Le Question

by Spikesgirl58




La Question C'est Voulez Vous

Did you ever wake up with one of those itches? You know what I mean—the itch you can't reach in the middle of your back? The kind that the more you ignore it, the worse it gets until you're ready to scream or possibly kill something? In the old days, it was harder to deal with.

Women, well, the ones I knew, just wouldn't have even consented to or appreciated the thought of anything other than gentle love-making, and finding a willing male was just too dangerous or stupid. I was usually reduced to a hand job and some extra time in the gym to work off what masturbation alone couldn't relieve.

I can't even remember what I was dreaming about, but I woke up with a hard on I could have driven nails with. Thankfully, I didn't have to look far to find someone ready, willing, and very able to oblige. Napoleon is funny that way. He's a good man to have by your side in just about any situation, but especially this type.

Still I think I surprised even him with the speed and urgency I took him with. I know I surprised myself. It isn't like there's not a steady diet of sex these days. Napoleon's libido probably should be on display at some museum, and I'm not exactly reluctant to ask for what I want either. But this was different. This had been hard, it had been fast, it had been...not enough.

That thought was a bit disturbing to me. I was vainly trying to keep my mind on my cooking, a ploy that usually worked when nothing else did. Looking back on the events that morning, I couldn't really understand what had led up to the moment, an erotic dream, no doubt, or why I'd been so aggressive. But mostly I was amazed at how willing to trust Napoleon was. In the mood was I in, I could have seriously hurt him without even thinking about it, but it never occurred to him for a moment to stop or deny me. He trusted me that much.

They say that trust is a two-way street. Well, one and three quarters in this house, I would say. Napoleon has many faults: he's arrogant, frustrating, egotistical when it comes to his appearance, and annoyingly persistent. However when he trusts you, it's one hundred percent until you prove otherwise. He never doubts or questions your motives, he's open and gracious and loving, all things that I'm not suffering an over-abundance of on the best of days. And I don't have many of those.

I was working on trying to streamline a tapenade recipe for use in the kitchen. Napoleon was eager to offer some new appetizers and light canaps at his wine bar. I always tried to make them just a bit different from anything we carried on Taste's menu. That way the patrons who decided to extend their wine tasting experience into dinner weren't faced with the same choices. It also worked in reverse when my patrons decided to grace Napoleon's door for a glass of their favorite wine. I'd already lived through Napoleon's numerous and exceeding rude comments about eggplants.

"Is it an egg or is it a plant? Tell it to get back to me when it makes up its mind," he'd grumbled. So many people have a prejudice against eggplant that it's no wonder chefs have to hide it among garlic, onions, and thyme and cover the whole thing with bread crumbs just to get them to try it. Once they do try it they enjoy it, if the appetizer we offered at Taste a couple of years ago was any springboard. In spite of that success, Napoleon wasn't sold and I'd made it my mission to sell him. Talk about a sucker bet.

Despite our early morning bout, my nerves were still on edge and tingling with the thought of Napoleon. After all this time, almost four year now since he can waltzing through my kitchen, I would have thought that the urgency would have passed, but every time we made love, it was as if I were afraid it was the last and I'd wake to find him gone from my life once more.

In all fairness, I was the one who left, I know that. Yet all I have to do is think even briefly back on that day, that moment and it all erupts like a big gaping wound. It had taken me a long time to even let Napoleon out of my sight for more than a few minutes, gradually working up to hours and even days now, as his wine buying took him away more frequently. And still that little worm of doubt chewed and twisted. I did trust him and yet...it was times like this that I wished I believed in a God, any kind of God, to take comfort in.

A glance at the clock told me that he was due any minute now, ready for lunch and who knew what else? With Napoleon, it was impossible to predict him from one moment to the next. It was a trait that had kept our mutual adversaries on their respective toes. He'd only had a croissant and some coffee, so I knew he was going to be hungry.

I'd thrown together a risotto which, while a hassle to cook thanks to an endless amount of stirring, waited well. All I needed to do was mix in the wild mushrooms Roy had delivered and it was ready to go.

I was stirring the mushrooms in when a sense of calm nudged its way into my consciousness and I knew, without looking, that Napoleon had arrived. He always has that effect on me. Within another minute, I felt him sidling up against me, warm, hard, and reassuring. I also knew that within a heart beat he'd be at my hair. I swear the next time I get a haircut, I'm going to put it all into a pouch and give it to him. It would be interesting to see if it had the same effect on him that catnip has on Beurre Noir and Moutard. At that mental image, I tilted my head forward, giving him full access to my neck, while moving the pan off the heat.

I knew what he wanted the minute he walked in. It was the same old song and dance. I had forbidden sex in the kitchen, partially due to sanitation issues, which weren't really as much of a problem as I let on, but also, the kitchen was my last hold-out. I was, frankly, terrified that if he left and I didn't have at least one point of refuge to retreat into, I'd lose it entirely.

Napoleon had never given me any cause to doubt him, but after our initial break-up, I'd been left with some serious trust issues. Matt helped as best he could, but they were too much for even him to handle. No, it was something I needed to work through...had been working through...sort of, when I wasn't too busy pretending they didn't exist.

"Voulez vous," he whispered, sucking on my earlobe. "La question c'est voulez-vous?" That was Napoleon. 'I want you. Do you want me?'—straight forward and to the point, although it sounded suspiciously like something Rocky had been serenading us with in Taste's kitchen the other night. You have to give him credit—there wasn't an ABBA song around Rocky didn't know the lyrics to.

And so typical of Napoleon, he didn't wait for an answer. His hand dropped to my dick. The most focused one-track mind could learn a lesson or two from him. Still, it felt so damned good that when his hand dropped even more, I didn't try to hide my delight and when he started to bite me, it was all I could do to remember to breathe.

I managed about the first syllable of his name before talking somehow didn't seem that important anymore. Even so, I smiled as he carefully maneuvered us away from the stove. It had only taken being splattered with a hot sauce once for him to remember that stoves and sex don't mix.

The same held true for the counter top. Napoleon and knives had yet to develop a working truce. So far, the knives were winning. Any other weapon and he was the master. Put a knife in his hands and he cut himself, along with his assailant's throat. Never could quite figure that out.

He pushed me back against the panty door and we parried for a moment for control. It was part of the game we played, two alpha males, both intent on seeking dominance. It was my turn to yield and I did, but only after letting Napoleon know it was my choice, not his.

This had always been the stopping point for me. I knew from past experience Napoleon was headed one place and once he arrived, standing would be about the only issue I could deal with. Now was the time to grab him by the closest available surface and demand he take me anywhere else but here. I didn't care if it was the carpet on the other side of the kitchen door, just not in here. Yet this time something stayed my voice, kept me from speaking up. Perhaps it had been the way Napoleon had trusted me this morning or just knowing that if I said stop, he would. Perhaps it was time.

Then the moment passed and it was too late. Napoleon's extremely talented and supple mouth enveloped my dick and rational thought went out the window. I grabbed his hair and held on for the ride. He was amazed, at first, how vocal I am during sex. It's as if one part of my consciousness shuts down and another, usually denied, takes over. I used to chalk it up to denying myself any kind of relief for long periods of time, but now I accept it as part of my make-up and neither apologize or attempt to explain it. I just enjoy it.

Just the sensation of his mouth alone was enough to bring me close, struggling against it only bought me a few seconds, and then he added his fingers into the fray, it was game point, Napoleon. I came with a force that belied our early morning activities as a mere stroll in the carnal garden of delights.

He didn't give me a chance to even catch my breath; probably just as well, as my rational mind tends to kick in fairly quickly even after such a climax. I was bent over and he was in me seemingly before I could even blink. It caught me by surprise and he stilled, waiting for me to give him a signal to continue. It took a moment or two and then, by some quirk of Nature, that itch was back and Napoleon was scratching just the right spot.

Prior to Napoleon, I'd always maintained that a man was permitted a certain number of climaxes a day before his heart gave out. As per usual, Napoleon was pushing the envelope, along with himself. He pounded against me and I will still remain adamant that I only grabbed my dick to save it from being crushed into the oak surface of our table.

Then amazingly, I felt a familiar tightening in my balls and knew another climax was not far off. His near perfect aim against my prostrate was mind-numbing. My breath caught and suddenly my hand was sticky.

Napoleon was right behind me, literally and figuratively, in coming. He collapsed against my back and I found myself wondering how I was going to even be able to walk to the kitchen tonight, much less cook for five hours.

I pushed off the table just slightly and happened to glance down. SMUD was going to be getting a very interesting invoice this month. I couldn't help but chuckle.

"What?" Napoleon wasn't immediately inclined to move, but I shifted slightly and he took the hint, standing up and helping me up as well.

"I'm just wondering what the power company is going to make of its invoice."

"I don't understand." He licked the sweat from my neck.

"I came all over it."

"We'll chalk it up to a power surge. Guess you're stuck with me now." His arms surrounded my waist.

"Excuse me?"

"After all these years, I've finally taken you in the kitchen." My gesture hadn't been lost, nor, I hoped, my message that I was finally ready to trust him implicitly.

"Huh, imagine that." I tried to make light of it as if it was just something that hadn't occurred to me. I tugged my jog pants back up, mentally thanking whatever powers look out for impulsive lovers that we'd not been interrupted at the height of passion. "I suppose you think you a big man now."

"Well, I was a minute ago. Now I think I'm just 'average'." He'd gotten himself readjusted and if it wasn't for the mess all over the table, no one would even have had a clue as to our activities. With the exception of the power bill, everything went into the trash. The power bill I rinsed off and decided to let SMUD decide what they would over its condition. No one should be without a mystery in his life.

Napoleon's stomach gurgled and I couldn't help but grin. No matter what, he always made me want to smile. "Now that you've had your starter, I suppose you'd like your entre?"

"Mmm, well as much as I enjoy it, your semen isn't as filling as some of your other offerings."

And that was it, no big revelations or declarations of undying love, just the easy conversation that flowed effortlessly between us. That and the feeling that for the first time in my life, I was safe, I was protected and I was home.




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