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Sometimes the Scariest Things in Life

Joshua looked around the small apartment behind the unprepossessing green door and shivered. Someone had turned on the air conditioning. Presumably, that someone was Stephen, who led Josh across the doorway and swept a theatrical hand at the cozy living room. The two couches were arrayed in an "L" shape, one against the far wall, the other jutting out into the middle of the room. Both faced a big TV, set unceremoniously atop a small table. Beneath the TV sat an Xbox, a Playstation (original), and several board games. The room was carpeted in tramped-down blue stuff that had probably seen some serious spills over the years. Movie posters for Tron, The Avengers, and The Godfather adorned the walls; when he turned to close the door, Josh saw one for The Evil Bong on its back. All in all, it was one of the nicer living rooms he'd seen so far.

Stephen watched him look around with a smile on his face. His short sandy fur waved in the air put out by the conditioner. He said, "Make yourself at home."

Josh took his shoes off and pushed them up next to the door with his feet, purely by habit, something he'd picked up only in the last year or so. A surprising number of his friends did that, and so now it was just something he automatically did. A lot had changed about Josh since he had come to college nearly a year ago.

He looked at Stephen and immediately felt himself start to redden under the dhole's gaze. He cracked a smile to make himself feel better and looked around again. "Nice apartment."

"Thanks. We put a lot of work into it." Stephen's smile looked genuine, and Josh found his eyes drawn back up to it. "Rent's only like four hundred a month, too, which is really not bad. You want something to drink?"

Josh shook his head. He brought a hand up to his flicking ear, a nervous habit he'd developed as a child and had never quite outgrown. Some things stay the same, he thought, and that thought sent another shiver through him. What if he didn't want to change this way? What if he couldn't?

Stephen stepped up to him, the dhole's hands alighting on his waist. Josh fought the impulse to take a step back, but something of his mental state must have shown through because Stephen said, "You're really nervous."

It wasn't a question. At least, Josh couldn't hear a question mark at its conclusion. It was soft, low, like something said and meant only for one person to hear. Intimate, that was the word. Josh felt butterflies, couldn't quite bring himself to look Stephen in the eye again. Intimate. "Nah, I'm fine." The strength he'd expected to come hadn't, though, and when he looked back up, instead of grinning easily back at the dhole, he found himself sort-of-smiling and pierced by green eyes, like he couldn't look away or the whole thing would be ruined. What was social protocol in these situations? How was he supposed to react so that Stephen didn't think he was a total loser? He kept his hands folded somewhere in front of his belly, afraid to reach out and touch, knowing that he'd fumble it. He didn't even know what to touch, anyway. His analytical part, the one he could never seem to switch off, picked apart every thought he had, showed him the overwhelming negatives. Stomach seemed too personal, the shoulders too impartial, and hips were what Stephen was doing. He didn't want to be one of those people who so obviously didn't know what he was doing that it became a major turn-off. So Josh kept his hands folded before him.

Stephen's hands brushed up his waist, onto his shirt and then moved around behind him, just below his shoulder blades. His muzzle closed in a bit, eyes still staring, smile still in place. He stuck his tongue out in a silent imitation pant. "You really are pretty." One hand, his right, came up to brush over Josh's ear. It flicked. Josh felt the heat as Stephen obviously suppressed a chuckle. "Is this your first time?"

Josh looked down at Stephen's mouth. "Kinda?"

Stephen laughed quietly, a short, happy sound. "Cool. I can kinda tell."

"Can you?"

This time the laugh wasn't so quiet, though it didn't lose any of its kindness beneath the volume. "Yeah. But that's OK. It's cute." He paused, brought his muzzle even closer. "You're cute."

The volume dropped with each sentence, so when Josh said, "Thanks," it was a whisper. After a second, he thought something else was required of him and added, "So are you."

Stephen's other hand moved across Josh's back and stopped just above his tail, and pulled with the hand below his shoulder. Josh panicked, thinking a kiss was coming and knowing he wasn't at all ready for it. His lips were dry, he felt something in his throat, he might have been about to cough.

But the dhole's muzzle brushed his cheek, and then he was looking at a triangular red ear. He felt a light bite at the base of his neck, like the dhole was nibbling on him. He was immediately ashamed of the whimper it stole from his chest. He didn't want to whimper, or make noises. He just--but then Stephen's bite widened, and Josh finally understood what some people meant when they used the word "melted." Blame it on being a chevrotain, being kissed on the neck by a dhole; or, blame it on the other thing. It didn't matter. For a moment, Josh lost his sense of place, felt nothing but Stephen's tongue parting his fur and licking his skin, the light pressure from sharp teeth in a sensitive spot.

The sensation was too much, and for a brief moment, Josh lost control. He bared his neck. Stephen moved his light bite from the base to just beneath his skull, then just below his chin. By the time he finally pulled away, Josh was a quivering mess, wringing his hands in the almost nonexistent space between them. When Stephen gently put a hand on his face, fingers curled around his ear, Josh opened his mouth almost on instinct.

The kiss was brief, and splendid. It was also nothing like what Josh was expecting. There was no tongue, no roughness, no grabbing and twisting. It felt like Stephen was kissing his lips, so that's what he did back. Stephen's lips were warm and soft. He hadn't told the dhole, back when they'd first started sort of flirting at a mutual friend's house, that he was a virgin. He also hadn't said that he'd never kissed anyone before, not really. The thought that this boy might be into him was so intense--so frightening--he didn't want to let anything disrupt it. So he had smiled and sat, and conversed politely, and tried not to look too needy, and practically pounced when Stephen asked him if he wanted to get dinner sometime. They had both been pretty busy for the rest of that week, so dinner had had to wait until Saturday. Josh had spent the whole time pretty much a nervous wreck, unable to talk to his friends for any length of time, afraid they would pick up on his excitement, maybe even where it was directed. He didn't want to be the butt of anyone's jokes.

He felt like the kiss melted some of his tension away. It returned in full when Stephen said, "Wanna come see my room?"

Oh, God.

Did he? Did he really?

Stephen had somehow taken his hand, and was now walking backwards across the living room towards one of three doors, the one decorated with an equality symbol and a picture of Lady GaGa, waiting for Josh to start moving under his own power. Josh did, tried to make it look natural, and said, by way of creating a distraction, "Lady GaGa?"

Stephen turned, caught the picture and turned back. "Ha. Yeah. I don't really listen to her, but my roommate hates her, so I keep rotating pictures about once a week or so."

"That's funny."

And what went through Josh's head at that moment was, What a fucking amazing thing to point out, dumbass.

But Stephen smiled as though Josh's validation had been sincerely helpful. "Thanks. I like making him think I'm all girly-girl and stuff." He grabbed at the doorknob with a limp wrist. It was the girliest thing he had seen the dhole do yet. Stephen, a pre-med distance runner, did not fit into any of Josh's definitions about how most gay people acted. Except for now, how he was swaying his hips, which was kind of nice to watch....

The bedroom was messier than Josh's, and that hectic masculinity was kind of a relief, and then kind of intimidating. Muted afternoon sunlight settled in through the drawn blinds, which were closed imperfectly and only partially obscured the second floor view of the trees lining the parking lot below. A single futon dominated the center of the floor, surrounded on all sides by clothes (dirty or clean, he couldn't tell), Popular Mechanics magazines, books, and so many little odds and ends that he couldn't begin to make sense of it all. That's not where his head was at, anyway. His head was trying to convince his lungs not to hyperventilate. Stephen was not helping matters. He still hadn't let go of Josh's hand, and now that they were here, in this room, Josh felt gravity do weird things with his stomach.

Stephen turned back to Josh, the small, happy smile back. There was no music, no sound effect. This time when he leaned in, when his soft, questing hands found Josh's wrists, then inner arms, Josh leaned back. When their lips met, there wasn't the electricity he had expected earlier, but just a pliant warmth. He moved his hand to Stephen's back, then brought his other hand to the same place. Stephen was holding him as before. He knew his heart was pounding, knew he had to be breathing a little loud, but he couldn't stop it. God, why was this so difficult?

When Stephen pulled away and said, "Close the door," Josh almost said, "I have to go." He almost said, "I can't stay, I have a project due in a couple of days that I really need to get started on." It would have been true; he did have a project, and he did need to get started. In his mind he created a timetable: get home in twenty minutes, then spend an hour researching, then another compiling a rough draft of the report.

But when he turned to the door, his elbow caught, and the momentum of his spin closed the door halfway before he could stop it. And then it hit the frame, clicked against the strikeplate. Feeling trapped, he pushed it the rest of the way closed, then turned back around. Now what? Maybe if he said something sexy--but he didn't know anything sexy. Anything he said would end up being inadequate. Maybe if he--

Stephen's hand on his belly stopped his thoughts cold. "You are really tense," the dhole murmured. The hand slid around to his back again. "Come and sit on the bed with me?"

The futon was practically at ground level, so sitting down required more effort than he was ready to put into getting back up easily. He was acutely aware of their calves brushing against each other, both wearing shorts and both without shoes.

Stephen kissed his cheek, then his neck, and then bit it again. Josh sighed, marveling at how much of an effect that was having. He had expected--well, he hadn't known what to expect, really. He just had not expected to already be this aroused. It was as if Stephen's teeth on his neck was a pressure point connected directly to his groin.

When Stephen's hand started making small circles on his belly, he had to work not to flinch. How embarrassing, being ticklish in college! Stephen kept going, though. Once again the bites moved up his jawline, until they turned into soft kisses.

He was wholly unprepared for Stephen's tongue, but at this point, he thought, why fight it? Here he was, sitting on some good looking guy's bed, a guy who clearly thought he was good enough to make out with. He didn't know if Stephen was a better than average kisser, but each time their tongues touched made him feel special. When Stephen pushed, he pushed back, and they engaged in an awkward dance that Josh fumbled his way through with more determination than grace.

Stephen broke the kiss first, smiling, and it was infectious enough--and Josh was nervous enough--that the chevrotain smiled back. The dhole kissed him gently on the nose, then moved the paw on his stomach, moved it down. He looked Josh in the eyes, said, "Can I keep going?"

Josh had dreamed about this. He had spent hours online watching porn, seen movies, red stories, and looked at pictures with sex between loving adults. He half expected that whoever he was with, however it happened, he would have much less control over events. He had imagined a semi-forceful first contact. Except, now that he thought about it, even if he had been, he probably wouldn't have responded well to it. He thought of all the times Stephen had asked for his permission, directly or tacitly: asking to go to dinner, wondering if he could pay, would Josh like to go back to his apartment... the soft hands on his back, gentle but insistent pull towards the bedroom, the significant looks. When given a choice, he had hesitated almost every time.

Why, though? It wasn't a lack of desire; he had been aroused at the mere thought of this experience. So why was he so hesitant?

He looked Stephen in the eye, started to say yes, and instead said, feeling like small waves peeking over an unbreakable dam, "I'm... I'm really, really scared."

Stephen blinked and was silent for a moment, and in that one moment Josh thought of every bad way this day could end. None of the images were concrete, it was just a lightning fast collection of feelings, loss, and embarrassment so severe it burned.

Then both of Stephen's hands had found his face, and he realized how badly he was shaking by how steady those hands were. Stephen looked him in the eye, and said, in a voice almost as small as his had been, but much better controlled, "I know."

Josh's hands wrung themselves tightly. "I've never done this," he said, barely above a whisper. He knew that Stephen knew it already. He didn't know why he was saying it. But that fact burned in his chest and cheeks, and caused him to feel an entirely wrong kind of warmth, and he didn't know what to do. So he said, "I don't know what to do."

Stephen kissed him on the nose, eyes closed, then backed up a bit. For a long moment he simply looked at Josh, and Josh panicked when he realized he couldn't discern what expression was on the dhole's face. He always thought people were easy to read. But now, now when he most desperately wanted to know what someone was thinking, that someone's face might as well have been an unadorned book cover, filigreed but with no title.

And then Stephen said, "Lie down."

Josh did, and Stephen lay down next to him, his hand back on the chevrotain's chest. It was with some surprise that Josh realized he had expected Stephen to lie down atop him--but he was immensely glad the other hadn't done so. They lay on the futon, heads turned towards each other. Then Stephen pushed himself up on his forearms, tilted his muzzle for another kiss. This one was slower, very deliberate. His hand caressed Josh's cheek, then neck, then arm, then cheek again.

Stephen said, "You're beautiful, you know."

In high school, as a freshman, Josh had tried hockey. He wasn't very good at it, and so he stopped trying. He never got fat, but his belly took on the weight of an out-of-shape man, a little bigger than it probably should have been, no definable muscles anywhere. He was not proud of it, but had never done anything about it either, holding on to the thought that because he wasn't fat, it wasn't an issue. It hadn't help his self image any, but hey, if you couldn't be yourself, what was the point, right?

Except now, here was this gorgeous runner, telling him he was beautiful. It was probably bullshit.

Stephen's face, however, projected a sincerity that made Josh's breath catch.

The dhole's smile came back. "There's the mouse deer I asked to dinner." He paused, and Josh let the paws roam on his chest. "So, I know you're scared. That's OK. If you want, I want to be with you." He looked Josh in the eye. "You don't have to be scared. But if you want to be scared, that's OK. I still want to be with you."

Josh's brain was more or less on standby at this moment. He didn't know what to do with all the pressure in his chest! How was it that he could be so ready for something like this, so ready for the sex part, but this, this was affecting him like a blindside accident? He didn't even have an idea of how to proceed, had never read anything about this, had never seen or heard it. Always, what he'd seen sent him straight to the sex. And now, here he was, having his fear directly addressed, and it pinned him to inaction.

He didn't realize he was crying until Stephen wiped the tear from his eye. He blinked and sniffed, then took a deep breath. Stephen waited.

"I... I want to, to do this. With you. I like you." His voice was shaky. He hated how it sounded. He hated himself. "I'm still scared."

But Stephen kissed him again, and this time the kiss wasn't as deliberate. It was tender, and inviting, and all of the things that Josh knew were missing from his speech. "That's OK. I'll help."

They started slow. Stephen put his hand back on Josh's belly, and then moved lower once again. He asked, "Can I keep going?" again, and this time Josh just nodded. He didn't know whether to watch or not, and his racing heart went into overdrive when the fingers slid down to the catch on his shorts.

They unzipped the fly slowly.

Then they opened the button, brushing the distended boxer fabric.

Josh had to move his hips up a bit so they could slide down to his thighs. Then Stephen was up and at his waist, using both hands to slide his boxers down with the shorts.

Josh couldn't watch. He looked up, staring at the ceiling without seeing it until Stephen's body returned to where it had been, next to his. He could feel himself, now. Exposed. Embarrassingly hard. Just. Out.

He squeaked when Stephen's hand closed softly around him. His whole body jerked, and he grabbed the sheets. Pathetic! Nothing had even happened yet.

Except, he realized then, something had. It was vulgar, and crass, and... and pretty, and huge, and scary.

Stephen kissed his cheek, and said, "Just breathe."

His hand moved.

It was weird, in the same way that being tickled was weird. It's completely acceptable to touch your own stomach, but as soon as someone else does it, your body curls up involuntarily, and your arms try to make them go away. Except, Josh didn't try to push him away. He had to force his hands to stay where they were, and the only way to do that was do grab at the light sheets beneath him, and arch his back just a little so his legs wouldn't rise. It was especially difficult to maintain his pose when half of Stephen's palm slid up over the sensitive glans of his penis, then back down, all the way to his body.

Then it happened again.

Then again.

Then Stephen bit him on his throat, teeth softly on either side, tongue on his windpipe.

Then he couldn't keep quiet, and he had to cry out.

For some indeterminate time, Josh's world ceased to be concrete and became a combination of Stephen's mouth and hand. It got faster, and he felt himself get hotter, and he heard himself whimpering and knew he was writhing. The warmth in his penis moved down, back into his groin, beneath and behind it, spread out and then coalesced, and with a loud cry he tensed, hips in the air, as Stephen's hand drew his seed from his body in hot, powerful bursts.

Then he lay there, Stephen's hand on his softening member, tongue licking at his throat, then finding his mouth. Sweat had formed on his skin.

Stephen pulled back and said, "How do you feel?"

This was the second thing for which he hadn't been prepared. When he masturbated, he never cared how he felt afterward. He always felt finished. Now, though, he felt.... "Good. Really, really good." He smiled, and into that smile he poured all of his relief, all of his fear and anxiety, all of his spent strength. He could barely bring himself to whisper "Thank you," but Stephen smiled wide when he did, then punctuated the smile with another deep kiss that completed the warm feeling permeating his body.

Still with that smile, Stephen said, "You want a drink now?"

For some reason, Josh laughed. It was like a dam had broken. He still didn't feel completely at ease, still carried some of the anxiety. Now that the heat had left him suffused with a warm glow, he realized what he had just done. It made him feel small all over again--yet, here he still was, half-naked in bed with someone who had just been intimate with him for the first time in his life. He still felt small, still felt scared.

And when he turned onto his side to look at Stephen, who smiled and kept holding him, and hadn't moved an inch, he saw that his friend didn't care. It hadn't cured him, because there was nothing to cure. Stephen had seen his flaws, and had embraced them, and helped him celebrate them.

So Josh pulled his hands apart and cupped Stephen's face, and just before pulling him into another kiss, said, "No, I want to stay like this for a bit."