In the Closet (boy x boy)

21. Corsets Are Unappreciated [M]

Sunday, April 16th

Tavish won that fucking competition his father was nagging him about. He reiterates it many times. Tavish might have dealt with the devil to wield such magic at the tips of fingers. He doesn't say anything about that but I contemplate it just as many times. Tavish might have a heart, that I only consider it once.

"Will," is how he calls out to me.

"Oh, Tav," is how I respond, now locked inside the office with him.

I size him up, enjoying the tightness of his clean black pants and the corset vest he's wearing over a white dress shirt. His lean waist allows the clothing to dip into a delicate curve. Corsets are unappreciated, there's no denying that unless you're legally blind or have admittedly bad taste. I finally surrender to something I suspected for a while, Tavish is the most gorgeous person I've ever laid my eyes on. So I decide I have every right to lay my hands on him as well. I gingerly raise some fingers to stroke his slightly swollen cheek. He sighs, lets his eyes shut tight and leans into my touch like he longed for it. But he didn't because why would he?

He must perceive some dismay in me because he feels the need to provide reassurance.

"It'll heal. My skin's thick," he tells me, his eyes fluttering back open.

I lose myself in their lively blue, drown in the depths of him. Then, as he drags my hand towards his mouth to peck it gently, I resurface. My desire for him does the same, it awakens from where it remained after I shoved it back inside me last Friday.

"No doubts." He searches my gaze and finds it because, in secret, it was seeking his too.

I feel time freeze around me, static against my skin and under my feet, as we observe each other with shared fascination. I near his mouth with mine. He growls a warning that reminds me of thunder, I ignore it with a peck at the sides of his lips and he snaps. He molds his lips against mine, the thunder rumbles louder. Delightful lightning ripples through me as he settles a thigh between my crotch. The gentleness that animated him is gone. All that's left is piling frustration and a brutal form of lust.

Fingers exploring me like I was an uncharted field, Tavish tugs at my lower lip with his teeth. I hum against him. His nice hands slide down my back to cup my bum and fondle it. I break away in surprise.

"So rough," I comment.

"You're not complaining," he says, accent thickening as the heat rises. And it's so hot—he's so hot—I might get a heat stroke.

I feel the need to be closer than close to him, to share a skin with him, to feel all of him. I hold the edge of the corset vest he's wearing and shove him back to me. Our mouths collide, our lips reclaim each other. His jaw shifts and he grabs a fistful of my hair at the back of my head. His other hand knead my bum harder. Our union deepens, like a colour darkening a few shades, like plunging a few meters lower in the sea. His tongue grazes mine and I taste the coarse tang of whisky. I moan into his mouth, curl closer into him, crotch flush against his thigh. Our teeth clank and my breath runs out. I jolt back. We pant to a similar rhythm, apart yet still somewhat united. When he regains his breath and licks his lip, eyes inviting back in, I decide to break the silence.

"You okay?" I ask, voice shaky. He seems utterly taken aback that I care enough to ask. He even laughs to defuse the seriousness of what I witnessed.

"'Course. Won that fucking competition anyway. Was glorious." I don't doubt it yet I don't feel he's that unaffected. But I won't force him to tell me any more.

The hand on my bum leaves, the disappointment that racks me is unprecedented. He undoes my bow-tie and chucks it wherever. I almost argue that it's my favourite but decide against it.