The Rewards of Dieting

“Huh-uh.  No way.  You put that pie down, brat.”

Connor held the chocolate cream pie in one hand, his smile devious.  “We had a bet, and I won,” he reminded as their friends cheered him on.

Mark continued to step backward, his hands up defensively.  “Bet or not, it’s my birthday and I am your Top, and I say no pies in the face.”

“We both stuck to the diet this month, and you said that if I lost more weight than you, I could hang loose and do whatever I wanted with the food for your birthday.”

“I meant you could eat whatever you wanted!  This is not eating!” Mark insisted as his back hit the side of their cottage, stopping his retreat.

“Maybe next time you’ll say what you mean then,” Connor chuckled, his wicked grin growing. 

He raised the pie, ready to put the whole thing in Mark’s face when his Top’s hand moved fast and unexpectedly.  In an instant, Connor tasted chocolate in his mouth and whipped cream up his nose.  Momentary outrage turned to surprised laughter as the friends that had joined them for Mark’s birthday party howled with delight.  He sputtered a little and wiped graham cracker crumbs from his eyes.

“And you call me a Brat?!” he asked incredulously.

When Mark laughed, Connor lunged unexpectedly at him, wrapping his arms tightly around his partner’s chest and kissing him full and hard on the mouth. 

The action pushed Mark back up against their home, but the older man’s surprise was brief.  Connor felt his Top’s arms come around him and Mark’s lips kissed him back.  The gathering around them cheered, all the while keeping some distance so no one got any ideas about covering them in pie.

His Top had almost as much pie on his face as Connor did when they broke apart.  “Think anyone will mind if we make our excuses and disappear for a little bit to clean up?” Mark asked.

Connor saw the heat in the taller man’s eyes, promising that “cleaning up” would be a lot more fun than normal.  His voice dropped to match Mark’s whispered question.

“They’ve got food, the volleyball net, and each other.  They’ll be good for ten minutes.”

“It’s going to take longer than ten minutes,” Mark said, his voice low and thick with desire.  “I plan to make sure I’ve cleaned up every spot of the mess I’ve made on you.”

Connor chuckled, his chocolate covered face near Mark’s.  “You make cleaning up sound so dirty.”

“Oh, it will be,” Mark promised.