Anthony had not seen Brandon since the night at his loft.

“I’m not going to be around for the next few days,” Brandon had mentioned casually as they headed to the loft’s steel door. Anthony turned and blinked, surprised at the mixture of emotions that had burbled up at the announcement. Of course he was disappointed. There was possibly even a tinge of worry—he had just enjoyed arguably the strongest orgasm of his life, and at the hand of a man. This man. And it had been terrifying. Intoxicating. It had awakened a primal need he had nearly forgotten was even there. Surely Brandon felt this with even more of an intensity, considering he had been ramping up to the events of this evening much longer than he had.

Or had he?

Then the confusion had crept in, streaking the sweet notes of desire with its undeniable bitterness. What did all of this mean? Had he left heterosexuality at that armchair back there? Or had that train left some time ago without him realizing it…or acknowledging it? He felt the pull to withdraw and hide, like a reflex that doesn’t quite echo the stimulus—a blink at a loud noise. Before his overworked mind could formulate a response, Brandon had offered his explanation.

“I have a design show I’m attending in Philadelphia. It’s a pretty big deal—I go to network with different vendors for the gallery.” He paused. Anthony nodded distractedly as he picked at a piece of lint on his sleeve. “Just think about all the great finds that I’ll have to bring to your house when I get back,” Brandon continued cheerfully, sensing his trepidation. Anthony shrugged his tan trench coat on and stared down at his mahogany loafers. By now his olive herringbone socks inside were starting to feel stiff and starchy. Brandon followed his gaze downward. “Besides,” he added, “you know what they say: absence makes the dick grow harder.” Anthony chuckled, suddenly feeling lighter.

This was Brandon—the one who had sought him out and trusted him with his most intimate struggle. He probably knew Brandon better than anyone else. And it was starting to seem that Brandon knew more about him than he knew about himself. The rancid flavor of the confusion and panic had begun to dissolve.

“Look,” Anthony said softly, stopping at the steel door and turning to face him. “I don’t want you to think I’m some jealous lover or horny beast. You already know that I genuinely like being around you.”

“Of course,” Brandon replied, matching the gravity in his voice.

“Do you think that…I don’t know. It would just be nice to have some time together now that we are…on the same page?” he struggled with the phrase. He wasn’t sure it was the best way to put it, but it’s what he had.

Brandon pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I get what you’re saying. And I don’t disagree. But this is a work commitment I can’t just walk away from.” Anthony inhaled deeply and nodded. “Besides,” Brandon continued. “I don’t know that time apart for just a few days won’t be the worst thing in the world. You know…take a beat. Maybe let the dust settle.” He hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure that we are on the same page. Not yet.”

Anthony looked at Brandon. It was true. Brandon’s feelings for Anthony were deeper rooted as he had not been frantically trying to rip them out for the past several months. Brandon felt more than lust. Anthony didn’t know how far his feelings went—or were even capable of going. He clapped Brandon on the arm.

“Well said, bro. All good points. Then I’ll guess I’ll see you…?” Anthony leaned back and pointed two fingers like pistols in Brandon’s direction.

“This weekend,” Brandon assured him. “But hey,” he called out into the dark lobby. Anthony tuned, a tall silhouette in street lamp, slivers of the orange light resting on his broad shoulders. “Let’s talk on the phone, okay?”

---

Anthony was at his desk staring at a client profile when Brandon called two days later. He couldn’t resist a smile as he pulled the Bluetooth headset from his desk phone and plugged into into his cell.

“Hey, bro,” he said quietly. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Taking a mid-afternoon break. Just sitting here in the hotel room. How have you been?”

Anthony glanced out the glass wall across from his desk, ensuring that no one was approaching. It wasn’t that personal calls were frowned on in the office—he just couldn’t bring himself to let the lines between work and Brandon become too blurred. There were plenty of other aspects of his life that were getting unexpectedly shuffled.

“You mean since we spoke on the phone last night? Pretty okay,” he replied bemusedly. “I had a Cobb salad for lunch, if that’s the kind of update you’re looking for.” Anthony could hear Brandon’s smile through the phone.

“Don’t be a dick,” Brandon giggled.

“How about you? Is the design show any good?”

“Actually, yeah. There are some really good vendors here. I found a new lighting company that we want to deal with. They have these wall sconces that would be perfect on either side of your fireplace.”

Anthony felt his eyebrows raise. “Sconces? Don’t you need—you know—electric lines for those?” Anthony could already tell that renovations to his house would spiral out of control if he let Brandon go unchecked.

“It’s not as involved as you might think,” Brandon dismissed. “So,” he continued casually, “what are you wearing today?”

Anthony froze. “Why do you want to know?” he said, eyes narrowing.

Brandon’s voice was innocent. “Just trying to picture you, is all. I’m sitting all alone in a room at the Hyatt. You, I guess, are…at your desk?”

“Yes…” Anthony said hesitantly.

“Coat and pants?”

“Naturally. Both brown. Striped.” Anthony nervously fingered a file folder on his desk, glancing again out the glass wall.

“How about your shoes?” Anthony could tell that Brandon was trying to keep his voice light.

“Actually, I’m wearing the same shoes I did yesterday,” Anthony answered, looking down at the light suede Chelseas.

“Really?” Brandon’s voice carried a trace of mock scandal. “And those would be…?”

“Suede pull on boots.”

“Color?”

“Like a light tan,” Anthony said, scrutinizing the toes.

“Mmm. I’ll bet they really pop against your brown pants,” Brandon said. His breathing was getting deeper.

Anthony felt his eyes flitting around the office. He could feel the hot tingle spreading between his legs at the sound of his voice. “Brandon, I should probably go. Is there something specific you—“

“Your socks?” Brandon interrupted.

“What?”

“Tell me about your socks,” he repeated. Could Anthony hear Brandon rubbing himself? Was that a rhythmic quiver he heard in his voice?

“Um,” Anthony brought his left foot to his right knee. He peeled back the trouser cuff. “They’re navy. They have little white polka dots on them.” Anthony heard Brandon softly moan. Now he could feel his own cock starting to rise.

“Are you looking at them now?”

“Yes,” Anthony practically whispered. He knew he shouldn’t play along, but the thought teasing Brandon over the phone was such a rush. “I have my boot across my knee right now. And I’m running my hand over my sock.”

“You are?” Brandon practically whimpered. Anthony reflexively put a hand over his cock.

“I am. They’re really thin and soft,” he detailed. He flashed back to the day he and Brandon were in the garage with the wrestling shoes, the way Brandon shook as he caressed the insides of them. “I’m, I’m running my hand inside my boot now.”

“Oh my god,” Brandon whispered into the receiver.

“It’s warm. And these boots don’t breath too well, so it’s a little moist in here, too.” Anthony’s own voice was shaking. What was he doing? He was at work in his office. He hadn’t passed the point of no return yet. There was still a chance to reign it in. But no sooner had he thought this than Brandon responded.

“What do they smell like?” he asked, a sound like desperation in his voice.

“Brandon, buddy,” Anthony responded quietly. “I’m at work. I can hardly bring my shoe to my face.” But Anthony’s heart was pounding at the thought. Not because he particularly cared what his Chelsea smelled like, but because Brandon did. And he’d be willing to risk it for Brandon. Wouldn’t he? He would do most anything to please him. The thought that he could pull his strings like he was a puppet drove him wild

Brandon’s voice quavered. “Maybe just a quick one?” he practically begged. Anthony could hear the vigorous pumping of a fist in his earpiece. He glanced out the window. Again, there was no one.

“Okay—here I go…” he said, slipping the stretchy boot collar from around his ankle. He quickly brought the boot to his nose and breathed deeply and loudly for Brandon to hear.

“Jesus, you’re doing it,” Brandon squeaked. “What is it like?”

Anthony was already jamming his foot back in the Chelsea under his desk. How does one describe the bouquet of a warm shoe? “Leathery?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I could smell my foot. It was almost…tangy?” Even though Anthony fumbled awkwardly for the word, Brandon’s gasp was loud.

I want to cum on it so bad,” he moaned. “Fuck, I’m going to cum, and I want to shoot into your boot and onto your sock so bad.” Logical, clear-headed Brandon, the designer, was gone. This Brandon was a slave, giving himself over completely to him.

Anthony squirmed in his desk chair, jamming one hand back in his boot, imagining it was Brandon inside it, while the other hand was mashing his tenting pants. “Brandon,” his voice held a warning, “don’t…”

“Tell me you want to feel my cum on your foot,” he cried.

Anthony could already feel the damp seeping through the silky dress pants as he twisted his hand over the bulge in them. He was losing control—that’s what Brandon did to him. “I do,” he said softly, feeling a lump in his throat. “I want to see your cream on these blue socks.” In his mind, he could see Brandon’s thick white pearls of semen rolling past the stretchy part of his boot, leaving slimy paths on his sock like snails in their wake.

Brandon exhaled loudly into the phone. “Fuck, oh fuck!”

Anthony closed his eyes. “Brandon,” he moaned softly. “I can’t. Oh, god…not here. Not now!” Anthony felt his cock start to jump in his pants. He clenched the arms of his desk chair with his hands and hung on for dear life. “Oh, shit,” he breathed as a violent climax ripped through him, a hot eruption spreading through his underwear, the dark circle expanding on his pants. “Oh, fuck, no!” Anthony stared down in a mixture of horror and euphoria.

Both sat panting on the phone for a minute or two. Someone stopped by and looked in the glass wall at Anthony. Anthony pointed to the earpiece and shook his head “no.” He was on a call. They walked away.

“You still there?” Anthony asked weakly.

“Yeah,” came Brandon’s reply. “How bad is it?”

Anthony looked down at his cum soaked pants. “I won’t be leaving my desk for a little while,” he chuckled. “And thank God I wore a jacket.”

“Sorry about that.” Brandon’s apology was semi-sincere. “And to think you were afraid we wouldn’t be spending any time together this week!”