It All Started Over Pancaes

AUTHORS NOTE: This story has been written as part of the IN A SUNBURNED COUNTRY Story Event organised by Chloe Tzang. So, firstly, thank you Chloe for taking the time and effort to organise an Aussie flavoured event.

As it supposed to have an Aussie flavour I've used Aussie-English and included a GLOSSARY OF TERMS in the Afterword so if there is something you don't understand, just flip to the last page and hopefully I'll have translated it!

PANCAKE BOY is lighthearted and humourous. It's intended as a fun, feel good story that leaves the reader smiling.

Without further ado...

CHAPTER 01:

IT ALL STARTED OVER PANCAKES

It all started over pancakes.

Pancakes swimming in butter and maple syrup to be precise.

How, you ask, can the greatest love story of all time have started over pancakes?

Well, let me tell you.

It was the first Sunday in January in Newcastle, and it was hot. As in heatwave hot. As in heat ripples wafting up from the street hot. Definitely too hot remain in our little, sans air-conditioning flat to cook breakfast. My two flatmates, Billy and Jason, were still dead to the world—not surprising after the party we'd gone to the night before, but seeing as my stomach was demanding I feed it

now

, I decided to go for breakfast by myself at the new café overlooking the beach that had recently opened its doors. It was only a few blocks from our humble abode and therefore within walking distance and perfect.

It was a cruisy place already popular with the local surfers and beach aficionados. The owners had decked it out with chunks of drift wood and artfully draped fishing nets, and even a surfboard hung on one of the walls. Dressed in my boardies, a tee, thongs, and sunnies, I fitted right in.

I chose a table with a view of the ocean, but one glance in its direction made me offer up a silent prayer of thanks to my sunnies—my eyes were

so

not ready for direct sunlight, or, for that matter, glare. I chose, instead, to peruse the menu. It was pretty good. It had all the usual cast of characters like; bacon and eggs, french toast, omelettes, eggs benedict etc., but the old tum wasn't up for anything egg related so I was relieved to see pancakes on there too. Yep, pancakes and a caramel milkshake, followed by a coffee were exactly what the hangover doctor ordered.

Placing the menu on the table, I glanced around the café with the intention of trying to catch the eye of one of the wait staff. That didn't work, but one of them sure as hell caught my eye. Holy effing dooley he was cute.

Not that tall, maybe only five-eight or nine, but perfectly put together. Some might say he was a little thin, but I didn't think so. No, to me, he was flawless. He had messy short dark hair and big eyes. I couldn't see their color because of the distance separating us, but whether they were gray, blue, green, brown, or hazel didn't matter—regardless of color, I was certain I'd want to swim in them. Hell, they could have been hot effing pink and I'd still have dived in.

For the second time in less than fifteen minutes I had to thank my sunnies—not only had they hidden my reaction, they'd also allowed me to take a good long look. I really hoped the person who invented sunglasses got awarded the Nobel Peace Prize or something. They certainly earned it.

He scooted between the tables, swiveling to offload the last drink on his tray. He bent over... Deadseat; his ass was perfect too.

I closed my eyes to sever the connection—it was the only way I was able to stop myself staring at him.

"Are you ready to order?"

The voice asking the question was slightly raspy, like its owner had had a big night the night before.

I knew it was him.

I just knew it.

I opened my eyes and looked up.

Yes. It was him all right and, if anything, he looked better up close than he had at a distance.

I immediately zeroed in on his eyes. They were moss green, the iris ringed in black, and they seemed to shine rather than glitter. Yep, I could most assuredly drown in them. It was only as I continued to stare that I noticed how thick his lashes were. They had to be the thickest I'd ever seen.

"Your order?" he asked again, smiling.

Perfect teeth, too, surrounded by perfect lips—a bit pouty and full. Just the way I liked them. Perfect for nibbling on and sucking into my mouth. I should have known. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

"Um, oh yeah."

Somehow, I managed to give him my order without stumbling over my words. It was a bloody miracle, seeing as my tongue felt like it had swollen to twice its normal size and was choking me.

I dragged my gaze away from his eyes and looked down at his chest.

Rory.

His name was Rory.

I sat in a daze, staring sightlessly out at the crashing waves, while I waited for my order, my hunger forgotten.

"You pancakes, sir. And would you like a side of Rory with that?"

"What?"

I lifted my gaze to look at him, blinking a few times to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I knew I couldn't be having a sugar induced auditory hallucination—I hadn't had any sugar yet. But was I still drunk? I was certain I couldn't have heard him correctly. It had to have been wishful thinking on my behalf. He couldn't possibly have asked what I thought he had.

"Would you like a side of Rory with your pancakes?"

Okay, no hallucinations. He'd really said it.

"Yes, please."

See, like I told you. It all started over pancakes.

CHAPTER 02: HIDE AND SEEK

Don't ask me how I ended up in King Edward Park playing hide and seek with him, because, in all honesty, I wouldn't be able to tell you.

One minute

,

I was blowing my budget and having

something like my tenth cup of coffee while waiting for him to finish his shift—yeah, I know, fat chance of getting to sleep later—and the next its three in the arvo and I was looking at him leaning against one of the big old pines with his hands over his eyes, slowly counting to twenty.

He looked so bloody cute, I just wanted to kiss him till we were both stupid. Hell, I just wanted to kiss him period. Those pouty lips of his puckering and pressing together as that raspy voice of his whispered the numbers seemed to me like they were just begging to be kissed. I swear the number seven, let alone eight, nine, or ten, had never sounded so effing sexy before.

And don't get me started on his pink little tongue, peeking out to tease me. You can't tell me it didn't want me to lean in and suck it into my mouth.

I was mesmerized. I honestly couldn't make myself move.

He stopped counting and chuckled. "I can tell you're still standing in front of me, Pancake Boy. You need to go hide, or how can I find you?"

"Haven't you ever heard of the strategy of hiding in plain sight?"

He laughed again and it sounded as sweet as the taste of the pancakes and maple syrup he'd served me for breakfast.

His voice when he spoke, though, was anything but sweet. No, it was deliciously naughty.

"I want to have to work hard to find you. I want to have to hunt you down so I can wrestle you to the ground and earn the kiss I'm going to steal from you."

I wasn't sure he was going to have to steal the kiss. I'd definitely have to work on my resistance, but regardless, I was on board.

"Start counting again."

I hung around long enough to hear him get to number three just so I could see his little pink tongue poke between his teeth again—damn, I really would have my work cut out for me to drum up some resistance—and then I took off.

I sprinted for the formal gardens which were bordered by thick, low hedges and threw myself to the ground behind the nearest one, pressing myself as close to them as I could.

As he searched for me, I could hear him telling me he was going to find me soon. That he was going to have his kiss. That husky voice of his was like a bleeding siren song. The tension was killing me. I wanted nothing more than to stand up and say, 'here I am.'

"Pancake Boy, I want my kiss," he cooed for the umpteenth time. Yep, I swear, he flipping-well cooed.

I couldn't stand it any more. I leapt to my feet. "Well, come and get it!"

I spun around and ran between the flower beds with Rory hot on my heels.

It was ridiculous. I couldn't remember the last time I'd played hide 'n' seek. Eight? Ten? And I def couldn't remember wanting to get caught so I could get kissed. And damn did I want to get kissed by Rory.

I was laughing.

He was laughing.

And then I ate dirt.

Well, grass, actually.

But I didn't care because Rory was climbing up my legs, flipping me over onto my back and pinning me down.

"Now for the kiss you owe me, Pancake Boy."

I remembered I was meant to be putting up a struggle. I had about four inches on him and maybe twenty pounds, so I prob could have tossed him, but when one is cracking a boner and hanging for a kiss one is not that great at thinking up escape plans. Hell, what man can think at all when he has a big fat throbbing chubby in his pants? I admit it—I can't.

I did my best. I wriggled and bucked, trying to get free.

Okay, that's a generous description. I did shuffle my butt a bit, though—yeah, yeah, I know. Piss poor effort, but I'd challenge Romeo to try to get free if he'd been tackled by Juliet. Same goes for Tarzan and Jane, or Superman and Lois Lane. Exactly. Not happening.

Rory cupped my face, pinning me to the ground and, man oh man, did his fingers feel good in my hair.

And then those pouty lips of his slowly descended.

The sun must have made the grass pretty bloody hot. Why else would I have melted into the ground the moment his lips made contact with mine?

Couldn't be because they were the plumpest, softest things I'd ever felt against my lips in my entire life.

Couldn't be because his tongue tasted like hot chocolate and marshmallows.

Or because his breath in my mouth was sweeter than a chocolate Snickers bar.

Nah.

Had to be 'cause it was a hot summer's day...

Yeah, right. You believe that and you'll believe anything.

CHAPTER 03:

IN FOR A PENNY, IN FOR A POUND

I'm pleased to say Rory did his fair share of melting too. More than his share...

His chest to mine... his lips to mine. And yes, his groin to mine. Not that either of us had limp noodle cocks... spaghetti might go soft in hot water, but not the penne in my pants or the linguine in Rory's!

If I'd had my way we'd have kept on melting till we were at least octogenarians, but the late afternoon sun sinking behind the hilltop roused Rory from our mutual passion induced stupor.

Not that I minded when he pulled back to murmur, "Take me home."

With that raspy voice of his, if those weren't the sexiest words in the English language, I didn't know what were... Well, maybe 'fuck me,' could top it, but 'take me home,' was right up there.

I had to restrain myself from throwing him over my shoulder, caveman style, and just making a run for it to my flat. Okay, okay, okay. His pummelling my butt, and laughingly choked out squeals demanding I put him down may have had something to do with our rather more decorous exit of the park. Thanks to Rory, we looked halfway normal, well, other than our matching boners. Heaven help the people who got a side on view of us. Probably scarred them for life.

All I can say is thank god I lived close by.

From the moment we burst through the front door and hit the stairs we were devouring each other. Apparently our lips were starving again.

Hallelujah—Billy and Jason had gone out.

Actually, maybe they should be the ones singing praises that they were out because I had no hang-up about them hearing me get my jollies off. And boy was I about to get my jollies off. And if I had anything to do with it, Rory's screams would rival those of a horde of teeny boppers at a One Direction concert. I intended to make the boy yodel. They'd be hearing him in the Swiss Alps.

Rory, I discovered, was the closest living creature to an octopus—I'm sure he sprouted a few extra hands. No way could he be touching me everywhere he was touching me with only two hands at his disposal. Maybe feet too, 'cause he still managed to manoeuvre us up the stairs like we were a pair of rabbits on speed.

I think he might be psychic too as he seemed to know the first door to the left was my room... or maybe he didn't care what bed we did it in. Hell, I was at the point I didn't freakin' well care either. Tough bikkies if it was Billy or Jason's. They'd just have to cope. They'd both mistakenly crashed in my room a time or two after a big night out. About time I did a little payback. It must have been their lucky day, though, 'cause Rory and I stumbled, lips locked, arms and legs tangled, into my room.

I was so far gone I didn't care who or what Rory was. He could be the devil's spawn. An alien. A flippin' vampire. As long as I got horizontal with him, he could be the bloody Messiah for all I cared.

Screw it, I'd do it kneeling. Standing. Upside fucking down. As long as my dick had intimate contact with either his mouth or ass I'd have done it swinging by my toenails from a freaking chandelier.

Come to think of it, if his dick became intimately acquainted with any of my orifices, I'd be equally happy.

Yeah, you could say I was keen...

It's as I always say: in for a penny. In for a pound. Or maybe, more accurately in for an inch. In for a foot! Slight exaggeration. But I'm good for at least eight inches...

He pushed me and I fell on top of the bed.

"Slow down, Pancake Boy. I want to peel you like a grape."

Oh fuck.

CHAPTER 04:

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

And peel me like a grape he did. I couldn't help wishing he'd peel me like a banana—much quicker. Better yet, why not think of me as a juicy apple and just take a bite? Too crunchy? Well, what about a peach then?

Methinks Rory has a cruel streak...

He took forever to get me naked. I mean, are you kidding me? All I was bloody wearing was a pair of board shorts, a tee and my jocks. Oh, and my thongs. How long should it take to shed the lot? Five seconds? Ten? Def no more than thirty. He took at least freakin' ninety just to get my tee up around my armpits!

Like I said. The boy has a cruel streak.

Still, he did pause to suck on my nipples, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. Okay, he nibbled too. But that's no excuse. He had to know I had the boner to end all boners trying to punch a hole through two layers of fabric. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable that is? Well, I tell you no lie, it's mighty uncomfortable. As in, all I could think about was freeing my trouser snake, uncomfortable.

And do you know what he said when I ground it against him as a subtle hint? Yeah, yeah, I know, real subtle, but really, you have to put it into context. I wanted to scream it from the hilltops so dry humping his thigh like a dog in heat was extremely subtle.

He said, "Patience, Pancake Boy. Patience."

I kid you fucking not.

He told me to be patient.

My dick, not to mention my undies and board shorts, were about to explode into a million smithereens and he told me to be patient.

I know what you're thinking. Cruel... right?

He had to know. No way known could he have been unaware of my predicament. Eight inches of hot throbbing titanium is a little hard to disguise.

And I wasn't trying to disguise it.

Quite the opposite.

If he didn't do something real quick I was going to make Chernobyl look like a flippin' New Year's Eve party cracker.

When he finally got to the button of my board shorts, having detoured via my belly button I swear I heard the Hallelujah chorus.

Which reminds me.

I think he has a belly button fetish. He sure as hell spent enough time poking his tongue in and around mine to qualify. Another time, another place, I could have gotten into his kink, but right then, a certain appendage desperately required his attention. I only had the safety of the known universe at heart. I was trying to stave off a nuclear disaster.

Can I interject right here? I love Velcro. The sound of it ripping apart has to be the best sound in the world. It's the sound of relief. Yep, def relief.

And the flood of relief joined the flood of excitement to form a tidal wave at my crotch. I'd be prepared to swear on the bible (I know, how sacrilegious, but I can't swear on my mum or gran's graves 'cause they're both still alive) that when Rory tore apart my shorts my dick swelled another inch.

My cock was obviously feeling as impatient as the rest of me and was poking his head out above the waistline of my jocks.

Rory looked up at me and winked, licking his lips.

"Well, hello, big boy," he cooed.

Christ, he coos well. My cock rose like a snake to the snake charmer's lute, or whatever the hell instrument it is they played. I decided, then and there, I believed in reincarnation. It was the only explanation. Rory had to have been a mermaid in a past life. How else could he have serenaded my dick that way? I think, at that point, he could have gotten it to jump through fire hoops and thrown a somersault or two while he was at it. Hell, it would have climbed Mt Everest, sans snow gear, had he asked it to.

And me?

Yeah, I reckon I was Stretch Armstrong in a past life. That was the only logical explanation for the size and flexibility of my joystick. I could have tied my cock into a pretzel and still punched a hole in the stratosphere. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.

A lifetime later. I'm not exaggerating. That's what it felt like. A lifetime later I was finally naked.

Rory smiled sweetly.

I panted like a dog.

Rory leaned down.

I panted like a rabid dog on uppers.

And then his warm breath fanned over the head of my aching dick... and I thought, "Fuck, don't come! You can't come from hot breath!"

CHAPTER 05: PANCAKE BOY TO THE RESCUE

Oh my God!

Embarrassment plus.

Scratch that.

This was beyond mere embarrassment.

This was a catastrophe.

Please Lord, let the earth open up and swallow me whole. Preferably with some hellfire and brimstone to turn me into a pile of ash.

I came with the force of an out of control fireman's hose.

I practically had to wrestle my cock to the ground.

You think I'm joking. I'm not. I wish I was. God, how I wish I was.

Meanwhile, Rory, was screeching like a banshee.

He didn't have to tell me why.

Cum in your eyes stings like a bitch.

Worse than a bitch. That implies only one...

And it didn't stop there...

Holy effing dooley, but I got it all over his face... in his hair... it dribbled down his neck... his chest... across one nipple.

It was freakin' everywhere!

Jesus! Since when had I turned into Niagara effing Falls?

Must have been all those coffees I'd consumed while waiting for Rory to finish his shift. Caffeine is a diuretic, after all...

Talk about killing the moment.

One minute we were about to flash our day pass into Nirvana, the next, I'm giving Rory a cum bath and he's squealing like a stuck pig. I may have just blinded the love of my life with my love juice.

I went into rescue mode.

He'd already rolled away from me which saved me from having to toss him off. Be grateful for small mercies, I told myself. I grabbed him and did my best Arnie/Rambo/non-superhero-with-non-super-powers, but definitely heroic move, and tossed him over my shoulder and made a run for the bathroom.

My Niagara cum attack called for the big guns—full-on shower. No dabbing of the eyes with a corner of the sheet was going to suffice. No swab with a bit of stale water from the glass on my night stand. His eyes obviously needed a proper rinse. I had to save the sight of my love. His eyes were too beautiful to be left blind.