...“That was super good,” Mason said, carrying his now-empty chili bowl to the sink.

“Are you sure you aren’t just saying that because you didn’t have to cook?”

He laughed. “That’s definitely part of it. Last night I ate at one of the restaurants along the water. But I did eat lunch at home today.”

“What did you have?”

He felt himself blush. “Um, well, I nuked some hot dogs.”

John chuckled. “That your idea of cooking?”

“I’m not used to cooking for myself, really. Or doing much for myself at all. Ashley says I’m a spoiled, conceited brat.” Mason shrugged. “I guess I am a little.”

“I can see why people would want to do things for you. Humans respond to beauty, even subconsciously. And I can see why it would be easy to let them do things for you. If they’re willing, why not?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how I see it.” He sighed. “How I used to see it. I’m not supposed to any longer.”

He rinsed the plates and then put the stopper in the sink to fill it with hot water and soap. Not that he ever washed dishes, not even as a child had he been expected to do chores. But since John had agreed to let him come over for dinner, he felt he needed to do something in return.

“Here, let me.” John came to stand behind him and his arms came around Mason’s middle to close over the bowl in his hand. He pressed against Mason’s back, sending waves of sharpening lust soaring through him in mere seconds.

He opened his mouth to protest. “You don’t—”

The hard ridge of John’s jeans-covered cock slid across his ass, drawing out a moan of pure need from Mason’s throat.

“You like that, pretty boy?” John asked, his lips whispering over Mason’s ear before latching onto the nape of his neck.

“Yes.” He gasped as the bowl slid from his fingers into the sink of water and splashed water all over his stomach and chest.

“Too bad, your shirt’s wet. Guess we’ll have to take it off.” John’s scorching hot fingers slipped under his shirt to score across his bare abdomen. The shirt inched up his torso and then over his head, discarded somewhere unknown to Mason.

When John’s fingers grazed over Mason’s nipples he nearly came unglued. He bucked back into the man, his ass pushing against John’s evident erection.

Suddenly, he was turned to face the man himself and, before he could catch his breath, John roughly pushed him against the refrigerator. His hand closed around the aching bulge in Mason’s pants, even as cereal boxes from the top of the fridge crashed down around them.

John’s lips covered his, crushing them, his tongue probing through the seam and tangling with Mason’s. His arms wrapped around John’s neck, mostly to brace himself, since his feet dangled in the air. John ground against him, sending sparks all up and down his spine.

When he got to the point he could hardly breathe, Mason wrenched his mouth away on a ragged moan. “Oh my God.”

John’s hands rose to frame Mason’s face, his fingers gripping his jaw, but not painfully. For just a few heartbeats their gazes held, hot as lava. And then John’s lips grazed over his. Once, twice, drawing it out, teasing him into a near frenzy.

Just as the kiss deepened to the point Mason almost wondered if their mouths would fuse together, John dropped abruptly to his knees, causing Mason to stumble a little as his feet once more touched the ground. John’s face was just inches from Mason’s dick.

God, yes.

John opened the button-fly of Mason’s jeans with expertise and soon he had Mason’s rock-hard cock in his hand. A blunt, callused thumb brushed the tip, rubbing the drop of pre-cum that had appeared.