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Kent didn’t know why all those chefs were always getting yelled at and called idiot sandwiches on Hell’s Kitchen, because this risotto thing was a piece of cake. To be honest, it’s kind of hard to fuck up “add broth to rice, stir, repeat”, and if all else failed, he had a towering heap of parmigiano reggiano to cover up his mistakes.
Taking another swig of champagne, he added a liberal ladleful of simmering broth to the risotto along with another dash of salt. He couldn’t help glancing back at the clock on the stove for the fourth time in what had apparently only been 20 minutes. Tater would be home soon, and the risotto was almost to al dente, so he had timed things pretty perfectly.
Kit wound her way between his bare legs, sending a shiver up Kent’s spine. His nerves were already on high alert, electrical impulses prickling all over his body, giving him goosebumps. Of course that might have been the air conditioning blowing over his exposed skin and not the anticipation of what was to come.
Finally, finally, Kit ran to the door with her ears perked up and Kent heard the sound of Tater’s key in the lock. The sound of Alexei’s affectionate Russian whispers to Kit prickled at his neck, and Kent continued stirring, trying to somehow keep his composure.
“What is this we have here?” Alexei’s voice rumbled against his ear, as the larger man draped himself over Kent’s shoulders and pressed the crotch of his jeans against him. “My little chef has cooked dinner for me?”
Kent hummed his assent, feeling Alexei’s hands slide slowly down his torso, lower and lower. Alexei chuckled and Kent could feel his own chest vibrate with it, pressed close as they were. But he just kept stirring.
Kept stirring, as one of Alexei’s hands cupped his ass, kneading at it. Kept stirring as the the other hand reached with long, thick fingers to check between his cheeks, a knuckle circling the asshole that was already slick with lube. Kent was very pointedly staring at the risotto, but he knew the exact grin Tater had on his face as he said, “What else has little chef prepared?”
Kent felt the sudden absence of warmth as Tater stepped back, and took the chance to inhale as he added another ladle of broth. The metal click of Alexei’s belt buckle sounded unnaturally loud, as did the unzipping of his fly. Still, Kent kept stirring.
It was when Kent reached for the next ladle of broth that he felt Alexei’s cock pressed up against him, hot and already half-hard. Alexei pressed himself even closer, grasping around his waist with strong arms and thrusting up against him. Kent could felt Alexei’s cock twitch against his back as he whispered, “You look so good for me, kotya. So pretty in that apron.”
Kent shuddered against Alexei, the praise going straight to his cock, which was already dripping with precum.
“You want this big dick inside you, kotya? You want me to fuck you right here?” Alexei ground up against him. “You going to be good little slut for me and take it?”
Kent’s brain felt like it had been filled with cotton wool, hazy and soft. He could barely keep hold of the wooden spoon in his hand, but he knew Alexei liked him like this. Liked him to just take what Alexei was giving him, soft and compliant and good. He bit his lip, struggling to hold in a moan as Alexei reached up underneath the apron to tweak his nipple. But the moan escaped when he felt Alexei’s blunt teeth bite into the joint of his neck, followed by a bruising kiss.
“You are so easy for me, kotya. So good.” Alexei reached around him to turn off the burner and Kent knew what that meant. Knew what was coming as Alexei maneuvered him until his torso was flat against the kitchen island, hips pressed up against the cupboards, apron strings pulling against the back of his neck in a way that was just tight enough.
No matter how much he prepared, Kent was always stunned by hot length of Alexei’s cock as it entered him, searing through his body, filling him up. He went slow, so slow, until Kent felt like he was shaking apart, only held together by the weight of Alexei’s torso against him.
When Alexei bottomed out, he stayed there, ruthlessly still, pressed into Kent like it was the only place he wanted to be. “You’re so tight, so good. God, moy khoroshiy, tell me what you want. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”
“Please,” Kent moaned. Words were so hard, he could hear them echoing in his head but he couldn’t make them make sense.
“‘Please what, dousha? Don’t know what you want.” Alexei gave a teasing half-thrust that made Kent’s cock twitch with want. “Have to tell me before I give to you.”
Kent couldn’t take it, desperate with the need for Alexei to move, to thrust, to take him apart with his bare hands. He felt the words fall from him mouth, nonsensical and jumbled. “Please, want it, please, Daddy, fuck me, please, please I want it.”’
Alexei bit down again, new hurt sparking against bruise, and Kent could feel the smile against his neck. The words would have kept pouring from Kent’s mouth, but they were interrupted by a thrust that left him breathless. Alexei set a punishing pace, pulling back so his hands held tight against Kent’s hips, pulling him back with every stroke.
Kent felt wild and unhinged, floating inside his skin, powerless to do anything but take what Alexei was giving him, moan when Alexei wanted him to. His legs were almost buckling with the intensity of his pleasure, but Alexei held him up, implacable and strong.
The string of unintelligible Russian pouring from Alexei’s mouth meant he was close, his thrusts losing their rhythm, becoming desperate, until Kent felt the hot come inside him and Alexei stilled.
There was a brief moment of respite, the silent union of their panting. But then Alexei pulled out, and swifter than Kent’s cotton wool brain could process, had him turned around so they were face to face, Alexei’s hands slung low around his hips.
It almost hurt to look at him. There was too much visual input for Kent, too many feelings and thoughts to handle. But then Alexei was kissing him and his brain went still. The stubble of his 5’o’clock shadow rasped pleasantly against his face and he felt one of Alexei’s hands drag slowly up his spine to tangle in the hair at the back of his neck, pulling just enough.
“You did so well, kotya,” Alexi murmured against his mouth. Kent felt Alexei’s wide, muscular thigh push up between his legs with just the right kind of pressure. “Are you going to come for me now, my sweet boy?”
Almost without noticing, Kent had started grinding into Alexei’s thigh, feeling the desperation take hold. He wanted it so badly, wanted to be good for Alexei, wanted to come for him. He pulled Alexei’s lower lip with his teeth, panting with need.
“You can come, kotya. Come for me. Now.”
Kent shattered, broken with pleasure, as his head fell back and Alexei kissed up his trembling neck. The aftershocks reverberated through him and he clung to Alexei’s arms, his back, his ass, anywhere he could reach.
Alexei just held him through it, the tight pressure of his embrace helping to bring Kent back to himself. “My perfect boy, my sweet kotya. Ty takoi meelyi. Ya liublyoo tibya.”
Together, they slid to the floor, Alexei’s back against the cabinets, Kent cradled against Alexei. Alexei ran his hands through Kent’s hair, sending pleasant tingles down his spine. And for a while, they were just quiet. Kent could feel Alexei’s chest moving in and out with his breath, could feel the rhythm of his heart. He tuned in and out of Alexei’s quiet litany of praise, his murmured endearments.
“You made me risotto. So good for me, my Kent. I bet is best risotto. Taste so good.”
Kent stirred a little. The risotto. He wasn’t supposed to overcook the risotto. Was the risotto overcooked? He should check. His muscles tensed, but before he could move to get up, Alexei leaned forward, reaching an impossibly long arm to grab the handle of the pan.
Kent settled as Alexei placed the pan next to them. He used the wooden spoon that was still sitting in the pan to sneak a cheeky bite, moaning at the taste. Then, he brought the spoon to Kent’s mouth, urging him to try it.
“You did good, no? It tastes so delicious, dousha.”
Kent felt Alexei tense as he watched Kent lick the unctuous sauce from the spoon, chasing every last grain of rice. Then Kent looked up at Alexei, grinning. “Happy anniversary, babe.”
Alexei leaned in to press a lingering kiss to Kent’s lips. “Happy anniversary.”
See? Kent could win Hell’s Kitchen, easy. Risotto isn’t that hard.