By Tom
“Surprise,” Paul said as he closed Carlos’s front door behind him, shaking
the snow out of his blonde hair.
“Oh, hi love. C’mon into the kitchen, I’m just, er…”
“Is that a blush? Carlos, sweetheart, are you blushing?”
“No! I—oh, hell. Come on into the kitchen.”
“Come here and give me a kiss first.” Carlos obliged without hesitation,
bending down to give Paul a none-too-chaste kiss on the mouth. “And what in
bloody hell is all over your clothes?”
“What, this? Erm…Well…” They entered the kitchen, and Carlos was
spared the embarrassment of an explanation; the entire scene was a carnage of flour,
shattered eggs, chocolate chips scattered willy-nilly across the counter, several
separate ripped pages appearing to be from cookbooks that were completely
unrelated, and the general baking terrors of thousands of dishes to wash afterwards.
“Carlos, I didn’t ever expect anything like this from you, I have to say.”
“Fuck you, Paul.”
“Of course. With intense pleasure.”
Carlos sighed and referenced one of the dozens of recipes floating around
the kitchen.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret. Anyway, what brings on the
culinary creativity, love?” Paul asked, leaning against the counter.
Carlos shrugged. He wasn’t entirely certain himself; he’d grown bored with
girls, bored with playing his bass in his off hours, bored with just about everything
except Paul, who was around a lot of the time, but when he wasn’t around, life got,
well, dull.
Carlos shrugged. “Bored,” He answered simply, hoping to avoid a lengthy
Paul-questions-session.
Paul sat on the flour-dusted counter and tried not to snicker as Carlos
received an engulfing tide of billowing flour in his already pale face from the stand
mixer.
“Goddammit!” He exclaimed in a very tantrumlike way. Paul grinned
despite himself, knowing that if Carlos saw he would go into a complete snit.
He pushed off the counter while Carlos dug in the refrigerator, intending to
sample whatever Carlos was alternately murdering/preparing. As he swiped two
fingers into the mixer bowl, a wooden spoon connected with his behind, causing
him to yelp as he licked the tidbit from his fingers.
“No stealing!” Carlos said sharply, delivering another stern swat with the
flat of the spoon. Paul rubbed the sore spot petulantly.
“You didn’t have to spank me,” He mumbled.
“You know you loved it, Paul. Don’t lie.”
“So?”
“Then hush, or I’ll do it again.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, here it is.” Paul wiggled his bottom teasingly in the air,
and Carlos swiped at it with the spoon. Paul avoided it narrowly, but he couldn’t
dodge the second swing, which stung like mad.
“Carlos, if you’re going to spank me, do it right!”
But he said this too soon; before he knew it, Carlos had him seated on the
counter, a wicked smile on his pale, cruelly sensual lips. Then he was kissing Paul,
deeply, pushing him back until his head lightly bumped the cupboards. Paul could
feel that Carlos was hard, and just the knowledge was enough to get him hard as
well.
“You wait,” Carlos whispered, touching Paul’s lower lip with a long, flour-
dusted fingertip. “I’m not quite done with you yet.” He prodded Paul’s chest
lightly, then pulled away, leaving Paul breathless, aroused, flustered.
He watched as Carlos placed individual spoonfuls of ugly, but, as he had
found, quite tasty cookie batter onto a tray with swift, efficient motions; not one of
Carlos’s movements was wasted or dawdling, but instead graceful and easy. Paul
felt himself falling a little deeper in love, and his heart flip-flopped slightly in his
chest.
Carlos had barely shut the oven door before he was back to Paul, pressing
against him in intense need but stronger self-control. It was taking all he had not to
just tear Paul’s clothes off and take him here and now, which was where they were
going to end up in the end, but he wanted to agitate Paul a little more than usual.
He dragged his hands up Paul’s sides, leaving white handprints on the dark
fabric as he pulled it off, exposing Paul’s softly defined frame.
“Podgy Paul.” Carlos pinched Paul’s puppy-fat-laden cheek in a snarky
fashion.
“Don’t call me that.” Paul murmured as Carlos kissed him gently.
“I just did that to annoy you.”
“Well, I suppose it’s a good job I love you, then, right?”
“I suppose so.”
There was no more talk after that. There was no room for it between their
battling tongues; the space between their lips was filled with the dark moisture of
the deepest kisses.
Carlos pulled reluctantly away from those soft, curvy lips to kiss along
Paul’s delicate jaw and cheeks, roughened up with the barest stubble. He loved the
texture of the rough, colourless hair, paler than Paul’s skin and perfectly invisible to
the eye. Invisible to the eye but not the skin, not to touch, Carlos thought as he
tasted the sandpaper texture of Paul’s skin.
He could feel how hard Paul was for him, for this, and he kissed Paul deeply
before pulling away, a silvery thread of saliva linking their lips and breaking as
Carlos slowly backed away, leaving Paul seated on the counter, almost painfully
hard, dusted in floury handprints and utterly bewildered.
“Carlos,” Paul said, catching the towering bassist around the hips with his
long legs.
Carlos froze.
“Stop teasing me.” He tightened his leg-lock around Carlos and brought him
in tightly, putting his arms around Carlos’s neck. His statement was more of a
demand than a solicitation, and Carlos shivered at the authority in his voice.
“Hmm…so how can I stop teasing you if I don’t know what you want?” He
smiled, wrinkling his nose mischievously.
“You know why I’m here.” Paul said, just as playfully.
“Mm, I don’t know. My memory’s not so good. Maybe you’d better
refresh it.”
Paul’s hands were already busy, fumbling with the heavy belt of Carlos’s
white-dusted slacks.
“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say something?” Carlos said in a slightly
mocking voice, making Paul fume with half desire, half vexation as Carlos pushed
his hands away gently, holding them tightly out of the way.
With that, he lay Paul down on the counter, dipping his head to kiss a
nomadic path down Paul’s chest, making regular sojourns at Paul’s hard nipples,
tormenting him skillfully, worrying them with his teeth until Paul begged like a
starving man for Carlos to take him.
Carlos’s mouth, proving itself talented in many ways, tugged at the black
fabric of Paul’s tweed slacks. “I’ll fix this later,” He whispered, before swiftly
biting the button off the pants. Paul didn’t have the capacity to protest as Carlos
dragged the zipper down between sharp white teeth bared in a sinister, almost cruel
smile.
“Going to turn you over,” Carlos whispered, nearly breathless with love and
lust suddenly as he freed Paul’s rigid, glowing arousal. Paul nodded weakly, unable
to look at anything but the ceiling in blind receipt.
Paul squirmed uncomfortably against the counter, peering over his shoulder,
getting more and more irked by the moment. However, Carlos wasn’t quite ready to
do the deed just yet.
“I don’t take kindly to thieves in my house, Paul,” Carlos said calmly.
Paul remained silent, watching Carlos over his shoulder with molten silver-
blue eyes.
“Do you know what this means?”
Paul was silent.
“Means I have to punish you for being bad.”
Paul shuddered. “Look at the wall,” Carlos ordered him. Paul slowly turned
his head away and braced himself; he was glad he did, because something
connected sharply with his bare backside, burning like beautiful fire, stinging and
hot and painful and wonderful. The blows rained down on him until he was sure his
ass was black and blue, and then continued.
The wooden spoon clattered to the floor as Carlos pushed slightly sweaty
hair out of his eyes. Paul gave an apologetic, aroused groan, and Carlos felt himself
surge up in complete, straining erection, full and hard and readier than ever.
Carlos seized a large bottle of cooking oil off the counter and dispensed
some into his hand, spilling some on the floor in his haste. He stroked it onto his
own cock, thanking whatever deity there was no butter in the vicinity. Trying to
stifle a snort, he rubbed his messy hand on his pants and took Paul’s narrow hips in
his shockingly powerful hands.
Paul’s fingers scrabbled against the counter as Carlos’s cock slid in deeper,
slowly, agonisingly slowly. Paul always cherished and despised this part; he
cherished it because it was Carlos, just Carlos, strong and careful and almost
puppyish, even when he was more like a wild animal; Paul despised it because
Carlos was so big it felt like he was being impaled on a fucking flagpole. He felt
himself stretching, stretching until he swore his whole body was stretched out to
accommodate Carlos’s thick, rigid cock.
Sharp, pointed teeth sank into his shoulder at the exact moment that Carlos
began to move, back and forth, and Paul choked for breath at the sensation, finding
nothing to dig his fingers into as they scratched on the marble countertop. He
settled for raking his hands through his own hair, tugging as Carlos moved, unable
to stop the cries falling from his lips like molten silver.
Somewhere in his riled mind, Carlos knew he’d forgotten to shut the blinds,
but logic repressed it with a let them watch reflex, and he was undistracted from his
writhing, ecstatic conquest. Heat pressed his insides with long fingers, probing
deeply, and Carlos shivered, tensing like a spring in anticipation of the incoming
rush.
Paul, too, was twisting up in forecast of the orgasm that was slowly slipping
up his spine like serpents of fire, glittering and smouldering. Together, headlong,
they rushed towards the zenith, clutching each other for dear life, instinctually
sobbing with ravishing pleasure as that little flame burst into a thousand supernovas.
Paul gave an uncharacteristic animal sound coming from somewhere around his
navel, half roar and half whimper. Carlos, quiet as usual, made tiny kittenish mews
as he came, shuddering from head to toe, before he went suddenly and thoroughly
limp against Paul.
They both lay heavily against the counter, their bodies bent at ninety
degrees, shivering every couple of seconds in post-orgasmic bliss as they fought for
breath. Eventually Carlos stood on shaky legs and withdrew himself from Paul,
carefully zipping up his trousers as Paul did the same.
Paul swayed slightly as he stood there, still panting, face as flushed as a rose.
Carlos caught him in a tight embrace and kissed him gently.
“I’m sorry I stole your cookie batter,” Paul said contritely.
“Oh God! The cookies!” Carlos said urgently, his eyebrows jumping in
surprise. Rushing to the oven, he opened it up, releasing a good amount of steam
and what looked to be smoke.
“Wow,” Paul said as Carlos extracted the dozen very black, very charred
cookies.
“Wow is right.” Carlos rubbed the back of his neck, eyebrows raised.
“They look like charcoal briquettes.”
“Oh, cram it,” Carlos mumbled sarcastically. “Well, I know someone who
will eat ‘em.”
He shoveled them into a waiting cookie jar, and this time, Paul helped him
to remember to set a timer.
Later
Sam pawed through the cookie jar, in search of one that was not completely
ashed over. “Hey, Carlos?”
“Yeah?” The rangy bassist looked over in his direction, his face creased in
his usual pompous smirk.
“Um, why are some of these cookies burnt?”
“Ask Paul…he helped me make them.”