Heart on the Run (16 page)

Earlier today at work, Xander and Sprocket were discussing the pros and cons of dating a chef. They both agreed fairly evenly that the pros were obvious—excellent food, top-rate kitchenware, and immaculate cleaning skills (in the kitchen at least, Xander added but wouldn’t elaborate). The cons were slightly trickier because Sprocket didn’t have as much experience, but they came up with a few die-hard ones—the need to exercise regularly or their pants wouldn’t fit anymore, the burden of having to try foods they’d never even heard of before, and the “do not enter” sign that was imaginarily placed at the entrance of the kitchen. Xander quickly explained that it wasn’t so much the entering that drove Dermot insane, it was the trying to actually do anything in the kitchen that played on the other man’s nerves.

He went on to share an example of when Xander decided he wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich…and ended up eating fresh ground peanut butter and homemade apricot preserves on baked brioche bread. The five minute sandwich took forty-five minutes instead—and that was only because Dermot had baked the bread that morning or else…

So yeah, Sprocket might be having a little fun with Chaz right now, but damn, did the man make it so easy. And this was the only thing he made easy for Sprocket so he would take advantage of it.

“
But I’m cooking for you tonight. I went to the store and picked up some scalloped potatoes—wasn’t sure if you like the four cheese blend or loaded so I got a box of each. I also grabbed some canned chicken because I make a great chicken casserole with crumbled Pringles on top. You’ll love it.” Sprocket set the bag down on the counter and turned to look at Chaz’s ashen face. “So where do you keep your casserole dish?”

Sprocket watched the war of emotions parading over Chaz’s face. His mouth flattened in a thin line then opened as if to say something just to tense back into the thin line. His eyes were expressive, crinkling in the corners as they darted all over the room before landing back on him and widening.

“
You’re laughing at me,” he exclaimed, pointing at Sprocket for good measure.

Sprocket shrugged. “Yep, a little…”

Chaz crossed his arms.

“
Okay, a lot. I wanted to test out a theory about chefs marking their territory.” Sprocket grinned.

“
Am I supposed to pee in the kitchen?”

Laughter ripped from Sprocket’s throat as he envisioned Chaz peeing on the appliances and counters. Chaz stood there indignant, but couldn’t quite hold the attitude in place and quickly broke out into his own chuckles.

When his eyes landed on the paper bag, the humor on his face subsided. “Canned chicken, huh?”

Chaz tried to peek into the bag but Sprocket swiveled his waist while raising it above eye level. “It’s killing you, isn’t it?”

“
Come on, Sprocket…I can have some chicken breasts ready in no time with a good Dijon glaze on them. I guarantee you’ll love it. On top of a bed of herbed risotto with pine nuts.”

No matter how much he longed to continue teasing Chaz, he had to admit his chef didn’t fight fair. Sprocket loved Dijon anything, and he’d even heard Dermot brag about Chaz’s risotto once when the sous chef wasn’t in the room.

Thinking of the waistline comment Xander brought up earlier, Sprocket accepted he’d have to take up jogging again, but that would be a small price to pay considering.

“
And fresh asparagus.” Chaz continued trying to entice Sprocket to give up his processed foods dinner idea.

“
When’s the last time you ate asparagus?” Sprocket asked.

Chaz tilted his head, evidently trying to remember the last time he’d indulged in the vegetable. “I don’t know, perhaps a couple of weeks ago. I just picked some up from the Farmer’s Market this morning when Dermot asked me to grab a few things for the dinner special.”

Dropping the bag on the kitchen counter, Sprocket dropped to his knees in front of Chaz and started unbuckling his belt.

“
Sprocket, what the hell…” Chaz squeaked when his dick was completely pulled out of his pants and boxers. “Um…what are…holy shit, that’s good…”

When Chaz staggered back, Sprocket immediately followed, cornering him against the fridge and cupboards, not allowing the rapidly swelling dick out of his mouth. He worked it quickly between bobbing up and down and circling his tongue around the crown. It took no time to get Chaz in the mood, pumping his hips back and forth, fucking Sprocket’s face.

The bitter taste of Chaz’s pre-cum coated Sprocket’s mouth, urging him to continue, to suck more out of his lover. Shit, Chaz was a thirst Sprocket would never quench.

When Sprocket massaged the underside with the tip of his tongue, Chaz rose on his toes, grasping Sprocket’s hair and pledging his allegiance to all that was good and holy.

Now, that wouldn’t do. Sprocket had to fix this little problem of Chaz still able to form complete—if not slightly babbled—sentences.

Sprocket wrapped his hand around Chaz’s sac, reaching out with his middle finger to lightly scrape the sensitive skin behind them before kneading the delicate balls. Immediately Chaz pistoned his hips at an accelerated rate, driving the head of his cock farther into Sprocket’s mouth each time until finally it bumped against the back of his throat.

Breathing deeply, Sprocket grabbed his lover’s ass cheeks and hauled him forward, not stopping when again the blunt object in his mouth bruised the back of his throat, swallowing around it until it popped through the restrictive muscles.

“
So good…yes…”

Concentrating on keeping Chaz lodged in him as long as possible, Sprocket breathed in through his nose and again swallowed. His throat constricted around Chaz and he moaned in response.

“
Holy…again…that…that, yes that…do that…again…” Chaz grunted, rubbing his crotch in Sprocket’s face.

Sprocket would hum the whole fucking “Star-Spangled Banner” if it kept Chaz making those delicious noises. Suddenly, Chaz wasn’t the only one whom this blow job drove crazy, Sprocket was squirming with desire and need.

As Chaz retreated out of his mouth slowly, Sprocket reached down and tried to unbutton his jeans, not the easiest thing one-handed. He didn’t have enough time to fight with his damn clothing before Chaz again fully seated himself in Sprocket’s mouth, all the way down his throat for the second time.

Fuck this, he thought, as he sucked in his gut and jammed his hand into his jeans, barely able to wrap his fist around his cock, but needing some sort of friction on it before he went insane.

Digging his fingers into Chaz’s ass, he kept his lover completely in him as he moaned around it again.

“
Sprocket!” Chaz shouted his warning before coating Sprocket’s throat with his load, his cock spasming with each delicious shot.

Not able to fully jack himself off, but in desperate need of release, Sprocket worried the head of his cock repeatedly until finally the pressure in his balls spread and he came in his pants like a teenager.

Chaz staggered back and ended up leaning against the opposite counter, his dick still hanging out of his pants. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

Sprocket smiled up at him. “You said we’re having asparagus tonight. That shit fucks with your flavor, so I wanted to eat my dessert first.”

“
In the kitchen, though?” Blinking, Chaz reached for the counter above Sprocket’s head and snagged the paper bag, looking in it.

“
Honey, this won’t be the first or the last time we do something in the kitchen. If you expect more restraint from me when it comes to you and that tight ass of yours, we definitely will have a problem.”

Red creeped up Chaz’s neck as he rifled through the contents of the bag. “Crepe paper, a hot glue gun, swaths of fabric? This isn’t food.”

When he was certain his legs could function again, Sprocket stood, grimacing at the wet feeling in his jeans. “Why would it be? I’m not a cook. But I am very good with my hands and thought we might want to hang out tonight and make some table decorations for the party.” He looked down at his covered fingers and half-grinned. “That is, after I get out of my underwear and maybe clean up a bit.”

Chapter Twelve

His bedroom looked like the Halloween store on Third Street came over for a cocktail, got bombed, and threw up all over the place. Plastic bags littered the floor, bits and pieces of costumes in mostly black draped over the furniture. He’d already abandoned a vampire cloak as too cliché, a werewolf mask as too hot, a Death Eater’s cloak and mask as too juvenile, and various other options that had looked good on a hanger and less appealing on him.

Unable to make a decision, Chaz did what he always did—called his mother. Now, Chaz stood in front of his laptop, turning this way and that to let her assess his latest outfit.  

“
Well, sweetie, who is that one supposed to be again?”

Sweetie. Baby. Honey.
Ever since he remembered, Mom had called him endearments, his father too. The sugary terms had embarrassed the hell out of him when he was a kid, but now he savored them. There weren’t enough tender words in his life, and he certainly didn’t go throwing them around. Some gay men did, some women as well. To them, dear and honey and darling were glitter. A little sparkle of affection, something to brighten the day or close the gaps between people and create an intimate feeling that covered loneliness like a Band-Aid. For Chaz, those words were diamonds. He couldn’t afford to scatter them in conversation with strangers any more than he could throw jewels in the Salvation Army collection kettle.

“
Zorro?” He looked for the tag and packaging to be sure. This was his sixth change, and Sprocket was supposed to meet him at Prudence’s at eight. Which meant he had an hour to choose a costume, shower, clean up this mess. His gaze landed on the bed and lingered. He had to clear up the costume debris and make his bed with fresh sheets, in case Sprocket wanted to come over after the haunted house…and— The thought of the man conjured an immediate physical reaction that nearly took his breath away. One day, he’d get used to it, the effect Sprocket had on him.

But meanwhile, his mother had a great view into his room, and his…

He willed the erection away, forced himself to focus on that. His mother. The coming night. The
not-date
with the man he loved.

Loved.

Because he had to be honest, at least with himself. Charles Darwin Millsworth, Southern gentleman, neurotic chef, statistic waiting to happen. Loved. Sprocket.

And he didn’t even know the man’s real name. He stood stunned…staring at the bed, shocked by the revelation he’d finally made to himself. Had he known before? Did it matter?

“
Wouldn’t Zorro have a sword, sweetie?” His mother sounded doubtful.

“
I like that one.” A white-haired man with a waxed mustache leaned into view over Dana’s shoulder.

“
Mom!” Chaz spun around aghast at the idea of a complete stranger viewing his room in such a disastrous state and himself all…discombobulated. “Who…”

“
Oh, sweetie. This is Marcel. He’s going back to the kitchen now to finish making me dinner.”

The white-haired gentleman smiled. “If you say so, my dear.” He disappeared from the screen, presumably to go cook dinner for Dana in the spare little kitchen of her elegant apartment.

“
Who was that?” Chaz demanded. He knew about his mother’s friends, but this one had appeared strikingly intimate. “Is that your new boyfriend for dining and playing cards and shopping?”

He didn’t want to recognize it, but there had been something less than innocent in that man’s hand on his mother’s shoulder. But maybe that was just because he had sex on the brain because he was seeing Sprocket, and—

“
My boyfriend? Sweetie, I’m too old for boyfriends. He’s my lover, if you must know.”

“
Okay,” he mumbled.