Matt beamed.
“Thank you!” Adam bent to sniff them.
Bent at the waist, stiffly, which, Matt thought, was an odd posture.
Adam’s shirt rode up his back a bit.
Outside, the sun was setting. Its golden tendrils dappled the room’s Edwardian blown-glass windows. The soft light backlit the beautiful boy, the bouquet of roses.
Matt stood, transfixed by the sight.
The room’s oak floors and moldings enhanced the earth-tone palette, framing the pale-skinned, freckled boy. The roses—perfect in any other setting—were pallid in comparison to Adam.
Eventually, Adam straightened. “I’m famished!”
Matt couldn’t help himself. “I thought you were going to change clothes,” he said.
“I did,” Adam grinned.
Matt frowned. “You didn’t. I know, because I stared at your ass—in those same jeans—as you headed upstairs.”
“Let’s try this again,” Adam said. He bent to sniff the roses. Arched his ass exaggeratedly.
Reached back and tugged at the waistband of his jeans, revealing a stripe of green elastic. Bare skin below that. Well—bare skin and brown fuzz.
Matt’s mouth went dry.
“I changed underwear,” Adam said, stretching, pulling his jeans back up. “I got to town early and went to that sex shop in the Habana Inn. Jungle Red. Isn’t that the name?”
Matt nodded dizzily. Thought he nodded, at least. All the blood had drained from his upper extremities and rushed to his cock, engorging it, short-circuiting everything else beyond heartbeat and breathing.
Was he drooling? Probably, given what he’d just seen. But he couldn’t say for sure—drool or no drool—because he couldn’t feel his face.
“Remember when we visited Jungle Red on New Year’s Eve?” Adam asked. “We laughed self-consciously at the dildos, leather harnesses, and other gear? I had to pull you away from the assless underwear. You were fingering them.”
And now Adam was wearing some—assless underwear. Matt remembered that clearly: the stripe of green elastic, the hint of pale asscrack, the fuzzybriar patch.
Matt found his voice. Croaked. “Show me again. Please? Just a peek?”
Adam demurred. “Nah. They feel kinda kinky, like someone painted a target on my ass.”
Matt’s chest was so tight, it was hard to breathe. “That’s the point. To keep me focused on the bullseye. It’s working, by the way.”
Adam took a seat at the table. “How about focusing on feeding me instead? You can play darts later.”
They worked their way through the salad course.
Adam savored each bite, commenting on the rich flavors, chattering, his mood lightening.
Matt ate robotically. Fork to plate. Fork to mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. The greens on his plate only reminded him of the green elastic band snuggling Adam’s hips. The rumpled walnuts reminded him of the rosebud between Adam’s furry cheeks, the only thing upon which he wanted to feast.
Soon enough, the salad was gone.
Matt gathered their dishes, went to the kitchen to plate the lasagna. He was gone a few minutes.
When he returned, he noticed that Adam wasn’t at the table. He stood by the row of windows, reading something.
He had shed his jeans.
