Best Buds: The Comfort of Youth

Author/pseudonym: Angelise

Fandom: Original Fic-Slash-M/M

Series: Best Buds

Where to go for the story: http://writingonthewall.slashcity.net/~angelise7/toc.htm

Angelise's Update List--for those who want first dibs on the *entire* story http://groups.yahoo.com/group/AngeliseUpdate

Rating:

Pairing: OCs--Trent and Blaine

Date: February 4, 2004

Archive: Yes to WWOMB

Disclaimer: The boys and their family members belong to me.

Summary: Blaine comforts Trent after a run-in with the local bully.


The Comfort of Youth
by Angelise and Megan
Copyright August 2000


Trent watched as his father, Devin, tinkered on the engine of the new truck. He was quick to grab and hand each tool as it was requested. His small form stood close, his green eyes following his father's every movement. Chubby fingers tangled in the strands of Devin's long hair, securing a hold as Trent peered down into the mechanical jungle of the truck.

Devin straightened up, wiping the oil and grime from his hands on an old tattered rag. He picked up his discarded t-shirt and scrubbed the sweat from his face. Looking down at his six year old son, he smiled. Trent was so like his mother . . . a curious little tyke who wanted to know all the answers to all the mysteries in life.

His smile grew into a large grin as he listened to his son's mutterings.

"So that thingy . . . no, no that's a park plug. Soooo . . . the park plug goes to the wiggly wire and makes the truck go?"

Devin lifted Trent from his perch on the ladder and tossed him in the air, his strong muscular arms catching the light burden of his giggling son. "Yes, Junior Mechanic. The park plug makes the truck go."

Trent wrapped his small slender arms around his father's neck and hugged tight. He adoringly gazed down at the man who was his whole universe. "Daddy? Can I go and play with Blaine now?" His childish voice hushed into a conspiratorial whisper. " 'S time for our secret meeting."

Setting his son down, Devin ruffled Trent's sandy blonde hair. "Okay, little man. Don't forget to take Sean's glove back to him."

Trent raced inside the house and was back instantly, a baseball mitt clutched in his hands. He pulled his father down for a quick kiss before taking off down the driveway.

"And don't be late for dinner!!" Devin called after his retreating son, his loving gaze watching the child as he moved down the street toward the Matthews' home, best friends to his family.

+++++++

Trent stopped one house short of his friend's, his attention caught by a large beetle scurrying across the sidewalk. He bent down to examine the insect, his small fingers redirecting the bug's journey. A shadow fell across him, distracting him from the beetle. He looked up into the jeering faces of several of the neighborhood boys.

"Look who we have here . . . Baby Anderson."

Trent straightened up to his full height and puffed his chest out. " 'm not a baby. 'm six years old!"

Steven, the wise and ancient eight year old of the gang, laughed. He poked Trent in the chest, causing the young boy to stumble backwards. "Boys . . . all I see is a snotty nose, diaper wettin' baby. What about y'all?"

The other boys crowded closer, agreeing with their leader. Trent refused to back down, standing his ground with innocent courage.

Steven took a sudden interest in the baseball glove Trent was holding. He reached out for it with his grubby hands. "Hey! Whadda you know! Our whiney butt baby has brought me a gift." The older boy took a hold of the mitt. "Thanks, Trent."

The first grader refused to release his grip, yanking the baseball glove away.

Slap! Trent's head reeled back from the hit but he maintained his hold on the glove.

"Give it here, you little monster." Steven pulled on Trent's t-shirt, ripping the garment. He dug his nails in, scratching the young boy. "I said . . . Give . . . It . . . Here!"

Trent shook his head, his voice wobbling slightly. "It ain't yours. 'S my Uncle Sean's and you can't have it."

Pow! Thud!

With blood spurting from his nose, Trent fell to the ground, his knees skidding across the rough concrete. The small child was dragged a short distance as the older boy wrestled the glove away. Trent started to cry as he lost the battle of the glove's possession. The young boy ignored the stinging pain of scraped knees and elbows, his focus on retrieving his favorite uncle's baseball glove.

A rush of flying fur raced past him. A menacing growl, a cry and a scuffle of feet signaled the gang's fleeing.

Trent looked up, his tear stained face beholding the large, drooling smile of Lady, Blaine's collie. Her canine mouth carefully held the baseball glove. She dropped the rescued item in the boy's outstretched hands, her pink tongue licking away the still falling tears.

Two arms stole around Trent's small body, assisting the boy to a standing position. Trent turned around and looked into the concerned eyes of his best friend, Blaine Matthews.

"Are you okay, Trent? Did those bullies hurt ya?" The seven year old pulled the younger boy in the direction of his home.

Trent hiccupped, his hands clutching the treasured, fought after mitt to his chest. He stumbled over the untied laces of his tennis shoes. Blaine paused and knelt at his friend's feet, patiently tying the laces. He looked up at Trent, brushing the long bangs out of the boy's eyes.

"They didn't hurt ya too bad, did they?"

Trent shook his head wildly, leaning heavily against the large form of the ever-vigilant collie. He offered up a teary smile as he handed the glove to his friend. "They punched me in the nose, Blaine. It hurt." The small child touched his swollen nose, his fingers coming back covered with blood. The sight of the crimson stain summoned new tears.

Trent hid his face in the dog's thick coat of hair, his muffled voice barely discernable. "They called me a baby." He lifted his eyes to Blaine. "I ain't no baby, am I Blaine? I'm six going on seven. I'll be seven next year. And then I'll be seven going on eight." Trent ruffled Lady's fur, sniffing loudly. "I ain't no baby."

Blaine smiled at the younger boy, at the stubborn look of denial on his face. He pulled playfully on Trent's blonde curls. "Race ya!" Blaine scrambled, dashing toward the ancient oak in the backyard of his home. "Last one to the treehouse is a baby!"

Leading the whole way, Blaine deliberately slowed several feet before reaching the tree. He laughed as Trent sped past him, knocking him on his butt. Blaine watched as his friend clambered up the wooden steps to the treehouse.

Trent poked his head over the wall, looking down at his laughing buddy. He grinned and pointed at Blaine, his giggles an indication that the world was right again. "Baby!!! I see a baby!"

Blaine jumped up and shook his fist at Trent, the threat ruined by giggles. "I'll show ya who's a baby!"

Within seconds, the older boy was up the tree and wrestling his friend down to the deck. The two boys grappled with each other until a bruised nose and scraped knee came into contact with the plank flooring.

"Owwweeee!" Trent scooted away from Blaine, taking shelter in a shadowed corner, one hand holding his nose and one hand favoring his injured knee.

Blaine moved over to the smaller boy, pushing away protesting hands. "Lemme look, Trent. I ain't gonna hurt ya."

The younger boy whimpered as his best friend coaxed him out of the corner. "It hurts, Blaine. Bad hurt."

The older boy nodded, hugging Trent close. "Don't I always take care of you?" A sad shake from the blond moptop was his only answer.

Blaine tsked over his friend. Poor Trent looked a mess. The boy's tears had mixed with the blood and now stained his torn Scooby Doo t-shirt. His dirty jeans were ripped at the knees. To keep from tearing them more, Blaine decided he would have to get Trent out of them to examine the wounded knees. Gently, and with all the care only a best friend can show, Blaine removed Trent's t-shirt and jeans. Shivering and crying, clad only in his undies, the little boy looked like a bruised angel. Blaine wanted nothing more than to hold him and comfort him.

Blaine looked around, thinking about how to take care of Trent. The treehouse unfortunately did not have a first aid kit, so Blaine thought about what his mommy would do. She had nursed so many of his scrapes and bruises. The boy smiled; his mommy was the best at making him feel better.

He remembered she poured something on his cuts that burned. The seven year old shook his head; he couldn't do that to Trent. His friend did not need any more hurt. He thought some more. His mommy always put a Hercules band-aid on his cuts. Blaine looked around the treehouse and frowned. No band-aids. Suddenly his blue eyes brightened. Mommy kissed his boo boos and that made them feel all better. The older boy smiled; that he could do.

Blaine helped Trent up and hugged the younger boy. He whispered in his ear. "I'm gonna make you all better."

Trent gave him a puzzled look, his hand still covering his swollen nose. He stood there patiently, trusting his best friend to fulfill his promise.

Blaine slowly leaned down and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. "Did that hurt?"

Trent shook his head. "Noooo. Made hurt better."

That was all Blaine needed to hear. The next kiss was longer and since it couldn't be on the injured nose, Blaine decided to aim for the lips. Trent offered up a wobbly smile. Blaine then kneeled down, looking the small child over, searching for more cuts. There was a nasty one on Trent's chest, so he kissed right below . . . on his nipple. An innocent gasp rushed out into the lazy afternoon silence. He spotted the big scrape on Trent's knee and tenderly holding his leg, kissed above it, his lips pressing against the soft flesh of the boy's thigh. Trent hiccupped, his breathing slightly ragged.

When Blaine moved to get up, his hand brushed against Trent's groin, eliciting a moan from the younger boy. He immediately thought his friend was hurt there, so he reached to remove Trent's undies.

"No, Blaine." The six year old pleaded, his eyes worried.

"You ain't got nothing there I ain't seen . . . I have one just like it, you know. Lemme look, you could be hurt."

The younger boy just nodded, bashfully turning his face away.

Blaine carefully eased the cotton brief off. He didn't see any injury so he thought he'd better touch it. Them stupid boys could have given Trent a wedgie and those hurt real bad even though they don't make any cuts. His gentle touch and soft hands roamed all over his friend's genitals. He didn't feel anything hurt but Trent was whimpering so he decided it had to be a boo-boo and therefore, it needed a kiss.

He kissed his friend's tweeter, surprised how at how soft and warm it was and how nice it tasted. He kissed it again. In fact, it felt so good, he just kept kissing. And it seemed Trent liked it; his friend was barely crying. Blaine couldn't understand why it felt so good to touch Trent. Nobody was touching his body and yet there was this warm fuzzy feeling in his belly. He reached down and touched himself and found that his own tweeter felt different.

Blaine was so lost in thought and in the enjoyment of the comfort he was giving his best friend, he didn't realize Trent had stopped crying and was now mewling and fidgeting. He was startled to feel Trent's hands on his head, pulling him up. He gave the boy's small tweeter one last goodbye kiss and stood.

Trent was shivering, his slender arms wrapping around his chilled body. His nose had stopped bleeding but he still looked a mess. And now he seemed scared. "Give me a hug, Blaine? Please? Pretty please?"

Smiling at his best friend, Blaine hugged him tight, his hands stroking over the child's naked form. Trent sighed and placed his head on Blaine's shoulder. "You're my best friend, Blaine. Love you."

"Love you too, Trent. We'll be best buds forever."

Both smiled and hugged tighter.

The seed for love had been sown.



To be continued...

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