2/18/2015

Story Orgy Presents: Like A Wolf Part Five #mmromance #storyorgy




Good morning all! Haven't you heard that there's a new Monday? I''m terribly sorry. I'm trying to get my s**t together, but I seem to keep missing Mondays. Welcome back to part five of Like A Wolf, my version of Little Red Riding Hood. Are you hungry?
I know someone who is!  





Like A Wolf

Feb 16: Damn it, he'd lost all track of time.
Writing his phone number on the whiteboard next to Hank’s fridge was pushy. Robert hadn’t done it easily, he’d stood with that purple marker in his hand, reading a three item shopping list over and over, trying to build his courage. Beef bones, cinnamon sticks, barley… 555-1789. Call Me. RR.
Robert wasn’t used to pursuing men. He’d dated a few, but they usually asked him out. He’d already made a bold first step, but that had been at Grandmere’s urging. Did he have the courage to pursue Hank Wolf? His beating heart and sweaty palms said no.
Grandmere. What would she say? She’s say go for it.
The memory of his octogenarian grandmother announcing that Hank was hot made him smile and gave him the strength to add his name and number to the board, directly under cinnamon sticks, barley and beef bones.
Once he’d added his name, he had to turn his back on the board. Those purple letters and numbers embarrassed him, chided him for b oldness and teased him with the impropriety of the things he wanted to do with Hank. He could no more stand in Hank’s pristine white and steel kitchen and look at that… practically a proposition, undeniably a plea for Hank to fuck him, than he could watch porn with his grandmother in the next room.
Fortunately the coffee maker signaled that freedom was within sight before regret could overpower desire and the message got erased.
After sleeping next to Hank- who’d been a regrettably perfect gentleman, Robby couldn’t imagine driving off and not seeing him again. He’d been attracted physically to Hank from the start, but last night… They’d had fun. Hank danced, which surprised Robby in and of itself, with a spare grace that drew the eyes of many other men. But His attention had never wandered. His eyes stayed on Robert, his hands caressed through clothes, this breath grew warm and moist when the dance brought them closer together. Damn it, they’d lost all track of time. They laughed, drank… enough to give Robby a few doubts about driving home, and all the while he never had the feeling that Hank wanted to be anywhere else, doing anything, or anyone, else.
Being the object of that intensity… It had been as intoxicating as the alcohol they consumed. Robert hadn’t wanted to say good-bye.
He hadn’t had to. That morning, Hank had driven him to the restaurant on his way to the farmer’s market, and come in for coffee, which had turned into an omelet, cooked of course, by Robert himself. After eating the meal with unrestrained, sensual pleasure, Hank had left and headed to the farmer’s market.
For the rest of the day, Robert was on cloud nine… his feet felt like they were floating above the ground. He went about his duties with a smile on his face and Hank’s dark eyes glinting wickedly in his memory. In the walk-in, he studied his supplies. He needed to come up with what Grandmere termed a “blue plate special” for dinner. What would Hank want for dinner? What in this giant cooler full of produce could be combined with the contents of his meat cooler to produce a meal worthy of Hank? Slowly, he reached for something green… a basket of zucchini… a bin of beets...the menu formed in his mind, an image of a plate full of home cooked, down home fare that Hank would never make for himself but Robby was sure he’d love.
And if Hank would love it, then why wouldn’t everyone else?
He set to work in the lull between breakfast and lunch, pickling sliced beets, sautéing mushrooms and zucchini, keeping mind his grandmere’s admonition that a meal should have something raw, something cooked, a starch, and a protein as well as a variety of color. Culinary school had taught him many things, but somehow, he’d forgotten the basics he grew up with. By the time the lunch rush began he had perfected a plate of seared pork loin, cornbread stuffing with golden raisins,
Hank’s phone call at lunch seemed natural.
“I want to cook dinner for you.”
Grinning widely at the unconventional greeting, Robert laughed into his cell phone. “Okay. I love your food. Aren’t you working tonight?”
“I am. But so are you. Come to my place at closing time. I found amazing things at the market this morning.”
Jealous. That was the clenching in his stomach and the fading of his smile for the first time that day.  He was jealous of the food? Jealous of salad greens and vegetables from a farmer’s market? Ugh. “Like what?”
“Everything.” There was a slight quiet. “You inspire me. I don’t know why, but when I’m with you… The creativity is amazing. I found mushrooms and baby carrots, a fabulous vintage of local red wine… Because of you, my food tonight is going to be amazing, and I want you to experience it.”
His glance dropped to the rag he was using to wipe the counter down, surprised to find it still moving. It felt like everything else in the world had come to a halt, especially his heart, as he absorbed the power of those words. Because of you, my food is going to be amazing. “Wow.” His voice shook. “I’m… how can I say no after that?”
“You weren’t thinking about it, were you?”
“Not really. I wanted to see you again, remember?”
“Then come to the house after you close up. There’s a key under the garden gnome in the azalea bed.”
***
“Beautiful.” Hank skimmed a hand over bare flesh. A swath of goose bumps rose in his wake, and the man on the bed shivered. Robert’s skin was as creamy white as he’d imagined...all over. No freckles or blemishes marred the expanse of white in front of him, just a few tantalizing red-gold hairs. “Are you cold?” He reached for a blanket even though he was reluctant to cover the sight before him.
“No.” Robert Arched, back bowing upward, wiggling as he settled himself more comfortably. “That feels good.”
“Good. I like it when you feel good.” He touched again, harder, stroking the muscles beneath the skin, liking the way Robert’s body was both soft and firm, yielding and resisting. “Did you enjoy dinner?” What the fuck? “I--” Am not used to seeking approval. He judged the success of his meals by the emptiness of the plates when they came back to the kitchen, and Robert Redding had cleaned every last drop of every sauce, every morsel of food from his plate with gluttonous joy. Just watching the man eat had turned Hank on, made him shift in his chair and adjust himself for comfort’s sake.
“It was wonderful.” Robert struggled, turning over with difficulty.  Hank eased up, rising on his knees slightly to give Red more room to maneuver. “Every bite of it seemed…” His creamy skin flushed and his gaze darted to the side. “To seduce me. To lead to this moment.”
“That’s what I hoped for.” It felt like a confession. It should have been a seductive nothing… the sort of thing you whisper into someone’s ear in order to get into their pants. But Red had shed his jeans easily enough, and given that they were poised on the brink of … getting off, he didn’t really need to be spouting sexy lines did he?
“You got your wish then…” Red looked up at him, big blue eyes intense and humid, moist lips parted. His chest heaved and his breath came rapidly. “I want you.”
Dismissing the strange intensity, the doubts, Hank smiled. “Good. Because I want this too.” He wriggled a hand in between their lower bodies, took Red’s cock in his hand and gave it a squeeze. It pulsed against his fingers. Red hissed, arching. “That’s good, huh?”
“Ve-ry.” Red responded shakily, clutching at his shoulders with one hand and grabbing for the sheets with the other. Pretty white teeth sank into the puffy bottom lip, Red’s eyelids slid to half-mast.
Hank tugged, sliding his palm up the smooth length, ignoring the throb of his own cock, the rapid beat of blood in his temples. “Is that how you like it? I want to please you.”
Red’s face showed clearly the struggle of comprehension, his lashes fluttering as he forced them wide. “Huh? I… ohhh.” His efforts to speak collapsed into a moan as Hank stroked him again.
The hand clawing at the blankets released, grabbed at Hank’s hip. “More. Come…” Red twisted, Hank stroked him some more, “God. Stop. Please. I… want…” He sagged down onto the sheets, gazing up at Hank with dazed, pleading eyes.
“You want to come?” He teased, squeezing the soft, spongy head of Red’s cock, soaking his fingers in the slick pre-cum. “Want me to make you explode?”
“No.” The hand on his shoulder pushed, the one on his hip squirmed between them. “I want you to come with me. I want us to come together.”
His thighs slid apart, creating a cradle that Hank slipped into easily. With a slight adjustment in his position, their cocks were aligned. Hank pressed down, Red thrust up, in a parody of the missionary position that created exquisite friction. Skin to skin, cock gliding against cock, moisture grew, lubricating their movements.
Faster, harder, Hank ground himself against Red. He let his eyes close, let the smell of sex and sweat overtake his sense. This was what it was all about. Pure, sensual movement. Growing, earth shaking pleasure. “Robert.” HIs voice caught… muscles tightened and released, a burst of sticky wet cum soaked them both.
“Hay-ank!” Robert cried out. His voice shook with effort, his body strained, fighting for more contact, more friction.
A flurry of movements followed, a sequence of events that Hank couldn’t separate from the welter of emotions that surged through him. Familiar physical pleasure… heat and tension and release that ebbed and flowed and shook him to his core. But also, sweet, tender… ice cream feelings that made him melt and shiver and blink in shock.
Soaking in the residue of sex, he blinked down at the sated Robert Redding, who gazed up at him with soft, glowing eyes and trembling lips. “That was amazing.” He whispered huskily.
Hank pried himself away before he got stuck forever. “Yeah. Lemme get something for that.” He mumbled, waving vaguely at their comingled semen on Red’s soft white belly. He walked… he made sure of that, to the bathroom for a rag, but it felt more like running. His heart raced like he’d just finished a marathon, and much as he wanted to blame it on the physical activity he’d just engaged in… he knew it was more like panic.
He breathed deeply, trying to get it under control, to gather some composure. For christ sake, they hadn’t even… Hank turned the water taps to hot, full blast and plunged a terry cloth rag into the stream. The pain of the hot water was the distraction he needed. He managed to keep his attention grimly focused on cleaning himself up by sheer dint of will power. Get cleaned up. Get Robert Redding out of the house… And grab a pad of paper because the ideas…
He could almost taste a salty sweet ice cream cake with dark raspberry brownies and a rich whiskey sauce… Glazed carrots…
Damn. “What are you doing to me Robert Redding?” He whispered to the man in the mirror, who looked as remarkably calm for a man whose insides were in turmoil.
From the front of the house a door slammed. Hank’s head jerked, the man in the mirror gave him a shocked glance.

“Honey, I’m home.” A deep voice called out, in an atrociously faked foreign accent. “Where are you? You moved the key from under Eghard.”






TO BE CONTINUED 

If you enjoyed my post, click on over to the rest of the Orgiasts and read more! 

1 comment:

  1. OH MY HELLACIOUS NO YOU DIDN'T!!!! AHHHH!!!! Hank Wolf has a LOVER?!?! AHHHH!!!! *crumbles into a sobbing heap* But ... but ... Robby. But ... but ... they're falling in love. *sobs* LEE BRAZIL ... YOU FIX THIS RIGHT NOW!!!

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