Pour Some Sugar On It - 1
Pour Some Sugar On It - 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.
Pour Some Sugar On It
Copyright © 2011
TOP SHELF
An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box 2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Going to Eleven Copyright 2011 by Lee Benoit, Best Birthday Ever
Copyright 2011 by Heidi Champa, One Foxy Man Copyright 2011
by Misa Izanaki, Chocolate Dreams Copyright 2011 by Kiernan
Kelly, Brownies: A Hammer Story Copyright 2011 by Sean
Michael, Banana Ice Cream Copyright 2011 by Emily Moreton, A
Prince Among Princes Copyright 2011 by G.R. Richards, The
Candyman Can Copyright 2011 by Rob Rosen, Sweet Tooth
Copyright 2011 by Julia Talbot, Drink Deep From the Cup of
Victory Copyright 2011 by Gabriel West, Favorite Dish Copyright
2011 by Cari Z
Illustration Copyright © Alessia Brio
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-144-9
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book
or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by
the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press.
Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.
First Torquere Press Printing: January 2011
Printed in the USA
Pour Some Sugar On It - 2
Table of Contents
Foreword - 4
Sweet Tooth by Julia Talbot - 5
Going to Eleven by Lee Benoit - 16
One Foxy Man by Misa Izanaki - 36
A Prince Among Princes by G.R. Richards - 55
Drink Deep From the Cup of Victory
by Gabriel West - 69
Best Birthday Ever by Heidi Champa - 90
Favorite Dish by Cari Z - 100
The Candyman Can by Rob Rosen - 110
Banana Ice Cream by Emily Moreton - 122
Chocolate Dreams by Kiernan Kelly - 135
Brownies: A Hammer Story by Sean Michael - 163
Contributors' Bios - 177
Pour Some Sugar On It - 3
Foreword
What's our recipe for something sweet? Just take a
group of Torquere authors, add hot men, throw on the
sugar, and shake.
Pour Some Sugar On It does just that, bringing you
sweet tales of lust and love, all with a dash of sugar.
From werewolves with sweet tooths to candymakers and
their sweet creating assistants, we've got chocolate
lovers and honey abusers, berry farmers and ice cream
aficionados, and they've all got one thing in common --
they're hot and they're sweet.
We have brought together all the best ingredients for
one sweet anthology: a cup of high fantasy from Gabriel
West and pound of urban fantasy from Misa Izanaki and
G.R. Richards. We have a touch of paranormal from
Julia Talbot, a dash of BDSM from Sean Michael.
Throw in the freshest contemporaries from Lee Benoit,
Heidi Champa, Cari Z, Rob Rosen, Emily Moreton, and
Kiernan Kelly and we have the hottest, sweetest recipe
going.
So take a dive into these sticky, gooey, and yes,
sweet stories. You won't even need to brush your teeth
when you're done.
M. Rode
Pour Some Sugar On It - 4
Sweet Tooth
By Julia Talbot
Shiloh has a sweet tooth.
I don't mean a little one, either. My wolf has a serious
jones for sweet stuff. He loves chocolate, especially with
caramel and nuts and all. He's not fond of most of the
fruit desserts; says that wolves don't love that kind of
thing. Cherries. Those and grapes are about it, and man
was he disappointed to know that grapes are kinda
poisonous to him.
Well, to us, because the first damned thing he did
when we started getting serious was bite me and make
me a werewolf, too. Good thing I like pecans instead of
almonds, huh? No poisoning for me. Almonds are as
bad for us as grapes.
Is it any wonder that I take great pleasure sometimes
in being the doctor, and thus the voice of doom? I mean,
talk about a change in my schedule. Now I have to plan
around the full moon and shit, and run my clinic, too. I
like to be flexible, but sometimes it gets me a little
frazzled.
Thank God for Tony, my assistant, who not only
bought the werewolf thing hook, line, and sinker, but
who moved to the new clinic with me. Tony's my right
hand man, my best bud, and while I know he's queer,
he's a guy's guy, so he's way more useful when I need to
talk about Shiloh than the girls are.
"So what do you think I should do, man?" I asked
Tony when I was planning on the big anniversary date I
wanted to take Shiloh on. The full moon had just passed,
so I could plan something really nice and not worry
Pour Some Sugar On It - 5
about someone sprouting whiskers or something. No one
had to worry about hopping in the hot tub and coming
out smelling like a wet dog.
"Hell if I know, dude. I mean, Shiloh is the manliest
queer guy I've ever met, aside from maybe you. Frou-
frou restaurants are probably out."
"Yeah. Yeah, I imagine so." I chewed a thumbnail,
which always made Tony frown at me. These days at
least I could tell him I had far less bacteria in my mouth
than the average human. "Maybe I should just skip to
dessert."
"Hey, not a bad idea. He loves those chocolate
covered cherries." Damn good thing chocolate wasn’t
bad for weres. God knew it was bad for dogs.
"He does." That was one of the few fruits he'd eat as
long as they were in cream and chocolate. So, chocolate
covered cherries, some whipped cream. I could get him
hyped up on sugar and take advantage of him all night
long. "Maybe I'll get a honeymoon suite in some crazy
hotel."
"There you go. Hot tub, heart-shaped bed." Tony
wrinkled his nose. "Not like you can get diseases
anymore."
"Oh. Ew." Yeah, but germs were still kinda gross. No
one wanted to think about some grandma sitting in a
public hot tub and using her bathing suit like a teabag.
Maybe we'd just stay home. We had a whirlpool tub and
a king-sized bed. That would be good, especially if I got
some plastic lined sheets or something. Chocolate all
over the bed would make Shiloh crazy eventually. He'd
roll around licking things and sniffing.
Tony just grinned at me. Asshole. He knew that my
doctor-y instincts would eventually overrun the whole
pleasure principle. He knows me too damned well.
"Go on and set things up, boss. I got the night shift."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 6
"Thanks, man." Nodding, I got my bag and stuffed
my iPad and my papers in it before clapping Tony on
the shoulder. I'd often thought of seeing if one of my
vamp patients would do Tony a favor and bite him hard
enough to make the night shift permanent, but that was
really up to Tony. Still, it worked out great for me that
he was willing to work like he was.
"Night, boss."
"Night."
It seemed a little weird that Shiloh wasn't there to
walk me home; he liked to show up and torment Tony,
and it was our anniversary, after all. Then again, maybe
he was planning something fun.
I pulled out my cell and hit speed dial one, walking
toward the condo we'd compromised on. I needed
something near the clinic I'd started, and he needed
something big enough to hold pack meetings. There
were more werewolves in the city than I would have
believed. The place took up two stories of a five story
townhouse, and it was a nice blend of old architecture
and updated amenities. I liked stainless steel; Shiloh
liked dark wood and plants…
The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail,
and I frowned. Damn.
"Hey, babe. I'm stopping at the store. The big wine
and food place. I'll be home soon."
I hit the end call button and headed into the store,
wanting to get some cordial cherries, some brandy or
something, and that whipped cream. I'd get some
cookies and shit, too. I like biscotti now and then, just
for contrast to all the soft textures of the other sweets.
Not in bed, though. Ow, rough crumbs.
My phone beeped, a text coming in. I checked it, and
it just said, "CU soon".
Well, at least he wasn't dead or something. Butthead.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 7
I tossed things in my basket: chocolate cherries,
dulche de leche, candied pecans, whipped cream, and
some amaretto wafer cookies for me. I thought about
some cheese and sausage or something, but really, we
had plenty of protein at the house.
Man, I used to be a pasta hound, but since I've
changed to the pack I crave meat so bad. A summer
sausage wouldn't cut through the sugar haze. I figured I
might as well plan on making hamburgers after we
rolled around in sugar and had a nap. We had some great
meat in the fridge. I would just set it out to come to
room temp when I got home.
It took maybe fifteen more minutes once I left the
store to get home, and I wondered the whole way what
Shiloh was up to that he couldn't answer the phone.
Damn it, I hate it when he's all mysterious. On occasion
it's gotten him shot, which means I have to dig silver out
of his skin.
That was way easier when I was human.
The condo was dark and quiet when I walked in, but
the scent of barely seared meat was strong, the spice
blend Shiloh used on steak making my mouth water.
God, he made good steaks.
"Babe?"
"In here."
Shiloh was in the kitchen, which worked for me,
because I had to unload the groceries anyway.
"What, no dinner in the bedroom?" I asked,
wandering in. Steak. Brazilian cheese bread. No veg.
Yay.
"Did you get dessert?"
"I did." I wandered over to sniff the food, setting
down my bags. "I got all sorts of things."
"Yeah?" His arm slid around me, his hand landing on
my ass.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 8
"Chocolate cherries."
"Oh, man. I love those."
"I know." I leaned against him for a moment, then
pushed away. "Feed me."
Shiloh bent, his nose pressing against my neck. The
little scenting thing always got me going, got my dick
going toward hard. It was crazy, but it was a wolf thing.
"I think we'd be better off going with the life is short
thing, baby."
I frowned. "What?"
"Eat dessert first." Shiloh moved so fast I barely had
time to blink. He threw me over one shoulder and used
his other hand to grab the bag of chocolates before
heading for the second floor.
"The steaks…"
"Will keep. I put them in the microwave."
That would keep the flies off and keep them from
getting cold. That worked for me. I pinched his ass.
"I can walk."
"Uh-huh. I like carrying you. I like how you smell
when you're all hard for me."
Such a beast, my Shiloh. I fucking love it. He gets so
revved up by tossing me around. I landed on the bed and
bounced a little, my bag opening up to spill stuff across
the comforter.
"What should I start with, babe?" I held up a handful
of chocolates.
"Cherries. I'm an addict." He gave me a wide, white
smile and started stripping off clothes.
"My wolf." I started unwrapping chocolate cherries,
hoping none of them had leaked. That sucks, when the
foil sticks and they break apart and you have to eat them
really fast to keep them from going all over. Or even
worse, when they're all dry and you get no creamy love
from them…
Pour Some Sugar On It - 9
I cackled, which made Shiloh tilt his head.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No, babe. I'm just thinking of crusty cherries."
He stopped in the act of pushing his lounge pants
down, staring at me with chagrin. "Ew. Gross. Don't kill
the mood."
"Sorry. I get carried away, you know that." I got one
perfect and not dry cherry unwrapped and squashed it
over Shiloh's closest nipple.
"Baby!" His eyes went wide, and Shiloh stared down
at his skin, his fingers pressing against his chest just
above his nipple. "I'm a little fuzzy for that aren't I?"
"Nope. You're perfect." Okay, so maybe he did have
a little more chest hair than the guys in the porn movies,
but that didn't mean I couldn't lick off the goo. I'm a
doctor, right? I can tell you that there's not much that a
judicious application of hot water can't unstick if it's
food-based.
Before he could protest any more, I did just that. The
licking, not the hot water. I knew it would shut him up.
It did. Shiloh just moaned for me and rocked against
me, his hips starting to roll. Yeah. I knew my man. He
did like my mouth. One might say he loved it. He'd told
me over and over it was one of the reasons he'd pursued
me.
He put one hand behind my head, fingers digging
into my hair, which was getting shaggy these days.
Hazard of working for myself and having an
unconventional clientele. Shiloh pulled my head back.
"You're not naked."
"I'm not," I agreed, grinning. I wanted to be, I just
hadn't gotten around to it yet.
"Well, if we're going to roll around in chocolate, you
need to be naked." Shi plucked at my shirt.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 10
"Okay." I started to strip off, but Shiloh got grumpy
halfway through and began tearing fabric.
"Hey! These are new scrubs, man."
"They were." His hands slid under my ass so he could
lift me and bite me shoulder.
The feel of his teeth against my skin made me jerk,
made my cock push up hard against his belly.
"We're supposed to be… oh. Oh, God. Dessert."
"Uh-huh. We are having dessert, baby." Kneeling up,
Shiloh yanked me up so I straddled his thighs, my legs
trailing down on the bed. I couldn't brace myself, really.
The only solid thing in my world was him, his thick
cock and heavy thighs. His body.
I panted, the primal starting to take over, my need for
my mate overtaking anniversaries and chocolate and
pretty much everything. I bent back over his arm, giving
him my throat and belly, letting him see how much I
wanted him.
"Hot, baby. So hot." He bit me again, drawing a little
blood. I could smell it as well as feel it, and fuck, it
made me shake. Made me want him inside me.
"Fuck me, Shi."
"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."
I was on my back in a heartbeat, my legs spread wide
and pushed back against my chest. He was on me before
I could move, his cock against my hole, his body heavy
on mine.
"Ready, baby?"
"The romance is gone, Shi. No lube?"
"Like you need it. Your ass is my bitch."
Okay, I admit it, I like it when he talks dirty to me. I
love it when he gets all Alpha. Kinda makes me want to
howl.
"Then come and get me, babe."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 11
"Fuck." He bared his teeth a little, his cock burning
hot at my hole.
"Yeah. Come on." I reached out with both hands,
trying to get some purchase in the comforter and sheets.
I got candy, instead. "Ack."
"Shh." Shiloh grinned. "Hold on to me, not that."
"Yeah." I dropped the still-wrapped chocolate and
reach for him. I got my hand on his arms just as he
pushed into me, my body opening up to accept him, the
burn immense and perfect. "Shi…"
The last part came out as a yelp. I knew he could tell
it was his name from the way he growled. He stared into
my eyes as his hips started to move, driving his cock
into me over and over.
We didn't have much in common to begin with,
Shiloh and me. We had lots of hot sex, which was what
this whole anniversary thing was reminding me of. He
was taking me hard and deep, and my muscles were like
frozen rope. I was straining right along with him, my
legs coming up to rest on his shoulders, my ass
clenching around his hard cock.
"Baby. Tight. Still so tight."
I nodded, too breathless to laugh. I sometimes
accused him of biting me just so I'd have that
accelerated healing thing, just to keep me right and tight.
Right then I didn't care. I just wanted him to get off
inside me, and for me to get off on his cock.
I reached up with one hand to claw at his chest a
little, my nails dragging down his skin, catching a little
on the sticky residue from the candy. Hell, yes. That
made him slam into me, his body really working now,
moving back and forth.
I can't describe how much more sex is when you're a
werewolf. You have to experience it to understand. The
scent of Shiloh is unique, and he smells different to me
Pour Some Sugar On It - 12
than he does to anyone else because we're a mated pair. I
feel so much more, hear every breath he takes, hear the
wet noises our bodies make together.
"Christ. Please, Shi. Please, I need you to touch me."
I couldn't bear it. I needed him to touch my cock.
"I got you, baby. I do." He braced himself on one
hand so he could grab my cock between our bellies,
rubbing it up and down, up and down.
The rhythm was fucking perfect, right in time with
his thrusts inside me, and I moaned, clinging to him,
fucking his hand.
"That's it, baby. That's it." Shiloh was flushed, his
eyes starting to glaze over, and I could feel how close he
was, his cock swelling in me.
I clamped down as hard as I could, which made my
balls pull up, my belly sucking in.
Boom. Shiloh howled for me, his body bucking
between my thighs, his cock releasing inside me. Hot,
wet spunk filled me, and his hand tightened on my prick
so tight that I shouted, trying to get closer and get away
from the agonizing pleasure.
Shiloh slumped down on top of me, panting, his chest
rising and falling hard. "You okay, baby?"
"Okay?" Yeah, that was absolutely the wrong word. I
was stupendous. "Happy anniversary."
"You, too."
"Still want dessert first, or do you want steak?"
I pondered that. Nap? Chocolate? Protein?
"How about steak first, then nap, then dessert." That
sounded like the doctor in me, I know, but hey, what can
I say? It's my shtick, right? I like to take care of people.
"Sounds good." He levered himself up, smiling down
at me. "How about you clean up here and I'll bring
dinner in bed?"
"Sure."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 13
I watched him move around naked, which was
something else. Then his fine ass disappeared out the
door and I started cleaning up slightly squashed
chocolate cherries. I was licking my fingers when he
came back, and he was bearing a tray of yummy looking
food.
"Ta-da." He laid the tray on the bed with a flourish.
"Excellent." I grabbed a cheese bread. "So, why
didn't you answer your phone earlier?"
"Huh?" Shiloh glanced up at me, frowning.
"Before I came home. I called to see why you weren't
walking me home, and you texted back like, two
minutes later."
"Oh." He grinned a little. "I didn't want you to ask me
to go out or anything. I had stuff on the grill and shit. I
figured if I let you, you'd get way too elaborate and all,"
"Well, I did suggest to Tony that I would take you to
a honeymoon suite somewhere."
"Uh-huh. And what did he say?"
"There might have been a mention of germs." I
wrinkled my nose. "Like whoa."
"Yeah, well, here we just have our germs, huh?"
Shiloh kissed me hard. "Glad you just came home?"
"Hell, yes." I had dinner. A hot mate. Chocolate
cherries for later on. "You?"
"Yeah. Naked is way better than dressed up for a
restaurant any time."
Shiloh was the natural type. I liked it. Most of the
time.
"So, we're good, then."
"Mostly. There is this whole thing…"
"Thing?" I frowned a little, wondering what could
possibly be wrong with out whole scenario.
"Yeah." He took my hand and brought it to his chest.
Under my fingers there was a sticky spot where the fine
Pour Some Sugar On It - 14
hairs around his nipple were clumping together a bit.
"It's a candy thing. You didn't get it all licked off."
"Damn. Good thing for you I'm a werewolf with a bit
of an oral fixation." I moved closer, bending to lick his
nipple, then sucking it between my lips.
"Uh-huh. Good thing." He was starting to rise again,
his cock coming up against my arm.
"Don't ruin supper, babe." I reached over to set the
steaks and bread aside, just like I had the candy.
Looked like the plan was going to change again.
More sex, then protein, then nap and dessert.
Good thing I'm a flexible guy. And that I have almost
as big as sweet tooth as Shiloh.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 15
Going to Eleven
By Lee Benoit
Twigs and Berries. The sign on the farm stand stood
out for its raunchy graphic which rose proudly above the
small sea of tents and canopies that transformed the
town common into a locavore's fairground every
Saturday.
"Are they serious?" Larry asked as he towed Chip
across the farmer's market to check out what the place
had to offer.
Chip resisted for a second. He hadn't finished pricing
the artisanal breads he was eyeing for supper.
Chamomile and rosemary sounded worthy for a one-
month anniversary with The One. But Larry was
determined to check out the porny fruit stand, so Chip
did his Obedient Lover act and followed.
The guy running the stand was cute in a 'cuts his hair
with pruning shears' kind of way, all cowlicks and big
brown eyes and a silky-looking mustache and beard
trimmed close. At the moment he looked distinctly
uncomfortable about the patter of innuendo Larry had
set up about the sign. Larry fancied himself
sophisticated, and he was about most things, like politics
and wine and vacation spots. But when it came to sex he
was a randy fourteen year old.
"Um, my sister named the business and designed the
logo," the farm boy was saying while pointing across the
way at another canopy. This one had a chicken and egg
theme and was called "Egg Envy."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 16
"And you still talk to her?" Larry asked in his 'don't
bother answering; I have my next gag lined up already,'
tone.
"Sorry," Chip mouthed to the farm boy. One month
with your true love shouldn't point up their flaws, but he
guessed it was better to know up front.
To his surprise, the farm boy mouthed back, "It's
okay." His brown eyes twinkled and Chip wished Larry
would be quiet a sec and let him ask about the berry
preserves and compotes on offer. Instead of interrupting,
Chip snatched one of the farm boy's business cards and
tucked it into his hemp shopping bag.
Later that evening, Chip assembled a festive supper
of goat cheeses and pesto spreads on flatbreads he made
himself. He'd love to have made a yeast bread like the
ones at the market, but his doughs weren't reliable
enough to try on Larry. Larry uncorked a Very Good
Wine and, when it was done breathing, poured them
each a glass before unceremoniously ending their
relationship.
"I've been offered an associates position at my firm's
Boston office. It's the next step for me."
Chip gawked like a tourist. "I... I could come with
you. Give my notice, maybe transfer to the Boston
office--"
Larry cut him off with a pitying look and took a sip
of his wine, swishing it thoughtfully before dealing the
death blow. "The next step for me is a professional
boyfriend, Chip. It's what will make me happy."
There. He'd done it. Larry had played the one card
Chip couldn't argue with. If nothing else, Chip wanted
his boyfriend to be happy. The problem was, all of them
were happier without him than with him.
He'd been here before. He'd never expected his first
boyfriend, back in high school, to be his last. That's why
Pour Some Sugar On It - 17
they were called "first" after all. But he'd hoped he'd
have found his last boyfriend by now. He was twenty-
five, after all, with an Associate's degree in computer
science and a decent apartment and a really awesome
cat.
After Larry left, toting the paltry few items of his that
had accreted in Chip's apartment, Chip sat stroking his
really awesome cat, finishing Larry's Very Good Wine,
and thinking about the farm boy from the market.
***
"Weren't you here with some suit last time?" The
twig and berry guy's egg-raising sister was eyeing Chip's
new boyfriend.
Chip fumbled the dozen free range beauties he'd
selected. "Wow, you remember me?"
"I'd remember anyone my brother crushed on as hard
as you," she said with an evil grin and a waggle-fingered
wave across the way to her brother's stand.
Chip swung his head around to look at said brother,
who blushed and dove under one of his tables. "He... I
mean, um... how much for the eggs?" He couldn't dwell
on some sparkly-eyed farmer when Sergio stood beside
him, blocking out the sun. He paid for his eggs, running
through the rest of the ingredients he'd need to make his
summer-language-institute boyfriend an authentic
frittata. But he couldn't resist a parting shot. "You're
mean, sister."
The Egg Envy gal laughed delightedly. "I know, and
the name's Kulima."
"I know," Chip muttered. He'd studied the two-sided
business card from the berry stand and knew it by heart.
Bartholomew and Kulima Andersson. Family farm on
the oldest road in the county. Web presence needed
Pour Some Sugar On It - 18
work. In the bleak days after Larry and before Sergio,
Chip had fantasized offering his services as a web
designer even though his specialty was networking.
Something about that wild hair, those glittery blue
eyes...
But then the university's summer session had opened
and Chip had been part of the team installing a new
network. Troubleshooting the language lab had put him
-- literally -- at Sergio's feet and before the day was out
Chip had decided that Sergio was the new One. Maybe
the ninth time was the charm?
***
The ninth time was most definitely not the charm,
Chip thought morosely as he muscled Really Awesome
Cat's carrier through the farmer's market. Summer
session was over, and so was his summer idyll with
Sergio, who had chased his dreams to Manhattan and a
plum internship.
"Your cat is listing."
Chip looked from the grille of the carrier -- within
which Cat was most definitely listing on his way to
flopping -- and up into a pair of concerned blue eyes.
"Bartholomew!" he said, unaccountably cheered to
see his farmer's market acquaintance.
The blue eyes nearly disappeared into a welter of
crinkles. "You know my name." A fetching blush
followed, which warmed Chip even further.
"Cat had minor surgery today. He's still loopy from
the anesthesia. And I'm in your way, sorry!" Chip
sidestepped so Bartholomew could pass with a hand
truck stacked with wooden crates of fresh berries. "Ooh,
blackberries!"
Pour Some Sugar On It - 19
Bartholomew steered the crates in the direction of his
usual booth and Chip followed like a moon follows a
planet. "Cat?" Bartholomew asked over his shoulder.
Chip's turn to blush. "Yeah. Really Awesome Cat.
Cat for short. It's a stupid name."
"Not if it's accurate. Is he really awesome?"
Bartholomew reached his booth, parked the hand truck,
and started unloading little cardboard pint containers full
of fat blackberries. The smell was amazing, rich and
sweet and perfectly summery.
"Oh, yeah. I mean, most folks don't see past the
patchy fur and the missing toes and, well, the droopy
ear. But he's a total survivor, you know? Really
awesome." One of Chip's boyfriends had gotten his
kicks making fun of how devoted Chip was to Cat, but
somehow Chip felt safe sharing with Bartholomew. He
set Cat down beside the legs of Bartholomew's folding
table, out of the sun, and asked, "Can I help?"
"If you don't mind my sister ragging on us, sure."
"Oh, about the crush?" Chip wished he had Cat's
excuse of general anesthesia to explain the foot in his
mouth, and tried to backpedal. "I mean, don't worry
about it. Sisters, right?"
Bartholomew's eyes peeked through his fingers,
which covered most of his face. He had really big hands.
Nice, big hands that distracted Chip just enough that he
didn't flinch when Bartholomew asked, "You have
sisters, too?"
I used to, Chip almost said. He couldn't kill the mood
by telling Bartholomew about his fucked up family and
the sisters who weren't allowed to be in touch with him
since he'd come out. Instead he simply said, "Yeah,
three, all younger."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 20
Bartholomew dropped his hands and they
immediately got busy arranging the berry baskets on the
table. "Try an older one sometime."
"Murder?" Chip guessed. He glanced across the way
to Egg Envy where Kulima was juggling three greenish
eggs to the delight of a cluster of children.
"One way or another," Bartholomew said darkly, but
his eyes were gleaming with mischief so Chip figured
neither sibling was in immediate danger. "So, if you set
these out, I can run back to the truck for the preserves.
You're sure you don't mind?"
Chip shook his head. "Nah, Cat can use the break."
He decided to take a risk. "And it's nice to hang with a
friend."
"Really awesome," Bartholomew said.
Chip watched with unabashed appreciation as
Bartholomew steered the empty hand truck back the way
they'd come. Workingman's coveralls over the world's
thinnest T-shirt was Chip's new favorite look.
By the time Bartholomew returned with a load of
berry preserves, jams, and compotes, Chip had arranged
the blackberry cartons twice. First he set them up in neat
rows and then, when Bartholomew didn't come back
right away, he got silly and organized the boxes into
blackberry-shaped clusters.
"Hey, I never thought of doing that!" Bartholomew
said with grin.
Chip felt a bloom of pride that Bartholomew had
understood and approved. "Just goofing around."
Bartholomew handed Chip a pair of baguettes and set
about arranging several dozen jars in the same pattern as
the fresh berry boxes. "Copycat," Chip accused.
Without thinking, Chip fell into the rhythm of
unloading the hand truck alongside Bartholomew. Every
so often, their shoulders or elbows would bump together
Pour Some Sugar On It - 21
and, after the first Sorry-no-my-fault exchange ended in
a surprisingly heated stare-off, Chip swore they were
both colliding on purpose.
While they worked, Bartholomew asked questions.
By the time they'd sat and torn into the baguettes, spread
with deep-red raspberry jam, they were well past Chip's
hometown, college major, and job description. During a
pause while Chip checked on Cat, Bartholomew asked,
"So, that guy I saw you with last week?"
Chip gazed up from his kneeling position beside the
cat carrier. The look on Bartholomew's face was
complicated. If pressed, Chip would have described it as
half shy and half hurt. Maybe Kulima was right about
the crush.
Chip straightened up and looked Bartholomew in the
eye. "Sergio? It turns out I was just a summer fling to
him."
Batholomew's expression darkened and Chip
hastened to add, "It's okay, really. I always expect too
much."
Bartholomew poured a bit of water into the lid of the
jam jar and passed it over so Cat could have a drink.
"What do you mean?"
Chip smiled his thanks and wondered how to answer.
It was so easy to talk to Bartholomew, but Chip never
shared this part of himself except with his boyfriends.
"Talking to you is like talking to Jimmy." The words
were out almost before the thought formed in his head.
Bartholomew cocked his head to one side, just like
Cat listening for mice in the walls.
"My first boyfriend," Chip explained. When
Bartholomew didn't ask any more of his questions, Chip
went on. "We were in high school, each other's first." To
cover the blush he could feel creeping up his neck, Chip
said the rest in a rush. "We were just boys together, you
Pour Some Sugar On It - 22
know? Didn't know what we were doing, but it was so
great. I guess I keep expecting every relationship to be
like that." He subsided and stared at Cat messily lapping
his water so he wouldn't have to meet Bartholomew's
eyes.
The question Bartholomew asked next wasn't the one
Chip expected. "What happened to Jimmy?"
Chip blinked. "He went to college out of state. We
stayed in touch for a while, but you know how it is."
Bartholomew's quizzical look said he most definitely
didn't know how it was, so Chip clarified. "No one
expects to stay with their high school sweetheart, right?
You grow apart, explore new things. You know."
"I don't know any of that," Bartholomew said.
Chip waited for the feeling of embarrassment, a rush
of anger at being judged, but one look into
Bartholomew's bright blue eyes told him he wasn't being
judged. There was something sad in the look, though.
Like Cat when the mouse got away.
Bartholomew turned away to make a sale. When he
turned back, he asked, "So what about after Jimmy? I
know I'm all nosy. Sis says I'm worse than her chickens
for clucking and pecking."
Chip darted a glance across to Kulima's booth. She
was making change for a couple with a stroller, but even
so made very pointed eye contact. Like Cat when the
mouse did not get away.
"It's okay," Chip said. "Kind of a funny litany, really.
After Jimmy there was Andrew, in college."
"What happened with him?"
"I was an experiment. He decided he preferred
sorority girls."
Bartholomew winced around a bite of jam and bread,
but made a rolling gesture with his hands. Go on.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 23
"Then there was Josh." Chip paused. "Basketball
player. Wouldn't come out."
Bartholomew nodded and Chip went on with his sad
gay ballad.
"Tony. Wouldn't keep it in his pants. Shaun joined
the Peace Corps after college. Marcus wouldn't bottom,
George wouldn't top." By this point Chip was counting
on his fingers and Bartholomew had given up his
expressions of sympathy for rueful chuckles.
"Larry you met. Ambition was more important than
me." That one still hurt. "And then Sergio, who just
wanted a fuck buddy while he made his way to the big
city." That one hadn't been much of a surprise, so Chip
gave his new friend a sheepish smile and wiggled his
fingers. "That's it I guess. Sounds kinda slutty all in a list
like that."
Bartholomew's blue eyes twinkled at him. "Nine true
loves in ten years? Not so bad."
Bartholomew was so easy to talk to, Chip hadn't
realized how much time had passed, or how little he'd
learned about the berry farmer, so he asked, "What
about you?"
"Me?" Bartholomew fidgeted with his cash box and
cast a glance over at his sister's busy booth. "Kulima
teases me, but I'm a hopeless romantic. She says I'm a
hermit."
"I'm a hopeless romantic, too," Chip said. "I guess
there's more than one way to believe in true love."
Really Awesome Cat gave a yowl from his carrier. "I
guess I should get him home and fed before--" he
stopped cold.
Bartholomew eyed him across the much-dwindled
berry displays. "Before what?"
After a moment's hesitation, Chip said, "Before my
date tonight. Guy my boss has been trying to set me up
Pour Some Sugar On It - 24
with for ages. I finally promised after Sergio left. Wish I
was going out with you instead." The words were out,
again, before he could think better of saying them.
Bartholomew stood and filled a bag with jars of
preserves and one of the last boxes of blackberries. "It's
okay," he said. "I don't want to be your next boyfriend."
Numb as an automaton, Chip accepted the bag and
hefted Cat's carrier. He was being dismissed after their
awesome afternoon, just like that. He should get his feet
moving, but they felt rooted to the packed earth of the
farmer's market. He took one breath that shuddered a
little, followed by a steadier one. Then he made a
mistake. He looked into Bartholomew's eyes. "You
don't?" he asked.
Those eyes were looking right back at him, their
sparkle dimmed and their dark lashes lowered. "I don't
want to be your next boyfriend," Bartholomew repeated
right before he leaned forward to lay a warm, chaste,
raspberry-scented kiss on Chip's frozen lips. "Bye,
Chip."
***
Chip was still floating on the sunny rays of his
afternoon with Bartholomew in the farmer's market --
and determinedly ignoring the sting of rejection -- as he
settled Cat in a cozy nest of blankets on the bed. He
even opened the curtains to let in the long afternoon
light so Cat could luxuriate. Then he showered, dressed,
and went to meet the man who might have been his tenth
boyfriend. Might have been, but for Bartholomew
Andersson of the Twigs and Berries farm. Chip couldn't
really give the guy the chance he deserved, not after
Bartholomew's dismissal of Chip and their afternoon
Pour Some Sugar On It - 25
together. Instead of feeling hopeful, Chip approached his
date feeling hopeless, no 'romantic' about it.
The worst part was, Chip's boss had been right. The
guy was everything Chip wanted: smart and funny,
successful but humble, good-looking in an ordinary,
solid way. He took Chip to his favorite Japanese
restaurant and then to a concert at the university. It was
a terrific date.
But when the guy -- Mick -- walked Chip home and
tried to kiss him good night, Chip turned at the last
minute and caught it on the cheek. Mick looked
disappointed, but didn't press the issue. Chip sighed. A
gentleman. Chip had to say something.
"You'll be a great boyfriend." Chip hoped it wasn't
too horrible a statement. "Just, not for me." His face
must have shown his discomfort, because Mick gave
him a hug.
"That's the nicest rejection I've ever had," Mick said.
"Maybe, if things don't change, you could give me a
call?"
Chip shook his head. "If I give you a call, it won't be
for a date. But maybe we could be friends?" Chip had
never been friends with any of his exes.
Mick nodded and walked down the porch steps to the
brick path, pausing to wave before pushing through the
gate and into the night.
***
Sunday. No work. Cat was milking his post-operative
lethargy to the max. Chip read the Sunday paper and
loved on Cat until Cat had enough and ambled off to
laze in sunspots.
Chip cleaned his apartment, and then paced from
room to room looking for something to do. More than
Pour Some Sugar On It - 26
once, he picked up the two-sided business card with
Bartholomew and Kulima's address on it, spun it
between his forefingers and thumbs, and laid it down on
the kitchen table. After the third aimless pass through
the little apartment, Chip ran fresh water for Cat, swiped
up his keys and helmet, and shouldered his bike through
the door.
He left the Twigs and Berries card on the kitchen
table. He'd memorized the address the very first day he'd
met Bartholomew.
***
Midday sunlight dappled the thirty minute ride to the
only farm left on the oldest road in town. Chip took his
time, rehearsed what he'd say, thought more than once
about turning back, giving Mick the Tenth another
chance. All the while, his legs pumped him relentlessly
closer to Bartholomew's farm.
An old-fashioned rough-hewn fence backed with
chicken wire fronted the large property. Two small
houses sat at either end, connected by a narrow brook.
At first, Chip didn't know which house was
Bartholomew's and which Kulima's, but closer
inspection revealed a village of chicken coops at one end
of the property. Chip wheeled his bike to the other end
and stopped to lean his bike against the fence when he
spotted clusters of berry bushes draped in bird netting.
No turning back now.
"If you're here to mess with him, you can turn around
and go back to town right now."
Kulima faced him over the gate with a half-grown
chick tucked under each arm.
"What are you, some sort of scary egg-farming
psychic?" How had she known why he was there, what
Pour Some Sugar On It - 27
he was thinking? And how had she snuck up on him so
fast?
"Play nice, Chip, or I'll sic the rooster on you." Her
voice was harsh, but Kulima smiled smugly as she
unfastened the gate and swung it outward to admit Chip.
Chip sidled through, assiduously avoiding the
lunging beaks of Kulima's charges.
"He's in the canning shed," she said. "And I mean it
about not breaking my brother's heart. The rooster is a
mean old prick."
"Who said anything about breaking hearts?" Chip
cried, desperate to redeem himself. But Kulima was
halfway to the brook, tripping lightly across the rocky
yard. Emboldened by her distance, he added under his
breath, "Not that it's any of your business!" He was not a
heartbreaker -- nine exes and a tenth not-quite-boyfriend
could testify for him.
He leaned back over the gate to clip his helmet to his
bike handlebars, scrubbed his fingers through his sweaty
helmet hair, and set off to find the canning shed.
Smoke or steam from a narrow aluminum chimney
would have been a good clue that he'd found the canning
shed if the overwhelming scent of cooked berries hadn’t
assailed him first. The tart, rich sweetness was like
distilled summertime. Chip followed his nose and gave a
tentative knock.
The door swung open and the heat and steam that
roiled out obscured Bartholomew's face and figure so
much that Chip didn't speak right away. He just watched
the man emerge as from a primeval mist and tried to
catch up with the galloping of his heart.
"How was your date?"
Bartholomew's hair was hidden by a red bandanna
that almost matched the flush of his cheeks and lips. His
Pour Some Sugar On It - 28
beard was damp with sweat and so was his shirt, which
clung to his rangy muscles most appealingly.
Chip found his voice and his resolve all at once.
Grabbing Bartholomew's hand he said, "He didn't have
scratches from berry canes all up and down his arms.
His fingertips weren't stained with berry pigment. His
hair was too tidy and his face too clean-shaven and his
eyes didn't twinkle when he looked at me." Chip paused
when Bartholomew tried to pull his hand away, wouldn't
let go. "He wasn't you."
The hand Chip held tightened and drew him closer.
"And am I?"
"My next boyfriend," Chip said. "I hope."
They stood chest to chest now, and the dampness of
Bartholomew's skin seeped into Chip's clothing. He
shivered and waited.
Bartholomew brought his heated face very close to
Chip's and murmured in his ear. "I thought I made it
clear I didn't want to be your next boyfriend."
Chip, who had automatically leaned in to catch
everything Bartholomew said, staggered back and broke
their handclasp. He'd taken the risk, come out here to
show Bartholomew he was ready to take a new step,
only to be dismissed again.
Bartholomew's freed hand swept wide to indicate the
farm all around them. "I've never left home, never had a
boyfriend. I don't know anything about anything but
berries. I meant it when I said I don't want to be your
next boyfriend."
Something in Bartholomew's eyes gave Chip a chill.
He'd rejected Mick, come all this way, laid himself
open, and for what? "I guess I should go then." He
turned away and heard the door of the canning shed
bang shut. Bartholomew hadn't even waited until he was
gone to get back to work.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 29
Suddenly a hand closed on Chip's shoulder. Chip
turned to find Bartholomew right in his space, crowding
him. "Why are you leaving?"
"Huh?" Confusion was not Chip's best look, he knew
that, so he tried to turn away again.
Bartholomew's sweet little moustache turned
downward in a frown. "You give up too easily. You're
too used to love ending."
What was he talking about? Chip loved love. Had
been looking for true love forever. He opened his mouth
to say so, and found his tongue beseiged by a raspberry-
flavored invader. The kiss seemed to go on and on as the
afternoon deepened and grew more golden around them.
When Chip finally had enough air to speak, he
panted, "Every guy I've ever been with found his
happily-ever-after by leaving me." Not that he felt sorry
for himself or angry with them.
"And you kept looking." Bartholomew swooped in
for another kiss, and Chip had just enough brain cells
left to wonder how that moustache and beard would feel
on parts of his body further south than his face. His
nipples, his...
"Pay attention!" Bartholomew snapped, fond
exasperation coloring his voice.
"Huh?" Chip swayed forward, seeking more kisses.
He didn't need to be smart or clear about things to share
a Really Awesome Kiss.
"I've got to get back to work in a minute, so just
listen. I never wanted to be your next boyfriend. I want
to be your last."
Oh! Chip finally got it. Maybe he was ready for his
last boyfriend. He looked into Bartholomew's earnest
blue eyes and decided there was no maybe about it. Chip
was ready. He tried a wobbly smile and hoped that stood
for an answer.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 30
It must have done, for Bartholomew said, "So if you
can see your way clear to helping me for an hour, we
can get started on that right away." With that,
Bartholomew towed Chip into the raspberry inferno.
***
"Oh man, do I need a shower," Chip said when they
exited the canning shed just over an hour later. "I don't
know how you spend all day in there."
Bartholomew looked wrung out despite how damp
and sweaty he was. He gave Chip a tired smile. "I tell
myself it's only a day or two every so often." His smile
brightened. "And I have my lunch at the swimming
hole."
"You have a swimming hole? Can we have supper
there?" Chip was aware he was bouncing like a little kid,
but be couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed.
Especially not when Bartholomew grinned back, all
boyish conspiracy and mischief.
He followed Bartholomew to a second shed where
they found towels and a blanket and a cold supper
waiting with what looked like egg salad and a potato
omelet. Chip laughed out loud. "Your scary femivore
sister makes you supper? I don't believe it."
Bartholomew advanced on Chip and covered his
mouth with a long, warm hand. "Shh! Don't let her hear
you." He cast a look of exaggerated caution toward the
far away cluster of chicken runs. "Anyway, I do the
same for her during chick season, so it's all good. Come
on!" Blanket flapping behind him, he took off for the
windbreak at what Chip had assumed was the back of
the property.
When Chip got there and pushed through brush with
the picnic basket before him, he realized he'd been
Pour Some Sugar On It - 31
wrong about the size of the farm. A hayfield extended
for what looked like several acres, and Chip had to look
hard to make out Bartholomew's shape heading through
the waving grass toward a line of Lombardy poplars in
the distance. He called "Wait up!" and breasted the tall
grass, reaching a dip in the landscape just in time to
avoid tumbling into a small pond.
"Wow!"
"Yeah, huh?" Bartholomew had stripped off his
sweaty shirt and stood with his overalls folded down
around his waist. Golden dust from the hay swirled
around him in the buttery afternoon light, and Chip felt
something loosen deep within him to spread warmth and
happy ease all up and down his core.
That feeling moved his feet and raised his arms so
they wrapped around his friend. He offered a kiss, which
was accepted with a lazy abandon. Their tongues tangled
like the nodding heads of the stalks surrounding them,
their bodies rippled together like the surface of the pond,
and Chip floated on the feeling for a solid minute before
Bartholomew's hands tightened on Chip's shoulders and
toppled them both into the warm, shallow water.
"Hey!" Chip came up spluttering. "Now my clothes
are all wet!"
Bartholomew grinned, unrepentant. "I noticed that.
Probably easier to swim without them." He sloshed up
the sloped bank and wriggled out of his overalls while
Chip watched, admiring the lean, pale body.
"You have a farmer's tan!" he exclaimed.
Bartholomew wrinkled his nose in Chip's direction, and
Chip added, "I'm a master of stating the obvious." But
he fought his way out of his own clothes so he could get
close to those dark and light contrasts. He wanted to
taste them, so he licked his way around Bartholomew's
neck and over his biceps where the cream of his arms
Pour Some Sugar On It - 32
met the coffee of his shoulders. He even raised
Bartholomew's arm to get all the way around, and
groaned with delight at the sharper smell and taste on
the armpit side of things.
Chip would have coasted on the smell alone if
Bartholomew hadn't turned out to be ticklish. With a
yelp, Bartholomew leaped backward, throwing them
both back into the water where Chip landed on top and
finally remembered they were both naked as plucked
chickens out there in the open.
The water feathered down Bartholomew's dark chest
hair and Chip found he wanted to lick all of it, too. So
while Bartholomew floated with his eyes closed, that's
what Chip did, following the fine hair with his tongue
until he found more ticklish spots and some hot ones,
too. He was exploring a really sensitive spot below the
point of Bartholomew's left hip when Bartholomew
broke the spell.
"My turn!" he cried, all breathy and desperate, and
flipped onto his feet to stand before Chip.
A warning bell sounded deep in Chip's consciousness
and before he could stop the words, he said, "I'm your
first, right?" Bartholomew looked away and nodded. No
shame, no way, Chip thought. He said, "Then it's
definitely still my turn."
The water only reached their thighs, so Chip knelt
and wrapped his arms around Bartholomew's hips,
playing his fingers over the tight buttocks and resting
the side of his face on Bartholomew's dripping pubic
hair. "Let me, okay?" he said, and turned inward to give
Bartholomew his first blow job.
Chip's cock sucking philosophy had two basic
premises: there's no such thing as too much spit and
there's no such thing as too much enthusiasm. He
applied these principles very systematically, all the
Pour Some Sugar On It - 33
while gentling Bartholomew's trembling thighs and
flexing butt with his hands. Warm sunshine on his
shoulders and cool water below his waist mellowed
Chip to the point where his own need receded.
Bartholomew's hands found purchase in Chip's damp
hair, and Chip figured it was time for a little ball action.
Bartholomew had really excellent balls, plump and ripe
and big enough to stretch Chip's lips without choking
him. He tugged on the silky hair that covered them and
explored Bartholomew's reactions. Deep licks made him
moan, and delicate tugs made him gasp. Chip was
having the time of his life.
When Bartholomew reached for his recently
abandoned prick, Chip knew it was time for the finale.
He slid one hand from Bartholomew's butt and cradled
those lovely balls while he reached for the long, tight
dick. Two solid pulls had it down his throat, and two
breathless swallows had Bartholomew coming with
sloppy hips and broken cries. Chip barely had time to
pull off before Bartholomew collapsed to his knees in
the water. His mouth was open and his eyes were
squeezed shut, and Chip had a moment's quandary about
which to kiss first. The afterglow featured a lot of nose
bumping and near-miss kisses, but every second of it felt
so right Chip couldn't worry about the lack of finesse.
He'd never given such a successful blow job.
Bartholomew finally gathered enough breath and
brain cells to speak. "That definitely felt like a turn for
me."
Chip chuckled against Bartholomew's neck. "Every
time I get to make you feel good is my turn, silly. After
supper it can be your turn." Chip could hardly wait to be
on the receiving end of Bartholomew's first blow job. Or
first fuck. Either way it was going to be amazing.
"You're hungry?" Rough hands caught on Chip's hair.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 34
"Starving. Want you to fill me up." Chip slung an
arm over Bartholomew's shoulders and led his eleventh -
- and final -- boyfriend out of the pond and into their
future.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 35
One Foxy Man
By Misa Izanaki
The music stopped and, with a quick bow, Aoi
headed offstage. He usually lingered a little longer,
making his exit as sensual as his entrance but not this
time. He was restless tonight. Aoi loved his work, but
once in a while, he needed to get away from the crowds
and have a little time to himself. Luckily for him, his
audience didn't seem to notice. They were as receptive
as ever, leaving a generous number of tips tucked into
the skimpy, black g-string he wore. Hell, there must
have been at least a hundred in small bills tucked in his
underwear.
Too bad there were no propositions for 'private'
shows, at least none that Aoi was actually interested in.
Sex would have been a great way to burn off the nervous
energy that was throwing Aoi off. A brisk walk through
the park would work too, but sex was definitely more
fun. Oh, well, everyone had nights like that, even Aoi.
Despite what a lot of people thought, Aoi didn't sleep
with just anyone. He was picky, even if he was a whore.
Aoi had that prerogative. All the dancers at the Body
Shop did, which was one of the things that made the
club such a great place to work.
Aoi stuffed the cash from his underwear into the tip
bucket on the bar and was about to seat himself on one
of the stools when a towel hit him square in the face.
"Damn it, Aoi, no bare butts on the bar stools!" A
tall, angry-looking redhead snapped from behind the
bar. "You've been working here long enough to know
that."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 36
"Sorry, Kale." Aoi wrapped the towel around his
waist and sat down again. He sighed. The boss-man
would have to be watching the bar. Kale was a good guy
and took care of everyone who worked at the Body
Shop. The only problem was that Kale had the eyes of a
hawk and noticed everything. That meant questions and
probably advice, and Aoi wasn't in the mood for either.
"What's wrong?" Kale set an icy bottle of water down
on the bar and eyed Aoi. "Something's up with you. I
can tell."
"Hmm?" Aoi brushed a bit of dark, waist-length hair
behind a pointed ear. "Why would anything be wrong?"
Okay, that was a lie, but it was easier than trying to
explain things to Kale. Hell, Aoi wasn't even sure what
the problem was. "Things couldn't be better."
"I don't know. You seem a little antsy tonight." Kale
handed two beer bottles to one of the drink boys.
Aoi shrugged. "I have been kind of restless. A quick
walk through the park should help, though. It usually
does."
Kale raised an eyebrow and gave Aoi a curious look.
"Um, you do know that it's two in the morning, right?
Seems like a bad time to go for a walk."
"Sex would have been more fun, but that's not
happening tonight."
"That's why you need to find yourself a boyfriend,
Aoi. It would keep your ass out of trouble."
"Sorry, Kale, I don't date." Aoi laughed and set his
empty water bottle back on the bar. "People like me
weren't made for serious relationships."
"What does you being an elf have anything to do with
finding someone serious?"
"I meant being a stripper and a whore, though being
an elf doesn't really help either."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 37
"I guess." Kale shrugged. "It shouldn't matter,
though.
"But it does, and you know it." Aoi hopped off his
stool and stretched.
"Aoi..."
"What? It doesn't bother me. Besides, sex is easier
when there's no strings attached."
"I guess." Kale turned and gave him a concerned
look. "You know, there's no harm in hoping for
something better, Aoi."
"I know, but I like things the way they are. Besides,
I'm just waiting for you to come to your senses and
figure out that you're in love with me," Aoi added with a
grin. He couldn't resist teasing Kale. It was just way too
much fun. "That vamp blood does make you awfully
sexy."
"Just go home, Aoi." Kale swatted good naturedly at
Aoi with his bar towel. "The last thing I need is you
starting any more rumors around the club."
"Fine, I'll see you tomorrow." Aoi waved at his boss
and headed up to his apartment. All the dancers and
drink boys at the Body Shop lived in apartments above
the club. Kale claimed that it was so he could keep an
eye on everyone, but Aoi had a feeling that there was
more to it. Aoi would have been homeless or worse if it
hadn't been for what Kale provided, and he wasn't the
only one. In a weird way, Kale was like a dad to
everyone there, though no one would ever admit it, least
of all Kale.
Once Aoi got home, he threw on a T-shirt and a pair
of sweats. He grabbed his keys and headed back
downstairs. Aoi wanted to get his walk in before it got
any later. He wouldn't get a wink of sleep otherwise.
Aoi shoved his hands in his pockets as he crossed the
street to the park. It was chilly and clear out, the perfect
Pour Some Sugar On It - 38
night to just sit and relax. He took one lap around the
trail, then sat himself on his favorite bench and leaned
back to watch the stars. A few of them twinkled in the
distance despite the glaring lights from the city. Aoi
didn't know any of their names but that didn't stop him
from enjoying them or the quiet. It was just what he
needed. Aoi loved being around people, but sometimes a
little time to himself was nice too.
"Well, what do we have here? Little faggot looking
for a trick?"
Aoi glanced up to see two shady-looking guys
standing over him. He didn't know them, but he knew
their type. They were bullies pure and simple. The two
of them were probably drunk and looking for some one
to beat on just to make themselves feel better about
something. Aoi had seen way too many guys like that
get tossed out of the Body Shop when they tried to
throw their weight around. Kale didn't put up with that
crap. Too bad Kale wasn't there at the moment. It would
have been nice to have a little back up.
"Well, that's my signal to leave." Aoi sighed and
ducked between the two men. "Pity, it was such a nice
night, too."
"Not so fast, bitch!" The taller of the two men
grabbed Aoi's arm and threw him toward the ground.
"You're not goin' anywhere until we're done with you."
Aoi caught himself and hopped back to his feet. He
was a dancer, after all, and agility came with the
territory. "Sorry boys, you two just aren't my type. I'm
not into bullies with small cocks."
The shorter of the two lunged at him. Aoi stepped to
one side, dodging his attacker completely. It wasn't hard.
He could smell a lot of booze on both of them. Aoi was
surprised that they were still standing, let alone trying to
manhandle him. Hopefully, they were too drunk to chase
Pour Some Sugar On It - 39
him for very long. With that thought, Aoi took a step
back and turned to run. Before he could get too far, one
of they guys grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled
him backward.
The air flew from Aoi's lungs as he hit the ground.
One heavy boot pushed against his chest, pinning him
there. Oh, he so was screwed. Aoi clamped his eyes shut
and brought his arms up to protect his face. It was all he
could do besides hope that they wouldn't kill him.
Somewhere near his head, Aoi heard a low growl. A
few seconds later, the weight lifted from his chest and
there was lots of screaming. Oh, what the hell was going
on now? When the screaming finally faded into the
distance, Aoi cracked an eye open. The two men were
gone and standing in front of him was a huge dog. No, it
was more of a fox. Well, if foxes came in extra large.
The thing was the size of a German Shepherd.
The fox thing turned and fixed an amazing pair of
copper-colored eyes on him. Aoi didn't know what to
do. There was no way he was outrunning something like
that, even if he wasn't hurting. Aoi swallowed and
prepared himself for the worst.
It didn't attack, which was good right? Instead, it just
stalked closer and licked Aoi's face. Okay, he wasn't
expecting that one.
"Are you all right?" A warm, rumbly voice asked. If
Aoi didn't know better, he could have sworn it came
from the fox.
"I think I hit my head. 'Cause now I'm hearing
things." Aoi sat up and blinked at his rescuer. "Unless,
of course, there are giant, talking foxes in Seattle, now. I
really wish I had gotten the memo on that one."
A puff of bluish smoke obscured everything for a few
seconds and once it cleared there was a guy crouching
where the fox-thing had been. Aoi rubbed his eyes. He
Pour Some Sugar On It - 40
definitely must have hit his head because he was seeing
things, too. Yeah, that had to be it. The hot, naked guy
would go away if Aoi just lay there long enough.
"No giant foxes and no memo... whatever that
means."
Aoi blinked again. The guy was still there. Those
gorgeous, copper eyes watched him worriedly. "You're
not a hallucination are you?"
"Not that I know of." Now that was one handsome
hunk of man, from what Aoi could see anyway. He was
tall and sleekly muscled with short, sable hair and a
handsome, slightly feral face. Big, warm hands helped
Aoi back onto the bench. "I hope those two didn't hurt
you."
"I'm okay." Aoi tugged a few leaves from his hair. "I
got a couple of bruises but no permanent damage." He
glanced up at his rescuer. Once Aoi's brain started to
work again it was easy enough to figure out what his
rescuer was. "Um, you're a kitsune, aren't you?"
"Yup. That was my fox form, obviously." The fox-
guy folded himself gracefully on the bench and wiggled
the furry fox ears that peeked through his hair. "I do
prefer this one, though. It's a lot easier to get around and
thumbs do come in awfully handy. I'm Itsuki, by the
way."
"Aoi." That made him feel a little better; knowing
who or what he was dealing with usually did. Aoi had
heard of fox shifters before They were plentiful back
home in Japan, but Itsuki was the first he'd seen in
person. "I don't know what I would have done if you
hadn't shown up. Okay, I would have gotten beaten up
and maybe killed. Either way, thanks."
"You're very welcome." Itsuki leaned closer and
sniffed Aoi's skin. "I'm glad my nose led me to you
tonight."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 41
"Um, okay." Aoi wasn't sure what to make of that
one. Maybe he should have showered before he headed
out.
Itsuki must have caught the odd look on Aoi's face.
"Sorry, I was out exploring and I caught an interesting
scent on the wind. That led me to you. It's a kitsune
thing."
"Ooh, right." Aoi didn't know what else to say and
that made things a little awkward. Aoi didn't do
awkward. "Thanks again for saving me, but I really
should be heading home. I think I've had enough fresh
air for one night." Aoi pushed himself off the bench with
the intention of standing and leaving. Too bad his knees
had other plans. They gave out and Aoi stumbled to the
ground. "Whoa!"
Itsuki caught Aoi mid-stumble and set him back on
the bench. "Easy, you might be more hurt than you
thought. Maybe I should go with you. I'd hate for you to
pass out or fall on your way home."
Aoi sighed. Itsuki did have a point, and from the
determined look the kistune gave him, Aoi was pretty
sure that Itsuki was not going to take 'no' for an answer.
"Sure."
"Good."
"Um, you might want to put some pants on first." Aoi
glanced over Itsuki's lean form and sighed. Itsuki was
definitely hunky and the furry ears and tail just added to
the allure. "I'd hate for you to get arrested taking me
home."
"Oops, I'll be right back." Itsuki disappeared behind
some of the taller bushes and returned dressed in a snug
pair of jeans and a T-shirt. There was a backpack slung
over his shoulder as well. "That's better. I forget
sometimes when I shift."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 42
"It's okay." Aoi shivered. Damn, it had gotten chilly
all of a sudden. Either that or Aoi had been too
determined to take his walk to notice. "Let's go before it
gets any colder."
Itsuki scooped Aoi up into his arms and headed
toward the street. "Yes, you wouldn't look too good as
an icicle." Soft, dark fur draped over Aoi's midsection as
Itsuki brought that lush tail of his forward. "Is that a
little better?"
"Mmn, definitely." Aoi snuggled closer. He couldn't
help it, Itsuki was so warm. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Itsuki winked and held Aoi a little
closer. "I knew that tail of mine would come in hand for
something."
"Still, I owe you a lot. You rescue me, keep me warm
and take me home." Aoi leaned against Itsuki's broad
shoulder. "I'm really glad you were in the park tonight --
this morning -- whatever."
"And I'm wondering why you were there." Itsuki
gave Aoi a curious look. "It seems an odd time for a
walk."
"I don't know. It was quiet and that's what I needed. I
work with a lot of people and it can get a little tiring.
Sometimes, I just need a little time to myself, to relax
and clear my head."
"Wouldn't it have been safer to relax at home?"
"Yeah, but it's not quite the same. I like the park,
especially when I have a lot to think about."
"Having someone to talk to helps, too. You know,
kitsune are very good listeners." Itsuki wiggled those
furry ears of his "We should be with these, right?"
"True. Your ears are very becoming, by the way."
Aoi smiled. He couldn't help it. Itsuki was funny as well
as handsome.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 43
"Thank you." Itsuki nuzzled Aoi's cheek. He stopped
and glanced around "Which way should I be going?"
Aoi had been so distracted that he hadn't noticed that
they were standing at the street corner. "Cross the street
and go left. You'll see a sign for 'The Body Shop'. That's
the place."
"I think I passed by it earlier." Itsuki glanced both
ways before crossing the street. "The strip club with all
the pretty boys, right?"
"That's the place. I live above the club."
"Really? That must make things interesting." Itsuki
raised one dark eyebrow in curiosity.
"Well, I work there too, so it's more convenient than
anything else." Aoi shrugged. "I don't have to go far
when I get off of work, which is nice."
"And being surrounded by hot guys is probably nice,
too."
"I don't know about that. I try not to hook up with
people I work with." Aoi guided Itsuki to the back door
of the club, and they headed inside. It was easier than
cutting through the main floor. Besides, Kale was
probably still out there finishing up the closing duties,
and the last thing Aoi needed was more questions from
his boss. "It complicates things way too much."
Itsuki still had Aoi in his arms when they headed into
the elevator. Aoi tried to coax his new friend into
putting him down but Itsuki had other ideas. The kitsune
insisted on carrying Aoi until he was back in his
apartment. It was sweet, well, at least Aoi thought so.
Then again, he had never been swept off his feet before.
"Here you are." Itsuki set Aoi down in front of his
apartment. "Home safe and sound."
"Thanks." Aoi swiped his key card and opened his
door. "Do you want to come in?" Aoi glanced back at
Itsuki worriedly. "I usually don't have a lot of company
Pour Some Sugar On It - 44
so my place is kind of messy, but it's warm and my
couch is really comfy."
"Sure." Itsuki wrapped an arm around Aoi's shoulders
and followed him inside. "I am a little surprised, though.
You don't seem like the type to spend your nights
alone."
"I usually take my 'dates' downstairs." Aoi grabbed
an arm load of books from the couch and set them aside.
"Most of the dancers have private rooms in the back of
the club and I make good use of mine. I don't like
bringing people home too much. It doesn't feel right."
"What about me?" Itsuki settled on the couch and
pulled Aoi down next to him.
"I don't know. You're different." Aoi twisted a bit of
hair around his finger. "You feel like a friend, even if we
just met. I-- it's weird, I know."
"I don't think so." Itsuki smiled and tapped Aoi's
nose. "Your instincts know who you can trust and who
you can't. You just need to listen to them more often.
Still, I'm flattered that you felt safe enough to bring me
home."
"I-- thanks. Then again, it's not like I could've just
left you downstairs. That would have been rude." Okay,
there was more to it than that, but Aoi wasn't sure if he
was ready to share just yet. There were certain things
that Aoi usually kept to himself and their conversation
was getting a little too close to a few of them. It seemed
a good time as any to change the subject and maybe find
out a little more about Itsuki. "So, what brings you to
Seattle?"
"My parents thought it would be good if I saw more
of the world," Itsuki curled his tail against Aoi's lap.
"And Seattle seemed a good place to start."
"It is a pretty cool place." Aoi leaned into Itsuki's
warmth and ran his fingers through the soft fur of the
Pour Some Sugar On It - 45
kitsune's tail. He was perfectly content to sit there and
talk with his new friend, which was weird. Most of the
guys Aoi spent the night with were interested in sex and
nothing else. Talking was usually not on list of things to
do. Then again, neither was snuggling.
"That it is." Itsuki tipped Aoi's chin up and gave him
a hungry look. "Of course, I never thought I'd find my
mate here.
"Wait, what?" Aoi blinked, he hadn't just heard what
he thought he'd heard, had he?
"Kitsune mate for life, well, once they find the right
person." Itsuki nuzzled Aoi's cheek. "And you are
mine."
"Whoa, I think you got the wrong guy." Aoi scooted
toward the other end of the couch. "You can't be
serious."
"Why?" Itsuki cocked his head to one side and gave
Aoi a confused look. "I thought you were attracted to
me."
"I am." Aoi shook his head. "Then again, I'm
attracted to lots of people. It doesn't mean I want to
spend my life with any of them."
"It's different between us, though. You smell right."
Itsuki's ears drooped and he gave Aoi a sad but hopeful
look. "You're exactly what I imagined with that sweet
face, those pretty whiskey colored eyes and that perfect
body of yours." He reached out and fingered a bit of
Aoi's hair. "I love your hair, too, the feel of it and how it
frames you."
If Aoi didn't know better, he would have sworn that
Itsuki was making sad puppy-dog eyes at him. Why was
Itsuki doing this? More importantly, why did Itsuki pick
him? Sure, Itsuki was hot and seemed really sweet, but
Aoi seriously doubted that the kitsune wanted to spend
his whole life with Aoi. "Okay, you're attracted to me,
Pour Some Sugar On It - 46
that's fine, but we don't know anything about each
other."
"Fine." Itsuki folded his arms across his chest
stubbornly. There was a very determined look on that
handsome face. Itsuki seemed determined to make this
work no matter what Aoi said. "I was born in Japan, in
the mountains near Kanezawa. I have two brothers and a
sister. One of my fathers, Kenji, and my mother are both
kitsune while my other father, Jake, is human. They run
an inn at the foot of the mountains."
"Wait, you have two dads?" How did that work? That
boggled Aoi's mind; then again, he could barely deal
with one father. It was probably a lot easier when you
actually got along with your family.
"They were lovers before they met my mother. The
three of them all wanted kits and didn't mind sharing, so
they became mates." Itsuki shrugged like it was the most
common thing in the world. "Now it's your turn."
"What?"
"We are getting to know each other better." Itsuki's
tail thumped against the couch like an impatient cat's.
"Where are you from? Do you have family?"
"I'm from the northern part of Okinawa." Aoi pulled
his legs up and sighed unhappily. He hated talking about
that stuff. "My family's still there but we don't get along.
I'm a bit of a black sheep, I guess." Aoi brushed a bit of
hair behind his ear. "I'm also an exotic dancer and
sometimes a whore, depending on the mood I'm in."
Aoi figured that the whore thing would stop Itsuki in
his tracks. It usually made people uncomfortable. Hell,
even the people who paid him didn't like to talk about it.
"Should that matter?"
"It does to most people."
"Why?" Itsuki trailed his tail over Aoi's hip. Damn,
that was distracting. Who knew fur could be so sexy? "I
Pour Some Sugar On It - 47
don't see a problem as long as you're happy and being
safe about it."
"I-- really?" Aoi wasn't expecting that.
Itsuki nodded. "It's your life. Even if we we're mates,
I hardly have the right to stop you."
"Wouldn't it be weird, though?"
"Maybe at first, but there is more to being mates than
just sex, we'd be friends and companions as well as
lovers. That's the important part. Of course, the sex is
fun, too. My kind tend to be very amorous when we find
our intended."
"Look, let me think about it, okay?" Aoi tugged at
one foxy ear teasingly. Okay, new plan. Maybe he could
distract Itsuki and get him off this whole 'mate' thing.
Aoi was good at distractions. Hopefully, the whole thing
would be forgotten by morning, and they'd both be
happier for it. "In the mean time, would you like to have
a little fun? Unless kitsune only sleep with their mates."
"I never said that." Itsuki caught Aoi's hand in his
own and nipped at Aoi's fingers. "I've had my share of
lovers. None of them were as pretty as you, though."
"And you are a very foxy man." Aoi climbed into
Itsuki's lap and ran his hands through the kitsune's dark
brown hair. That was much better. Being sexy and
sensual was Aoi's specialty. "I think we'd be much more
comfortable in my bedroom, don't you?"
"Mmm, I think so." Itsuki wrapped those strong arms
around Aoi's waist and carried him toward the bedroom.
"I can't wait to get you out of those clothes. I'll bet
you're beautiful naked."
"Flatterer."
"It's true." Itsuki set Aoi on the bed and pulled off his
shirt. "You must be very popular."
Aoi glanced up and grinned hungrily. Itsuki was one
sexy, sexy man. He was all sleek, hard muscle wrapped
Pour Some Sugar On It - 48
in smooth, bronzed skin. Aoi had seen him naked
earlier, but it was so much better in the light. The
shadows of the park hardly did Itsuki justice. Tight
denim slid down Itsuki's long legs revealing a thick,
uncut cock. Oh, damn! Aoi's prick twitched in
anticipation. "Now that's what I call sexy."
"Hrr, don't forget about your clothes." Itsuki climbed
onto the bed with a purr and tugged at Aoi's sweats.
"Things will be much more fun if we're both naked."
"That's easy enough." Aoi stood and tugged his T-
shirt over his head. He glanced up to make sure that
Itsuki was looking. Oh, Itsuki was watching, all right.
Those copper colored eyes fixed hungrily on Aoi as he
ran his hands slowly down his chest and hooked his
thumbs in the waistband of his sweats. He pushed the
stretchy fabric down just a little, giving Itsuki a teasing
peek before wiggling out of them. "Better?"
"Mmn, I think so." Itsuki rumbled. It was somewhere
between a growl and a purr and was music to Aoi's ears.
Itsuki pulled Aoi closer and nuzzled his neck.
"Your voice is so sexy when you do that." Aoi
cupped Itsuki's handsome face in his hands and kissed
those sweet lips, flicking his tongue against Itsuki's
sharp, white teeth.
"Is it turning you on?" Itsuki nipped at Aoi's ear with
a grin. His hand slipped lower and wrapped around Aoi's
cock. "You're hard." Itsuki's thumb pressed against the
weeping tip. "And wet, too."
"Damn, fox-- ahn!" Aoi moaned as Itsuki stroked him
slowly. Itsuki's hand felt so good, but Aoi wanted more
than just a hand job. He wanted to feel Itsuki's body
against his, and that fat cock in his ass. Oh, that wasn't
helping. "I-I'm going to come if you keep doing that."
"I don't mind." Itsuki nibbled at Aoi's collarbone.
"That just means more of you to taste."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 49
"No, it doesn't." Aoi gave Itsuki a serious look. Safe
sex was the one thing that Aoi did not joke about. "You
don't know where I've been."
"Aoi..."
"I mean it." Aoi would have put his foot down if he
was actually standing instead of straddling Itsuki's lap.
"We need to be safe about this."
"All right." Itsuki twisted around and pushed Aoi
backward into the sheets. "You have condoms, I hope."
"Yup." Aoi scooted up and pulled a couple of
condoms and a bottle of lube out of the drawer in the
bedside table. "I like to be prepared."
"Good; now where was I?" Itsuki trailed hot, nipping
kisses down Aoi's chest.
Aoi gasped and arched against Itsuki's mouth. He
couldn't help it. Those kisses felt really good, and they
just got better the lower Itsuki went. The kitsune trailed
that sweet tongue over Aoi's stomach and lapped at his
straining cock. Itsuki licked it again from base to tip
before taking the entire length in his mouth and sucking
on it. Aoi groaned and bucked a little, eager for more
friction. Not that it helped. Itsuki seemed determined to
take his time. The kitsune moved his head slowly, up
and down, teasing Aoi's prick with his lips and tongue.
"Itsuki!" Aoi tugged desperately at the kitsune's hair.
He didn't really want Itsuki to stop, but he knew they
had to.
"Yes, yes." Itsuki pulled back and patted Aoi on the
hip. "Roll over for me. I want to lube you up."
"Right." Aoi rolled onto his hands and knees. He was
a little wobbly from that amazing blow job, but he
would manage, especially if it meant getting fucked by
this foxy man. "Is this good?"
Pour Some Sugar On It - 50
"Perfect." Itsuki knelt up and trailed more of those
amazing kisses down Aoi's back. "Hand me the lube,
will you, love?"
"Y-yeah." Aoi pushed the lube and condoms toward
the kitsune. Itsuki was taking his time and being very
gentle. It was really sweet and something Aoi could get
used to. That was weird. The thought of anything
serious had never even entered into his mind before
Itsuki showed up. There was something about this
handsome fox that Aoi wanted, maybe needed, in his
life.
Ituski's hands were on him again, distracting Aoi
from his thoughts. Two slick fingers pressed against
Aoi's ass and eased into him. Oh, that was good, and it
made Aoi eager for more.
"I'm not some fragile virgin, you know." Aoi glanced
over his shoulder and gave Itsuki a hungry look. "You
can just fuck me."
"I don't want to hurt you." Itsuki eased his fingers in
and out. "Besides, I like touching you." He leaned closer
and nibbled on Aoi's tailbone. "Hrr, I can feel you
squeezing my fingers."
"It'll feel even better around your cock." Aoi gave
Itsuki another hopeful look. "Let me show you, please."
"All right, you impatient thing," Itsuki pulled his
fingers free and leaned back against Aoi's headboard.
"Show me."
Aoi grabbed one of the condoms and climbed into
Itsuki's lap. He trailed his fingers over the hard length
straining against Itsuki's belly. Aoi pushed his hips
forward - rubbing their pricks together and making
Itsuki growl impatiently. Oh, he loved that sound. Aoi
grinned as he tore open the condom wrapper. Itsuki was
beyond gorgeous and Aoi couldn't wait to feel that thick
cock in him.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 51
***
Itsuki's side of the bed was empty when Aoi woke the
next morning. He looked around the apartment, just in
case the kitsune was in the bathroom or rummaging for a
little breakfast, but Aoi had no such luck. Aoi was alone
and from the look of things, Itsuki had snuck out while
he slept. It shouldn't have surprised Aoi and it shouldn't
have hurt either, but it did. For all his sweet words,
Itsuki was just like the other guys Aoi slept with. It was
fine, really it was. You didn’t want anything serious,
remember?
Tears welled in Aoi's eyes, streaking his face. He
wiped them away angrily. What the hell are you crying
for? It’s not like you really knew that stupid, foxy man.
It was just another one night stand, and the sooner you
get that through your head the better.
His brain did have a point, too bad his heart wasn't
buying it. What the hell was he supposed to do now? It
wasn't like he could find Itsuki and confront him. Aoi
didn't even know where that damned fox was. Aoi
flopped onto the couch with an unhappy sigh. He
couldn't stay home, not today. Aoi did not want to mope
around the house all day. The park was out, too, unless
he wanted to think about Ituski even more.
Aoi's only other option was to go down to the club.
He wasn't working, but Kale never seemed to mind
when Aoi popped in and helped out. At least working
would distract him and that was what Aoi needed. Hell,
it might even make him feel better. Aoi took a deep
breath. If he was going downstairs, the tears had to stop.
Crying made him red and puffy and that was not
attractive.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 52
After a quick shower, Aoi took the elevator down. He
got there just in time to greet the opening round of
customers. One of the guys unlocked the front door and
let a handful of people in. Damn, it looked like it was
going to be a slow morning. Hopefully things would
pick up around noon when the lunch crowd came in.
It had been a while since Aoi had helped the drink
boys out, but he got into the groove pretty quickly. Aoi
moved around the club easily and even flirted with a
customer or two. Working always helped when Aoi was
feeling down. Being busy helped keep his mind off all
the depressing stuff, even if he wasn't dancing. Hell, he
was almost feeling human, okay elven, again.
"Aoi?"
Aoi stiffened. He hadn't expected to hear that warm,
rumbly voice again. Aoi didn't look up. Instead, he
dropped off the drinks he was carrying and headed to his
room in the back. It was hardly professional, but he
couldn't help it. Seeing that foxy man again tore at Aoi's
heart and he didn't want to start anything in front of the
customers. Kale would kill him if he did that. Hopefully,
Itsuki would get the hint and just leave him alone.
Itsuki apparently didn't get it. The kitsune followed
Aoi across the club and to the hall that ran behind the
bar. "Aoi, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Aoi kept walking. He didn't want to talk
about it. In fact, all Aoi wanted was to forget about his
handsome kitsune and get on with his life.
Itsuki grabbed Aoi's arm and pulled him to a halt.
"Why are you angry with me?"
"First you tell me all that stuff about being your mate
then you sneak out on me! What am I supposed to
think?" That was more than Aoi could take. He turned,
determined to give Itsuki an angry piece of his mind
Pour Some Sugar On It - 53
only to see the kitsune standing there with a worried
look on his face. Those foxy ears were drooping and
there was a bouquet of dark red roses in his hand.
"What's with the flowers?"
"These are for you." Itsuki held them out to Aoi. "I
wanted to surprise you with them, but I got locked out
and had to wait until the club opened."
"Oh." Aoi felt like an ass. No one had ever brought
him flowers before. "I-- sorry, I didn't realize what
happened. I guess that I'm so used to having one night
stands that I thought the worst." He held the roses close
and sniffed at them. "These are beautiful. Thank you."
"You deserve them, love." Itsuki stepped closer and
brushed his fingers against Aoi's cheek. "Look, I know
you're still not sure about being my mate but maybe we
could see each other for a bit and maybe I could
convince you."
"That does sound good." Aoi wrapped one arm
around Itsuki's waist and snuggled against the kitsune's
side. "I should warn you, though, I'm not really good at
the whole dating thing."
"It's okay." Itsuki grinned and kissed the top of Aoi's
head. "We'll figure it out as we go."
"Hey, are you sure about this? I mean, are you sure
that you want me?" Aoi scooted around so he was
standing in front of Itsuki. He looked into those
gorgeous golden eyes. "I'm not exactly someone you'd
want to take home and meet your parents."
"I don't know about that." Itsuki scooped Aoi up and
headed toward the elevator. "I think my family would
love you. I know I do."
Aoi sighed as Itsuki carried him back to his
apartment. He wasn't as sure about everything as Itsuki
was, but he was willing to give it a try. Maybe that
sweet and stubborn fox was the one for him.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 54
A Prince Among Princes
By G.R. Richards
The dinners were rather pedestrian, all things
considered, but Julian attended the Association of Gay
Princes' convention every year. Cocktails were
decidedly uninspired, despite having been devised for
this very gathering. A "Prince's Ransom" as it was called
seemed to be nothing more than a Slippery Nipple
topped with edible gold dust. His precise sentiment in
regards to the drink could be expressed in one word:
Yawn!
Still, one must show one's face at such events or risk
being thrown out of the club. And without the club, to
whom would Julian turn when at last he met the man of
his dreams? Certainly Mumsy and the Commander
would oppose a marriage union between men. For years,
neighboring nations had been trying to pawn off onto
him whatever wretched princess still lived within their
gates. Julian very nearly gave his hand to a forty-year-
old motorcycle dyke on one occasion. In his defense,
she’d had said hand twisted behind his back at the time.
Also, his powers of concentration were dulled by the
boot holding his head to the floor. Fortunately, her
parents wouldn't allow their precious daughter to marry
a fop. Ever since, Julian had decided it was in his best
interest to always be himself.
Julian was recounting this very tale to Prince
Reginald of the Riviera when a honey-haired young
prince strode by, decked full-out in royal regalia. "My
heavens," Julian murmured. He couldn't keep his head
from turning to follow the sprightly chap coursing
Pour Some Sugar On It - 55
unescorted toward the drinks table. "I say, Prince
Reginald, who is that handsome fellow?"
"You haven't met?" Reginald scoffed. "Why, that's
Prince Chase of the Coast." After another sip of that
horrible Prince's Ransom, Reginald went on, "I could
introduce you. Prince Chase is an admirable sort."
Julian nodded before he could speak. His tongue felt
too big for his mouth, and he had to smack his lips to get
it down to size. "I should like that very much. Thank
you, Reg."
"No trouble, Jule," the older prince replied in a
palpably mocking tone of voice. With his ski-jump nose
held high in the air, Reginald led the way past mixing
and mingling princes of all sorts. Though, as he looked
closer, Julian realized more handsome princes seemed to
be mingling with handsome wait staff than with each
other. Julian had sworn off servers this year.
"Prince Chase," Reginald cried. "So good to see you."
As the barman sprinkled Chase's drink with a
finishing touch of gold dust, Reginald set his emptied
glass down and grabbed the fresh one. "Cheers to you,
good sir, for anticipating my thirst," Reginald said
before taking a sip.
With a giving grin, Chase shrugged his shoulders and
mouthed, "Another?" to the barman.
"Now, then," Reginald went on, "Chase, my good
man, I would like you to meet Prince Julian of
Jerusalem."
When Prince Chase turned away from the drinks
table, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. His
blue eyes found Julian. He smiled, and his teeth sparkled
one by one. There were traces of dimples at the edges of
his perfect pink lips. Julian's heart nearly stopped
beating. Breathing seemed impossible. Most AGP
members were handsome -- in fact, due to the sad fact of
Pour Some Sugar On It - 56
historical inbreeding, many looked frighteningly similar
-- but there was something special about Chase. Julian
wasn't certain what quality set Chase apart, or if it was
even tangible, but he knew he'd found his prince among
princes.
"Jerusalem?" Chase asked with a sensitive nod. "The
Holy Land?"
"Well," Julian stammered, "Not the Holy Land. Our
family took its moniker from the hymn."
Chase's unblemished brow furled slightly as he
puzzled that out, but he nodded soon thereafter. "Ahh...
so you're from 'England's green and pleasant land,' are
you?"
"Precisely so!" Julian squealed, resisting the urge to
bounce about the room clapping his hands. "Yes, my
family owns a host of holiday cottages if you'd like to
visit. Or you could stay with us, if you'd prefer. You'd
make a welcome guest, I assure you. Come any time!"
Was he coming on too strong? Maybe Chase had
already seen the countryside. Maybe he hated the
country air. Or maybe he was spoken for and not at all
interested in forming a relationship with Julian. Perhaps
he already had a prince of his own. Oh, what was Julian
doing? Getting ahead of himself, in short. Perhaps he
ought to turn his anxieties off for the course of their
conversation.
"My liege," the sober barman said, handing Chase a
Prince's Ransom. "Your drink."
"Thank you." Chase bowed to the drinks master.
Non-royals often called them out-of-touch snobs, but as
far as Julian was concerned princes were the politest
men in the world. Despite their sky-high social status,
they always made time to applaud the achievements of
the everyman.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 57
"Oh, I've been beastly, haven't I?" Chase suddenly
said, extending his uninspired drink toward Julian. "I
insist you take this glass. I'll order up another."
Though such courtesies were de rigueur even among
princes, the small gesture of chivalry melted Julian's
heart. "Oh, no, my good fellow. I insist you drink it."
"No, no," Chase replied, forcing the drink into
Julian's hands. "It wouldn't be right. I insist, the drink is
yours."
Of course, standing in front of the barman, Julian
couldn't simply say, "I don't want the damn thing." He
ultimately accepted the glass with a gush of thank yous
and, "You really are too kind."
When a strapping young hors d'oeuvres server caught
Reginald's eye, the older prince took off to join in the
conference's ritual tail-chase. Julian spotted a pair of
unoccupied leather armchairs and proposed they sit and
become acquainted.
"How are you enjoying this year's gathering?" Chase
inquired. Crossing one leg in royal-blue tights over the
other, he took a long sip of his Prince's Ransom.
With a sigh, Julian set his own drink on the small
table adjacent to their chairs. He'd hoped Chase would
cut to more personal matters. Small talk, though a
princely necessity, was such a bore. "I appreciate that
they've held the convention in a hall rather than a musty
men's club."
"Indeed," Chase chuckled. "Funny how those places
reek of smoke even when nobody's smoking."
Julian nodded, and his heart gleamed with affinity.
"Quite so."
A moment of silence passed between them, and
Julian wondered if it qualified as uncomfortable. In his
peripheral vision, he saw Chase down his Prince's
Ransom. A server brought him another forthwith.
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"Funny, isn't it?" Chase chuckled.
"What's that?" Julian asked, following Chase's gaze
across the room.
Chase nodded to the men in obvious pairings.
"Princes cracking stupid jokes and waiters laughing
appreciatively, no doubt wondering, 'Is this my Prince
Charming?' At the end of the evening the princes will
take the servers upstairs, naughtiness will ensue, and in
the morning those poor boys will hear that commonly-
uttered refrain: 'I'm awfully sorry, but it just won't work
out between us. We're too different, and my family
would take objection. Very sorry if I led you to believe
otherwise.'"
"And the waiters will skulk downstairs in the
morning and spit in our omelets!" Julian chuckled. "Yes,
it really is quite embarrassing to watch the process play
out. I've vowed not to be one of those princes this year."
Chase nodded, sipped his drink, and then continued
nodding. Dinner was called in the next room, but neither
budged. Without so much as glancing in Julian's
direction, Chase asked, "This year?"
"Well..." Julian cleared his throat. "I've have my
share of indiscretions, yes. The boys here are... well,
very eager, if you get my meaning."
"I do." His tone seemed almost critical, which, Julian
felt, was undeserved. Was it not a game of sorts, this
ritual of seduction and disappointment? Did these young
men not know what to expect? Chase put his empty
glass on the table and rose from his chair. With a
renewed smile, he asked, "Shall we? One can only hope
our meal will be as delicious as the cocktails."
Glancing to his unfinished Prince's Ransom, Julian
grimaced. "Quite so."
As Julian walked alongside, the very desirable Prince
Chase placed a warm hand at the small of his back. A
Pour Some Sugar On It - 59
thrill ran through his veins. What a boon to be seen
entering the dining room next to such an attractive
specimen!
When they reached the dining room's entryway,
Chase bowed deeply. "After you."
Julian pulled back, of course, with his most sincere
courtesy. "Oh no," he refused. "I insist you go first."
"I couldn't possibly," Chase replied, bowing yet more
deeply.
Julian took another step back. "Oh, but you must.
You simply must!"
Rising slowly from his near-crouch, Chase looked up
at Julian and winked. "If we can't settle this dispute
civilly, I suppose we shall have to fight to the death."
Taking Julian by the lapels, Chase closed in. When he
was so near Julian could feel the prince's hot breath on
his lips, Chase surprised him with a kiss. Suddenly, lips
were on lips and tongues wrestled tongues. The motion
was hot and fast. Julian felt overtaken, and he gave in to
the sensation of warmth stirring within his chest and
also within his tight black trousers. It was no wonder
princes wore such long jackets.
"You've slaughtered me," Julian sighed when Chase
backed away. They'd kissed. Handsome Prince Chase of
the Coast had just kissed him! The prince watched
Julian put his fingers to his lips. Julian watched Chase's
slight dimples appear and disappear as he tried to keep
his smile in check. "You win," Julian said. "I will go
first through the doorway."
As Julian began walking toward the entry, Chase
caught his hand. "Or, we could both go through at once,"
he suggested.
Julian smiled as he squeezed Chase's hand. There
was no greater pleasure than mutually escorting one
another into the dining hall -- not that anybody took
Pour Some Sugar On It - 60
note. Of course, the organizers of this affair had not
seated Julian and Chase at the same table, but princes
were notably difficult to organize. Together, they simply
chose a small table and removed most of its chairs to the
corner of the room.
When they were down to two chairs, Julian and
Chase each pulled one out and motioned to the cushion.
"Please, sit" they both said, and then looked up and
laughed.
"We're not going through all this again, are we?"
Chase chuckled.
Julian raised his eyebrows. "Only if it means I get
another kiss."
With a wink, Chase slid into the chair Julian had
pulled out for him. "I suppose you'll just have to wait
and see."
As an attractive server came by to fill their wine
glasses and inform them on the status of appetizers,
Julian waltzed around the table and took his seat.
Following the fellow with his eyes, Julian mused, "I
seem to recognize some of these waiters from years past.
Strangely, I don't recognize you. Why is that? I hate to
sound predictable, or even vulgar, but it seems to me I
would have remembered a prince so handsome."
"My blushes," Chase said as he shooed other princes
away with his eyes. "That's very kind, but I come to this
conference every year. Perhaps, in years gone by, you
couldn't see the forest for the trees. Or, rather, you
couldn't see the princes for the waiters."
What could Julian do but nod? Chase was perfectly
correct in his assessment. "I see you now," Julian
encouraged. "In fact, when I looked around the hall
during cocktails, you were all I could see."
Chase took his hand and squeezed. "My sentiments
exactly."
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When food arrived at their place settings, everything
looked and tasted all the more delicious for Chase's
presence. Dinners always came off better when shared
with those dear to the heart. Chase was already near to
Julian's heart. As the night progressed, Chase came
closer to Julian's person as well. Every so often, the
handsome prince would take another sip of wine and
bring his chair over a touch. After a considerable
amount of wine, Chase was nearly sitting in Julian's lap.
"We are the traditional sort -- that's the trouble,"
Chase said over dessert and an alcohol-enriched coffee.
"We still wish to operate in the manner of our parents,
but we also wish to build a life with the sort of person
we can actually love."
"Quite so." Julian agreed completely, but held back a
certain amount of conversation simply because he wasn't
positive Chase would remember this encounter in the
morning.
There were activities planned for after dinner, but
they would only involve more alcohol, and Chase had
already consumed an ample amount. Julian even second-
guessed his choice of companions and wondered why
he'd become so immediately attracted to Chase. Was it
nothing more than good looks that drew him in? If so,
there were plenty of good-looking waiters. Though the
best of the lot were likely spoken for already.
"I am sorry for my state," Chase murmured as Julian
helped him into his suite. "There are a few things I've
neglected to tell you."
Julian knew he wasn't quite strong enough to haul the
hunk any further, and let Chase slide to the sofa. "What
things have you neglected to tell me?" The admission of
deceit put his blood on the burner, ready to boil if need
be.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 62
"You'll think I'm a child, but I should tell you I've
never had a drink before in my life."
"Haven't you?" Julian asked, taking a step back while
he tried to decide if that seemed like the truth. It did.
"Well, that makes sense, then. We all go a little
overboard the first time."
"There's more," Chase went on. His words slurred
one into the next. "A bit of well-intentioned deception
on my part."
Julian's heart nearly stopped. "Oh?"
"Yes." Chase let his head fall onto the back of the
sofa. He spoke to the ceiling. "You may not have
noticed me before this year, but I noticed you. At the last
conference, when you were picking up waiters, I noticed
you and I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't have the
courage. I sat at my table one night, mooning over your
from afar when Prince Reginald noticed my distress. He
asked me what was the matter, and I told him all about
it. Reginald told me I would never get a prince like you
looking as I then did. I had much more acne, eyes
hidden behind glasses, a plump face and frame, and
absolutely no confidence."
Sitting down next to Chase on the sofa, Julian placed
a warm-hearted hand on his thigh. "I must admit, I still
don't remember you at all."
"We never did speak," Chase went on. "Prince
Reginald told me I needed to change completely before
you'd be interested in me, and he offered to take on the
challenge of making me into a handsome prince. I
agreed, for a price, but, you see, that's how badly I
wanted to meet you."
Julian squeezed the prince's thigh. "What was the
price you paid?"
With a cackle, Chase said, "I had to spend a night
with Prince Reginald. Oh, but it wasn't as bad as all that.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 63
He taught me a few things that should come in handy.
Most notably, he taught me that every time I felt
nervous around you, I should take a drink."
Laughing in turn, Julian said, "And you think that's
come in handy?"
"Very much so." When Chase turned his head, his
eyes appeared much less glassy than before. He seemed
almost to sober through the confession. "It's taken me all
year to get looking so suave. Reginald helped me quite a
lot, in exercising, dressing well, and generally taking
care of myself. And it worked. All I had to do was walk
by you, and you loved me."
Julian nodded, closing in on the newly-handsome
prince. "Nobody's ever made such an effort just to meet
me."
"It was a glad effort," Chase assured him as Julian
planted a soft kiss on his lips.
They lingered near to one other for an eternal
moment before Julian pulled away to simply look at
Chase's attractive face. He placed a hand on the cheek
only just sprouting blond stubble and brought it in for a
firmer kiss. Chase's mouth tasted of fresh coffee. Julian
drank him. Their tongues fought like naked snakes.
They slipped and slid against each other inside one
shared mouth.
Julian let his hand travel up Chase's thigh until he
met with a monster and rubbed it. Chase's cock was
already hard inside his princely tights. His balls felt
huge. "I'm not wearing any underwear," Chase cooed.
"You are bad!" Julian stroked the firm flesh within
before bringing it out into the world. Chase's cock was
princely as could be: long, thick, firm, and straight as a
sword. It was the most perfect cock Julian had ever seen,
and he told Chase this before kissing his neck and
Pour Some Sugar On It - 64
sneaking down the body that had been renovated just for
him.
He owed Chase so very much. He knew that. And,
more than owing it to him, Julian's only desire was to
give Chase pleasure. As he pulled the soft outer flesh of
Chase's raging erection up against its inner hardness,
they moaned in unison. It felt as magnificent to touch as
it did to be touched -- a rare occurrence and, Julian felt,
an indication of great love.
Why only touch when he could taste? As Chase's
cock urged a glimpse of pre-come from its gleaming tip,
Julian extended his tongue. In one torturously slow
motion, he licked the slit of Chase's cockhead. When
Chase gasped, Julian licked it again and again, in fast
flitting motions like the wings of a hummingbird. Chase
ran encouraging fingers through Julian's hair and sighed,
"I can't believe this is really happening."
Julian thought to say, "It really is," but that sounded
cheesy even in his mind. Instead of saying the words, he
proved their reality by sinking down between Chase's
thighs and devouring the erection he'd inspired. Chase
reacted by circling Julian's head with both hands and
pressing down on Julian's crown while he bucked his
hips.
Amazing that, even after consuming such a large
quantity of alcohol, Chase could still achieve such a
famously brilliant hard-on. Julian circled the thick shaft
with his fingers and pumped it while he sucked Chase's
cock.
"I want yours, too," Chase moaned. "I want your
dick, Julian. Put it in my mouth."
But Julian couldn't bear the thought of giving up the
suck. As Chase begged and pleaded for cock, he had an
idea. Shuffling out of his tight trousers and his top
Pour Some Sugar On It - 65
layers, Julian climbed his naked knees up onto the sofa.
He wouldn't let Chase's cock out of his mouth.
"What are you doing?" Chase gasped as Julian
propelled his lower half upward, nearly kneeing Chase
in the nose. And then Chase said, "Oh..." and grabbed
hold of Julian's hips, holding him upright, or, rather,
upside-down. Still sucking Chase's cock, Julian set his
knees on the sofa back, on either side of Chase's head.
With a growling sort of noise, Chase wrapped his lips
around Julian's straining erection. The buzz of Chase's
hum and the warmth of his mouth encouraged Julian to
suck harder, pump faster, and devour the handsome
prince, body and spirit.
As Julian coerced Chase's cock with his tongue,
images flashed through his mind of every act of sweet
debauchery the boudoir would hold for them: erotic
massages before sleep and waking one another with
blowjobs, tweaking nipples while they kissed naked in a
king sized bed, and plunging erections into tight but
willing assholes. There was so very much they would do
together, but they wouldn't do it now. Primarily because
Julian was stuck in position, upside-down on the sofa.
He wished he could pump Chase's shaft, but his hands
were both on the floor for support.
Chase's hands clung to Julian's naked ass as he deep-
throated Julian's cock. Even so, a wayward finger found
its way to Julian's crack, which it followed all the way to
Julian's hole. Julian nearly leapt onto the ceiling when
Chase tickled it. The handsome prince gasped. No
sooner had Chase's cock fallen from his mouth than
Julian sucked in one of the balls sticking out of Chase's
tights. Julian loved the sensation of fine hairs tickling
the roof of his throat. Chase must have been equally
impressed, because he sucked Julian's erection with
renewed vigor.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 66
Always up for a challenge, Julian opened his mouth
as wide as he could and drew in both Chase's big balls at
once. Gasping, Chase thrust like a wild man against
Julian's naked chest. Prince Chase squealed and moaned
as he sucked.
It came on fast. Julian hardly realized it was
happening until it happened, and then he could do
nothing to stop it. He trembled. He quaked. His feet
shook overtop of Chase's head like those of a dreaming
dog. It came from deep within his body and coursed out
through his cock. Chase kept sucking all the while.
Chase's orgasm came hot on the trail of Julian's. As
he approached the wave, Chase bucked his hips so hard
Julian had to grab hold of his ankles to keep from being
thrown from the sofa. Though he could barely breathe,
he sucked Chase's balls until the world came to a
standstill. Devouring Julian's waning erection, Chase let
go a stream of hot come across the upside-down chest
splayed across his body. They stayed in that position for
a long time, because Julian couldn't fathom how to
disentangle himself from it.
That night, they slept huddled together under the
duvet of the suite's big bed. As Julian drifted toward a
realm far from consciousness, Chase mused about
England's green and pleasant land. "If the invitation
stands, I would love to come home with you and see the
countryside. It's always appealed to me, that part of the
world."
"It is beautiful," Julian assured him.
"And so much of my life this past year has been taken
up by steps in preparation to meeting you. Now I've met
you and, unless I'm quite mistaken, you like me to some
degree."
Julian chuckled. "To a very high degree, yes."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 67
"And I like you too, so now there's nothing left but to
be together. Isn't that right?"
Pulling Chase in close against his chest, Julian kissed
his hair. "Quite so."
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Drinking Deep from the Cup of Victory
by Gabriel West
Gold was everywhere. It was trapped within the
chests that lined the canvas walls. It made up the great
idols that braced the corners of the tent. It glistened
through the cropped curls of Leandros’ mane. There
were few things around him not made of the brilliant
metal.
Scattered about the sanctity of his tent were tall,
bleached beeswax candles. Their flames flickered and
danced as the treasures about them captured their
luminance. Rubies of all different sizes and shapes
seemed to glow like hellish coals, while amber and
emerald stones vigorously drank in the light.
Leandros had made a nest for himself out of crimson
silks. He'd thrown off his armor well before the evening
chill crept through the air. He'd left his armor by the
edge of the tent, along with his spear, sword and clothes.
Beneath the lull of cheering voices beyond his tent was
the gentle shush of ocean waves, rushing over the beach.
The knots at the tent's flap kept all possible intrusions
from stealing within his treasure-filled domain.
He'd already spent enough time gambling and
drinking with the men he called his friends. They had
stolen his voice and stifled his ears with their
exuberance. It wasn't likely that they would calm down
until the sun bleached the sky. So, Leandros had stolen
back into the camp, into his tent to rest.
Though he doubted he would get much sleep that
night. Leandros had yet to fall to the stupor of mortal
wine. His friends had shoved tankard after horn after
Pour Some Sugar On It - 69
skin of wines, ales and spirits toward him, only to watch
him sip at the rim. Leandros was drunk on the heady
stuff that rolled out of Victory's cup. He had little room
in his belly for much else.
He and his warriors had slain many and had captured
for their side a storehouse of treasures that had
masqueraded as a temple to the Sun. Everything that
glittered or sparkled was cached within his tent, to be
divided up when the campaign was through. His men
trusted him, just as he trusted them; they would not go
hungry for meat, wine or blood so long as he was at the
head.
But Leandros’ true treasure lay sprawled across the
length of his legs.
Aeton shared the same years as Leandros did. His
bronzed skin had been washed and oiled in the
sumptuous fragrance of heather, the herb of his
homeland. The countless blackened braids that tamed
Aeton's hair were all pulled back into one large tail that
streamed down his back. Aeton had his arms around
Leandros’ leg, where he could nuzzle and kiss the crease
between hip and thigh. Leandros’ hand slid over Aeton's
hair and back, as if unable to survive without the
simplest of touches. The purrs that tickled Aeton's throat
found answering calls in Leandros’ murmurs.
Though the gilded bracers around his wrists would
suggest otherwise, Aeton was not a slave. Nor had
Leandros vanquished Aeton's freedom with either spear
or crown. No, the bond between them had been forged
by much stronger stuff than war and violence could ever
create between two people. There was no treasure in all
the world more precious to Leandros than that of
Aeton's vibrant green eyes.
"My love." Leandros’ whisper rippled through the
incense-laden air. "My heart's breath. My stallion..."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 70
Aeton leaned back to spread himself across the
wealth of Leandros’ lap. The sounds that escaped his
kiss-stained lips were too deep to be giggles, but they
were too airy to be called much else. "You're a horrible
poet, my prince."
"Well, I feel like I have to try." There was nothing
easier for Leandros than to smile at one of Aeton's jokes.
"What else am I to do when your lips are so far from
mine?"
"And what am I to do when I have so much of you to
tend?" Aeton reached over to the clay bowls that lay in
the light of a trio of candles. His fingers passed over the
bowls filled with wine, roasted meat, and the remains of
over-ripened berries. The bowl he lifted off the ground
was filled with thick, darkened honey. "Would another
taste of honey sweeten your kiss?"
"If it was you that made it, my bee." Leandros
glanced to make sure that all the gold and light blinded
the true wealth hidden between the bowls.
It took only one hand to lift the bowl off the silks, but
it took only the slip of a finger to spill honey across
Leandros’ thigh. Leandros twitched as the coolness
spread across his skin. Aeton quickly sat the bowl back
amongst its fellows. It seemed all he could do to keep
his lips from curling as he purred.
"Ah, how clumsy of me." He slowly sucked the last
trace of honey from his fingers before turning his
attentions to the slathered droplets leaking down
Leandros’ thigh.
The warmth of his tongue contrasted the coolness of
the honey, causing Leandros to stutter as Aeton lapped
away the first droplet. Aeton lazily coursed his tongue
across bare, burnished skin to suck the stickiness from
the honey before lapping it down his throat. Leandros
fell back over the silken nest, letting loose the sighs and
Pour Some Sugar On It - 71
moans he no longer desired to hide. They were safe
between the walls of canvas and gold. There were voices
beyond them, but they were distant and muted by the
sea.
A wildness empowered Aeton to latch onto
Leandros’ leg and hip. More honey was spread so Aeton
had more to lick away. Nips and growls echoed after his
sucking kisses. When Leandros’ yelp reached his ears,
Aeton drove his teeth into the meat of Leandros’ thigh.
He sucked the sweat and sweetness from Leandros until
the skin around his bite had turned as bright red as the
silks beneath them.
Aeton climbed to his hands and knees, biting and
kissing his way up Leandros’ thigh. His lips were
welcome wherever he placed them. He left a few beads
of honey behind as he hurried to put his mark on
Leandros’ hips. There were marks already there, waiting
for Aeton to suck and kiss them back into bloom.
Leandros eased himself down against the silken nest,
awarding Aeton with the whole of his body to mark as
Aeton saw fit.
It was difficult for Aeton to find a place he did not
know. Leandros’ body had been his since they'd been
children. It was only the fires of blood and manhood that
dragged them out of simple caresses. When they took up
sword and shield, the fear of losing his prince drove
Aeton to stake his claim upon Leandros’ skin. The gods
of death and pain could not mark what Aeton already
put his teeth to. That bitter reminder drove Aeton atop
Leandros’ lap to suck the last hints of sweat and spent
seed from Leandros’ rippled abdomen.
Leandros’ hands sought out Aeton's hair to rip apart
the leather thong that bound the braids together. They
spilled around Aeton's head, giving shade to skin that
seemed so naturally dark. Aeton glanced up to
Pour Some Sugar On It - 72
Leandros’ face, his green eyes brighter than those of a
hunting leopard.
Aeton was hunting and very soon he would capture
his prey, but they needed the dance before Aeton could
make the kill. As Aeton bent down, his hands slid over
Leandros’ thighs. Nails dug into Leandros’ skin as he
shivered beneath Aeton's kisses. His fingers pushed
between braids so he could find scalp to massage. He
couldn't trust his words or his voice to tell Aeton what
parts of him needed attention the most.
And still, Aeton found the place that made Leandros
cry out.
Aeton gentled his ferocity to allow lips instead of
teeth to press against Leandros’ shaft. His tongue peeked
out long enough to lap its way to the reddening tip.
Leandros, too, had to calm himself lest he allow his
body to push Aeton away. They were very familiar with
each other's desires and so took their time to enjoy every
lick, every kiss, and every roll of the hips. They had
time and training both to breathe deep and let the rich
scents of the evening conquer their senses.
It was a simple matter for Aeton to part his lips and
take the tip of Leandros’ length into his mouth. The
press of it against his tongue brought back the heat and
the fire. Aeton closed his eyes in his desperation to suck
the heady flavors from Leandros’ skin. That same
desperation was what drove Leandros to thrust more of
himself into Aeton's mouth. The more skin that Aeton's
tongue caressed, the louder Leandros’ moans became.
Aeton gripped Leandros’ hips -- not to push down the
thrusts, but to hold on as all his thoughts melted into
desire and instinct. Leandros’ dribbling tip was but a
hair's breadth from the back of Aeton's throat, and if
Aeton could but retrain his body's urge, there would
have been no distance between them at all. What little he
Pour Some Sugar On It - 73
couldn't take in felt the wondrous slide of Aeton's
forefingers. There was little space between Aeton's lips
and the root of Leandros’ hips.
As he sucked, Aeton's hips matched the rhythm with
jarring thrusts. His shaft was just as attentive as
Leandros’, the tip flushed from all the blood rushing to
thicken it. Aeton's hands were too busy, stroking and
worshiping Leandros’ body to tend his own.
Leandros didn't need to speak of his body's coming
release. Aeton could see it in the way his muscles
strained and his thrusts quickened. Aeton leaned back
just enough so that the sudden splash of seed wouldn't
choke him. He licked his lips and hands like a cat
cleaning up after spilling cream. Not a single drop was
lost to the silk beneath them.
Licking his lips, Leandros peeled himself up from the
nest. Such a simple expression of love could never sate
his senses, not when his beloved was still strained to the
point of hardness. He slid up to his knees, unsettling
Aeton's seat only for a moment. The two of them
pressed against one another to quench one another's dry
lips with fast, wet kisses. The taste of his own seed,
mingling with Aeton's flavors, was not an unpleasant or
unusual combination to Leandros.
The rut of their hips quickly renewed Leandros’
erection. Leandros grabbed hold of Aeton's buttocks to
jerk their bodies tight against one another. He would
have no air or hands to keep him from feeling the
fullness of Aeton's length against his skin. As the tip
spread Aeton's dribbling seed across the dips of
Leandros’ abs, Aeton rushed to clamp his teeth against
the nape of Leandros’ neck. They lost themselves and
their seed within moments of each other.
Aeton's bite became a sucking kiss, which then
weakened into the brush of lips against sweating skin.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 74
The mark was but one of many that would become
inflamed with the flush of bruises. And when the
warriors outside, sobering up from their celebrations
with the grape-enshrouded god, saw the marks Aeton
had left, Leandros would hide nothing. The others knew,
and surely some of them enjoyed the company of other
brother bloodletters when the moon was high and the
night dark. Such things mattered little when one could
die on the morrow.
Leandros slid his hands up to grasp Aeton's
shoulders. He felt so many slices and cuts; scars made
by swords and spears that would never wound Leandros’
flesh. Aeton made his very body into a shield when he
drove the chariot that carried Leandros across the field.
They had to be out where the warriors could see them --
where no one could say they two hid on the beach all
day, sipping wine and enjoying only the pleasures of the
flesh.
As much as Leandros wanted to enjoy those
pleasures, there was so much more he needed to do with
his charioteer. There were valleys they needed to make
love in and wild horses they needed to tame. Leandros
wanted to see Aeton live out his dreams, not endure the
burdens the king had thrown upon his shoulders.
Amidst all the gold in the tent, the shine of ruby
attracted Leandros’ eye. He turned his head, unwittingly
exposing more of his throat for Aeton to kiss. It took but
three swipes of the lips for Aeton to realize Leandros’
attention was no longer upon him.
Aeton whispered, "What is this, Leandros? What
takes your eyes off of me so early in the night?"
Leandros hid his distraction behind his brightest
smile. He drew close enough to Aeton to push his own
kisses across Aeton's face. Aeton muttered out a purr as
his thicker hands slid up and down Leandros’ back.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 75
They stole each other's breath away in their kisses, in
their glances, and in their closeness.
"I have a gift for you," Leandros breathed against
Aeton's skin. He'd taken great pains to hide such gifts
between the jars of honey and wine. When he reached
for the items he tucked them against his palm before
Aeton could see them.
"My love," Aeton took hold of Leandros’ hand. He
bowed his head so that he could press his kisses against
Leandros’ knuckles. "The greatest gift you have ever
given me is the chance to stand at your side."
"Then I pray you will cherish this just as greatly."
Leandros slowly turned his hand over, to bare the veins
of his wrist, then unclenched his fingers.
They were a pair of rings, nearly identical to each
other in thickness and in shape. One had an amber stone,
fraught with bubbles and inclusions that had been
smoothed to a perfect roundness. The other, thicker of
the two, had a blood-coloured ruby instead. Aeton did
not ask which one was for him. He simply bowed over
his prince's hand to kiss the heel of his prince's palm.
When he sat up, he pressed another kiss against
Leandros’ lips.
"Dare I give into these hopes of mine?" Leandros
dared another kiss to Aeton's lips. "Is there a chance my
beloved heart is appeased by such trinkets?"
"Perhaps I might be." Aeton took in one deep breath
after the other as he fell back against his buttocks. The
possibilities, portents and symbols behind the rings were
staggering. Aeton's words failed him as his mouth dried
out. "These are not simple trinkets, are they?"
"They are whatever you think they are, my stallion."
Leandros plucked the ruby's ring from his palm to make
the jewel catch the candles' flickering lights. "This jewel
is the blood that pulses through my heart."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 76
Aeton's lips curled into a wry smile. "That cannot be.
You told me your heart's blood is trapped within me."
"That it is." Upon which, Leandros set the amber ring
aside so that he might carry the ruby ring across Aeton's
lap. It was only when Leandros could feel Aeton's breath
against his lips that Leandros was satisfied with their
closeness. "Perhaps when you were last scratched, I
stole some of that very same blood and bid it become
this jewel."
Aeton lifted his hands to lure Leandros’ touch and the
ruby ring against his chest. "I always knew there was
magic within you. How else could the mere touch of you
soothe so many of my hurts?"
"That is a magic of another kind." Leandros took the
same care to slide the ring upon Aeton's finger as he did
when donning his armor. With both hands around
Aeton's palm, Leandros led Aeton's hand against his
chest. Their lips touched again and again until Leandros
managed to whisper, "I love you."
"Just as I will forever love you." Candles flickered as
Aeton pulled Leandros against him. They collapsed
against the nest, their kisses shattering Aeton's whispers
to pieces. "My love. Heart that beats within me..."
Then Aeton's sounds stopped and a flush of red
stained his cheeks. Leandros wondered if Aeton had
finally noticed the jerky, begging thrusts his hips were
driving against Aeton's skin. Surely his body's teasing
could not be the cause of such a meek expression upon
his youth's face. He coursed the back of his hand across
Aeton's cheek.
"What sweet words are you hiding within you?"
It took Aeton a few tries to finally whisper the words,
"Protect me."
Leandros stared into Aeton's eyes. There was
certainty there, if a little fear and heat. For them, to
Pour Some Sugar On It - 77
protect was to love and Aeton was usually the one in
charge of such matters. Their lives on the field often
reflected the lives they led in bed. Aeton protected
Leandros, just as Aeton led Leandros to pleasure. It was
one of the rare moments that Leandros did not need to
be a prince. He could simply be the man Aeton had
fallen in love with so many years ago.
But their positions were not simply based on status.
Aeton had stepped across too many thorns on his path to
adulthood. Even if his eyes were on Leandros, his mind
wandered across the memories of the dark days. Days
before he'd known his prince's name, days when Aeton
had been a prince himself, and had played in fields of
wild heather.
The two of them had no need to share words over
such a subject. Leandros cupped his hands against
Aeton's cheeks, leaning in just close enough to nuzzle
Aeton's nose. Slowly, Aeton slid his arms over
Leandros’ shoulders to draw ever closer to his prince.
They were like cats, rubbing noses and foreheads and
lips together to spread their scent upon the other. The
closer their lips became, the easier their nuzzling
became kisses. Leandros, so used to being the one
pierced, had to be coaxed with sucking kisses into
remembering Aeton's gift. But once there, he was the
one who eased Aeton's back against the silk. He was
determined to steal the air from Aeton's body, just so
Aeton would finally understand what it felt like.
Trial and error had taught Leandros the best ways to
protect his charioteer from the shadows. His charioteer
needed to see him -- needed to be able to look into his
eyes so no other phantoms could be put into his place.
Aeton knew as well the positions that he could and
could not handle, and so when Leandros lay back, Aeton
invited himself back atop Leandros’ lap.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 78
He was welcomed there with kisses and with the
most tender of caresses. Leandros sat up so he could
whisper his devotions straight into Aeton's ear. Aeton
was loved so much more then he would ever truly know.
No one was going to harm him or scorn him or take
from him what was not freely given. Though Aeton's
body did not betray his fears, Leandros knew better than
to assume that they did not have a place within Aeton's
mind.
Aeton knew what to expect, what it would feel like,
and what Leandros would do to bring them both
pleasure. It was those thoughts -- of separation, then
preparation, and finally piercing -- that awoke other,
darker thoughts from the depths of Aeton's mind. How
old was he? Who was he? Where? Was he the man who
drove the chariot for a great prince? Was he the little
boy who brought grain and fresh straw to the king's
horses? Was it the gentle hands of his beloved that he
felt, caress his skin -- or were those the hands of...
Aeton shoved away the hands that pressed against his
chest. "No!"
Every muscle within Leandros’ body -- from his
brain to his feet -- stopped moving. The sounds of the
sea were hidden beneath Aeton's tight gasps. Eyes wide
and teeth bared, Aeton's mind ceased to move beyond its
own borders. The shadows were winning and Aeton
needed Leandros’ reinforcement to win the war.
Leandros did not move until Aeton climbed off his
body. Aeton sat down on the silks and proceeded to
drain dry the bowl filled with wine. When there was
nothing more to dampen his throat, Aeton threw the
bowl across the tent. It shattered against the belly of a
gilded idol, splashing drops of thin red against the gold.
Leandros waited to see if any more bowls were thrown
before rising to his knees.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 79
The gentle press of his hand would have earned him a
punch to the jaw, but Leandros was much faster than
Aeton. Aeton's fist collided with Leandros’ palm instead
and was held still. It took Aeton several breaths to
realize exactly who was next to him. The rage that
shrouded his face quickly transformed into sadness,
which then gave way to shame.
Just as Aeton cracked open his lips to speak,
Leandros pressed a kiss against Aeton's lips. There was
nothing to forgive nor need to ask for it. Leandros
simply invited himself atop Aeton's lap so that he might
cradle Aeton's head against his shoulder.
A tired sort of sigh escaped Aeton instead of tears.
He'd cried himself dry several years ago, after a much
younger Leandros had discovered him curled up in the
midst of the forest. The shadows that now haunted the
depths of his mind had left him then with only the heavy
weight of chain that they'd used to bind him to the earth.
It had taken several of Leandros’ warriors to peal the
chains off of Aeton's skin. He wore his bracers so that
none could see the scars the chains had left on his skin.
There were other scars that he could not keep
covered. Scars that Leandros had discovered the first
night they'd tried to make their love physical. Shame and
fear bid him drive his growls against Leandros’ skin. If
he'd been stronger, there would have never been any
scars at all!
Leandros didn't shush the growls away. He stroked
Aeton's hair and back to encourage them. He wanted
Aeton to let out whatever it was that hurt so much.
Trapping them inside was only going to beget more
anger when there should have been love. How he loved
his foolish, courageous charioteer; to try and give of
himself, knowing full well their cost, just to make
Leandros happy. Leandros had hoped that his gift would
Pour Some Sugar On It - 80
have been enough to show Aeton how happy Leandros
was to have him.
To have the love of one so strong and kind was gift
enough for any man. Leandros pressed a quick, soft kiss
against Aeton's cheek. He plucked the amber ring from
between the folds of silk to press its chill against Aeton's
palm.
"I thought of you when I saw this one." Leandros
helped Aeton close his fingers over the ring, "For all the
times you called me..."
"The light in my eternal night sky." The gold's chill
helped bring Aeton out of his thoughts. He turned the
ring around so he could course his thumb over the stone.
There were bubbles trapped within the amber's darkness.
The stone was as dark as the setting sun, too dark to ever
be confused for the gold that trapped it. Aeton slowly
found the strength to look Leandros in the eyes. "Can
I...?"
Aeton didn't have to finish the thought. Leandros held
up his hand, a smile curling his lips. "Please."
"You know I love you." Aeton rubbed the gold until
it was as warm as he was. He slid the ring onto his
prince's middle finger, so the band would not cut into
the skin every time Leandros held his spear. Aeton
pressed shy kisses against the ring, the back of
Leandros’ palm, then upon each of Leandros’ fingers.
"I'll never stop loving you. When you see that stone, I
hope you remember that it's your light I seek."
"I will." Leandros slid his hands over Aeton's cheeks.
He sat up to nuzzle noses with Aeton. As they took in
each other's scent, their breath mingled against their
skin. Leandros pressed his lips against Aeton's -- not to
kiss, but to imbed his words into Aeton's skin. "I love
you."
With his position, Leandros lured Aeton's back
Pour Some Sugar On It - 81
against their silken nest. True kisses spread between
their bodies, uniting lips to lips and skin to skin. It took
but a few swipes for Leandros to pry open Aeton's
mouth with his tongue. The weight of Leandros’ body,
writhing and pressing against Aeton, traversed beyond
the simple concept of right or wrong. Aeton needed
Leandros there, just as Leandros needed to be there.
Leandros dug his fingers into Aeton's shoulder like a
cat kneading out its pleasure. Aeton slowly eased his
touch up Leandros’ arms to reach Leandros’ sides, then
to support Leandros’ weight. Always supporting, always
there to keep the stones and arrows and spears from
marring the clean skin he cherished so much; it was his
prince above him, not some shadow or devil trying to
dominate his body.
He lifted a knee to press against Leandros’ side to
steady the thrusts sliding against his hips. It was
amazing to know how easily he could entice his prince
into...
Leandros paused his kisses; his attention was stolen
by his lower half. Something was odd. He looked Aeton
in the eyes, saying more with silence then he ever could
have with words alone.
The two of them looked down to the space between
them. Aeton had lost his erection.
Well, some losses were to be expected; the shadows
were their toughest opponent. Aeton covered his chest
with one arm as he bowed his head in shame. It wasn't
supposed to be so difficult to make love. It certainly
wasn't so hard when their roles were reversed, or when
Leandros forced himself to copulate with the... female,
to beget his heir. He and his prince had love, which was
more than most people could claim to have. Why was it
so damned difficult? Why?
Lips pressed a kiss against his forehead. "You don't
Pour Some Sugar On It - 82
have to stay silent anymore. Tell me what's going on
between your ears."
Aeton growled out a low, "No."
More kisses pressed against Aeton's brow, cheeks
and lips. "Why not?"
He looked up to Leandros, but could not keep his
glare as he stared into eyes so blue that they made the
seas boil with jealousy. Aeton turned his head, as if to
hide the pucker of his lips. "Because I shouldn't have
such thoughts in the first place."
Leandros eased himself against Aeton's chest. He
nosed Aeton's cheek to win back Aeton's attention.
"How can I judge that for myself if you won't tell me
what these thoughts are, my stallion?"
It took Aeton a moment to collect his thoughts, then
to release them into a single sigh. His hands slid behind
Leandros’ back to pull the two of them closer together.
"I think I truly need you to protect me. This... rubbish
inside my head isn't going away like it should."
"Don't try to force it out. It'll only cling harder."
Leandros spread his hands over Aeton's skin, giving
back life to the territories weakened by shadows. "Just
like that mud, when I got us lost in that swamp. You
remember that?"
"Aye." Aeton chuckled softly. "You never looked
more like a mess in all your life."
"And who, pray tell, was the mud man who finally
got us out of there?" Leandros didn't try to contain his
laughter or his smile as he gazed down into Aeton's
eyes. "I think he was the same brave soul who led me
between the pines and confessed his love to me."
"I didn't know how you would take it." It was still
hard, sometimes, to remember the days Aeton dared not
look Leandros in the eyes. One look had been all it took
to enflame Aeton's senses. But now, Leandros need only
Pour Some Sugar On It - 83
be smelled or felt for Aeton to feel the need. His hands
slid up and down Leandros’ back, his hands eager to feel
how hard Leandros’ muscles were. "I didn't know if
there would be anything more between us than
brotherhood."
"I'm glad there is. I'm damn proud of you." Leandros
swept his hand across Aeton's brow, "You're more than
what's going on in here. You are the best man I've ever
known. You're the best lover I've ever had. Maybe now
you can be the only one I'll ever desire."
A look darkened Aeton's eyes. He might have been
the only one Leandros desired to bed, but he was not the
only one. "What about-- "
"To hell with that wench!" Neither her name nor her
presence was welcome in the place where Leandros kept
his treasures. Aeton knew better than to even hint at her
existence! Leandros slammed his palms against the
ground, "You! Do you know how much it stings to be
the one to have to get you drunk every time you need to
lie down next to yours?"
Aeton did not try to save his eyes from Leandros’
glare. "It must be the same ache as when I go to your
room, only to have a slave tell me you're not alone."
"If only you were my woman," was all Leandros
could retain of his rage. He collapsed atop Aeton's chest,
his ear seeking out the steady pulse of Aeton's heartbeat.
There had been many a night when such a sound was all
Leandros had to soothe him into sleep. "We'd have a
thousand children by now. All of them with your
strength."
"And your blessed good looks," Aeton's hand rose up
to ruffle Leandros’ hair. "If you had been a princess, I
would have endured anything to be your prince."
It was Leandros’ turn to be annoyed with his own
memories. "Was that why you showed up at my uncle's
Pour Some Sugar On It - 84
doorstep? You wanted to see how they hid me in those
rags?"
"I wanted to find the other half of me that they had
stolen." Aeton brushed his hands through Leandros’ hair
and down Leandros’ back. "I told them I would have
protected you better than they ever could."
Leandros pressed a quick kiss against Aeton's cheek.
"Do you want to protect me now?"
"I could." It would have been so easy. More than
easy. "But I made my promise to you. I am yours
tonight."
Leandros looked down and studied Aeton's position.
Something about it must have been very pleasurable, for
the smile that curled his lips was punctuated with a
quick jerk of the hips. "What if I did this?"
Before Aeton could fathom what had brought such a
mischievous gleam to Leandros’ eyes, Leandros sat up.
He spread his thighs to pin Aeton's legs against the nest.
Aeton propped himself up to see how bare Leandros’
body was and how attentive... glorious Leandros’ length
looked in the candlelight. Leandros scooted back so he
could slowly rock his hips back and forth and tease
Aeton's shaft with touch alone.
"You...!" Aeton dropped back, his hands instinctively
seeking out Leandros’ thighs. He'd always been weak
when it came to Leandros’ wilful spirit. Whatever
Leandros wanted, Aeton bent his entire soul to see it
done. If Leandros wanted death, Aeton would go down
to the underworld and bring the dead-god back in the
blackest chains. For love, Aeton became Leandros’
willing servant.
Leandros slid his calloused hands down his abdomen,
purring and moaning all the way down the crest of his
own hips. His hands were drawn to the warmth that
Aeton's touch rubbed into his thighs. He lured Aeton's
Pour Some Sugar On It - 85
touch higher, to the place where his legs met his hips.
He left them there to explore the expanse of sun-
darkened skin while his hands were drawn to his own
shaft.
His strokes and bucks were as gentle as the morning
tide. He had to stay slow, or he would become too
enthralled by his own touch. He needed only to use his
body - his touch and his voice - to remind Aeton how
much pleasure could be had between them. He held
Aeton's gaze as he ducked his hips to brush their shafts
against one another. Aeton's hiss lured him down again,
and again, until Leandros’ hands were wrapped around
the both of their lengths.
Leandros smiled as he felt rough hands slide over his.
Aeton didn't have to look away from Leandros’ eyes to
know where and how to move his hands. Leandros
moaned as he let Aeton take over their pleasurable task.
He leaned back, until his palms touched silk, and
gracelessly spread his thighs apart.
Aeton swallowed a mouthful of spit as he sat up to
better reach what Leandros was offering. Nothing was
denied him; he looked up often to ensure his frayed
nerves that his touch was bringing true pleasure to
Leandros’ senses. It wasn't enough to feel Leandros’
hips rock against his touch. He reached out his hand
toward Leandros’ face and made a weak groan from the
back of his throat.
Leandros sat up and pulled Aeton's hand against his
cheek. He pressed kisses into Aeton's fingers, palm,
wrist -- whatever part of Aeton was offered him. Aeton's
name became a mantra that steadily brought Aeton back
to him. Leandros slid his free hand between their bodies
to help Aeton bring pleasure enough to send all the
shadows of the world away. It almost felt like the first
time, when neither of them knew what to do with what
Pour Some Sugar On It - 86
the other offered.
The moment Aeton's finger touched the puckered
flesh, he looked up into Leandros’ eyes. It was the only
moment he ever hesitated, for the dark memories would
not let him take without asking. Leandros knew and
understood; he slowly nodded his head. Aeton used one
hand to prepare Leandros’ body and the other one to
caress the tip of Leandros’ shaft. Leandros leaned
against Aeton's chest, pushing kisses into Aeton's mouth
between each gasp and groan.
When their hips pushed against each other too much,
Leandros slowly led Aeton back down to the silks.
Aeton would have spent the entire night just feeling and
rubbing; Leandros, on the other hand, wanted a little
more than the touch of fingers. Aeton had some notion
of this as he felt Leandros ease his touch away. He went
back to stroking Leandros’ thighs, shaft and sacs and
watched as Leandros finished what he'd started.
Leandros was master of all things in Aeton's world,
and when Leandros sought to wrap his fingers around
Aeton's shaft, Aeton had no will to contest the touch. He
leaned back his head, safe in the knowledge that it was
his prince touching him -- knowing only him. He could
just lie back and feel the steady slide into Leandros’
body...
Aeton suddenly lifted himself up as Leandros
finished fitting their bodies together. Nothing but vowels
and broken growls passed between Aeton's bared teeth.
He didn't understand why Leandros wasn't holding him
to his promise. He didn't know why he cared so much.
They were words, whispered without a single thought to
stop them. What he wanted, he was getting; Leandros
was offering and there was no need to question that.
And still the words were trying to make their way
between his lips.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 87
As Leandros bore down on Aeton's strokes, he leaned
down to touch his nose against the tip of Aeton's.
"I am protecting you." Leandros gathered Aeton's
hands against his chest. He needed to remind Aeton of
the strength locked inside his body. He needed to feel
the warmth of Aeton's touch slide against his skin. "Put
all your hurt inside me. Let it fill me and I will slay it.
Give it to me my love. Give it all to me."
Aeton arched his back as he roared out Leandros’
name. He quickly slid his arms behind Leandros’ back
and threw himself into the heat within Leandros’ body.
It was an easy shift of balance; even in his heat Aeton
made Leandros’ descent against the nest a gentle one.
Aeton kissed and bit whatever mouthful of flesh neared
his lips. Leandros had to use his own legs to urge some
semblance of rhythm into Aeton's hips.
Leandros clawed at Aeton's back as his shaft left a
damp trail of seed against Aeton's abdomen. They were
pressed so tightly together that every breath and jerk of
the hips made their sweaty skin rub against the entire
length of Leandros’ flushed shaft. Their hands were
needed elsewhere, to grip and stroke and paw; the rub of
Aeton's abs was more than enough to choke the seed out
of Leandros.
There was nothing inside Aeton's mind but the need
to move. He thrust his hips against Leandros, making
the slap of their bare skin louder than their growls, their
gasps or their moans. Leandros’ name was the only
thing Aeton was able to articulate beyond a strained
grunt. For every thrust he made, he felt Leandros’ flesh
clench and try to contain the roll of his hips. Aeton dug
his teeth into Leandros’ shoulder, but Leandros was
doing little more than enflaming what he'd already
ignited.
The idea of lasting was not a priority. They had all
Pour Some Sugar On It - 88
night, and the days after to find some way to last beyond
the moment. Aeton quickened until there was no way for
either of them to feel the difference between the pull and
push of his hips. Leandros struggled to keep the two of
them tight, to feel Aeton's skin stroke him instead of the
raw air. He needed skin! Heat!
He leaned back his head and roared out Aeton's name
when his seed washed over their bellies. He lay back to
watch Aeton come into his own pleasure. As good as it
was to feel Aeton's seed well inside him, it was the look
of absolute bliss that truly won Leandros’ heart. To
know that he had been the cause of it -- that he was the
only one to have ever truly seen it -- made all the gold in
the world little more than a base metal.
Leandros lifted his hands to lure Aeton against his
chest. Between heavy gulps of breath, Aeton nipped at
Leandros’ shoulder.
"Mi...mine," there was too much naked skin that
Aeton's lips had not claimed. He could not -- would not -
- allow Leandros to leave his embrace until every part of
Leandros bore his mark. "All mine..."
Leandros slid his hands down Aeton's back. The slide
of their bodies creased Leandros’ brow, not for any pain
but for the emptiness it left within Leandros. All the
time he spent, struggling to be one, only to have their
bodies split them apart much too soon; Leandros
tightened his embrace. He pushed his desperate whispers
into Aeton's ear, "I will only ever be yours."
"Oh?" Aeton shifted his glance from one side to the
other before bowing his forehead against Leandros’
shoulder. He still had a promise to fulfill, and that
promise might bring a smile back to Leandros’ lips.
"Why don't you prove it to me?"
Leandros could only laugh at his youth's impetuous
request, "With the greatest of pleasure."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 89
Best Birthday Ever
By Heidi Champa
"If you're going to be miserable, why did you agree
to a party, Marcus?"
I sat at the table, lamenting the crepe paper and
balloons. I knew my friends meant well, but a party was
the last thing I wanted to endure. No amount of cake or
presents would change the fact that Matthew had left me
three months ago. Being surrounded by well wishers and
friends had seemed like a good idea, but now that the
party was about to start, all I could think about was
getting out of there. I heard the whir of activity going on
in the kitchen. Beverly, my oldest and dearest friend,
had hired a caterer. She didn't want to cook, but she still
wanted to put on the show.
"I'm not miserable. I'm just not in the mood to party
right now, okay? And, you really didn't have to go
through all this trouble. I mean, a caterer? Don't you
think you're going a little overboard, Bev?"
She just shook her head and went back to primping
the house for our guests' arrival. Even though everything
already looked perfect, she wasn't satisfied. I got up and
strode toward the kitchen. I needed to get away from the
constant sympathetic looks Bev was shooting me
between fluffing pillows. When I saw the caterer
standing next to the sink, whisking something in a huge
metal bowl, I stopped dead. His brown hair was hanging
over his eyes; a scowl of deep concentration creased his
face. His forearm caught my eye, the muscles flexing as
he whisked cream in a bowl.
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The white button-down shirt he was wearing was
open at the top, and a bit of dark hair was exposed. I
stopped breathing for a moment when his tongue came
out of his mouth, poking out of the corner of his lips. I
knew I was being rude, but I couldn't stop myself from
drinking him in. My eyes had moved to his hips, which
rotated slightly as he worked. His black pants hugged
his ass; a swath of white flour adorned the fabric. One
moment later, he caught me looking. My eyes didn't
leave his body fast enough and he caught me staring.
"Hi. I'm Davis. Can I help you?"
His lips were full and pink, almost the same color as
the strawberries that lay on the cutting board. I couldn't
quite tell, but his eyes looked brown from where I was
standing.
"Sorry. I was just trying to get a break from Bev. She
can be a bit high-strung."
He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I
noticed another smear of flour on his face. I took a few
steps closer to him but resisted the urge to wipe the flour
from his olive skin.
"She just wants everything to be perfect. Isn't the
party for you?"
I nodded, feeling silly for complaining about the fuss
Bev was making over me. "Yeah, it's my birthday. But I
guess I just don't feel much like celebrating. It hasn't
exactly been the best year."
I focused on the toothpicks on the counter, avoiding
his direct gaze for a moment. He set the bowl down and
wiped his hands on a towel. I felt his gaze roaming over
me now, taking the same liberties I had taken watching
him. Finally, I met his eyes again. God, he was even
cuter than I had first thought. He was standing right in
front of me, looking up at me with those big eyes that
were in fact a lovely chocolate brown. This time I
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couldn't stop myself from wiping away the stray flour
from his face. I expected him to move away from me,
but he didn't. He let my thumb stroke the white powder
away from his skin. I had to stop the sigh from escaping
my lips when I felt how soft his skin was. He smiled,
dimples sinking on either side of his face.
"Well, I promise that my birthday cake will change
your life. It is the perfect way to start a new year."
"That must be some cake. No wonder Bev hired
you."
"It's called Better Than Sex Cake. Trust me, you'll
love it."
He turned away from me, going back to the bowls
and pans that contained my birthday feast. I was about to
open my mouth again when I heard the doorbell. The
first of my guests were arriving. I took a deep breath and
headed out of the kitchen.
Despite my protests and all my bitching, the party
turned out to be a great time. I managed to forget my
pathetic problems for a few hours and let myself have
some fun. My friends bombarded me with gag gifts,
drinks and pats on the back. Everyone was quick to
point out what an ass my ex, Matthew, had been.
Everyone knew just what I needed to hear, even though I
didn't believe a word of it.
In addition to all the good company, the food was
amazing. Every dish on the buffet table was filled with
something tastier and better than the last one. My hottie
in the kitchen was obviously very talented. Every now
and again I would catch a glimpse of him through the
mass of people, moving at a frenetic pace bringing food
into the room and taking empty bowls out. I would try to
catch his eye, but he was too busy to notice my attempts.
I was beginning to think I wouldn't get to see him for the
rest of the night.
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Just then, the lights dimmed, and I saw Bev walking
through the kitchen door, a cake aglow with candles
lighting up her smiling face. There it was; the cake that
would change my life. Better Than Sex Cake. Just the
name said it all. I searched the crowd for my caterer, my
life-changing baker, but I didn't see him. The noise
started to grow, the off-key singing filled my ears. As
Bev set the cake down on the table, I saw the kitchen
door open. He was leaning on the door jam, smiling at
me as the room fell silent. I just stood there, looking at
him, frozen.
"Earth to Marcus, hello? Are you going to blow out
the candles or are you going to set the house on fire?"
Bev, along with everyone else, was staring at me,
waiting. I took one last look toward the kitchen, making
a wish for my new year. After blowing out my candles,
the smoke rose above me, and a cheer filled the room.
Bev made quick work of the cake, dividing it and
handing it out to the waiting crowd. When I got to the
table, the plate was empty, only a few lousy scraps of
cake remained. Those bastards had devoured my life-
changing desert. I stuck my finger into the icing that
clung to the platter and tasted it. The sweet chocolate
cream made me close my eyes. God, it was delicious. I
needed more.
"We're out of cake."
I had startled him. He spun around quickly, his hands
full of dirty plates. I walked to him, the cake plate in my
hand. He looked at it, and a blush formed on his cheeks.
"Wow, your friends made quick work of it, huh?"
He looked so apologetic that my heart melted just a
bit. I set the plate down on the counter, while he
rummaged through the refrigerator. I didn't know what
he was looking for, but I was enjoying the view as he
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bent over to retrieve a bowl from the bottom shelf. His
sweet ass begged me to touch it, but I didn't.
"Luckily for you, I always make extra."
He set the bowl that contained the icing on the
counter, along with a bare chocolate cake that looked
delicious all on its own. Crooking his finger, he
motioned me over to him. I stood next to him, waiting
for his next move. Using the same delicate finger, he
slid a narrow path through the icing bowl. I watched in
awe as he raised his finger toward me, stopping just
inches from my mouth. His gaze cut right through me,
and after a second of hesitation, I opened my mouth
and let his finger slip inside. The sweet frosting hit me
first, but it was really him I wanted to taste. I let the
sugar melt away and then eased my tongue over and
around the tip of his finger. His eyes closed as I gently
sucked the last morsels of cream from his skin. The
earlier blush was nothing compared to the flush that had
grown on his cheeks as he lowered his hand.
I found my voice, somehow, and pushed a little more.
"That is really good. But you said the cake would
change my life."
He grabbed a small hunk of cake, not bothering to cut
it with a knife. He raised the moist-looking chocolate
morsel to my mouth and I opened my mouth on instinct,
ready to have the cake that was supposed to be better
than sex.
He smiled as I chewed the cake, unable to contain the
moans of delight as I let the flavors move over my
tongue. He stepped even closer to me, pressing his leg in
between mine. I swallowed, just in time for him to lean
in and plant a soft, sweet kiss on my lips. He still tasted
of frosting and was the perfect compliment to the perfect
cake.
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"My God, that was amazing. You weren't kidding.
That cake might just be better than sex."
"There's only one way to find out, don't you think?"
His lips met mine again, and this time I let his tongue
inside my mouth. He was even more delicious than I
could have hoped, putting his famous cake to shame. He
moaned softly into my mouth, and I couldn't stop my
hips from grinding my hardening cock into his. Without
thinking, I brought my hands up and around his back,
forgetting all about the cake, preferring to sample other
delights he had to offer. I squeezed his ass, just a bit and
a small yelp from him pulled us apart. I decided to do
something I hadn't done in a long time. Take a chance.
"Why don't we go somewhere more private? His
voice was deeper; a husky tone replaced the peppy one I
had heard just a few hours ago.
I agreed with him, but before we could leave the
kitchen, I couldn't stop myself from taking a nibble on
his neck, digging my teeth gently into the muscle. His
breath caught as I saw his mouth fall open, his lips
curling slightly. He was nearly panting, pressing harder
into me, my cock getting harder at the contact. Noises
from the other room forced us apart as we waited for the
inevitable intrusion of a fellow partygoer. I decided it
was time to move upstairs.
"Let's go. We can take the back stairs to my room."
"I'd like that, Marcus."
I couldn't get upstairs fast enough, rushing us both
into the darkened room and into privacy. I pushed him
gently against the closed door, my fingers already
working on his buttons, opening his starched white shirt
to reveal the broad chest I had been admiring all
evening. My fingers didn't stop once I reached the
button of his pants, yanking both them and his boxers
down in one, swift pull. Once I had him deliciously
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naked, I stopped and just looked at him, blatantly taking
in his cock, which was thick and hard and looked
absolutely good enough to eat.
He seemed a little wobbly as I looked up at him one
last time before I leaned forward to put his stunning,
hard cock in my mouth. He didn't move at first, letting
me run my tongue all over him, licking and sucking with
abandon. Soon he was pumping his hips, pushing
himself deep into my throat. His hands tangled up in my
hair, gently urging me, making me suck harder. I felt
him tighten and grow in my mouth while the sounds of
the party filtered up from downstairs. I grabbed his hips
and pulled him closer, needing more of him, enjoying
his taste almost as much as I enjoyed his cake. I could
have sucked him all night, but apparently my caterer had
other plans.
He pulled me up by the shoulders, his cock leaving
my mouth with a sucking pop. He pushed me back to the
bed behind us, shedding his pants from around his
ankles. Sitting down on the rumpled sheets, I couldn't
help but smile at him. He dropped to his knees, and I felt
his stare focus on my cock, which was bobbing right in
front of his face. I waited long seconds to feel the
contact of his tongue, but when I looked down, he was
just staring, penetrating me with his intense gaze. His
fist grasped the base of my cock, doing nothing more
than holding me still. He opened his mouth, but still
didn't touch me with that perfect, fat tongue.
Taking his sweet time to lower his head, he closed his
eyes, and I felt the heat of his mouth singe me as he
sucked hard on the head of my cock. His tongue flicked
twice before he released me, then after a moment of
hesitation, he swallowed me nearly to the root. His hand
started moving in time with his mouth, jerking me hard
as he sucked even harder. Smooth, liquid strokes of heat
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ran over my sensitive flesh, his free hand reaching up to
fondle my nipples. I could have come down his throat
right then, but I tried to hold off. The pressure inside me
grew to heights I had never known, but I tried to keep
quiet so no one downstairs would find us out.
Everything stopped, his hands and mouth leaving me
teetering on the brink. He lifted his face from my cock,
sweat dotting his hairline. He turned me around and
pressed me into the bed, onto my stomach. His huge
hands pushed down on my arms, until my palms were
flat on the mattress. Running his hands up my arms to
my chest, he squeezed both nipples hard. I whimpered as
he let go, missing his touch, even though it had only
been a second. He leaned in and whispered in my ear,
the anticipation killing me.
"Do you have protection around here?"
"Nightstand drawer."
He got up and I watched him retrieve the lube and
condoms from where I kept them. The tear of the
wrapper filled the silence, but he didn't put on the
condom just yet.
"Ready to see if my cake is better than my cock?"
"God, yes. I'm ready."
He steadied me with a hand on my hip, and started
teasing me with cool, lubed fingers. I leaned further
forward as the first fingertip entered me gently.
Breathing deeply, I tried to relax as the rest of his finger
inched deeper inside my ass. I had barely gotten used to
one finger when he pushed a second digit inside me,
stretching me gently as he thrust in and out. It wasn't
long before I was fucking back against his fingers, my
hips moving without my brain giving permission. So far,
his skills were giving the sweet tasting cake a run for its
money, but I wasn't willing to count the cake out just
yet.
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I moaned in protest as he pulled his fingers from me,
leaving me empty as I waited for him to put the condom
on. The heat of his hand practically singed the small of
my back, and I waited patiently for the true test of that
Better-Than-Sex Cake. Pressing the thick head of his
cock into my asshole, he pulled back when I tried to
move him deeper. My heart was pounding fast and
furious, my need for him growing with each passing
second. I heard him mutter something behind me, but I
couldn't make out what he was saying. I didn't care; I
just wanted him inside me as soon as possible.
Finally, his cock nudged further, opening me up,
flooding my whole body with heat. He pulled me back
hard onto his waiting dick, and my breath stuck in my
throat as I swallowed a gasp. He was big, or it had been
way too long. Or both. His fist reached around and
worked up and down my cock as he fucked me, my
hands wrapping around the cotton fabric of my sheets,
trying to find a grip. His teeth pulled on my earlobe,
then my neck, biting into my flesh until I cried out. He
fucked me slow and hard; the bed started moving with
the force of our bodies colliding. My hand replaced his
around my cock, my fist moving slowly, relishing each
sensation he was giving me.
Both of his hands were now digging bruises into my
hips as he fucked me hard, managing to be rough and
tender at the same time. It took just a few more strokes
to make my knees go weak beneath me. My fist made
one more pass over my swollen cock before I knew I
couldn't hold out any longer. I was coming, harder than I
had in years, my ass squeezing tight around his hard
cock. He bit gently into my back as I heard his moans
deep in his throat. Thrusting harder, he pushed me all
the way down onto the bed, pressing into me with his
full weight. He was so deep it almost hurt, but I liked it.
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I could feel him twitching, jerking inside me as he came,
his forehead nearly digging into my back.
We rolled apart, our spent bodies finally relaxing
against my twisted sheets. He surprised me with a kiss --
his sweaty-sweet skin tasted amazing. His voice had
laughter in it as he asked the question.
"So, what's the verdict? Cake or sex."
I gave his ribs a nudge before answering him with a
serious face.
"Sorry, but I think you're going to have to rename
your cake, Davis."
"How about Almost-Better-Than-Sex Cake?"
"Perfect."
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Favorite Dish
By Cari Z
I don't actually cook for myself all that much.
I know it's a weird thing for a professional chef to be
admitting. I love cooking. I love making delicious,
savory things that will be enjoyed by the people who
come to the restaurant where I work. I love cooking for
my friends and family; for myself though, I'm just as
happy eating soup out of a can as anything I've made.
I'm not sure why. Maybe it's my residual skinflint
talking. It helps keeps me thin, anyway.
James makes sure I eat when he's here. We have
dinner together every night, and we eat breakfast
together every morning. Our tastes vary wildly. James
likes small portions of heavier foods, things made with
butter and cream and red meat. If I didn't put gorgonzola
or goat cheese on our salads, he probably wouldn't enjoy
them. He eats everything I make because he loves me,
and I tend to make what he likes because I love him. If I
skip the steak one evening or have rhubarb pie for
breakfast, he doesn't say anything. He's good that way.
James is good in a lot of ways. But right now James
Fitzgerald, lawyer and eco-crusader extraordinaire, is in
Indonesia. Jakarta, specifically. He has been for the past
two and a half weeks. This is the longest we've been
apart since we started living together a little over a year
ago. Three days to go and I'm doing my best not to go
insane with impatience. I work, and when I'm not
working, I cook. Then I give away everything I make.
Last weekend I baked over a dozen pies, just for the
hell of it. Rhubarb, cherry, apple, lemon meringue, key
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lime, and three of James' favorite, chocolate pecan. I
gave them to various neighbors (I think Mrs. Klein
wants to hire me permanently for her bridge group),
took a few to the restaurant for my coworkers to snack
on and brought one over to the house of my former
roommate, Johnny. He opened the door, took one look at
the pie and snapped, "You hate me."
"Well, you love me."
"Do you know how much time I had to spend in the
gym when we were living together, Alex? How I am
only now successfully weaning myself off of my
addiction to your damn crack food? You hate me."
I sighed. Johnny lives in a world where the only life
worth living is a dramatic one. "I'm not going to force
pie on you. I can just take it home--"
"What kind is it?" he demanded.
"Caramel apple."
"God damn you to hell," he said cheerfully, pulling
me and my pie into his foyer. He took the pie out of my
hands and looked me over. "James is away, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, I can always tell. You get this tight look
around the corners of your eyes, and you make sticky-
sweet things he wouldn't eat in a million years. Come
on. Time for pie, coffee and talk therapy." He led me
into his kitchen and I went almost four hours not
spending every minute thinking of James.
I guess I cook because it's mindless. Not to say that I
can do it without thinking, but rather that I can think
only about cooking while I do it. I do other things to
keep occupied, too: I go running, I read, I occasionally
watch TV. Nothing works like cooking, though. Even
when I'm cooking with James in mind. Like tonight, for
example.
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Tonight I make a meal James would love. Rich,
meaty lasagna stuffed with ricotta and mozzarella, fresh
tomatoes, onions, and spices. Fresh-baked breadsticks
with garlic butter and parmesan. A baby-spinach salad
with homemade balsamic vinaigrette dressing. A stand-
by bottle of his favorite Italian merlot. I even light a
candle. I sit down, eat some salad and a breadstick and
wrap the rest up. If I freeze the lasagna, it'll be ready for
James when he comes back, in approximately... sixty-
nine hours.
Cleaning up takes no more than a half hour. I
consider cooking something else, but I'm pretty low on
groceries now. I try the television in the living room
instead. I don't watch much TV, but my guilty pleasures
are the dancing shows. I was a dancer before I was a
chef, and I love watching beautiful people make
spectacles of themselves while learning to tango. But no
dancing tonight, not even a rerun. Other options
include... huh, I don't care. I glance over at the book I'm
halfway through, but not even the birth of the universe
can hold my attention tonight. Fine, then. Bed. At eight
o'clock at night. I'm so lame.
I don't have all that many friends. James, Johnny,
some of the people I work with, but I'm pretty much a
homebody. James is the social butterfly, although you
wouldn't guess it to look at him. He's gorgeous, but
when he wants to be forbidding he's absolutely
untouchable. Conversely, when he wants to be
welcoming you can't get enough of his presence: the
way he makes you feel, the special attention you get
from him. When James focuses on you, you feel like
you're the center of his world. Or maybe that's just how
it feels to me.
I turn off the lights, check that the door is locked and
head upstairs. Our bedroom is at the end of the hall, and
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it's my favorite room in the house. I know, obvious, but
not just for that. It feels so much like James in there; it's
the only room where his personality came through in the
decorating. The carpet is the color of champagne, the
walls are dark chocolate. The bedspread is the same
shade of red as the wine I sipped at earlier; the bed itself
is tall and wide. The window has thick drapes that can
keep out even the most persistent light, and what lights
there are all have dimmer switches, even the bedside
lamps. I run my hand absently over James' table,
fingering his glasses for a moment. Reading glasses. He
hates using them; he thinks they make him look old. The
first time he said that I said no, being forty-three makes
you look old. I was joking, but he spent the rest of the
evening exhausting me to the point that I had to confess
that, no, he was as young as ever. I'm twenty-three.
James worries about the difference, but he shouldn't. He
shouldn't.
I turn on the bathroom light and start up the shower. I
undress in front of the mirror; honestly it's impossible
not to strip in front of a mirror in this bathroom, they're
everywhere. I can't escape myself. I'm average height,
slender and toned from running every morning, and
vampire-pale. What can I say, I burn easily. I pull my
hair out of its ponytail and it falls down to my shoulders,
dark and straight. My features are sharp, my eyes are
blue. James tells me I'm beautiful, but I think that's just
him. I'm glad he thinks so.
The essence of James permeates the bedroom, but not
the bathroom. His ex decorated this room, and you can
tell. The vanity is immense. There's polished brass and
pastel green paint and a drawer for every product.
There's an enormous Jacuzzi as well, which I'm not
hypocritical enough to say I dislike using, but only when
James and I are bathing together. When I'm alone I take
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showers. The stall would still fit three of me, but it just
feels less wasteful.
I step under the warm spray and grab the soap,
lathering briskly. The soap smells like tangerines, and I
smile a little as I rub myself down. James jokes that I
never stop thinking about food, that it even follows me
into the bath, and I guess he's right. My shampoo is
honey-scented and the conditioner smells like mint. I
clean up, rinse off and get out.
The mirrors are fogging now, hiding my reflection. I
dry myself off using James' towel, a big plushy red one,
then hang it back as neat as I can manage on its rack. I
never bothered before we moved in together, but James
likes things to be just so. Finding a balance between our
lifestyles has been challenging, but it's been worth every
second to me. If I have to take a little extra time to fold
things or make the bed, it's a small price to pay. He in
turn doesn't bat an eye when I pile a stack of books on
my nightstand so high it topples in a heap on the floor
when we bump it during sex, although he did offer to
buy me a Kindle the next morning. I smile,
remembering, then brush my teeth and head to bed.
Given the kind of sap I am, you'd think I'd sleep on
his side of the bed when he's not here, but I don't. If I'm
on my side, my regular side, I can sometimes fool
myself in the mornings into thinking that he's with me,
even if it's just for a little bit. It's ridiculous how much I
miss him. Three more days... sixty-eight more hours. He
didn't call tonight, either. True, it's still kind of early
here, but the time difference is twelve hours and James
gets up ridiculously early as a matter of habit. He
usually calls during his breakfast, before the day
devolves into meetings. Maybe he still will. Maybe I
should call him. I reach for my cell phone, then
reconsider. If he's not calling me, then it's either because
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he's in a meeting or he's dead tired from work. I should
leave him alone either way. Me, insecure? Maybe just a
little.
I'm tired. I've worked as many shifts at the restaurant
as I could get these past few weeks, and tonight is the
first night in a while I've had off. I never work nights
when James is here, so my managers like to get all they
can out of me when the occasion arises. It's good to feel
so tired. I fall asleep almost immediately, none of my
usual turning and twisting and "fussing", as James puts
it. We fall asleep apart, but by morning he's usually
wrapped around me. It took me a while to get used to
that. I like being used to it now.
***
Soft, coffee-scented lips press against my hair, then
my cheek. The bed depresses with weight as someone
sits down next to me. Gentle pressure pushes me into the
mattress as that someone leans into me, and I experience
a brief moment of shock before my sleepy brain catches
up. "James?"
"Hey baby," he murmurs against my temple, one
hand coming up to frame my face as the other one
smoothes down my back.
"You're home," I mutter muzzily. Fortunately my
body is reacting better than my mind, and I'm already
turning into his embrace, lifting my lips to his and
dissolving into the slow, sweet kiss. I pull my arms free
of the sheet and twine them around his shoulders,
holding him closer to me. Our mouths part reluctantly
for breath, and I say, "When did you get in? How did
you get back so early?"
"Last-minute change of plans," James says, pressing
kisses to my face, my neck, a hot trail tracing across my
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collarbone. "I wasn't sure I'd make the flight and by the
time I got here, I knew you'd be asleep. I missed you,
Alex." He's setting me on fire with his kisses, still slow
and smooth but hungry, with the edges of teeth and a
searching, sweeping tongue. "I'm not doing this again,
either Liam takes the long contracts or you're coming
with me."
"Good," I say, still struggling a little to wake up.
Parts of me are definitely up, though, and James can feel
it.
"You smell good, baby."
"Like tangerines?" I ask with a smile, pulling him
farther onto the bed so that his body brackets mine. He's
still dressed, wearing his shirt and pants, but the shoes
and jacket and tie are gone.
"Like you," he corrects me, rubbing against me
through the comforter. He's rising to the occasion too,
but I can hear the edge of exhaustion in his voice, taste
and smell the coffee that's been keeping him going for
however long he's been awake now, getting home to me.
Usually when we've been apart for a while our first few
rounds of sex are fast and hard, sating the desperation
we both feel before sliding back into slower, more
thorough relations. Right now he's wanting, we both are,
but that delicious fury is out of the question. Slow and
savory, though, that we can do.
I unbutton his shirt, pull it free of his slacks and slide
my fingers through his chest hair, gently scratching.
James moans into my mouth, one of his hands going
down to deal with his belt and pants. He feels cool,
much cooler than me, lying warm and cocooned under
our blankets. I want to hold him closer, so as he pushes
off his slacks I kick the blanket down as well, letting it
pool at our feet as his body glides naked against mine. I
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move my hand from his chest to his side, worrying a
little at how easy it is to feel his ribs.
"You haven't been eating enough," James murmurs
against my mouth as he settles between my legs.
"I was thinking that about you."
"I've only been hungry for one thing," he confesses,
thrusting slowly against my groin, leaving wet, clinging
trails against my skin. "God... Alex."
He wants me, he wants to be inside of me. I want him
there, too, and I stretch my hand across my cluttered
night table, seeking out and finding the lube. I want this
to be easy for him, for both of us, so I pour some into
my hand and reach between us, slicking his hard, heavy
cock. He groans again, thrusts stutteringly for a moment
into my palm, and I pull my knees up and back, cradling
him with my hips.
"James," I beg, absolutely shameless beneath him
now. I arch up against him and he presses down into me,
smoothly breaching my body and sliding home.
It's been almost three weeks and I haven't been
stretched with fingers or toys. It burns some as he settles
to the root but I welcome it, the fullness and the
incredible intimacy of the position. It means James is
home, where he should be, with me, doing what he
should be doing.
"You're tight, baby."
"I know," I moan. "You feel so big in me." James
lowers his forehead to mine and rests there for a while,
letting both our bodies adjust, panting and fighting not
to lose control and just fuck me until we come. We're in
the mood to make love instead, and when he finally does
move, it's slow and steady, out and then back in. He's
slippery and warm and wonderful and mine, and I coax
him down for a kiss as he loves me. He loves me.
Everything we do together is good, but it's rare that we
Pour Some Sugar On It - 107
come together so slowly, so calmly. His guard is down
and I can read everything he feels for me in his yearning
expression, in the little catch in his voice as he thrusts
inside of me, in the tenderness of our kiss. He loves me.
I would give anything for him, do anything for him, be
anything for him, and at this moment I can see that he
feels the same way.
James never speeds up, but I can hear his orgasm
approaching, feel it in the way his chest trembles and his
breathing gets hoarse. I could come at any time; I'm
riding the edge, waiting for him to come first and I think
he's doing the same. My cock is trapped between our
stomachs, creating incredible friction, but I'd be coming
soon anyway just from having him inside of me after so
long apart. I moan his name, push back into him harder
and squeeze around his length as my pleasure builds and
builds, finally breaking over me no matter how hard I try
to wait, and I come with a wordless cry, clutching him
to me. James thrusts deep and comes as well, a sudden
burst of heat inside me, and our bodies lock together for
a moment like that, fitting perfectly one with the other as
we lose ourselves to our bliss.
Soon we're relaxing, sighing contentedly into each
other's mouths as we kiss again, slow and perfect and
wondrous. "There's enough food in the fridge to feed a
football team," I tell him with a wry smile. "All your
favorites."
"Good," James replied languorously, "then we can
spend the next few days in bed. The firm doesn't expect
me back until Wednesday. Can you get the time off
from work?"
Given that I just worked three sixty-plus hour weeks?
"Definitely."
"Perfect," he purrs. James denies it's a purr but there's
no other word for the low, intensely satisfied rumble that
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comes out of him at times like this. He slowly pulls out
of me and starts to get up, but I wave him back onto the
bed. I go to the bathroom, take care of myself and come
back with a wet washcloth. James is sprawled on his
back, eyes closed, and he barely moves when I clean
him up. I toss the rag in the general direction of the
hamper, figuring I can sort it out in the morning if I
miss, then climb into bed with him and pull the blankets
back up to cover us. James doesn't even bother with the
pretence of separation, he simply slides an arm and a leg
over my body and anchors me in place. His face turns to
nuzzle my hair, and he hums happily. "It's hard to sleep
without you."
"I know how you feel," I reply. "I'm so glad you're
back. I love you, James."
"Love you too, baby." He falls asleep fast, content
just to hold me, and I'm more than happy to be held.
Days of feasting on each other stretch out in front of me,
and I grin as I drift off in his embrace. James Fitzgerald,
lawyer and eco-crusader extraordinaire, my lover, my
heart and my favorite dish.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 109
The Candyman Can
By Rob Rosen
The store smelled of sugar, of aromatic chocolate and
fudge, of salt water taffy and a myriad of candies all
individually wrapped and piled high in barrels, just
waiting for eager hands to dive the fuck on in. I gently
closed the door behind me, the tinkling of a bell
announcing my presence. My gaze darted around, the
smile instantaneous on my face. It was like stepping
back into my childhood, my head swimming with
flashing images of swing sets and comic books, of hide-
and-go-seek, all while munching on a candy bar,
chewing on a wad of gum, or sucking on a sourball.
Sensual and innocent, all at the same time.
Then he stepped in, and innocence flew right on out
the window.
He wiped his hands on his apron and shot me a
crooked grin, the twinkling of his pool-blue eyes
lighting up the store like a string of Christmas lights.
"Afternoon," he said, his voice smooth as wax paper, the
kind that was hanging off to my side, covered in sugary,
colored dots.
"Afternoon," I echoed in reply, a grin in return, more
wicked than crooked but heartfelt just the same.
"Care for a taste of something?" he offered.
My cock heard this in a way unintended and stirred
giddily in my shorts. "Oh, um, maybe a..." I craned my
neck from side to side, so many choices, all so delicious.
"...a piece of fudge?"
He chuckled, the sound like marbles clicking together
in your pocket, if you were so inclined to walk around
Pour Some Sugar On It - 110
carrying marbles. Sadly, it was something I'd grown out
of. "You're in luck," he proclaimed, the smile stretching
northward, teeth so perfect and white that I was sure
he'd been the gleam in his orthodontist's eye. "I make all
the fudge myself. Twenty flavors. Take your pick."
He moved in closer, the flour coated, chocolate
smeared apron crinkling as he approached. Then he
inched around me, the smell of sugar and molasses and
cocoa wafting off of him, the aroma tendrilling up my
nostrils. My eyelids fluttered as he sidled on by and then
led me to a counter in the corner of the shop.
I followed close behind. Well, close to his behind, to
be exact, encased as it was in billowing chef's pants,
checkered in black and white, his rubber clogs shuffling
across the linoleum tile. He walked behind another
counter, a long, low case filled with blocks of fudge that
were neatly set in rows behind pristine glass. I read the
signs set up in front of each one. Twenty in total, just as
promised.
"What do you recommend?" I asked, my voice
suddenly raspy.
He scratched his chin and nodded, eyes in a squint as
he pondered this, staring at me all the while. A jolt of
adrenaline shot down my spine that made my foot tap
before it reached my toes. "You look like a mint-
chocolate type of guy to me."
The jolt sizzled, a sudden bead of sweat tickling the
nape of my neck. "It's my favorite," I managed with a
gulp, my mouth watering at the thought. Well, at a mix
of thoughts right about then, actually; the foremost one
was that of him bent over the counter, checkered pants
down to his ankles, twenty flavors of ass aimed my way.
He picked up a cheese knife and raked it across a
thick slab of dark brown fudge that was marbled with
veins of green. "Thought so," he said, proudly, a
Pour Some Sugar On It - 111
hundred watts of smile nearly blinding me. "Ten years
of doing this comes in handy."
All I heard was come and hand, and my cock went all
the way rigid, pressed as it was against the counter now.
He handed me a sliver, then another, both pieces
wrapped in a thin napkin, his fingers touching mine for
an instant, a shock of electricity amping up that jolt of
adrenaline ten times over, that bead of sweat puddling
behind my neck, our eyes suddenly locking upon
contact.
"Thanks," I managed, though it barely came out in a
whisper. I took a bite, then another, both pieces filling
my mouth like chocolate divinity, holy morsels of rich
fudge. "Delicious," I said, in between ecstatic chomps.
A flush of red sprinkled his neck and splashed across
his scruffy cheek. "Glad you think so." He reached his
hand across the counter. "Glenn," he informed me.
"Chad," I told him, with an eager shake, reluctant to
let go of his hand.
"On vacation, Chad?" The shake continued, his
fingers wrapped tightly around my fingers.
"Nope. Just driving down the coast on my way to my
nephew's birthday party. I spotted your store and
thought I'd add a bag of candy to his cache of gifts."
One final pump was given, his fingers gliding across
mine. "Good timing; I was just closing up. Slow time of
year, mid-week in the fall. Place is a zoo in the summer,
let me tell you." Again his eyes locked with mine, his as
blue as the sky just before sunset, cool as the ocean on a
hot day in August. The grin went crooked again. "Take
your time, though. No rush."
Trust me, I wasn't rushing out of there any time soon.
No sir, no how. My sweet tooth was aching just about as
much as my cock, one throbbing in my mouth, the other
in my tenting shorts as I strode up and down the aisles, a
Pour Some Sugar On It - 112
cellophane bag in hand, which was filling slowly with
candy. Glenn watched me, his eyes boring into me, laser
intense, as my fists reached inside the barrels, candy
pouring through my fingers as if I'd shoved my hand
inside a waterfall of solid sugar.
When I was finished, the bag stuffed to the brim and
tied tight with a golden twisty, he and I walked to
another counter where he weighed everything and told
me the cost. "Wait," I practically shouted, sad for the
transaction, the interaction, the friction, to be over and
done with. "I almost forgot. Gotta have a pound of fudge
for my nephew, too, right?"
"Definitely, Chad. What's his favorite?"
Now it was my turn to scratch my chin, to squint my
eyes, to ponder. "Well, he loves Oreos. Do you have any
fudge mixed with them?"
He nodded, up and down, up and down, that smile of
his shining, eyes twinkling like the stars in the heavens,
a swarm of butterflies suddenly circling around my
belly. "Got me a batch in the kitchen. Was just getting
ready to pull it from the shelf." The smile briefly
faltered as he looked at his watch. "But it's got an hour
to go. Can't take it out of its tray and cut it until it's
cooled properly."
"I can wait!" I announced, all too loudly, all too
eager.
His smile went wider on his face, setting those
butterflies loose in my belly like a full-on swarm.
"Great," he replied, clapping his hands together. "Would
you like some coffee out back while we wait?"
"You won't mind?" I asked.
"Heck no, I'd love the company. Talking to children
and harried parents all day can get, well, sort of mind-
numbing." He walked around the counter to the front of
the store, turning the lock on the door and flipping the
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closed sign around before pulling the blinds shut. I
gulped at the sound of the click, the store going nearly
dark as he flicked off the light, a dim beam shining
down from an emergency bulb, the only sound that of
his rubber clogs heading back my way.
He stopped when he reached me, his face, up close to
mine, cast in shadow, his forearm brushing me.
"Ready?" he asked, chocolatey breath washing over me
like a flood.
"Yup," I barely managed, heart beating
hummingbird-fast, waiting for him to move behind the
counter again, to lead me to the back.
Though he didn't move and neither did I. He just
stood there, eyes on mine, that crooked grin making a
triumphant return. "Ready?" he repeated.
I laughed, nervously, pushing in closer to him now.
"You asked me that already."
His laughter joined my own, his finger suddenly
tickling my chin. "I know. But this one was a different
ready," he whispered, our noses Eskimo rubbing. His
lips touched mine for a second, soft as a down pillow. "I
meant, are you ready for me to kiss you?"
I placed my hands on his hips and pulled him in good
and close. "You just did."
His hands wrapped around my waist, coming to a rest
atop my ass. "But not like this."
The gap was quickly closed between us, his mouth so
tight against mine that it was impossible to tell where he
ended and I began. He sighed as he melted into me, his
tongue doing an oral tango with my own, hands roaming
from my ass on up to my shoulders and back again, his
chest to my chest, his crotch to my crotch.
"Damn you taste good," he moaned, his breath
pushing inside my mouth and down into my lungs.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 114
"Not half as good as you smell," I replied, in between
hungry sucks and slurps on his mouth.
"Sweet as a bee's ass," he replied, chuckling as he did
so, the kisses going tender, his mouth traveling from lips
to neck, goosebumps rising in their wake.
"And speaking of asses," I half moaned.
His mouth moved to my earlobe for a soft bite,
followed by a harder nibble. I shuddered, my knees
buckling. "Is that a request?" he asked.
I shut my eyes and breathed in deeply, the smell of
the store, of him, nearly overwhelming. I couldn't help
but giggle at the song that popped into my head, the
image zooming around my brain, wholesome and
wicked in its innocent depravity.
"Who can take a sunrise," I warbled, my voice
bouncing off the walls.
He paused his biting and sucking, and glanced up at
me, his finger now tweaking a nipple through the thin
fabric of my T-shirt. "Sprinkle it with dew?" he trilled
back.
"Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two," I added
gleefully.
He moved away, a foot, two, matching the image in
my brain with his reality, frame for glorious frame. "The
candyman," he sang, finishing the refrain as he leaned
over the fudge counter. "The candyman can."
"Amen," I improvised, moving in behind him, the
dim, diffused light of the store just enough to see him
by. Not that I couldn't smell my way toward him, the
smell of musk and sweat, of chocolate and sugar,
leading the way. A heady bouquet to be sure, but not
half as wonderful as what was in store for me.
I pressed my front to his back, wrapping my arms
around him, my hand instinctively landing on the knob
of his dick, which poked and strained at the thin fabric
Pour Some Sugar On It - 115
of his chef's pants, the sticky jizz already leaking
through. I kneaded the wide head with one hand, untying
the drawstring with the other. When I let go of both,
however reluctantly, his pants slid down to the ground.
"Oops," he chuckled, kicking them off, leaving him
in his shirt and apron, jockstrap and clogs. Seconds later,
just the jockstrap and the clogs.
I spanked his exposed ass, framed as it was in the
thin elastic band. "Yeah, oops."
He moaned at the contact, louder when I spanked him
harder, the sound pinging around the store. His legs
went wide, his chest and head now resting on the
countertop. I crouched down, ass to face. His was, not
too surprisingly, spectacular. Two fuzzy orbs of
alabaster, indented at the sides, the crack way hairy.
My hands rose up, running through the matt of soft,
wiry down that covered his lower back. Then they went
on a southward migration, cupping his fleshy cheeks,
pulling them apart to reveal the pink, puckered hole
dead center. I leaned in, my nose an inch away, and took
a deep whiff. "How do you smell so fucking good?" I
asked, my tongue out, licking my way to the crinkled
center.
"Kitchen fumes," he replied, reaching back to spread
his cheeks even further apart for me. "Must get into my
pores."
"Lucky me," I said, diving in, burying my face in his
ass, sucking and lapping and licking and biting at his
hole, until it was drenched with my spit.
"Lucky me," he groaned in return, shoving his rump
into my eager mouth as my hands roamed even lower
down, massaging his thick thighs and swollen calves, all
covered in that same fuzzy coating that seemed to fairly
blanket him.
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"Think I can have a go at the front side now?" I
asked, hopping backward.
He stood and turned, his jock barely containing the
beast held within. I gazed up at him, his torso thin and
narrow, dense with tiny muscles all covered in brown
fuzz, thick nipples haloed in a swirl of it. He smiled and
winked, my butterflies returned in full force as he
reached for the ribbed cottony material, pushing it to the
side. In an instant, his cock sprang out and arced up, the
helmeted head slick with pre-come, the thick shaft, all
seven meaty inches of it, rife with pulsing veins. "Have
at it," he offered, leaning back against the counter.
Needless to say, I felt like a kid in a candy store.
Literally.
Which gave me a new and twisted idea.
"Um, Glenn, would you mind lying on the floor for
me?"
He shrugged, then pushed down his jock and kicked
off his clogs, getting comfy in the center of the store, his
massive dick swaying all the while, until he was prone
and it was the only thing standing up. It and me, that is.
And then, in no time flat, I was just as naked as he was.
And, of course, just as hard.
"Yum," he moaned, stroking his dick as he watched
me undress.
"Wait, things are about to get a whole lot yummier." I
grabed for another cellophane bag as I walked around
the store, cock bouncing to and fro while I retrieved the
items I'd need.
He knew what I was up to and clearly fully intended
on aiding and abetting. Both his hands went behind his
head, his legs out, bent at the knee so that his feet were
resting on the floor, his body completely splayed out
before me, to do with as I pleased. And, man, did I ever
please.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 117
I sat in front of him, cross-legged, and dumped the
contents of my bag onto the floor. He laughed and
craned his neck up to get a better look at me, those blue
eyes of his shining like a beacon in the darkened store,
the light from the emergency bulb overhead causing
them to sparkle. "I don't think you're planning on using
those things for their intended purpose."
"Probably not," I replied. "And if I were you, I
wouldn't put their new functions on any of these
barrels."
"Good idea," he agreed.
"And getting better," I amended. A gross
understatement if ever there was one.
I got on all fours and set to work. The candy charm
bracelet went on first, its sugary hearts strung together
on a thin band of elastic string made for a rather fetching
cock ring draped as it was around his rather fetching
cock, lifting up his hefty balls and festooning them in a
brilliant array of pastel colors. I bent down and bit a
heart off, licking my way across his sac as the candy
dissolved in my mouth, the salt of his nuts mixing with
the sugar in an instant.
My tongue continued roaming downward as his legs
lifted up, his beautiful, pink hole winking out at me. I
spat at the ring, a thick gob of spit trickling down his
crack. When he was good and wet, I tore open a candy
ring, the head of which was a hard candy ball. I took a
lick and suck. Watermelon. Then I eased it up is ass. He
sucked in his breath, his cock pulsing at my exertion.
Still, it made for a nice and rather sweet butt-plug,
especially once I flicked it on and it began to swirl
inside his ass.
He moaned, head tilted back. "Nice," he hummed.
Five Pixie Sticks later, I'd written, Chad was here!,
on his chest and belly. Naturally, the dot for the
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exclamation point was made by his belly button. Clearly
he didn't mind that I was staking my claim, unless he
just couldn't read upside down. Not that it stayed on him
for very long, mind you. Neither did the Pop Rocks that
I used to adorn his nipples, one in hot pink, the other in
cool blue. They popped and sizzled in my mouth as I
sucked his nipples clean, biting down on them in turn, so
that he could pop and sizzle right along with me.
Of course, he wasn't the only one getting stickied up.
And let me tell you, fudge melts pretty quickly when it
gets heated up, which mine did when I rubbed it around
my asshole, which then got shoved into his face. Far be
it from me to not pass the wealth around. Thankfully,
mint chocolate was his favorite, too. Or maybe it was
my asshole. Either way, he chowed down like a starving
man, rimming me out as he gorged himself.
"Damn, that's good fudge," he mumbled, in between
sucks and slurps. Made all the better by my asshole, of
course.
Lastly, I reached down for a pack of wax bottles, the
kind with the flavored liquid on the inside. I bit off their
tops and dripped the colored fluid down his shaft. When
he was good and sticky and slick, I popped his massive
rod inside my mouth, downing it in one fell swoop. He
moaned, appreciatively, as did I. Who knew all those
artificial flavors went so well together when mixed with
cock?
Then we went to town on each other. With one hand
stroking him and my mouth sucking him off, and the
other hand pushing and prodding at his asshole with that
rotating candy ring, I had him bucking and writhing
below me in no time flat. Of course, his hole and cock
weren't the only ones getting attention. He'd already
shoved two slicked-up fingers inside my ass, which he
worked with wild abandon, all while stroking my
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chocolaty prick until every nerve ending in my body was
on fire. Then there was all that melting sugar, which was
dripping in colored pools all around us while we fucked
and sucked and prodded and pulled.
"Close," I soon moaned, while he piston-jacked me
and rapid-digit fucked my throbbing hole.
"Closer," he howled back, his balls lifting right along
with that candy charm bracelet.
He shot, his cock so thick in my hand that I could
barely hold on to it. Ounce after steaming hot ounce of
white hot spunk shot up and out, landing in dull splats
on his thigh and the floor, his body rigid as he came, his
groans ricocheting all around the room. They were
quickly joined with my own as my prick erupted, chest
rapidly expanding and contracting, dripping sweat down
on to him as my heavy load covered his pecs, his chin,
his beautifully etched belly. I gently popped the ring out
of his ass, his fingers unentrenched from my hole, and
then I collapsed on top of him, his softening cock
pillowing my cheek.
"Even your come smells sweet," I practically purred.
He laughed, his body quaking beneath me. "And your
asshole tastes awesome."
I, too, laughed and rolled off of him, doing a one-
eighty so that we could be face to handsome face.
"Gives a whole new meaning to fudge packing." Our
lips met again, tongues colliding in midair, my body
pinning him, his arms holding on tight.
Minutes later, we were sponging each other off in the
backroom, all that candy and come and fudge dripping
down onto a thick towel below. Naked and newly
cleaned, he pulled a tray of fudge off a nearby rack and
cut it up for my nephew, bagging up an extra pound for
yours truly. Then we got dressed and he walked me to
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the front door. This part was going way too fast for my
liking.
With my goody-bags in hand, I turned to look at him,
those blue eyes of his reaching down into my very soul,
the butterflies set loose yet again. I leaned in and kissed
him, soft and tender. Perfect. He winked and tousled my
hair.
"Almost forgot," he said, with a snap of his fingers.
Then he reached inside the pocket of his baggy
checkered pants and dropped something hard and round
into my outstretched hand.
I stared down in stunned surprise. It was a marble,
red and blue stripes swirling all around the translucent
core. "You carry marbles around in your pocket?" I
asked.
"Doesn't everybody?" he replied, the wink and the
smile fast returning.
"Don't you need more than just one, though? To play
with, I mean?"
He nodded, scratched his chin, squinted his eyes, and
pondered for a few seconds. "Guess you better come
back then and earn that second one."
I leaned in and kissed him again. And again. Then I
looked around his shop, at all those barrels of candy, at
all the possibilities for deviant fun, and replied, "See you
this weekend, Glenn. I plan on winning all those
marbles of yours."
He laughed and led me outside, the hot sun radiating
off of us. "Might take a few weekends to win them all,
Chad," he said. "Or longer."
I beat his wink and smile to the punch. "Only if I'm
lucky, candyman," I told him, tickling him beneath his
chin. "Only if I'm lucky."
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Banana Ice Cream
By Emily Moreton
"Get in the car," Mal says, holding the passenger
door and looking at Owen over the rim of his
sunglasses. "And, so help me, if you say one more word
about paperwork for the school, I'll disembowel you
with a rusty child's spade."
"I think they're all made of plastic now," Owen points
out, hovering on the porch with his keys in his hand.
"Unless you meant the child would be rusty."
"Car. In. Now."
"I just want to know where we're going at nineteen
hundred on a Wednesday."
"Are the details important?" Mal asks, sounding
honestly curious. "If I was inviting you to get into the
car with me to go to a destination unspecified at, say,
one in the afternoon on a Sunday, would you do it
without asking why?"
"Probably not," Owen admits.
"Fine," Mal says, ultra-patient. "We're going for ice
cream, because there's none in the house, and I want
some. Chocolate. Strawberry. Maybe banana, if we can
find someone selling it."
"You're lying."
Mal smiles, all teeth. "You'll never know unless you
get in the car."
Owen knows that this is true, and also that Mal will
just keep going until he gives in. Which he will, because
he always does, and also because he's pretty sure he saw
Mal load a duffel bag in the trunk when Mal thought he
Pour Some Sugar On It - 122
wasn't watching. Since he's pretty clearly not leaving,
Owen really wants to know what that's about.
"Fine," he says, giving in gracelessly. "But only if I
get to pick the music."
Mal grumbles something as he slams Owen’s door
shut, but just says, "Knock yourself out," when he gets
in the driver’s side and starts the engine.
Owen skips at high speed through every radio station
the car picks up, just to annoy Mal who's driving with an
awful lot of focus as they head south along the beach.
He finally settles on a soft rock station, and turns it
down until it's barely audible over the draft from the
open windows. He closes his eyes, lets the sun soak into
his skin, and feels the past week of visiting inspectors,
canceled classes, and license renewals, all on his own,
start to melt away.
"Better?" Mal asks, sounding smug.
Owen doesn't bother opening his eyes. "There's
nowhere anywhere near here that sells banana ice
cream."
"Sure there is," Mal says. "You just have to know
where to look." He drives in silence for a few seconds,
then says, "Nap for a bit if you want. We won't get there
for a while."
"Get where?" Owen asks.
"You'll see when we get there."
***
Owen doesn't really remember dozing off, but, since
he wakes up abruptly when the car stops, he must have
done. For a moment he thinks they haven't gone far: the
view from the passenger seat is of a stretch of beach
pretty much like the one they run the surf school from.
He turns to say this to Mal and finds that he's totally
Pour Some Sugar On It - 123
wrong, because on the other side of the road is a series
of low houses, separated by white, wooden fences.
"I don't think they'll sell ice cream here," he says,
feeling stupid and slow with sleep.
Mal smiles and reaches out to brush Owen's hair
away from his forehead. "We'll see. Come on, get out
the car."
"Get in the car, get out the car," Owen grumbles,
complying. "Maybe you should have stayed in, made
sergeant major."
"I wouldn't look good with a mustache," Mal says,
then before Owen can ask what the hell, adds, "Every
one I ever knew had a mustache."
"You're odd." Owen lets Mal grab the bag from the
trunk, since he's not supposed to know it's there, and
follows Mal up to the fence.
Mal unhooks the gate and holds it open. "After you."
Owen steps through and comes to an abrupt halt. He's
standing at the foot of a deep wooden deck, complete
with hot tub and a roof and side walls to keep any nosy
neighbors from seeing in. The house is one level, white-
washed with huge glass windows that look out over the
beach. "What are we doing here?" he asks, even though
he suspects he knows.
Mal comes up behind him and wraps his arms around
Owen's waist, rests his chin on Owen's shoulder.
"Having a few days' vacation."
"Why?" Owen asks, which he probably should have
asked first.
He feels Mal shrug against his back. "Because you
had a shit week while I was off winning a surfing
competition?"
"So you're spending your prize money on this place?
Mal, we live a ten minute walk from the beach. We
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could have stayed home and spent the money on
something we need."
Mal, probably feeling Owen tense to pull away, holds
him tighter. "You know when we last had any time off?
A year before we left the army, we were in the US at the
same time for five days. Of which, you spent two
traveling to and from where I was because that was all
the leave you could get. And it rained the whole time."
"You're not good with rain," Owen says, because the
realization that it's been three years since they took a
vacation is really not something he wants to think about.
"No," Mal agrees, sounding like he doesn't get where
Owen's going with that. Neither does Owen, really, who
wants to just give in and let this happen, because it has
been a shit week, and he did hate doing it without Mal,
and also they haven't had sex in a week and a half.
"Anyway, it's already paid for," Mal adds.
"Then I might as well give in gracefully."
"Exactly." Mal pats his stomach and steps away.
"Come on. Hot tub should be on; you need to relax."
It will, Owen decides, following him, be easier just to
go with whatever it is that Mal wants, for once.
***
What Mal wants, it turns out, is for Owen to get
naked, get in the hot tub, and wait.
"No champagne?" Owen unbuttons his shirt.
Mal kicks his flipflops under the luxurious double
bed, tosses the duffel in the corner and moves toward the
door. "Sure, because my vision for this evening includes
you falling asleep and me having to carry you to bed."
"I don't think one glass of champagne is enough to
put me out," Owen protests. Then, because he can't
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resist the urge to mock, just a little, "You have a
vision?"
"Shut up and get naked." Mal heads out of the room.
"All the romance has gone from this relationship,"
Owen says morosely and untruthfully. The house is
gorgeous - big, open rooms, the setting sun tinting
everything pink and gold - and he's touched that Mal,
who's really not given to these kinds of gestures, has
done this for him. For them. Four whole days with no
surf school, no neighbors, no distractions. It sounds
pretty good.
The water's deliciously warm when Owen slides into
the tub and positions himself so a jet will hit that niggly
spot in the small of his back that always tightens up
when he's stressed. He leans his head back on the
slightly cushioned edge of the tub and closes his eyes,
tipping his face up to catch the last of the sun's warmth.
He's on the edge of drifting off when the door slides
open and closed and Mal's bare footsteps cross the deck.
When Owen opens his eyes, Mal's crouching at the side
of the tub, wearing loose blue shorts and nothing else, a
white bowl in his hand.
Owen starts laughing. "Ice cream?"
"Of course." Mal is smiling.
"Banana?"
Mal shakes his head. "Didn't have any here. Vanilla.
You want?"
Owen eyes Mal's shorts. "I think you're over-dressed
for this party."
"That can be rectified." Mal hands Owen the ice
cream bowl and stands up, his hands going to the fly of
his shorts, easing the buttons open.
Owen's completely unsurprised to discover that Mal's
not wearing any underwear. His partner can be very
predictable.
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Even more so when he settles with his knees on
either side of Owen's thighs, his cock soft against
Owen's stomach, and takes back the bowl, swirling the
spoon through the ice cream, which is starting to melt in
the steam from the hot tub.
"Tell me you're not planning on feeding that to me,"
Owen says warningly.
"I promise not to make airplane noises." Mal bats his
eyelashes. He has ridiculously long eyelashes, and he
looks absurdly demure when he drops his eyes, like he's
not naked and a couple of inches from sitting on Owen's
dick. "Relax." Mal lowers his voice. "Let me."
Owen reminds himself that he's decided to just go
along for the ride, and rests his hands, open and palm
up, on Mal's thighs.
He'll admit, under duress, that there is something
undeniably sexy about Mal sliding the spoonful of cold
ice cream between his lips. He loves the contrast
between the cold dessert and the hot water, and then
between the cold dessert and the hot press of Mal's
mouth against his, the slide of Mal's tongue into his
mouth.
They kiss until Owen can't taste even the faintest hint
of ice cream. When Mal leans back, he still has the bowl
in one hand, the spoon in the other, and hasn't spilled
any of it. He feeds Owen another spoonful, then helps
himself to one. Owen's tempted to make a smart remark,
but the sun is sinking below the horizon, the
neighborhood is quiet, and he can feel a deep peace
settling over him, one he doesn't want to break.
His partner really is a genius sometimes.
Mal feeds him another spoonful of ice cream, leaning
back before Owen can get another kiss. Owen turns one
hand on Mal's thigh instead, strokes his thumb against
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the grain of the hair there, then back in a soothing, slow
rhythm.
Mal gives him a sweet smile, another bite of ice
cream, and a light, close-mouthed kiss.
Mal stirs the spoon through the mostly melted ice
cream, holds it out to Owen. Owen leans in a little to
take it, and Mal tilts the spoon at the last moment. Cold
ice cream lands on Owen's chest, starts to run down into
the water. Mal's smile turns wicked. He ducks his head
and licks the ice cream up, pressing the flat of his tongue
against Owen's skin.
Despite the heat of the water, Owen shivers.
"You want some more?" Mal's voice is barely above
a whisper.
"What are we talking about?" Owen asks, his own
voice just as quiet. He wants to curl up against Mal, but
his body won't bend like that, not with Mal still
straddling him.
"Ice cream." Mal holds a spoonful of ice cream just
above the bowl, which it slowly drips back into.
Owen's pretty sure they're not talking about ice
cream, or at least not entirely. He nods anyway, and gets
another spoonful of ice cream. His mouth is cold, his
tongue tingling with the sharp chill and the bitter crack
of a vanilla pod, and he knows that Mal's would taste the
same. He gets another taste of ice cream instead.
The scrape and rattle of the spoon in the empty bowl
is a surprise. He blinks, focusing again, and watches Mal
place the bowl carefully on the side of the tub. When
Mal settles himself back in Owen's lap, Owen can feel
that he's not the only one expecting more than just
dessert. Mal proves it beyond doubt when he rests one
hand on Owen's shoulder, and reaches between their
bodies to wrap his hand around Owen's half-hard cock.
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Owen says, "Hmm," intelligently. They're far too
close for both of them to jerk the other off, and anyway,
that's not what he wants. He cups the back of Mal's neck
instead, tugging his lover closer so they can kiss,
slipping his tongue into Mal's mouth. He's right -- it
tastes of vanilla ice cream for a few moments, until
Owen kisses that flavor all away.
He shifts to kissing Mal's neck when Mal pulls away.
"Let me get my shorts," Mal says.
Owen blinks at the odd comment. "Pretty sure this is
the part where we'd be taking clothes off, not thinking
about putting them on."
"I've got lube and a condom in the pocket." The
words are patiently spoken, like Owen is one of their
more nervous beginner students,though they don't
usually get patient-with-underlying-sarcasm. Owen likes
to know that he's special.
Then the actual words sink in. "We're not going to
fuck in the tub."
"It's clean."
"That's -- actually not what I was worrying about
until you said that, so thanks." Owen rolls his eyes. "But
I'm warm and I'm tired, and I really think the chances of
me staying awake after you fuck me are pretty remote. I
really don't want to have to navigate a strange house in
the dark when I'm half asleep, wet, and naked, thanks."
"Didn't you have the highest night-time nav score of
your entire class?" Mal asks, probably rhetorically.
"I hadn't been fucked in a hot tub before I took that
class," Owen points out. He shifts until Mal gets the
message and moves back. "Come on, bed, then I can just
pass straight out."
"Now who's the one giving orders?" But Mal climbs
out of the tub and follows Owen. He stops on the way in
to grab his shorts, so Owen steps into the room first. He
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takes a moment to think about finding a towel, then
decides to hell with it, the comforter will dry.
When Mal walks in, still naked, his shorts in one
hand, Owen's sprawled on his back in the middle of the
bed, one hand behind his head, his legs spread in clear
invitation. Mal's expression goes gratifyingly slack.
"Better, right?" Owen asks, trying not to sound too
smug.
"Yeah." Mal sounds a little hoarse. "Better."
He proves it by crawling the length of Owen's body,
settling over Owen and kissing him senseless.
They've had a lot of sex over the years, enough for
Owen to have idly started characterizing it. He doesn't
have favorites -- partly because all sex with Mal is good,
partly because there's just no way to compare a lazy
Sunday morning blow job and the kind of frantic, up
against the door rutting they still occasionally engage in.
When he tries to roll onto his stomach, Mal stops him
with one hand, and says, "Like this. Slow. I want to kiss
you." Owen will allow that, right in this moment, this
might be his favorite kind of sex.
Mal spends a long time prepping Owen, like it's been
way more than a couple of weeks since they last did this.
Normally, that would be enough to have Owen bucking
his hips, demanding that Mal get on with it. Instead, he
strokes his hands over Mal's back, again and again,
keeps kissing Mal, and doesn't care if they spend all
night on the prep.
They keep kissing as Mal enters Owen. Mal makes
love to him, slow and easy, with deep, perfect thrusts
that make Owen moan and Mal sigh with obvious
pleasure. It feels like it could go on forever; Owen's
wrapped in a blanket of warmth and arousal and, oh, so
much love. He's not even trying to get to his orgasm.
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So it's a surprise to find himself suddenly right there,
his cock sliding slickly against Mal's stomach. "Mmm,
Mal." His voice is thick with pleasure.
"I've got you," Mal says, right in his ear. "I'm right
here, come on."
He feels Mal start to come inside him, and his own
orgasm breaks over him like the gentlest cresting wave.
It pulls him under before he's even quite finished with
feeling it. He goes, grateful, held close in Mal's arms,
and hopes the, "I love you," in his head makes it out of
his mouth in a way that Mal will understand.
***
Owen wakes up slowly, sprawled on his stomach in a
pool of sunlight. He's disoriented enough by it -- they
always close their curtains -- that it takes him a few
moments to remember where he is and why.
He starts to turn over, looking for Mal, but a hand
settles between his shoulder blades, holding him where
he is. "Good morning," Mal says quietly.
"Hmm." Owen turns his head enough to see Mal
lying next to him, completely naked. "Morning."
"Sleep well?" Mal strokes his hand down Owen's
spine, then back to the top and down again. Owen
snuggles deeper into the comforter and lets his eyes drift
closed.
"Fine." He doesn't remember anything between
drifting away and drifting back. "Time to get up?"
"Sort of." Mal sounds amused with himself, and
Owen gets it right before he can ask, as Mal runs a hand
all the way down Owen's back and over his ass to slide a
finger inside him, where he's still open from the night
before.
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"I don't let people who make bad puns fuck me,"
Owen says, even as he bends his right leg to give Mal
better access and take some of his own weight off his
cock, which is already half-hard.
"Yeah, you do." Mal moves closer, throwing one leg
over Owen's, his cock settling against Owen. He kisses
the back of Owen's neck, then behind his ear.
"I'm not moving." Which is as good as saying yes.
"You have to do all the work."
Mal fucks him shallowly with a single finger, and it
feels good. Owen's still slick and loose, and he moans,
low in his throat, when Mal brushes against his prostate.
"You want to roll over?" Mal asks.
Owen shakes his head without bothering to open his
eyes. "You're doing all the work."
Mal kisses the top of his spine, then a little lower.
"You don't want me to get you off?" he asks, kissing
Owen's back again. "Or blow you, after?"
Owen nudges his hips back, just a little, just to feel
Mal's finger in him. "Won't need to. Gonna come like
this."
Mal laughs, a warm puff of air against Owen's skin.
"I'm touched by your faith in my sexual prowess."
Owen wants to say something about how this isn't
about Mal's ability to fuck him into a puddle, it's about
how the sense of being wrapped up together in silence is
still lingering from the night before, making it easy to
fall apart in Mal's hands. He knows Mal wouldn't mind
if he did -- Mal's not as much for romantic declarations
as Owen, but is still good with them -- Owen just doesn't
know how to put it into words that won't sound trite or
meaningless. He reaches back and catches Mal's hand
instead.
Mal slides his fingers between Owen's and presses
his hand to the mattress, holds it there as he moves until
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he's lying against Owen, and Owen thinks Mal probably
gets it anyway.
"Just relax." The head of Mal's cock nudges at Owen,
and then slides in, one long thrust until they're pressed
almost as close together as they can get. Owen
consciously lets the last traces of tension go, sinking a
little further into the bed, and Mal nudges an extra
couple of centimeters into him.
For a long moment they just lie there, pressed close,
fingers tangled together, Mal's breath warm on the back
of Owen's neck. Owen thinks he could fall asleep again,
just like this, could stay like this for their whole four
days, feeling loved and cared for.
He thinks maybe Mal agrees, because Mal doesn't
fuck Owen, not really, just rocks his hips, barely moving
inside Owen, sweet and easy. Owen shifts a little, rocks
his hips in counterpoint to Mal's, his own cock rubbing
against the comforter. It feels good, but it's not going to
get him off. He keeps his eyes closed, focuses instead on
Mal taking him, taking him apart, rocking over his
prostate, feels his orgasm gather up in his balls and the
base of his spine, and comes with a long, low groan.
When it's over, he's limp, sated and exhausted, and
Mal's still hard in him. "Keep going," he murmurs.
Mal pets Owen's hair a little, then presses his
forehead to the back of Owen's neck and starts moving
again. His thrusts get a little longer, a little faster, but
only a little, a deep, sweet penetration that makes Owen
shiver with pleasure, until Mal goes very still and
shudders and comes.
They shift awkwardly apart, come back together
clumsily, curled on their sides facing each other, and
hold each other with orgasm-weak hands. The sun's still
bright outside, a cool breeze coming through the open
window. Mal's face is more relaxed than Owen thinks
Pour Some Sugar On It - 133
he's ever seen it, and Mal kisses Owen softly -- his eye
lids, his nose, the corner of his mouth.
Owen could stay there all day.
***
They don't, of course. Mal insists that they get up and
have breakfast, even though it's nearly lunchtime, and
then he insists that they shower and get dressed and
doesn't even let Owen talk him into shower sex.
Standing by the car, Owen slips on his sunglasses and
watches Mal toss the car keys from one hand to the
other. "Should I ask where we're going?"
"For ice cream," Mal says, grinning.
"What kind?" Owen asks, returning the grin,
anticipating the answer.
"Banana," Mal says.
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Chocolate Dreams
Kiernan Kelly
A loud bang rattled the ceiling overhead, and a
stream of curses floated down the stairwell at the rear of
Chocolate Dreams, making the customers gasp and the
staff cringe.
Alexander was at it again.
Margie, a fifty-six year old grandmother, glanced at
the ceiling and shook her head. She'd worked here too
long for Alexander's tantrums to shock her, nor was she
cowed by his infamous temper. After raising four
children and babysitting six grandchildren, hissy fits no
longer impressed her.
She was a minority of one.
Margie sighed and signaled to Philippe, who was
stocking a shelf with huge, chocolate-dipped
strawberries. Each berry was enormous, nearly as big as
Margie's fist, and Alexander had decorated each one to
look as if it was wearing a tiny, chocolate tuxedo.
"You'd better go up and see what the problem is this
time, before he caves in the ceiling."
"Me!" Philippe was a slender, nervous young man,
the latest in a long string of apprentices to the great
Alexander, none of whom stayed more than a couple of
weeks. So far, all he'd learned was how to duck flying
spoons and scrapers, and Margie privately doubted he'd
last another day.
She smirked at him. Just once it would be nice to see
Alexander hire an apprentice who wasn't afraid of his or
her own shadow. "You're his apprentice, aren’t you?"
Pour Some Sugar On It - 135
Philippe paled visibly and glanced at the ceiling. "I...
the strawberries... I think you should go."
Margie rolled her eyes and jerked her chin toward the
stairs. "Go. I have customers to wait on."
Philippe looked as if he would rather chew glass but
crept up the stairs to the workshop. Margie held up a
finger to the customer she was currently waiting on,
glancing down at her wristwatch. "One... two... three...
four... five. Go."
No sooner had she uttered the word than another
extremely loud thump was heard, followed by an even
louder, more profane string of expletives, and Philippe
came running down the stairs. Powdered sugar covered
him from his head to his feet. He dashed by the counter,
barely slowing down long enough to remove his apron
and toss it at her.
"I quit!" He ran out the front door without looking
back.
Margie sighed and shrugged, returning her attention
to the bewildered customer. "It's been coming for a
while. I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. Almost
three weeks... I think it's a record."
A voice began bellowing her name from upstairs.
"Marjorie!"
Alexander was the only one who ever called her by
her full name. She hustled to the bottom of the stairs and
yelled back. "I'm busy!"
"I need help up here!"
"Then you shouldn't scare off all your apprentices! I
think you made poor Philippe wet his pants. You should
be ashamed. Now, I have customers to wait on."
Without waiting for his answer -- which she knew ahead
of time would include foul language and threats of
termination that would never materialize -- she bustled
back to the counter and resumed selling chocolates to
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the discriminating customers who braved Alexander's
temper to satisfy their sweet tooth.
She hoped the next apprentice would last a little
longer. The holidays were coming, and she knew they'd
need the extra pair of hands.
***
Alexander Bright was exactly that. He was
intelligent, extremely creative, and positively dedicated
to his craft. As one of the premier chocolatiers in the
world, with reams of blue ribbons and stacks of awards
to his credit, he was practically a legend. He had offers
to work in a variety of five-star restaurants all over the
world, with more offers coming every day. The Food
Network wanted to give him his own television show.
Celebrities and politicians begged for his creations to
serve at their soirees.
All of which made the cultured world of fine cuisine
shake their heads in befuddlement at his eccentric
insistence on working in a tiny sweet shop in the middle
of nowhere.
They simply didn't understand. His colleagues didn't
get it, nor did the critics, or the media. It wasn't about
the fame, the press, or the money.
It was about the chocolate.
It was always about the chocolate.
Chocolate didn't argue. Chocolate didn't nag or
complain. It didn't try to boss you around, or replace
your half-and-half with two-percent milk when you
weren't looking.
Chocolate didn't lie. It didn't cheat.
Alex carefully shaved off a paper-thin chip of dark
chocolate from the rose he was sculpting, then stood
back and studied it with a practiced eye. The rose was
Pour Some Sugar On It - 137
perfect, each petal masterfully formed, and shockingly
lifelike. He added it to a stack of eleven other, equally
perfect chocolate roses. One dozen. Done. Finally.
If he had a half-decent apprentice, he would've been
finished with the order hours ago, but that stupid Fred,
or Phil, or whatever his name was, had quit.
They always quit. Only Marjorie remained with him,
and only because she ignored him when he tried to fire
her.
Bless her stubborn heart. He'd be lost without her,
and he knew it. What's more, she knew it, too, which
explained her recalcitrance whenever he lost his temper
and tried to discharge her.
He heard the bell chime on the door downstairs.
Another customer, no doubt, looking to buy his truffles,
or strawberries, or butter creams, or any of the other
dozens of confections he offered for sale in the shop. Or
perhaps it would be another order for an elaborate,
custom-designed chocolate sculpture for someone's
political dinner, award ceremony, or wedding table.
If it were up to Alexander, he would close the shop
and concentrate all his energy on working to perfect his
craft, creating more and more elaborate pieces of
chocolate decadence, forever going bigger, wider, taller
and more complicated without losing the sinfully
smooth texture and delicate balance between bitter and
sweet. However, the thought of throwing his finished
masterpieces away kept him from it. He would rather
suffer the shop being open than see his efforts wasted.
The entire point of chocolate, after all, was to delight the
taste buds.
He poured a large quantity of chocolate into the
stainless-steel, double boiler and began the process of
tempering the chocolate, a necessary step before he
could begin molding and sculpting it.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 138
Footsteps on the stairs made him frown. "Not now,
Marjorie. I'm in the middle of a critical step. Whatever it
is, take care of it!"
"Um, pardon me, Mr. Bright?"
The voice was unfamiliar, and he turned, ready to let
a scalding admonishment fly at whoever it was who'd
had the audacity to breach his inner sanctum, but the
sight of the stranger standing just inside the workshop
made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.
Six feet-something of male stood framed in the
doorway, a long, sexy length of man, with a face so
handsome it could make the angels weep. Alexander's
artistic soul was instantly fascinated, aching to explore
the perfect planes of those cheekbones, examine the
depths of the sparkling green eyes, to feel the texture of
the short strands of silky blond hair.
He eyed the body supporting the perfect head, and it
seemed every bit as flawless as the man's face. Wide
shoulders, narrow waist and hips, flat stomach, long,
long legs, all in perfect symmetry. The man wore a T-
shirt and jeans, both just tight enough to hint at the cut
muscles underneath.
If Alexander could sculpt such a delicious creature in
chocolate, he would happily hang up his spatula and
retire.
He finally remembered how to speak. "Who are
you?"
"Thomas Massino. Tommy. Um, I'm looking for a
job. The lady downstairs said you might be hiring."
"You are a student? Where do you study?"
"Uh, no, not anymore. I mean, I graduated Jefferson
High. I got my diploma and all. I was working at Ben's
Automotive for the past ten years. I'm a good mechanic,
good with my hands, work hard. Benny lost his
business, and I lost a job. Things being what they are
Pour Some Sugar On It - 139
around here, with the economy and all, well... I'm
willing to take whatever job I can get."
Alexander stirred the melting chocolate absently.
Ordinarily he would've thrown a fit that Marjorie had
sent some unqualified schmuck upstairs to disturb him,
but this man, this Thomas... Perhaps he could work
downstairs.
No, that wouldn't do. Alexander wanted Thomas
upstairs with him, where he could study Thomas' perfect
form. The fact that Thomas had never worked in a
kitchen, much less one of a chocolatier, suddenly didn't
seem as vitally important as it would have ten minutes
ago. "Have you ever worked with chocolate?"
"Nope. Ate enough of it as a kid, though. I'm partial
to those peanut M&M's." Thomas' smile showed twin
dimples in his cheeks, and nearly made Alexander's
knees buckle.
"Close enough. Consider yourself my new
apprentice. Go downstairs and have Marjorie give you
the paperwork, kitchen whites, an apron, and a hair net,
then come back up here."
When Thomas hesitated, Alexander barked,
"Quickly! We have much work to do."
"How much?"
Alexander gawked at him. "How much what?"
"Money. We didn't discuss salary."
He banged the wooden spoon he was using to stir the
chocolate on the side of the pot, and resisted the urge to
chuck it across the room. "I just offered you the
opportunity of a lifetime, apprenticing with the world's
greatest chocolatier, and you crassly ask about money?"
He could feel his face growing hot, and his fingers
tighten on the handle of the spoon. He shot a glare at
Thomas, and let loose a stream of expletives that
could've flayed flesh from bone.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 140
Thomas didn't even flinch. "Well, I don't work for
free. You understand how it is, Al."
Alexander was shocked, not so much because
Thomas was asking about money, but because Thomas
was still there and hadn't run screaming from the room.
No other potential apprentice candidate had withstood
the onslaught of Alexander's temper so stoically. None
had ever held their ground against him. Had Thomas
actually dared called Alexander, "Al?" He was stunned
to his core, so much so that he mumbled a number
instead of another vituperative attack.
"Fair enough. Be back in a flash." Thomas tossed
Alexander a dimpled grin and trotted downstairs.
Alexander stood stock still, staring at the empty
doorway, unsure of what had just happened.
When he finally regained his composure, he looked
down at the pot of tempering chocolate. He'd forgotten
to monitor the temperature. It was ruined, and he'd need
to start all over again.
Usually that would've been enough to send him into a
towering rage, but for some strange reason he was
smiling as he dumped the pot and fetched fresh bars of
chocolate.
***
Alexander scowled at Thomas, hands on his hips.
"No, no, no! This is not parchment paper. This is wax
paper! Can't you tell the difference between wax and
parchment?"
Tom frowned, studying the roll of white, nearly
translucent paper in his hand. "Wax, parchment... they
look the same to me. What's the difference?"
Alexander closed his eyes, as if trying to be patient.
Personally, Tom thought Al was too high-strung for his
Pour Some Sugar On It - 141
own good. He was always yelling, or swearing, or
throwing something across the room. Yesterday, Tom
watched him trash an entire tray of chocolate candy
because the little dimples on top were off-center.
"Wax paper is coated with wax. Parchment paper is
coated with silicone."
"And your point?"
"Are you a complete idiot? I believe there are no
brains at all in that pretty head of yours. The chocolate
we work with is hot. Wax melts. Silicone is heat-
resistant."
Tom quirked an eyebrow. "No need to get snippy, Al.
I'm supposed to be learning here, right? I'll go get the
parchment paper. It'll only take a minute. Keep your
britches on."
"I am not now, nor have I ever worn britches,"
Alexander replied haughtily. "And haven't I repeatedly
asked you not to call me by that absurdly plebian
name?"
"What, Al? You look like an Al. I'll be right back."
Tom ducked out before Alexander could see the grin
tilting his lips.
Behind him, Alexander was screaming, "I do not look
like an Al!"
The truth was, Tom loved teasing Alexander. It was
why he kept the job as Alexander's apprentice even
though he'd been offered several lucrative mechanic
positions in the past three weeks and really had no
interest in chocolate, other than eating it. He had enough
money socked away to last him a while, especially
supplementing it with the salary he earned at Chocolate
Dreams, meager though it was.
Tom enjoyed watching Alexander work himself up to
a rage. Alexander's cheeks would pink up, turn red, then
nearly purple, his pretty blue eyes nearly popping out of
Pour Some Sugar On It - 142
their sockets, and he would yell the most amusing
things. He tended to throw things, too, but Tom didn't
think Alexander actually meant to hit Tom with any of
them. Either that or Alexander's aim was the worst Tom
had ever seen. He liked to believe the former was true.
Especially since, during the short stretches of time
between tantrums, Tom found Alexander endearing.
Alexander had a quick mind, and his leaps of intuitive
creativeness astounded Tom. His hands could coax
works of art from lumps of chocolate, everything from
delicate flowers to roaring lions and more. He was
amazing to watch.
More than just being entertaining, Tom found
Alexander extremely sexy. Whether frowning in
concentration or at the height of one of his furies,
Alexander was a study in eroticism. Every movement of
his hands had purpose, whether it was sculpting
chocolate, or flinging a spoon at Tom's head. He had
long, elegant fingers, and lips that were full, sensuous,
and utterly kissable. His body was more difficult to
judge, always covered in baker's whites and an apron,
but the little Tom had seen piqued Tom's interest and
made him want to see more.
Marjorie, the older woman who worked in the candy
shop downstairs, caught on quickly. She seemed to
approve and encouraged Tom to stay upstairs with
Alexander, even when Alexander ordered Tom (usually
at the top of his lungs) to leave.
"You're good for him. You make sure you don't back
down. Stand up to him. He needs it," she said. Since she
was almost as ferocious as Alexander, he obeyed.
Besides, he thought she just might be right, too.
Alexander practically screamed when Tom handed
him the roll of paper he'd grabbed from a shelf in the
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supply room. "This isn't parchment, you nitwit! This is
Saran Wrap!"
As Tom watched Alexander work himself to the edge
of a towering rage, waving the roll of Saran Wrap
around like a Jedi Knight's lightsaber, Tom thought
about how very much he wanted to kiss Alexander until
the Saran Wrap, the chocolate, and the reason for
Alexander's fury was forgotten. He wondered how it
would feel when Alexander finally melted into his arms
like the warm ganache Alexander was so fond of making
and found himself smacking his lips in anticipation.
***
Alexander allowed himself a small sigh and a quick
break after he finished the twelve dozen truffles ordered
by the Kiwanis. He eyed the trays of small, round, dark-
chocolate confections, each drizzled with white
chocolate, looking for imperfections but finding none.
As always of late, his mind wandered from the task at
hand to Thomas, and he frowned, wondering how it was
that he continually allowed himself to be distracted.
It was true that over the last three weeks, he'd grown
used to seeing Thomas around the shop. It was amazing
that Thomas, the most inexperienced and inept
apprentice ever to step foot inside Chocolate Dreams,
had so far lasted the longest.
He was particularly fond of watching the way
Thomas' muscular butt filled out the thin, white bakers'
pants Alexander insisted Thomas wear. In addition to
being the longest lasting, Thomas was by far the most
attractive apprentice Alexander had ever had.
As a matter of fact, Alexander couldn't stop thinking
about Thomas, even when not at work. In the privacy of
his apartment, Alexander fantasized about Thomas,
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about all the lovely and decadent things he would like to
do, starting with licking melted chocolate from Thomas'
navel.
He'd seen the navel in question once. It was by
accident, of course. Alexander needed a tray from the
top of the high cabinets, and Thomas had obediently
climbed the stepladder to get it. When Thomas reached
up, his shirt rose, exposing a swatch of flat, tanned belly
and the most perfect bellybutton Alexander had ever
seen.
The thin line of dark blond hair snaking down from
Thomas' navel and disappearing under the waistband of
his kitchen whites ignited Alexander's imagination.
Since then, Alexander lost many hours of precious sleep
contemplating what the treasure at the end of that golden
trail looked like.
When he was at work, Alexander's eyes darted
toward Thomas continually, although he was quick to
cover his deep interest with a shout to get some
ingredient Alexander really didn't need, or a pan
Alexander really had no use for -- anything to disguise
the fact Alexander had been staring at Thomas.
He feared his charade wouldn't last much longer. In
the three weeks since Thomas had become Alexander's
apprentice, Alexander had burned four batches of
chocolate, something he hadn't done since leaving
culinary school. Not one batch, which he might be able
to explain away, but four. That equated to more than one
a week! It was unheard of. He'd also miscalculated the
support construction on a chocolate sculpture, causing
the whole thing to lean precariously and crack before
collapsing entirely.
Marjorie was beginning to notice Alexander's
behavior, too. He was sure of it. There was a smug little
Pour Some Sugar On It - 145
smile on her face lately. It was just a tease of a grin, as if
to tell Alexander she knew something he did not.
She was wrong, though. Alexander did know what
was going on, although he'd never give Marjorie the
satisfaction of saying it aloud.
He was becoming obsessed.
Hell, he was obsessed, and for the first time in his
adult life, it was not with chocolate. It was with Thomas.
What to do about Thomas was the question. He
pondered his options -- of which there were damned few
-- as he began cracking eggs into a large stainless-steel
mixing bowl. He had onehundred fifty cupcakes to bake,
cover in white chocolate ganache and hand-sculpted
rosebuds, and stack into six tiers for the McKensey
wedding.
He dismissed the first option -- telling Thomas how
he felt -- out of hand. Absolutely not. Admitting his
attraction to his apprentice would open the door for all
sorts of legal issues Alexander would rather not deal
with. Besides, it was so out of character for him that it
bordered on the ridiculous.
He cracked another few eggs.
What if he fired Thomas, and then told Thomas how
he felt? "Here's your pink slip. Sorry you're out of a job,
probably won't make your rent, maybe lose your car as
well. Now, how about going out to dinner with me?"
Oh, yeah. That would go over well.
The last of the eggs went into the bowl. He added
butter, sugar, flour, vanilla, and screwed the bowl into
the base of the mixer. As the machine began to beat the
batter into a smooth mixture, he got the cupcake pans
ready, and made sure the tray oven was set to the right
temperature.
A bell tinkled over the door downstairs in the shop,
and Alexander frowned, glancing at the clock. The shop
Pour Some Sugar On It - 146
didn't open until seven a.m. It was only four in the
morning. What was Marjorie doing here in the middle of
the night?
The only other person with a key to the shop was
Thomas, but he wasn't scheduled to be in until six, just
in time to help ready the store before the doors opened.
What would Thomas be doing here so early?
"Thomas? Is that you?"
"Yup. It's me." Thomas's voice preceded him on the
stairs. Alexander's heart seemed to thump louder with
each of Thomas' footsteps.
"What are you doing here?" Alexander looked down
at his apron, and brushed futilely at the chocolate
fingerprints and powdered sugar decorating it. He'd been
working steadily since two a.m. and was a mess.
Thomas appeared at the head of the stairs. "Figured
you could use some help with the big order for the
McKensey wedding." He was wearing his kitchen
whites, no apron, and through the thin material of the
trousers, Alexander could tell Thomas wasn't wearing
underwear. Everything Thomas owned -- and there was
a great deal of it, all Grade A -- was practically on
display.
Alexander felt himself blush as his body tightened in
response to Thomas' clearly outlined cock, and quickly
resorted to his usual tried and true method for distracting
Thomas. He yelled. "If I wanted your help I would have
scheduled you to be here. Moron! Idiot! Do you think
I'm made of money to pay you for overtime?"
Thomas didn't even flinch. Instead, he walked around
the marble-slab worktable to Alexander's side. "You
have flour on your chin. Let me get that for you." He
brushed his fingers over Alexander's chin, his thumb
inadvertently rubbing gently over Alexander's bottom
lip.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 147
Alexander's eyes widened as he stared at Thomas,
who stood so closely to him that he could feel Thomas'
breath on his face. He tried to bellow, to let loose
another irate diatribe, but what came out of his mouth
was a hesitant, hoarse whisper. "H-how dare you... I...
you cretin."
"Has anybody ever told you how fucking sexy you
are when you let yourself get all worked up?"
Alexander didn't know what stunned him more --
Thomas' use of profanity in the workplace (never had an
apprentice dared use an expletive in Alexander's
presence. That was strictly his domain), or Thomas'
declaration that Alexander looked sexy.
Alexander had immersed himself in his work for so
long with such single-minded deliberation that he'd
forgone a social life completely. He rarely paid attention
to his appearance and seldom dressed in anything but his
baker's whites in public. Worse, although he'd fantasized
about Thomas almost nonstop for the past three weeks,
in truth it had been so long since he'd dated that he
barely remembered what if felt like to be sexy.
His eyes popped a little more, and his jaw dropped
for good measure. "H-how dare you--"
Alexander didn't get a chance to finish his sentence
because Thomas closed the distance between them.
Before Alexander could blink, a very warm, wet, and
eager mouth was kissing him.
No, actually, "kissing" wasn't exactly the right word.
"Conquering" was more like it. Thomas' lips worked
incessantly against Alexander's before Thomas' tongue
slipped into Alexander's mouth, claiming it like an
invading army. Suddenly, there was a hand supporting
the back of Alexander's head and an arm pulling him
closer, until their bodies were flush with one another.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 148
He could feel the cut of Thomas' chest, the sharpness
of a hipbone; the heat of Thomas' body felt hotter than
Alexander's revolving tray oven. More, he could feel
Thomas' cock, hard now, engorged, burning through his
pants.
Sweet fuck... Thomas wanted him.
The thought came as a revelation, as if a light
suddenly switched on inside his brain. He moaned, and
reached around Thomas' hips, grabbing a double handful
of the ass he'd dreamed about for the last three weeks.
The flesh was firm under his palms, warm through the
thin material of Thomas' pants.
Thomas left Alexander's mouth and began to explore
the sensitive skin under his jaw, nipping and licking
until Alexander groaned and rubbed himself up against
Thomas.
He gave half a thought to the kitchen and the
unsanitary conditions that might arise if they had sex on
the marble worktable, but quickly decided he couldn’t
care less. The truffles were already stored in the
refrigerator, and the batter for the cupcakes could wait
until after he'd disinfected the worktable and counters.
Nothing seemed as important as the desire burning
through his veins.
If it were up to Alexander, the first order of business
would be to get Thomas naked and dip him into the
nearest vat of melted chocolate, then begin the arduous
task of licking him clean.
"Fuck!" Thomas whispered hoarsely. His breath was
warm against Alexander's neck, and fingers strong as
they relentlessly kneaded the flesh of Alexander's ass.
"You feel so good. I want you naked. Now."
Hmph. For once, Alexander was in perfect agreement
with one of his apprentices, except it was Thomas he
wanted naked, at least at first. His lips hitched in a half-
Pour Some Sugar On It - 149
smile. Thomas was about to find out Alexander was no
pushover.
Alexander had made it through the highest ranked
culinary school, finishing at the top of his class. He'd
successfully completed his apprenticeship with one of
the most ornery, egotistical, foul-mouthed chocolatiers
in the world. Finally, he'd clawed his way through the
thick competition to emerge as the world's premiere
chocolatier himself. A man didn't do all that without a
backbone of steel and an iron will. He refused to
concede dominance in his own kitchen, regardless if
chocolate making was at issue or not.
He swept the utensils cluttering the sleek, black
marble worktable to the side with one arm, then affected
his most intimidating grimace and turned to face
Thomas. "Excorticate, and lie back on the table."
Thomas's answering grin lit a fire under Alexander's
temper. His voice rose in both pitch and volume. "Did
you hear me? I have often suspected you were hard of
hearing. Oh, pardon me. I forgot I was talking to a...
what's the expression? Grease monkey. I'll try to use
smaller words. Get. Naked. Now."
To Alexander's surprise, Thomas' grin remained,
although fire flashed in his eyes. "I know what
'excorticate' means. Who talks like that? Do you study a
thesaurus at night so you can intimidate your apprentices
with ten-dollar words?"
"How dare you!"
Thomas never wavered, never gave a hint of being
daunted by Alexander's temper, but then, he never had
before, either, and Alexander was secretly glad of it.
Thomas' strength was one of the things that turned
Alexander on the most. "Oh, I dare plenty, sweetheart.
You haven't begun to see how forward I can be."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 150
As if to prove his point, Thomas reached out and
snatched the chef's hat off Alexander's head, tossing it
over his shoulder to the floor.
Alexander's eyes flew open. "How dare you?"
"Is that the only song in your repertoire? I already
told you, I dare plenty." Thomas' hand snaked forward
again and popped the button open on Alexander's pants.
Anger bubbled up inside Alexander's gut along with
another wave of acute desire. He quickly undid Thomas'
button, and pulled down the zipper for good measure. A
bit of Thomas' shirttail peeked through the open fly,
along with a few tufts of dark blond hair. Thomas was
commando, just as Alexander had suspected. He felt his
body tighten even further.
"Oh, so you want to play it like this, huh?" Thomas'
grin grew wider as he took the collar of Alexander's
work shirt in his hands and roughly pulled it open.
Buttons flew, pinging and bouncing over the table and
floor.
Alexander was aghast. He wasn't wearing an
undershirt, and the skin on his chest was bared to the
warm air. Thomas had scored first blood, so to speak.
He frowned, but then moved quickly, darting in and
jerking Thomas' pants down to his knees.
Oh, yes. Definitely commando.
Thomas' cock was semi-erect, and the sight of it
made Alexander's mouth water. His attention was
focused on Thomas' dick, and he almost missed the
conceited little smile playing at Thomas' mouth. When
he realized he was staring like an idiot, his mouth
hanging wide open, Alexander snapped his lips shut and
glared at Thomas. "Enough of these juvenile games.
Take the rest off and get up on the table. Face down."
One eyebrow quirked over Thomas' eyes. "You're a
pushy bastard, aren't you?"
Pour Some Sugar On It - 151
"You have no idea. Do it." Alexander's body was
screaming at him to get naked, to take full advantage of
the opportunity standing in front of him, but true to his
nature, he stubbornly refused to give in to his baser
urges. He could wait. Would wait, even if it killed him.
He resisted the urge to adjust himself, even though his
rock-hard prick was off-center and uncomfortable.
"You know, I'm bigger than you are. I could flip you
up on that table like a sack of potatoes."
Alexander growled low in his throat, and bared his
teeth. "Get. On. The. Table!"
He had the distinct impression Thomas was humoring
him, but then that thought was lost with all others when
Thomas turned his back to Alexander, and he got his
first good look at Thomas' bare ass.
Alexander was a man who treasured perfection,
indeed, had spent his entire adult life in the pursuit of it.
He knew it when he saw it, and here before him was
flawless beauty unrivaled by any Alexander had ever
seen before. His heart raced as his eyes traced the
contours of Thomas' ass. Round and plump, shaped like
an inverted heart, Thomas' butt was a thing worthy of
worship.
As if Thomas could read Alexander's mind, he shot
Alexander a cheeky grin from over his shoulder, then
leaned his chest and stomach on the worktable.
Alexander's view suddenly got much more
interesting.
With Thomas' legs slightly spread, Alexander could
see the sac hanging between Thomas' meaty thighs, full
and dusted with dark golden hair. Alexander resisted the
urge to cup it, to weigh it in his palm. Thomas' ass,
though, was as smooth as one of Alexander's white
chocolate truffles.
And looked just as tasty.
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Thomas' voice distracted Alexander from his visual
inspection. "Well? You got your way. Here I am, pretty
much naked and bent over your table. Are you going to
keep me here all day? Because I've got things to do. The
store is due to open in a couple of hours."
Of all the nerve! Who did Thomas think he was?
Thomas thought he had things to do?
Alexander sniffed with disdain. Thomas was merely
the apprentice! He was the chocolatier, and he had a
million things to do before the store opened! Alexander
bit back a dozen sharp retorts, none of which seemed
cutting enough. Then he spotted a long-handled wooden
spoon hanging on the utensil rack and grabbed it, an evil
smile replacing his frown.
"Did anyone ever explain to you that an apprentice is
a student?" Alexander said in a low voice, careful to
keep his annoyance in check. "Do you know what
happens to students who disobey the master?"
"You're not my master." Thomas' tone dripped with
defiance, although he remained perfectly still.
"Oh, that's where you're wrong, my dear Thomas. In
my kitchen, I am the master. I am the teacher, the boss,
the king! And you have been a very naughty student."
He smacked the rounded side of the spoon against
Thomas' ass cheek.
Thomas grunted, and threw a heated look over his
shoulder at Alexander, but Alexander barely noticed. He
was biting his lip, watching Thomas' butt pink up in a
vaguely spoon-shaped blotch. It was startling against the
white of Thomas' skin, like a single coral rose against a
smooth block of white chocolate.
"Oh, pretty," Alexander murmured, almost to
himself. He gave in to temptation and rubbed his hand
over the rosy mark. He heard a moan, and felt Thomas's
ass buck toward his hand. "Tsk. Tsk. You haven't
Pour Some Sugar On It - 153
learned your lesson yet, have you? Stay still." He gave
Thomas another whack with the spoon, adding another
rosebud next to the first. He thought an entire bouquet of
roses might be in order, and delivered another few
whacks in quick succession.
He didn't know what was sweeter -- the lovely pink
blooms on Thomas' pale skin, or the way Thomas was
groaning and writhing on the sleek black marble. He had
a sudden vision of the wooden spoon protruding from
Thomas' asshole like the stem of the bouquet, and felt a
shiver that rocketed through his balls and up his spine.
Alexander stepped away only long enough to grab
the tub of Crisco from the rack. He scooped some out
and slathered the handle of the spoon with it.
"What are you doing back there?" Thomas asked.
There was a plaintive tone in his voice that made
Alexander smile.
"Mind your business. Stay put." Holding the spoon
carefully lest it slip out of his hands and hit the floor,
Alexander added several more roses to the growing
bouquet glowing on Thomas' ass. Then he dropped to
one knee, and carefully pried Thomas' cheeks apart with
the fingers of one hand.
Thomas' asshole was clean-shaven, and as pink as the
blooms Alexander's spoon had drawn on his butt.
Alexander couldn't resist – he ducked in and teased the
small, ridged hole with his tongue, until Thomas'
whispers drove Alexander's need to a razor-sharp,
almost painful edge.
With Thomas' taste still on his tongue, Alexander
carefully worked the handle of the spoon inside Thomas'
body until it was about a third of the way in, then
stepped back to admire his creation. "Hold it in. Don't
let it go," he ordered.
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"What the fuck is it?" Thomas' head craned, trying to
see over his shoulder.
"Never mind. This is for my pleasure, not yours."
"Well, fuck that shit!"
Alexander chuckled, and caught the spoon as it
slipped free from Thomas' ass. "I intend to, in good
time." He gave Thomas a few hard whacks, reviving the
fading blooms on Thomas' cheeks. "Behave yourself,
and perhaps you'll begin to enjoy my attention."
Thomas' answering growl sent a delicious shiver
through Alexander. There was something about bending
Thomas to his will that excited Alexander beyond
anything he'd encountered before. Not even successfully
creating a work of art in chocolate compared to the
thrills rippling through him. Thomas was bigger than
Alexander, more powerful, yet here Thomas was, spread
across his worktable, bared for the taking. It was
exhilarating.
He glanced around the kitchen, looking for
something else to decorate the bouquet of red roses
adorning Thomas' beautiful ass. The long, metal whisk
caught his eye, as did the rubber spatula. He turned his
back on Thomas as he tried to decide.
That was his mistake.
When he turned back, whisk in hand, Thomas was
sitting on the edge of the table leering at him. A
dangerous gleam in Thomas' eye sent a shiver rocketing
through Alexander. He couldn't decide if it was
anticipation or fear.
The possibility existed that it was both, although he
wasn't given enough time to dwell on it. He gulped, and
realized the wire whisk he held made a poor weapon
indeed.
***
Pour Some Sugar On It - 155
Thomas had removed his shirt, shoes, and pants and
sat completely naked on the edge of the table. When
Alexander turned around, the look on Al's face was
absolutely priceless.
Really, did Al think Thomas was going to roll over
and play the good dog for very long? Not a chance, not
when Thomas had spent so much time fantasizing about
taking Alexander in this very kitchen.
No, playtime for Alexander was over. It was Thomas'
turn to wear the chef's hat. He grinned, and hopped off
the table, standing over Alexander, using his full height
and mass to its best advantage. The way Al's eyes
widened was worth the few spanks he'd taken. Although
he admitted that trick with the wooden spoon was
something he would've liked to try on Al, not that he
would, not now.
"You have too many clothes on," Thomas growled.
He took a step toward Alexander, who immediately
backed up until he was trapped between Thomas and the
huge industrial refrigerator. "Take 'em off, before I do it
for you. Trust me, they won't be wearable anymore if it
comes to that."
The whisk fell out of Alexander's hand, bounced on
the hard tile floor, and rolled under the table. It didn't
matter. They were too involved in a battle of wills that
Thomas already knew he was going to win.
Al's hands trembled as he dropped his shirt to the
floor and unzipped his pants. His shoes and pants soon
lay next to the shirt, a snowfall of fabric on the floor. Al
was built exactly as Thomas liked his lovers -- smaller
than himself, softy rounded belly, hard prick.
Thomas' hungry gaze flicked over him. "Mmm, nice.
Very fucking hot. It's your turn on the table, Al."
"W-what are you going to do?"
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"Show you everything I've learned from you. Get up
there, before I take the spoon to your butt," Thomas
said. His grin spread wide as he watched Al scramble on
top of the table. "On your back, Al."
He thought he heard a sigh of relief as Al lay back on
the cold marble. No doubt Al thought Thomas would
give him tit for tat with the spoon, but that wasn't
Thomas' style. He wasn't a copycat. He had more
originality than Al suspected, something he planned to
show Al immediately.
There was a pot of chocolate on the stove. He
adjusted the temperature and began melting it, then
walked around the kitchen, gathering other ingredients.
"What are you doing?"
He narrowed his eyes at Al. "Creating. Now shut up,
or I'll get the spoon, and your ass won't be the part of
you I beat with it."
Thomas almost grinned when Al yelped and cupped
himself. Poor Al, he really had Thomas figured wrong,
right from the start.
In a few minutes, the chocolate was nicely melted,
smooth and creamy, and the candy thermometer read
eighty-seven degrees. Perfect. He removed the small pot
and carried it over to the table, placing it on a portable
warmer.
Alex's eyes were wide, but his tongue swept his
lower lip, and his cock remained hard. He's enjoying
this, Thomas realized. He wants it. Well, that's good,
because I want it, too. Badly. His own dick was achingly
hard, and his balls were swollen and ultrasensitive. He
tried not to think of how good it was going to feel when
he finally allowed Alexander to fuck him.
"Tell you what, Al. You're being a good boy, so I'll
give you something to think about while I'm enjoying
my dessert." He reached for a rubber spatula hanging on
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the utensil rack and slathered the handle with Crisco. He
turned so Alex could see him slide the handle into his
asshole. He clenched his cheeks to keep it there.
"Oh, sweet fuck!" Alexander's voice was low and
breathy. "That's so fucking pretty, Thomas."
"Yeah? Good. I'm going to keep it there while I work
on you. You just keep thinking about this spatula, and
how good it's going to feel when I finally allow you
stick your nice, fat cock up there."
"Yes! Yes, I want that, Thomas. I want to fuck you!"
"In time. Not yet. Lie back and be still."
For the first time since Thomas knew Alexander, he
obeyed without question. Al's eyes were dark with lust,
and his breathing was rapid and shallow. His hands
fisted at his sides, as if to keep them from reaching for
Thomas. The look of him pleased Thomas and made
Thomas' cock bob with appreciation.
Thomas wasted no more time. He ran his hands over
Al's body, over Al's shoulders, belly, and thighs. Nice,
firm flesh, harder cock.
Al was beautiful, and Thomas loved the way he
shivered all over when Thomas touched him. In Thomas'
opinion, Al was a work of art, and all he had to do was
add the finishing touches.
He began with the chocolate. Using a ladle, he
drizzled designs over Al's skin, making swirls and
streaks and loops. The smell of chocolate grew stronger,
mixing with the scent of man and sex. Thomas paused,
and leaned down, inhaling deeply while he gave his
cock a few strokes. He didn't touch Al, not yet, but that
would change soon enough.
Next, he sprinkled tiny dark chocolate chips over the
designs he'd made on Al's skin, and added white
nonpareils.
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The heat in the kitchen and Al's body temperature did
a good job of keeping the chocolate from hardening too
much. Thomas enjoyed the look of anticipation on Al's
face almost as much as his own eagerness. He dipped his
head down and began to lick the concoction from Al's
flesh.
His tongue lapped chocolate from Al's nipples,
flicking the hard nubs for good measure. His lips sucked
the confection from Al's belly, tongue delving into Al's
bellybutton. He nibbled along Al's hipbones, and sucked
the tender flesh of Al's inner thighs until dark blooms
rose under the chocolate swirls.
Al was mewling and writhing on the table before
Thomas gave himself permission to taste Al's cock.
There were only a few specks of chocolate on Al's
erection (Thomas hadn't wanted to burn the tender skin),
but it tasted sweet nonetheless. His intention was to
slowly lick the droplets off, but once he tasted Al, all
good intentions to go slow went right out the proverbial
window. He took Al in deep, sucking hard, craving more
of the unique flavor.
He kept at it, sucking, drawing his lips and teeth over
Al's cock until Al's hips pumped to meet his mouth and
Al groaned loudly.
"I'm... fuck, I'm going to come, Thomas!"
Oh, no. That would not do. Thomas forced himself to
stand up, knowing he was leaving Al teetering on the
edge. "Deep breaths, Al. I want this to last a while."
"God, I can't! I need to... Is it still there? In your ass?"
Thomas smiled. Al was trying to give himself
something else to think about. "Good boy. Yes, it's still
there." He turned halfway, giving Al another peek at the
spatula. He reached around his hip and grabbed the
handle, sliding it in deeper, retracting it, then pushing it
in again. "That's going to be your cock, Al. In me."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 159
"Yes, please! Now, Thomas. I can't hold out much
longer."
Al's voice sounded strained, almost strangled, and
Thomas realized how hard it was for Al to hold back.
Maybe he'd taken Al too far. He frowned, then came to a
decision. "All right. Get up, Al."
Al jumped to his feet, and rubbed himself against
Thomas. "Fuck, that was so sexy. I wanted to do it to
you. I wanted to lick chocolate off your body."
"Maybe next time," Thomas replied hoarsely. The
feel of Al's body rubbing against him was almost too
much. He was nearly ready to blow his wad, and he
hadn't even really done much yet. "How do you want
me?"
"Over the table. Quickly, now! Bend over, and let me
at that beautiful ass."
Thomas bit back a smile. Arrogant Al was back, and
with a vengeance. It didn't matter. This was what
Thomas wanted, too. He bent over the table and let Al
have the honors of pulling the spatula out of his ass.
"Condom. In the pocket of my pants, Al."
He heard Al shuffle around, but wasn't surprised at
all when Al returned swiftly. Or when Al swatted his
butt several times with the flat of his hand and fucked
Thomas with the spatula for a few minutes. Al was back
in charge and determined to prove it. Thomas didn't
mind. In fact, he enjoyed it immensely, stroking his dick
all the while.
When he felt the fat head of Al's cock press against
his hole, he bit his lip in anticipation. He didn't have
long to wait. Al continued to push in until fully seated
inside Thomas' body. "Oh, fuck, that feels good!"
Thomas cried.
"Does it? What do you want, Thomas? I want to hear
it."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 160
"Fuck me! I want you to fuck me."
"Yeah? You like my cock? Want me to pound it into
you?"
"Fuck, yeah!"
He heard Al's answering growl, but then all he heard
was the blood rushing in ears and the sound of flesh
slapping flesh as Al picked up the pace. Thomas' hand
worked his cock, and when Al changed the angle
slightly and hit Thomas' sweet spot, he came. His
orgasm swelled and spiked, pleasure so sharp he felt as
though it could cut him into a million pieces from the
inside out. He was only dimly aware of Al pulling out
and of hot wetness spurting on his asscheeks.
He was surprised, however, by the sweet kisses Al
laid on the small of his back, and the words Al
spoke."Thank you, Thomas. That was... incredible."
Thomas turned, looking at Al in surprise. He'd never
heard Alexander say thank you, not once in all the time
he'd worked at Chocolate Dreams, and he was almost
shocked to hear them. He wasn't sure what to say, so did
what came naturally to him. He pulled Al down for a
long, deep kiss.
Al chuckled when he pulled away, then seemed to
collect himself. "What a mess you've made in here! I
have the McKensey cupcakes to finish for the wedding
today. They're nearly done. Get this place cleaned up!"
Thomas laughed. This was the Al he knew, and had
grown so fond of, and couldn't help but tease a little.
"Should I do it naked?"
Al's eyes cut toward him and they were full of
mischief. "I would make it the new uniform from now
on if I didn't think Marjorie would have a stroke. Get
busy."
Thomas got to work, not bothering to dress.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 161
***
Alexander grinned to himself while bustling about
the kitchen. He was nearly nude, except for an apron and
a hairnet, which he insisted they use for hygienic
purposes. He'd had to scrub the kitchen down after their
first interlude, and didn't want to repeat the entire
process every night. They no longer used the marble
worktable since he figured the Department of Health
would have a definite problem with it if they ever found
out.
Not that it mattered. He'd stocked a complete
collection of baking tools and supplies in his apartment,
and each night after the shop closed, he and Thomas
would head there for a few hours. But in the early
morning hours they worked without benefit of clothing.
Seeing Thomas' perfect ass flash in the open-backed
apron was enough to keep Alexander hard all day.
He put the finishing touches on an elaborate
chocolate sculpture destined for the head table at the
governor's annual fundraising dinner and smiled to
himself. No matter how beautiful, no matter how
artistic, nothing he made in the kitchen could match the
chocolate perfection he created on Thomas' body at
night.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 162
Brownies: A Hammer Story
By Sean Michael
"Let's make brownies," Tanny had said. "How hard
can it be? We're not stupid. We can follow instructions."
That had been six hours ago.
Six hours.
A pot of coffee -- half decaf, of course.
Three trips to the grocery story.
A food fight involving throwing melted
marshmallows at each other.
And no fewer than four exploding bags -- one flour,
one sugar, two mint chocolate chips (those bags were a
bitch).
Tanny looked over, wearing only sweatpants, a streak
of chocolate crossing his torso. Jim thought his best
friend looked stoned, and that made him cackle. High.
They were on a sugar high.
"Don't laugh at me." A pecan bounced off the end of
his nose. "Asshole."
"Fucker." He grabbed the chocolate syrup jar, aimed,
then cracked up again as Tanny opened his mouth.
He got most of the glob in, and Tanny moaned. "God.
Did we get it right yet? I mean the brownies."
Jim looked. There were twelve batches with bites
taken out of them -- mint chocolate, rocky road, dark
chocolate, chocolate pecan, chocolate walnut, cherry
chocolate. They were all good.
"Let's try adding coffee."
Tanny clapped. "Mocha brownies! Is there Irish
cream?"
Pour Some Sugar On It - 163
"Oh, my God!" Uh-oh. That sounded an awful lot
like Marcus.
"Wow. Just... wow." And Master Billy.
Tanny's eyes went wide. "They were supposed to be
gone."
Jim nodded. "All day."
"We were gone all day." Marcus stood in the
doorway. "And I'd come and say hello, except I'm
clean."
The corner of Billy's mouth twitched.
"There's brownies." Tanny leaned close, kissed Jim
playfully. "Don't look so stressed, man," he whispered.
"We didn't break any rules."
Billy stared to chuckle. "You hear that, Marcus?
There's brownies."
"I heard. I'm just not sure if they're going to be served
on plates or on subs."
"Oh!" Billy's eyes took on a gleam. "That could be
fun."
"There's mint and cherry." Jim licked his lips, eyes on
his master.
"No Jim-flavored?"
"Master!"
Tanny chuckled. "We were about to make mocha
ones."
"Ah, the dreaded coffee. It's a good thing we arrived
when we did." Marcus winked and then added. "And
baby, you're covered in chocolate, is it wrong for me to
want to eat you?"
Billy was laughing again.
"It's half-caf. We're not breaking the rules."
"We could, if you wanted." Tanny sounded... slinky.
"You need a bath, Montana. Did you want a beating
as well?" Billy sounded... intense.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 164
Jim tensed, and Tanny licked his nose. "Breathe. You
can't tell me you don't do it, sometimes. Just to let him
make you fly."
Jim shook his head, then nodded, then stepped away,
unnerved.
"Montana, don't be a brat." Billy stepped into the
kitchen and something squelched underfoot. "Ew."
Tanny sighed, rolled his eyes, and went for a broom.
"If you'll both go sit down in the living room, I'll send
Jim in with some brownies."
Jim nodded. "I'll make up plates and drinks."
"Oh, I don't think so, boy." Billy's voice whipped out.
"Marcus, we're going to borrow your bathroom.
Montana will be down to help clean. Eventually."
"It's all yours. Jim and I will take care of business
down here."
The air was tense, now, heavy, and Jim didn't know
what to do. He hated when things got weird with Tanny,
hated it. It was like he was stupid or something, not
getting what Tanny was showing him.
Billy held out his hand, looking at Tanny like no one
else in the world existed. Tanny looked excited, lit up,
holding Billy's gaze.
Jim wanted to... push Tanny, hard.
A smile curved Billy's lips as Tanny's hand slid into
his master's and they left the kitchen together.
"Mmm. Intense." Marcus' attention turned back to
him.
"I'm sorry. I'll clean. We were just playing around."
He offered his master a worried smile.
"I don't know why you're convinced I'm angry with
you."
"Everything feels angry now. Tense."
"That's because Tanny was baiting Billy. He wanted
a spanking, or whipping, Billy's attention."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 165
Marcus held open his arms.
"I don't like him when he's like that. We'd been
having such a good time." He went easily, needing
Marcus' strength.
His Master's arms wrapped around him, holding him
close. "He likes to tease you, baby."
"He breaks the rules on purpose." He did it...
accidentally.
"He does. I'm not sure he even broke any rules today
-- he was just pushing. You had fun, though, hmm?
Before we came home." Marcus licked his nose,
hummed.
"Yes. Yes, we laughed a lot."
He heard a low moan from the bathroom upstairs, the
faint sound of flesh hitting flesh.
Marcus smiled at him. "I want to move a little slower
than they are. Feed me your favorite brownie."
"I like the dark chocolate ones best." He smiled back,
entire body relaxing. His beautiful master. "Did you
have a good day?" He grabbed a little plate, pulled a
square of brownie for Marcus.
"I did. There was a blood play demonstration at the
club. It was quite intense."
"Blood play?" He shivered. "Don't tell Tanny. He'll
do it."
"Only if it's what Billy wants. That boy is devoted."
Jim offered the plate to Marcus. "He is. He loves
Billy almost as much as I love you."
Marcus beamed at him and took the plate from him.
"Is that decaf in the coffee pot, baby?"
"Half caf."
Marcus chuckled and shook his head. "Half caf and
all that sugar. What the hell, pour us a cup to share."
"Yes, master." He beamed. "I had decaf this morning,
so I could share with Tanny."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 166
"Oh, baby, I am proud of you."
He stopped pouring, met Marcus' eyes, his breath
catching. Oh. Oh, God. "Thank you." Oh, God. So good.
"Hurry, baby I want you to feed me, and then I want
you."
"Yes, master. Yes." He brought the coffee over. "Is it
good?"
"I'm not having a crumb unless it's from your
fingers." Marcus took his hand and tugged him toward
the living room
The sounds of need, of pain and pleasure were
coming from the bathroom. "Oh, God."
"Does it bother you, baby? Hearing them?"
"No. No, it's just weird." He grinned over, only a
little shaky. "A little hot, maybe."
"Yes, indeed. That intensity is electric." Marcus drew
him down to the couch. "Now feed me, baby. With your
fingers."
"Yes, Master." He broke off a piece, fed it to his
lover, his Marcus, his Sir.
Marcus' tongue slid across his fingers as the brownie
was taken in. "Mmm. This is good, baby."
"Thank you." He hummed softly. "We wanted to
recreate the ones I buy at Scoots."
Marcus shook his head. "This isn't it, but I think
they're even better than Scoots'."
"Really?" He offered Marcus another bite.
"Yes. A little less sweet, a deeper chocolate."
Marcus took the bite and then grabbed his hand,
holding it there as Marcus licked his fingers clean. Jim
watched, cock filling, eyes on those teeth.
"Have a bite yourself, baby." Marcus licked his own
lips, smiled.
He leaned forward, licked Marcus' lips, moaned. So
good. Marcus pressed their mouths together, tongue
Pour Some Sugar On It - 167
coming out to touch his. Sweet. Marcus tasted like a
dream. He moaned, their tongues playing, almost
dancing. Soft moans filled his mouth, Marcus feeding
each sound into him.
His fingers trailed over Marcus' scalp, petting the
smooth skin, so different from his own wild curls.
"Mmm. You're like a chocolate treat." Marcus smiled
at him, looking happy and relaxed, a glint of something
more in his eyes.
"Yummy and cream filled?"
Marcus put his head back and laughed. "Yes, baby.
Exactly."
Jim grinned, leaning in to lick and bite at Marcus'
throat. That earned him a moan, Marcus' hands
beginning to wander. One stopped to tweak his nipple
rings, the other slid to his back.
"Mmm. Master." A ball of heat built in his belly.
"Yes. My Jim." Marcus chuckled suddenly, bringing
his hand forward between them. "You have chocolate
everywhere. What did the two of you do, fling it at each
other?"
He felt his cheeks go red hot. "Uh..."
"You were!" Marcus started laughing in earnest, deep
belly laughs.
His own laughter bubbled up out of him, happy and
honest. "He's trouble, that Tanny."
"And you walk hand in hand with him, baby."
Marcus kissed him, the laughter spread between them.
"It's easier to throw food at him when both hands are
free."
More laughter came at his words, Marcus holding
him close. Jim leaned in, kissed Marcus' jaw, settled in.
Marcus tilted his head back up and took a long, slow
kiss as his hand drifted down to rub over his ass. He was
still warm from his morning spanking, still tender and
Pour Some Sugar On It - 168
relaxed. Marcus grabbed a cheek and squeezed, making
his skin ache.
"Master..." He smiled, shivered, then he heard Tanny
moan again.
"You need to be making noises like that, too."
"Me?" he teased. "I don't moan."
Marcus started chuckling again. Jim dared to pinch
one of Marcus' nipples, gently, for laughing at him.
"Baby!" Marcus tried to sound shocked, but his
laughter ruined the attempt.
God, Marcus made him happy, bone deep.
Marcus grabbed him close and kissed him hard,
tongue pushing in, big, strong body leaning over his.
One hand was tangled in his hair, the other hard on his
ass. He was falling backward, but he trusted his master
had him, wouldn't let him land hard.
The scent of chocolate and Marcus filled his nose.
"Taste so good, baby." Marcus tugged his hair,
pulling his head back farther so Marcus could really
devour him.
Marcus was biting him, teeth scraping like he was
chocolate coated himself. The toothy kiss ended, but the
bites didn't, Marcus working his way down Jim's neck.
"Master." He swallowed hard, throat working,
pushing against Marcus' teeth.
"Say it again." Marcus' words were little more than a
growl.
"Master." Oh, God. Yes. His. Please.
"Love that." Marcus' teeth sank into the flesh at the
side of his throat, Marcus sucking hard.
"Love you." His body shivered and goosebumps rose
up all over him.
The possessive growl that sounded also vibrated his
skin, Marcus fingers digging into his ass. The suction
grew harder and Jim started to shift, to wiggle. Another
Pour Some Sugar On It - 169
growl sounded, but the suction didn't fade back at all.
Marcus began to push that hand on his ass into his jeans.
"Please. Master." He groaned, hoping Tanny couldn't
hear. Almost not caring.
"I want to hear it again." Marcus let go of his skin to
say the words, then latched on beneath his Adam's
apple.
"Master. Master!" The sting became an ache.
Fingernails scraped across his ass. His cock rubbed
against the zipper on his jeans, the ring in the tip almost
aching.
"You're wearing too much," murmured Marcus.
"Only jeans."
"See? Too much." Marcus undid his top button and
started working on his zipper. He sucked in, let Marcus
in. Let Marcus have him. "Poor cock's gonna have
zipper impressions on it."
He nodded. "It needs you. I need you."
"Because you're mine." Marcus' fingers wrapped
around his cock before it even pushed out of his jeans,
hand working him strongly, erasing the bite of the
zipper.
"Yes. Yes..." There was chocolate at the waistband of
his jeans. Marcus bent and licked at it, hand still on his
cock, tugging slowly. He gasped, wiggled, teeth hard on
his belly.
"Mmm. Chocolate covered sub." Marcus grinned up
at him, thumb pressing against his slit.
"Mmm. If the chocolate wasn't so hot..."
"It didn't' seem to matter when you were flinging it at
each other."
"We wouldn't hurt each other."
"So what you're saying is the chocolate is still not too
hot to apply to skin." Marcus waggled his brows.
"Mmmhmm. Then it's okay. Warm. Sticky."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 170
"Then I think you should go get some." Marcus let go
of his prick, backed off and tugged his jeans down.
"Some?" He was lost.
"Chocolate, baby. I'm going to have a treat tonight. A
Jim treat."
"I. Okay." He nodded, still blinking a little.
Marcus chuckled and smacked his ass. "Go on."
"Go. Right. Sorry. I. Yeah." Somewhere Tanny was
begging Billy, sobbing the man's name.
"Don't linger, baby. I want to eat you right up."
"Uh-huh." He headed to the kitchen, threw the bowl
of chocolate in the microwave and hit 'melt'.
He heard a shout from upstairs, Marcus' chuckle from
the living room. He was naked. With people in his
house. Naked. Moans drifted down from upstairs,
heartfelt and wanton sounding.
The bowl was warm, but not too hot to grab, and he
took it to Marcus.
"Perfect." Marcus nodded to the couch. "Lie down,
baby."
"'kay..." He spread himself out, eyes on the bowl.
"So what's the best technique here, baby? Should I
just fling it at you?"
"Pouring would be easier on the sofa."
"Pouring it is." Marcus smiled and tilted the bowl
over his prick.
"Oh!" Warm. Warm and slick and, oh, God.
Marcus kept pouring the chocolate over him -- his
cock was thoroughly coated, his balls and thighs, too.
Then the chocolate fall moved up along his chest and
over both nipples.
"I. I. Master. Master. Please."
"Patience, baby. It'll all come off."
"It's all over." Maybe even dripping over his hole.
"It is." Marcus sounded very pleased about that.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 171
Marcus put down the bowl and bent, licking the
chocolate from Jim's right nipple. The ring moved,
feeling heavy with the chocolate on it, strange. Marcus'
tongue circled his nipple before his master's mouth
closed over it, sucking to clean the chocolate from his
skin. The pressure was delicious, his skin lifting to meet
the suction.
He could feel Marcus' sounds around his skin. He
wasn't sure if it was moans or hums of pleasure, but
either way, it vibrated most deliciously. Jim found
himself humping, cock dripping chocolate onto his
belly. Marcus licked his way to the other nipple, giving
it the same treatment.
"Trying to make me crazy."
"I'm just following your lead, baby."
The ring tugged, ached. Burned. Marcus twisted it
hard with his tongue, and then licked all around it in a
wide swath.
"Gonna have to take a hot shower."
"Are you impugning my licking abilities?"
"I wouldn't do that." There was no way. No way.
"Good." Marcus went back to licking, to proving that
yes, he very much knew how to lick and to best effect,
as well.
Jim melted back onto the sofa, sprawled and
boneless. So melty.
Marcus' mouth touched him everywhere, licking all
the chocolate away. Except for where he wanted it most.
His cock, balls and hole remained chocolate covered. He
knew better than to beg for it, but he wanted to.
Finally, Marcus' tongue slid across the top of his
cock. It was maddening -- the sensation was dulled by
the chocolate. Moving slowly down along his prick,
Marcus took little licks, barely cleaning away any
chocolate. He groaned, trying to get more sensation.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 172
"Patience, baby."
"Yes. Yes, Master." Oh, God. Please.
The soft licks continued. Each one was good, but not
hot enough, not close enough to his skin. Finally Marcus
took in one of his balls and started sucking earnestly.
"Master..." His shoulders rolled off the sofa, his
hands reaching for Marcus' head.
Marcus hummed around his ball, tongue working his
skin. The tiny row of rings laddering his sac nudged and
bumped Marcus' lips, cheek.
Marcus pulled off and licked, then sucked his other
ball. "So beautiful and needy."
"Yours. All of me." Jim smiled down, traced Marcus'
eyebrows.
"I know." Marcus smiled and grabbed at his fingers,
sucking on them, biting at the tips.
Jim could hear Billy again, grunting Tanny's name,
the sound wild. Marcus bit down sharply on his
fingertips, growled.
"Master!" His eyes went wide, his heart slamming in
his chest.
"Your focus should be right here, baby."
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry. I just. I'm sorry."
"Shh. Just stop worrying about what Billy and Tanny
are up to and focus on what I'm doing with your
chocolate covered self."
"I wasn't worrying. I'll focus." He could do that.
Marcus nuzzled his fingers and then his belly, mouth
still sucking remnants of the chocolate from his skin.
God, he was sticky. Really sticky. Then, without
warning, Marcus' mouth swallowed his prick down,
tongue working hard over his skin, throat swallowing,
making his piercing move.
He barked out Marcus' name, then Master, then Sir.
Marcus just kept working his cock, his master's mouth
Pour Some Sugar On It - 173
and tongue getting better and better as the chocolate
coating his prick was swallowed away.
"I. I will. Please." He was so close.
He could feel Marcus' chuckle around his prick, and
then his master's mouth came off of him. "You will
what? Hmm? What are you blindly promising."
"No. No, I'll... I mean, I would, anything. I swear. For
you. Gonna come."
Marcus smiled and kissed the tip of his cock. "You're
allowed." Then his master swallowed him down again.
"Thank you..." He rolled up, fucked Marcus' hot,
slick mouth.
Marcus swallowed around the head of his cock, and
two fingers pressed into his hole. That was all he
needed. Jim shot hard as Marcus' fingertips scraped over
his gland. His master swallowed him down, still tugging
on his prick. The pleasure kept coming as he did, heat
crashing over him.
Marcus finally let his prick go, kissing a line up his
body.
"Master." He blinked, the room swimming.
Marcus' mouth closed over his, stealing what was left
of his breath. All Jim could do was cling.
He could feel Marcus' prick rubbing against his hole.
"Yours." That was easy, to bear down, offer himself.
"Yes, baby." Marcus pushed deeper, moving so
slowly into him.
He grinned up, so fucking happy. "Love, huh?"
Marcus smiled back, nodded, and then thrust into him
again. "Yes. So much love."
"Love and brownies."
They both cracked up, Marcus resting their foreheads
together. Marcus kissed him, then pulled out, pushed in
again. Another kiss. Another thrust. His body burned,
ached perfectly.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 174
The rhythm stayed right there, the kiss, the pull and
push thrust, and again and again. He squeezed each time
Marcus pushed in, holding his master tight. Marcus'
kisses became deeper, longer, each press hitting up
against his gland.
Master.
Master.
Master.
He moaned, caught in a trap of pleasure. Not even
Tanny's scream distracted him from Marcus' gaze,
Marcus' cock. Marcus.
He tightened his body, offering Marcus as much
pleasure as he could. A low groan was his reward,
Marcus' eyes glazing over, so he did it again. And again.
And again, trying to drive Marcus over the edge.
"Baby..." Marcus moaned for him, beginning to move
faster, thrusting hard into him.
"Master." He gasped out the honorific, flying.
"Yes. Yes." They moved together, Marcus slamming
into him now.
His own pleasure found, Jim pulled every trick he
had out of his bag, trying to make Marcus scream.
Marcus' hand wrapped around his cock, his master's
hand tugging and squeezing him insistently. To his
surprise, he started to fill again. Marcus gave him a
knowing smile, thumb pressing against his slit. That
little touch moved the Prince Albert, made his eyes
cross.
"Yes, baby. That's it. Feel me."
Like he had any other choice with the way Marcus'
cock was slamming into his gland.
"M..." He didn't have any words left.
"Shh. Just come for me, baby."
His body responded, even as his voice didn't, his balls
emptying.
Pour Some Sugar On It - 175
"Baby!" Marcus pushed in one last time, filling him
with come.
Jim moaned, gone boneless and sated on the sofa.
Marcus was heavy and good on top of him, breath
panting heavily against the skin of his neck.
Soft laughter filled the room. "We'll be in the kitchen,
Marcus."
Marcus grunted and raised a hand in
acknowledgement of Billy's words. Jim snuggled into
Marcus' throat, breathing in the heady, male scent.
Soon they could hear the sounds of water running and
dishes being washed.
"Guess I should help, huh?" Since it was their
kitchen.
"We should." Marcus didn't make any immediate
moves to get up, though.
They shared another long, lazy kiss. "Good brownies,
hmm?"
Marcus chuckled and rubbed their noses together.
"The best."
Pour Some Sugar On It - 176
Contributors' Bios
Lee Benoit
Before dawn and after dark, Lee Benoit is a writer of
queer fiction, some contemporary, some speculative,
some historical. During the daylight hours Lee is a
professor of sociology & anthropology, and round the
clock a two-spirit, single-by-choice parent of two.
Heidi Champa
Heidi Champa has been published in numerous
anthologies including College Boys, Like Magnets We
Attract, Skater Boys and Hard Working Men. Short
stories can be found at Dreamspinner Press, Ravenous
Romance and Torquere Press. Find more online at
heidichampa.blogspot.com.
Kiernan Kelly
Kiernan Kelly lives in the wilds of the alligator-infested
U.S. Southeast, slathered in SPF 45, drinking colorful
tropical, hi-octane concoctions served by thong-clad
cabana boys.
All right, the truth is she spends her time locked in the
dark recesses of her office, writing gay erotic romance,
drinking coffee, and dreaming of thong-clad cabana
boys.
Sigh.
To date, Kiernan has several novels in print, a plethora
of short stories in e-format, and still no cabana boy of
her own, although her husband may beg to differ.
Misa Izanaki
Pour Some Sugar On It - 177
Despite being born and raised in a very sunny part of the
world, Misa prefers dreary, rainy days to hot, sunny
ones. Mornings and static electricity are the banes of her
existence and she has a fondness for cats, squirrels,
weird movies and anime. Misa spends most of her free
time curled up on the couch typing away on her laptop
with the food channel on as background noise or lurking
on the internet. When she’s not on her computer Misa
can be found painting war game miniatures, gaming or
trying in vain to catch up with her backlog of comics
and books
Sean Michael
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of
Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice,"
Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting,
organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing
about one day retiring on a small secluded island
peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting
vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood
rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the
f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channeling the
long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with
the soundtrack to "Chicago." Check out Sean’s webpage
at http://www.seanmichaelwrites.com/
Emily Moreton
Emily Moreton has been writing since childhood, but
only recently moved into erotic romance. She's had
several short stories published in a variety of
anthologies, including sips for Torquere. Emily lives in
Bristol, UK, where she works two jobs and tries to keep
her plants from dying of neglect.
G.R. Richards
Pour Some Sugar On It - 178
There's a reason guys growl for G.R. Richards Erotica.
You would never know it by the love of public
television documentaries and great food in high-end
restaurants, but G.R. Richards pens some of the world's
steamiest guy-on-guy stories. Find out more at
http://www.grrichards.webs.com/
Rob Rosen
Rob Rosen, author of the novels "Sparkle: The Queerest
Book You'll Ever Love", "Divas Las Vegas", winner of
the 2010 TLA Gaybies for Best Gay Fiction, and "Hot
Lava", has been published in more than 100 anthologies,
as well as in numerous Torquere Press sips. Please visit
him at his website,
Julia Talbot
Julia Talbot resides in the Texas and has quit her day
job. She has a penchant for blank books, gay porn, and
big, ugly hats. She can most often be found in coffee
shops and restaurants, scribbling in her notebook and
entertaining other diners with her mutterings.
Julia cut her reading and writing teeth on purple-
prosed romance novels, and as a result decided that boys
were much more interesting with boys. Intense study of
her subject and as much firsthand research as possible
figure heavily in her writing adventures. Historical and
fantasy settings are Julia's favorites. Her novels include
Manners and Means, Jumping Into Things, and
Mysterious Ways.
Gabriel West
After a trip to the Terran Homeworld, Gabriel West
seems to have calmed his villainous exploits. Sources in
the Maa'rish empire were quick to associate this change
with the Maa'rish warrior lately seen in Gabriel's
Pour Some Sugar On It - 179
company. According to the note found with this
document, this latest story is dedicated to that unknown
warrior. The note also mentioned a beta-reader,
Cammie, who Gabriel wished to thank. Several more of
Gabriel's stories can be found in the Torquere catalogue,
as well as on his personal web-page
http://gabrielsknife.livejournal.com/
Cari Z.
Cari Z is a Colorado girl who loves snow and sunshine.
She currently lives in West Africa, where she gets a lot
of one of those things and none of the other. If she had a
refrigerator, she'd be sitting in front of its open door,
sighing wistfully. Electricity is usually available,
however, and as long as her laptop is charged she's still
in the game. She updates her blog as often as possible;
check her out at http://carizerotica.blogspot.com. Cari
loves hearing from readers, too; email her at
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