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Lawn Boy

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Eames tugs at his denim cutoffs, settling them lower on his hips, then bends over to pull the start cord. He mows a few strips of lawn before he pauses to peel off his t-shirt and rub it over his face and chest. There’s a hint of movement from the middle window of the second story. Sure enough, he’s only made a few more passes when his voyeur slips out the screen door with a frosty glass.

“Eames. Hi. You look hot.” Arthur flushes. “I mean, you look like you’re hot. I made you some lemonade.”

Eames throttles down the mower and prowls over. Taking the glass he rubs the condensation over his forehead. With a soft “Cheers,” he tips his head back and guzzles; a rivulet runs down his throat to mingle with the sweat on his chest.

Arthur watches the liquid trail down Eames’ taut abs. He licks his lips.

Setting the glass down, Eames steps closer.

“I can feel you watching me. Always watching. What do you think about up in your bedroom, watching me?” Eames asks, lips at Arthur’s ear.

“Touching you.” Arthur says. “Tasting you. Licking this tat.” Arthur presses his palm against the tease of ink that peeks above denim. At the audible hitch in Eames’ breath he slides his hand lower to hover over Eames’ stiffening cock, “Getting my mouth on your dick.”

Eames slips a hand into Arthur’s skimpy soccer shorts to find him bare, hard, wet. He leads Arthur to a teak lounger, kneels to free Arthur’s leaking cock, and licks greedily at the tip.

“Dear god! You’re grown men. I’d say get a room but I know you already have one.”

“Mom!” Arthur jumps to his feet, yanking at his shorts. “I thought you were taking the kids to a movie.”

“And I thought you were mowing my lawn.”

“Nancy, I am. I will.” Eames says.

“Eames, I know my son can’t keep it in his pants…”

“MOTHER!”

“…but I thought better of you.”

“Really Nance?” Eames laughs. “With Arthur looking like that?”

“Point,” she says. “Well, Beauty tamed The Beast and we’re going for ice cream, thought you might want to join us but,” she waggles her hand, “…carry on. Be careful on that lounger, Arthur. I had to pull a splinter out of your hynie when you were four and believe me, I am never doing that again.”