Cutie Pies

by Barbara Bell

  “Maybe you should be.” Another drink, this one a little more measured than the last. “You know,” Mick said as he put his glass down. “When I first walked into Cutie Pies, I did so because of something my boyfriend—my ex-boyfriend—said. I was hoping if we ever sorted this out, I could surprise him. Stupid, huh?”

  “Hey, no. You didn’t know.”

  “I did know,” Mick said. “I knew it was over. Any idiot could see it was over. I just didn’t want to think that.” Softer. “I’m not like you, Joey. You talk about your first boyfriend that went to Germany, your Irish boyfriend that lasted a few days, and your other boyfriend that broke his sink with a metal dildo, and you sound so . . . so happy. Not bitter about things ending. Not embarrassed that you had a relationship that didn’t work out or had feelings for someone.”

  “Are you embarrassed?” Joey asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Mick answered. “Shouldn’t I be? I fought so hard to make it work with a man who wasn’t interested in me anymore and now I’m sitting here and I realise by hanging on to him, I might have pushed someone else, someone better, away.”

  Joey sucked in a breath to respond. Held it when he realised what Mick had just told him. Oh. Oh shit. Oh holy shit.

  Mick had told him he liked him. It was messy, it was roundabout, but it was there. A spark of possibility.

  The ball was in Joey’s court now. It was up to him to either throw it back or walk off the field. “You . . . eh . . . haven’t,” Joey said. “Pushed me away, that is.”

  A small smile danced across Mick’s face. “Good.”

  And just like that, their dinner became a date.

  It was one of the most beautiful moments of the evening.

  But not the most beautiful.

  That came later, after they’d climbed into Mick’s battered old car and gotten lost trusting Joey’s sense of direction over the GPS in his phone. They pulled over to try to figure out where they were and ended up swapping saliva instead. Joey couldn’t say that he minded.

  Mick tasted sweet and warm, his lips slightly chapped but all the more sexy because of it. Joey cupped the back of Mick’s head, feeling the thick curls of hair tangle around his fingers. Mick’s hand came up to rest on his side, firm and confident.

  The first time they’d kissed, hanging out the window overlooking the Mardi Gras Pride Parade, it had been a shock of newness and excitement. Every time after that, it had been about want. How much they’d wanted to feel each other, how much they’d wanted to be felt by each other. This time it was just about them, alone in a car on a nameless strip of road in an unknown suburb, exploring and revelling in the simple, easy way they fit together.

  When Mick parted his lips, Joey tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

  Their tongues slid together, slowly at first and then with more purpose. Joey couldn’t get enough. He wanted to go faster, he wanted to slow down, he wanted to experience this in a million different ways . . . but, most of all, he wanted Mick. He liked Mick, he wanted Mick, and maybe—just maybe—he wanted to be with Mick. The realisation should have been terrifying. They’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and been on two dates in that time. It was way too soon to be thinking those sorts of thoughts, feeling those sorts of feelings. But, in that moment, he didn’t care.

  Mick’s hand fisted Joey’s shirt. When Joey leaned against the handbrake to kiss him harder, that hand tugged at his shirt until it began to drag up.

  Joey drew back with a grin and pulled his shirt over his head and off.

  He leaned forward to reconnect their kiss, but Mick’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Wait. Just . . . wait a sec.” Mick’s eyes tracked down Joey’s body. Even in the dim interior of the car, Joey could see him swallow. “You’re stupid hot. You know that right?”

  Joey grinned and tried again to re-join their lips.

  Mick stopped him a second time. “No. Seriously. Wait. I . . .” His gaze met Joey’s. “Can we talk for a little bit?”

  Joey cocked his head but leaned back in his seat without protest. “Do you want me to put my shirt back on?”

  Mick choked out a short, startled laugh and shook his head.

  The idea that Mick was taking a moment to ogle him wasn’t an unwelcome one. Joey slouched in his seat but tensed his stomach to make his abdominal muscles appear a little bit more impressive than they actually were. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know.” Mick studied him. “What are you into?”

  You. “Nothing too scary,” Joey said instead. “I like anal and am fine with being on the top or the bottom, though I like a bit of warning before doing either.” He returned Mick’s look with one of his own. “What we did last time was pretty awesome too, in case you were wondering. I gotta say, you give great head.”

  “I’ve been practising.”

  Joey’s eyebrows shot up. “What now?”

  Mick blinked, seemed to realise what he’d said all at once, and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh no. It’s not what you think. I haven’t been sucking heaps of dicks. I promise. What I meant was I’ve . . . eh . . . well . . .” He was blushing again. Joey could tell even through the darkness in the car. “The thing is . . . the . . . um . . . the dildo I bought from you . . .”

  “What about it?”

  “I . . . When I say I’ve been practising oral, I . . .”

  Joey’s eyes widened as his brain finally caught up to what Mick was saying. “Wait. Hold up. Are you telling me you bought the dildo to give it blowjobs?”

  Mick bobbed his head in a shy nod.

  “Blowjobs?” he said again, not believing what he was hearing. “You’ve been doing oral on the dildo? For practise?”

  “Yes.”

  “The ten-inch dildo. You . . .” Something occurred to him. “Oh my God. That’s why you bought the throat-numbing spray.”

  “Yes,” Mick said again. “Though I don’t think I actually needed it. My gag reflex was more mental than it was physical. But the spray helped. And the dildo helped too . . . I think. I did all right when I did you, didn’t I?” The earnest but meagre hope in his voice pulled Joey out of his state of shock.

  “‘All right’?” He barked out a hoarse laugh and then abruptly stopped when he realised Mick wasn’t kidding. “It was a hell of a lot better than ‘all right.’ It was fucking amazing.”

  Mick’s smile bloomed to life. “Really? I mean, I know it seems silly, but I’m not very good at blowjobs and—”

  Joey sat up so quickly he almost banged his head on the roof of the car. “‘Not good at blowjobs’? Mate. You deep-throated me.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, that’s not amateur-level shit. That’s major leagues.”

  Mick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You think? I . . . I don’t know.”

  Incredulously, “You don’t know? Jesus, Mick. How do you not know this stuff?”

  “I guess I just . . . um . . .” Mick looked like he was close to blushing again. “I just thought that was what you did.”

  “You thought every blowjob had to be a deep exploration mission down past your tonsils?”

  A pause. “Kinda,” Mick admitted. “I mean . . . shouldn’t they be?”

  “No. Don’t get me wrong, deep-throating is awesome, and you’re awesome at it. But it’s above and beyond the call of duty.” Joey settled back in his seat, though this time he was on his side, facing Mick. “You don’t have to deep-throat to give someone a good blowjob and anyone who told you you’re not good at oral when you just shoved their cock down your throat is a fucking prick. Seriously.”

  Mick bit his lip and looked away.

  And Joey knew—he knew—Mick was thinking about his ex-boyfriend. A man Joey hadn’t known the first thing about before tonight but who he was starting to hate. That in of itself was strange. Joey wasn’t a hater. He didn’t hate. But he couldn’t deny the feeling sitting thick, black, and foreign in the pit of his stomach.

  “Yo
u don’t think I’m weird, do you?” Mick asked suddenly. “For buying the dildo to practise oral? I know it’s kind of strange, but I’ve been thinking about getting a dildo to practise on for a while and when I saw Cutie Pies, I . . . well . . . I thought I would just go for it.”

  “I think you’re weird,” Joey promised. “Weird in a dorky, genius kind of way. But that’s one of the reasons why I’m into you, so . . . yeah.” He shrugged. “Don’t ever stop being weird.”

  Mick shifted towards him. “You think I’m a genius? Why? I’m always stupid and shy around you. Even when I try to be cool, I end up taking you to a bar with a weird Hawaiian theme.”

  “You invited me to Mardi Gras,” Joey said. “That was pretty genius. Then you took me to dinner. That was also genius. Now you’ve gotten us stranded on this deserted street where no one can see us make out. Face it, Mick: you’re a genius.”

  “You’re the one that got us lost. I was following your directions.”

  “Well, maybe I’m a little bit of genius too.”

  Mick gazed at him like he wanted to memorise him, eyes flicking from point to point, from feature to feature. After a while, he spoke. “I think I want to make out some more now.”

  Joey burst out laughing. “Seriously? That’s all it took? Me calling you a genius?”

  “Hm,” Mick said, and then their lips were back together again.

  Joey didn’t think it was possible, but this kiss was even better than the last. The connection slow but deep. He got lost in it. Lost in the simple beauty of their mouths moving against each other, in the way they reached for each other with instinctual ease, and in the way they brought themselves together like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

  Mick’s hands touched his chest, and the contact sent a shiver down Joey’s spine. It should have been strange, being half-naked when Mick was still fully clothed. Or, at least, a little depowering. But it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

  He hummed in encouragement as Mick’s hands kept exploring, moving down his body, ghosting over his groin, and then tracking up his back to wrap firmly, decisively, around his shoulders.

  Joey mirrored the action, wrapping his arms around Mick and drawing him as close as he could with the centre console between them.

  This time, when Mick withdrew, he didn’t tell Joey to stop. Instead he slid his seat as far back as possible and then pulled a different lever so it reclined. Joey didn’t need to be asked twice. He climbed across the centre console to straddle Mick and push him down onto the car seat.

  Their gazes met, lips twitched towards matching smiles, and then they were kissing again. Only this kiss was different. There was hunger in it. Urgency. He ground his hips down into Mick’s lap, and Mick’s hands gripped his arse through the fabric of his pants, encouraging him and using him as an anchor to pull them tighter together. He could feel Mick through his jeans. Long, hard, and getting harder as he moved their groins against each other.

  Mick somehow got a hand between them and the feeling of fingers scraping against his shaft made Joey’s insides clench with need.

  He yanked his face away and choked out a strangled moan. “Fuck, Mick . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “God yeah.”

  Mick palmed him through the coarse fabric of his pants and then yanked open his fly.

  Joey buried his face in Mick’s shoulder and focused on just breathing as Mick got a hand on him. The knot of need in Joey’s gut slowly began to tighten and then fray as Mick worked him. The tattered ends sent sparks of pleasure coursing through his body. He wanted to come. He was close. But not there. Not quite . . .

  He put a hand between them with the intension of guiding Mick’s fist, encouraging it to be rougher and harder. Instead he found himself opening Mick’s jeans. Mick’s cock sprung free, and then he was grabbing Mick’s hand and pinning him down in the seat. They pressed themselves together, naked cocks crushed between their bodies, and hips working.

  Their lips met again with more force and then broke apart as they both began to pant.

  Fuck. This was better. So much better. The roughness. The need. The pleasure already shining bright and unfulfilled in Mick’s eyes.

  It was inelegant, messy, and awkward. Just like their first time. An electrifying blitz of heat, friction, and need dragging them both towards climax. But it was good. So good.

  “One day,” Joey heard himself rasp, Mick’s gaze flashing to him. “One day, I’ll fuck you.”

  Mick groaned and threw his head back. “Yeah . . . ah . . . fuck . . . yeah.”

  Joey leaned forward and slid his tongue along the shell of Mick’s ear and then down Mick’s throat. The sounds Mick made along with his panted agreement had Joey teetering on the precipice. But still . . . not quite . . .

  “And I . . .” Mick croaked. “I’ll fuck you back.”

  Joey was done. The knot inside him broken.

  Joey gave himself over to the tide of pleasure and fucked against the man pinned beneath him as the whole world disappeared into a mess of ecstasy and relief. He was making noise, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was nothing but pleasure. Nothing but release. Nothing but him, Mick, and the need to keep rocking his hips forward as the last frantic wave of it washed over him and then receded. Like the tide.

  It wasn’t the best orgasm of his life . . . but it was close . . . really close. And it had come just from grinding against Mick in the restricted space between the steering wheel and the reclined seat.

  Fuck.

  He bowed his head as the last aftershocks of pleasure trickled through him.

  Then he collapsed, his whole body slumping forward in a debilitating flood of weakness. Mick caught him and held him, fingers gliding through his hair and drawing patterns into his skin. Joey slowly brought himself back from the brink.

  The first thing he saw was the look on Mick’s face.

  He was watching him, peaceful and beautiful, a small smile playing on the edges of his big perfect lips. “You messed up my favourite shirt.” He said it softly and without rancour.

  Joey somehow managed to cock an eyebrow and lean back to examine the damage. “I had help.”

  Mick’s voice was playful. “You made me come. It’s your fault.”

  “You know what? You’re right. I accept full responsibility for your amazing orgasm.”

  “How did you know it was amazing?”

  “Because I’m amazing,” Joey tried to boast but he yawned in the middle of it and the words came out in a half slur. Because Immaazznn.

  Mick seemed to understand it anyway. He pushed one more kiss onto Joey’s lips. “Yeah. I know you are.”

  That was the moment Joey knew. Right there. Lying on top of Mick and drifting through a tide of postorgasm exhaustion. He knew this wasn’t just a guy he could maybe one day fall in love with . . . this was a guy he was falling in love with.

  Years later when people asked him about how they got together, he wouldn’t think of the dildo or their first date overlooking the Mardi Gras Parade. He would think of how Mick looked at this moment, pinned beneath him on a tatty old car seat, smiling as if he didn’t have a puddle of come soaking his T-shirt. Because that was the moment he knew.

  Four Months Later

  “I don’t know about this.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “See, you say that but . . .”

  “You’ll be fine,” Mick said again, firmer this time. “It’s just one night. And my mum already loves you.”

  Joey shook his head as the car turned into what looked terrifyingly like a street. No more highways. No more petrol stops. They were close. “She’s never met me.”

  “No,” Mick agreed, “but she saw you walk by naked in the background once when I was Skyping her and—”

  “What!”

  “It’s fine. It was a bit awkward, but it meant I could talk to her about you and, honestly, she raised four sons. She’s seen it all before.”

  “
Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “That my mum saw your dick for half a second? It didn’t seem that big a deal.”

  “Not a big deal? It’s a huge deal! I . . . Oh God. No. No, no, no.” The car turned down another street. Out of the corner of his eye, Joey saw the words No Through Road scribbled across a battered sign. “I can’t do this. Turn the car around. Take me back.”

  Mick looked at him, a small pleat between his brows. “Dude. It’s a five-hour drive. We’re almost there.”

  “You can just leave me here. I’ll hitchhike.”

  “From here to Sydney?”

  “Why not?”

  “Ever heard of Ivan Milat?”

  “He’s been in prison for twenty years,” Joey said. “And besides, I’m way too charming to murder.”

  Mick didn’t say anything.

  “Ouch. Okay. I was kind of expecting you to agree with me there but—”

  “You’re scared,” Mick said. “Why are you scared?”

  “I’m not sca—”

  “I’ve seen you sell lacy underwear to a couple of bikies,” Mick interrupted him. “You weren’t scared then. Why are you scared now?”

  “Hey. That was James and Steve. They’re regulars, they’re lovely, and they love our knickers. This is different.”

  Mick’s frown hadn’t gone away. “It’s just my family.”

  Exactly! Joey wanted to scream. This wasn’t just a random group of people, or another picky customer, or even Becca and Kate getting swept up in yet another ridiculous relationship drama. This was Mick’s family. He couldn’t screw this up.

  “I . . . I just . . .” Joey tried to say. “I haven’t been home for a holiday in years. This feels like a really big deal.”

  “It’s fine,” Mick promised. “They’ll love you.” He grinned. “You’re too charming to murder. Most of the time.”

  A smile tugged at Joey’s lips. It died almost instantly as Mick slowed the car and turned into a dirt driveway.

  Oh shit. They were there. There was here.

  The lot was big and spotted with dry patches of scrub. And there, almost hidden behind a collection of aging gumtrees, was the homestead. It was large, wooden, and white with a balcony and a water tank. The sort of house you would expect to see in the country. Strewn around it were small scattered signs of life: an abandoned coffee mug on the arm of a deck chair, a pile of shoes by the steps, and an old Aboriginal flag flying from a window frame. As they pulled to a stop, a grey-muzzled dog that had been sleeping by the front door sat up and let out a half-hearted bark.