Devil's Fate

Say Cheese

Mike sighed and closed his book. After restarting the same chapter for the third time, he decided he wasn't going to be able to focus. He leaned over and slid the thick volume into his backpack, zipping it up and effectively ending any pretense of studying he'd tried to put on while he waited for Chester to finish getting ready. It always amused him how much time his boyfriend spent getting ready to go into Score, knowing that he'd be given different clothes to wear the minute he walked in.

At least, that's how he assumed it went. In his mind, Mike pictured Chester's daily entrance into Score as an event. He imagined his boyfriend walking into a busy room, being shuttled into a giant dressing area filled with an array of outfits, and being dressed and primped in front of walls of mirrors and all manner of different lighting. Chester was a fashion celebrity in his head, and even though he knew the fanfare he'd dreamed up was unlikely, a little part of Mike hoped that Chester was treated that way when he went to work. He knew that Chester loved it, and these days that was enough for Mike to love it back.

Today Mike had been invited to see a little of how things worked, and he was excited to get to see the inner workings of a place he'd heard so much about and never seen. Not only was he going to get to see Chester in his element, today was the commercial shoot for the humane society that he'd been invited to film. Ches says there's gonna be puppies. That will be fun. Maybe I'll even get to hold one. He looked down at his backpack. The intent was to take it with him, on the off chance he got to do a little bit of studying while he was there, but Mike changed his mind. I want to see what Ches does. Focus on him, so he knows I'm interested. I'm ahead on my reading, anyway. I'll pick it back up when we get home.

Mike stood up from the couch, stretching his arms over his head. He felt his t-shirt ride up over his stomach, and his jeans settle lower around his hips. He hadn't bothered to put on a belt, and he knew if Chester saw, he would have a comment about it. I don't need a belt. You can't see it anyway. My t-shirt covers the top of my jeans, so what's the point? He could almost hear Chester's protest in his head - the belt is supposed to match your shoes, it finishes your outfit! - and Mike grinned. Despite years with Chester, his boyfriend had yet to get him out of his comfortable, utilitarian flannels and t-shirts. But today he had taken an extra minute to coordinate one of the two interesting pairs of socks he owned with his clothes.

Mike looked down at the neon green toe of the dark blue sock with tiny alien heads all over them. From far away they were so small they looked like polka-dots, just like his music note socks. He remembered when Chester brought the aliens home and gave them to him, on the anniversary of their first date, as a tribute to the alien socks he'd worn out with Mike that night. It was one of only two pairs of not-white socks Mike owned, and today seemed like a good day to wear them. He was going into Chester's territory, and he wanted to try to fit the part. Mike straightened his t-shirt, and buttoned up his dark blue plaid flannel before he stepped toward the bathroom he knew Chester hated, but still spent a lot of time in anyway.

He leaned against the doorframe and watched Chester mess with his hair for a second. "You look great, babe," he offered, admiring the curve of Chester's small ass in his tight jeans. "Even when I try to step up my game a bit, I look like a slob next to you."

Chester caught Mike's reflection in the mirror. "From a strictly fashion point of view, it's because your clothes are too big on you." He turned around, his hand coasting up and down the vicinity of Mike's front. "They're like a bunch of sad vultures, drooping their heads while they sit in the trees waiting for the next thing on the ground to die. You lose your whole form under them, all your curves and muscles and hips." He reached over and tugged on Mike's flannel with a smile. "But from a boyfriend's point of view, you still work it like the Sexy Boy you are." He went from tugging on Mike's flannel to wrapping his arms around his neck. He started the slow kiss, and hummed his approval when Mike's hands went to his hips, then his ass.