Sunday, August 10, 2014

Just Desserts

Just Desserts

*Story contains M/M relations and graphic sexual situations.*

"It was a cup of milk," Geoff said. "Not the end of mankind!"

Allen gritted his teeth and tried to keep the hiss out of his voice. "The issue is not that it was a cup of milk. The issue is that it was the last cup of milk. And last time I checked that is a pretty important fucking ingredient!"

"Right," Geoff replied, rolling his eyes. "And I suppose I spilt the damn stuff on purpose?"

Allen prickled at the sarcasm.

"Because, you know," Geoff continued, "that's the first thing I do when I get up in the morning. I look in the mirror and say to myself: 'Self, how are we going to piss Allen off today?' Today it just happened to be spilling the milk."

Allen's jaw twitched. He crossed his arms, digging his fingernails into his own sweaty biceps. He could feel the flour that coated his fingertips press underneath his fingernails. "I suppose you think that's very clever."

"I suppose you don't?"

"No!" Allen affirmed. "I don't!" He released his grip to fling his arm around the kitchen. A fine trail of flour left his hand and followed the movement. "I'm only doing this for you, you know. I am trying to be nice!"

Allen seethed as he watched Geoff flick a glance around the kitchen - at the pots in the sink, the produce randomly covering most of the available counter space; at the spilled milk. "Gee, thanks?" Geoff replied.

As much as Allen loved Geoff's sarcastic tongue in action, as much as he usually found the mischievous grin and devilish flash in Geoff's eyes sexy as all fuck, at that moment Allen would gladly have given his eye-teeth for the ability to smash the man's nose into his skull. "You said you wanted to spend more time together," Allen hissed.

"Not cooking!" Geoff scoffed.

Wounded tears jumped into Allen's eyes and he fought to keep them back. "You said you like my baking!"

Geoff picked up a dish towel with exaggerated nonchalance and dropped it on top of the spreading puddle of milk. "I like your baking, yes." He stepped on the towel to force the milk into the weave. "For that matter, I fucking love your baking."

Allen fought back a reprimand as he watched Geoff swath the soaking towel over the tile with his foot. "But you know what I like best about your baking?" Geoff continued, looking up and catching Allen's gaze. "... the fact that you do it. I fucking hate cooking."

Doing his best to stop his eyes from continuously travelling between Geoff's and the towel, and failing at it ridiculously, Allen took a deep breath. "Then why in the hell did you agree to help in the first place?!"

Oblivious to Allen's annoyance at his process, Geoff reached down, pinched the sopping dish towel between thumb and pointer and lifted the dripping mess. Fat droplets of milk ran from the dishrag and dropped back on to the floor with wet splats.

Allen snapped.

"Arrgh!" He yanked the towel from Geoff's fingers and flung it into the sink. Then he made an elaborate show of stalking over to the paper towel rack and yanking off several pieces. Grumbling, he smacked the wad on the floor, knelt down and carefully wiped the liquid off the tile. With a sneer, he folded the paper over and performed the process again. Standing, cupping the paper exaggeratedly, Allen stepped to the sink, opened the cupboard door with his foot and dropped the soiled paper into the trash. "And that," he shouted, probably far too loud for requirement, "is the proper way to clean up a spill."

He reached into the sink, picked up and dropped the dirty towel. "We don't use tea towels, we don't leave half of it on the floor and we don't let ninety-two-per-cent of what we're trying to clean up drip back on to the floor when we're done!"

Disgusted, Allen dropped the fabric, backed up and kicked the cupboard closed behind him...

... which shook the counter.

... and toppled the utensil holder.

... which sent utensils sliding.

... where they bumped into the rolling pin.

... which began to roll slowly towards the end of the counter.

... and lightly nudged the bag of flour perched at the end of it.

Allen watched in horror as the five pound bag toppled as effortlessly as if it had been paper in the wind. Even as it fell, soft whirls began to puff from the open end, swishing into the air like birds taking to flight. And when it landed hard, on its side, a canon-style explosion of fine particulate rushed from the paper bag, drenching tile, table, chairs, and walls in a massive sneeze of thick, clinging powder.

Allen was too horrified to speak.

Silence fell over the kitchen. The clock seemed to seize, the kitchen sink choked back its incessant dripping - even the breeze from the open window seemed to be holding its breath.

Allen slowly turned and looked at his boyfriend. Geoff stood: legs slightly spread, arms crossed, one fist pressed against his mouth, eyes wide. He caught Allen's gaze.

"Don't you... " Allen shook, lifting a hand and pointing. "Don't you dare!"

Geoff's fist was pressed harder against his lips. His eyes softened.

"Don't!" Allen repeated.

But it was too much for Geoff. His smile peeked from behind his hand, his eyes danced.

Allen shook his head. He felt his throat catch. He'd tried too hard on this - dug through recipes to find the exact things that looked fun but easy, things he'd known Geoff would like... things they could do together. He'd shopped. He'd cleaned. He'd pre-pulled ingredients and bowls and utensils and cookware. For nothing more than a bitch of a mess and a complete fail.

"Oh, come on," Geoff grinned and stepped forward. "It's funny!"

Allen didn't see the humour. Not even a little bit. Actually, it was getting harder to see anything at all through the tears he was blinking away.

And then Geoff was there, cupping his face and tilting it up. "Allen," he sighed. "Don't, babe. It's just flour."

Shaking his head, pulling away from Geoff's touch, Allen continued to fight the waterworks. "No, it's not! It's not the milk or the flour or any of it! That's not... it's just... this was supposed to be our day! We were supposed to have fun!"

Geoff grimaced. Allen huffed and tried to spin away. "Hey," Geoff stopped Allen's motion, pulling him close instead. "Just because something fucks up doesn't mean it can't be fun."

Allen snorted. "There's nothing fun about cleaning the entire kitchen again..." His words were cut short when Geoff suddenly spun him, forcing Allen to brace himself against the counter top to stop from face-planting into the cupboard doors. "Hey!"

Geoff stepped up behind, body pressing against body, slipping his hands around Allen's waist to trace chest and stomach with his palm. "Just think," he purred into Allen's ear. "All this fun stuff sitting out... and we can't even cook with it now." Fingers began to wander deftly under Allen's shirt. "Whatever will we do with it?"

Allen rolled his eyes. "Forget it. This is the kitchen. And the kitchen is not for sex!"

"What?!" Geoff teased. "Are you crazy?" He trailed his fingertips over Allen's belly, causing the flesh to jump and goose-bump. He purred into Allen's ear. "The kitchen is the best spot!"

Allen rolled his eyes as exploration continued up his torso, roaming through the thin line of hair before spreading palm-down on Allen's chest. Geoff left them there to rest. Allen closed his eyes and just felt the touch - the pulse of Geoff's fingertips remarkably similar to the beat of his own heart.

Geoff closed his hands until each of Aaron's nipples were caught. "All these nasty, fun little toys... how can this not be the perfect spot?" Geoff's voice danced against the skin of Allen's neck, and Allen found his head tilting of its own will, offering the rest of his throat up without hesitation. Geoff gladly accepted, latching lips against skin.

While Geoff's right hand continued to tease Allen's nipple, his left opted to descend. Back down over tense muscles, ghosting over sensitive belly button, to the front of Allen's slacks. Allen felt Geoff's grin against his skin, the parting of said amused lips to lick the salt that flavoured Allen's sweat. "Mmm," Geoff mumbled. "And you thought all that work was wasted." His wet tongue continued to lap appraisingly against Allen's throat and neck. "But look how very tasty it made you."

Allen's hips bucked into Geoff's palm at the same time that Geoff tightened his grip on the front of Allen's pants.

"Oh, oh." Geoff chuckled playfully. "Now look what I've done."

It took a minute to understand, but Allen looked down and saw the perfect pattern of five flour-coated prints over the zipper of his pants. Geoff tsk'd. "This will never do!" He dragged his fingers slowly over the outline of Allen's cock, "I should probably get you out of these dirty clothes." With a pleased hum, Geoff found Allen's button. And once the little metal disc was vanquished he valiantly marched on to the zipper.

"Geoff," Allen sighed quietly, grinding his body back into his boyfriend's. "Bedroom."

Geoff shook his head before pressing Allen's pants down his legs. "No way. Kitchen's better."

Allen's breath caught in his throat as cool air found his lower body, slacks falling in a flump that was instantly enhanced by a cloud of rising flour. Allen stepped out of them, internally cursing the extra laundry, and Geoff took the opportunity to drag his fingernails up Allen's inner thighs. He teasingly avoided the awakening organ at their apex, to ghost over hipbones instead, and caught Allen's shirt. With a smooth, fluid yank, Allen's t-shirt was dropped as company to his abandoned pants.

"Better," Geoff whispered, and pressed Allen forward. The counter was cold against his chest, crypt-like in its chill when compared with skin still overheated from kitchen work. Allen groaned, Geoff leaned over him, and Allen closed his eyes at the familiar weight. He heard the sound of glass being dragged over granite, but kept his eyes closed, languishing in the press of their bodies.

When Geoff pulled away, Allen tsk'd his disapproval at the loss of his warmth.

For all of one second.

Then Allen's eyes flew open as thick, cool liquid splashed his tailbone from above, slipping down to fall between the cheeks of his ass. He flinched and surprise became a frown when he saw the slim glass bottle get set back down on the counter. "Geoff!"

"Shush," Geoff demanded, placing both palms on Allen's ass and Allen felt his body get opened by opposing pressure. Sticky liquid funnelled down the cleft of Allen's ass before sliding over his balls. "Neither of us likes pancakes anyway," Geoff explained and used his thumbs to follow the descent of the syrup. Allen's breath hiccupped at the touch, at the odd slickness of the liquid. He let his eyelids fall again.

He didn't register the sound of Geoff moving, not consciously. He was too lost in sensation while Geoff used the liquid as lube, boldly pressing a thumb inside Allen's body. It wasn't until Allen felt the slide of Geoff's tongue, slowly tracing the course of the syrup, that he realised Geoff had knelt behind him. He fisted air, fingertips squeaking on the polished surface of the counter. And when Geoff's knuckles nudged gently on Allen's inner thighs, Allen instantly took the cue and spread his legs wider.

"Mmm," Geoff pulled back and let fingers stake their claim again, working two together with deep strokes. "New appreciation... for syrup." Then once again Geoff was leaning in, tongue working alongside his hands to explore the sweetened run of Allen's body.

Wet muscle lapped at the syrup, taking turns with fingers to explore deeper - slicking Allen's insides with both sugary fluid and spit, coaxing sensitive nerve endings to life. Allen arched, pressed, did everything he could not to squirm away. His toes tried to clench tile glazed with flour residue. His fingernails dug into his palms. Pressure too light for satisfaction and yet so erotically sensuous it was mind-blowing, had Allen aching for Geoff to do more, yet wishing Geoff would never stop.

When Geoff pulled away to trail a path down to Allen's sac, Allen groaned. He opened his eyes, twisting just enough to watch Geoff dip lower, between his legs. Wet heat teased straining skin.

It took Allen a minute to realise the "fuck" that had been released belonged to him. But as it bounced over tile and repeated, it was met with another - the train of hushed curses unstoppable as they spilled from Allen's lips - the word a spoken prayer as his balls were licked, swallowed, tasted.

Geoff stopped, pulled back, and grinned when he saw Allen watching him. The he paused to stand and grab a container from the counter - the ice water for the dough they'd been preparing. Allen lifted an eyebrow, interest growing to intrigue as Geoff resettled in his previous position. "Geoff?"

Geoff lifted a finger to his lip, silently shushing Allen while devilish eyes danced. Then he lowered his hand to the bowl of water, fished out an ice-cube and set the bowl out of the way.

Allen swallowed; Geoff smirked. Then Allen's entire body flinched when Geoff pressed the cube against the inside of Allen's ankle. Goose-bumps erupted like desert flowers after rain, a path of them, rising one after another, following the ice as Geoff began to slowly drag it up, up, up. Over calf, past his knee, up Allen's trembling thigh, brushing against sensitized balls, and still up, until the ice hovered over the heat of Allen's core. Allen shivered as Geoff paused, lined up the ice, and then cold so contrary to the heat of his body it was painful, was pressed inside Allen's hole.

"Fuck!" Allen hissed, dropping his head back to the counter with a sharp bang. His body took the ice eagerly, heat swallowing cold, pulling it in, convulsing enthusiastically around the intrusion.

"Turn," Geoff urged, pulling Allen's right hip back when he seemed to be lost on the instruction. Allen righted himself shakily, cock hard, legs like rubber, and turned clumsily. "Lean back," Geoff said, and pulled Allen's hips towards him.

Awkward, confused, Allen rested his elbows on the counter and let his arms take most of his weight. Then he watched in breathless anticipation as Geoff repositioned himself on his knees and slipped a hand behind Allen's body again. Grinning, Geoff leaned forward. As the heat of Geoff's mouth found the tip of Allen's cock, his freezing fingers found Allen's ass. A wet, hot slide took Allen from the front, even as Geoff seated another ice-cube behind.

Allen gasped, gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, held himself up though his knees threatened to give up completely. His mind fought for focus, switching from the heated throat consuming him, to the ice penetrating him - then back to the tongue stroking him before returning to the ice again. The walls of his passage contracted in a pleasant agony against the frozen incursion. Water slipped in droplets down his thighs.

Geoff's fingers chased the ice, dove deep inside to learn the sensation of Allen's chilled body, before sliding away to return with yet another. Allen whined, bucking into Geoff's throat, taking advantage of the fact his lover seemed too lost in his own explorations to stop and snarl about Allen gagging him. But when Geoff released his cock to begin kissing a line up Allen's torso, Allen thought he would lose his mind. "Geoff," he begged, "Don't stop!"

Geoff straightened, grinned and reached behind Allen to pull the cooking oil towards them. He pressed his lips against Allen's ear. "I want to feel you. Cold like that." Allen's dick twitched in response to the thought. "Think I'll be able to feel it on my cock?"

Once again Geoff knelt on the floor, pausing to upend oil in his palm and rub the greasy liquid on his cock. Geoff looked up, smirked and reached for Allen, slicking the same over his flesh as well. "Down," he directed.

Allen sank to his knees without question, following Geoff's lead, straddling his lover as Geoff lay back on the floor. Residual flour rose around Geoff's body, a fog, clinging to his hair and settling like pallor on his skin.

Body met body: chest to chest, lips to lips, and cockhead lined up to asshole. Allen watched Geoff's face, fascinated as always by the man's heated expression as Geoff's cock breached the muscle of his anus and slid inside. The parted lips, breath like a marathon runner, the wide intense eyes.

"Fuck," Geoff said, hoarse. "Fuck. Feels. Ungh."

Insistent hands gripped Allen's ass cheeks, moving him, directing him. "Fuck Allen," Geoff said again. "Good."

Allen let his head fall forward, riding his body's reaction to the cock inside him. His muscles tightened around Geoff's thrusts, as if seeking heat out of Geoff's flesh; replenishing the warmth that was lost with the heat being offered. Geoff's head met the tile floor far too resolutely, the clack of it mixing with his strangled, "Fuck, yes."

Allen rode him hard, the way he knew Geoff liked, until his muscles trembled and Geoff was gasping his name. His eyes never left Geoff's face, watching, entranced, as need descended in Geoff's eyes, dark and heavy. A shiver ran up Allen's spine, spurring him forward, urging him to move faster. He sat up, sought out his own cock and began to pump himself while moving over Geoff's. It was the ideal angle for Allen - if he tilted his hips just so and arched his lower back - the penetration was perfect for enticing that thrumming sensation deep inside his body. That sensation that drove his mind blank and his cock wild.

Geoff's fingernails dug into Allen's hipbones, the sound of forced breathing filled the kitchen. "Fuck," Geoff pleaded underneath him. "Fuck, Allen, yes! Baby, fuck!" Geoff gripped his hips, the body inside Allen grew and Allen watched through half-lidded eyes as Geoff tensed, held every muscle... before groaning and thrusting deep. Cum pulsed inside Allen's body. Movement grew slippery, sensation intensified, and Allen rode Geoff's wet cock for the last few strokes he needed to find his own release.

The kitchen faded away, the sounds, the sight, the smells - even the man beneath him. All Allen felt for a few blissful seconds was the sweet throbbing radiating from his balls, the rhythmic releasing from his cock, and the beating of his own heart, all pounding in perfect synchronicity.

"Mmm," Geoff purred and Allen slowly opened his eyes. Runners of milky cum lay in heated splotches on Geoff's torso and pooled in his belly button. "Now that is one fine fucking mess, no?" He grinned and reached; Allen responded by leaning forward, and they met for a kiss before Geoff pulled them together.

Allen lay with his head on Geoff's shoulder. Cum pressed between them, from him, and the kitchen lay in tatters around them. Even as Allen breathed, the air from his nostrils lifted small clouds of flour off the floor, swirling them into atmosphere to dance with the dust motes in rays of sunlight.

"See," Geoff sighed. "Now that was fun."

Allen turned to nuzzle into Geoff's neck and grinned. "Not nearly as much fun as cleaning all this mess up is going to be."

He lifted his head to watch Geoff grimace. "There's only one thing I hate more than cooking, you know." Geoff said. "And that's cleaning."

"Oh, come on!" Allen teased. "A wise man once told me it's not the job, it's how much fun you have with it. Or something like that." Geoff opened his mouth to argue and Allen shut it with a quick kiss. "Besides, if we can have that much fun with syrup and ice just think how much we could have with, oh I don't know, say... a mop and bubbles."

Geoff paused, lifted an eyebrow, and tilted his head.

"That was a joke, dumbass!" Allen laughed, swatting him.

Laughing, grumbling, and dripping with a myriad of items, the two men rose, hand in hand. "Hmm," Allen purred. "Still hate cooking?"

"With a passion!" Geoff laughed. "But", he said, dipping his head for another kiss, "I'll always love you." And that, Allen decided wordlessly, was more than enough.

The End

Copyright © 2011 AF Henley

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