Himbo with a sweet tooth - Chapter 1 - Fan Request (Patreon)

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Chapter 1

The apartment always smelled like vanilla and melted chocolate by four in the afternoon.

That was my fault. Every other day I baked something — cookies, cupcakes, brownies, red velvet cakes, if Golias had a meet the next morning and needed the extra sugar. The mixer lived on the counter. Flour and powder sugar lived in my hair. The oven was the one thing in the place that never got a day off.

I’d known Golias since freshman year. Our relationship was flirty without taking it too far: I’m gay; he’s straight. He treats me well and with respect, with inoffensive jokes about my sexuality. Four years of shared rent, shared groceries, shared everything except the one thing I thought about when I was alone in the shower. He was built like a billboard for protein powder and bad decisions, broad chest, thick arms, that soft little swell at his stomach he swore was “bulk,” tattoos down one arm, baseball cap on even in the house. 

Straight. Loud. Sweet in the dumbest possible way. He could put away a dozen cookies and still look at me like I’d invented happiness.

I was the opposite. Small. Pale. The kind of twink people assumed bottomed on principle. They weren’t wrong, most of the time. What they didn’t know was that I was hung like it was a joke the universe played on my frame, and that lately the joke had started turning in a new direction every time Golias walked through the kitchen shirtless with ridiculous short shorts and stole a cupcake with his fingers still chalky from the gym.

That Thursday I was piping buttercream onto a tray of lemon cupcakes when the front door slammed.

“Troy! It smells like a French bakery in here.”

He came around the corner already peeling his damp shirt over his head. The cap stayed on. Sweat darkened the waistband of his shorts. He went straight to the cooling rack, grabbed a cupcake, and bit half of it in one go. Frosting smeared the corner of his mouth.

“Holy shit,” he said, mouth full. “These are so good I could kiss you right now.”

I didn’t look up from the piping bag.

“You could use some payment with how much you eat. You know how much butter costs these days?”

He laughed like I was kidding. He always thought I was kidding.

“Put it on my tab, baker boy.”

He finished the cupcake, licked his thumb, and leaned his hip against the counter right in my space. Up close he smelled like the gym and sugar. The little swell of his stomach brushed the edge of the counter. I could see the line of him through the dark shorts. I could also see, because I had been looking for four years, the way his eyes dropped to my mouth when I spoke.

“I’m serious,” I said. I set the bag down. “You eat like a house fire. Flour, eggs, vanilla bean — that shit adds up. You want unlimited dessert, we need a new arrangement.”

Golias grinned, frosting still on his lip.

“What, you gonna start charging me per cookie?”

“Not money.”

The grin flickered. Not gone. Just curious.

I wiped my hands on my pink apron. My heart was doing something stupid in my chest. I had rehearsed this in the shower for a week and it still came out sounding like I was ordering coffee.

“I know you watch my ass when I bend over the oven.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. The tips of his ears went pink under the cap.

“I do not…” Golias started blushing.

“You do. Every time. And I watch yours when you do those stupid hip thrusts in the living room.” I held his eyes. “So here’s the deal. You want cupcakes on demand. Cookies after every workout. That triple-chocolate tart you begged for last month. I’ll bake whatever you ask. Whenever you ask.”

“And I pay how?”

“You pay me with kisses and let me fuck you.”

The kitchen went very quiet except for the oven ticking as it cooled.

Golias stared at me like I’d offered him a live wire. Then he laughed — short, disbelieving, a little too loud.

“You. Want to fuck me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re like… five-eight. And I’m—” He gestured at himself, the chest, the arms, the whole himbo architecture of it. “I’m me.”

“I’m aware of the physics.” I stepped closer. The smell of lemon and his sweat mixed in the small space. “I’m also aware of what I’m working with. You can pretend you haven’t noticed that either, but you have. You looked last time I walked to the bathroom in just a towel.”

His eyes dropped, traitorously, toward my hips. He dragged them back up.

“I’m not gay, Troy.”

“I’m not asking you to be gay. I’m asking you to get on your hands and knees in your own bedroom and let your roommate use that bubble jock ass you’ve been teasing me with for four years. In exchange for unlimited baked goods. That’s not an identity. That’s a transaction.”

He swallowed. I watched his throat work.

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. You say no, I keep baking for fun and you keep stealing from the rack and we never talk about this again. You say yes…” 

I shrugged, like my pulse wasn’t in my teeth. 

“You get fat and happy and I get to find out if that ass feels as good as it looks when you’re stretching.”

Golias rubbed the back of his neck. The cap brim shadowed his eyes. For a second I thought he was going to bolt for his room and pretend the whole conversation had been a sugar crash.

Instead he said, very quietly, “What kind of cookies?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Those oatmeal ones with the extra brown sugar.”

“Done.”

“And the cupcakes. The buttercream ones. And this whole batch. After…. I’m hungry.”

“After,” I agreed.

He looked at the remaining cupcakes. Then at me. Then he reached out, hooked two fingers in the front of my apron, and tugged me in until my chest hit his.

“If this is weird tomorrow I’m blaming the frosting,” he muttered.

Then he kissed me. It wasn’t careful. It was a himbo kiss — too much mouth, a little frosting still on his lip, his big hand sliding around to the small of my back like he needed something to hold onto. I went up on my toes and kissed him back the way I’d wanted to since sophomore year. He made a surprised noise into my mouth when I bit his lower lip. His other hand found my ass and squeezed, automatic, like his body had been waiting for permission.

I walked him backward toward his room. He let me. The hallway still smelled like lemon zest. His door was half open. I kicked it the rest of the way and pushed him down onto the unmade bed — navy sheets, one sock on the floor, a protein shaker on the nightstand. He bounced once and looked up at me with his cap still on and his mouth wet.

“Shirt off,” I said.

He pulled it the rest of the way and threw it. The tattoos flexed. The soft swell of his stomach rose and fell. I stripped the apron, then my own shirt, and watched his eyes go to the line of my cock already obvious in my jeans.

“Jesus,” he said, almost to himself. “Okay. That’s… okay.”

“Pants.”

He lifted his hips and shoved the shorts and the compression shorts underneath them down together. His cock slapped against his stomach, thick and already filling, the head flushed. I ignored it on purpose. That wasn’t the point this afternoon. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of my own jeans, pushed them down, and let him see.

Golias went still.

“Troy. That is not a twink dick.”

“I know.” I wrapped a hand around myself and gave one slow stroke, just so he could watch the weight of it. “You still in?”

He nodded. Once. Fast.

I grabbed the lube from his nightstand — he’d had it there for months “for when I have a girl over,” which had happened exactly twice since junior year — and knelt between his thighs. I kissed the inside of one thick knee, then the other, then higher, until my mouth was on the crease where his leg met his body. He smelled like the gym and the cupcakes and men perfume. I licked a stripe up the underside of his cock just to hear the sound he made, then sat back and slicked my fingers.

“On your stomach,” I said. “Ass up. You can keep the cap on if it helps.”

He laughed, shaky, and rolled over. The view was obscene. Broad back tapering to that ass he’d been working in the living room and gym for years thick, round, a little pale where the shorts always covered. I palmed both cheeks, spread him, and heard him bury his face in the pillow.

“Don’t be gentle because I’m new at this,” he muttered. “I lift. I can take it.”

“I’m not going to be gentle because you’re new. I’m going to be careful because I actually like you.”

I pressed one slick finger against him and waited until he pushed back onto it. The heat of him closed around the first knuckle. He swore into the pillow. I worked him open slow, one finger, then two, scissoring, curling, listening to every sound he tried to swallow. When I added a third he reached back and grabbed my wrist, not to stop me, just to feel it happening.

“Fuck. That’s… that’s a lot.”

“You asked for oatmeal cookies with extra brown sugar. This is the tax.”

I pulled my fingers out. I couldn’t resist and stuck my tongue into his pink hole. My tongue devoured it. Golias moaned, and I bet he rolled his eyes. His big, muscular body writhed as I gave him a wet rimming. The sweetness still in my mouth tasted like candy mixed with the sweat from his ass. I ate him for a good five minutes and he was leaking like crazy. 

I slicked myself, and lined up. The head of my cock pressed against him, fat and wet, and for a second I thought he might actually tap out. Then he pushed back again, stubborn, and the first inch sank in.

Golias made a noise I had never heard from him in four years of shared walls.

I went still, hands on his hips, letting him adjust. My own breathing was a mess. He was tight and hot and bigger than anyone I’d ever been inside, and the fact that it was him, the cookie thief, the loud dumb himbo, the boy who said he could kiss me over lemon frosting… made my head go quiet.

“Okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just… just give me a second to adjust. You’re built like a problem.”

I leaned down and kissed the back of his neck, then the place behind his ear under the cap. He turned his head enough that I could reach his mouth. The kiss was sloppy at that angle, all heat and the leftover taste of sugar. When he nodded against my lips I pushed the rest of the way in.

He took it.

Not easy. Not silent. But he took it, inch by inch, until my hips sat flush against his ass and my cock was buried in him to the base. I stayed there, shaking a little, and reached under him to wrap a hand around his dick. He was fully hard now, leaking onto the sheets.

“Move, bro. Now.” he said. “Before I change my mind and go eat the rest of the tray.”

I moved.

Slow at first. Long strokes that let him feel every inch on the way out and every inch on the way back in. My dick was all slippery from the lube. The room filled with the wet sound of it and the creak of the bed and Golias swearing like he was lifting a huge weight. I found an angle that made his back arch and stayed on it. My hand worked him in the same rhythm. When he started pushing back to meet me I stopped being careful.

I fucked him the way I’d thought about when I was piping frosting and he was doing hip thrusts ten feet away. Deep. Steady. A little mean on the end of each thrust. He reached back again and grabbed my thigh, holding me in, and I leaned over his back and bit his shoulder and kept going.

“Those cookies better be the best you’ve ever made, bro. You’re hung like a little horse.” he gasped.

“They will be. You’re going to taste them tomorrow with my cum as frosting.”

That did something to him. His whole body tightened. I felt it around my cock and in the way his hand fisted the sheet. I sped up, chasing it, the cute domestic thing we’d started in the kitchen completely gone now, replaced by the slap of skin and the wet filthy noise of me using my roommate’s ass as payment for pastry.

“Come on,” I muttered against his ear. “You wanted unlimited dessert. Earn it.”

He came first, sudden, loud, spilling over my fist and the navy sheets, his ass clamping down so hard I saw white. I lasted maybe three more strokes and then I buried myself and came inside him, pulsing, holding his hips so he couldn’t go anywhere. The thought of it, my load in big Golias, the himbo who ate my sweets with both hands, like the Cookie Monster made the last pulses almost painful.

I stayed in him until I went soft. Kissed the back of his neck again. Pulled out slow and watched the mess I’d left start to slip out of him.

Golias rolled onto his side, cap crooked, face flushed, looking wrecked and a little stunned.

“So,” he said, voice wrecked. “The oatmeal ones. Extra brown sugar. Tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

I laughed. It came out shaky.

“Tomorrow morning.”

He reached out, hooked a finger in the pearl necklace I still had on, and tugged me down into another kiss. This one was slower. Sweeter. Frosting and sweat and the leftover heat of what we’d just done.

“And Troy?”

“Yeah.”

“I did watch your ass at the oven. Every time. I want to fuck you too, my little cute baker.” 

He smiled, lazy and a little ruined. 

“Fair’s fair… maybe next time.” I told him.

I kissed him once more, then got up to wash my hands because I still had a tray of lemon cupcakes to finish before the frosting set.

The apartment smelled like vanilla and sex.

I could live with that arrangement.

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.