Love and Tea Bags

by C F White

  Thirty-nine years Mark had been in his own body and mind. He thought he knew himself infinitely well. He’d spent years coming to terms with who he was—a bumbling fool consumed by misfortune. He was fairly certain he could pinpoint his immediate reactions to any given situation and they usually ended in some comedic slapstick fallout.

  But this, this was new.

  And so Mark decided to forgo his usual reserved reactions and do what Bradley said. To hell with all consequences.

  He rammed his mouth on top of Bradley’s and kissed him—consumed him—no holds barred. This time, he had no desire to stop. He didn’t even care if anyone wandered into the kitchen asking for tea—they could watch if they were so inclined.

  Mark was a new man.

  He sliced into Bradley’s mouth with his tongue, entwining it with Bradley’s and tasting all the juicy orangey bits still remaining on the roof of his mouth. So that’s why Bradley always has such sweet breath! Bradley staggered back, falling into the open fridge. He glided his hands onto Mark’s hips, whether to steady himself or to tug him closer being debatable. But Mark crushed his body forth regardless. Bradley trailed his fingertips inside Mark’s shirt and Mark whimpered. Bradley’s hands were cold and Mark’s skin erupted with goosepimples rivalling the plucked chicken sitting on the shelf of Macy’s fridge.

  Bradley tucked his arms up into the sides of Mark’s shirt and stretched with such force that the buttons ripped off in one smooth movement and pinged around the kitchen. Luckily, Mark had his eyes closed or there could have been another eye incident to add to his growing list.

  Slipping Mark’s shirt free, Bradley hummed from the pit of his stomach and floated the shirt to the floor. Mark should have been feeling all kinds of self-conscious then, standing there in Macy’s Tea Shoppe kitchen with his skinny body on display for a man who stripped for a living. But for once his conscience switched off. And especially more so when Bradley freed his mouth from Mark’s and kissed, sucked and licked down Mark’s neck, over his collarbone and to his chest. Mark grappled with Bradley’s hair, sliding his fingers in and watching Bradley sink lower. Bradley was devouring him, lapping up every inch of Mark’s skin. It wasn’t rushed, either—he was taking his time over it. Enjoying it.

  Bradley licked over Mark’s hardened, protruding dark nipple. He nipped a bit, too, which Mark thought was a little uncalled for, but he discovered it wasn’t exactly painful and enjoyed the sensation, nonetheless.

  Slipping his cold hands down inside the waistband of Mark’s jeans, Bradley stood to grin and lick his lips. “I don’t feel no taking, Mark.”

  “God, I hate that grin,” Mark purred in a way completely opposed to his words.

  “Come get me, Mark.” Bradley stretched out his arms in invitation.

  Mark cocked his head, holding Bradley’s challenging gaze. He’d take that dare. Tucking his fingers into the top of Bradley’s jeans, he attempted to unfasten the button. Mark had a lot of experience opening and fastening his own jeans fly, so he would have thought that ripping open Bradley’s would be second nature. He flicked his thumb and finger once more around the circular metal and came to the conclusion that Bradley’s jeans were clearly secured together by super glue. He had no choice but to drop his seductive eye contact to give his full attention to the bloody task at hand.

  Choosing to go in with two hands, he attempted to tuck the metal through the hole. He grimaced, his tongue poking out in concentration. Not a good look for the current moment.

  “How on earth do you get these things off so easily on stage?” Mark asked, flapping out his thumb that had dented from the metal.

  Bradley chuckled. “Velcro.”

  Mark glanced up. “Couldn’t think about wearing that next time?”

  “If this is on the cards, then yeah, sure thing.”

  Mark’s stomach fluttered, which soon turned into curdling mush leaping up his throat. Was there a next time? Would there ever even be a this time if basic clothing mechanics were beyond his capabilities? Bradley’s increasing hardness beneath his hands wasn’t helping him focus. He blew out a puff of air to waft his hair back from his perspiring forehead, but before he threw in the towel completely and chalked this up to fate, the stars, lack of tea, Bradley wrapped a meaty hand around his and with a quick flick had his jeans open and the head of his cock popped out with an eager hello.

  Or rather a g’day.

  “Thanks,” Mark said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mark licked his lips on seeing the glistening head poking out of Bradley’s now open flies. No underwear. Beautiful. Before his feet could catch up with his wrenching gut and leg it out of there, Mark sunk to his knees and yanked Bradley’s jeans down with him. Bradley attempted to step out of them, but his trainers caught on the foot holes and Mark had to help him slip out of them by undoing his laces for him. Those were the parts in porn they didn’t show. And for good reason.

  Mark slung the trainers somewhere in the kitchen that he would no doubt trip over later, and ripped Bradley free of his jeans. Bradley’s cock didn’t falter and pointed at Mark’s face with a blatant come-hither. Mark, for once, obliged and went and hithered with gusto. Gripping the root of Bradley’s shaft, he licked up the full length and wiped the sprinkled tip. It tasted a darn sight better than anything he had ever licked in this shop before, including the iced fingers.

  Opening his mouth for more, he dived in and Bradley toppled back into the fridge. A few items from the shelves were knocked off and fell to the floor with thick splats. Chocolate custard glooped along the tile ridges, but Mark knew which he would rather be lapping up right then. He trailed a hand behind Bradley to grip at his taut, muscular arse cheek and squeezed him out of the fridge and deeper into his mouth.

  “Mark Johnson!” Bradley breathed out, scratching fingernails through Mark’s scalp. “You are dirty.”

  Mark let that statement whittle down to its core meaning and continued to prove that, yes, he could be as filthy as the next bloke. Especially when kneeling on a kitchen floor amongst discarded food items and with another man’s dick in his gob. Mark couldn’t remember the last time he had done this. It had been quite some time ago, and he desperately tried not to allow his mind to linger too long on the whens, wheres and how fors to focus solely on the one he was currently enjoying filling up his mouth. Just like riding a bike, this! He could remember how to get a man off with his tongue alone, and swiped it around Bradley’s cockhead, trailing the veins and poking it into the slit all to the tune of Bradley’s low encouraging moans above him.

  “Mark!” Bradley called out. Yelled out. Groaned out.

  Mark glanced up to catch the pure joy on the man’s face above him. It made his toes curl, and he still had his covered by socks and shoes. Poor Bradley’s perfectly rounded pedicured digits were seeping into the brown custard globules on the floor as he clung to the fridge with one desperate hand and Mark’s hair with the other. Mark didn’t stop. He was on a roll. He sucked furiously and pumped faster with the hand curled around the root.

  Excitement, anticipation and curiosity all merged into one as Mark wondered how far he could take this. Should take this. He needed to test the waters, see what he was dealing with there. He glided the hand clutching Bradley’s arse to slide into his crack. Would Bradley buck, or tense? Would he even be expecting it?

  He did neither. He leaned forward, away from within the fridge, giving Mark better access. Intriguing. Bradley, bent double, watched his dick slide in and out of Mark’s keen mouth, allowed, no encouraged, Mark to poke inside him deeper.

  “That’s it, Mark. That’s it. There. Oh, yeah!” In between his babbling grunts of gripping pleasure, Bradley let go of the fridge door and it bashed against Mark’s back, kicking in his gag reflex.

  Bradley’s cock fell from his mouth and Mark’s legs trembled, trying to keep him steady in his crouch. He peered up and Bradley looked down, both gazes both wondering what to do next.

  Should they
ask the stars?

  “You know what this means, now, right, Mark?” Bradley panted as Mark licked his lips.

  “That we owe Macy a new fridge?”

  Bradley chuckled. “That you’re going to have to finish this. Properly.”

  “Right, well, let me just—” He went to heft himself up, mentally crossing his fingers his knees didn’t crack and remind him no forty-year-old gent should be kneeling down for that long, but Bradley hauled him up and kissed him.

  “Fuck me, Mark. I want you inside me. Now. All of you.”

  Mark swallowed. Hard. And it was a crying shame he wasn’t gulping down Bradley’s juicy bits whilst he did it.

  Bradley cocked his head. “If you want to, that is?”

  “Want to? I’d beg to.”

  Bradley smiled. “So, that’s a yes then?”

  “You don’t mind to… You’re a…bottom?” Mark couldn’t even begin to fathom the miracle of that. He’d been preparing to give himself over to Bradley. Breaking in the old heave-ho. Something that he hadn’t done in… Once, he’d done it once. Many years ago, at the request of—

  “Yes.” Bradley kissed Mark’s nose, cutting off any images slapping Mark in the face. “Told you, Mark, this is fate.”

  Even with the freezing temperatures bursting out from the fridge behind him, the heat oozing off Bradley’s body seeped across into Mark and relaxed those dastardly goose pimples to create a glistening sheen of sweat over his skin. Whether or not he believed in fate or in whatever Bradley believed in, Mark was ready to give this a go. To test the theory for real. To see if they did fit. Could fit. And he hoped not just in the literal sense.

  Bradley smiled and kissed him, heating Mark exponentially. Mark stumbled back and grappled to tear the remaining clothes from Bradley’s impressive body. For a man he’d only known a few days, Mark had seen him naked more than he’d seen him with his clothes on. From the computer screen, to on stage, to lying in a bed next to him, but now Mark could allow himself to properly feast upon the sight. And not just by looking. He was no longer another spectator tuning in to see the Geek God, or standing in a queue to cop a load of the Aussie Adonis. Mark wasn’t there for Bradley’s alter ego. He was there for Bradley. Brad.

  Nope, Bradley was still much, much better.

  “This needs seeing to.” Bradley stroked up and down Mark’s released dick with a delectable glint in his eye.

  Huh, when did Bradley unzip my jeans?

  Mark fluttered his eyes to a close, thinking no more of the magic trick Bradley must have performed on his outerwear. It had been oh so long since another set of fingers had fondled his dick that Mark had forgotten just how marvellous it truly was. And Bradley’s hand was thick, and firm and slid up and down with agonisingly gradual strokes. His movements were a lot slower than Mark would have done on himself, and that just added to the thrill of it all. To know that he wasn’t in control of his own…faculties? No, no, wait, my destiny!

  Cripes, I’m a new-age hippy!

  With a sensual swipe of his thumb across Mark’s cockhead, Bradley drove Mark to newfound dizzy heights. Far worse than those he had ever encountered on the tea cup ride thing—

  “Waltzer!” Mark blurted through a grunt.

  “What?” Bradley’s grip tightened around Mark’s flesh at the sudden outburst. And that felt excruciatingly magnificent.

  “Nothing, nothing.” Mark shook his head. “Just an old fairground ride.”

  “You calling me a ride, Mark?”

  “Oh, God, yes. I can pretty much guarantee this will be the ride of my life.”

  Bradley chuckled. “You better strap on, then.” He nodded down to Mark’s unsheathed penis battling its way out of his pants.

  “Right.” Mark stepped back and tucked a hand into his back jeans pocket. He could kiss Damian right then for slipping him a condom as he’d left for London last night.

  As he fished out the packet, he waved it in triumph in front of Bradley, brandishing it like a trophy. That wasn’t the prize though. The man in front of him was, the condom a mere certificate that would be discarded and forgotten, whereas Bradley would remain forever a gleaming beauty to brighten up his dull and, currently bare, mantlepiece. Wouldn’t he? Better not think about that now. Let’s at least finish the game.

  Nodding in approval, Bradley snatched the packet from Mark and tore it open with his teeth. Mark lost all train of any type of thought when Bradley unrolled the sheath over Mark’s eager cock and sent a distinct aroma of chocolate wafting from the rubber—or was that just the floor? He stared deep into Mark’s eyes, as if he was reading his mind, and tugged down Mark’s jeans and boxers to his ankles.

  Would anyone ever believe this? That Mark, old has-been Mark, was going to fuck a stallion? God, that did things to his balls he couldn’t put a name to. Or wouldn’t want to. What were words, anyway?

  Bradley offered a long, tantalising kiss, sucking in Mark’s bottom lip before whipping around and leaning over the counter. That perfectly rounded arse stuck out in an invitation that Mark wouldn’t ever decline. He was pretty much ready to self-combust at the view alone and had no idea how he was going to manage the task of sticking his dick inside and pushing in and out long enough to make this rigmarole worth all the hassle.

  Oh, God, don’t let this be an in, out, done!

  “Come on, Mark.” Bradley waggled his hips.

  “Right, yes.” Mark needed to remember the basic functions of sex. Shit. “Lube?”

  “Jesus, Mark, you not bring lube?” Bradley shot a concerning look over his shoulder.

  “I didn’t realise I would have a need for it.” Mark swiped a hand across his forehead. “I came for tea!”

  “Bullshit, Mark. You came here for me!” Bradley’s once-confident voice wavered a little.

  “No.” Mark waved a hand in protest. “No, no, no.”

  Bradley slapped his hands on the edge of the counter, looking like he might just get up and forget all this.

  “All right, yes,” Mark admitted, and lowered to drape himself over Bradley’s back and kissed the man’s razor-sharp shoulder blade. “Yes, I did. Yes, I do want you. Yes, yes, fucking, yes.” He finished off a statement with a bite, just in case anything was lost in translation.

  “Get creative, then.” Bradley’s growl was rather demanding. So, no submissive bottom, then. “’Cause I need this. I need you. I gotta know, Mark.”

  He couldn’t just use spit, could he? No, no, that’s never a good idea. He wanted this to be at least a decent try. What could one use within the confines of a tearoom’s back kitchen? This was absurd! But one look at Bradley’s waggling bare bottom, enticing and inviting, was enough for Mark to use his noggin for once.

  Hurrying over to the fridge, he nearly slipped in the custard spilled on the floor but regained composure enough to find the only thing he could think to use. He shoved his fingers into the nearest tub of margarine-style spread that proclaimed itself Better than Butter, shrugged and slicked up his condom-clad dick, battling with his subconscious as to whether he wanted to ever recall this moment or not.

  He’d remember. Just with gaps in its entirety.

  “Come on, Mark.” Bradley’s desperate plea thrummed off the stainless steel and through to Mark’s raging cock.

  “Give a fellow a moment. I’m not as agile as I was.” Mark stepped up to Bradley, cupping his greased-up dick and lining it up with Bradley’s hole.

  Mark, being Mark, paused.

  “Get in me, Mark.” Bradley growled. “Now!”

  “You’re rather bossy.” Mark avoided the tut that would vaguely resemble his mother’s to slide a hand up Bradley’s back, grip his shoulder and push through the resistance.

  Except there was no resistance. Mark slid in, thanks to the Better than Butter mimicking both butter and absent bodily excretions, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the heat engulfing his cock.

  Bradley grunted. “Oh, Christ, Mark! That feels fucking fantastic!” H
e backed his arse into Mark, gripping the side of the counter, giving Mark the courage to get really into it.

  He slipped out, enjoying the sensation, then teased back in. Merely watching his dick dip in and out of Bradley’s perfectly sculpted arse was enough to send Mark over the edge. How had he gone so bloody long without doing this? He’d been kidding himself all this time that he could go without. Why hadn’t he dusted off the cobwebs some time ago and been like Damian?

  Mark slammed in and out of Bradley with renewed vigour, fearing Bradley might be getting burn marks from the steel counter on his bare skin with the pace of Mark’s thrusts. Bradley didn’t complain and Mark chose to deal with that after. Now, though, now he needed to feel…every…single…earthshattering…sensation.

  “Bradley!” Mark yelled into the aether, once all the ooos and ahhhs and uuuhs had been used up, then grunted through his climax as it rushed around his entire quivering body and exploded into Bradley.

  “Oh, God, Mark!” Bradley raised Mark’s orgasm with one of his own that spurted from his dick and landed with a splat to the floor. He hadn’t even needed a hand to shimmy that along. He’s one of those!

  Collapsing onto Bradley’s back, Mark gave one last thrust and vowed to remain there until he died, or got his breath back. Whichever came first. That had been amazing. No, better than amazing. Perfect. Beautiful. And Mark’s head floated in a cloud of hazy euphoria that he had no desire to come back down from. Had it ever been that way? Had he ever felt this way before? Like he belonged? Like they both belonged…together?

  No. No it hadn’t.

  Mark inhaled. Time had evidently passed and he was still sprawled over Bradley’s back.

  “Tea?” Bradley offered over his shoulder.

  “Yes.” Mark nodded. “Please.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tea for Two

  “This one is my best yet, I think?”

  “Really?” Mark replied, taking hold of the steaming mug of tea Bradley handed down to him. “And what makes you so confident about this particular beverage?”

  Bradley smiled that beatific smile of all-white teeth and the green flecks in his eyes sparkled like the speckles glistening in the cup from the reflective lights above the café. Hovering over him on one of the vacant tables in the tea shop, Bradley bit his lip and Mark curled his fingers around the cup handle and lifted it to his lips. The distinct colour was particularly appealing. To put it into its correct category, Mark would say it was leaning toward the Strip Teas shade on the official chart and Mark couldn’t help but muse at how apt that was, considering the maker. It appeared to have the correct amount of milk and, as he peered into it further, he couldn’t see any remnants left in it that shouldn’t be there. Bradley was almost a connoisseur.