Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  “Tell me what you want.”

  Samson shook his head. Cut stopped stroking, thrusting his hips hard against that ass. “I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.”

  “To feel you.” Cut couldn’t see his face, but the tips of Samson’s ears had turned red.

  Cut leaned down, close to his ear, a smile in his voice. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Samson only whimpered.

  He brushed his fingers against the pucker of Samson’s ass. He wouldn’t have been able to have him today even if he wanted to. Cut wanted it to be pleasant for the both of them and Samson was too tight. In the coming sessions, they’d definitely work on that.

  This position was going to be a little awkward, but he wouldn’t give it up. He back away enough to lube his other hand. He teased Samson’s hole into taking a couple of fingers, his other hand gliding along his length. He was so warm inside, his body sucking Cut in. He wished he had more hands! He wasn’t experiencing him properly.

  Samson pushed back, riding Cut’s fingers, his cock throbbing in Cut’s grasp. He was close. Cut could feel it.

  “Come on. Give me that ass.” Samson moved faster, pushing back so hard that Cut’s wrist started to cramp, whimpering until, with a groan, he came. Cut made sure to point him away from his feet, but he milked Samson until he whined in discomfort. Samson’s knees wobbled once before he dropped heavily onto the floor. Not once did his palms leave the table.

  Samson’s seed was all over Cut’s knuckles. Without thinking, he drew his hand to his mouth and licked one of his fingers clean. His own cock throbbed painfully, but there was no time to take care of it. He had to get this puddle of a man home. But first, he had to gather him up from the floor.

  He cleaned them both up with a handful of napkins and got Samson’s clothes back on. He didn’t look as neat as he had this morning, but it would have to do. Samson was no help, barely able to stand, but there was no time to wait for him to fully recover unless they wanted to get locked in for the night.

  They made it to the elevator, seen by no one. He hoped Samson had a car waiting. If not, Cut would call one, but not before a teetering Samson drew some unwanted attention.

  The ground level was as empty as their floor. Even the security guard had gone for the evening. There were several cars idling outside the building, and Cut had no idea which might belong to Samson. They walked along the strip, Cut shouldering a fair amount of the big man’s weight, before one driver exited their car and jogged over to them.

  The person rushed forward, concern heavy on their face. “Mr. Ba, are you alright?” They noticed Cut tucked under Samson’s arm as an afterthought. Their features iced over. “Who are you?”

  “I’m his assistant.”

  “The secretary.” The driver said it like it left a bad taste in their mouth. Cut didn’t have time for this.

  “He started feeling lightheaded and asked me to see him home.”

  “If that’s all it is, I can handle it. But does he need to see a doctor?”

  “He just needs to rest. He overworked himself today.” Or more like Cut had been the one to push him too far.

  The driver scowled at Cut and reached for Samson, but he wouldn’t be moved. Samson stayed close, holding onto Cut’s jacket like a lifeline. The driver insisted they were able to get Samson home safely on their own, but Cut wasn’t about to burden someone else with that job when he was the reason Samson was in this state.

  “It’ll be easier to get him in the car if we work together.”

  The driver relented and opened the door, though not without trying to get Samson to abandon Cut one more time. Cut let them try and only found a little joy in their failure.

  The only way Samson would settle was with Cut beside him.

  When he shut the door instead of exiting through it, the driver opened it again.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Seeing him home.”

  “You aren’t an authorized rider. I can’t allow that.”

  For once, Cut wished he was dealing with a droid.

  “If it’s a problem, I’ll hail a cab, but either way, I’m going with him.”

  Samson made himself comfortable at Cut’s side, an arm around his waist. Cut spread his arms to the driver. “See?” Even half-sleep, Samson wanted Cut with him.

  The driver muttered something that sounded like “fucker” and slammed the door. They got in the driver’s seat and took off.

  The route took them high in the blocks, well past the park. The driver took them on a winding path, and for a bit it felt like they were going in circles. They must have thought Cut pretty ignorant if they thought something as simple as figuring out his location using his pod was beyond him. Their distrust was evident in how their gaze flicked to the rearview mirror every time the car turned a corner. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find the controls for a privacy shield to put an end to it.

  Thirty-minutes later, the driver slowed into their neighborhood. Cut knew they were well outside of the Burrow simply because he’d never been here before. All of the structures were several decades newer than anything close to where he lived, totally free of decay. They were smaller, too, meant only to house a family or two rather than the dozens in the converted settler housing available to most Burrow residents. He didn’t see many people about, not that he had the chance. They pulled into a big garage next to one of these family units. There were other vehicles inside, sitting unused and collecting dust. They parked the car and turned to face the back seat. “How is he?”

  Samson was still tucked up under Cut’s arm like an overgrown hatchling. He hadn’t said anything for the whole ride. Cut doubted he could separate them if he tried. “About the same.”

  “I’ll let the housekeeper know to expect a guest.” The driver huffed and got out of the car.

  “Yeah, you do that,” Cut mumbled after them.

  He shook Samson’s shoulder and softly called his name, but he didn’t improve. His eyes were barely open, but not really taking anything in. If he was like this after a couple of fingers, what was Cut’s cock going to do to him?

  “We have to get out soon,” Cut warned. That got a groan from Samson, but Cut wouldn’t call it a true response. It had been nearly 45-minutes so far. Cut had run from their last encounter before then, so there was no telling how long this state would last. If this was how he was going to be every time, Cut could never leave him again. Samson was his responsibility.

  After a few minutes, the driver returned with a gray-haired gentleman in tow. They approached the car, but didn’t touch it. The older man, easily in his sixties, nodded to Cut. “You’re Samson’s assistant?”

  The drop in formality didn’t miss Cut’s ear. “I am.”

  “Then you won’t have any trouble assisting me in getting him inside. It’s a two man job.” The older man’s eyes sparkled with humor. Cut immediately liked him better than the driver.

  Chapter 10

  D

  espite the obvious affluence of the neighborhood they were in, the inside of Samson’s place was surprisingly underwhelming. The furniture was nicer and newer than anything Cut had, but they weren’t a far cry from the appointments he would have chosen himself if he’d had the money at his disposal. The whole place was so clean it sparkled, much to the housekeeper’s credit. Cut removed both his and Samson’s shoes and left them in the little closet in the entryway.

  The driver felt better leaving Samson in the hands of someone familiar, and they were convinced to go on their way with minimal goading. Together, Cut and the housekeeper got Samson into bed. They sat him on it where he traded Cut for an overstuffed pillow and snuggled down into the blanket. They tipped toed out of the room and gently shut the door.

  Cut and the housekeeper stood awkwardly outside Samson’s bedroom. Was this the end of it? Should he go home?

  As the housekeeper took his measure, his stern face gave way to a smile.


  “Where are my manners? Let me offer you a drink.”

  “That’s OK. I don’t need one.”

  “Oh, I insist. This way, please.”

  The housekeeper led them into the kitchen, which was nice and airy with top of the line appliances. The stove had so many knobs and buttons on it, it resembled a starship’s control console. In an alcove next to the kitchen stood a washer and dryer. The older man opened the fridge. “Is beer OK?”

  “Beer’s great. Thanks.”

  He took out two cold bottles and popped the tops. Cut took a sip. It was hoppy and delicious. The housekeeper joined him.

  “Now it’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, keeping his eyes on Cut’s face. “But Mr. Ba is an important man. I’m gonna need to see some ID to make sure you are who you say you are. Or at the least if I need to warn Samson to monitor his accounts.” He smiled when he said it, but the steadiness of his gaze said he meant it.

  Cut produced two forms of ID. One for work that proved he did indeed work for Samson, and another pairing the name with the face.

  “Kotaro Jones?” The housekeeper held the card up next to Cut’s head, comparing the two. His hair was longer now and he was a few years older, but he still had the nose ring and the charm.

  “It’s a family name. I prefer Cut, though.” He also didn’t have to listen to people mangle it. But this man had done well enough.

  The housekeeper gave Cut back his cards. “Well, Cut, I’m Malcom.” They shook hands. Malcom had a firm grip for a man his age. “Sorry for the formality. You can never be too sure. Had to check who let himself in here, especially with Samson in such a state. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Cut told him in the same story he’d given the driver, albeit a bit more fleshed out. He was feeling faint, needed a lie down, so Cut was here to make sure he did just that.

  The way Malcom chuckled said he was less than convinced by that excuse. Did he know of his employer’s extracurricular activities?

  “He had a spell like that about a month ago. He works himself into the ground.”

  A pang of guilt ran through Cut. He’d most likely been the source of that “spell” too. “Yeah, I noticed,” Cut said. “I’ve been trying to lighten his day-to-day workload, though I’ve caught him penciling in more a few times. He had a long meeting today that he added last minute. I think he needs to start taking vitamins.” Or something stronger to mellow him out. Slipping a dazzler into his morning coffee was likely a no-no, but what if he offered him one?

  Malcom laughed again. “Thanks for getting him home. I’m glad I’m not the only one looking out for him. He took another long pull of his beer. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to impose on you one more time, though. My wife’s waiting for me at home, and she broke her foot. She’s supposed to stay off it, but she’s as stubborn as our Samson here. I’m sure she’s been hobbling around on it, ignoring the doctor’s orders. Normally, I’d hang around until he woke up, but I need to stop her from getting in her own way.”

  This was out of both their paygrades, but Cut was the one responsible. He had nothing else to do. How long could Samson stay zonked out?

  “I’ll stick around.”

  “Great, great,” Malcom said. He chucked the rest of his beer and eased the bottle into the can. He went further into the apartment and reappeared with his things. “I’ll leave the number of his doctor in case he doesn’t improve. Are you alright with that?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I’ll be sure to let Gray know everything’s handled and send them home. I know they’ve got to be skulking somewhere close by.”

  Malcom sent all the information over in a document. He also pointed out the food in the fridge as well as places that delivered. He included his own contact info as well. “Call if you need anything, and if he asks why you’re still here, tell him it was all my idea.” The older man shoved his arms in his jacket sleeves and his feet into his shoes. After a round of goodbyes, he left.

  Cut decided to have a look around. He doubted Samson would mind him wandering as long as he didn’t break anything. It might take hours for Samson to wake up, and Cut was too antsy to sit in one spot the whole time. This was his first time in the home of someone so wealthy. He had to look around.

  Sadly, Samson’s place was boring boring boring. There was a spare bedroom and an office with a treadmill and free weights. He lingered in the guestroom where the bed looked as soft and comfortable as the one they’d put Samson in. Cut would have killed for a chance to close his eyes. He made himself move on lest he do that exact thing. The office had a small dragon’s horde of data pads in it. He picked one up and tried to access it. The device beeped loudly in warning. Locked, huh? There was probably something dirty on it. He gave up for now and wound his way back to the kitchen. Lunch was hours behind him and he was starting to get hungry again. He peeked in the refrigerator. It was as well stocked as Malcom said, though if Cut had wanted to cook, he had no idea where to start. There was meat and vegetables, but none of it ready to eat. He hoped Samson woke up soon.

  He went to the living room to test if the couch was as comfortable as it looked and boy was it. His back had never felt so good sitting up. He’d go see if Samson was doing any better after he rested his eyes a bit.

  Cut awoke with a start. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but the smell of heat and food had brought him around. He got off the couch to find the source of the smell, his stomach growling loudly.

  Samson was at the stove, his back to Cut. He’d been up for a while it seemed. He changed into a pair of sleep shorts that revealed a scandalous amount of leg for the usually well-dressed man, and a sweatshirt. He was so at ease in his own element that Cut was loathed to disturb him.

  Cut cleared his throat, announcing his presence before he got too close. Samson jumped anyway, nearly dropping his spatula in the process. “Ah, you’re up.”

  Cut slid into a chair set up at the counter. He sniffed the air. Something smelled amazing.

  “So are you. Feeling any better?”

  “Yes, not that I was feeling bad to begin with. It’s hard to explain.” Samson shrank in on himself a little. He turned back to the stove. Cut had read about subspace and it’s after effects, but hearing it first hand was much more interesting. He wanted Samson to go on, but his posture spoke of his reluctance. Cut let him be.

  “I didn’t overstep any bounds?” He hadn’t thought about it before, but there was so much they laid out in their agreement. What was he allowed to do? Did Samson have any hard limits? He supposed now was a good time to ask. “Was what I did today OK with you?”

  Samson nodded, though he didn’t turn around. “It was good… I wouldn’t mind if everything we did was like that.”

  Cut sagged with relief, even as the memory of the way Samson had cried out, rode his fingers made Cut’s cock hard all over again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He should go, and let Samson get on with his evening. He opened his mouth to say so, and his stomach growled. He shouldn’t impose… But maybe Samson was willing to share? “What are you making?”

  “Dinner,” Samson called over his shoulder. “If you want it. It’s pretty late, though. We were asleep a long time.”

  Cut whipped out his pod and checked the time. Damn, it was after 2300. The curfew started an hour ago. There was no way he was getting home without a citation. He should have set an alarm before he fell asleep.

  Samson turned to face the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. “You’re more than welcome to spend the night. I’ve got room.”

  “Are you sure? I’m not trying to overstay my welcome.”

  Samson chuckled, turned a knob on the stove, and then turned back to Cut. “After what you did for me today, you’re always welcome here.” There was no flush, no shyness. Cut wasn’t sure what part of their time together Samson meant—the ride home or what had necessitated it. They’d never spoken about their s
essions face-to-face before. Samson looked too comfortable for that to suddenly have changed.

  “No worries,” Cut said. “It was the least I could do.”

  His fridge was empty and there wouldn’t be any time to stop to pick something up. So he’d end this day with a ticket and an empty belly if he went home now. No thanks. “If I get to eat whatever that is, then I’ll stay.” He hopped off the stool and came went up to the stove, trying to peek around Samson. “What are you making here?” It was a mess of meat and brightly colored vegetables chopped into strips.

  “Stir fry. I’m starving, so I wanted to make something fast. I figured you might be too.” A timer built into the stove binged. “The noodles are ready. If you’ll let me get by…”

  “You mean this?” A pot of water in front of where Cut stood boiled, churning brown noodles in white froth. Cut turned off the eyelet. “I’ve got it. Where’s your colander-strainer-thing?”

  Samson’s brow rose for a moment. “Really. I can handle it myself.” Samson crept closer, too close, like he was going to try to reach for the pot. Cut hunched over it, blocking him with his body, the heat from the pot warm on his stomach. This was absolutely ridiculous!

  “I can drain some damn noodles. I’ve got it. You’ve done everything else.”

  A slight frown, more of a pout really, crept over Samson’s face, but he pointed Cut to the colander. Malcom wasn’t kidding about him running himself into the ground. What was the need to do it all himself? Was it from his desire to serve or a need to be in control? Whatever it was, Samson needed to chill out.

  The strainer was up high and Samson had to bring it down for him. Cut handled the rest, only splashing a few drops of water on his pants. Samson scrutinized his every move so closely, Cut started to think he was screwing up somehow. He waited until the noodles were drained and cooling in the sink to speak up.

  “What?”

  “I was trying to do this for you… I wanted to do everything because I thought… I wasn’t sure you knew how to cook. Most people I’ve met here don’t know how, so I admit I was a little surprised. I had it in my head that I needed to handle it all myself, for you, but… Thank you for helping.”