Jim stood and stretched. Paul looked up at him. “Jim, would you like some time with Brian?”
Jim's thick eyebrows rose eloquently. He looked at Paul and then at Brian. “Always,” he said.
“Brian, go tuck Jim into bed,” said Paul. “Leave in the dildo.”
Milk spurted from Scott's nose. He choked and coughed and stared, but he didn't say anything.
“Yes, sir,” said Brian. He stood with difficulty and followed Jim into his bedroom.
“Are you okay, Brian,” Jim asked, removing his shirt.
“Yes.”
Jim turned and looked him over, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, his head tipped quizzically as he regarded Brian. He smiled. “You look happy.”
“I am,” said Brian. “I feel... quiet.”
“Ah.” Jim nodded and took off his jeans, sat on the bed. He spread his legs and looked at Brian with hot eyes. “I'd like to see you.”
Brian dropped the robe. He felt... pure almost.
Jim's eyes smoldered. He crawled back and lay on his side, patting the bed next to him. “Let's sixty-nine, hon. I want to taste that.”
Brian scrambled up on the bed. They lay head to tail, and he felt peaceful, almost, as his orgasm climbed from his balls, up his spine and spread through his body. Jim moaned around his cock and shuddered, his hands gripping Brian a little tightly at the end.
“Thanks, hon.” He smiled down at him.
Brian threaded his fingers through Jim's beard. “Can you sleep with us tonight?”
“Ask Paul,” said Jim.
So Brian led Jim to the living room to ask Paul. Scott was seated on the floor, watching the news. He didn't look up when Brian came in, but when Brian asked Paul for permission, he stood, made a disgruntled noise, and headed for his bedroom.
Jim watched him go.
“Is Scott okay?” asked Brian.
Paul gave Jim a long look, but then he turned to Brian with a reassuring smile. “Sure, honey. Scott's only tired.” He clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder and kept it there. “Good to have you back, man.”
Then Brian led his men to bed.
Jim came home from the store and found Brian sitting in the midst of a sea of empty cookie packages, with an empty carton of Haagen-Dazs fudge ripple on the table in front of him, working his way through a box of Ho Hos, washing them down with chocolate milk.
“Jim! Jim Jim Jim!” Brian bounced over and gave him a snuggly hug, practically climbing the big man.
“Whoa you little tree squirrel.” Jim held him at arm's length, eyes speculative. “What's going on here?”
“Chocolate.” Brian bounced. “I had a craving.” Bounce.
Jim caressed his beard thoughtfully. “Brian, didn't Paul tell you to stay away from sweets?”
“But I was hungry .” Brian bounced in place, bounced into Jim, wiggled, bounced away.
“I have to tell him, honey,” said Jim regretfully.
Bounce . “What do you mean?” Brian followed Jim from the door to the kitchen, resembling Tigger, while Jim dialed his cell phone.
“You disobeyed him, Brian.” Jim gave him a sympathetic look.
Brian's bounce wasn't quite as enthusiastic. “Oh.”
Alerted by Jim's call, Paul left work early. By the time he got home, Brian was sitting on the couch in a miserable ball of sugar crash and headache. Jim sat next to him, helpfully holding an icepack to the back of Brian's neck. They both looked up when Paul came through the door.
He shed his office wear. He said, as he did so, “Brian, did I forbid you to eat sugar?”
Brian sulked.
Paul turned fully toward him, big arms crossed across his chest.
“Brian?”
“Yes.”
Paul's eyebrows went straight up. “Yes, what?”
Brian pouted. His head was pounding. His hands were shaking and swollen, and he felt horrible. Paul sighed. “Go to our room, Brian. I'll be in to talk to you in a bit.”
Brian gave him a look, but he stood and padded off.
“Take a shower and prepare yourself,” called Paul as Brian walked away.
Brian whirled about. “Are you kidding? I'm sick.”
Paul stared at him in shock. “Go to
Jim's thick eyebrows rose eloquently. He looked at Paul and then at Brian. “Always,” he said.
“Brian, go tuck Jim into bed,” said Paul. “Leave in the dildo.”
Milk spurted from Scott's nose. He choked and coughed and stared, but he didn't say anything.
“Yes, sir,” said Brian. He stood with difficulty and followed Jim into his bedroom.
“Are you okay, Brian,” Jim asked, removing his shirt.
“Yes.”
Jim turned and looked him over, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, his head tipped quizzically as he regarded Brian. He smiled. “You look happy.”
“I am,” said Brian. “I feel... quiet.”
“Ah.” Jim nodded and took off his jeans, sat on the bed. He spread his legs and looked at Brian with hot eyes. “I'd like to see you.”
Brian dropped the robe. He felt... pure almost.
Jim's eyes smoldered. He crawled back and lay on his side, patting the bed next to him. “Let's sixty-nine, hon. I want to taste that.”
Brian scrambled up on the bed. They lay head to tail, and he felt peaceful, almost, as his orgasm climbed from his balls, up his spine and spread through his body. Jim moaned around his cock and shuddered, his hands gripping Brian a little tightly at the end.
“Thanks, hon.” He smiled down at him.
Brian threaded his fingers through Jim's beard. “Can you sleep with us tonight?”
“Ask Paul,” said Jim.
So Brian led Jim to the living room to ask Paul. Scott was seated on the floor, watching the news. He didn't look up when Brian came in, but when Brian asked Paul for permission, he stood, made a disgruntled noise, and headed for his bedroom.
Jim watched him go.
“Is Scott okay?” asked Brian.
Paul gave Jim a long look, but then he turned to Brian with a reassuring smile. “Sure, honey. Scott's only tired.” He clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder and kept it there. “Good to have you back, man.”
Then Brian led his men to bed.
Jim came home from the store and found Brian sitting in the midst of a sea of empty cookie packages, with an empty carton of Haagen-Dazs fudge ripple on the table in front of him, working his way through a box of Ho Hos, washing them down with chocolate milk.
“Jim! Jim Jim Jim!” Brian bounced over and gave him a snuggly hug, practically climbing the big man.
“Whoa you little tree squirrel.” Jim held him at arm's length, eyes speculative. “What's going on here?”
“Chocolate.” Brian bounced. “I had a craving.” Bounce.
Jim caressed his beard thoughtfully. “Brian, didn't Paul tell you to stay away from sweets?”
“But I was hungry .” Brian bounced in place, bounced into Jim, wiggled, bounced away.
“I have to tell him, honey,” said Jim regretfully.
Bounce . “What do you mean?” Brian followed Jim from the door to the kitchen, resembling Tigger, while Jim dialed his cell phone.
“You disobeyed him, Brian.” Jim gave him a sympathetic look.
Brian's bounce wasn't quite as enthusiastic. “Oh.”
Alerted by Jim's call, Paul left work early. By the time he got home, Brian was sitting on the couch in a miserable ball of sugar crash and headache. Jim sat next to him, helpfully holding an icepack to the back of Brian's neck. They both looked up when Paul came through the door.
He shed his office wear. He said, as he did so, “Brian, did I forbid you to eat sugar?”
Brian sulked.
Paul turned fully toward him, big arms crossed across his chest.
“Brian?”
“Yes.”
Paul's eyebrows went straight up. “Yes, what?”
Brian pouted. His head was pounding. His hands were shaking and swollen, and he felt horrible. Paul sighed. “Go to our room, Brian. I'll be in to talk to you in a bit.”
Brian gave him a look, but he stood and padded off.
“Take a shower and prepare yourself,” called Paul as Brian walked away.
Brian whirled about. “Are you kidding? I'm sick.”
Paul stared at him in shock. “Go to
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