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Melchior had his first dream when he was thirteen years old. It was vague, but instinctually he knew the soft hands roaming his body were a woman’s. Melchior had some version of this dream almost every week. Sometimes it was the woman, beautiful, ethereal, but every once in a while it was a man - no, a boy. In those dreams the touches felt familiar, like the boy was someone he knew. A boy wearing long socks and uniform trousers, whom Melchior could tell was slightly smaller than him, thinner, but undeniably male. Somehow Melchior knew he was handsome, seductive in his movements. In every consequent dream about the boy, Melchior could see more of him, as if his mind was building the boy between dreams.
Of course Melchior didn’t understand why there was a boy in his dreams, even after he learned about sex - shouldn’t lovemaking occur between a man and a woman? The boy was not a woman, and Melchior certainly wasn’t either. But there was something about the boy that made Melchior want to touch him, to hear him moan and gasp beneath him.
Melchior found a book deep in the recesses of the school library one day, the phrase “inappropriate, to be discarded” scrawled inside the cover in harsh red lettering. Within its pages, Melchior discovered a world of gender and sexuality he’d never imagined. Men with men, women with women. People with both men and women. People who didn’t feel right in their own skin, who chose to call themselves a different gender. Melchior was amazed. Was all of this normal? Was it okay to want a boy as much as a girl?
There was only one boy in town who was known to prefer men over women - Robert “Bobby” Malor. One day he confessed to his friend, and the next the whole town knew about it. Bobby Malor was expelled from school, given a thorough exorcism (for why would he lust after men, if not because of the Devil?), and left town to work as a manual laborer in a place where nobody knew him. Bobby was four years older than Melchior; he’d only ever seen him in church weekly when it happened. He remembered how the adults would whisper how much shame Bobby brought to his family, how unnatural and disgusting he was. He recalled watching as Bobby was abandoned by the very people who should have cared for him the most.
And Melchior, realizing he would probably never get another chance to read this book if the adults found it, subtly pocketed it, walked back home, and hid it with his journals under a floorboard where he knew nobody would find them.
Melchior was barely fourteen when saw his dream boy’s face, and right then he knew he would probably make the same mistake Bobby Malor did.
***
Moritz Stiefel was an idiot. How could he have gotten that biology question wrong? He’d just gone over the topic with Melchior the night before, it was the only question on the test he’d felt sure about, and yet-
Truly, he was an idiot. Melchior spent so much of his precious time teaching him, but he was so disturbed by the dreams - no, nightmares - that he could barely pay attention to the test in front of him. How else do you explain circling the wrong answer even though you knew the right one?
It was bad enough that school was impossibly hard for him, that he perpetually needed help from Melchior. But Moritz also didn’t - couldn’t - comprehend the dreams he was having, the way he woke up wet and sticky and sweaty in the mornings. He couldn’t keep his mind off the blue stockings, fearing when he’d see them next. Still, if there was anybody who could help him, it was Melchior.
So Moritz, nervously biting his lip and fiddling his hands, brought it up later that night when he went to Melchior’s to study.
“You’re having strange dreams?” Melchior asked curiously. “What about?”
“I… well, there are these… um, st-stockings… blue ones… and when I wake up my p-pants are all… w-wet.”
“Blue stockings?” Melchior smiled, a strange look on his face. “And you wake up wet? Aren’t those just wet dreams?”
“W-wet dreams?” Moritz asked, anxious and confused. “Is that normal?”
“Oh, yes, very much so,” laughed Melchior. “They’re very natural; they’re just a part of growing up. Look, I have a bunch of information on it, and I can write you an essay about it if you want.”
“Melchi, are you sure? Isn’t that a lot of work?”
“Anything for my best friend,” Melchior smiled, throwing his arm over Moritz’ shoulder.
Moritz smiled softly. “Thanks, Melchi.”
When Moritz returned to Melchior’s room the next day, the essay he’d been half anticipating and half fearing was immediately given to him. But as Moritz read, the anticipation receded and the fear grew. After all, he hadn’t been expecting to read about sex.
“Melchior,” he breathed quietly. “Then- then this is- it’s sinful, isn’t it?” Moritz looked up to Melchior, his wide, uncertain eyes meeting Melchior’s confident gaze.
Melchior gave a quiet laugh. “Moritz, no. Like I said, it’s natural. Normal. The adults want us to think there’s- there’s something wrong with us but they’re wrong.” Melchior leaned in closer, taking one of Moritz’s trembling hands in his own. “They’re wrong, Moritz.”
Moritz believed him. Moritz believed anything Melchior said, he was always right. He trusted Melchior with his life. “Then this… m-mast…mast-”
“Masturbation?”
“Yes, that. What- how- even if our bodies are normal, Mama says touching yourself is-” Like with most things Melchior taught him, Moritz just couldn’t understand. Not without help.
Melchior’s smiled widened slightly, as if he found amusement in the other boy’s innocence. “Moritz, listen to me. Touching yourself isn’t sinful either. It helps. If you want to get rid of the dreams, you’re gonna have to touch yourself.”
Moritz flushed. He didn’t really know if he wanted to talk about masturbating anymore, so he turned his attention back to the essay when something caught his eye. “Melchi, how do you… know? How it feels?”
“For the man? Like I said, I masturbate,” Melchior chuckled.
“No! No, I mean for the- the woman.” Moritz’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Here it says... she likes it too. How do you... um, know?”
“Oh," Melchior replied, surprised. He hadn't really expected this question. The boy hid a smile under the hand resting on his cheek, narrowing his eyes and leaning in slightly. "Well, I just imagine how it feels, to be the woman. Imagine what it’s like,” and here Melchior deepened his voice slightly, taking on a huskier tone, “to be vulnerable, let yourself fall apart in another’s arms.”
Moritz exhaled slowly, his eyes trained on the essay. “What it’s like to be the woman,” he murmured with a strange sort of fascination.
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room. Moritz’s hands gripped the essay as he focused on trying to understand what it said, and Melchior stared at his friend with a look not quite intended for friends.
Then Melchior laughed his easy laugh and said, “But first, you need to learn to touch yourself.”
Moritz glanced at him, and then looked back down at the essay. “Exactly where-“ he started, flipping it over and scanning, “where do you explain that?”
“It’s not really something to be explained,” Melchior replied. “That’s something you have to experience. You just have to try it, and then you learn what makes you feel good.”
“But, I don’t- I don’t know how.”
Melchior’s lips curled into a smirk. “Want me to teach you?"
Moritz’s eyes snapped back to Melchior’s, and he gulped. “I-Is that okay?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t,” Melchior replied casually. He left his seat and in measured steps, came to stand behind Moritz’s. He plucked the essay from Moritz’s hands and covered them with his own. He rested his head on Moritz’s shoulder, and in a low voice, asked, “Shall we begin?”
Moritz gulped audibly. "Okay."
Melchior brought Moritz’s hands up to his face first, covering his eyes. “Keep them closed,” he murmured. Then slowly, so slowly, he dragged them down his cheeks, past his slackened lips, to his chest. He circled them around his nipples once, twice, then over them. Moritz gasped. He was more sensitive than usual, with Melchior’s proximity and his own eyes closed.
“Wait,” Melchior grunted, hands leaving Moritz’s. He reached down and swiftly pulled Moritz’s sweater vest over his head.
Moritz made a noise of surprise, eyes fluttering open. “Melchi, what…?”
“It feels better with your clothes off,” Melchior replied, flashing him a grin. “I promise.” Melchior reached over to Moritz’s shirt buttons, undoing them, enjoying how Moritz squirmed every time he let out a puff of breath unnecessarily close to his ear.
Moritz bit his lip, but didn’t move to stop him. He’d gotten used to Melchior’s brand of authority over the years - the younger boy was always right, always got what he wanted.
Moritz didn’t notice Melchior’s breath hitch when he caught sight of Moritz’s bare chest. Not exactly as impossibly perfect as his dream, but it was warm and real and Moritz, and that made it absolutely beautiful. Melchior caught Moritz’s hands again and rested his chin on Moritz’s bare shoulder, subtly and briefly pressing his lips against his neck. Moritz shut his eyes in anticipation.
Like before, Melchior pulled Moritz’s hands down his chest and around his nipples, teasing him. Then, with his own fingers, he flicked Moritz’s nipples, reveling in the soft moan he drew from the boy’s lips. Moritz felt Melchior’s lips pull up into a smile against his neck, heard his voice close to his ear as he pulled away. “Did you like that?”
Moritz nodded shyly in reply.
A quiet chuckle. “Can you do it yourself?”
Moritz’s eyes shot open. He turned his head slightly over to look at Melchior, who was somehow much closer than he anticipated. Moritz felt the faint heat of embarrassment envelop his ears. “By my...self?” he whispered.
Melchior’s lips stretched into an amused grin again. “Isn’t that the point?”
Moritz blushed harder, but hesitantly, he said, “Okay.” Melchior pulled his hands away from Moritz’s body, and watched as Moritz began trying to do the things Melchior taught him on himself. Melchior licked his lips. God, how was he supposed to resist?
After a moment, Melchior let his right hand move back to Moritz’s and took control again. He lowered down, down, across Moritz’s stomach, reaching his waist (at which Moritz shuddered), down to his pants. Then Melchior unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, revealing Moritz’s erection straining against his boxers. Moritz’s face burned in shame. “Melchi, is this… n-necessary?”
“This is the main event, Mo,” came the amused reply behind him. Melchior led Moritz’s hand down to his dick, toying with it through his boxers. Moritz made a sort of strangled noise and his head fell back onto Melchior’s shoulder. Melchior lifted the waistband of Moritz’s boxers enough for his dick to emerge. That’s enough, he told himself. Take it slow. But Melchior had terrible patience. Not when what he wanted was right there in front of him, writhing at his touch, eyes hazy in pleasure, lips so invitingly red.
Moritz tried hard not to moan. He tried really hard to keep his voice down. But every time Melchior led his hand back up his shaft, so tantalizingly across his slit, he couldn’t help it. And after a particularly loud whine, Melchior found a new opportunity to take more than he’d initially planned. “Moritz, I know it feels good, but my mother’s just downstairs,” he murmured into his ear.
“I-I can’t- oh, Melchi- help it!”
“Then I’ll have to muffle you,” and again, Moritz felt Melchior smile against his skin. A hand held his chin, tilted it sharply. He saw Melchior closer than before, close enough to see the darkened look in his normally bright blue eyes with startling clarity, the faint spread of freckles across his cheeks. He shivered when Melchior’s nose brushed against his. And then Melchior’s lips were on his own, and Moritz felt a dizziness fill his head.
Melchior’s hands left Moritz for a second; Moritz held back his whine at the loss. Then they were back again, helping Moritz out of the chair, pushing him onto the bed. Moritz felt the bed dip next to him, and when he opened his eyes he saw Melchior leaning over him. He didn’t know where to look. Melchior’s smirk was right there, in front of him, and Moritz could feel his breath fanning over his face. “Come on, keep going,” Melchior said. Without him realizing it, the hand Moritz kept on his penis had stilled. Slowly, Moritz began moving it again, in the same way Melchior taught him to. Just when he felt a moan rise out of his throat, he was silenced by a pair of soft, but insistent, lips. The dizziness returned.
Moritz didn’t know what he was doing, because if he did, he wouldn’t have looped his arm around Melchior’s neck and tangled his hand in his hair. He wouldn’t have moaned “more” into his friend’s mouth, wouldn’t have bucked his hips into Melchior’s lap when the other boy wrapped an arm under his waist and pulled him closer. He wouldn’t have heard Melchior growl and let his tongue invade his mouth, wouldn’t have enjoyed the feeling of Melchior’s erection press against his thigh, wouldn’t have whined loudly in an uninhibited moment of pleasure when Melchior left Moritz’s mouth to suck on his collarbone. And he certainly wouldn’t have allowed himself to come all over Melchior’s shirt or keep kissing him even a second after they should have stopped.
So when Moritz finally had to pull away for air and everything that happened filled his head with vivid post orgasmic clarity, he couldn’t do a thing except wriggle out of Melchior’s grip, move over to the other edge of the bed, and whisper, “Oh my God,” over and over again in shocked panic.
Melchior didn’t know what to do. He thought Moritz liked it, that he was enjoying it as much as Melchior was. Still, there was no way in hell he’d show his uncertainty to his friend. “Moritz,” he said quietly, getting off the bed and walking over to his friend. “Moritz, look at me.” Melchior kneeled in front of Moritz, taking the hand that covered the other boy’s face into his own.
Moritz realized with a start that the wet substance clinging onto Melchior’s shirt was his- what had Melchior referred to it as? Semen? “Oh, Melchi, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I got your shirt dirty.”
Melchior looked down at his shirt and laughed. “Moritz, that’s okay,” he replied, giving him a reassuring grin. “I can just wash it.” He swiftly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, and before Moritz could even think of being embarrassed, used a clean section of it to wipe the semen from Moritz’s right hand and limp penis.
“Melchi!” he hissed, red-faced. “What-“
“You’re clean now, right?”
Moritz quickly pulled the knickerboxers and pants clumped at his knees back on. “Well, yes, but- Melchi, what we just-“
“Was it good?”
Moritz flinched at the intensity in Melchior’s gaze. He wanted to lie, say no, but Moritz could never lie to Melchior. He swallowed, looking down at his lap and fiddling with his hands. “I…” his voice shook when suddenly a new thought entered his head. “Melchi, we’re both boys.”
Melchior didn’t move. “Yes, we are.”
“Is that…” Moritz bit his lip again and was promptly surprised by how swollen it felt. “Is that okay?”
“There are no rules, Moritz,” Melchior smiled, reaching a hand to cup his friend’s face. “Everything is okay. This is normal. I promise.”
Melchior’s reassurance could always quell Moritz’s inhibitions. At least for today, Moritz did not run away. He gulped again, and nodded. “It was good,” he replied in a small voice.
Melchior grinned. Good. He wasn’t wrong. He’d gone far past his expectations for the first time, but to be fair, Moritz did too. “Then, do you want to do it again?”
Moritz’s eyes widened. He did. He really did. But it was almost terrifying, how good it felt, how he reacted to it and to Melchi (Melchi was his best friend, for Christ’s sake!) but if they were both boys how long until they ended up like Bobby Malor?
Still, they didn’t love each other like how Bobby had loved his friend. So shouldn’t that count for something? It felt good, so they did it. Wasn’t that it?
“…Melchi, this is dangerous.”
“Then we’ll be careful.” Melchior’s ever patient reassurance.
“We have to lock the doors. And clean up really well. And never do anything near other people.”
“Okay. Then let’s just do it in my room.”
“We’ll need to be very quiet.”
“We’ll kiss like this time.”
Moritz flushed. “Um, okay. Okay. I just- nobody can know. Ever. Melchi, I’m just scared. If my father ever found out-”
Melchior brought Moritz’s hands into his own and gave a reassuring smile. “Moritz, don’t worry. Have I ever failed you? We’ll be fine, I promise.”
Melchior knew just how much power his promises had over Moritz.