“Chocolate mousse.”
Monty’s expression shifted in record time. He stepped closer to peer into the ramekins, sly grin only growing as he did.
“Whipped cream and all?”
“Whipped cream and all,” Hilliard confirmed as he sauntered around him. “Grab a couple of spoons, would you?”
By the time Monty arrived in the bedroom, Hilliard had already covered the bed with an old quilt. He was perched on the edge of the mattress, busy removing his shoes.
“Worried we’ll make a mess?” Monty asked, spearing one spoon into each dessert where Hilliard had placed them on the bedside table. He needed no further instruction to begin undressing himself and undid his fly.
“I’m willing to see your fantasy through, sweetheart, but not at the expense of my white sheets.”
“What would your grandmother say?” Monty chided playfully as he pulled his sweater over his head, taking the undershirt with it.
“My great aunt made this,” Hilliard corrected, wriggling his hips enough to work his trousers down. “And it’s ugly as sin.” The various squares and triangles of fabric were entirely mismatched and mostly sad shades of brown. It had been hiding in the back of his closet for years. “To be honest, I’d love to have an excuse to get rid of it.”
Monty laughed. “‘Hilliard, whatever happened to that quilt I made for you?’” he said, making his voice slightly more feminine, before adopting a thick Southern drawl to reply, “‘Oh, that old thing? I ruined it while I was having kinky sex on it with my–”
“Montgomery!” Hilliard squawked. “Is that what you think I sound like?” He climbed onto the bed on his knees, down to his socks and undershorts, and settled sideways against the pile of pillows at the headboard with his legs still bent under him.
Monty handed over one of the desserts and kept the other for himself, similarly clad in his socks and drawers as he climbed onto the bed and sat beside Hilliard, legs stretched out in front of him.
“That is what you sound like,” Monty said confidently, scooping out his first bite of mousse and sticking it in his mouth. His eyes rolled back as he moaned around the spoon.
Hilliard smirked and tried it for himself. The texture was light and smooth, just as it was supposed to be, with a decadent flavor that spoke of the ingredients he’d splurged on to make it. It wasn’t a complicated recipe, mostly cream, eggs, sugar, and a pinch of salt. But he’d used dark chocolate and a vanilla bean rather than extract to make it extra special.
“You’re brilliant,” Monty gushed.
“You should’ve seen how I had to whisk it to get the right consistency,” Hilliard said, inspecting the texture closer on his next spoonful.
“Oh,” Monty said, his voice sultry now. “Your arms must be tired, then.” He leaned away to set his ramekin aside and then made to take Hilliard’s from him, too. “Allow me.”
Hilliard gave up his mousse and sat patiently as Monty readied his next bite. With equal parts chocolate and cream, Monty brought it carefully to Hilliard’s lips. He accepted it far slower than necessary, feeling a little ridiculous, but the way Monty watched his mouth with a unique intensity made heat spread through his body. After repeating the process once more, Monty set the spoon inside the bowl. He collected some of the whipped cream onto his finger instead. Hilliard started forward to accept it, only for Monty to smear it on the corner of his lips instead.
“Oops.”
The word escaped Monty as he was already closing the distance between them. Hilliard tilted his head, eyes sliding shut just in time for Monty’s mouth to find his, kissing the cream from his lips.
When they broke apart, Hilliard was already breathing hard. Monty placed a gentle kiss below his ear and instructed him to lie back on the pillows. He obliged, unbending his knees and adjusting his hips as Monty moved to straddle his thighs, dessert still in hand. After a pause that felt like an eternity with Monty hovering over him like a teenage wet dream, he cleared the desire from his throat so he could speak.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
Monty’s brow furrowed.
“I’m not exactly sure how this is going to work.”
“Oh.” Hilliard blinked down at his bare torso, face heating when he caught sight of the way Monty’s shorts were tented just as eagerly as his own.
“It sounded like a good idea at the time,” Monty went on, scraping the inside of the ramekin as he collected more mousse onto the spoon. He pressed his lips together in what appeared to be his attempt at hiding a grin. “But I mean…”
To Hilliard’s mild horror, Monty did the most unarousing thing he could possibly imagine and flicked his wrist in such a way that the scoop of mousse landed just above his navel with a wet plop. Hilliard’s mouth fell open. It looked like something Henrietta might leave behind in the yard. Monty voiced a similar thought in far less delicate terms.
“Well you can’t just leave it there!” Hilliard cried, his eyes darting between the brown lump on his stomach and the amusement building on Monty’s face.
“What do I do?” Monty asked, nearly as frantic. “I can’t–I can’t lick that now!”
“It’s chocolate,” Hilliard urged. “Very expensive chocolate.” Real concern started to creep in. “Do not make me eat mousse off my own stomach, Montgomery. I’ll die of embarrassment right here on this hideous quilt.”
