I hold Jonah tight for a long time; an unreasonable amount of time to pretty much anyone else.

Even though I'm not technically scheduled to work, I would normally run to the shop—consult designs—hell, even just exercise.

But it's not even a choice with this boy.

Of course I want to hold his vibrating frame gently—all day long.

"It's okay," I reassure every so often, over and over, until finally—"I don't have to know the details to know someone hurt you, Jonah. That's not your fault baby, none of it. I'll never, ever think you're dirty or ruined. Not at all."

This breaks Jonah into a fresh round of sobs. His bony chest heaves hard, and I hug him tighter against me.

"You don't need to tell me about BAMF Kid—" he flinches at the name, and I make note not to use it again, "—that's your choice, okay? I'm going to be here no matter what."

Not a lot of words come out of him after that, but I'm too busy holding him and trying to convince myself that yes—for the sake of Jonah—I really should wait until he's ready to tell me. Even though Google would give me everything I need…

I almost shut my eyes to start napping when Jonah speaks.

"My brother's… famous," he whispers. "That's why… your sister…" He stops for a second, takes a fluttering breath, and then, "I miss him," he squeaks honestly; and even though it kills me inside I somehow remain calm for his sake. I let the silence speak for itself and rock Jonah's thin frame comfortingly—arms wrapped around his shoulders and hands sliding up and down. "E-even though… he… I… " he trails off to God knows what but fuck—I have a feeling.

His brother?

My blood boils as dots start connecting; as the room spins around me.

"Jonah, he hurt you?" I ask seriously—calmly, like this is just a fact even though, still, I have no details. With his panic rising, I squeeze him until his back cracks and his posture aligns; his silence speaking for itself. "Oh God Jonah… he hurt you?"

"But…" he starts—then chokes—and I know what's coming is going to rip my heart out. "But I—had to understand!" he sobs, breaking apart in my arms. "I had to!"


Just so much trouble.

I don't even know where to begin but something instinctively-driven inside of me makes me throw Jonah's back to the bed and startle him out of hysterics once more. His eyes meet mine and there's a good deal more fear in them than there should be.

So I soften immediately.

"No, no, no, you're wrong, Jonah. Don't say you had to get hurt, baby. That's not what you deserved at all." He's still stunned, not quite gasping but breathing deeply… irregularly... he might even pass out on me. "I don't know the guy, but if he hurt you like I think he did, that's wrong."

"H-he—had to!" he insists—voice cracking. "He lo—hic—loved me!"

I can't even.

My vision is blurring… body heating; I'm getting angry even though I shouldn't…

Yet, for Jonah, I somehow manage to breathe deeply and press my lips to his cheek.

"No baby. That's not love. You know that deep down, right?" I only get full on sobbing in response to my question, so I switch gears a little, focusing on the positive. "It's okay – you don't have to tell me anything more. If you don't want me to know about all this just now, I promise I'll wait until you're ready."

More sobs, but his bony fingers dig into my neck and a wave of intense affection nearly has me crushing him underneath me.

It's a few moments of silently gathering my thoughts before I start murmuring in his ear.

"You can forget all that stuff when you're with me," I say gently. "Forget all about him. You're all mine now, you like that huh?" Jonah nods desperately at the firm reminder, tears in his eyes. "You like me… you like feeling good with me right?" Another nod. "I'll never hurt you sweetheart. Ever." I drop my mouth to his and kiss his unresponsive lips so soft he whimpers and tries to deepen it all on his own. "And I love you no matter what you've been through. You're the most amazing thing in my life and I just met you; doesn't matter about the name my sister said, or that you're famous for it. I only care about you—right here, right now—in my arms, and when you're hurting? Babe it kills me."



"But why…?"

"Love's crazy," I offer with a smile. "Real love's fucking crazy. So please…" I lift off him, kissing his hand and holding it up as if proposing. "Whenever you're upset, think about me; how I'll make sure no one ever hurts you, or makes you feel out of control ever again. That's real, sweetheart."

Jonah looks around desperately before wet, bloodshot eyes land on mine. I know he needs me to shut up, drown him in pleasure, and make him forget.

What else am I good for, honestly?

I pull Jonah up and force my tongue between his lips. I push it deep into his small – still-hiccuping – mouth over and over; rubbing and sliding the wet muscle together like I use it to tease his cute cock. Sure enough the boy starts bucking against me—grinding our lower halves like he can't wait for it.

Jonah is begging to be rubbed, teased, sucked, and fucked—exactly the way I want to give it to him every—single—time.

As I adjust my jaw, twisting his tongue with mine, I start petting the outside of his jeans, unbuttoning them slowly…

Jonah gets impossibly weaker as his body melts in my hands. He adjusts his hips helpfully so I can fish him out of his boxers and start squeezing his sticky member that's always so fucking eager.

He holds on to me as tightly as he can—bony arms wrapped around my neck in a way I've never experienced before him. Once again, my mind races with intense, crushing feelings of desire… affection... because I've never had anything this amazing and I can hardly deal with it. I can only focus on giving Jonah everything he needs; so one hand touches him all over, exactly how he wants it, and the other jerks him until he's moaning.

"Michael…!" he gasps, humping into my hand.

He moves so beautifully. His thin, flexible body bends and gyrates in ways he's not supposed to have figured out so young.

At least it's my name he's saying. At least his eyes are on me. They take away every insecurity I'm usually plagued with because it's everything I need.

When I feel that fat vein in his cock start spasming, I move my hand—ignore his fragile whimpering—and pull his pants right off of him. I stroke his buttery smooth thighs up and down before forcing them apart, then I lean down to take this sweet boy into my mouth.

I'll never get tired of it.

Jonah's sensitive enough as it is, but when I take his entire length and start tonguing madly? His small body trembles. Precum gushes from his slit and coats my tongue. Legs twitch under my grip like he wants to wrap them around and lock me between them forever.

It doesn't take him long at all; just a few deep sucks and his bony frame arches to the ceiling. He gasps and pants as his climax shoots to his head—and, just as I'm swallowing down some sugar-sweet cum, his breathing stops completely.

It's kind of hard not to notice.

When I pull off, he's red in the face with his eyes shut tight, one hand clamped over his mouth.

I grab his small wrist, pulling it off immediately, and his breath comes out with some violent sounding coughs.

I kiss his bright pink cheek while my free hand works my cock out of loose-fitting sweatpants—it's so hard it's starting to hurt now.

"M—hhmm-more—Mm-ichael—" Jonah wheezes, slightly delirious.

"I know baby, I'm going to," I promise, breaking with a groan as my desire skyrockets. It's never enough with this boy and I love it. Even though I've reassured him, he's pulling desperately at my back to hurry up already. His thin legs somehow find strength enough to wrap around my legs and rush me.

There's still a lot of prep to do and when I reach for the lube Jonah breaks into frustrated tears. "Nooo!" he wails. "Hh-hurry! Please—please Michael!"

"I'm just going to slick up Jonah," I explain, trying not to cum in my own hand as I use it to wet my entire dick. "Calm down—I promise, baby, almost done…"

He needs it alright. He starts lifting up—rutting his cock against my quick fist—bony hips looking more prominent than ever…

As I press my tip against Jonah's soft ring, I lean over to kiss him on dry lips and slowly breach him.

The heat is so good—it wraps me tightly and makes me moan. Jonah kisses back desperately; so fucking excited that I'm giving him what he needs.


I trail soft bites along his jaw, twirling my tongue and hearing him squeak out my name in return. It sends me to a dangerous place that has me thrusting fast and hard into his breakable body.

Jonah screams into my ear—it's insensible but I know it's because I'm slamming against that sensitive spot inside him.

His legs lose what little strength they had in them and fall limp to the side. I grab them, lift them to his chest and hold them there.

The position isn't the gentlest, but pleasure is blurring all lines and Jonah knows all of my buttons. He's everything I need and more. Even as I drive too deep—fuck too wild—Jonah's face just crumples like he's in heaven.

And I'm the only one who can take him there.

I check my phone once Jonah's passed out beside me.

The first thing I see is a flurry of messages from Maggie – who still hasn't gotten over the shock of meeting Jonah.

mike omg
bamf kid!?
do u even know who he is?!

None of this rings any bells, but I make note of the name.

The facts as I have them are few and far between but it's all I need to paint a picture of whatever Jonah's dealing with. Absolutely, the most concerning thing is the knowledge that Jonah's brother is the one—or one of many—that hurt him.

And I don't know where this guy is at the moment.

Jonah said he missed him – ouch – but I just assume that means there's no contact.

My fingers itch to start Googling, but Jonah stirs beside me and I don't want to risk it after promising Jonah it was up to him how much he wanted me to know.

"But it's for his own good!" inner-Michael cries, making sense for a split second. And, isn't that just like me? Don't I have a reputation as Michael the Untrusting Snoop with a need to know every little thing about my boys?

It's tough to resist but after several minutes I compromise with myself. I decide to just do an image search, only so I can be prepared if I ever do happen to see this so-called brother in public.

Angling the phone away from Jonah's sleeping face, I quickly type SEXY BAMF into the search parameters and instantaneously get thousands of photo results.

I click the first one of him in a gaming chair with headphones on.

Turns out, Sexy BAMF is hot as hell.

He appears tall – and has the face of a model himself. Good genes must run in the family or something because if I saw him walking down the street, I'd look twice.

But on top of that - his eyes resemble Jonah's more than I'm comfortable with. They're strikingly similar; hooded and grey except where Jonah's appear to shine… this guy's eyes look flat and sunken. I get a bit of a cold shiver at the sight of him.

The next image I click on is because it catches my attention; it's one with Jonah sharing a donut in what appears to be a sweet photo of brotherly affection.

The next image is him smiling next to his brother.

I power off the screen and set it beside me, taking a deep, calming breath.

Jonah looked different in those pictures – impossibly younger— something I didn't really expect. Anyone looking at them would have no clue what he was enduring. No clue at all… he was all alone, wasn't he?

A lump forms in my throat as I shut my eyes; it's impossible to get rid of that beautiful smile he flashed the camera out of my head. Because how could anyone look at that and want to hurt him?

My heart starts crumbling and breaking. I don't want to allow my over-active mind to connect every single dot – but it's hard to forget the state of Jonah's ass the first time we fucked and my blood boils again. How could anyone – let alone a family member –?


Looking down, I'm surprised to see Jonah is conscious again. Those eyes of his pierce into mine and they're confused, concerned, and fucking cute as hell.

"Angel," I respond – probably oozing out way too much affection. It's okay though because Jonah is the rare kind of boy that can never get enough of it. I push down all of my choked, irritated feelings and pull him into ticklish kisses. "How about a bath?"

Jonah is very cooperative today.

He doesn't hesitate to join me in the tub this time, nor does he ask any silly questions about why I'm so nice to him. Maybe my words earlier got through, but whatever it is he's not distressed and that's all that matters. Though, his listless cooperation makes me feel like I'm washing a doll.

Jonah raises his arms so I can run a loofah all over his body; when I lift him by his bony ass, he just bends slightly so I can hook a finger inside him and pull out the sticky mess of lube and cum.

I would describe it as contentedly catatonic.

As I work to bathe him, Jonah reads the labels on all of my bath products.

"Wash me too," I encourage, handing him the loofah and pulling his attention back to me – the way I always want it.

Turning around, Jonah starts scrubbing my chest gently. I'm not sure if it's because he's weak or what, but I place my hand over his and apply more pressure.

"You won't hurt me babe – scrub hard okay?

His face falls – terror and apprehension take over so quickly my heart sinks knowing I said something wrong again.

"But… Michael—I don't—I don't want to wreck them," he says seriously.

My mind blanks for a moment and then his words click and I can't help the laugh that bursts out of me. It's kind of rude, but there's really no helping it, and I make sure to cuddle Jonah in a tight embrace to let him know it's a good kind of laugh.

"No—these are permanent. You can't scrub them off, Jonah." I chuckle again because – yeah, it doesn't surprise me that he doesn't really understand how they work.

"You can't?" he asks, lighting up with interest. Literally everything about him brightens.

"No babe. Tattoos stay on your body forever. I mean, they fade over time, but with good care and touch-ups…"

Jonah's eyes are scanning the artwork on my body like he's seeing it for the first time. His brows furrow a little as if he's trying to figure it out. "So you just… draw with… a special marker?"


"It's a needle," I explain. "We fill it with a special type of ink, yeah, and then that needle pierces through to the dermal layer of the skin—" Jonah looks more confused than before, "—the layer under the epidermis." Still confused. "Basically under the surface of the skin."

"A needle," he repeats in an awed whisper. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Like a bitch."

He smiles slowly and after the dramatic morning we had, I don't take it for granted. Being able to make him smile is worth all the trouble in the world.

Later, when I ask Jonah what he wants to eat, and he readily responds with, "pizza," I don't question it and just order three larges.

Drawn to the Hawaiian like there's no ongoing debate about pineapples on pizza, he eats almost the entire slice (minus the crust) before insisting he's full.

He thanks me for supper, tries helping me clean it all up, and by the time we've crashed on the couch I realize the day is nearing to an end—and I have no idea when, or if, Jonah's leaving.

It sparks all kinds of horrible thoughts inside me.

Because… even though he says he lives with his mother… the whole brother situation throws a wrench in it. How much contact do they have? Does his mother even know what's happened? Does she even know what Jonah needs because all signs indicate otherwise…

I worry so much that it ends up showing on my face and Jonah starts shaking in my lap. "Michael? What's—wrong?"

"Just thinking if you have to go back home or not. Isn't your mom worried…? I guess you're old enough but—"

Jonah tenses. His chest starts heaving. His beautiful eyes get so scared, I can only hope to make it better as soon as possible.

"M-my… mom… I—I'll go—" is all he can get out before he stands up off of me and nearly trips over the coffee table in a rush. I grab him by the arm before he can fall face first into the hardwood, and the selfish side of me bursts out without any thought.

"I don't want you to go," I say clearly, pulling his thin body into mine and trying to smooth out the shivers with long, steady pets. "Ever. Don't leave if you don't have to, or if you don't want to," I mutter. "Stay with me here, Jonah."

"Are you – sure?" he asks softly – and maybe I'm crazy, but it almost sounded like he said it hopefully.

"Yeah baby. You don't want to go back, right?" I guess just from the hesitation and anxiety-ridden body language this sweet dream-boy is displaying. Jonah's eyes get even wider than normal and I'm struck with how beautiful he is for the millionth time in a row. Once his small chin nods to my question, I break into a comforting, knowing smile. "So, just stay here."

He's silent. Swollen lips stay pressed together as he simply stares up at me – eyes scanning mine back and forth. Then, quietly, with a voice so soft it sends goosebumps all over my body, he asks, "How long?"

I try not to get too excited, but it's almost impossible.

"As long as you want," I exclaim, lifting him up and twirling him around so that we both flop back down to the couch to resume cuddling. So much for not getting too excited.

Jonah still looks nervous, but the shaking's gone—and obsessive word vomit just continues to flow out of me.

"Even if it's forever, Jonah," I purr, speaking low into his ear.

"Forever?" he repeats… voice distant and spacey.

I force a small laugh that's all breath, and the warm air hits his sensitive ears—his thin neck—makes him grip my thighs. "Only if you want. I'm yours, Jonah, seriously… nothing would make me happier than knowing you're here, safe and sound."

There's a five-minute delay in his response. I draw circles along Jonah's tailbone until he finally lifts up, looks me dead in the eye, and says, "I'll stay."

I feel like we're newlyweds or something as I dress for work the next morning, and pause at the door. Jonah's almost completely naked except for a baggy pair of boxers I gave to him before throwing his in the laundry.

"Don't forget to eat something," I say, watching Jonah's eyes lower to the ground. "God I'm going to miss you… you're sure you don't want to come to the shop with me?" I offer, just in case. It's important to give Jonah a lot of options, over and over. "You can hang out in my office–"

This gets his head shaking. "No–they'll see me!" he insists, horrified.

I could kill Maggie for the damage she's done.

Just the other day Jonah had no problem going out for sushi, and even then he wasn't as shaken about getting recognized. It has something to do with me… I know it… so I resign myself to semi-hollow hope that he'll come next time.

Reaching out, I run my hand over his soft cheek. "You don't have to," I reassure. "The choice is all yours, Jonah."

He adamantly shakes his head, and I know that next time, I'll give him even more options. There are ways that we can work around his celebrity-status, like sunglasses and disguises. I'd hate for Jonah to experience such fear and apprehension just walking down the street with me.

"Okay," I agree. "Stay here and I'll be back in a few hours, alright?"

This gets my spider monkey clinging to me. He tries squeezing me around my mid-section as hard as he can but it's nothing except absolutely adorable. I kiss his soft, clean hair over and over.

"Remember to eat, baby. There's lots in the fridge. Help yourself to anything you want."

When I get home, Jonah's wrapped up in my sweater – naked from the bottom down – just sleeping in my bed like it's nothing. His legs are skinny and bruised from my grip on them last night and I frown at the sight. I didn't think I had held him so tightly. Or maybe he's just so unhealthy he bruises like a peach.

I can't be too guilty for long. The sweet angel in my bed is practically calling to me; I slide in behind him, taking his ear to my mouth.

"Jona—aahh," I whisper, exhaling all the warm breath in my lungs. He trembles and shakes—waking up almost at once.

"Michael?" he asks, disbelieving. So cute. No matter how you look at it, those grey eyes are bright and shining with happiness when they land on me. But then they turn frightful, and, with a gasp, he's stumbling over himself and curling small fingers into the baggy sleeves. "I-I'm sorry about the sweater. I had nothing—nothing else to wear—got c-cold—!"

My heart skips and leaps—starts pounding violently as I pull his body against mine and touch him all over – smoothing my palm along his soft inner thighs…

"I love that you're wearing it," I begin, sweeping another hand up his morbidly thin torso. "God I fucking love it so much – and you, Jonah. Help yourself to anything, okay? Didn't I say that?" I trail down his neck, leaving kiss after kiss…

"You did…"

"It's so cute," I insist—feeling that aggression rise up. It makes me grip him hard again, and just as I'm pulling my hand away, Jonah averts his eyes to adjust what I can only assume is his raging hard on. "Did you eat today?" I ask gently.

He doesn't answer immediately, and it worries me.


"I—I had cereal."

"What kind?"

He squirms again, tilting his neck—exposing the same ear I breathed into earlier and tempting me with it. He's been steadily shaking since, and I resist the urge to slide my tongue along his lobe and hiss things into an ear that responds to the sensation like electric currents are running through him.

"C-Captain Crunch."

"That it?"

His silence says it all.

"How much did you eat, then, the whole bowl?"

More silence. A whine escapes him when I stop moving my hands and pull away from his ear; trying to be firm. I'll let him get away with so fucking much – but not this.

"Answer me, Jonah…"

"I ate… a—a few bites…"

I hate how disappointed I feel – but it's because at this very second, I know Jonah's starving.

"Babyyy," I groan, trying to let out all my stress. "A few bites isn't good enough."

He flips over—scared wide eyes watering as they meet mine. "I'm – I'm sorry Michael… I tried…" Jonah's too adorable for his own good when he snuggles into me—forcing the intimate contact and wiggling our bodies as close together as possible.

"You tried?" I repeat, resigning myself. "What? Don't like that kind of cereal? I can get something else… I'll buy whatever you want to eat, Jonah, just give me something to work with."

Ducking his head, Jonah whines again. It's not exactly a response, and I know I should be patient… but damn it's frustrating when I just want him to take his health seriously.

Just as I'm about to go off on a lecture, Jonah mutters something so quietly I barely hear it.

"Huh? What'd you say Jonah? I can't hear you if you talk into me like that…"

I grab his chin, lift it up and turn my ear towards his mouth. It takes a few seconds but then…

"… I try but… I get sick…"

This feeling is the absolute worst. There's nothing quite like enduring someone else's pain and not being able to fix it.

"You get sick, Jonah?" I can't help the way I break inside. I squeeze him tightly; trying to be reasonable… be comforting. "That makes it hard, doesn't it… but it's not good, baby. You have to eat or you'll just keep feeling sick… it'll just get worse…"

He's quiet, but clingy, and nods agreeably to everything I said.

"Just eat one bite at a time…"

"Th-then it gets soggy!"

"Pour a new bowl."

"I don't—wanna waste it…"

I kind of love that he's arguing with me, but that's just because he's in a very responsive mood. "You can waste whatever you want," I allow. Then I deliver a hard smooch to his cheek. "If we can't find something that works… we'll need to get you some help."

Jonah stiffens. His lungs start spluttering. "N-no… Michael… I don't—want—hh—want that…!"

"Then eat," I insist – though I have no idea why I'm saying it like this. The bottom line is Jonah needs boat loads of help—in all areas—and that's the end game no matter what. But burdening him with this? Making him anxious? Making him hate me in any step of the process? Not happening. It's baby steps all the way…

"I will!" he cries at once. "I'll—I'll eat…" Jonah's still gasping as I hold him close.

"Good… good Jonah. You'll eat with me right now?"

Jonah stares down at the chicken breast like I've asked him to eat a leather shoe. Holy fuck it's cute. I can't let it show on my face because if I look too lenient, he might try to play it up and get out of eating. Then, like I expect, Jonah's grey eyes scan my face in a silent plea, but I'm not budging.

"I don't like… chicken…"

"You might like this kind," I encourage gently, knowing I lathered on about five layers of sweet teriyaki glaze. "Slowly, okay?"

His hands shake so bad he can barely cut through the meat on his own, but eventually he has a nice piece speared on his fork. It takes a while for it to move close to his mouth, but I don't say a word. I sit patiently beside Jonah and rub circles into the small of his back.

He chews the small piece slowly—almost gagging in the process—and my heart twists in agony when he looks at me like it's the worst pain of all.

After swallowing, he blinks – grey eyes terrified. "What if—what if I puke?" he chokes immediately at the thought, clutching at his neck. "It's gross—Michael!"

"Jonah… angel… what are you saying? It's not gross. You can puke all over me, I don't care…" My hand is rubbing his back so hard I'm starting to feel the friction on my palm. "Do you need to?"

"N-no not… not yet…"

"Okay, good. Don't worry then. This is why we're going slow. Just two more bites and we're done."

He trusts me so much. I can see it in the way that he takes a deep breath beside me and steadies his shaking fork. He settles in to wait for the panic and nausea to pass and it takes a few quiet moments but then he's eating another bite, and I shower him with praise.

"Good—see? You did it! It doesn't taste that bad, does it? I'll make something else, if you really don't like it Jonah…"

"I-it's okay…" he mutters. "I'll eat it…"

"Can I have a bite?" I ask with a wide grin, opening my mouth and saying ah.

I don't expect Jonah to smile at this, but he does, and it's so beautiful. He rushes to get a new piece on his fork and then he feeds it to me – practically beaming.

Then, he eats nearly all of his meal, except for the few bites that he continues to offer me. He responds with a really sweet giggle when I pretend to snap at the fork – startling him.

When we're done, I get serious—but in the softest way possible.

"You have to eat a little bit more every day and you'll get better, Jonah, I promise. Then it won't make you sick… you'll want to eat everything in sight soon."

He squeezes my arm, and when he does, the overwhelming need to bind him to me is more powerful than ever.

A/N: Real talk… I love Michael! I LOVE HIM. I WISH HE WERE REAL OH GOD. I tried to stay away but he kept calling to me…!