I think French toast sounds like just the way to start."

Buddy smiled gratefully and kissed me again, reaching up to pet my cheek. His soft hand scraped against the robust growth of stubble there, and he giggled. "Y-your beard... it grows s-sss-so fast! Mine... hardly at all."

I fondled his cheeks affectionately. They were nearly smooth. "I love your baby face." I kissed his cheek. "And your freckles." I kissed his other cheek. "And your cute little nose." I kissed his nose. "And your beautiful... delicious... talented mouth." I punctuated the sentence with several soft kisses on his lips.

"Mmmm," he moaned, leaning back against me. "My Richard."

"My Buddy."

We made French toast together, though he did most of the work as I'd never made it before. He mixed cinnamon in with the egg-and-milk mixture, which I thought was a stroke of genius, but he claimed was simply the normal way of doing it. It was delicious. I put plenty of butter and syrup on mine, and wolfed down three slices in the time it took him to make his way meticulously through half of one, which he'd spread with peanut butter before pouring on the syrup.

"You always put peanut butter on French toast?"

He grinned and nodded. "P-pancakes too. Is that... weird?"

"I don't know," I laughed. "I never thought about it. Let me try." I helped myself to a fourth slice and slathered it with peanut butter, concluding in the end that I wasn't sure I could ever eat French toast without peanut butter anymore. "You really are a genius!"

He giggled and leaned over to kiss me with a sweet, syrupy mouth.

I was on my fifth piece of toast when I noticed he'd stopped eating two-thirds through his first, and was now just pushing it around his plate as he watched me eat.

"You okay?" I asked. "That's not all you're having, is it?"

He sipped from his glass of milk and shrugged, dropping his eyes in a way that was becoming familiar to me. It was his I-don't-want-to-have-this-conversation look. "I d-d-don't eat much... in the mornings. N-not that hhhungry. The drugs... I get a bit of... t-tummyache."

I watched him intently. "What did you have for dinner yesterday?"

He chewed on his lip and poked halfheartedly at his remaining piece of toast with his fork. He shrugged again. "Tea."

I sighed. "Buddy! I know we said no serious things today, but..."

"Please... don't!" he groaned, dropping his fork.

"You're so skinny!" I exclaimed without thinking.

His mouth clamped shut with an audible *snap*. He seemed to shrink even smaller, sliding down in his seat, face reddening.

"Buddy..." I breathed, regretting my words. "I didn't mean..."

He covered his face with his hands and spoke through them: "I'm sorry!"

"Don't be sorry! Buddy, that wasn't a criticism of your looks." I put my fork down and reached out to touch his shoulder. "I shouldn't have said that. There's nothing wrong with being thin. I just want you to be... well."

He pushed his chair back from my little table, and from my touch, and stood, taking a few steps back toward the kitchen. His bare feet made gentle slapping noises on the cool linoleum floor. He stopped, facing directly away from me. "I'm... always... going to be... s-s-ssscrawny," he said quietly.

"Do you think that's a problem for me?" I wondered. "Do you think I'm going to make fun of you, or think less of you? Do you think I'd like you better if you were big and muscle-y? Because that's completely not the case."

He turned himself halfway around, peeking back at me with a conflicted look, like a beaten pup that wasn't sure whether or not to run away. After a few moments, he looked down at his feet and then reached back to grip his shirt collar, abruptly stripping it off and tossing it aside. Just as quickly, he dropped his PJ bottoms, along with his underpants, and turned to face me directly, buck naked, and still staring at his feet.

I could barely breathe. I hadn't expected this. I followed the fascinating galaxies of freckles down his neck, across his shoulders, his hairless chest, all the way down. He was skinny, certainly—very bony, with hardly any fat or muscle. I followed the freckles to a little halo of rusty-coloured pubic hair crowning a penis that was uncut, soft, and not a whole lot bigger than my thumb. Of course Buddy didn't have the sort of body I had ever fantasized about, but the more I looked at him, the more I realized how little I needed, or even wanted a fantasy-made-reality. Buddy was real, and mine, and beautiful in his imperfection.