Date: Thu, 3 Aug 2017 08:44:51 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Ravens Claw 8

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritaria/ravens-claw/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. 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.

*****

Howie saved the coupling with the highest likelihood of combustion for
last, Ned and Vincent. Ned's kiss was nearly a mouth-rape, not trace of
tenderness or even respect. He 'did his assignment' and that was
it. Vincent, though, acted as if that had never happened and gave Ned a
deep and shockingly-effective kiss that rocked Ned's world to the core. As
they broke, a breathless and shaking Ned stared at Vincent, completely
undone. Vincent simply looked at him with real sincerity. "Thank you. I
know it was hard for you to let me do that. Really, thank you." Ned was
absentmindedly rubbing his fingers over his lips as Vincent turned toward
Howie who had started talking about assignments.

*****

Raven's Claw 8: Kiss the Cook (N3)

By Bear Pup

Note: This chapter has a lot of cooking. You can skip it and get just "the
good stuff" by ignoring the parts between a line of these vvvvvvvvvvvv and
a line of these ^^^^^^^^^^^^.

*****

The assignments were actually not that difficult. For the Sexuality class,
they were to pair up with one or more husbands to coach each other on
expressions, since people rarely saw in their own face what others did. For
Sex, the obvious one was kissing. You got up to five points per guy you
could get to kiss you, from a one-point smooch to a five-pointer where you
husband loses himself in the kiss. This was all in between the cooking
lessons for which Chef would assign points based on how well each person
tried to teach or learn.

Some of the guys split off for the head, others for the Social
Room. Jackson pulled Vincent aside as soon as they left the classroom. His
low voice was hesitant, almost embarrassed. "Um, Vin--cent. I, uh, know
it's strange of me to ask. But can you teach me to kiss like that?" Vincent
looked back and forth between the big black athlete's worried eyes and
found no hint of mockery.

"Um, sure." Vincent got a slightly wicked grin and Jackson's eyes widened
as his teammate walked forward, forcing the much larger youth to step back
to the wall. Vincent started running his fingers along the ridges of
Jackson's abs, making the guy shudder in pleasure. "The first thing is
making him know that you appreciate him. Like all these amazing
muscles. You have worked so hard for so long, Jackson, and no one ever
tells you how amazing they are."

Jackson swallowed convulsively, eyes still wide.

"And then, when you finally kiss, you make him your whole world,
Jackson. Make him know that you can think of nothing," cheek-kiss, "else,"
other cheek, "at all..." Vincent pulled the larger boy down into the kiss
and stood as tall as he could. For the next few minutes, he simply took his
own advice, building a mental wall around the two of them, shutting out the
rest of the universe as irrelevant and unnecessary.

Softly licking Jackson's lips made them part and, instead of probing the
man's mouth, Vincent teased the black man's tongue until it was in his
own. He moaned in pleasure then, and let his hands rove the mounds and
slabs and ripples of muscles, stoking the fire he'd kindled. Vincent pulled
back and smiled inside at the dazed look when Jackson opened his eyes, "Of
course, it helps to be kissing a muscle-god and a stud."

He went back into the kiss and this time Jackson responded with a ferocity
that almost scared Vincent, but he rode the wave. His probing hands had
found the inner thighs that he had seen Matt use to turn Jackson from
interested to insatiable, stroking and petting them as he wallowed in the
kiss. He took the leaking, throbbing dick into his hand and stroked it as
well, eating the needy whine this got from the dark-skinned giant.

"Jackson," Vincent let a note of pleading into his voice, "will you... will
you let me watch you cum?"

"Uh huh." Jackson didn't even recognize his own whimper, high and uncertain
and lost in the lust of the kiss and the stroking.

"The kiss me and show me, Jackson." Vincent dove back in, this time using
his tongue to penetrate and claim Jackson's mouth as the larger guy gasped
and whimpered. He captured each groan, each growl, as they suddenly built
to grunts that followed the rhythm of his hunching hips. When the
inevitable happened, Vincent pulled back and held the giant up using the
wall as a support, letting his bellow of triumph and completion echo in the
hallway.

"Fuuuuuuck." The near-whispered adulation broke the shell they'd
built. Both Jackson and Vincent turned and see that Bobby was staring
open-mouthed in awe, pinching the base of his pre-soaked cock in a
desperate attempt to stave off his orgasm.

Vincent smiled and turned Jackson's face to his. "I think there's someone
who would very much like to be your, uh, *pop* quiz from this lesson?" He
pulled the still-shaking black giant to Bobby. "Have you ever seen a muscle
man as hot as this, Bobby? And Jackson, Bobby's the heart of the team. The
one that everything else turns around. You think you can show him how much
that means to us?"

Vincent stepped back and watched the two melt into each other. He jumped a
foot and squeaked as he felt a slow caress across his fuzzy ass, spinning
to find Howie there. Where the fuck did he come from?!? Howie looked down,
beaming with pride and pleasure. "I think I've created a monster. A
wonderful, talented and incredibly hot monster. Go put that talent to use
in the Social Room, kid. Aaron and Ned are there and if you're half as good
teaching pasta as passion, you are gonna make one hell of a husband." He
ruffled Vincent's hair as he turned and left.

Vincent looked back and saw that Jackson was so into Bobby that he forgot
Vincent even existed. 'Yeah,' he thought, 'yeah, I think I will be at
that.'

Chef was leaning back on one of the chairs, watching Matt try to explain to
Paul the reason the kiss worked or didn't. It was clear the younger had
held a candle for the South American stud for a long, long time, but it was
also clear that Matt had come into his own and felt comfortable teaching
his idol. Paul scowled more than anything, apparently unable to 'get it'.

When Vincent walked in, positively glowing, Chef smiled. "Check the
digidesk for rankings. They include everything including the morning
session. They were quicker than normal on getting the AM results."

Vincent pulled one of the digidesks to him and his jaw dropped like a
rock. His name was next to 'STUD'. He'd gone from last place to
*third*. Looking around for someone to jump out and yell "Gotcha!" he
hesitantly walked up to Chef. "Um, sir, I know I'm not supposed to know
why, but are these scores, mine I mean, right?"

Chef smiled. He'd spent a few minutes with Daniel and others on the staff
before coming in while Howie was doing the kissing thing. They'd expected
the reaction and the question, and given him a 'safe' answer.

"The numbers are right. And I was told it's okay to give you a general idea
of why. You made some really hard decisions in the last twenty-four hours,
Vincent. You faced some really tough shit and pushed through it. Aaron may
be sex-on-a-stick and Bobby absolutely gorgeous. Matt may be a
natural. They *should* be topping the leader board. The difference is, you
and Matt are working hard, real hard, to overcome a lot of garbage. That
deserves to be rewarded. Keep being the Vincent we met this morning and you
will make a great husband for a very, very lucky family."

vvvvvvvvvvvvv

Vincent worked his way back to the three kitchen-style workstations in deep
thought, almost a daze. He found what he needed: 00 flour, semolina, eggs,
ice water, salt. A food processor that he wouldn't *ever* use for fear of
being haunted to the grave by Grandma Bianchi. Pasta is made by hand or
"you might as well buy the cardboard stuff in the mega-mart. The young have
no sense of heritage or pride!" A pasta roller not unlike Grandma's except
with a motor and a digital scale.

Aaron came up and Vincent called Ned over. "Kay, you'se guys got it
easy. Ain't nothing easier than perfect pasta. It's just a few numbers:
Ten, four, one, one and one. 10 ounces of the 00 flour in a pile. Use two
fingers to make a well like this. Separating eggs can be a bitch but they
got this thing that helps." He pulled out the cup-like device and cracked
an egg into it and shook the yolk free.  It went into a small bowl. "This
bowl is for everything that's not flour. You with me?"

Ned and Aaron nodded and Vincent saw it wasn't going it. "Kay. Arron, how
much flour I got over here?"

"Um, uh... flour?"

Vincent took a deep breath and closed his eyes as they rolled
painfully. "10 ounces. Ten. Perfect ten. Hottest ass ever. Perfect ten. Got
that?" Aaron nodded.

"Ned!" The boy shifted and clearly was lost. "Who is the coolest spy, like,
ever?"

"James Bond, Double-Oh Seven."

"Cool. You see any 'seven' or 'james bond' flour?"

"Duh! No." He scoffed.

"So what kind of flour?"

A lightbulb went off, almost visibly. "Double-oh?"

"So how much of what flour do you need?"

"10 ounces..." Aaron.

"...of Double-Oh?" Ned.

"Bingo! TEN ounces of DOUBLE-OH flour. Got it?" The nods now were
confident, wrestlers who understood a new takedown.

"Kay. What's this thing?" Vincent held up the egg separator. Blank stares.

"Alright. This is the Egg Boss. They's two parts of eggs. Yolk and whites,
right? The Egg Boss lets you separate em. With me?" Furrowed brows and
serious nods. "You need a whole egg, cuz the white is important like, uh,
like... like you need throw-aways to win a tournament?" The two studs
high-fived and smiled. "Cool. Egg whites is like the throw-aways you got in
the mix to win. You need one, but that's it. Now, you'se need four yolks
for the ten flour. Got it?"

"Ten yolks for four flour."

"Um, other way round."

"Oh, yeah, right. Ten flour and four yolks and we use the Egg Boss to get
em." Ned was clearly proud of his acumen in this deduction.

Vincent prayed to any God that might be left nowadays and dumped two more
yolks into the bowl along with one whole egg. "Kay. Now you need a
TABLEspoon of water and TEAspoon of salt. There's two 'spoon' things. Just
remember like they tell us with training: We need more water and less
salt. Got it? Big is water, small is salt?"  The nods actually looked
rational, so he moved on.

"Beat up the egg stuff. You don't need to do it too long, just til it looks
all yellow. Got me?" The nodded. "You remember the flour? How much flour?"

"TEN! Ten, um, things. Ounces?"

"Excellent. Gold star for Aaron. Ten ounces of flour. You make a pile then
use a couple fingers to make a well. Pour everything into the well."

"Ooooo."

Vincent wanted to laugh, cry and scream. "Now, using those two fingers,
start to swirl around JUST in the liquidy stuff, got me? Now gradually pull
in a little of the flour, then a little more."

Aaron and Ned watched exactly as they would a magician in the school
auditorium. Vincent wanted to weep but knew it wouldn't help. He continued
to incorporate the flour. "Now, you might not need all the flour, or you
might need a tiny bit of the ice water. Reach out and feel the dough right
now. See how it's still sticky and soft? It's not ready yet." Vincent got
the dough to the right consistency and used a scraper to pull it into a
ball. "Okay, now feel it." Ned and Aaron poked the dough and made 'oo'
noises. "That's what it feel like if it's ready to rest."

"Rest? Why? It didn't do any work!" Ned was quite happy with his wit as
Vincent fought the urge to bitch-slap his teammate.

"The noodles will fall apart into sludge if the dough doesn't sit for a
while. You don't want that. So, we've got an hour," he wrapped the dough
ball in cling-film and looked up at Aaron with a mischievous smile, "you
wanna make a start on homework?" Ned watched as a very reluctant Aaron went
off with Vincent to work on facial expressions.

Jackson floated into the room, followed by Bobby who looked completely
shell-shocked. Jackson's dreamy smile almost made Ned laugh. Paul
intercepted the big, black teen and steered him to the cook stations,
snagging Ned as well. "So, uh, Paolo, what the fuck is pecker-whatever?"

"Steak, dude. Picanha is the best steak you ever gonna eat." That got both
boy's attention. BEEF! Paul found that there was a perfect cut of wet-aged
beef under a very long steel cover at this station. The deep, ruby-red of
the rump cap contrasting brilliantly with the creamy off-white of the
fat. There was also a full range of herbs and spices that Paul frowned
at. He turned and saw Chef looking at him. "Where's the Linguiça?"

Chef smiled, "And why do you need sausage to cook picanha?"

Paul scowled, "Only way to season the churrasqueira and get the flavor
right."

"Well done. Lift the cutting board." The wooden cutting board was, in fact,
a lid to a refrigerated compartment containing, among other things, the
Brazilian sausage that Paul wanted. He took a minute to examine the grill,
a long, open thing that made up the left side of the station. Above a
number of powerful-looking gas jets was a porous stone slab penetrated
everywhere by pencil-width holes. Perhaps ten inches above the open top, a
vent hood stood ready to suck away smoke and fumes. Paul nodded. This would
work.

"Okay, listen up. This is the simplest steak to cook and get perfect, but
you've got to follow the steps. This ain't gonna be as good as real
churrasco cuz we don't have wood and charcoal, but I think it will
work. First step is to make sure the beef is about room temperature." He
touched it and had the others do the same. "Next, get the grill flaming
hot." He cranked the knob as far as it would go. The exhaust fan
immediately started to suck air upwards, whisking it out a flue.

"Now, first up is the sausage."

"I don't get it. What's the sausage for? Does it go on the steak?" Jackson
asked.

Paolo smiled wide. "In a way, preto, in a way. The sausage doesn't touch
the steak, but the *ghost* of the sausage does wonders!" He ran the skewer
through the Linguiça, forcing it into a very reluctant serpentine and
not worrying where it broke. Paul set the skewer into the notches on either
end of the grill. "On the sausage goes. Turn it whenever you think about
it. Now for the main attraction."

The Brazilian youth ran his tanned hand lovingly over the slab of meat he'd
call tapa de quadril as Ned and Aaron shared a look. He flipped the piece
upside down so the fat was down. "So, first, we cut in diagonal, called on
the bias. You see the way the muscles flow. Jackson, give me a Side
Triceps." Jackson took three deep breaths and POW went into an incredible
pose that showed off his right arm and leg, muscles popping like crazy.

"See the striations? The 'grain' of the muscles here and here and here?
Okay, relax, preto, that was fucking amazing. Those are the parts of the
muscles that work hard. Same with a steak." He showed them the way the
grains ran. "If you cut with them, you get long, stringy fibers in the meat
which is great for some things because it holds more of the juice (like
fajitas that you cut afterwards) but terrible for what we're doing." He
flipped the slab of meat back over.

"Ned, turn that skewer, will ya?" Ned was only too happy to comply; the
succulent smell of the dripping fat was beginning to get to him. The
drippings had started to discolor the porous stone and smoke was starting
to come up from it.

Paul pulled out a knife long enough to qualify as a machete, a long, flat
blade with granton edge. "Cut diagonal, like we saw, and always try to do
it in a single, long stroke like this." Paolo expertly drew the knife
through and down, leaving a perfect edge. "You want strips about two inches
wide," his voice got far away as he concentrated, "so everything cooks
evenly. You'll get three or four pieces out of a steak... like... this."

Laying on the cutting board were now three perfect strips of meat with a
luscious fat-cap along one side. There was also a somewhat ragged piece
that he moved aside. "Now you make tiny cuts, careful! Not all the way
through, in the fat. That makes it cook right since the fat tried to pull
the meat back into a shape you don't want."

Paul looked through the myriad of spices and found the rock salt, just as
he'd use in an ice cream maker. He dumped perhaps a cup onto the
board. "Unlike our homework, for picanha you want to play with the meat as
little as possible." To the music of their lusty chuckles, Paul rolled the
three strips of beef through the salt, letting whatever wanted to stick
stay on but not applying any pressure.

"Hey, wait. What about all those spice things?"

Paul openly sneered. "If you need all that, you got nasty beef. Great beef
needs salt and fire. If you want, you add flavor when you get it to the
plate." He pulled the ragged piece over. "If we had a real grill, this
extra is what you cook first to test the churrasqueira." He smiled,
"Actually, it's just so the cook gets to nibble while the guests drool,
camaradas." The two teammates chuckled, but their stomachs growled
loudly. Paul turned to Chef again.

"I know we're supposed to eat just what's on trays, but can we eat as we
cook, Chef?"

He smiled, halfway to a smirk. "Yeah. We'll keep track and adjust
tomorrow's food. And I'm betting that Linguiça is just about perfect,
too, huh?"

"You know it."  Paul smiled and used a pair of tongs to remove the skewer
with the sausage off to the side and covered it with the long metal dome
that looked more like a miniature Quonset hut than anything else. Only the
end of the skewer stuck out of a small slot in the end. Ned whimpered and
looked like his goldfish had just died. "Patience, niñito, patience. It
has to rest or you burn your mouth and taste nothin the rest of the night."
Ned wasn't the only one. The smell of the sausage cooking and the smoke of
its dripping had drawn every guy in the room, all of them salivating.

Paul carefully pulled the skewer out, using the dome to force the sausage
off. "Now we're ready for steak! You fold it like this, into a C with the
fat out, with me? Then make sure the skewer goes right up the middle. Do
the same for the others, one after the next. Make sure they roll tight,
camaradas, no gaps. You can have space between one and the next, but never
ever in the middle, get me?" He set the skewer into the rack over the
flame. "Always start fat side down and don't turn until it starts to crisp
up and sputter. Four to six minutes on the fat side, then four each on the
others"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Paolo took great pleasure in tormenting the guys as he sloooooooowly lifted
the lid from the sausage. Juice was everywhere since he'd broken the
sausage in several places and the smell made the guys' bellies sound like a
pack of tigers. He set to with the knife, slicing it into bites. Paul
popped a crispy end into his mouth and mmmmmmmed. "Cooks first." He stabbed
one on the long fork and fed it to Jackson, then another to Ned. "Now if
the rest of you guys want some, you gotta kiss the cooks."

Vincent pulled Paul into a long, slow, delicious kiss as Aaron latched onto
Jackson and Bobby claimed Ned. Matt pouted at lack of cooks to kiss, then
noticed the distraction of the others and popped a handful of the
incredible sausage into his mouth while no one was looking and retreated to
the third cook station. A timer DINGed and Paul pulled himself out of the
extraordinary kiss. "Don't. Go. Anywhere." He gave the picanha a
quarter-turn and the timer a reset, "Now, where were we?" and dove back
into the amazing kiss work of Vincent.

Aaron pulled back, completely undone by Jackson's sudden kissing
skills. "Where the fuck did you learn THAT?" Jackson smiled and nodded to
the two-backed kissing beast that, if they ever separated, would be Paul
and Vincent. He reached down and grabbed a piece of the sausage and fed it
to Aaron tenderly.

The Bobby-Ned action broke about then as well. "Ned, um, I'm horny as fuck
and really, really want to mess around with you, but, um, can I have
sausage first?" Ned laughed loud enough that everyone turned except the
'indisposed' VincentPaul creature.

He'd seen Jackson's move and blatantly copied it, feeding a tempting morsel
of sausage to his tempting morsel of Bobby. The difference was that Bobby
locked Ned's hand in place and seductively sucked clean each finger in
turn, leaving Ned panting in shallow breaths. "Thanks." Suddenly it was
reversed, with Ned forcefully savaging Bobby's mouth as his hands roved
over his back and ass.

The timer DINGed again and Jackson snorted in derision that Paul didn't
even hear it. He turned the Picanha another quarter, bringing the
insanely-crispy-juicy-succulent fat to the top.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

It turned out that Matt had finally run out of patience and pulled Jackson
and Aaron away just as they tried to reinitiate their kiss. "Biscuits. Not
as sexy as sausage or pasta, but damned good if you do it right and hell if
you don't. I heard Paul say the secret was heat? Even though we're baking
them, the secret here is *cold*. Turn the oven to 450 before you start."

Matt reached into the chiller under the cutting board and brought out a
steel bowl. "If you've got time, chill the flour. 2 cups. Measure
everything carefully. This is like a Chem Lab experiment where you get it
right or it's a mess, with me?"

Both nodded. Matt put the flour back. "Before we let the stuff get out and
get warm, we need to prep the stuff that doesn't matter, the add-ins. With
the pasta and the Brazilian steak, I picked chives and cilantro." He
glanced up at the guys, "Those are herbs. Green things." He pulled the two
small bundles of fresh herbs out onto the board. "This part is simple and
boring. You just chop the stuff up really fine. Aaron, you do chives and
Jackson do the cilantro."

"Us? Like, now?" The panic in Jackson's voice almost made Matt laugh.

"Yes," he taunted in little boy voice, "but I promise that the big bad
herbs won't hurt you, and you'll have a nice sharp knife to protect
yourself." Jackson glared at him and took the knife and started
chopping. Matt made suggestions and corrections for each very patiently and
helpful, more like a coach than a teacher. When they were done, he scraped
the result into a bowl. He pulled the flour bowl out.

"I've written out the recipe. This part is really, really easy to screw
up. See this red tin? It's baking POWDER. The yellow box is Baking
SODA. They don't do the same thing and if you switch them around you get
some seriously nasty food. This is a teaspoon measure. You dip it into the
POWDER and there's a lip in the lid that lets you scrape it off evenly." He
dumped it into the flour. "You need four of these. This tiny thing is a
quarter-teaspoon."

"How can such a tiny amount make any difference?" Aaron was genuinely
puzzled.

"When you've got your opponent in a leg lock, how much difference can an
inch on your foot placement make?"

"Oh. Okay."

"So, you need one of these little spoons of the SODA. The box also has a
lid that scrapes it flat. Add three of these little ones of salt." All of
that went into the flour and he stirred it with a fork. "Now the next part
goes fast." He pulled out a bowl with butter and shortening. "dump it in
and use the fork at first to press it into the flour mix. As soon that the
fork starts to stick a little, switch to your fingers. Less is more. You
want to avoid letting your hands warm up the butter but you want to fat to
be in crumbs with flour in it. Okay, each of you try."

He portioned out a third for each of them. "You want to work quickly and
roll it into your fingers until it's crumbly. You don't want
smooth. Jackson, softer. Aaron, faster. Perfect. Jackson, you're done
aaaaaaaand Aaron, you are too." He scraped the flour mixtures back into the
bowl. Now for the liquid. It's all buttermilk, one cup. Cold as you can get
it. And add the herbs, too."

He poured both in. "That's like the pasta well!" Aaron was amazed.

"Yes, exactly. So, we stir in the flour a little at a time until it's just
barely mixed. See how there is still flour around? That's what you want."

"But it's not finished!"

"Right, Jackson, because you're gonna finish it by hand. Put flour on the
board then turn the dough out, then sprinkle some more on top, see how it's
just like a dusting? Not a bunch? Okay, you use the heels of your hands and
push away from you, then lift it, turn it, fold it over and do it
again. Okay, Jackson, your turn. Gently. Think tits, not ass. Good. Now
lift, turn, fold. Aaron? Harder and push farther. Perfect! Lift, turn
fold. I'll take the last just to make it even. See how it's not sticky
anymore? That's what you want."

"That's actually pretty cool."

"Wait till you taste it! Add a little more flour to the top and roll it
out. This is where my family does everything different. No biscuit
cutters." Chef magically appeared and looked over. Dip your sharp, dry
knife in flour and cut straight across. Dip, cut. Dip, cut. You want
squares about the size of your palms. Scratch that. Humans palms, not those
of giant muscle gods." Jackson snorted but smiled wide.

"Butter the pan like this, then throw a couple tablespoons of butter in the
microwave for 15 seconds. Now arrange the biscuits like this." Matt placed
them, not quite touching, and in an offset pattern so there were odd,
triangular spaces. "Brush the butter over the top and into the oven. Timer
for fifteen, you're done!"

"Wowwwwwwww." Aaron was frankly reverent and Jackson was amazed.

"That's it? Really? Dude, you are too fucking cool!" Jackson leaned in to
Matt's ear and whispered, "I still wanna give you that kiss, now more than
ever." He reached down and caressed Matt's ass who squeaked and blushed,
nodding frantically.

Paul called out, "Jackson and Ned!" Jackson hurried over. "Now, I pulled
the picanha when it finished the last side. You were busy, preto, but it's
okay. You just pull it, leave it on the skewer and cover, the shut down the
churrasqueira. Ned can show you. You then set a timer for fifteen minutes
which is the MINIMUM it sits. Now, though, now is the magic."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Paolo smiled like a cat and uncovered the meat. He had an instant
audience. He pulled out the granton machete and held the skewer like Arthur
with the Sword in the Stone. He pulled out a pair of tongs and handed them
to Ned. "I'm gonna slice a little bit. Grab the edge with the tongs." He
pulled the knife back slowly and expertly carved off a long, thin,
slice. "Set that aside for a minute. Grab the next." He sliced and smiled,
"Now taste that. Just put the whole thing in your mouth."

Ned frowned and did, and his eyes shot open. "Ohhh mo go! Das wongafu!!!"
Paulo sliced another for Jackson and baked in the praise.  He quickly
started cutting and passing out meat to the guys, all of whom were hooting
and hollering like he'd won state. Paul spoke up over the hubbub. "Further
out is medium, inside is rare, all of it is amazing. And *that* is what
steak is *supposed* to taste like." He turned the knife over to Jackson
(who ate every other slice for the first couple pounds of steak) and went
to Chef.

"How did you get actual, Brazilian beef? Might have been northern
Argentina, but damned close? And this quick?"

"The Protectorate is nothing if not efficient. However, this time I simply
cheated. I have a halal butcher nearby that two of my husbands adore, and
they happen to import beef from well north of you, Mato Grosso. Sorry to
burst your bubble on the taste, but it's nearly 800 miles off. Then again,
anything from Brazil or Argentina is pretty special."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

A loud DING went off and the horde converged on the biscuits. They came out
brown and glossy and amazing. Chef put out a big tub of honey butter and
the guys went nuts. Vincent forcefully grabbed Ned and Aaron, pulling them
away including their biscuits. "Now for the hard part, both of you."

He had the rested dough on the board and unwrapped it. "This is, like,
simplicity itself." He dusted the board with semolina. "This is a different
flour. It makes it yummy. Flatten the dough out best you can with the
rolling pin and feed it into the pasta roller at the widest setting. Dust
with a little of the semolina and do it a couple more times until it's
even, giving a little dust each time. Crank down the roller one notch and
roll until it's even again, then down, etc."

The guys marveled at the way the wad of dough magically became a huge flat
sheet. "Cut is in half if it gets too long to handle. For this, you want to
get down to the 'six' setting. Good linguini is about a foot and a half
long, so you cut the sheets to length, then pop off the roller and pop on
the cutter. Once through, then dust the noodles and you're ready to cook!"
Vincent already had a pasta-pot with a colander insert boiling
slightly. "Dump in a handful at a time, no more, and set the timer for 90
seconds."

"Seconds? Really? Mom cooked it for, like, fifteen minutes!"

"One, that was for dry pasta not fresh, and second that was for gooey-gummy
spaghetti. This will be perfect, trust me." The timer DINGed and he pulled
up the cylinder and let it drain, then shook of the excess water. "So you
could try it, I've got a little olive oil, butter and a tiny bit of garlic
in the pan. Pasta always, always goes from pot to pan as quick as you can."
Vincent tossed the pasta quickly then decanted the whole thing onto a
platter. He handed each a fork.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Now, pasta is the bane of most athletic diets, so while the beef was an
instant draw, the nearly-forbidden pleasure of pasta nearly made them both
swoon. "My God, Vin, this is, like, the best pasta I ever tasted! This is
miracle level, dude!" Aaron reached over to hug Vincent, which the cook
turned into a kiss.... a long, mind-blowing kiss that let Ned blushing to
watch.

The blush leapt to atomic levels when a hand slid up his crack. He spun to
find Bobby there. Ned's best friends for years looked into Ned's eyes and
said, "I'm still horny for that kiss, buddy. You up for a little more?"

Beef and biscuits both devoured, Paul and Jackson settled on a couch. "So,
um... You got damned good with the kissing, preto. How so quick?"

Jackson smiled broadly. "Dude, Vinny was a prick but Vincent is like God's
Gift to kissing. You have GOT to try some of that."

Paolo frowned, furrowing his brow. "We kissed in class and again at the
grill. It was fine and fun and all, but not, like, mind-blowing."

Jackson threw a leg over and said, "You want to work on... holds and
takedown?" Paul smiled at the pun and threw his own leg over so they were
facing. "So. What I always did wrong and didn't know was what Howie was
trying to say. This ain't technical, bro, it's mental. Like on the mat,
first thing ain't get the right position, it's get in the guy's head. Same
here. Watch. You think of nothing but what it feels like. Don't try to kiss
me, just kick back, kay?"

Paul sighed and shook himself out just as if he were getting ready to enter
the ring. "Kay. First, I'm gonna kiss you the way that I used to kiss
chicks. All about technique." Jackson pulled Paul into him and put all of
his attention into where his hands were, how his lips moved, when and where
he moved his tongue. He let that go for a minute then pulled back.

"No that was 'Before'. You ready for 'After'?" Paul nodded, still lost over
the whole thing. Jackson took Paul's chin in his huge and tilted Paul's
head back slowly and looked into his eyes. Paul's went wide. Where was the
kissing?

The black giant leant forward slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Paul's
increasingly-disconcerted ones. Even before touching lips, Jackson darted
out his tongue and licked along Pauls' closed mouth, earning a sudden
gasp. Jackson cleared everything out of his mind but one thing, Paolo --
The magical Brazilian stud he'd known for the last couple years. The
wresting star. The modest hero. The guy who'd taken the reviled 'Junior'
under his wing. -- and kissed all of that at once.

To Paul it felt like any other kiss and then, like a dam bursting, all that
emotion from his muscle-god teammate broke through and he felt it. Bodies
had nothing to do with this. Jackson was kissing his soul. He heard himself
whimper a little as Jackson's hand roamed almost-aimlessly across his body,
managing without apparently conscious direction to hit every place that
made his innards squirm with desire. He lost himself in it, letting his own
hands caress the rippling musculature of the ebony stud. When Jackson
pulled back, Paul involuntarily moved forward, trying his damnedest to
recapture those lips, that feeling.

"So, bonito, you seemed to like 'After' better?"

Paul was utterly breathless. "And V-V-V-Vincent can teach me that?"

"Dude, you have no fucking clue. I am the Gwasshoppah to his Master. Like I
said, you gotta getcha some-a that." Jackson left the stunned and blinking
Brazilian and turned just as Matt walked up. He did not look pleased.

"So.... what? I'm the only one you don't kiss anymore?"

Jackson pulled him, resisting all the way, to the end of the room that
offered a little privacy. "No, Matt. I was just waiting until I had
practiced enough to make it great for you." He pulled Matt into a kiss. For
a moment, Matt liked the fact that he'd again gotten Jackson to move on him
instead of the other way around. Then, like a light-switch thrown, thought
was no longer an option.

The black giant poured every emotion he could dredge up into that kiss,
determined to think of nothing else. Well... almost nothing. Matt's cock
was leaking dick-drool all over Jackson's abs. Never breaking the kiss or
the concentration, the big guy let one massive paw slide down to Matt's
lightly-furred ass and the other gripped the dripping spike between them.

Jackson smiled as he swallowed a squeak and squawk and a deep, penetrating
moan all in a row and let both hands start stroking. The one on the cock
was almost habitual, but he found himself fascinated by the other. The
smooth muscles of the lean runner's body and the fierce heat of the
ultimate forbidden place grabbed him as he probed and stroked deeper into
the crevice. Matt started to hunch a bit then screamed and exploded as soon
as Jackson's fingers found the twitchy wetness of his asshole. Even Jackson
was stunned at the power of his orgasm.

Matt finally threw back his head and sighed. Jackson was shocked to see
actual tears on his cheeks. "You okay, baby?"

"Fuck it!" Matt moaned out. Using his cum as a lubricant, he slid his body
like an otter down between the black stallion's legs and, without ceremony
or thought, dove onto the very large, very black, very needy cock.

The moment the smaller guy's mouth engulfed his dickhead, Jackson nearly
blew. He looked down at the lean white body and moaned. Matt's head bobbed,
not taking a lot of huge meat but enough to drive Jackson mad with need. It
was the visual though, the pearl set in a field of jet, that made him
realize it was the hottest and most beautiful moment he'd ever had.

He tried to push Matt off before he accidently lost it in his mouth, but it
was like trying to remove a leech. With that, his eyes rolled back and he
tried to scream, beg, howl, moan, but only a creaking noise escaped as his
entire massive frame erupted into a full-body/mind/soul orgasm.

As Matt pulled back, Jackson reached down and pulled him up his slick body,
dragging him like a toy. He dove into a new kiss, shocked to find his own
cum still on Matt's lips and tongue. He wanted to be grossed out,
disgusted, appalled. In actual fact, the only thought he had was a line
from Pumba in The Lion King. He laughed into the kiss and Matt pulled back,
a bit put off.

"What? What's funny?"

Jackson's deep voice was rough and unsteady, but adamant, "Matt, that was
the hottest fucking thing I've ever had done to me. And when I k-k-k-kissed
you, I could t-t-t-taste my own, you know, that you swallowed. And I
thought it would be so far past nasty and it, well, all I could think of
was Pumba saying, 'Hmmm. Slimy yet satisfying'!" He dove in and proceeded
to eat Matt's laughter in yet another kiss.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 33 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 24 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 26 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 18 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Culberhouse Rules: 9 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 8 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Ashes & Dust: 3 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/