Chapter Text
They fit a little low and a little too snug, red bow in the front and black lace along both narrow hips. The only tell that something didn’t belong there was a lump, pinkish tip resting above the frills of the top. Otherwise, it looked like any girl wearing a set of frilly dark panties, wanting to be extra playful that day. Except it was most definitely not a girl, in this case. It was Dave, standing with his hands on his hips, glaring down at a pile of clothing on the foot of his boyfriend’s bed.
Oh, no, this would not do at all.
“Dude. Really? This isn’t gonna work, man, you PROMISED.”
“Dave, I know I promised, it’s jus-“
“You promised we’d go to the movies.”
“We still are.”
“You promised we’d go to the mall and troll around the bookstore.”
“We still are, I ju-“
“You also promised we’d go to a café and get some coffee and some lunch.”
“Dave, cut me some slack, we’re still doing all of those things! I just don’t think that I ca-“
“John, the entire basis of today was that you were going to dress up with me. We were going to dress up, and we were going to be fabulous, and we were going to have a fucking ball today and take a –ton- of pictures. That’s literally the entire backbone of our date today, and has been for weeks! Please? We’ve been planning this day for ages, dude..” The blonde was still staring at, but refusing to touch, the outfits John had tossed up in offer. They were as far away from frills and lace as one could possibly go.
There were slacks and vests, a suit, nice jeans and t-shirts, preppy things with starched collars. All decidedly masculine and in dark colors, form fitting. Sure, they’d look good for pictures, and they’d likely make them appear to be quite the fine piece of ass, but this was not what the deal had been.
“I know, Dave, it’s just.. I. Well. Come on, man, someone I know will see me!”
“So? They say anything, I’ll kick their ass hard enough they’ll be tasting stiletto for a week.”
“Oh my God, you’re going to wear stilettos..?” He voice got quiet for a moment, eyes wide, trying to imagine Dave in a pair of red spiked heels, straps around his narrow feet. Maybe with something as casual as a set of jeans, or a short skirt with black leggings.. FOCUS, JOHN. “I know you would, just. Come on, man, my Dad doesn’t know about this yet. I kinda wanted to be the one to tell him, not some random prick in a park.”
“We weren’t going to a park, but now that you mention it, we might be able to get some awesome pictures there.” Ever the photo-op man, Dave grinned at the prospect, fingers curling as though he were already holding the camera. Already imagining having John curl timidly towards a pale barked tree and hike a leg up, flash some flouncy under skirts and tanned thigh. Already imagining sequestering him off behind a bush somewhere to see what else was under those skirts and initiate John into a little kink he’d wanted to develop most of his life.
“Dave? Dave. No.” Yes, John, speak to your puppy of a boyfriend. That’ll teach him to piddle on your parade. “You’re not listening to me. I can’t! Someone will recognize me!” His pleading was turning to a complaining whine, tormented by the idea. Of course he wanted to dress up with Dave, wanted to pull on the dress he’d helped him obtain and enjoy his company. The idea of being recognized, however, taunted for his interests publicly? Possibly word getting back to his father before he could talk to him and let him understand things? No way. Too high of a risk.
“John. You seem to have forgotten the one aspect of proper attire. I am disappointed that you think I’d do a photo shoot for a full outfit, a full look, specifically, without every fucking piece in place.” The blonde made quite a show, sassy in his underwear, narrow foot tapping as he stared down his taller friend standing sheepishly rubbing at his elbows. “Trust me. Nobody will recognize you. Just put on some tunes, and we’ll get dressed and go. Okay?”
“But..”
“No buts. Seriously, John, I can assure you. I just need you to trust me.. please?”
The sass was dropped at the clear look of apprehension on the others face, shaking his head. Silly John, getting intimidated by someone who would rather chew off his own leg than ever put him purposefully into a bad situation. He still looked upset, rubbing his elbows till they were red and angry against his tanned skin, blue eyes narrowed in thought, looking anywhere but forward. That, in itself, was quite the feat of will considering how one member of the room was dressed.
“Hey. Hey, come here.. I’m sorry I got so annoyed, but really, I just need you to –trust- me. You’re going to look adorable, nobody will recognize you. I’ve got this. You’re safe with me, okay..? Come on, let’s just go have a good time together.” The words were spoken softly, soothing as the slim fingers that threaded around his waist to clasp behind his back. Light kisses at his collarbone, trying to maneuver him down lower for easier access, a more direct kiss, light pecks on his cheeks and jaw.
Well, when he put it that way.
“Alright, alright! I give. Just.. Seriously, anything happens, you’re not allowed in my pants for a month.”
“Fair enough.”
“Or in a skirt.”
“WHOA now. What? Time out. Hold the damn phone. Let me put a pause on this shit to call NASA because, Houston, we have a major problem.”
“For a month. Anything happens to me that could have been prevented by not going out in public in the area I live, you’re stuck in jeans and slacks for a month. Even in your own room.” The challenge was on purpose, wanting a definite insurance that, frankly, he didn’t quite feel yet. Something that would let them suffer together in some way instead of just tension and probable guilt. Give them something to look forward to, when the skirts could go back on.
“You drive a hard bargain.. Good thing I’m mighty fuckin’ certain that this’ll be fine,” Dave said as he pulled away. Dropping into an easy crouch, Dave rustled in one of the bags he’d carted over, coming back up with something dark in a strange looking net. With a flick of the wrist and some careful preening, he displayed what the bag had been protecting. It was all ringlet curls and doll accents, short enough to not be gaudy while still pulling off the perfect overall shape. The blackish blue tint indicated that, most likely, it was for John.
“A wig?” John asked. “I’ve never worn a wig before. It’ll look weird!”
“Oh ye of little faith, just let the master work,” Dave cooed as he adjusted some strands, wanting to avoid tangling as he gently set it aside. A piece of what at first he thought to be pantyhose was tossed to John, with the request that he put it on after he got dressed. Well. That was certainly a game changer. Nobody would suspect it was him, if this ended up looking right, after all.
Stooping, John clicked into his music files on his computer, selecting a few volumes and putting it on random, turning up the volume. Electric swing began to pour from the speakers, lightening the previously tense mood, giving them a better background to relax and get ready. Off went the jeans and t-shirt, the blue socks with the hole in the heel that he’d never throw away because Rose made them for him one year and he’s too lazy to repair them.
It was show time.
Dave had pulled on a slip, a garter belt for future stockings and his favorite black crinoline petticoat, puffy as a tutu once it hung down his hips, giving him a more noticeable shape than willowy and straight. It was the best thing to dance in. As John tugged down his boxers, Dave had already begun to move around, building up a natural high for their afternoon, swinging his hips and swaying his arms. It was, admittedly, an attractive sight, platinum hair wisping in the kicked up breeze as he spun and bounced, pink in the face. Nobody else ever got to see him like this, reserved, stoic. John was apparently, aside from Dave’s brother, the only person who knew how very young he was at heart.
In short order the brunette was similarly outfitted in proper underclothes, giving a spin as the track changed, sneaking a peek in his mirror to see the motion of the skirt stopping to bunch up on itself. Dave, being more practiced, was able to hook up the tights for him, helping him roll the white bits up to his thighs. Dave was also more practiced in making him absolutely stew in sexual frustration, making certain to stroke at his inner leg or the front of his groin with every pass of nimble fingers, using nothing more than ‘Oops’ as an excuse.
The dress itself, John though, was the absolute best part of everything. It was royal blue, drawn at the front like a curtain spreading to the back, tiered with two rows of white and blue ruffles in the front. Paler blue laces crossed his stomach and chest, ending at a dainty bow beneath a frilled collar. With the crinoline in place, it ruffled up high to his thighs, held aloft by the soft layers beneath. He found that, while the sweet Lolita was nice, he preferred more vibrant colors. This dress, for instance, matched his eyes to the exact shade. John hoped to find fabric in this shade someday to make bedding or something with.
Dave was, as usual, easily dressing himself in his favored color scheme. Red, black, and white always seemed to work best on him, be it elegant or gothic styles. Anything reflecting the card suits, really. His outfit had a more fitted waist, requiring a simple corset to be worn underneath it to accentuate his hips, not drawn very tight. A proper corset won’t give you discomfort if it’s worn the way it’s intended, such as for waist training.
The black topmost layer guarded deep red levels beneath, layered into three tiers up front, and separated by black ruffles. A layer of white ruffle just below his collarbones would match, most likely, a headband of sorts that he’d wear. It didn’t seem to have more than just the button sleeves, though knowing Dave and his brother, he’d found a way to accessorize it further with custom parts.
He drew the line at heavier makeup a few times, before finally reaching a halfway point with Dave. False eyelashes, eye makeup, blush and lipstick for the photo shoot. His skills with Photoshop could handle other problems that might arise, placing the photographs into a lovely middle ground of bisque doll and model within a few hours of filtering and adjustment. Makeup done with much squirming and complaining from John, he tugged the wig cap into place.
Or, at least, tried to. A few fuddled attempts and Dave was sighing, papping his hands away so he could work, pinning it into place for him. The wig itself felt.. odd. It was a good quality one, so there was none of that odd plastic crinkle of shifting costume shop hair follicles. It was warm and heavy on his head, weighing it down with the delicate curls and waves that Dave was lovingly tending to. Once pinned, sprayed with a fine mist of hairspray to keep the final shape in place, he stepped back to get a good look, framing his fingers like a camera lens.
He smirked.
“YUP. I’m a genius, perfection. Absolutely lovely, you’re a vision. I deserve a medal for being awesome, so it says in the heavens, so shall it be DONE, Dave Strider you rock. Come on, babe, work it a bit.”
A quick look in the mirror verified that, yes, it did look amazing. He looked like a toy. The idea of putting two lines aside his mouth to look like a marionette surfaced, maybe the two of them matching hand in hand, at least for a few shots. Maybe he’d mention it another time, or when they got back to his room. John had a feeling pictures like that would look much better in his bedroom, where they could slump just so.
Also where, knowing their track record since starting to date a month and a half prior, it would be able to escalate without worry. Dressing up always made them lower their inhibitions, feeling better about themselves. About everything, really. They felt attractive and amazing and the world was a special shade of blue meant just for the two of them, and they’d press close and graze their hands along each other, and.. well. Generally speaking, that was their undoing.
Dave himself, apparently, was not going to be joining John with the wig option, preening his hair just so, precisely laying strands over top his shades to accentuate them. He was fairly androgynous naturally, and quite self-satisfied about dressing up in public, so there was nothing for him to hide. His stance had changed to a more confident one, clasping the upper edge of the mirror with a hand to balance as he leaned forward and applied a few dabs of a dark red lipstick. A set of matching, detached sleeves had been pulled on already, secured into place just above his elbows to drape down to his wrist. The white accent was mimicked with a headband and matching white shoes. He was lovely and delicate, dangerous and all too easy to stare at.
Especially when he bent forward like that and stuck out his neck. Good lord, look at the curve of his shoulder, the splashes of light freckl-
No, you knock that off right the fuck now, John, or you’ll never make it out of the house. Let alone out of your bedroom. He could just see the picture they’d make, wig snatched off, lipstick stuck everywhere, panties down around those slim ankles as John lifted him against a wall and ground close. Dark marks on his neck from tasting him, biting him, marking him..
Whoa, okay, off topic there, focus. Focus. Will Egbert Jr. away, for the love of fuck, PLEASE go DOWN.
“You okay, dude?”
Fuck.
“Yeah, Dave, I’m alright, just..”
“Just what.. excited?” The knowing grin, setting his hand onto his own lower back in a pose, rolling his back and hips in a wave to catch his attention. As if he didn’t already have it. At John’s pained whine, hands slipping to cross on the front of his skirt, Dave chuckled and stopped his torment. “Alright, alright. Come on. Put on your shoes and let me put your wallet in my bag. I think we’re ready to go now.”
Go now meant walk outside quickly and get to Dave’s truck, roll down the windows a bit to avoid cooking, and back out fast enough to make John regret having oatmeal for breakfast. Tension clawed at him already. Would the neighbors know? Had they seen? Would he be able to write it off as just a prank, or a phase, when it was so lovingly detailed to him?
…would they think he was pretty? What if. What if they liked it? Thought it looked good on him?
Fat chance. Not something he wanted to find out right now, thanks, if ever. His neighbors were older, a bit closed minded, verging on homophobic judging from some of the pointed stares and glares he got whenever he gave Dave a peck outside or they held hands.
The movie was more of a production than actually something shocking and new. They were stared at and approached for pictures in the lobby, nobody the wiser to who they were or where they were from. That, or in the know and not caring in the slightest, being closer to a large city. Their execution was tasteful and, dare he say it? Elegant to behold, each grasping their skirts and moving in unison to show off the best parts, John going so far as to kneel down and let a very small girl touch the puffed curls on his head, grinning broadly when she said it was better than the Disney princesses.
The best part was, most definitely, lurking in the very back of the theater feeding each other popcorn. They’d both seen the movie before, had seen clips online as well, knew the pauses in the conversations and the rises in the background music. They held hands through the entire first half, eating their snacks and talking in quiet voices, joking, comparing what was on the screen to what they’d found out about it online.
There was the character who had broken his hand before shooting began, so they had to write him in wearing a brace and suffering from carpal tunnel. There was the man who was allergic to his makeup, unable to play the main leading monster, delegated to sidekick. The woman who, every time she showed up on screen, made both of them shiver with amazement with how passionately she delivered her lines. How she made them give a shit about the subject, despite knowing it all by heart already.
Through the second half, things got complicated. The arm rest had gone up then, empty popcorn and soda set aside on the floor to be tossed out when they left, spare kernels littering the sticky floor. Dave tucked his legs up, folding them as graceful as a ballerina, laying on his back to spread out across John’s lap. They had privacy, and precisely forty five minutes until the credits rolled.
Fifteen minutes of touching each other’s faces and smiling stupidly, twining their fingers to rub the whorls of their fingertips together. Fifteen minutes of subtle stroking along each other’s torsos, fingers pressing into the fabric to tease the skin there. Re-learning the muscle patterns, the soft skin, the heat. Fifteen minutes of being absolutely connected at the face, writhing, trying not to make a scene.
Trying not to make a mess of themselves.
Failing, clutching at each other as the credits rolled, legs squirming restlessly. They needed privacy. They needed a closet, a bathroom, an empty hallway, ANYTHING. The pressure was painful at this point, needing relief, nipping at one another’s lips, tempted to leave hickeys on the displayed necks.
The only thing that prevented them from throwing themselves to the floor and touching the aching flesh that begged to be sated was the lights coming up, illuminating the seating area. Yeah, no, best knock that off, huh?
“Ah.. Hey,” John coughed. “How about we go ahead and get that lunch, huh? I’d kill for a Panini right now.”
Dave took his time sitting up, standing and dusting himself off to avoid residue, clinging bits of food or fluff. All those fun little things that public places where children were allowed to set food with unguarded food tended to attract.
“Sure, babe, let’s kick it. I think I’ll get my books another time.. I’d rather go get some lunch and coffee, then head out to get some dessert.”
Fuck, he loved it when Dave promised things like that, eyes lidded as he donned his shades, a knowing grin on those painted lips. A simple word, a twist of his hand, a mere beckon of his fingers and John would have bent over backwards when he promised things that way. Give him the moon in a brown paper bag.
They settled on an indoor place for lunch, not wanting to be exposed to the weather too long. They had enough melting for the afternoon, thanks. John settled on an odd combo for his sandwich, turkey and rosemary, feta cheese and honey to all be washed down with a tall glass of iced tea. Dave got a club sandwich, thankful they hadn’t stacked the parts too high, not wanting to drip sauce on his lap. A window seat and barstools allowed them the sunlight and view without the inconvenience, continuing their quiet conversations.
Till inspiration struck, at least.
Dave paused in his eating, dabbing at his lips with his hand as he tipped down and snatched up his bag, rummaging around until he pulled out his camera. Removing the protective cap, he set about putting it into working order, hopping off his stool.
“No, no, hold that angle for a minute. There, with your arm up. Perfect. Beautiful. Just.. Yeah, look at me. Chin up. Smile a little.”
John was, by now, used to this. The directions were simple to follow, turning this way and that in his chair for Dave to scurry and take pictures, adjust folds of lace or strands of hair, get the light just right behind him.
“Perfect, gorgeous, yes. Yes, good. Just like an angel, fuck, just hold that one right there..”
“Why don’t you both hold it and I’ll take the pictures?”
John startled and jerked his chin up to look behind Dave a tall man who’d taken it upon himself to wander over. He seemed rather normal, well groomed, cocky as the day was long. At oldest, he’d have guessed he was in his late twenties. Far too old to be offering to take pictures of people who looked like teenaged girls he randomly happened upon in a restaurant. Way bad context there, dude.
Dave turned around, camera still in hand, to size him up. He was taller than the blonde by a good six inches, even with the heels, stepping too close, a little too interested.
“Nah, thanks. This camera is my baby and so is the model, so sorry.” At least he was polite about it, ignoring him as he turned to face John once more, raising a hand to gesture at the glass of tea. The sun looked amazing through it, reflecting the scant bits of light into a jewel-like reddish brown.
He needed to stop.
“Hey, bitch, don’t ignore me.”
“Dude, fuck off. Not interested. Never will be now. Beat it, douche.”
John had set the glass down now, reaching for Dave’s bag. They’d paid up front at the register when they got the food, after all. If a hasty exit was needed, they’d take it. He wanted no drama, no problems, no upset. Last thing he needed was to have to go to a fucking police station in a dress for a lineup or something.
John was, obviously, such an optimist when it came to things like this.
When Dave continued to ignore him, John standing up to try explaining that they should just leave, the man crossed the line. He grabbed hold of Dave’s upper arm hard enough to leave a bruise, yanking him to turn around, getting up in his face.
“I said don’t ignore me, you fuckin’ gussied up little who-“
That was as much as he got out before his world erupted into painful red, head jerking to the side from the impact of a tanned fist to the cheek. It wouldn’t be enough to do much damage beyond a headache, some bruising. Maybe a black eye if he hit high enough. Mangrit was dangerous when used improperly, after all, and he just wanted the guy to let Dave go before it escalated dangerously.
Okay, maybe that was going too far. Fuck. FUCK. Making a strangled, panicked sound in the back of his throat, John snatched Dave by the hand and took off for the door, his bag beating against his legs as he ran. Running in heels should be an Olympic sport, by most standards. A man running in heels when he’s only recently learned how to handle them properly? Get this man an award.
“DUDE, you really let that dick have it, didn’t you!” The blonde didn’t seem to be too bothered by this turn of events, grabbing his bag from his boyfriend to dig out the keys for his truck. Both of them piled in, hauling ass out of the parking lot as the creep ran out screaming that they had no right, that they shouldn’t dress that way if they didn’t want the advances. Screaming for them to come back so he could call the cops as Dave flipped him off in the rearview mirror, chuckling.
While a Strider might be used to something similar to this happening, Egbert’s were not that used to it. Not at all. John looked close to a panic attack, rubbing at his hand, staring wide eyed out the window as they hauled ass back to John’s house in silence. John from terror, Dave from not wanting to freak the guy out any more than he already was.
It all came out when they were back in his room though.
“Oh my GOD why did I do that?! That was totally illegal, holy fuck, just. Oh my GOD.” John was frantic, kicking his heels into the corner of his room, reaching up to claw off his wig, the wig cap. Fingers curled into his hair to mess it up to its usual unruly state, tugging at it in his fretting. “He called the police or the people there did, and they’ll call my dad, and he’ll know, and oh my GOD!”
“John, chill. Just take deep breaths, okay? In and out, hold five, out ten, yadda yadda inner peace. Just breathe for me, alright? Air is your friend, dude, don’t block it out.” Dave shooshed at him, stepping out of his own heels and reaching up to settle his arms onto his broader shoulders, trying to soothe him. “You were alright. It was a bit of a bad decision, yeah, but the guy was threatening me. If I was anyone else, I might have been pissing myself terrified. That guy crossed a line, and you reacted the first way that came to mind. You made him fucking stop.”
“But DAVE!”
“Don’t fuckin’ ‘but Dave’ me, dude. You were alright. If I was alone, I get the feeling he’d have tried something worse, okay? Maybe now he’ll think twice being leading with his cock.” As he spoke he’d begun to nuzzle at his chest, toying with strands of his hair from the back of his neck. “Come on.. It’s over. We’re back here safe and sound in your room, with the house to ourselves. Don’t let one waste of space ruin your entire day.. Remember the movies? That was fun, right?”
“..Yeah. Yeah, it was fun. Even though we already knew every part.”
“How about when I almost fell off the seats because you grabbed my ass?”
“You started that, not me, man. You don’t just slide your hand up a man’s skirt in public and think you’ll get away totally free. That’s just not done.” Blue eyes grew more serious now that he’d stopped hiccup breathing, started paying closer attention to what Dave was actually doing.
In this case, he was re-enacting what had happened in the theaters back row, hands slipping from his shoulders down towards his waist, curving around the sides to go down his thighs to the bottom of the skirt. Grin widening, he slipped his fingers upwards, underneath the soft fabric, rubbing at his thighs, the clip that held up the tights.
“Oh, really? Why not?”
“B-because.. Because it’s not. You don’t get away totally free, especially when you get caught doing it. There’s always going to be something that happens as a result. Namely, you almost busting your gorgeous ass on the floor.”
“Oh? Something happens as a result, huh?”
“Yeah.” Oh, God, he was being baited so hard. It was an easy tell, too, he knew exactly how it was happening. Exactly what Dave was doing to make it happen. Playing right into his hands was somehow the most gratifying thing in the world, since he didn’t have to guess what his motives were. There was nothing fuddled, for example, about feeling himself getting slowly pushed back towards his bed by a blonde who had not lost his earlier appetite for dessert.
“Mind explaining to me in more detail?” The pushing was harder now, trying to make him go back, two gangly teenaged boys half wrestling as they stood in the middle of his room. “Wouldn’t wanna go breaking some huge rule and bounce a check my ass can’t cash.”
“You being suggestive on purpose, or is that just a total coincidence?”
“I’m a Strider.”
“That’s not a reason!”
“I know, it’s a cool sounding excuse though, huh.”
“Well,” John said, finally beginning to push back with more force, changing the direction. Bed? Nope, sorry Dave, not happening. They were on a one way trip towards his door, surging forwards till the pale boy was thoroughly pressed against it, pushing at his shoulders. “You could say that the automatic reaction would be total derailment of your plans.”
“And if this was the plan?”
“If you say ‘to give you a boner’, Dave, I will punch you so hard in the dick your grandmother would feel it.”
“I’m not gonna! Though, since you mentioned it..”
“Dave.”
He was making it hard to focus, since apparently he quite enjoyed being pinned, beginning to roll his hips suggestively forwards to rustle their skirts together. Lately Dave was the more aggressive one, usually leading them on, luring John into certain places he wanted to try. They hadn’t actually had penetrative sex yet, though they’d damn well gotten close with some of these latest sessions.
The closest they’d come had been half a week prior, both stripped down in Dave’s bed, rolling around like a couple of dogs in heat. Dave had lifted his legs to adjust the cradle of John’s hips and he’d slipped, prodding him sharply. Then.. sort of drawing back and prodding at him again, testing the waters. They’d been panting open mouthed, staring each other down with flushed faces as he’d moved. Had begun to moan in synch when he reached a hand down to guide himself, applying more pressure, rutting against him.
They’d barely pulled apart from eachother to begin a frantic search for a condom and some lubricant when his brother had come home, slamming the front door loud enough to make them both yelp. That had been the end of their fumblings, though apparently the feeling was still quite mutual to want to explore further. Quite apparent indeed if that leg lifting towards his hip was indeed Dave’s, the fingers curling up into his hair to tug him down were his as well.
John bent down, growling quietly in the back of his throat as he did so, seeking to hook behind Dave’s knees and lift him up. His back would brace against the wall, legs spreading to accommodate him, forming a perfect counter balance to keep him safe. Not that the brunette would ever let him fall, if he had anything to say about it.
Though, if he kept gyrating like that, he very well may.
For a time it was nothing but the rustling of fabric from the crinolines being shoved against each other, legs seeking hips, hands tugging at hair and stockings. John was keeping himself quite clothed right now, thank you, and Dave was just going to have to deal with it. It being the rhythmic rutting they’d begun against one another, solid lumps hidden under the layers of cloth seeking its mate out, wanting to stimulate it.
“For the love of FUCK, can we just go to the bed now?” Dave was flushed in the face, panting, sunglasses skewed from where they’d been busy smashing their faces together in what was turning out to be a massive make-out session. Up against a wall. With his boyfriend working on removing his panting while refusing to let him return the favor.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?!”
Bitching wasn’t important now. Nothing was in the haze of motion that followed. John slowly brought him down the door to the floor, scooting back till he was stretching out on it, lowering to kiss at his neck and collarbones. His grip behind his knees remained, spreading them with his hands as he dipped further downward, ducking up beneath the tent of crinkled fabric to lay his mouth over the head of Dave’s dick, giving it a solid suck.
It wasn’t poetic, or anything amazing, the two of them writhing on the floor, hair mussed. Dave was writhing, moaning, trying to buck his hips upwards towards the hidden shape of John’s face. John was still learning, working hard to avoid his teeth doing any damage, sticking for the most part to teasing along Dave’s length, playing with the head. Massaging his testicles as he licked the slit atop the crown, swiping up the beading liquid.
He was already in pain himself, the panties straining, threatening to break under the strain he was putting on the front. Already, he knew he’d soaked them with precome, hips moving forward eagerly. Anticipating. A questing hand, dampened with spit, was met receptively. Fiercely receptively actually, once the initial surprise had rubbed off, pale flesh pushing back against his hand to let him in.
When Dave finally begged for him to stop, not wanting to come yet, wanting to last through the next step of their evening, they began to race. Off went the delicate dresses and attached sleeves, tripping over themselves to get naked and situated. John couldn’t figure out his garter belt so he just left it, shimmying the damn panties off and throwing them over his shoulder in a way. Dave, more practiced, had left his own on intentionally, yanking open his boyfriend’s bedside table to root around for his recently purchased lube and condom.
Boyscouts motto? Always prepared indeed, given the magnum in its foil wrapper.
Dave knew what he wanted, how fast he wanted it, how badly. The bit of fingering on the floor had been a grand example of how much lube he wanted for this rodeo, and a great incentive to continue ASAP while he was still turned on and throbbing. He gauged, given the condom was lubed as well, a bit more than he used with his vibrator at home. Spreading his legs, he squeezed some out onto his fingers, lowering his hand to set it to work.
John was faced with pulling on the condom, adjusting it to fit correctly, panting steadily with his pulse in his ears. Every time he almost got it perfectly in place, he’d hear shuffling or a moan and get distracted by a lovely, pale little thing writhing in ecstasy on his bed.
Without him.
Oh, that would just not do at all. Not in the slightest.
The material of the tights scratched at his skin as he crawled over the mattress finally, settling back between Dave’s legs, wanting to kiss him. Needing to kiss him. Needing to be close to that warm body that had been driving him insane for the last few hours. The last few days. The last few years, since they’d first fucking met online. All of it was leading towards this one moment.
Fingers tangled in sheets, the discomfort and fumblings of young romance, sharp elbows and narrow hips. Chests heaving to regain air that was quick to be lost again, mouths connected through most of it despite the bag angle. Mouths slipping as they finally buried their faces into each other’s necks, groaning, cursing, moaning. Going with the flow as it threatened to engulf the both of them.
Squeaks of the bed, headboard gently thumping against the wall once a motion was started, the slow thud becoming a steady whack once they began to fall into themselves more. Over eager, they lost the beat a few times, messing up, starting again. Dave clawed John’s back with his nails whenever he started moving at a good angle, John biting down on that creamy neck he’d been wanting a taste of all day.
It had all started at 10pm on a Monday night some weeks prior, two teenaged boys and some Lolita dresses, frotting like the cops would break down their door at any moment. It ended at about 4pm on a Friday afternoon, the same two teenagers sprawled out on a full sized mattress, lips bruised, minds blown. Dave had bite marks on his neck and bruises on his hips from his lover, a faint bruise on his upper arm from a man who’d never even get to see something like this spectacle. John was stoned on bliss, blue eyes shut loosely despite the sting on his back, a certain Striders nails having become quite intimate with him as they’d moved together.
They needed to clean up the room.
They needed to remove the thigh highs somehow, and go shower.
They needed to…
Sleep.