Hi gang,
I think this one's finally ready to go. (can't let Surreal, Eve, and Alison do all the work!) Sorry for the length--hope you enjoy.
Peace,
Joelle

Title: It Was a Very Good Year
Author: J. D. Rush
Webpage: http://pages.ivillage.com/tallsor/
Feedback: pretty please! yanksfan462@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for serious m/m geeksmut. Something a little different and a tad kinky. Naughty, but definitely nice. . .
Pairing: Come on! It's me! Of COURSE it's Frohike, and this time, Byers.
Summary: Frohike forgets an important date, and Byers is hurt. Angst and schmoop ensue.
Archive: The Basement; others on request
Disclaimer: Mel, Ringo, and John belong to CC, 1013, and FOX, even tho' they didn't want 'em. Yo, Mr. Program Director--just send them my way, okay? I'll take v-e-r-y good care of them!
Notes: I know the situations in this story are a bit sappy, and the guys act somewhat out of character, but the visuals have been keeping me awake at night. Hope they do the same for you.
Special thanks: Do I have to even say it? Once more to the one and only, Kylara, for her great beta read, her continued encouragement, and her very helpful suggestions. Baby, yer the greatest!

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It Was a Very Good Year
By J. D Rush

Tuesday, April 22, 1997

FROHIKE:

I hear the happy whistling before I even get to the kitchen. Wonder what set Byers off this morning? He's usually one of those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed kind of morning people, but even HE doesn't whistle. Unless he's exceptionally happy, which he seems to be today. Huh.

Langly's already there at the table, pitcher of OJ at the ready, and the stack of today's newspapers to be perused nearby as John comes out of the kitchen, carrying a platter of homemade pancakes. " 'Morning, Mel," he greets me with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, as he sets the platter on the table, and turns on his heel back into the kitchen, a little bounce to his step. Oh, man, he's BEYOND exceptionally happy today. Huh.

Shaking my head to get the odd image of John skipping around outta my brain, I take my normal seat next to Ringo, pour some juice for myself and the others, and grab a few of the pancakes. I'm just coating them with a liberal amount of syrup when John comes back, carrying sausage links and coffee. Wow, he's really gone all out this morning. He gives me another quick kiss on the top of my head before he sits down beside me.

Things that make you go 'hmmm'.

We eat in silence, Langly still nose-deep in his chosen newspaper. Normally, I would be doing the same, but I can't tear my eyes away from John today. He looks. . . expectant. And so freaking happy! He watches me as I enjoy my breakfast, barely eating his own, and smiles when I ask him for a couple more flapjacks. (Apple cinnamon. My absolute favorite, and no one makes them better than John.) In fact, he's smiling a lot, and his crystal blue eyes are twinkling like a thousand stars. What the hell is WRONG with him this morning? He's creeping me out!

Finally, breakfast comes to an end. (Thank God!) I have some serious research to do, so I leave the dishes to Ringo and John, and head off to my workstation. It's the first time all morning I see John's smile fade a bit. Huh.

JOHN:

Well, he certainly seems to have enjoyed breakfast, as well he should. I made his favorite, after all, remembering to add extra cinnamon, just the way he likes them. The look of delight on his face when he bit into the first cake was worth all the time and effort it took to pull the meal all together. And if he left the clean up to me and Ringo, well, so what? It's a special day, and I don't mind catering to him.

Ringo on the other hand, isn't so accommodating. "Oh, man. . .why do *I* have to do the dishes?" he whines.

"Because Frohike beat you to the punch," I answer with a grin, as I hand him the dishcloth. "Don't be such a spoil sport. . .a day like this only happens once, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he concedes, grabbing the plate I hand him. As he dips it in the soapy water and starts scrubbing, he asks, "So, what'd you get him?"

I smile to myself, quite pleased. "A CD I know he's been searching for. Just a little something to mark the day. I'll give him his REAL gift tonight," I add, feeling the heat touch my cheeks.

He shivers. "Dude, that is a picture I DON'T need in my head. Especially after I've just eaten!"

"Sorry, Langly," I laugh, as I take the plate from him after he's rinsed it, and dry it carefully. He's so cool about my relationship with Mel, a relationship that took us both by surprise when we first admitted our feelings for each other--one year ago today.

"So, what did he get you?" he queries, as he starts in on another dish.

"How am I supposed to know that, Ringo?"

He hands the plate to me to dry. "Okay, you got a point. What do you HOPE he got you, then?"

I felt my smile growing bigger as I wiped the dish. "It doesn't matter. As long as it's from him, it'll be special."

"Oh, GOD, Byers!" he groans. "Give me a break over here! I've got a low tolerance for mush! You keep this up, and I'll need a shot of insulin or something!"

We are just starting in on the glasses when we hear, "Yo, Langly! Get yer ass in here and check this out!"

"YES!" Langly exclaims excitedly, pumping his fist in the air. "Free at last!" He drops the dishrag and scampers off to see what Frohike is shouting about, leaving me to the rest of the dishes. No problem. It's a special day, and I couldn't be happier.

FROHIKE:

"Lunchtime, hon."

A kiss touches my cheek as a plate and a can of Coke are placed by my computer. Grilled cheese with tomato, cut diagonally like mom used to do--side of Frito's. My favorite.

I look suspiciously from the plate to my lover, who's still standing there, self-satisfied smile plastered on his handsome face. "Uh. . .thanks, John."

He leans forward and kisses me on the nose, even as his cheeks flush. "Enjoy it, sweetheart," he whispers. And then he's gone.

As I take a bite of the sandwich (extra cheese. . .just like I like it) I vow to get John to a doctor if he doesn't snap out of this mood. Something is SERIOUSLY wrong with him.

BYERS:

"Hey, you got one of those for me, too?"

I'm startled from my thoughts by Langly slinking into the kitchen, looking for food. "Oh, sure. . .give me a couple of minutes."

"No tomatoes for me," he commands as he grabs up the open bag of chips and jumps up onto the counter. Crunching on a couple of them, he asks, "So. ..what's got you down?"

"Down?" Does it really show?

"Yeah. This morning you're bouncing off the walls, and now, well. . .you seem kinda low. Didn't you like what he gave you?"

"Actually, so far, the only thing he's given me is the cold shoulder," I grumble, as I butter up a piece of bread, and place it in the pan. "I mean, he hasn't said a word, Langly. I'm starting to wonder if he even remembers."

"You know Frohike," he replies, scoffing down a few more chips. "He's pretending to forget, and then he'll spring a big surprise on you."

I add a couple of slices of cheese to the bread, as I butter up another slice. "You really think so?"

"Of course!" he exclaims. "I mean, I know Frohike's a total idiot, but even HE wouldn't forget your first anniversary."

I place the bread in the pan, and flip the sandwich over, pressing it down with the spatula. "I suppose you're right."

He walls over to the fridge and pulls out a Mountain Dew. Taking a large swig of it, he flashes me a huge grin and announces, "A'course I'm right!" He breezes past me but stops to give me a quick hug. I'm still amazed at how well Langly has handled our relationship. He kids us about it all the time, but he's so accepting and understanding--it's made everything so much easier on all of us.

"Yo, Byers! Don't burn it!" I turn my attention back to the sandwich and switch off the burner before it gets any darker. A plate is held out to me and I slide the sandwich onto it. Langly give me another big grin then scurries off to his workstation, leaving me with the dirty dishes.

Again.

LANGLY:

"Guys! Dinner's on the table!"

I look at my watch--oh, man! It's already 6:30. Where the hell did the day go? Well, part of it was taken up with Frohike and that great database he had managed to hack into. Would've never given the Fro-man that much credit--definitely one of his better hacks. And then a good couple of hours were spent re-wiring the main server. . . the guys are lucky I did so good in shop class. With all this ancient equipment we have around here, I'm surprised it's not being powered by a couple of gerbils and a running wheel.

As for the rest of the hours, well, guess I was more wrapped up in that Death Stalker game than I thought. . .

"Langly? You joining us here?"

I wander into the dining room, and stop short at the spread John's set out. Once more, Byers has gone out of his way to cook up all of Frohike's favorites: charbroiled steaks smothered in onions and mushrooms, baked potatoes, and, ick...brussel sprouts. Leave it to Frohike to like such a disgusting vegetable.

Speaking of the devil, he's already tucking in to his dinner, even as Byers brings out a basket of bakery-fresh rolls to the table. Well, they always say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach--and John is certainly putting that theory to the test today. He places one of the rolls on Mel's plate, and casually runs his fingers across his lover's hand as he does so. I can't believe how happy John is simply watching Frohike enjoy the meal he has created for him. People in love are SO weird!

They're so wrapped up in each other they don't even notice me as I take my seat and begin on my own dinner. I eagerly cut into my steak and pop the piece in my mouth. . . it's tender and juicy and so fucking delicious that I start hoovering it like I haven't eaten in a week. Oh man, this is the best meal I've had in ages--even the stupid brussel sprouts.

If I had known the kind of chef Byers was *I* would have started sleeping with him. Oh, well . . .

But as dinner goes on, I sense Byers becoming more and more withdrawn. By the time he brings out dessert (rice pudding--surprise. . .Frohike's favorite) he's lower than a ruble on the international currency exchange. This gift of Frohike's better be good, because he was making John absolutely miserable.

Once the last spoonful of pudding was gone, Frohike slumped into his chair and groaned happily. "Jesus, that was great, John. Feel like I'm gonna explode."

"Yeah, John, thanks," I add, but I don't know if he's heard me. He's just watching Frohike, a look of misery flashing over his handsome features as his lover just sits there, not making a move to acknowledge WHY the meal was so special. I suddenly get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was wrong and Doohickey HAS forgotten this was his anniversary.

Byers must have reached the same conclusion because he pushes himself up from the table and announces quietly, "I think I'm going to turn in early."

As Frohike loosens his belt a notch, he comments, "Well, you've had a busy day. Don't know what's gotten into you, babe, but I wouldn't mind if it happened more often. Haven't eaten that good in years."

John's shoulders slump slightly and he mutters, "Glad you liked it," and he trudges back to his room.

Frohike tries to slip away, too, but I'm having none of that. Bad enough I have to do the dishes--I ain't doing them alone. I put him on scrubbing duty, which he does with a maximum amount of bitching and complaining. After a few minutes of his whining, I finally lay it on the line. "Okay, Frohike.. .I think you've stretched out the joke long enough."

"What joke?" he fires back, perturbed.

"You know. . .pretending like you don't know what today is" I explain, patiently. "I think you've tortured Byers enough."

"Langly. I don't have a clue what you're talking about. But then, that's just par for the course," he adds, with a sneer.

I drop the plate I'm holding into the soapy water and turn to face him. "You mean. . .you don't know?" I ask, hesitantly.

"Know what?" he responds, with a huff. "All I know is John's been acting real bizarre today. You think he's coming down with something?"

"Oh, my god! You're not pretending, are you? You really DID forget!"

"For Pete's sake, Langly. Forget what?!"

"Your first anniversary." At his continued blank look, I clarify, "It was one year ago today that you and John started. . .oh, God, don't make me say this. . .since you guys started fixing each other's pipes," I finish, cringing at the image.

Giving me another blank stare, he questions, "Are we having problems with the plumbing that I don't know about, Langly?"

"C'mon, Mel! You know what I mean. It's been a year since you started cleaning John's chimney."

He fixes me with a glare. "Ringo, what the hell are you TALKING about? We don't even HAVE a chimney!"

I roll my eyes. "Jesus, Melvin, you are so CLUELESS! The day you and John became lovers, okay? Is THAT clear enough?"

"Oh, shit!" he exclaims, then starts to vigorously shake his head. "No, it can't be. You gotta have the wrong date. We got together the night the Maple Leafs clinched a playoff spot, which was. . ."

"One year ago tonight," I finish.

"OH SHIT!" he says once more, with feeling. "What do I do now?"

I just cross my arms across my chest and glower at him. "You apologize. And you better make it a good one!"

FROHIKE:

I walk into John's room; he's got his back to me as he meticulously trims his neat, stylish beard. I don't know if he knows I'm there. If he does, he ignores me. Frankly, I don't blame him.

"Um, I think you missed one." The scissors stop clipping, as he looks at me in the mirror, but beyond that, he doesn't move. I see the sadness and disappointment in his eyes before he turns his gaze away, and I hate myself so much it's not even funny.

Feeling like an utter heel, I walk over to him, and lovingly wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, John. I forgot what today was . . ."

I feel a bit of tension in his shoulders as he tries to hide his real emotions. Typical John. "It's okay, Frohike. It's just a day."

"A very special day. The day you became my lover. And I totally blanked on it."

"Fro. . .it's okay. Really." Yup, same ol' John. I deserved a kick in the ass, and he's trying to smooth everything over. Sometimes I wish he'd just haul off and give me the slap upside the head that my actions so frequently warranted.

"No, it's not okay," I persist as I cling tighter to him. "I always do this. Manage to mess up any relationship I'm in, and the more important the relationship, the bigger the screw up." I heave a deep sigh, "And this time, I screwed up but good."

His hands slide down to his waist and cover mine. "Frohike, don't worry about it," he assures me. "I'm fine. We're fine."

I look up into the mirror and see his smiling face looking back at me. "Maybe. . .but I'll make it up to you, Johnny. I promise that I will."

He shakes his head slightly, "You really don't have to, you know."

"I know, babe, but I will." With that, I place a kiss in the crook of his neck, and am pleased to hear a happy little purring sound. Yes, I can do that to him--and it's the greatest feeling in the world. Words are one thing, but to hear that familiar trill, well, I know he really has forgiven me. Just to be on the safe side, though, I lay in a couple more nibbles. (You can never be too sure.)

He allows me to nuzzle for a few moments, losing myself in the smell and taste of him, before he pulls away from me. I watch as he opens the top drawer of his bureau and removes a small flat present. Turning in my arms, he hands it to me--a smile in his eyes, a flush on his cheeks. "Here. So today's not a total loss."

"Jesus, John. . .why not just twist the knife a couple of times?" With trembling fingers, I rip open the paper and stare down at the CD in my hand. "Oh, man--Sinatra's '57 Seattle concert! I've been searching everywhere for this!"

"I know," he says, with a self-satisfied smirk. "Like it?"

"Love it." I turn the CD over and over, shaking my head at his thoughtfulness. "I don't deserve you, babe," I blurt out.

"I could say the same about you." I find myself wrapped in those long arms of his, and hugged close to him. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Mel."

Damn him! If I'm not careful, I'm gonna start crying any second now. Returning the hug ten-fold, I mumble, "I REALLY don't deserve you," and claim his lips before the tears can start.

Later that night. . .

Well, here I lay, my arm curled around my lover, cradling him to me after a more than satisfying encounter. I can still feel him in my mouth and throat, taste him on my tongue and lips. His scent--ahhhh--his essence still clings to me, envelopes me, caresses me.

I owe this man. . .I have to show him how much I love him. I have to right the wrong I have committed against him. But how? How can I ever make this up to John? You only get one first anniversary, and I had fucked it up big time.

He shifts a bit, snuggling in against me for the long night's sleep. Lucky bastard. I won't sleep a wink tonight.

What to do?

Saturday Night April 19, 1997

BYERS:

I arrive back at headquarters totally exhausted. It's been a rough day of tracking down dead-end leads, and right now, I'm just looking forward to grabbing a small snack and dropping off to sleep. As I open the door, I notice the entire place is dark. It's both a welcomed sight, and a disappointment--even though I'm so tired, I was kinda hoping to have someone to talk to, and to bitch to about my horrible day. But apparently, I was to be alone tonight.

Or not.

Just as I'm about to flip on the overhead lights, the stereo comes on--a light cymbal rhythm, and a male announcer speaks. . .

"The fella you've been waiting for--the star of our show. . . Frank Sinatra, ladies and gentlemen."

Before I can fully process what is going on, a single 'spot light' snaps on, and standing there is Frank. Well, a shorter, chubbier, bespectacled version of Frank, at least. I blink a couple of times, but when I look again, Mel is still in the same spot, decked out in a black leather suit, black neck tie, and a jaunty black fedora, pulled down stylishly over his right eye.

As I stand there, trying to figure out what the heck is going on, he starts 'singing' to me--or more correctly, lip-synching to the song on the stereo. . .

"You make me feel so young, You make me feel that spring has sprung, And every time I see you grin, I'm such a happy individual. . ."1

Well, then he must be a very happy individual indeed, because I can't wipe the smile off my face right now. Seeing that, he begins gliding towards me until he's standing before me. Next thing I know, he has wrapped me in his arms and is gracefully spinning me around the room. He's still, 'serenading' me, and I find my exhaustion just evaporating into thin air. . .

"You make me feel so young, You make me feel there are songs to be sung, Bells to be rung, and a wonderful fling to be flung, And even when I'm old and gray, I'm gonna feel the way I do, today, 'Cause you make me feel so young."1

"Mel--you're so light on your feet," I find myself sighing as I gaze down into his eyes. "I never knew you were such a good dancer."

He leers back, "That's not all I'm good at." To prove his words, we come to a halt in the middle of the room and he reaches up to cup my face. Just as he pulls me in for a kiss, a buzzer goes off in the back of headquarters. Shrugging his shoulders, he mutters, "Sorry, babe. Don't want to burn dinner." And with that, he starts heading towards the kitchen.

"Dinner? You cooked dinner?!" I exclaim in alarm as I follow in his footsteps. Stopping in the doorway and watching warily as he stirs a pot, I ask, "Weren't you banned for life from the kitchen?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, John," he responds, but I've seen the flush hit his cheeks. He knew JUST what I was talking about.

"Do I have to remind you of that breakfast fiasco, Frohike?" I tease.

"For your information, John, it was Langly's idea. And it didn't turn out THAT bad."

"Mel--dumping left over Chinese food into a fry pan, adding a couple of eggs and calling it 'scrambled egg foo yung' isn't exactly the breakfast of champions," I remind him.

"You're just jealous that you didn't think of it first. Now will you get over here and tell me if this needs anything?" I approach and he holds out a wooden spoon with some rice mixture clinging to it for me to taste. Well, it doesn't look TOO deadly, and actually, the spicy Cajun aroma seeping from the pot smells pretty good. Closing my eyes, and steeling my nerves, I open my mouth and take a bite.

It's. . .good. No. It's delicious! I know the shock shows on my face. "MEL! That is wonderful!"

With my vote of confidence, he finishes off what's on the spoon. "Mmmm. Not bad. Maybe a bit more saffron. Will have to drop a line to Good Housekeeping."

My mouth hits my knees on that one. "You got that recipe from GOOD HOUSEKEEPING??"

"Yeah. Got a problem with that?" he asks, defensively.

"I don't know. I'm starting to worry about you, Mel."

He laughs. "Shut up, wise ass. Look, I got a couple of things to check on yet. Why don't you head out to the table, and I'll join you in a sec."

I bow and follow his command, stopping short as I see the table he has laid out, complete with white tablecloth, candles, an arrangement of white roses and pink and red carnations, and a bucket with a bottle chilling. I check out the bottle--champagne. Moet & Chardon, 1993. . .a good year for the vineyard, if I recall. . .and a breath catches in my throat. How could he possibly afford all this?

Before I realize it, he's beside me. Placing our salads down, he reaches past me to light the candles, then steps back to lower the lighting in the room. I can feel the tears prickle at my eyes as I whisper, "White roses. Not red. Any special reason?"

"They were on special," he answers, evasively. "Thought you might like them."

"I do." I reach out to brush my finger past one of the buds before I turn to face him and ask, "Do you know what they stand for?"

He shrugs as if it doesn't matter to him. "Didn't know they had a meaning."

I can't help it--a single tear escapes and slides down my cheek. "They mean, 'I am worthy of you'," I inform him, softly. He quickly looks away, shyly. Frohike isn't big on mushy stuff, and he really hates it when I catch him at it. And I've certainly caught him tonight. "But you knew that, didn't you, Mel?"

Uncertain hazel brown eyes lift up to mine, and he asks, faintly, "Am I?"

I run a caressing hand down his cheek, and gently kiss his lips. "Always." Turning back to the exquisite table he set, I mumble, "You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble."

Strong arms wrap around my waist and soft lips hit my neck. "Yeah, I should have. . . four days ago," he murmurs, regretfully. I turn in his arms and kiss him with all my heart and soul, the moving melodies of ol' Blue Eyes crooning in the background.

When we finally come up for air, there's a sparkle in Mel's eyes that I know he can see in mine as well. I lean down again for a repeat performance, but he shies away. "Johnny, we have plenty of time for that. But I've been cooking all day, and I plan to enjoy the fruits of my labors." I find myself being gently pushed towards my chair as he grabs up the bottle of champagne and skillfully pops the cork.

After he fills our glasses, and we make a toast too mushy to ever be repeated, we begin to eat Frohike's masterpiece. The fresh Caesar's salad is luscious, but only whets our appetite for the main course: stuffed jumbo shrimp with crabmeat stuffing, plus the Cajun rice I had sampled earlier. Each bite is a revelation, and I begin to get the impression that Frohike has been playing Langly and I for fools all these years with his clumsy cooking attempts. This meal is simply too good to be a fluke.

Conversation is quiet and sporadic, both of us just enjoying being in each other's company. Hands are held, and moon-eyes are made and I feel silly and childish and romantic and special and. . .and free. I have searched for so long for someone to share my life, to understand me and make my life have meaning, and Mel had been there all along and I find myself happy that we finally found each other and sad that we waited so long and. . .

"Another glass, John?" Before I can respond, he's pouring me another glass of champagne. Is that three or four. . .?

"Mel. . .are you trying to get me drunk?" I laugh, noticing for the first time that he's cleared off the table at some point in my musings.

"Well, how else am I going to be able to take advantage of you?" he answers, honestly.

"You don't need to get me drunk to do that," I remind him, and pull him in for another passionate kiss.

"Mmmm. . .hold that thought, babe. I got a surprise for you." He scampers off to the kitchen and comes back holding a piece of Chocolate Cream pie. "Viola!"

Even though I'm stuffed, I can feel my mouth watering. Chocolate is my only vice, and Chocolate Cream pie is my absolute weakness (well, that, and a certain combat boot-clad roommate.) "Oh, God, Mel--did you make that, too?"

"You outta your mind? Got it at the Pastry Pantry. Here," and he holds out a piece to me.

"Oh, no. I couldn't eat another bite." But the chocolate smells so good. ..no, I really shouldn't. But how can I refuse? I let the fork slide past my lips, and float away as the delicious flavors glide over my taste buds. It is without question the creamiest, smoothest, most chocolaty thing I've ever tasted, and I can't even try to suppress the pleasured groan that sounds in my throat. "Oooohhhh. . .."

"John, don't have an orgasm on me," Frohike jokes, adding, "at least not yet."

I feel my cheeks burn, even as he feeds me another spoonful. A bit of whip cream must have stuck to the corner of my mouth because Mel wipes it away with his index finger, and presses it to my lips. I open enough for him to slip his finger through, and languidly lick the sweetness from him. His eyes glaze over momentarily, and his moan of delight matches mine.

Suddenly I realize that I'm the only one eating. "Mel. . .where's your piece?" I ask, curiously.

"You know me. I'm not big on chocolate. I'm having much more fun watching you enjoy it." He breaks off another small piece of pie and as he brings it up to my mouth adds, with an obvious leer, " 'Sides, my 'dessert' comes later,"

A shiver goes down my back at the sound of that promise, and I decide to help speed things along. Reaching out for the fork with now shaking hands, I stammer, "I. . .maybe I. . .I can finish this on my own."

He sighs. "John, let me do this, okay? It gives me a chance to pamper you."

"Pamper me?"

"Yeah. You deserve some pampering in your life. You MORE than deserve it." With that, he continues to feed me the rest of the pie slowly, sensuously, teasingly--each loving bite accompanied by a sweet kiss, sweeter than the pastry I'm eating. I feel myself harden with all this 'pampering', and the anticipation of what Fro's 'dessert' might entail.

This time, I'm the one who clears the table--I feel it's the least I can do. When I return from the kitchen, Mel is standing near the table, stretching. He looks over at me, that jaunty fedora tugged once again over his right eye, and with a crooked finger, motions for me to join him, which I eagerly do.

As I draw near, he reaches out and, grabbing me by my tie, pulls me in for a long, deep, satisfying soul-kiss. I'm so lost within him, I barely notice he's managed to undo my tie and is now working his way down my shirt, unbuttoning each button he encounters. Thinking I'm helping out, I start to shrug out of my suit jacket, but Frohike halts me, an odd twinkle in his eye. Figuring he wants to do it all on his own, I stop what I'm doing, and allow him to continue by himself. I watch, with growing interest, (pun intended) as his hands drop lower, unhooking and unzipping my trousers.

Once they've been fallen down to my knees, Mel gives me a little shove, and with a yelp of surprise, I end up sitting on the table. "Time for MY dessert!" Frohike growls, and wastes no time getting back in the rhythm of things, his mouth unerringly finding mine and kissing me breathless--his hand unerringly finding my burgeoning erection through my creamy-white boxers.

I suffer his ravaging as best I can with nary a whimper of complaint; indeed, I'm a willing participant in it. By wrapping my legs awkwardly around his thighs and clasping my lover to me, I try to telegraph with my hands and lips what I can not say in words. It's only as his hand reaches into my fly and touches my burning flesh that I'm shocked out of the spell he has woven. I pull away from him and gasp, "Mel--wait. STOP! What if. . . oh God. . .what if Langly walks in?"

He takes a quick break in his debauching long enough to choke out, "Won't. Kicked him out--changed the locks." His mouth then clamps onto my right nipple, doing something more interesting and creative than talking.

"Hmmm. . .seems like you thought of everything, Frohike," I sigh contentedly, reaching for his hips and drawing him closer to me.

"Well, I wanted everything perfect for my guy," he answers, his hands now sliding around to cup my ass and pull me tightly into him. I squirm at the sound of his passionate howl as our groins are crushed together and he begins rotating his hips, rubbing his clothed hard-on against mine.

Once more his mouth latches onto my neck, and I don't care that the resulting hickey will be visible for at least a week. It just feels so good I never want it to end. I throw my head back and sob, "Mel--want you so bad. Right now, baby--right here!"

"Oh, yeah!" he groans, stepping back momentarily, whipping off his glasses at the same time. He reaches into his right pocket and removes his little leather gloves, and sensuously pulls them on; a small lusty moan issues from my lips. Geez, I LOVE those gloves. He smiles a tiny evil smirk, knowing what's going though my mind, and I feel my cheeks flush hotly.

Once the gloves have been stretched onto his hands, he reaches into his left pocket and pulls out a small tube of lubricant and a condom. (You just gotta love a guy that prepared!) However, a strange look crosses his face and he dips back into the pocket, pulling out a long thin box, wrapped in shiny metallic green paper.

"Mel--what's that?"

Is it my imagination or is Frohike blushing? "Oh, ah, it's nothing, really. Just forget about it." He tries to shove it back in his pocket, but I lean over and put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Is that a present? For me?" I ask curiously, giddily, knowing he's only embarrassed because once again he's been caught in a mushy scene.

"Really, Johnny, it's nothing," he tries to reassure me. "Let's wait on it, 'kay?"

"Oh, okay." I can't hide my disappointment, or the pout I know is on my face.

Heaving a deep, resigned sigh, he holds out the package, and with a shy smile, whispers, "Happy Anniversary."

I am thoroughly touched. I sit there staring at the box for a few moments, turning it over in my hands. "Mel. . .you shouldn't have." What could it be? Looked like a pen and pencil set. Or a watch. Yeah. Maybe a watch. I unwrap it, and open the end flap. It's not a watch, that's for sure. I pull out the phallic-shaped object, about 7 inches long, about the circumference of a roll of quarters, and so shiny silver it looks like a prop from a missing 'Star Trek' episode or something. I shoot my lover an incredulous look. "Ahhh. . .Mel? Is this what I think it is?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Depends what you think it is."

"I think it's a battery-operated, sexual pleasuring device."

"Otherwise known as a vibrator. Yeah," he agrees, with a smirk.

I shake my head in disbelief. "Mel, do I even want to know why you bought me a vibrator for our anniversary?"

Sweeping his hand around the room, he answers, "Well, what else am I going to get the man who has everything?"

I start laughing, and find that I can't stop. "Oh, God, Frohike. . .what am I ever going to do with you?"

"Right now, I can think of several things that will get us arrested in 39 states," he chuckles, adding to the mirth.

This just can't be happening! I'm laughing and blushing and the weight and shape and purpose of the item in my hand is turning me on big time and from somewhere someone I don't recognize as me is saying, "Sounds like fun. I certainly hope one of them is a demonstration of this thing?"

His laughter trickles off as he stares at me. "John. . .what do you. . .?"

"You DO know what to do with it, right?" I ask, silkily.

"Oh, yeah," he groans as I hand him the object, and kiss him briefly on the nose.

As I'm kicking off my shoes, I give him a smile. "Good. Because I wouldn't want to electrocute myself by mistake."

He pulls me in tight; I feel his hard-on poking me in the stomach. "Oh, baby, I'm gonna make this so good for you. I'm gonna having you begging for more. I'm gonna. . ."

Placing my fingers over his lips to silence him, I plead, "Show me. . .don't tell."

"Your command is my wish," he all but pants, as he reaches out to slide my slacks over my hips. I try to help him by shrugging out of my jacket, but he stops what he's doing and slaps my hands out of the way. I look at him questioning, and he leers, "*MY* dessert, remember? I want it ala mode tonight."

With one last tug, my trousers come off, and Frohike carelessly tosses them over his shoulder. I find myself being pushed backwards onto the table, naked legs and sock-covered feet dangling over the edge, and Mel is on me, his lips everywhere. He glances down at me, nude save for my opened shirt and jacket, tie undone and hanging over one shoulder and sighs, "Jesus, John.. .you are so fucking hot!"

I feel my cheeks turn bright red at the compliment. "Why don't you cool me off?" I croon, coyly, and so very unlike me.

"You got it, baby." He takes the vibrator and runs it lightly down my chest, then takes it away, shaking it. "Huh. . .why isn't this working?"

"Maybe it needs batteries?" I offer, helpfully.

He unscrews the bottom, and sure enough--no batteries. He hands the pieces to me and hurries off, calling out over his shoulder, "Hang on there, Johnny. Be right back." It can't be more than a moment or two before he returns, breaking into Langly's portable CD player, and pillaging it for its AA batteries.

"Ringo's going to kill you, Fro," I gently tease him.

"Eh, he'll have to catch me first." By now, he has found his treasures, and is busy inserting them into our new 'toy'. One flick of his wrist, and the tube magically comes to life, humming and vibrating merrily. "Voila!" he announces triumphantly, and with another quick flick, it's instantly silenced. "Now, where were we?" he says with a leer, and one breathless kiss later finds me flat on my back on the table once more.

He runs the silent vibrator along my lower lip--I dart out my tongue and lick at its tip. Encouraged by my display, Frohike slips it just past my parted lips; I proceed to give him a demonstration of my oral skills, shocking both him and myself with my wanton slutty display. What has gotten into me tonight? Whatever it is, Mel is certainly enjoying it, if his guttural groan is anything to go by.

After a couple of minutes of this, he carefully slides it out of my mouth, and with one last pass across my lips, he turns it on a low pulse, and begins to glide it down along my naked chest, brushing it past my right nipple. I jump at the sensation, and give a little yelp of surprise. It rather tickles at first, but as I get used to it, the light vibrations feel pretty good. Frohike continues to torment the nub, even as he leans down and begins sucking on the left one. A keening whine rumbles in my throat as I turn myself over to my lover, and lose myself in the moment; seeing how much I'm enjoying his ministrations, he and the toy switch places. I swear that if my cock were any harder, it would be made of steel.

Just when I'm thinking it can't get any better, he abandons my nipples and begins trailing the vibrator down my belly and along my hard shaft. I nearly jump out of my skin, and cry out, "Oh, God, Mel. . .please."

"Please, what?" he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.

I arch my back, trying to maintain maximum contact with that marvelous little creation. "I need. . .please. . ." I pant. "Feels so good. . ."

"Yeah, I'm sure it does," he smirks, running it down around the sensitive head and along the prominent vein underneath my penis.

"Want. . .more. . ." I groan, almost beyond reason by now.

I nearly cry out in agony as he removes it from my member, only to softly caress it around my testes and along my sensitive puckered opening. "What do you want, Johnny?" he practically purrs. "Tell me, baby. . ."

"Uhhhhhhh. . ." That's about all I can get out now.

"What was that, Johnny?" he teases.

"Ugh. . .fuc. . .fuck me," I finally choke out, sounding every bit the slut I've become.

Soft lips claim mine in a devastating kiss. "You got it, lover," he growls, sending shivers down my spine, right to my hard cock. He hands me the vibrator and chuckles, " Got some work to do. . .entertain yourself."

While he retrieves the small tube of lube, and begins preparing me for entry, I turn the vibrator up a notch, and return it to my stiff nipples, moaning loudly in pleasure, not just at the buzzing sensations, but also from the magic Mel's fingers are performing on me. When he thinks I'm ready, he looks up at me, and I see the question in his eyes; it's the same question he always asks before this moment. I know the stereotype of men have it that we're ready to fuck at a moment's notice, but Frohike has never been a stereotype of any kind. And he has never taken me to this level without making sure I am good and ready.

But If I'm to be honest with myself, now that the big moment has arrived, I'm beginning to get a bit leery--after all, this was a new aspect, and as gifted as Frohike is, this was quite different from anything we'd ever done before. Who knew where this was to lead?

As always, it came down to a matter of trust, and I trust Mel unequivocally. I trust him with my life, my heart, my soul. Besides, to admit something else, I'm very curious. And so I nod my consent.

He treats me to another kiss as he welcomes my trust and my love and my agreement, and before I know it, I feel a familiar sensation from a very unfamiliar object, the humming vibrator nudging at my opening both intimidating and exciting to me.

I lay my head back, whimpering in both pleasure and frustration, as Frohike teases the small hole. I want him to go deeper--stroke me deep and hard and fast--and yet I want him to stay exactly where he is so I can die in this state of utter bliss. Finally, when I'm nothing but a boneless lump of humanity, he breeches me, slipping a couple of inches in, then slipping them out once more; he cranks it up a notch, then slides it in again.

Forget steel--my cock feels like it's made of marble.

In and out he strokes the buzzing object within me, driving me up the wall, across the ceiling and down the other wall. Meanwhile, his lips and other hand are not idle, as he nips my chest and stomach and . . . OH, GOD, just as he starts to suck me off, he counters it with a deep thrust of the vibrator and my howl would be loud enough to wake the neighbors if we didn't have soundproof walls. And the scary part is--he's just getting started.

I smile to myself in between my moans as I remember back to one night a few months ago, when, after a few too many Labatt's longnecks, we had shared our favorite 'fantasies'. Mel had some pretty original ones--including one involving a couple of radiation suits, a jar of Smucker's strawberry jelly, and a trip to Area 51 that, unfortunately, would take WAY too much prep time. Compared to that, mine was pretty mundane--to have a three-some. Something attainable, but still highly unlikely to happen to me. I guess in his own way, that's what Mel was replicating for me tonight, and I couldn't love him more for his thoughtfulness.

The dual sensation of being sucked and penetrated is beyond my capacity to describe, and despite the slight flash of guilt at getting gratification from something other than my significant other, I can't help the waves of pleasure cascading through me time and again. Those rolling waves are almost powerful enough to cause me to pass out, and yet--it's not enough. The object bringing so much joy is cold and artificial, and I want something warm and real and alive. I want Frohike. . . I want to feel my lover in me. So when Frohike leans in for another kiss, I pant, eagerly, "Fuck me, Mel, please."

"I thought I was," he answers, clearly confused.

Running my hands around his neck, I pull him down for another kiss. "No, Mel," I gasp, "I want YOU. Please. Now."

I can see in his eyes he has gotten my message loud and clear. Carefully, he removes the vibrator from me, shuts it down, and places it on the table. Taking a step back, he quickly shrugs out of his leather jacket. Next to go is the necktie, which gets dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. I watch in fascination as he starts to unbutton his leather vest, which he pulls off, along with his shirt, in one fluid motion. While he's busy unbuckling his belt, I slowly come back to reality and slide off the table to stand on very wobbly legs. As soon as the belt is off, I pounce--pushing him back into the chair with a kiss that rivals his earlier.

He sits in a stunned heap as I drop to my knees in front of him and quickly pull his pants and boxers down over his legs, letting them fall around his ankles. I'm pleased to see his cock is already nice and hard--a mirror reflection of my own--and I trail feather-light kisses along it, worshipping my lover the way he deserves to be worshipped.

"Babe, please," he wheezes, "don't. Too close. . ."

I hear the plea in his voice--we've come too far to let it end so cheaply. So, reluctantly, I abandon my plaything, and gaze up at him, adoringly. Holding out my hand, I demand, "Condom, please?"

He gives a ghost of a smile and brings it up, gripped between two fingers. I grab the packet impatiently, and set about preparing him for me. Once the rubber is smoothed on, I reach up and snatch the lube from the table. A little bit spread on him, more spread on me, and we are both ready. "I love you," I whisper as I stand and approach him.

"Same here," he grins, and the grin becomes a gasp as I straddle the chair, my intentions becoming obvious. Reaching back, I spread my cheeks apart, and angle myself into position. Feeling the plum-shaped crown against my opening, I pause for a moment to catch my breath. Even though he's prepared me well, Mel's a lot bigger than our vibrating friend, and I need to relax to make this work.

Frohike, God bless him, understands my situation, and doesn't push me, letting me go at my own pace. Finally, I feel relaxed enough to continue, and I slowly impale myself upon him. I run my fingers up along his furry chest and brace my hands on his shoulders for leverage--he places his hands on my waist, to help guide me, and prevent me from going too far too fast.

Inch after inch fills me, possesses me. Good. So damn good. I almost cry at the intensity of it. Taking a deep breath, I sink lower, taking more of him into me until there IS no more, and I'm sitting flush in his lap. I rest for a few moments, listening to our breathing synchronize, and getting used to his bulk with in. I find myself reveling in the feeling of him so deep inside of me, caressing my heart, my soul. Jesus, can it ever get better than this?

As I'm taking my breather, Mel runs his hands up my sides, billowing out my shirt and jacket in the process. He rakes his thumbnails over my sensitive nipples, and I jump in surprise. From there, he grabs onto the two ends of my necktie and reels me in. "So beautiful," he mumbles against my lips, "but something's missing." He lets go of my tie so that he can grab his hat off his head and place it on mine. After some minor adjustments, tilting it this way and that, he releases a low wolf-whistle. "Oh yeah, THAT'S it! God, you are so fucking sexy, John!" And with that, he snakes his hand around my neck and crushes his mouth to mine.

Paradise.

With our lips pressed together, I slowly rise up off of him, then allow gravity to lower me once more upon his steely cock. It takes a few strokes to get into the rhythm before I start bouncing with confidence and enthusiasm; the only sounds to be heard are the soft strains of the Dave Brubeck jazz now playing in the background, and our own ecstatic grunts and whimpers. Those leather-encased hands of his graze down my ribs and land on my hips; strong fingers dig into my flesh and begin to pump me up and down. I loll my head back as I ride, and cry out with every thrust of his hips as he drives himself deeper within me.

Gradually, the tempo speeds up. I want more of this man, need more of this man. My hunger for him is vast, scaring me with its power. It's too much--I can feel it building within me. I'm climbing, climbing, I'm at the summit, I'm. . .

What the hell is that?

Oh God! Oh my freaking GOD! Somehow, someway, Mel has managed to get his hands on the vibrator and is gently stroking it around my anus and along the sensitive surrounding tissues. This is it. I can't take any more. I've reached my maximum capacity for pleasure. No, I've EXCEEDED it. I'm falling. . .I'm falling. . .

Mel--catch me.

Coming down from the most explosive orgasm of my life, I collapse into Mel's waiting arms. For long moments, all I can do is hyperventilate, lying plastered to Fro's sweaty, sticky chest, lazing in the afterglow.

At some point during our workout, some damp strands of hair have fallen into Frohike's eyes--I tenderly brush them back in place, then return the fedora to my lover's head before resting my own head on his shoulder. I feel him wrap his arms lovingly around me and hug me close to him. Finally, after I remember how to speak the English language, I manage to rasp out, "Mel--oh--God--that was. . .that was. . ." I smile blissfully, "Fucking A."

"Hot damn. . .I'm gonna to have to cook for you more often!" he chuckles.

I nuzzle at his neck and laugh, "I don't know if we can afford the dry cleaning bills." Looking down at our semen stained clothes, I whine, "I mean, what am I going to tell Mr. Wilson when I drop these off?"

"Tell him you got lucky," he says with a leer.

Gazing down into his sparkling hazel-green eyes, I sigh, "I certainly did," and I kiss my lover gently, passionately. Will I ever get enough of this man? "Mel. . .?"

"Hmmmm?" He sounds like he's about to fall asleep right here in the chair, with me still in his lap.

"Can you forget our anniversary next year, too?"

He laughs, as he cradles me to him. "For you, babe. . .anything." My lips are blessed with another kiss before he adds, "Too bad, though. . .I already had your gift picked out."

"And that is . . .?" I inquire, curiously.

He holds up the slim vibrator that just brought me so much pleasure. "This little guy's big brother."

I feel my body tingle in anticipation and whisper, huskily, "I can hardly wait."

The End

1) "You Make Me Feel So Young" performed by Frank Sinatra; written by Myrow and Gordon. This version of the song, including introduction, can be found on the CD, "Sinatra '57--In Concert".

Archived: November 02, 2001

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