Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  This might have been a mistake. Samson stood there, unmoving, not as much as a twitch the lips in response. Cut started to pull away, already concocting an apology. But then Samson chased him, dropping his arms to clutch at Cut’s shirt and bring him back. There was no misreading that.

  Cut dug his fingers into Samson’s wavy curls and his shoulders, damn near climbing the man in his efforts to get closer. He couldn’t get enough.

  “Hello?” A strange voice sliced right through to Cut’s consciousness, sounding an alarm.

  Shit!

  Cut forgot all about the food. He tore himself away from Samson’s lips and checked his pod to make sure the door didn’t open more than it already was. It rattled along its framework as the person on the other side tried to force it opens.

  He grabbed the pants from the floor and threw them at a wide-eyed Samson who caught them and scrambled to pick up the rest of his clothes. “Just a second!” he shouted towards the door. He hadn’t really wanted someone to walk in on them. He’d planned to tease with the prospect of that happening, to get Samson thinking about that instead of his other worries. It had partially worked.

  Cut waited until Samson had darted down the hall and was well out of sight before he headed to the entryway. He took a second to adjust his bulge before he slid the door open.

  The person standing there didn’t look like he’d ever held a job as working class as delivering food in his life. He didn’t have any sort of packages with him either other than a satchel hanging from his shoulder.

  His hair was dark and trimmed short on the sides. What remained on top was coiffed into an elegant swoosh. The hair dipped as he gave Cut a dismissive once over before looking over his head into the apartment.

  “Is the master of the house in?”

  If he meant the true master of the house, he was looking at him. But Cut would play along.

  “Who’s asking?”

  The man inclined an eyebrow. “His brother.”

  So this was one of Samson’s tormentors face-to-face. From across the restaurant, he’d barely registered as more than a body in a chair. Seeing him close up like this, they really didn’t look related. He was so thin, his skin fairer. The only place where there was a vague resemblance was that thick head of dark hair. Samson’s was better.

  Cut was tempted to lie, and send him on his way, but Samson reappeared just as Cut thought of one.

  “Rami? What are you doing here?”

  Rami glanced down at Cut, that same brow raised. Cut knew what he wanted, but, as he’d demonstrated, his voice worked fine. He had to ask for an invitation like anyone else. When Cut didn’t move, he pushed passed him into the apartment.

  Cut stared daggers at his back. Samson must be adopted. There was no way that thing was kin to the man he knew. He wasn’t leaving Samson alone with that sharper. There was no telling what he’d do. Cut started to shut the door, when a shout from the other side stopped him. The actual delivery guy pulled up, looking harried. In his haste, Cut snatched the box of food. He tacked on a generous tip by ways of making amends. By the time he joined the two Bas in the living room, they were in the throes of a heated conversation.

  Samson paced on the rug while the creature claiming to be his brother stretched out on the couch, taking up most of it. Cut pulled up a chair alongside. Seeing them side-by-side cast a harsh light on their differences. Samson came out the better looking of the two.

  “You can’t show up like this, Rami. You have to call ahead.”

  “I did try, but I guess your pod’s on silent? How was I to know you’d have company? Though, I guess the help can hardly be considered company.”

  The help? Cut’s head whipped around to stare at him. “You piece of—”

  “He’s not the help.” Samson intervened. “Don’t talk about him like that. Just…” He took a steadying breath. “Why are you here?”

  Rami deigned to meet Cut’s gaze. “My apologies. I assumed, since he answered the door, he was your houseboy. Plus he looks like a Burrow bunny. What was I supposed to think?”

  In one swift motion, Samson hooked his foot under Rami’s legs and dragged them off the couch, making him sit up and grip the armrest to keep from falling. Samson moved so fast, Cut barely noticed that he’d moved at all.

  “Don’t talk about him like that,” Samson fumed. “Why are you here?” he said, his voice dark and low. Was this the same Samson that had yelped when Cut slapped him on the rump only minutes ago?

  Rami smirked, righting himself, as if his current position was his own doing. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but any redeeming qualities he had were negated by his shit attitude. “I went by your office to drop something off for you, and they told me you were out today. I figured you’d either be here or at your little restaurant. I got lucky that I picked this first.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a folder. He shoved it in Samson’s general direction. “It’s from Father, as you might have guessed. It’s a list of approved vendors for you to look over. He suggests you meet with them, see if you can get them to take pity on you and give you a better deal than whatever you’re getting now.”

  Samson didn’t reach for the folder, keeping to his side of the divide. “My vendors are fine.”

  Rami put his hands up in protest. “I’m merely the messenger. Though, it doesn’t hurt to have a few backups at the ready. You can never have too many. Like lovers, not that you’d know.” He glanced at Cut. That wasn’t subtle at all. “Oh, and Father said they’re from some special project.” He brought his feet back up on the couch. “He said you’d know what that meant.”

  A hint of color rose to Samson’s cheeks.

  Cut hadn’t heard of any special project, let alone one that would make affect Samson so. But he recovered quickly. He snatched the envelope out of Rami’s hand, the paper crunched under his fingers. Cut had never seen Samson so angry. He’d never even seen the man annoyed. His shoulders were bunched up around his ears. That list was pretty much unreadable now, crushed in his fist. Every part of his posture said he wanted to throttle Rami, so why was he holding back? Cut only asked that they abstain until he secured a snack.

  “List delivered. Anything else?”

  Rami looked for all the world like a very large man wasn’t looming over him, frothing at the mouth, his whole body threatening violence. “Can’t I visit my brother? It’s been almost a year.” He glanced at Cut again from the corner of his eye. Cut’s skin crawled.

  Sending whatever he ‘had’ to be deliver electronically would have been faster. This was clearly meant to be a check in. The question was why?

  “So, who’s your friend?” Rami shifted his whole body to Cut’s side of the couch, and instinctively Cut slid to the edge of his chair, half his ass almost hanging off. Cut wasn’t going to touch that question, leaving this completely in Samson’s hands. He felt like he was sitting in a field, surrounded by claymores. One wrong step meant disaster.

  “A colleague from work,” Samson said simply.

  It wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t totally correct either, though, Cut supposed he could hardly expect to be introduced as the person currently topping him.

  “Does he have a name?”

  Cut spoke up this time. “Jones.”

  Rami noticed the box that was sitting in Cut’s lap, and sniffed the air beside him. “Is that dinner? Smells like… jollof maybe?”

  “Not for you,” Samson said. “Not without calling first. You have to go.”

  Rami let out a loud sigh. “Fine. But you know where to find me if you decide want some better company.” He leered at Cut again for a second too long. The urge to barf had never been so strong.

  Rami got up from the couch and with a delayed, perfunctory show of affection to Samson, he was on his way.

  Cut didn’t relax until he heard the door slide closed. He locked it from his pod.

  “I’m sorry about that. Our relationship isn’t the best.” Sams
on sat down on the couch, his hands twisting atop his thighs. He was back to his usual self. “We usually avoid each other.”

  “Yeah, I kinda got that.” Cut brought the box to the coffee table and set it down. Samson discarded the folder, unopened, next to it. Cut was dying to know more about the contents of that folder, but if Samson wasn’t going to offer, he wasn’t going to ask. That didn’t stop him from gazing at it longingly, however.

  “I’m sorry he was so rude to you.”

  “I’ve dealt with worse. Don’t worry about it. Are you ready to eat?”

  Samson’s stomach answered for him, letting loose a growl loud enough to reach Cut’s ears. Together, they laid out all the food. He wasn’t sure what any of it was, but there sure was a lot of it.

  “This is, chicken, figs, jollof rice with plantains, and I also got a couple of pieces of injera.” Samson walked Cut through the proper way to eat everything without utensils. Samson offered him a fork early on, but he stuck with it until he no longer noticed the feel of rice sticking to the underside of his nails. Eating it this way seemed to make an already delicious meal taste even better.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” Cut said once he’d eaten enough to quell his hunger. “I had this whole idea where… It doesn’t matter; it didn’t work. I didn’t mean for your brother—or anyone—to almost walk in on us.”

  Samson shook his head. “It was just bad timing. But that doesn’t mean we can’t continue…?”

  “Of course.” Cut wiped his fingers clean on a napkin, glad he hadn’t yet eaten himself into a stupor. He’d come close to it.

  “Even though I broke the rules?”

  Cut cocked a brow. “What rule?”

  Samson busied himself with a napkin. His fingers had been clean for several minutes now. “Earlier when you kissed me…” His voice dropped so low, Cut barely heard him. “I kissed you back. I moved before you said it was allowed.”

  Cut scoffed. “That’s hardly being bad, Samson…”

  “No, I should be punished. I need to be punished.”

  From the way he stared at Cut to the way he squeezed Cut’s thigh, made what he wanted abundantly clear. Just… How did they go about that? They hadn’t gone over punishments in their verbal agreement. Samson had been so obedient and eager to please from the beginning that Cut had glazed over those sections in Mikela’s books. Some of the things he had read were a bit distasteful. He couldn’t see himself bringing Samson any real pain, even if he asked for it. There were pages, whole chapters, dedicated to methods of punishment, and Cut had gotten little more than a paragraph in before he’d quit reading.

  One thing he read did apply here. The punishment he was willing to dole out fit the crime, in that it was as much a punishment as Samson’s kiss had been a misdeed.

  He grinned. “Fine. Once we put everything away, I’ll give you your punishment.”

  Satisfied with that, Samson finished up his plate. The leftovers were cleared away and Cut got comfortable on the couch while Samson stripped down and resumed the position.

  Cut crooked his finger and Samson came to him. Hooking a finger in the waistband of Samson’s briefs, Cut tugged them down his legs. His cock was already hard and bobbed tantalizingly close to Cut’s face. Cut licked his lips, resisting the urge to swallow that cock right up and suck him off, but that was more of a reward than a punishment.

  Cut shimmied to the middle of the couch, and wedged himself into the cushions to get more comfortable. He patted his thighs. “Lie across my lap.”

  Samson hesitated. “Are you sure? I’m so heavy... I’ll crush you.”

  Cut glared up at him. “Are you questioning an order? That’s what it sounds like.”

  “N-no.” Samson furiously shook his head. He started to kneel, but thought better of it. “Of course not. I just—”

  “I’m not made of glass. Lie across my lap.”

  Samson slowly knelt on the cushions, lowering himself across Cut’s lap. He kept most of his weight propped up on his elbows. Cut would allow him that for now. That beautiful ass was right in front of him, so round and firm. He’d dreamed about being this close to it, and now he was here. Things between them always moved so fast. Cut hadn’t gotten the chance to appreciate their time together. At least Samson did. He was going make it a point to savor this occasion.

  He cupped one of Samson’s cheeks, lifted it, and watched it spring back into place before he did the same to the other. He squeezed them, parted them, marveling at the fact that he was allowed to do this. Samson trembled under his touch.

  Cut smoothed a hand from Samson’s lower back, down over his ass, those thick thighs, to the backs of his knees. The soft hairs along the way tickled his palm. He had to get back on track. There was a punishment to be meted out.

  He raised a hand, and let it fall on Samson’s ass hard enough that a sharp slap rang out in the room. He’d gotten such slaps himself, and it was more for show than actual pain, but it did the trick. Samson gasped, his whole body flinching in surprise. Cut waited until he recovered before he reared back and did it again. Each time Cut’s hand met his flesh, Samson’s ass got pinker. He was transfixed by this new color. He wanted to find out how red it could get.

  Samson’s hips sank until they met the tops of Cut’s thighs, no longer able to hold himself up. He squirmed, dragging his length across Cut’s thighs, whimpering. Cut reached between Samson’s thighs and squeezed his cock until Samson settled. “That’s not allowed. You’ll get five more for that. Understand?”

  Samson whimpered, but nodded. He didn’t move again.

  Cut’s own cock was pinched underneath Samson’s weight. This might not have been the best position, but he’d do this again a thousand times, maybe with a pillow as a buffer.

  There were fifteen blows in total. By the end of it, Samson’s cheeks were a light coral. Cut heaved a satisfied sigh, and the air blowing across Samson’s rump made him flinch. Cut allowed him that, making a mental note to get ice for him as soon as he was able. The punishment was over.

  Reaching between Samson’s legs again, Cut took hold of his cock. It was so slippery with pre, Cut didn’t need to have him get the lube. Cut marveled at how smoothly it slipped over his palm and fingers.

  Samson’s growing cries reminded him he had a job to finish.

  “Time to turn over.” It might be a little awkward, and a little painful on his ass, but he’d have to bear with it. Cut demanded it.

  Samson did as he was told, rolling onto his back. He winced as his ass brushed against the fabric of the couch. Cut would make this fast. He took up the whole couch where his brother had come up short. He was glorious, panting, sweat setting a glossy sheen to his skin, his wisps of chest hair glistening. And those eyes were right on Cut where they should be.

  Then there was that cock, so dark, bobbing over his belly. From the way it dripped, he didn’t have long even if Cut wanted to prolong this.

  He caressed Samson’s belly, flicked his dark nipples while his other hand circled his length, in quick strokes. Samson moaned with each movement, his hips following along. He grabbed Cut by the forearm, not to stop him, but out of need for something to hold onto.

  He turned to Cut with heated eyes, though his expression was one of concern.

  “I’m… so close, Mr. Cut. I—”

  Cut appreciated the warning, but there was no way he’d stop now. His own labored breathing filled his ears as Samson drove his hips up, increasing the contact. He tried to hold Cut’s gaze, but he shut his eyes, wailing as that release tore through him, spraying thick lines of come across his chest and belly. He collapsed, chest heaving, an arm thrown across his eyes, spent, and happy.

  Cut trailed his fingers through Samson’s seed and brought it to his lips to lick them clean. Samson pulled his arm away to watch it all, with tired, but rapt attention. Cut cupped his cheek, and Samson pressed into his palm. He heaved a deep contented sigh. It made the pressure on his cock wo
rth it.

  “Can you kiss me again?” Samson whispered, unsure. As if there was some way Cut would deny him.

  He had Samson sit up and straddle his lap to give his crotch a break. Everything left on Samson’s front slid onto Cut’s clothes as he tugged the man down for another blistering kiss. He supposed he’d have to spend the night again. There was no way he was going home in come covered clothes. Everything needed to be washed, and at this rate, there was no he would make it home before curfew.

  Surely, they’d find a way to pass the time?

  Chapter 14

  A

  month and a half into the curfew, and there was no end in sight. Hole’s business suffered from irregular hours and dwindling revenue until Priya was struck by inspiration.

  The schedule before the curfew had been strict. They opened every evening around 1800, three hours before the lights came on during the summer months, and it closed right before the lights went out, around 0200. Priya tried to hold onto this, adjusting for the curfew, but being mindful of how the change in daylight hours messed with people’s minds. Cut saw regulars walk by without a second glance, so focused on getting home before the curfew kicked in. But since that didn’t work, Priya made a wise change. She shuffled the schedule until the hemorrhaging of funds began to ease.

  The tiny bar was now open from mid-afternoon, about 1400, until curfew. She also decreased the days from each of the seven weekdays down to the final four, and started offering foods more substantial than a bowl of nuts. It was mostly finger foods, things that took minutes to heat and eat. They weren’t great. After a talk with Samson, though, Cut would bend Priya’s ear about serving Family Kitchen meals here. For now, she had hit the sweet spot. The bar was busier than ever.

  The change had been so successful that, on the weekends—when they opened around 1200—they started having to take reservations. More hours meant more work to go around. When it came time to pick their shifts, Cut always went last. He knew a great many folks needed the time more than he did. The only reason he picked them up at all was at Priya’s request. So when he wasn’t at Deyaa, or with Samson, which wasn’t often, he came here, sometimes as a patron.