No clue where this one came from... Dedicated to Sphinxofthenile... and beta'd by xlightfromabovex, poor thing.

For once I'm going to put some warnings here: UNDER-AGE MASTURBATION in the form of PWP.

Disclaimer - Genesis and Angeal are not mine. Shame, really.

Acclimatisation

His finger felt slick as it pressed through the threshold of tense muscle. Slowly at first, testing the sensation with a cautious curiosity. The uncertainty was something he had felt before, back when he had first brushed his hand down the frightful thing that was an erection to him a month or so ago.

That touch had been enough to capture himself in the rapture it seemed so many men found themselves addicted to. Due to that single action, a switch had flicked on inside him, as if awakening something that had continued to form and raise an interest in things that would make even the foulest-mouthed boy at school blush like a girl.

He was tight – tighter than he had expected to be – and the angle of entry he had given himself hardly made it any easier. With only about an inch of one finger actually breaching the target, Genesis actually wondered if this was what was meant to happen at all. It certainly didn't feel like anything special. He'd wetted his fingers sufficiently, or so he thought. Making sure to cover every bit of flesh of his fingers, he had meticulously twisted his tongue around each digit.

But the action had been far from mechanical.

Genesis had always been one for luxuries and cared for himself far more than he did for nearly anyone else, so he had lavished his fingers in the same caring attention as he did his face and hair every morning.

Sighing, Genesis pulled his hand back, lingering on his hip as his mind ran at a hundred miles an hour. What did he expect it to be like? They made it look easy… all smooth movements and easy angles. Every touch, no matter how small, earned a response that could not be denied. This… was certainly not like that. He smirked. Believing things straight from the TV was such a childish quality. Those films were intended for adults… perhaps their versions of children's fantasies.

Fantasies that were far from innocent.

There must be some knack to it, like riding a bicycle. Something that once Genesis had found out about, he wouldn't forget and would come naturally from that moment onwards. If he would do this again – so far, there was very little that appealed enough to repeat it.

Committing the entirety of his mind to the task he set himself at hand. It couldn't be that hard. Over half the populace of the planet seemed to engage in this kind of thing regularly, if his sources were indeed reliable. He turned over in his bed, kneeling comfortably. All around him was a darkness that was almost comfortable. The only light came from the clock perched on his bedside table; little red numbers blinked a time that meant he should be fast asleep.

In the pitch black, Genesis lowered his head down, seeing the slight sheen to the tips of his fingers as he rubbed them together to check that they were still wet. He'd give this one last try before deserting the idea completely.

Placing his left hand flat on his pillows, the material smooth and warm from the time he had laid still considering before setting out on this little venture, his right made its way between his legs, ghosting as it did so like a feather across his pale thighs. It was this slight touch that elicited a shortening of breath – almost in apprehension.

Again the tip of his index finger probed gently, retracing the ring of puckered muscle before he took a breath and worked his way back inside. It was easier than his last position, if only a little, but Genesis spread his legs further to see if that made it any easier. The remaining length of the digit found itself encased in new territory that felt so much softer than he had ever expected it to be. If he had ever expected it to be anything.

He sat still for a moment, doing nothing more than breathing in a slow and steady, regulated manner. Eyes stared straight forwards into the bleakness like there was something visible in front of him, there were was only his hand on his pillow, and he couldn't even make them out. After a minute or two had passed, instinct told him he had to move. Hips raised slightly, enough for the first two inches of his finger to be swept around by the cool air of the room.

Pressing back in to form a calm rhythm, the young redhead closed his eyes and focused his attention solely on the sensations of the mix of smooth skin and sharp nails all meeting at one. As uncomfortable as it was, there was pleasure to be had, as minute as the sense was at the moment. Perhaps it would grow as the awkwardness faded; that the intrusion would just take getting used to. Perhaps it wouldn't.

Genesis was doing this to explore and discover new things, after all.

Soon enough, he'd gotten used to that one finger, his hormones raging inside like a torrent of liquid fire, and he tentatively added his second. The only real pain came from the tautness of the entrance, everything else was just—

A jolt of white lightning shot straight up Genesis' spine with an unrivalled speed. Hips bucked forwards; back curved and mouth breaking the unspoken vow of silence with a string of conscienceless sounds. He stilled immediately, still filled by himself. His parents were in the next room… his mother was a light sleeper… she—

Couldn't care less what he did with himself, as long as whatever he did didn't look bad on them. And this was a private affair, nothing to be seen by any uninvited eyes.

And whatever he had just found needed to be explored further.

Sucking in a breath, Genesis pulled his fingers back again, only that inch they had slipped in his reaction, and felt an area very different from the surrounding walls. Instead of that smooth, soft flesh that seemed incredibly delicate for something so often used, it was of a completely different texture – more like sponge than silk.

Not that those thoughts really registered when his fingers made those first inquisitive probes. It educed the same reactions as the first; another squeak of a noise broke the night's hush before he dropped his torso down to fill his mouth with his fist.

It was a feeling very much like when he caressed his member in his cupped palm, only an almost intangible force that left nothing but a haze in his mind. Even in the dark he knew his cock was fully engorged, lapping up the internal stimulus and leaking generously because of it. He could feel the tingle of dripping moisture seeping from the head and down hot flesh.

He wondered what this must look like, to an outside eye. He had thought such things before – there was an excitement to be found in believing that someone was watching. Inevitably, that nameless, faceless voyeur had formed into the one thing he had admired since the moment Genesis deemed his life had truly begun.

Angeal.

The black haired boy would probably look upon the expression – desperation to remain silent – as pain. And, to a certain extent, he would be correct. The throb of his cock was unbearable; something he was unaccustomed to. Unlike those other times, he was using both hands now. Neither was free to spare himself of the crushing need to release.

Seeing that turmoil, would Angeal reach forwards to touch his older friend? Would he take Genesis' member into the strong warmth of his palm and stroke him; rub the calloused pad of his thumb across the slit in the head just the way Genesis liked, and coerce him into coming? Would Angeal ask for the action to be done solely for himself?

The redhead wasn't sure when his subconscious had decided to seize the reins and restart the pace with vengeance. His wrist jerked swiftly, but smoothly, between his thighs, the muscles in which were quivering with a pent up tension that built and built until he burst.

The bed sheet was wet and cold. The fingers of right hand were much the same; his left sported deep red welts from his teeth, if only he could've seen them. Breathing was fast but calming. But mostly he felt the warm fluffy blanket that had enveloped his mind, making all the former states seem like nothing.

There was no shame that lingered in his being whatsoever; no implanted morals that screamed at the vulgarity of his actions. There was no fear at what was painted on the bed sheets for all the maids to see. The results were acceptable – expected – in a boy of his age. It was the methods that would raise all kinds of eyebrows.

Something that Genesis not only enjoyed, but also was undeniably talented in doing.