Chapter 1: Introduction
The apartment smelled like a mix of old incense, cheap laundry detergent, and whatever weird-scented candle Teal had burned earlier that week—something called *"Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil"* (which, according to the label, was just regular lavender with extra glitter). The couch sagged beneath Teal like it was trying to cradle him in its moth-eaten embrace, his black lace sleeves pooling around his wrists as he clutched a half-eaten bag of sour gummy worms.
The anime on the screen—some tragic shoujo drama about a boy who loved a ghost—played in the background, its saccharine music doing little to distract him from the way his eyelashes fluttered every time he blinked, heavy and absurdly long from the last round of mascara Zane had dared him to apply.
“You’re gonna wreck your eyes if you keep doing that,” Zane said, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, tattoos flexing beneath the sweat glistening off his skin. He’d been mid-"mirror flex session" when he’d caught Teal making goo-goo eyes at himself in the dim glow of the TV’s screen saver.
Not that he blamed the guy—this was the fifth time in a week he’d caught Teal lingering in front of the bathroom mirror after their shared showers, tilting his head this way and that like he was trying to solve some sort of facial puzzle. Zane had no idea why the hell someone would spend that much time examining their own face unless they were either constructing a shrine to it or planning to sell their soul to a mirror witch, but whatever. Not his circus, not his monkeys—except when those monkeys were currently his roommate, and he couldn’t stop watching the way Teal’s lower lip got all puffy whenever he pouted at his reflection.
Zane’s smirk twitched before he could stop it, and he pushed off the doorframe, sauntering over with the casual swagger of someone who had zero clue how to flirt without making it obvious he was trying to flirt.
“You’re gonna wreck your eyes if you keep doing that,” he said, tossing a single estrogen gummy in Teal’s direction. It landed right in the middle of the anime character’s face on screen, like some kind of tragic anime crossover.
Teal blinked, his long lashes fluttering down to catch the gummy before it could fall to the floor.
He held it up between two fingers, squinting at it like it was a cryptic artifact he’d just dug up in his grandma’s attic.
“You still hitting me up with these things?” he asked, voice muffled around the gummy he’d already shoved into his mouth without hesitation. He chewed once, swallowed, and then made a face. “Tastes like bubblegum-flavored regret.”
Zane dropped onto the couch beside him, the impact making the cushions sigh under their combined weight.
His thigh pressed against Teal’s, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of Teal’s lace sleeves like a brand.
“Regret’s my middle name,” Zane said, grinning. “Zane Regret. Sounds like a bad emo band, doesn’t it?”
Teal giggled, shoving him lightly with one shoulder. “Only because you *are* a bad emo band.”
Zane gasped in mock offense, hand clutched over his chest like he’d been shot. “Excuse you, I am *post-punk*, thank you very much. There’s a difference.”
Teal rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched. “If you say so.
But if you’re so tough,”
Teal said, nudging him again with his hip, “then prove it.”
Zane’s brown brows shot up, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. The kind of grin that made Teal’s stomach flip before he could even register why. “Prove what?”
“That you’re *manly* enough to keep up with me,” Teal challenged, already untangling himself from the couch cushions, abandoning the anime mid-crisis. His lace sleeves fluttered like little bat wings as he popped up to his feet, wobbling just slightly on his platforms before catching his balance.
Zane watched, transfixed, as Teal’s hips swayed with an unconscious rhythm, his dark skirt riding up just enough to flash a glimpse of pastel pink thigh-highs beneath.
Zane’s smirk turned feral. *"Oh, you’re asking for it."*
He didn’t wait for a response before lunging off the couch, his bare feet thudding against the warped hardwood floor as he grabbed for Teal’s wrists.
Teal shrieked, twisting away with the kind of playful agility that came from years of being too fast for Zane’s half-hearted pranks.
His platforms skidded slightly on the rug, but he managed to stay upright, arms windmilling as he stumbled backward—straight into the coffee table. The half-empty mug of tea he’d forgotten about sloshed dangerously close to the edge before Zane caught it in one swift motion, setting it safely back on its coaster with a *clink*.
Zane’s chest rumbled with laughter, low and rich, like he’d just won a bet he hadn’t even realized he was making. “You’re *terrible* at this,” he taunted, stepping closer, forcing Teal to crane his neck back to meet his gaze.
His breath was warm, smelling faintly of the pumpkin spice coffee he’d guzzled earlier—something Teal pretended not to like but secretly stole sip after sip when Zane wasn’t looking.
Teal stuck his tongue out. “I am *not*—you’re just cheating!”
“Cheating?” Zane scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “How? By using my *natural athletic prowess?*” He flexed his bicep experimentally, the inked muscle jumping under his skin. “Or by being *obviously superior* in every possible dimension?”
Teal snorted, rolling his eyes so hard it bordered on a medical emergency.
“Superior in *dimensions?*” he echoed, fingers digging into his hips—because of course he did. The pastel pink sleeves of his lace top rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of soft, flushed skin beneath, and Zane’s gaze flicked down before he could stop himself. “That’s not even a thing.”
“Is now,” Zane shot back, stepping even closer, their chests almost brushing. The heat radiating off him was ridiculous, like standing too near a furnace with a six-pack. Teal could feel the pulse of blood in his own cheeks, the way his breath hitched when Zane’s arm grazed his as he gestured wildly.
He wasn’t sure if it was the estrogen doing somethin’ weird to his body or just the sheer proximity to Zane—who was currently shirtless, tattooed, and smelling like expensive bodywash and something faintly metallic that Teal couldn’t place. Probably gym sweat. Definitely gym sweat.
“You’re *overthinking* it,” Zane said, voice dropping into that low register that made Teal’s stomach flip. He leaned in just enough that his breath ghosted over Teal’s ear when he spoke, making his lace sleeves rustle like dry leaves. “Just *dance*, angel. Unless you’re scared.”
Teal’s eyes widened. *“Angel?”* That was new.
Teal blinked, processing the word like it was a foreign object he’d never encountered before. Angel. The way Zane said it—rough and warm, like a secret meant only for him—made Teal’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with estrogen or gummies. He swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his chest rose and fell, the way his hips swayed without his permission, the way his voice came out in a breathless squeak when he finally answered.
“Okay… fine,” Teal said, shoving Zane’s chest half-heartedly. “But you’re gonna regret this when I win.”
Zane’s smirk deepened, his teeth flashing white against his tan skin.
“Oh, you’re gonna *win?*” he scoffed, mock-offended, pressing a hand to his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Kid, I’ve been winning since before you knew what a high heel was.”
Teal gasped, clutching his chest in mock horror. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’ve been wearing *wedges* since I was seventeen.”
Zane barked out a laugh, low and rough, his piercing glinting in the dim light. “Wedges are *shoes*, not a personality trait.
You’d know. You cry whenever you step on a Lego,” Zane shot back, his smirk softening into something warmer as he grabbed Teal’s wrist and spun him in a clumsy circle before pulling him flush against his chest. Their bodies collided, the lace of Teal’s top pressing against the hard planes of Zane’s torso, the difference in their builds making Teal feel impossibly delicate in contrast.
Teal squealed, his platforms wobbling as Zane’s arms snaked around his waist, locking him in place. The heat between them was maddening—like standing too close to a bonfire, the kind that made your cheeks flush and your breath catch without you even realizing it.
Teal’s gloved hand gripped Zane’s shoulder for balance, his lace sleeves brushing against Zane’s bare skin, sending a shiver down his spine that he *definitely* refused to acknowledge.
“You—you’re breaking the rules!” Teal yelped, his voice high and breathless as he tried to wiggle free, but Zane’s grip only tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Teal’s waist just enough to make him squirm.
Zane’s smirk deepened, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “What rules?
There are no rules,” Zane said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Teal’s chest where their torsos pressed together. His fingers flexed against Teal’s waist—just for a second—like he was testing the weight of him before tightening his hold again. “Unless you’re calling the game on yourself.”
Teal’s breath hitched, his gloved hands fluttering uselessly against Zane’s shoulders. The lace of his sleeves tickled Zane’s skin, the pastel pink fabric clashing deliciously with the dark ink coiled up his arm.
Teal wriggled in his grip, hips swaying in a way that made Zane’s pulse stutter. There was no rhythm to it—just a natural, unconscious roll of Teal’s body against him, like he was too soft to stand still, like he needed to melt into something.
Zane’s grip tightened instinctively. “You’re *impossible* to pin down,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.
Teal’s breath came out in a giggle, all high and breathless, his dark eyes wide as he looked up at him.
Before Zane could brace himself, Teal’s legs shot up like twin rubber bands, wrapping around his waist with practiced ease—his pastel pink thigh-highs flashing against Zane’s tattooed skin as he locked his ankles behind Zane’s back. There was no hesitation in it, no coy struggle; just a confident, reckless press of Teal’s crotch flush against the hard plane of Zane’s stomach, the lace of his panties and the thin fabric of his top doing nothing to disguise the warmth seeping through.
Zane’s entire body seized for a single, traitorous heartbeat—his breath stuttering out, his hands instinctively tightening around Teal’s waist to keep him pinned. The movement sent a jolt through them both, Teal’s hips rolling slightly against him in the most maddeningly natural way, like a cat stretching in the sun.
Zane’s hands shot up to grip Teal’s ass—hard, possessive, the lace of his panties bunching under Zane’s calloused palms as he tried to pry those toned thighs from around his waist. But Teal had wrapped himself around Zane like a vine, his ankles locked behind Zane’s back in a vice that didn’t just refuse to budge—it *pulled* tighter, grinding their lower bodies together with a friction that made Zane’s vision blur.
Teal gasped, his gloved hands flying up to clutch Zane’s shoulders for balance as he rocked forward just enough to press their faces close. The scent of lavender and something sweetly artificial wrapped around them, the estrogen gummies forgotten somewhere between the couch and this sudden, desperate tangle. Zane’s pulse hammered in his throat, his tattoos shifting beneath skin gone flushed and overheated as he struggled against the inevitability of Teal’s weight in his arms.
The boy was *ridiculously* light—all fragile bone and soft curves—but the way he was squirming against him, twisting this way and that like a cat in a laundry basket, made Zane’s grip tighten more than he intended. His fingers sank into the lace of Teal’s panties, the pastel fabric damp with something more than sweat.
Teal let out a breathless giggle, his dark eyes wide and unguarded as he craned his neck back to meet Zane’s gaze. “You’re *sweating*,” he observed, as if this was some grand revelation instead of the obvious result of being wrapped around a human furnace.
His gloved fingers scrabbled against Zane’s shoulders, nails catching slightly on the inked skin, and when he finally managed to loosen his iron grip around Zane’s waist he didn’t go far—just enough to shift, the pastel pink thigh-highs scissoring tighter against Zane’s hips as he wriggled down an inch, two inches, until his platformed feet skimmed the floor again.
Zane didn’t let go.
His hands slid from Teal’s waist to his hips instead, fingers still kneading the soft flesh through the lace of his panties. Teal’s breath hitched, his gloved fingers tightening on Zane’s shoulders as the last of his defiance melted into something more fragile.
“You’re *so soft*,” Zane murmured, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. The words slipped out before he could stop them, the kind of thing he’d say in jest—except right now, pressed against each other like this, it didn’t feel like a joke.
It felt like a confession. Teal’s dark lashes fluttered down, his body going still for a heartbeat before he let out another breathless giggle, his voice so soft it barely rose above the hum of the apartment’s ancient heat vent.
“Thanks,” he said, like softness was a compliment and not something fragile waiting to break. His gloved hands migrated from Zane’s shoulders to his chest, fingers splaying over the inked muscle like he was memorizing the terrain. The lace of his sleeves rode up again, the pastel blue streaks in his black hair catching the dim light as he tilted his head just slightly, his breath warm against the collarbone he’d pressed against.
Zane could feel every shift of Teal’s ribs beneath the thin fabric—could hear the way his breath hitched, the way his gloved fingers curled just slightly against Zane’s skin, like he was testing the weight of him.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Zane’s grip on Teal’s hips was tight enough to bruise, but Teal didn’t squirm away. His gloved thumb brushed against the ink of Zane’s sleeve, tracing the edge of a skull that looked like it was grinning right back at him.
But before Zane could even process the strange tightness in his chest, Teal shifted—fast.
In one fluid motion, Teal twisted around, dropping his weight down onto Zane’s shoulders before sliding backward until he was *sitting*—directly—on Zane’s face. The lace of his panties stretched tight over the round globes of his buttocks, pressing the soft, warm curve right against Zane’s mouth and nose. The scent of vanilla bodywash and something sweetly feminine engulfed him instantly, so thick it was almost suffocating—but in the best possible way. Zane inhaled sharply, instinctively arching his neck to press closer, his breath hot against the damp fabric between Teal’s legs.
Teal let out a high-pitched giggle, his thighs trembling slightly as he adjusted his position, knees digging into the couch on either side of Zane’s head.
His pastel pink thigh-highs rode up another inch, the lace whispering against Zane’s ears as he wriggled his weight down deliberately—like he was settling onto a throne instead of a face. The damp warmth of him pressed right against Zane’s mouth, the fabric of his panties clinging to skin that smelled like lavender and something faintly sweet, like the gummies Zane had been sneaking into his tea.
Zane groaned, the sound muffled but vibrating through Teal’s thighs, his hands flying up to grip Teal’s hips—not to push him away, but to *keep* him right there. His tongue flicked out instinctively, tracing the seam of the lace where it stretched tight over Teal’s cleft, the fabric both a barrier and an invitation.
Teal gasped, his thighs trembling around Zane’s head as he rocked back slightly, the motion pressing him even closer.
“Y-you—uh—fuck—” Teal stuttered, his voice cracking as he fumbled for purchase on the couch cushions, his gloved fingers tangling in Zane’s hair. The strands were soft from product, the shaved sides prickling against his palms as he tightened his grip, not to pull away—just to *hold* on. The lace of his sleeves fluttered again, the pastel pink fabric clashing with the dark strands caught between his fingers.
Teal’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp as Zane’s tongue pressed harder against the seam of his panties, the fabric damp and warm beneath the tip of his tongue. The taste of Teal—something sweet, something *intoxicating*—seeped through the thin barrier, a flavor Zane couldn’t name but would’ve drunk straight from the source if he could. He groaned against the lace, the vibration making Teal jerk forward, his thighs trembling around Zane’s head. His gloved hands tightened in Zane’s hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea.
A desperate, wordless one.
Teal’s breath hitched between broken giggles and gasps, his hips rolling in slow, needy circles above Zane’s face. The lace of his panties was now entirely soaked through, the pastel pink fabric clinging obscenely to the soft curves beneath—curves that had grown fuller since Zane had started slipping the estrogen gummies into his tea. But Teal didn’t notice. He never did.
“Zane—*fuck*—” Teal whined, his voice breaking as he ground down harder, the friction making his thighs tremble.
His fingers twisted tighter in Zane’s hair, the gloves already damp with sweat, the lace sleeves of his top riding up his arms in messy, frilled heaps. The image of him—pastel pink and black lace, trembling above Zane’s face, his soft thighs bracketing his head—was enough to make Zane’s cock strain against his low-slung jeans, the denim suddenly too tight, too restrictive.
Zane didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mouth was otherwise occupied—tongue pressing insistently against the soaked lace of Teal’s panties, tracing the swollen seam where Teal was already leaking through the fabric.
The taste of him was sweet, almost cloying, like melted candy left too long in the sun. Zane groaned again, the vibration making Teal jerk back with a half-choked giggle, thighs trembling around his ears.
“You’re—*ugh*—you’re *so* loud,” Teal managed, his voice cracking as he wriggled backward just enough to free Zane’s face from the suffocating press of his thighs. His gloved hand flew to his mouth, fingers pressing against his own lips like he could physically contain the sounds spilling out of him. His pastel pink thigh-highs were now translucent in places, the lace clinging damply to skin flushed pink with arousal.
The scent of lavender and something sweeter—musky, feminine—still clung to the fabric pressed to Zane’s mouth, and he could feel the heat radiating off Teal in waves despite the distance separating them now.
Teal’s chest heaved, his gloved fingers still pressed to his lips like he could physically trap the sounds inside. His dark lashes fluttered down, the pastel blue streaks in his black hair catching the dim light from the TV as his breath came out in a shuddering exhale.
Zane’s eyes burned into him, chest heaving beneath the wet lace still clinging to his torso, but the smirk on his face was the last thing Teal registered before the world flipped upside down. One strong hand gripped his hip, the other the back of his neck, and in a smooth motion that belied his strength Teal was lifted—not pushed exactly, but *moved*—until his platformed feet left the floor entirely. The next thing he knew he was sprawled face-down on the couch, his pastel pink thigh-highs riding up his ass as he blinked in dazed confusion, his lace sleeves pooling beneath him like discarded spiderwebs. His lips parted in a silent gasp, his soft thighs trembling as the last vestiges of bliss still pulsed through his body, leaving him paralyzed—hands splayed on the cushions, ass lifted helplessly in the air like an offering.
The room spun slightly; the hum of the apartment’s ancient heater, the muted anime sounds, Zane’s ragged breathing—it all blurred into one overwhelming sensation. He didn’t have time to process what was happening before the weight pressing down on him shifted. Zane’s breath was hot against the back of his neck, his forearm muscles flexing as he braced his body over Teal’s smaller frame, his fingers digging into the lace at Teal’s waist.
“You—” Teal tried to protest, but the word came out as a breathless squeak instead of actual speech.
His tongue felt too big, his thoughts too scattered, all of it tangled up in the sensation of Zane’s chest pressing down against his back, the inked muscle hot and solid against his skin.
Zane’s voice rumbled low, right against the shell of his ear. “You’re *mine* like this.”
Teal’s stomach flipped violently, but not in a bad way. It felt like when you’re on a rollercoaster right before the big drop—when the world tilts just enough to make your heart hammer against your ribs before gravity decides whether you’re gonna fly or face-plant.
Teal’s body arched involuntarily beneath Zane’s weight, the movement sending a jolt through him that pooled low in his stomach, sharp and electric. His gloved fingers clawed at the couch cushions, lace sleeves riding up his arms as he swallowed hard, trying to form words that wouldn’t come out as a squeak.
“Mine,” Zane murmured again, his breath ghosting over Teal’s ear like he was savoring the word, the way it tasted on his tongue. His forearm pressed against the back of Teal’s neck, not enough to hurt—just enough to keep him right where he belonged.
The heat of Zane’s body radiated through the lace, the silk clinging damply to Teal’s skin like a second layer of sweat.
Teal’s breath came out in a shuddering exhale, his gloved fingers tightening into the fabric of the couch until his knuckles turned white. His pastel pink thigh-highs had ridden up even further, the lace now tangled around his upper thighs in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The damp fabric clung obscenely to the soft curves beneath, the faintest outline of Teal’s cleft visible through the sheer barrier.
A deep crimson bloomed across his cheeks as realization crashed over him—not just from the position, but from the implication of what had just happened. His gloved fingers trembled against the couch, lace sleeves pooling around his wrists like discarded silk while his breath hitched in shaky little gasps.
Zane’s chest rumbled against Teal’s back, his voice rough with amusement and something darker that made Teal’s stomach flip all over again. “Teal,” he murmured, the single word vibrating through them both.
It wasn’t a question, wasn’t a challenge—it was just Teal, pulled taut between panic and something else that felt dangerously like want.
Teal’s chest heaved beneath him, the lace of his top clinging to skin flushed pink and overheated. His gloved fingers trembled against the couch, the pastel pink sleeves slipping down his wrists in messy folds. He swallowed hard, the sound audible even over his own ragged breathing.
“What—what *was* that?” he finally managed, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to twist his head just enough to meet Zane’s gaze.
The motion made his lace sleeves shift, the pastel blue streaks in his hair catching the dim light of the TV, and for a moment Zane was struck silent by how *perfect* he looked like this—all soft curves and flushed skin, trembling beneath him. The estrogen gummies had done their work subtly over weeks, rounding out Teal’s waist, widening his hips, making his thighs heavier, softer. Teal still called it "manly" every time Zane mentioned it, but the body knew. The body *always* knew.
Zane’s grip on Teal’s hip tightened almost reflexively, his calloused fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above the lace waistband of his panties.
“You *just* sat on my face,” he said, his voice rough with amusement and something far more dangerous that made Teal’s stomach clench.
Teal’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp, his gloved fingers scrambling against the couch cushions as his entire body locked up—not in protest, but in the delicious horror of realization. His pastel pink thigh-highs had ridden up even further during their tussle, the lace now tangled around his upper thighs in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
A deep crimson flooded Teal’s cheeks as he twisted his head just enough to glare over his shoulder, his dark lashes fluttering rapidly.
“I *what*?”
Zane’s smirk deepened, his teeth flashing white against his tan skin in the dim glow of the TV’s ambient light. His grip on Teal’s hip tightened just enough to make the lace of his panties bunch slightly. “You *heard* me,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low register that made Teal’s stomach flip all over again. The kind of voice that sounded like a secret meant only for Teal’s ears. “You *sat* on my *face*.”
Teal’s breath hitched in a way that was almost comical—a high-pitched squeak that got stuck in his throat.
His gloved fingers scrabbled at the couch cushions, the pastel pink sleeves slipping down his wrists in a messy tangle. The lace at his thighs pulled taut as he tried to twist around, but Zane’s forearm still pressed firmly against the back of his neck, pinning him right where he was—ass up, face down, cheeks burning like someone had set them on fire.
“You—you *liar*,” Teal stammered, his voice cracking halfway through the word. His dark lashes fluttered wildly, the pastel blue streaks in his black hair catching the dim light like cheap neon. “I *did not*!”
Zane’s smirk didn’t waver.
He shifted his weight slightly, the denim of his low-slung jeans scraping against the lace at Teal’s thighs—deliberate, possessive. His forearm still pinned Teal’s neck, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep him exactly where he wanted him.
“Yeah,” Zane drawled, his voice rough with something Teal couldn’t name but that made his stomach twist. “You *did*. You *squirmed* your way right down onto my face like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you *owned* it.” His fingers flexed against Teal’s hip, the lace of his panties bunching under their pressure.
“You *loved* it.”
Teal’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp, his gloved fingers clawing at the couch cushion beneath him. The pastel pink sleeves of his lace top had ridden up his arms, the frilled fabric tangled in a mess around his wrists. His thighs trembled, not from fear this time—from something else entirely. Something warm and electric that pooled between them, making his skin prickle.
“N-no, I—I didn’t,” Teal stammered, his voice cracking. His dark lashes fluttered down, the pastel blue streaks in his black hair catching the dim glow of the TV like tarnished silver.
A flush crept up Teal’s neck, staining his cheeks the color of strawberry jam spread too thin over toast.
Zane rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t flip out of his skull. “Misunderstood,” he repeated, deadpan, the word dripping with sarcasm like syrup over burnt pancakes. He pushed up from the couch, muscles flexing beneath the ink coiled up his arms, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a gesture that was unnecessarily deliberate. The pastel pink of Teal’s thigh-highs was still visible beneath the lace of his panties—damp and clinging obscenely—proof that the whole “misunderstanding” was a joke Teal insisted on telling.
Teal whimpered, his gloved fingers scrambling against the couch cushions in a desperate attempt to anchor himself.
He sat up on his knees, his pastel pink thigh-highs straining against the lace of his panties, the damp fabric clinging to the soft curves of his thighs as he turned those dark, needy eyes up at Zane. His hair—the pastel blue streaks tangled and wild—fell over his forehead, the black lengths sticking to the flush of his cheeks like wet ink. The scent of lavender and arousal still clung to the air between them, thick and impossible to ignore.
Zane let out a rough, disbelieving laugh, his tattooed arms flexing as he crossed them over his chest. “Look at you,” he said, voice low and rough, eyes tracing the way Teal’s lace top clung to his chest, the frilled sleeves slipping down his wrists in a tangle of pastel pink. “You’re a *little doll*, aren’t you?
All lace and fragility and—” Zane gestured vaguely at Teal with one hand, his tattooed fingers flexing like he was trying to grasp something that kept slipping through his fingers. “—this.”
Teal whimpered, his gloved fingers tightening into fists in the pile of his own lace sleeves. The damp heat between his thighs had soaked through the thin fabric of his panties, the pastel pink thigh-highs clinging obscenely to the soft curves beneath. He should have been embarrassed.
Or at least, some part of his brain that wasn't currently drowning in sensation should have been screaming at him to pull himself together. But the way Zane was looking at him—like he was something precious, something *wanted*—made the flush on Teal's cheeks burn even hotter. His gloved fingers trembled as they clutched the lace sleeves of his top, the pastel pink fabric bunching in his grip.
"You're *mine* like this," Zane murmured again, his voice rough with something dark and possessive that made Teal's stomach flip violently.
The weight of him pressed Teal deeper into the couch, the lace of his top clinging to skin that was now flushed pink and overheated beneath the fabric.
Teal's breath came out in a shuddering gasp, his gloved fingers clawing at the couch cushions as his entire body locked up—not in protest, but in the delicious horror of realization.
A deep crimson bloomed across Teal’s cheeks as he twisted his head just enough to glare over his shoulder, his dark lashes fluttering rapidly.
“I *what*?”
Zane’s smirk deepened, his teeth flashing white against his tan skin in the dim glow of the TV’s ambient light.
“You’re a pretty little emo princess boy, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough with something Teal couldn’t name.
Teal’s breath hitched in a way that was almost comical—a high-pitched squeak that got stuck in his throat. The lace at his thighs pulled taut as he tried to twist around, but Zane’s forearm still pressed firmly against the back of his neck, pinning him right where he was—ass up, face down, cheeks burning like someone had pressed hot coals to his skin.
Then, without warning, Zane’s hand slid beneath him, palm cupping the round curve of Teal’s ass through the damp lace, thumb pressing insistently against the yielding flesh.
“Come on, Teal,” Zane murmured, his voice rough and low as his thumb traced slow circles over the soft curve beneath the fabric. “You know you’re gay. Just say it.”
Teal froze—absolutely ceased moving—his gloved fingers clawing at the couch cushions as the words struck him like a physical blow. His pastel pink thigh-highs were still damp from earlier, the lace clinging obscenely to the soft flesh beneath. The air between them thickened with something even heavier than arousal now; something fragile and terrifying.
His breath came out in a shuddered gasp, the pastel blue streaks in his black hair catching the dim light as his dark lashes fluttered wildly.
“I—I’m not—”
Zane’s hand didn’t stop moving, his calloused palm kneading the round curve of Teal’s ass through the damp lace, fingers pressing insistently against the soft yielding flesh beneath. The lace of the thigh-highs had ridden up during their tussle, the pastel pink fabric clinging obscenely to the flushed skin, the scent of lavender and something sweeter—musky, feminine—rising between them like an intoxicating perfume. Teal’s voice cracked mid-sentence, his gloved fingers twisting in the mess of his own lace sleeves as his entire body locked up, not in protest, but in the electric realization of how perfectly Zane’s hand fit against him.
“Say it,” Zane murmured, his voice rough with something darker than amusement, something that made Teal’s stomach flip violently.
His hand didn’t stop moving—palm pressing harder against the round curve of Teal’s ass through the damp lace, fingers kneading the yielding flesh beneath with deliberate, possessive pressure. The lace of the thigh-highs had ridden up further during their tussle, the pastel pink fabric now translucent in places, clinging obscenely to the flushed skin beneath. The scent of lavender and something sweeter—musky, feminine, *arousing*—rose between them like an intoxicating perfume.
Teal’s breath hitched, his gloved fingers clawing at the couch cushions as if he could anchor himself to reality instead of this maddening, tingly collapse of his body.
“Admit you’re gay and I’ll give you a treat,” Zane purred, his voice dropping into that infuriating smirk that made Teal want to both throw a pillow at him and beg for more. His thumb pressed firmer against Teal’s ass through the damp lace, the fabric clinging obscenely as the realization of how thoroughly he’d been pinned down crashed over him in waves.
Zane barked out a laugh that rang through the apartment like a gunshot, his tattooed arm flexing around Teal’s waist to keep him in place. “Or you could admit you’re a *girl* and that you need a man,” he finished, dragging the last word out slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the taste of it on his tongue.
His palm still rested heavily against Teal’s ass where the damp lace of his panties clung obscenely, the pastel pink thigh-highs riding up even further as Teal’s body trembled beneath his touch.
Teal’s breath hitched in a choked, disbelieving sound, his gloved fingers twisting in the mess of his frilled sleeves like he was trying to climb out of his own skin. The crimson staining his cheeks had darkened to a deep, wine-stain red, his dark lashes fluttering down against his flushed cheeks as he turned his head just enough to glare at Zane with something between fury and sheer, unadulterated horror.
The pastel pink sleeves of his lace top had slipped down his wrists, the frilled fabric tangling in messy loops around his gloved fingers.
"Nope." His voice came out in a squeaky, firm denial, the word short and clipped like he was trying to slam a door shut on a conversation he didn’t want to have. His gloved fingers twisted tighter into the lace, knuckles turning white, and he wriggled backward—just slightly—enough to make Zane’s grip tighten in warning.
Zane didn’t move.
His palm stayed pressed against Teal’s ass, fingers still tracing slow, possessive circles through the damp lace, before he finally exhaled in a long, rough sigh that sounded more like a growl. The sound vibrated through the apartment, thick with frustration and something else—something Teal didn’t dare name. He shifted his weight, muscles flexing beneath the inked sleeves of his tattoos, before sitting up just enough to pull his hand away with deliberate slowness. The loss of contact made Teal whimper, his thighs pressing together involuntarily, the damp lace clinging obscenely to the soft flesh beneath.
Then Zane sat all the way up, his back brushing against the armrest of the couch as he scrubbed a hand over his face, the shaved sides of his head catching the dim light like polished steel. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough with self-deprecation, before turning his head to meet Teal’s gaze.
The apology came out in a low, grudging mumble—“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to get handsy.” His tattooed arms crossed over his chest again, the movement shifting the damp lace still clinging to Teal’s thighs, the pastel pink fabric trembling with every shaky breath Teal took.
The sudden absence of Zane’s touch left the air thick and hollow, a vacuum that sucked the warmth right out of Teal’s chest until his pastel blue-streaked hair seemed to weigh twice as much, dragging his head down like a stone tied to a string.
Teal felt empty—*physically* empty—as if Zane’s palm had been the only thing keeping his ribs from caving inward. The damp lace of his panties still clung to him, the pastel pink thigh-highs riding up his thighs in a mess of wrinkled fabric that suddenly felt too tight, too *exposed*. His gloved fingers trembled against the couch cushions, the frilled sleeves of his top pooling uselessly around his wrists like discarded petals.
The spot where Zane’s hand had pressed into the damp lace of his panties still burned, the phantom imprint of calloused fingers dragging slow circles over his softest flesh. Teal’s breath hitched, his thighs pressing together instinctively—only to be met with the cruel resistance of the lace still clinging to him, the pastel pink fabric damp and clinging obscenely, as if the room itself refused to let go.
Zane exhaled sharply through his nose before pushing off the couch, his muscles rolling beneath the ink as he stood. The absence of his weight left Teal feeling suddenly weightless, untethered—his ass pressing into the couch cushion as if trying to reclaim the warmth Zane’s body had left behind. The apartment felt colder now, the hum of the heater not enough to chase away the sudden chill that settled over Teal’s flushed skin.
He stayed frozen in place, his gloved fingers splayed on the couch cushions like he was trying to anchor himself to reality—or maybe just prevent himself from spiraling further into the mess of emotions swirling inside him. The pastel pink sleeves of his top had slipped down his wrists, the frilled fabric tangled in a messy puddle of silk and lace around his fingers. His breathing came in short, sharp bursts, each one making the damp lace cling tighter to his thighs, the pastel pink fabric now translucent in places, outlining the soft curves beneath in a way that should have been mortifying—if Teal wasn’t so busy trying to process the fact that Zane had *touched* him like that.
Like he was *wanted*.
Like he was *his*.
Zane’s footsteps paused in front of the couch, his shadow stretching over Teal’s curled-up form like a promise. The scent of his bodywash—something citrus and expensive—cut through the lavender air between them, making Teal’s nose twitch despite himself.
“You okay, idiot?” Zane’s voice was rougher now, less amused, like he’d just remembered he was supposed to be annoyed with Teal for being a giant emotional puddle in the first place. His piercing caught the dim light as he tilted his head, studying Teal with an intensity that made Teal’s stomach flip all over again.
The way Zane looked at him—like he was something precious, something *wanted*—made Teal’s chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the estrogen gummies and everything to do with the man standing over him.
Teal finally managed to swallow hard, his gloved fingers twisting in the mess of his frilled sleeves as he forced himself to meet Zane’s gaze. His dark lashes fluttered down for a second, the pastel blue streaks in his black hair catching the dim glow of the TV like tarnished silver.
“Y-yeah,” Teal squeaked, his voice cracking slightly.
He tried to sound nonchalant—tried to sit up, tried to *move*—but his body refused, the damp lace of his panties still clinging to him like a cruel reminder of what had just happened. His gloved fingers twisted in the frilled sleeves of his top, the pastel pink fabric bunching around his wrists in a messy tangle that only made him feel more exposed. “Totally fine.”
Zane let out a dry chuckle, low and rough, like gravel under a boot.
“Sure, you are,” he said, his voice dripping with the kind of smirk that made Teal’s stomach flip even when he *trying* to act unaffected. His piercing glinted in the dim light as he crossed his arms over his chest, the movement shifting the ink of his sleeve—skulls and flames and the faint outline of a heart he’d gotten when he was drunk and emotional one night after prom. Teal had teased him mercilessly for months about it, but now, with the way Zane’s biceps flexed under the weight of his own arms, the word *heart* felt like a punch to the gut.
It was just a stupid tattoo—just two stupid, drunken words scrawled in black ink—but in this moment, it felt like a secret, a betrayal, a *promise*. His gloved fingers tightened around the lace sleeves of his top, pastel pink pooling uselessly around his wrists as his thighs pressed together beneath the damp fabric. The air between them had thickened again, the scent of lavender and something sweeter—*musky*, *feminine*—rising between them like an intoxicating perfume.
Zane’s smirk faltered for half a beat, his dark eyes flicking down to where Teal’s hands trembled against the couch cushions.
The pastel pink sleeves of his lace top had ridden up his arms again, the frilled fabric tangled in a mess around his wrists, and the damp lace of his panties clung obscenely to the soft curves beneath, the pastel pink thigh-highs riding up even further with every shaky breath. The sight made Zane’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with amusement or control and everything to do with the way Teal’s body fit against him.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound rougher than he intended, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
The apartment felt warm, almost stifling, the hum of the ancient heater blending with the low murmur of Teal’s bathetic anime dub playing on the TV screen. The pastel pink sleeves of the boy’s lace top had slipped down his wrists again, the frilled fabric tangled around his gloved fingers like discarded ribbon. His thighs trembled once—just once—beneath the damp, clinging pastel pink of his thigh-highs, the lace of his panties now translucent in places, outlining the soft curves and the faintest hint of something more feminine than Zane had noticed a month ago. Not that he was keeping track.
But after the last three tries—each ending in Teal’s rounded ass planted firmly between his thighs, the boy’s pastel pink thigh-highs riding up obscenely—Zane was starting to think he might be getting the hang of this whole *wrestling* thing.
Teal’s gloved fingers twisted in the frilled lace sleeves of his top, the pastel pink fabric bunching around his wrists as he ducked his head, pastel blue streaks catching the dim glow of the TV. “Y-you’re really good,” he mumbled, the words slipping out before he could call them back, his voice barely audible over the anime’s dramatic OP. His thighs pressed together beneath the damp lace, the pastel pink thigh-highs clinging obscenely as he shifted on the couch, the memory of Zane’s palm pressing into the soft curve of his ass still burning against his skin.
"You know, you can sit on my face more if you want."
Teal’s entire body locked up the second the words left Zane’s mouth, his gloved fingers twisting the frilled sleeves of his lace top into a tight knot around his wrists. The pastel pink fabric bunched uselessly against his knuckles as his dark lashes fluttered down, pastel blue streaks catching the dim glow of the TV screen like tarnished silver. A deep, wine-stain crimson creeping up his neck to bloom across his cheeks so fast and fierce it left him lightheaded—like he’d chugged too much strawberry soda all at once.
The words *sounded incredible* even as his brain screamed at him to protest, to deny, to insist he was just playing along for Zane’s amusement.
But his body had already betrayed him decades ago—the widening hips, the softer thighs, the way his emotions tangled in words and tears before logic could catch up. The lace at his thighs pulled taut as he pressed them together, the damp fabric clinging obscenely, and while his rational mind wanted to recoil, to insist he wasn’t that kind of person, his chest ached with a secret wanting, a *hunger* he couldn’t name.
Zane’s smirk twisted into something darker, hungrier, as he read the flush on Teal’s cheeks and the way his gloved fingers trembled against the couch cushions.
With deliberate slowness, he leaned back into the cushions, arms stretching along the backrest like he owned the damn couch—and really, he did. The pastel pink sleeves of Teal’s lace top had slipped completely off his wrists, pooling like discarded petals around his fingers, and the damp lace of his panties clung to the soft curves of his thighs, the pastel pink thigh-highs riding up obscenely with every shaky breath.
Teal bit his lip so hard he tasted metal—half protest, half something else he refused to name—and pushed himself up on shuddering knees. The pastel blue streaks in his black hair caught the dim light like broken neon as he twisted his head to glance at Zane, eyes wide and uncertain. There was a pause—just a heartbeat—where the air between them thickened with something electric and fragile, the scent of lavender and arousal clinging to the space like a second skin.
Teal’s pastel pink thigh-highs had ridden up further, the damp lace clinging obscenely to the soft curves beneath, and the way Zane’s gaze dropped there—slow, deliberate, hungry—made Teal’s stomach twist into a knot of anticipation and terror. He bit his lip, the pastel blue streaks in his black hair catching the dim light from the TV, and shifted his weight on his knees. The lace of his sleeves pooled uselessly around his wrists, the frilled fabric tangled messily as his gloved fingers clenched into fists.
“You—you *say* that like it’s nothing,” Teal squeaked, his voice cracking under the weight of his own words.
The pastel blue streaks in his black hair caught the dim glow of the TV, trembling like fairy lights about to burn out.
He hesitated for only a second, knees still pressing into the couch cushions, before slowly—so slowly—Teal lowered himself back onto Zane’s upturned face, the damp pastel pink of his thigh-highs parting just enough for the lace to brush against skin that still thrummed with heat.
The crotch of Teal’s panties pressed to Zane’s lips like a second, softer gasp, the fabric already dark with the telltale dampness from their tussle, the scent of lavender and something sweeter rising between them like incense. Zane’s tongue flicked out immediately—hot, wet, insistent—and Teal’s entire body jerked forward, his gloved fingers scrambling against the couch cushions in a desperate attempt to steady himself as the first wave of sensation crashed over him like a tidal rupture, his pastel pink thighs trembling as they bracketed Zane’s head.
Zane groaned against the slick lace, the vibration traveling straight through Teal’s clit in a way that made the boy’s back arch violently, his pastel blue-streaked hair whipping forward to curtain his flustered face as his lips parted on a broken, wordless sound.
The damp fabric clung obscenely to the yielding flesh beneath, the pastel pink of Teal’s thigh-highs now stretched taut over rounder curves than either of them would admit to noticing. Zane’s tongue worked in slow, deliberate circles against the soaked lace, tracing the swollen seam of Teal’s cleft with wet, filthy precision, the tip nudging just beneath the hem of the panties where the fabric had ridden up during their tussle.
The taste of him—warm, musky, sweetly artificial with a hint of estrogen’s lingering tang—flooded Zane’s mouth until he had to groan against the lace, his hands flying up to grip Teal’s hips not to pull away but to *pull him closer*, to keep the perfect, yielding weight right where he wanted it.
“Fuck—” Teal choked out, his voice breaking as his thighs trembled around Zane’s ears, the pastel pink thigh-highs now translucent in places from the damp heat seeping through.
He could feel Zane’s tongue pressing insistently against the soaked lace, tracing the swollen seam where his body leaked through the fabric in a way that made his vision whiten at the edges. His gloved fingers scrabbled against the couch cushions, the frilled pastel pink sleeves of his top pooling uselessly around his wrists like discarded petals, but he couldn’t pull away—didn’t *want* to pull away. Not when Zane’s hands were gripping his hips, fingers digging in possessively, pulling him down *further* against that filthy, hungry mouth.