Date: Tue, 17 Oct 2017 09:38:20 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 28

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

I blushed hard and shot a glare at my ward before turning back to Hans'
slightly-scrunched face. "That is the deal I made with Beaux. It's not
forever, just for this date." I got a mischievous grin at the expression on
his face. "Or are you saying you only want me for my body?" Will chuckled
and Beaux watched the exchange with interest.

"I never said *only*, but your body *is* part of the package," he leaned
forward and growled low, "and what a fucking package, Kevin."

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 28: Dinner & Damnation

Thursday

By Bear Pup

*****

Both my ward and Will were "less than pleased" when I slid into the back
seat of Hans' BMW and ushered Beaux in front of me. Will recovered quickly
and ran to the shotgun position as Hans slid behind the wheel. The
seats... my God, the seats were like sitting on something a little softer
than air and a little richer than Croesus. The browned-butter leather
screamed taste and refinement. Hans caught my eye and winked and I blushed
hard enough to bleed.

Sometime later, we pulled up outside a restaurant that obviously had
started life as a house. I could see the Queen Anne underpinning that
(tackily, I sniffed inwardly) had been refaced (sniff; defaced) using
blonde-brick with darker corner-crenellation and a top-pattern reminiscent
of pre-WWI Germany. The sign, discreet but in a gaudy, faux-Germanic
script, read "The Grand Duchess".

I glanced at Hans who smiled enigmatically. We climbed the steps to the
front porch and Hans held the door for us. Inside
was... stunning. Understated to the point of austerity, the walls were the
crème color of great age (well-faked) and were hung with small,
sumptuous, reproduction tapestries. The lintels and jambs on every door
were of highly-polished and very dark wood. The furnishings were simple and
lacked ornamentation. It was... magnificent.

"JOHAN!" An older woman erupted from a door I hadn't noticed. She converged
on Hans and kissed him on both sides of his face. He blushed adorably with
that saucer-round red splotch on each cheek.

"Tatta Anna! You are looking as lovely as ever. You have a table for us?"

She tsked. I mean, I'd never heard an *actual* tsk before. "Ve half nothing
else, Puppelchen." She ushered us into a dining room with eight tables,
four filled. Two held ancient couples who looked as if they came with the
décor. One had a younger couple that, both of them, looked very much
like Hans. The last was a set of four men in military uniform who were
eye-rolling, mmm'ing and ah'ing over about sixty plates and bowls
overflowing the table.

She sat us and fussed as she made sure each of us had a napkin perfectly
aligned on our laps, patted Hans on the shoulder and bustled off. I'd never
seen Hans look so disconcerted. "So, I assume Tatta means... what? Auntie?
Grandma?"

He coughed. "Aunt. My family owns the restaurant. Has for a lot of years."

"I thought you were Norse. You're German?"

Will's eyes got very wide. With no other warning, a Valkyrie rose from
behind the potted palm. What had been Tatta was a sort of avenging
angel. "GERman? GERman?!?" I shrunk back and Hans leapt to interpose
himself.

"Tatta! Tatta Anna! That's not what he meant! He meant German STYLE food!
Please Tatta!"

"He said GERman! He called you GERman!"

"Yes. Tatta, because I never told him about our family. He did it because
of the wonderful FOOD, Tatta." He chivvied her backwards into the door to
the kitchen. He returned shortly, the blush-patches about the color of
cinnamon red-hots.

"I think maybe you're from, uh, someplace else, then?"

He laughed richly. "Yes. My family is from Luxembourg. It's between Germany
and France. My aunt and uncle fled the Nazis when the bastards just,
basically, annexed the whole country. The Grand Duchess, Tatta's cousin--"

"I'm sorry. Did you just tell me you're royalty? Like real, actual
royalty?"

"NO! No! Not at all." I was having a blast. I'd never seen Hans so utterly
flustered and tongue-tied. The normally so-in-control Norse God looked like
a teenage girl explaining to a date that Daddy was the Sherriff and a tad
over-protective. "My mother and Tatta are sisters. Tatta is
cousin-by-marriage of the woman who was the *nominal* head of government
during the war. Just a figurehead, really, a sort of mascot? Um, are you
sure you want to hear all this?"

"Yes!" erupted from both Beaux and me and Hans sighed deeply, obviously
squirming with discomfort. This was FUN!

"Uncle Friedrich's father, Josef, was the third son of Grand Duke Adolphe,
so Friedrich was a first cousin to the first two Grand Duchesses. He
married Anna in 1930 and they fled to London with the rest of the family
when Germany began to mobilize. My parents came here, to Kansas City,
before the war even really started and Tatta and Monni followed when the
Germans began bombing London in the Blitz. Tatta has always loved to cook,
so she invited people over all the time, especially GIs from Germanic
families lonely for home cooking. In 1944, they opened as an actual
restaurant. The end!"

"No, no, no, cher!" Beaux was smiling in a slightly-predatory way. "All you
said about your parents is that your mama and Tatta are sisters. What about
your Papa. And what's your last name, anyway."

Hans could not have been more comfortable. "My father is, well, was a
doctor. His name was Oscar Bern. He passed a while ago." Hans said it as
OH-scar.

"I'm so sorry, Hans. I didn't know."

"So I'm Johan Bern." Just then, Tatta bustled over with large cards. "Oh!"
Hans said with fake-excitement and obvious relief, "Menus! Thank you,
Tatta." He began to study his as if there would be a test later.

"Johan Bern. Papa was Oscar. Go on, cher, go on. Tell us about papa's
family." Will was about to burst holding in the laughter. It was clear that
seeing Hans at this particular level of discomfiture was as delightful to
him as the rest of us.

"He was, actually, um... God, this is embarrassing... he was born Oscar
Bernadotte. He was very, VERY distantly related to the, um..."

"Distantly related to whom, Hans?" I was so enjoying this.

Hans pinched the bridge of his nose. "The ruling family of Sweden."

"Sweden?" I just stared.

Hans squirmed in his chair. "And, uh, Norway."

Beaux and I shared a look. Beaux decided to go for the kill and put a
vaudevillian amount of angst into his voice. "Well, I feel so embarrassed,
me! I never meant to be rude, Mr Bern. OH! Or should it be Châtelain or
Dauphin or maybe Prince Johan the somethingth? Or just Your Lordship?"

Hans looked like a sideways traffic light with all the circles (cheek, nose
and cheek) blazing red. Will finally cracked and started laughing, which
set the rest of us off. Hans finally hissed, "I am so gonna get you Bayou
Boy. You're not going to sit for a week!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Will said sternly, but low enough not to be overheard. "If
anyone is getting to that part..."

"Will!" He sank back at my suddenly-paternal tone, not at all abashed but
blushing anyway. This renewed the table-round laugh.

Beaux asked about the menu and Hans was bubbling with relief at being able
to talk about anything that did not involve possibly-royal families. He
convinced us to order the way the Army guys had done, sharing
everything. Tatta was delighted since it was how she liked to serve.

We ended up getting two soups, one (apparently a signature Luxembourgish
dish) called Bouneschlupp, green bean soup with bacon and sausage, then
something I forget the name of-- Esau something? -- rich with lentils and
leeks with a tantalizing ghost of cloves in there someplace. There was also
a pickle-set and something called Kachkéis which was supposedly cheese
but seemed to be all flavor with no fat at all.

We split five entrees, only one of which I'd ever had. That one was
considered the National Dish of the Luxembourg and called Judd mat
Gaardebounen, or pork collar with broad beans. The delicious pork flavored
the beans and vice-versa. The big hit for Beaux was Kriibsen. The boy
almost floated out of his chair when he found out it was crawdads. He
looked at me with a hint of panic and I recalled our last encounter with
Mudbugs, but he said it was wonderful (I didn't taste it; he told me later
that it needs "serious spicing-up, Oncle"). There was trout poached in
white wine (obviously, I didn't try that one either) and an entrancing
dish, Hong am Rèisleck. Best I can describe, it was Chicken Cacciatore
or perhaps Coq au Vin with no tomato, and using white wine instead of
red. There was a thin, delicately- but fiercely-seared steak with crispy,
long-caramelized onions and another "homey" dish of sausages and kraut.

The sides were extraordinary. I ask you: how does one make a boiled potato
special? No fucking idea, but they were amazing. There was a thing that was
halfway between scalloped potatoes and hot potato salad, another of wilted
greens with bacon, and the inevitable and delicious potato dumplings called
spätzle. Lastly was applesauce that, defying all logic, paired perfectly
with everything. Beaux was beside himself over the bread. I've never been
able to find the like this side of the Atlantic. German -- AGH!
German-STYLE... close call there -- breads are somehow different than those
in the US. The rolls at the Grand Duchess had a millimeter-thick crackly
crust surrounding airy but firm innards that screamed for rich butter and
sauces to sop up. Beaux was in love.

Then, when we were full to bursting, Tatta Anna came out with
dessert. After the first nibble (which she stood guard to make sure we each
tried), all overstuffedness was forgotten. Quetschentaart is made with a
fruit no one had ever heard of and Hans could not explain. I found out
later is was a kind of plum unique to parts of central Europe. The flavor
was wonderful but the texture was a revelation. It was as if the
plum-things had hardly been baked and still had a magical, toothsome
texture.

Throughout, NOT-German white wines from the Moselle flowed, one tart and
delicious, the other soft and very low-alcohol. Both were splendid. The
meal was capped with tiny cups of coffee, lethally-sweet and black as
midnight, alongside miniature shot glasses on stems filled with a glinting
liquid called Drëpp. It turned out that it was an Eaux-de-vie like none
I'd tasted. Sharp, demanding and intensely satisfying against the harsh,
sweet coffee. Beaux was absolutely livid that he didn't get any, but I
didn't even try to stop Tatta Anna from pouring him wine with the meal.

The other thing that flowed throughout the meal was conversation. Hans was
the ultimate host and we flirted and talked far more deeply than we
had. Hans was... breathtaking. He was a nurse because he wanted to be. His
father had been well-off, establishing a clinic that thrived. His mother
had been a dancer, something Beaux leapt on like a tiger on fresh meat,
demanding that Hans teach him to dance. His mother had passed away not
three years earlier and I could tell it hurt him to mention it. He paid
scrupulous attention to me, his date, without at all ignoring the
others. Yes; of course, I was smitten!

Will and Beaux alternated between chattering like old school chums
desperate to catch up on their lives and staring at each other complete
with deep sighs and batted eyelashes. It was frankly adorable if a bit on
the saccharine side. We groaned our way to the car, Hans assuring me that
he would pay for the tab but that Tatta refused to accept money from family
in front of others.

I was slow off the mark, so Beaux and Will were already ensconced in the
back seat before I got close to the car. Hans snorted at my displeasure and
leaned forward to almost-nuzzle my ear. "Let 'em have their fun,
stud. It'll leave us up front with... no adult supervision?" I quivered,
which delighted Hans and mortified me. When did I become a fifteen-year-old
girl?

At least all three of them had the decency to wait until we were out of
sight of Tatta's restaurant. I turned at a sound very similar to a clogged
drain. I'm not sure who was treating whom as dessert back there as both
seemed to be trying to devour the other, but below the kiss I counted at
least eleven hands. I reached back over the seat and pushed my hand between
them (no small feat). They turned to me with a horrified blush (Will) and
affronted pride (Beaux).

"I'm not stopping you, just pausing for a public service announcement. This
is a reminder that the clothes stay *on* and hands stay on the
*outside*. Got me? We now return to your regularly-scheduled necking
already in YIP!?!" It wasn't the way I'd intended the stern parental
warning to end, but Hans took his big paw from the steering wheel and
dragged it forcefully up my incredibly-hard cock at the exact wrong
moment. Beaux snorted and giggled and turned his attention back to Will.

I sat back in my seat and reached down to remove the huge, muscular,
beautiful, sculpted hand from my crotch and found out that, apparently,
Quetschentaart prevents proper nerve-impulse communication. Instead of
yanking it away, I was grinding the huge paw harder and harder into my
erection and deep down between my legs as well, with the other hand
stroking his forearm like it was a massive, furry, muscled dick. I was
literally panting with need when we finally got to the house.

I almost cried when Hans' hands simply vanished. My door opened and there
was my Norse God, holding it open for me. He even reached out a hand to
assist me. "Gentlemen?" Hans leaned past me, making damned sure that his
entire upper arm was flexing against both my nipples. I whimpered, praying
that the boys couldn't hear me. "I hate to interrupt, but we're here."

I despaired when I could clearly hear an identical whimper from Will. Beaux
climbed out the door Hans had opened. If I could hear Will, Beaux damned
sure heard me with those bayou-bat ears of his. Bastard. As if to confirm
my suspicion, he smirked at me and winked as Will hurried to follow him out
of the BMW.

I keyed us into the house and we'd barely all cleared the portal before I
was pressed against the door. I vaguely heard a similar sound to my right
and completely ignored it. Hans kissed me deeply, making love to my neck,
my mouth, even my eyes while his hands stoked a fire hotter than your
average sun. He largely avoided my crotch, instead driving me to
desperation with his touches and strokes on my arms, chest, thighs, sides,
back. I was having distinct trouble breathing but decided that oxygen was
drastically overrated as I softly moaned and quivered in his all-consuming
embrace.

Hans seemed determined to make me mess my jeans and, when I felt his hand
insinuate itself in the back of my pants and a finger snake down my crack
just inches from its obvious goal (which, at that point, was twitching
madly), he came damnably close. Luckily (or not; every fiber of my body
screamingly voted for "not") a huge gasp and needy moan from my right
pulled me back from the brink. I did everything but rip Hans' hand out of
my buttcrack.

Fuck if I know how, as tight as Will's jeans were, but Beaux had *both*
hands down them. He cupped an ass-globe per hand, moving them perilously
close to the spot Hans had just almost reached on my own leaking, desperate
body. For his part, Will was humping against Beaux within moments of
blowing a load. "BEAUX! WILL!" Will looked like he was halfway to crapping
himself at my shout, but Beaux just turned to me, bright red and
furious. "Hands. Outside. Pants! Now, Beaux!"

He pulled his hands out and moved them to Will's extremely-erect
nipples. Beaux bent in to kiss along Will's neck and Will giggled at
something he mumbled, blushing at me with a twinkle in his eye. Fuck. What
now? I felt Hans' massive arms enfold me and stroke my own nips and my
belly and I literally purred as I turned in his embrace. "You should
probably go before I break every rule, promise and vow I ever made, Hans."

His earthy, lust-infused mumble echoed through my soul as he licked the
shell of my ear, "Are you sure you can't," I felt his left hand at the base
of my butt, stroking luxuriously along the fold, "bend them a little? You
know, just for tonight."

"YES! YES, Hans! Yes! Take me! Fuck me, Hans!" was what my entire being,
body and soul alike, throbbed for me to scream aloud but that fucking 'I'm
a Dad now' thing stood somewhere in my brain tapping a foot and looking
pointedly at his watch. I whined like a wounded animal as I pulled back a
little.

"I really can't Hans. God, I... Oh hell." I dove in for a kiss intense
enough to rock Hans back and make his eyes go SPROING! I pulled back and
said, "I just can't, Hans. It's... it's too important." He sighed and ran
both hands down my arms, making me shiver.

He leaned over and said, "Will? WILL!" Beaux released Will's mouth
reluctantly so his almost-lover could pay attention. "Will, it's time to go
now. Beaux needs his rest and you have an early shift." I've never actually
kicked a puppy but, after seeing the expression that Will shot Hans, I now
had a very clear image of how one might look at me afterwards. Beaux leaned
in and whispered something and Will's whole body expanded like a
balloon. He looked giddily at Beaux who just nodded and Will allowed
himself to be floated out to the car. Both waved at us as they pulled away.

I closed and locked the door and turned to a sort of tightly-wound bundle
of pure wrath. Beaux hollered, "I need sleep, me? What do you think you--"

I was so keyed up, so sexually-desperate, so furious at myself for NOT
giving in to Hans... I completely blew a gasket. I utterly lost it. Like,
round the bend and needing a jacket with sleeves that buckle in the back. I
can only imagine from recalling Beaux's expression what I must have looked
like as I morphed into some sort of Old Testament Prophet of Doom. His eyes
got progressively wider, though, as my fury grabbed ahold of my voice.

"Don't you DARE take that tone with me! You think I didn't WANT to drag
Hans down to my room and fuck him for a week? You think I LIKE going to bed
with blue balls? Or sending him away in the same state? Do you think I
ENJOY making you mad at me, and Will mad at me, and fucking HANS mad at me?
You think-- NO! Not one fucking word! NOT ONE! I may have to kill Dr
Silvers at some point, but BY GOD ALMIGHTY I'm going to follow his advice
if he thinks it's important for you to grow up healthy and sane. SHUT UP!
Between now and dawn, the ONLY words I want to hear from you revolve around
you going to your room and going to bed, and those two words had damned
well better be something like, 'Yes, Oncle'!"

Beaux stood there gaping like a fish for a moment as I blew and snorted
steam like an exhausted but still irate bull. The spell broke and he
literally fled down the stairs and into his room.

It would come as a shock to exactly one person on the planet (me) that I
cried myself to sleep that night for the first time in forever. I have
never been so ashamed of myself, so broken by something I had done that I
couldn't even face dreaming. I got up at least six times, twice making it
all the way to Beaux's door before chickening out. How do you apologize for
something like that? Sometime in the wee hours, I guess I finally
dozed. The alarm woke me at six, still dressed in my dinner clothes, still
smelling of Hans' cologne and still puff-eyed from the crying. I looked
accusingly at the wraithlike visage in the mirror and asked, "So,
smartass. How you gonna fix this shit?"

<eof>

Special proofreading thanks got out to Skip, Daniel, Dick and Rob. These
folks make it possible to really read the stories that I write. Thank you!

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