#cerberux

John forgot what it was like to be in his twenties, to be so young and so careless. Or maybe, between his strict upbringing and the military, he never knew. That was how he’d ended up with the style he had; how he’d ended up underneath the makeup artist Yelena had recommended.

It all started because John needed help learning how to do the goth makeup. Or emo makeup. He didn’t know what he was going for, exactly. Just that he wanted to know how to do eyeliner and eyeshadow and nail polish and he didn’t know shit about it. Yelena recommended Bob, her best friend, as an expert on men’s makeup.

What she failed to note was that Bob was both extremely attractive and very open about his attraction to men. In Bob’s defense, he did start out professionally. But then he kept complimenting the structure of John’s face and touching his beard in a way he didn’t need to and then their eyes met and he didn’t even know which one of them had leaned in first.

He set his hands on Bob’s waist, fingers brushing against the thin fabric of his muscle tank. Outwardly, John had always judged those shirts. Inwardly, he knew the reason he hated them was because he found the men who wore them so damn attractive and he didn’t want to admit it.

“Stop thinking.” Bob kissed along the side of John’s face, leaving saliva across the skin he’d so dutifully cleansed. Not that it mattered. John had a feeling he wouldn’t leave with his makeup done anyway. Bob tugged lightly on John’s earlobe, tongue piercing tapping John’s earring. “You have any other piercings?”

“Not yet,” John breathed, fingers squeezing Bob’s waist tight. He was thin but he was built. If Bob told him to get a piercing, he probably would have pierced it himself right then and there. “Do you?”

Bob nodded and dropped his face to John’s neck, sucking hard enough to earn a moan as he set his hands on John’s. He dragged them upward until they were pressed flat against his chest and the small, warm barbells pierced through them.

His thumbs circled Bob’s areolas before he tickled the piercings, spurred on by the way Bob laughed into his neck. John lowered his hands to tug the fabric upward and Bob complied immediately, throwing his shirt on the floor and allowing John to see the shiny metal in his hard, pink buds.

“Fuck, Bob.” John leaned in and latched his mouth around Bob’s left nipple with no hesitation, the skull barbells too tantalizing to resist. He sucked lightly on the metal, tongue flicking at the bottom of the bar.

Bob’s hands moved to John’s hair, gripping it tight to hold him in place. He kept John where he was for a few seconds before tugging his head over to his opposite nipple. The tang of the metal was like nothing John had ever felt or tasted, like something he’d been missing his entire life.

“You messed up your makeup,” mumbled Bob when John lifted his head, thumb instinctively lifting to try and correct the saliva-damaged work.

“We should probably finish the session,” John added, leaning in to kiss Bob between words.

“Or I could show you my other piercing.” Another piercing? Where? “Do you know what a guiche piercing is?”