Three

Sebastian props his elbows on the island countertop and watches Dylan’s hands roll out the cookies. There’s flour dusting his palms and knuckles and his broad fingers pluck gently at the cut-out shapes, placing them just so on the parchment lining the cookie sheets. He thinks about those fingers plucking at the button of his jeans and his cock fills.

The kitchen is warm and smells of molasses, cinnamon, and butter. There’s half a stick of soft butter in a saucer on the countertop, and Sebastian eyes it when he’s not watching Dylan pressing the octopus cutter into his rolled-out dough. He’s tired enough that fucking Dylan could wait until he’s had a nap and a shower, but he doesn’t want to wait any longer than he absolutely has to.

Maybe he does nap a little, his head resting in his hand, because after what seems like only a few minutes, Dylan’s closing the oven door and washing his hands at the sink. Sebastian sits up and shakes himself awake. He slips from his stool and comes around the island to press up against Dylan at the sink, and slides his hands around Dylan’s waist, under the dark green apron he’s wearing.

“Wait a sec,” Dylan starts, but Sebastian kisses the side of his neck, then the spot just under his ear that he knows Dylan can’t resist.

“Don’t want to wait any more,” he murmurs in between kisses and tiny licks at Dylan’s earlobe. He finds the waistband of Dylan’s jeans and pops the button open with one hand. The other worms under Dylan’s flannel and t-shirt and strokes the warm curve of Dylan’s stomach.

Dylan tilts his head to the side, giving Sebastian better access, and blows out a soft sigh. The water’s still running, but his hands are just resting against the sink, and he’s letting Sebastian do whatever he wants with him. He gets like this sometimes, pliant and accommodating, like he trusts Sebastian to give him whatever Sebastian decides he needs. It wakes Sebastian up fully and he really, really doesn’t want to wait any more.

He gets Dylan’s zipper down and slides both hands in his jeans and boxer briefs. Dylan is already rock-hard and wet at the tip, and Sebastian wraps one hand around his length, squeezing firmly, and the other hand slides down farther to fondle his balls.

Dylan’s panting now, and so is Sebastian. He’d been mostly kidding earlier about bending Dylan over the table, but now, that seems barely close enough and he wants to have Dylan here. In the kitchen, where Dylan takes care of the people in his life by cooking for them.

He strokes Dylan roughly, root to tip, swirls his hand around the head of Dylan’s cock to slick it up. He works him until Dylan’s making soft moans in the back of his throat and shuddering in Sebastian’s arms.

“Table,” Sebastian murmurs in Dylan’s ear, and Dylan nods. His eyes are glazed and his cheeks are flushed when he turns around and his fingers fumble at the strings of his apron.

“Leave it on,” Sebastian says and Dylan nods again, then crosses the kitchen to the dining table and shoves a chair off to the side. He plants his hands on the table top—the opposite end of the table from where the decorated cookies are lined up on a pair of baking racks—and just waits there for Sebastian.

Sebastian grabs the butter dish from the counter and deposits it on the table near Dylan’s hand.

“Jesus, dude,” Dylan says, a little shakily. “Really?”

“Lube’s in the bedroom. That’s too far away,” Sebastian says. He’s tugging Dylan’s jeans and underwear down over the curve of his curve of his ass and pushing the tails of his shirt up. “If you’d prefer olive oil…” He trails a dry finger down the knobs of Dylan’s spine and dips into the crease of his ass.

Dylan hauls a deep breath in. “Whatever, man. Just…you know you’re depraved, right?” he says, but he’s spreading his feet farther apart and Sebastian grins down at him, even though Dylan can’t see his face.

“You’re the one who left it out to get all soft,” Sebastian says, and he drags two fingers through the stick of butter. They haven’t used condoms since Dylan came to San Francisco to give Sebastian the T-Bird and Sebastian can’t wait for the feel of Dylan opening for him.

He slathers the butter all over his fingers and swipes at Dylan’s hole, then settles in to massage the soft pucker with the pads of his fingertips. The melting butter coats his fingers and Dylan’s hole and Dylan’s already pushing back against him, egging him on with little whimpers and grunts.

Sebastian lines up his fingers and pushes inside, feeling for that sweet spot. He rubs at Dylan’s prostrate until Dylan is a quivering, squirming mess under him.

“Fucking do it, Bas, please.” Dylan’s head is pillowed on his folded arms on the table and his legs are shaking in between Sebastian’s thighs. Sebastian undoes his jeans with the hand not buried deep inside Dylan and fumbles his cock out. He leans forward over Dylan’s back and digs up another pat of butter. He slathers it all over his cock and only then pulls his fingers free.

He’s shaking now too, and it takes both of his slippery, greasy hands to line his cock up and push into Dylan’s waiting body.

“Ohhh, Christ,” he moans, as Dylan takes him.

Dylan gives an answering moan and pushes back at the same inexorable rate that Sebastian pushes into him.

He pauses when he’s fully seated, to let Dylan adjust, and looks down at where they’re joined. His pubes are slick with sweat and melted butter, and Dylan’s ass cheeks are glistening with shiny finger marks. The absurdity of his choice of lube suddenly hits him.

He bends over Dylan’s and tucks his face into Dylan’s neck. “I can’t believe I’m fucking you with butter as lube,” he says, and there’s a note of suppressed hilarity in his voice that he’s sure comes from exhaustion.

“Key words being ‘fucking me’ here,” Dylan says, his voice a little muffled from being pressed down against the table top under Sebastian’s weight. “This was your idea, so get the fuck on with it.”

Sebastian does. He pulls out slowly and wow, the butter’s really working to keep things slick and easy. He slides home again, pulls back until he’s almost out, and only then, at Dylan’s muffled “Come on, man,” does he pick up the pace.

He’s steadily pounding Dylan, who’s thrusting back against him, and the feel of Dylan around him is like a warm velvet glove. Sebastian quits thinking with his upstairs brain and lets the rhythm of their bodies take over.

Dylan’s fists are clenched on the table and each of Sebastian’s thrusts punches a short groan out of him. Sebastian’s got enough presence of mind to take care of Dylan, but only just, before his brain melts out of his skull and through his dick. He gropes for another handful of butter, then wraps his hand around Dylan’s cock.

And then it’s all squeezing and stroking—Dylan squeezing him, Sebastian stroking Dylan, and he lets the waves of pleasure crash over him until he’s the quivering mess plastered over Dylan’s back, and Dylan’s jerking into his hand and spilling onto the floor.