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We had a photoshoot all too early that morning. Actually, it was early afternoon, but morning’s when you wake up, right? It was all Paul’s fault anyway, keeping me up too late. I disentangled myself from him and headed for the shower, telling him to hurry up. A middle finger rose up from the mess of sheets. I was in too good a mood to get annoyed.
Come as you are, they’d told us. I could do that.
Getting ready, getting Paul up and then getting ready again after he’d messed up my face took more time than expected. My lips still tingled pleasantly as I left the room. Paul had already headed on for breakfast, the menace.
I passed Olli’s room in the corridor and rapped on the door on impulse.
“Come on, we’ll be late for the photoshoot!”
I was surprised to hear faint cursing from inside.
“Olli? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just… give me a minute.”
The door wasn’t locked. I poked my head in. Olli was sitting on the bed, getting his boots on. At least he was trying. He’d got one foot stuck halfway in a boot. The toes of his other foot curled against the floor in frustration.
Oh, they were the new boots: classic leather combat boots, except that they came up to his knees. Black as sin, shining and polished. I liked a man who took good care of his things. But I couldn’t quite see what the problem was.
Olli raised his head, and his despairing eyes met mine. Then it occurred to me.
“Olli, don’t tell me you got a pair of knee-high combat boots… with no zippers?”
The sheepish look he gave me told me all.
“I didn’t think about it. They looked so simple.”
“Except they’re a bitch to get on and off. Every single time. Trust me, that’s a mistake I’ve made.”
“We’re in a hurry, aren’t we?” he said, eyes flitting to the clock. His knuckles whitened as he tried to force the boot on.
I could have reassured him, told him it was no big deal to be late – at this point, no one cared if we were punctual or not. I knew he cared, though. I would have been a bad friend indeed if I hadn’t done anything to get that kicked-dog look off his face.
This had nothing to do with the way I felt about boots or men who had sneakily developed ruggedly handsome looks over the years. He used to be a bag of bones, all too-long limbs and ribs you could count. Now was a whole different story. But this was not about any of that.
I strolled over to him, already in full make-up, and went down on one knee with a sigh.
“Christoph? What are you doing?” Olli asked uncertainly.
“Helping you out with these. And next time, you’re getting sensible shoes.”
Without further discussion, I started to work on the laces of the boot he’d got stuck. The laces had to be loosened all the way for Olli’s heel to fit into the shoe. When they were slack enough, he pushed his jammed foot in with a huff of relief. I started to tighten the laces up.
“I can do that myself,” Olli said, a tad embarrassed.
I glared up at him.
“I said I’d take care of this, and I’m going to see it done properly.”
“Right. No problem,” he said airily, and then added, “Schneider, why are you wearing lipstick already?”
“It helps me to get in the mood.”
Red lipstick, matte, my favourite. It never failed to make an impression, and didn’t look too bad even with the short hair I had now. I kind of liked the contrast. And it made me feel confident. Not the sort of confidence I felt pounding the drums, sweating and elated, knowing I was the one holding a song together. This was a calm, quiet flow running through me, straightening my spine, making me hold my head higher.
“Did they want that for the shoot?” Olli asked.
Lacing up his boot reminded me of tightening a corset. The image floated unbidden to my head and refused to leave. Maybe I should have been late with Paul, together. My fingers remembered the catch of satin, his laughter and his gasp as I worked on the laces. I’d talked him into it, and he’d taken it with his usual good cheer. That had been an amazing night. Our arrangement was so easy it sometimes felt like an illusion...
Earth to Christoph. I ran my fingers subtly on the leather as I worked my way up. Not too tight, the fit had to be just right.
“They may not have asked for it specifically,” I answered.
I finished with a neat bow at the top. “There. Does that feel all right?”
“Yes.” Olli looked hesitant, like he might have wanted to say something but thought better of it. I slid my hand up his leather-covered calf and smiled reassuringly.
“See? Leave it to the expert.”
Olli offered me his other foot, silent. He was wearing black, knee-high socks. At least he’d thought that far ahead. Stiff leather and bare skin were an uncomfortable combination, unless you were into that. Briefly I thought of rolling the sock down carefully, revealing pale, vulnerable skin. But that would have defeated my purpose here. Damn. Concentrate.
I loosened the boot and held it open for him, and he slipped his foot in obediently. His instep brushed against my hand. By accident? He held his secrets close, I had no idea if he was a kinky bastard like me.
My fingers fumbled a little on the laces. I looked up. He was staring at me, his mouth parted a little. His face shut down as he noticed me watching.
And there I was, after all, kneeling in front of an attractive man who also happened to be a good friend, practically between his legs. Dressed in ordinary jeans and a button-up, but with the make-up game strong. I was vain enough to think I’d like the sight, and it seemed Olli did too, though he didn’t know how to handle it.
Perhaps he needed a little more help deciding. I went down on both knees, one on either side of his foot. I held his gaze as I allowed myself unnecessary touches, my fingers skimming along his sock-covered calf, thumb pressing into the hollow of his heel. He let out a hiss at that.
“What are you doing?” he asked, but made no move to back away.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Helping you with your boots?”
I stroked the shining leather and drummed my fingers on the steel-capped toes. He couldn’t feel it, of course, but he was watching me keenly.
“And what does this, ah, help entail?”
I took a gamble, propped my chin on his knee and looked up at him.
“Whatever you want. As long as we are not too late.”
“Then you’d better get on with it,” he said, sounding more confident. I liked that.
“Of course.”
I took my time doing up his other boot, taking every opportunity to tease him. His breath caught as I bent down to lay a kiss on his leather-covered ankle and then licked a long stripe up the side of the boot. The taste of leather and beeswax stuck on my tongue. A faint mouth-shaped smudge was left on his ankle.
I pretended not to notice that he was hard. That was until he caught me by the back of the neck and pulled me up to a kiss. The angle was awful, the slip and slide far from perfect. Soft lips, a faint scruff of a beard. A whisper of worship. I soaked up the moment.
We stared at each other, breathless, uncertain how to go on.
To my surprise, he was the one to make the next move. He pressed his neatly booted foot lightly against my straining crotch.
“You were the one to start this. I think you should be the one to finish it.”
I closed my eyes briefly. Not perfect? How could I ever have thought that?
I pursed my lips briefly, sorely tempted to drag this out and toy with him some more, but now wasn’t the time for that. Instead I opened his black pants with ease. There was something to be said for the sort of baggy pants he sometimes favored. He was slim enough that they looked like they might easily fall off him. Somehow he made it look good.
He lifted his hips eagerly, and I decided not to comment on the starship pattern of his boxers. I was more concerned with what they were hiding. I palmed his cock through his boxers, nice and hard for me. He let out a frustrated grunt and yanked the underwear the rest of the way down.
“They were a gift,” he said, sounding defensive, and for a moment I didn’t know what he was talking about. Oh, the boxers. They were already irrelevant as I was treated to the sight of his cock, slim and long and begging for my attention.
I leaned down and pressed a filthy kiss on the top, looking up at him through my lashes. He let out a throaty noise. I could feel his eyes on me as I went down on him, taking his cock slowly deeper, licked and sucked efficiently and let his cock hit the roof of my mouth. I didn’t try to take him all the way in; it was better when he could see my red lips and the traces they left on his cock. My hand worked on what I didn’t fit into my mouth, keeping with the rhythm.
“Christoph, you… Oh fuck.”
I never got to know what he was about to say. I don’t think he knew it himself. I was hard, too, filled and surrounded by his flesh and his smell and sex, full of the thrill of knowing that he found me desirable. I didn’t make a move to get off right then, though. Instead I let my other hand play with his balls and stroke the soft skin behind them. He seemed to like that trick, because he let out a choking sound and buried his hands in my hair.
He’d been careful not to move until then, caught up by the sight or out or courtesy, but now he began to thrust shakily into my mouth. From his jerky movements I could tell he wasn’t about to last long. He touched my cheek, and I looked up at him and sucked harder as his thrusts grew more forceful. He was biting his lip, trying to stay quiet, but trapped moans escaped anyway. Our quiet Olli, the enigma. I had wondered whether he’d be loud in bed. He bit down on his own wrist as he came in my mouth with a final, shuddering thrust.
I swallowed – I like to keep things tidy – and pulled off, taking care to leave as much of the lipstick on him as possible. He was a beautiful sight, his eyes closed and expression unguarded in the aftermath of pleasure. I glanced down at his cock, saw my marks there. Even more beautiful.
His thumb touched the corner of my mouth. I looked at him as he brushed a smear of lipstick off.
“I… Thank you? Do you, do you want me to return the favor?”
I smiled at him and ran a hand through my messed-up hair. He looked oddly relieved, seeing me dishevelled and not at all on my best. A brief return to the usual state of things.
“You’re welcome. We’re out of time, but you owe me one.”
I grinned at him and saw the corners of his mouth twitch. Good, he wasn’t getting cold feet or anything. Something more might yet become of this. My mind was brimming with possibilities. But right now, I was about to endure an interview and a photoshoot with a raging hard-on. It’d be torture. I was kind of looking forward to it. At least it would distract me from inane questions. Besides, I knew I wouldn’t have to suffer alone later...
“I need to fix my make-up. Again. I’ll take advantage of your bathroom,” I told him and fished the lipstick from my pocket.
I rose and turned to go. Olli let out an audible gulp as the heels of my shoes clicked on the floor.
“I didn’t realise you were wearing high heels.”
“Oh?” I said over my shoulder. “Would it have made a difference?”
He ran his hands over his face.
“Just go, or we’ll never get there in time.”
I didn’t bother to tell him that we were already a good twenty minutes late. He waited for me while I got ready. Another good sign.
I left the room before him. My heels clattered on the floor, making my hips sway instinctively. Red heels, red lipstick. Once again, I felt ready to take over the world.
The photoshoot took forever, in a slight drizzle, which worked wonders to calm me down. Olli looked like he’d been struck by lightning. I knew he still had my lipstick traces on his cock. Maybe I should have felt guilty. But the slight blush on his face and the intensity in his dark eyes every time he stole a glance at me – as if I wouldn’t notice – would look amazing on film.
When we were almost done, Paul sneaked closer to me and muttered, deadpan, while looking at the camera:
“Schneider, I don’t know what you did to Olli, but I want details.”
“I was only helping him out with his boots,” I said breezily. “And I will tell you all about it later. As soon as possible. Demonstrations might be in order.”
“Always so helpful,” Paul said and gave the camera one of those irresistible smiles I loved. His hand rested warm against by back, out of sight.
“We do have to get him out of the boots, too,” I added.
I could feel Paul shake with suppressed laughter.
“You’re a true knight in heels.”