velvet mace

True Age

I'm going to go to hell, thought Roy as he pulled the band from Al's hair and spread the long soft strands out across his back. The boy let him. The boy let him do anything. The boy even encouraged him. It was so wrong, but so intoxicatingly delicious at the same time.

"I'm not thirteen," Al said, as if reading his mind. "I have the memories, the maturity of a 18 year old. My body will catch up. I'm not waiting half a decade to have a relationship just because my body didn't age those five years. I'm not a child, I'm more than ready for this."

Yes, that was easy to say, but the body next to him spoke differently. It spoke of newly developing muscles, a thin flat chest. A groin barely downed with soft dark blond curls. And the voice was just as high and unbroken as ever. Al began licking his chest, finding a nipple and working at it. Horrible as it was, the boy didn't need to duck his head all that much to reach it.

"I know," said Roy softly into the top of Al's hair. "I know you are a man, I can see that in you."

Al sighed with relief. "That's what I love about you, Roy. You are the only one who can truly see past my body."

Roy kept his mouth shut, wishing that he could close his mind as well. He vowed Al would never know how easy it was to make love to him, and how, in the depths of passion, he did not even bother to remember how old Al's soul was.