#Rubber Over Golf Shoes

[captainlondonman]

New Skin Boss

Jed was glad it was Friday. His Boss allowed Friday to be the day when staff could wear what they wanted. During the week Jed had to tone down his gear, just jeans, thick soled shoes and a sweatshirt and anyway he had to wear a warehouse coat over. However on a Friday he did not give a shit what the other two lads in the warehouse thought and he always put on his Skin gear. Christ if you are a skin you have to show that you are, so out came the bleached jeans, the Fred Perry T shirt, the yellow braces and the yellow laced 20 hole Ranger boots. Like all good skins he wore no underwear and you could see the outline of his cock down one leg made more obvious by the piss stains from not shaking his knob when finishing his piss. The other guys wore their jeans and some boring top always looking at him as if he was an alien.

‘Well fuck them’, Jed thought

The Boss , Brian, was young, early 30s and seemed fixated with golf spending most of his free time on the golf course with his boring suburban friends. Jed had to admit he was good looking but God knows if he was straight or not. Had to be Jed thought with all this bloody golf. He was 6ft. good build, gelled hair with perfect parting and one thing Jed always noted was that there was a nice bulge hidden in his chinos. The guy obviously wore boxer shorts so his cock could swing around a bit. This Friday as they were packing up to go, Brian looked at Jed and said.

‘You always wear your Skinhead gear on a Friday, Jed. I just can’t see why and always so tight on you.’

‘Once a Skin always a skin, Brian. You wouldn’t know.’

‘Too right there, Jed, however I do admire you for looking like that. It may not be for me but it actually does suit you.’

 That night Jed met up with his pals at the local Skin club. Great always to be with fellow skins in their gear. Some wore rubber versions of skin stuff and a few of the bigger blokes would bring their slaves in with a thick collar and chain and make them kneel begging for a beer. This was his home and often he would hook up with another Skin for a night of raw sex but it was usually a one night stand. Christ he had probably had half the guys there. He was talking to Otto who was considered the leader of the Skins who frequented the club. Everyone called him Otto because he loved to go off for weekends to the Berlin Skin scene and besides you would not mess with him, he was at least 6’2” and built like a brick shit house, both arms heavily tattooed and a spiders web tat covering his head. Jed was telling the group abut Brian and his comments.

‘Mate it sounds as if you fancy yer boss. I fucking hope not as us Skins stick together.’

‘Shit, Otto, no way am I having sex with anyone other than a Skin.’

‘So what Jed if this boss was a skin, what would you do?’

‘Well IF he was, I fucking love to be his fuck bitch judging from that cock outline I see in his chinos. But that’s not gonna happen ain’t it.’

‘Stranger things have happened. If you are up for it me and two of me mates could help out a bit. Always want to make us Skin boys happy.’

‘You’re bloody joking’

‘Am I? What say we have a go next weekend but I will need all the weekend and you stay out of things till I call you. You will just need to let us in before you leave  and then you bugger off till I call.’

‘Not sure I can believe all this but hey man you are such a boss I’m willing to give it a go.’

‘Great, I like the sound of this commission. Will make for a good weekend.’

 The following week at 5pm the other guys had gone off and Jed did as he was told by putting something Otto had given him into a cup of tea for Brian.

‘Thought you might like a cuppa before I go off, Brian’

T’hat’s nice of you Jed. No doubt you are off for one of your boys night.’

‘You can say Skin instead of boys Brian.’

‘Maybe but that’s not my thing but if you insist yeah, Skin nights. Hope you enjoy. I’ll be another half hour and then I will lock up.’

‘Have a great weekend. I’m sure its gonna be special’

‘Who knows Jed?’

Jed whispered to himself ‘I know’

 He then opened the door to let Otto in and his two sidekicks.

‘You put the liquid in the tea did you, Jed’

‘Of course just as you asked’

‘Christ what have you there? It looks like a bloody huge suitcase.’

‘A bit like that but don’t you worry. Bri’s not gonna know what has hit him but the result will be exactly as you are wanting.’

‘I’m not sure now,’ Jed replied

‘Look fuck off mate and leave this to the professionals. Go.’ And with that Otto pushed him out the door and quietly shut it behind him.

‘Right lads lets give Bri 20minutes. That should be enough.’

They then opened the office door and saw Brian slumped over his desk.

‘Look like it’s worked boys so lets get to action, open up the case. First, hand me the shaving cream and razor as well as the chains and ropes but before we do anything lets get this guys clothes off.’

All three skins quickly removed Brian’s clothes

‘Well’ Otto said, ‘Jed is right, the guys got a good sized cock, I reckon a good 8inches when stiff but well find that out soon enough. A real waste in a pair of chinos. Dom, put these clothes in a bin bag and shove in the bin outside.’

Otto tied Brian to the chair with the ropes and taking out a good thick leather collar buckled that around his neck and then chained it to the back of the chair so his head was fully upright and unable to move.

Otto then took his electric razor and started on Brian’s gelled hair, great pieces falling to the floor. Once most of it was off he sprayed on the shaving foam, mixing it in with a couple of thick heavy globs of spit for good measure. Taking the razor he worked his way around the scalp once and then another go to make sure the head was smooth and properly scalped.

‘Shit that looks better for a start.  He has a good Skin shape of head. Fucking hate blokes with all that gel thinking they look bloody great. Better shut him up before he comes round but first let’s close the blinds and set up the video system for him.’

Brian started to come to and as he started to open his mouth, he felt  a round rubber ball being forced into his mouth almost making him gag and then it was strapped round the back of his head. He could not move his hands were firmly tied behind the chair and his head was immobile. He was vaguely conscious of a thick leather strap around his neck keeping his head firmly in position.

As his eyes still had a fuzz, he could make out in the dark room three men standing in front of him. They all looked dressed the same and he could make out high boots and shaved heads but little else.

One was bigger than the other two and came forwards so his face was up against. The guy looked fearsome and he could make out the guy was a Skinhead as he was dressed similarly to the clothes Jed wore on a Friday. The guy was bulky with thick legs encased in his bleachers and on his head a large tattoo of a spider’s web. On one cheek was another tattoo of a swastika.

‘So Bri, I’ve just put a ball gag in yer mouth to shut you up for now. You might see you’re naked but don’t worry that will get sorted out. Us lads are going to leave you for a while but before going we have a little piece of equipment we think will help you.

Otto opened up the ball stretchers and fitted them around Brian’s hefty pair of balls. As he clicked them in Brian let out a howl of pain as he felt his balls firmly locked and being stretched. You’ve a good pair there, boi, but we want them to give you a lower voice like us and besides you soon grow to love them and never want them off.’

By now Dom had set up the machine with a screen directly in front of Brian so he could not miss what was to be shown.

‘Ready Bri?’

All Brian could do in his anguish was mumble

Otto started the machine. The first video showed a group of skins hanging around some with knuckle dusters and others with bats, a group of chavs started to walk by the with Skins shouting at them. Every word was Fuck this, fuck that, Oi oi. Then the Skins waded in hitting the chavs with the bats punching the lads with their knuckle dusters, showing their power and making the chavs submit and run off. More videos started up all with real aggro Skins, looking for trouble, and always with the volume set loud, Fuck Fuck, Oi Oi. These words kept thumping in Brian’s eardrums

‘Right Bri, good stuff for you to watch. Well leave you now.’

While Brian sat tied up rigid unable not to watch the violence, the aggro, the sheer force and manliness of the Skins, Otto and his mates went next door for a couple of hours for a few beers.

When they returned Brian was wriggling in his seat, trying to force himself free, a look of sheer anger on his face, his eyes bulging with fury. His arms straining to be free.

‘Now what’s going on here Bri. Lets get that ball gag out.’

As Otto forced Brian’s mouth open and took out the gag Brian let rip

‘Fuck, fuck fuck, Fucking Skins. Oi oi ‘which he kept repeating his voice now deeper and his accent different, a working class sound erupting form his body. ‘Fucking skins,’

‘That’s more like it Bri. What I was hoping to hear.’

‘So for now we will leave the gag off but change the videos.’

Ok Dom put the other ones on for our mate here

The machine started up again and the new images flashed on to the screen. Again groups of Skins but this time no fighting, no fists. Instead the Skins were licking their Mates rangers, all in either bleachers or camos, tight, showing off their package, their hands rubbing against their crotchs. Other images showed some young Skins being forced down on their knees and their heads rammed against the older Skins bulges, unzipping and taking out their erect cocks. Being told to get on with their blow job . the older guys grabbing the head of the younger ones and forcing them to take the full shaft down the back of their throat. In other images other guys unzipped their bleachers and took out their cocks slowing wanking for the camera, eyeing each other and some helping their mate out, hands firmly grasped around the dicks, then coming with reams of thick white spunk at the camera. Other shots showed Skins with a rear zip having it undone and the top Skin shoving two or three fingers up their butt, , or getting down to give them a face fuck letting their tongues explore their mate’s arse. Then pictures and a full fuck as the main guy grabbed the other’s waist and pulled him onto his rigid cock, all the time shouting Fuck.  Another video showed a fist fuck with bottom getting down on his knees and sticking his arse up so his mate could slowly start with a. couple of fingers moving then around to open up the guys arse and adding a third and fourth finger as the bottom squirmed begging for the full fist. Then the hand started to disappear in the guys cheeks and finally the arm moved in and up to the hilt. His own cock was out and wanking as he fist fucked his mate, both shouting with Fuck me mate, take my fist you fucking Skin boi.

As these pictures appeared so Otto and his mates decided to leave.

‘Bri needs a good few hours seeing all this, and you two can come with me otherwise you’ll be wanking each other raw. Later OK’

Brian was left alone to force watch the videos

As the guys were downing their beers and smoking their fags they eventually heard a voice next door shouting

‘Fuck the shit out of the bastard.’

‘Go on fucking wank yerself’

‘Get that fucking cock down yer throat’

The words went on and on in  Brian’s new voice

Otto opened a beer and added something to it saying

Time to move on to the next phase boys

They went in and looking at Brian staring at the screen, still shouting

‘Fucking hell, Otto’ Dom said. ‘He’s luving all this, look at that fucking dick of his.’

Brian was sitting shouting at the screen urging on the blow jobs, the wanking and the fucking and his cock was stiff showing a full 8’ of thick manhood with a decent head. It was as if Brian wanted to break free and grab his cock for a wank

‘Good boi.’ Otto smirked. ‘Glad you luvin this what we Skins do to each other. No one has sex like a Skin. So take a beer and calm down’

Brian slurped down the beer and had not even drained the bottle when he conked out.

‘Right lads get the kit out, time for a bit of art work. Otto took out the tattoo kit with all the needles and colours

‘Time this guy looked more like us eh?’

Dom said ‘what you going to do mate’

‘Well we have to make a start and he can always add himself later as he will do. So I’ve worked out a few ideas. There are a couple of obvious ones.’

Taking hold of Brian’s hand he started to etch out Skin on his left hand on each finger, all in black letters a good inch high.

‘Well he can’t hide that now and lets give him another for every bloke to see. Taking the black needle again he etched out a spiders web on Brian’s neck, not as big as his own on his head but one about 4inclhes in diameter and one that no shirt would hide.

‘Looking good. Lets do one more.’

He made a pair of Ranger boots on his right arm with yellow laces.

‘I like a bloke with yellow laces.’ Otto said. ‘Always the sexiest. Right lets clear this up and give him a quick rub with some disinfectant. The bruising will soon go and he can admire himself.’

‘Ok Chas now get the next bit of gear for our friend.’

Chas took out a full rubber hood with no eyelets and just a plastic tube coming out from the mouth. Otto took the hood and put it over Brian’s head zipping down the back to make sure it was a very tight fit. He then fitted a funnel to the end of the tube.

‘Perfect. Christ I’ve been dying for a piss after those beers and cant save it much longer so Bri here is in for a fucking long drink. So lets wake the boy up .’

With that Otto took his hand and gave Brian a resounding slap across the rubber bound mask. ‘Fucking love hitting a bloke in rubber. Take that you fucking shit heap, and take that again,’ whacking Brian 3 times to make sure he was awake.

As Brian came round Otto opened his bleachers fly and pulled out his large thick tool.

‘Shit man,’ Dom said ‘I always luv seeing that big dick of your. Never fails to get me going’ as he started to rub his crotch.

‘Later man but for now lets give Bri here a good drink’

Otto put his dick over the funnel and start to let a stream of hot piss down it. Brin suddenly felt this wave of acrid piss spilling into his mouth but was totally unable to stop swallowing it. At first he hated the taste and tried to block it out as it poured down his throat but something clicked in his mind. It didn’t taste that bad, in fact he loved the taste and the more Otto poured down the more enthusiastically Brian swallowed.

‘You now fucking luv that boi, don’t you. Take my piss, after all those beers there’s plenty for you, as wave after wave poured down.’

Both the guys watching started rubbing each others crotches,  thick outlines in their bleachers showing.

‘Ye see Bri, yer getting me mates all worked up and you can expect some luvly creamy spunk coming yer way from them. So guys hold yerself for now. The guys still rubbed each other precum stains showing through. Brian drank every drop of Otto’s piss.

Otto removed the funnel and then the rubber mask showing `Brian’s skin head glistening with sweat.

‘That was fucking great.’ Brian said. ‘Make sure you get a few more beers and let me have it again.’

‘See boys, the change is working. Well done Bri youre on the right road. Now me, Dom and Chas are gonna stand in front you. I’m gonna remove your neck chains but not the collar, it suits you, and take off the ropes. Us skins like our Rangers nice and clean and with all that piss of mine in yer mouth you are gonna lick every one so now get down on yer knees. ‘

Otto grabbed Brian by his leather collar and forced him down on his knees

‘You got 6 rangers there boi that need a good lickin so get on with it.’

Otto kept his hand on the chain that was attached to the collar and pushed him to start with Chas’s. Brian knew what he had to do and do it right

Chas shouted ‘Get fuckin right down Boi and let me see that tongue shine up me boots.’ Brian let his pissed stained tongue lick deeply on the toe caps using his spit to shin up the spit oozing out his mouth

‘That’s it boi get all the way round.’ Brian was grovelling on the floor licking round the toe caps and the backs of the Rangers his chin buffing up and his hands firmly around the boots. He looked up at Chas to make sure he was doing a good job and saw that he was stroking his crotch and Brian could see the outline of a good sized dick stretching down the inside of his bleachers

‘You lick well boi, gets me going. Me cock now nice a hard., as he unzipped his fly and let his hand go deep inside his bleachers to pull out a long cock.

‘Now fucking lick mine’ Dom shouted. He already had his dick out and was stroking it dropping some spit on to his shaft.

‘Fucking lick and use your tongue and spit boi,’ Otto shouted putting one of his boots firmly on Brian’s head and forcing it down onto the boot. ‘When we say lick you fucking lick got it.’

Chas and Dom now had their hands on each other’s cock giving one another a good wank.

Otto said,’ I’m saving you for later Bri but come on lads let’s see you both spunk over Bri’s face you can see he’s gagging for it

Shit I’ve a load of good spunk ready for him’ Chas shouted

‘Me too’ Dom said ‘I love your hand rubbing me cock, Chas, keep it going. As for you Bri sit up and lets see your face. That’s it, stare at our pricks and get ready for our cum.’

Dom was now using his hand up and down the full length of Chas’s cock and Chas was working Dom’s head knowing he loved his head rubbed with spit.

Otto watched rubbing his own crotch, smirking at his lads getting off on each other.

‘We’re gonna cum together boi so be ready to swallow and what you don’t I’m gonna rub all over yer face’

Dom and Chas had worked one another up to shoot their load.

‘I’m ready now Chas’

‘Me too Dom, yer fucking great at wanking me off, Christ im coming’

‘Take aim’

Both guys let out a stream of cum onto Brian’s face, Brian trying to swallow as much as he could loving their spunk and started using his hands to wipe it into his mouth whilst Dom and Chas rubbed what was left all over Brian’s face

Christ that fels better Ive been dying to shoot ever since we started his on the guy.

Otto said don’t worry I think youll both be at it again soon.

Otto took a wet cloth and wiped Brian’s face removing all excess of spunk.

‘I think its time to get some clothes on you boi, it the only clothes you’ll be wearing from now on, you never want to wear anything else. Once a Skin always a Skin. I’ve your new uniform.

Otto opened the suitcase and brought out the clothes for Brian. A Fred Perry black T shirt with yellow piping, a pair of camos with yellow braces, yellow long socks and 20hole ranger boots.

‘Ok Chas help the guy on with his gear. He needs to know how to do the laces of his boots.’ As Brian put on his clothes he started to feel even more different and wondered what clothing he had ever worn before this weekend. He seemed to know this was right for him and he felt it suited his body, showing off his chest and firm arse. The putting on of the boots was like a sexual surge, feeling them tight around his legs, knowing he could kick the shit out of someone wearing them with their steel caps. The pressure around his legs gave a pressure to his cock as it grew in length down his leg.

,Right Bri time to see the new you. This is what it’s all been about and hope you like what you see.’

Dom brought a mirror in and Otto pushed Brian in front

‘Well boi you look fucking horny,’ Otto said rubbing his dick

Brian was amazed. He now looked just like the others there and his spider Tat looking like a real Skin, but then he is a real Skin. He clenched his fists and could see the Skin tat on his knuckles. By clenching his fists he looked ready for a fight, tough, real aggro and so fucking manly, such a fucking turn on. His cock was rigid.

‘Right Bri time to finish off the transformation and I get the pleasure. Get over here.’

As Brian moved over towards him Otto unzipped his flies and put his hand deep down inside to pull out his thick veined 9inc rampant cock. This ain’t been washed in days boi so all the better for fucking you now bend down over your desk.’

Brian saw Ottos cock and for a moment winced at the thought but seeing this rough man standing in his Skin gear with his massive cock out at the ready, Brian knew he wanted to be fucked by this monster.

Brian did as he was told and Otto unzipped the rear of his camos.

‘I make sure all my bois have a rear zip as I love to fuck them in full gear. Dom you can call Jed now and get him down to see his Boss.. That’s some arse you got there,  Bri, just as I like good firm cheeks and a deep cleft at your hole.’

Otto spat two large globs of spit onto his rancid prick.

‘Makes it a bit easier for you first time.’

As he put his arms around Brian’s waist he moved his cock into the crack.

Dom and Chas were both watching rubbing their cocks knowing how well Otto fucked.

‘Well Dom no point in the two of you just watching and feeling horny so Chas get over to the desk next to Bri and let Dom fuck you at the same time. I know you love his cock.’

‘I fucking do’ Chas said as he leant over next to Brian and  unzipped his rear fly  Cum on Dom give it to me.’

‘Watching Otto fuck the hell out of Bri will make you even more horny.’

Otto took his hands and spread open Brian’s cheeks to let his cock find the hole.

Nice little hairy arse you got there boi and I can see a good slit you have for my big dick.’ With his hands keeping the arse wide open he let his head meet Brains hole and spat another glob to push the head in.

‘Fucking hell Otto what a cock you have, you’ll bloody well split me.’

‘Don’t worry boy once I get the head past, my shaft will glide up your arse right to the hilt. Just look at Chas and how he takes Dom’s cock.’

Chas was starting to move his body back to allow Dom into his arse. Dom had taken Chas by the shoulders and was pushing him against his balls.

‘I want to feel that arse of yours right up tight against my balls. Make em swing Chas.’

Chas rammed his body back as much as he could until he felt Dom’s pubes rubbing against him.

Meanwhile Otto had started pushing in the full length of his cock. That’s it boi take the full load as I’m gonna blast you.’

‘Shit this is fucking great, I’ll never want anything but dick again.’

By now both Dom and Otto were fully up as Chas turned next to Bri and taking hold of his head kissed him plunging his tongue down Brian throat.

‘That’s it bois enjoy one another while we enjoy you.’

‘Come on Dom lets give our lads everything we got and cum together’

The two men fucking started pummeling, grasping their prey and pushing their dicks in an out with increasing force and rapidity. Brian and Chas were giving each other deep throat groaning as they could feel the dicks up their arses ready to explode in side them

‘Christ Bri this is your moment there’s no going back now once I cum inside you. Dom  get your jism ready as I’m about to cum’

‘Me too mate’

And with that both Skins erupted their spunk deep inside Chas and Brian.

 The door opened and Jed stood there transfixed at the scene.

‘Fucking hell it’s a bloody orgy. What have you been doing.’

Otto slipped his cock out of Brian’s arse giving his cheeks a hard slap.

‘Well done Bri, you know how to use that bum of yours. Now see who’s here. It’s your mate Jed who asked us for help to change you.

Otto zipped up Brian’s rear and let him stand up to face Jed

‘Christ you looking fucking amazing’ Jed said staring at his boss. ‘I could never have imagined. I don’t know what to say Otto.’

‘I think you are about to find out.’

Brian walked over to Jed and before Jed knew what had happened Brian had him in a stranglehold making Jed unable to move.

‘So it was you, you fucking little shit who caused all this. You’re the one you has put me through all this, you fucking little wanker. I should have known. It’s you who have made me a skin’, he sneered into Jed’s face  spitting at him and using his spare arm to rub it in. ‘Fucking great life you’ve given me You made me a Skin just like you and Otto here. You’ve changed my life for ever.’

Jed did not know what to say ‘I didn’t know it was going to end this way Brian,’

‘Well it fucking has and let me tell you, its bloody brill. What a fucking great life you’ve given me. Who wants to be anything but a skin but I’ll tell you now having just been fucked good and hard by Otto, my cock needs to get rid of plenty of spunk and its your arse that’s gonna take it all.’

Brian threw Jed at the table and as he undid Jed’s jeans he could feel Jed with a full erect cock.

‘So you like seeing me like this do you. Well all these times I’ve seen you checking out my package you’re now gonna get it as I am so horny after Otto.’

Brian undid his zip by now his camos showing a large stain of precum.

‘Christ I’m ready for you and that arse Jed.’

With one arm firmly on Jed’s back he took hold of his cock and pressed against Jed’s crack which was already moist and waiting. He knew he was going to be fucked and he so wanted Brian inside him.

Brian decided this was no slow fuck he wanted Jed to feel every inch as he rammed the 8 inch prick all the way up so Jed could feel he could go no further. His movements were rapid but Jed wanted it all and was pushing his arse back and forwards to help the sensation and while being fucked he had his hand over his own shaft wanking for all he was worth.

‘Christ Brian fuck me, let me have all your cream as I’m about to spunk all over your desk. Go on faster and faster I want you. Christ I’m ready to explode’

‘You little horny skin you Christ I m ready to give you all my spunk’

‘Me to, shoot mate’

And with that both men groaned deeply and came at the same time a great spray of cum shooting across the desk from Jed and Brian at last cumming as he had so wanted to do during the weekend. He was a Skin and he loved fucking.

‘So guys, looks as if I’ve had another success. I can pack up.’ Otto said

Brian replied, ‘thanks Otto. Jed you’re coming home with me tonight I’ve not finished with you yet. I think you and I have something together and a good night of fucking will see what happens. I may have another job for you Otto.

 On Monday morning Brian and Jed were waiting in full Skin gear for their warehouse staff to arrive. The two guys walked in and saw Brian, no longer in his chinos and light blue shirt, but looking a full skinhead in his bleachers, Rangers and Fred Perry, totally shaved and the spider tattoo showing. He had an arm around Jed and as the blokes took in the scene so he tongued Jed.

‘Well lads as you can see there have been a few changes. You see me as I want to be and I’ve promoted Jed to be my personal assistant. I’ve decided to take the company in a new direction and in order to make the changes I’ve brought in some help, so meet Otto, Dom and Chas.’

The 3 Skins came in and stood behind the employees.

‘You won’t be going home for a couple of days as Otto  will be working on you. We are all going to be one fucking great Skin team.’

[saqvobase]

Mesmerizer Live-Action Music Video Plan

So I guess you could say that I've been mesmerized by 32ki's Mesmerizer.

I've been infected with an idea so I must write it down before I forget or get bored of it.

I've been kicking around the idea of making a live-action version of the music video. I want it to use as many practical effects as possible and as little CGI as possible, ideally accompanied by a musical cover of the song by the actors.

Part 1: Costumes

Hatsune Miku

Luckily there are plenty of Miku wigs cosplay that can be bought.

I couldn't find an exact equivalent for the dress, but it seems like a fusion between a retro diner dress and a maid outfit. I think there's a golf visor on her head? We don't see the back of the character, but I'm pretty sure there's a big white bow. All that might need to be custom made.

The cuffs can be ordered on their own.

I didn't think that they made bow ties this big, but the color, angle and size all fit. (This goes on the visor)

For the socks, the best equivalent I found was something called 'slouch socks'

Shoes. Red with a white sole and yellow laces, and four wheels. Roller skates would be dangerous on a set. I'm tempted to just nail some painted wooden cylinders to the bottom of some Converse and treat it like platform boots.

Kasane Teto

Luckily there are plenty of Kasane Teto cosplay wigs that can be bought.

Luckily Teto's outfit is much simpler. White collar shirt under a blue pinstripe shirt with a dark gray tie and the same gold brushed nametag.

These pants are so bright, I can't believe they make them in this color. Matching red suspenders were easy to find

I found this pair of yellow cotton gloves, I think it is more likely to be this than rubber. They can be rolled up at the wrist to be more like the ones in the video. I just need to find a pair that is a more saturated yellow.

The hat is red, short, circular with a flat top, switch a small black brim. I couldn't find anything like it, perhaps another custom job.

The smily face pin on the other hand, is a dime a dozen.

Ribbed gray socks

and black loafers.

Miscellaneous

For the name tag, I found these cheap brushed gold plastic pins. It could be cool to etch their names on it.

For the starry-eyed parts, I found these contact lenses. The reviews say that you can still see through them pretty well so that's good. I couldn't find any that were 4 pointed stars.

For the mesmerized parts, I found some contact lenses that totally black out the eye, they are over $100 for a set though.

Part 2: Set

The non-moving backgrounds such as the stripes or water drops can be done traditionally.

The clouds and hills are another story though.

My idea of how to do is is a series of belts with the image on them controlled by a spinning rotor. The song will be recorded in studio, so the sound of the rotors wont affect the video.

Part 3: Effects

In-Camera Effects

A colored frame like this can be placed between the camera and the set. This frame can be moved back and forth as needed.

for the parts when the frames cross, the frame can be folded like this. At the point of crossing cut the footage. Swap the backgrounds, and resume filming.

The center spinner could be threaded through a hole in this frame, with a small gear system for perpendicular rotational transfer.

Special Effects

The confetti can be spread from above, either by a machine or a helper. The curtain of confetti should be after the colored frame, but before the set so that the actors don't get covered.

Conclusion

Finally, the brainworm has left my brain, and transferred to a written medium. I have no idea how much any of this would cost, but I estimate it is below $10,000.

If you have any questions or suggestions let me know!!!!!

[helperduck]

Magic Item Masterlist

Writing a demigod character for a PJO RP? Do they have a signature weapon that turns into something else? Stuck on what it should be? Below is a list of 100+ small items that would be perfect to disguise a weapon as. Some of these are meant to be funny and are great to have your character fret over (They got a cool sword that turns into a ring and I got stuck with a knife that turns into a SPAGHETTI NOODLE. How am I supposed to keep that in my pocket?) Apple Ball (Golf, Football, Ping-Pong, etc) Bandana Barbie Barrette Baseball Mitt Beanbag Bell Belt Bib Binder Clip Board Game Piece Bookmark Bottlecap Bow (Hairbow or bowtie) Box of Matches Box of Raisins Burrito Button Candle CD (and/or Case) Chapstick Chess Piece Clothespin Coin Comb Cotton Ball Counting Bears Cowboy Hat Credit Card Dice Domino Doorknob Drink Coaster Dustpan Earbuds Egg cup Eraser Fake Flower Flashlight Flip Phone (non-functional) Fridge Magnet Gift Card Glasses/Sunglasses Golf Club Gumball Hair Tie Hand Sanitizer Handkerchief Hardware (Nail, screw, hinge, etc.) Hat Headband Jacob’s Ladder Toy Jar of Peanut Butter Jewelry (Bracelet [charm bracelet], necklace, rings, earrings) Ketchup Packet Key Keychain (tie it in to their weapon/godly parent/abilities) Lanyard Leaf Library Card Macaroni Magnifying Glass Mask Mittens Musical Instrument Napkin Newspaper Notebook Oven Mitt Oyster Paperclip Pearl Pen, Pencil, Marker, Colored Pencil, etc. Pin or Brooch Pinecone Pinwheel Plastic Animals Plastic Succulent Pocket Pack of Tissues Pom-Pom Potato Puzzle Piece Q-Tip Rock or Gemstone Rubber Chicken Rubber Duck Rubik’s Cube Scarf Scissors Sewing Kit Shoe Slinky Snow Globe Soap Sock Spaghetti Noodle Spoon Squish Toy Stapler Stress Ball Stuffed Animal Tea Bag Tie Thimble Thumbtack Timer Toilet Paper Roll Toolbelt Toothbrush Towel Valentine Wallet Washcloth/Rag Watch (wrist or pocket) Water Bottle Whistle Wii Remote Wooden Shape Worm on a String

If you’re looking for something a bit more unique, trying something that isn’t usually small... like a miniature version of larger items. Try looking up “tiny things that actually work” on Amazon or Google. Examples: Baking Items (Colander, Rolling pin, etc.) Blender Game Console Lava Lamp Leaf blower Microphone Vacuum

[nicsparkles]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Peter Millar Women’s Belgian Walker Leopard Print Loafers Size 9.5.

[tsailii]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Nike Lunarlon Flywire Golf Shoes.

[kicksaddictny]

Adidas’ MC87 4D Limited Edition

Technology and the aesthetics of golf footwear have evolved considerably since 1987, but there are some things that will simply remain timeless. Today, adidas is introducing the MC87 4D, a limited-edition spikeless golf footwear model that combines an upper inspired by the clean and classic looks from the adidas archives with the brand’s futuristic 4D midsole. The footwear is built on a gender-neutral last and will be available in a wide range of men’s and women’s sizing beginning September 21 on adidas.com, the adidas app, and at select retailers.

Similar to the popular MC80 footwear that was recently announced, adidas’ MC87 4D is inspired by the classic styles from the 80s that are seeing a resurgence with golfers today. Specifically, the upper for MC87 4D draws inspiration from a model the brand first introduced in 1987 – the Tiverton – which featured wing tip styling, brogue stitch detail, and croc texturing all in a classic leather upper. MC87 4D builds off that original design to feature today’s premium, water-resistant leather upper, giving golfers the same classic look but with additional comfort. To push this design further, adidas included the adidas 4D midsole, the world’s first high-performance midsole crafted with light and oxygen. This is the first time the brand has featured the 4D midsole in a golf shoe. With one of golf’s signature team events happening in Rome next week, adidas included a special cobblestone sockliner as an ode to the streets of the city where sport has been played for thousands of years.

“Over the last 18 months we’ve noticed golfers wanting more vintage designs, and we’re in a unique position where our archives provide some amazing product inspiration as we continue our mission to be the most progressive golf brand in the world,” said Masun Denison, global footwear director, adidas Golf. “We challenged ourselves to combine the timeless aesthetics from the past with the technology of today, and MC87 4D was the perfect result. It’s a very special silhouette, a first for us in golf using the 4D technology, and it will be one that golfers everywhere will be excited about.”

Based on years of athlete data, the single component design for the adidas 4D midsole is precisely tuned for controlled energy return. This intricate lattice structure printed with light and oxygen and using Digital Light Synthesis™ creates a futuristic design aesthetic but with purpose, as the responsive cushioning absorbs pressure from any angle and returns energy to the foot while also supporting movement where needed most. To complement the comfortable 4D midsole, the MC87 4D includes a rubber spikeless outsole with lugs to provide additional traction and grip for when golfers head to the course. The footwear will also come with a removable kiltie.

The limited-edition footwear will be available on adidas.com, the adidas app and at select retailers beginning Thursday, September 21.

[thedesertexchange]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Nike Air Jordan 6 Retro Low Golf White Infrared Shoes Men’s Size 11.

[susanoppedexpertmoon]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: FootJoy River Sandals Golf Shoes.

[strongtexasrunner]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Tommy Bahama Golf Shoes Mens Size 9.5 Brown Leather Slip On Spain.

[dtolemy]

darius ptolemy was a free spirit, just like the sharpied, crudely drawn cartogram to his dormitory, which was so free that it ascended into the heavens five minutes after he began jogging around the housing facilities of the place home to roughly negative five people who would want to help him. it was an indispensable tool in any athlete’s curriculum vitae, to be punctual and responsible, but you know who was an insufferable tool? whoever invented paddle ball. indeed, recent events had driven darius over the edge and clearly affected him more than any of his classmates, and he had no other choice than to go online and purchase amateur sports equipment that would distract him from homework until graduation, or until retirement, or until his own dramatic disappearance.

he did not mean for the amateur sports equipment to have gone flying onto the golf green grass due to his incredible strength and disregard for all instructions that came with the toy. its rubber band, connecting ball and paddle, snapped along with his sanity. its silhouette soared into a nearby tree, and in his efforts to retrieve both components of his beloved-for-half-an-hour belonging, he skidded right before stepping on a blanket with his abibas–yeah, genius, abibas, he spent his shoe money on the paddle ball set, sue him yet again–sneakers. someone’s blanket. well, she had to know where they were better than he did, so into prince charming mode he went. toothy grin, crinkled eyes, dramatic gestures so as to distract from his near heart attack at very, very nearly becoming the next headline for an ogden student's disappearance.

“unless you have either super glue or really strong hair gel, probably not,” he said, brushing dirt off the alleged rubber sphere, which was heavy enough to have travelled less distance than the plywood paddle. the damage was irreparable, surely. still, if he was intruding on something and losing money, he was going to make it fun. “this a private picnic or something? you waiting for the solar eclipse, hot date, food delivery?”

WHERE: Outside of Waverly WHO: Open Starter

Usually Marissa relied on her relationships to gather key information, but sometimes she had to take things into her own hands. This is how it was for her, once she got a thread of something she needed to follow it to its end, to figure out what was going on. Her latest obsession was a football player who she was sure was cheating on his girlfriend. So that lead her here, trying to blend into a tree that was conveniently positioned so that she could maybe see in his first floor window and at the same time see the door for who might be coming and going. She sat on a blanket, double checking everyone who went in and out with her list of Waverly residents and known associates. Honestly, the FBI would be lucky to have her.

Soon the sun that was previously shining on her face was blocked by the shadow of a person standing in front of her. "Can I help you?" she asked squinting up as her eyes adjusted.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

howdy! how about ❤️‍🔥 (may or may not be burning my exes things in the park and sobbing be cool maybe) and taakitz?? thankie !!!

30. ❤️‍🔥may or may not be burning my exes things in the park and sobbing be cool maybe

((emoji prompts here - still accepting!!))

--

Over the trees that surrounded the ranger station, a wisp of smoke was rising into the air. It was late afternoon and the air was an unpleasant sort of sticky and hot. Kravitz grabbed his walkie-talkie before leaning out the window, squinting at the smoke in the distance.

"This is Kravitz at Ranger Station B," he said into the walkie-talkie. "Anyone up north? Over."

The line was silent for a second before it crackled back to life. Barry's voice floated through.

"I'm southwest, sorry, bud. What's happening? Over."

"Fire," Kravitz said. He leaned back from the window and got his hat from the desk. "In one of the campsites, I think. I'm gonna go over there now. Can you head back towards this station? Over."

"Can do," Barry said. "Over."

Kravitz clicked off the radio, tucking it into his belt. He took the golf cart keys from the desk drawer and the fire extinguisher from the wall next to the door and headed out. The sun immediately caught him, making an uncomfortable buzz on the top of his skin. The cart's seats were hot to the touch and the steering wheel was even hotter, but Kravitz turned it on anyway and went on his way.

He went down the trail that lead towards the campsites, peaking into each one just to check. No one had registered to use them today, probably due to the heat. He finally stopped at the entrance to the fifth one, where someone had indeed started a fire.

There was a man crouched in front of it, a backpack at his side. The area smelt awfully like burnt rubber. Kravitz turned the golf cart off, bringing the fire extinguisher with him just in case. The fire was inside the pit, so it shouldn't be a problem, but you could never be too careful.

"Sir," Kravitz said. The man jumped. He turned to face Kravitz, laughing a little nervously. "I don't remember you checking yourself into this campsite."

"Uh, well," he said. "I certainly did- did register, so you must be remembering wrong."

"Uh-huh," Kravitz said. "Can I see you're card?"

"Like my ID?" the man asked.

"No, the camping card," Kravitz said. "That we give everyone who checks into a campsite."

The man stall, so obviously caught in his lie. Kravitz got a little closer and saw a pair of shoes sitting in the middle of the fire, melting. That would explain the rubber smell, at least.

"Yeah, alright, you got me," the man said at last. "But- but! I'm almost done. And then you can like-" he made a sound that Kravitz assumed was supposed to imitate the fire extinguisher. "And I'll be outta your hair. No harm, no foul and all that."

He pulled another pair of shoes from the backpack.

"Sir," Kravitz said. "You- you can't do that here."

"It's not like anyone's gonna miss 'em," the man said. "I certainly won't."

"Do you really hate your shoes that much?" Kravitz asked before he could stop himself.

"Oh, you think-" the man started, and then stopped himself. He started nodding, slowly. "Yes. I do. Hate them that much, I mean. Look at these, they're awful."

He thrust the shoes towards Kravitz. In Kravitz's opinion, they were some very nice shoes. Leather, he thought, and newly shined too.

"Right," Kravitz said doubtfully. "Listen, Mr...?"

The man sucked in some air, grimacing.

"Magnus," he said. "Burnsides. Magnus Burnsides. That's me."

"Please don't lie to me, sir."

"Fuck, okay, yeah," the man said. "The name's Taako. Nice to meetcha, my man. Now if you excuse me, I just gotta-"

He lifted the shoes back towards the fire.

"Please- please don't, actually," Kravitz said, stepping forward. "I'm sure you can find someone who will take those shoes from you. Donate them, even. You don't have to burn them. Esepcially not here, where you're legally already trespassing."

"It's a public park," Taako said.

"It's a private campsite," Kravitz shot back. "I'll let you go if you just stop now. Please."

Taako glanced at him with a critical eye. After a (very uncomfortable) moment, he sighed, picking up his backpack and getting to his feet. He smiled and Kravitz was relieved that he didn't actually have to do anything more to convince him.

And then Taako dropped the shoes directly into the fire and took off into the woods. He tripped on a rock but scrambled up before Kravitz could even begin to process what had happened.

"God- damnit," Kravitz said, staring after him. He sighed, pulling the pin on the fire extinguisher to get it open. At least he could put out the fire now.

[worldoftom]

Putter Fantasy [18+] – Strike 2 i

pairing » roommate!fwb!actor!Tom x fem!reader

words » 14.6k

warnings » Tom’s dad makes an appearance ; fluff ; pining ; golf talk ; smut ; explicit warnings below the cut

special thanks » @hypnotized-so-mesmerized ; @nowayhomeparker ; @spidey-sophie ; @sinisterspidey ; @duskholland ;

b’s note » didn’t want to keep referring to y/n as being “busy with work”, so i added a particular kind of online activity. hope you don’t mind :’)

series masterpost | main masterlist | send me feedback?

explicit warnings » shared dominance, protected sex, orgasm denial, oral (f. receiving)

· ⛳️ ·

Strike Two - i

Three weeks.

Three weeks all alone in a flat, either buried in work or sleeping because you hardly felt in the mood for anything else. Sometimes the boys would call home to check on you and everything else, sometimes you’d call them because it had simply been too many days, and of course sometimes you and Tom spoke in the middle of the night. More often than not, you’d have a hand on the phone and the other down your knickers, but on occasion you’d talk for hours in whispers as though anyone could hear you.

Three insufferable weeks that lasted close to three centuries. Moderately appeased when Tom finally called saying he was on his way from the airport. Yet only soothed completely by a thirty second fuck as soon as he got home.

It was rushed, yes, your eager body smashed between the wall and his hard muscles as you groped around the top of the shoe rack at your feet where you’d stashed a condom before you went downstairs to help him with his luggage. Your knees were sort of in the way and you pretty much scraped them on a metal shelf, but once Tom got the rubber on and slipped into you, it was as satisfying as taking off a pair of high heels after an excruciating day. The waves of pleasure rolled over you from your hand on your clit to his cock grazing your spot, to the frantic slap of his hips against yours. And it took only a few thrusts before you cried out in blissful pain and felt him collapsing against your back, too.

“Ugh,” you groan now, rolling your head on your shoulders when Tom reappears on your left. You’ve been sitting on the hardwood floor, in front of the spot where he just fucked you, contemplating whether you want a second round right here, right now or later on a proper bed.

Tom is coming back from the kitchen, scratching his lower belly mindlessly, the obvious bulge in his briefs still hanging between the v of his zipper. He settles down on the floor next to you and offers you one of the two pieces of chocolate he’s carrying. “Here.”

“Thanks,” you mumble through your first bite.

Tom only hums in response, clearly occupied with eating his own piece in one go. He looks satisfied, or at least partially, the same way you feel, and there’s a beautiful red spot on the base of his neck where his collar is stretched to the side. You left it there on your way up in the elevator, by sucking so hard on the skin that Tom had serious trouble trying to get the key into the front door lock.

After he finishes chewing and before you get another bite into your mouth, you look at him and study the slope of his shoulders. He’s got his knees pointing up, and his elbows rest on them while his hands are loosely clasped together somewhere in the middle. Feet straight on the floor, his head bowed as he sighs. Then he looks up as though he can feel your eyes on him.

He smiles and you smile back. Looking back to what just happened, you need something to break the silence, so you say, “Can’t believe you lasted that long.”

“Oh, go off, will you?”

“What was it, thirty seconds?” you tease him further.

He laughs, pushing you hard on the shoulder. “I came because you came, so you’ve got nothing to brag about.”

You eat the last portion of chocolate in your hand, gazing him straight in the eye. “That… wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

“Not really,” he scoffs as though it’s so obvious, “but I need a shower first.” He grabs the collar of his t-shirt and pulls it over his nose. His voice all muffled when he adds, “Ugh, I smell like baby puke.”

“You let a baby puke on you?” you ask around your mouthful.

“I didn’t let them, but the little bastard did it anyway.”

You laugh with him and get up first, extending a hand to help him up. “C’mon, I can help you scrub, then I’ll suck you off for the trouble you went through.”

“How kind of you,” he spoke with effort as he held on to your hand and let you pull him up. “But I also want that six-nine on the couch while we watch Shameless that you promised me last week.”

“Of course, champ,” you say with a cheeky tilt of your hips as you grab one of his bags and drag it to his bedroom door. “And don’t forget your little reward for that gorgeous pillow humping video you sent.”

“Yessss.” Tom grins, stopping next to you with a larger piece of luggage. He sets it on the floor and grabs you by the waist, pressing your back against the wall. “Love when you ride me like that, baby girl.”

“Mhmm, I know,” you retort, just as sassily, accepting his short kiss and smiling into it.

When he pulls away, there’s this odd expression on his face, a cryptic smile and an equally unreadable arch of his eyebrows. “Aaaaand,” he says, dragging the vowel at the same speed his hands drag down to your hips and bottom, “sex on the balcony, right?”

You tilt your head at him. “We’ve had this discussion before.”

“What? Sex against the window when it’s open is okay, but the balcony is so off limits?”

“It’s not the same thing, Tom,” you quip with an eye-roll before you kiss him again. “Let’s get you in that shower before you get any more weird ideas.”

“Like the washing machine?”

“That would be fine.”

“And the kitchen table?” he inquires, and you know exactly where he’s going with this, but decide to let him say it just the same. “You eat food on it.”

“Yeah, but we don’t eat food off of it, y’know?”

“You wanna do it in Harrison’s room?” he blurts out when you pass by the door.

“No!”

“He’s got this beautiful dressing table with a mirror…” he teases. “I could sit on the chair, and you could watch yourself as I rub your tits, pinch your nipples, kiss your shoulders…”

The image forms in your head in a second’s inhale. You facing the mirror, riding Tom’s cock from an unusual angle, watching yourself, watching his hands as they lead your pace and grab at your flesh. His moans— fuck, his moans in your ear like a secret not meant to be found out by your roommate.

You bite your lip and turn to Tom, stopping in your tracks. “We couldn’t…”

“Says who?”

Giggling, you let Tom grab you by the waist again and kiss you straight on the lips. When he presses against you, it’s pretty clear that his cock is getting hard again, so you open up your mouth and invite him in. All the while you keep stepping back and into the bathroom.

“We could have a quickie there, and he’d never know,” Tom whispers against you, rutting his hips deliberately so that his middle slides right in between your thighs. Everything in you clenches at the feeling.

“I—” you try, but Tom shushes you with another peck, wiggling his eyebrows. “Okay, maybe—”

“Really?” he questions, quite judgingly, if you may add, pulling back to look at you. “You’d do it in Harrison’s room, but not on the bloody balcony?”

“Not on the balcony!”

Tom tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away. “I dunno why you’re so crazy about it anyway,” you retort, getting a wicked idea before you let him do anything else. “You probably wouldn’t last thirty seconds in there— oi!”

Tom chuckles and splays a hand over the patch of skin where he just pinched you before draping his arms around your back.

“You deserved that.” He smiles against your mouth, leaning in closer and closer, and you’re not strong enough not to melt into his eager kiss.

The next hours go by in a blur. Shower. Sex. Lunch. Sex. Shameless. Sex. Your body alight under Tom’s methodical hands. Neither of you rests until you’re breaking a sweat, you lying on your back on the couch that’s been covered with the duvet from your bed, Tom sprawled out on top of you with his head nestled between your breasts. He’s been lapping at your nipple for at least half of episode three, but it’s starting to falter now.

You can also see his eyes drooping shut, so you move your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck and say, “Maybe you should nap, Tom.”

“I’m napping,” he mumbles, mouthing your nipple in full afterwards. It’s not sexy at the moment, you’re still exhausted from the previous frolicking all over the house. It’s mostly soothing, a tender caress of his tongue across the bud before he pulls away silently.

“You’ll probably be more comfortable on the bed,” you reason with him.

“You’re comfy.”

“Right, but you’re smashing my boob right now, so…”

Tom lifts his head right away, tilting it so he can stare at you. “Sorry. You could’ve told me.” His words are slurred and he sounds tired, so you insist.

“It’s alright. I just think you’ll feel better on the bed, stretched out properly,” you trail off, watching Tom as he spreads a kiss here and there from your chest to your neck and face. Your hand moves automatically to the back of his head, rubbing his scalp through the thick strands of his hair. Every stretch of skin that he touches stays burning like embers before he moves to the next one, but this time it doesn’t burn between your legs. It burns on the inside. Crackling up from the bottom of your gut to the middle of your chest, a sense of solace for all the days you spent without him until this morning.

The moment you moan a little less quietly, you snap out of it. You can’t dwell on this feeling like this, not with how much it pangs every time he’s gone, so you resort to a simple method.

A joke.

“Hopefully without your dick being cum-glued to my hip.”

Tom chuckles onto the hollow between your collarbones and lifts his head to look down at where his crotch meets your hip. “Yeah, that felt weird at first, but I barely notice it now. And—” he drawls his words, “it’s your fault, really. You always get stupidly wet when I finger you before we fuck, so it gets everywhere.”

“It’s your damn hands, Thomas,” you taunt him, trickling your fingers over his where he has them splayed over your side. “They’re too pretty. Bony. Crooked. Just perfect.” You bat your eyes at him, watching his smile turn into a smirk. Then you whisper, “So who’s fault is it, really?”

“I’ll take the blame for that,” he mutters back, craning his neck so he can hover over your mouth. “I love how you get so whiny over them, so alright. Maybe. I guess this is my fault, so I’ll go wash up.”

“Then nap.”

“And then I’ll nap, don’t worry.” He giggles, pecking your shoulder before he moves to sit by the farthest end of the couch. Your body runs cold immediately, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“Will you lay with me, though?” he asks, gazing at you. His ears redden after he finishes his question. “No shenanigans. I swear. Just, um,” he gulps, “lying down together. You could, y’know, maybe bring your laptop and finish watching the episode there? And after I fall asleep, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

You blink at him, not expecting this suggestion at all. After three weeks on your own, you do crave human interaction. You just never thought that Tom would, too. But if he thinks he’ll sleep better with you there, who are you to say no to that?

So you agree and minutes later, you slide into his spring-smelling sheets. Half of you wants to remind him that you’ve had naps here because his bedding always smells good, but you don’t really want him to go on and on about his mother’s homemade fabric softener and how it changed his perception of doing laundry by his own hands. Tom’s journey to self-reliability isn’t something worth discussing more than once a month.

Once you’re settled in, lying on your back with Tom cuddled into your side, his face in the nook of your neck, you sigh. This is warm and peaceful, it always is. It’s too bad that your mind always wanders through dangerous paths when you’re just enjoying each other’s company like this. You try to stop it, try to stop the flush of hormones that pools up in your belly, but Tom only enhances them when he starts kissing up to your mouth.

“You said you would nap,” you giggle when he reaches your chin.

“And I will, but first,” he starts, interrupting himself with a peck on the corner of your mouth. “Wanna make out with you.” You pull away to gaze at him as he repeats in a husky tone, “Please make out with me.”

He’s grinning, cheekily as usual, but you don’t feel cheeky at all. What you hear are the alarms going off in your head, the ones that set off your heart into a sprint every time. It doesn’t help that he’s nuzzling his face across your cheek and the tip of your nose. His breath is sauna-hot on your skin, and you want so badly to cave, you do. It’s been three weeks since you got to do this. Well, you did it a few times today already, but it was always so furious and thoughtless, with the purpose of getting off and nothing else, and right now you’re in bed. Cuddling. And it’s ridiculous to even try to pretend that you don’t want it too, not when Tom’s mouth is right there and, yeah, you have waited too long not to be kissing him the whole day for the next week or so.

“I missed you,” he says softly when he brushes his lips on yours. You’re only human, so you peck him back and open up when the kiss intensifies.

You sort of just lie there and let yourself be kissed, eyes rolling back when his tongue brushes yours. He tastes like tea and butter cookies, mostly tea, though that could be from the mix of your own saliva, but it’s perfect. It’s him. And his mouth is slick and hot, preoccupied with counting the indents on both rows of your teeth, which is perfectly fine by you. Tom can do whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t freaking stop.

Which, okay, eventually he does. His tongue retracts and for a little while, it’s only lips on lips, little smacks and dreamy hums, but never less gentle. Tom is such an amazing kisser, attentive and focused, earnest in touching every part of you with nothing but his mouth. Right now, his hand grazes down your side and belly until it rests on your hip bone, softly. And yours is lost in his hair again, fingers splayed between the strands, sometimes rubbing his scalp, soothingly. Everything about this moment is so tender, you want to cry.

After a while, you can tell Tom’s eyes aren’t just drifting closed. They’re heavy and his motions are gone, so you pull away and try to work around him so that he’ll lay there comfortably. You remain on your back for a little while, not sure if the heartbeat you can hear in your ears is only yours or a race between the both of you. All you know is that it’s strong and nearly painful, constricting your ribcage for a second or two.

The thoughts and feelings become dangerous soon, so you try to wriggle out of the bed without bothering him that much. Tom ends up curling up on himself and rolling over to the other side, so you climb out with as little of a jump as you can so as to not stir him up. It seems pretty safe when you get to the door and look back over your shoulder, finding him deep in sleep, breathing heavily. You watch him since your feet are glued to the floor, wallowing in the stretchy craving in your chest.

Then you flee out of there as fast as you can.

Nothing really leaves your mind as you go through what happened in that bed within only a few minutes. At least what went on through you, because that’s the scary part. For now, you sit in the armchair in the living room, facing the big windows to the balcony, cradling a smoking cup of tea in both hands as you watch the light clouds glide across the sky.

Your head, however, is a whirlwind of questions and doubts. He missed you, he said, and he kissed you like he actually did. Despite being drowsy, the intent was all there. In his hands when they nursed your body with no sensual intentions at the time, perhaps just for the sake of holding you, of keeping close. It was in his chest where it was flush against your side, the pressure of his heart beating as though it was poking out of his chest the way you’d seen in old cartoons. And it was in his lips as they devoured yours. Softly, yes, sure, but that only heightened the other side of this coin.

He missed you, he said, but did he miss you the way you did him? It was disconcerting just to think about. The way you would hover your finger over his contact number whenever you had anything to share, multiple times a day, only to put your phone down after reasoning with yourself that he was busy with more important matters than his fuck buddy’s issues. The way you would have wine nights on the rare occasion that he’d post on his social media, going down the rabbit’s hole into the old videos of him, when things were more casual and less complicated. When he was just Tom Holland, Rising Actor and you were just a person looking for a flat to share.

This tea isn’t strong enough to drown any memories, but it’s too early in the day for anything stronger. And technically you had promised yourself you wouldn’t drink anything away again, not feelings over Tom or anyone else. The problem is that this thing that has been haunting you for so long, this thing you have been trying to bury through layers and layers of keeping busy and forgetful, isn’t as strange as it is unwelcome. It hurts at some points.

If only you had anything to work with from Tom’s part, but you don’t really see anything. When he’s here, he tries to devour you at every chance he gets, be it with his kisses or his cuddles. And when he’s not here, he calls to (pretend to?) check up on you just so he can ease in some more action over the phone. That’s not enough to get you nurturing any feelings. You need something. Something definite. Certainly more than an ‘I missed you’.

You curl up further in the seat, feet tucked in under you so they can’t take you somewhere you don’t want to go again. For a second, you wish you could just know how it would end if you spoke about this woe that’s been tormenting you. It could be with anyone, but of course you’d prefer to talk it over with Tom. Because right now you’re on a rollercoaster yet have no idea how you even got on it in the first place. You’re right at the top, the car balancing off of wishful thinking, waiting for the right push to nosedive into the first curve.

As always, whenever you’ve found yourself thinking about Tom in these terms, you can’t stop your mind from rewinding back to the last time something like this happened. It’s not a good memory, but it’s inevitable. The first time you had a serious crush on someone, who you used to hang out with for better and for worse, every single day for months on end. Then when you finally worked up the courage to try and kiss them, you were pushed away. You had to stand there and listen to some bullshit lecture about how the friend zone was a sacred place and that they had the biggest honor by having you in their life. As a friend. As though that was a line that could never, ever be crossed for them.

You could have gotten much better closure if they had even wanted to hang out with you afterwards, but it was like you had suddenly gained romantic cooties or whatever. Something contagious and unwanted.

That cannot happen again right now. Not with Tom. That would mean leaving this flat, leaving both him and Harrison, and you absolutely adore your life the way it is right now. A few days before they both left for work, they even talked about getting a bigger place so Tom’s twin brothers, Harry and Sam, could come live with them as well. Their friend Tuwaine, too. And you.

That idea alone filled your eyes with tears when they said it because you want that. You go through ridiculous moments of laughter with all of them, and they all welcome you as though you’ve been in their life since you were born. That’s a sort of connection you don’t want to lose. Which is why you can’t muster up the courage this time. Not considering the risks. No matter how many times you have to swallow down your feelings in the near future. You’ve been doing fine up to now, so why not hang in there a little longer? Eventually, hopefully, who knows, maybe it will all go away once you eat all those emotions until they’re completely gone.

You have no idea if it will work. But you’re willing to try.

With a groan, you get off the armchair and go scream silently into your pillow for a few minutes. The poor thing has been screamed into so many times in recent weeks that the shape of your teeth is visible in the fabric.

You have to get out of your head, desperately, so you get some food into you, prep another cup of tea — avoiding the flavor Tom has taught you how to like because it triggers too many memories of laughter while chasing each other around the kitchen table — and you grab your laptop to respond to recent comments in your channel dedicated to facial art. This platform you’ve been working on is relatively new. You’ve been posting content every two weeks and it’s always fun, and anything to distract yourself is more than welcome.

Tom doesn’t wake up from his nap, so you settle for the night with your comfort show rolling on your laptop until you fall asleep into the teeth-shaped shadow in your pillow.

•

The next morning, you wake up by yourself. You don’t have commitments for any time soon, so you let your body do its process of burying everything under a mantle of sleep. It’s healing to a certain extent.

When you get to the bathroom, you stop at the sight of a pair of socks thrown haphazardly to the ground, funnily enough right next to the laundry basket. You roll your eyes, leaving them exactly where they are so you can yell at Tom later. The problem is that this means he’s already up, out there somewhere in the house for sure.

You find him in the kitchen, looking fresh and energized. He’s still shirtless and in pajama bottoms, barefoot of course, humming and bouncing his head to a tune that you can’t hear.

“Good morning, sock boy.”

“Good morn—” He freezes and looks over his shoulder, turning around at the same time with a small pot in his hand. “Did I not put them in the basket?”

“No, you did not.”

“Fuck,” he curses and puts down the pot. “Sorry,” he adds with a grimace, rubbing the back of his neck. “I could swear I thought about it…”

“Well, next time think a little harder,” you say with a roll of your eyes and a dismissive hand gesture. You’re done talking to him about it. It’s pretty clear he’s never going to listen, no matter how often you nag him about it.

“Don’t be so condescending, y/n, I’m getting a lot better,” he says, watching you as you walk to the table.

“I suppose leaving your socks closer to the laundry basket each time can be called progress.” You nod and rest both hands on the back of a chair, asking, “What’s going on here?”

“Making breakfast,” he shrugs, “I’m still in a completely different time zone. Woke up when it was still dark out and I couldn’t go back to sleep, did my morning workout and now we’re here. So, waffle or pancakes?”

“Waffle.”

“Coming right up, miss.”

You chuckle at him and try to help, but he shushes you and pulls up a chair instead, offering it to you. “Milady.”

“If you cook me breakfast every time you leave your socks on the floor, I won’t be able to walk very soon,” you joke, knowing how overboard he tends to get with cooking breakfast. For others, mostly, which you don’t understand since currently he’s on a diet because of work that limits a lot of what he can eat. Yet if he’s happy doing this, who are you to stop him?

“Don’t worry,” he gives you a boyish grin over his shoulder. “I could carry you around.”

You smile back at what he says. There’s no way you can hold it back now. This dude is too corny for his own good. And the part of your brain that isn’t focused on following the sweet scent that fills the kitchen is bubbling with nerves all over again. Everything you thought about yesterday while you were on your own comes back to you like a wave. Unavoidable, unstoppable.

As you watch the muscles on his back sway under the skin, unable to identify the song he’s humming, you question yourself briefly about what Tom just said. It’s a common thing to say to a friend, you think, carrying them around, literally or not, when there’s something restricting them. But at the same time you’ve never heard him say anything of the sort when Harrison’s home.

Tom is much more approachable, much more of a jokester with you when it’s just two in the flat. When you’re alone. This realization leaves you with more doubts, with a sort of wondering that resets the alarms in the back of your head. But they’re overridden by the part of you that’s freaking out, asking why and what does that fucking mean if it means anything at all.

“You alright?” Tom asks, interrupting your musings.

You look up and hum questioningly, seeing him use a skimmer to move a pile of asparagus from the frying pan in his other hand to a plate on the table.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you trail off, rubbing your temple to wish away your thoughts.

“C’moooon, it’s me, your favorite sock boy,” he smiles goofily, making you chuckle at him because how can you not? The man’s freaking adorable without even trying. “You can tell me what’s going on if you want.”

“It’s nothing,” you say, “honestly. I’m just tired, went to bed at ass o’clock in the morning because I lost track of time—”

“Not checking on people on your channel again…”

“Well, they like my videos, and I like checking in on them. Don’t you check on your fans?”

Tom purses his lips to the side, although he never stops stirring whatever he has in his pan, then says, “Hmmm, I really don’t.”

“Well, must be nice having millions of followers,” you say with a teasing eye-roll, hand gesturing in the air patronizingly.

“And knowing they won’t go away.” Tom grins while parroting back to you something you used to say to him a lot, back when you first set up your channel.

Afterwards, you watch in silence as he mills about the kitchen in Tom’s truest chaotic mode. The rumble in your head continues to swivel around, but thankfully the Chatty Cathy of the house starts babbling about some weird dream he had last night, probably induced by the extra hours he spent in bed, he says.

“Made your favorite,” Tom says eventually, Adam’s apple bobbing in his bare throat when you look up. With a gesture of his head, Tom pulls the plate closer, perfectly centered with the silverware you’ll be using.

The waffle smells… like him. A recipe he once said he was trying out just for you. It’s a flavor you’d never thought you would even like, but there’s something about Tom’s breakfast food that pulls you in. You didn’t really question it until now.

Of course you can’t upset him by not eating something he so carefully cooked for you, so you adjust the chair and get settled. “Let’s eat then, Chef Holland. Thank you.”

“I’m not a chef,” he puts in with a chuckle, “that’s my little brother Sam, but I have beat him several times at breakfast food. Since, y’know, I have more practice getting up early than he does.” Tom smiles, taking his own food and going on and on about how his mum used to have a lot of trouble getting four boys down in the kitchen at a decent time every morning.

You grin at Tom and look down at your breakfast. You used to not think much of it because, like he said, he’s always up at odd hours and breakfast is his favorite meal of the day. Although you don’t really get where he does his research since he’s always so busy, with you or otherwise, but his recipes have been nothing short of amazing. And today is no exception.

As you eat, Tom by your side with a poached egg on asparagus on an alarmingly small piece of toast topped by shaved cheese and pepper, he engages you in conversation and, as usual, it’s so easy to chat with Tom about everything and nothing. He’s naturally talkative and has an unending collection of stories to tell, to which you always listen closely, though this time you try not to laugh bites of waffle out of your nose.

The front door bangs in the background when you’re smacking Tom’s shoulder for laughing at nearly having broken his nose earlier while working out.

“Don’t worry, love, my nose’s used to it.”

“It’s still dangerous!”

Tom laughs open-mouthed at your objection, and then someone else enters the kitchen.

“Good morning, children,” Harrison greets you, throwing a duffel bag at his feet.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Lovely, look how coordinated you two are,” he teases you and Tom for speaking at the same time, which throws you into another laughing fit. “I am surprised you’re alone and sitting here looking so decent. Well, half decent, in Tom’s case.”

“Shut up, mate, it’s just breakfast,” Tom retaliates, throwing the remaining head of an asparagus from his plate at Harrison’s face, before he gets up and strolls to the oven. You frown when he turns it on.

“Crunchy,” Harrison mumbles as he chews, walking back to the doorway. “I’ll go drop this in my room, and then I’ll come join you. Unless there isn’t anything left?”

“Got your baked asparagus and blueberries heating up in the oven,” Tom replies. You widen your eyes at him and at how much he got done in a single morning. “And a perfect poached egg waiting for you in a lovely ice water bath.”

“I’m so glad we’re roommates even though you know I hate poached eggs,” Harrison says, pointing his finger at Tom and adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder with the other hand.

“They’re better than your greasy, fat, deceiving beans on toast!” Tom argues. Harrison ignores him with a scoff.

You’re half aware of him leaving the room when you turn to Tom, still gaping at him, and say, “Wow, someone really likes their breakfast food.”

“Can’t help it,” Tom shrugs, strolling to the fridge and retrieving a medium bowl of water with an egg in it. He puts it down on the counter next to the stove and turns around to you, sliding an arm over your shoulders. “I love you,” he says, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “Both of you. And, um, maybe I’m trying to fatten you up, so what?”

Suddenly unable to laugh at his joke, you hum a thanks and utter a meek, “Love you too”. You then reach for your cup of tea to get rid of the knot in your throat. It’s empty, so you stretch towards the kettle, but Tom interrupts you.

“I got you,” he says, grabbing your hand and putting it down on the table. His thumb runs somewhat over the skin between your thumb and index finger, but it’s too light and too fast for you to make anything of it.

By the time Tom is refilling your mug, and as you make sure to keep your eyes on the stream of water instead of him, Harrison comes back into the kitchen.

“I have a question.”

When you look up, he’s walking to the other side of the table, arms crossed over his chest as he stands there, tall and proud.

“What’s… going on?” you ask warily.

“Did you, or did you not— and whatever you tell me, I promise I’ll believe you—” Harrison gestures with both hands now, holding them flat in front of his chest before he crosses his arms again. You blink at him and ignore the stretch of his t-shirt around his biceps, gazing up at his eyes instead.

“What is it!” you insist, noticing how quiet Tom is right now.

“Did you have sex in my room?”

“Oh…” You spit into laughter, throwing a hand over your mouth so you don’t spit anything else anywhere. Your mind goes through the small altercation you had with Tom about that very issue, but you really, really didn’t do anything there. To be real, you’ve barely been able to look at Harrison’s bedroom door ever since. “Why would you think that?”

“I just went in there, and my chair isn’t where I usually leave it,” Harrison clarifies, not uncrossing his arms right now. This position makes him look powerful, somewhat haughty too, but he does seem to have a reason to doubt.

“I don’t know about you,” you start to answer, looking at Tom with a shrug of your shoulder, “but I didn’t.”

“Then you know I didn’t either, H,” Tom excuses himself.

“Alright, look, I went there the other day when I was sorting the laundry, but that’s it,” you clarify, focused on Harrison but stealing glances from Tom as well to test his reaction. “I spent, like, less than thirty seconds in there, I swear.”

You feel a pinch on your thigh, but you only pull your leg away, pretending it doesn’t faze you that much.

“Alright, alright,” Harrison trails off, squinting at the both of you, but accepting your response as he’d promised. It was the truth, anyway.

“We did talk about it tho—”

“Tom!”

“What?” He shrugs. “We did!”

“He didn’t have to know,” you retort, facing Tom but gesturing with your head towards Harrison, who’s sitting across from you.

“She’s not wrong.”

“Well, so what, we talked about it, it was just a joke.” Tom takes another sip of his tea, wiggling his eyebrows at you to make you laugh.

“Hmm.” Harrison humphs through his nose, but he doesn’t bring it up again and the topic dies down.

“What do you think happened to the chair then?” you question him, drinking your tea and casually waiting for the conversation to move forward about everything and nothing. As expected, you spend about an hour sitting in the kitchen, even sharing ghost stories from your childhood.

At some point, after Tom receives a text message, he asks, “Hey, are you both coming to dinner at my mum’s tomorrow night? She’s asking because she’s going shopping later.”

“Sure,” Harrison says.

You take the last sip of your tea and study both of their expressions. First a smiling Harrison, then a curious Tom. He blinks at you and asks, “Are you?”

“I… didn’t know I was invited,” you say. It’s true. You do remember Tom mentioning it over the phone, that usually there’s a dinner at his parents’ house whenever he comes back from a job. While you have been to their family gatherings before, when Tom was home during the summer and there were biweekly meetups in the Hollands’ back garden, this one sounds a bit different to you.

“How come? I… called you about it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but, I don’t know,” you start, putting down your empty mug. “I mean, I know I’ve been there before, but this dinner seems different somehow? You and your brothers have been away for weeks, so I figured it would be more… hm, restricted, so to speak. Family only.”

“Nonsense,” Tom scoffs, “Mum always says family and friends, and that includes you, so you’re coming.” He blinks for a second, then frowns a little. “You’re coming, right?”

“Of course.” You smile at him to try and soothe the arch of his brow. You like it a lot more when it’s relaxed and you can see the stray hairs that angle up instead of growing smoothly along the length of his eyebrow. Sometimes you even find yourself wondering if Tom grooms it when he’s getting ready every morning or if he leaves it alone in its irreverent slope.

“Perfect.”

•

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. For once, you’re the busy one, not Tom or Harrison. You can hear them chatting in the background, but ignore their voices. You’d rather finish cutting this new video soon so you’ll have more time with them later.

Two of Tom’s brothers come over before lunch. Harry, with his messy head of curls that shine much redder today than you’re used to, most likely from the strong sun outside, carries a couple of cases of beer in his arms. Sam, on the other hand, with a pair of sunglasses pushing his dark hair back, complains about his twin being in the way when he’s carrying a heavy oven dish.

Afterwards, the boys disappear for the remainder of the afternoon while you wrap up work. As soon as you’re free, you send Tom a text asking if you should join them or if they’ll be home soon. You don’t want to seem too eager, so you rewrite the message a bunch of times before you hit send. Then you regret it because it has a typo, but it’s Tom so you figure you’re safe. It would’ve been worse if it was Harrison, he’s a lot pickier with his texting.

It takes less than a minute before your phone pings with a reply. And then another.

Coming home!

⛳!

You chuckle. Tom and his dumb golfing emoji. The man is obsessed. He uses it as an excitement emoji, whenever he’s in a good mood or when something he really wants happens. You don’t really understand it, but you’ve learned not to expect anything other than weird quirks from him. Not from a man who uses exclamation points for pretty much everything, at least.

After a while, and a lot of texting back and forth with him with a lot of ! and a lot of :D, you sit in the living room, in the armchair by the big window. You’re enjoying the last bottle of beer with the stereo on in the background, a killer bass line whumping across the flat, when they all come back. Loud and laughing, as per usual, with Tuwaine in tow as well.

“Why are you drinking alone?” he practically shouts once he turns the corner and spots you.

“Trying to get ahead in the game,” you reply, winking at him. “Knowing you all, you’ve been on a binge across town the whole day.”

“Well, then you would be wrong,” you hear Tom say as you greet Tuwaine with a hug. When you pull back, Tom’s on the way to you sporting a wide grin on his lips. “We went mini golfing today.”

“Pfft, that would’ve been my second guess,” you chastise him, shrieking into his shoulder when he embraces you too tight in a similar joking manner.

It’s safe to say the rest of the evening isn’t as uneventful as your day. It ends with the six of you fighting for a spot on the couch versus the armchair versus the floor so you can watch a movie together. Then it progresses to yet another yelling contest over who gets to pick the film. When it comes down to you and Tom, you can hardly believe how easy it is to make him let you win. But finally, the beginning credits start playing and you glance around the room. The twins and Harrison on the couch, Tuwaine in the armchair, and you and Tom on the floor.

As the film rolls, beers and buckets of popcorn shared all around, you can’t scratch away the feeling that Tom’s watching you instead. Every time you glance at him, his eyes are glued to the screen or he’s flicking the corner of the label on his beer bottle, but there’s something about his silence that itches in the back of your brain.

There is one occasion when you do catch him looking at you, so you shrug and gesture with your head. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m watching the film,” he says pointing ahead, then offers you some popcorn before popping a piece into his own mouth. He does turn to the screen after that. However, barely a second later, as an aerial image of a city landscape goes by, Tom’s eyes are on you again.

You feel a rush of hormones go through you, but instead of shrugging it off, you face him and don’t let him look away this time.

Tom gives you a smug smile in response and shuffles closer to you, draping his arm around your shoulders. “We’ve already seen this part,” he whispers, “can’t we make out instead?”

Giggling, you start shaking your head, but it’s Harry who says, “…no?” When you look up at him, he’s got the most judging look you’ve ever seen on a person. Even for him.

With a fed-up roll of his eyes, Tom throws some popcorn towards Harry, but settles back against the pillows pouting at you.

“Thanks,” Harry says, and afterwards you hear someone say, “for fuck’s sake, Tom,” but you can’t make out who it is.

You share a look with Tom and he’s still pouting, but it turns into a small smile. He keeps his arm over your shoulders, making you fight so hard against the will to cuddle closer and lay your head on him. There’s an itch in your gut craving a hidden kiss in the dark from him, begging you to cradle his chin and turn his mouth to you. You don’t move, however, instead rearranging your arm so it’ll fit better against his side.

Warm in his embrace, under his gentle gaze, you lay a hand on his leg, caressing the inward curve towards the back of his knee. When he sighs, you stop and glance up, eyelashes fluttering softly with a smile. His lips part in a small breath, and you want nothing more than to feel them on you again.

Tom is so close and the crisp aroma of his cologne infiltrates your every sense. It smells distinguished, expensive, sweet like him. Stronger now that you’re turned to him, but barely a spritz if you look back at the screen.

A thought forms in your head as you watch the film. Tom, leaning your neck back with a gentle palm, kissing your forehead and down your temple, across your cheek until he finds your mouth. You want to be kissed, want to be wooed, want to be swept off your seat and laid over the pillows and adored.

Much to your dismay, however, Tom keeps gazing at you from the corner of his eye, and he wraps a hand around your shoulder, the other covering yours on his leg, but he doesn’t try to kiss you again.

Later, you’re all set to sleep, comfortable in your bed under a thin sheet because it’s a warm night, when there’s a knock on your door.

It’s Tom, who peeks in and says, “Do you mind?” You nod only once and he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“What?”

“Wanted to kiss you goodnight,” he says with a smirk.

You smile back and sit up, beckoning him closer and grabbing him by the back of his neck for a short kiss. The way Tom embraces you has you getting up on your knees so you’re more level with him, both your arms around him as your lips meet softly. With a few more pecks that Tom counts aloud, making you giggle, he finally pulls away when you don’t even want him to.

“You wanna sleep here?” you suggest, sitting back on your heels. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for Tom to agree.

Nothing really happens tonight. You know he prefers to sleep on the left side of the bed, so you shift to the other one and lie down with your back to him, thinking of the many times he’s sighed blissfully when he’s had the chance to spoon you from behind. Tom stops you, however.

“Stay turned to me, darling,” he says, shuffling around until your feet entangle with his.

You let him nestle closer into your chest and listen as he quiets down with a long sigh. ‘Missed you,’ you think he says, but the words are all muffled by the pillow. Resting an arm over his waist nonetheless, palm flat against his bare back, you fall asleep with your mind wrapped around the wish of spending a million more nights just like this.

•

The next day, Tom is glued to your freaking hip. You have work to do, but he keeps coming round with snacks and glasses of water and that silly, boyish grin of his. Sometimes he even only comes by to ask you if it’s going alright. While you’re used to him checking up on you, it is rather odd since you’re in the same house. Inevitably, when he goes out of the house with Harrison in the afternoon, Tom keeps texting you in regular intervals.

⛳!

Im having a fresh drink, are you? :D!

Then an hour later:

Need a snack? 🥐 ☕️

Btw! We still need to finish our coffee vs tea emoji debacle young lady ☕️

Then after another while:

Do you also think that Harrison culd beat me at thumb wars? 😠

Lucky for you, you finish work in time to answer this text, but before you can, Tom sends another one:

Nevermind :(

You ‘aww’ audibly at his sad emoji and decide to send him a comforting voice message, telling him that this one doesn’t count since you weren’t there to verify Harrison’s win.

Tom’s reply is his trademark response:

⛳!

“His fucking exclamation points, mate,” you smile to yourself.

From then on, you and Tom text back and forth. He’s incredibly silly and random, but it’s fun and it keeps you entertained while you get ready for tonight’s dinner at Tom’s parents’ house. You’re not going to dress up a lot, but you want to at least make a decent impression. Tom’s family has always treated you with kindness and you’ve always had a good time with them, so this evening should be no different.

•

“Having fun?” Tom’s voice comes up from behind you at the same time as his arm around your waist. 

You’ve been at Tom’s childhood home for a while now. Dinner went really well, better than any expectations you could have had. Tom’s family was loud and messy as usual, but you fit right in with them, joining in on their jokes, letting them roast you for your hair style because, to be fair, it looks fancier than you probably had to, but you felt like it would compensate for wearing such a casual fit.

Right now, you’re standing by the stairs to the second floor, holding an empty beer in front of Harry. You turn to the side and find Tom smiling at you, with a couple of bottles in his free hand, extending it towards you.

“We were having a private conversation, Tom,” Harry deadpans, with his eyes half squinted.

“Just wanted to give her a beer… and a kiss,” Tom excuses himself, stealing a peck from your lips when you lean closer.

“Gross.”

“Shut up, bro.” Tom kisses you a second time, definitely to provoke his younger brother. You giggle at their interaction and squeeze Tom’s hand before it leaves your side.

Soon after, their dad invites everyone into the living room. It’s a night of chatter and laughs and a feel-good time, lost in several different conversations about life and work and, of course, golf. Tom’s dad tells a few anecdotes from his time in the green and also a story about Tom calling him in the middle of dinner one day to goad about a record round at the course.

“I shot 79,” he mimics his dad with a haughty grin. You’re not sure if that’s a good score or not, but it seems like it was enough for Tom to flaunt it on the phone with his own father. His competitive side is always at its peak when it comes to golf.

“It was an easy course, but don’t tell him,” Tom admits into your ear, kissing it right after.

This moment right now feels very familiar. It reminds you of when you suggested to Tom a trip to the golf course in front of someone else. Back then, it was only Harrison, but as soon as he heard that you were going golfing with Tom, he immediately asked to tag along. So, you figure, if you mention it again in a room full of golfers, Tom will assume you’re thinking about bringing his fantasy to life, but not knowing about it, someone else might want to come too.

It feels like a dangerous power game to you, but teasing Tom is one of your favorite pastimes, no doubt about that. The last time, he was clearly turned on during the whole round. You could feel it in the way he kept touching you, and afterwards in the way he kissed you outside the restrooms. Now here’s your chance to do it again. To rile him up. To make him so frustrated by the thought that he could be golfing with you and living his fantasy and yet he might have to wait another day.

Decided to test this theory of yours, you turn to Tom before he pulls away from your ear. “Hey, you going golfing tomorrow?”

“It is Thursday,” Tom replies out loud, grinning and taking a long sip of his beer with his eyes on you. “I didn’t book tee time, but we can work around that.”

“Can I come with?” you ask, lips around the edge of your bottle, not doing much to keep it a secret between the two of you.

“That was implied, darlin’.” Tom winks and drapes his arm over the cushion behind your head.

You’re sitting on the couch by the French windows into the back garden, next to the armchair that Tom’s family dog, Tessa, is occupying for her evening nap. Your and Tom’s thighs are pressed so close that you can feel the clench of his muscles when he shifts. Not only that, but there’s about half a seating space between you and Harrison, who’s sitting on your other side.

You turn your head at the sound of your name, only to find every pair of eyes in the room blinking at you. “Sorry?” Turning to Harrison, he shows you a half smile and wiggles his eyebrows once, drinking some more as you try to make sense of what’s going on.

Tom’s dad finally says, “I asked if you golfed, y/n.”

“Oh, um,” you trail off, gulping down for a second so you can compose yourself. “I— just started, really. Tom and Harrison took me golfing the other day, and it was…”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Tom says gracefully, making you turn your head to him.

“Thank you, coach,” you muse, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

His dad laughs, then asks, “Is he a better coach than he is a golfer, then?”

“To y/n?” Harrison intervenes, chuckling gracefully. “Definitely a better coach. Not sure he’d be so lenient with anyone else.”

“It was her first time, mate,” Tom excuses himself, “so what if I gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

“You gave her some benefits alright,” Harrison mumbles. You elbow his side hard in return. 

“Do you still play on Thursdays, Tom?” his dad asks quickly.

“Yes, but—” Tom tries, but his dad doesn’t let him finish.

“Brilliant. Would you like another free lesson tomorrow, y/n?”

“Wait—”

“I would love to, Mr. Holland,” you cut Tom off too, loud and clear.

Tom groans and when you look towards him, his head is leaned back on the couch and he’s rubbing his face. He mumbles, “Why would you do that?” in a tone you’re sure it’s only meant for you to hear.

“Why not? He’s your dad and it was a kind offer,” you say for everyone to hear, grabbing his hand and pulling until he’s sitting upright again. “Besides, he’s been playing for much longer than you, so technically he might be a better coach…”

You stop talking the moment you see Tom’s gaze darken with vexation, hiding a giggle behind your hand.

It’s amazing to watch him as he realizes what you’ve just done. His mouth is a tight line, disapproval all over his face, and the furrow of his brow is indescribable, but it also feels… perfect. What just happened is perfect for what you had in mind, and it lines up with what you said when you first agreed to help Tom bring his sex fantasy to life. You warned him that night that you would do things by your own rules, and here you are.

“Oh, c’mon, Tom,” you tease, patting his thigh with fake comfort, as you wipe your lips in preparation for your first ever golf pun. “Grow some pro v1s, will you?”

“Did you just—” Tom interjects, gaping at you while the rest of the room chuckles lightly.

“Harry taught me that one,” you say with a head gesture and a grin towards Harry. He explained to you that ‘pro v1’ is an elite type of golf ball that not even Movie-Star-Tom-Holland has ever bought given their value and his bad luck with losing balls at the course.

Tom only shakes his head. “I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

•

You’re about to wash your hands when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

“Just a minute please,” you say as politely as you can. You’re almost finished anyway, needing only to recheck your look, but there’s a second knock.

“It’s me.”

Tom. You smile to yourself at the thought of what he could possibly be thinking of doing in his parents’ bathroom. He’s insane if he wants to try something too risky, but you open the door nonetheless.

His vicious expression is the first thing you notice. The twist of his brow. His sniff and the way his nose twitches. The twinkle in his eye as he closes the door again and leans back onto it.

“I know what you’re doing, y/n.”

“What am I doing, Tom?”

He puffs out a breath and when you look at him, he’s got his head tilted to one side and is swiping his tongue shortly over his lips. You can also hear his nails scraping against the wood.

“One time, sure, it’s an accident,” he carries on, using his hands to propel himself in your direction. His movement makes you stand still in front of the mirror, face turned to him as you study the way he moves and the way he speaks. “Two times, though? Nah. I don’t buy it.”

“I… dunno what you’re talking about.”

“It’s me, y/n,” he says cryptically, “you owe me one.”

Tom talks pausedly, measuring every word and how hard he should inflect it. You can tell so from the predator angle of his shoulders when he stops right next to you. He’s close. Impossibly so. If he tipped forward a quarter of an inch, the tip of his nose would touch you.

You have to admit it’s starting to turn you on a little. Or rather, a lot. When he gets in this mood — provoked by your own actions, you’re perfectly aware — it’s difficult to ignore the way he gets into this ‘character’, this animalistic side of him that you’ve come to know so well. Even so, the thrill of testing him is bigger than anything else, so you mutter, “Owe you one what?”

“A fantasy.”

“Oh, right… that.” You chuckle breathily, facing away from him to continue checking yourself in the mirror. Starting with something he’s always liked to watch you do, you wipe your lips with the tip of your pinky, keeping your mouth ajar and your eyes on him through the reflection. The clench of his jaw is obvious, in particular when he sneaks behind you and turns.

“Listen to me, young lady,” he says, using both arms to cage you against the counter. His metal watch clinks against the surface. When you glance downwards, it’s resting carelessly around his wrist, glistening in the bathroom’s bright lights.

You also notice Tom’s fingers wrapped tight around the porcelain. His chest is on your back, his crotch pressed against your arse. He doesn’t seem to have an erection, but he pushes you a little more and the edge of the basin sinks into your flesh so hard it makes you gasp.

Leaning closer, his breath in your sensitive ear drags a shiver down your whole body, head to toe, all the way down and back between your legs, pooling up right in your core.

“Play the fool as much as you want,” he mutters, licking the shell of your ear and pulling it into his mouth for a short second. You feel your pussy clench around nothing, suddenly wishing you hadn’t started this game.

“But when I get what I want,” he adds in a broken voice as you gulp, “you’ll be swinging a different tune.”

The pun has the opposite effect of what you expect. Or it could be the way he’s saying it, with his eyes on yours in the mirror and his elbows closing in around your torso. Every inch of his front is kissing every inch of your back, thighs included. You want him. You do. And the position is perfect. Tom would only need to pull down your bottoms and his, down to your thighs, nothing more, and he could take you and have you and consume you with all the hunger you see glinting in his eyes.

You know this is your own fault, it was you who fooled him into thinking you’d be going to the golf course alone with him.

“You owe me one,” Tom rasps into your ear, tonguing at it obscenely.

And yeah, you do, but you intend to pay him back. Soon. Eventually. He’ll know when.

You also know what you’ll get if this teasing game drags for much longer. A long, purposeful punishment. That’s been his style in the last months. Pretending to be provoked by your actions only to use it against you in a torturously satisfying way. But in the end, it should be so rewarding. Especially for him because you’ve tortured him enough and have decided, perhaps just now, influenced by the power of his body over yours, by the wet, hot bliss of his mouth nibbling on your ear, that you’re going to cave next time.

Tom’s words and tone of voice follow you around as you try to enjoy the rest of the evening. When you go back to the couch and sit comfortably in the middle, listening to Harrison and Harry’s conversation about drone photography, the other side of you feels rather cold. Tom is not sitting with you, and as you first notice this, you frown. You scour the place looking for him and you do find him. On the other side of the room, sitting in a single armchair with his legs crossed tight. His ravenous tiger eyes on you and a beer hiding the sneer on his lips.

From then on, he stays clear of you at all times. The exception lies only when you’re walking somewhere, be it to get drinks or to grab a snack from the dining table, and he appears right behind you as if out of thin air. Every time, his hand brushes against you, across the small of your back, the curve of your hip, the length of your spine. Always in silence. Always with that twinkling gaze of mischief.

It’s exciting and scary at the same time. But you surely even up the score, staying focused on other conversations instead of chasing his attention. Making it seem like his game of cat and mouse isn’t turning you on is the best and worst thing you could do to him, you know this so well. Tom loves control as much as you do, and he hates being teased as much as you do, so this… This should be interesting.

Since Tom is avoiding you, you stick to Harrison’s side considering he’s the person you know the best. And where Harrison is, Tom’s brother Harry is, too. H squared, you like to call them. They hate it, but it’s not your fault they’re a two for the price of one pack. Cut from the same cloth, true brothers from different mothers. Both loud and expressive, smart and creative, always with a project brewing in their minds. It could be unnerving if it wasn’t such a powerful epitome of friendship.

Here’s the fun part. In the beginning, either from being an airhead or from rubbing off on the boys’ chaos, most likely from the latter, you kept switching Harry and Harrison’s name.

It all started as an honest mistake.

At the time, Tom, Harrison and Harry spent pretty much the whole day stuck together in one of the rooms. Since you barely came out of yours, as you were only starting to get used to the idea of sharing a flat, you didn’t exactly know which of them left every night. Breakfast wasn’t a clue either because you would walk into the kitchen and there would be three blokes, in three black t-shirts, blinking wearily at you with three superhero-themed mugs in hand.

Your head was littered with worries back then, so you never blamed yourself for not knowing who was who. You knew Tom as he’d been the one interviewing you when you answered their ad, but not the other two. It wasn’t like they looked alike because one was a blonde and the other a redhead, but they were constantly together. And they had the same humor. They made the same snarky remarks. They literally finished each other’s sentences at times. So for the first weeks after you moved in, you could not tell them apart.

Harry. Harrison. It’s not that different anyway.

You remember one of the first days really well. You were trying to decipher their nonexistent set of rules for the laundry room and decided to reach out for help. Tom was nowhere to be seen, so you resorted to the only person that was home. He was chilling in the balcony, with his back turned to the window, so you couldn’t see his face. That was the first problem. The second was that he wore a cap on his head, so you couldn’t see his hair either. Just your luck. The one feature you could distinguish between the two of them was indiscernible at the moment.

With a resolute sigh, you stepped out onto the balcony and excused yourself. “Harry—”

“—son.”

“Pardon?”

“Harrison.” He tapped his chest, then waved a finger from the left to the right. “Not Harry.” Then he pointed at himself again with his thumb. “I’m Harrison.”

The fact that he used hand gestures to accentuate what he was saying was absolutely mortifying.

“Harrison,” you parroted with a grimace, scratching an untraceable itch on the side of your neck. “Sorry.”

He smiled politely. “It’s alright, love. I’m only teasing. Can I help you with anything?”

That was only the first step. Day after day, as you became more and more confident around them, you stopped apologizing for that mistake. And soon after, you started using the name Harry to tease Harrison whenever he was being sassy with you, in good memory of the balcony scene. It was all fun and games, and even though neither one nor the other liked the fact that you used only one name to refer to them, they didn’t make you feel any less welcomed.

It’s actually with your arm looped around “Harry-son”’s forearm that you get back to the flat. Tom has lowered his preying game significantly over the course of the night, yapping happily on the ride home, but he’s quiet now. Walking ahead of you with a bag in his hand that he refused to tell you or Harrison about, then unlocking the door and marching straight into the bathroom.

The silence that fills the flat is understandable. It’s late, it’s been a long night, and the tension between you and Tom is obvious. The bathroom door is closed and it stares at you as you walk past, the silence from the other side gathering goosebumps on the nape of your neck. You have no idea what Tom is doing in there, but you remember his poise very well. Hand clasped around an unidentifiable bag, strong, firm steps on his way in. The fact that he went quiet as soon as he stepped out of the car. It was like he entered another dimension.

On his way through the hallway towards his bedroom, Harrison wishes you goodnight and flees out of the way as you reach for the door handle of your own room. You step inside, leaving it open, and get ready for bed.

There’s a shadow that walks by and pulls you out of your musings about tonight. It’s Tom, and he’s standing right at your door, already in his sleeping attire. Long pajama bottoms and no shirt. His chest glistens in the faltering light of your room. And his eyes— fuck, your skin feels warm just from the fire in them. His eyes are blown and hungry, taking you in from head to toe, not leaving a single inch unwatched.

“Kissing me goodnight, I presume?” you ask, almost innocently, leaning back against the chest of drawers in a way that highlights your curves. You’re wearing an old, baggy jumper, your legs on full display.

Tom shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but that doesn’t ease up his predator pose. He’s about to pounce, you can tell that much, but you hold back your tongue just to test him.

“You don’t really deserve it after that little stunt you pulled tonight,” he says, wiping his bottom lip slowly with the tip of his tongue. He moves it sensually, looking you straight in the eye as though to disarm you. “But I didn’t want you to think I’m mad at you, so I decided to come over.”

“I didn’t think you were mad at me,” you reply, taking a step forward. Not towards Tom. Towards the bed. Then you dare him, “Are you coming to collect it then?”

He doesn’t say anything. He only moves. He strides with a fury in his step, his hair in disarray, hands tightened into fists, but he relaxes them to grab you by the arms and reel you into a kiss. It’s firm and not gentle at all, ravenous in every swipe of his tongue. Tom brings his teeth into play, nipping on your lips without warning. Making you gasp and arch into him from the desire that rises from the spearmint in his taste alone.

“Tom—” you try to warn him that the door is still open, but he shushes you instead.

“Shhh, you’re gonna have to be quiet tonight,” he purrs into the corner of your mouth, kissing it before he drags his lips in a single line down to your neck. “Hm? You think you can handle that? That the door stays open tonight while I have my way with you?”

“Fuck—” You nod, incapable of words right now. Tom’s grip is firm on your arms, tight but also gentleman-like, rubbing his thumbs where they reach as though to soothe you. It works, it definitely works, because you forget the slight pain from his fingers and turn into putty in his arms.

“I, uh,” Tom starts, licking a path up your neck that makes you shiver, “I was thinking we could try something tonight. If you want.” You only gaze at him through your eyelashes, silently daring him to speak. “You ever heard about orgasm denial?”

You hum because you have.

“Well, I was thinking I’d like to try that,” you smile at his suggestion, not expecting the next words that come out of his mouth. “On you.”

“What?”

He chuckles with a devil’s smirk dancing on his features. “Not so fond of the idea now, are you? Hm? Isn’t that what you’re doing to me, though? Keeping me on edge about the damn golf course?”

Trying to move forward is an impossible task. Tom’s thighs are blocking you at every angle. He feels huge and hot and perfect, hands biting into your arms.

“Denying me my fantasy, you naughty girl…”

You suck in a breath as his lips drift from your neck to your collarbones and back to the underside of your chin. You try to urge him into more, try to touch him, but he elbows your hands as soon as they start to move.

“So I’d like to edge you right back. Teach you a little lesson. I mean, the moment you told me about your dream, I made it happen, and now you’re pulling my leg on this? Not. Gonna. Happen. Again. Is it, darling?”

You shake your head. In fact, your whole body shakes in his arms at the velvet tone he’s using. You have noticed that his voice never becomes angry, it’s always smooth, docile, the kind that raises goosebumps on your skin and damps every piece of underwear you put on.

“Say it.”

You gulp first, gasping when his chest presses so close that your nipples harden instantly, but then you comply. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good girl.”

And if you’d ever thought you’d been compliant, now is the moment when you completely surrender. You let Tom take you in his arms and kiss you passionately, you let him walk you towards your closet and position you with your hands on the door. You even let him spread your legs with a tap of his foot and bend over your spine to an angle that suits him. Anything he wants, you’re willing to give him. Even if at the end you don’t even come. It’s not the high that you crave right now. It’s the intense pleasure you know he can give you on the way up.

Tom drops a loud kiss on your shoulder before he pulls away, moving his hands to the hem of your shirt, bundling up the fabric as he drags them slowly up your spine. He stops at the top of your back, leaving your clothes alone, draped over your shoulders and falling around your sides, your breasts pulling down in response to gravity.

You feel your nipples taut and tight, wishing he was kissing them instead, but you let him do as he pleases anyway. So you wait, in silence, for his next move or his first order. Your eyes are on the mirror in front of you, your face too close, his too out of sight. It will be impossible not to look at yourself as he works his devilish plan.

The thoughts stop when you hear and feel your knickers rip under his hands. You watch them fall between your legs, and right after them, Tom falls to his knees.

“Gonna kiss this pussy goodnight,” he whispers. Before you can process what he said, he’s got two handfuls of your arse and his face on your cunt.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed at the pressure. The next thing you know is his arms wrapping around your thighs as he holds you against his mouth and starts sucking hard on your folds. You moan, pressing your forehead into the cold surface. Eyes closed, refusing to look.

Tom alternates between suction and little flicks of his tongue until you’re panting and shaking and grinding back against his face.

“You gotta stay still,” he says in a mumble, tracing his tongue across your slit. “You gotta stay quiet, too. C’mon, you don’t want Harrison to hear you, do you? Hm? Do you?”

You don’t dare to reply, of course, clamping your lips tightly so nothing comes out. There’s still a few hums that escape, too loud and too big for your throat. Tom tuts when he hears them, shaking his head which you can tell from the way his nose brushes your pussy.

“Tom,” you keen, trying to keep your voice to a minimum though you can’t stop your hips from chasing the heat from his mouth.

His hands tighten around your flesh and you hold still, understanding that’s what he wants. You obey, moaning aloud but immediately shutting your mouth closed again.

With a single look to the right, you can see the open door. The hallway echoes despite being so small, so you try to be careful. You try your hardest, in fact, but Tom doesn’t make it easy for you. He stops the teasing altogether, sliding one of his hands over the back of your thigh until he reaches the center.

“So fucking wet, baby girl,” he praises. “How do you always taste so damn good?”

Tom takes one long, heavy lick upwards, his whole tongue collecting your fluids, before he shifts his hand and slips a thumb into you. You can feel its entire shape, the prominent knuckle, the scrape of his nail on your walls, his deliberate pumps in and out of you.

You clench around it mindlessly as a fog blinds your eyes. Sensation starts to build in your gut, spiraling upward and upward until your head is a mesh of colorful lights. It’s so fucking intense. The culmination of a whole evening of teasing each other with watchful looks and featherlight touches. The memories and the current heat swirl inside you and threaten to blow.

“Fuck, Tom, I’m so close,” you warn through a sigh, completely aware that he will want to know. That’s the basics of orgasm denial as you know them. He’ll drive you up to the peak of your high, but won’t let you cross the finish line.

“Good girl,” he mutters in response, placing a kiss on the apex of your thigh as a reward, but he doesn’t pull away yet. He retreats his thumb and replaces it with two other fingers, thrusting in and out, crooking them persistently against your spot. When he presses his nose to the side of your entrance, the tip of his tongue starts toying with your clit back and forth, back and forth, light as a feather, before he sucks it into his mouth again.

“Ah—” you gasp, way too loud. But your mouth doesn’t stay shut this time. Your lips touch the surface of the mirror, no longer cold from you breathing on it all this time. Your tongue traces the inside of your teeth in a last attempt for control, arms buckling weakly, legs just the same, as you start to tremble under Tom’s doing.

You’re close, you’re dangerously close and right on the verge of coming. You can perceive the tension in your belly, the coil twisting and turning, your pussy clenching around his digits. So close to giving in to it. Wanting it desperately, toes curling and waiting for it to crash over you.

But then he stops.

He pulls away completely with a gasp. His fingers pull out, his nose and tongue and hands let you go. You almost collapse at his knees, legs shaking, too weak from the pleasure, but Tom’s arms do come around you carefully. He’s back on his feet now, holding you against his chest, caressing your hair and mumbling your name in soft whispers.

“I got you, I got you,” he says in praise, “you did so well, baby. Took everything I gave you so well. Fuck, you looked so good too. Bloody stunning. Fuck. Almost made me come in my boxers. I love that.”

As he talks, Tom guides you to the bed and lays you down slowly. When you look at him, he’s got a gentle smile on his face as he continues to caress your head.

“Did so good for me,” he goes on and on, telling you everything you like to hear. “Looked so gorgeous. Did you see yourself in the mirror, huh? Your face— god, your face was so beautiful. Fuck, how did I get this fucking lucky?”

When he stops, it’s to kiss you. Not as softly anymore. There’s hunger in his moves, his hands tugging on your shirt and crawling under it, across your skin, all the way to your breasts.

“Wanna go again? I’ll let you come this time,” he says with a chuckle. You can’t imagine how fast you’re gonna crumble if he touches you between the legs again. You’re probably going to combust because the coil in your belly is still there, twisting, crying out desperately for release.

“I’d like that,” you say nonetheless, spreading your feet until his body falls in between. “You were… so good,” you compliment him within a mutter, grabbing his face and kissing him in full. Mouths and tongues crashing, reaching for the roof of his mouth as far as you can go.

“Oh fuck,” you moan when his crotch ruts against yours. That’s when you realize how hard he is, that he didn’t touch himself while he was eating you out. And before you owe him anything other than a fantasy, you curl a leg around his and try to spin.

“Does your offer still stand?” you ask when Tom lands on his back gracefully. Immediately his tongue returns to its faithful spot against yours. He kisses like a maniac, with hunger. Chasing after your taste with passion and fire.

A fire that grows right in the center of your chest yet again, just from the swipe of his hands over your hips. He grabs your sides and sits you on top of him, keeping your core dangerously close to his cock. You’re not sure how long you’re gonna last if he does this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He only grabs a handful of your buttocks and pulls you forward.

“Ngh,” you moan indistinctly, gritting your teeth so you aren’t too loud.

“Gonna make me come, aren’t you, baby girl?” Tom goads, helping you move back and forth over his erection.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take him too long. He sits up and mouths one of your tits through the shirt, his tongue curling around the nipple as though there’s no fabric at all. He gets it wet, and makes you wetter than ever. You grind down on him because it feels so good, your clit swollen and crying out for friction, the muscles inside tensing up around your pleasure.

One, two, three more thrusts of your hips and his arms clasp around you until you can’t breathe. Tom collects your mouth into a frantic kiss, panting into the back of your throat, muffling his shout as he shakes beneath you.

“Fuck yeah, oh fuck,” you can perceive a few curses as he rides it out, hands on your waist, keeping you down on him, driving you stupidly nuts from the heat that twirls up to your brain yet again. So you try to focus on him, placing little kisses on his face as his frown softens.

Tom breaks the kiss and pants against your lips, muttering your name and baby girl over and over again, “So good to me, holy fuck.”

You do love when he’s like this, head so wrapped up in his pleasure that his words come out like mewls.

As his torso falls down on the bed, his hands are still tight around you. He’s moving you softly over him now, riding his own high out, but it’s too dangerous. You try to warn him, try to tell him that there’s a burning string of rope in your belly about to snap, but your tongue curls around your teeth. It’s incapacitating, the mix of his pleasure and his control over you.

“Gonna come—” you manage to utter. And he grinds you down over his middle until your body starts to contort, hands squeezing his pecs, thighs closing in around his sides. The pleasure fogs your eyes and twists your belly, trembling down your legs and off of your feet as you collapse on top of him.

“Fuck.” You breathe out. “Fuck.”

“That was hot,” he muses, turning you both on your sides to cuddle up into you.

Tom grins at you, brushing his chin against your breast before he kisses the nipple that’s still poking through the shirt. You gasp and take a deep breath, twice, letting him play with your chest as he wishes.

“Love sucking your tits,” he murmurs against your sternum.

“Love your mouth,” you answer. Tom pinches one of your nipples gently, mouthing it right after to soothe it away. Touching and rubbing his palms over the both of them, too, as he crawls up to kiss your mouth.

Just once. Softly. A promise that the night’s over for now.

As you clean up in the bathroom together a few minutes later, Tom is helping you dry your back when he gasps. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, sounding rushed, “I got you something.” Then he throws the towel into your hands and bolts out the door.

Not giving it much thought as you finish up, you don’t wait for him to come back. You find him in your room when you walk in, fresh and smelling nicely, and he’s got a paper bag in his hand. It’s the same one he was carrying when you all got home a while ago, you can tell as much, you just don’t know what it contains.

“What’s that?” you ask as you close the door, retrieving it from his extended hand shortly after. “It’d better be a new pair of panties.”

“It’s not.” Tom chuckles, and you can tell he’s eyeing your chest. You’re in your knickers and a clean, white t-shirt since the last one you wore had to be thrown into the laundry basket after he ruined it with his eager mouth.

“Alright, I didn’t buy it myself, it was my mum,” he explains. You still don’t get it, but you listen to him because he sounds extremely excited. It’s not common for him to give you any presents, though he is known for other types of small gestures, but his enthusiasm rubs off on you a little bit. “I told her your size—”

“Oh, so that’s why you texted me about it the other day?”

“Yes!” Tom grins. “C’mon, open it. It’s perfect for tomorrow.”

“Hm. Tomorrow?” You hesitate now. Tomorrow you’re going golfing with him, so you figure that this is related. Under his ecstatic gaze, you dive into the bag and pull out the black garment he hid inside. “What’s this?”

“A golf skirt!”

“Uhh, these are skorts,” you point out shrewdly as you examine what you’re holding.

“What!” he exclaims, gaping at you and snatching the piece of clothing from your hands. “That bloody woman. I told her I wanted a skirt.”

“Sorry?”

The skort is quite cute, actually, with a small pocket on the side and a thin belt wrapped around the waist that matches the small logo on the hem. It also looks like it would look good if you were to wear it. You’re not sure how Tom’s mother was able to buy something so on-point for you, but maybe she knows you better than you think from the few times you’ve hung out at her house.

“Ugh. How am I supposed to fuck you in this?” he groans, holding them by the crotch in front of his face.

“Did you tell your mum that’s what you wanted this for?” you question him.

“Of course not,” he huffs, annoyed at the way his own mother just cockblocked him.

“Then how was she supposed to know?”

“Argh. She’s gonna hear about this…” he mumbles, shoving the skorts back into the bag. “Anyway, I’ll send these back. But, the idea is that you’ll have a proper golf skirt to cover your gorgeous thighs when I pound your hot, wet pussy at the golf course.”

You grin at his filthy words, embracing him around the shoulders to offer your comfort.

“Did you not like the skirt I wore the other day?”

“No, I loved it,” Tom clarifies, pecking your mouth. “But one of these feels more… professional. And you want to look the part, don’t you?”

“Haha, sure,” you muse, remembering something similar he said when he was helping you with your swing. “Did you get me a cap too?”

Tom laughs. “No, I didn’t.”

“Guess I’ll have to wear one of yours, then.”

“You’ll look sexy in them,” he says, setting the bag down at random and moving to push the bed covers.

You look at the bag where it lies at the foot of your dresser. You appreciate this gift Tom got for you. It may seem frivolous, but you can’t help the tug that tips the corners of your mouth upwards.

“Thank you,” you mutter to him when you’re already in bed. “I’m really sorry it wasn’t the skirt you wanted.”

Tom curls up further on his side, his back to your chest tonight, and nuzzles closer to you as he hums. You wrap a hand around his waist and the stroke of his fingers interlocking with yours is the last thing you feel before you pass out.

· ⛳️ ·

Strike 1 « ‧ » Strike 2 ii

[senor-plume]

Marriage by Gregory Corso

Should I get married? Should I be good? Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustus hood? Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries and she going just so far and I understanding why not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel! Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky-

When she introduces me to her parents back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie, should I sit with my knees together on their 3rd degree sofa and not ask Where's the bathroom? How else to feel other than I am, often thinking Flash Gordon soap- O how terrible it must be for a young man seated before a family and the family thinking We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou! After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?

Should I tell them? Would they like me then? Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter but we're gaining a son- And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?

O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded just wait to get at the drinks and food- And the priest! he looking at me as if I masturbated asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife? And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue! I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha! And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on- Then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates! All streaming into cozy hotels All going to do the same thing tonight The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen The lobby zombies they knowing what The whistling elevator man he knowing Everybody knowing! I'd almost be inclined not to do anything! Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye! Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon! running rampant into those almost climactic suites yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel! O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy a saint of divorce-

But I should get married I should be good How nice it'd be to come home to her and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen aproned young and lovely wanting my baby and so happy about me she burns the roast beef and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf! God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married! So much to do! Like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky! And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him When are you going to stop people killing whales! And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust-

Yes if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn, up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me, finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear nor Roman coin soup- O what would that be like! Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus For a rattle a bag of broken Bach records Tack Della Francesca all over its crib Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon

No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father Not rural not snow no quiet window but hot smelly tight New York City seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job! And five nose running brats in love with Batman And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired like those hag masses of the 18th century all wanting to come in and watch TV The landlord wants his rent Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking- No! I should not get married! I should never get married! But-imagine if I were married to a beautiful sophisticated woman tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves holding a cigarette holder in one hand and a highball in the other and we lived high up in a penthouse with a huge window from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days No, can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream-

O but what about love? I forget love not that I am incapable of love It's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes- I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible And there's maybe a girl now but she's already married And I don't like men and- But there's got to be somebody! Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married, all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear and everybody else is married! All the universe married but me!

Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible then marriage would be possible- Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover so i wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.

[tsailii]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Nike Lunarlon Flywire Golf Shoes.

[dreaming-of-assclass]

Karasuma and the revenge trio for 13 Please?

This is referring to an awesome AU made by @assclass-vibes !! It’s where Karasuma adopts/raises Karma, Kayano, and Itona. I totally recommend checking out their blog and all the fun posts they’ve made for this AU! 💜

“And how did this happen?”

~~

“Uh-oh.”

“This can’t be good.”

“Well, what do we do now?”

“Obviously, we clean up!”

Irina face-palmed in annoyance, feeling a headache come on. It was still nothing compared to the migraine Karasuma was going to have once he came home from work.

She’d been on her way home from her recent facial, happy with how it turned out and the relief she always got venting to her favorite masseuse Eva, when suddenly she received texts from the brats, calling for help. It was an emergency.

Naturally, Irina mentally bitched about it but still hauled ass over there, gun loaded just in case.

She was shocked at the sight. In the four hours that Karasuma was at work so far that day, the brats had actually managed to completely fucking destroy their backyard.

Actually, that was an understatement.

The once trimmed, nice, green backyard, only cluttered with some of the kids’ stuff like bikes, etc, and the family’s grill...

Was now half-charred. A good portion of what was formerly lush green grass, was stained black. The scent of something burning was strong in the air and she wrinkled her nose. 

Her eye caught the trash can and the poorly-hidden fireworks that had been haphazardly stuffed in there. Oh.

On the still-green side, there was a kiddie pool set up, filled with tennis balls and rubber duckies. It was deflating, and water seeped onto the ground like there was no tomorrow.

There were random objects scattered everywhere, most of which really had no business being in the hands of children. There were more than a few knives, a golf club, empty yogurt containers, and in the very middle of the yard, was a huge tire. One that looked like it belonged to a monster truck.

What in the fuck happened?!

She turned back to look at the kids, wondering if her face reflected the awe, horror, agitation, and shock that she felt. “Tell me exactly: how did all this happen?”

Update: it did.

Karma looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets. There was a rare look of embarrassment in his gaze, which was locked onto the dead grass beneath his Sonic Ninja sock-clad feet. 

Itona frowned and ducked his head slightly, his cheeks looking pink compared to their usual pale complexion. 

Only Kayano accepted her straightforward glare, offering up a scowl of her own. “We didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, kid.”

Karma let out a huff. “Look, we can sit down and tell you, in detail, every stupid thing we did that led to this. But for now, we need to make a plan and try to fix it.”

Huh. Irina was a bit impressed.

Itona finally spoke up, lifting his gaze. “But he’s coming home in another hour and a half. How can we possibly fix everything?” He gestured aggressively to the yard. “The grass is burnt.”

The other two looked dejected again, guilt in their eyes. 

Irina watched all three closely before sighing. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through her list of contacts. She could feel their confused gazes on her as her finger hovered above the name. “Look, I know you’re good kids...so I’ll do you a favor this time and take care of all this.”

They eyed her with a mix of suspicion and gratefulness. “How?” Kayano asked.

Irina didn’t answer. She pressed the name and held it to her ear. “Hello? John? I need a favor. Now.”

~~~~

“I’m home,” Karasuma called. He slipped off his shoes and made his way down the hallway of their home, jacket and briefcase on one arm.

“Kids?” He peered into the living room.

“Welcome home,” they greeted in unison, in varying levels of enthusiasm. 

Kayano was sitting on the rug, her legs tucked behind her as she held a book in her hands. Karma was stretched onto the couch, his height taking up almost all of it as he played a game on his phone. Itona sat at the kitchen bar, tinkering with one of his inventions.

“How was your day?” Kayano asked, rising to wrap her arms around him. 

Karasuma gently patted her head. “It was alright. How about you guys? Were you alright?”

Karma waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, we were fine.”

Itona shrugged, leaving the kitchen to plop himself right over Karma’s legs, earning a dirty look from the redhead which he ignored. “It was pretty boring.”

Karasuma raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? Boring? You guys didn’t destroy anything?”

Kayano laughed. “Nooo~ I love how that was your first assumption, though.”

“I know you three well enough to know that chaos is just permanently associated with you.”

Karma gasped dramatically. “Ouch, pops.”

“Take a look around then,” Itona suggested. “Check if we ruined anything?”

And so Karasuma did. He went around their home, looking at every room and every crevice, followed by the three of them.

Finally, he made his way to the backyard. “Oh wow.” He nodded appreciatively, his tone full of surprise. “You even cleaned up.”

The yard was full of luscious, vivid grass again. It was neatly cut and overall looked gorgeous. The pool was re-inflated with clean, cool water, perfect on the hot summer day they were having. All of the games, bikes, and such were neatly parked on the side of the yard.

Overall, it looked perfect. Better than it had in a while.

He smiled and ruffled all their heads, earning grins, scowls, and pouts in return. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Dad,” All three replied half-heartedly, already planning the thank-you gift they were going to give Irina.

[apterydek]

After a year of jockhood

A year of jockhood came and went, daily workouts, buzzed head, sweaty gym shorts. Though you were stronger and more comfortable than ever, you missed being preppy. Looking back at the old photos from when you wore chinos and polos instead, you remembered how you felt then: disappointed you weren’t living the jock life.

“I’m not sure what to do,” you confess to Sir. He’s the one putting you through your paces, holding you to your meal plan. He was the one who gave you your first buzz, clippers set to 1. “Though I’m living my fantasy, and I feel confident, I keep feeling like I’m missing out on all the other versions of me. This was supposed to be my final transformation, and despite all the mental training, I just can’t stick with it. I’m sorry Sir, I fear I’ve disappointed you. I know you’ve put so much effort into training me.”

Sir isn’t angry, nor let down. He’s pensive, eyes out of focus, forehead furrowed. Then, with a sudden smile, he starts: “Boy, it’s no problem. I’ve seen this before. Sensed that it might happen. It’s just that I wanted you to have the full jock experience you were so dedicated to when we first started. I know just what to do. Another year of training—”

“Another year?” you blurt in disbelief.

“Shush, boy,” he continues, stern now. “This year will be unlike the last year. Rather than get you deep into one identity, we’ll change things up every month. We’ll explore all the different versions of you. Then decide what to do next. Who knows, maybe you’ll be begging to go back to jock mode.”

Your mouth is open. “W..well…” you say, processing what Sir’s suggesting. It tingles, excitement gripping you, and you decide to comply. “Yes Sir!” you shout. He’s already thinking of what you’ll become, and within the week, you’re given your first identity.

January you kept your hoodies and trainers, but grew out your hair slightly on top even as the sides were shaved. You wore a steel necklace and a tracksuit. Manspreading, walking with a swagger. Drinking and cursing. Watching porn. Sir would catch you by surprise and pin you against the wall, getting his pleasure from you. You loved the sudden lack of discipline, the spontaneity, the cockiness.

February your hair was long enough to part and slick. Your wardrobe was entirely replaced with white briefs and singlets, gray and blue dress shirts, smart slacks, knee socks, shined shoes and even a pair of short elasticated wool shorts for home. You tucked in your shirt every day, followed a structured schedule, and learned the basics of piano and French every evening. Sir would spank you for the smallest transgressions. You came to enjoy his discipline, the way your energy was controlled and focused on learning.

March your hair kept growing. You returned to sporty shorts with matching silky shirts. Leg day every day. Running, endurance. Sir had chosen only two outfits for you to wear. It made decisions easy. He chose your food carefully for energy. By the end of all the workouts you’d be ready to head to bed, but you were quizzed on football stats every day from the games you spent hours watching. You lived through your team’s performance, trained hard to emulate your favorite players. Sport, sport, sport. The month passed quickly.

April you didn’t get a haircut, just put a little hair gel in it. Polos and khakis or bright, short shorts. Boat shoes. You started to drink again. Spent lots of time on social media, taking lots of selfies with vapid pearly smiles. A lot of them involved golf, which you were now taking up. Sir got you invited to a party on a yacht. Little discipline again, just spending money, and enjoying the money others spent, and the respect everyone gave you.

May you used a straight iron and bobby pins. Pink crop tops and pink high tops. Became a go-go dancer, shaking your butt every time someone slipped a sweaty dollar bill down the waistband of your glittery hot pants. Pumped your nips every night and morning. Sir worked your hole every morning until you could take a plug, then a thick dildo, then a fist. Sometimes, after your shows, you’d get the chance to fit other guys’ hands up your hole too. It felt good to be desired, great to be a slut, and utterly fabulous to be so flamboyant.

June you got a cut in front and a trim in the back. Button-ups with the snaps, tucked into tight Wranglers and secured with a massive belt buckle. You listened to country music the entire time you were awake. Spent time hunting and fishing, dressed in camo and/or waders. Beaten-up T-shirts and trucker caps half the time. Cowboy hats the other half. It was relaxing getting back into nature, relaxing listening to repetitive songs, relaxing to slip completely into this identity and hear the voices of anxiety silenced. Some time every day, Sir gave you hearty pats on the back, and butt, and you embraced him, totally at ease.

July you awoke in briefs and a singlet again. An extra-large polo shirt, sweater vest, and loose polyester dress pants were stuffed over you, and you were taken to a barbershop and given a tight waxed horseshoe flattop with a white, shiny, wide landing strip. Glasses for good measure too. The only fun you had was DnD, but mostly you were too busy reading academic papers, solving logic puzzles, and arguing with strangers on Quora to spend much time on the DnD sessions. Sir would turn the Internet off at 9 every night, though, and you’d have to wake up early the next day to catch up on your online pursuits. It felt good to know more than anyone else...except Sir, of course.

August you got tired of feeling like other guys were about to bully you and became the bully instead. Buzzed again, gym shorts, tank tops, lifting, protein shakes and meal plans: all the things you’d gotten tired of six months ago, but which seemed so comfortable and natural now. You almost didn’t want to continue the cycle of transformations. Begged Sir, naked and on your knees, your prominent pecs quivering slightly. Sir denied you. You needed still more discipline.

September you were to follow a detailed schedule to the minute. Your buzz was shaved daily on the back and sides, clippered to a 0.5 on top. You were issued one set of clothes for PT, and one set of clothes for day-to-day wear: a polo and cargo pants with stiff black boots that gave you blisters. There was a final set of clothing for dinners and special outings: a dress shirt secured with shirt stays, immaculately creased trousers, mirror-shined black shoes. Punishments were severe and severely boring: standing at attention for hours, endless sets of push-ups, and marches in circles with the sun beating on your shorn head. Despite the unpleasantness, you felt proud to be held to such a strict standard, and to comply with it at least most of the time. Sir would occasionally reward your compliance with a treat like a single ice cream bar or 20 minutes of free time.

October you asked again to become a jock, or a frat boy, again, but Sir, tight-lipped, shook his head. You hadn’t learned your lesson. Stripped of all clothing, you winced as you were shaved head to toe, and a chastity cage was forced on and locked. You were rubbed with lube before being covered in a thick black rubber suit that covered your entire body, zips held closed with a dozen miniature padlocks. You were let out of rubber only for your brief, intense workouts—for public matters, a thinner rubber suit that left your arms and legs exposed was fastened on you, after which you donned a plain black T-shirt, black jeans, black Converses and a black snapback. Half the time, a large plug was shoved up your ass. You didn’t have a strict schedule any more, but the punishments more than made up for it. Perhaps your entire existence was one punishment. You were beaten, forced into painful positions, your balls stretched, made to drink piss and eat from the floor. You slept in a large dog cage. Slowly, you got used to it, hastened by Sir’s hypnosis and brainwashing sessions. You realized how much effort Sir was putting into the training and resolved not to disappoint him again. The border between pain and pleasure disappeared, and you grew content in the moment, constant intense sensations forcing your attention on the present. For Halloween you were paraded out in your full rubber suit, a collar and leash around your neck.

November you knelt, bound, ready for the next layer of intensity, for a fresh round of humiliation and torture. You accepted whatever Sir might inflict upon you. But he untied you, let you out, gently cleaned you in the bathtub, and had you lie on a towel. It was only when you felt a soft, pillowy sensation enveloping your chastity cage that you realized what he’d planned. You had a large wardrobe of brightly colored T-shirts and pants and a full rack of chunky sneakers. There were rules, of course, particularly around bedtime, screen time, and getting your diaper changed, but you were otherwise free to play as you wished. The lack of punishment initially seemed wrong, like cheating, but you settled into your new pampered lifestyle as Sir gently encouraged you and occasionally told you life stories to learn from. By the end of the month, you were making cucumber sandwiches like a pro, wearing a cartoon sandwich T-shirt and overalls.

December Sir trimmed the sides and back of your head, undressed you, unlocked you from chastity, and showed you to yet another set of clothing. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but he didn’t tell you what you were supposed to become, just smiled and walked out of the room. No kinky gear or implements anywhere, just a fleshlight in the back of the drawer, behind the boxer shorts and miscellaneous patterned shirts and jeans. Sir just kind of...left you alone, not telling you when to wake up or what any consequences of anything would be. With the horniness from the previous months of chastity and discipline built up, you started to jerk off at least three times a day. Sitting at the dinner table with Sir eating pizza, you asked him what this was all about. It felt so wrong.

“Boy, this month I’m showing you what you haven’t had for several years: a ‘normal’ lifestyle. No control, no schedule, no denial, no punishments, just...freedom. You shouldn’t forget, I can give you any transformation I desire, and this month I want you to be a regular guy. What’s light without shadow, a vessel without the internal emptiness, a crisp autumn day without the muggy summer before it?”

Almost crying at this point, you nodded. You’d taken all this kinky artifice for granted, assumed that last month was Sir’s way of letting you off easy even though you were in diapers. You had gotten so accustomed to Sir’s control that you’d let yourself get tired of living your deepest fantasies as a prep and a jock.

You stood up. “Sir,” you started, about to apologize, about to thank him, about to tell him how much you loved him, but you pushed your face into his and gave him a deep kiss, inserting your tongue, feeling his warm mouth relax in pleasure. You hugged him tight, and he hugged you tighter, and you were together, equals now. Wait, equals? That didn’t feel right.

You pulled his arms behind his back and scowled. “I love you. That’s why I’m going to do to you what you did to me. We’ll start with you as a jock.” Sir’s eyes widened. You kept your face stern, but worried he’d find some way to punish you. Suddenly, Sir sat up and straightened his shoulders. “Sir, yes Sir!” he yelled. And so, another year began, with a Sir and boy playing through various transformations, except the Sir and boy were reversed this time, and a few times, for a month at a stretch, they’d stop and live as equals, just to appreciate what they had. Appreciate each other they most certainly did.