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Sapnap buys it at a thrift store.
Pleated, dark red, and when he tried it on in the fitting rooms that spark that settles in his chest doesn’t go away. He tugs at the hem, his sweatshirt spilling over the waistband. A corner of his mind whispers, you look silly, and he almost rips it off.
He stares at his thighs - marked up all to hell, covered in hickeys. Presses his thumb down on one of them, peeking out from underneath the skirt. It’s like a mantra in his mind: George loves me, he loves me, he loves my body. So, so, long. It’s taken him so long to get here, curled up crying after sex because he’s never felt like that before, George whispering praises into his thighs and stomach and neck, biting and kissing and licking. As if he deserved it.
He still doesn’t feel fully comfortable in here – in this body, the shell he must call home. But George tells him, over and over again, how he deserves to be loved, and he’s so beautiful, and gorgeous, and it feels like he means it. He teases Sapnap until he cries, begging for release, and oh. Now he’s hard in the thrift store changing room.
He thinks of everything that will make his boner go away, puts his pants back on, and buys the skirt.
It’s not as though he means to hide the skirt from George, but Sapnap is curled up watching Netflix on the couch when George comes home, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of his neck. “Darling,” George says, kissing him again. “Do anything fun today?”
Sapnap thinks about the red skirt, folded neatly and pressed into the back of a drawer upstairs. “Not really,” he says.
George’s teeth graze across his neck. “Want to?”
And yes, yes he does.
The night concludes with George pounding him into the mattress, Sapnap gasping and holding on for dear life, his fingers scrabbling at George’s back and arms. Filthy words spill into the air between them and Sapnap loses himself in them. He takes comfort in this, George’s hands all over him, his dick huge and full inside him, stretching him until he’s fit to burst.
“So fucking beautiful,” George is saying, his right hand holding Sapnap down, the other resting heavy on his neck. “So fucking gorgeous, Sapnap, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good for me, darling,” and Sapnap sobs, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth because he can barely swallow underneath George’s hand, and out of nowhere his mind imagines the skirt, fluttering over his thighs or hiked up around his chest, flapping with every thrust, and his throat makes a keening sound and he comes untouched, panting out groans and whines. George slows his thrusts, his hands relaxing, releasing their grip. Sapnap tries to move but the flat of George’s hand pushes him back down.
“Stay there, beautiful,” his honey-like voice murmurs as his dick slowly pushes in and out of Sapnap, dragging against his sensitive walls as he tries to catch his breath. “Don’t move.”
Sapnap stays still, overstimulated and pliant. He is sweaty, and sticky, and cannot stop thinking about the skirt, about getting cum all over it, the thought of George reprimanding him for soiling such a pretty thing, a finger under his chin. Lick it up.
Oh, god. The overstimulation, the sensitivity, the breadth of Sapnap’s imagination, and he can feel the heat pooling low in his stomach again, even as George comes inside him, and he’s barely present.
So that’s new.
He finds a little red-and-white striped crop top about two weeks later, trailing along the edge of the women’s section in a nice retail store, and has to step away to consider it, the fleeting thought of George fucking him in a cute skirt and crop top almost too much to handle.
He finds himself turning this way and that in front of the mirror, trying valiantly to look anywhere but his stomach, the crop top loose and flowing against his chest. George likes this. Me. Likes me. Reminds himself not to refer to his body as a thing, but as part of himself.
He steps back and looks at himself, arms, tummy, thighs, and his fists curl and uncurl.
He steals the shirt. Something won’t let him pay for it at the counter, can’t bring himself to face the girl behind the cash register, buying a crop top to match the skirt he wants his boyfriend to fuck him in.
If he ever gets around to asking him to do it, holy fuck. The crop top stays hidden with the skirt in the back of the drawer, and Sapnap’s mind keeps getting drawn to it at the wrong moments, heat crawling up his spine and crackling across his skin. He comes harder, faster, just because he’s imagining what George would do if Sapnap was in it. He knows that he would like it. George loves Sapnap, treats him like gold, there’s no way he wouldn’t like Sapnap in a skirt and a crop top, no underwear, easy access. Not that Sapnap’s ever been difficult to access, not for George. But this – something is nervous, vibrating inside his chest, starts making his hands shake whenever he even thinks about bringing it up. So he doesn’t, and the clothes gather dust.
And then he finds the thigh-highs.
Well, he doesn’t find them. Someone else finds them, standing near Sapnap in the department store, and she squeals to her friend, “Oh, there’s the thigh highs!” and Sapnap just wanted dinosaur socks, but his mind snaps to the skirt, and the crop top, and how good thigh highs would look with them.
He buys the thigh-highs, the white ones with the black stripes at the top and the black ones with the white stripes at the top. And the dinosaur socks. He buys the dinosaur socks too.
“Gift for your girlfriend?” the cashier asks, winking at him as he scans the thigh-highs.
“Uh,” Sapnap says, and embarrassment pricks inside him. “Sure. Something like that.”
Back home, he sits on their bed and stares at the thigh highs, runs his fingers along the soft cotton, and checks his watch. George isn’t meant to be home for another hour. That’s enough time.
He wants to try it all on. He wants to see how he looks. Maybe like how he looks. The body he lives in, made pretty.
He goes slow. He takes off his shirt, puts it on the bed beside him. His socks next, one, two. Belt, unbuckle. The soft rustle of a pair of jeans falling to the floor, and then his briefs landing on top of them, and he stands there, naked, and looks at himself in the mirror, and hates it. Hates him.
Breathe. Breathe, and he does, closes his eyes, and opens it. A naked body, his naked body. He tries to fill the corners of it, like he’s coloring it in. It’s all him, isn’t it? Every nerve, every bone, every cell. Powered by him.
When he looks at it like that, he’s a miracle.
He kneels and gently removes the shirt and skirt from the drawer, closes it, stands. He puts the shirt on first, and it hangs light and airy on him, and he does not hate it. He unzips the short zipper at the side of the skirt and wiggles it over his thighs. Something is rotting inside him, closing in on his throat, and he ignores it, pushes it away. Tells himself no.
The skirt is snug around his waist and over his ass, falls and drapes, pleats swirling around his thighs, the red warm against his skin. He looks at himself in the mirror, the silhouette it makes of his body, the skirt flaring out. He puts a hand on his stomach. He takes it away.
Last on are the thigh-highs. He picks the black ones with the white stripes, pulls open the packaging, snips the tag. Slowly pulls them over his legs, one at a time.
Just a little bit of thigh peeking out from underneath the skirt, over the socks. He gives it all a little twist and the skirt flares out, the shirt fluttering, and a smile spreads across his face.
He twists again, back and forth, and kicks his legs out a little bit. He looks cute. He looks cute. He likes the way he looks, he likes it – he likes the way he looks. In his body, in these clothes, and he’s happy.
He giggles. He can’t help it. The joy spreads through him like wildfire and he laughs, his eyes tearing up, still spinning in the skirt. It’s cute. He’s cute.
The realization strikes him. He’s always been cute.
Downstairs, he hears the door creak open. George is home. He checks his watch – holy shit, it’s really been an hour. It’s really been an hour that he’s just stood here, admiring himself. Holy, holy shit. George putters around downstairs and Sapnap stumbles onto the bed, rolling the socks off his legs as quickly and quietly as he can. George can’t see this. He can’t.
Hold on.
Why not? He’s already wearing the clothes. He knows he looks good. He decided that himself. George likes him. Fuck that, George loves him. Sapnap doesn’t have to worry.
Sapnap is worrying.
He pulls the socks back onto his legs, his hands trembling. The nerves collect at the back of his throat and constrict his lungs, and he stands again on shaky legs, the floor creaking under him. The quiet noises of George settling in stop.
“Sapnap?” he calls, voice faint. “Are you home, darling?”
Sapnap is frozen. The door to their bedroom, closed, mocks him. All he has to do is open it, call out, I’m in the bedroom! He can’t make his feet move forward.
“Hello?” George calls again, and Sapnap hears the stairs groan as George starts up them. “Sapnap, is that you?”
It’s on his own terms now. It’s up to him. Sapnap calls, “I’m – I’m in the bedroom, Georgie.”
“Oh!” George’s voice, excited now, approaching. “I’m gonna come give you a kiss.”
Sapnap stands, socked feet on the carpet, in the middle of their room, hands playing with the folds of the skirt, and waits.
The door swings open, and George, smiling, enters. “You should have mentioned you were home, sweetheart, I – ”
And he freezes. His jaw goes slack, and he stares at Sapnap, his eyes flickering up and down, and Sapnap’s heart pounds. He swings his arms back and forth, trying to find something, anything to do with his hands.
“What do you think?” he finally blurts out, unable to keep it in. “What – do – do you like it?”
“Get on the bed,” George says.
“I – ”
“Sapnap. Get on the bed.”
Sapnap sits on the bed.
George strides up to him, slots a leg between Sapnap’s thighs, bends over, and kisses him, hard enough to bruise. Sapnap lets out a startled sound and George only presses in more, hands clamped on either side of his face, crowding into Sapnap’s space, unbalancing him.
“Fuck,” George says against Sapnap’s lips, between kisses. “Do you… have any idea… what you do to me?”
“Mmm – ” Sapnap says, the kiss scorching. “I – ”
George kneels on the bed, his leg pushing at the V between Sapnap’s thighs, Sapnap falling back, horizontal across the covers, as George looms above him. “You are so… fucking… hot.”
“I know,” Sapnap says, surprising even himself, and George’s face lights up. One hand drags under the crop top, fingers brushing against Sapnap’s sensitive nipples, sending shivers down his spine. Slowly, he pulls himself down Sapnap, until he’s kissing his belly, his teeth dragging lightly over the waistband of the skirt, cold against his skin, lips catching on the zipper.
“You better,” George murmurs, kissing his way down Sapnap’s hip, through the skirt. Sapnap shudders.
“George,” he whimpers. “George, please – ”
“Please what, sweetheart?” George noses the hem of the skirt up, takes the rim of the sock in his mouth and lifts, snaps it back against Sapnap’s thigh with a muted slap. Nips at the soft skin of his inner thigh, his hair ruffled by the edge of the skirt. His warm breath, heated and moist, and the arousal coils through Sapnap’s gut.
“Please what?” George asks again, sucking a larger hickey just below the cotton of the sock. “Use your words, darling.”
“I need – stop teasing, please.” Sapnap squirms and George blows a cool breath across his thigh.
“Oh, baby.” George squeezes Sapnap’s thigh, rubbing his hand over it, running up the inside of his thigh, getting close and pulling away, “I’m just getting started.”
And George kisses his way up Sapnap’s thighs, underneath the skirt, his cheek and jaw brushing his dick, but he never touches it, doesn’t give it a lick, a squeeze, nothing, just - kisses and bites. Sapnap watches the movement underneath the skirt, the lump of George’s head and right next to it, Sapnap’s cock tenting the fabric, a dark stain of precum starting to spread on the front. George’s teeth move Sapnap’s other thigh and he bites down, tugging at the flesh and Sapnap whines.
George emerges, his hair messy, a little bit of precum streaked across his cheek. There’s a bulge in the front of his work trousers, the fine gray fabric slowly turning darker. Sapnap’s mouth waters.
George stands, moves around to the other side of the bed and yanks Sapnap back, his head hanging backwards over the edge.
Holy shit. “How long have you had this?” he asks, slowly unbuttoning his pants. “This outfit?”
Sapnap flushes. “Oh. Um – ”
George’s eyes narrow as he pulls his cock out, letting the dark, beading head rest on Sapnap’s lips. “How long?”
“The socks I just got today,” Sapnap says, and George pushes all the way down his throat and pulls back out in one swift stroke. It leaves Sapnap gasping for breath, his eyes tearing.
“And the rest?”
He looms over Sapnap, his dick slapping his cheek, little beads of precum warm on his skin.
“Months.”
“Months,” George echoes, slowly inserting his cock into Sapnap’s mouth, little by little. “Okay. Months.”
“Mmnngg,” Sapnap says around the dick sliding down his throat.
George is all the way in, his balls hitting Sapnap’s nose, and stops, doesn’t move, just uses Sapnap’s mouth as a cockwarmer. Sapnap breathes slowly around it as George’s hands rest on his cheeks and jaw.
“Sapnap, my love.”
“Mmm?”
“I’m going to fuck your throat until you cry.”
It’s the only warning he gets before his mouth is almost completely empty again and then full, and his whole body jerks, his hands instinctively going to grip George’s thighs, his balls slapping Sapnap in the face, his dick pressed so far down his throat he can feel it in his neck. George rests a hand on his neck, slowly pulling out and then ramming back in, and Sapnap can suddenly feel, by the way George’s hand moves, the bulge of his cock in his neck.
He’s so hard he can barely think, just the taste of George’s precum, leaking into his mouth and slowly dribbling out, drool all down his cheeks, the pressure in his throat like a tidal wave, his eyes dripping with tears and he’s making uncontrollable gagging sounds as George moves in and out, his legs and feet twitching, hips canting up, seeking friction, seeking release –
George pulls out fully and Sapnap gasps.
“Sit up, darling. Let me see you.”
Sapnap pushes himself shakily onto the bed, his legs giving out underneath him, splayed out like a baby deer learning to walk. His hair is falling in his face, his headband somewhere on the floor, and his cheeks are streaked with drool and precum and tears. The skirt ripples around him, his erection poking out the front.
George strokes his cheek, smiles at him. Sapnap is trembling, weak, looks up at him with a slack mouth. He tries to say his name but nothing comes out. He tries again. “George.” His voice is scratchy, his throat fucked out, and he coughs a little bit.
“Oh, dear,” George says, looking not at all apologetic. “What’s happened to your voice, Sappy?” His hand traces the line of Sapnap’s neck, down his chest to play with a nipple, and back up, thumbing at his lips.
“I – I got fucked,” Sapnap rasps.
“Sweetheart, that’s not true,” George says, sliding his thumb into Sapnap’s mouth. “You got face fucked, darling.”
“I want – ” Sapnap says around George’s thumb.
George slides his thumb in further. “Sorry? Enunciate your words, gorgeous.”
Sapnap moans and grinds his hips into the bed. “Touch me.”
“I am.”
“Touch my cock!” It ends in a sob.
George kneels, and reaches down, and pulls Sapnap’s dick into his hand. Sapnap sighs and falls forward, his head resting on George’s shoulder as he strokes. Sapnap’s hips jerk and he gasps, George going faster and faster –
Then nothing. George pulls away and stands up. Sapnap almost tumbles, but catches himself in time. He’s bereft, empty, lonely. A ripple goes up along his spine and he shudders. “George,” he whines, the word cracking in his fucked-out voice. “ Please.”
George’s voice is soft and he opens up the bedside table. “Hands and knees, beautiful boy.”
And oh, this is what Sapnap has wanted all along, eagerly scrambling to be good for George, feeling the skirt sway as he gets into position, barely covering his ass, his dick leaving little white streaks across the hem, the crop top hanging open below his chest.
George palms his ass, squeezing gently, his hands running below the skirt, all over his ass and legs and thighs. “You’re so gorgeous,” he whispers, kisses the small of Sapnap’s back, runs a finger wet with lube slowly up his perineum. “Beautiful, beautiful.” One finger in Sapnap’s hole and he keens, his voice squeaking a little, and George laughs behind him.
“Keep making those sounds, darling,” he says, finger slowly dragging in and out of Sapnap. “I want to hear you.”
Sapnap pushes back on his finger, skirt swishes under him, and more blood rushes to his dick. “George, please.”
“Please what?”
“Another one.”
“Already?” George twists the finger inside Sapnap and slowly pushes in a second. “You’re eager, aren’t you?” His other hand lightly swats Sapnap’s ass, grips it and squeezes it. “Hmm. Didn’t even have panties on, that’s how eager you were.”
Sapnap didn’t even think about panties but just the mention of them, lacy, maybe red or black, his dick bulging out the front, covered in cum and sweat –
“Just wanted to get fucked,” George murmurs, speeding up his fingers. Sapnap’s voice says ah! and George smacks his ass again. “Wearing a cute little skirt and bending over like that for me.”
“More,” Sapnap gasps. George laughs.
“More?” He doesn’t even slow down when he adds the third finger and Sapnap squirms, unaware of the noises he’s making.
“It doesn’t even cover your ass,” George says, tugging at the skirt a little. “Only sluts wear skirts like that.”
“‘M not a slut,” Sapnap croaks, his voice breaking in the middle.
“I came into my bedroom,” George says, thrusting his fingers so far in Sapnap cries out, “to see my boyfriend wearing a tiny little skirt and no panties, with his legs looking like that, and he wants me to think he’s not a slut.”
He pulls completely out of Sapnap and Sapnap’s knees start shaking with the effort of holding himself up. George grabs a pillow and puts it under his hips.
Sapnap collapses onto it, precum smearing all over the skirt, panting with exertion and arousal, and feels George’s hand carefully spread his cheeks. He pushes backwards a little, and George grips his ass.
“Lie there and take it,” he says. Sapnap almost comes on the spot. “Slut.”
He pushes in. Sapnap gasps, one hand clutching the headboard, the other knotted in the sheets. George gives him no time to adjust and his cock pounds in and out of him, the bedframe shaking, incoherent noises punched out of Sapnap’s destroyed throat with every thrust.
The hem of the skirt flutters, dancing, hiccupping as George’s pace goes from punishing to ruinous. Sapnap knows he’s being loud, ah! ah! ah! from between his lips, broken and raspy, as George balls up the fabric of the skirt behind him and pulls him in by his hips, the wet squelching of his dick inside him, the slap of flesh on flesh. Sapnap grips the pillow in his teeth as he cries out, tries to muffle the sounds. George grabs his hair and pulls his head back and Sapnap releases it, gasping at the sharp pain of George’s hand fisted in his long locks.
“If you’re making sounds, I’d better hear them,” George says, and keeps his hand in Sapnap’s hair, the other hand holding the skirt so that Sapnap feels strung up, weightless as George fucks him within an inch of his life. He’s drooling, crying, his voice hoarse and sobbing, incoherent pleas and swears and George’s name falling from his tongue and his lips.
And then George pulls him flush against his hips and comes, hot and wet inside him and slowly pulls out, the come dribbling down Sapnap’s thighs and collecting in the top of the socks, creamy against the black.
Sapnap whimpers, achingly hard and desperate, the pillowcase wet with his spit and tears. Gently, George moves him onto his back, the crop top riding up underneath his arms, and turns his attention, finally, finally, to Sapnap’s cock, weeping beads of precum, red and twitching. He flips the skirt up to Sapnap’s stomach to free it.
“Do you want to come?” George asks, settling between Sapnap’s legs, his eyes dark.
“ Please,” Sapnap begs, his hands hovering in the air, caught between grasping for something and just jerking himself off. “ Please, I want to come, please, Georgie.”
“I don’t know if little sluts like you deserve to come.” George tilts his head and Sapnap almost bawls.
“I deserve it,” he gasps, breathless. “Please, George, I want to come, I want – ”
George leans over him. “Then come.”
It’s a command. Sapnap’s vision whites out and he cries out as streaks paint the skirt and his stomach. He’s shaking, his whole body trembling, and it feels like the ecstasy lasts an hour.
Slowly, he comes down, George holding him, lips gentle against his neck. He sits up, looking Sapnap’s fucked-out body up and down, the skirt dripping with come. “Oh,” George says. His voice is even, cool and collected. Sapnap knows that tone. “Sapnap, look what you did. You made a mess.”
“What?” Sapnap asks.
George drags a finger through the cooling come on the skirt. He tsks. “It needs to be cleaned if you want to wear it again, darling.” He sighs. “You looked so pretty in it, too.”
“Oh,” Sapnap says. His brain is only just starting to marginally function again.
“Take it off.”
“Take – take what off?”
“The skirt, sweetheart,” George says.
Sapnap starts to sit up, begins wiggling out of his shirt. “Nuh-uh-uh.” George holds out a hand to stop him. “Not the shirt. Not the socks. The skirt.”
His face turning red, Sapnap unzips the skirt and pulls it down his legs, struggling to get it over his ass and thighs. George just watches as he eventually gets it off and holds it in his hands, the pleats falling over his arms, come slowly staining the fabric.
George hooks a finger under his chin and tilts Sapnap’s head up to look at him.
“Lick it up.”