Drew peeked out into the dining room. Every table was full, most of them onto the dessert service. And 85 percent had ordered Ren's baked cheesecake.
Drew had to admit, he'd been worried when he'd turned down the big wedding function that had wanted him to cater for them. But he'd also had to admit - Ren was right, the food they'd wanted wasn't within Drew (or Ren's) scope to provide. Drew wasn't classist - there was nothing wrong with mini hot dogs, sausage sizzles, or liking packet cake mix . . . but it wasn't what his restaurant was about. He prided himself on hearty, tasty, comforting homestyle cooking . . . while Ren was focussed on exquisite, quality cakes, patisseries and desserts. It was a combination that worked, and he didn't want to mess with it.
Or with Ren. Speaking of which - his hot arsed salamander seemed to have removed himself from the pizza oven.
"I'm cold," his lover whispered in his ear.
"Not surprising, since we've turned all the ovens off," Drew replied, pretending indifference.
"And horny," Ren was nothing if upfront about his needs. Drew managed to suppress a needy whimper.
"That's not surprising either," he choked out. "But I can help you out if you want to go upstairs."
"Oh, I think I could cope with that," Ren purred in his ear, pushing him toward the staircase. "You know what happens to salamanders when they get cold."
Drew did know - cold salamanders sought out heat as a survival instinct, which made it really hard to cook pizzas. In which case . . .
"Get yourself up there and undressed," Drew ordered. "I'm gonna blow that pretty dick and those pretty brains . . . . you're gonna be so hot you'll think you're a super nova." Because, after all, Ren had an amazing cock - and woodfired pizza was one of the most popular items on Drew's menu.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-03-03 06:25 am (UTC)Drew had to admit, he'd been worried when he'd turned down the big wedding function that had wanted him to cater for them. But he'd also had to admit - Ren was right, the food they'd wanted wasn't within Drew (or Ren's) scope to provide. Drew wasn't classist - there was nothing wrong with mini hot dogs, sausage sizzles, or liking packet cake mix . . . but it wasn't what his restaurant was about. He prided himself on hearty, tasty, comforting homestyle cooking . . . while Ren was focussed on exquisite, quality cakes, patisseries and desserts. It was a combination that worked, and he didn't want to mess with it.
Or with Ren. Speaking of which - his hot arsed salamander seemed to have removed himself from the pizza oven.
"I'm cold," his lover whispered in his ear.
"Not surprising, since we've turned all the ovens off," Drew replied, pretending indifference.
"And horny," Ren was nothing if upfront about his needs. Drew managed to suppress a needy whimper.
"That's not surprising either," he choked out. "But I can help you out if you want to go upstairs."
"Oh, I think I could cope with that," Ren purred in his ear, pushing him toward the staircase. "You know what happens to salamanders when they get cold."
Drew did know - cold salamanders sought out heat as a survival instinct, which made it really hard to cook pizzas. In which case . . .
"Get yourself up there and undressed," Drew ordered. "I'm gonna blow that pretty dick and those pretty brains . . . . you're gonna be so hot you'll think you're a super nova." Because, after all, Ren had an amazing cock - and woodfired pizza was one of the most popular items on Drew's menu.