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Matt closes his compact mirror with a snap and places it on the coffee table. "Do you think I'm pretty, Corey?" He asks playfully, batting his painted eyelashes. His tone is teasing but the question is genuine. He's still getting used to cross dressing in public. He can play it off as undaunted stage presence and shock value all he wants but Corey knows how much Matt looks for his approval.
Before Corey can answer, Matt moves from his place on the other end of the couch and straddles his lap. Corey knows he should tell the younger boy to back up. He shouldn't be putting his hands on Matt's waist. He shouldn't be letting Matt sit on his lap in the first place, but he hates to tell him no.
Instead he asks, "What are you doing?"
"Just giving you a closer look. Answer the question." Matt replies, wrapping his arms around Corey's neck. Corey's breath catches slightly. Tell him to get up. Corey instead reaches a hand up to tuck Matt's hair out of his eyes.
"You look so good. Mi princesa de la noche." He murmurs his agreement. And Matt really does. His eyes are coated with precisely sharp gothic eyeliner and surrounded with dark shimmery shadow. Bloody red gloss adorns her full lips. A precious, charming devil, dressed in pajama pants and one of Corey's old shirts.
Matt giggles, pleased with Corey's answer. "Princess" Matt echoes, obviously relishing the feminine title. Corey nods, resisting the urge to add something along the lines of That's right, smart girl. Or some other bit of praise. That may be too far. He's called Matt a girl before, more than once. But never like this. Never with Matt in his lap, so close that Corey can feel the rhythm of his breathing. Every slow and heavy sigh, filled with desire.
"You're too sweet." Matt sighs, his pupils are wide with love. Corey is too nice. He spoils Matt, they both know it. But he's a good kid, he deserves it.
Corey rolls his eyes but no malice is behind it. "Are you gonna get up soon?" He asks, squirming a bit in his seat. He's trying to put as much distance between his crotch and the younger boy's ass as possible.
It's almost as if Matt read his mind because he scoots impossibly closer, resting his head on Corey's shoulder, lips inches from his neck. "Do you want me to get up?" He asks. Matt's breath is warm and it makes Corey shudder. He digs his fingers into the couch cushions. He focuses on the TV, the random episode of Seinfeld that's been on as background noise. He needs a cigarette. Anything to take his mind off of those soft, glossy jailbait lips.
"You need to finish getting dressed." Corey says. But he doesn't tell Matt to get up. Matt's face is obscured by his dark hair, but Corey can tell he's grinning. Like a cat that caught a mouse.
Matt presses a chaste kiss to Corey's neck before getting up. He motions for Corey to follow. "Help me pick out my outfit." He requests/orders. And of course Corey obeys.