Turnabout Is Foreplay

Turnabout Is Foreplay


Upon entering the kitchen, Jean-Paul Beaubier's attention was switched from his search for the live-giving, coherency-returning caffeinated sustenance known as coffee, to the dangling leafy branch above his head.

"Why is there mistletoe hanging from the doorway?" Jean-Paul asked, eyes blearily focused upward. "It's nowhere near Christmas."

"I think it's leftover from one of Bobby's April Fool's Day jokes," Annie replied, shutting the freezer door. She tossed Jean-Paul a pudding pop and asked, "Why? There someone you interested in kissing?" She grinned knowingly.

Jean-Paul didn't even bother raising an eyebrow at her; he just gave her a withering expression.

Shaking her head, and not doing a thing to hide her mirth, Annie slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Jean-Paul alone with his thoughts.

And his…pudding pop. Trust Annie to eat dessert at nine in the morning. With a shrug, Jean-Paul peeled the chocolaty treat out of its wrapper and stuck it in his mouth while he went about preparing himself a vente-sized cup of coffee.

He'd just finished the last sweet nibble of his pudding pop when the sweet little nibble affectionately known (to him, at least) as the Otter Pop walked into the kitchen. Slid, actually, on an ice slide, cocky grin on his face to match the recklessness of his mode of transport.

Well, it was time for the prankster to be pranked.

With judicious application of his mutant speed, he was able to whirl Bobby underneath the mistletoes before he could object. Winking at the blond, Jean-Paul made a show of looking up and said, "Hmm… Well, t'would be a shame to buck tradition, no?" Then his smirked and dove into those parted lips.

Heave. Pure, unadulterated Heaven. And definitely better for giving him a jumpstart to his morning than any kind of coffee.

But if Jean-Paul indulged in his sweet treat for too long, Robert would undoubtedly become suspicious – and he'd be too hard to make his escape.

Reluctantly, Jean-Paul pulled back from his objet d'amore, and with a saucy wink, sauntered out of the kitchen, picking up his coffee absentmindedly as he rounded the counter.

Bobby stood, watching Jean-Paul's most excellent ass walk away, stunned from his hair to his toenails. Where had that come from?

Licking his tingling – and suspiciously chocolate-tasting – lips, and recalling his thoughts about just how excellent Jean-Paul's ass was, Bobby decided he didn't really care. He just hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a one-time thing.


THE END