Date: Mon, 5 Feb 2024 20:45:52 -0600
From: Xhaiden Angel <xangel.author@gmail.com>
Subject: Valentine Revelation

The pie was still warm, like it just came out of the oven. Apple. Cinnamon.
A hint of another spice Tate couldn't put his finger on.

"Secret recipe," the other man said with a lopsided smile. "My grand would
kill me if I told."

Tate returned the smile as the man let his coat slide off his shoulders.
The thin shirt he wore under it revealed a slender, muscled frame and two
very, very hard nipples. For a second, Tate couldn't move. He couldn't do
anything but stare at the sweet face and kind smile of his neighbor, Clark
Redfield.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No. I'm just...uh..."

"Staring. You're just staring at me like I've got leftover flour or
something on my face."

Embarrassed, Tate moved to one side and let the man hang his coat on one of
the many pegs just inside the door. In his hands, the warm pie reminded him
of the awkward situation he found himself in. Looking down at it gave his
eyes another place to rest. The second spice rose off its surface and he
recognized it as cloves. Maybe a hint of allspice.

"Your father's not home yet, is he?"

"He's...in..." Tate started to say but the location failed to load in his
brain. "No. He's not home."

Clark stepped forward. In the small space of the foyer, his body's natural
scent fought for dominance over the pie. Tate took a step to one side,
avoiding being pinned to the wall. Clark smiled at this but followed him
into the kitchen. Tate put the pie on the island and fussed with the single
plate and cup in the sink as though cleaning them would prevent a coming
apocalypse.

"I messaged him. Your father. I told him I was coming over."

"Yeah," Tate said, turning around at the sink. "He mentioned it. He's...
bringing dinner. For us. Three. He's bringing dinner home for us...three."

"How's school?"

"Good. Well, almost good. I'm still in the top five. I'll graduate in the
top five, I mean."

Clark moved to the island and put his hands on its smooth surface. "Look at
you, all grown up and graduating college. Congratulations on the
achievement."

"Thanks. Do you...uh...want some wine?"

"No. I'm all right. Thank you, though."

"C-can I get you...anything?"

The man smiled. "Are we alone in the house, Tate?"

"Yeah. We're...alone."

The man's warm, pleasant smile widened a little. "Do something for me,
little man."

"D-do something?" Tate asked, his hands starting to shake. "What d-do you
want me to do?"

"I think you know."

Tate's pale cheeks turned a light pink. He smiled. "Now? I mean, right now?
Here?"

"Why not here?"

"You don't want to go...upstairs?"

"We always go upstairs." Clark's smile remained but his face changed.
"Right here. Right now. Do it for me, little man."

"B-but..."

"You're wearing it, aren't you?"

Tate nodded, the pink in his cheeks deepening. "Like you told me."

"Show it to me, then. Right now."

The soft command in the man's voice brought Tate away from the sink and a
few steps closer to the island. His shaking hands went to the black belt on
his jeans and began fumbling with it. It came loose with much more effort
than necessary. Tate unbuttoned his jeans and eased down the zipper. Brown
hair fell into his face as he looked down. The bulging mound he revealed
was twice the size it was before the man said, "Right now." A dark circle
of moisture was spreading as his precum flowed. He eased his jeans down,
revealing his narrow hips and the thin waistband.

"Very nice," Clark said, his tongue lingering on his upper lip. "Do you
like it?"

"Yeah. I really do like it."

"Don't say, yeah, little man. Do you like my Valentine's Day present?"

"Yes, Sir. I like it a lot."

"Show me how much."

Using one shoe to push the other off, Tate started to get out of his
clothes. In the dim light of the kitchen, he let his jeans pool at his
ankles before stepping out of them. He pulled his shirt off and dropped
it. His socks followed. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he raised
his arms and tucked them behind his head. This had the effect of elongating
his toned body and showcasing his biceps. He felt the other man's eyes on
him, which caused the bulge to grow, the dark, wet spot to drip.

"Turned on, are we?"

"Very," Tate admitted. "I have been all day. I couldn't wait for you to get
here."

Clark took in the beautiful sight of his second favorite person, in the
warm gold glow of the recessed lights. Coming around the island, he admired
the curve of muscle and the dense dusting of light brown hair along his
chest and lower stomach. The middle trail of hair grew thicker in the
center, disappearing into the single garment he wore.

One gentle hand caressed Tate's cheek. "You haven't told your father, yet,
have you?"

"N-no. I want to but there doesn't seem to be a right...t-time."

The other hand closed on the bulge. Clark nuzzled Tate's cheek with his
own. The hand squeezed, giving Tate's bound cock a reason to throb. Clark
breathed in the natural scent of Tate, all sweat and soap, no needless
cologne. He began to move his hand along the full length of Tate's cock.

Clark's mouth touched Tate's. The first kiss was tender and reassuring.
Tate responded, kissing him back and parting his lips. A soft sigh of
surrender came out. The tongue touched his lip, then moved into his mouth.
Tate tasted mint and the lingering taste of liquor. Not too much.
After-dinner sip. He kept his hands locked behind his head but wanted to
touch the man's face.

"Get up on the counter for me," Clark said when the kiss broke. "On your
knees, shoulders touching the surface."

"Y-yes, Sir."

Clark watched with mounting pride as Tate did as he was told. When the
muscled shoulders eased forward, he put his hands on the insides of Tate's
thighs and spread them wider. The thick pouch containing his cock oozed.
The red straps of the jock framed his perfect cheeks. The center ring of
pink winked at him, free of hair, just as he instructed.

"What a good little man," Clark said, breaking the crust of the pie with
two fingers. "We're going to have our dessert first, I think."

Tate felt a thick, warm substance on his exposed asshole. "S-sir..."

Two fingers eased inside of him. The warm pie filling slid inside, as
well. Some of it slid down his thighs. Raising himself a bit, he managed to
make eye contact with Clark, who smiled at him while unbuttoning his
pants. The fingers began moving. Tate sighed. The fingers worked deeper
into him, making him moan.

"Want more?"

"Uh-huh...yeah, I do."

"What did I say about 'yeah,'?"

The fingers slowed. Afraid they would stop, Tate corrected
himself. "Yes. Yes, Sir More, Sir."

"There's a good man. I love when you ask for what you want."

Clark's pants fell a little, letting him work himself free of them. The
waistband slipped under his muscular asscheeks. He touched the head of his
cock to the gooey, sticky hole as his fingers continued to work more of the
stuff into Tate.

"You're going to have to tell your father," the man said, teasing with his
cockhead.

"I w-will...I promise."

"I know it's going to be hard, but it's for the best. He'll understand."

All Tate managed was a soft sigh. The blunt, uncut cock eased into him,
making him blank on any verbal response he might offer. It eased in, slow
and gentle. He raised his shoulders, reaching for the other side of the
island. It always started this way, slow and easy, but it didn't stay that
way for long. Gripping the other side, he spread his legs and pushed
back. More warm stuff ran down his thighs, pushed out by the thickness of
Clark's meat.

"God...oh, god...yes..."

"My man loves cock," Clark said, sliding forward until his pubes scraped
skin. "More than anything else, I'd guess. Am I right?"

"Yes...oh, fuck yes, Sir. I love cock!"

Clark began massaging Tate's hips, then worked up to his shoulders. All the
while, he began a steady, urgent rhythm. Tate responded by pushing back, by
dropping his hips, by allowing the man to pull him back so the angle of the
counter allowed him ultimate depth. Like they always did, the two found a
comfortable rhythm. Clark went balls-deep with every stroke. Tate clenched
on every pull-out, working the man's full shaft as best he could.

"Fuck...me...Sir. Harder. Fuck me, harder!"

Clark took hold of Tate's hips and pulled him back. Tate rose up on his
knees, dropping his ass full on the man's erection. He raised his arms,
turned on by his own damp armpits and their odor. Apples. Sweat. Allspice.
Soap.  Sex.  The jockstrap held his cock but his own precum slung all over
the counter as the man fucked it out of him. Clear strings of his
excitement criss-crossed the marble and the nearby destroyed pie. His own
semeny-syrup mingled with the appley mess.

"God," Tate moaned.

Clark rubbed Tate's back and sides. His mouth moved up and to the center of
his muscled back, kissing and licking. His hips thrust up, his balls
settling into the space between the boy's thighs. Tate milked his shaft
like the expert he was.

"I love you," he sighed as he tugged on the other's nipples. "God, how I
love you."

Falling forward, Tate let the same words slip from his lips. "Me, too,
Sir. With all my heart."

Throbbing inside of him, he felt the tensing of the man's shaft. He pushed
back a few more times. Clark fell onto him, wrapping him in his arms. Tate
clenched his ass one last time.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned. "Fuck, yes...cum inside me, Sir!"

Clark was already fulfilling his request. The man's body convulsed as he
shot three consecutive bursts inside of him. He rubbed the other's hips,
kissed his shoulders, licked at his ears. Another two shots fired off,
spilling down the other's thighs. He pulled out, letting the last of his
cum spray Tate's bare legs and the counter. He closed his eyes, lost in the
moment.

Tate's head fell forward, hair obscuring his vision.

"You're going to have to tell your father, little man...especially after
this."

Leaning back, Tate initiated a deep kiss. The man's tongue eased into his
open mouth, touching his own and lengthening his trapped cock. More precum
oozed onto the counter through the fabric. Clark's hand closed over the
shaft and gave it a few strokes.

"Why, though?" Tate asked, leaning into the man. "Why do I have to tell
him?"

With a gentle hand, Clark turned Tate's head toward the arched opening of
the room.

Tate gasped. "D-dad?!"

***