Trent Robinson had a problem with his focus lately. This was not usual for him. If it had been, then he wouldn’t be one of the most successful art directors at his publication. Most people, himself included, considered Trent to be a superstar. At only twenty-five he had already shot in every major fashion venue in the world and was responsible for finding or making many top models in the industry. His accomplishments were not the mark of a man who could not focus.
If he were to think back on it, Trent’s problems with focus happened when he found a photographer that had before been much unknown. Ken Polli had an impeccable sense of composition and lighting. He was also the walking definition of Trent’s type. Ken was older, possibly in his late thirties by Trent’s estimation. He was tall with white blond hair, a well sculpted chin, and artful scars over his amazing chest and abs.
The problem was that Ken was a consummate professional. He would never hesitate to dive into a shoot. This, sometimes, required him to take his shirt off and hold a light pole while standing hip deep in the ocean. If Trent were honest, he’d probably admit that he’d fully intended to get Ken out of his shirt that day. Trent considered it a public service.
If Ken was not such a consummate professional, he would have noticed Trent’s numerous and always futile attempts to get into his pants. Trent was confused as to what was wrong. He had done everything that he needed to do, his shirts were always properly buttoned and his pants were properly fitted. Nothing about Trent had ever given him problems attracting the same sex.
It wasn’t that that Ken was straight. Trent had made mistakes with straight men before. They happened! No, Ken was gay and flatly uninterested. He had tunnel vision on his job. Trent respected that, he prided himself with it. However, Ken’s was causing obvious focus issues.
Trent adjusted the models’ portfolios, forming a staircase of lines that played off of the light in the hotel meeting room. He’d been earlier than the time that he had given Ken. Trent liked being punctual, he also liked arriving to places first. It made him feel more in control of situations. That meant that if he wanted to beat Ken, he had to be early.
“Sorry, I had an appointment.” Ken shook himself free of rain water and leaned his umbrella against the wall. “I assume it’s a usual lineup?” He then crossed the room with a smirk set on his handsome face. Slowly his callused hand lifted up and began to undo the buttons on his collared shirt. The damp fabric peeled away from his sculpted chest and dropped to the floor with a soft thud. “Maybe we have some time?”
Trent’s mouth worked, trying to form a response. Wide-eyed, he watched as Ken walked around the table and stood behind him. Anything that Trent’s brain had been processing ended as Ken gripped a large handful of hair at the crown of Trent’s head and yanked up, prompting Trent to stand. His other hand drifted to the fly of Trent’s–
“Trent? You feeling okay, kid?”
Forced from his rather vivid fantasy, Trent blinked a few times and swallowed. Ken needed to stop getting himself into situations where his sexy was enhanced. Trent fought the urge to pout and nodded. “Oh, I was just lost in thought.”
“I don’t understand, Marcelo!” Trent was lamenting into his beer. Obviously he was having a bad week, Trent didn’t drink beer normally. “I can’t seem to get him to bite. This doesn’t happen to me! I mean, look at me!”
“Maybe you need to ask him out?” Despite his fine boned appearance, Marcelo was hardly an active dater himself. He didn’t understand a lot of the rules that Trent lived by. He sipped his own beer and shrugged. “You haven’t expressly told him you’re interested.”
“I do not ask men out. They ask me out.” Trent tilted his head back and finished his bottle. With finality he sat the item down and lifted his hand for another.
From across the table, Marcelo sighed. “So how’s it been working for you?”
Trent fell to the table, his forehead pressed against a napkin. “It hasn’t.” He spoke into the item, knowing that Marcelo would hear him. “We’ve got the wrap party on the yacht, maybe that will get him to do something?”
“Oh love of everything.” Marcelo accented his point by tossing sugar packets at Trent’s head with every word. “Ask. The. Man. Out.” He sat the container of packets down and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not Scarlett O’Hara.”
“A man can dream!” Marcelo’s point did stand, however. Maybe Ken honestly was that oblivious to the entire known world.
When the publication went out, it went out in style. The CEOs always liked to throw massive parties to celebrate long-awaited shoots or things like Paris’ fashion week. This was no exception. The massive luxury yacht comfortably held twice the number of people invited and it was a strictly black tie affair. Every accommodation was made and the weather was perfect.
Trent had spent the majority of the day before formulating a proper way to ask Ken out. While he didn’t consider himself a “wilting flower” by any stretch, Trent liked men to be… well, gentlemen with him. Flowers or being asked out wasn’t too much was it? So he liked a little romantic courting, there was nothing wrong with that. Further, until now, it had never posed a problem. There was a first time for everything, Trent would simply avoid Ken till after dinner, wait till the bar was serving properly and then it would be–
Ken took his assigned seat next to Trent and thus ruined everything. The dinner was good, but his focus was shot. Trent also remembered that Ken didn’t drink. He declined everything aside from the water and iced tea. It was difficult to focus on their CEO’s speech or on the lovely pictures or prompted applause. Really, Trent did need to confront this. He opened his mouth to say something and noticed then that Ken was getting up.
It took only a moment for Trent to follow him. This was do-or-die, wasn’t it? There had to be a way to tell someone that they were your walking wet dream without being a complete and utter creeper. Maybe he’d leave off the very vivid fantasies. Those were, by admission, slightly creepy. He watched as Ken settled against the railing and bowed his head to light up a cigarette. It was almost comforting to know that the man did have a vice. Summoning his courage, Trent made his way up to Ken. “Needed some air?”
Ken smiled from around the cigarette before he took a drag on it and removed it to speak. “Yeah. Not one for crowds.” There was a beat before he added, “You checking up on me?”
“Well, I can’t have my best photographer falling overboard or being seduced by mermaids or something like that.” Trent leaned on the railing and sighed. This, like every other attempt to get further with Ken would probably just lead into wonderful conversations and a date with his hand.
“I don’t believe the sort I’m interested in drag men to their deaths in the seas. And we’re too far south for a narwhal.” He looked down at Trent before he leaned beside him.
Trent clenched his jaw. “Ah… Ken?”
Ken didn’t respond verbally. Instead he looked over with those icy blue eyes.
“Are you trying to hit on me, Trent?”
Trent’s eyes went wide and he was certain he had that ‘rabbit caught in a floodlight’ look. “No! no…” His voice drifted off and Trent broke eye contact. “…kind of.”
“I think I’m a little old for you, Trent.”
Wait, what? No. That was not an excuse. Not one that Trent was going to accept at all at least. “So you think I’m attractive?”
Ken chuckled. “You’re very attractive. And in your twenties.”
The sounds that came out of Trent’s mouth were not words as much as they were a demonstration of his frustrations. “And how old are you?! Forty? Maybe? I’ve always liked older men and you can’t say that I’m exactly in a twenty-something’s position.”
The older man turned and faced him. Ken leaned on the railing with one strong arm. “Forty, huh?”
“See, I overshot.”
“You’re wrong at least.”
“So it’s a bad excuse.”
“You don’t typically pick people up, do you?” Ken was smirking and he tossed the cigarette overboard.
Trent crossed his arms over his chest. “No, I usually get picked up.”
When Ken’s hand shot out and grabbed the back of Trent’s head, Trent was certain this was just another fantasy of his where he would wake up and be highly embarrassed. Ken would say something soon and snap Trent out of it. Because this was just too real. Ken’s mouth pressed against his and his tongue parting Trent’s lips. The feeling of heat from Ken’s body as he stepped forward and the way that his chest felt against the palms of Trent’s hands could not be real.
“Let’s skip dinner.”
Trent felt momentarily bad for skipping because the food was good. However when his back collided with the wall on the way to Ken’s cabin the guilt disappeared. His hands worked at the button’s on Ken’s shirt and finally roamed that perfect chest and gripped at his strong shoulders. Ken pulled him into the room and lifted him by the thighs against the door while it was closing. Ken’s teeth nipped at Trent’s collarbone before he let the younger man down and threw the shirt off on the way to the bed.
One of the things that Trent enjoyed about older men was their level of experience. There was very little awkwardness when your partner knew exactly what they wanted and how to read your cues. Trent’s teeth pulled at Ken’s lip and he purred when the other man had his arms pinned above his head in one hand. The other hand worked to pull Trent’s cock out of his pants and his thumb rubbed at the tip of Trent’s shaft in a firm, pleasing, circular motion.
Both sets of slacks were tossed against the door and Ken sat back on his knees and lifted Trent by the hips. With his own knees over Ken’s shoulders and Ken’s mouth sucking him, Trent wasn’t going to last long. He gripped the sheets and tensed in an effort to keep from coming. Between groans and ecstatic whimpers, Trent muttered that he was going to let go. Loudly he released the tension and his body shook almost violently. His hair was wet with sweat when Ken let him down. Trent panted a moment before pushed himself up on his elbows. “I need it now.” Yes it was a demand, but he needed to be fucked after that.
Ken took a moment to lubricate and then pinned Trent’s arms above his head again. He slid into the other man in one fast, furious motion. Then he pulled nearly all the way out before repeating. Trent’s eyes were pressed shut and his mouth was dry. He encouraged his partner with hitched breathing and hushed pleading. Ken let go of Trent’s wrists and reached up for the headboard for added leverage. Trent’s hands pulled at Ken’s arms before finding a good hold to support himself. He was hoarse from yelling before Ken released and fell down to the bed, barely supporting himself on his shaking arms.
Neither of them was willing to move. Ken barely managed to roll to his side and Trent remained on his back. “You didn’t overshoot my age, you know.” Ken commented after he’d caught his breath.
With effort, Trent rolled to his side. “How old are you?”
Trent began to laugh before he realized that Ken was serious. “There… what?”
“If I get up and look for your pants and find your ID to find that you’re lying to me, I am going to be pissed.” Trent growled and forced himself from the bed. After a dedicated search, he removed Ken’s wallet. Sure enough, the other man’s birthday was clear as day. He started to laugh.
“You’re not mad?” Ken did seem concerned about this.
“Hell no, I’m not mad; I just bagged a silver fox.”
The pillow connected solidly with Trent’s face.