Date: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 20:51:25 -0700
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Puget Posse  Chapter 39

Welcome back to the Posse. This chapter takes a look at the five
boys of the Puget Posse as they recover from the stress and emotion
of the election. Jeremiah had stolen the election from Mark. The
Posse was angry about it, but was there anything they can do about
it?

All the usual disclaimers apply. Please donate to the Nifty Archive to
help preserve this free source of stories.

I enjoy receiving emails. thehakaanen@hotmail.com.

Douglas


CHAPTER 39
RECOVERY

It was Saturday night on what had so far been	 a quiet weekend for
Neville. Dylan had spent Friday night at Evans' house, but was home
now. Neville wondered if Dylan would come into his bedroom to mess
around, but decided it was unlikely. He assumed that Dylan and Evan
had had enough sex the night before to last Dylan a week.

Neville had gone right to sleep on Friday, after wondering what would
happen if he invited Cody over to spend the night. Cody was really
Dylan's friend, even though he'd been spending more time with
Neville than with Dylan over the last few weeks. Neville saw Cody as
a soul mate; they each liked girls, they weren't poufs, but they liked
making each other feel good sexually. That made them different from
Dylan and Evan who were poufs, homos, gays, or whatever they
were supposed to be called. That had offended Neville at first, but
now he accepted them for what they were. Dylan had become a great
brother and Evan was Dylan's best friend. For Neville, that was
reason enough to accept them.

Neville had taken Dylan's back a couple of times when his father
started asking questions. Dylan had expressed his gratitude earlier in
the week after Reginald asked Neville why he thought Dylan and
Evan slept in the same bed even though Evan brought a sleeping bag
with him.

"They do it because it's warmer and not hard like the floor," Neville
said.

"That's what an air mattress is for," Reginald said.

"It's nicer on a bed."

Dylan was tired of being talked about like he wasn't there and was
about to speak up when Neville said, "Plus, it's easier to talk all night
if your friend is in bed with you."

"Ah, so it's all about staying up later than you should, is it?" Reginald
asked. "I should have expected as much. In my day we would have
had our bums reddened for that kind of cheekiness."

"Evan is my best friend," Dylan finally said. "We have a lot to talk
about."

"I suppose there is no real harm in that. I was afraid there was more
to it, but both of you are young boys anyway."

"More to what?" Dylan asked with such an exaggerated amount of
innocence that had Neville ready to burst out laughing.

"Nothing you won't need to know until later down the road," Reginald
replied. "But, by then, you two won't want to sleep in the same bed. I
should not have even broached the subject, it involved things boys
your age are not yet aware of and won't be for a few years." Reginald
had apparently forgotten his own youthful frolics with his public school
mates.

Dylan had been very appreciative of Neville's help. It was one
example of the two step-brothers becoming closer after the rivalries
and jealousies that had been a part of their early relationship.

Neville's mind was not only on Dylan, but also on the members of the
Posse. He'd long ago given up on his dream of moving to a new
team. He told his father he was fine with being a member of the
Posse, even though that wasn't entirely true.

His mind focused on the tumultuous happenings of the previous
week. As much as he disliked Mark, he knew his fellow Posse
member had been the best candidate for president. He also knew
that Jeremiah had totally screwed Mark over and won the election by
playing dirty.

But for Neville, the worst part was that he had inadvertently helped
Jeremiah by telling Ellis a lot of what the Posse was doing. Ellis, in
turn, had told Alden, who then gave the information to Jeremiah. He
thought Ellis was his friend, but instead Ellis had screwed him and his
teammates.

Ah, his teammates. Of all of the kids he knew at the Puget Academy
his teammates had treated him the best and he didn't even like them.
Well, he did like Misha some, but he still saw the twins as buffoons
(even if he thought Mark was the best candidate for president) and
Patrick as a dumb Irish boy.

Neville thought about how Patrick treated him. No matter how he
insulted Patrick and his heritage, Patrick always had a smile. Neville
was sure the little Irish boy took offense, and yet he rarely, if ever,
said a bad word to Neville. And it was Patrick's leadership that had
been a huge part of the team earning an A on the dioramas and
having them finish first and second in the voting.

The twins treated him well, too, and he never tired of showing his
contempt for those two. Misha was the most solid boy in the group.
He always worked hard at getting the five of them to get along and
work together. Maybe there was more to the group than he thought.

Mark was supposed to return to school on Monday. He wondered
how Mark would act after his humiliation of the week before. Maybe
he would beat up Ellis. Even better, maybe he would beat up
Jeremiah. Neville was certain he'd be hearing some harsh words
from Mark regarding his complicity in Jeremiah's win. Whatever Mark
did, Neville was certain it wouldn't be done quietly.

Neville looked at his clock. It was past ten-thirty. It looked like there
wouldn't be a visit from Dylan just as he predicted. But, he had an
incredible urge to talk to his step-brother. He was confused about
what had happened over the past few days and worried about what
was going to happen. Neville got out of bed, grabbed the boxers that
he'd left on the desk chair, donned them, and padded in his bare feet
to Dylan's bedroom.

Neville opened the door and entered the room. Dylan was sitting at
his desk gazing into his computer screen. He was naked. Neville
could see he was playing a game.

"Dylan," he said as quietly as he could, hoping not to startle his older
brother.

He didn't succeed as Dylan almost jumped out of his chair. "Damn,
Neville, you scared the shit out of me."

"I tried to be quiet," Neville apologized.

"I know, which is why you scared me. How come you're not asleep
yet?"

"I was thinking."

"Yeah, that would be you. You think too much."

Neville nodded. He stood waiting for Dylan to ask him what he was
thinking about. When Dylan turned and stared at his computer
screen, Neville thought about returning to his room, but decided to
hold his ground.

"I needed to talk to you," he whispered with a shy humility to his voice
that caught Dylan's attention. As much as he wanted to brush Neville
off and continue his game, Dylan couldn't do it; he could feel the
neediness in his step-brother's voice.

"Hang on a sec. I'm playing against Evan and I have to wait for him to
finish his turn."

Neville sat on Dylan's bed, his back against the headboard. He was
disappointed that Dylan didn't drop everything immediately. Neville
saw Dylan as one more person in his life who thought only of himself
and rarely thought of what he, Neville, wanted. Nobody from Max, to
Ellis, to Cody, to Dylan, and probably even Kathy, really cared about
him.

While Neville wallowed in self-pity, Dylan's turn came up. Dylan put
the game on pause, sent Evan a message that he needed to talk to
Neville, and logged out of his computer. He got on the bed and lay
back next to his brother.

"What's up?" Dylan asked.

Neville started talking about his thoughts regarding him and the
Posse. He talked about the election and how it affected Mark.
"Matthew said Mark was really down. That is weird for Mark. I don't
know how he will be at school." He went on to say he felt somewhat
responsible for the situation. He finished by saying he wanted to help.

Dylan wasn't sure how to respond. He wished he was older and could
come up with some kind of sage advice. But he was what he was,
eleven years old and realizing, once again, that there was more to his
younger brother than just a stuck-up English boy. He decided to ask
Neville a question.

"You're starting to like those dudes aren't you?"

"Yes. They're not so bad, at least most of the time."

"So stick with them. Just be a real part of the team. Don't say
anything if it isn't good." Dylan thought that sounded like sage advice,
all things considered. "You guys need to become a real Posse," he
added after a sudden moment of inspiration.

"What is that supposed to mean? Should we get horses and ride
around chasing bad guys?"

Dylan smiled. "That would be sweet; it would scare the shit out of
Jeremiah." He and Neville shared giggles before Dylan answered
Neville's questions. "Didn't you say a Posse was supposed to help
out everybody, or something like that?"

"A Posse is a group formed for the common good."

"That's what you guys need to be, then. Jeremiah and that Alden
dude cheated to get ahead. You guys have to stop them because it
will be good for everybody."

Neville nodded. "You're pretty smart, Dylan. I'm glad I came in to talk
to you."

"Do you want to stay?" Dylan asked.

"You mean, mess around?"

"Well, duh. I didn't mean doing homework."

"You're starting to get a boner," Neville said.

"Take off your boxers."

"You take them off," Neville said.

"I think you're really starting to get into this," Dylan smirked. He
changed his position so he could grab the waistband of Neville's
boxers, tugging them across each hip. Neville made no effort to
resist, instead raising his ass to help.  Dylan yanked off the
underpants, grinning as he watched Neville's hairless cock quickly
come to attention.

Dylan placed his hand around Neville's uncut, three-inch erection. He
started lightly jerking the shaft, but Neville stopped him.

"Suck it," he said.

"What did you say?"

"You know what I said," Neville barked, the snooty attitude Dylan was
used to bubbling to the surface.

"Whatever you want, bro." Dylan was used to Neville's shifting
moods. He'd wanted to suck on Neville's cock since the first time he'd
seen it, and he was going to take advantage of Neville's sudden
decision as quickly as he could.

For Neville's part, he wanted to do what he thought the rest of the
Posse did. He wanted to sit with them on Monday and feel like he
was really a part of the Posse. In his mind part of that attitude meant
having his cock sucked. He knew for sure that the rest of the Posse
had had theirs sucked. He'd listened to them chat about sexual things
enough to know that each one of them had received and given blow
jobs.  He wanted to apologize for snapping at Dylan. He was scared
and he knew it showed. He didn't want to be a pouf, but he did want
to be a full-fledged Posse member.

Before he could say anything, he experienced one of the most
incredible feelings of his young life. His cocklet was enveloped in a
sheath of warmth and moisture as Dylan placed his lips around it and
slowly worked his way down the shaft. So, this is why guys talked
about blow jobs, why they wanted blow jobs, why some of them
begged for blow jobs. As his brain slid into the enjoyment of the
intense pleasure surrounding his cock, he knew this would not be his
last one.

He heard some moaning, some groaning, some squeaks, wondering
where the noises were coming from until he realized they came from
him. His body shook, his boner shivered, his belly twitched, he
grunted as his cock swelled, and he came like he had never come
before as his already tight balls pulled up to shoot nonexistence
sperms. He sucked in his breath and felt like he would never let it out
again until he blew it out with a long high-pitched gasp. As he lay
gasping he remembered how he'd thought that when he turned ten
he would be grown up. Grown up is how he felt right at that moment.

Dylan let Neville's cock slide from his mouth. "Did you like it?" he
asked his little brother.

"Yes-s-s-s-s-s-s," Neville groaned.

"Will you suck me?"

"No."

"Will you do it sometime later?"

"Maybe." Neville wished Dylan would just shut up and let him revel in
his fading feelings.

"Can I rub my dick on you?"

"Go ahead." Neville hoped his answer would quiet Dylan's chatter.

Dylan draped himself over Neville and started rubbing his erection
across the young boy's belly. He knew he wouldn't last long—sucking
Neville's cock had been an incredible turn-on for him. He outweighed
Neville by ten pounds, but it didn't seem to faze the bottom boy. He
wanted to kiss Neville, kiss him liked he kissed Evan, but he held
back. He didn't want to mess up what Neville was giving him.

Dylan humped quickly, his smooth little ass bouncing. Neville lay
back stoically, understanding that he now owed Dylan something.
Dylan had to kiss something, so he kissed Neville's shoulder as he
moaned and heaved and pushed his own hairless cocklet into the
ten-year-old's abdomen. His ass clenched and he sucked on Neville's
smooth skin as he squirted a couple of clear drops over Neville's
torso.

As Dylan rolled off, Neville said, "I didn't know you could, you know,
make sperms."

"You mean cum," Dylan said.

"Yes, cum."

"That's just like the third or fourth time. You and me haven't done
anything since Christmas or you'd know."

"You could have told me."

Dylan bit off a snide remark and simply said, "Yeah, I guess I could
have."

Neville climbed out of the bed and started for the door. "You don't
want to spend the night here?" Dylan asked.

"Not tonight."

"Does that mean you might want to sometime?"

"Maybe." Neville stopped and smiled at his brother, showing an
example of his understated humor. "Even if it means sleeping with a
pouf."

Dylan giggled. "It will be good for you."

"Night night, Dylan. Thanks."

Neville left the room. Dylan was happy. He'd done something he'd
wanted to do for a long time. Plus he might have actually helped
Neville deal with his Posse problems.

 It suddenly occurred to him that Neville was naked when he left the
room. He'd been wearing boxers when he came in. Dylan looked
around the dark floor. He was about to turn on the light when he saw
what he had been seeking. He eased out of bed, picked Neville's
boxers up, then returned to his bed. He placed his brother's
underpants to his face and took in the musky smells. Being a pouf
isn't all that bad, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep with Neville's
boxers beside him.

++++++++++++

Saturday night was interesting for more boys than just Neville and
Dylan. Will was the best overall friend of the Posse, even though he
was with the Fantastic Five. He and all five of the Posse members
had struck up budding friendships. They had found out he was much
more sexually experienced than they were. The big reason for that
was the education he had received from his big brother, Gary.

After he was sure his parents were in bed, Will snuck over to Gary's
room for a prearranged meeting. While they messed around together
often, the brothers didn't do a lights out rendezvous very often.

Gary was fourteen and a freshman. He'd been the eighth grade
president at Puget Academy the year before. He thought about
running for student body president until he realized the eighth grade
class president had plenty of prestige while doing much less work
than the student body president. It was Gary who talked Will into
running for fifth grade vice-president.

"It's a good do-nothing job," Gary had said.

"I heard that all of the fifth grade jobs are do-nothing jobs."

"Yeah, there is that, but the vice-president does even more nothing
than the rest of them. Those are the best kinds of jobs, the do nothing
kind. But, the teachers like you when you have one of them because
they think you are active in school and that turns teachers on."

"You were active in the student council lounge," Will giggled.

"Damn, that was fun. Get the right guys in that back room at the right
time and the sperm would flow. We were sure old man Vargas knew
what was going on, so we were safe back there, if that makes sense."

"I dunno, I guess it does. I know I had fun the two times I was back
there."

"Too bad you didn't win the election," Gary said.

"Patrick is a pretty popular little dude."

"So are you, right? I mean you are my little brother, so you must be
popular."

"It's just he's so cute, and he has that killer smile, and he's always so
nice to everybody. But at least I lost to my friend, so I can't get mad."

"So, little bro, you could have talked about all of this before bedtime.
You must have come in here for something else."

Will shoved his hand inside of Gary's boxer shorts and found a hard
six inch piece of teen steel. "I kinda wanted this."

"I thought so. I've been hard ever since you came in. Take those PJs
off."

Will stripped off his Seahawk pajamas while Gary removed his boxer
briefs and pulled back the blankets. Gary looked at his naked ten-
year-old brother, admiring his hairless three-and-a-quarter inch cock.
Gary wasn't gay, but he loved sex with guys, especially with his little
brother. Will had been sucking his cock since they were eleven and
seven and he was quite good at it.

"Have you fucked Tanya yet?" Will asked.

"Not yet, but naked on her bed with her is a good start."

"I know who I want to be naked with."

"Who?"

"Patrick."

Not for the first time, Gary wondered if his little brother was gay. It
didn't matter to him, especially now when all he wanted was the
expert work of his little mouth, tongue, and hands. That was what he
got as Will sucked his big brother until his mouth filled with his hot
teen spunk. They did their ritual kiss so Gary could get a taste. They
finished with Gary sucking Will to a dry cum.

"That was fun, bro," Gary said. "But you better go. We can't let mom
and dad find us sleeping naked together."

"So, I'll put on my pajama tops. They won't know. We used to sleep
together all of the time."

"Yeah, until they told us we couldn't when they caught us in bed a
couple of months ago. They said we were too old for that now. Good
thing they didn't know we were naked."

"Please, just this once? We'll tell them I had a nightmare."

"I'll tell you what. I'll set the alarm on my phone for six, then you can
sneak back to your room."

Will grinned. "I love you, Gary." He gave his brother another kiss on
the lips, cuddled up to him, and fell asleep within seconds of the light
going out.

++++++++++++

The twins did something new that night.

"I want to try something," Matthew told his brother.

"What?"

"Something dirty, but a different kind of dirty."

Matthew told how he had read online about guys fingering each
other's asses when they were doing blow jobs. "It's supposed to feel
really good."

"Then go for it."

Instead of going sixty-nine, Matthew started sucking off his twin. After
a few minutes, he let his right index finger wander into Mark's crack.
While they'd rubbed each other's asses and even let a finger into the
private crevice, they hadn't done much with each other's puckers.

That changed when Matthew started to rub Mark's. "Does that feel
good?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah, it feels really good."

"I think I'm supposed to stick my finger inside of you."

"That sounds gross."

"Doing gross stuff never stopped us before."

"Good point."

Matthew had problems getting his finger up into Mark's resistant hole.
Mark came up with the idea of using lube and headed to the main
upstairs bathroom to get some lotion. Matthew then rubbed it on
Mark's pucker and over his finger and was soon in to his second
knuckle. He moved it back and forth some while he sucked his
brother's cocklet.

"Feels super good," Mark said. "Your mouth feels better though."

"I've never put my mouth in your ass," Matthew said.

"I meant my on my weenie, you dork."

Matthew pulled his finger out of Mark's hole. The experimenting had
ended—at least for that night. Neither of them knew how to go for the
magic button, even though they had read about it. The brothers went
into their familiar sixty-nine position and got each other off rather
quickly. Matthew went to the bathroom to wash his hands. When he
returned they talked about whether they wanted to try more stuff with
their asses.

"It felt good," Mark said. "But it musta feel even better if everybody
keeps talking about it online. I read about licking asses and putting
your dick in them. That is too gross even for me."

"Maybe we need to read more. We might find out about that secret
button which is supposed to feel so good."

"I'm happy doing blow jobs."

"Yeah, me too." But, they both knew that there was more they could
be doing with each other in bed, and maybe they would soon. But for
the moment they were sticking with what made them happy.

++++++++++++

After dinner on Saturday, Patrick sat in the living room with his father,
his Uncle Ted, Ted's latest boyfriend Rolando, and Grannana,
watching television. Uncle Ted said his boyfriend wouldn't have a
problem with Patrick being himself, which Patrick interpreted as
permission to be naked. However, as bold as he could be at times,
Patrick also had a bit of a shy streak around strangers, especially
adults, so he compromised in his mind by wearing a pair of boxers
and a t-shirt.

Both Uncle Ted and his young boyfriend were disappointed. Ted had
told Rolando how Patrick was a nudist around home. At eighteen,
Rolando was much younger than Ted. Ted liked Rolando because he
looked fifteen, but was of legal age. He also liked that Rolando
shared his taste in young boys.

Ted, Rolando, and Patrick sat on the couch while Brian and Maxine
each occupied a recliner. Brian was pleased that Patrick showed
some restraint around Ted's boyfriend by wearing a t-shirt and
boxers. While he didn't have a problem with Patrick learning about
the world of sex from Roy, he didn't like the way Rolando was ogling
his nine-year-old son.

Brian was somewhat amused when Patrick started playing with
himself through the cotton of his white briefs. Brian knew that Patrick
did it unconsciously. It was like sitting on the couch was a trigger for
him playing with his little boy cock.  However, the fact that he never
did so when "proper" company was visiting made Brian wonder if
maybe there wasn't a bit of intent involved.

Rolando noticed what Patrick was doing as well and stared at the
young boy as his fingers played with his obviously hard little tool.
There was no doubt that Rolando was turned on. If the teen made
any kind of move on Patrick, Brian was ready to land on him.

Fortunately that did not happen. Ted checked his watch and told
Rolando they needed to get going if they were going to make it to
their movie on time.

"I hope it isn't porn," Brian said with a laugh.

"He's eighteen," Ted said. "Porn is good, right Patrick?"

Patrick blushed as he removed his hand from his crotch as if he'd just
realized what he had been doing. "I don't know," he said innocently.

"Thanks for the great meal, mom," Ted said as he grabbed his coat.

"Yeah, thanks for dinner." Rolando acted like he was fulfilling an
obligation rather than being sincerely thankful.

"I don't know if they had a movie to go to or not," Brian said after they
left. "I think they were getting bored." Or Patrick had gotten them too
turned on, he thought.

"I think they were being males and thinking about sex," Maxine said.

"I didn't like Rolando," Patrick said. "He kept looking at me."

"You didn't help matters by playing with yourself," Maxine chided.
Patrick blushed again.

"The Wombat does need to be a bit more aware of what he is doing
down there."

"I never play with it like that when I'm dressed," Patrick reminded him.

"There you have it," Maxine said. "You were in your underwear so
you must have wanted to show yourself off."

"Grannana, that's not fair."

"Maybe not, but it's true. Now come help me empty the dishwasher
and keep your hand out of your pants while we're in the kitchen.
Learn a little bit of self-discipline. Lord, I hate to think what that hand
will start doing when he reaches puberty," she finished, as much to
herself as to Patrick.

Patrick followed Maxine into the kitchen, worried that he would
receive a brooming. Being broomed across his underpants clad butt
stung almost as much as when his Grannana hit him on his bare butt.
But he wasn't to find out his fate or get the dishwasher emptied. As
they entered the kitchen, Maxine let out a cry of pain and sank to the
floor, clutching her side.

Fear gripped Patrick as he yelled out for his father. He went down at
his knees and looked at the old lady's ashen face. "Grannana, what's
wrong?" he asked with concern. Fighting back tears he took her hand
in his.

Brian dashed into the kitchen and saw his grandmother on the floor.
He saw the old lady was in pain. "Grannana, what happened? Can
you talk?"

"I'm fine," she managed to spit out weekly. "Just indigestion."

"Whatever. Indigestion doesn't knock you down on the floor." Maxine
had a stubborn streak in her. She refused to acknowledge that she
could get sick, even though her experience as nurse told her that
wasn't true. Her obstinacy was a constant source of frustration for
Brian, and for Ted when he was around.

Brian bent down next to Patrick. "Can you get up?"

"Of course I can get up. I'm not crippled. I just have a stomachache."
She could barely get the words out. Brian tried unsuccessfully to help
her up. Every movement seemed to give her a jolt of pain and each
time she sank back down to the floor.

"I'm calling 911," Brian said.

"You'll do no such thing," Maxine told him, "or I'll broom you within an
inch of your life."

Brian ignored her and made the call. He was informed that fire
department EMTs were on the way.  Maxine tried to sulk, but doing
so was too painful. Brian and Patrick did their best to make her
comfortable.

The EMTs arrived to find Brian comforting two family members on the
floor: an older lady and a sobbing young boy clad only in a t-shirt and
boxers.

After a slew of questions, accompanied by prodding and poking, it
was decided to summon an ambulance to take Maxine to the hospital
ER. She tried to be furious about the decision, but once again the
pain squelched her indignation.

"I'm going to the hospital to be with Grannana," Brian told Patrick.

"Can I go?"

"No, this could take all night. I just need to find a place for you to
stay." He silently cursed Ted for taking off even as he acknowledged
that there was no way his uncle could have foreseen Maxine's
collapse.

"I can go. I'll be good," Patrick said, not even bothering to battle his
tears. "I'm scared for Grannana."

"She'll be fine," Brian said. "You know how tough she is. Nothing can
get to Grannana." Brian knew that Maxine held a huge place in the
boy's heart. Her space was far bigger than what Patrick's
grandmother and mother had together. Maxine might be Patrick's
great-grandmother, but the role she played in the household was that
of his mother. Brian respected her strictness and no-nonsense
approach to life, and he knew his son felt the same way. Even though
Patrick would sometimes whine about her decisions, he generally
knew she was right. And those times he didn't think she was right, the
end of her broom on his butt made her decision legitimate.

But there was more to her than stubbornness, discipline, and brooms.
She was also a loving, caring individual. She treated Patrick like he
was her son and never failed to give him the attention he needed.
Most importantly, she gave both Brian and Patrick her unconditional
love. Brian didn't want to think about what raising his son would have
been like without her.

"Can I stay with Mark and Matthew?"

"They live too far away," Brian told him. He knew the twins' parents
the best and knew they would be more than willing to put up Patrick
for the night. But he had another choice he could make. While he
didn't know them as well, he'd had pleasant encounters with the
parents of the Russian boy, Misha, at school functions. He could also
call the parents of Ian or Carter, two of Patrick's friends on his soccer
team. He knew their parents better, but they lived in the opposite
direction of the hospital, while Misha lived more in line with his
destination. He decided to call them first

 "Then where can I stay?" Patrick asked, trying unsuccessfully to
sound grown up instead of whiny and panicky.

"You have lots of friends. I'll start making some phone calls."
Unbeknownst to the members, the Posse parents had traded phone
numbers. He looked up the number for the Larsons. He dialed it with
trepidation, not wanting to impose on someone he didn't know well
and fearful of rejection. It turned out that Lois Larson was more than
happy to help out.

"Misha will be very happy. He likes your son very much," she said.
"Don't worry about bedding, we have a guest room. Even so, I
wouldn't be surprised if the two boys slept together. Why else spend
the night, right?" Brian agreed with a smile.

"Looks like you're going to spend the night with your friend Misha,"
Brian happily informed his son.

Patrick's face lit up for the first time since his Grannana had collapsed
to the floor. "Yes. I like Misha." He went to his room and packed his
backpack with overnight things.  But, when he returned to the living
room his face had lost the temporary glow it had acquired from the
news about Misha.

As they rode in the car, Brian once again assured Patrick that
Grannana would be okay and for him to relax. "I'll call you as soon as
I hear something."

"Even if it's bad news?"

"Don't worry, the news is going to be good."

When he dropped Patrick off, Brian found that the Larsons were
special people. He had sensed as much the few times he dealt with
them, but on this particularly tough night their inherent decency
showed in full.

Misha hugged Patrick as soon as his friend entered the house. His
mother had told him what the situation was and Misha could almost
feel the hurt Patrick was feeling. The boys started for Misha's room,
leaving the adults to deal with whatever it was the adults would need
to deal with.

"Patrick, you be good, okay?" Brian admonished. "The Larsons are
doing us a huge favor."

"Dad," Patrick replied with a note of indignation in his voice that asked
how his father could think that he would be anything but good.

Brian grabbed his son and hugged him, ruffling his short cropped
hair. "I know what you're thinking, but it is my duty as a dad to tell you
to behave. Got it, Mr. Wombat?"

"Got it." Patrick managed to eke out a smile in spite of himself.

"Come on, Wombat, let's go to my room," Misha said with
uncharacteristic impatience.

"On my way, Wolverine," Patrick answered. As soon as his father left
the house, Patrick felt isolated. Normally staying over at friend's
house was freeing, but because of Grannana's condition he wanted
the comfort of his father. It was ironic that on the night he would be
staying with one of his best friends for the first time he wished he was
with his father.

Patrick barely got settled into Misha's soccer-themed room when
Ryan and Lois came in to talk to Patrick about how they were there to
help. They'd already discussed with Misha what Patrick would
probably be feeling. Patrick was attentive to what they had to say, but
he wished they would leave him alone with Misha. If he couldn't be
with his father then he wanted to be with Misha.

Finally, the two boys were left alone. Misha was eleven with the
maturity of an older boy. Even though Patrick was a little over two
months away from turning ten, the age difference meant nothing to
the two boys. They were friends and they liked each other and that
was all that counted.

Yet even though he was older and more mature, Misha wasn't
entirely sure how to handle Patrick and his concern about Grannana.
He could see that his friend was hurting inside and he wanted badly
to make him feel better. He decided to handle it the way things were
often handled among friends at the orphanage—with a hug.

So, for the second time that evening Misha wrapped his arms around
his friend. He said nothing, but was pleased when Patrick leaned his
face against his chest and put his arms around him. The two flopped
on the bed, holding on to each other. Misha felt not only Patrick's
tears, but his fears as well.

For his part, Patrick was not embarrassed at baring his emotions in
his friend's bedroom. Misha was the voice of reason and patience in
the Posse and Patrick trusted him. He lay his head on Misha's solid
chest, breathing quietly. Misha stroked Patrick's back through his
shirt.

"She couldn't even get up off of the floor," Patrick said suddenly. "She
was hurting bad."

"Your father said she would be okay."

"He's a great dad, but he's not a doctor. What if she had a heart
attack or her stomach exploded or something?"

"How can a stomach explode?"

"I don't know, but what if it did?"

"One thing we learned quickly in the orphanage is to not worry about
what you cannot fix. If we did we would be afraid all of the time."

"I love her. She's like my mom to me."

"You keep saying how strict and mean she is."

"I know. She really can be strict sometimes, but really, she's never
mean. That's just me saying stuff."

"She's not mean even when she brooms you?"

"Even then, cuz when I get broomed I deserve it."

Misha kept stroking Patrick's back. He liked the feel of his friend's
head on his chest. He had wanted to touch him for such a long time,
and now he was petting him, even if it was through his shirt. Maybe
Patrick needed more petting than he was getting, Misha thought.
When his hand came close to Patrick's pants, Misha moved it under
Patrick's shirt and started petting the warm, soft skin of his back.

"That feels really nice, Misha," Patrick purred. "You make me feel
good."

Misha quietly moved his hand along Patrick's back. He thought about
Nikki and how Nikki had been the older boy and he had been the
younger. With Patrick it was the other way around. He had often felt
like Nikki was his protector even more than he was his friend. He
didn't want to be like that with Patrick. He wanted them to be equal
friends and to be boyfriends if that was what Patrick wanted. Right
now he was protecting Patrick from his worries. If they were true
friends then someday Patrick would be protecting him. He never
really had a chance to protect Nikki. There was never any doubt
between them that Nikki was the older.

Again without asking, he lifted the hem of Patrick's shirt, exposing his
back from the shoulder blades down. Patrick lifted his arms, inviting
Misha to remove the shirt, which Misha did. Misha then removed his
own shirt so that Patrick's bare chest rested against his own.

Patrick lay his head back down on Misha and Misha continued to
stroke Patrick's back. Once, when Misha's hand reached Patrick's
pants, Patrick whispered, "Lower, Misha, lower."

Misha let his hand wander back up Patrick's spine. As he moved it up
to the nape of his neck and started back down, he wondered if he'd
heard Patrick properly. When he got to the waist of Patrick's jeans, he
heard the same words, "Lower, lower."

Misha rubbed along Patrick's waist line, but he didn't feel it was right
to go lower, not with Patrick worrying about his Grannana. Patrick
started to rub Misha's chest. He loved the feel of it, the feel of the
chest of a pubescent athlete. He moved down along Misha's belly,
taut and muscular, lacking the bits of baby fat still part of the makeup
of so many tweens. His hand found the waist line of Misha's sweats,
but he ignored his own pleas and worked his way back up again.

The next time Misha's hand reached Patrick's pants, he kissed his
friend on the forehead, eliciting a quiet moan from the little nine-year-
old. He kissed him again and Patrick kissed Misha's chest in return.

This time when Patrick's hand reached Misha's waist band it didn't
stop. Instead it lightly worked its way under the sweats and into the
warm, almost moist region of Misha's bare pubic mound.

"No, Patrick, we mustn't," Misha whispered.

"But, Misha, I want to," Patrick protested.

"Not this time."

Patrick was disappointed, but he also understood. Misha was trying
to ease his fears, not trying to do something sexual with him. For
Patrick "not this time" meant that it would be okay some other time.

Patrick felt constricted in his jeans. He rolled off of his friend and
removed his pants. He was now clad in only his white briefs and his
socks. He felt freer and lay against Misha again. Before Misha could
do anything the phone rang. Patrick's head perked up wondering it
was his dad calling.

After a few minutes Lois knocked on the door. Misha invited her in.
She told Patrick it was his father. "You can use the bedroom phone."
She left, not commenting on the fact that the two boys were half
naked on the bed.

Patrick looked at Misha. "Their bedroom, not mine," Misha said, and
he led Patrick to the phone.

It was Brian, his father. Patrick listened intently. A grin broke out on
his face, the first one Misha had seen all evening. "Cool. Thanks dad.
See you tomorrow."

Patrick told Misha the problem was a kidney stone. While it was very
painful it wasn't dangerous. Grannana would probably be home the
next day. Misha gave Patrick another big hug, this time one with
smiles instead of tears.

The two of them returned to Misha's bedroom. Misha removed his
sweats and was now wearing only a pair of Seattle Sounders boxers.

"Oh, those are so cool. I want some for my birthday," Patrick said. "I
gotta tell dad to put it on his list."

Before they could get back on the bed, Lois called Misha on the
house intercom, startling Patrick. He wondered why she hadn't used
it to tell them about the phone call, then decided there was no way
the thinking of adults could be deciphered. Lois told them there was
ice cream and cookies to help celebrate the good news.

Patrick reached for his pants, but Misha stopped him. "We just put
our shirts on," he said. "That is enough."

The two tweens came into the living room in nothing but t-shirts and
underpants. Misha's parents observed, but said nothing about what
they saw. Instead, Lois brought out two bowls of chocolate ice cream,
each topped by a pair of chocolate chip cookies. The snack
disappeared quickly while Lois told Patrick how happy she was that
there was nothing seriously wrong with his great-grandmother.  After
spending what they felt was a polite amount of time with the adults,
the two boys said their good-nights, excused themselves, and after
the obligatory hugs, hustled back to Misha's bedroom.

"They look ready for bed," Ryan said after the boys left.

"They aren't going to bed this early," Lois said.

"When they do hit the sack, I'm sure they will be sharing Misha's
bed."

"Doesn't that worry you?"

"No. Should it?"

"Honey, we've talked about Misha maybe receiving a different kind of
education at the orphanage. If that is the case, I wouldn't want him
hurting Patrick."

Ryan thought about that for a moment then said, "First, we don't
know what Misha learned. Second, I wouldn't worry about it. From
what I've seen and heard of young Patrick, he seems to be pretty
self-sufficient."

"His father is trusting us."

"And we are trusting Misha. You've heard Misha talk about Patrick.
He thinks the boy walks on water. And Patrick had no problem
showing his emotions around Misha, which shows a great deal of
trust. I think those two are going to be getting along just fine. I
wouldn't be surprised to be seeing a lot more of Patrick from here on.
I have this feeling that the two are destined to be best friends."

"I hope you're right. I truly hope you're right."

If Misha and Patrick had heard that conversation they would have
agreed completely with Misha's father—they were made for each
other and would never hurt each other. While neither one could
express those thoughts yet, they felt connected in a very special way.

The two boys flopped on Misha's bed chatting about the surprise
evening snack. "Those were awesome cookies," Patrick said. "Just as
good as Grannana's."

"My mother baked them," Misha said proudly.

"Then she is a totally awesome baker."

Misha wanted to make the two of them the topic rather than cookies.
"Do you remember what happened when you saw me naked at Wild
Waves back before school started?" he asked.

"How could I forget," Patrick blushed. "That was so embarrassing."

"Why? I had a boner as well."

"But, mine was like an instant boner. I never did that before. I never
did it again either."

"Do you have a boner now?" Misha asked quietly.

There was a momentary pause and Patrick said, "Yes," just as
quietly. Misha was about to ask if he could see it when Patrick asked,
"Do you want to see it?"

Misha nodded. Patrick pulled off his t-shirt first, causing Misha to
giggle nervously. "Your boner is not on your chest," he snickered.

"I just wanted to be like I was at Wild Waves," Patrick told him.

"You mean naked?"

Patrick pulled off his briefs, answering the question. His three-and-a-
half inches of young boy steel stood proudly at attention. Misha
smiled and quickly stripped, his four-and-a-quarter uncut cock ready
for action.

"Yours is big," Patrick said. "No wonder we won the challenge."

Misha grinned proudly. "I wanted to be naked with you ever since
Wild Waves."

"For real?"

Misha nodded.

"You look funny with your skin still there." Patrick reached over and
ran his hand across Misha's foreskin.

Misha shivered. "You have never seen one like this before?"

"I have. My father is like that for one. He said he made a mistake
listening to Grannana and Uncle Ted and got me cut."

"I think you look very nice," Misha said. He placed his finger on the
glans of Patrick's member. This time Patrick shivered.

The two boys ran their hands lightly across each other's cocks. They
weren't actually masturbating each other, but they were stimulating
the prepubescent cock of their friend in ways that had each emitting
boyish moans while their bodies shuddered with pleasure. They were
now facing each other on the bed, staring into each other's eyes.

"Do you have orgasms yet?" Misha asked. Almost every boy at the
orphanage had had an orgasm by the time they were nine, but he
found out that wasn't usually the case in the outside world.

"Yes."

"Do you want one now?"

"Yes," he replied in a sultry voice.

Misha grinned. "Get on your back."

Patrick obeyed and his friend started to masturbate him. Patrick
spread his legs wide, opening his genitals for Misha to do with as he
wished. Misha put his thumb and three fingers around Patrick's boner
and started jerking him off.

He'd wanted this so badly for so long. He wanted even more—he
wanted to put his mouth around Patrick's beautiful little cock. But not
today, not this time. Things often happened fast at the orphanage,
sometimes too fast. He wanted Patrick to learn things slowly. Of
course he was unaware that Patrick was no stranger to oral sex or he
would have dived right in and started sucking.

Patrick wriggled and moaned as Misha expertly worked his penis with
one hand and fondled his tight little ball sac with his other. Patrick
couldn't believe that he was going to have an orgasm in front of
Misha and on Misha's bed. It was what he'd wanted from the first time
he'd had his first dry cum. Misha jerked, Patrick moaned, Misha
fondled, Patrick groaned. Misha jerked harder, Patrick wiggled and
shuddered and suddenly raised his ass and pushed into Misha's
hand. "Ohhhhhhhhhh, Misha, Misha, Ohhhhhhhhh, Misha," he
gasped.

Misha felt the spasms shoot through Patrick's cock, wishing he'd felt
them in his mouth. He lowered himself on top of Patrick and started
humping the smaller boy. His cheek was against Patrick's cheek.
Patrick kissed Misha's cheek, Misha kissed Patrick's neck, Patrick felt
Misha's muscular young bubble butt, Misha kissed Patrick's lips,
Misha moaned again, Misha shoved his cock into Patrick's abdomen
and humped hard, his lips on Patrick's, and then to his surprise his
tongue in Patrick's mouth as he let out a low whine as he held on
tightly to Patrick and kissed and shook and had the most incredible
cum of his life, and he'd had many. He removed his mouth from
Patrick's and lay on top of him, breathing hard, recovering from the
sensations at the same time he took in Patrick's fresh young boy
smells.

"Misha, that was too amazing."

"It was okay with you, what I did?" Misha was worried about hurting
Patrick. He was so sweet, so innocent, that humping him and kissing
him—having sex with him, just didn't seem right.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes."

Misha breathed an internal sigh of relief. There was more to Patrick
than he thought.

"I want to do it again many times more," Misha said.

"With me?"

"Yes, with you, many times more."

The two could have done it more that night, but they were emotionally
spent, especially Patrick. They finally got off of the bed and washed,
brushed, flossed, peed, and finally lay naked together under the
covers. They wrapped around each other as if they were one entity.
They each wanted more. Their young minds knew they hadn't
scratched the surface. They had no doubt they would be sleeping
together many more times. They were ready to do whatever was
required for them to be best friends.

++++++++++++

Saturday night brought recovery to the Posse members after a trying
week. Monday would bring the challenge of how they would react to
Jeremiah's coup d'état. Something had started that week and that
weekend, something that Jeremiah hadn't counted on. He was ready
for the group he despised to fall apart, starting with Neville and his
defeated rival, Mark. He hadn't counted on the Puget Posse finding a
resolve they didn't know they had. He hadn't counted on them fighting
back.

Next: A Common Purpose