The Love Model Sessions

On one hand Carrie daring them had snapped them out of the moment. The imaginary scene cut. But the reality was not the same one as when they had first arrived that morning. It was not even the same as the moments before Jean-Luc's job had been to sit in Arthur's lap to simulate a lover's embrace. Lines had been crossed and not just for the one supposedly straight man in the room.

So on the other hand, really all she was doing was giving them the go ahead, that one final push, to explore something racy and emotional in the name of art. And really it was all they needed to hear.

Arthur's heart was still no less in a fit state to explode, which was the only thing holding him back other than the one last thread of professionalism that he now dangled by. Jean-Luc was right there with him, otherwise very certain in their shared "deer in the headlights" moment that, yes, they both would really like to.

Jean-Luc searched Arthur's eyes then in a palpably tender moment. In his lap he was now the taller of the two. He could lean into Arthur and look down into his eyes from above. As he did, Arthur's hands continued to explore and caress and stroke his body, his naked thighs, hips, his arms, his face.

And as Arthur did, Jean-Luc's hands pawed playfully at his shoulders, caressed his neck, his throat, and he ran his fingers through his hair as Carrie frantically began to snap away once again.

Such adoration conveyed lovingly, hands touching faces, fingers touching lips, lips nuzzling eyes, ears, noses...

"Do it!" Carrie cried internally. "Do it!"

Arthur licked his lips. No idea when or how, his mouth had run so bone dry, within the space of ten or twenty rapid pounding heartbeats. Jean-Luc inhaled the scent of his skin up close and personal now, daring their newfound magnetism to cross that last line, to shuck off the invisible shackles. But self-control was more important than ever now, because no matter what they were about to do...

Professionalism...

Yeah whatever...

Arthur's lips looked dry, his mouth parted, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and yet no less piercing. So he drew close, so temptingly close, as the both of them held each other by their faces and instinctually gravitated.

Lips wetted, Jean-Luc made the first move, brushing his full pink lips against Arthur's. He thought the sensation would be rough; not like sandpaper, not like stubble, but prickly rough; like tufts of wire wool and iron filings, so thick and coarse appeared his facial hair.

He couldn't have been more wrong but he couldn't place it. He returned to brush his lips against Arthur's once more, chuckling dryly as Arthur's lips responded this time. Was his beard like cotton wool?

No, too soft... but his lips were...

Jean-Luc gasped and went back for more, just a little taste, and licked his lips again. And this time Arthur pulled him in for another kiss. Was it like paint-brush sable?

No, again not coarse enough... but again his lips were so lovely and full, and sticky-dry...

Sheep's wool? Maybe that was it. He went back for more just to be sure, kissing and nuzzling this beautifully gruff man while straddled in his lap and thinking that he'd like to have sex with him, if Arthur would ever like for things to go so far in the not so distant future.

Before long, other than for the sounds of Carrie's Nikon clicking away, all else that filled the silence were the sounds of lips smacking and slurping, and two hot young males panting and sighing, virtually making love to each other before the bewildered eyes of Carrie Sledge, as the clock seemed broken and the session failed to reach an end.

Again, Jean-Luc's hips began to gyrate and as they kissed he danced playfully in his partner's lap, very blatantly simulating raw passionate sex before Carrie Sledge's bulging eyes.

Somehow she did it. Neither man knew, but as she stood watching, no longer taking photos, she climaxed hard and didn't betray the fact in the slightest.

She came almost telepathically, in her own mind at least. Technically failing to prevent an orgasm doesn't count as psychically willing one to happen.

14.

Again her head was buried in her hands. She was practically sobbing by this point, her shoulders shaking. Arthur and Jean-Luc were stood in their robes once more, for the last time that day. Nothing was said for some long moments, though it became apparent that she wasn't crying at all, but silently shrieking with laughter. Gone mad.

"It was not my intention to shoot a gay porno," she finally said, before giving in to another fit of silent cackling.

"You're the director," said Arthur, who was more concerned now with the painful blueness of his balls.

"Yes!" Carrie snapped, covering her eyes again, because she could not think straight while looking at the previously very enamoured men now stood before her in matching bathrobes. "Erm... I'm going to have to review the material so far and think about how to proceed with this?"

"I'm free next Tuesday all day," offered Jean-Luc too innocently for his own good, and for anybody else's.

"Tuesday evening and Thursday morning," Arthur said, then stopped to think. "Oh and Sunday if you do Sundays?"

"Sunday is good with me, eh?!" said the French-Canadian. "Oh and let me get your number so you can message me that thing."

Hearing that, Carrie just wanted to implode. So she paid them both, very handsomely, with interest, and counted the minutes until she was free to "excuse" herself. She had a class to run in half an hour and her knickers were by now virtually glued to her intimate parts.

15.

Arthur was first out through the door after getting dressed. The rain fell, the day seemed as gloomy as it was ever going to be for as long as Storm Cherie continued to lament her own existence. And yet the day seemed brighter, despire his bruised balls and the sleepy feeling that came after a lengthy spit-swapping session. The terrible things a man had to do for money!

"See you next week, my friend," sang an amused voice. Arthur turned on his heels, laughing to himself. Some art students were now walking up the driveway, he didn't want to draw too much attention.

"Well that was..."

Arthur was still lost for words. "Hey, can I give you a lift somewhere?"

"So long as you're going my way," Jean-Luc beamed, his ocean-blue eyes darkening and yet sparkling.

"Which way would that be?" asked Arthur, opening the front passenger door of his C4 for Jean-Luc. He climbed in, simultaneously nibbled at the cork coloured filter of a cigarette and effortlessly fished it out of the carton. Smiling knowingly.

"How about a coffee at that place we were at the other night before work?"

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, closing the door and strutting around to the driver's side, chuckling to himself. "I could wet my lips..."

TBC.

Afterword:

This is one of those instances where I had a fermented and distilled product in mind, and as soon as I'd gotten past the recipe part of the play it took on a more unique flavour than expected. Originally I'd planned for it to be a lot more graphic and brief, and non-chronological.

As is often the case when I get into that trance-like writing state of mind, that can't happen if it doesn't feel natural. Best laid plans are so often best laid to one side.

Along the way I decided to go for an escalation of the homoerotic rather than to specifically write either a direct sex story or a deliberately non-erotic gay story, and I really enjoyed planning out my own individual path with this one once I could rationalise my change of heart and find a way to be more creative with it.

Again, I am aware of some weaknesses here and there that I just didn't give myself more time to work on. But I am also positively surprised with myself for being able to do this within the space of a day. I got some great vivid mental imagery out of writing it, which I was careful to weave back into it at every opportunity as I sailed along.

I really hope you did enjoy it as I'm looking forward to ramping up the chemistry between Arthur and Jean-Luc as soon as I can get more time to myself. Thank you so much yet again, dear readers.