Title: THE FOOT (1/1)
Date: October 7, 1999
Summary: A little foot and hand play.
Pairing: Sk/K (Who else, eh!)
Archive: Ratlover, CJK. Others: please ask. Comments: firstname.lastname@example.org
DISCLAIMER: These are the property of CC, Fox and 1013, but they
belong to all of us who love them.
DEDICATION: For Jonah in the whale, who gave me the germ of this
idea. And then added the socks. White ones.
Alex threw himself on the couch, made himself comfortable, long
legs taking up most of the seating area. He grabbed the remote,
surfed until he found what he was looking for: the soccer game
between Italy and Germany. Settled in to enjoy.
Walter looked in on his way to the kitchen. "Want anything?"
"A beer would be nice." Alex kept his eyes on the screen.
Walter watched a bit. Since Alex had moved in, he'd learned to
follow the game: not that he enjoyed it anywhere as near as he
did football, but he could appreciate some of the finer points.
In the kitchen, he pulled two beers from the fridge: a pilsner
for himself, a lager for Alex, opened them, strolled back into
the living room. He handed Alex his, got an absent-minded "Thanks"
and stayed to watch some of the action. He pushed Alex's feet
to clear seating space, smiling when one of the Italian players
threw himself to the ground in a dramatic display of pain in order
to gain a bit of time for his team.
When he'd first started watching soccer with Alex, Walter kept
on expecting to see a stretcher come out onto the field to carry
off the writhing player who obviously had, at least, a broken
leg. It had surprised him that, after the time allotted for injury,
the player would dramatically rise to his feet, stumble about
for a couple of steps then take off after a ball like nothing
Now he just enjoyed those moments for the Oscar-winning performances
they were. To him, football was serious: soccer was play. He enjoyed
the comedy of it.
Alex had pulled up his feet when he'd sat down. Now they were
resting against his thigh, pushing along with the action on the
screen. Walter endured this for a bit, then grabbed the most offending
foot -- the outer one -- by the ankle and placed it on top of
his thigh. He held it there. Alex turned from looking at the tv
to him. Grinned his apology and went back to his beer and the
Walter took a couple of swallows of his beer, smiled down at the
foot still participating in the game.
Alex was wearing thick white terry socks. He never wore shoes
indoors and hated even slightly greyed socks. He would wear t-shirts
till you could see through them, jeans until they were white,
shirts till the cuffs and collars were frayed, but shorts and
socks were forever being replaced with new ones. These were brand
new: they still had that never-washed sheen to them.
Walter looked at Alex, oblivious to all but the game. He looked
back down at the foot on his lap. He bit his lower lip and smiled
at the foot.
He moved his grip on the ankle a little bit higher so he could
roll the sock off. Slowly. So as not to distract Alex.
It was a little like a strip-tease. The narrow lower leg. The
ankle with the protruding bones. The bony heel. The high arch.
The long, narrow toes.
Walter checked: Alex was still with the game.
With the index finger of his free hand, Walter drew a line from
above the ankle down over the top of the foot to the middle toe.
The foot gave a little shake.
The finger went back to the ankle, skimmed over the skin, linking
the two ankle bones with figure eights.
The ankle wriggled.
The hand holding the leg moved down to the ankle, its thumb caressing
the bone under it. Gently. Back and forth.
Alex looked at Walter. Walter was watching the game. A loud cheer
called Alex back.
The finger began stroking the heel, gradually moving out to sketch
The foot twisted a bit, trying to pull away.
The finger slipped back and forth down the arch to the sole.
The foot tugged.
The hand held firm.
Alex's other foot pushed against Walter's hip. When the hand did
not release the naked foot, it shoved harder. Walter shifted his
body a bit, waited for the foot to protest again, caught it between
the seat and his body, settled so that it was now immobile.
Walter returned Alex's glare with an innocent look. Pointedly
he turned his gaze to the tv. The captured foot wiggled, or tried
to. Walter shifted his weight just enough to convince it that
wasn't a smart move.
The foot on his lap wriggled, but the hand holding it merely tightened
its hold and after a moment or two, the foot gave up.
The finger began making tiny circular movements in the dip where
the ankle became the foot. Then it moved onto the top of the foot,
following the line of bone to each toe, and back again to the
The foot twitched.
The finger shaped the outline of the foot. Dragged along the callused
outer rim, calluses that matched those on the outer edge of Alex's
hand. It paid particular attention to each toe, tracing the shape
with just the barest touch. Carefully drew the sensitive arch.
There was screaming from the tv: some spectacular foul that got
even Walter's attention. The foot tried to take advantage of that.
Alex yanked. The foot slipped out of Walter's grip, but not enough.
The hand clamped down, yanked back hard in its direction and Alex
slipped to the small of his back.
This time the finger was ruthless. With the tip of its nail, it
stroked the underside of the foot, where it was most ticklish.
The leg tried hard to pull it away from the finger's relentless
torture. To no avail. The hand just gripped tighter, pulled the
leg straight. And the one tormenting finger became five.
Alex cursed, shoved his body down the couch until his knee threatened
Walter pulled his chin back just in time. Then he let his upper
body fall onto the legs, separating them. One was imprisoned between
his body and the back if the couch; the other, knee bent, at an
angle hanging over the edge of the seat.
The foot was, for all of Alex's attempts, still firmly clasped
in the hand. Shoulder pushing back on Alex's groin, Walter brought
the foot to his chest, and then with just a bit more effort to
his mouth. He bit on the heel, harder the more Alex pushed against
Alex finally got the message and lay still. Waiting.
A tongue gently caressed the teeth marks on the skin, moved to
the part of the arch it could reach.
Walter could feel another reaction beneath his shoulder blade.
The pads of his fingers gently caressed the undersole in short,
light strokes from heel to toes.
The toes wiggled.
The foot twitched.
The cock hardened.
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