Kinktober, Monster Edition (Oct 17-18) – MOTHMAN

The prompt for October 17-18 is MOTHMAN and I chose crossdressing and frottage as the kinks. (prompt credit: Tia Liet)

Mads and Helo take the subway across town to Mads’s studio space. The crowd of the train car forces them into the corner next to the doors, and Mads has to keep his posture awkward so he doesn’t crush the contents of his camera bag. Helo keeps rubbing against him, and Mads figures it’s the unsteady sway of the train mixed with Helo’s desire to remain untouched by strangers. But halfway through the ride, Mads realizes Helo’s “casual” brushes seem to always find his cock, a distant friction between their warm layers.

Before he can call it out, the train slows into a station. Mads’s fist clenches around the strap of his camera bag and they both suck in their breath as people maneuver off and on.

When the train jerks into motion, Helo grinds his ass against Mads’s crotch, discreet but deliberate.

“Quit that,” Mads hisses in Helo’s ear.

Helo’s eyes point toward an overhead advertisement for the city’s art museum. “Quit what?” he whispers back.

“You know what.”

Helo pouts, but he doesn’t do it again. Mads can guess why he’s acting this way—beneath Helo’s long coat and his loose clothes, he’s wearing a full lingerie set, something intricate and lacy and red that Mads had seen on a mannequin downtown.

A gallery had approached him to do a show. He’d agreed, but five months out he couldn’t decide on a concept or what the show would even feature. Then Helo had floated the idea to model for him. The suggestion struck Mads with untamed inspiration, and not just because he’d be taking artistic, partially-nude photographs of his moth fae husband.

They depart the train at the stop closest to the studio building. After swiping a keycard to get into the studio building, Mads stares at Helo’s ass for the entire three-story ascent as their footfalls bounce around the stairwell. He hasn’t seen Helo in the lingerie yet, so his imagination has been filling in the details. Helo had mentioned a passing interest in wearing lingerie a few times, but it’s never been something they’ve incorporated in the bedroom. Mads figures the distance will help him draw the line between business and pleasure—a line as delicate as the lace panties he pictures stretched across his husband’s hips.

His studio is small, half-boudoir, half-workspace. If Mads turns off the lights and draws the light-blocking curtains closed, it doubles as a darkroom. For most clients or models he goes digital, but this shoot he’s decided to take a hybrid approach. Developing his own shots is good stress relief, and he already assumes his shutter finger will be sore when this is over.

Helo’s face is suggestive when he turns to Mads; he knows he was being checked out when they climbed the stairs. “Where do you want me?”

“Over there,” Mads says, gesturing to a velveteen settee.


The corner of Mads’s mouth ticks up. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

His amusement disappears as soon as Helo removes his long coat, then the loose clothes underneath. His articles of clothing find a home in an empty rolling chair before Helo crosses the room to the settee.

The bralette hugs his flat, light green chest, and Mads is relieved that the back clears Helo’s wings, leaving them free and unhindered. Criss-crossed red straps connect bralette hem to vintage cut panties, cupping Helo’s hips and torso and elongating his legs.

After Mads gets over the sight of his husband wearing something breathlessly elegant, he turns to his bag and pulls out two cameras—digital and analog—then heavy lenses and other equipment, taking his time to choose the accessories he wants before he makes minute adjustments to the camera settings.

With two cameras assembled and powered on, Mads loses himself, shooting photo after photo. Usually he has to provide direction, tell the models exactly how he wants them to pose, but Helo’s a natural. He bends over, propping one knee on the settee, flexing his wings as he peers pensively into the distance; then seductively over his shoulder. He gives Mads plenty of time before he changes position; he braces both arms on the settee’s curved back as he leans forward, the lace stretching across his ass snug canvas across a frame.

Mads gives up trying to hide what this is doing to him and focuses on taking as many photos as he can. He always overshoots on the digital camera and sorts through them later, but something tells him he won’t be deleting any from this set.

For a moment, he wonders if he’ll be able to share any of these outside of his hard drive.

Helo settles his back against the settee’s one arm, his wings folded beneath him. Mads catches a twitch of discomfort on Helo’s face and notices his antennae are drooping; after years of marriage, it’s a sign he recognizes as weariness.

Mads lowers the camera. “We can take a break if you need it.”

Helo nods at him, crooks his finger.

Mads sets the camera down. “Break time it is.”

As he approaches, Helo’s legs split and bend, and Mads is certain his heart stumbles over the next few beats. Pressed against the red lace, cut by a dark stripe of wetness, is Helo’s cock.

Mads had maintained a strong will on the train due to a captive audience, but now? He tumbles into his husband’s big yellow eyes, fingers itching to trace the stripes of red between bralette and panties.

“Sweetness, you’re killing me.”

Helo licks his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re absolutely not,” Mads says, visually drinking in Helo’s body like a silky wine. “God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Helo lifts a leg and his bare foot reaches Mads mid-thigh, but slides up to his crotch. “Show me, then.”

Mads catches the foot, hand cupping Helo’s calf as he kneels on the side of the settee. “Turn over.”

Helo’s brows raise, but he complies with a rustle of polyester and wings.

Mads wants nothing more than to rip the red panties off and slip inside his husband, fuck him hard against the settee as punishment for being such a goddamn tease all day. But the lingerie set was as expensive as it was ornamental, like a delicate cake too pretty to eat.

Mads gets an idea. He unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. He places a guiding hand on Helo’s hips until both legs are pressed together, ass down where Mads can push his cock between thigh meat and lace.

“Fuck,” he mutters, giving a test thrust of his hips.

“Oh, I like that,” Helo says, smiling at Mads over his shoulder.


“It feels dirty,” Helo says, sliding back enough to enclose Mads’s cock between his thighs. “And sleazy. And really fucking hot.”

Mads grins in agreement. “Squeeze me tight, little moth.”

He takes Helo’s hips in hand, fucking between his legs as he holds them together. The slide of the silky fabric and the heat of Helo’s thighs makes Mads ravenous.

Helo’s wings twitch and flap as his chest lowers to the settee arm. “Fuck, that’s so good,” he murmurs. Mads imagines the panties rubbing against Helo’s cock, just enough friction to turn him feral with lust. He fucks harder, hands closing around Helo’s as he rides his peak.

Normally he’d come like this, but even in a sex haze he considers that Helo would be upset if his present was wrecked; that Mads probably couldn’t get a cum stain out of the settee without permanently tarnishing the fabric. He slows.

“Give me your mouth, sweetness.”

He pulls away before Helo whirls around, scooting closer on his hands and knees until his face is level with Mads’s cock. His back curves behind him, glistening wings curled inward against red fabric. From this angle, his ass looks perfect in a rouge, lacy embrace.

This won’t take long, Mads resigns.

Helo knows he’s close, too; he engulfs him, jerking what he can’t fit into his mouth with his hand. He balances on half-bent legs as he cups Mads’s sac.

Fuck,” Mads growls as he comes. His legs threaten to buckle as Helo sucks his cock clean. He finally stumbles when he pulls out, catching himself on the settee and letting himself fall gracefully. Helo darts out of the way, but as soon as Mads is settled, he curls up against him.

Once his brain clears, Mads says, “Maybe we should call it a day.” He presses a kiss between Helo’s antennae. “I know I’m biased, but that was one hell of a session.”

“I did good?” Helo asks, and the lift in his voice has Mads ready to tear up.

“Yes, little moth, you did.” Mads chuckles, reaching down to tuck himself back in. “Don’t think I’ll be able to edit these shots in one sitting. Guess I can suffer for my art.”

“On that note.” Helo’s eyes shine up at Mads, a slow grin parting his lips. “I think I have an idea for your show.”

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