See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritaria/ravens-claw/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
Howie saved the coupling with the highest likelihood of combustion for last, Ned and Vincent. Ned's kiss was nearly a mouth-rape, not trace of tenderness or even respect. He 'did his assignment' and that was it. Vincent, though, acted as if that had never happened and gave Ned a deep and shockingly-effective kiss that rocked Ned's world to the core. As they broke, a breathless and shaking Ned stared at Vincent, completely undone. Vincent simply looked at him with real sincerity. "Thank you. I know it was hard for you to let me do that. Really, thank you." Ned was absentmindedly rubbing his fingers over his lips as Vincent turned toward Howie who had started talking about assignments.
Raven's Claw 8: Kiss the Cook (N3)
By Bear Pup
Note: This chapter has a lot of cooking. You can skip it and get just "the good stuff" by ignoring the parts between a line of these vvvvvvvvvvvv and a line of these ^^^^^^^^^^^^.
The assignments were actually not that difficult. For the Sexuality class, they were to pair up with one or more husbands to coach each other on expressions, since people rarely saw in their own face what others did. For Sex, the obvious one was kissing. You got up to five points per guy you could get to kiss you, from a one-point smooch to a five-pointer where you husband loses himself in the kiss. This was all in between the cooking lessons for which Chef would assign points based on how well each person tried to teach or learn.
Some of the guys split off for the head, others for the Social Room. Jackson pulled Vincent aside as soon as they left the classroom. His low voice was hesitant, almost embarrassed. "Um, Vin--cent. I, uh, know it's strange of me to ask. But can you teach me to kiss like that?" Vincent looked back and forth between the big black athlete's worried eyes and found no hint of mockery.
"Um, sure." Vincent got a slightly wicked grin and Jackson's eyes widened as his teammate walked forward, forcing the much larger youth to step back to the wall. Vincent started running his fingers along the ridges of Jackson's abs, making the guy shudder in pleasure. "The first thing is making him know that you appreciate him. Like all these amazing muscles. You have worked so hard for so long, Jackson, and no one ever tells you how amazing they are."
Jackson swallowed convulsively, eyes still wide.
"And then, when you finally kiss, you make him your whole world, Jackson. Make him know that you can think of nothing," cheek-kiss, "else," other cheek, "at all..." Vincent pulled the larger boy down into the kiss and stood as tall as he could. For the next few minutes, he simply took his own advice, building a mental wall around the two of them, shutting out the rest of the universe as irrelevant and unnecessary.
Softly licking Jackson's lips made them part and, instead of probing the man's mouth, Vincent teased the black man's tongue until it was in his own. He moaned in pleasure then, and let his hands rove the mounds and slabs and ripples of muscles, stoking the fire he'd kindled. Vincent pulled back and smiled inside at the dazed look when Jackson opened his eyes, "Of course, it helps to be kissing a muscle-god and a stud."
He went back into the kiss and this time Jackson responded with a ferocity that almost scared Vincent, but he rode the wave. His probing hands had found the inner thighs that he had seen Matt use to turn Jackson from interested to insatiable, stroking and petting them as he wallowed in the kiss. He took the leaking, throbbing dick into his hand and stroked it as well, eating the needy whine this got from the dark-skinned giant.
"Jackson," Vincent let a note of pleading into his voice, "will you... will you let me watch you cum?"
"Uh huh." Jackson didn't even recognize his own whimper, high and uncertain and lost in the lust of the kiss and the stroking.
"The kiss me and show me, Jackson." Vincent dove back in, this time using his tongue to penetrate and claim Jackson's mouth as the larger guy gasped and whimpered. He captured each groan, each growl, as they suddenly built to grunts that followed the rhythm of his hunching hips. When the inevitable happened, Vincent pulled back and held the giant up using the wall as a support, letting his bellow of triumph and completion echo in the hallway.
"Fuuuuuuck." The near-whispered adulation broke the shell they'd built. Both Jackson and Vincent turned and see that Bobby was staring open-mouthed in awe, pinching the base of his pre-soaked cock in a desperate attempt to stave off his orgasm.
Vincent smiled and turned Jackson's face to his. "I think there's someone who would very much like to be your, uh, pop quiz from this lesson?" He pulled the still-shaking black giant to Bobby. "Have you ever seen a muscle man as hot as this, Bobby? And Jackson, Bobby's the heart of the team. The one that everything else turns around. You think you can show him how much that means to us?"
Vincent stepped back and watched the two melt into each other. He jumped a foot and squeaked as he felt a slow caress across his fuzzy ass, spinning to find Howie there. Where the fuck did he come from?!? Howie looked down, beaming with pride and pleasure. "I think I've created a monster. A wonderful, talented and incredibly hot monster. Go put that talent to use in the Social Room, kid. Aaron and Ned are there and if you're half as good teaching pasta as passion, you are gonna make one hell of a husband." He ruffled Vincent's hair as he turned and left.
Vincent looked back and saw that Jackson was so into Bobby that he forgot Vincent even existed. 'Yeah,' he thought, 'yeah, I think I will be at that.'
Chef was leaning back on one of the chairs, watching Matt try to explain to Paul the reason the kiss worked or didn't. It was clear the younger had held a candle for the South American stud for a long, long time, but it was also clear that Matt had come into his own and felt comfortable teaching his idol. Paul scowled more than anything, apparently unable to 'get it'.
When Vincent walked in, positively glowing, Chef smiled. "Check the digidesk for rankings. They include everything including the morning session. They were quicker than normal on getting the AM results."
Vincent pulled one of the digidesks to him and his jaw dropped like a rock. His name was next to 'STUD'. He'd gone from last place to third. Looking around for someone to jump out and yell "Gotcha!" he hesitantly walked up to Chef. "Um, sir, I know I'm not supposed to know why, but are these scores, mine I mean, right?"
Chef smiled. He'd spent a few minutes with Daniel and others on the staff before coming in while Howie was doing the kissing thing. They'd expected the reaction and the question, and given him a 'safe' answer.
"The numbers are right. And I was told it's okay to give you a general idea of why. You made some really hard decisions in the last twenty-four hours, Vincent. You faced some really tough shit and pushed through it. Aaron may be sex-on-a-stick and Bobby absolutely gorgeous. Matt may be a natural. They should be topping the leader board. The difference is, you and Matt are working hard, real hard, to overcome a lot of garbage. That deserves to be rewarded. Keep being the Vincent we met this morning and you will make a great husband for a very, very lucky family."
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Vincent worked his way back to the three kitchen-style workstations in deep thought, almost a daze. He found what he needed: 00 flour, semolina, eggs, ice water, salt. A food processor that he wouldn't ever use for fear of being haunted to the grave by Grandma Bianchi. Pasta is made by hand or "you might as well buy the cardboard stuff in the mega-mart. The young have no sense of heritage or pride!" A pasta roller not unlike Grandma's except with a motor and a digital scale.
Aaron came up and Vincent called Ned over. "Kay, you'se guys got it easy. Ain't nothing easier than perfect pasta. It's just a few numbers: Ten, four, one, one and one. 10 ounces of the 00 flour in a pile. Use two fingers to make a well like this. Separating eggs can be a bitch but they got this thing that helps." He pulled out the cup-like device and cracked an egg into it and shook the yolk free. It went into a small bowl. "This bowl is for everything that's not flour. You with me?"
Ned and Aaron nodded and Vincent saw it wasn't going it. "Kay. Arron, how much flour I got over here?"
"Um, uh... flour?"
Vincent took a deep breath and closed his eyes as they rolled painfully. "10 ounces. Ten. Perfect ten. Hottest ass ever. Perfect ten. Got that?" Aaron nodded.
"Ned!" The boy shifted and clearly was lost. "Who is the coolest spy, like, ever?"
"James Bond, Double-Oh Seven."
"Cool. You see any 'seven' or 'james bond' flour?"
"Duh! No." He scoffed.
"So what kind of flour?"
A lightbulb went off, almost visibly. "Double-oh?"
"So how much of what flour do you need?"
"10 ounces..." Aaron.
"...of Double-Oh?" Ned.
"Bingo! TEN ounces of DOUBLE-OH flour. Got it?" The nods now were confident, wrestlers who understood a new takedown.
"Kay. What's this thing?" Vincent held up the egg separator. Blank stares.
"Alright. This is the Egg Boss. They's two parts of eggs. Yolk and whites, right? The Egg Boss lets you separate em. With me?" Furrowed brows and serious nods. "You need a whole egg, cuz the white is important like, uh, like... like you need throw-aways to win a tournament?" The two studs high-fived and smiled. "Cool. Egg whites is like the throw-aways you got in the mix to win. You need one, but that's it. Now, you'se need four yolks for the ten flour. Got it?"
"Ten yolks for four flour."
"Um, other way round."
"Oh, yeah, right. Ten flour and four yolks and we use the Egg Boss to get em." Ned was clearly proud of his acumen in this deduction.
Vincent prayed to any God that might be left nowadays and dumped two more yolks into the bowl along with one whole egg. "Kay. Now you need a TABLEspoon of water and TEAspoon of salt. There's two 'spoon' things. Just remember like they tell us with training: We need more water and less salt. Got it? Big is water, small is salt?" The nods actually looked rational, so he moved on.
"Beat up the egg stuff. You don't need to do it too long, just til it looks all yellow. Got me?" The nodded. "You remember the flour? How much flour?"
"TEN! Ten, um, things. Ounces?"
"Excellent. Gold star for Aaron. Ten ounces of flour. You make a pile then use a couple fingers to make a well. Pour everything into the well."
"Ooooo."
Vincent wanted to laugh, cry and scream. "Now, using those two fingers, start to swirl around JUST in the liquidy stuff, got me? Now gradually pull in a little of the flour, then a little more."
Aaron and Ned watched exactly as they would a magician in the school auditorium. Vincent wanted to weep but knew it wouldn't help. He continued to incorporate the flour. "Now, you might not need all the flour, or you might need a tiny bit of the ice water. Reach out and feel the dough right now. See how it's still sticky and soft? It's not ready yet." Vincent got the dough to the right consistency and used a scraper to pull it into a ball. "Okay, now feel it." Ned and Aaron poked the dough and made 'oo' noises. "That's what it feel like if it's ready to rest."
"Rest? Why? It didn't do any work!" Ned was quite happy with his wit as Vincent fought the urge to bitch-slap his teammate.
"The noodles will fall apart into sludge if the dough doesn't sit for a while. You don't want that. So, we've got an hour," he wrapped the dough ball in cling-film and looked up at Aaron with a mischievous smile, "you wanna make a start on homework?" Ned watched as a very reluctant Aaron went off with Vincent to work on facial expressions.
Jackson floated into the room, followed by Bobby who looked completely shell-shocked. Jackson's dreamy smile almost made Ned laugh. Paul intercepted the big, black teen and steered him to the cook stations, snagging Ned as well. "So, uh, Paolo, what the fuck is pecker-whatever?"
"Steak, dude. Picanha is the best steak you ever gonna eat." That got both boy's attention. BEEF! Paul found that there was a perfect cut of wet-aged beef under a very long steel cover at this station. The deep, ruby-red of the rump cap contrasting brilliantly with the creamy off-white of the fat. There was also a full range of herbs and spices that Paul frowned at. He turned and saw Chef looking at him. "Where's the Linguiça?"
Chef smiled, "And why do you need sausage to cook picanha?"
Paul scowled, "Only way to season the churrasqueira and get the flavor right."
"Well done. Lift the cutting board." The wooden cutting board was, in fact, a lid to a refrigerated compartment containing, among other things, the Brazilian sausage that Paul wanted. He took a minute to examine the grill, a long, open thing that made up the left side of the station. Above a number of powerful-looking gas jets was a porous stone slab penetrated everywhere by pencil-width holes. Perhaps ten inches above the open top, a vent hood stood ready to suck away smoke and fumes. Paul nodded. This would work.
"Okay, listen up. This is the simplest steak to cook and get perfect, but you've got to follow the steps. This ain't gonna be as good as real churrasco cuz we don't have wood and charcoal, but I think it will work. First step is to make sure the beef is about room temperature." He touched it and had the others do the same. "Next, get the grill flaming hot." He cranked the knob as far as it would go. The exhaust fan immediately started to suck air upwards, whisking it out a flue.
"Now, first up is the sausage."
"I don't get it. What's the sausage for? Does it go on the steak?" Jackson asked.
Paolo smiled wide. "In a way, preto, in a way. The sausage doesn't touch the steak, but the ghost of the sausage does wonders!" He ran the skewer through the Linguiça, forcing it into a very reluctant serpentine and not worrying where it broke. Paul set the skewer into the notches on either end of the grill. "On the sausage goes. Turn it whenever you think about it. Now for the main attraction."
The Brazilian youth ran his tanned hand lovingly over the slab of meat he'd call tapa de quadril as Ned and Aaron shared a look. He flipped the piece upside down so the fat was down. "So, first, we cut in diagonal, called on the bias. You see the way the muscles flow. Jackson, give me a Side Triceps." Jackson took three deep breaths and POW went into an incredible pose that showed off his right arm and leg, muscles popping like crazy.
"See the striations? The 'grain' of the muscles here and here and here? Okay, relax, preto, that was fucking amazing. Those are the parts of the muscles that work hard. Same with a steak." He showed them the way the grains ran. "If you cut with them, you get long, stringy fibers in the meat which is great for some things because it holds more of the juice (like fajitas that you cut afterwards) but terrible for what we're doing." He flipped the slab of meat back over.
"Ned, turn that skewer, will ya?" Ned was only too happy to comply; the succulent smell of the dripping fat was beginning to get to him. The drippings had started to discolor the porous stone and smoke was starting to come up from it.
Paul pulled out a knife long enough to qualify as a machete, a long, flat blade with granton edge. "Cut diagonal, like we saw, and always try to do it in a single, long stroke like this." Paolo expertly drew the knife through and down, leaving a perfect edge. "You want strips about two inches wide," his voice got far away as he concentrated, "so everything cooks evenly. You'll get three or four pieces out of a steak... like... this."
Laying on the cutting board were now three perfect strips of meat with a luscious fat-cap along one side. There was also a somewhat ragged piece that he moved aside. "Now you make tiny cuts, careful! Not all the way through, in the fat. That makes it cook right since the fat tried to pull the meat back into a shape you don't want."
Paul looked through the myriad of spices and found the rock salt, just as he'd use in an ice cream maker. He dumped perhaps a cup onto the board. "Unlike our homework, for picanha you want to play with the meat as little as possible." To the music of their lusty chuckles, Paul rolled the three strips of beef through the salt, letting whatever wanted to stick stay on but not applying any pressure.
"Hey, wait. What about all those spice things?"
Paul openly sneered. "If you need all that, you got nasty beef. Great beef needs salt and fire. If you want, you add flavor when you get it to the plate." He pulled the ragged piece over. "If we had a real grill, this extra is what you cook first to test the churrasqueira." He smiled, "Actually, it's just so the cook gets to nibble while the guests drool, camaradas." The two teammates chuckled, but their stomachs growled loudly. Paul turned to Chef again.
"I know we're supposed to eat just what's on trays, but can we eat as we cook, Chef?"
He smiled, halfway to a smirk. "Yeah. We'll keep track and adjust tomorrow's food. And I'm betting that Linguiça is just about perfect, too, huh?"
"You know it." Paul smiled and used a pair of tongs to remove the skewer with the sausage off to the side and covered it with the long metal dome that looked more like a miniature Quonset hut than anything else. Only the end of the skewer stuck out of a small slot in the end. Ned whimpered and looked like his goldfish had just died. "Patience, niñito, patience. It has to rest or you burn your mouth and taste nothin the rest of the night." Ned wasn't the only one. The smell of the sausage cooking and the smoke of its dripping had drawn every guy in the room, all of them salivating.
Paul carefully pulled the skewer out, using the dome to force the sausage off. "Now we're ready for steak! You fold it like this, into a C with the fat out, with me? Then make sure the skewer goes right up the middle. Do the same for the others, one after the next. Make sure they roll tight, camaradas, no gaps. You can have space between one and the next, but never ever in the middle, get me?" He set the skewer into the rack over the flame. "Always start fat side down and don't turn until it starts to crisp up and sputter. Four to six minutes on the fat side, then four each on the others"
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Paolo took great pleasure in tormenting the guys as he sloooooooowly lifted the lid from the sausage. Juice was everywhere since he'd broken the sausage in several places and the smell made the guys' bellies sound like a pack of tigers. He set to with the knife, slicing it into bites. Paul popped a crispy end into his mouth and mmmmmmmed. "Cooks first." He stabbed one on the long fork and fed it to Jackson, then another to Ned. "Now if the rest of you guys want some, you gotta kiss the cooks."
Vincent pulled Paul into a long, slow, delicious kiss as Aaron latched onto Jackson and Bobby claimed Ned. Matt pouted at lack of cooks to kiss, then noticed the distraction of the others and popped a handful of the incredible sausage into his mouth while no one was looking and retreated to the third cook station. A timer DINGed and Paul pulled himself out of the extraordinary kiss. "Don't. Go. Anywhere." He gave the picanha a quarter-turn and the timer a reset, "Now, where were we?" and dove back into the amazing kiss work of Vincent.
Aaron pulled back, completely undone by Jackson's sudden kissing skills. "Where the fuck did you learn THAT?" Jackson smiled and nodded to the two-backed kissing beast that, if they ever separated, would be Paul and Vincent. He reached down and grabbed a piece of the sausage and fed it to Aaron tenderly.
The Bobby-Ned action broke about then as well. "Ned, um, I'm horny as fuck and really, really want to mess around with you, but, um, can I have sausage first?" Ned laughed loud enough that everyone turned except the 'indisposed' VincentPaul creature.
He'd seen Jackson's move and blatantly copied it, feeding a tempting morsel of sausage to his tempting morsel of Bobby. The difference was that Bobby locked Ned's hand in place and seductively sucked clean each finger in turn, leaving Ned panting in shallow breaths. "Thanks." Suddenly it was reversed, with Ned forcefully savaging Bobby's mouth as his hands roved over his back and ass.
The timer DINGed again and Jackson snorted in derision that Paul didn't even hear it. He turned the Picanha another quarter, bringing the insanely-crispy-juicy-succulent fat to the top.
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It turned out that Matt had finally run out of patience and pulled Jackson and Aaron away just as they tried to reinitiate their kiss. "Biscuits. Not as sexy as sausage or pasta, but damned good if you do it right and hell if you don't. I heard Paul say the secret was heat? Even though we're baking them, the secret here is cold. Turn the oven to 450 before you start."
Matt reached into the chiller under the cutting board and brought out a steel bowl. "If you've got time, chill the flour. 2 cups. Measure everything carefully. This is like a Chem Lab experiment where you get it right or it's a mess, with me?"
Both nodded. Matt put the flour back. "Before we let the stuff get out and get warm, we need to prep the stuff that doesn't matter, the add-ins. With the pasta and the Brazilian steak, I picked chives and cilantro." He glanced up at the guys, "Those are herbs. Green things." He pulled the two small bundles of fresh herbs out onto the board. "This part is simple and boring. You just chop the stuff up really fine. Aaron, you do chives and Jackson do the cilantro."
"Us? Like, now?" The panic in Jackson's voice almost made Matt laugh.
"Yes," he taunted in little boy voice, "but I promise that the big bad herbs won't hurt you, and you'll have a nice sharp knife to protect yourself." Jackson glared at him and took the knife and started chopping. Matt made suggestions and corrections for each very patiently and helpful, more like a coach than a teacher. When they were done, he scraped the result into a bowl. He pulled the flour bowl out.
"I've written out the recipe. This part is really, really easy to screw up. See this red tin? It's baking POWDER. The yellow box is Baking SODA. They don't do the same thing and if you switch them around you get some seriously nasty food. This is a teaspoon measure. You dip it into the POWDER and there's a lip in the lid that lets you scrape it off evenly." He dumped it into the flour. "You need four of these. This tiny thing is a quarter-teaspoon."
"How can such a tiny amount make any difference?" Aaron was genuinely puzzled.
"When you've got your opponent in a leg lock, how much difference can an inch on your foot placement make?"
"Oh. Okay."
"So, you need one of these little spoons of the SODA. The box also has a lid that scrapes it flat. Add three of these little ones of salt." All of that went into the flour and he stirred it with a fork. "Now the next part goes fast." He pulled out a bowl with butter and shortening. "dump it in and use the fork at first to press it into the flour mix. As soon that the fork starts to stick a little, switch to your fingers. Less is more. You want to avoid letting your hands warm up the butter but you want to fat to be in crumbs with flour in it. Okay, each of you try."
He portioned out a third for each of them. "You want to work quickly and roll it into your fingers until it's crumbly. You don't want smooth. Jackson, softer. Aaron, faster. Perfect. Jackson, you're done aaaaaaaand Aaron, you are too." He scraped the flour mixtures back into the bowl. Now for the liquid. It's all buttermilk, one cup. Cold as you can get it. And add the herbs, too."
He poured both in. "That's like the pasta well!" Aaron was amazed.
"Yes, exactly. So, we stir in the flour a little at a time until it's just barely mixed. See how there is still flour around? That's what you want."
"But it's not finished!"
"Right, Jackson, because you're gonna finish it by hand. Put flour on the board then turn the dough out, then sprinkle some more on top, see how it's just like a dusting? Not a bunch? Okay, you use the heels of your hands and push away from you, then lift it, turn it, fold it over and do it again. Okay, Jackson, your turn. Gently. Think tits, not ass. Good. Now lift, turn, fold. Aaron? Harder and push farther. Perfect! Lift, turn fold. I'll take the last just to make it even. See how it's not sticky anymore? That's what you want."
"That's actually pretty cool."
"Wait till you taste it! Add a little more flour to the top and roll it out. This is where my family does everything different. No biscuit cutters." Chef magically appeared and looked over. Dip your sharp, dry knife in flour and cut straight across. Dip, cut. Dip, cut. You want squares about the size of your palms. Scratch that. Humans palms, not those of giant muscle gods." Jackson snorted but smiled wide.
"Butter the pan like this, then throw a couple tablespoons of butter in the microwave for 15 seconds. Now arrange the biscuits like this." Matt placed them, not quite touching, and in an offset pattern so there were odd, triangular spaces. "Brush the butter over the top and into the oven. Timer for fifteen, you're done!"
"Wowwwwwwww." Aaron was frankly reverent and Jackson was amazed.
"That's it? Really? Dude, you are too fucking cool!" Jackson leaned in to Matt's ear and whispered, "I still wanna give you that kiss, now more than ever." He reached down and caressed Matt's ass who squeaked and blushed, nodding frantically.
Paul called out, "Jackson and Ned!" Jackson hurried over. "Now, I pulled the picanha when it finished the last side. You were busy, preto, but it's okay. You just pull it, leave it on the skewer and cover, the shut down the churrasqueira. Ned can show you. You then set a timer for fifteen minutes which is the MINIMUM it sits. Now, though, now is the magic."
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Paolo smiled like a cat and uncovered the meat. He had an instant audience. He pulled out the granton machete and held the skewer like Arthur with the Sword in the Stone. He pulled out a pair of tongs and handed them to Ned. "I'm gonna slice a little bit. Grab the edge with the tongs." He pulled the knife back slowly and expertly carved off a long, thin, slice. "Set that aside for a minute. Grab the next." He sliced and smiled, "Now taste that. Just put the whole thing in your mouth."
Ned frowned and did, and his eyes shot open. "Ohhh mo go! Das wongafu!!!" Paulo sliced another for Jackson and baked in the praise. He quickly started cutting and passing out meat to the guys, all of whom were hooting and hollering like he'd won state. Paul spoke up over the hubbub. "Further out is medium, inside is rare, all of it is amazing. And that is what steak is supposed to taste like." He turned the knife over to Jackson (who ate every other slice for the first couple pounds of steak) and went to Chef.
"How did you get actual, Brazilian beef? Might have been northern Argentina, but damned close? And this quick?"
"The Protectorate is nothing if not efficient. However, this time I simply cheated. I have a halal butcher nearby that two of my husbands adore, and they happen to import beef from well north of you, Mato Grosso. Sorry to burst your bubble on the taste, but it's nearly 800 miles off. Then again, anything from Brazil or Argentina is pretty special."
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A loud DING went off and the horde converged on the biscuits. They came out brown and glossy and amazing. Chef put out a big tub of honey butter and the guys went nuts. Vincent forcefully grabbed Ned and Aaron, pulling them away including their biscuits. "Now for the hard part, both of you."
He had the rested dough on the board and unwrapped it. "This is, like, simplicity itself." He dusted the board with semolina. "This is a different flour. It makes it yummy. Flatten the dough out best you can with the rolling pin and feed it into the pasta roller at the widest setting. Dust with a little of the semolina and do it a couple more times until it's even, giving a little dust each time. Crank down the roller one notch and roll until it's even again, then down, etc."
The guys marveled at the way the wad of dough magically became a huge flat sheet. "Cut is in half if it gets too long to handle. For this, you want to get down to the 'six' setting. Good linguini is about a foot and a half long, so you cut the sheets to length, then pop off the roller and pop on the cutter. Once through, then dust the noodles and you're ready to cook!" Vincent already had a pasta-pot with a colander insert boiling slightly. "Dump in a handful at a time, no more, and set the timer for 90 seconds."
"Seconds? Really? Mom cooked it for, like, fifteen minutes!"
"One, that was for dry pasta not fresh, and second that was for gooey-gummy spaghetti. This will be perfect, trust me." The timer DINGed and he pulled up the cylinder and let it drain, then shook of the excess water. "So you could try it, I've got a little olive oil, butter and a tiny bit of garlic in the pan. Pasta always, always goes from pot to pan as quick as you can." Vincent tossed the pasta quickly then decanted the whole thing onto a platter. He handed each a fork.
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Now, pasta is the bane of most athletic diets, so while the beef was an instant draw, the nearly-forbidden pleasure of pasta nearly made them both swoon. "My God, Vin, this is, like, the best pasta I ever tasted! This is miracle level, dude!" Aaron reached over to hug Vincent, which the cook turned into a kiss.... a long, mind-blowing kiss that let Ned blushing to watch.
The blush leapt to atomic levels when a hand slid up his crack. He spun to find Bobby there. Ned's best friends for years looked into Ned's eyes and said, "I'm still horny for that kiss, buddy. You up for a little more?"
Beef and biscuits both devoured, Paul and Jackson settled on a couch. "So, um... You got damned good with the kissing, preto. How so quick?"
Jackson smiled broadly. "Dude, Vinny was a prick but Vincent is like God's Gift to kissing. You have GOT to try some of that."
Paolo frowned, furrowing his brow. "We kissed in class and again at the grill. It was fine and fun and all, but not, like, mind-blowing."
Jackson threw a leg over and said, "You want to work on... holds and takedown?" Paul smiled at the pun and threw his own leg over so they were facing. "So. What I always did wrong and didn't know was what Howie was trying to say. This ain't technical, bro, it's mental. Like on the mat, first thing ain't get the right position, it's get in the guy's head. Same here. Watch. You think of nothing but what it feels like. Don't try to kiss me, just kick back, kay?"
Paul sighed and shook himself out just as if he were getting ready to enter the ring. "Kay. First, I'm gonna kiss you the way that I used to kiss chicks. All about technique." Jackson pulled Paul into him and put all of his attention into where his hands were, how his lips moved, when and where he moved his tongue. He let that go for a minute then pulled back.
"No that was 'Before'. You ready for 'After'?" Paul nodded, still lost over the whole thing. Jackson took Paul's chin in his huge and tilted Paul's head back slowly and looked into his eyes. Paul's went wide. Where was the kissing?
The black giant leant forward slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Paul's increasingly-disconcerted ones. Even before touching lips, Jackson darted out his tongue and licked along Pauls' closed mouth, earning a sudden gasp. Jackson cleared everything out of his mind but one thing, Paolo -- The magical Brazilian stud he'd known for the last couple years. The wresting star. The modest hero. The guy who'd taken the reviled 'Junior' under his wing. -- and kissed all of that at once.
To Paul it felt like any other kiss and then, like a dam bursting, all that emotion from his muscle-god teammate broke through and he felt it. Bodies had nothing to do with this. Jackson was kissing his soul. He heard himself whimper a little as Jackson's hand roamed almost-aimlessly across his body, managing without apparently conscious direction to hit every place that made his innards squirm with desire. He lost himself in it, letting his own hands caress the rippling musculature of the ebony stud. When Jackson pulled back, Paul involuntarily moved forward, trying his damnedest to recapture those lips, that feeling.
"So, bonito, you seemed to like 'After' better?"
Paul was utterly breathless. "And V-V-V-Vincent can teach me that?"
"Dude, you have no fucking clue. I am the Gwasshoppah to his Master. Like I said, you gotta getcha some-a that." Jackson left the stunned and blinking Brazilian and turned just as Matt walked up. He did not look pleased.
"So.... what? I'm the only one you don't kiss anymore?"
Jackson pulled him, resisting all the way, to the end of the room that offered a little privacy. "No, Matt. I was just waiting until I had practiced enough to make it great for you." He pulled Matt into a kiss. For a moment, Matt liked the fact that he'd again gotten Jackson to move on him instead of the other way around. Then, like a light-switch thrown, thought was no longer an option.
The black giant poured every emotion he could dredge up into that kiss, determined to think of nothing else. Well... almost nothing. Matt's cock was leaking dick-drool all over Jackson's abs. Never breaking the kiss or the concentration, the big guy let one massive paw slide down to Matt's lightly-furred ass and the other gripped the dripping spike between them.
Jackson smiled as he swallowed a squeak and squawk and a deep, penetrating moan all in a row and let both hands start stroking. The one on the cock was almost habitual, but he found himself fascinated by the other. The smooth muscles of the lean runner's body and the fierce heat of the ultimate forbidden place grabbed him as he probed and stroked deeper into the crevice. Matt started to hunch a bit then screamed and exploded as soon as Jackson's fingers found the twitchy wetness of his asshole. Even Jackson was stunned at the power of his orgasm.
Matt finally threw back his head and sighed. Jackson was shocked to see actual tears on his cheeks. "You okay, baby?"
"Fuck it!" Matt moaned out. Using his cum as a lubricant, he slid his body like an otter down between the black stallion's legs and, without ceremony or thought, dove onto the very large, very black, very needy cock.
The moment the smaller guy's mouth engulfed his dickhead, Jackson nearly blew. He looked down at the lean white body and moaned. Matt's head bobbed, not taking a lot of huge meat but enough to drive Jackson mad with need. It was the visual though, the pearl set in a field of jet, that made him realize it was the hottest and most beautiful moment he'd ever had.
He tried to push Matt off before he accidently lost it in his mouth, but it was like trying to remove a leech. With that, his eyes rolled back and he tried to scream, beg, howl, moan, but only a creaking noise escaped as his entire massive frame erupted into a full-body/mind/soul orgasm.
As Matt pulled back, Jackson reached down and pulled him up his slick body, dragging him like a toy. He dove into a new kiss, shocked to find his own cum still on Matt's lips and tongue. He wanted to be grossed out, disgusted, appalled. In actual fact, the only thought he had was a line from Pumba in The Lion King. He laughed into the kiss and Matt pulled back, a bit put off.
"What? What's funny?"
Jackson's deep voice was rough and unsteady, but adamant, "Matt, that was the hottest fucking thing I've ever had done to me. And when I k-k-k-kissed you, I could t-t-t-taste my own, you know, that you swallowed. And I thought it would be so far past nasty and it, well, all I could think of was Pumba saying, 'Hmmm. Slimy yet satisfying'!" He dove in and proceeded to eat Matt's laughter in yet another kiss.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 33 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 24 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 26 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 18 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Culberhouse Rules: 9 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 8 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/ Ashes & Dust: 3 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/