Hot Fuss - part 3 (2007)
Hot Fuss
Part Three: Breakfast in Bed
Michael’s POV
I awoke slowly, comfortable despite a pronounced discomfort from-I feel myself grow hot at the memory of Andy inside me, despite my lingering languor. I blink, trying to clear the drowsiness from my eyes. Andy’s warm chest rises steadily underneath my cheek and hand, one of his arms around my waist. My hand on his chest twitches, and I absentmindedly stroke the boy beneath me, trying to distract myself from my rather embarrassing thoughts. To have begged like that…! And the things Andy said to me…that my-my come!-tasted like pleasure, and that I was sexy. It was a new thing, for me, to be called sexy like that. It was completely different from some guy at Hot Fuss calling me sexy, because when it was said there, it was more flattery than anything; Andy had said it like the word sexy was some sweet candy to savor in his mouth. And that mouth--!
Said mouth kissed me on top of my head, startling me. I hadn’t realized he was awake; I continued stroking his chest, though now I was doing it out of nervousness. Did he know that that had been my first time like that? With the afterglow gone from last night, I can’t help but feel self-conscious as my mind wanders. I feel his lungs fill and then empty as he lets out a sigh. Then his chest is rumbling as he says my name in a deep and somewhat hoarse morning voice. I shift so I can look up at him; he catches my face in a hand and draws me up to his lips, kissing me slowly, no tongue. I let my own tongue venture to seek passage through his lips, but they remain closed, blocking me out. I let out an involuntary cry at the denial, wanting to feel his tongue against mine. He only traces a hand down my side, touching enough to make me burn, but not enough to even nearly satisfy me.
Suddenly Andy has me pinned against our bed of blankets, his eyes bright as he stares down at me. I feel myself flush and I turn my head, avoiding his gaze. Should I really be so eager? It might… “Stay here,” he says quietly. I watch him get up, his nude body slender and beautiful in the semi-darkness as he pulls the fluffiest of the blankets over me. My eyes linger on his half-erect manhood, and then his round ass as he sidles into the kitchen. “I’m going to feed you your breakfast in bed,” he calls from the other room, and I feel myself growing hotter at the hint of mischief in his voice.
“A-Andy,” I say tentatively, “when are your parents supposed to get back? Shouldn’t we dress in case they-“
“Don’t worry; we have plenty of time before they get back.” I bite my lip-last time we only just barely had enough time for me to avoid whoever was returning to the house. “Do you like eggs?” he asks, poking his head out of the kitchen.
“Ah-only scrambled and drenched in ketchup.” I cling to the fluff of the blankets, feeling incredibly young and silly.
“And what do you say to chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry syrup?” My broad smile answers for me. “Of course,” he replies, shooting me with his own smile and disappearing back into the kitchen. Then again, he’s a little silly, making breakfast like he’s my mom or something. Or trying to be romantic…I guess breakfast in bed is romantic.
While Andy makes breakfast, I spy a remote for the TV and turn it on, flipping through the channels to pass the time. My attention isn’t really on the TV though, it’s on the soft music in the kitchen and the general noise as Andy moves around, and I imagine him scrambling the eggs, mixing up the pancakes, as the delicious smells of breakfast waft into the living room.
I’ve left the TV on a cartoon channel by the time Andy makes his way back to me, a tray in his hands. On it, a plate piled with pancakes, a jar of what must be the strawberry syrup, another plate with scrambled eggs, a bottle of ketchup, and a glass of white milk. “Err…Andy, I don’t think I can eat all of that.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, with that mischievous smile again, “I’ll help you. Now sit up there, against the couch.” I move, backing up until I’m leaning against the couch, and fold my legs underneath me, very aware that we are both still quite undressed. “Ah, Michael, not quite,” he murmurs, setting the tray down on the floor to the side. I inhale sharply as he leans forward and rearranges my legs so that they stretch out away from me, and pulls me a little away from the couch, settling a pillow behind me. “There, now,” he pushes my chest until I’m slouched against the couch, my legs sprawled in front of me, and all of me very exposed. I’m definitely fighting the heat spreading through me as he sends an appraising look over my body, and apparently liking what he sees. He leans down and carefully moves the tray of food closer to me, against my thigh. Despite my shyness, I let my eyes follow his movements, traveling over his body. I, too, like what I see.
I let out an audible gasp as Andy’s weight is suddenly resting on my legs, a leg tucked up on either side of me. “What--?”
“I told you, I’m going to feed you breakfast in bed. Is this okay like this?” Though it’s a question, Andy’s smirk is one that says he’s in control; I nod mutely. It’s definitely more than okay like this, as I’m sure he’s fully aware by my body’s reaction. I watch as he shifts to the side and picks up the fork, spearing a bit of the ketchup-drenched eggs. Without warning, the food is against my lips, and a bit of egg falls off of the fork onto my chest as it goes into my surprised mouth. Andy’s grin widens. “I’ll get that for you,” and licks it off my chest. I stare at him, mortified, but still… More egg, and this time it misses my mouth, leaving a trail of ketchup from my chin to my lips. Andy laves it away with his tongue again. “Stubble is so beautiful on you, Michael,” and though I want to tell him to stop telling me such embarrassing things, I can’t with his lips on mine.
It proves very hard to get through the eggs with Andy’s “help,” but I feel myself relaxing instead of being so embarrassed. Maybe a little too relaxed? “Andy!” I cry in dismay as the strawberry syrup drips off of a pancake and onto a particularly sensitive bit of skin.
“Oh, excuse me.” His eyes flash with humor and he leans in to kiss me. My arms wrap around his neck as our tongues sample each other’s mouths. I don’t know if I had ever imagined something like this before even in my dreams-I moan as I feel the sticky fluid poured onto me liberally between our bodies. It slowly runs down my body, and Andy pulls away from my mouth to catch the syrup before it drips off of me. I’m not sure which feels more delicious, the syrup or his tongue. He looks up at me. “I didn’t mean to spill it.”
“Really,” I state, my voice low. Finally unable to help myself, I spring forward and pin Andy to the makeshift bed. “Such a mess you made,” I growl, biting at his ear and neck. One of his hands pushes at my head until our lips are locked together. Pulling back, I ask, “Why didn’t you open your mouth before?”
“Because I had morning breath. Now I have breakfast breath instead. Yummy, isn’t it?” He bites at my lower lip and I nod. “And you,” he rumbles in a low voice, “make that syrup taste even sweeter.” He rolls us over, pinning me in turn, with his hands pressing mine against the floor, and resumes licking away said syrup. One of his hands releases one of mine to swipe up some syrup, spreading it onto my hard member. I close my eyes at the touch, feeling the pleasure well up, and then increase infinitely, or so it seems, as Andy’s tongue follows his hand, licking me like a lollipop. My free hand grasps at the blankets beneath me, while the other clings tightly to its captor as I’m engulfed. My breathing speeds and my body burns.
“Why,” I say breathily, “why do you always-always do that?” My question is punctuated by a loud, breathy cry, and a small moan from Andy’s mouth around me. His moan pushes me over the edge and I come, seeing nothing for a moment. As I gasp for breath, Andy returns to my mouth, and I can taste the syrup and-and the taste of pleasure, as Andy put it.
“Because I want to. I want to taste you, to feel and hear your reaction. And I also want to…” his voice trails off, and I feel a sticky hand under my ass, gently pulling at the cheek and feeling the cleft of the crack, and brushing my opening. I shiver. Yes, I want to, but the pain from last night…but it was worth it, wasn’t it? I nod and watch as the lube magically reappears in Andy’s hand, and he spreads it liberally over himself and around my opening. It’s sore, but he slides in much easier than last night, and my breath hitches as he slowly starts thrusting.
The feeling of being filled quickly obliterates the pain, and then I see stars as he brushes a spot inside me, and I let out a loud cry of pleasure. I lose the capacity to speak, caught between Andy brushing that spot inside me, and stroking my cock; I only let out a full-throated groan as I come so soon that I’m surprised by myself, though Andy comes just as quickly, coating my insides with his hot seed. We lay panting for a full minute before I feel the ability to speak returning. “Andy, oh, god,” I say weakly.
I twitch as he lazily spreads my come over my stomach, swirling it with the bright red syrup. “Yeah,” his voice sounds just as weak as mine. Another couple minutes pass, his hand resting above my naval, covered in the sticky pink mixture of syrup and semen. Suddenly his hand comes to life, dancing on my stomach, and then up my chest and to the side of my face as he pulls me into an unexpected kiss. It’s a short one, and Andy pulls away, looking at me, making me feel very naked again. After a short, uncomfortable silence, he murmurs, “We need a shower.”
I can’t stop my laughter. “Of course we do, look at the mess you made!”
Andy lets out a low chuckle. “So I did. But you helped.”
I playfully push him away from me. “It’s all your fault, don’t try to pin it on me! You better clean everything yourself, don’t expect me to help you!”
“Okay,” he grins, standing up. I squeak as he scoops me up into his arms. I blush and glare at him. “What, you said I have to clean everything myself. So I’m starting with you.” I open my mouth to reply, but he stops me with a kiss. Andy only laughs quietly as I grumble mindlessly in his arms as he carries me into the bathroom. He sets me into the tub and climbs in after me.
I feel so incredibly naked as Andy closes the curtains, shutting us into the close space of the shower, together, alone, and his eyes straying to me often. He turns on the water, and then steers me until I’m standing under a stream of warm water, my back to the showerhead so that I’m facing Andy. He kisses my forehead before starting to wash me.
“You know what I love about you, Michael?” he asks as his hands drag a soapy cloth over me. “I love your voice,” his voice is just barely audible over the noise of the water. “I love your eyes, and hands, and lips, and I love…” his hands close over my erect cock, “I love this,” he murmurs, stroking it. I hadn’t known that I could be so turned on like this, I thought vaguely as he jerked me to a slow climax, filling me with a languid pleasure. “But what I like most,” I strained to hear his voice now, it was so low. He washed away the semen on my body and quickly ran the cloth over his own body. “I love the way you dance more than anything else,” I barely caught it. He poured some shampoo into his hands and massaged my head with it, only giving himself a quick once-over. Quietly he continued. “You shine when you dance. You’re so free, and you let everything go freely.” We both stood clean as the water continued to stream onto us. I try to look up into his eyes, but the water prevents me. “I want, more than anything, to let you dance. And to see you dance just for me. But only if you want to.”
He reached and turned the water off, squeezing water out of his hair, and then pulling the curtain aside. I want to run as he starts drying me like a child, but…it feels good. Too good, really, but who would want to leave something so good? Quietly, I cling to him, hiding my face and trying to feel less exposed. He only kisses the top of my head and pulls me after him into his room, where he gives me clothes to wear as he dresses himself. Without a word, he goes back to the living room, with me trailing after him, and picks up the remains of our breakfast, and then I trail after him as he puts the dirty blankets into the washing machine. His eyes keep straying to me, and he has a smile on his face, a smile that sends heat to my very toes.
I look around for something to distract me. Andy sits down on the couch and turns the channel on the TV, to some boring show. “Hey, I was watching that!” I protest, finally breaking the silence.
He smiles at me. “I’ll only turn it back if you sit with me.” I blush but climb onto the couch with him. He pulls me close and turns it back to the old cartoon. I cling to him, hiding as he rubs my back.
Part Three: Breakfast in Bed
Michael’s POV
I awoke slowly, comfortable despite a pronounced discomfort from-I feel myself grow hot at the memory of Andy inside me, despite my lingering languor. I blink, trying to clear the drowsiness from my eyes. Andy’s warm chest rises steadily underneath my cheek and hand, one of his arms around my waist. My hand on his chest twitches, and I absentmindedly stroke the boy beneath me, trying to distract myself from my rather embarrassing thoughts. To have begged like that…! And the things Andy said to me…that my-my come!-tasted like pleasure, and that I was sexy. It was a new thing, for me, to be called sexy like that. It was completely different from some guy at Hot Fuss calling me sexy, because when it was said there, it was more flattery than anything; Andy had said it like the word sexy was some sweet candy to savor in his mouth. And that mouth--!
Said mouth kissed me on top of my head, startling me. I hadn’t realized he was awake; I continued stroking his chest, though now I was doing it out of nervousness. Did he know that that had been my first time like that? With the afterglow gone from last night, I can’t help but feel self-conscious as my mind wanders. I feel his lungs fill and then empty as he lets out a sigh. Then his chest is rumbling as he says my name in a deep and somewhat hoarse morning voice. I shift so I can look up at him; he catches my face in a hand and draws me up to his lips, kissing me slowly, no tongue. I let my own tongue venture to seek passage through his lips, but they remain closed, blocking me out. I let out an involuntary cry at the denial, wanting to feel his tongue against mine. He only traces a hand down my side, touching enough to make me burn, but not enough to even nearly satisfy me.
Suddenly Andy has me pinned against our bed of blankets, his eyes bright as he stares down at me. I feel myself flush and I turn my head, avoiding his gaze. Should I really be so eager? It might… “Stay here,” he says quietly. I watch him get up, his nude body slender and beautiful in the semi-darkness as he pulls the fluffiest of the blankets over me. My eyes linger on his half-erect manhood, and then his round ass as he sidles into the kitchen. “I’m going to feed you your breakfast in bed,” he calls from the other room, and I feel myself growing hotter at the hint of mischief in his voice.
“A-Andy,” I say tentatively, “when are your parents supposed to get back? Shouldn’t we dress in case they-“
“Don’t worry; we have plenty of time before they get back.” I bite my lip-last time we only just barely had enough time for me to avoid whoever was returning to the house. “Do you like eggs?” he asks, poking his head out of the kitchen.
“Ah-only scrambled and drenched in ketchup.” I cling to the fluff of the blankets, feeling incredibly young and silly.
“And what do you say to chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry syrup?” My broad smile answers for me. “Of course,” he replies, shooting me with his own smile and disappearing back into the kitchen. Then again, he’s a little silly, making breakfast like he’s my mom or something. Or trying to be romantic…I guess breakfast in bed is romantic.
While Andy makes breakfast, I spy a remote for the TV and turn it on, flipping through the channels to pass the time. My attention isn’t really on the TV though, it’s on the soft music in the kitchen and the general noise as Andy moves around, and I imagine him scrambling the eggs, mixing up the pancakes, as the delicious smells of breakfast waft into the living room.
I’ve left the TV on a cartoon channel by the time Andy makes his way back to me, a tray in his hands. On it, a plate piled with pancakes, a jar of what must be the strawberry syrup, another plate with scrambled eggs, a bottle of ketchup, and a glass of white milk. “Err…Andy, I don’t think I can eat all of that.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, with that mischievous smile again, “I’ll help you. Now sit up there, against the couch.” I move, backing up until I’m leaning against the couch, and fold my legs underneath me, very aware that we are both still quite undressed. “Ah, Michael, not quite,” he murmurs, setting the tray down on the floor to the side. I inhale sharply as he leans forward and rearranges my legs so that they stretch out away from me, and pulls me a little away from the couch, settling a pillow behind me. “There, now,” he pushes my chest until I’m slouched against the couch, my legs sprawled in front of me, and all of me very exposed. I’m definitely fighting the heat spreading through me as he sends an appraising look over my body, and apparently liking what he sees. He leans down and carefully moves the tray of food closer to me, against my thigh. Despite my shyness, I let my eyes follow his movements, traveling over his body. I, too, like what I see.
I let out an audible gasp as Andy’s weight is suddenly resting on my legs, a leg tucked up on either side of me. “What--?”
“I told you, I’m going to feed you breakfast in bed. Is this okay like this?” Though it’s a question, Andy’s smirk is one that says he’s in control; I nod mutely. It’s definitely more than okay like this, as I’m sure he’s fully aware by my body’s reaction. I watch as he shifts to the side and picks up the fork, spearing a bit of the ketchup-drenched eggs. Without warning, the food is against my lips, and a bit of egg falls off of the fork onto my chest as it goes into my surprised mouth. Andy’s grin widens. “I’ll get that for you,” and licks it off my chest. I stare at him, mortified, but still… More egg, and this time it misses my mouth, leaving a trail of ketchup from my chin to my lips. Andy laves it away with his tongue again. “Stubble is so beautiful on you, Michael,” and though I want to tell him to stop telling me such embarrassing things, I can’t with his lips on mine.
It proves very hard to get through the eggs with Andy’s “help,” but I feel myself relaxing instead of being so embarrassed. Maybe a little too relaxed? “Andy!” I cry in dismay as the strawberry syrup drips off of a pancake and onto a particularly sensitive bit of skin.
“Oh, excuse me.” His eyes flash with humor and he leans in to kiss me. My arms wrap around his neck as our tongues sample each other’s mouths. I don’t know if I had ever imagined something like this before even in my dreams-I moan as I feel the sticky fluid poured onto me liberally between our bodies. It slowly runs down my body, and Andy pulls away from my mouth to catch the syrup before it drips off of me. I’m not sure which feels more delicious, the syrup or his tongue. He looks up at me. “I didn’t mean to spill it.”
“Really,” I state, my voice low. Finally unable to help myself, I spring forward and pin Andy to the makeshift bed. “Such a mess you made,” I growl, biting at his ear and neck. One of his hands pushes at my head until our lips are locked together. Pulling back, I ask, “Why didn’t you open your mouth before?”
“Because I had morning breath. Now I have breakfast breath instead. Yummy, isn’t it?” He bites at my lower lip and I nod. “And you,” he rumbles in a low voice, “make that syrup taste even sweeter.” He rolls us over, pinning me in turn, with his hands pressing mine against the floor, and resumes licking away said syrup. One of his hands releases one of mine to swipe up some syrup, spreading it onto my hard member. I close my eyes at the touch, feeling the pleasure well up, and then increase infinitely, or so it seems, as Andy’s tongue follows his hand, licking me like a lollipop. My free hand grasps at the blankets beneath me, while the other clings tightly to its captor as I’m engulfed. My breathing speeds and my body burns.
“Why,” I say breathily, “why do you always-always do that?” My question is punctuated by a loud, breathy cry, and a small moan from Andy’s mouth around me. His moan pushes me over the edge and I come, seeing nothing for a moment. As I gasp for breath, Andy returns to my mouth, and I can taste the syrup and-and the taste of pleasure, as Andy put it.
“Because I want to. I want to taste you, to feel and hear your reaction. And I also want to…” his voice trails off, and I feel a sticky hand under my ass, gently pulling at the cheek and feeling the cleft of the crack, and brushing my opening. I shiver. Yes, I want to, but the pain from last night…but it was worth it, wasn’t it? I nod and watch as the lube magically reappears in Andy’s hand, and he spreads it liberally over himself and around my opening. It’s sore, but he slides in much easier than last night, and my breath hitches as he slowly starts thrusting.
The feeling of being filled quickly obliterates the pain, and then I see stars as he brushes a spot inside me, and I let out a loud cry of pleasure. I lose the capacity to speak, caught between Andy brushing that spot inside me, and stroking my cock; I only let out a full-throated groan as I come so soon that I’m surprised by myself, though Andy comes just as quickly, coating my insides with his hot seed. We lay panting for a full minute before I feel the ability to speak returning. “Andy, oh, god,” I say weakly.
I twitch as he lazily spreads my come over my stomach, swirling it with the bright red syrup. “Yeah,” his voice sounds just as weak as mine. Another couple minutes pass, his hand resting above my naval, covered in the sticky pink mixture of syrup and semen. Suddenly his hand comes to life, dancing on my stomach, and then up my chest and to the side of my face as he pulls me into an unexpected kiss. It’s a short one, and Andy pulls away, looking at me, making me feel very naked again. After a short, uncomfortable silence, he murmurs, “We need a shower.”
I can’t stop my laughter. “Of course we do, look at the mess you made!”
Andy lets out a low chuckle. “So I did. But you helped.”
I playfully push him away from me. “It’s all your fault, don’t try to pin it on me! You better clean everything yourself, don’t expect me to help you!”
“Okay,” he grins, standing up. I squeak as he scoops me up into his arms. I blush and glare at him. “What, you said I have to clean everything myself. So I’m starting with you.” I open my mouth to reply, but he stops me with a kiss. Andy only laughs quietly as I grumble mindlessly in his arms as he carries me into the bathroom. He sets me into the tub and climbs in after me.
I feel so incredibly naked as Andy closes the curtains, shutting us into the close space of the shower, together, alone, and his eyes straying to me often. He turns on the water, and then steers me until I’m standing under a stream of warm water, my back to the showerhead so that I’m facing Andy. He kisses my forehead before starting to wash me.
“You know what I love about you, Michael?” he asks as his hands drag a soapy cloth over me. “I love your voice,” his voice is just barely audible over the noise of the water. “I love your eyes, and hands, and lips, and I love…” his hands close over my erect cock, “I love this,” he murmurs, stroking it. I hadn’t known that I could be so turned on like this, I thought vaguely as he jerked me to a slow climax, filling me with a languid pleasure. “But what I like most,” I strained to hear his voice now, it was so low. He washed away the semen on my body and quickly ran the cloth over his own body. “I love the way you dance more than anything else,” I barely caught it. He poured some shampoo into his hands and massaged my head with it, only giving himself a quick once-over. Quietly he continued. “You shine when you dance. You’re so free, and you let everything go freely.” We both stood clean as the water continued to stream onto us. I try to look up into his eyes, but the water prevents me. “I want, more than anything, to let you dance. And to see you dance just for me. But only if you want to.”
He reached and turned the water off, squeezing water out of his hair, and then pulling the curtain aside. I want to run as he starts drying me like a child, but…it feels good. Too good, really, but who would want to leave something so good? Quietly, I cling to him, hiding my face and trying to feel less exposed. He only kisses the top of my head and pulls me after him into his room, where he gives me clothes to wear as he dresses himself. Without a word, he goes back to the living room, with me trailing after him, and picks up the remains of our breakfast, and then I trail after him as he puts the dirty blankets into the washing machine. His eyes keep straying to me, and he has a smile on his face, a smile that sends heat to my very toes.
I look around for something to distract me. Andy sits down on the couch and turns the channel on the TV, to some boring show. “Hey, I was watching that!” I protest, finally breaking the silence.
He smiles at me. “I’ll only turn it back if you sit with me.” I blush but climb onto the couch with him. He pulls me close and turns it back to the old cartoon. I cling to him, hiding as he rubs my back.