wip wednesday—foot edition
@mmmytelephone brought to my attention that the people ( @coachspet ) are asking for it, so here’s an excerpt from my current wip, featuring cheesecake factory server trevor and foot fetish jamie. enjoy!
“Want me to wait?” Denver asks when they pull up in front of the red brick building. He doesn’t mean wait-wait while Trevor, like, hooks up—just until Trevor can confirm he’s getting what he’s expecting. It’s a sweet offer he makes every time he chauffeurs Trevor to a new Grindr meetup, and usually Trevor waves him off, but…
“Yeah, thanks, man,” Trevor says.
Denver tilts his head like a puppy, obviously confused about the change in script, but Trevor just bounds out the door and up the steps. Denver doesn’t need to know this particular meetup isn’t (necessarily??) a sex thing, and came from a website much seedier than tame old Grindr.
Trevor inhales a deep lungful of air, all sweet and floral from the lilac bushes lining the front of the building. He’s looking at the four doorbells, about to pull up his phone to check whether he has an apartment number, when the door opens.
There’s a guy around Trevor’s age on the other side—a shade shorter than Trevor, but built, t-shirt pulled tight over big pecs and strong shoulders, athletic shorts reaching to the middle of thick hairy thighs.
Trevor spends half a second thinking of everything he’d like to do to this guy, none of which involve feet, until his brain catches up and he realizes—duh. This isn’t the guy. He’s probably just on his way out. Trevor’s mystery foot perv isn’t going to look like a Sean Cody top out of Trevor’s wildest dreams.
“Hi,” the guy breathes. His voice is soft, skitters sparks down Trevor’s spine.
“Hey,” Trevor says, trying to look around him, but the guy is wide. His eyes are very blue beneath dark eyebrows, and there are freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks. “I’m looking for—”
Then Trevor watches blue blue eyes flick down to the ground and linger on his feet, watches a flush rise high on the guy’s sculpted cheekbones.
They both jump as a horn cuts the quiet evening.
“You good, Z?” Denver calls, leaning across the passenger seat so Trevor can just see his little face through the open window.
“Great!” Trevor calls back, not taking his eyes off the guy in front of him. He flashes the smile that always gets him at least 25%. “I’m great.”
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