Chocolate

July 1998

All but one last bag was emptied and I was working my way through that one, with Michael and I occasionally bumping elbows or thighs as we worked.

This would be the last of it; the last of the stuff from my apartment. Josh and Sam went over with us this morning and helped us clean everything up, and what we'd carted back was mostly stuff from my pantry. The few things I'd had in my fridge or freezer I'd tossed -- whatever the boys hadn't wanted -- simply because I didn't have that much and it didn't seem worth the hassle of finding my cooler in the mess that was my personal belongings. In the mess that was currently *our* apartment.

Bottom of the bag. No bottle of chocolate sauce. "Michael?"

"Hmm?" He was industriously rearranging things in the large pantry closet -- larder, he called it -- and only half-turned toward me.

"Have you seen a bottle of chocolate sauce?" Funny how you fixated on the small, fairly insignificant things when your world was in chaos. I'd be lucky if I found my clothes by the time I had to go back to work at the end of the weekend, but I was worried about a bottle of chocolate sauce.

Well, okay. Not *just* chocolate sauce -- not your basic Hershey's syrup. But still.

"I've put several away, actually," he turned toward me, dangling the afore-mentioned bottle of Hershey's from one finger, with a jar of chocolate-caramel topping in his other hand.

"Nope. Not those."

"You have more?" He arched an eyebrow at me and I grinned, a little embarrassed.

"Well, one other."

The other eyebrow went up. "More chocolate."

I was torn between feeling irritated and laughing, because this was just too bizarre. "Just one."

He had this kind of cute confused look on his face. I almost laughed again. "But--*more*."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, and your point--?"

The look I got said volumes Michael wasn't going to say out loud. He settled for, "How much chocolate does one person need?"

I bumped him aside and looked into the depths of the pantry. "Totally not the point, darlin'." Ah. There it was. I withdrew it and held it up so he could see. "Bittersweet dark chocolate sauce. Ordered in from Belgium."

He blinked at me. I swear he did. Then he shook his head. "You order…chocolate from Europe?"

"To each his own obsession." I grinned. "And when I fix you chocolate sundaes with it, you won't be so quick to smirk, I guarantee." I set the bottle back into the pantry carefully and turned to face him, sliding the door closed as I did. "On a scale of one to ten, with Hershey's being the one, this stuff is a twelve, Michael. It's so beyond what most of us -- Americans, anyway -- think of when we think of 'chocolate'. You're British. You're used to a higher quality of stuff."

He shook his head again and headed for the table. "So--what I've observed as a fondness for chocolate is actually…an obsession. Truly."

I shrugged and turned to pull a couple bottles of water from the refrigerator before joining him. "I won't die if I don't have imported chocolate sauce, if that's what you're asking. That's totally an unnecessary, but very nice, luxury. Now, life without any kind of chocolate at all? Yeah, you might have to lock me in a little padded room." I handed him a bottle and slid into the chair opposite him. It was dusk outside; somehow, the entire day was nearly gone. "You hungry?"

He took a long swallow of water, then smiled at me. "More tired than hungry, I think."

"I could make us some sandwiches." I was hungry but not much in the mood to move. I wasn't in the mood to do much of anything, truthfully, except sit back and just absorb the fact that I now lived with this man. For better or worse, et cetera.

Well, probably not that. Not yet, anyway. But I was fooling no one, myself especially, if I said I hadn't thought about it.

"Miles would--"

"No." I shook my head. "It's not a big deal to make sandwiches, darlin'." I pushed the chair back, determined to make my point. It was sheer stubbornness on my part; I knew that. But somewhere down inside me I didn't want him in here. Not now, not tonight. I wanted it just--me and Michael.

"I'm not hungry." Michael said the words softly but I stopped and looked at him. Truthfully, he looked tired. No, not tired so much as stressed, and it occurred to me that, while he'd asked me to move in, this was probably difficult for him, too. There'd be a lot of adjusting on both of our parts. I nodded and reached for my water, took a long swallow before saying anything.

"How 'bout you take a shower and I'll fix us a quick snack and we can lay in bed and talk about all the things we're not going to do tomorrow?"

"You're dirtier than I," he smiled and it reached his eyes, made them warm silver, rather than grey.

"Yeah, well, you're adding all those extra points for my mind--I can't help if I'm a natural in so many ways."

That got me a sharp bark of laughter. "Very well. I'll shower--you'll join me?"

"In just a few minutes. Promise."

Showers with Michael weren't usually very productive in the getting-clean department, but sometimes you just had to say fuck it and go with the flow. They were fun, which had to count for something.

I waited 'til he'd disappeared into his -- our, dammit! -- bedroom before I turned to the fridge. It didn't take but a few minutes to put together a plate with cold, sliced ham, some chunks of cheese, crackers, and some strawberries and grapes. I was putting the crackers back into the pantry when the chocolate caught my eye. It was almost too cheesy to go through with -- how tacky is it to show up with a bowl of chocolate sauce, and say 'hey, wanna try this?', but you never know 'til you try, right? I used the Hershey's because the other really wouldn't be all that good without vanilla ice cream and whipped cream to add sweetness; it really was bittersweet chocolate, and by itself was fairly gag-worthy.

The water was still running when I got into the bedroom, so I set the plate and bowl onto the closest flat surface, then pulled my clothes off quickly. Michael's were draped over the chair beside the closet, so I tossed mine on top of his and headed for the bathroom. He'd closed the door most of the way, and clouds of steam rolled over me when I opened it, making me laugh.

"Phew! You missin' the deep south, darlin'?" I pulled the shower door open and laughed again; he was leaning against one wall of the shower, letting the water pound over him, his eyes closed against the spray. "You have it hot enough in here that we could be down in Louisiana."

"I enjoyed New Orleans very much," he murmured, eyes still closed.

"I'll bet." I kissed him and stepped under the spray. "Hot food, hotter sex. Clubs that make San Francisco's scene look like a children's playground, huh?"

He opened one eye and grinned lazily at me. "Exactly."

"You didn't get much done in the way of clean-up." I reached for the sponge and bath-gel, wondering if he'd waited for me to do this, because he knew I liked to wash him. It wasn't even anything sexual, I just liked to touch him. To feel the firmness of his body, all long, lean muscles, under my hands as I moved the sponge around over him.

"You said you'd be in."

"So I did. And here I am." I smirked, then leaned in to kiss him again, working the sponge over his arms and chest before moving downward, washing his flat belly. Unlike me, Michael had chest hair, and it was a weird fascination of mine to watch as I washed him, the hair swirling and forming into whorls that were tipped with white from the bath gel. I stepped closer and rubbed myself gently against him, letting the suds wash me, too. Michael cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, gently at first, then deepening it when I moved closer against him. I slid my arms around his neck and rubbed while we kissed, loving the slippery friction the soap created. "Got some snacks out there for you," I muttered against his neck, licking at the water droplets there. He tasted clean with a little hint of salt beneath it and I had to resist the urge to sink my teeth in.

"Are you going to feed me in bed, Caro?" He let go enough for me to back under the spray to rinse. I reached for the shampoo then moved out of the way so Michael could rinse off.

"What, like 'peel me a grape, boy'?" I laughed and flicked some lather at him. "Not a chance. But if you're a good boy, I might let you get comfy, then bring it to you."

"You're entirely too good to me." His tone was dry, amused, and I grinned when his eyes crinkled up a little.

"I try, darlin'." I shivered when he stepped closer, his fingers replacing mine in my hair, rubbing gently over my scalp. "Mmmm. You're good."

"Just good?" His tone was affected hurt, but I could hear the smile underneath it. "I was angling for 'Michael, you're incredible'."

"You definitely don't need my help in expanding your ego." I slid my hands down his chest, pausing to tease his nipples, then his navel. He laughed and twisted backward, tugging playfully on a piece of my hair as he went, making me yelp. "Hey!"

"Then watch your hands." We scooted around each other again so I could rinse my hair, then I turned the shower off and we headed out into the steamy bathroom.

"I was watching them just fine." I tossed him a towel before rubbing myself down briskly; it was a lot cooler outside of the shower -- probably in part because I'd left the door cracked open.

"Mmm." He'd already finished drying and was brushing his teeth, frowning at himself in the mirror. "Are you going to shave, Caro?"

"Not unless you mind beard-burn a lot." I hung my towel beside his and had to resist the urge to snicker. God, I felt so domestic.

"That would depend on where." But he rinsed his toothbrush and didn't reach for shaving cream or razor so I guessed that was my answer. Which didn't mean I couldn't shave; my beard was actually a lot heavier than his, and he *would* get at least a slight burn if we did anything beyond kissing. But I figured it wasn't anything he wasn't used to by now. He turned to eye me. "Are you nearly finished?"

"Yep. Gimme about another minute or two. Go ahead, get comfy. I'll be right in."

He nodded then headed into the bedroom. I finished brushing my teeth and combing out my hair -- bed head was one thing; bed head because I'd gone to sleep with my wet hair uncombed…that was something I could live without.

I could hear the sounds of Michael moving around the bedroom, then the soft squeak of bedsprings when he -- presumably -- got into bed. I grinned, feeling domestic all over again, which made me want to crack up. Impending hysteria, probably. This routine wasn't any different in any way from what our usual night-time routine was -- except that it was. I lived here, now. We weren't just boyfriends staying the night (however many nights in a row that usually ended up being). We were…lovers. Significant others, I guess. Or maybe not. Maybe I was reading too much into it. It wasn't like we didn't still dance around the subject a bit; my brain tended to shy away with a 'fuck, I'm not ready for this!' when I tried to focus on the idea of forever and ever, 'til death do us part. Maybe it was just as well. Michael wasn't Bran, but then, Bran hadn't been who he'd turned out to be, at first, either.

Those thoughts in my head I turned off the lights in the bathroom and headed into the bedroom.

Okay. Michael sprawled, naked, across a freshly mussed bed is…spectacular.

He would always tan darker than me. I could spend hours in the sun and him none at all, and his skin tones would still be darker than mine. Add to that the fact that he's a natural sun baby, and presto, a very dark-skinned man. Which made his light eyes even lighter, and a little odd-looking, considering his coloring. I was still amazed he didn't have blue or dark eyes, but I knew better than he did what all factors play into the genetics roulette wheel. But anyway.

Dark, dark skin against light, ivory sheets equaled very nice. His legs seemed to go on for miles, all long and sinewy with corded muscle. Runner's legs. Nicely defined chest, broad shoulders, strong arms. Strength-wise, I'm probably stronger than he is. I know I am, in fact. In an out-and-out wrestling contest, I can take him nearly every time. But he has better stamina than I do, for long-distance type stuff. Not so much bulk.

"See something you like?"

His voice broke me out of my reverie and I laughed. "Always, darlin'. That's kinda the reason I'm here, y'know?" I crossed the room to get the platter and bowl, then back to the bed. He smirked at me, then eyed the offerings.

"So would this be some of the much-coveted chocolate sauce?"

I handed him a couple of napkins. "Nope. That stuff really only works with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. This is your garden-variety Hershey's sauce. Not gourmet, but it'll do in a pinch."

"So I'm settling, is that it?" He popped a chunk of cheese into his mouth and gave me what I could only describe as a shit-eating grin. I twirled a strawberry in the chocolate then eyed it consideringly.

"If you don't *want* any--" I licked a dribble off my finger.

"I didn't say I didn't want any, did I?" He met my gaze then leaned over and his tongue traced where I'd licked my finger before he bit into the strawberry, his eyes still holding mine. Oh, man.

"You don't play fair."

"I never said I did." He bit my finger gently. "I wouldn't be where I was today if I did."

"True enough." He turned my hand and I ate the rest of the strawberry, grinning when he leaned closer to kiss me afterward. "Taste good?"

"Better, actually, that way." He licked his lips exaggeratedly and I laughed.

"You're a strange, strange man, Pierson."

"All part of my undeniable charm."

I snorted, but left the rest of the strawberries, opting instead for some ham and crackers, enjoying the quiet and relaxing moment. Soft sounds drifted in through the open windows; a few seagulls crying, the nearly-quiet sound of traffic from the streets below, the low whistle of the wind. I could smell the sea, this close to the water, and realized that was part of what made Michael's place so comfortable to me from the start. It had a familiar, soothing feel to it even before I got to know the man living here.

"Are you finished with the other place, then?"

Michael's voice startled me out of the quiet spot in my brain where I'd been listening to the night sounds. I took a swallow of my water then nodded. "Mostly, yeah. I need to do the walk-through with the manager, then turn in my keys, and then, yeah. I'll be done. My mail should start -- hopefully -- going to the box with the first mail run this week, but it won't matter. I'll pick up whatever's there when I go over to turn everything in."

"I'm glad you're here, Caro." He touched my face with one hand, turned me toward him. I nodded.

"Me, too. It feels right."

"Yes, it does."

The snack plate was empty but for the strawberries; I guess he'd eaten the grapes while I'd been lost in my head. That was fine; I didn't care for green grapes much anyway. I set the bowl of chocolate back on the plate and scooted closer. "Chocolate's messy."

He shrugged. "Nothing here that won't wash."

It had to be the accent. None of those words, separately or combined, were sexy. The intent behind them wasn't even that sexy, unless you knew specifically what Michael was talking about. So why did I shiver and feel really, really warm suddenly? *Had* to be the accent. I dipped another berry and held it out to him.

He ate it slowly, watching me, until the only thing left was the stem, clutched between my fingers. He licked each fingertip, then scored them lightly with his teeth before letting me go. I leaned in to kiss him and he was right; it was better, almost. His lips were warm and soft, and sticky with chocolate and strawberry juice. It was…delicious.

"We could start a new trend for fresh fruit."

"Something tells me it's not really suitable for public consumption." He dipped a strawberry and held it up to my lips, cleaning them with a kiss when I was finished.

"Probably right." More berries, more chocolate, more kisses. I was starting to think I liked the chocolate better when it had the slightly salty taste of Michael's skin rather than berry sweetness, beneath it. I was half-hard and breathless by the time we finished them, a pile of sticky stems resting on the plate.

"We seem to be out of berries, but there's still chocolate." Okay. I'm easy, obviously. Must be. All he has to do is arch that damned eyebrow, give me that *look*, and I'm ready to do anything he wants. Just give me the word, Michael.

"Got plans for that chocolate, darlin'?" I dipped a finger in, moved it around, watching the pattern change. Michael took my hand and brought my finger to his mouth, drew it in slowly, deliberately. I shuddered and laughed softly. "Fuck."

"Mmm." He sucked my finger in to the base, then let it slide back out, teeth scoring me lightly. My cock throbbed. When he dipped his fingers in, I thought I was going to get to reciprocate. Until he circled them around my nipples, coating me lightly with stickiness. I got his fingers when he leaned in to lick me clean, and the dual sensations -- him on my tongue, his tongue on me -- made my blood fizzle. I sucked like it was his cock in my mouth, not two fingers, and he bit me lightly, a soft growl rising up between us.

"You definitely don't play…fair," I managed, losing coherency quickly when he drizzled chocolate down my chest, lapping at me as he went, following the trail. My stomach quivered lightly beneath his tongue, and I shivered when he hummed an agreement. When he looked up at me, his eyes were storm-cloud dark. Heat chased through me, fireballs moving through my veins. *Fuck*. All he had to do was touch me, lick me, whisper to me. I relaxed back and closed my eyes, trying to anticipate where the next dribble of chocolate -- and therefore, his tongue -- would be. I was right about a quarter of the time; probably because my brain was melting. Or had melted. Whichever.

I missed his heat against my legs when he shifted away, and opened my eyes lazily to see what he was doing. He had the most *wicked* grin on his face when he saw me watching, as he took the bowl with the chocolate and upended it over my cock.

There wasn't a lot left in it; in fact he had to use one finger to get the drizzle started, but it was cool - hell, anything was cooler than my skin right now - and I whimpered as it trickled down over me, coating my shaft with dark streaks.

"Michael--"

"Relax, Caro." His grin, the predatory look in his eyes, the heat in his voice, didn't go far in helping me relax. If anything, they wound me tighter with anticipation. He held my gaze as he lowered his head; when his tongue flicked out and took the first drop off the head of my cock I groaned; when he took me full into his mouth I think my eyes rolled back in my head.

"Thought--god…thought we were…tired?" I curled the fingers on one hand through his hair, held lightly to him while he sucked and licked and just basically blew what was left of my brain. Shivers chased each other up and down my spine, and when he cupped my balls and squeezed lightly I groaned.

He pulled off me slowly, dragging his tongue up over the underside, teasing at that spot just beneath my crown. I shuddered. "You don't feel tired, Caro…"

"That's 'cos I'm dead…Oh!" And hey, chocolate sauce *could* be used for lube. Who'd've thought? I thumped my head back against the pillow and practiced not hyperventilating while his finger pushed inside me, blunt and thick, but not as blunt and thick as I wanted. I wiggled my hips and pushed up into his mouth, groaning when he increased suction. If I looked, his cheeks would be hollowed. I opened my eyes and hissed; he looked fucking amazing, his mouth wrapped around me like that, face flushed with dots of sweat, eyes closed, but oh, so dark when he opened them to look at me.

He fingered me faster, wiggled a second one inside, and I spread my legs wantonly, thrusting up into the heat of his mouth. Christ, he was good. He said I gave better head, but unless he'd blown himself lately, he didn't know what he was talking about. I let go of his hair, afraid I would rip it out by its roots, and clutched at the sheets while my hips took on a life of their own, pumping and thrusting and rocking. The only sounds in the room were my grunts and moans, and the wet, lewd sound of Michael's sucking, and it was the sexiest fucking thing; I listened to it all increase, wrap around us, then gave a long growl and thrust upward, and coming in his mouth in long, hot pulses, the fireballs in my blood exploding behind my eyes.

I shuddered through him licking me clean, certain he removed all traces of chocolate along with my orgasm. He was very thorough, that way, my Michael.

I opened my eyes when Michael kissed me, his tongue sharp and sweet with the mingled flavors of come and chocolate, and I thought that was maybe not as gross as it should've been. I licked at his mouth, then his tongue, opening to deepen the kiss while he shifted up over me. Then he was pushing my legs up and open, his body settling between my legs so naturally, so good, and I hissed and sucked his breath into my mouth when he pushed inside me, one long, smooth, wonderful thrust. Not chocolate this time; he'd slicked himself with something, though I doubted it was the oil we usually used. Whatever, I didn't care. It was hot and slick and he felt so good stretching me wide. I groaned into his mouth then pulled back enough to breathe, then wrapped my legs around his waist while he pumped slow and smooth into me.

I bit his neck, then licked where I bit, traced up to his ear. "Fuck me, darlin'. Hard and fast…wanna feel you come inside me…"

He groaned and turned his head, took my mouth in a kiss that felt like he was trying to climb down my throat, then pulled away from me with a soft snarl, and pushed my legs up and back, nearly bending me in half. I reached back and grabbed the edge of the mattress and hung on; he was gonna give me what I'd asked for. I whimpered softly when he pulled out, separated from me, then his lips brushed mine, the words more puffs of air than anything else.

"Want you," he growled, before slamming back inside me.

I could feel him throbbing within me when he held still for just a moment before beginning a rhythm that was fast, hard, almost brutal. I hung on and panted, groaning when he hit my prostate, shuddering when he swiveled his hips just so, making me see stars. I could feel him grow thicker, harder, inside me, and groaned when he bit me hard on the chest, low enough no one would see the mark -- because I knew that would leave one. He sucked where he bit, then scraped his teeth down my chest, over my nipples, and I gave a shout because, fuck! I let go of the headboard and held onto Michael's shoulders, gripping tight enough I was probably going to leave bruises, but I didn't care. He wouldn't care. It was too good.

His thrusts increased again 'til he was practically slamming me through the bed; I could hear the faint *thud* sound where the headboard hit the wall, then Michael stiffened above me, his eyes closing. I reached up and twisted his nipples hard and he groaned and bucked forward into me, panting as he came. I shuddered and wished I wasn't so tired, that I could've gotten it up again and come with him, but it still felt good. Liquid heat washing through me, then solid heat moving over me as Michael fell forward, still partially braced on his arms, but letting me catch the bulk of his weight.

I tipped us to the side as he panted, and kissed his face, smoothing dark hair back, tasting the salt of sweat, feeling his shiver when I gave in and licked his neck slowly, gently, not wanting to arouse, just wanting to taste him.

He nuzzled back, still panting softly, then kissed me gently and grinned. "Interesting application of chocolate, don't you think?"

I drew back enough to look at him and blinked. "You didn't."

"I did." The grin grew wider. "After all, waste not, want not, yes?"

"You kinky fuck." I knew I was grinning, mostly out of disbelief, but when I shifted my legs, things felt…different. "Well, that's a new one on me. Wow."

"Wow, indeed." There was the satisfied smirk I was used to seeing on Michael. "Different. Very different. I wouldn't ever have thought about chocolate's more…unusual uses, Caro. Thank you."

"Sex and cooking should always be about experimentation. And hey--combining the two…"

Michael snickered, then shifted against me. When he slipped free of my body I sighed; always hated that part. I knew a couple guys who'd told me they could go to sleep with their lover still inside them, and wake up that way…but I hadn't ever had it happen to me. Frankly, I doubted it was possible, because, c'mon. The muscle tension in that part of the body was just not…conducive…to that. But whatever. I kissed Michael quickly, then rolled to get off the bed, biting back a groan when all my muscles registered a protest. He looked up at me, mouth opened to question, and I shook my head.

"Be right back, don't move. Gotta clean up." I eyed him, also streaked in chocolate -- among other things -- and grinned. "I'll bring a washcloth back, too."

"Mmm." He smiled sleepily and I kissed him again, liking the afterglow as much as the heat of the moment. Sleepy Michael was softer than awake Michael, and I liked that bit of softness I got to see.

I washed quickly, but he was mostly asleep when I got back into the bedroom. He muttered a protest when I rolled him to wipe him down, but then he curled back in on himself. I set the bowls and tray on the floor and eyed the spread, hoping we didn't make too much of a mess because, really. I didn't want to change anything, especially sheets on a custom-made, custom-sized bed at whatever the hell time it was. They didn't seem to bad when I slid in, curling around Michael. He sighed and relaxed back against me when I slipped my arm around his waist. My own personal teddy bear.

And not unlike a teddy bear, he made me feel safe. Something I hadn't felt in a long, long time. I kissed his jaw, then whispered, "love you."

~finis~

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