by Tom
[Note: big kudos to Queen of Nails for writing ‘Kitten’. This is a sort
of sequel, if you will. And of course, it's dedicated to her too.]
Halloween night.
A night to party and get raucously drunk. A night like any other, in that case. More
specifically, then, a night to get raucously drunk while clad in only the weirdest attire. A night when
even the best-dressed and most stoic of us will trade in suits and sleek grooming for wigs and bright
costumes. A night to hide who you are, a night to be someone else. A night to be anything.
Ruffle, rustle, ruffle.
“Paul, will you stop that?”
Ruffle, swish, ruffle.
“Paul!”
“I’m sorry, Carlos! It just does that!”
Carlos’s lips tightened around his cigarette and he puffed at it as the ruffling sounds rasped
against his nerves.
He wore little by way of costume, save a pair of familiar velvet cat ears poking from his sable
hair and a slim belled collar, complementing devilishly kohl-streaked eyes. The rest of his attire was
sleek and soot-black, from the collar of his crisply-pressed shirt to the toes of his gleaming combat
boots.
“Paul!” Carlos finally bellowed. “That thing is so fucking noisy!”
“I’m sorry!” Paul called back. “Sheesh, you act like I’m not doing it for you.”
“You could’ve picked a better one.”
“I could have. But I liked this one.”
“Are you almost ready, now? We’re going to be a bit more than fashionably late.”
“Hold your hernia. I’m nearly finished.” More rustling, then Paul came out of the bathroom.
“All right, let’s go.” But Carlos froze for a moment, the cigarette between his slim fingers quite
forgotten.
The dress glittered long and salmon-pink, nearly touching the floor; from beneath its hem
could be seen a pair of scuffed white loafers. The upper part was ill-fitting around the broad, flat chest
that filled it. The skirt swelled huge with itchy crinoline lining, and Paul clutched at the sleek outer
fabric tightly. “Do I look all right?”
Carlos looked Paul up and down: blonde hair pulled into tiny paintbrush pigtails at either
side; a feverish band of blush on both cheeks; ugly blue shadow on his eyelids; trapped-in-the-eighties
porn star vinyl lipstick on those smooth lips. Carlos sat silent, at a complete loss for words.
“All right?” he repeated, a little stunned. “Paul, you were never meant to be a man, I don’t
think.”
“Shut up!” Paul said, his cheeks glowing even under the blush. “I’m doing it for you!”
“And you look fantastic.”
Paul grinned. His eyes flicked over Carlos’s kitty ears and bell, and a faint glow of lust woke
itself inside him. He had half a mind to just shove Carlos onto the bed and forget about the party.
Carlos offered Paul his arm, and Paul slid his hand into the crook of the bassist’s elbow and
let Carlos escort him out.
“Hey Carlos!” Daniel was already completely pissed and ready to greet them at the party
when they showed up. It was at some little divey bar tonight, full of people dressed in crazy costumes,
and Paul and Carlos were hardly exceptions. Daniel wasn’t dressed up at all, although he wore a pair
of pink deelyboppers on his head, which had to have been placed there after he had gotten drunk.
There was no way he’d permit it if he was sober. “Hey Carlos, who’s your girlfriend?”
“Hey Daniel. This is, uh, Paulina,” Carlos improvised. The bassist was all too aware of the
warmth of Paul’s hand in his elbow, but he liked it too much to ask him to stop.
Paul snorted with laughter as Daniel passed them both beers. The club felt stuffy and dark, lit
by eerie blacklights and LED strobes on the lapels and pacifiers pinning down E users.
Paul again glanced at those velvet ears perched on Carlos’s head, remembering that night,
shuddering slightly. No, not now, now was not the time to be getting a hard-on. He became suddenly
quite glad that the dress was so billowy; it hid his provoked cock. For now, at least.
Lots of winks and shouts came Carlos’s way, but all the eyes lingered on Paul:
complimenting his dress, or complimenting Carlos on Paul for his ‘hot girlfriend’. Paul smoked a
couple of cigarettes and downed another beer to try to calm himself, but it only served to strengthen
his stiff cock. It wouldn’t be long before the dress wouldn’t hide it. In fact, it wasn’t now. His eyes
kept flicking back to Carlos’s cat ears as he traced his lips with a finger, checking for smeared lipstick.
Satisfied that his makeup was in place, he slid off the bar stool, fingers meshed in the slippery
pink fabric to hold it in front of his body and hide his erection. Carlos saw as Paul disappeared into
the men’s restroom and, curiosity piqued, swallowed the last of his second beer and followed.
Paul slammed and locked the flimsy tin stall-door; he was so horny he was in pain. However,
he had a feeling that Carlos wouldn’t appreciate being dragged off into the bathroom one more time,
no matter how desperately Paul wanted it. He plunked down on the toilet and hiked up the myriad
layers of his dress.
He coaxed his rigid cock out of his boxer briefs, thinking of his first night with Carlos, of any
night he could with Carlos. Thinking of how Carlos touched him, how intensely Carlos kissed him
and how deeply Carlos fucked him. He tipped his head back against the cracked plaster wall, his
slowly moving hand nowhere near as arousing as the carnal images and memories flitting through his
brain.
Someone else came in, and Paul paused, hoping for a stranger.
“Paul?”
Paul jumped despite himself, releasing his cock. “In here.” He quickly shoved the pile of
pink dress fabric over his lap so that it hid him.
“Let me in. Are you okay?”
Paul wasn’t really sure why he felt so coy. “Yeah, fine,” He unlocked the door for Carlos,
who came in and shut it behind him, barring Paul’s escape. Carlos’s eyes first touched Paul’s dove-
grey irises, then flicked downward to the slight tent of the skirt.
“Ah,” Carlos smirked. “I see.”
“Yeah. Well…”
“Paul, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve taken care of it for you.” Carlos sounded slightly
indignant, as though he was angry at missing out on something good like this.
“I know, but I didn’t want to drag you out of the party…”
“Paul, you’re always allowed to drag me out of anything for this. Come here.” The bassist
pushed his eager mouth against Paul’s roughly, hands enthusiastically gathering up the full skirt of
Paul’s dress. There was an awful lot of fabric, Carlos thought, as he broke from Paul’s lips and
dropped to his knees in front of Paul.
“Pink silk panties? You did do the thing properly, didn’t you?” Carlos grinned. Paul flushed
in response, his lips crooking into a silly smile.
It was something Paul could never get used to: Carlos on his knees, perversely lusty eyes
confidently meeting Paul’s as he took the singer into his mouth. Paul himself had no problem getting
to his knees and sucking Carlos off, but no matter how confident he got, he didn’t think he’d ever be
brave enough to look Carlos in the eyes the way Carlos did him.
The feeling was divine, and Paul moaned, running his fingers through Carlos’s sleek
forelock. Carlos’s hands were still pushing Paul’s dress up tirelessly, simultaneously holding his hips.
Carlos closed his eyes, relaxed his throat and took Paul even further in, vigorously fighting his gag
reflex until his lips reached the crisp, dark blonde curls at the base of Paul’s cock. He liked Paul’s
feel; it was as though the singer had been made to fit his mouth, inside him, just as he himself fit so
perfectly inside Paul’s body. He breathed steadily through his nose as he reveled in the reaction he
was coaxing from Paul.
Paul’s eyes flicked upward, towards the back of his head, and he let his mouth hang open in
amazement. Never…never before…A gasp of overwhelmed pleasure escaped him, sensations new and
familiar wreaking havoc on his body. He was shuddering as Carlos sucked him hard, the feeling so
hot and wet and tight—
White heat had already begun to burn at the base of his spine, and his knuckles tightened in
Carlos’s hair when he came with a shaky cry. Carlos disengaged from Paul’s softening cock,
swallowing and running the back of a hand across his lips.
Paul brought weak arms up and put them around Carlos’s neck, reining him in. The dress
tumbled to the floor in a cascade of salmon-pink as Carlos kissed Paul. The blonde’s response was
always too much to resist for him; if he wanted to get himself going, all he had to do was make Paul
moan. This he had done, and now his own cock strained at the fly of his high-water slacks. His
inability to break his addiction to this beautiful man only strengthened his love and desire for him, and
he buried his face in Paul’s neck, biting and sucking until Paul squirmed against him hungrily.
“Carlos…Carlos, please…” He moaned, fingernails digging into the bassist’s strong
shoulders. “Please, I want you.”
Carlos backed off slightly. So fiercely had he pushed himself against Paul’s throat, he could
see twin smudges of kohl on the pale skin. He smirked.
“I think I want to see those pink panties again, Paul.” Carlos said, licking his lips. “They fit
you so well…you dirty, dirty girl.”
Paul’s fingers scrabbled on the fabric in his haste to hike up the billowing dress. Carlos
turned Paul around, smirking as Paul held up the dress for him. This was something he had loved in
the past, but Paul made it ten times better.
He ran his fingertips underneath the elastic of the panties, snapping the elastic against Paul’s
smooth skin. Paul giggled. “I like these.” Carlos said. “You’ll have to wear them for me more
often.”
“I will,” Paul replied as Carlos tugged at the edges of the silky fabric. He was watching
Carlos expectantly over his shoulder, eyebrow raised as he watched Carlos take out a square plastic
packet. Carlos undid his black trousers, then looked up at Paul, replying to the look Paul gave him.
“What? I came prepared.”
“Am I that predictable?” Paul asked.
“Pretty much. But I don’t mind.” Carlos ripped open the packet and fumbled with the
slippery latex sheath. He was shaking now, and his fingers fumbled with the greasy lubricant until he
had the condom in place. “Fuck.” He wiped his hands on Paul’s dress, making the singer yelp.
“Carlos!”
“Oh, shut up. Are you going to turn around, or am I going to have to chase you?”
Paul giggled as Carlos turned him against the wall. “Now, hold your dress up.” He carefully
lined himself up, pressing his rigid cock against the tight entrance.
“Ready?” Carlos murmured into Paul’s neck, putting his arms around the blonde’s midriff as
he pushed forward. Paul gasped, one hand clawing at Carlos’s arms around his body, the other still
clutching his dress. “Ohh, Carlos…”
Carlos was holding his breath, his teeth gritted as he pushed forward into the dark, desperate
heat of Paul’s body. He could feel the involuntary resistance of Paul’s muscles, a panicked tightness
before melting into concentric rings around his cock. The singer arched back against him, each breath
a little whimper of pleasure-pain. His hands balled into tight fists.
Carlos began thrusting into Paul, his slow starting pace gaining speed as his control rescinded
inch by inch. Paul pushed back against his rolling hips, pink lipstick-smudged lips parted in ecstasy.
The dark-haired man thrust his hand down the front of Paul’s pink knickers, finding the heavy, warm
cock and stroking it in time with his rhythmic thrusts.
Paul was caught in a web. Moaning desperately, he put his hand around Carlos’s stroking
fingers and squeezed it, encouraging Carlos to be a little bit rough. He obliged. His hand tightened
around Paul’s cock and he tugged it firmly, a grin pulling his lips taut at Paul’s feverish moaning.
The pressure of Paul’s body gripped him intensely and deliciously around his thick cock,
tight and so hot…Carlos had to concentrate to keep his rhythm. One of Paul’s hands was on the wall,
the other still fisted tight in the bunches of fabric; his knuckles were white as milk, holding as though
to a secular anchor, because the pleasure was heavenly.
Carlos slammed against Paul, his breath coming in quick rushes as he neared climax. He
could feel Paul shuddering beneath him, every muscle taut as wires, mascaraed eyelashes flickering
like delicate moth wings.
Paul gave a loud, husky cry as he came over Carlos’s hand in waves and waves of flowing,
hot ecstasy. The undulations of Paul’s body coaxed Carlos into the fires of blissful pleasure as well,
and Carlos burst into the condom that sheathed him with a desperate, exhausted, satisfied moan.
Paul placed his overheated forehead against the cool tiles, gasping for breath as Carlos leant
against his back. He turned his head and kissed Carlos; it was less of a kiss, rather, than sloppy
tongues meshing, because both of them were thoroughly debilitated with pleasure.
Paul adjusted his pink panties and let the rumpled fabric of the dress fall to the floor, still
breathing heavily. He looked up at Carlos, who presently fought his jammed slacks zipper upward.
Their eyes met, and Paul grinned at his lover. The bassist returned it.
Paul reached up and adjusted the cat ears on Carlos’s head; they’d been knocked askew
during their fun. Carlos smiled and ran his thumb around Paul’s lips under the pretext of correcting
lipstick, but that wasn’t the part he was really thinking about. They both wore smudgy pink rings of
the passionately smeared lipstick round their mouths, and Carlos kissed him again for good measure.
“Feeling better now?” Carlos asked, as Paul smoothed the front of his dress.
“Of course. How could I not?” Paul inserted his hand into the crook of Carlos’s elbow and
smiled up at him. Carlos chuckled as they went out into the dingy bar again, ignoring stares of
disbelief. They sat down back at the bar, and Paul leaned towards Carlos, one hand sliding along the
opposite jaw, bringing him in close to whisper in his ear.
“Really, kitten,” he murmured. “How could I resist?”