Karl Urban and dougray Scott: Christmas baking
players only. backdated to just before Christmas.
Dougray has decided that he likes Christmas. Of course when he was growing up, he looked forward to the holiday feast and the presents waiting under the tree, but that was as far as it went. In these past few years with his two lovers, though, he's found joy in actually making the holiday his own -- trimming the loft fireplace with evergreen boughs, carefully selecting gifts for Karl and Harry, digging through old cookbooks for the ultimate holiday baking recipes.
It's the last which has been consuming him for the past few days. A thoughtful culling, and then two mad shopping trips for all the ingredients. And today he's been baking like a fiend: thick dark gingerbread, fragrant cardamom bread, a traditional British fruitcake heavily laced with brandy. He's working on the marzipan now. He didn't realize it would be such an ambitious task.
"What are you making now?" Karl asks, coming down the stairs and into the kitchen area, his hair still damp from the shower after his morning run. Everything smells so fucking good and he groans, inspecting the stuff laying out on the table.
"Marzipan. For the fruitcake," Dougray answers, scowling down at the chunky mixture in a glass bowl. "But I can't get the texture of the almond paste right..." He mixes the paste by hand for another few seconds, trying to make sure every last bit of egg white is blended in.
"Can't you just buy almond paste?" Karl asks, leaning over Dougray's shoulder.
It isn't like Dougray to growl. But the sound he makes when Karl asks that question... His eyes flash, and he swallows the ominous rumble deep in his throat. "Yes," he says carefully, his voice primly controlled. "But that wouldn't be very Christmasy, would it? That would be bowing to the gods of convenience."
Karl nods, biting back a smile. "Okay." He slides an arm around Dougray's waist and kisses the side of his throat. "Anything I can do to help?"
Part of Dougray wants to snap at Karl to quit distracting him at such a crucial moment, but the bigger part just wants to fucking melt in his lover's arms. "Maybe," he murmurs tentatively, poking at the almond paste. "Maybe do that again?"
"This?" Karl grins and kisses the side of Dougray's throat again, tongue flicking out to taste.
"Mmm." Dougray tips his head back to rest against Karl's shoulder. "You're not allowed to have any yet," he says, feeble protest that it is. He wants to reach back and put his arms around his lover, but his hands are a mess.
"Not allowed any?" Karl grins and lightly bites his way down Dougray's neck, along the curve of his shoulder. "Are we talking baking or..." One hand sliding over Dougray's hip, fingers teasing close to his cock.
"Cookies," Dougray manages to grate out. He rubs his ass back against the ridge of his lover's cock. "You can have all the or you want."
Karl's grin widens and he cups Dougray through his jeans, kneading his cock. "Not even one cookie?"
"They're for Christmas," Dougray points out stubbornly, trying to hang onto his will when every instinct is telling him to bend. He moans softly and pushes into Karl's hand.
"But it is Christmas," Karl insists, teeth grazing over soft skin as he works Dougray more firmly through the denim, his own hard cock pressed tight against his boy's ass. "Christmas season."
Well, hell. How is Dougray supposed to argue with that logic? Or that body? "I suppose... I suppose you could... test them all," he murmurs, rubbing back against Karl, trying to feel him better through two layers of clothing. God he's so fucking hard, every thought melting from his mind except for now now now. "Make sure they're all good enough for Harry."
"Exactly," Karl grins, licking the back of Dougray's neck. "What about this almond paste?" he asks, grinding a little harder against Dougray's ass. "Is it gonna go bad?"
"Is it... what?" Dougray blinks eyes which are already going bleary. "No. No, it'll keep for years, probably." He reaches out to snag a tea towel, hastily wiping his hands as clean as they'll get without soap and water.
"Good," Karl murmurs, pushing it to the side and shoving Dougray down over the counter. "Hands above your head, boy," he orders with a soft growl.
His breath catches at the sudden order, heart starting to race. Dougray stretches his arms across the counter and splays his hands against the tiled backsplash, his body tense with excitement.
Karl unsnaps Dougray's jeans, staying pressed tight against him as he slowly works down his zipper. "Such a fucking slut for it," he murmurs, grinding hard between Dougray's cheeks.
So true. "Well, you were already gone when I got up," Dougray mumbles in defense. "Harry's been busy all day..." Karl doesn't need an explanation.
"And you've been sublimating the need to get fucked into all this baking," Karl says, tugging Dougray's jeans down over his hips, baring his ass. "Poor neglected boy."
"You'll reap the rewards," Dougray mutters, already angling his hips back. Impatient and showing it.
"I will, won't I?" Karl murmurs, shoving two fingers into Dougray and twisting them hard.
Dougray yelps, slamming against the counter in a reflexive attempt to retreat. Then he moans, pushing back on his lover's hand and urging Karl on.
One arm across Dougray's back, keeping him pinned, Karl shoves those fingers harder and deeper into him, fucking his hole open, forcing it to stretch.
"Christ." Dougray tells himself he doesn't need Karl to show brute strength. And really, he doesn't. But fuck -- he loves it anyway when Karl does. "Sir," he breathes, bearing down on his lover's fingers. "God, please, Sir. Fuck your boy."
"You sure you're ready?" Karl teases, curling his fingers to stroke over that bundle of nerves.
"No." Dougray stiffens as a shock of pleasure burns through him. After two fingers? Hell no, Karl's cock is much thicker than that. "Don't care."
"You should," Karl says, pulling his fingers out, his jeans opened and his cock rubbed over Dougray's hole. "You might regret it later," he says, still mostly teasing. He sure as hell never regrets it.
Dougray moans, then nods. "Yeah. Probably," he agrees in a whisper, but fuck if he can worry about details like that when Karl is teasing him this way. His own prick is spike-hard and needy, pressing against the wooden cabinet beneath the counter. "Please."
How can Karl resist? He grips Dougray's hips, keeping him in place, and shoves in hard, burying himself to the hilt.
Dougray shouts, the sound too loud in the kitchen. But he's never fucking gotten used to that, and suspects he never will. The swift brutal pain takes him over and he struggles instinctively. But Karl's got him pinned and he's not going anywhere.
"You said to fuck you," Karl points out, rocking his hips to make sure he's all the way in before he pulls back and slams in again.
"Yes, Sir," Dougray gasps, the muscles in his arms straining as he tries to shove back. His hole fucking feels like it's on fire, and damn it he just wants more. "Please, Sir! Yes!"
"Christ, you're so fucking hot," Karl murmurs, picking up speed, burying himself deep with every fucking thrust.
Dougray grits his teeth together, trying to hold back the desperate whimpers. He's nothing but a thing to be used, an object for his sir's pleasure, trying to push back to meet each thrust, but mostly just trying to keep from going insane with the throb of blood in his neglected cock.
"You want my hand, boy?" Karl breathes. It's not often he offers.
Whimpering, Dougray nods. "Yes, Sir," he gasps, bearing down tight around Karl's cock. "Yes, Sir, please!"
Reaching around, Karl wraps his fingers around Dougray's cock, jerking him roughly as he renews his thrusts.
Of course that just tips Dougray into a whole new quandary. "Please," he begs, his cock weeping beneath Karl's savage touch. "Please, Sir, let your boy come for you!" Or he is about to get himself into serious trouble.
Maybe it's the season. Normally Karl would push a lot fucking harder. But this time he just twists his hand around the head, ramming his cock into his boy's hole, and growls, "Do it now."
That now, fuck -- Dougray's body jerks like he's been shocked with electricity. He spills hot over Karl's fingers, his muscles clamping down, aching around his lover.
Karl follows Dougray over in an instant, cock spurting thick and heavy into his battered hole. Marking their boy thoroughly. "I should send you upstairs," he murmurs, when the aftershocks have shivered through them both. "Have Harry add to that and then you can finish your baking."
Dougray whimpers softly at the thought -- sometimes he outright despises those stairs. Oftentimes, really. "Like I don't know you're going to raid the plates the second my back is turned," he whispers, half-pushing to a stand and reaching back to slip his arm around Karl's waist.
Karl grins and kisses the side of Dougray's throat. "You said I could test them."
It's pretty much impossible to pretend grumpiness beneath a caress like that. "Oh, all right," Dougray sighs in surrender. "I'll just bake more."
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