Warnings: Slash [M/M love], sex, first time, but not graphic.

Disclaimer: I own Justin, Jaisyn, and Abe. Do not take without my permission. Don't own Warner Brothers or the 9:30 Club.

Feedback: Please.


He was older than you, more experienced. Perhaps that is what drew you to him; the fact that he understood who he was and you wanted to know more about him as well. You wanted to let him teach you how to behave. Experienced. He knew how he could make you squirm. Not that he already didn't do just that whenever he looked at you, smiled goofily at you, or even walked past you, his bare shoulder brushing against your t-shirt-covered shoulder ever-so-slightly. You squirmed, blushed, did every embarrassing thing in the book. All because of him.


He lived next door to you, moved into the old Victorian mansion when you were eleven, naive, young. He was fourteen, hellish, old. Throughout the next five years, you and he spent endless hour's running back and forth between the two houses, getting lost in the woods, getting bruised and cut on the rocks next to the river, getting dirt everywhere you two went. You grew together, learned all those teen-aged boy lessons together. Close friends, possibly-maybe-could be-almost best friends. Close. Told each other about everything from first kisses to first fights and you and he had fun together, showing off all your latest bruises that you both had received from your respective brothers but for some…strange…reason…you cried inside when he showed you the marks he'd gotten from his latest girlfriend.


You were confused, so you thought, you think, you guessed that somewhere along that exact line of friendship, things got blurry. Really. Very blurry and you began to feel something that wasn't exactly friendship. Something that made you want to hide under the covers and peek out to make sure whatever it was, was gone. Something that you know you had never felt before.

Was it love? Maybe. You didn't know for sure and a really, really big part of you didn't want to know if it was just…that…that feeling…that feeling of falling…in…

Were you afraid? Hell yeah.

Scared and unsure and timid of what you were exactly feeling, you did what you thought was best, what you thought was the only thing you could do. You hid. You avoided him. Rapidly ducking out of sight when he came to visit, secretly dying inside when you overheard him asking Justin where you were before leaving alone. Sad. You watched his back as he left, head down, slumped and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jean shorts.

You…died more.

Of course, the Justin he asked was the same Justin you told, demanded to lie about you, begging him to say that you were sick or out of the house or something equally avoidable. He never asked why, at least, not bluntly but you were sure he was wondering why you asked him to say those things and why you were avoiding your so-called best friend like he carried the plague of death or something. You hoped he would just understand. You hoped he would forget about it. You hoped he wouldn't ask you why you cried at night.

Because you know he heard you.


It was all going so well

But…but then everything went to hell. All the avoidance, all the ducking out of large rooms into tiny closets, everything.

Blown. Straight. To. Hell.

A party.

There was going to be a party because his brother's band had been signed to a major label. Warner Brothers. Party at the 9:30 Club. You didn't want to go. You didn't want to be there but you had to because, after all, he was your friend. You had to support him, be there for him, and just be…there.

And you didn't want to be there.

Because all that wanting and not having was beginning to eat you alive and it was hurting. A lot.

But, after much begging on Justin's part, you went. Stood in a dark corner, all by yourself, silently watching the congratulations and the pats-on-the-backs from a distance, wanting nothing more than to be next to him, your hand enclosed firmly in his long fingers. Desperate for any contact of any sort, even if it was just a small handshake. So hopeless.

You knew you looked frantic because Justin kept sending sympathetic glances your way like he knew something you didn't but you ignored him. Barely. Maybe he really did know why you held onto your bottle of water so tightly. Why you sat alone. Why you wanted to leave… Maybe, maybe he knew…everything. Everything. You know you were never good at hiding your feelings; that's why you avoided him.

One o'clock.

You nearly made it through the night without him noticing you standing by yourself in your lonely corner. Nearly. Almost. Not really. Because he did notice you and he did come over to join you, slightly tipsy from either elation or free alcohol or a combination of both. He said a breathy 'hello', never waiting for a response before asking if he could talk to you. Alone. And who are you to say no? Only the kid who is hopelessly in love with him and it took you a long time to admit that.

He led you down a dark hallway, outside to a dirty alley, turning on you before you even had a chance to step outside and close the door behind you, his lips attacking yours and tongue sliding down your throat before you even had a chance to protest the fact that your lungs needed oxygen. When you didn't respond like the dumbass you are, he pulled away, apologizing but then you came to your senses and you didn't give him the opportunity to get any farther than 'Jaisyn, I'm-' before your pierced lips were on his, attacking him as much or perhaps maybe more fervor and passion then he had when he took your breath away.

He tasted like beer. Cheap beer. His liquid courage fortifying you.

You don't know how you made it to his car on your feet before opening your eyes to find your body tangled with his in the backseat, lips melting into one solid mass of molten flesh, bodies most certainly to follow. Clothing torn from your body, his lust-filled eyes drinking in your moonlit skin before becoming just as naked as you, his mouth exploring places you thought he would never touch. Your breath becomes hard choked gasps and you whisper his name as you come, your body arching up off the cloth-covered seats, his dark hair caught in your clenched fists.

This was your first time. Ever.

And you told him this and he smiled shyly, accenting a kiss with 'I'll be gentle'. You believed him and he tried, but it was difficult to be gentle when you're crammed into the backseat of a two-door car, not much room at all but you managed, your legs wrapped tightly around his narrow hips as he slid into you, his rough fingers bruising fingerprints onto your skin. And…oh god did it hurt. Nothing in your life had ever hurt more then this and you told him this, inwardly ashamed that you were sobbing. He silenced you with soft kisses, promising to make it all better, promising to make you forget the pain and after a while you could admit that it began to feel…better. Good, great even.


Unaware of the dark night outside that car…together, you and he became one mass of slick moving flesh. Quiet gasps echoed in the small interior, fingernails leaving dull red tracks on sweaty skin as you both came, both breathing in each other's scent, breath, just…breathing. Hard.

Afterwards, you spent hours in that sex-scented car, arms wrapped tightly around each other. Tender. Talking. You, laughing at his wacky sense of humor, and he, laughing as you blushed when he told you how he felt about you, how he imagined how this wanted moment would play itself out. So you asked him if this was all he had imagined, if it was good. He kissed you deeply, mumbling his single-worded response against your swollen lips.