If someone had told me when I was twenty-one that I would be spending my golden years in some podunk little town with a thriving business and a same sex partner—I probably would have laughed...well, first I'd have punched them and then I would have laughed. For anyone to think that I, the great romancer Napoleon Solo, would be cooling his heels in anything other than a booming metropolis was insane and to even suggest that I'd touch a man sexually... well, that's just crazy talk.
And yet, as I wiped down the mahogany bar of my wine tasting room, I found myself strangely at peace and content beyond words. The pride of ownership was something I'd never really experienced before opening Vinea. I'd built this with my own two hands and realized now that it meant to me what Taste meant to Illya. It was something so important, so connected that it was a part of my very being.
Then there was my partner. There aren't really adjectives to accurately describe the man and for each one you mention, a contrary one also applies. He's a walking oxymoron of aloofness and passion, although I'm one of the chosen few who actually get to experience that passion. I gave up trying to understand the magnetism that draws me to him. Some days, it's all I can do to keep from crawling all over him—those are the bad days. The good ones are when I do.
The front door opened with a jingle and Janine stepped in whistling a happy tune—by the Bee Gees, I think. Frankly, I have a hard enough time keeping up with Rocky's ever-changing roster of ABBA tunes and I've been living with those for years now.
"Ready for some lunch, boss man?" Janine rounded the counter and glanced at the shop floor. There were a few customers wandering down the racks of wine. It was still too early for most to want to approach the wine bar yet, but that would change within the next hour. By then, Hillary would be in as well. I usually spent the afternoon off the floor, using the time for dealing with paperwork, paying bills, and if I was really lucky, fucking my partner.
I grinned widely at the thought. This morning's early hour's bout had seen him as the aggressor, a rare event. He usually preferred to take the more submissive role in the morning, but I was always open for exploring other options.
"Right on time, Janine." I grabbed a couple of bottles of a pinot grigio that I'd come across the week prior. I was pretty sure this was going to be the find of the month and wanted Illya's opinion before bringing it into the restaurant. To say it was being offered by a five-star restaurant would be an excellent selling point, but not if it compromised Taste's wine list.
Walking back to our house across the parking lot that Taste and Vinea shared, I paused to enjoy the still cool spring air. The summers in Jackson could be brutal, the winters cold, but in spring and autumn you couldn't get closer to Eden.
When I entered the kitchen, Illya's back was towards me, but I could tell he instantly knew I was there, just as I knew the moment he walked into a room. It was that connection that had first made us partners, then close friends, and eventually lovers.
I set the wine on the counter and approached him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him tight to me. I nuzzled his hair—an amazing aphrodisiac, at least for me—and he tilted his head obligingly so that I could kiss his neck. He pushed the pan whose contents he'd been stirring off the heat.
I licked the soft skin, savoring the sweaty saltiness of it as if it were a fine wine. Well, to be honest, to me it was. I loved the way he tasted as well as the way he responded to my touch. Letting my hand slip to his groin, it wasn't a surprise to feel him already partially erect. Yes, I am known to have that effect on people...well, at least on my lover.
"Voulez vous," I whispered in his ear, licking it and sucking on his ear lobe. "La question c'est voulez-vous?" Yeah, okay, so it's from an ABBA song, shoot me.
But I wasn't in a hurry, not yet at least. I let my tongue, lips and teeth pay homage to his neck, ear, jaw, any place they could reach without him turning in my arms. At the same time, I kept up the massage, feeling Illya's dick growing harder in response to my fingers. I let them dip down to fondle his balls and heard his breath catch. Cold and unresponsive, my ass, some of the naysayer operatives should see him now...no, probably not. Then I'd have to kill them—this was for my eyes alone. I bit down on a corded muscle in his neck and he ground out my name, almost unwillingly.
I smiled and spun him, pushing him away from the stove—you never make love where there is the possibility of being splattered with hot liquids or food. Likewise, I avoided the counter where sharp knives like to lie in wait for me. But the pantry door was safe and that was my target. I trapped Illya against it, feeling him press against me, struggling instinctively to free himself. Dominate or be dominated, that was our style and Illya never surrendered without a fight. Not this time; he was stronger, but I was larger and it wasn't really serious combat. I caught his mouth and ground my pelvis against his. Still, frottage was not what I had in mind.
Through the thin material of his tee shirt, I felt his nipples respond to my pinching fingers, growing hard, my touch eliciting small mews of half pain/half pleasure from Illya's throat. Then I dropped easily to my knees, sliding down the waistband of his sweat pants, those insanely old and ragged but beloved sweat pants, and sucked him into my mouth before he'd even had a chance to register that I was no longer kissing him.
He'd always fought me to this point, insisting that we move somewhere else, but I was too fast today and I wasn't about to lose my edge. I'd caught him unaware, although how was beyond me.
Illya's head 'thunked' back against the pantry door and his hands went instinctively to my head, entangling his fingers in my hair, encouraging and discouraging at the same time. I knew the double edged sword he straddled, so desperate to come, so desperate to make it last. I was happy to oblige, either way.
Of course, that didn't mean I couldn't up the ante. On the counter beside us was a squirt bottle of olive oil and without pausing, I coated my fingers and fondled his balls before sliding back. I teased that entrance for a moment and smiled as Illya struggled to hold onto his control. It was cracking more each second and finally I decided it was time. I sucked him as deeply into my throat as I could manage and slid a finger into him, probing his prostate.
Oh yeah, to say he saw God was an understatement if his reaction was any clue. He clawed, he screamed and he came—Caesar had nothing on me when it came to conquering.
I kept up a gentle sucking until I was sure he finished and then slid back up his body to kiss that still panting mouth. To suggest I was hard at this point would be like referring to the Pope as being religious and I was still fully clothed.
Of course, what I had in mind didn't require complete disrobing. The kitchen table was just to the side of us and again, I spun him and bent him over. To think of taking him in the kitchen, his one last refuge was, in itself, an amazing aphrodisiac. I used the oil to lube up and pierced him, shuddering as that wonderfully warm tightness closed in on my dick. My God, just that feeling alone was enough to make me come, but like Illya had been previously, I wasn't ready to relinquish my hold yet. I waited until I felt him moving, encouraging me on. Like I needed encouraging.
Slowly, I pulled away until I was almost out and then thrust back in, a little harder this time and I could tell I was dead on target by Illya's gasp. I repeated the motion again and again until I was sweating with exertion, my fingers curled into the flesh of his hips with bruising force.
Illya arched back and came again, the spasms squeezing my dick until I couldn't bear it any longer. One, two, three; that was all she wrote. I ejaculated with enough force to curl my toes. Little white spots danced enticingly in front of my eyes and I collapsed down onto Illya's back.
Have you ever been given a gift, something so small that it might seem insignificant to anyone else, but in fact meant the world to you? For Illya to permit me this, for he did indeed permit it, meant that for the first time since we'd been reunited that he completely and utterly trusted me. That he'd finally relinquished that last tiny piece of his heart and given it to me. However I also instinctively knew it would be something we wouldn't speak of, except in general terms.
There was silence for a moment and then a chuckle.
"What?" I asked, still too weak-kneed to move, too involved in the moment to do more than sigh.
"I'm just wondering what the power company is going to make of its invoice."
"I don't understand." I licked the sweat from his neck.
"I came all over it."
I joined in his chuckling and then pushed off and helped him straighten up. Yup, he was right. He'd certainly made a mess of the power bill. "We'll chalk it up to a power surge. Guess you're stuck with me now."
"After all these years, I've finally taken you in the kitchen."
"Huh," Illya sounded bemused, like it hadn't been his decree that this would never happen. "Imagine that." Somehow, he'd gotten his pants back up without me even realizing it. "I suppose you think you're a big man now."
"Well, I was a minute ago," I conceded, tucking myself away until I could clean up properly. "Now I think I'm just 'average'." Illya was cleaning off the table, tipping most of it into the trash. The power bill he rinsed and shook the excess water from. My stomach took that moment to complain that the croissant and coffee I'd had for breakfast was just a distant memory.
He grinned at me. "Now that you've had your starter, I suppose you'd like your entrée?"
"Mmm, well as much as I enjoy it, your semen isn't as filling as some of your other offerings."
The banter rolled on and I found myself very content with my spot in the universe. I had a comfortable home, good friends, and, more than that, more love than I knew was to do with. Yup, the world was okay by me.