Fic: Dress You Up (In My Love) [TVXQ RPS | AU] 2/2
The second challenge is menswear. Changmin doesn’t like menswear. It’s not his metier, but it’s Yunho’s fashion raison d’être. Changmin ponders his plan of attack, or maybe attaque, since he seems to be spending a lot of time thinking in French phrases.
The design brief calls for casual wear. Rather than attempting to make a pair of jeans, Changmin decides to go for a more preppy look. This is as close to urban as he’s ever going to get, and he’s pleased with the result.
“Yo,” he says when he finishes, “check it.”
Yunho looks slightly appalled. “Please don’t talk like that ever again.”
Mindful of the need to have the clothes walk for the judges, they agree to act as models for one another. Changmin dresses Yunho in beige chinos and a blue-checked utility shirt with a slightly structured collegiate knit cardigan. Yunho flattens his hair and brushes it forward, then picks up Changmin’s satchel and swings it around.
Changmin stares. It’s like gazing at an alternate life, and it’s almost disturbing. “You look, um... Actually, you look really cute like this. Cute in a hot way. Hot in a preppy way.” Time to shut up.
Yunho grins and ruffles a hand through his hair to restore it to its usual textured style. “You wanna play Hot For Teacher later? You can be sexy Professor Shim and I won’t have handed in my homework like a bad, bad boy and you can punish me.”
“I’ll make you write lines,” Changmin says, ignoring the stir of excitement. His libido is so predictable; he really shouldn’t indulge it. Not all the time, anyway.
“I must not sit at the back of class and touch myself while staring at Professor Shim’s long legs and luscious mouth,” Yunho chants.
“Whilst,” Changmin corrects. He straightens the collar of Yunho’s shirt, adjusts the drape of the cardigan, then steps back and surveys the whole look. “That’s good. Anyway, we already agreed on tonight’s forfeit.”
“No law against adding a bit of role play to it.” Yunho goes over to his workbench and hands Changmin the clothes he’s made for the challenge-a pair of skinny jeans, a grey graphic t-shirt, and a purple hoodie with a detachable hood.
“Let’s see who wins.” Changmin gets undressed, blushing as Yunho makes growly noises of appreciation. He wriggles into the jeans and pulls at the seat, then fiddles with the waistband. “I can never find a pair of jeans that fits properly,” Changmin says with a sigh. “Not a criticism; just a general observation. It’s not just your jeans, it’s everyone’s. And people wonder why I always wear suits.”
“I’m working on that,” Yunho says, going down onto his knees and adjusting the hems. “I don’t care how many pairs I have to cut and sew, one day I am going to make you the snuggest, sexiest, most comfortable jeans you’ve ever worn in your life.”
“I’d like that.” Changmin looks over his shoulder at his reflection in the full-length bevelled mirror they’d borrowed from their bedroom for the duration of the contest. “These aren’t those jeans, though. I mean, they’re perfectly nice, but...”
“Not your style,” Yunho finishes with a smile. “It’s okay.”
“None of this is my style.” Changmin pulls on the t-shirt and hoodie and thinks he looks like a bit of a prat.
“Just as this isn’t my style, either, but it’ll give the judges a laugh, at any rate.” Yunho bounces up and kisses him. Changmin murmurs approval at the sweet, lingering taste of pineapple lumps, then they pull away as the buzzer rings.
Spoon, Milhye, and Jiheun all arrive together. Tonight the refreshments consist of Chinese takeaway and beer, picked up by the judges en route to the studio. The judging process is much more casual this time, which is either an indication of how hungry everyone is or else it’s an indictment on menswear.
Yunho rolls up the sleeves of his cardigan and utility shirt before he helps himself to the food. Changmin bristles, itching to pull the sleeves down again, but he supposes that Yunho is simply being practical. Clothes just do not look good with kung pao chicken blobbed all over them. As soon as this thought enters his mind, Changmin wishes he hadn’t made beige chinos, because Jiheun’s sauce-drenched plate of Szechuan beef is alarmingly close to Yunho’s knee.
Whatever. It’s not like he’s going to win, anyway. Changmin tries to relax.
“Girlfriend,” Spoon says, waving a sweet and sour prawn at Changmin, “it’s just wonderful that you’ve arranged all this for your darlin’. You two are so cute.”
Changmin takes a sip of beer. “I just hope he’ll learn from the experience.”
“I’ve already learned a lot!” Yunho leans forward and digs through the bowl of rice, scattering grains across the chairs. “Yesterday’s forfeit, for example...”
“I meant I hope you’ll learn to manage your time better when you tackle a work project,” Changmin says loudly, hoping to stave off further discussion about forfeits.
Milhye gives them both a quizzical look. “Forfeit?”
Too late.
Jiheun’s eyes gleam. “Oho, was it something good?”
“If ‘good’ is a synonym for ‘sexyfilthydirty’, then you have to tell us,” Spoon declares. “In detail. Otherwise we ain’t judging nothin’.”
Changmin wants to sink his head into his hands.
“It was Changmin’s idea,” Yunho tells everyone, as if Changmin is some kind of wild kinkster with a ravenous sexual appetite, which might actually be true when he’s in the mood but right now it’s just embarrassing. “We play for forfeits to encourage the spirit of competition.”
“Competition,” Jiheun repeats, and the judges splutter-snort into their dinner.
Yunho looks confused. Before he can ask questions, Changmin says briskly, “Yes. Because a competitive spirit is needed when one wants to be a winner.”
More sniggering from the judges.
“So!” Milhye says brightly. “What was yesterday’s forfeit?”
Yunho beams. “Changmin took me dogging.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then Spoon shrieks, “Honeypie! Why’re you telling me this now?”
“You had a date last night,” Yunho says.
Windmilling his arms, Spoon yodels, “Darlin’, if you’d told me what sort of nasty times you were planning, my date would’ve involved watching you two cuties get it on under that damn bridge!”
Changmin raises his eyebrows.
Spoon looks flustered. “Not that I know where to go. Spoon has class. He’s not one for making an exhibition of himself, if you know what I mean.”
Jiheun laughs so hard she knocks over her plate of Szechuan beef. It splatters all down the beige chinos, just as Changmin had predicted.
“We should’ve brought the puppies,” Yunho says, wiping at the sauce. It just smears into the fabric and makes it look a hundred times worse. “They’d have cleaned this mess up in seconds.”
“Pup-dogs should not eat Chinese food.” Changmin goes into the kitchenette and fetches a damp cloth, for all the good that’ll do.
Yunho takes the cloth and scrubs at the stain. “What about Chinese dogs, can they eat Chinese food?”
Sometimes Changmin wonders why he bothers.
The judges exchange glances. “I think we’ve reached a decision,” Milhye says.
“You have?” Yunho looks over at them. “You didn’t ask us any questions yet. Changmin got the price points right this time. Please factor that into your decision.”
“That’s okay.” Jiheun grins. “Changmin’s the winner.”
“What?” Startled, Changmin almost spills his beer. He rights the bottle before it can fall and stands there blinking at the smirking judges. “I’m the winner?”
Spoon nods. “As you so often tell us, girl.”
Well, this is unexpected. The judges have minds of their own. Changmin isn’t sure what to make of that. He glances at Yunho, who’s looking a bit anxious.
Jiheun has been studying their reactions. Her grin becomes a cackle. “I think I can guess what the forfeit is tonight.”
Blatant curiosity written over his face, Spoon asks, “What what what?”
Rather pleased by the way things have turned out, Changmin slides an arm around Yunho’s waist and pulls him in close, all hot and predatory.
“Oh, I’m right!” Jiheun claps her hands.
Milhye just shakes her head, trying not to laugh.
“Say what?” Spoon wrinkles his nose.
“Winner gets to top.” Changmin nips at Yunho’s ear, then nuzzles his neck. “Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll be gentle.”
* * *
“I was thinking,” Spoon says. He’s the first of the judges to arrive for the final challenge, and he sprawls amongst the cushions on the sofa bed and sips at one of the lurid pink alcopops infesting the fridge. “Your forfeit last night wasn’t all that. It was only a forfeit ‘cos girlfriend here won. If Yunho had won, it’d be business as usual, right?”
“We recorded it,” Changmin says.
Yunho drops the bottle-opener and goes pinker than the alcopop.
Spoon almost chokes on his drink. “Baby doll, you made a sex tape?”
Expression calm and haughty, Changmin nods. “We certainly did.”
“Honey, I am so breaking into your house and robbing you. I need to see this.” Spoon is practically hyperventilating.
“We have dogs,” Changmin reminds him. “They’re trained to kill.”
“Those mutts?”
“Don’t be mean about the puppies.” Yunho retrieves the bottle-opener and sets out a few more opened alcopops. He’s regained control, but his smile is just the slightest bit nervous. “And there is no sex tape, Spoonie. Changmin is winding you up.”
“Yes.” Changmin flashes Yunho a look from beneath his lashes, hot with the memory of Professor Shim punishing bad boy Jung. “I was just joking.”
Spoon pretends to fan himself as he sits back against the cushions. “Lord have mercy. Even the thought of it has made me come over all unnecessary.”
Jiheun texts to say she’ll be delayed due to a class running over. Milhye arrives and examines the final two looks on the forms.
The third challenge was to create something chic yet street. In Changmin’s opinion, the words ‘chic’ and ‘street’ shouldn’t go together, except perhaps in a sentence such as There’s Shim Changmin walking down the street; doesn’t he look chic in his Armani suit?
Determined to lose this challenge, Changmin has made a grey silk asymmetrical shirt-dress that not only breaks the budget, it’s also spectacularly vile. He almost feels bad when he sees Milhye’s bewildered expression as she studies the garment. It’s probably the worst thing he’s ever made. Worse than his first student project, which was avant-garde and just plain hideous. He’d made better clothes when he was nine years old and sewing ball gowns for his sisters’ dolls.
Yunho’s look, by contrast, is superb. Using the same chrysanthemum print that went into the tracksuit jacket of the first challenge, he’s made a snug-fitting, variable-length skirt with a cute ruched panel at the sides to hide the cords that adjust the length. To go with it, there’s a loose-draped black cotton/lycra mix top with capped sleeves and a mandarin collar. It’s quietly stylish and still manages to look edgy.
“This,” Changmin had said earlier, “this has joie de vivre.”
Yunho had smiled. “And no buttons.”
Now Milhye gestures to Yunho’s look. “If Jiheun and I are going to model again, can I please wear this?”
“Certainly.” Yunho takes the clothes off the form and ushers Milhye towards the bathroom so she can get changed.
Spoon stares at Changmin’s horrible dress. “Girl,” he says, “you know what I’m going to say.”
“Ugly, ugly, ugly?” Changmin guesses.
“That sounds so much better when Kyu says it.” With a sigh, Spoon reaches for another of the pink alcopops. “Tell Spoon the truth now, sugar. Did you really make a sex tape?”
Changmin meets his gaze, as unblinking as a basilisk. “As Yunho said...” he begins, and then the buzzer rings. He gets to his feet. “That must be Jiheun.”
“Saved by the bell,” Spoon says, pouting. “Don’t you think I’ll forget this, girlfriend! I will find out, one way or another. Even if I have to bribe your dogs to bring me that tape!”
“What tape?” Jiheun demands as she comes bounding into the room, kicking off her high heels and slinging her jacket aside.
“Girlfriend and studmuffin made a sex tape last night.”
Jiheun’s eyes widen. “For real?”
Yunho flaps his hands and gets tangled in the tape measure draped around his neck. “It was all Professor Shim’s idea! I was a good boy! Except for the bit where I was very bad and needed correction, and... Ohhh, I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“I knew it!” Spoon falls off the sofa bed.
Changmin decides that Professor Shim didn’t punish naughty student Jung hard enough. Next time he’ll use a cane rather than his hand.
Milhye emerges from the bathroom wearing the look Yunho created. Everyone admires it.
“Jiheunie,” Yunho says cheerfully, “that means you’ll be wearing Changmin’s shirt-dress.”
Jiheun eyes the garment with disfavour. “Surely you mean ‘shit dress’. I’m not wearing that. It’s-”
“Ugly, ugly, ugly!” everyone says together.
Changmin thinks this judgement is a little harsh. It’s not that bad. Okay, maybe it is. But still, it’s made of silk. Someone would probably buy it. If it was on sale. And they’d probably unpick the seams and make something nicer out of it. But still.
Quelling his inner Bad Loser, Changmin once again reminds himself that this contest wasn’t about him. Through deviousness and forward planning, he’s managed to shepherd Yunho through the difficult last few days of a work project.
Changmin congratulates himself on a job well done. Never again will he allow Yunho to slack off when there’s a deadline. Even if he’s in Italy, Changmin vows to set aside a good ten minutes of their Skype dates to chastise Yunho for being a slug. Although considering the results yielded last night, maybe Professor Shim should take charge of all chastisements in future.
Needless to say, Yunho wins the final challenge. They whisk away the alcopops in favour of champagne and toast Yunho’s success in the contest and in finishing his collection for Evisu. Despite constant needling questions about (a) the alleged sex tape, and (b) what the forfeit is tonight, Yunho manages to keep his mouth shut and Changmin remains similarly tight-lipped.
They look at each other across the chatter and laughter of their friends and toast one another silently. Anticipation squirms through Changmin. He’s looking forward to giving Yunho his reward. It’s something he’s never done before; he’s never really been interested in it, which seems odd now he thinks about it, but even so...
Changmin can’t wait to get dressed up.
* * *
Four months later, they’re still playing this game. Although naughty student Jung was retired from action some time ago, Professor Shim is still a favourite. Last time, the good professor had got himself into a pickle when he’d set fire to his spaghetti carbonara and had to be rescued by a sexy fireman who’d carried him to safety and then ravished him. The burning the food part had actually been rather difficult to achieve, but Yunho had insisted on a real fire to ‘add verisimilitude’ to the performance.
Changmin wasn’t sure how his boyfriend knew a word like ‘verisimilitude’, but perhaps Professor Shim’s elocution lessons have had a part in extending Yunho’s vocabulary, amongst other things.
But even Professor Shim pales beside the awesome seductive power of Peach.
Stunning, sexy Peach only comes out to play on special occasions. They make a date every few weeks when Changmin’s at home. He’s spent most of this month in Milan and he’s missed Peach. This is the first time in ages he’s had the opportunity to get dressed up, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it.
These days Changmin has an extensive collection of garments tailored especially for Peach, made by himself and Yunho. In addition to the original outfit that went to Evisu, which was the height of modest discretion in comparison to the rest of the contents of his dress-up wardrobe, Changmin has lots of slutty clothes-dresses and tops and skirts and hotpants-made in a variety of tight, clinging, shimmery, see-through, or slick fabrics.
Changmin wanders around the studio, preparing for the evening ahead. He’d taken a nice relaxing bath before he came here, using liberal quantities of almond and sandalwood bath oil, and he feels sexy already.
He’s pleased to note that Yunho has tidied up after himself today rather than leaving the place looking like a tip; such is the authority and allure of Peach. Changmin pulls down the sofa bed, fluffs out the duvet, and rearranges the cushions into an inviting scatter. A handful of bubble-packs of lube are distributed beneath the cushions, and then he goes to the windows and closes the drapes. After dimming the spotlights, he examines the selection of Peach’s clothes set out on a hanging rail.
Yunho’s latest fashion interest is in items made of PVC. Changmin is of the opinion that PVC is for slappers and hookers. He hesitates over choosing a PVC skirt that laces up the back-there’s no way he’ll be able to get into that without assistance-then decides on something less flashy but equally trashy.
He wore loose, comfortable clothes to come here. Now he strips off and gets dressed as Peach, starting with underwear-a Rigby & Peller thong, slithery-soft black lace with ecru and rose embroidery and satin side-ties. It gives him a kick that this little scrap of nothing cost four times the amount of the rest of his outfit put together, and that’s without factoring in the shipping costs from the UK.
Next he squirms into a clingy, tight black lycra/jersey mini-skirt that simply won’t stay put at mid-thigh and always ends up riding higher and higher at the slightest provocation. Finally he selects a disgustingly cheap, satin-look polyester top-ugh, so awful, polyester-that barely sits on his shoulders and is cut to drape low at the front and back. If Peach had tits, they’d fall right out of this nasty top. As it is, the polyester flirts over Changmin’s chest and makes his nipples all perky.
He pulls at the hem of the skirt then stands straight, feeling it creep up in slow increments. Changmin considers whether or not he should wear stockings, then decides on bare legs. After the first time they’d played like this, he’d wondered about shaving his legs just for these occasions. Yunho had refused to contemplate it. He didn’t want smooth, he’d said; he wanted that slight roughness of hair. As a compromise, Changmin always uses body butter after his bath. If he can’t defuzz, then at least he can have soft skin.
With another ineffectual tug at the skirt, Changmin goes over to the mirror, summoning his role with each dainty step. Peach, he thinks, is somewhere between a slapper and a hooker. Yunho gave him the name, and Changmin feels like a peach when he’s dressed up like this, pretty and ripe and ready to be devoured.
As for Yunho... Changmin isn’t sure what role he’s supposed to be playing, because although Yunho comes up with complicated scenarios in advance, as soon as he’s through the door and lays eyes on Peach, everything goes out the window and the role play aspect gets forgotten in favour of desperate rutting.
Changmin doesn’t mind in the slightest.
He looks in the mirror and combs his hair with his fingers, then inexpertly parts it and arranges it into two little pigtails fastened with sparkly purple hair-ties. Although he draws the line at wearing make-up, he does have some lip-gloss that tastes of ginger. It makes his mouth look shiny and obscene, and he never regrets using it.
A quick check of the time. He’s almost ready. Now for the finishing touch-shoes. He squeezes his feet into a pair of mules with kitten heels. This is the only thing about being Peach that he doesn’t like; he can’t find shoes big enough to fit him. They don’t usually stay on long enough for them to pinch or rub, but as Changmin admires his complete look in the mirror, he wishes he had prettier shoes.
There’s a knock at the door.
Changmin stares at his reflection, eyes widening, lips parting. Anticipation tickles all over him. He waits for Yunho to knock a second time, then sways across the studio and opens the door.
“Hi.” Yunho stands there, hair still damp from the shower, his cologne sharp and spicy. He’s wearing a suit and tie and he’s clutching a glossy carrier bag with braided handles. His gaze rolls over Changmin, hot and greedy, and then he steps across the threshold, drops the bag, and grabs hold as the door swings shut behind him.
They kiss, open-mouthed and fierce. Yunho takes a handful of Changmin’s ass and squeezes. His fingertips skim bare flesh. Changmin shivers and makes a hungry sound, a dirty little noise that Yunho echoes.
Changmin pulls away, licking his lips. He strokes a hand over Yunho’s suit jacket and gives him a coquettish look. “I like a man who dresses up for me.”
“Me, too.” Yunho grins, backs Changmin against the wall, and kisses him again. Changmin lifts a leg and wraps it around Yunho. They hump and grind together, their kisses getting wetter. Desire spools out, heavy and urgent. Changmin gasps as Yunho licks and kisses down his neck. Tilting his head, Changmin lets Yunho graze at the soft skin of his throat and across his collarbones. Heat fills him. Senses burning, Changmin holds onto Yunho’s shoulders and revels in the fantasy.
“Changminnie,” Yunho murmurs.
“Peach,” Changmin corrects. “But I can be Changmin for you.” Now wouldn’t that be a mindfuck.
Yunho lifts his head and puts a hand to Changmin’s face; caresses his cheek, his mouth. “Peach. Gorgeous Peach.”
Changmin squirms against him. “What do you want, honey?” Sliding a hand between their bodies, he cups Yunho’s erection. “Mm. Just what have you got for me?”
A helpless groan falls from Yunho’s lips. “A present.” His eyes flutter closed as Changmin strokes him through the suit trousers.
“A big present, I hope.” Changmin tries not to giggle.
With an effort, Yunho extricates himself and backs away, all flushed and excited. “A real present. Sit down, baby. Let me show you.”
Oh yes, the carrier bag. He’d almost forgotten. Deciding not to pout just yet, Changmin sashays across the room. The skirt rides up, but this time he doesn’t bother to pull it down. Behind him, Yunho makes a weird sort of noise, like he’s choking on his own drool. Pleased with the reaction, Changmin surreptitiously adjusts the position of his dick in the lacy panties then sits on the edge of the bed in a very demure fashion.
Yunho brings the bag over. There’s a large box inside. Going down onto his knees, Yunho removes the box, opens it, then lifts out a pair of boots.
Changmin stares, lustful greed pulsing in him. These aren’t just boots. These are hooker boots. Seriously fucking sexy hooker boots. Thigh-high and made of the softest black leather polished to a high gloss, they’re fastened with smoked silver zips and boast six-inch spike heels and two-inch platforms to spread his weight evenly through the soles.
He’s so in love with the boots that Changmin breaks character for a moment. “Where...?”
Yunho looks up at him, smiling. “The Estonian guy decided on a career change and went into shoe design and manufacture.”
“But,” Changmin says, trying to match the heavenly reality of the fuck-me boots with the memory of the quiet little Estonian whose chief contribution to Stitched Up had been to leave large quantities of vodka in the boys’ apartment, “his own shoes were cheap and falling apart and-” the worst crime of all, “unpolished.”
“Still are, for all I know,” Yunho says cheerfully. “But he makes the most gorgeous shoes for other people.”
Setting down the boots for a moment, he takes Changmin’s feet and places them in his lap. With care, he eases off the mules and lines them up on the floor beneath the bed. He plays with Changmin’s bare feet, running his fingertips all over them, then picks up the left boot and encourages Changmin to slip his foot inside.
The boot is lined, slithery and cool with satin. Changmin bites back an indulgent moan. God, it feels like really good sex. Yunho will turn him into a fetishist or something. He wiggles his toes, ridiculously pleased by the perfect fit, and flexes his leg as Yunho zips up the boot, the zipper rough-purring all the way up.
Yunho helps him with the right boot. Changmin admires them. They were hot in the box. Now they’re actually on his feet and encasing his legs, they’re beyond glorious. “You had these custom made for me?”
“For Peach.” Yunho finishes zipping up the second boot. His hand trembles. He’s quivering with excitement. “Walk for me?”
Changmin isn’t sure about wearing such killer spike heels on the stripped floorboards of the studio. Peach, however, has no such compunction. He gets up, and after a few tentative steps to the other side of the room, he turns and does a catwalk strut, the sound of the heels so percussive it’s like machine-gun fire.
Yunho looks as if he’s about to come.
Changmin halts right in front of Yunho. Finding his balance, Changmin puts one foot against Yunho’s chest and presses down just enough that the heel digs in. Changmin summons his haughtiest look. “Down, boy.”
Uttering a noise that sounds something like grahhahh, Yunho tumbles backwards.
Feeling like that Bond girl who killed men by crushing them between her thighs, Changmin steps between Yunho’s splayed legs and places the toe of his boot teasingly, threateningly, over Yunho’s balls.
“Oh baby,” Yunho moans, lifting his hips.
Wickedness and power fizz through Changmin, making him heady. He licks his lips and pouts. “Oh. So sad. Peach’s shiny new boots have a scuff.”
Yunho jerks up his head. “Where?”
Changmin flexes his leg. The toe of his boot lifts from over Yunho’s balls as the spike heel drives down and taps hard against the floor, the sound loud and sharp enough to make them both jump.
They stare at each other. There’s absolute lust in Yunho’s eyes. Revelling in such blatant admiration, Changmin tosses his head, pigtails bobbing, and gives a soft, wavering sigh.
Yunho circles a hand around Changmin’s ankle. He doesn’t break their gaze. “Where’s the scuff?”
Changmin gestures vaguely. “Attend to it. I won’t accept shoddy goods.”
Gently, carefully, Yunho increases his grip on Changmin’s ankle and makes him put his foot down flat on the floor. Then Yunho wriggles around and stretches out at Changmin’s feet. He lowers his head and kisses the toe of Changmin’s right boot.
Changmin thinks he might just die now. “You don’t need to-”
“I want to,” Yunho says, tongue flickering as he processes the taste of the polished leather. “Let me. Let me please Peach.”
Yeah. Peach would love to have a hot, sexy man licking her boots. Changmin stands a little taller, puts a little more attitude into his stance. “Make sure you do a proper job of it.”
Yunho licks over the foot and moves upwards, leaving a wet trail on the leather. He moans and humps the floor, eyes closed as he concentrates. The sound goes straight to Changmin’s dick, makes him ache and roll his hips, head tilting back as craving swims through him.
There’s the softest caress against bare skin. Yunho’s hair brushes the inside of Changmin’s thigh; he’s almost reached the top of the right boot. Changmin quivers at the touch. Unable to resist, he strokes his hand through Yunho’s hair and mews when Yunho’s lips pass from cool, slick leather to warm, sweat-dampened skin.
“Oh, Yun, please,” Changmin says, then recalls Peach and corrects himself: “Lick me there.”
Ever willing, Yunho licks at the few inches of thigh between the top of the boot and the hem of the skirt. He’s respectful about it. He doesn’t take advantage of his position to snuffle up into Changmin’s crotch, although he says, “Ohhh God, I can smell you, I can taste you, I wanna suck you so bad, baby.”
“Not yet.” Changmin taps his left foot. “You haven’t finished your task.”
“Oh, Peach is so cruel.” Yunho flashes him a thrilled, ecstatic look and drops back down onto the floor to start all over again.
By the time Yunho has made his leisurely, tortuous way up the left boot-and this time Changmin is certain that Yunho is doing it deliberately slowly, just to punish Peach for being so demanding-Changmin can barely stand upright. He sways on the spike heels, and Yunho wraps both arms around him to hold him up. At the same time, Yunho gifts tiny, soft love-bites up Changmin’s left thigh, then shoves up the clinging skirt and nuzzles higher, tongue curling to tickle at Changmin’s balls stuffed into the inadequate lacy covering of his panties.
Changmin grabs onto Yunho’s shoulders. “I’m going to fall.”
“I’ll catch you.” The skirt is shoved up higher and twisted around Changmin’s ass. Yunho nibbles at the knickers. “Fuck, these are hot. What are they made of, cobwebs?”
“Lace.” It’s getting difficult to remember how to form coherent speech. Changmin’s breathing is increasingly swift and ragged, coming faster as Yunho soft-mouths at his balls through the lace, around the lace. The fabric is tight, restrictive, wet with pre-come and saliva. Changmin can’t bear it any more. He pulls the skirt all the way up around his waist, then takes Yunho’s hand and places it high on his hip. “They unfasten at the sides.”
Yunho hums around a mouthful of Changmin’s balls then slurps away and tugs at the thin satin ribbon. “Oh, so they do. I like these knickers. Buy a dozen next time.”
Changmin totters on his heels. Peach would probably totter, too, if she had a lapful of horny man eating at her as he stripped her of her soaking wet panties. The ties on the other side of the knickers come undone. Yunho nips at the lacy crotch and pulls the garment right off with his teeth.
The thong drops to the floor. Yunho rises to his feet, eyes blazing with lust. “Enough foreplay,” he says, then picks Changmin up and carries him the short distance to the bed. They fall across it, kissing frantically, hands everywhere.
Changmin yanks at Yunho’s clothes. Yunho helps, throwing his jacket across the room and loosening his tie. Changmin scrabbles at the shirt, unbuttons most of it and puts his hands all over Yunho’s chest, moaning his appreciation. Yunho unfastens his trousers and kicks them off, then strips out of his underwear. He rubs against Changmin’s thighs, hot and hard.
Seizing hold of Yunho’s tie, Changmin rolls them over. He knocks two cushions onto the floor and rucks up the duvet, spike heels catching on the Egyptian cotton as he settles himself. Skirt up around his waist, his top falling off one shoulder, Changmin slides back and wiggles against Yunho’s cock. His hair has almost worked free of the purple sparkly ties. He blows out a breath. “Do you like my pigtails?”
“Love them,” Yunho assures him. “I love your pigtails. Oh, Peach, you’re so succulent.” He slides his hands over Changmin’s body, worshipping chest, belly, hips. He strokes patterns across Changmin’s thighs above the tops of the boots, then slides his touch around to grip Changmin’s ass and pulls him down. “Ride me.”
Changmin gropes across the duvet for lube. Grabbing two packs, he tears them open and slicks the gel all over Yunho’s stiff cock then fingers himself, eyes closing in pleasure at the teasing touch.
“Hurry,” Yunho begs, impatient. He holds onto Changmin’s hips as they position themselves just right, then bucks up.
Changmin grinds down nice and hard, mouth open on a shuddery moan at the blissful burn of being stretched and filled. He moves at a trot, the promise of orgasm shimmering up his spine before he’s even begun to get what he wants.
Yunho fucks into him. The musky, sweaty scent of sex mingles with the smell of leather. The boots creak, counterpoint to the squelch of the lube and the bouncing squeal of the springs in the mattress.
Joyous laughter spills out of Changmin. He strips off his top and scrawls both hands through his hair, pulling out the pigtails and mussing his hair even more, shimmying as he arches and poses. Yunho shafts into him harder, faster, and Changmin feels incredible; he feels so fucking sexy and triumphant.
“What does Peach need?” he snaps out.
Yunho gurgles. “Cream.”
“That’s right!” Changmin flicks his head forwards, hair tumbling into his face. “Peach needs cream! Are you gonna give it to me?”
Yunho goes cross-eyed. “Oh fuck, baby.”
He seizes Changmin around the waist and rolls them over. Changmin whines in protest as Yunho slips out of him, then stops the sound as Yunho kisses him. Changmin curls backwards. Yunho spreads himself out on top of Changmin, quivering as he holds still, and then he slides back in, all the way to the hilt.
Changmin arches up, head going back, long, gasping moans forced out of him.
They fuck, finding a glorious deep rhythm together. The angle is just right to send pleasure burning through him. It’s rough but oh so good: so good it’s unbearable, so good it makes him clench down hard.
“Changmin. Peach. Baby,” Yunho babbles. “Ohhhh, so tight. So amazing. So close. I’m gonna. Oh God. Please.”
“Yunho,” Changmin snarls. “Make me come. Make. Me. Come.” He spikes Yunho with his heels, and Yunho gasps and lurches forward, driving even deeper.
“Yes.” It comes out as a shout. Changmin doesn’t care. His throat aches with the need to shout and yell and scream his satisfaction. He holds on tight, rutting and shoving, frantic, frenetic. “God. Yes. Yes. Do it now.”
Yunho makes a desperate sound and bucks, orgasm hammering through him. Changmin thrashes, caught on the same hook, and then climax pours through him, sweet and merciless.
When they can move again, they share languid kisses and gentle caresses and cuddle together, streaked with lube and sweat and seed.
“Guess you liked the boots,” Yunho says.
Changmin smiles. “Guess so.”
Yep, Changmin congratulates himself smugly, he really does have the best ideas-and playing dress-up was the very best one of all.
The design brief calls for casual wear. Rather than attempting to make a pair of jeans, Changmin decides to go for a more preppy look. This is as close to urban as he’s ever going to get, and he’s pleased with the result.
“Yo,” he says when he finishes, “check it.”
Yunho looks slightly appalled. “Please don’t talk like that ever again.”
Mindful of the need to have the clothes walk for the judges, they agree to act as models for one another. Changmin dresses Yunho in beige chinos and a blue-checked utility shirt with a slightly structured collegiate knit cardigan. Yunho flattens his hair and brushes it forward, then picks up Changmin’s satchel and swings it around.
Changmin stares. It’s like gazing at an alternate life, and it’s almost disturbing. “You look, um... Actually, you look really cute like this. Cute in a hot way. Hot in a preppy way.” Time to shut up.
Yunho grins and ruffles a hand through his hair to restore it to its usual textured style. “You wanna play Hot For Teacher later? You can be sexy Professor Shim and I won’t have handed in my homework like a bad, bad boy and you can punish me.”
“I’ll make you write lines,” Changmin says, ignoring the stir of excitement. His libido is so predictable; he really shouldn’t indulge it. Not all the time, anyway.
“I must not sit at the back of class and touch myself while staring at Professor Shim’s long legs and luscious mouth,” Yunho chants.
“Whilst,” Changmin corrects. He straightens the collar of Yunho’s shirt, adjusts the drape of the cardigan, then steps back and surveys the whole look. “That’s good. Anyway, we already agreed on tonight’s forfeit.”
“No law against adding a bit of role play to it.” Yunho goes over to his workbench and hands Changmin the clothes he’s made for the challenge-a pair of skinny jeans, a grey graphic t-shirt, and a purple hoodie with a detachable hood.
“Let’s see who wins.” Changmin gets undressed, blushing as Yunho makes growly noises of appreciation. He wriggles into the jeans and pulls at the seat, then fiddles with the waistband. “I can never find a pair of jeans that fits properly,” Changmin says with a sigh. “Not a criticism; just a general observation. It’s not just your jeans, it’s everyone’s. And people wonder why I always wear suits.”
“I’m working on that,” Yunho says, going down onto his knees and adjusting the hems. “I don’t care how many pairs I have to cut and sew, one day I am going to make you the snuggest, sexiest, most comfortable jeans you’ve ever worn in your life.”
“I’d like that.” Changmin looks over his shoulder at his reflection in the full-length bevelled mirror they’d borrowed from their bedroom for the duration of the contest. “These aren’t those jeans, though. I mean, they’re perfectly nice, but...”
“Not your style,” Yunho finishes with a smile. “It’s okay.”
“None of this is my style.” Changmin pulls on the t-shirt and hoodie and thinks he looks like a bit of a prat.
“Just as this isn’t my style, either, but it’ll give the judges a laugh, at any rate.” Yunho bounces up and kisses him. Changmin murmurs approval at the sweet, lingering taste of pineapple lumps, then they pull away as the buzzer rings.
Spoon, Milhye, and Jiheun all arrive together. Tonight the refreshments consist of Chinese takeaway and beer, picked up by the judges en route to the studio. The judging process is much more casual this time, which is either an indication of how hungry everyone is or else it’s an indictment on menswear.
Yunho rolls up the sleeves of his cardigan and utility shirt before he helps himself to the food. Changmin bristles, itching to pull the sleeves down again, but he supposes that Yunho is simply being practical. Clothes just do not look good with kung pao chicken blobbed all over them. As soon as this thought enters his mind, Changmin wishes he hadn’t made beige chinos, because Jiheun’s sauce-drenched plate of Szechuan beef is alarmingly close to Yunho’s knee.
Whatever. It’s not like he’s going to win, anyway. Changmin tries to relax.
“Girlfriend,” Spoon says, waving a sweet and sour prawn at Changmin, “it’s just wonderful that you’ve arranged all this for your darlin’. You two are so cute.”
Changmin takes a sip of beer. “I just hope he’ll learn from the experience.”
“I’ve already learned a lot!” Yunho leans forward and digs through the bowl of rice, scattering grains across the chairs. “Yesterday’s forfeit, for example...”
“I meant I hope you’ll learn to manage your time better when you tackle a work project,” Changmin says loudly, hoping to stave off further discussion about forfeits.
Milhye gives them both a quizzical look. “Forfeit?”
Too late.
Jiheun’s eyes gleam. “Oho, was it something good?”
“If ‘good’ is a synonym for ‘sexyfilthydirty’, then you have to tell us,” Spoon declares. “In detail. Otherwise we ain’t judging nothin’.”
Changmin wants to sink his head into his hands.
“It was Changmin’s idea,” Yunho tells everyone, as if Changmin is some kind of wild kinkster with a ravenous sexual appetite, which might actually be true when he’s in the mood but right now it’s just embarrassing. “We play for forfeits to encourage the spirit of competition.”
“Competition,” Jiheun repeats, and the judges splutter-snort into their dinner.
Yunho looks confused. Before he can ask questions, Changmin says briskly, “Yes. Because a competitive spirit is needed when one wants to be a winner.”
More sniggering from the judges.
“So!” Milhye says brightly. “What was yesterday’s forfeit?”
Yunho beams. “Changmin took me dogging.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then Spoon shrieks, “Honeypie! Why’re you telling me this now?”
“You had a date last night,” Yunho says.
Windmilling his arms, Spoon yodels, “Darlin’, if you’d told me what sort of nasty times you were planning, my date would’ve involved watching you two cuties get it on under that damn bridge!”
Changmin raises his eyebrows.
Spoon looks flustered. “Not that I know where to go. Spoon has class. He’s not one for making an exhibition of himself, if you know what I mean.”
Jiheun laughs so hard she knocks over her plate of Szechuan beef. It splatters all down the beige chinos, just as Changmin had predicted.
“We should’ve brought the puppies,” Yunho says, wiping at the sauce. It just smears into the fabric and makes it look a hundred times worse. “They’d have cleaned this mess up in seconds.”
“Pup-dogs should not eat Chinese food.” Changmin goes into the kitchenette and fetches a damp cloth, for all the good that’ll do.
Yunho takes the cloth and scrubs at the stain. “What about Chinese dogs, can they eat Chinese food?”
Sometimes Changmin wonders why he bothers.
The judges exchange glances. “I think we’ve reached a decision,” Milhye says.
“You have?” Yunho looks over at them. “You didn’t ask us any questions yet. Changmin got the price points right this time. Please factor that into your decision.”
“That’s okay.” Jiheun grins. “Changmin’s the winner.”
“What?” Startled, Changmin almost spills his beer. He rights the bottle before it can fall and stands there blinking at the smirking judges. “I’m the winner?”
Spoon nods. “As you so often tell us, girl.”
Well, this is unexpected. The judges have minds of their own. Changmin isn’t sure what to make of that. He glances at Yunho, who’s looking a bit anxious.
Jiheun has been studying their reactions. Her grin becomes a cackle. “I think I can guess what the forfeit is tonight.”
Blatant curiosity written over his face, Spoon asks, “What what what?”
Rather pleased by the way things have turned out, Changmin slides an arm around Yunho’s waist and pulls him in close, all hot and predatory.
“Oh, I’m right!” Jiheun claps her hands.
Milhye just shakes her head, trying not to laugh.
“Say what?” Spoon wrinkles his nose.
“Winner gets to top.” Changmin nips at Yunho’s ear, then nuzzles his neck. “Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll be gentle.”
* * *
“I was thinking,” Spoon says. He’s the first of the judges to arrive for the final challenge, and he sprawls amongst the cushions on the sofa bed and sips at one of the lurid pink alcopops infesting the fridge. “Your forfeit last night wasn’t all that. It was only a forfeit ‘cos girlfriend here won. If Yunho had won, it’d be business as usual, right?”
“We recorded it,” Changmin says.
Yunho drops the bottle-opener and goes pinker than the alcopop.
Spoon almost chokes on his drink. “Baby doll, you made a sex tape?”
Expression calm and haughty, Changmin nods. “We certainly did.”
“Honey, I am so breaking into your house and robbing you. I need to see this.” Spoon is practically hyperventilating.
“We have dogs,” Changmin reminds him. “They’re trained to kill.”
“Those mutts?”
“Don’t be mean about the puppies.” Yunho retrieves the bottle-opener and sets out a few more opened alcopops. He’s regained control, but his smile is just the slightest bit nervous. “And there is no sex tape, Spoonie. Changmin is winding you up.”
“Yes.” Changmin flashes Yunho a look from beneath his lashes, hot with the memory of Professor Shim punishing bad boy Jung. “I was just joking.”
Spoon pretends to fan himself as he sits back against the cushions. “Lord have mercy. Even the thought of it has made me come over all unnecessary.”
Jiheun texts to say she’ll be delayed due to a class running over. Milhye arrives and examines the final two looks on the forms.
The third challenge was to create something chic yet street. In Changmin’s opinion, the words ‘chic’ and ‘street’ shouldn’t go together, except perhaps in a sentence such as There’s Shim Changmin walking down the street; doesn’t he look chic in his Armani suit?
Determined to lose this challenge, Changmin has made a grey silk asymmetrical shirt-dress that not only breaks the budget, it’s also spectacularly vile. He almost feels bad when he sees Milhye’s bewildered expression as she studies the garment. It’s probably the worst thing he’s ever made. Worse than his first student project, which was avant-garde and just plain hideous. He’d made better clothes when he was nine years old and sewing ball gowns for his sisters’ dolls.
Yunho’s look, by contrast, is superb. Using the same chrysanthemum print that went into the tracksuit jacket of the first challenge, he’s made a snug-fitting, variable-length skirt with a cute ruched panel at the sides to hide the cords that adjust the length. To go with it, there’s a loose-draped black cotton/lycra mix top with capped sleeves and a mandarin collar. It’s quietly stylish and still manages to look edgy.
“This,” Changmin had said earlier, “this has joie de vivre.”
Yunho had smiled. “And no buttons.”
Now Milhye gestures to Yunho’s look. “If Jiheun and I are going to model again, can I please wear this?”
“Certainly.” Yunho takes the clothes off the form and ushers Milhye towards the bathroom so she can get changed.
Spoon stares at Changmin’s horrible dress. “Girl,” he says, “you know what I’m going to say.”
“Ugly, ugly, ugly?” Changmin guesses.
“That sounds so much better when Kyu says it.” With a sigh, Spoon reaches for another of the pink alcopops. “Tell Spoon the truth now, sugar. Did you really make a sex tape?”
Changmin meets his gaze, as unblinking as a basilisk. “As Yunho said...” he begins, and then the buzzer rings. He gets to his feet. “That must be Jiheun.”
“Saved by the bell,” Spoon says, pouting. “Don’t you think I’ll forget this, girlfriend! I will find out, one way or another. Even if I have to bribe your dogs to bring me that tape!”
“What tape?” Jiheun demands as she comes bounding into the room, kicking off her high heels and slinging her jacket aside.
“Girlfriend and studmuffin made a sex tape last night.”
Jiheun’s eyes widen. “For real?”
Yunho flaps his hands and gets tangled in the tape measure draped around his neck. “It was all Professor Shim’s idea! I was a good boy! Except for the bit where I was very bad and needed correction, and... Ohhh, I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“I knew it!” Spoon falls off the sofa bed.
Changmin decides that Professor Shim didn’t punish naughty student Jung hard enough. Next time he’ll use a cane rather than his hand.
Milhye emerges from the bathroom wearing the look Yunho created. Everyone admires it.
“Jiheunie,” Yunho says cheerfully, “that means you’ll be wearing Changmin’s shirt-dress.”
Jiheun eyes the garment with disfavour. “Surely you mean ‘shit dress’. I’m not wearing that. It’s-”
“Ugly, ugly, ugly!” everyone says together.
Changmin thinks this judgement is a little harsh. It’s not that bad. Okay, maybe it is. But still, it’s made of silk. Someone would probably buy it. If it was on sale. And they’d probably unpick the seams and make something nicer out of it. But still.
Quelling his inner Bad Loser, Changmin once again reminds himself that this contest wasn’t about him. Through deviousness and forward planning, he’s managed to shepherd Yunho through the difficult last few days of a work project.
Changmin congratulates himself on a job well done. Never again will he allow Yunho to slack off when there’s a deadline. Even if he’s in Italy, Changmin vows to set aside a good ten minutes of their Skype dates to chastise Yunho for being a slug. Although considering the results yielded last night, maybe Professor Shim should take charge of all chastisements in future.
Needless to say, Yunho wins the final challenge. They whisk away the alcopops in favour of champagne and toast Yunho’s success in the contest and in finishing his collection for Evisu. Despite constant needling questions about (a) the alleged sex tape, and (b) what the forfeit is tonight, Yunho manages to keep his mouth shut and Changmin remains similarly tight-lipped.
They look at each other across the chatter and laughter of their friends and toast one another silently. Anticipation squirms through Changmin. He’s looking forward to giving Yunho his reward. It’s something he’s never done before; he’s never really been interested in it, which seems odd now he thinks about it, but even so...
Changmin can’t wait to get dressed up.
* * *
Four months later, they’re still playing this game. Although naughty student Jung was retired from action some time ago, Professor Shim is still a favourite. Last time, the good professor had got himself into a pickle when he’d set fire to his spaghetti carbonara and had to be rescued by a sexy fireman who’d carried him to safety and then ravished him. The burning the food part had actually been rather difficult to achieve, but Yunho had insisted on a real fire to ‘add verisimilitude’ to the performance.
Changmin wasn’t sure how his boyfriend knew a word like ‘verisimilitude’, but perhaps Professor Shim’s elocution lessons have had a part in extending Yunho’s vocabulary, amongst other things.
But even Professor Shim pales beside the awesome seductive power of Peach.
Stunning, sexy Peach only comes out to play on special occasions. They make a date every few weeks when Changmin’s at home. He’s spent most of this month in Milan and he’s missed Peach. This is the first time in ages he’s had the opportunity to get dressed up, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it.
These days Changmin has an extensive collection of garments tailored especially for Peach, made by himself and Yunho. In addition to the original outfit that went to Evisu, which was the height of modest discretion in comparison to the rest of the contents of his dress-up wardrobe, Changmin has lots of slutty clothes-dresses and tops and skirts and hotpants-made in a variety of tight, clinging, shimmery, see-through, or slick fabrics.
Changmin wanders around the studio, preparing for the evening ahead. He’d taken a nice relaxing bath before he came here, using liberal quantities of almond and sandalwood bath oil, and he feels sexy already.
He’s pleased to note that Yunho has tidied up after himself today rather than leaving the place looking like a tip; such is the authority and allure of Peach. Changmin pulls down the sofa bed, fluffs out the duvet, and rearranges the cushions into an inviting scatter. A handful of bubble-packs of lube are distributed beneath the cushions, and then he goes to the windows and closes the drapes. After dimming the spotlights, he examines the selection of Peach’s clothes set out on a hanging rail.
Yunho’s latest fashion interest is in items made of PVC. Changmin is of the opinion that PVC is for slappers and hookers. He hesitates over choosing a PVC skirt that laces up the back-there’s no way he’ll be able to get into that without assistance-then decides on something less flashy but equally trashy.
He wore loose, comfortable clothes to come here. Now he strips off and gets dressed as Peach, starting with underwear-a Rigby & Peller thong, slithery-soft black lace with ecru and rose embroidery and satin side-ties. It gives him a kick that this little scrap of nothing cost four times the amount of the rest of his outfit put together, and that’s without factoring in the shipping costs from the UK.
Next he squirms into a clingy, tight black lycra/jersey mini-skirt that simply won’t stay put at mid-thigh and always ends up riding higher and higher at the slightest provocation. Finally he selects a disgustingly cheap, satin-look polyester top-ugh, so awful, polyester-that barely sits on his shoulders and is cut to drape low at the front and back. If Peach had tits, they’d fall right out of this nasty top. As it is, the polyester flirts over Changmin’s chest and makes his nipples all perky.
He pulls at the hem of the skirt then stands straight, feeling it creep up in slow increments. Changmin considers whether or not he should wear stockings, then decides on bare legs. After the first time they’d played like this, he’d wondered about shaving his legs just for these occasions. Yunho had refused to contemplate it. He didn’t want smooth, he’d said; he wanted that slight roughness of hair. As a compromise, Changmin always uses body butter after his bath. If he can’t defuzz, then at least he can have soft skin.
With another ineffectual tug at the skirt, Changmin goes over to the mirror, summoning his role with each dainty step. Peach, he thinks, is somewhere between a slapper and a hooker. Yunho gave him the name, and Changmin feels like a peach when he’s dressed up like this, pretty and ripe and ready to be devoured.
As for Yunho... Changmin isn’t sure what role he’s supposed to be playing, because although Yunho comes up with complicated scenarios in advance, as soon as he’s through the door and lays eyes on Peach, everything goes out the window and the role play aspect gets forgotten in favour of desperate rutting.
Changmin doesn’t mind in the slightest.
He looks in the mirror and combs his hair with his fingers, then inexpertly parts it and arranges it into two little pigtails fastened with sparkly purple hair-ties. Although he draws the line at wearing make-up, he does have some lip-gloss that tastes of ginger. It makes his mouth look shiny and obscene, and he never regrets using it.
A quick check of the time. He’s almost ready. Now for the finishing touch-shoes. He squeezes his feet into a pair of mules with kitten heels. This is the only thing about being Peach that he doesn’t like; he can’t find shoes big enough to fit him. They don’t usually stay on long enough for them to pinch or rub, but as Changmin admires his complete look in the mirror, he wishes he had prettier shoes.
There’s a knock at the door.
Changmin stares at his reflection, eyes widening, lips parting. Anticipation tickles all over him. He waits for Yunho to knock a second time, then sways across the studio and opens the door.
“Hi.” Yunho stands there, hair still damp from the shower, his cologne sharp and spicy. He’s wearing a suit and tie and he’s clutching a glossy carrier bag with braided handles. His gaze rolls over Changmin, hot and greedy, and then he steps across the threshold, drops the bag, and grabs hold as the door swings shut behind him.
They kiss, open-mouthed and fierce. Yunho takes a handful of Changmin’s ass and squeezes. His fingertips skim bare flesh. Changmin shivers and makes a hungry sound, a dirty little noise that Yunho echoes.
Changmin pulls away, licking his lips. He strokes a hand over Yunho’s suit jacket and gives him a coquettish look. “I like a man who dresses up for me.”
“Me, too.” Yunho grins, backs Changmin against the wall, and kisses him again. Changmin lifts a leg and wraps it around Yunho. They hump and grind together, their kisses getting wetter. Desire spools out, heavy and urgent. Changmin gasps as Yunho licks and kisses down his neck. Tilting his head, Changmin lets Yunho graze at the soft skin of his throat and across his collarbones. Heat fills him. Senses burning, Changmin holds onto Yunho’s shoulders and revels in the fantasy.
“Changminnie,” Yunho murmurs.
“Peach,” Changmin corrects. “But I can be Changmin for you.” Now wouldn’t that be a mindfuck.
Yunho lifts his head and puts a hand to Changmin’s face; caresses his cheek, his mouth. “Peach. Gorgeous Peach.”
Changmin squirms against him. “What do you want, honey?” Sliding a hand between their bodies, he cups Yunho’s erection. “Mm. Just what have you got for me?”
A helpless groan falls from Yunho’s lips. “A present.” His eyes flutter closed as Changmin strokes him through the suit trousers.
“A big present, I hope.” Changmin tries not to giggle.
With an effort, Yunho extricates himself and backs away, all flushed and excited. “A real present. Sit down, baby. Let me show you.”
Oh yes, the carrier bag. He’d almost forgotten. Deciding not to pout just yet, Changmin sashays across the room. The skirt rides up, but this time he doesn’t bother to pull it down. Behind him, Yunho makes a weird sort of noise, like he’s choking on his own drool. Pleased with the reaction, Changmin surreptitiously adjusts the position of his dick in the lacy panties then sits on the edge of the bed in a very demure fashion.
Yunho brings the bag over. There’s a large box inside. Going down onto his knees, Yunho removes the box, opens it, then lifts out a pair of boots.
Changmin stares, lustful greed pulsing in him. These aren’t just boots. These are hooker boots. Seriously fucking sexy hooker boots. Thigh-high and made of the softest black leather polished to a high gloss, they’re fastened with smoked silver zips and boast six-inch spike heels and two-inch platforms to spread his weight evenly through the soles.
He’s so in love with the boots that Changmin breaks character for a moment. “Where...?”
Yunho looks up at him, smiling. “The Estonian guy decided on a career change and went into shoe design and manufacture.”
“But,” Changmin says, trying to match the heavenly reality of the fuck-me boots with the memory of the quiet little Estonian whose chief contribution to Stitched Up had been to leave large quantities of vodka in the boys’ apartment, “his own shoes were cheap and falling apart and-” the worst crime of all, “unpolished.”
“Still are, for all I know,” Yunho says cheerfully. “But he makes the most gorgeous shoes for other people.”
Setting down the boots for a moment, he takes Changmin’s feet and places them in his lap. With care, he eases off the mules and lines them up on the floor beneath the bed. He plays with Changmin’s bare feet, running his fingertips all over them, then picks up the left boot and encourages Changmin to slip his foot inside.
The boot is lined, slithery and cool with satin. Changmin bites back an indulgent moan. God, it feels like really good sex. Yunho will turn him into a fetishist or something. He wiggles his toes, ridiculously pleased by the perfect fit, and flexes his leg as Yunho zips up the boot, the zipper rough-purring all the way up.
Yunho helps him with the right boot. Changmin admires them. They were hot in the box. Now they’re actually on his feet and encasing his legs, they’re beyond glorious. “You had these custom made for me?”
“For Peach.” Yunho finishes zipping up the second boot. His hand trembles. He’s quivering with excitement. “Walk for me?”
Changmin isn’t sure about wearing such killer spike heels on the stripped floorboards of the studio. Peach, however, has no such compunction. He gets up, and after a few tentative steps to the other side of the room, he turns and does a catwalk strut, the sound of the heels so percussive it’s like machine-gun fire.
Yunho looks as if he’s about to come.
Changmin halts right in front of Yunho. Finding his balance, Changmin puts one foot against Yunho’s chest and presses down just enough that the heel digs in. Changmin summons his haughtiest look. “Down, boy.”
Uttering a noise that sounds something like grahhahh, Yunho tumbles backwards.
Feeling like that Bond girl who killed men by crushing them between her thighs, Changmin steps between Yunho’s splayed legs and places the toe of his boot teasingly, threateningly, over Yunho’s balls.
“Oh baby,” Yunho moans, lifting his hips.
Wickedness and power fizz through Changmin, making him heady. He licks his lips and pouts. “Oh. So sad. Peach’s shiny new boots have a scuff.”
Yunho jerks up his head. “Where?”
Changmin flexes his leg. The toe of his boot lifts from over Yunho’s balls as the spike heel drives down and taps hard against the floor, the sound loud and sharp enough to make them both jump.
They stare at each other. There’s absolute lust in Yunho’s eyes. Revelling in such blatant admiration, Changmin tosses his head, pigtails bobbing, and gives a soft, wavering sigh.
Yunho circles a hand around Changmin’s ankle. He doesn’t break their gaze. “Where’s the scuff?”
Changmin gestures vaguely. “Attend to it. I won’t accept shoddy goods.”
Gently, carefully, Yunho increases his grip on Changmin’s ankle and makes him put his foot down flat on the floor. Then Yunho wriggles around and stretches out at Changmin’s feet. He lowers his head and kisses the toe of Changmin’s right boot.
Changmin thinks he might just die now. “You don’t need to-”
“I want to,” Yunho says, tongue flickering as he processes the taste of the polished leather. “Let me. Let me please Peach.”
Yeah. Peach would love to have a hot, sexy man licking her boots. Changmin stands a little taller, puts a little more attitude into his stance. “Make sure you do a proper job of it.”
Yunho licks over the foot and moves upwards, leaving a wet trail on the leather. He moans and humps the floor, eyes closed as he concentrates. The sound goes straight to Changmin’s dick, makes him ache and roll his hips, head tilting back as craving swims through him.
There’s the softest caress against bare skin. Yunho’s hair brushes the inside of Changmin’s thigh; he’s almost reached the top of the right boot. Changmin quivers at the touch. Unable to resist, he strokes his hand through Yunho’s hair and mews when Yunho’s lips pass from cool, slick leather to warm, sweat-dampened skin.
“Oh, Yun, please,” Changmin says, then recalls Peach and corrects himself: “Lick me there.”
Ever willing, Yunho licks at the few inches of thigh between the top of the boot and the hem of the skirt. He’s respectful about it. He doesn’t take advantage of his position to snuffle up into Changmin’s crotch, although he says, “Ohhh God, I can smell you, I can taste you, I wanna suck you so bad, baby.”
“Not yet.” Changmin taps his left foot. “You haven’t finished your task.”
“Oh, Peach is so cruel.” Yunho flashes him a thrilled, ecstatic look and drops back down onto the floor to start all over again.
By the time Yunho has made his leisurely, tortuous way up the left boot-and this time Changmin is certain that Yunho is doing it deliberately slowly, just to punish Peach for being so demanding-Changmin can barely stand upright. He sways on the spike heels, and Yunho wraps both arms around him to hold him up. At the same time, Yunho gifts tiny, soft love-bites up Changmin’s left thigh, then shoves up the clinging skirt and nuzzles higher, tongue curling to tickle at Changmin’s balls stuffed into the inadequate lacy covering of his panties.
Changmin grabs onto Yunho’s shoulders. “I’m going to fall.”
“I’ll catch you.” The skirt is shoved up higher and twisted around Changmin’s ass. Yunho nibbles at the knickers. “Fuck, these are hot. What are they made of, cobwebs?”
“Lace.” It’s getting difficult to remember how to form coherent speech. Changmin’s breathing is increasingly swift and ragged, coming faster as Yunho soft-mouths at his balls through the lace, around the lace. The fabric is tight, restrictive, wet with pre-come and saliva. Changmin can’t bear it any more. He pulls the skirt all the way up around his waist, then takes Yunho’s hand and places it high on his hip. “They unfasten at the sides.”
Yunho hums around a mouthful of Changmin’s balls then slurps away and tugs at the thin satin ribbon. “Oh, so they do. I like these knickers. Buy a dozen next time.”
Changmin totters on his heels. Peach would probably totter, too, if she had a lapful of horny man eating at her as he stripped her of her soaking wet panties. The ties on the other side of the knickers come undone. Yunho nips at the lacy crotch and pulls the garment right off with his teeth.
The thong drops to the floor. Yunho rises to his feet, eyes blazing with lust. “Enough foreplay,” he says, then picks Changmin up and carries him the short distance to the bed. They fall across it, kissing frantically, hands everywhere.
Changmin yanks at Yunho’s clothes. Yunho helps, throwing his jacket across the room and loosening his tie. Changmin scrabbles at the shirt, unbuttons most of it and puts his hands all over Yunho’s chest, moaning his appreciation. Yunho unfastens his trousers and kicks them off, then strips out of his underwear. He rubs against Changmin’s thighs, hot and hard.
Seizing hold of Yunho’s tie, Changmin rolls them over. He knocks two cushions onto the floor and rucks up the duvet, spike heels catching on the Egyptian cotton as he settles himself. Skirt up around his waist, his top falling off one shoulder, Changmin slides back and wiggles against Yunho’s cock. His hair has almost worked free of the purple sparkly ties. He blows out a breath. “Do you like my pigtails?”
“Love them,” Yunho assures him. “I love your pigtails. Oh, Peach, you’re so succulent.” He slides his hands over Changmin’s body, worshipping chest, belly, hips. He strokes patterns across Changmin’s thighs above the tops of the boots, then slides his touch around to grip Changmin’s ass and pulls him down. “Ride me.”
Changmin gropes across the duvet for lube. Grabbing two packs, he tears them open and slicks the gel all over Yunho’s stiff cock then fingers himself, eyes closing in pleasure at the teasing touch.
“Hurry,” Yunho begs, impatient. He holds onto Changmin’s hips as they position themselves just right, then bucks up.
Changmin grinds down nice and hard, mouth open on a shuddery moan at the blissful burn of being stretched and filled. He moves at a trot, the promise of orgasm shimmering up his spine before he’s even begun to get what he wants.
Yunho fucks into him. The musky, sweaty scent of sex mingles with the smell of leather. The boots creak, counterpoint to the squelch of the lube and the bouncing squeal of the springs in the mattress.
Joyous laughter spills out of Changmin. He strips off his top and scrawls both hands through his hair, pulling out the pigtails and mussing his hair even more, shimmying as he arches and poses. Yunho shafts into him harder, faster, and Changmin feels incredible; he feels so fucking sexy and triumphant.
“What does Peach need?” he snaps out.
Yunho gurgles. “Cream.”
“That’s right!” Changmin flicks his head forwards, hair tumbling into his face. “Peach needs cream! Are you gonna give it to me?”
Yunho goes cross-eyed. “Oh fuck, baby.”
He seizes Changmin around the waist and rolls them over. Changmin whines in protest as Yunho slips out of him, then stops the sound as Yunho kisses him. Changmin curls backwards. Yunho spreads himself out on top of Changmin, quivering as he holds still, and then he slides back in, all the way to the hilt.
Changmin arches up, head going back, long, gasping moans forced out of him.
They fuck, finding a glorious deep rhythm together. The angle is just right to send pleasure burning through him. It’s rough but oh so good: so good it’s unbearable, so good it makes him clench down hard.
“Changmin. Peach. Baby,” Yunho babbles. “Ohhhh, so tight. So amazing. So close. I’m gonna. Oh God. Please.”
“Yunho,” Changmin snarls. “Make me come. Make. Me. Come.” He spikes Yunho with his heels, and Yunho gasps and lurches forward, driving even deeper.
“Yes.” It comes out as a shout. Changmin doesn’t care. His throat aches with the need to shout and yell and scream his satisfaction. He holds on tight, rutting and shoving, frantic, frenetic. “God. Yes. Yes. Do it now.”
Yunho makes a desperate sound and bucks, orgasm hammering through him. Changmin thrashes, caught on the same hook, and then climax pours through him, sweet and merciless.
When they can move again, they share languid kisses and gentle caresses and cuddle together, streaked with lube and sweat and seed.
“Guess you liked the boots,” Yunho says.
Changmin smiles. “Guess so.”
Yep, Changmin congratulates himself smugly, he really does have the best ideas-and playing dress-up was the very best one of all.