Scarred both physically and emotionally after a motorcycle accident, twenty-five year old ex fashion model and porn star Oliver Brown is about to be stripped bare by flamboyant twink Leslie Scott—and they’ll rebuild love from the bottom up.
BARING THE BEAST
Twenty-five year old Oliver Brown is addicted. Two years ago, he was at the height of his career as “Nicky Star,” fashion model, porn actor, partier without peer. Then came the accident. Hiding his scars, both emotional and physical, he’s gone into hiding. But fine clothing is some solace. A new suit by Debussy? Better even than a ride on his motorcycle Hulk or all the things he used to give and take on camera.
Enter Leslie Scott, the flamboyant, dark-haired, heel-and-tiny-short-wearing twink sent to deliver Oliver’s newest fix. A firecracker, Leslie is dapper, generous, in touch with his feminine side but all man, and as gorgeous as any garment ever made. He makes Oliver dream of ending his reclusion, of recapturing a future forever denied him. But for that to happen, Leslie would have to strip him to the bone. Only then will they rebuild life from the bottom up.
“Hello? Mr. Brown, are you home? My name is Leslie Scott and I’m here with your new suit,” he announced grandly.
He wriggled his backside uncomfortably—that damn thong, what the hell was wrong with it—and scowled as he raised a hand to knock again. As he did so, the door opened. A man’s face peered out of him, half hidden. It was dark inside but what Leslie could see of the face looked rather tasty. That was the first surprise of this visit.
A shock of shaggy, honey-blond hair hung over Mr. Brown’s forehead, and his tanned skin, neat beard and stubble and one wide amber eye all mingled together to make Leslie feel much better about his customer delivery. Mr. Brown also looked a little familiar.
Leslie gave the man what he knew was a dazzling smile, as he’d been praised for it more than once, and indicated the suit hanging across his right arm.
“Mr. Brown? I’m from Debussy Fashion. I’m here to deliver the suit you ordered.”
The man looked a little taken aback, but the door didn’t open any wider. “Oh, I see.” His well-modulated voice sounded a little strained. “Ermm, perhaps you could hand it over to me?” An arm covered in the faintest blond hair and ending in long, slender fingers with well-kept nails reached out of the door, clearly intent on Leslie pressing the suit into his hand.
The whole thing reminded Leslie of YouTube videos of Salad Fingers, something he was addicted to. He shook his head vehemently. “I really need to come in and get the delivery receipt signed, plus you might like to try it on before I leave, make sure it fits?”
The door wobbled to and fro as Mr. Brown indicated his refusal of such a kind offer. “Oh no, I won’t be trying it on. There’s really no need for that. Do you really need to come in?” His voice seemed hopeful that the answer would be no.
Leslie sighed. He was starting to think he didn’t really want to go in there with a man who seemed a little, well, strange, but he knew Laverne would have a hissy fit if he didn’t. “I’m afraid I do need the paperwork signed, yes. I won’t take up much of your time, I promise.”
There was silence and Leslie shuffled from one designer-clad foot to the other in impatience. It was rather chilly outside and his steadily rising nipples chafed underneath his snugly tailored shirt. Finally, Mr. Brown conceded defeat as the door opened wider and a hand swung behind him, bidding Leslie to enter.