Wearing Nothing Underneath (LADS Boys)
Prompt: LADS boys notice you went out braless and you tease them for it.Â
18+. Suggestive, but nothing overly explicit. Mentions of breasts and nipples. Mostly flirty and playful.
I included photos of outfits at the very bottom that were generally what I referenced or imagined when writing.
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It's that kind of afternoon, the kind where even the shade feels warm, and the two of you have plans to walk along the waterfront for a bit before grabbing food. You dress for the occasion, a simple tank top and denim skirt. Keeping things simple and light for the weather.Â
Xavier meets you outside your building with his hands in his pockets and that soft, quiet smile he always has when he's simply glad to see you. He glances over you once, and then you fall into step beside each other and it seems fine.
It stays fine for about ten minutes.
You notice it the way you notice a change in temperature. Gradual, then obvious. He's gone slightly quieter. His responses are still there but a half-beat slower, like part of his attention is elsewhere. And every so often, but not so so often, and never for long, his gaze drifts down from your face before he corrects himself.
You keep walking. Let him think you haven't noticed. It's not as though he isnât used to you going braless, it's a regular occurrence. However, heâs used to it under the much thicker, baggier clothes you wear during winter. You canât deny you knew that while getting ready this morning. Seeing him sneak another glance only brightens your mood. Heâs being so cute!
The waterfront is busy for a warm afternoon. People on benches, a few joggers, a group sitting on the low wall overlooking the water. You drift close to the railing and lean against it, leaning over to see if you can see any wildlife flickering through the water. You can feel the tank top pull slightly with the angle.
Beside you, Xavier has gone very still.
When glance over, he's looking at the water. Jaw set. The particular stillness of someone actively redirecting themselves.
But then a man passing by you slows, barely, allowing himself a quick glance of a cute girl as he carries on down the path. Nothing overt. Easy to miss. Innocent.
He shifts, positioning himself so he's more between you and the walkway, each hand coming to rest on the railing beside yours. His chin casually settles on your shoulder, yet the tight grip of his hands on the rails gives away his irritation.
"You've gone quiet," you observe.
"I'm enjoying the walk," he says.
"Mm." You turn around in his arms to look at him. He doesnât step back. "It seems like youâve been really fond of the view on this walk."
He glances at you, then away. The tips of his ears have gone the faintest shade of pink, which on Xavier is practically a signed confession.
"You can just say something, you know."
He's quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "Your top is⌠you aren't wearing-" He stops, clearing his throat. He tries again. "It's a thin top."
"It is," you agree, nodding, a smile tugging at your lips.
Another pause. Someone else walks past and Xavier's hand moves from the railing to the small of your back. Protective, possessive. Like it has simply decided to be there.
"And the skirt is short," he adds, his voice quieter, deeper.
"And half the waterfront has noticed."
"Have they?" You question. You are absolutely delighted. "Or just you?"
He looks at you fully, finally. Then there it is, that expression he rarely lets show. Not quite a scowl, not quite a pout. Both at once, pulled tight.
"You're doing this on purpose," he says quietly.
"I dressed for the weather." You pause, before quietly admitting the rest with a mischievous smile. âI maybe also dressed a bit to get a rise out of you.â
"You-" He stops himself and takes a breath. His hand presses slightly firmer at your back, pulling you closer, as he tilts his head in the direction you'd been walking. "Come on. We're getting food."
"We just got here." you complain, unable to truly hide your joy at his reactions.
"Somewhere with walls," he says. "And a door."
You follow him, grinning the whole way. His hand stays exactly where it is.
You grab one of his shirts on the way out the door because all you wore over last night were pajamas and you were NOT wearing those out and about today. It's linen. It's enormous on you, engulfing the shorts you were wearing. Rolling up the sleeves, you button 2-3 buttons, enough to keep the shirt partially closed and call it a day. With that, Rafayel drags you out of his house to pick up a few paint ingredients.
The market is loud and warm, with a mixture of fresh produce, raw herbs and various other local resources. Rafayel is in his element. He was picking up jars, holding them to the light, shamelessly interrogating the vendors and occasionally pulling out some charm to get a discount. You trail along, half-interested, mostly entertained.
"This one," he announces, holding up a small bottle of something amber-colored. "What do you think?"
"I think you've asked me that question 12 times today and you're going to either buy it or not regardless of what I say." Crossing your arms, you give him an exasperated sigh.Â
He grins. "But I like your face when you pretend to have opinions."
His eyes shift down, noticing the cleavage your crossed arms had produced in the low V of his shirt. He gives you a playful wink when he realizes you caught him, not bothering to hide his appreciation of your body.
You roll your eyes and look away, which is when the vendor says something to Rafayel in a low, appreciative tone and nods in your direction.
Rafayel's response is instant. The confident smile doesn't leave his face but something shifts behind his eyes. He says something back, light on the surface but you could sense an icy edge. His hand finds the small of your back and steers you casually, but firmly, to his other side. Then he casually steers you both away from the vendor.
You glance up at him. "What did he say?"
"He said my girlfriend was very pretty." A pause. "I agreed."
"Mm. Not worth repeating." He's examining a row of small pigment packets like they're the most fascinating things he's ever seen, but his hand has stayed at your back.
You press your lips together. Then, because you simply cannot resist, you shift your weight forward and reach past him to pick up one of the packets he'd been eyeing. The shirt gaps slightly at the front as you lean.
The packet is immediately taken from your hand. "I'll get that."
"I was just looking." you innocently defend, as you straighten back up.
"I know what you were doing." He accuses, ears flushed pink.Â
Where is the confidence from earlier? You can barely hold in your giggles. Heâs so cute when heâs like this.Â
"Rafayel." You tug on his sleeve until he glances down. You give him the sweetest smile as you grab the collar of your shirt, pulling it away from your skin as you wave it to let air flow through. You know heâs getting small peaks with each shift of the fabric. "Arenât you warm? It's soooo hot today."
"I'm not." he sharply denies, a scowl forming in response to your giggles. He crosses his arms in displeasure, though you notice it doesnât stop him from stealing glances down your shirt. âWhat stupid game are you playing, huh?â
Your tiny giggles turn into full laughter at his response. You wrap your arms around his waist, his arms immediately opening to accommodate you even though he appeared annoyed. You press yourself against his chest, a silent apology for teasing him even though you are quite amused by your own antics.Â
You hear a dramatic sign above your head. "You're a menace.â
He sets the packet down and you lean back enough to see his face. He gives you a look that's half exasperation and half something much warmer. His hand comes up to adjust the collar of the shirt. His fingers drift across your bare skin, down the V of the shirt. His knuckle grazes the exposed top of your breast, pressed firmly against him.Â
âHave you had your fun?â He questioned, a small resigned smile tugging at his lips.Â
âI have.â You confirm with a sweet smile, popping up on your tip toes to peck his cheek before releasing him so he can continue his shopping. âAnd you love it.âÂ
He doesn't argue. He just laces his fingers through yours and keeps them there for the rest of the market. His thumb traces absent patterns on your hand while he shops, and keeps you very firmly tucked at his side, away from everyone else.
You've been lounging around all morning and when he texts to say his train has pulled in, you head out in whatever you have on. Cropped white t-shirt. Leggings. You figured it's fine. Itâs just Caleb, and you're only going to the store and then home. It's nothing.
You meet a few blocks from the store as you wrap up another errand. He spots you the moment he exits the taxi. That familiar easy smile breaks across his face as he walks over, arms open, duffel over one shoulder. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and falls into step beside you and that's that.
Except somewhere in the first few minutes he goes quiet.
You don't think much of it at first. Keep talking, keep walking, notice his responses have gotten a little short but assume he's tired from the journey. You're mid-sentence about something that happened that week when you glance up at him and catch it. The tail end of a look thrown sideways at a man walking past. Cold. Pointed. The kind of look Caleb almost never lets anyone see back home.
Then he turns back to you and gives you a perfectly easy smile.
You blink. Look ahead. Turn it over in your head.
It happens again a minute later. His attention sliding briefly off you, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly, that same icy focus landing on no one in particular before he pulls it back. Half-hearted smile. Eyes on you again.
You still aren't entirely sure what you're seeing. Until his gaze drops.
Drifting from your face to your chest, lingering far too long, before he catches himself and looks away like he's done something wrong. Your brain catches up almost instantly.Â
You bite down on a smile and look straight ahead.
He has no idea you've seen any of it.
"God, I'm so stiff." You complain. Rolling your shoulders, you lift your arms above your head in a long, languid stretch mid-stride. Arching back for a deeper stretch, you feel the hem of your shirt skimming up along the underside of your breasts.
"Pips." Low. Quiet. "Enough."
A little shiver runs down your spine but you suppress it. You let your arms drop with a satisfied groan and turn to him with your most innocent expression. "Enough what?"
He looks at you for a long moment. You hold it. He looks away first, jaw set, and keeps walking.
You let another minute pass.Â
Then you step closer and tuck yourself into his arm, hugging it against you and making absolutely sure his bicep is snuggled firmly against your breasts. âYou didnât answer. Enough what, Caleb?â
He doesn't say anything. But something in his face shifts, smooths out, almost. He settles into a smile that is so bright and fake that it tells you with complete clarity that you have fucked up. Even worse, he was so excited that you fucked up.
You let go of his arm immediately. Taking a quick step back.
"I was just teasing you," you say lightly, already knowing it was a lost cause so you decide to point out his own behavior. "You were staring like a pervert first. It was harmless."
Before you can put any real distance between you, something catches you. An invisible pull, firm and final, yanks you back. His fingers laces through yours like a vice, his evol keeping you pinned against his arm, your breasts pressed right back where they had been. Like you never moved at all.
He leans down to your ear.
"And now I'm going to teach you what happens when you tease perverts."
He straightens up. Bright smile. Not an ounce of remorse in it.
Zayne is already at the cafe when you arrive. He is suited, somehow immaculate despite the steaming hot weather, a sharp contrast to your chosen outfit of a sundress, thin straps, light fabric, the kind of dress that feels like almost nothing. You didnât even bother with a bra; it was simply too hot.
Zayne is sitting across from you now with a slice of something layered on the plate in front of him and half his attention on whatever you'd been saying about your week. The usual.Â
You're midway through describing something that had irritated you at work when he pauses. He makes a soft sound that catches your attention, thoughtful, considering.
You blink at him. The cafĂŠ is air-conditioned, yes, but pleasantly so. "No? The AC is nice, actually. I was melting outside."
"I see," he says, and returns his attention to his dessert with a small sound of acknowledgement that tells you absolutely nothing. However, you catch the smallest flicker of his eyes on you that gives you direction.
Your nipples are pressing clearly against the thin fabric of the sundress. Not dramatically, but clearly enough that Zayne, who notices everything, had noticed immediately and filed it neatly away as "are you cold."
You hear him make a quiet sound that might, under the most generous interpretation, be a suppressed laugh.
You look back up at him. He's eating his cake with great composure, clearly enjoying his time.
Right. Two can play at this.
"Can I have a bite?" you ask, nodding at his plate.
He immediately cuts off a small bite from the dessert, and extends the fork towards you.Â
You lean forward. Much further than is necessary to reach across a cafĂŠ table. Elbows on the surface, the neckline of the sundress falling open just enough, your eyes on his face while you close your mouth around the fork.
His eyes trail across your face, down your neck before focusing on the temporarily exposed view of your breasts. It only lasts for a moment before he shifts back to your face, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, amusement flickering behind his content expression. He hums in thought.Â
You sit back. Smile at him.
"Mm." He glances at your neckline once more, unhurried. "Bold of you." His voice is mild. Conversational. As though commenting on the weather.
You only giggle in response.Â
You finish your dessert feeling very pleased with yourself. However, as you are scraping the last of it off your plate, you notice the cafĂŠ has gotten noticeably colder, properly cold now. You look across the table. Zayne is finishing his last bite, a small, content expression on his face. Satisfied, almost. You donât need to glance down to know you're at full attention now.
"It's gotten quite cold in here," you remark.
"It feels temperate to me," he drawls, a ghost of a smirk painting his face. A tiny scowl forms on your lips as you see through his innocent act.Â
Well, if that's how heâs going to play.
"Zayne, you're wearing a full suit. All I have on is this sundress." You lean slightly on the word all, letting the suggestion behind it hang in the air.
His eyes widen a fraction as he looks over you. Something flickers in his eyes. "Hm.. That is all?"
Under the table, you slip your foot from your sandal and press it lightly against his knee.
He catches your ankle. One hand, unhurried, wrapping around it beneath the tablecloth. His thumb presses a slow circle against the bone there.
"Want to find out?" you challenge.
He considers you for a moment, thorough and unhurried before giving you a knowing smile as he reaches for the bill.
The gala is exactly what galas always are, expensive flowers, expensive people, conversations that sound important and aren't. You've attended enough with Sylus by now to know how little entertainment they hold, so you decided to create a bit of your own.
Entertainment via the beautiful dress Sylus recently bought you.
A fine satin that flowed over your body like water, hugging you everywhere desirable and a back that does nothing at all, because there isn't one. Just an open expanse of bare skin from your shoulders to the base of your spine, held together by your confidence and decorated by a thin chain trails down your back.
You knew Sylus didnât buy it for this type of event. However, when he saw you, he said nothing. His eyes said he knew you were being mischievous and his satisfied smile told you he was on board to play your games, but he said nothing out loud. Which, you're now reconsidering as a warning.
You'd been separated almost immediately on arrival, him stepping away for a private conversation. Par for the course. You decide to wander the room, silently listening to conversations as various people pull you into small talk. You could feel lingering gazes on you, yet people quickly shifted their eyes away as you scanned the room.Â
You spot Sylus exiting a private room, still mid conversation with a few men, looking incredibly disinterested. You decide it would be fun to make him find you and begin slithering deeper into the crowd.Â
Looking over your shoulder to confirm his location, his eyes are locked onto you. He found you immediately, like he'd known exactly where to look from the start. And unlike every other person in this room who'd looked at you tonight and had the decency to be subtle about it, Sylus just looks. Openly taking his time. His gaze thoroughly rakes down your body, making the back of your neck warm. When he is done, he raises his glass and takes a sip before nodding for you to come over.Â
You make your way over, taking your time about it. When you arrive at his side he draws you in without breaking his conversation, hand finding your back. Just bare skin from his palm to the heel of his hand, all the way down.
He doesn't miss a word of the conversation. But his hand spreads wide, deliberate, fingers tracing a single slow line down your spine.Â
You shiver at the sensation but keep your expression pleasant.
"You look incredible," the man across from you says, and you can hear a mixture of sincerity and glazing.
"I have good taste," Sylus responds, glancing at you sideways, "This dress is something else." His thumb pauses at the base of your spine and presses. Slow. You feel it everywhere.
The man laughs, a little too eager. "It really is."
"Hm." Sylus agrees but looks back at the man with a clear warning to drop this conversation. They quickly return to whatever they'd been discussing, his hand still moving in that patient, unhurried way against your bare back that he's making absolutely no effort to conceal. Gliding up your back before you feel him slide off to the side. His fingertips dip beneath the fabric of your dress, lightly stroking the side of your bare breast inside your dress.
You lean up toward his ear. "Behave," you murmur.
"I am," he says, without lowering his voice particularly.
The conversation shifts, the group thins, and you find yourself briefly at his side without an audience. He turns to look at you fully, gaze dropping down the front of the dress and back up with a frankness that makes your stomach tighten.
"You,â his hand skims down your side, âdid this," he strokes the soft satin covering your hip, âon purpose.â
"You wore this dress." His hand slides to the small of your back, fingers sprawling across your exposed skin once again, pulling you closer to him. "There's the difference," he whispers in your ear.Â
"And if I did it on purpose?" you ask.
He pulls back a bit, his eyes dropping, unhurried, shameless, as he takes a long look over you. His hands both gently exploring the expanses of your back.Â
"Then it worked," he whispers with a playful smile.Â
He flags down a passing waiter, placing your empty glass on the tray, and turns back with two new drinks like nothing had just happened. His hand finds your back again immediately, palm flat against your bare skin, and you feel his thumb trace a slow circle at the base of your spine. He begins to guide you towards another private room.
"Sylus," you say. âWhere are we going?â
âI have one more meeting, and youâre going to keep me entertained through it.â
"You're shameless," you tell him.
"I know," he agrees, and takes a sip of his drink.
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I hope you enjoy! I seldomly do a thorough proofread, so apologies for any errors.
