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Blood and Chocolate	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 15 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Based on my own predilections or not, this is still a work of fiction. by the way, you will get hungry reading this. Just, just just trust me on this.

Chapter List
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Alex led me out of the room and into the narrow hallway outside of there. Breathing hard, he stopped for a second right outside of the doorway, and he clutched his hands to his belly. He closed his eyes and parted his lips a bit to let out a soft whistle: thin wisps of his black hair sprawled over his shoulders and down onto his chest like the tentacles of an octopus; the sliver of gray rose over his forehead like a little plume of smoke from the kitchen. He curled up his lip as if something ached at him from within.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed at me in a near whisper and with a little swat of his free hand at me.
“Are you okay?” I asked him again, that time in an actual whisper.
“I think so. I'm just—you know, so full is all.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall: I watched him slide down to the floor beneath him all the while. He let out a low whistle, but he never seemed to be in any kind of pain at all. It was then that I licked my lips and bent over right next to him, and I lingered my face up close to his. He breathed hard from the feeling inside of him, and I knew what he wanted: he never even had to say it out loud to me for me to figure it out.
I squinted my eyes at the side of his head, and I kept my attention fixed on the aquiline shape of his nose all the while. A perfect side profile, and one accentuated by the gray streak on the side closest to me. A part of me wanted to reach out and touch it, but first, I had to break the ice with him and give him what he wanted among everything else.
“Would you like your belly rubbed?” I offered him.
“Please,” he said almost immediately.
He sank down in the spot on the floor all the way, so it looked as though he was about to lay flat on his back. The look of euphoria in his eye combined with the slight twist of pain on his face made me hold back a bit. There was a part of me that wanted to forget the whole thing and drive him back home for the night, especially since we weren’t technically all alone in that building, but he wanted it, however. I had to give the devil to which he was due, and I just so happened to make a deal with the devil himself.
In fact, the more that I kept my attention on him, the more I wondered if Alex was indeed a devil in some past incarnation of life: he had the minute gray streak and the steely blue eyes, as well as the striking appearance and the mellifluous, warm voice. He looked as though he could be a demon in disguise, ready to take on the world, especially with me as his slave to massage him back to form and comfort.
I rubbed my hands together, and I wished I had brought a small bottle of lotion with me because the skin on my palms felt a bit rough. Nevertheless, I was in deep at that point.
I leaned in closer to his face and his body, and it was right then I felt the same thing, the same plume of desire that I had felt from before we had eaten, and he and I were all over one another. It hit me like a little rush of blood to my head before it fell down my spine like a zipper to the base of my spine. The pressure was building almost instantaneously, and I had to act.
“I can’t wait until you have a little fat belly going,” I whispered right into his ear.
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he teased me as he pressed his hands to the spots on the floor on either side of his hips.
“I would, yeah,” I confessed to him with a little smirk on my face. “You would look so cute with a little pot.”
“For a second there, I thought you were inferring to actual pot.” I snickered at that as I lifted the hem of his shirt and revealed his little belly: his skin looked so smooth and silken, as if he had cleaned it the few hours before.
“I wish we had some actual pot, now that I think about it,” I told him as I knelt next to him and rubbed my hands together once again.
“Why?” he asked me coyly, complete with a little squint of his eyes and a slight raise of his eyebrow at me.
“Because of the whole thing with—you know, the munchies.”
“Oh, I see.” He snickered at that, and I made out the slight glimmer in his eye, as if he was plotting of something right then and there.
“You never know when a little Mary Jane gets into your next brownie or something,” I told him in a singsong voice.
“In my next brownie?” he chuckled. “No, no, no, no—I'm doing the full experience. A little joint in my mouth and a little Twinkie in my hand.”
I had to stop myself from bursting out into a fit of laughter at that.
Careful not to upset his stomach, I ran my fingertips down his skin, down into his belly button and around his waist for a gentle feeling of his flesh. He was warm and tender, as if eating all that food had tenderized him without a singular cause or reason of any sort. Though he only had those few extra pounds on his waist, I gently pressed my fingers into his flesh, and I tried to knead it as if I was kneading dough for a pizza.
A couple of joints, a Twinkie, and a pizza, all for this boy’s little belly.
I ran my fingers around in a tight little circle around his belly button. He seemed to shudder and shake from the feeling. I showed him the tip of my tongue as a result: he liked that. I had a feeling that he would have to admit these things to me at some point, even though I was more than willing to figure it out just by a mere glimpse at his face as well as the way in which his body quivered and moved about on the floor before me.
Silence fell all around us as I moved my fingers over towards his hip for a gentle caress and a small weave of circles by that beautiful hipbone of his: he really had gorgeous hips, in all their slightly full, shapely beauty to act as the centerpiece of his body. I lowered my gaze down to his sinewy thighs: I knew that when he started to gain weight, his thighs would fill out a bit more and they would look so lovely as they gave his body all the better shape in junction with his hips. I pictured myself lying right behind him in bed, with my arms around his waist, and then at some point, during the night, I would run my hands down onto his hips and then onto his thighs for a soft caress and maybe a squeeze of two.
I moved my fingertips over to the spot of skin underneath his belly button for an extra soft caress. He never moved a muscle as I brought my fingers to the top of his jeans. I was that close, that close to giving him a handjob if he so wished.
If anything, I considered it. I considered giving him a handjob down the line if and when we found a moment alone, be it at my place or his place, and Lou was away with Angie or in the next room with Chuck and Greg.
I ran my index finger back up to his belly button for a gentle stroke around the rim: I knew he liked that. If I could feel myself firming up at the simple caress of my finger on his belly button, then there was something to be made from it. Indeed, I happened to look down again to his thighs, and I noticed the crotch of his jeans seemed a bit tighter than before. I was doing something right.
A part of me wanted to say, “fuck it”, and give him the handjob right then and there, but I had no idea if he even wanted it in the first place, especially since we were not alone in that building. In fact, as far as I knew, Chuck or Greg could walk in there at any given second, and neither of us would be prepared, and—
“Eric,” he started in a low, husky voice, one that made me think of smooth fresh honey straight out of the honeycombs in the apiary.
“Hm?” I kept my head down so I could continually focus on giving his belly a nice soothing massage.
“What’s black and white and has a cherry on top?” he asked me.
“An ice cream sundae?”
He licked his lips, and then I brought my gaze up from his belly to his face. Those deep eyes, in all their intensity, softened up as the ocean would following a massive rainstorm the size of the state of California. He parted his little pink lips at me, as smooth and lush as ripe little cherries straight off the tree branch, and ready for my taking. And then I realized he was referring to himself.
“A cherry on top?” I echoed him, and he closed his eyes, and he lifted himself up onto his elbows. His tousled hair dangled over his shoulders back onto the floor, and even more so as he tilted his head back and showed me his neck. I kept my hand hovered over his waist, all so I could let him breathe and relax from the feeling.
“I want you to give me the cherry on top,” he pleaded, his voice still down in that near whisper. I had never heard his voice that husky before, not even the first time when he was in the apartment with me and Lou, and he was doing it for himself. He then slowly raised his head at me, complete with drooping eyelids as if the whole thing was making him so sleepy. “I also didn’t tell you to stop, either. I will give you a full decade to stop that feeling.”
“Part of me wants to open your pants,” I confessed to him.
“Do it,” he said.
“You want me to?”
“Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. I need it, Eric. Please—touch me and touch me some more. Make me bleed. I want to feel everything, every last little thing that I cannot feel alone.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip, and I returned to the waist of his jeans once again, that time to act on my own fantasy of giving it to him. I was amazed by how close I was to the space between his thighs on those first little caresses, especially as I opened his jeans and tugged them down his legs a bit to give him space. I then peeled back his underwear, and I proceeded to rub his belly some more before I brought my fingers down to that sweet spot.
My fingertips in his belly button again, and then I stroked them down his soft skin, all the way to the top of his shaft. His skin was extra soft and smooth there, especially when I reached the tip, and I stuck my finger into the hole. That made him gasp and snicker at the sensation: his stomach was full, but it didn’t seem to faze him in the least. I then held onto his shaft with two fingers and gave him a stroke with the pad of my thumb to get him moving some more.
I thought of kissing his belly and then doing the same thing but with my mouth instead as I brought in my left hand to keep up that little massage. He never moved a muscle as I moved my right hand down his shaft, towards the head for a little tickling to make him come.
At some point, I knew we were going to have to do it doggy style, but this wasn’t really the best place for it. If anything, I was more than happy to hum along and feel him and make him feel at home while he lay on the floor right next to the door and with only six feet of a buffer zone between us and Chuck and Greg. I did, however, feel his flesh firm up some more, right inside of my hand as if it was made all for my touches. He treated me to a soft moan followed by a low whistle, and it was then I caught sight of that clear pearl of liquid at the tip.
I stuck out my tongue as I could feel myself firming up as well: one of us had to come first, if not me, then him. I brought my right index and middle fingers down closer to his body to feel his nuts: given he was still very much a boy, I saw that they had not descended all the way, but I knew that skin was so sensitive, just from my own exploration. Descended all the way or not, he gasped from the sensation.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” I whispered to him, and he pinched his eyes shut and parted his lips all the way from the feeling. I moved my fingers back to the tip, and at the same time, I brought my left hand back to his belly button for a few more circles.
He let out a soft moan that sounded like it came from somewhere, and he spilled a little bit of cum on his jeans. He choked out and gasped, and then he hoisted himself back up onto his elbows to better see himself. Meanwhile, I had to stop simply because my jeans were tightening way too much right then; I undid the button, and I knew I had to do something to relieve myself because I was going to make a mess myself.
“Shit,” he muttered, and I stripped off my jeans, and I let ‘er rip right onto the floor next to his legs.
“That was close,” I said.
“Wow.” He let out a low whistle and ran his fingers through his black hair once again. “That was just—wow.” He could scarcely speak at all.
I knew there were tissues around there somewhere, and I knew that the bathroom was also right down the hallway in front of us: the two of us could walk on up there and clean off willy-nilly no questions asked, but then again, we would have to do it with our sloppy dicks hanging out in the open. Then again, I had a feeling that that wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to either of us.
I turned my head to him again.
“Need some help?” I offered him.
“Nah. Besides, you’ve got your hands full yourself.” Alex grunted as he rolled over onto his side and raised himself up into a push-up position for a second. I watched him climb to his feet before I rose up myself. I held onto my dick as we walked along the hallway to the bathroom for a cleaning: lucky for the both of us, no one was in there.
“So... you’re Jewish, and I’m Mexican,” I said as I wiped myself down.
“Yeah. My family’s non-traditional, but—you know. Shiksa is a real thing, mark my words.”
“Shiksa?” I knitted my eyebrows at that.
“Let’s just say I like people who don’t remind me of my parents,” he told me as he washed his hands.
“It’s funny—I do, too,” I told him, and I raised my gaze back over to him and those parted cherry lips in the mirror next to me. He was different in comparison to what I knew.
“Do you know what the phrase ‘blood and chocolate’ means?” he asked me.
“It’s wanting something that goes against what your family believes in?” I followed along as I tossed the tissue in the garbage can by the door: I hadn’t leaked onto my jeans at all and thus, I zipped up all the way and cleaned off myself.
“Exactly. I'm the blood and you’re the chocolate.”
“Why do you get to be the blood?” I scoffed.
“Because I wanted you to make me bleed,” he pointed out, and he rested his hands on either side of the wash basin. “And your eyes remind me of dark chocolate, too.”
“You’re black and white with the cherry on top, though, Alex,” I insisted as I scrubbed that soft-smelling soap along my palms for a few extra seconds prior to rinsing off. “That’s an ice cream sundae.”
“An ice cream sundae like—this right here?” He raised the hem of his shirt to show me his little belly, to which I rolled my eyes.
“You’re a way off before you’re an ice cream sundae, Alex,” I assured him. “If anything, I’m the ice cream sundae, what with my pale face and the dark hair.”
“You don’t have a cherry on top, though,” he pointed out.
“Nope, but I could,” I said as I tugged a paper towel out of the dispenser to the left of me before we walked on out of there.
“I think all five of us could, actually,” he said, and even now, I still have difficulty understanding what he meant by that, especially since he was the one with the cherry lips.
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Blood and Chocolate