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"Douglas?" Martin began, idly fiddling with the lapel of Douglas' dressing gown.
His tone was one that Douglas had come to identify as Martin's "I've been thinking about this and I'm going to make sure I get you thinking about it too" conversation starters. Douglas was feeling rather comfortable, lying on the chaise-longue with Martin draped on his lap and chest, and wasn't in a mood for thinking.
"Hmm?"
"I was wondering about, well, you, and me, and— us, I mean, er, is everything all right?"
"If you're wondering whether I'm still put off by you sabotaging my mutual gifting operation last week, I told you, it's all... bridge under the water, and all that."
"That's... very reassuring, but it's not what I meant. Although, well, it is about last week, in a way."
Ah, Douglas thought. He should have known Martin wouldn't be able to let go of the other incident so easily. Douglas hadn't even been flirting! But it would have been awfully rude to just send the lady away when she initiated the flirting, and when she could procure such excellent authentic Belgian cloister beer.
"Douglas," Martin insisted. "Are you... Are you happy with me? You know, truly happy?"
"I thought we'd established there's no such thing... But I was rather happy, until a little while ago."
Martin tensed in his arms. "What happened?" he asked in a small voice.
Douglas sighed and combed his fingers through Martin's hair.
"Someone began strafing me with serious questions," he said, and smiled when Martin whacked him feebly with a hand.
"But I mean it, Douglas. All right, I'll phrase it more... differently. Are you happy with me, rather than with a woman?"
Douglas considered this for a moment. He liked his women curvy, with round breasts and amphora-shaped hips; Martin was all flat planes and sharp angles. He liked women who laughed boldly and elegantly; Martin's smiles were shy, and a day when he laughed was a red letter day. And yet...
Douglas nudged Martin until he lifted his nose out of Douglas' dressing gown and looked Douglas in the eyes.
"Yes, Martin," he said seriously. "I am, amazingly, as close to truly happy as one can be without being Arthur."
He let show his smile — the genuine, unguarded one, that, before Martin, only his daughter and sometimes Arthur got to see — and was rewarded with an answering smile.
Martin nestled against Douglas' chest again. Douglas let his head fall back on the backrest. A few blissfully silent moments passed. Douglas began dozing off. And then...
"I was just, you know, idly pondering. Is there... Is there anything you're missing? From when you were... with women?"
Douglas chewed on this in silence. The man currently prodding him with questions wasn't the man who'd failed his licence exam six times; this was the man who went to take the exam seven times. When Martin got an idea into his head, he could be nigh immovable. He had to give him something, or Martin would suspect that he was lying, because of course nothing could be really, truly good, if it involved Martin.
"Well," he said, casually, "it's really not important in the grand scheme of things, and I wouldn't even have thought to mention it if you hadn't asked, but... I do sometimes get a whiff of nostalgia for the smooth feel of a woman's dress under my arm."
"Hmm. While you're parading your conquest under your arm for the world to see?"
"No, actually, Martin. Been there, done that, got the notches on my travel bag. I was merely thinking about the look and feel. There's just something about the fabric, and the way it sits on a person. They just don't make men's clothes like that."
"Is that why you're always so quick to help me out of mine?"
"Absolutely. Only reason."
"Good to know," Martin mumbled, then stretched, cat-like, and finally let go of the subject.
He'd rushed through the preparations like a man on a mission, but now that he didn't have anything more to do, Martin was besieged by doubts. What if it had been a bad idea? What if he looked ridiculous — well, a gangly man in a dress, of course he was ridiculous, but he thought the dress would make up for it. Smooth, silky material seemed to sit accusingly on him now.
Martin paced to the window. Was that Douglas' car? No, just another Lexus. There was still time to forget the whole thing; he'd get rid of the dress — hail the return policy — and stop fretting about Douglas not being entirely happy with him.
Better than Douglas laughing at him, maybe even— ("Good Lord, Martin, Priscilla the Desert Queen rides again! If I wanted a drag queen I could have picked one up myself" — no, Douglas wouldn't say that! Would he?)
He'd given up on the heels — too expensive, too risky — and went for barefoot. Barefoot could be sexy, couldn't it?
"Oh." The soft exclamation made Martin jump, and glad he hadn't gone for the heels. "Hello, Martin."
"Hello, hi, Douglas, I— didn't hear you come in! Hi."
"New look?"
Douglas' voice was deep and throaty. Was that repressed laughter? It couldn't be lust, not so quickly. Could it?
Douglas stepped towards him, but Martin didn't dare look at his face. He was staring at Douglas' shoes, wishing that the slightly worn carpet would open up and swallow him, starting from his bare soles.
"Oh God, you think it's stupid, don't you? I must look ridiculous." Martin bit his lip and hugged himself, self-conscious of his bare arms and bare, hairy legs. "I thought I'd surprise you with— yes, I know, it's a surprise either way, surprises aren't always good, I'll- I'll just- go and take it off now and—"
Douglas hushed him with a finger on his lips. The touch was soft and gentle, and Martin's lips tingled with it minutes after Douglas' hands had wandered away from his face — stroking his belly, caressing his back, up and down his sides, and then boldly grabbing his buttocks and pressing him closer to Douglas.
"Oh," Martin said, finally relaxing and daring to look up at Douglas' face.
"You look lovely," Douglas murmured low in his throat. "You feel lovely."
"Do- do I?"
"Always, Martin, whether you're in your crisp Captain's uniform or the considerably more threadbare 'man with a van' get-up," Douglas said, the roughness of his voice more reassuring to Martin than his words. "Freshly showered, or sweaty and panting - hmm, especially sweaty and panting. And, it turns out, in a little green dress. Lovely shade, by the way. It compliments your hair and your eyes."
"Oh, heh," Martin said, smiling self-consciously. "The assistant suggested it. I was going to go with black - you know, the classic, one can presumably never go wrong with a little black dress."
Douglas' eyebrows rose, just as Martin realised what he'd said. "Mm, very bold of you, Martin."
"Oh no, I-I didn't tell her it was for me! I said it was for my twin sister."
"Well done."
Martin knew Douglas well enough by now to detect the barely concealed amusement under his voice.
"Oh God, she didn't believe that for a second, did she? I can never go back in there!"
"Hmm, that would be a shame." Douglas eyed him speculatively. His hands were still on Martin, stroking lightly here and there. "There may be more such delightful specimens in the store..." One of his hands stroked Martin's hipbone. The touch felt warm and soft.
Martin sighed, leaning into the touches.
"But seriously, Douglas, is it?"
"Yes, absolutely delightful. You don't have to take my word for it, though."
"Hmm?"
"I can show you. In fact, I'd very much like to show you."
Douglas took Martin's hand in his and started towards the bedroom. Martin followed, feet padding on the floorboards.
Douglas guided him in front of the tall mirror. It wasn't the first time that mirror had seen them together, but it was the first time Martin saw himself in it wearing a dress. Douglas stood behind him, one hand on Martin's shoulder, the other loosely wrapped around his waist. His warm and solid presence gave Martin the reassurance to look at himself.
His hips stretched the material, poking sharply at the sides. The dress flowed around his angles, making sad empty ripples over his flat chest. His legs emerged hairy and undeniably masculine from under the simple hem. He couldn't find a dress he liked that would cover his knobbly knees. At least his thighs didn't look too bad, he supposed.
"See?" Douglas murmured. He rubbed a slow circle over Martin's flat belly. "Lovely."
"I see a scrawny man in a dress," Martin admitted in a small, subdued voice.
"Hmm," Douglas hummed. "That's not what I see."
His fingers strayed upwards, catching Martin's nipples. The smooth fabric didn't chafe; in fact, it did whatever the opposite of chafing was. Douglas' fingers insisted over the nubs until they peaked out in arousal and Martin let out a small whimper. "Hmm," Douglas hummed again.
Martin tore his gaze away from the mesmerising sight of Douglas' fingers, and met Douglas' gaze in the mirror. "What do you see then?"
Douglas smiled at him, and dipped his head down to plant a kiss in Martin's hair. He went on to kiss Martin's neck, to suck gently at the protruding shoulder bones, to trail softly alongside the strap of the dress.
His hands smoothed down the sides of Martin's chest, while his head disappeared from sight. The next thing Martin felt was Douglas rubbing his face against the thin material over Martin's back. He could feel every inch of Douglas' skin, every stub of five o'clock shadow; the fabric seemed to amplify rather than dull the sensations.
"I'm glad you went for sleeveless," Douglas murmured through the fabric. He straightened himself again, nuzzling Martin's neck with moist lips, and stroking Martin's biceps with his hands.
"The assistant s-said it would be the most flattering for... my sister's figure," Martin said breathlessly.
"It is very flattering," Douglas agreed, pressing himself against Martin's back. The hardness nudging Martin's buttocks was its own form of flattery. Martin wriggled just a little bit, to feel it better, and both he and Douglas moaned in the same time.
"I think," Martin said dazedly, "you had a point about dresses."
"I did indeed," Douglas said smugly. He slid a finger under a shoulder strap, caressing and teasing the skin underneath.
Martin met his eyes in the mirror again. Douglas grinned mischievously, lasciviously. The finger under the strap continued its journey down Martin's chest, until Douglas could tease Martin's nipple with his left hand, under the dress. His right hand caressed down, down, past Martin's hip, over his thigh, and caught the hem of the dress between fore- and middle finger. Then he slowly, deliberately, began lifting it, pulling it up like a curtain, revealing Martin's thigh all the way up to the hip.
"Oh!" Martin gasped, throwing his head back. Something in the way Douglas had done that made him shiver with need. He bit his lip, knowing what else Douglas was sure to notice in a few seconds.
"Oh," Douglas sighed appreciatively. His hand stroked Martin through the thin fabric of the black panties, already strained around Martin's erection.
Martin blushed, both from the heat gathering in his belly and from the explaining he felt he had to do.
"I thought... It felt sort of rude to wear the nice elegant dress with my plain old boxers. Is it— is it, um, too much?"
"On the contrary, I think it's a delightful touch." Douglas smirked, as he touched Martin again in a truly delightful manner.
Martin let his eyes fall closed as he leant against Douglas' front, while Douglas traced the outline of his cock with lazy fingers, or rubbed it firmly with the heel of his hand.
"Actually, Martin."
"Hmm?"
"There's something I've always enjoyed doing," Douglas said.
"What?"
"If you feel you can support your own weight for a little while, I'll show you."
"Of course I can! I-I am not in any way swooning on your manly chest," Martin protested, swaying a bit as Douglas moved away from behind him.
"It's all right, I like your swooning," Douglas said, kneeling in front of Martin. His head disappeared under the dress, and Martin felt heat spreading all over his face at the sight in the mirror, and at the feeling of Douglas' lips mouthing his cock through his panties.
Douglas traced the contour of his erection with his lips, grazed his teeth against the fabric - God, Martin thought, teeth and cocks never went together well but through the fabric it was somehow hot - just the hint of danger but only the pleasure to be felt, and then there was tongue and Martin heard himself shout in pleasure.
"Douglas! Douglas!"
"Problem, Sir?" Douglas murmured, lips still on the damp fabric covering Martin's crotch.
"I-I don't want to- erm, like that. I, I want you in me."
"I like the sound of that plan very much," Douglas growled. "We don't want to be ruining this lovely dress after all."
He hooked a finger under the band of the panties, right over Martin's cock, and another in the back, where it barely covered the cleft. Martin moaned as Douglas' knuckles dragged over his skin, nudging his cock and crack while rubbing the panties on their way down. He struggled to catch his breath as Douglas stood up, licking his lips in a very wolvish manner.
"Time to unwrap the gift then," Douglas said. His eyes roamed over Martin.
"This— um, this was the gift," Martin said nervously, pinching the dress.
"No, no, Captain. This," Douglas said pinching the dress himself, "is just the wrapper. A delicious wrapper, true, but still a wrapper. The real gift is inside."
Martin blushed and chose to be silent rather than ruin the moment with words.
Douglas wrapped his hands around his waist again; he bent down to kiss Martin's shoulder, then slid lower down his back, and then... Martin's eyes widened as he realised what Douglas was doing.
His nose and lips slid along Martin's back, while Martin heard the delicate zipper being opened. His breath quickened and he was glad Douglas couldn't see his silly grin.
The zipper ended at the base of Martin's spine, and as soon as he'd pulled it over, Douglas kissed the skin there and licked. He licked all the way up Martin's spine, too, until he was level with his shoulder again.
He nibbled playfully at Martin's shoulder, with only a hint of a bite. Martin could see the wave of Douglas' hair shaking as Douglas played at biting his shoulder. His teeth nipped lightly at the skin - and then Martin realised Douglas was catching the strap in his teeth. His warm lips left a trail of moisture as he slid the strap over Martin's right shoulder.
He paused to inhale, as Martin took in the sight - it shouldn't have been hot, he never really thought of himself as hot, but the way he was half-undressed, the strap hanging loosely towards his elbow, naked shoulder flushed with the heat that his whole body was feeling...
"I didn't mention this because I didn't want to press the point," Douglas murmured, lips on Martin's shoulder as he attacked the left strap in the same manner, "but the thing I like best about dresses is..." His mouth moved, and with it went the last support that had been holding the dress in place. "...taking them off."
It slid softly off Martin's body and pooled at his feet. Martin was left entirely naked and feeling strangely vulnerable.
"Not much difference from my regular men's clothing, then," he joked, heart still in his throat.
"No, not really, you're right." Douglas paused, pressing himself against Martin's back again. He was still fully clothed, and the solid fabric of his uniform made Martin shiver as it rubbed on his back. Douglas wrapped his arms around Martin, who suddenly didn't feel so naked any more. "Remember you asked me what I saw in the mirror, and I didn't reply?"
"Mm."
"This is what I saw."
"Me, naked?"
"You," Douglas emphasised. "You don't have to fill my every wish and fantasy, Martin. I love you any way you are."
"I— Oh." The blush spread over Martin's face. "I know. I believe you. This was my way of saying: me too."