Steak and a Blow Job Day

"A little. He's introduced me to what he calls starter ones, Speyside. Just, if I only have one or two a month, I'm not going to become an expert like someone who has a couple most nights."

"True, true. Right. One you might both like, then. This 18-year-old Aberlour. That's on the Spey."

"I know."

"Good. It's from a sherry cask. Should compliment the rest of those -- the only really similar one is that, there, nearly empty."

"Cunning deduction! Thank you so much. You've been really helpful."

"You're welcome, lad. All part of the service, sir. I always live in hope of acquiring new customers. Tell me. How is Mr Cullinane?"

I drop my phone on the counter. How does this bloke know I'm Adrian's partner? "He's, he's well..."

"Good. Seems to have discovered some joie de vivre over the last year, year and a half. Don't suppose you'd know about that? Mm. Well. Give him my regards. Maybe see you both at a tasting at the Society some day, hm? Enjoy the bottle. You should, both of you."

I mumble my thanks and leave, stunned that the guy has recognised Ade purely from his collection.

Adrian, meanwhile, has acquired the largest pair of steaks I've ever seen. "They're sirloins," he warns, "not fillet or côte de boeuf."

"Oh noes, how will I cope?"

"Better than me, with your kids-of-today 'leet speak'," he mutters, all crotchety old man, only it's mostly an act.

He's got chips and sauce and all too. I'm looking forward to tomorrow, already. Glad I only work in the morning, then uni in the afternoon. Means I can be home early. Ade works from home a lot, so I try not to distract him too much.

"Evening," I say as I return.

"Evening, love." He lets me kiss his forehead while he cooks.

I think about saying 'happy Valentine's Day', but that sounds way too twee. I did make him a wee card. A sketched outline of two men, that's all.

Didn't know what to say. I'm not good at words or writing like what he is. I left it at 'Adrian. Love Dan.' He'd probably freak if I added bad poetry, anyhow. I left it on the counter when I headed out early this morning.

"You go have your shower, pet; food'll be nearly done when you're back."

I drop my towels in the bathroom.

There's a crimson envelope leaning against the toothbrush holder. Where I'll find it.

Inside is a commercial card, again with two guys in shadow on it. Almost the same postures as mine, which is funny, seeing as he'd not have had much choice, looking for gay cards. A mate married a man a while back; he got eleven identical congratulations cards...

I'm insanely curious to see what Adrian will have written.

I can safely say I'm gobsmacked.

'Dearest Dan,

I love you more than anyone alive.' There's a blot on the full stop, as if he's thumped the pen down extra hard. Emotion, or just his shit handwriting?

'You loving me makes me the luckiest man in the world. I don't deserve such a warm and witty and generous and sexy and gorgeous and loving and wonderful and clever and amazing and fantastic and sexy' (the last word crossed out - repetition) 'great and fabulous guy. I'll keep trying to be the man you deserve.

A.'

Along the bottom edge of the card are neat letters: P.T.O.

I turn the card over. In small writing on the back, he's added, 'Show this card to anyone, or mention it, and I'll kill you.'

I laugh out loud. It's so him. A mixture of emotional extremes, tied together for me, that's my man. I'm still chuckling when I put on smarter clothes and find him in the kitchen to give a huge kiss, whether he likes it or not.

Adrian spanks my arse with a spatula and tells me to get drinks, then stay out of the way. He brings vegetables, then chips, a jug of sauce, then carries two plates over, looking embarrassed.

My grumpy git has cut the two steaks into heart shapes. I'd been wondering why he hadn't picked his favourite cuts, but bone-in wouldn't have worked! He gives me the neater one, the cut edges exposing the rich pink interior under perfectly-seared crust.

His is a bit lopsided. Sort of appropriate. He scurries back to the oven before I can say anything to him, then returns, looking amused.

He plonks a tower of onion rings in between us. I love onion rings. They're held at the bottom by some sort of red skewer, and as I grab three off the top, I realise.

"You've repurposed my skinny butt plug as a serving structure? Are you fucking mental?"

"Aye. You know that." But I'm laughing, and his lips are twitching at the side, and we're good.

"I wouldn't get this in a restaurant." I slide another onion ring off the red plastic cock, as erotically as you can do anything with a piece of onion in deep-fried batter.

"No. It took ages to sort the rings by size. The small ones are all back in the freezer."

For some reason, that has me snorting beer up my nose, I'm corpsing so much! I recover while my steak is still warm, thankfully, and tuck in.

It's a glorious meal.

"You're great, you are. Whatever you see in me, you deserve it all, mate," I assure him.

He's blushing, sweeping his hair back, and it's adorable.

"Aye, well, love, you don't get any dessert or that."

Now there's a feed line... "That's fine," I tell him blandly. "I'll have you as my dessert. It is Steak and a Blow Job day, after all."

"Was kinda wanting to suck you too. But that could work. Actually, I did pick you up a cheese..."

He knows my love for a good blue cheese. It's a quarter of a Cropwell Bishop Stilton, firm and heavy in my hand. I cut an inch off the nose -- fuck manners -- and close my eyes to enjoy. Mm. It's even tastier than a good cock. Scratch that; just different.

'Picked up something for you, too."

"Oh, man! Oh, you clever, sexy gorgeous boy! Ha! Right, I'm taking this and a tumbler to the bedroom." He rubs the boxed bottle up over his crotch as he turns to leave the room. "And you! Now!"

I hardly needed bother get dressed, just to protect my groin from the gravy. I strip off as fast as humanly possible, transfixed by the sight on my bed.

Adrian's lying on the navy bedding, cobalt-blue shirt opened all the way down, trousers vanished. He's stroking himself through his little briefs, gazing at me. Wanting me, not just because he's a filthy little slut, but because he wants me, insecure moods and all. I'm tempted to see if an onion ring fits over his cock, but I ate the lot.

I leap onto the bed and run my hand all up his just-furry leg and over his warm chest, tapping a cute nipple as I snuggle up to the guy.

Our bodies fit together well, no matter that I'm five inches taller, and we kiss and cuddle like a pair of teenagers, only with a bit more control of our jizzing, now. Doesn't stop me rubbing my hand and groin over his, and loving feeling a wet spot where he's leaked into his pants.

He sucks my earlobe as he starts moving his hands all over me, then purrs in my ear with his unexpected bass voice and sexy Northern Irish accent. "I wanna suck your cock, queer boy."

As if I wasn't craving it already. It's how we met. His friend Laura posted an ad for him, with the words 'Desperate to suck cock' and an address in the same building. I was on his couch with my flies open in under five minutes!

"Good. Do it."

He turns himself about, flinging those great cyclist thighs near my face, and his face where I need it.

He gets an elbow between my legs, his chest over my hip, and his mouth is aligned perfectly above the tip of my cock.

I turn a bit to the side so I can kiss the end of his cloth-covered cock, damp and reeking of him, sweat and pubes and that scent of his glorious arsehole, not washed all day but clean enough. He writhes against my face.

I would pull his pants down and get my face in there, but I'm being a tad distracted.

I've had a lot of penises in my mouth in my life. I've got perfectly competent at sucking them, too, giving guys pleasure while I enjoy their thickness between my jaws and their taste on my tongue. All great stuff.

Adrian, however, sucks cock as a hobby.

After twenty-odd years of it, the guy is a fucking master.

All his mastery is now being applied to my dick. He's got my head rubbing against the hard ridges behind his upper teeth, just enough spit to keep it sliding, my sensitive tip touching the back of his mouth. That bit under the cock-head, that's all sensitive too, he's running his tongue round and round, and it's amazing.

He's got my shaft in a good grip, holding it just where he wants -- I want -- making such exquisite sensations as he laps his tongue in such hidden places -- oh, yes...

I know I'm whining when he pulls away to stop me coming too soon, but I don't care. Communication is crucial; a false front always leads to crap sex. Or just not as good as it could be.

He's taking a break from stretching his jaw round me, now nibbling up and down my foreskin, using it to rub my head with, protecting it, which is what it's there for, not just to provide Ade with velvet-soft fun bits of me to slurp on for hours.

I'm not exaggerating about the hours, neither.

His sweet strong lips on it, on my tip, his face lying on my groin -- it's so good. I could so happily let him get on with this for ages.

No reason to hurry, so I just relax and let him play. I turn my head to nuzzle all round his junk. The cotton covering him is getting a larger damp patch. Perfect scent to inhale as I close my eyes and let Ade do what he wants to me, keeping me at a point of perfect pleasure, not too much, never dropping down.

It's been a long day. I just enjoy the feelings. Until Adrian decides it's time to step up a bit.

He swings round, gets my head back in his mouth, claws his hair back off his face, and looks up from between my legs, him all possessive on all fours, chin raised as far as my cock will bend to let him. He mumbles.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Oldest joke in the world, never gets old.

He slips my sloppy cock out of his mouth for a moment, and rudely sticks his tongue out at me. Then he gets stuck in.

Rather, he drops his head down, diving down so my shaft drills up and up into his mouth, past the resistance of his hard palate, to the soft bit. Basically, he's got me swallowed. He makes groaning noises of pleasure that vibrate all down my cock, and I'm more aroused, unable to stay still.

I have to start moving.

I don't want to choke him, only I do, I need to, I have to move, I have to restrain from thrusting my cock halfway down his cocksucker throat. God, it's so good, I need to...

Adrian raises his head off me a bit, so I'm only in his mouth, stares at me, meeting my eye, and pulls my cock to one side so he can growl words.

I get the intent. His words are, probably, "Fuckin' bring it!"

He soothes my whole length with a warm suck, gets his teeth under my head to really get me on edge, my frenulum scraping slowly, not-quite-but-almost painful over his lower incisors, so I'm squeaking as it's so intense, begging for... More? Relief? Both?

All those.

Which is when he sinks down over me, taking my long cock right down, me feeling the bumps of his tonsils, his tight gullet all round me as he shows off his deep-throating skills -- not showing off, just using, taking me, like I'm fucking his arse, he's encouraging me to take him so deep.

It's that thought that has me starting to lose it.

Knowing how he craves it, I let myself go, bucking up into his neck, pushing, thrusting, shoving against the back of his mouth and into his hot squashed flesh there, gagging him, making him gag, clawing at his hair, wanting to hold him, touch him, push myself into him...

"Aaah!"

The bastard has done a push-up to escape me fucking his throat, and blows over my wet dick, to make it shiver in the cold. I'm not going to come in the next minute, now. The fucker.

"Want it, too," he mouths, saving his voice until his airways recover a bit.

I'm not much for thinking, given what he's been doing for the last half hour, but he ensures I don't need to, ripping his pants off -- that damp patch is large, now, and would smell grand, but I'm not going to reach for them given he's throwing his groin into my face.

We're both a bit more on our sides, now, my cock back in his mouth but less stupidly deep, but it means I can take his into my gob.

It's a change of pace, when you're both sucking each other, sort of magically coordinated as neither rushes or pressures the other, a kind of silent communication.

It's sex. Got your cock inside a tight wet hole that's squeezing and loving you? That's sex. Oral sex counts, don't ever think it doesn't.

I hold Ade's cock to help slow him down a bit, help me not choke on it, but mostly to try to prolong the experience. It feels right, holding my man's most intimate bits, making him this happy. I don't want him to end it before we have to.

He's squirming, his little arse wriggling so his hairs and balls scrub all over my cheeks and chin. His cock isn't big, which means it fits in my mouth easily, no strain when I want to just hold him between my lips forever, making him make those little sounds and gasp those short breaths.

I'm making noises too, groaning as he licks me in the right places to get me to the edge, one hand cupped round my balls, a sneaking finger stroking that suede-soft skin behind them.

It's getting too much. I want to trap his hands between my thighs to hamper him, but feeling him there, muscle pressing his fingers, it just sets me off.

One big suck and a big cold puff of breath over my end, and I'm out of control, jizzing all over.

By the time I notice anything again, I realise I have a face-full, too.

Good, that I didn't notice. If you've got the wits to tell that you and your partner are coming simultaneously, then it's not as great as it could be, sweeping your brain of everything for a minute.

I wipe my face on the back of my arm, and lick it up.

Ade's lapped up half my come, slurped some up, but offers me the chance to lick his hands clean. So good.

He comes back to rest his head on my shoulder. It's all loving and nice.

We stay snuggling for a good while. I won't tell anyone.

"Ah, mega, that was! Let me open this bottle you got me..."

"A good Steak and Blow Job Day? I liked the card, by the way," I tell him. He'd panic if I insisted on telling him how touched I was.

"I liked yours, too. Fine art. Mm, that is good! Have a wee sip! The Day? Well, now, I think we exceeded tradition. Not only do we have steak leftovers for breakfast, but we had two grand blow jobs!"

"Hell, yes. See, another reason to be gay. Steak and Sixty-Nine Day!"

Ade considers arguing for the charms of women and going down on them too, but he's never going to convince me, so why bother?

"So what will we do," I ask, "when those men have their Steak and a Blow Job Day next month?"

Adrian gives me a hard stare. "Is your head cut? More steak, more blow jobs, of course! Straight men do have some good ideas.. "

I get him to create a reminder for our next Steak and Sixty-Nine Day. Or S69D, as Ade types cryptically into his work calendar. "Should do it every month."

I nod, as if impressed by the plan and commitment. "Hit 'Recurring Event'. Sorted. Maybe add some fucking, too."

Ade agrees. "Definitely a perk of being queer. The great fucking."

"My cock, your arse. Best part of being gay."

"I did tell you! You should listen to your elders more."

I shove him over the arm of the sofa, and fuck him until he shuts up.

About a minute after I've filled his sweet tight arse, he pipes up with "What about Sex and Sushi Day?"

It doesn't matter what we call it.

It works for us.

-

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