pozzed FLASH! (Ian's Fall)

[Chilighetti]

 

PART ONE

 

“Hey Ian! Looks like I finally found us some work?”

“Oh? What?”

“Prostitutes!”

“WHAT?!”

“Well, 'retail workers' if you wanna get all technical about it. Same difference, we're getting fucked over either way.”

“O...kay...?”

These sorts of interactions were commonplace in Kace and Ian's relationship. In fact, you might call it the bread-and-butter of their day-to-day life. Really, Ian should've been used to it now. But for a, shall we say, more 'reserved' person, his boyfriend's more risque sense of humour still succeeded in making that tan on his face look more like a sunburn, and getting him very interested in looking at the floor. Or a wall. Or anywhere that wasn't eye contact.

“Come on,” Kace laughed, tossing a muscular arm around Ian, pulling the whole 'whopping' 145 pounds of man to his side of the sofa .“It was funny!”

“You know how I feel about those kinds of jokes...”

“Of course! Why do you think I make them?”

“Because you like to see me squirm?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“But why?”

“You want my honest answer?”

“Uh, yea.”

“Because...” Kace continued, arm sliding lower to wrap around Ian's waist. “You're cute as hell when you're flustered.”

Though that remark did nothing to reduce said flustering, it did bring a hint of a smile to Ian's face, one of the few he'd made over the past couple weeks. However, that smile wouldn't last for long as he sighed, blonde hair mingling with his boyfriend's brown locks as he set his head on Kace's shoulder.

“So... Those are the only openings you could find today, huh?”

Likewise, Kace's teasing demeanour also faded, shifting instead into concern.

“Look... I know you're not big on 'people'-y jobs.”

“Kace, I-”

“And I can't blame you. People are dicks.”

“Kace-”

“Don't worry, I'll find us something else and-”

“KACE!”

Though Ian's 'raised voice' was little more than speaking slightly above inside-voice levels, to Kace it was as if a screamo-metal rave was taking place in their tiny living room. Ian never yelled. EVER. To call this a cause for concern would be the understatement of the year.

“It's okay. I'll do it. Just get me the application form.”

“No. You don't have to do some job you hate. There are always other options.”

“Like what? Calling up Mom? Again?”

“Well...”

“C'mon Kace, she's helped out too much already.”

It was true. Since the day they'd rented that sardine-tin apartment, Ian's mother had practically shouldered all their living costs. She didn't mind, all she cared about was that her son found 'a nice young man to settle down with.' Besides, she'd joke, with him majoring in nursing, he'd be paying her back in spades anyways when she got 'so damned old I can't find my teeth no more!'

Yea... Clearly Ian didn't inherit his shyness from his mom's side of the family. Anyways, the point was that even though she didn't mind, Ian sure as hell did. Kace sighed. Getting that guy to take a helping hand was akin to trying to bathe a cat.

“Look... Just think about it, okay? We don't have to decide tonight.”

Ian sighed. Though disappointed, his smarts overruled his emotion. There was no way he could rationally argue with Kace's suggestion.

“Fine,” He acquiesced. “I'll think about it, but I can't promise anything. Now...” Ian paused. He needed something to occupy his mind, any menial task would do. “Would you like some supper?”

“Dude. It's 4:30.”

Ian's baby blues crashed, falling to look at an incredibly fascinating spot of brown carpet.

“So yea!” Kace laughed, delivering a playful and (unintentionally) painful slap to Ian's back.

Baby blues have just taken liftoff, I repeat, baby blues have just taken liftoff.

“You're sure? I don't want you just to do this because of me-”

“Ian. I'm. Hungry.”

“As long as you're certain-EEP!”

Why the 'eep,' you ask? Good question. In case you hadn't already guessed, Ian was rather the quiet type. He was lucky that he made all those (in Kace's opinion) adorable faces whenever they fooled around, because there were mutes who made more sound during intercourse. A good thing Kace, despite his large appetite for such activities, was fairly vanilla, because gagging Ian wouldn't have changed a thing in terms of the, ahem, 'auditory' stimulation. No, the only way, to the best of Kace's knowledge anyway, was to catch the guy by surprise. So, the second he stood up, SWHACK came a second slap! Only this one was a wee bit lower than the shoulder, let's put it that way.

“Damn! Bounce quarters off that thing!” Kace hooted, counting not one, not two, but five ripples in Ian's butt before it finally settled back from extremely bouncy to its regular bouncy state. The display was made easily visible courtesy to a pair of bright blue short shorts. Really, the only reason Ian wore them was because they came free with his last photoshoot, and they couldn't afford to waste. Well that and he knew how much Kace loved it (though not as much as the complimentary Speedo, but that;s a story for another time).

“I know,” Ian sighed, arching an eyebrow as a lazy smile spread across his lips. “You have. I've still got the bruises.”

“Come on man,” Kace  laughed, calling out to Ian as he scampered off to the kitchen. “It was only one!”

“One quarter my ass.”

Dinner was, as usual, a budget feast of tuna melts and baked beans. Protein, fat, and carbs, Kace would say. You couldn't go wrong with that!

Even if it was plain. Even if they'd had it every night for the past week. Even if-

A piano solo blasted from Ian's shirt pocket, snapping both parties out of their daydreaming fugue. Not any piano solo, however, no, his ringtone was the opening to Kace's latest, greatest piece. A little something to remind them of what all this was for in the first place. Ian swallowed his mouthful, fully prepared to  hit decline.... That was until he got a good look at the caller ID.

“Ah, sorry, I gotta take this one,” Ian said, leaving Kace alone with nothing but a half-eaten tuna melt for company as he made a hasty exit, not just out of the kitchen but out of the apartment altogether, off to pace the corridors in some conversation unknown.

That... Wasn't like Ian. Like, at all. Running off like that, hiding conversations... It wasn't cheating, Kace knew that much. His boyfriend barely had enough extroversion to flirt with him, let alone a random stranger. Besides, the guy was paranoid about STDs and all that jazz (majoring in nursing can do that to a person). But, if not that, the question still remained: what was wrong? Whatever the problem was, Kace thought, sipping the last of his beer, he'd gently confront Ian with it that night. After all, their relationship was one constructed of trust. Whatever was bothering Ian, he could talk about it! Little did he know that Ian, who'd just hung up after insisting on consulting Kace before entering any 'binding contracts' was about to do the same thing. 

“Ian, are you-”

“Uhm, so I-”

The pair stopped. Tried again. Stopped again. It seemed every time one opened his mouth to speak, the other chose that moment to do the same, sending them into a hopeless cycle of cutting each other off. Alas, one of the few disadvantages of always travelling the wavelength as your partner.

Though mildly infuriating, it did serve to ease off a good chunk of the tension, and by the end the two were deliberately cutting themselves off just for the joke of it.

“So,” Kace said, finally getting out in front. “I was going to ask... But I feel you've been trying to tell me for the past five minutes.”

“How did you ever guess? Hah, yea, it's... It's Jonathan!”

“Jonathan? That's great news!”

“Not quite... You see he said he was looking for a-” 

Why, might you ask, is that great news? Here's a hint: it has something to do with those short shorts hugging Ian's bubble-for-a-butt backside.

Jonathan had been taking pictures since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Okay, maaaybe not quite that long. Let's just say he'd been at it long enough to to take maternity pictures for Kace's mom. Kace, who was now twenty.

The pictures Jonathan specialized in though... Well, they weren't exactly white-bread pregnancy fare. And he wasn't interested in Kace.

Don't be mistaken, he did not find him an unattractive man. Standing 5'8, 165 pounds, with a surfer dude mop of hair and deep brown eyes, the guy was nothing to sniff at. But Kace wasn't exactly what he (or, more accurately) his customers, were interested in. A bit too muscular. A bit too intimidating. A bit too, as one client put it 'top-ish.' They weren't looking for tall , dark and handsome. No, what they wanted was limber, lithe, and boyish. And that's where Ian came into play. 

With only his height (5'6) and measurements alone, most people would've assumed they belonged to a woman. But anyone who saw him knew better. He looked effeminate in the way only a man could. He was, as Jonathan put it, a-

“-Twink. He said he was looking for a twink.”

“Uh. Yea. And I think he found one,” Kace said matter-of-factly, giving his boyfriend a painfully obvious glance up and down (especially down). “So, what's he got you modelling this time? Bike shorts? Boxers? Speedos? Hmm, yea, I hope it's Speedos.”

“No, it's... It's not anything.”

“What? It's gotta be something! Come on, I won't bite! Now spill.”

“No, Kace, that's what I mean. It's nothing. At least for a couple shots anyway.”

“Ohhh!” The brunette's eyes lit up, finally grasping what Ian was too shy to simply say straight. “That all? Look, Ian, I know how Jonathan works. Private clients with private requests desiring pictures for private use. Like, maybe five people will ever see it at max. I'm not telling you to do it if you're uncomfortable, just... Don't start worrying I'm going to get all jealous or something. The only way you're gonna make me mad is if I don't get a peek at those sweets pics of yours.”

Kace winked, leaning in for a kiss... But Ian pulled away.

“That... That isn't all. I'm... This isn't a solo shoot.”

“Oh...” He said again, more hesitantly that time around.

“Yea....”

“Well...” Kace continued, trying to keep the conversation moving forwards. “What does he want you to do? For the shoot, I mean.”

“Sort of a plotline, actually. Basically, an, uhm, older black... Gentleman seducing a....” Ian reddened, unsure if he wanted to quote Jonathan on the next part. “ 'Soft white twink'.' B-But there's no...”

“Sex?”

“Yea, that.”

“You can use the word sex, you know,” Kace laughed, trying to lighten the mood by, as he loved to do, teasing his boyfriend's 'fragile constitution.' “I mean, with how much we-”

“He said,” Ian interrupted, eager to nip THAT little tangent in the bud. “He wants some close contact. Not heavy petting or anything, just...”

“Regular petting?” The taller of the two joked.

“You could call it that... I guess.”

“You should do it.”

“Huh?”

“Yea, if you want to, go for it,” Kace shrugged. 

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I mean, it's not like you're going to be fucking the guy or something.”

“I-”

“Right, sorry, 'engaging in intercourse,' is what I meant to say. Still, I'd prefer to look in on it myself too, just in case... Y'know... But if you can't do it with-”

“Kace,” Ian said, putting a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder (made somewhat comical by their differing heights). “You being there is the only way I think I CAN do this.”

Kace ended up being the one to send Jonathan the final okay, Ian taking off to do whatever he did when he felt embarrassed (which, let's be real, was probably holing up in the university library with a med textbook). When he arrived back some three hours later, he opened the door to find-

“Hey, 'Rustic country lodging suite with fishing lake and complimentary fresh English breakfast,' or 'Roomy accommodations with...' Huh. Says here 'Nautical feel?'”

“What?” Ian asked, baffled as he stepped into the kitchen, revealing Kace clicking feverishly on his old brick of a laptop. “What are you-”

“Bed and  Breakfasts. See anything you like, just shout. Oh! 'Chic, modern rooms a stone's throw away from the city's premiere entertainment venues?' Sounds like clubbing to me! And I don't know about you, but that's right up my alley! There's also-”

“And why exactly are we looking at BnBs?”

“Uh, for your shoot of course. Duh.”

“My shoot is at three in the afternoon, right?”

“Yea. Hey, this one has a pool! All these things used to have was, I don't know, a bed and a breakfast,” Kace responded, only half listening.

“...And the studio is only an hour out of the city, correct?”

“Yup. Say, which would you prefer: a circular room with square windows or a square room with circular windows?”

“I'd prefer to know why it is you think we need a Bed and Breakfast for a one-day job.”

“Need? No, we don't need it. But it'll be fun.”

“And how are we planning to pay for this?” Ian asked, gesturing to the burnt out lightbulbs gone months without replacing.

“....The shoot,” Kace responded, as if being forced to explain the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, all 250 dollars of it.”

“Two hundred and, hah! 250?” He laughed, slapping the table with nearly enough intensity to send the laptop barrel-rolling to the tiled flooring. “Ian, it's 250 per HOUR! It's an eight hour shoot! Haha! I'm supposed to be the dumb one in this relationship remember?”

“You're not dumb,” Ian said, registering the need to assure his boyfriend before the first part of what was said sunk in. “Wait. Per hour?”

“Yep! Bet you're glad I read the fine print, huh? I-oh!”

Something rare had just happened. No, it wasn't the couple embracing, that was a daily (practically hourly) activity. The oddity at hand here was who was embracing who. Kace always played 'offensive,' as it were, both inside and outside the bedroom, Ian fair better suited to being on the receiving end. Yet, Kace now found himself pinned to his chair by a pair of thin, smooth arms leaning over him from behind.

“Thank you...” Ian whispered. To Kace, it was just money. But to Ian, he knew it was a big deal. Something he wouldn't have to take from his mother or put himself deeper into the indentured servitude that was student loans. He'd always been the type to try to earn his keep. Unemployment was tough on him. Finally, he could go to bed without feeling guilty, like a mooch.

“No...” Kace corrected. “Thank YOU. Now...” He continued, once the pair had enjoyed a couple minutes of comfortable, intimate silence. “You. Me. Six pack in the fridge.”

“Huh?”

“Dude! We're celebrating!”

They had a wild night. And by wild, I mean Ian drank three-quarters of his bottle instead of the usual one half.

“Lightweight,” Kace teased, draining the dregs from his third bottle.

“Well, we can't all be fat like you,” Ian replied, having consumed just enough alcohol to allow him to make playful jabs.

“Hey!” Kace said, pulling up his shirt to reveal a very different kind of six pack. “This look like flab to you?”

“Hmm. I think I'll need to get a feel of it myself before I can make any final conclusions.”

Ian? Flirting? Was... Was he somehow sloshed already? There was no way he'd-

“But... I shouldn't. You're clearly intoxicated. It would be taking advantage of a vulnerable situation.”

And there was the Ian that Kace knew.

“You can take advantage, I don't mind!”

Ian sighed. “Yes, that is what a drunk person would say.”

“Dude! Watch!” Kace whined, performing the finger-to-nose sobriety test. Alas, he missed the dead centre, falling slightly closer to the left nostril than the right. For most people, that would've been more than enough to prove that one was still overall competent. But, in case you haven't already guessed, Ian wasn't most people. “See! Sober! S-O-B-E-R! Mostly.”

“Alright. Look, it's getting late. I need-”

“Your beauty sleep.”

“-My rest or I'll be too tired to get anything done tomorrow. My courseload isn't going to review itself.”

“But-”

“And if you still feel this way in the morning, we'll do something about it then, promise.

“Pinky swear?”

“Make yourself a cup of coffee.”

Kace made something between a grumble and a laugh. It was a strange sound, and one he'd only started producing after dating Ian. That guy could be so risk-averse that he made one want to throttle and protect him at the same time. Basically, the kind of frustrating one can't help but love.

That's why, after being left alone with his thoughts (for Ian was readying for bed, no doubt flossing his teeth and cleaning under each nail), Kace found something that just didn't seem quite right. With a payout of 2000 dollars, it made total sense why Ian would swallow his nerves and get in front of the lens. But... When he made the decision, he thought he was only getting 250...

Kace shrugged. Maybe Ian was right. Maybe he really was drunk.

Now I know you're probably all on the edge of your seats right now. Did he or did he not live up to his promise to Kace the next morning? Well, I assure you, he did. For four hours straight, as a matter of fact. Ian could still... Sort of stand afterwards? But it was a good thing they hadn't done the deed the day of the shoot, or else the poor man might've needed a walker just to get around the set!

 

To Be Continued....

 

 

(AUTHOR'S NOTE:

 

Hello! I'm new to this site so I don't know if these are customary, so I'll attach one here in the first part and no more after. The story you are reading is a commissioned piece, and my buyer suggested I post it here. The story is currently complete, and per their request, I will be releasing it in parts. I am a female writer, so I apologize if sometimes my portrayal of the male homosexual experience comes across as 'off.' I hope you can enjoy regardless!)

[negchaserlooking]

Looking forward to the next part

[billy88666]

I struggled reading this 1st chapter and couldn't quite put my finger on it until I read your postscript.  The set up wasn't a bad one but I just knew there was something off as I was reading it.  I felt that it was written by a young or inexperienced writer. By inexperienced, I don't mean that your writing wasn't accomplished. They always say that a writer should write about what they know if they want to avoid it sounding contrived or stilted.

It's difficult to write about something that you haven't experienced personally. It's the same for a man trying to write in detail about childbirth. It just didn't scan as believable for me. It was too wordy. Your attempt to "flesh out" the characters with the backstory about the mother was irrelevant to your prospective audience, as was a lot of the other detail.

If you want to take a look at Losolent's writing here it may help. He is truly gifted when it comes to getting the perfect balance of detail and narrative. His characters are skillfully written and credible.

I hope I haven't offended you as I don't mean to offer criticism without attempting to be constructive and I truly wish you well with the remainder of you story.

[Sphincter]

I rather enjoyed the first part of this story!  Very much detail and one can feel with the characters.

 

As for writing something one has not experienced, the above poster makes little sense with his remark. 

 

How many writers have written about murder, violence, bank robberies, crime and much else, without ever having experienced it!

 

So far, a great read!  Looking forward to the next Chapter.

[Chilighetti]

1 hour ago, billy88666 said:

I struggled reading this 1st chapter and couldn't quite put my finger on it until I read your postscript.  The set up wasn't a bad one but I just knew there was something off as I was reading it.  I felt that it was written by a young or inexperienced writer. By inexperienced, I don't mean that your writing wasn't accomplished. They always say that a writer should write about what they know if they want to avoid it sounding contrived or stilted.

It's difficult to write about something that you haven't experienced personally. It's the same for a man trying to write in detail about childbirth. It just didn't scan as believable for me. It was too wordy. Your attempt to "flesh out" the characters with the backstory about the mother was irrelevant to your prospective audience, as was a lot of the other detail.

If you want to take a look at Losolent's writing here it may help. He is truly gifted when it comes to getting the perfect balance of detail and narrative. His characters are skillfully written and credible.

I hope I haven't offended you as I don't mean to offer criticism without attempting to be constructive and I truly wish you well with the remainder of you story.

No worries, I'm not offended in the slightest! As a female, I know I'm not fully able to capture the male homosexual experience, and I also know this is a website by-and-for men, I'm more than happy to listen to criticism (since my being here is somewhat of an imposition in-and-of-itself).

 

As far as the things with the mother character go, I was trying to illustrate the personalities my buyer wanted his characters to have (establishing early on Ian's loyalty, work-ethic, and guilt around taking handouts). It was part of the request that I try to flesh the characters However, I agree I was clunky in my portrayal. 

 

You're also correct that I am a young writer. I'm only about a year into adulthood, so I lack the experience those 10-20 years my senior possess. Which is why I do my best to practice a lot and read the works of others. I'll definitely take a peek at the writer you suggested!

 

I appreciate your critique! The only thing I have to say is if I wrote what I knew, I'd make some pretty dull stories. But, who knows? Maybe I need a bit more time in the 'real world' to make my writing pop!

[Chilighetti]

PART TWO... ((NOTE. NO SEX PRESENT IN CHAPTER))

 

By the time the sun rose that Friday morning, Ian had already been up for hours. Why? Packing, of course! Everything needed to be organized, put away, checked, and double checked. That way they'd be certain to bring all the necessities.

“Ugh...” Kace groaned, waking to the sound of zippers and buckles. The first thing he saw opening his crusty eyes was not one, not two, but three suitcases packed to their limits. Kace didn't even know they had enough stuff to fill three suitcases in the first place! Now it was his turn to be the baffled one.

“What the... What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“For what? A trip to Mars?”

“Might as well be.”

“Dude, we're gonna be gone what? Two days? And I'm pretty sure Jon will provide clothes for the shoot!” Kace laughed, laugh turning to an awkward chuckle as his groggy brain remembered the nature of today's job.

“I know. That's what I'm afraid of.”

“Look, Ian,” Kace said, blanket falling and exposing his bare chest as he propped himself up on his elbows. “You really don't have to do this. Jon's a chill guy. I'm sure if you call and say-”

“And we really need  2000 dollars. As long as you're there, I can handle it. Now,” Ian continued, changing the subject to something that didn't make him want to crawl out of his skin. “Which do you think will stand up to the chlorine better? Trunks or my wetsuit?”

Kace smirked. “Speedo.”

“Christ, what is it with you and your Speedo obsession?”

“What? Professional swimmers wear them, so they must be good with chlorine! Just trying to be helpful!”

“Right,” Ian gave his boyfriend an eye roll and a smile, tucking the wetsuit into one of the seemingly endless compartments. “I'm going to warm up the car. See you outside.”

“I-I'm not even awake yet man!”

“Then,” Ian said, never losing that smug little smile. “You'd better go get dressed.”

Though Kace griped, 'warming up the car' gave him a good half hour to change, (not) comb his hair, inhale a toaster strudel made of real 'food byproduct' and get out the door with enough time to forget his sunglasses twice on the way!

Rumour had it the vehicle was once a Chevrolet, but Frankencar there had so many parts replaced that the only ones who knew for sure what it once was were it and God. And, well, let's just say it started about as well you'd expect from an auto nicknamed 'Frankencar.'

As fate would have it for our dear Kace, the only clothes not buried in a suitcase somewhere was a tight-fitting orange t-shirt and beige running shorts that did little to protect whatever trace of modesty was left in the man. Kace had a sneaking suspicion this wasn't an accident. Ian's suitcase still lay on the bed. And his Speedo was still in the closet. So our brown-haired friend did what any responsible boyfriend would do: swapped the unsuited wetsuit for a more, ahem, 'fitting' piece. Just because he didn't want the pool chemicals to ruin the former's delicate fabric. Yes. That was certainly his only motive.

After some key turning, break pedalling, too many 'Pull ze switch, Igor!' jokes, a few prayers and a good thrashing, Frankencar was finally on the move, going down a few familiar morning streets before turning off in the direction of the highway.

However, the shoot wasn't until three. In the afternoon. So why then had the pair set off at the crack of dawn? Officially, to settle into the BnB, but the real reason was so-

“Now you have no excuse to speed.”

Kace grumbled.

“Because we have all day to get there,” Ian gently taunted, though it came from a place of concern.

“That didn't mean we had to go at this ungodly hour.”

“This 'ungodly hour'  is eight o'clock Kace. Besides, last time we left at noon, and you still found a reason to go eighty in a seventy zone.”

“A good reason!”

“You're really not helping your cause here man. It's just-”

“27 percent of car accident fatalities in the year 2017 were caused by speeding. I know. It's only the fiftieth time you've told me.” 

“I'm sorry, I'm-”

“The reason I'm not dead yet?” Kace laughed, shooting Ian a sideways smile.  “Look dude, I get it. I'm glad you're watching out for my daredevil ass. I'm touched. In all the right places.” He winked, sucking air through his teeth.

“Kace!”

“Worrywart,” He said, tone making what would be an insult sound like the most loving pet name in the world.

As expected, the 'settling in' took a grand total of 45 minutes, leaving the couple with an entire five hours and fifteen minutes of diddly squat. Under other circumstances, they would've chilled at the BnB for a while, watching TV and perhaps engaging in 'other' activities. But does a shy young man going to an erotic softcore photoshoot sound normal to you? I think not. To Ian, this was like ripping off a bandage: you got to do it all at once. And every second spent in those 400 square feet of pressed bedsheets and generic paintings was like peeling it off one hair at a time. The studio was only a stone's throw away. Jonathan would be there by now, hell, with how seriously he took the job he'd probably stayed the previous night prepping. Ian was fearing the unknown, so if he got there, took a walk around the set, and had a quick chat with Jonathan, there would be no more unknown. He wanted to be prepared BEFORE he had to deal with someone else, namely the other model.

The exterior itself was nondescript. Had it not been for the J&B's Studio sign in the window (the 'io' burnt out, a sign of disrepair to the average passerby but a wink and a nod for those in the know) J&B's 'Stud' could've been anything from a paper clip factory to a mafia gambling house. The inside on the other hand....

The first floor was equally nondescript, a few run-of-the-mill landscape photos tacked onto grey walls, a small waiting room stocked full of 15-year-old Reader's Digests and a water cooler which looked like it had seen better days. In the background of the drabness was a small desk, sat behind it an even smaller woman, the click-clack of her keyboard making perfect mood music for the scene. Whatever she was working on (if she was working at all) it commanded her attention to a point that she failed to notice the two attractive new arrivals standing awkwardly by her desk.

Ian wasn't the type for these sorts of interactions. In fact, he'd rather hold hands with a cactus than handle such situations. Kace, on the other hand...

“Excuse me?”

No response.

“Excuse me?” He said again, lightly rapping the wood with his knuckles.

“Kace, don't-”

“How can I help you?”

“See?” Kace whispered, nudging  Ian before turning back to the woman, who looked the Merriam-Webster definition of bored.

“Ah yes, we're here for the shoot.”

The woman stared at him. Either she was expecting him to continue, or she'd just fallen into a vegetative state.

“With?”

“Jonathan.”

It was as though a switch had been flicked. In an instant, dull green eyes turned to sparkling emeralds, a previously bored face etched with equal parts professionalism and intrigue. Even her hair seemed to perk up somehow, small curly-fry ringlets visible under the mountains of frizz.

“Ah, yes! Your name?”

“I'm-”

But the woman cut him off before he could finish.

“Ian?”

“How did you-”

“Only two names down here kid. And, well...”

“Well what?” Kace asked, tone bordering on irritation.

She giggled. “You don't exactly look like a DeMarquis!”

“DeMarquis? Oh, uhm, that's the other guy, right?”

“So I hear! Elevator to the third floor, second door on the right! Have a nice day!”

“Thanks...” Kace replied, finding the woman's odd demeanour change a touch offputting. “You too...”

He wanted nothing more than to climb into the tiny silver box and slam the doors shut. It was only when he got into the elevator that Kace remembered his claustrophobia.

“Yeesh. This is some James Bond movie shit, man,” He stammered, scratching the back of his neck. Of course, Ian saw right through this flimsy attempt to conceal obvious fear. And that's why Ian knew he needed to play along with it. The only thing Kace hated more than tiny spaces and snakes was for others to view him as a coward.

“It's not that bad-”

DING!

With a dramatic SWOOSH! The elevator slid open, revealing what looked more like the backstage of a high-budget television show than an out-of-the-way studio stationed smack-dab in the middle of Nowheresville. The floor was black, a red carpet running through the centre, splitting off like a serpent's forked tongue in two separate directions at the end of the hall. Where it went from there, however, was irrelevant, for door three lay only a few yards from where the elevator let off. And if door three was that close, and the corridor so long, the men could only imagine how many rooms the so-called lackluster building truly held. As if to top it all off, on the walls ran a line of lightbulbs, all pointed sideways in a manner one would expect on a fashion runway. 

“You were saying?” Kace laughed, more from relief of escaping the elevator than at his own witty retort.

“Okay. Point taken. But I'd still say it's more Ms. Peel than Bond.”

“Who?”

“Don't you watch TV?”

“Yea, just not stuff that's older than friggin Jonathan.”

“How did you know-”

“Because I know you. Like the...” Kace said, putting his hand atop Ian's.

“-Like the back of your hand.”

Having reached their door, the couple stood like this for a moment, silent, with fingers interlocked. But they couldn't wait forever. Kace squeezed Ian's hand, turning to him with a gentle, encouraging smile.

“You ready?”

“As I'll ever be.”

Together, they gripped the doorknob.

Inside was.... Well, it was a whole new world. A sort of pocket galaxy, really. Gone were the glitzy lights and red carpet, replaced instead by moose heads and tartan area rugs. A fireplace in the corner, an earthy green couch in the middle, hell, even a bar fully equipped with prop drinks! Save for the light stands scattered about, orange tape markers on the floor, and the door still open to the universe beyond, one could've easily mistaken it for an honest-to-goodness log cabin!

“WOAH!” Both men said in unison.

“All the work I put into this one, 'woah' is damned right!” A disembodied voice spoke.

A second later, and the 'embodied' part revealed itself, popping up from under the bar counter holding a  brush and dustpan. It was short, grey-haired, with light stubble defining its most notable feature: a shit-eating grin.

“Jonathan! Good to see you again!” Ian said, giving the older man an impressed nod. Though he might not have been too keen on the idea of a more erotic shoot, Jonathan had been nothing but amicable in all the time they'd known each other. But not too 'amicable' in the sense that while his language was friendly, if somewhat unfiltered, his actions never strayed from the realm of complete professionalism.

“Hey Jon. Looking older than ever!”

“And I see the steroids have done you wonders!” The 'old' man laughed, the two doing their typical insult exchange ending with a firm pat on the shoulder from Jonathan. Though Kace had never been to the studio himself, naturally he wanted to know what the man who Ian would be stripping to Speedos for was like. Honestly, had it been anyone else except the old pro, Kace probably wouldn't have been as comfortable with his boyfriend participating in such a line of work.

“Sorry we're early... I just wanted to get a feel of the place before, well...”

“Ah, don't worry about it! Ida already paged me.”

“Ida?” Ian asked.

“My front desk lady. You know, about yay-high, creepy as all get out...”

“Yea,” Kace snorted, face a sideways smile. “I think I know the one.”

“You ain't seen half of it yet! Besides,” Jonathan continued, returning his attention to Ian. “You're not even the first here!”

“What?”

“Yep.”

“YAHH!” Ian yelped, startled at the sudden presence of a third party. How had... Whoever this was, make it in so quietly? Ian turned to look and it... Made even less sense.

The man was tall, like six-foot basketball player tall, though that was where his similarities to athletes of that sport ended. For one thing, he was a far cry from their beanpole build, looking to be 200 pounds easy, bulky, but in the fit sort of way, muscles clearly visible under the initial layer of fat. Kace was a decently built man in his own right, but he looked to this guy how Ian compared to him. The image was almost comical... Almost. Yet, there was an undercurrent of something different, something.... Erotic? He most definitely looked like a DeMarquis.

Those being the case, try to picture the full extent of the contrast between itsy-bitsy Ian and the behemoth towering over him? Pretty difficult, right? I mean, it's not something you see very often.

Which is why somebody was handing over the big bucks to get said picture(s). 

The man didn't even react to Ian's outburst. It was as if he was used to this sort of thing. Instead, he shut the door (closing the last window to the world beyond the cabin), and, with a warm smile, strode past the small group of men to the bar. Well, it was less like he strode past and more like he strode... Through. He had one destination and was headed straight there, no detours. So, if someone was in his way, they'd simply have to step aside. That 'someone' in this case, happened to be, well, Kace.

Like Ian, the man was also surprised. For a very different reason, however. You see, he'd done shoots like this before, for other companies. Usually the so-called 'twink' turned out to be a dude teetering on middle age who was scrawny, but in all the wrong places. This little guy on the other hand, why, he was practically cherubic! 

It wasn't until he was behind the bar, fixing up a drink of what was surely prop liquor that somebody finally spoke. Funnily enough, it was Ian, out of all people.

“So,” He asked, a polite attempt at an icebreaker in an otherwise awkward situation. “What's that?”

“Raspberry Mojito,” DeMarquis replied, never glancing up from his drink. If he might get too distracted by his shootmate and get the soda-to-alcohol ratio all wrong!

“No, no, I mean, I know that's what it is for the shoot and stuff,” Ian said. A bold-faced lie, the man couldn't tell the difference between margarita and moonshine, but that wasn't the focus of his question. “I mean, what's it actually made of? I've seen grape soda used for wine, and apple juice for whisky, but I'm stumped on this one.”

This time, the lumbering fellow's eyes shot up from the glass instantly, a toothy grin spreading across his face just as fast.  It sounded to him like the boy was angling for a drink. That couldn't have been farther from the truth. But, he had no way to know that.

“Why don't you come see for yourself, kid?”

Jonathan's posture adjusted ever-so-slightly, as if he were about to call out or interrupt something. One look from DeMarquis, and he thought better of it, Ian never noticing as he went to join the forty-something by the bar.

But Kace... Kace did.

The drink smelt sweet, with a bite lingering beneath that Ian couldn't quite place (only serving to pique his curiosity further). 

“Cheers,” DeMarquis said, raising his glass as Ian automatically mimicked him, doing the same. 

The taste... It tasted how it smelt, only with all the little details filled in. The sweetness, that was raspberry and lime, with just a hint of mint. It popped and fizzed, typical of carbonation, and it burned on the way down.

Only... It burned a little too much. Almost like...

“Woah! Is... Is this real?”

Nobody needed to say a word for the question to be answered. Within seconds, Ian felt the blood rush to his head. He didn't need to look to know that his cheeks had flushed, taking what few years he had off his face. Suddenly, he looked less like a young man, and more like a little boy just come in from the snow.

“Hey!” Kace said, rushing to his boyfriend's side. “You good, man?”

“Relax. Believe it or not, I'm a big boy.”

Normally, that would've been enough of an answer. Kace trusted Ian. But now, a third variable had entered the equation, a variable he found himself growing warier of by the second.

“Dude, you don't even like booze.”

“I know,” Ian said, falling to a whisper. “But I just met this guy, and he made me one little drink. I don't want to be rude.”

'Yea, you just met this guy, and he made you a drink,' Is what Ian wanted to say. Instead, he, against his gut instinct, took the more rational response.

“Alright, just... Be careful, okay?”

“Kace. You get pissed off when I make you double check to make sure the door is locked. I really don't think I'm the one you need to talk to about being careful.”

“Heh. How does it feel having the shoe on the other foot?” Kace laughed. Normally, most of their conflicts resolved with a bad joke or one-liner. Yet, when laughter turned to awkward chuckles, and awkward chuckles turned to sighs, things still didn't feel quite as they should've been. Still, Ian was right. He was an adult. He could handle himself. There was only one more question Kace needed to ask  before switching his attention to Jonathan.

He looked up at DeMarquis (something he wasn't used to, given Ian's short stature), asking the exact same question that he'd just asked his boyfriend.

“You good, man?”

Though not a word differed, the tone of voice told the men all they needed to know. Well, three out of the four men. The fourth man, Ian, was too busy sipping away  his first ever Raspberry Mojito. Had he had any prior, he'd've known his 'little' drink far exceeded the typical serving size for such a beverage. But, as mentioned earlier, the man was practically a virgin when it came to liquid courage.

“Uh, yea. Sorry, if I'd known your friend wasn't a drinker, I-”

“Boyfriend,” Kace corrected.

“-Boyfriend wasn't a drinker, I woulda made him something different.”

Kace analyzed DeMarquis's words syllable by syllable, scanning for any hint of a fib. In the end, he decided that it really had been an accident... However, Kace had his doubts as to how much the man regretted it.

“Uh... Huh..” Kace nodded, turning and walking (storming, actually), over to Jonathan. He had some explaining to do!

“Jon?” He said, voice hushed and tensed.

“What?”

“I think you know what.”

“The drinks?”

“No, the lighting! Yes, of course the drinks! Why does a STAGED shoot have REAL drinks?”

“Erm...” Jonathan squirmed, making every effort to avoid eye contact as he replied. “It was... On request of the client. Real alcohol, or no dice. They insisted I make it 'as authentic as possible.'”

Kace grumbled, the deep, begrudging sound of acquiescence far from the playful gripes he directed towards Ian on a daily basis.

“Fine. Okay. But can we at least wait until the actual shoot before whipping the crap out?” He said, gesturing to Ian and DeMarquis, currently laughing about something over what remained of their Raspberry Mojitos.

Lips pursed, Jonathan nodded. “Alright, let's get this show on the road! Dressing room is just down the hall, both your costumes should be there. If they aren't, tell me and I'll go yell at Ida.”

Something about that sentence bothered Kace, though it wasn't until the two had long since disappeared that he realized what. 'Dressing room.' In the singular.
 

[cublad]

very interesting and addictive start

[Chilighetti]

PART THREE 

 

Ian returned, and, for a brief moment, Kace's mind was wiped clean of all worries. Why? Well... Let's just say having your boyfriend strut next to you in a pink tank top, barefoot, in short shorts with... Was that a Speedo? Peeking out underneath the denim is the sort of thing that commands one's attention. 

Now Ian didn't look sexy in shorts in the typical masculine fashion. Most men wear tight shorts for one reason and one reason only: showing off what's packing in the downstairs region. Here, what it demonstrated was the lack thereof. At a modest five inches, Ian's bulge was a squint-and-you'll-miss-it sort of affair. Mind you, there was still more than enough bulging and bursting to go around. Only, in this case, it was facing posterior, not anterior, buttocks jiggling with the boy's every step.

“Woah, you're looking-”

Alas, as the good Sir Isaac Newton dictates, every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction. Normally, Kace was the one to fill the masculine void left behind by Ian's rather... Feminine (to say the least), build and mannerisms. But he wasn't in the shoot. Which left the void to be filled. And the 'filling' arrived not ten seconds later, clad in a blue button-up shirt, a deliberately dishevelled grey tie, and brown pants that, for a second, Kace mistook for bare legs. As for Ian's lack of 'junk in the front,' DeMarquis more than made up for it.

“Good...”

“Thanks,” DeMarquis replied, either not knowing or not caring that the remark was directed at Ian. 

“Hey,” Jonathan said, giving Kace a quick nudge in the ribs. “Maybe I do got a job for you after all!”

“What?”

“Fluffer! HAHA...Ha...Huh?” He trailed off. He might not have known the brunette as well as the blonde, but nobody needed spend much time around Kace to pick up on his sense of humour. A joke like that should've been right up the guy's alley.

“Well..” Jonathan continued, unsure how to proceed. “Ian! DeMarquis! Let's do a quick plot rundown before we get going! Client insisted on using film, so I'm gonna be damned sure neither of you waste an inch of it!” He joked, though that film really had cost him a pretty penny. 

The men (minus Kace) huddled together, briefly skimming the 'plot.'

“A young, innocent twink wants to spend summer break in a rustic rental cabin in the middle of a peaceful nowhere. Only one problem. He's young. Young=student. Student=flat broke.”

“Don't I know it,” Ian laughed, DeMarquis nodding as he reflected on his own memories of being that age. Meanwhile, all Kace could do was continue in his pitiful attempts to join the circle. Unintentional or otherwise, DeMarquis's mass acted like a wall, any crossing of which was downright impossible. 

“So, how in God's name is he renting out a place like this? Easy. A roommate. A roommate so generous in fact, that he's covering 70 percent of the bill! An attractive young college kid, an older, no offence DeMarquis...”

“Heh. It's true.”

“Gentleman, the situation is obvious. Except to our innocent twink. Frankly, he's baffled at the generosity, but tonight, he's going to get to the 'bottom' of it. The scene starts-”

“Wait,” Ian interrupted, reaction slowed slightly from the alcohol. “This shoot... I didn't agree to sex or-”

“Don't you worry,” Jonathan laughed. “The last shot, DeMarquis has you pinned to the couch. Like I said on the phone, you won’t be wearing anything... Except underwear”

“I thought you meant-”

Ian’s interruption was itself interrupted by Jonathan’s deep laugh. “You thought I meant-! Hah! I forgot they don’t teach humour in university. No, today’s shoot is filled with all the ' unbridled naughtiness' of a PG-13 movie.”

This, in DeMarquis's opinion, was the perfect opportunity for a joke. Being one for physical comedy, he grabbed Ian, twirling him to the wall where he leaned over the thin boy in an exaggerated, comedic fashion, taking the extra step to plant a foot on the fake logs to fully complete the parody of a romantic pose. He looked to Jonathan, arching an eyebrow and smiling like a smug kid on April Fool's day. Much like Kace, this guy was clearly the class clown.

“Like this?”

“Yea! If you want me to write you on every blacklist known to man.”

“I think..” DeMarquis replied, expression turning to a full on smirk as he glanced towards his dark hand. “I already am.”

“You know what I meant! Just... Just get on with it, already!”

“Whatever, you say, Jonny-boy, whatever you say...”

As he turned back to Ian, however, DeMarquis suddenly felt a lot less like laughing. To describe Ian's surprised baby blues as 'Bambi eyes' would've been an understatement most unacceptable. The boy stood startled, what little muscle tone he had tensed, mouth slightly open from shock, just enough to see those pearly white teeth, soft, pink lips... For a moment, DeMarquis forgot all about this being a 'joke.' He found himself pulled closer, a giant, muscular puppet on invisible strings. So close now, he smelt the liquor on Ian's breath, so close-

“Hello? I'd like to complete this shoot SOMETIME in my lifetime, guys!”

And, just like that, the moment was over, leaving both Ian and DeMarquis questioning whether or not it ever really happened.

“Twink. Couch. Older Gentleman. Bar. Now move it.”

“Whatever you say, Mom,” Ian laughed, strolling leisurely to the sofa. It warranted a chuckle from DeMarquis (who was currently in the process of mixing another berry themed drink, this time a Bangin' Blueberry Lemonade), even managing to coax a reluctant sigh of amusement from Jonathan. Kace, on the other hand...

Well, the issue wasn't that he didn't find it funny. In fact, that was the problem. Making those sorts of jokes... That was his, Kace's, job! Ian... He didn't say things like that. Not sober, anyways. And there was DeMarquis. Prepping yet more liquor.

“Alright. So, first shot, I need both of you, okay? DeMarquis, you're bringing over the drinks. Ian, you're looking over your shoulder, waiting. You're curious. The Older Gentlemen said he wanted to talk about something with you. Oh, and Ian?”

“Yes?”

“Stop sitting like you've got a stick up your ass.”

That, my friends, was Ian's one modelling weakness. No matter what Jonathan said, what coaching he provided, he could never truly get the pretty young man to truly relax. Though his face and body were born for the camera, his reserved, shy, even, temperament was not, making all his shoots look a little forced, a little stiff, a little... Off. But, as was said before, the rest of him was practically sculpted for the job, disguising most of what his performance lacked. But, it was frustrating. Had it not been for a single flaw, Jonathan would've had the next star model on his hands.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ian said, relaxing his posture as best he could.

“Okay, great. Three, two, one, and-”

FLASH!

“Got it!”

“AH!” Ian shuddered at the flash, shielding his eyes out of instinct (not that the alcohol helped any). 

“Ian! Ian, Ian, Ian... What's with you today?”

Kace took a deep breath, ready to jump to his boyfriend's defence, when-

“Chill,” DeMarquis intervened. “Kid's not used to flash cameras, are you boy?”

“No...” Ian replied, somewhat embarrassed.

“Shoulda warned him,” DeMarquis continued. “We're old. That's how cameras worked in our day, so we're used to it. Can't expect him to be.

“Speak for yourself,” Jonathan huffed, despite being at least twenty years DeMarquis's senior. “Ian, you good? Not going to jump out of your skin this time?”

“I'll try my best!”

The shoot went (relatively) without a hitch for the next half hour or so, save for Ian's occasional coughing jag when the liquor used was just a touch too strong for his sensitive throat (as such, they'd switched to Bailey's Irish Creme in hot chocolate, a drink most appropriate for the rustic setting). He'd managed to stop 'jumping out of his skin,' as Jonathan put it, at the lights, but there was still something disorienting about the constant flashing. And he never could quite get his bearings, as the moment Ian managed to pull himself from the daze of the last shot, there'd be another blinding white light, sending him straight back to square one. Not to mention the hot stage lights, and the stuffy set, and DeMarquis with just a hint of his muscled chest peeking out from under that shirt, and- Wait. What was that thought again? Ian barely had time to analyze it when-FLASH! And it was forgotten again.

Kace, meanwhile, was just counting down the seconds. So far, other than the revealing clothes and, shall we say, revealing, angles at which the photos were taken, the shoot had stayed, for the most part, pretty PG, and, despite how he knew it inevitability ended, he hoped it would remain that way up until the last picture. But, oh, what is the saying? All good things must come to an end? Whatever the phrase, Kace was about to learn just how true it held.

“Alright guys, warm-ups over. DeMar-”

“Wait,” Kace interrupted, shifting in his uncomfortable wooden chair. “Warm-up?”

“Erm...” Jonathan mumbled. “We did go over the plan with you, didn't we?”

“Yes but I mean... The way you said that man, I dunno... Guess it kind of rubs me the wrong way. You make it sound like-”

“You've been dating Ian a long time, haven't you?”

“Yea, going on like, three? Years, I think. Why do you-”

“Because,” Jonathan chuckled, pushing a heavy exhale through his nose. “You're starting to become more of a worrywart than he is.”

“I... Fine,” Kace stammered, reluctantly shutting up. He wanted to argue further but... What was there to say?

“Okay!” Jonathan said, switching back to his 'director' voice as he turned to the two models. “Ian. You- I mean, your character, is starting to feel just a wee bit tipsy. It's getting a bit harder to concentrate and/or see 'straight,'” He continued, wordplay flying over Ian's semi-inebriated head. “But, you're trying to stay focused, because the Older Gentleman has finally, after many, many drinks, promised to tell you his true reason for taking you in. What you don't know is that he's a physical talker.”

Of course, Kace didn't like the sound of that! But the next seven words would make his heart drop altogether.

“DeMarquis. Slide your hand down Ian's thigh.” 

That was it.

“ALRIGHT!” Kace shouted, slapping his hands as he rose from his seat, back turned to the scene. “That's enough. You're making Ian uncomfortable. He's too nice to say anything, but I'm not.”

“Boy... Are you sure it's not you who's getting uncomfortable?” Jonathan asked, neck craning to look at something over Kace's shoulder.

“Excuse me? I know my boyfriend better than...” Kace stopped as he followed the photographer's gaze to its source.

As he'd expected, DeMarquis didn't need to be told twice to lay his oversized paws on Kace's boyfriend. But Ian... Ian looked relaxed, something he never was on a shoot. More than that, he... He was smiling!

Kace's head spun in search of a rationalization. This wasn't Ian, he, he-

“Ian, you're drunk. C'mon, I'm taking you back to the BnB.”

The scantily clad boy opened his mouth, Kace cutting him off before he could object about costing the pair of them money (for Kace saw no other reason why Ian would even consider protesting).

“Forget the paycheck. I'm not gonna put you through this, you're more important than a couple thousand bucks. We'll find another way.”

“But-”

“No buts. I know you want to do this for me, which is why I can't-”

Kace stopped. Froze altogether. Why? Because of what Ian, reasonable, level-headed Ian did next.

He giggled. Ian NEVER giggled. Oh, he laughed, and chuckled, even let out a snort or two on a rare occasion. But to giggle... It was so out of character, it made the hair on the back of Kace's neck stand on end. Unbeknownst to him, the sound elicited the same physical reaction from DeMarquis, but for very different reasons.

“Kaaace. Chill-la... Oh, what's that word?”

“Chillax,” DeMarquis finished, squeezing Ian's thigh as he did so.

“Ian, you, you...”

“Okay, so MAYBE I'm a little buzzed,” Ian replied,  blinking rapidly until the glaze faded from his eyes. “But I'm alright.”

To demonstrate, he outstretched a hand, tapping his nose three times. Though definitely shaky, each one landed where it was supposed to.

“See? Sober. S-O-B-E-R,” Ian grinned, mimicking his boyfriend's own protests from a few nights back.

So maybe he wasn't totally sloshed. But this was bad. This was really, REALLY bad. You see, Kace, being the more alcohol-savvy of the couple, knew something Ian didn't. 

Drinks don't hit all at once. They take a while to fully absorb into the system. It had only been thirty minutes. If Ian was this 'buzzed' already... where the hell would he be in another ten?

On the set posing, Jonathan hoped. In the year or so they'd been shooting, this was hands down Ian's best shoot yet, and they weren't even halfway through! Somehow, by some miracle, the boy finally 'pulled the stick out,' as it were. Beautiful, calm, and in character, Ian, for once, was the full package (minus, of course, the 'package' package).  And as much as Jonathan liked Kace as a friend, he wasn't going to throw away what was shaping up to be the session of a career for one overprotective boyfriend.

“Kace,” Jonathan groaned, pulling the young man to the side. “If you can't stop your knickers from getting in a twist, you can always wait outside.”

“But-”

“No. No buts. My rule is, if the folks in front of the camera feel uncomfortable, we stop, pronto. Are you in front of my camera, kid?”

“No...”

“So, I'm going to say this in the bluntest way possible. Kace; put up, or shut up.”

Now, Kace had a choice. A choice where, no matter what he chose, the answer would be the same: bad. He couldn't stand by and let a couple perverse, no, predatory, old guys take advantage of his sweet Ian! 

But... He wouldn't leave Ian to handle it by himself.

Kace's silence was all the answer Jonathan needed. Satisfied, he put himself back in the photographer/director mindframe, turning to his models, and....

Well... To put it tastefully, they'd 'taken initiative' on their own, DeMarquis not only gripping, but massaging Ian's thigh by the time Jonathan laid eyes on them. Were... Were they doing that the whole time he'd been talking? He was going to tell them they only had to do that stuff for the camera. 

The keyword? WAS. For, the more Jonathan looked (perhaps watching a little too long than is typical), the more he appreciated the natural-ness of the shot. DeMarquis, channelling the entirety of his powerful energy into a simple, sensual motion. Ian, blue eyes twinkling, lips trembling, teeth showing (barely), all signs that, at any second, the little twink would bust out into laughter., or some other, more... suggestive, form of utterance. 

It was as if the two were in a trance. Wake them up, Jonathan thought, and threaten to lose the picture forever. So, finger on the button, Jonathan pressed and-

Things were getting a bit out of hand, at least, for Ian anyway. He'd been alright when DeMarquis first touched him, but now? Those thick, black fingers were moving a bit too close to the crotch for comfort. And the look in the other man's eyes.... Ian knew they were supposed to be playing roles, but it didn't look like DeMarquis was playing, so much as 'being.' Ian's lips parted, about to protest, when-

FLASH!

Oh God... It was so bright... What.. What had he been about to say? The blinding white light combined with that last Bailey's Irish Creme (As he was a tad less sober than he'd led his boyfriend to believe) made holding onto a clear idea feel akin to trying to hold a fistful of water. 

FLASH!

Another one! Rendered sightless by, of all things, light, Kace, Ian, and Jonathan all failed to notice the hand creeping ever-closer to the groin of the young man's shorts. Hell, caught up in the heat of the moment (both figuratively and literally, the hot lamps forming the first beads of sweat, which rolled freely down his bald head), it was more than likely that not even DeMarquis knew what he was doing!
That was, until-

FLASH!

“A-Ah!”

Perhaps it was the grip on his (currently) flaccid cock, the denim of his shorts and sleek Speedo material adding texture to an already pleasurable squeezing sensation. Perhaps he was merely overwhelmed by the light. But, reasons don't matter as much as results now, do they? And the result here was Ian letting loose the sweetest (and first) little moan Kace had ever heard come from his boyfriend's mouth.

Ian never made noises like that!

Not for you, anyway, a biting thought hissed in the corner of Kace's mind.

Ian locked eyes, pupils constricted from the camera and eyes glassy from the booze, with his boyfriend's. Was he about to explain? Apologize? Ask to leave? 

Kace never got to find out.

“Great one guys, great one!” Jonathan boomed. He might as well have put a gag in Ian's mouth, Kace thought! His fist curled, clenched tighter with every word the photographer spoke.

Though his physical strength was great, DeMarquis's mental resolve was something else entirely. Let's just say, he earned the stereotype as a bit of a hiring risk among more commercial modelling studios for a reason. He'd promised himself he'd be more careful in the business... After all, the last time he let rash urges overtake him, the man paid a dear, dear price. But... He hadn't come prepared for a kid like this. The last time he'd modelled with someone so boyishly beautiful, why, DeMarquis had been little more than a boy himself! Needless to say, relinquishing his grip on Ian's small, uncut (with his years of his experience, he could tell whether or not someone was circumcised through their clothing) member was no easy task. And, he realized, he didn't know if he'd be able to give it up at all next time.

“Alright!” Jonathan clapped, camera swinging freely by his chest as he mumbled, skimming the next part of the 'story.' 

“Now! 'Young Twink.'”

Ian didn't respond. He had better things to focus on. Like the minuscule droplets of sweat decorating DeMarquis face in a pattern of clear, shimmering beads. How the light shone through them... Just like in those bottled water commercials, beautiful, clean.... Quenching. Ian couldn't help but lick his lips. The liquor (alcohol being dehydrating) left him parched. It... It looked so-

“Ian! Earth to Ian, do you read me?”

“Huh? What?”

“Did you-”

Jonathan glanced to DeMarquis, who wore a similar startled expression.

“Did EITHER of you hear what I just said?”

“Erm...”

No. They hadn't. But Kace had. That was why (and, had Ian been less focused on the sweat of a virtual stranger, he'd've noticed) he stood trembling in a delicious blend of fear and anger.

“Jon, I don't know if-”

He'd expected Jonathan to bite his head off like last time. Instead, the man simply sighed.

“Look,” He said. “I get it. This is a bit more out there than the stuff your boyfriend usually does, and-”

“A bit?”

“Okay, a lot. And if he wants to call it quits, I'm cool with that. But don't you think he should at least know what it is I'm asking first?”

The second after the encounter ended, Kace's mind flooded with thoughts of everything he should've said instead. 'Uh, I think the issue is, I don't know, THAT HE'S TOO DRUNK TO HAVE HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME?' or even just a simple 'no.' Maybe if he had the following events would've never transpired as they did. Alas, Kace hesitated but a second too long. And that, my friends, made all the difference.

“Okay guys. This isn't rocket science. I'm only going over this one more time.”

Ian giggled. Kace shivered with dread. DeMarquis  shivered with something else entirely.

“The 'Young Twink' is starting to get a bit tipsy. Older Gentleman, you notice this, and decide it's time to loosen things up a little. How? Well, Young Twink's tank top has got to go! Problem? Like I said, he's tipsy. You're a gentleman, so naturally, you offer to help.”

Did... Did Jonathan really have to get THAT into it? Some would call him a passionate director. Kace was about ready to call him a grade-A twit, despite the fact that, to any outside observer, he ticked all the boxes of safe, sane, and consensual.

“For the shot, I want Young Twink's stomach partly visible. He'll be fully topless in the next picture, but we need some suspense, so don't go tearing stuff off just yet. Now...”

The photographer sighed, looking more to Kace than the two men he was addressing. He cleared his throat, adopting a formal tone for his next question. “Ian, DeMarquis. Do each of you individually consent to today's shoot?”

Ian spoke his approval, meanwhile, all DeMarquis did was nod. It was all he needed to get the point across, and right then he wanted to peel something besides red tape.

“And, on behalf of our, ahem, independent third party,” He continued, cocking his head towards Kace. “Is anyone here consenting out of threat, anxiety, pressure, or other means by which could fall under coercion?” 

This was Ian's way out! Before he'd simply been too polite, too nervous to say anything! All he needed was a clear opportunity, and Kace was sure he'd-

“Yes.”

Oh thank Heavens.

“I'm being held at gunpoint. By terrorists. In tutus.”

Kace's heart dropped. A joke like that... Ian was definitely drunk. Jonathan wouldn't realize, DeMarquis wouldn't (if he even cared in the first place) realize, only Kace, who'd been at his boyfriend's side day and night since they were teens, could tell that he was far too intoxicated to consent. But what was he to do? It wasn't like they had a Breathaylzer test in there, and Ian wasn't slurring those words Kace knew would never come from his mouth sober.

“Oh, yea, don't worry. There's an exception in the contract for all tutu-wearing terrorist related encounters. We're good to go.”

And, as if Kace's heart hadn't had enough already, Ian's last word would truly skewer it.

“Great!”

[Chilighetti]

PART FOUR (FINAL PART)

 

 

“Great!” Jonathan echoed. “Alright guys, let's see it in three, two, ONE! Good, good! That's... Uhh...”

Since he's a little tongue-tied at the moment, I'll tell you; that's not what he expected when he'd laid out the scene directions. Technically, it met all the requirements. Ian's top was part way off, flat tummy showing. The surprise lay more in HOW the end result was achieved. For DeMarquis didn't follow the obvious route of using his hands, those wonderful little things we've evolved just for events like this. Not when there was an option available that would let him get just that much closer to the beautiful little twink. That option? His teeth. 

“...Good, actually” The photographer said, moving in to get another angle. Okay, so maybe this wasn't exactly what he had in mind. However, being a creative man himself, Jonathan wasn't one to stifle others' creativity. Besides, if he knew his client like he thought he did, he figured they wouldn't be too upset that the actors were playing it a little off the books. In fact, they  might be so not upset that they would offer up a sizable tip!

FLASH!

Careful not to rip the top, DeMarquis moved slowly, peeling the thin fabric centimetre by centimetre up Ian's slim body. Besides, there wasn't any rush. Jonathan wanted multiple shots, DeMarquis wanted to enjoy the moment as long as possible 

Kace opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted, by Ian, of all people! Though it wasn't really Ian's fault. Between his skin already being so touch-sensitive from the drinks, and the shock of it all, why, it would've been strange if he hadn't yelped when the tip of DeMarquis's nose bumped against his stomach.

“AH!”

His body tensed, small muscles flexing and  tiny bare toes curled. To top it all off, a small strand of saliva hung fast, connecting his upper and lower lip, his mouth spread in a wide 'O.' His eyes were the opposite, crunched shut from surprise. It was the perfect picture.

FLASH!

And now Jonathan had it. Then came the next question: how far was he going to let this go?

“Let's see if you can get it all the way off like that,” He ordered, readjusting the camera's lens.

Really though, it wouldn't have mattered if he'd screamed for the men to stop. DeMarquis pulled, tank top rising over Ian's abdomen, then chest, exposing the hairless surface and small, pert, pink nipples which would make most women jealous. Coming up over the neck, shoulders-

“-EEP!”

They'd almost made it. Alas, liquor isn't exactly known for improving one's coordination. Just as the top was all but peeled off (nearly past the ears), Ian demonstrated that fact, tumbling backwards. Reflexively, he grabbed the nearest object in a last attempt to slow his fall. This 'object?' 

Well, who do you think?

“OOF!” Ian gasped, wind knocked from his svelte form as over two-hundred pounds of man fell atop him full force. As expected, his mouth was open (again). But this time, there was a difference. The large, dripping-with-sweat DeMarquis wasn't beside him. Oh no, now, he was on top. And gravity has itself a wonderful little effect on liquids...

Delicious. Before Ian even knew what hit him, he knew whatever it was, was 'delicious.' By the time he realized what it was, it was too late. He'd already swallowed it. And now? He wanted more. With a grip surprisingly strong for a boy of his size, he pulled DeMarquis in by the tie, neck close enough to his mouth that he didn't have to wait more than a few seconds between drips. Of course, it probably helped that DeMarquis was actively leaning in himself, desperate for a taste of the twink's soft, girlish lips (which just-so-happened to match the shade of Ian's nipples perfectly).

“Older Gentlemen, shirt off!” Jonathan directed. However, DeMarquis was already to the fifth button before he could get the first word out? So why ask? Out of routine? To keep up the facade of being in control of the shoot? Or was it maybe that he himself had begun getting caught up in the excitement.

Up to that point, Kace was stunned silent, watching with flared nostrils and unblinking eyes as DeMarquis, this utter stranger, took advantage of HIS boyfriend! For God's sake, the sweaty pig even had an erection! 

No, Kace realized, horrified as he saw the THING rise further, straining to stay inside DeMarquis's brown business pants. It wasn't a full erection yet. He was that big... And he wasn't even at half-mast!

His clothed crotch ground against Ian's, fine fabric against tight denim and... No. It had infected him! That was the only reason why Ian, Kace's ever-loyal, ever-introverted boyfriend could've possibly responded in the way he did. DeMarquis's sheer size (a contrast that would've been laughable in a less erotic scenario to Ian's five-and-a-half inches at full), forced space between the men, simply so their erections could mingle without discomfort!

But, as was stated, Kace was silent throughout the entire display. So why speak up now? I mean, barring full-on penetration, how could things possibly reach such a threshold to shock him BACK OUT of his silence? 

It wasn't the fact that the pair had turned their kiss french, nor the fact that, due to the incessant grinding motions, Ian's shorts were beginning to slip. No. What caused Kace to scream even louder then his boyfriend's rapidly increasing moans was nothing but a simple, tiny tattoo.

The scorpion. The thought of  'infection' suddenly turned far more literal.

“NO! STOP! IAN! LOOK AT HIS TATTOO! IAN!”

“Ah! Haah! Haa...” 

Maybe... Maybe Ian hadn't heard! Their pants were below their hips now, and from experience, Kace knew it wouldn't be much longer until the slacks were strewn across the opposite side of the room. But, there was a silver lining! In all their fevered spasming, DeMarquis's stomach had somehow twisted to eye-level with Ian's face. Ian's eyes were shut from what Kace hoped (but highly doubted) was horror. All he needed to do was open his eyes and-

“IAN! STOP, LOOK! HE'S POZ! IAN, HE'S POZ!”

His boyfriend's baby blues snapped open. Like hitting pause on a remote, everyone froze. Even DeMarquis, wild, starving, DeMarquis pulled back.

Slowly, Ian lifted from his supine position. He blinked once or twice, seemingly grounding himself back to reality. Then, he did the unthinkable. He licked the tattoo. Actually, no. That description does the following events an unspeakable disservice. 

Ian traced his tongue along the three inch scorpion. And when I say traced, I mean, TRACED. Like any good artist, he began his work along the outline, sketching out the entire thing with his own saliva. Next came the colouring. Here, there was no preexisting pattern to follow, since DeMarquis opted against getting the tattoo coloured in. Luckily, Kace wasn't the only creative partner in the relationship! The intricate linework, striping, dotting, finished off with a nip or two, created an invisible design that would've made professionals jealous. It also helped that Ian was in no rush. Oh, his licks were rapid fire, yes, but this wasn't because he was half-assing the job. On the contrary! He was determined to keep going until not a bead of sweat remained. And he'd've done it too, if DeMarquis hadn't begun to grow impatient. Sure, Ian's shorts had been sliding off. But for DeMarquis, it wasn't quick enough. He wanted, no, NEEDED to try out that ass. Its jiggle had captivated him since the moment they'd met. It was time to finally try out the junk in the trunk.

Of course, Kace kept begging. And, of course, it was to no avail. The time when he could've reached either of them was long since passed.

FLASH!

Jonathan... That.. That bastard was still taking pictures!

“JON! CALL IT OFF! NOW!”

Jonathan... Didn't respond.

“JONATHAN! SHUT IT DOWN!”

FLASH!

It was as if just being around DeMarquis and Ian had dragged the photographer into their little world too. Kace was in a stuffy studio with three other men. And yet, he was utterly alone.

He couldn't work up the courage to face DeMarquis. But he could summon enough to grab Jonathan.

And Jonathan was sure to remind him of just that.

“STOP IT! STOP-”

“WHY DON'T YOU STOP IT?” Jonathan hollered back, posture defensive. 

“MMM! Aaah!” Ian moaned, oblivious to the argument unfolding, his shorts falling away leaving only the thin blue fabric of a Speedo stopping the men's cocks from meeting. DeMarquis wasn;t in the mood for frotting, however, he had other, far more dangerous plans...

“That's right; you won't! So let me do my job!”

FLASH!

He... He was right. Kace's boyfriend was being used, right in front of him, by a carrier of a deadly disease. And he wasn't going to do anything to fight DeMarquis off.

Accepting his status as a Grade-A Wimp, Kace turned to the only defence left: damage control.

Terrifying as it was to watch Ian tongue DeMarquis's sweat (Even worse were the noises he made, oh God, the noises. If he'd made them for Kace, it would've been the hottest moment in their relationship. Instead, the only man to ever elicit such squealing moans was someone he'd only just met) , Kace had picked up a thing or two being in what he thought was a committed relationship with a nursing student.

Human Immunodeficiency Virus. One of the huge misconceptions, one which created a 'gay panic' whose negative effects still haunted the LGBT community to that day, was its transmissibility. Use the same toilet as the dreaded homosexual? Get AIDS! Touch a menu previously held by a sinful gay? Get AIDS! Stand within thirty feet of any male who even so much as fantasized about the touch of a man? AIDS for you!

Ian made it his number one priority as a medical trainee to educate the public otherwise. Only blood, seminal, vaginal, or rectal fluids, and breast milk carried the disease. Saliva was safe. Urine was safe. 

Sweat was safe.

FLASH!

For Ian, it was more than just the physical sensations throwing him into a state of delicious disarray. Of course, that's not to pay the corporeal disrespect! DeMarquis's tongue running along each and every one of Ian's teeth (with a quick test of the gag reflex, obviously), all the while a strong, rough hand cradled his barely-covered testicles in ways only a professional (and definitely not Kace!) was capable of had a part, and it played it beautifully. But what really got Ian, really chipped away at his shield of composed reservation, that was all atmosphere. Everything about DeMarquis radiated power. Every touch was more than just a touch, every groan more than just a groan. It was a command, not of words, but of something else, more basal, more... Pure.

Yes, pure. A strange description, it seems, but there was no better term to describe it. In his past sexual relations (aka Kace and holding hands with one guy in the eight grade), everything was all about words. Talk it out, say this, say that, I'm going to do this now, okay? But DeMarquis didn't ask. Not because he intended to force Ian, but because he simply didn't need to. He knew everywhere Ian wanted it before he knew it himself. Words? They'd only break up the rhythm.

“Yes! Yea-aah!”

Well, aside from those words, of course.

Having long since popped out of his own Speedo (as despite being high quality, they simply weren't designed with an uncut nine inches in mind), DeMarquis decided, well, as much as you could say anyone was really consciously 'deciding' anything in the heat of those moments, that Ian needed a little extra help. A five-incher, while perfect for a twink, isn't exactly known for bursting from underwear.

To remove the Speedo, he'd need to get back to his knees in, ironically, a position similar to prayer, lift the small boy's lower half, pull the tight trunks all the way down his legs, and toss them aside somewhere. That sounds like a total moment-ruiner, right?

For anyone else? Yes. DeMarquis, on the other hand...

“Eep!” Ian yelped, suddenly lifted upwards via a hand on each buttcheek. Whereas DeMarquis's hands had easily wrapped around everything else, in regards to the twink's bottom, they barely contained the wobbly mounds of flesh, big enough to be implants yet one-hundred percent natural. Sliding the boy's lower-half onto his lap, DeMarquis took a moment to enjoy the fatty tissue, pinching and massaging it much to Ian's (and Jonathan's, as the pictures taken in that moment mightn't have been priceless, but they were easily top dollar) delight, expressed in ear-splitting moans and camera flashes respectively. Then, it was down to business, not slowing again until reaching the feet. It had been DeMarquis's intention to get the Speedo off ASAP, but after that handful of an ass, and now ten tiny, adorable toes on tootsies barely hitting a size seven, he needed a second to stop and smell the roses. If by 'smell' one means 'run a finger down' and by 'roses' one means 'soles.'

Up to that point, sweet, sheltered little Ian hadn't even known that was a thing. Now? 

“Ahaha! T-that-AH! Tickles!”

It was his thing.

But, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Having gotten his fill of Ian's feet (for now, anyways), DeMarquis needed to go that one step further.  

The only issue? While Ian was obviously a bottom (five inches, while cute, doesn't exactly make one 'top' material. Besides, no top whimpered like he did!), if Kace was anything to go by, the guy probably wasn't taking nine-inchers on a regular basis. 

A situation like that called for lube. DeMarquis had a different answer.

DeMarquis spat, slicking his thumb and forefinger thick with saliva. Before Ian saw what the domineering man was doing, he yelped, as something cool and wet ran circles around his tight pink asshole. It wasn't DeMarquis's cock, no, it was far too small for that (had it been Kace, however, and Ian could've easily made such a mistake). 

With the exterior sufficiently lubricated, DeMarquis moved to the inside, marking Ian's insides with his spit. 

Both Kace and Jonathan knew when DeMarquis first hit the prostate. How? Well, the prostate is internal... But Ian's cock wasn't. And everyone could see it dribbling  pre-ejaculate the second a strong, wet finger pressed against the walnut-sized gland.

At least it's only pre.... Kace found himself thinking. Then, he laughed. THAT was how low the bar had gotten? It's fine that an HIV positive stranger is finger-fucking my boyfriend, because hey, he hasn't made him cum!

But you want to know what was really pathetic? He didn't even have time for lamenting. A loud POP and moan indicated without looking that DeMarquis was finished applying the 'lube.' 

Kace might've been dumbstruck, but he wasn't dumb. He knew what that type of fingering led to. So, without so much time as to shed a tear, he rushed in, forced to facilitate and play damage control to the destruction of his own relationship. Unbeknownst to Ian, Kace carried with him a single condom, buried deep within the folds of his cash-short, card-filled wallet. 

Sex in public. Kace's secret fantasy. Knowing Ian, such an event was so unlikely (or, to put it a better way, as likely as getting struck by lightning. Twice) he never dared bring it up. The last thing he wanted to do was make his reserved boyfriend uncomfortable. Still, they're called fantasies for a reason, so Kace still brought everywhere a sole condom. Just in the slim, slim chance that...

“Eahh! Mmm-aph! Ah!” 

But it was never truly meant for him, was it?

“Please...” Kace whimpered, turning his pleas to the man he should've been punching in the face. “At least use my condom..”

DeMarquis showed no signs of hearing Kace, let alone pausing to apply protection. Gripping Ian's hips, he leaned forward, readying for the first thrust.

What came next was a split second decision. An awful, split second, last ditch decision born out of pure desperation. At but a millimetre from penetration, Kace grabbed DeMarquis's cock. Not even to stop him, no, they'd long passed that point. Just to get him to put on the damned condom.

DeMarquis stopped, lifted his head and... Oh God, that look. Kace would never, COULD NEVER forget the look DeMarquis gave him. It was like getting a gun pointed at one's head. Scratch that; guns are far less terrifying.

The way that cock pulsed under Kace's weak grip, thick veins visibility twitching, as if even the member itself boiled with rage against the one who dared keep it from its rightful place.

Meanwhile, Ian whined, unaware of the conflict occurring right under (or in this case, above) his nose. All he knew was that he wanted to get fucked, and it wasn't happening fast enough. And 'Older Gentleman' wasn't about to leave his 'Young Twink' in distress like that. So if Kace wasn't planning on butting out... Well, he'd just have to make use of him then, wouldn't he?

Using Kace's hand as his unwilling guide, DeMarquis pushed onward, forcing his full length inside Ian with a single thrust. He could've gone slower, sure, but why? He'd already warmed Ian up. Now, it was time to get hot.

“HOLY-”

FLASH!

Though Jonathan's last word was censored by the loud, old-school camera (it was a PG-13 shoot, after all!) the sentiment held all the same.

Kace's first instinct? Pull it out, obviously! But wait, no! If he tugged... That would only make DeMarquis cum sooner! The filthy, disease-ridden semen tainting Ian, MARKING Ian, oh, Kace shuddered to imagine! Of course, when one shudders, he tenses, causing Kace to squeeze the throbbing cock harder, and... You get the picture. 

What then? What could he do? 

I'll tell you: Kace's only option? Hang on for the ride.

That, and screaming to deaf ears, of course.

“IAN! IF YOU LET HIM-IF HE-”

“YESS! MPMH!”

For once, Ian seemed to hear him. His reply? To wrap his legs around DeMarquis, clipped, clean toenails digging into the man's back in a frenzied attempt to get the cock yet deeper inside. 

“HE'LL-”

“DON'T STOP!”

“HE'L-”

“OH! OOH!”

“HE-”

“GGGAHH-AH! I'M-I'M-”

“H-”

“-CUMMING!”

FLASH!

No...

FLASH!

Please no...

Ian's cock jumped.
Toes curled.
Eyes rolled.

“HOLY-”

FLASH!

“-HE FUCKED THE CUM RIGHT OUTTA HIM!”

Perhaps not the politest way for Jonathan to describe the events unfolding. But, with Ian gushing semen in a manner reminiscent of one of those cherub fountains found in fine gardens,  painting the room (and Kace's left eye) with rope after rope of pearly white seed, DeMarquis unrelenting even as his twink began falling flaccid.... Well, you can't say he wasn't accurate!

But maybe... Oh how Kace hoped, how he prayed that maybe, just maybe DeMarquis hadn't done the same! I mean, how many men can cum their brains out and stay hard, let alone keep up the vicious pace at which he fucked Ian, right? Right?

Then Kace felt it. A slow drip at first, slow enough he could still deny it, still pretend it wasn't so... The drip picked up to a trickle. A trickle transformed to a tributary, that to a river, and before long a veritable waterfall, all leaking from Ian's ass onto Kace's trembling hand.

It was as if the invisible glue which kept Kace's grip on the black cock for so long was being washed away by the infection-filled juices.

It was over now. It was all over. With nothing left to save, Kace let go, slippery hand sliding limply to his side. The shoot on the other hand, had only just begun. Because if you thought DeMarquis was going to stop at one climax, you clearly don't know DeMarquis.

Having hit orgasm numero uno, the next thing on his long list of things he needed to do to that twink was to top his tight hole in every position possible. They'd done lying down, which was, PHEW, in-cre-di-ble! But now, it was time to see how well Ian bounced.

The answer? Given Jonathan's rapid-fire photography as DeMarquis lifted the boy, who's entire body flopped limp as a ragdoll from overstimulation, into a sitting position on the bulging black cock, all without once halting penetration, Ian's thick cheeks jiggling as he was used like a human fleshlight, I think it's safe to say the answer was pretty well.

Jonathan couldn't hit the trigger fast enough! Why the rush? Duh! It's not every day you see a tiny cock flaccid from prior orgasm(s?) stiffen back up again so quickly! Luckily, Jonathan had good reflexes and an even better eye. In the end, despite relevant equipment limits, he'd managed a nearly frame-by-frame of Ian's member from it bouncing aimlessly to standing at its (somewhat unimpressive) full length.

While he missed out on some of the finer details (for instance, he never bore witness to the moment Ian's head fell back, DeMarquis taking advantage of the barely conscious boy's open and drooling mouth for a deep french kiss complete with a few love nips) Kace got the gist of the action from sound alone. What he couldn't make out from the sloppy pops, pants, and moans fit for a porn studio, he got in the form of one of Jonathan's many comments.  For instance: “HOLY- HE'S JERKING HIM OFF WHILE-HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE!” is how Kace found out that DeMarquis had taken to giving Ian a handjob as the pair fucked (though given Ian's small cock and DeMarquis's large hands, it was really more of a finger-job).

And when Ian came again.... Kace felt it. Literally. Despite standing a good distance away, he wasn't safe from all the semen, a strand spattering the back of that damned orange t-shirt Ian had picked just for him. 

“DAMN! RIGHT ON THE CAMERA AND-HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE AIMING THAT THING!”

...And Jonathan's camera, apparently.

After a while, Kace learned to filter out the moans. Learned to filter out Jonathan's obnoxious orders, the loud camera shutter, heck, he even fell blind to the camera's sun-like flash. None of this was conscious, mind you. Rather, it was due to the fact that he'd begun to focus on something else. At  first just an errant intrusive thought or two, barely a blip on the radar, but eventually... Eventually Kace simply couldn't tear his eyes from his hand.

It glistened with fluids. Some his, some Ian's, but mostly all DeMarquis's. It was almost invisible one second, and then FLASH! The camera would illuminate the room once more, Kace's only awareness of it being the dazzling sparkle reflected in the sweat and diseased ejaculate coating his hand.

Ian's many speeches once more echoed through his mind. 'Only semen and blood.... Only mucous membranes or bloodstream.... Only semen and blood...' The words spun around ceaselessly.

With how rough the sex was (so rough, in fact, that calling it 'sex' no longer does it justice, 'fucking' being the more fitting descriptor), the odds his boyfriend wasn't infected were zero-to-none. Well, not officially. Kace chuckled. His Ian could probably give him the real odds straight from the most up-to-date medical studies by heart. But wherever his reasonable, reserved Ian was, it certainly wasn't here. 

Slowly, his mouth opened for the last time. Not to speak. Not to scream. Not even to cry. The time for that was over. He knew what he had to do now. In an almost trance-like state, Kace's hand floated towards his exposed teeth. He felt the coolness first. Then the wetness. After that, the taste. Not Ian's flavour, but DeMarquis's. Though he'd never tasted it prior, the flavour was unmistakable.

Jonathan only had room for one more picture on the old roll of film. 

Finally, tooth touched skin...

That day, he'd taken some of the best of his career. 

Then, tooth pressed skin...

Still, the man was famous for saving best for last. Even with all the great photos thus far, Jonathan had no intention of  breaking this twenty-plus year tradition.

Then, tooth dug skin...

So, he'd take a second. Collect himself (because Lord knows he needed to after seeing all that!). Taking a deep breath, Jonathan turned, almost jumping in the process. Kace! He'd nearly forgotten the kid was there! Nearly gave him a heart attack there and then! Wait. What was he doing? No. No! Was he nuts? Was this... The perfect picture?

Then, tooth pierced-

FLASH!

[SlutVirgin]

We need more stories like this one. Been cumming from this work ever since.