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Five Finger Death Punch	By : mmarc56 Category: Celebrities - Misc > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1552 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Five Finger Death Punch or any of its members, this story is a work of fiction, and I made no money writing it.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Foot Massage

“Do you want a foot massage?” Zoltan asked Jason after they had both showered and were dressed in warm, dry clothes. They lounged on the couches, barefoot and content, in his bright television room. The sunshine streamed through the large, picturesque windows and the palm trees outside tinted splotches of the walls with light green.

“First you take me to the beach, then you blow me, and now you’re offering me a foot massage?” He raised his eyebrows and grinned at him. “What are you trying to butter me up for?”

“Nothing, I just—” he breathed in with a smile, “I took you to the beach to spend time with you, I blew you because I wanted to, and I’m offering you a foot massage because I like that.”

“You like giving foot massages?”

His eyes slid to the side. “Yeah, I do.”

“You ain’t got some kind of weird foot fetish, do you?”

“No! Nothing like that,” he claimed, “I just wanna make you feel good. Honest. So do you want one, because it’d be my pleasure.”

Jason stretched, yawned, and kicked up his feet. “Sure, I’ll take you up on the offer. I don’t mind treating you like a servant.”

Zoltan stood up and got down in front of him. “Anything to please you, your majesty.” Jason swung his legs down off the couch and Zoltan’s heart began beating faster as they were offered to him. He refrained from touching them to retrieve some lotion and then kneeled down before them once more.

“Just don’t do anything weird down there…” Jason teased.

“I won’t,” he replied, grabbing ahold of one of his feet and feeling its thick skin in his hands. Jason’s feet were so clean from his shower, yet his toenails were untrimmed, and the tops were covered with hair.

“I hope you don’t mind my hobbit feet.”

“I don’t,” he mumbled. He was so used to the dainty feet of women, yet somehow Jason’s were so attractive, possibly for the sole reason that they were such a different experience. He felt the other one, fondling them both gently, his mouth salivating heavily. He wanted to taste them, kiss them, and feel them all over his body and face.

“Yo, are you gonna put lotion on them or what? You’re looking at my feet like they’re an all-you-can-eat buffet,” Jason commented. The younger guitarist snapped back to reality.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He quickly grasped the moisturizer and squirted some in his hands.

“Are you sure you ain’t got a foot fetish? You’re creeping me out…”

“Nah…” Zoltan took Jason’s foot and rubbed the cream into it slowly and thoroughly, much like how Jason had applied sunblock to his chest and back at the beach. He pressed his thumbs in between his toes and rubbed the knots out of the balls of his feet.

“Ahh…” Jason melted into the couch, “That’s nice, man… Keep it up.”

If only he could just kiss the tip of his big toe… Zoltan was relishing every second of this, possibly more than the man receiving the massage, but he wanted to do more to him. He wanted his permission to do whatever he wanted to his feet. Not willing to go that route, however, he gave him a very long massage on both of his feet until he was dozing off where he sat. He knew the slightest touch could wake his light slumber, so he silently enjoyed watching him breathe deeply, as if he were dreaming, while he rubbed his soles.

“You’ve got nice feet,” he whispered, looking up for a response. Jason didn’t move, nor did his breathing settle. “I really like you, Jason,” he said in an equally quiet voice. Nothing. “Heh, heh. I think you should repay me for that blowjob with a foot job.” He stopped rubbing his feet and Jason stayed asleep even as he returned the lotion to the bathroom and sat on the other couch. He smiled slightly at the older man, passed out from relaxation on his couch, and shook his head with a shallow chuckle.

“Fucking cutie,” he mumbled.
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