Authors: KC Wells
Adam stared at him for a second before laughing. “Yeah, just like that.” He straightened. “And yesterday I got a bit lost in the maze, but I found my way out.”
Fuck, Paul wanted to hold him right then. “That’s good.” He contented himself with that.
Adam coughed. “Okay, we ready now?” It was as if he’d wiped his hand across his face, removing all traces of introspection.
Paul snickered. “I feel like living dangerously. Why don’t you crack the eggs into the bowl?”
Adam gave a gleeful smile, put down his mug and rubbed his hands together. “Bring it on. I always liked cracking eggs on the side of the bowl myself.” He got up from his chair to walk around the table to the sink and washed his hands. Paul took away his mug and placed a glass bowl on the table. He laid a folded tea towel next to it and put the six eggs there.
Adam retook his seat and explored first with his fingers before picking up the first egg. He grinned. “Here we go.”
Paul held his breath as Adam placed one hand on the bowl’s edge and tentatively tapped the egg on it. “You can go harder,” Paul suggested. Adam gave a nod and brought the egg down more forcefully, cracking its thin surface.
“How’d I do?”
Paul peered into the bowl. “Hey, not bad. Only two pieces of shell.” He fished them out with the point of a knife, maneuvering them until he could remove them from the bowl.
“That’s not bad for my first go,” Adam protested. He picked up another egg, repeating the action until all the eggs were in the bowl. “Well?” He stuck out his chin, as if daring Paul to find fault. “I have done this before, you know.”
Paul glanced into the bowl. “Nice one.” He handed Adam a fork. “Now get beating, slave.” It was only after the words had left his lips that he realized what he’d said. His cheeks grew hot.
Adam arched his eyebrows and smirked. “Yes, sir.”
* * * * * *
Adam hadn’t enjoyed himself like this for a long while. It didn’t matter that he probably had flour all over him. The process of getting to the part where Paul poured the cake batter into the tins had been really… pleasant. It brought back happy memories of watching his mother making the Christmas cake, stealing a glacé cherry or two when she wasn’t looking, except somehow she always knew he’d done it. The rich smell of brown sugar, spices and fruit that pervaded the whole house. Watching her trickle brandy over it for a month, letting it soak into the cake.
“Okay, the tins are in the oven. They’ll take about thirty minutes, and in the meantime we get to the good part.” Paul’s words broke through his reminiscences.
As far as Adam was concerned, it had all been good. “What’s that?” he asked.
Paul placed a spatula into his hand. “The lickings.” He chuckled.
Adam laughed. “Now you’re talking.” He licked over the flat edge, humming with satisfaction. The taste plunged him right back into his childhood, of wrestling with his father to win the prize of the mixing bowl when all the batter had been scraped from it. Well,
nearly
all.
“Hey, save some for me,” Paul griped.
Adam held onto the spatula with a tight grip. “You want some of this? I’ll give you this spatula when you can prise it from my cold, sticky fingers.”
Paul guffawed. “Like that, is it?” He moved closer but Adam took a careful step back.
“Possession is nine-tenths,” he declared, holding it out of Paul’s reach, his arm stretched out.
“Ooh, you’re on dangerous ground,” Paul crowed. “Especially if you want to eat any of this cake when it’s ready.” He snickered. “Chocolate icing, cream, rich chocolate sponge,” he said coaxingly. For one fleeting second Adam was reminded of the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Damn it. If there was one thing Adam had a weakness for, it was chocolate. He expelled a reluctant sigh and held out the spatula. “Here. Take it.”
Paul let out a giggle. “We can share it, y’know.” The spatula shifted in Adam’s hand. “Okay, I’ve had enough. You can have it. It
is
your birthday, after all.”
“Yeah, I was wondering when you’d remember that.” Adam gave a mock huff and went back to sliding his tongue over the smooth silicone, licking up every trace of batter.
Paul laughed. “You lick, I’ll clean up.”
Adam was more than happy with that arrangement. He sat at the table with his prize, listening to Paul bustle around the kitchen, washing the bowls and implements, wiping down surfaces. “Did your mother teach you to bake?” he asked between licks.
Paul barked out a laugh. “God, no. Mum can’t bake to save her life. I learned all this at school. How about you?”
“My mother taught me when I was about ten. It was just me and my parents by then: Caroline had married, left home and was expecting Dean.” He smiled.
Happy days.
“You haven’t said much about your parents.” The scrape of a chair as Paul sat down.
“That would be because they’re dead,” Adam explained simply. “My mother died following lung cancer when she was sixty-nine. I was thirty-one at the time. My father didn’t last long after that, barely a month before he joined her.” He gave Paul what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. It’s nice to talk about them. I had a great childhood.” That didn’t mean he didn’t feel a brief pang: Dad would have been eighty that year.
He pushed the thought aside and sniffed the air. “That smells good.”
Paul got up and moved away from the table. The rich aroma grew stronger when the oven door was opened. A moment later, it was more intense.
“Keep your hands off,” Paul told him. “The trays are bloody hot.”
Adam nodded. He held out the now clean spatula. “You want this?”
Paul took it from his grasp. “Wow. You’d never know there’d been cake mixture on this thing. It’s pristine.” A plop followed when the spatula was dropped into the sink.
“Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“In case I forget to say something later, this has been a great birthday so far. Thank you.” Adam hoped Paul could hear the sincerity of his words. He meant them with all his heart.
There was a pause, followed by Paul clearing his throat. “I’m glad. It’s been fun doing this. We should try cooking together sometime.”
Adam really liked that idea.
“Come on, where’s my cake?” Adam demanded, picking up his cake fork and drumming it on the kitchen table. The steak had been delicious, a total surprise, along with the steamed asparagus, fresh from the Garlic Farm, green beans and sautéed mushrooms.
Paul laughed. “You’ve only just finished eating your dinner! Patience. Let me clear the dishes out of the way first.”
“I still want to know why you took so long putting the cake together,” Adam grumbled. “I mean, how long does it take to sandwich two rounds with cream and cover it with icing?” Paul had disappeared during the afternoon and had shut the kitchen door. Adam had been burning to know what his assistant had been up to.
“It was a bit more complicated than that.”
Something in Paul’s voice registered. Adam folded his arms across his chest. “Okay. What have you done?”
A dull clunk of a plate being placed on the table. “Happy birthday.” Paul snickered. “You need to touch it.”
“Touch it?” Adam echoed. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I chose its shape especially for you.” More snickers.
“What about the icing?” Adam didn’t want to ruin it by trailing his fingers through sticky topping.
“It’s more of a chocolate glaze than icing,” Paul told him. “It’s made from melted chocolate, but it’s been in the fridge so it’s firm to the touch. It’s about a foot in front of you.”
“Where, here?” Adam reached for it, his hand landing rather heavily—right on the cake, which was closer than he’d thought. “Oh fuck.” It didn’t matter what the shape had been. Right then there was a smooshed mess, and part of it seemed to have broken off.
What the fuck have I done?
His face burned with embarrassment, his muscles tensed.
How could I have done something so stupid?
“Paul, I—”
Paul was laughing. The little shit was
laughing
at him.
Adam’s heart pounded. All he could hear was Paul’s laughter and the sound of blood rushing in his ears. “Why are you laughing?” he said through gritted teeth.
His words appeared to have a sobering effect on Paul, who hiccupped, his laughter not entirely dying out. “You knocked one of its balls off,” he said, still giggling.
Balls? “What?”
Paul’s fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled his hand gently until Adam’s fingers touched the cake. He explored its shape until—
“You shaped it like a cock.” What lay beneath his fingers was unmistakably the head of a cut dick. A rather large, covered in chocolate, dick.
“Uh huh,” Paul said, “and you just castrated it.” Another smothered giggle. He took a deep breath as if to regain his composure. “It’s okay, really. It’ll still taste good.”
Adam put a lid on his anger. “You didn’t have to laugh that much,” he grumbled.
Paul spluttered. “But it was funny! Anyone could have done it and I’d still be trying hard not to wet myself from laughing.”
Adam growled. “You know what? Fuck you.” He flexed his cake-covered hand and leaned forward. “You know what would be funny, though?”
“What?” Paul let out another hiccup.
Adam raised his hand. “This, in your face.”
A moment of silence. “You
sure
you wanna do that?” Paul’s voice was softer, closer, yet more laughter bubbling just below the surface.
Adam caught the unspoken challenge and grinned.
Play time.
“I’m sure.” He followed the sound of Paul’s voice and with slow deliberation smeared his sticky, cake-coated hand all over Paul’s face.
More silence. Adam tensed, awaiting retaliation.
“Two can play at the game, y’know.”
It was Adam’s turn to chuckle. “You think you’ve got the balls?”
Paul guffawed. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Seconds later Adam had a faceful of chocolate dick cake.
He ran his tongue over his lips. “Hmm, nice. Tastes good.”
Paul snickered. “It would taste even better from a fork.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Adam felt along the length of the cake and grabbed its remaining intact testicle. He lifted it to his mouth and took a large bite out of the chocolate sponge. It tasted sinfully rich and wickedly delicious. Adam held out his hand to Paul. “Want some?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” The words were almost a purr.
Adam caught his breath when a hot, wet mouth sucked on his finger, taking him deep.
Fuck. Even better. Foreplay.
He stifled a groan when Paul rolled his tongue around his finger, sucking harder. Another finger was given the same erotic treatment. Adam’s dick began to fill. Paul was really getting into his cleaning routine, a low moan escaping from his lips while he let Adam fuck his mouth with his finger.
God, Adam loved that mouth.
He pulled free, not missing Paul’s mewl of disappointment. “I have something much better than that for you.” With one hand he undid the waistband of his jeans, lowered the zip and freed his stiffening cock. With the other he scooped some of the cream filling onto his finger and transferred it to the head of his dick.
Paul’s breathing hitched. The rapid scrape of a chair across the floor, the table shifted and
oh my fucking God,
Paul was under it, his hot tongue slowly licking off the gooey mess. Adam sagged into the chair, his cock jerking, legs spreading to give Paul room.
“God, your dick tastes good,” Paul groaned before licking it once more, his tongue teasing the slit.
Adam shifted, pushing with his hips, wanting more. Paul’s hot breath on his cock, sticky fingers around his shaft…
Everything ground to a halt when Paul slowly and carefully pulled up the zipper of Adam’s jeans. His dick poked above the waistband, hard and hot.
Adam growled. “Don’t stop now.”
A moment later Paul was out from under the table and kneeling next to it. “I’m stopping,” he said, breathlessly, “because I’d rather do this A, without the food element, B, somewhere comfortable where there’s no danger of me banging my head if I get a little… enthusiastic and C, where there’s a supply of condoms and lube ready for when you decide we’re gonna fuck.”
He had a point. Several good points, in fact.
Adam grinned like an idiot again. This was shaping up to be a great birthday.
* * * * * *
Paul was a sticky mess and he loved it.
He was going to love it even more once he’d cleaned off and was in Adam’s bed, under Adam preferably.
First there was the small matter of the kitchen. There was cake on the table, the floor. The cake itself was a mess.
The hot man would have to wait.
“Why don’t you go get into the shower?” he suggested to Adam. “I’ll join you when I’ve cleaned up down here.” He leaned in and kissed Adam slowly on the lips. “Take your time, okay?”
Adam pulled him in closer, their lips meeting in another kiss, one with more heat. A sticky hand slid down the back of his jeans, squeezing his cheek. “You going to get me all clean? Everywhere?” His tongue probed Paul’s lips, and Paul opened for him without hesitation, his hunger rising.
Adam broke the kiss. Paul brought his mouth to Adam’s ear. “Everywhere,” he whispered. He loved the shudder that ran through Adam’s body. Paul kissed Adam’s cheek. “Shower.”
Adam chuckled and released him. “I think we need a lesson here about who exactly is in charge in this house.” He pulled his hand free and smacked Paul’s arse, hard. When Paul let out a yelp, Adam laughed. “That spanking is sounding more and more like a good idea.” He patted Paul on the rump and exited the kitchen.
Paul couldn’t suppress the frisson that skated up and down his spine. The thought of Adam spanking him sent hot and cold flushes over his skin.
Not now. Kitchen.
There were times when Paul cursed his practical mind.
He neatened up the cake and returned it to the fridge, before taking paper towels and scooping up all the bits of chocolate and cream that seemed to have gotten everywhere. Once he’d wiped down the table with a clean cloth and brushed the floor, the kitchen was once more in its usual state. Paul gave it a final glance. He was in a hurry to be somewhere.