what a great crop! They look so conspiratorial. This explanation just came into my head as I looked at it:
At first, when they run into each other at this event, they are uncomfortable. Not only do they have to make small talk at another industry thing, but they have to act natural while each is thinking about the fact that, in the near future, they are going to be off in the middle of Western Canada, snogging and making sound effects as though they were making hot monkey love. With each other.
Jake decides to take responsibility for breaking the ice. Besides, he can tell that Heath is feeling rather hemmed in by this crowd of suits. So he suggests they ditch off to get a drink together at a quiet little dive around the corner he knows. Heath can tell him all about Australian footie, and he can talk about hockey, and they can shuck their jackets and enjoy a manly, if short, evening at a real bar while their dates air-kiss through the crowd and chat about their gowns. They'll just stay a little while, so they won't be missed.
However, one pitcher of beer turns into several. And Jake doesn't really give a rat's ass about footie. Once he kicks off his formal shoes beneath the table and wiggles his toes, he can't resist a little footsie, the soles of his feet extra-sensitive in the silk socks he only wears to suit and tie affairs. The sensation of every contact is so much more through them, compared to the thick poly-cotton athletic socks he usually wears.
The first accidental stocking-foot brush against the smooth leather of Heath's loafers is a revelation. Jake delights in the sensuous contact, wondering if Heath notices as he lightly moves his right foot back and forth over the top of Heath's left shoe. It's like getting away with masturbating in public. Soon, he craves the feel of Heath's warm skin, and slowly moves his foot up under the hem of Heath's slacks.
Heath leans closer. Soon, a cab is called. The boys wind up in a modest hotel room, Heath relaxes in an armchair, wearing only his white formal shirt, which is now unbuttoned, revealing the old-fashioned sleeveless t-shirt beneath. His knees are spread as wide as the chair allows. He's half-way erect.
Jake sits across from him, in the matching ugly brown stuffed armchair. His shirt is unbuttoned, like Heath's, but he still has his tie on, though it's now draped, unknotted, hanging loose from his collar. He thinks it looks film noir that way.
His slacks are off, for mobility, but he's still wearing his Harry Potter boxers (it's turned out to be a pretty special occasion, after all). One silk-covered foot presses into the floor, for support. The other slides forward and backward beneath Heath's cock.
Heath is drowsy, buzzed, and happy. Jake is gratified to see his eyes pop open and his chin jump off his chest when he turns his foot a little so that the big toe digs into the sensitive area right behind the head of Heath's dick. Jake smiles as he slo-o-o-wly slides his toe along the underside, from the head to into the space between Heath's balls.
Heath sits up and braces his thighs against the inside of the chair for traction. Then he grabs Jake's foot in one hand, and his own dick in the other. Holding them together, he begins to thrust against the top of Jake's size-15 foot. Jake lets Heath control his foot, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair, and stares right into Heath's eyes as Heath comes.
Heath lets his head fall back for a minute. Then he looks at Jake, who has reclaimed his foot, and is peeling off his sticky sock. "You know what? I think this artistic collaboration of ours is going to work out bloody well."
(character limit exceeded; see next post for conclusion)
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Date: 2004-07-22 05:06 pm (UTC)At first, when they run into each other at this event, they are uncomfortable. Not only do they have to make small talk at another industry thing, but they have to act natural while each is thinking about the fact that, in the near future, they are going to be off in the middle of Western Canada, snogging and making sound effects as though they were making hot monkey love. With each other.
Jake decides to take responsibility for breaking the ice. Besides, he can tell that Heath is feeling rather hemmed in by this crowd of suits. So he suggests they ditch off to get a drink together at a quiet little dive around the corner he knows. Heath can tell him all about Australian footie, and he can talk about hockey, and they can shuck their jackets and enjoy a manly, if short, evening at a real bar while their dates air-kiss through the crowd and chat about their gowns. They'll just stay a little while, so they won't be missed.
However, one pitcher of beer turns into several. And Jake doesn't really give a rat's ass about footie. Once he kicks off his formal shoes beneath the table and wiggles his toes, he can't resist a little footsie, the soles of his feet extra-sensitive in the silk socks he only wears to suit and tie affairs. The sensation of every contact is so much more through them, compared to the thick poly-cotton athletic socks he usually wears.
The first accidental stocking-foot brush against the smooth leather of Heath's loafers is a revelation. Jake delights in the sensuous contact, wondering if Heath notices as he lightly moves his right foot back and forth over the top of Heath's left shoe. It's like getting away with masturbating in public. Soon, he craves the feel of Heath's warm skin, and slowly moves his foot up under the hem of Heath's slacks.
Heath leans closer. Soon, a cab is called. The boys wind up in a modest hotel room, Heath relaxes in an armchair, wearing only his white formal shirt, which is now unbuttoned, revealing the old-fashioned sleeveless t-shirt beneath. His knees are spread as wide as the chair allows. He's half-way erect.
Jake sits across from him, in the matching ugly brown stuffed armchair. His shirt is unbuttoned, like Heath's, but he still has his tie on, though it's now draped, unknotted, hanging loose from his collar. He thinks it looks film noir that way.
His slacks are off, for mobility, but he's still wearing his Harry Potter boxers (it's turned out to be a pretty special occasion, after all). One silk-covered foot presses into the floor, for support. The other slides forward and backward beneath Heath's cock.
Heath is drowsy, buzzed, and happy. Jake is gratified to see his eyes pop open and his chin jump off his chest when he turns his foot a little so that the big toe digs into the sensitive area right behind the head of Heath's dick. Jake smiles as he slo-o-o-wly slides his toe along the underside, from the head to into the space between Heath's balls.
Heath sits up and braces his thighs against the inside of the chair for traction. Then he grabs Jake's foot in one hand, and his own dick in the other. Holding them together, he begins to thrust against the top of Jake's size-15 foot. Jake lets Heath control his foot, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair, and stares right into Heath's eyes as Heath comes.
Heath lets his head fall back for a minute. Then he looks at Jake, who has reclaimed his foot, and is peeling off his sticky sock. "You know what? I think this artistic collaboration of ours is going to work out bloody well."
(character limit exceeded; see next post for conclusion)