Lush in Lace (5 page)

“You’re like family too, Squeaker—in a weird,
dysfunctional kind of way,” I added. “Or at least you will be after
the wedding.”

“Oh that’s so sweet,” Kate Madden cooed,
squeezing my mom’s hand affectionately.

“Relax, Mom. He’s not proposing or anything,”
Rylan stated, exasperated at the women’s behavior.

“Okay, okay, fine. We’re just a little
overemotional about the big day,” Kate replied. “We want you two to
focus on those good things about each other until after the
wedding, and everything will be just fine.”

It was obvious the moms were more confident
about their plan than Rylan and I. However, we played along,
nodding and exchanging hugs with our moms before the women finally
left to get their nails done for the big day.

****

- Rylan aka Squeaker -

Once our meddling moms were on their way,
Scott stood and headed toward the door. “We’d better get moving.
There’s only an hour left before the mall closes,” he warned.

“No need. I already got the rest of the stuff
for the wedding this morning,” I informed him.

“You did?”

“I figured you’d be tired after working all
day. My next project isn’t due for a while, so it was no big deal
to take the morning off and finish up.”

“Are you sure you got everything?”

I motioned toward the open hallway.
“Everything that was on the list. It’s all in the kitchen if you
don’t believe me.”

Scott found the pile of wedding supplies on
the small, round kitchen table where I’d left them. As he rummaged
through the bags and boxes, he reviewed his own copy of the list
from the grooms.

“Ring bearer pillow?”

“Got it.”

“Centerpieces from the florist?”

“Yup.”

“Programs from the printers?”

“Done.”

“What about the airline tickets?”

“Two first-class tickets to Amsterdam, right
here,” I offered, picking up the envelope with the tickets and
waving it at Scott.

He snatched it from me and scrutinized its
contents. “Why on earth would they choose Holland over the
Caribbean?”

I shrugged. “Haven’t you ever heard the
saying—anything goes in Amsterdam?”

“Is that where you’d go for your honeymoon
then, Squeaker?”

I scoffed. “I have no intention of getting
married,” I lied. “But if I did, I guess I’d choose
Disneyland.”

Scott burst out laughing at my admission.
“Really? Disneyland? That’s so cliché.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means if you want to get up close and
personal with Tinkerbell, can’t you just look in a mirror and save
yourself the money?” Scott asked.

It was less than five minutes into our truce,
and already we were bickering. “Let me guess, you’d take your wife
to the Super Bowl for your honeymoon?” I countered.

“It’d be a hell of a lot better than
Disneyland. Not that I plan on getting married either, but I’m
definitely going to Ireland on my next vacation.”

It was my turn to burst out laughing.

“What the hell’s wrong with Ireland?” Scott
asked defensively.

“You do know it rains there like every
fucking day, right?” I prompted.

“So? The rain’s the reason it’s so green and
beautiful.”

“I’ve seen your hair in the mist and rain,
Lush. You won’t be getting any Irish pussy on your next vacation,
looking like a frizzy, blond poodle.”

“Fuck you, Squeaker.”

“Ruff. Ruff,” I teased him.

“God, I can’t wait ’til this wedding is
over,” he grumbled, rummaging through the last remaining bag.

I clutched at my chest dramatically. “Ouch.
You’re breaking my heart, Lush.”

“You don’t have one,” he returned, searching
earnestly for the last remaining item on his list. “Where’s the
cake topper? I can’t find it? The baker expects it at the gallery
first thing in the morning,” he added.

“Right here.” I pulled the lid off the small,
square box that held the custom-made, molded image of two men in
tuxedos, resembling our brothers.

“Why is BJ down on his knees?” Scott
gasped.

I shrugged. “I guess it’s because he’s the
one who proposed.”

“But… it… it looks like he’s giving Jamie a
blow job for god’s sake!”

I took the figurine from the box and
inspected it intently for the first time. Scott was right. The
figures were set very close together with BJ’s face almost smooshed
into the front of Jamie’s pants. To make matters worse, the
position of BJ’s outstretched hands could easily have been mistaken
for a male appendage. At close range, the figure was decipherable,
however from afar, it really did look like Jamie was getting
serviced by his groom-to-be.

Oh well, there wasn’t much we could do about
it now. “Maybe it was made that way on purpose?” I offered.

“Why the fuck would anyone do that on
purpose?”

“You never know, maybe Jamie needed a little
extra convincing to say yes. As a matter of fact, I think a blow
job should be mandatory with every marriage proposal from a man
named BJ.”

“Of course you would,” Scott griped
sarcastically.

“Relax, Lush. Nobody’s gonna care. Why don’t
you admit you’re out of your league with this whole gay wedding
stuff?” I prompted when I noticed Scott blushing profusely at the
sight of a box of brand new, multicolored butt plugs on the table.
They were left over stag gifts that I’d brought to return to
Jamie.

“Only after you admit that you underestimate
me.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But we’ll never know will
we, now that the bet’s off?”

“It is?” he asked, surprised.

“You heard our moms, we’re supposed to get
along tomorrow,” I replied.

“Well, I don’t plan on telling them about the
bet, and I can get along just fine and still win,” Scott insisted
adamantly.

For the first time, I questioned the real
reason why he’d willingly agreed to bet money he obviously didn’t
have just to prove a point.

I was probably the only one close to Scott
who realized that he was struggling financially. Not that he’d
shared that information with me. I, however, noticed little signs
that others overlooked, like the fact that Scott didn’t have a
credit card; his cell phone was terribly outdated; he didn’t use
his car unless it was absolutely necessary; and a good portion of
his mail came from a local collection agency. I’d recognized the
company’s return address and their logo on several envelopes
addressed to Scott when I’d visited Jamie and BJ. The couple most
likely assumed the letters were junk mail, but I’d done some
programming work for that particular organization in college and
knew better.

A knot of guilt formed in my stomach. “Scott,
if you need the money, I can—”

“This is about shutting you up once and for
all, Squeaker, nothing more,” he interrupted.

I watched him carefully for any indication
that he was lying, but saw none. “Fine. The way I see it, it’s a
win/win for me no matter what.” I ignored the warning bells of my
conscience ringing in my head. The desire to see Scott Lush’s sweet
ass covered in lace easily overrode any lingering feelings of
guilt.

“Okay, so we’re still on,” he confirmed.

“I’ll see you squirm tomorrow, Lush,” I
called over my shoulder as I grabbed my jacket and headed toward
the door.

“In your dreams, Squeaker,” he yelled
back.

Definitely,
I mumbled under my
breath.

Scott had no way of knowing how accurate his
words were. Lately, there wasn’t a night that went by that I didn’t
dream about him lying naked in my bed, smiling up at me with those
beautiful green eyes of his and begging me to do anything I wanted
to his body.

After tomorrow, I’d have new images to add to
my night time fantasies—images of Scott Lush in nothing but nylon
stockings and lace thong panties.

Damn, what the hell was I thinking?

****

-Scott-

I was being roasted slowly from the inside
out, all for the sake of a few glamor shots. The hot, bright lights
in the small alcove of the gallery were designed for maximum
exposure of artwork, not as a backdrop for a dozen burly groomsmen
posing for the perfect group wedding photo.

After the third round of retakes, I’d
determined the wedding photographer was Satan’s spawn. You’d think
she’d know how fucking unbearable hot nylon stockings were when
worn under tuxedo pants, but obviously she had no clue. Why would
she? No one suspected that I wore ladies’ lingerie under my formal
wear, no one except for Rylan, who stood behind me, his body giving
off more heat than a solar flare.

Oh god.
I could literally feel the
beads of sweat beginning to form under my tuxedo jacket. When I
shifted uncomfortably on my feet, I heard Rylan’s chuckle over my
shoulder and ground my teeth together in frustration. He’d been
smugly smirking and staring pointedly at my crotch all day. The
wedding reception had yet to begin, and I’d seriously considered
calling the whole bet off. There was only so much I could take.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the lace panties that
were the problem, although as predicted my cock barely fit into the
things, and the thong rode up my ass terribly. However, it was the
stockings that were a bitch. Before I’d agreed to the bet, I didn’t
consider having to wear dress slacks, socks, and shoes over
unbreathable nylon. The combination was like a sauna for my
legs.

“Rylan, are you harassing my little brother?”
BJ asked after noticing the other best man’s smirk.

“That’s impossible since there’s nothing
little about your brother,” Rylan replied sarcastically.

His comment brought my attention back to my
dick, causing me to moan.

“Are you okay, Scott? You look…” BJ paused,
trying to find the right word. “I don’t know… uncomfortable?”

Now Rylan really did chuckle behind me.

A quick elbow to his ribs silenced him. “I’m
fine. It’s just really hot under these lights.”

As if sensing I was about to pass out at any
moment, BJ addressed the photographer and the crowd of groomsmen
gathered for the picture. “Let’s take a little break, guys.”

The dozen or more men looked almost as
relieved as I was and quickly headed off toward the bar. “Thanks,”
I said to BJ.

“No problem. There’s a small storage room
that Kirk keeps climate controlled for his ‘masterpieces’. It’s
down that hall and up the stairs. Why don’t you head up there for a
few minutes until you cool off?” BJ suggested.

The wedding reception was being held at the
art gallery of one of BJ’s closest friends—Kirk. It’d been closed
from daily operations for the event, but the main floor was already
overflowing with wedding guests. I was grateful for his suggestion
of a few minutes alone.

“Thanks,” I said again, squeezing my
brother’s shoulder.

****

Kirk’s climate controlled room was more like
a large, dark closet filled with paint cans, buckets, rags,
brushes, clay, and several covered canvasses that I could only
assume were the “masterpieces” BJ had referred to. However, I
wasn’t going to complain. The room was cool and quiet, which was
all I really needed. Well, that and some much needed breathing room
for my dick.

I toed off my shoes and reveled in the feel
of the cool concrete floor against my sweltering feet.
If only I
could remove the stockings, I’d be fine,
I thought, walking
farther into the small room. With each step, I could feel the tiny
string at the back of my underwear ride high into the crack of my
ass and my dick rub painfully against the tight lace at my crotch.
It was then that I knew I wouldn’t make it through the night, not
with my semihard cock trapped in its lace prison.

It would help a whole lot if Rylan didn’t
look so good in his tux, if he didn’t stand so close to me in
pictures, and if the scent of his cologne wasn’t constantly wafting
over me.

Regardless of my discomfort, I had no
intention of losing the bet. Therefore, for the second time in less
than two days, I unzipped my pants and let my cock spring loose
with thoughts of Rylan on my mind. A loud sigh escaped my lips and
echoed through the room at the initial feeling of being finally
freed.

Wrapping my gloved hand around my shaft was
an erotic experience. White satin gloves were a mandatory accessory
for all the groomsmen. The cool, slick texture felt like a lover’s
kiss to my overheated skin. Closing my eyes, I imagined Rylan’s
lips on me, the moist wetness of his tongue gliding over my thick
head.

Looking down, I flicked the long tails of my
shirt out of the way to give me a perfect view of the lace
underwear that still cradled my balls. I watched in fascination as
the rounded, pink tip of my head pushed through my gloved hand with
each stroke.
Damn,
but the sight brought me close to the
edge. I never realized how hot my dick could look surrounded by
lace. Is this what Rylan had in mind? Was this his brand of kink?
If so, I could see the appeal.

Moaning again, I picked up the pace of my
strokes. It wouldn’t be too much longer before my orgasm took me. I
opened my eyes, searching the dim room for paper towels in
preparation for my release. A barely audible hiss to my left caught
my attention. My head jerked in the direction of the sound only to
find a smug Rylan Madden just inside the door, watching me.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he rasped
hoarsely, looking down to try and catch a glimpse of my
silk-encased cock.

“Jesus, fuck!” I hissed, instantly turning
away and covering myself with my shirttails. Thankfully, they were
long enough to hide my groin and the hand that still held my erect
cock. The fact that I hadn’t had time to lower my pants helped too,
ensuring that even standing behind me, Rylan didn’t have much of a
view.