Breakfast

(This story is inspired by the work of a good friend. I thank her for the inspiration, and hope she'll be inclined to share her work as well, which was, in my opinion, far superior to the present piece. Thanks.)

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James paused outside the kitchen, closing his eyes.

The wonderful smell of cooking food met him, his mouth beginning to water. He couldn't remember the last time someone had fixed him breakfast - yet there was the smell of bacon and eggs, and beneath that, the rich aroma of brewing coffee. And he knew that it was all for him, made with loving hands, just for him.

James walked into the kitchen, and sat down at the table where a place was set for him, with the morning paper laid out beside it. James opened the paper to the business section and began to read, wondering where his lover was.

"There you are, hun. Thought I was going to have go up there and wake you myself." Louis' voice sounded, as the sleight young man entered the kitchen. He hurried over to the counter, and poured James a cup of coffee. James accepted the cup, putting it aside absently, and Louis turned back to the sizzling bacon.

"Come here, you." James said reaching out, and grabbed Louis by the wrist. "Have I told you how much I love you this morning?"

Louis smiled, "No, you haven't."

"Well, it's about time then, huh?" James pulled him down and began kissing him. It was a long, sensual kiss, and he loved the taste of Louis' lips and his mouth. Several moments later, breathless, Louis pulled away, saying, "The bacon's going to burn."

"Fuck the bacon." James said, but let him go.

James watched as Louis walked over to the stove, and began to work on the food. Louis was a beautiful man, slender, dark, and very graceful. Cuba was in his hair, in his skin, in his blood and in his words. Everything about him reminded James of the island, and he loved to lay in bed holding him close, his eyes closed, and smell and feel Cuba through Louis, dreaming that they were on the warm sandy beach together, making love. Louis felt James' eyes upon him, and turned back and smiled. James whispered, "I love you" and Louis smiled and wiggled his hips. He had the most incredible ass - small, and round, just begging to be cupped and squeezed, and James felt his penis stirring at the thought.

Louis served up their food, the eggs covered in peppers and salsa, with several large pieces of bacon, and perfect golden slices of toast. He carried them over to the table, and sat down next to James, and the two men ate their breakfast in silence, each one pretending to read the paper, but in reality watching the other. Over breakfast, they performed a thousand tiny seductions.

When Louis was finished, he pushed his plate aside, put down his paper, and watched James read. James pretended to continue reading for a couple moments, and then he neatly folded the paper and put it aside.

"So what will you be doing at work today?" Louis asked, and the way he said it made it sound like that was the most important thing to him in the world. Every morning, he asked it that way.

James began to tell him about the complicated account he was working on, and the new intern who was really messing things up, and would probably be fired by week's end, and other sorts of bland details. And as he did so, Louis listened intently, nodding and smiling at the appropriate parts. He also reached out, and massaged James' thigh as he did so, causing his penis to swell in his shorts.

"And they're continuing the construction on the freeway, so the commute is going to be a bitch." Louis' hand slid up under the loose fabric, and lightly touched his penis. It stirred, and James caught his breath, but kept on speaking. "So, I .... probably won't make it home until .... late."

"Oh, that is too bad," Louis said, taking the penis out through the fly of James' boxers. He was already hard, and pre-come quickly began to leak from its swollen tip. "Do they have any idea when they'll finish the construction?"

"Ah .... I don't know."

Louis' hand moved in a spiral, like the stripes on a candy cane. He would grip it hard at the bottom, and slowly move upwards, relaxing and tightening his hold on it as he moved. James closed his eyes, and his breathing grew heavy.

Louis, still working his penis, leaned forward, and gently kissed James' naked chest. He left a trail of kisses down his body, following the pattern of auburn hair as it descended into the waistband of his boxers. When he reached James' navel, he plunged his tongue in and worked it around several times, drawing moans from James. Louis then moved back up, and flicked his tongue against James' nipple, and James let out a gasp and opened his eyes. Louis looked up at him, smiled, and knelt back, closing his mouth around the nipple, stroking it with his tongue.

"Oh God, I love you." James gasped, "You're so fucking good."

Louis placed a series of kisses across his chest and then said, "Is there anything you want?"

"Yes. Do it."

Louis smiled at him, a teasing, playful glint in his eyes, and asked, "Do what?"

"You know. Do it."

Louis released James' penis, and moved back. "Say it."

"Oh God, suck it, Louis, please. I want to feel your mouth on it, I need to cum so bad. Look at what you've done to me." James' penis stood up between them, so hard it almost waved. It was thick, with veins weaving up it's length, and it had a bulbous purple head from the blood trapped in it. Pre-come was leaking down the sides of it, dripping into the patch of curly brown hairs at its base. It was larger, and harder, and thicker than he remembered it being for days. "Don't leave me like this."

"Alright," Louis said, and he pushed James' thighs apart, and knelt between his legs. He lowered his head, and extended his tongue, licking at the clear liquid that covered its head before engulfing its length within his mouth. He went all the way down to the base on the first try, a thing that amazed James every time he did it, and then he moved back up, until only the swollen head remained inside. Louis' mouth was warm, and wet, and as he traced the sensitive glans with his tongue, James' eyes rolled back and he began to moan. As Louis went down again, he let his hands explore the length of James' body, caressing his thighs, and moving up along his taut stomach. James wasn't sure what to do with his own hands, first clenching and unclenching them as fists, then gripping the seat of the chair, and finally moving them to Louis' shoulders, which felt right. He massaged his shoulders gently, feeling the supple play of muscles as the young man's neck and head moved with an incredible rhythm.

Louis released James' penis from his mouth, and began to kiss along its length, He ran his tongue across the veins, tracing them up and down the shaft. He would then kiss the tip of the penis, and lick the glans, like a kitten lapping at milk. Louis, seeing James steadily approach his orgasm, took the shaft in hand, and stroked it with increased vigor. He dropped his head down, and began to lick his balls, even taking one of them into his mouth. This was enough to drive James over the edge, and he began to come, shooting ropey lengths of semen into the air. Louis quickly rose and took James' penis into his mouth, closing tightly around the super-sensitive head, swallowing everything he had. James, in the grips of his orgasm, made sounds that were a combination of a whimper and a growl, and he almost cried when Louis took his penis back into his mouth. Louis stayed like that for several moments, keeping the penis in his mouth, until it shrank and slipped out. Then he rose up and kissed James on the mouth, a kiss full of heat and saliva mixed with his own semen. James returned the kiss just as passionately, pulling Louis into him, holding him close, wanting this moment to go on forever.

Louis vanished, and so did the smells of cooking food and coffee, and James realized that he was standing in the doorway of his own kitchen, so very different from the one in the dream. Laura, his wife of 16 years, shoved passed him, saying, "Don't just stand there gaping, you damned moron, you're going to be late for work."

James looked at his wife. She was an unattractive, indistinct blob of a woman, with dishwater hair, and cold, narrow eyes. He had never loved her, not even when they were first married, and over the years he had grown to hate her. He looked at the kitchen. It was small, cramped, dirty, and had an oppressive weight to it. There was never the smell of eggs and bacon and coffee to it, nothing for that matter, which did not come out of the microwave. He thought about his job, how boring and pointless it was, and how he had no one to share even the triviality of it with. And he felt his heart compress, and James began to weep. His wife just looked at him with uncomprehending contempt, shook her head, and went off to the living room to watch television.