Authors: Sean Michael
© 2003 by Sean Michael
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Sean Michael, 2515 Bank St., P.O. Box 40001, Ottawa, ON, K1V 0W8.
Printed in Canada.
Previously published by Torquere Press electronic edition / 2003
2nd Edition / June 2015
By Sean Michael
The Bistro was small, but crowded. Cloth tablecloths and napkins. Real flowers. Real candles. And the most delicious smells. Richard could understand why Damen had suggested the place; it promised to be a gastronomical pleasure. He glanced irritably at his watch. Even if the date itself was a wash.
Damen was forty minutes late. Perhaps it was for the best; their first date had been boring and he’d ended it on a light kiss and promise for a second date, despite his better judgment. This lack of promptness only confirmed that Damen was not in the cards for him.
He had just decided to go ahead and order without the boy when his cell phone rang. He raised an eyebrow at the number. “Hello, Damen.”
The boy on the other end apologized profusely, gave one sad excuse after another and finally hung up. Richard erased the number from his phone and returned it to his pocket. The little twink could go blow himself.
Just then a waiter went by with a couple of plates, the succulent smell evaporating his bad mood immediately. There was nothing like a well-cooked meal to brighten one’s mood, and, if it was served with style and flair, in a welcoming atmosphere, all the better.
A half hour later he was happily making his way through the veal piccata, almost moaning in orgasmic ecstasy. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had such a well-cooked meal.
A soft laugh caught his attention, a slim back and sweet ass standing at a table in the center of the room. Another low comment and the table broke into peals of laughter, a thin, fine hand motioning to the waiter and giving some soft-spoken instructions.
He briefly caught the man’s profile -- short-cropped blond curls, close-cut beard. The man was young, to own a place of his own.
The young man reminded him of someone...
He watched the owner move through the room, stopping periodically to check dishes as they left the kitchen, tweaking a garnish here and there. Richard never got a full-on look of the man until he turned, heading for his table, when he saw a pair of bright green eyes and high cheekbones.
Stephen Dean. Now there was a name from the past. It had to be... eight years since they’d parted, Stephen insisting Richard didn’t love him enough. Stephen had wanted some sort of white knight sweep you off your feet adoration. Richard still wasn’t sure what was wrong with steady and true, but he’d accepted long ago that he couldn’t give Stephen what he needed.
Stephen had done well for himself. Very well.
Stephen’s eyes widened as their gazes met and then a pleased smile crossed the thin face and he held out his hand. “Richard. How wonderful to see you! It’s been ages!”
Richard wiped the corners of his mouth and stood, taking Stephen’s hand in his own. Warm and dry and soft, Stephen always did have wonderful hands. “It has been awhile -- I see you’ve realized your dream, and very impressively, too, if I may say so.”
Stephen still blushed so prettily. “Thank you. I’m very proud of my little Bistro. Please, take your seat. Are you enjoying your veal?”
“It’s wonderful. I can only think of one other time I’ve had a better meal made of it.” He sat and casually waved a hand at the other chair. “Did you want to join me? Catch up on old times...”
“A better meal of it?” Stephen looked at the chair and shook his head. “I would love to, but I have a dessert course to check.” Those eyes -- so very bright and green -- looked over at him. “If you aren’t busy, I’ll be free in forty-five minutes and we can share coffee and a chocolate ganache.”
“There was this small cafe in Paris...” He grinned at Stephen, sure the younger man would remember it. “Perhaps it was merely the company I was keeping at the time. And yes, coffee and ganache sound delightful -- I’m flattered you remember.”
Stephen’s cheeks flamed. “You are a terrible flirt, Richard. Of course, I remember. Remembering people’s tastes is a knack. I’ll be back with your dessert once the course is complete. Let Jim know if you need anything.” Then he got a slow, flirtatious wink. “And there is something magical about Paris, isn’t there? The air maybe...”
He grinned as he watched Stephen’s fine ass move away. The evening was just getting better and better.
The forty-five minutes sped by, his waiter attentive, the atmosphere relaxed, the periodic glimpses of Stephen a delicious tease. His coffee arrived first, a gourmet blend that made his mouth water in anticipation for the sweet that was to go with it.
Within a few moments, Stephen, apron and whites removed, now dressed simply in a black turtleneck and black slacks, served a plate of chocolate topped with sweet crème and dark, rich cherries. “Your dessert, sir.”
He licked his lips, eyes on Stephen himself. “It looks delicious.”
“It ought to. I made it myself.” It was slid in front of him, then Stephen took the seat beside, Jim appearing with an espresso and placing it before Stephen.
“Will you share it with me?” he asked, sliding a small bit onto his fork and holding it out to Stephen. It felt good to flirt like this, with a man he’d never stopped caring for, really.
“Perhaps a bite or two.” Stephen leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the fork and tugging gently. A soft hum sounded as Stephen settled back in his chair. “Delicious.”
Richard smiled warmly. He almost would be satisfied watching Stephen eat the concoction and never having a bite himself. Almost. He had a weakness for sweets, which Stephen well knew, having kept him quite fattened during their time together.
He took a forkful of his own, eyes closing as the flavors exploded across his tongue. He moaned softly, all flirtation and teasing forgotten in the taste of the ganache.
When he opened his eyes, Stephen was sipping his espresso, grinning at him, eyes so familiar. “Good?”
“No, not good, Stephen. You were a fantastic cook when we were together, now... Good would be an insult.”
Stephen gave him a nod, cheeks pinking. “Thank you, Richard. I’m glad you like.”
“I do -- very much.” He took another bite and then another, managing to stop long enough after three to make some conversation. “So how long have you owned the bistro?”
“I bought the spot five years ago. I managed to save up enough money to fix her up, built a staff, selling pastries.” Stephen grinned. “It took a few years, but it was worth the wait.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Most people have to wait a lot longer than five years to reach the reservations only stage. You’ve done well. I’m impressed.”
“The mixture of commitment and luck. Well, that and being a certain actress’ favorite pastry chef.” Stephen’s eyes were bright, warm. “And you? You look spectacular, Richard.”
He smiled, trying not to feel too inordinately pleased. “I take care of myself.” He chuckled. “Try not to indulge in too many of these...”
“Oh, indulgence every now and again can’t possibly hurt anything.” One blond eyebrow arched. “In fact, it might be very good.”
He arched an eyebrow of his own. Stephen had improved his flirting abilities. “It depends on what you indulge in, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps, but I have found that one should feed their appetite.” Espresso finished, Stephen dabbed at his lips with a napkin, drawing Richard’s eyes to that pointed chin. Stephen hadn’t had a beard when they’d been together. “And I feel it’s important to feed yourself with the best.”
“Indeed.” Richard found himself staring at the way the light hair on Stephen’s face framed his mouth. He couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to kiss those bearded lips.
“Are we done making small talk or should I ask if you’re still a designer and whether you’ve been in town long before I invite you upstairs to my apartment?”
Sure, definite and laid right out on the table.
Richard’s cock went from interested to wanting just like that. “Yes, I am, two years and I’d love to.”
“Excellent. Now?” Stephen stood and held out his hand, no nerves, nothing but straightforward interest. The boy had grown up. Richard couldn’t wait to see how the lover had changed. He stood, making no effort to hide his obvious erection, and took Stephen’s hand.
Stephen led him toward the back of the restaurant and then through a door and up a long, incredibly narrow stairwell. Stephen stopped to unlock the door, him a few steps back, that sweet ass framed beautifully.
Some things hadn’t changed.
Leaning forward Richard slid his hand along one sweet cheek. The muscles beneath his hand rippled and then Stephen pushed back toward him. “Your hands always were the warmest I’d ever felt.”
The door opened and Stephen moved forward, drawing him into a jewel-toned apartment filled with tiny rooms, all laid out one after another. “We’re going to bed, yes? My couch is lumpy and my sheets are clean.” Green eyes looked back at him. “I don’t see any reason for us to play the games, Richard. I want you. You want me. Simple as that. Yes?”
He raised an eyebrow. And some things had changed a lot.
“No games, Stephen. Take me to your bed.”
Stephen nodded and took his hand, leading him through a fascinating and so Stephen home -- clean, open, sparse -- to the room that was dominated by a big bed. His hand was brought to Stephen’s lips, the action well known, so familiar. “I am glad to see you, Richard.”
He slid his hand along Stephen’s cheek, the beard tickling his palm. He brought their faces together. “Me, too,” he said softly as his lips closed over Stephen’s.
Stephen smiled and then those soft lips opened and the flavors of coffee and chocolate and crème and Stephen filled his mouth, slid into him like that quick, hot tongue that met his hunger equally.
He slid his hands around Stephen’s back, pulling him close, letting Stephen feel his need. Stephen made a soft noise, arms reaching up to circle his neck. Stiff heat pressed against his thigh, solid and needy. Moving his hands, he stroked the length of Stephen’s back until he was cupping that fine ass, pulling Stephen tighter against him, rubbing their bodies together.
He sure hoped Stephen wasn’t going to send him on his way after just one go, because he wasn’t going to last very long this time out. One slim leg wrapped around him, Stephen stretched out against his body, mouth fierce and focused as they kissed.
All the old feelings came flooding back, hitting him hard -- he’d loved Stephen, maybe not the fairy tale all-encompassing love that Stephen had been looking for, but he’d loved Stephen more and harder than anyone before or since.
He felt like a teenager, some kid who barely knew how to rub himself, coming so quick and hard, ruining his sixty dollar silk boxers just like that.
Stephen moaned against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair. “God, you... so good, Rich. Still feels so good.”
He chuckled, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m not usually so quick off the mark,” he murmured, sliding his hands up beneath Stephen’s shirt to stroke the warm skin.
“Mm... The chocolate counts as hours of foreplay.” Stephen’s voice was warm, playful, green eyes narrowing as he ran his fingers along the bumps of vertebrae, the hints of ribs. “Warm...”
His laughter was more relaxed now, and it made him a little breathless, how Stephen was the same and so different. More mature. “What can I do for you and can we move this to the bed before I really embarrass myself when my knees give way?”
“What you can do for me is lose the clothes -- I want to see you.” Stephen took a long, slow kiss from him. “And your knees aren’t the only ones shaking and my mattress is a lot softer than the floor.”
He cupped Stephen’s face, looking, seeing the same shape, the same green eyes. The beard was new, as was the maturity. He liked this Stephen a lot. He brought their mouths together again in a slow, exploring kiss.
Stepping back, he began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt.
Stephen just watched for a moment, then slowly began to undress himself -- watch, shoes, socks -- eyes never leaving his body for a second. When his shirt was unbuttoned, Stephen grinned. “Let me?”
Richard chuckled and nodded, remembering how scared and shaking Stephen had been that first time, that first touch.
This time, those hands weren’t as soft, weren’t scared, were steady and sure as his shirt was pushed away. The lips that brushed against his collarbone still felt damned good, though.
“You’re a beautiful man, Rich. Always have been.”
He swallowed hard. “Thank you, Stephen. You always were a pretty kid -- now you’re... grown up -- handsome and confident, happy. It’s a heady combination.”
Tilting Stephen’s head back up, he kissed Stephen again. He liked the way the beard felt against his skin -- different, a little scratchy, a little tickly. He liked the way Stephen’s tongue met his, played and explored, Stephen not waiting for his mouth to be taken but meeting Richard like an equal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an equal in bed with him. It made him hard again. Or maybe that was just the sweet flavor in his mouth and the warm hands stroking his skin.