The following story is pure fiction, not meant to imply anything about the people portrayed herein. Do NOT read if you are under 18. Feedback welcome.
Tom Ford isn't interested in the boy with the brothers on the teen heartthrob magazines. Three years the kid's fresh little face is everywhere, smiling out from Manhattan newsstands with wholesome, pop star boyishness. One night Tom gets back in the hotel room before the early morning turns the sky that ugly, flint grey and he pulls off his tie and hangs it up, undoes his belt and turns on the tv.
There's the boy. He's quiet and reflective. Beautiful, on that very fine, very thin, razor edge before toppling into manhood. Tom pauses and looks at him sharply, takes in the boy's lush little mouth, the flash of crooked, interesting teeth. Those long lashes that always look finer on a man than a woman, even better on a boy. It's a diabetes commercial of some kind. Tom slithers the belt out of the loops and sets it down on the bed, watching raptly.
When the commercial is over, he sits on the edge of his bed, thumbs at his mouth.
And then he grabs his glasses, peels his slacks off and climbs into bed with his macbook.
He spends an hour googling, finding the boy. Nick Jonas. Nicholas. Beautiful, sexy kid. All unblemished, baby-smooth skin. Tom puts his hand low on his abs, looking. The boy is supposed to be chaste, a little virgin-teen with a purity ring. But Tom wouldn't need a purity ring to tell. He can see it in the tense set of the boy's shoulders, his buttoned-up collar, the seriousness. The boy has never wet his little cock.
Tom wants him, undeniably. And when Tom wants something, he does everything in his power to get it.
He calls his man in LA. He wants this kid's face on his next promotion.
Costa, his creative director, looks at him for a moment and then says "But...Tom," in that voice that is half-pleading . "The boy is over-exposed."
Tom frowns and leans back in his chair, eyebrows together. He plucks at his tie and then says "I don't want to photograph the boy. I want to photograph the man."
Costa looks confused, starts shuffling through the photos Tom sent over that morning. "Do...do you mean this boy's older brother? The...the hairier one?"
Tom rolls his eyes and then chuckles humorlessly. "You can't see it? This boy how...ripe he is? How he's near to bursting with that hard flush of hormones. Look at him! He's practically growing before our eyes. I want him! I want him for the next collection. The world has seen this boy. I can make a man out of him. It will be electric, undeniable."
Costa blinks a few times and then looks back at the photos. He stares at one, the one of Nick taken in the UK, with his dark eyes all unknowingly sultry, caught off-guard by the papparrazi with his mouth set in that small, cocky boy smirk. Tom loves him like that, a boy too naive to know how absurd his cockiness is. How sexy. Tom bites his lip, smiling.
Costa sighs and says "Ok, we'll start making some overtures to his family, Disney. Don't be surprised if this doesn't go your way. Your last campaign was...a bit provocative."
Tom smirks and stands up, buttons his jacket. "Thank you, Costa. Call me in Paris when you hear."
The boy wants to meet him first. Tom spends three hours dressing. First he takes a long, loose-limbed bath. Then he stands naked in front of his bathroom mirror and shaves. He puts his own blend of musk on, at his wrists, low on his stomach, a line up his chest. After, he dresses carefully. Clean white shirt, dark grey suit. His watch. No tie. He smooths his hand over his dick, looking at the effect. Lean-cut, slim- fitted trouser. Soft, unmistakable bulge. Not outrageous, just the clear sign of his masculinity. He keeps the very top button of his shirt undone. He checks his watch and walks out to the car.
The boy is dressed well for a boy, light-tan sweater that is gorgeous with his skin, black slacks. Tom sees the constellation of moles on the boys face right away, lovely little imperfections on a perfect canvas. The boy has ringlet curls, down on his chin that will someday thicken, darken into a beard. And he has thick little fingers, nails bitten to the quick. When Tom shakes his hand, the boy is trembling a little. Tom realizes then that the boy is wearing his shoes. He smiles sharply, pleased.
They sit together. The boy's mannerisms are self-assured, thoughtful. He ducks his head and smiles when Tom congratulates him on his new album. His eyes cut up though, taking Tom in smartly. The shyness isn't fake, but the boy is curious. He wants to look at Tom.
Tom wants to be looked at.
He leans back in his seat and steeples his fingers together for a breathless second, anticipation making the air all close. The boy licks his lip swiftly.
"I can see you're well aware of my brand. I'd like you to model for my next promotion. You're what I want. Exactly what I want."
The boy looks like he's scrambled for a second, eyes darting away, face in that pause before a wild expression. But then the boy schools himself, clear his throat. "I'm really...really honored, Mr. Ford-"
"-Tom," Tom says gently. Nick smiles like it's been tickled out of him, and then he clears his throat again.
"I want to do this, but my family...my people aren't sure if...if I should."
Tom nods, face grave like he's listening intently instead of planning exactly how he's going to get this boy to be his.
"First, I usually don't do anything without my brothers. We try to keep it focused on the band, not just me-"
Tom frowns and lifts his hand like he's knocking those problems aside. "The reason I want you is because I saw your commercial. You did that alone. You just have this quiet presence, Nicholas. You're the one. You're what I want. Nothing else will do."
The boy is speechless. When he grins, it's because he can't think of anything to say, he's so embarrassed he's vulnerable. Beautiful. He looks down and his curls slide a little like they'd fall over his eye if Tom tousled them. Tom wants to tousle them. He wants to see them heavy with the boy's young sweat. He wants to see them bounce, tremble. It comes to him in a flash, how he will photograph this sweet little man.
Nicholas nods, face flush with soft rosiness. A mottle of blush. Tom thinks about this heat of embarrassment, how it's probably hot under the boy's sweater, stifling. Gorgeous.
"When will you need me?"
Tom rubs his mouth, overcome. He rarely feels this way about anything, so he takes a few heartbeats to marvel at the feeling, savor it. And then he sits back, relaxes. "I need you as soon as I can get you."
He doesn't let the idea settle, form fully. It's a nebulous thing, fleeting, unexamined. He's afraid if he thinks about it, he'll spend it all too quickly. He needs to hold onto it, let it flow when he's in the studio.
He wakes up with it like a taste in his mouth though, finds himself fisting-off once a day. Just at the sense memory of these dreams he's having.
He bites his lip when his abs cramp up with the spurt, just so he doesn't breathe the boy's name out loud.
He has silly moments where he finds himself sketching aimlessly on his portfolio, slim, petite-cut slacks for the boy.
The day comes and he feels like he's rushing with this energy, all pent up under his skin. He beats off in the shower and then ruins his dressing ritual by having to shove his slacks down and beat off again, and it leaves him with a sheen of sweat on his face and a handful of spunk. He thinks about showering again, but there's something delicious, wicked about going to this boy's shoot with the smell of his own manhood on his palm.
He meets Hadrien, the photographer in the lobby. They've chosen a small ballroom at the Regeant, with the wide, west-facing balcony. Hadrien brought his assistant Angela. Tom doesn't care for her, so he ignores her presence, tries to center himself. They set up lights in the room while Tom explains that he wants a closed shoot. No one wandering in or out. No parents. Just the boy, Hadrien and him. He looks sternly towards Angela, but she's busy with the light set up, with lying down the cloth.
The boy comes early with a little muscle to help him to and from the car. The guy and Nicholas bump fists before he goes to wait in the lobby. Nick smiles and offers his hand to Hadrien, introducing himself like a man. Tom grins at the young, quiet bravado. Takes the boy's hand in his own and it's warm and thick, soft-knuckled. It's all too brief, and then the boy is letting go.
"What should I-" Nick starts to ask and Tom claps his hand down on the table and points at the clothes he's chosen. He put in the final stitches on the slacks, flickered at the silver zipper afterwards, testing how smooth it would go down. He knows they'll fit like a glove. The boy picks up the suit and looks around, brows together. "Where should I?"
"Just change to the side. That's what the models do," Tom says. And then he snaps "Angela, out!" and she drops what she's doing and scurries off.
Nicholas looks uncertain, tense. Tom smiles broadly and says "There's only me and Hadrien now. This is a closed shoot, so no one will walk in on us. We're all alone. You can change to the side, it will be fine."
The boy still doesn't look like he's convinced, his eyes searching around for privacy. There's nothing in the room but their set up, the bright lights, Tom's chair. The boy steps to the side, away from them, back to them. Hadrien doesn't watch, busies himself with his camera. Tom watches intently, stroking his chin. The boy strips off his jacket and scarf. His shoulders are lithe and square underneath, muscle stretching his teeshirt.
"Gorgeous," Tom says, "Perfect. Just perfect."
Nick looks back over his shoulder, eyes all guileless for a second before he looks stricken, shocked. He hugs at himself instinctively, like he needs to hide. Tom grins, wets his lip and says "It's fine. You're going to be so perfect, little man."
Nick turns away and Tom can see the tremble in the boys back, muscles jumping a little, as he undresses. The boy strips off his teeshirt and quickly fights on the shirt Tom gave him. There's a flush of red down his chest when he turns to snatch up the jacket. The boys chest is hairless. His nipples are pink, a little puffy and soft-looking. He throws the jacket on and then starts fumbling his shirt buttons closed. Modesty is making a mess of the whole thing. He's going to wrinkle it all to hell.
His fingers are shaking when Tom takes them into his own hands. Nicholas looks up, eyes wide, mouth quirked like he's in pain from the confusion and Tom's face is set stern as he moves the boy's hands away and finishes buttoning the collar, smoothing it. "That's how a child handles beautiful things, with fumbling, sweaty paws." Tom smiles then, affectionately. "This is how a man handles beautiful things," he says richly, cuffing his palms at the boy's cheeks for a moment before he reaches for the tie, flips the boy's collar up. Nick swallows and says "I can do that," with a clear, adament voice. Like he has something to prove. Like he's almost annoyed. Tom relishes the slick pull of the tie through the collar, watches the boy's eyes dart, following the movement of Tom's hands.
"Shh," Tom says, and then he finishes the tie and thumbs at the beauty mark on the boy's cheek. "I bet they airbrush these right off you, don't they?"
Nicholas looks like he can't navigate through this. At the feeling of Tom's warm thumb rubbing, his eyebrows flash up, high, caught off guard.
Tom steps back and says "I can handle your makeup. You're just going to need a little powder. Just perfect as you are."
Hadrien is waiting for them, camera in hand. Nick's collected himself the best of his ability. He's standing frozen, half-dressed in Tom's clothes, mouth set.
"Get the slacks on," Tom commands. Nick takes the pants in his hands and waits, blushing, until Tom walks away.
Tom looks back just in time to catch a flash of white. The boy wears tighty-whiteys. Tom thinks about the elastic banded waist, how lovely it will feel, stretching.
They get the boy sprawled out on Hadrien's set up. The lights turn his skin all soft and fine. His eyes shine. The suit is cut for him, rises to show just the sharp jut of his bare ankle. His little face is pretty with pink flush from his earlier embarrassment. Tom stands over the whole thing imperiously, rubbing his jaw. He waves impatiently at Hadrien to step aside and then he moves close, tousles Nick's curls a little. Licks his thumb and draws it over the boy's fine brow, straightening it. Nick's eyes twitch closed, a little frown-line appearing.
"Relax, your shoulders are all tense," Tom says low, stern. Nick is sprawled but stiff. "Relax. Relax!" Tom calls, his voice echoing a little in the room. He's been so quiet, it seems to hit the boy hard. Nick jumps and then looks down at the floor hard. His mouth goes all set and stubborn, and he makes his body relax, shoulders dropping.
Tom crouches down as Hadrien starts working, snapping, camera flashing. "Good, gorgeous. God, just fucking perfect," Tom swears under his breath and Nick makes eye contact with him, catching his approval and squirrelling it away in himself with a small, pleased smile.
"Yes. Loosen your tie, son," Tom says and Nick's hands move confusedly, touch the tie at the bottom and then touch at the knot and Tom snorts and says "Yes, there. Loosen it up."
Nick's face is brittle with awkwardness, but he still fumbles the tie open. Tom stares at his bitten finger nails, those thick, stubby fingers. He bites his own finger and then says "And undo the shirt a little. Just a little."
Nick's fingers shake as he undoes the top buttons. Hadrien's camera flashes, capturing the moment and Nick looks away from Tom for a second, startled, alarmed. He's being photographed, undoing his tie.
"Shhh, don't look at him. He's not here. Just you are here, and you look beautiful. And I'm here, and I appreciate your beauty. You're not a boy, Nicholas. You're a young man."
He says it with all the confidence he feels, so Nick responds the way he wants. His eyes go serious and he nods, like he agrees, wholeheartedly. He can see it, how the boy is aching inside to grow, to move past this Peter Pan stage into full-manhood, when people will take him seriously, when he'll have women to handle, full-bodied, not these shaky little teenage girls who cream for him now.
Tom's mouth goes dry and he stands up walks forward, hovers over the boy.
"Take the jacket off," Tom says, and Nick does, even though he can't look back up after, embarrassment palpable.
"Beautiful. But so modest. Just...undo the shirt. I want it spread. I want to see skin."
The camera keeps flashing and Nicholas says "No, I s-shouldn't. They won't want t-that," and Tom rubs his hands together, warming them.
"Nicholas, I want to see you. This modesty doesn't become you. You're a man, self-assured. Sexy. Dominating. I want to see that. Take the shirt off."
Nick starts to disagree, shaking his head, trembling hands going to rebutton the collar up and Tom gets down on his knee before him and feels his own hands shaking.
"I want to see you," he growls and feels it all flood in, what he's been holding back, drum-tight, inside him. He shoots a glare at Hadrien to keep working and then turns to the boy. His hands are sure as he takes the boy's hip in hand and then the boy's fly and rips it. He made them, so they part easily as he breaks the fly, spreads it. The boy's hips twitch, and Tom hears one sharp, sudden inhale of breath.
"Just shut the fuck up and be beautiful for me," Tom says darkly and feels at the hot meat of the boy's cock trapped under his kid underwear. He rubs at it with his fingertips and gets a clawed hand to his shoulder. Nick's eyes are wide, mouth fallen open for a stupid second before he's whispering "No no. No! I want you to stop," voice strengthening, cracking. Tom fists up the boy's small, soft dick in his underwear and says smooth and low, all velvet confidence "Just sit back, let it come to you. Let your body burst. I want to see the strain right before. Overripe. I want to see your little cock purple. I want to see your face when the pleasure is agonizing."
The boy has begun to stiffen in his hand. Tom feels this body-flush of tenderness and he groans low. "Yes, man-up, kiddo. Let me feel you."
Nick drops his head back, throat arched, adam's apple prominent and beautifully young in his thick throat. Almost a man, but then these little baby-boy parts. The adam's apple. The thick fingers. The white underwear that's sticky when Tom coos and peels it open.
He bites his lip and holds the boy's cock with his warm hand. The boy looks up at him then and his face is all deeply erotic, washed with heat, almost wanton. Goddamn little lolita of a boy, with the soft curls like a baby, the fat, hot mouth like a slut. The narrowed, aroused eyes like a man struggling to take control. Tom feels that the boy's cock is uncut, and he feels his own dick tent his slacks at the feeling of the boy's cockhead ripening out of his foreskin.
"Lets see what you look like," Tom whispers thickly and begins.
He beats the boy off quickly, watches the boys whole body jerk at the feeling, like Tom is lifting him with each pump of his fist. Tom's bicep aches with the work, but he knows he's gotta get the boy there and off if he's going to get any other photos today. As the boy starts to fall apart, hips jumping, hard, deep little grunts jolted out of him, Tom realizes what he wants. He wants a whole series of this.
"Get him when he's on that cusp," Tom says to Hadrien and screws his hand up all tight, reaches with his other hand to feel for the boy's ripe little balls trapped in his underwear. They're fat with come, all tight and tense. He's close. Tom smiles at the boy's sex-drunk face and says "If I didn't have to see the look on your face, I'd get my mouth over those hard little nuts of yours-"
And like that, the boy's face goes into this exquisite agony and he's spraying Tom's arm with his warm spunk.
It's all ropey on Tom's bare arm, where he rolled his shirt sleeves hours ago. Stuck in the hair there. Tom gives it a seconds thought and then he licks it up sleekly and gets down beside the boy. Nick is trying to get his pants buttoned up again, but his hands are shaking hard, moving too-quick. It's easy for Tom. He laughs and takes the boy's hands in his, pulls him.
Nick's eyes are still blown from coming, his face bright pink. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he pants and Tom grins and begins unbuttoning his own shirt with one hand, his other holding the boy still, hand to his elbow.
Nick's mouth falls open as he watches Tom's fingers. Tom strips off the shirt and then shoves at the boy playfully. Pretends to wrestle him, though Nick goes slack. Lets Tom puppet him, lost.
Tom tugs the boy's pants down to his knees and then guides him, bends him at the waist, feels the boys heart beating like a scared little animal's, his hand pressed to the boy's hot, thin chest.
He plucks at one of those puffy nipples, hears the boy's high gasp, and then he puts the boy on his hands and knees.
"One of this," Tom says to Hadrien, though he doesn't think he'll use it professionally. He wants a photo of this. For himself. Hadrien snaps it and Nick flinches at the flash.
Tom pries the boy's underwear off his fat, apple of an ass and the boy begins to sputter.
"Shhh. You're going to go off so deep and hard, it'll hurt a little," Tom promises and spreads the boy's ass open.
The boy gasps and Tom sees his asshole wink, screwing up all tight, defensive. Tom spreads his ass more, wants to spank the boy. His own cock is a sore, hot mess in his slacks now as he has this image of him spanking the boy as he plucks his little cherry.
"You've got a baby of a kiss here, all pink," Tom muses, voice a little thick with arousal. He thumbs the pucker and it kisses him as it tenses up again. Tom touches his tongue to his upper lip, hungry. "God, it's all ready to be stolen, little man." Tom thumbs it a few more times, watches it pepper kisses back as Nick starts groaning low, begging. "Stop. Oh g-god. Please. Unnn, s-stop. This is bad...I-"
Tom sighs. The warmth gusts over the boy's ass and Nick's back arches, his head drops down between his arms. It looks like defeat.
Tom leans in and takes that little kiss, feels Nick jolt and cry out "Oh GOD."
The camera flashes.
Tom kisses deeper, and then touches his tongue to the boys hole. The hole goes sharp-tight. Tom tests it, pressing just the tip of his tongue in, getting the muscle spread. The boy's shaking like a colt.
Tom groans then and makes out with the boys ass, laving, opening him up, kissing him deeply where he's hot and untouched and young and boy-soft.
He's sweating like a fucking pig, hands shaking. He grasps the kid's lean hips and rips him back, closer. Tom's cock barely slips over the kid's ass and it's twitching, spurting precome on the smooth, fat flesh. Nick's face is buried in the pillows. When Tom begins to push his cock into the boy's wet, tongued-out little pucker, he grabs the boy's curls in a fist and pulls his face up.
The camera catches the boy's hurt, the fist in his hair. The look of shock as he gets his first, man's worth of thick cock inside his young ass.