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"There's a message. It's meaningful. It's about, like, beauty and gender roles and the sexualization of young people by the music industry and commodification of art and the demasculinization of male pop performers in the public mind, and it'll be really artistic and deep, man."
Orlando says this earnestly, but Ian knows they aren't his words, particularly with EJ nodding along, impressed the way a too-cool kid only is in the presence of a master.
At least Dominic is just interested in getting into Viggo's painfully artistic pants.
"Absolutely not," Ian says.
He doesn't know why he pretends they'll listen.
•
EJ sprawls across a bed heaped with deep blue satin, tracing fingers over his own pliant flesh, down the softness of his slim belly toward the lace-edged panties that skim the hollows of his hips, black silk dark against pale skin. His body is luminous against the cobalt sheets, and his eyes are direct, knowing, predatory. There's suggestion in every line and curve of his lithe young body, fervid invitation in the swollen, wet, cupid's-bow mouth.
Someone, somewhere, has debauched the pretty boy looking out of the photo. Now, he wants you to do it to him all over again.
•
Billy lies on his stomach, feet kicked up and ankles crossed behind him. He's propped on one elbow, contemplative, chin resting in his palm; with his free hand, he dangles a high-heeled pump from one finger over the edge of the bed. A faint smile touches his lips, and one brow's half-raised as he stares out of the photo.
He'd look quite rakish if not for the filmy green negligee rucked up around his slender hips in a sea-foam swirl of sheer fabric, revealing the curve of his bare ass, a smooth creamy slope against the emerald sheets around him.
•
Dom lounges into the claret velvet of the couch, arms stretched loosely above his head, wrists pressed together in unconscious echo of the bonds that wrap his frame, laces pulling the black corset tight, molding it to the curve of waist and hip. He gazes out of the photo with heavy, languid eyes, head thrown back to offer the arch of his throat, a strong curve repeated in the sinuous arcs of his body, the twist of his hips, the line of one lean thigh bisected by black elastic stretching down to sheer stockings as he raises a demure knee.
•
Orlando looks out of the photo with wide dark eyes, silky white slip brilliant against the rich black sheets that are lapped around him. They're slightly rumpled at his sides where he's fisted them. His lips are an unexpected rosy smear of color slicked by a hesitant tongue.
He's coltish and a little clumsy, sitting perched at the edge of the bed, feet drawn up, like an icon of besmirched innocence. The slip falls softly over his lean frame, pushed up to bare one long thigh as if someone has had their hand under the hem of the slippery material.
•
Sean is caught in the act of straightening a stocking, black gossamer hose and a firm thigh exposed as the heavy damask of his robe falls away at the waist to trail behind him as he sits on the bed. He looks up out of the photo, lips parted, framed by snow-white sheets and the blood-red wrap. Silk slides halfway off one shoulder, and the play of light over the sumptuous material is echoed in the plush satin of revealed skin. Vivid color is reflected in the tint that brushes his cheeks like the blush on a golden, sun-warmed peach.
•
Viggo smoothes black lace over the warm curve of EJ's hip and hikes up filmy fabric around Billy's waist. He laces Dom into the corset, feeling the breaths under his touch get shorter and shallower as laces bind tighter, palms the swell of hips and measures the span of cinched waist with his hands. He pushes up Orlando's slip, fingers skimming across the warm skin of inner thigh, and pulls shimmering fabric off of Sean's shoulder. Satins and silks slide against his fingertips like wet paper in chemical baths where he traces slippery thighs and slick bellies as images form.