Um. Original fic :p
Title: Back of the House
Author: Me
Disclaimer: None. Cause, well, this is an original fic.
Rating: PG13
Note: Ummmm...yeah. I wrote an original fic. This is the first of a few stories about the boys who work at Machismo's, an Italian-American restaurant in central Jersey.
Meet Joseph and Monkut.
Joseph is a good boy. He comes from a happy Italian family. He's more or less out, although his family is waiting for him to come back to God. He's waiting tables at Machismo's because he's good with people. After failing out of Rutgers, he doesn't really have a direction.
Monkut is a Thai-American who grew up in Syracuse. He's culturally white, more or less. He wants to cook in The City (i.e. New York). He's a CIA graduate, precise about cooking, with the cocky attitude of a n00b.
*
"Joe," Someone was chanting his name. "Joe. Joe. When you're done with your break, can you go help orient the new guy? He's a cook. He needs to be shown front-of-house."
"Oh. Sure, Ben." Joe tossed his clove to the ground, crushing it beneath his one pair of comfortable dress shoes that was part of the uniform for work. Rockports. Not expensive, not cheap, but more than a night's worth of tables. He turned and followed Ben inside, rolling his eyes at the twitch to his step and the grin cast over Ben's shoulder. When Joe first got there they'd fooled around, just a little. Then, Joe had called an end to it because he could tell that it wasn't gonna go anywhere. Ben was nice and all, but with his bright constant chatter and ambitions to become an actor in The City, he wasn't staying around long.
Joe was weird, and he knew it. He liked New Jersey. Loved it with a pride that glowed in his heart when he thought about the Garden State. It was home of the best director on earth, after all, and even though his poor state was overshadowed by The City, it had hidden depths. For one thing, it had his family - enormous, extended, and living in every part of the state from the Pennsylvania-esque north to the sandy south, even in the godforsaken town of Camden. The DiOrios had been in Jersey since the earliest days of the state, and to imagine moving was tantamount to denying Catholicism. It wasn't done, and if Joe did it, he'd be tossed out of home on his ass, probably by his ma.
"Hey, you stoned? And if you are, share," Ben said quietly, waving a hand in front of his face. They were in front of the hostess stand - or host, in the case of Joe. Waiting for him was a short but muscled figure with a slightly nervous expression. Short, muscled, and asian of some sort, although Joe couldn't quite place where. Their eyes caught, and Joe drew a breath. Crazy, he was feeling a vibration from this guy way down into his gut.
"Cover the stand for me for twenty minutes," Joe said, and Ben winked at him. "I'm Joe. I'm host, tonight, but I usually prefer playing the crowd as a server." He took the cook by the arm and turned, leading him through the crowd at the bar to the house. "Hey, what's your name?"
"You can call me Monkey," said the guy, giving him half a glare as if expecting shit from this.
"Monkey," Joe repeated, smiling. Okay, the guy got him. With the way his ears framed his rounded face, and the cocky twitch to his eyebrows, he did look like a monkey. "Short for something asian, I bet."
"Yeah." Monkey stared at him thoughtfully, and their eyes caught again. Joe found himself wondering if Monkey's slim chest was muscled or simply skinny, but from the guns he could see under the t-shirt, he was banking on muscled. "Work here long?"
"About six months," Joe replied, finding his voice again. What was wrong with him? Usually he was the smoothest server in the place. "Before here, I was at a different big chain. This pays better; better location, better clientele." Ah, he'd found his tongue again. He pointed to the various rooms and rattled off their names and stations. Monkey nodded, clearly half distracted. Joe felt a small surge of something strangely hopeful when he caught the other guy's eyes lingering around his hips. "Where'd you work before this?"
"Nowhere," Monkey said, shrugging. "I was at culinary school in Poughkeepsie."
Joe whistled. "You mean the CIA?"
Another nod.
"The economy must be tanking badly if you have to work at a shitty place like this." Joe kept his voice low so that nobody would hear. "I mean, it's fine for me, but not a CIA grad."
"I...ahhh...have good reasons. So is the tour done? How do servers usually sell the food?" Monkey's face was tight, his expression going polite and sweet for a moment. Joe knew misdirection when he saw it.
All business, eh? Joe explained the way they went through specials and wine, leaning a little closer as he murmured out the main special. He wasn't sure why he wanted to flirt with this guy, but he poured it on. "For tonight, we have pan-seared chicken breasts with roasted garlic, red peppers and spinach in a white wine and garlic cream sauce, tossed with curly fettuccine..."
Wait, was Monkey flinching?
Yes, yes he was. "Not a big fan of Italian food?"
"I like Italian food just fine." Monkey was backing away from him a little, and Joe eased up, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Ahh, I know what you mean." Joe did. He was Italian, after all. "Give it a chance, though. Marni keeps everything pretty fresh." He felt a small surge of pride for the chain restaurant. He'd been around enough to know that it was the quality of the cooks that made a restaurant last.
They locked eyes again, Monkey with a bit of apology in his. "Sorry. I'm a complete asshole when it comes to food. And...Monkut." He mumbled the last part.
"Eh? Oh...your name?" Joe smiled at him, and saw Monkut's eyes warm up for a moment, and they smiled at each other. The moment got a little spicy in a way that Joe knew all about, silence holding for a little too long, warmth tingling down Joe's legs.
"Long story. Thai king."
"Joe..." Ben stepped up. "Uh. It's getting a little busy and you know I abhor being host..."
"Right..." Joe said, eyes tearing away from Monkut's slowly. "I'll ask you more about your name later." He put on his most charming grin and saw the other guy raise an eyebrow sardonically.
"Well. You know where to find me."
"I do."
*
Joe worked until closing, and at the end of the night he was humming the piped-in classical muzak quietly to himself while he straightened out the host stand. The last table was lingering over its meal while Ben stood wearily in a corner refilling salt shakers. When they were finally done, Joe murmured a quiet goodbye as charmingly as he could and locked the door.
He turned, heading back to the kitchen, shaking out his hands. He found he was feeling vaguely excited to see how Monkut's night had fared. When he got there, he stepped into the middle of an argument. At least, it would've been an argument if Monkut weren't so damned polite.
"But...corn starch for the alfredo?" Monkut's voice was perfectly polite, but he wasn't backing down. "I could've been on the sauce station. I know how to reduce..."
"We were busy." Marni's brow was furrowing. That was a bad sign. Joe knew that it only happened right before Marni snapped -- despite being the calm warhorse of the restaurant, if you pushed Marni in just the wrong way he'd tell you incisively exactly what he was thinking, sparing nothing.
Joe really wanted Monkey to stay. He was hot, and they had chemistry, and he was shallow about stuff like that. Joe stepped in.
"Hey -- the last table said your shrimp was to die for, Marni." Joe let his voice get all deep and soothing. Monkut turned to look at him, several expressions flitting across his face. "Ready?" Joe said to Monkut. "I'll take you out for a drink. You deserve it after working with this old guy all night."
Marni swatted his ass, cursing in Italian, and Joe flashed him his sincerest smile. "I'll delight people with your cuisine again tomorrow." Joe hustled Monkut toward the bins with dirty linens. Monkut went along without complaining, tugging off his stained apron and tossing it into the bin.
The silence lasted for the walk through the parking lot to Joe's car, with Joe pausing outside of it to suck one last puff from his cigarette. "Marni's got a temper," he finally explained. "He really hates that he has to cut corners sometimes. You were pushing a bad button there, Monkey."
"Oh. Yeah, I thought he just didn't know better."
"Arrogant much? Just cause Marni didn't go to CIA doesn't mean he isn't a fine cook. But anyway. It's time for Plan Nine."
Monkut simply smiled at that, but his eyes were quiet, expression closed. There were a lot of assumptions in both directions, Joe sensed, sighing, so he shut up and drove. They were surrounded by strip malls, but not the low-quality type. There were actually trees near the highway, and the quality of cars around the chain restaurants were decent to high. He drove away from that to an older part of town, the funny doughnut hole in the middle of a big, new county. The streets became a little run-down, a little more neighborhoody.
"Will I be able to find my way back?" Monkut asked.
"Do you want to?" Joe didn't mean to make his voice purr like that, but he heard the small intake of breath and felt satisfied.
They went into the dank noise and mostly male bustle of Plan Nine together, Joe fighting the desire to put his fingers on the small of Monkut's back. It was prettily arched, and Monkut's pants (now that his apron was off) showed off an ass so round that it was epic. "If I may ask, where are you from?"
"Syracuse," Monkut said, eyeing him with that sardonic look again.
"I mean. What ethnicity are you? I'm Italian through and through."
"Thai. But i'm more American than anything else."
They sat at the bar, stools close so that Joe could hear him talk, but it meant their legs kept brushing. "That's a new one for me. Bangkok is in Thailand, right? Mind if I smoke?"
"Yep. Only if you share."
Joe lit another clove and offered one to Monkut. They they leaned in, end of cigarette touching end of cigarette, sparks flaring between them for a minute. Monkut laughed.
"What?"
"Just...passing thought."
"Care to share?"
Monkut smirked at him. "Sparks." He took a puff and Joe watched his lips with acute fascination. They were large and soft, just like a girl's. "Just thought it was a funny coincidence."
"Isn't it?" Joe scooted just right to touch his knee to Monkut's thigh, and got that eyebrow again. He backed off, just a little. "So how was work?"
"Fine. You're right, Marni's a solid cook." Monkut sounded sheepish. "I'll actually learn here."
Joe felt no small relief at that. "Yeah? So you're staying?"
A nod. "For now. Surely this isn't the epitome of your ambitions either." Monkut took another puff of the clove, and the bartender set two PBRs down in front of them.
Ah, the what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up question. "Maybe it is," Joe shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. This is good for right now."
"I kinda want to work at a kitchen in --"
"The City," they finished together, Joe's voice wry. "I mean, I get it. We're within a spit of The City, of course you wanna work there." It didn't stop Joe from wondering about how those lips might feel against his. True lust was just as relevant as true love, and he vowed to see how far Monkey was willing to go before leaving town.
"Right now, it's a little tough for me though, so I'm gonna stay." Monkut reached for his drink and downed a lot of it. Joe saw the tension in his back and reached out a hand after a moment and rubbed at it. They were clearly in a gay bar, and nobody would think twice. Joe like it that Monkut didn't flinch away, but instead arched his back as if encouraging the touch. Joe kept rubbing.
"Family problems?"
"Something like that. My parents...their grocery isn't doing very well. I'm staying with them and bringing in some income. Health insurance too."
Joe ran his thumb down Monkut's back and the other man grinned, finishing his cigarette and turning to face Joe. "Do you really give a shit about my family?" He scooted closer.
Avoidance again. "Yeah, maybe I do. I have a family too, after all." Joe's legs straddled Monkut's shorter ones, though, and he brought his hands down to settle on Monkut's hips. "And...never met anyone Thai-American before."
"Thai-American." That earned Joe a laugh, bright enough that dimples flashed at the corner of Monkut's cheeks. "You know, people rarely say that. I guess Thais mostly stay in Thailand. Just enough of us here to make a few restaurants."
"Do all Thai boys have fuck-me lips?" Joe gave up on subtlety, tracing a finger over the curve of Monkut's lip.
"We all have bubble-butts too."
Joe gulped. Well then, it sounded like it was on.
*
They stayed just long enough at the bar for Joe to learn the names of Monkut's sister and parents (funny nicknames, all of them short and Western like "Bike" and "Apple" and "Boat"), and to down another beer. After the second beer, Joe's thumbs were on the inside of Monkut's wrists, stroking the nerves that he knew were fried after hours of chopping.
"Fuuuuck," Monkut groaned, melting onto the bar.
"That...is actually the idea," Joe agreed, and they laughed together. Then Monkut stood, turning so that he could flash his fine ass at Joe, eyes all ironic as he motioned with his head.
"Gotta be your place."
"O-Okay." Joe felt his smoothness stumble, hormones suddenly raging at the look in those eyes.
*
"Fuck," Joe gasped, gripping Monkut and pinning him to the door. He leaned in and inhaled. Yep -- goddamn. "You smell like chocolate. That's always a good sign."
"Chocolate?" Monkut's mouth was so near his that Joe could feel the breath.
"Yeah. Pheromonal reaction to a good lay."
Monkut laughed again and Joe leaned in to eat it up, leading with his lips to catch a full one between them, feeling his dick thicken in his work pants. They both made a noise at the impact, and Joe slid his tongue between those lips to taste him. Beer and cloves...and dark spice. He felt Monkut wrap around his body, hand tugging their hips flush, and then he felt Monkut's erection digging into his.
They spent another few minutes right there against the door, Joe's lips against Monkut's, tongue caressing tongue until they were dry-humping. "Fuck," Joe said again, and his hand slid between them.
"Your cat is staring at me."
"Oh...uh. Just a second." Joe turned around and scooped up Bella, tossing her into the mess of his bedroom. Then he headed to the couch, sitting down and shifting, eyes hot on Monkut's. "Get over here."
*
(To be continued from Monkey's POV. Cause this is getting ridiculously long.)
Author: Me
Disclaimer: None. Cause, well, this is an original fic.
Rating: PG13
Note: Ummmm...yeah. I wrote an original fic. This is the first of a few stories about the boys who work at Machismo's, an Italian-American restaurant in central Jersey.
Meet Joseph and Monkut.
Joseph is a good boy. He comes from a happy Italian family. He's more or less out, although his family is waiting for him to come back to God. He's waiting tables at Machismo's because he's good with people. After failing out of Rutgers, he doesn't really have a direction.
Monkut is a Thai-American who grew up in Syracuse. He's culturally white, more or less. He wants to cook in The City (i.e. New York). He's a CIA graduate, precise about cooking, with the cocky attitude of a n00b.
*
"Joe," Someone was chanting his name. "Joe. Joe. When you're done with your break, can you go help orient the new guy? He's a cook. He needs to be shown front-of-house."
"Oh. Sure, Ben." Joe tossed his clove to the ground, crushing it beneath his one pair of comfortable dress shoes that was part of the uniform for work. Rockports. Not expensive, not cheap, but more than a night's worth of tables. He turned and followed Ben inside, rolling his eyes at the twitch to his step and the grin cast over Ben's shoulder. When Joe first got there they'd fooled around, just a little. Then, Joe had called an end to it because he could tell that it wasn't gonna go anywhere. Ben was nice and all, but with his bright constant chatter and ambitions to become an actor in The City, he wasn't staying around long.
Joe was weird, and he knew it. He liked New Jersey. Loved it with a pride that glowed in his heart when he thought about the Garden State. It was home of the best director on earth, after all, and even though his poor state was overshadowed by The City, it had hidden depths. For one thing, it had his family - enormous, extended, and living in every part of the state from the Pennsylvania-esque north to the sandy south, even in the godforsaken town of Camden. The DiOrios had been in Jersey since the earliest days of the state, and to imagine moving was tantamount to denying Catholicism. It wasn't done, and if Joe did it, he'd be tossed out of home on his ass, probably by his ma.
"Hey, you stoned? And if you are, share," Ben said quietly, waving a hand in front of his face. They were in front of the hostess stand - or host, in the case of Joe. Waiting for him was a short but muscled figure with a slightly nervous expression. Short, muscled, and asian of some sort, although Joe couldn't quite place where. Their eyes caught, and Joe drew a breath. Crazy, he was feeling a vibration from this guy way down into his gut.
"Cover the stand for me for twenty minutes," Joe said, and Ben winked at him. "I'm Joe. I'm host, tonight, but I usually prefer playing the crowd as a server." He took the cook by the arm and turned, leading him through the crowd at the bar to the house. "Hey, what's your name?"
"You can call me Monkey," said the guy, giving him half a glare as if expecting shit from this.
"Monkey," Joe repeated, smiling. Okay, the guy got him. With the way his ears framed his rounded face, and the cocky twitch to his eyebrows, he did look like a monkey. "Short for something asian, I bet."
"Yeah." Monkey stared at him thoughtfully, and their eyes caught again. Joe found himself wondering if Monkey's slim chest was muscled or simply skinny, but from the guns he could see under the t-shirt, he was banking on muscled. "Work here long?"
"About six months," Joe replied, finding his voice again. What was wrong with him? Usually he was the smoothest server in the place. "Before here, I was at a different big chain. This pays better; better location, better clientele." Ah, he'd found his tongue again. He pointed to the various rooms and rattled off their names and stations. Monkey nodded, clearly half distracted. Joe felt a small surge of something strangely hopeful when he caught the other guy's eyes lingering around his hips. "Where'd you work before this?"
"Nowhere," Monkey said, shrugging. "I was at culinary school in Poughkeepsie."
Joe whistled. "You mean the CIA?"
Another nod.
"The economy must be tanking badly if you have to work at a shitty place like this." Joe kept his voice low so that nobody would hear. "I mean, it's fine for me, but not a CIA grad."
"I...ahhh...have good reasons. So is the tour done? How do servers usually sell the food?" Monkey's face was tight, his expression going polite and sweet for a moment. Joe knew misdirection when he saw it.
All business, eh? Joe explained the way they went through specials and wine, leaning a little closer as he murmured out the main special. He wasn't sure why he wanted to flirt with this guy, but he poured it on. "For tonight, we have pan-seared chicken breasts with roasted garlic, red peppers and spinach in a white wine and garlic cream sauce, tossed with curly fettuccine..."
Wait, was Monkey flinching?
Yes, yes he was. "Not a big fan of Italian food?"
"I like Italian food just fine." Monkey was backing away from him a little, and Joe eased up, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Ahh, I know what you mean." Joe did. He was Italian, after all. "Give it a chance, though. Marni keeps everything pretty fresh." He felt a small surge of pride for the chain restaurant. He'd been around enough to know that it was the quality of the cooks that made a restaurant last.
They locked eyes again, Monkey with a bit of apology in his. "Sorry. I'm a complete asshole when it comes to food. And...Monkut." He mumbled the last part.
"Eh? Oh...your name?" Joe smiled at him, and saw Monkut's eyes warm up for a moment, and they smiled at each other. The moment got a little spicy in a way that Joe knew all about, silence holding for a little too long, warmth tingling down Joe's legs.
"Long story. Thai king."
"Joe..." Ben stepped up. "Uh. It's getting a little busy and you know I abhor being host..."
"Right..." Joe said, eyes tearing away from Monkut's slowly. "I'll ask you more about your name later." He put on his most charming grin and saw the other guy raise an eyebrow sardonically.
"Well. You know where to find me."
"I do."
*
Joe worked until closing, and at the end of the night he was humming the piped-in classical muzak quietly to himself while he straightened out the host stand. The last table was lingering over its meal while Ben stood wearily in a corner refilling salt shakers. When they were finally done, Joe murmured a quiet goodbye as charmingly as he could and locked the door.
He turned, heading back to the kitchen, shaking out his hands. He found he was feeling vaguely excited to see how Monkut's night had fared. When he got there, he stepped into the middle of an argument. At least, it would've been an argument if Monkut weren't so damned polite.
"But...corn starch for the alfredo?" Monkut's voice was perfectly polite, but he wasn't backing down. "I could've been on the sauce station. I know how to reduce..."
"We were busy." Marni's brow was furrowing. That was a bad sign. Joe knew that it only happened right before Marni snapped -- despite being the calm warhorse of the restaurant, if you pushed Marni in just the wrong way he'd tell you incisively exactly what he was thinking, sparing nothing.
Joe really wanted Monkey to stay. He was hot, and they had chemistry, and he was shallow about stuff like that. Joe stepped in.
"Hey -- the last table said your shrimp was to die for, Marni." Joe let his voice get all deep and soothing. Monkut turned to look at him, several expressions flitting across his face. "Ready?" Joe said to Monkut. "I'll take you out for a drink. You deserve it after working with this old guy all night."
Marni swatted his ass, cursing in Italian, and Joe flashed him his sincerest smile. "I'll delight people with your cuisine again tomorrow." Joe hustled Monkut toward the bins with dirty linens. Monkut went along without complaining, tugging off his stained apron and tossing it into the bin.
The silence lasted for the walk through the parking lot to Joe's car, with Joe pausing outside of it to suck one last puff from his cigarette. "Marni's got a temper," he finally explained. "He really hates that he has to cut corners sometimes. You were pushing a bad button there, Monkey."
"Oh. Yeah, I thought he just didn't know better."
"Arrogant much? Just cause Marni didn't go to CIA doesn't mean he isn't a fine cook. But anyway. It's time for Plan Nine."
Monkut simply smiled at that, but his eyes were quiet, expression closed. There were a lot of assumptions in both directions, Joe sensed, sighing, so he shut up and drove. They were surrounded by strip malls, but not the low-quality type. There were actually trees near the highway, and the quality of cars around the chain restaurants were decent to high. He drove away from that to an older part of town, the funny doughnut hole in the middle of a big, new county. The streets became a little run-down, a little more neighborhoody.
"Will I be able to find my way back?" Monkut asked.
"Do you want to?" Joe didn't mean to make his voice purr like that, but he heard the small intake of breath and felt satisfied.
They went into the dank noise and mostly male bustle of Plan Nine together, Joe fighting the desire to put his fingers on the small of Monkut's back. It was prettily arched, and Monkut's pants (now that his apron was off) showed off an ass so round that it was epic. "If I may ask, where are you from?"
"Syracuse," Monkut said, eyeing him with that sardonic look again.
"I mean. What ethnicity are you? I'm Italian through and through."
"Thai. But i'm more American than anything else."
They sat at the bar, stools close so that Joe could hear him talk, but it meant their legs kept brushing. "That's a new one for me. Bangkok is in Thailand, right? Mind if I smoke?"
"Yep. Only if you share."
Joe lit another clove and offered one to Monkut. They they leaned in, end of cigarette touching end of cigarette, sparks flaring between them for a minute. Monkut laughed.
"What?"
"Just...passing thought."
"Care to share?"
Monkut smirked at him. "Sparks." He took a puff and Joe watched his lips with acute fascination. They were large and soft, just like a girl's. "Just thought it was a funny coincidence."
"Isn't it?" Joe scooted just right to touch his knee to Monkut's thigh, and got that eyebrow again. He backed off, just a little. "So how was work?"
"Fine. You're right, Marni's a solid cook." Monkut sounded sheepish. "I'll actually learn here."
Joe felt no small relief at that. "Yeah? So you're staying?"
A nod. "For now. Surely this isn't the epitome of your ambitions either." Monkut took another puff of the clove, and the bartender set two PBRs down in front of them.
Ah, the what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up question. "Maybe it is," Joe shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. This is good for right now."
"I kinda want to work at a kitchen in --"
"The City," they finished together, Joe's voice wry. "I mean, I get it. We're within a spit of The City, of course you wanna work there." It didn't stop Joe from wondering about how those lips might feel against his. True lust was just as relevant as true love, and he vowed to see how far Monkey was willing to go before leaving town.
"Right now, it's a little tough for me though, so I'm gonna stay." Monkut reached for his drink and downed a lot of it. Joe saw the tension in his back and reached out a hand after a moment and rubbed at it. They were clearly in a gay bar, and nobody would think twice. Joe like it that Monkut didn't flinch away, but instead arched his back as if encouraging the touch. Joe kept rubbing.
"Family problems?"
"Something like that. My parents...their grocery isn't doing very well. I'm staying with them and bringing in some income. Health insurance too."
Joe ran his thumb down Monkut's back and the other man grinned, finishing his cigarette and turning to face Joe. "Do you really give a shit about my family?" He scooted closer.
Avoidance again. "Yeah, maybe I do. I have a family too, after all." Joe's legs straddled Monkut's shorter ones, though, and he brought his hands down to settle on Monkut's hips. "And...never met anyone Thai-American before."
"Thai-American." That earned Joe a laugh, bright enough that dimples flashed at the corner of Monkut's cheeks. "You know, people rarely say that. I guess Thais mostly stay in Thailand. Just enough of us here to make a few restaurants."
"Do all Thai boys have fuck-me lips?" Joe gave up on subtlety, tracing a finger over the curve of Monkut's lip.
"We all have bubble-butts too."
Joe gulped. Well then, it sounded like it was on.
*
They stayed just long enough at the bar for Joe to learn the names of Monkut's sister and parents (funny nicknames, all of them short and Western like "Bike" and "Apple" and "Boat"), and to down another beer. After the second beer, Joe's thumbs were on the inside of Monkut's wrists, stroking the nerves that he knew were fried after hours of chopping.
"Fuuuuck," Monkut groaned, melting onto the bar.
"That...is actually the idea," Joe agreed, and they laughed together. Then Monkut stood, turning so that he could flash his fine ass at Joe, eyes all ironic as he motioned with his head.
"Gotta be your place."
"O-Okay." Joe felt his smoothness stumble, hormones suddenly raging at the look in those eyes.
*
"Fuck," Joe gasped, gripping Monkut and pinning him to the door. He leaned in and inhaled. Yep -- goddamn. "You smell like chocolate. That's always a good sign."
"Chocolate?" Monkut's mouth was so near his that Joe could feel the breath.
"Yeah. Pheromonal reaction to a good lay."
Monkut laughed again and Joe leaned in to eat it up, leading with his lips to catch a full one between them, feeling his dick thicken in his work pants. They both made a noise at the impact, and Joe slid his tongue between those lips to taste him. Beer and cloves...and dark spice. He felt Monkut wrap around his body, hand tugging their hips flush, and then he felt Monkut's erection digging into his.
They spent another few minutes right there against the door, Joe's lips against Monkut's, tongue caressing tongue until they were dry-humping. "Fuck," Joe said again, and his hand slid between them.
"Your cat is staring at me."
"Oh...uh. Just a second." Joe turned around and scooped up Bella, tossing her into the mess of his bedroom. Then he headed to the couch, sitting down and shifting, eyes hot on Monkut's. "Get over here."
*
(To be continued from Monkey's POV. Cause this is getting ridiculously long.)