|
"You know, you have small feet." "Don't." "No, really, you do." A pair of pale blue eyes regarded the speaker over the rim of the Sunday paper, and the expression clearly marked the speaker as insane. Maybe even criminally. "What? What? Hey, you're 6'1? 6'2?" " *2*." "I'm 5'7...." "You're short." ".....any yet, my feet are almost the same size as yours. You, therefore, have small feet." "No, *you* have big feet." "Man, my feet are perfect. I have perfect feet. Perfectly formed, and just right for a guy my size. *You* on the other hand, simply can't admit that you have small feet for a man of your size." The paper was lowered and neatly folded - three times - and set down with a sigh. "We're going to discuss my feet, aren't we?" "It's just that they're - small." " *You're* small, Sandburg." "Well," huffed the younger man, "If you're going to get personal....." "You're denying that you're short?" "Not at all....you said I was small. I'm not. I'm short," and he rattled *his* paper to punctuate his remark. "Why are *you* allowed to read your paper while we discuss my feet?" "Um, because I can do two things at the same time and you can't?" Blair posited. "You - are - small." "So now you're getting snitty, because I can do two things at once, and you can't? And because you have really small feet? Jeesh." He got up and the perfectly stockinged feet hit the hardwood floor. "If you can't be nice, then I'm gonna go ----- bake something." Blair Sandburg ignored the snort that followed him into the kitchen and further ignored the subsequent rude remark. "That's my partner....small and when he's losing an argument, he *bakes*." "Are you casting aspersions on my masculinity because I'm gonna bake some cookies?", he tossed back, as he pulled out a bowl, checked the cupboard and then muttered, "almond butter, sugar, yep, vanilla, brown sugar, yep, baking chocolate, yep....." "Yes, I am. And.....those - ingredients....," his chin lifted a fraction, as he tried to spot everything Sandburg was setting out, "...would you be making your famous almond butter cookies, by any chance?" "Maybe, maybe not," he said, as he started measuring out the dry ingredients. "You should, um," Jim waggled a finger at the flower tin, as it started to tip over, "...wear my apron, maybe." Sandburg made a deft catch, and got a whuff of flour in the face for his efforts. He righted the tin, scooped out one and half cups and..... "You're going to....." "ACHOO!" "....sneeze." Blair got another facefull of flour. "God bless you. And your masculinity is definitely intact." Blair turned, smiled sweetly, held up one hand, wiggled four fingers and one thumb, then one by one, he folded each digit until only the middle finger remained *up*. He turned back, blew some *white* hair out of his eyes, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, and sifted the dry ingredients into the bowl. As he started to cream the butters together, Jim glanced over at his Sunday paper, then back to the spectacle in the kitchen, which now featured Blair wiping a almond buttery coated finger across his chin, and decided that the show in the kitchen would be ten times more fascinating than anything in the paper. He grinned as Blair turned off the mixer, checked his handiwork by sticking his nose inside the bowl, nodded happily, tossed in the sugar and turned the machine back on. He now had creamed butter and almond butter on his nose. Oh, yeah, this was *way* better than the paper. Hell, this was better than a Jags game any day of the week. And oddly enough, the knowledge that he was the one who would have to clean up the mess did nothing to dim his enjoyment. As the mixer mixed, Blair measured out the vanilla, his hips swaying to a beat only he could hear. A moment later, the vanilla was thrown in, followed by an egg. Oh, good. Here comes the best part....Jim hitched himself up and gleefully watched as Blair dumped the whole bowl of dry ingredients into the whirling blades...... A fine cloud of white powder shot into the air, hovered over Blair's head and Jim chuckled delightedly as the whole mess came down on Sandburg's curls. "Listen, Mr. Small Feet, if you think this is so funny, why don't you come in here and try it?" Jim sat forward and with one raised eyebrow, said, "Me? Bake? I don't think so. House rule # 42 clearly states that my job is licking the bowl." Blair was shaving the chocolate square into the cookie dough as he snorted and said, "To the baker - go the lickings." He shut off the mixer, unfastened the bowl, carried it over to the cookie sheet and started to form the balls. Jim narrowed his eyes, clucked, rose, and sauntered over to the counter. Blair didn't look up, he just kept rolling a mound in his palm, then dropped it onto the sheet. Jim feigned a yawn, fiddled with the salt shaker with his right hand, while with his left, he started a covert maneuver on the cookie bowl. Without lifting his head, Blair plucked up a wooden spoon and smacked two fingers just as they were about to dip into the dough. Jim quickly pulled the endangered hand back, shook the stinging fingers, bit back a moan, then casually walked over to the fridge, opened it, took out an egg, pivoted, cracked it open on Blair's head, held the two ends up over the curls, and let the egg dribble down....... Sandburg quietly positioned another ball on the sheet as egg white trickled down his face, then reached over to the dish with the butter in it, scooped up the remaining cube, turned and standing on his tiptoes, rubbed the butter into Jim's hair. He wiped his hand, and started to form another ball. Jim stood a moment, then reached back, reopened the fridge, fumbled until he found the tupperware container he wanted, pulled it out, opened the lid, sniffed the day old spaghetti, smiled, reached out one hand, pulled the collar of Blair's undershirt away from his neck, and with the other hand, emptied the spaghetti down his back. Blair wiggled slightly, dropped a ball on the sheet, reached across the range and picked up the carafe of Extra Virgin Olive Oil, turned, looked up at Jim, smiled ingenuously, hooked two fingers into the waistband of Jim's sweats, and poured the olive oil down...... Jim reached around Blair, scooped up two balls from the sheet, grinned right back, reached the hand down the back of Blair's jeans, and spread one ball on each ass cheek. Blair closed his eyes, sighed heavily, reached back, scooped up a huge handful of dough, reached under Jim's sweat shirt, and smeared the man's chest....... Jim's head cocked, his eyes scrunched up, and when Blair was done, he grabbed the rest of the baking chocolate, put it into a bowl, placed the bowl into the microwave, turned it on for thirty seconds, took it out, blew on it, dipped his hand in, then reached up under the *front* of Blair's undershirt, and rubbed it all over the young man's chest, smearing it down to his stomach......... Blair reached around for the flour tin, but a surprising move on Jim's part stopped him cold. Jim had lifted up Blair's shirt and was now licking the chocolate from his chest.....and he appeared to be - purring. Blair blinked a couple of times, felt his body moved back, until his back was resting against the oven.....he put out his arms, on either side, and held on.....eyes wide as saucers, then Jim was pulling his shirt over his head, and attacking his neck, so Blair, always one to go with the flow, shrugged and pushed Jim's over his head, and started in on the cookie dough.... He was barely aware that Jim had unfastened his jeans, or that hands were now kneading the dough on his ass.....but he sure felt good.....so good, he actually moaned as he licked.....and he wondered how cookie dough and olive oil would taste together....... Suddenly Jim went still.....Blair started to whine, but a hand over his mouth stopped him. "Ssh. Someone's here.....and I smell....he has a gun." Jim whirled around, eyes flicking over the room, trying desperately to remember where his weapon was.....but at the same moment, the front door crashed open and a man stood there, insanity in his eyes, a gun in his hand. "You're gonna die, Detec......", he stopped, as his wild gaze took in the two men in the kitchen. Jim moved, his arm pushing Blair behind him. He took two steps toward the man, Blair following him, peering over his shoulder..... "Listen, Colder, you don't want to do this. Cop killers, you know what happens to them.....", he was trying to stall, trying to find something to use, and he was so intent, he didn't notice a hand snake out around him, move under a jacket on the hook next to his arm, but he did hear the sirens, and he said, "Hear that? Sirens. Coming for you. You're a dead man, if you do this. Now just put the weapon down, and surrender." Jackson Colder stared at the tall man, covered in what looked like cookie dough, stared as if the man had scrambled his brains on drugs one too many times, but then his gaze fell on the shorter man, on the hand that peeked around the muscled arm......and to the sound of footsteps running up stairs, he slowly lowered the gun to the ground and let it drop. Jim was clearly taken aback. It had worked! He'd actually talked the guy into surrendering.... He stepped forward, ready to cuff the guy, when he remembered that his cuffs were with his gun....upstairs... "Jim, here you go." He turned, just as a pair of handcuffs thudded against his chest. "Uh, thanks, Chief." He caught them and as several men, led by Captain Simon Banks, ran up to the front door, guns drawn, he pushed Colder up the wall and cuffed him. Blair yelled out, "It's okay guys! We've got the suspect in hand." Simon stepped in, saw the man cuffed, his expression one of wonder, turned his attention to Jim, brown eyes widened, he turned to Sandburg, saw the gun in his hand, the flour in his hair, the butter on his forehead, chin and nose, the dough now caked to the hairs on his chest, and to the goo in his hair. He let out a deep breath, and said, "What the fuck is in your hair, Sandburg?" "Egg, sir." Simon nodded, "Egg, of course. I should have guessed. Egg." He sniffed, frowned....."Do I smell - olive oil?" Blair was putting his gun back into it's holster, which hung from the peg under his jacket and nodded, "Yes, sir. I poured it down Jim's......" Simon held up a warning hand, "I don't want to know, Sandburg....just ---- clean up this mess." Blair smirked, and was about to say something, when Jim, who'd just handed Colder over to two officers, said, "Yes, sir, right away sir.....Sandburg was just baking cookies, sir." "Not his Almond Butter cookies?" "Yes, sir." "Oh, well then, maybe I'll just stay, help out a bit, the men can take Colder to the station, it's Sunday, the reports can wait." And he walked over to the bowl, leaned down and sniffed happily. "Uh, sir, you probably don't want to stay....," Blair said. Simon turned, as Blair picked up his undershirt and let one eyebrow rise..... The light dawned, and he actually paled under his dark skin, then ahemed, clearing his throat and saying, "Yes, you're undoubtedly right, and I'll fill you both in on Colder tomorrow, for now, well, we'll just - clear out?" Blair nodded sagely, "Yes, that would be best." Simon backed out, waving the other officers back with him, one of them pulling the broken door shut, trying to get it to close, but in the end, settling for letting it rest against the doorjam. Jim hadn't moved. He was still staring at the jacket and the gun resting underneath. "Damn," he whispered. "What's wrong, Jim?" Blue eyes rose, resting on Blair. "You. You were holding your gun on him, right?" Blair nodded, puzzled. "Damn. I thought I'd talked him into surrendering. But he was just reacting to your gun." Blair shook his head, closed his eyes, and held up his arms in helplessness. "I swear, no matter what I do, it's not right." Then he opened his eyes, put his hands on his hips and said, "Tough cookies, Jim. Deal with it. Now, can we pick up where we left off, or is this going to prove too traumatic for you?" Jim scratched his head, getting fingernails full of butter, sighed, and moved to Blair's side. "I guess we could continue.....but this *Blair being a cop* thing is gonna take some getting used to, you know? I mean, you're really my back up now." "Poor baby. Now get a life and clean up my chest, pronto." Jim gave a crooked grin, leered a bit, and bent his head......"I don't have small feet. And what about the cookies?" "Fuck the cookies, just get this dough out of my chest hair......and maybe I'll let you lick the......" "Your ass?" "Maybe. Just maybe. Now, god dammit, I'm sticky, I'm horny, and you're dick is covered in olive oil. Now do something with it." So Jim did. But first he was a good boy and cleaned Blair's chest, and damn if he didn't start purring again, as his tongue lapped up the wonderful taste of Blair, mixed nicely with Almond Butter Cookie dough, and as he licked down to Blair's stomach, and dipped his tongue into Blair's navel, then down on his knees, hands pulling the jeans down, then gripping Blair's hips, and at the last minute, he reached up, dipped into the bowl, smeared Blair's erect cock with dough and started to lick it. He wasn't a bit surprised to see Blair lose all semblance of being human at that point. He chuckled and took Blair in......deeper and deeper, his fingers now digging into Blair's ass, pulling the pliant body closer, smiling around the hard, velvety mass in his mouth, as nothing but nonsensical sounds issued from the intelligent mouth, and Blair was thrusting hard, and then he was screaming, and coming, and finally collapsing over Jim's shoulders. He lifted the pudding body, carried him over to the couch, dropped him unceremoniously, then dropped down on top of him, noting the silly grin on Blair's face, the half closed eyes, and he took Blair's right leg and threw it across the back of the couch, and smiled as the left leg wrapped around his waist, and a heel dug in, and with a little help from a surprisingly aware Sandburg, his own pants were lowered enough and using everything, dough, oil, cum, whatever, he prepared Sandburg, watching his face, watching as he came alive, as his cock danced awake, and watching it as he entered him, slowly, watched the eyes widen, the mouth drop open, the tongue snake out, run over the bottom lip, and he dipped his head, captured that tongue, drew it into his mouth, sucked on it, even as he began to pound into Blair, then he shifted, and felt Blair's hands pulling him down, even as his body jerked up to meet each of Jim's thrusts, and he concentrated on the feel of skin, on the sounds of their lovemaking, of the couch as it groaned under their weight, of their flesh, meeting, and mostly of the sounds of Blair, the lack of words, hearing only grunts, and hissing, and moans, delicious moans, and it seemed that suddenly Jim was trapped by an octopus, as legs, arms, hands, all grabbed, squeezed, explored, pushed, pulled, manuevered, and his own hands slid under Blair's hips, under his ass, and brought him up, as he thrust deeper still, and Blair's head fell back, his hair long and loose, and Jim couldn't ignore that throat, stretched, taut, and his mouth fastened on the side, and he sucked, and bit, and sucked again, and Blair shuddered, and Jim felt every tremor, through his fingers, his skin, his mouth, and Blair arched up and his cock jumped and started pumping, and finally one word was ground out......"JIM.........", and Jim felt his own climax, and he captured that mouth one last time, felt Blair's breath enter him, and that did it, he pounded out his climax, and collapsed on top of the man below him. 69696969696969696969 Blair felt the wet.....a tongue, on his chin, then his nose......he opened one eye and found himself staring up at Jim, who was about to lick something else.... "hi. what are you doing?" "Cleaning your face." "oh. thank you." "My pleasure. I finished the cookies. Took them out of the oven a few minutes ago." "so talented." "Um.....and my feet?" "uh, well.....you know what they say about men with large feet?" and at Jim's wary nod, he continued, "they've got it wrong. All wrong. Small feet - large......" "Yeah, yeah, Sandburg. And what do they say about men with perfect feet?" Blair quirked one eyebrow and asked, "Surely, you know the answer?" "um, yes......perfect....mmmpht." A moment later..... "Didn't you think it was brilliant of me to pour olive oil down your front?" "Um, yes......quite." "Fortunately, a little olive oil goes a long way...." "Um, yes, it does." "I'm hungry." "No way, Chief. There is no way you're hungry." "Yes, and I feel like.....chocolate cake, and maybe........some more - spaghetti. You finished off the leftovers. You rat." "There's still some left....right about - here, " and he leaned over Blair's neck and lapped a bit of sauce still on his shoulder. "Maybe I'll just settle on a - cookie." "Good idea. And do we have milk?" "No, but we have - cream." "Sandburg, you're incorrigible." "Yep. Let's eat." Finis - recipe follows in epilogue
Recipe: Choco-Almond Butter Cookies 1 ½ cups flour 2 tsps baking powder 1/8 tsp salt ½ cup butter - softenend ½ cup almond butter - softened (peanut butter may be substituted) ½ cup *each* - granulated sugar and firmly packed brown sugar 1 tsp vanilla 1 egg 1 square (ounce) semisweet baking chocolate - grated
Stir together flour, baking powder and salt in a bowl, combine thoroughly. Set aside and preheat oven to 375. In a mixer, combine butters, beat until fluffy. Add sugars, beat until well combined. Blend in vanilla, then egg. Beat until fluffy. Gradually add dry ingredients, beating until well blended. Stir in chocolate. Shape dough into 1 inch balls. Arrange 1 ½ inches apart on ungreased cooking sheet. Flatten each with a fork. Bake until cookies are lightly browned and feel firm to the touch, about 10-12 minutes. Transfer to wire rack and cool. Makes about 42, 2-inch cookies. Then get out of the way. Thanks Griffin, for the challenge and the recipe ideas!
|