Special Sauce
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Artwork (c) 2003 by Mike D.
Davros burst into the kitchen, his dark skin alight with the news. "He's here!"
"Who?" Miklos asked his younger brother.
"He's here! He's here, he's here!" Davros seized Miklos and spun him around joyously. "Six days we have been open and now, he is here!"
"Who is here? "Miklos asked again. "The Primate, perhaps? Or just the Mayor?"
"Better!" Davros said. "Phillip Marcon is here!"
"Phillip Marcon?" Miklos said. "Really? He has come here?"
"Yes!" Davros said.
Nnow it was Miklos who was grabbing Davros and spinning him around. Then he started. "And you have left him out there alone, without even a glass of water to sip while he looks at the menu?"
"Am I a fool?" Davros said in astonishment.
"You are my brother and you are a fool!" Miklos nodded.
Davros knew him too well to be offended by that. "I have placed the water before him with just the right amount of shaved ice, and I have given him our menu and I have told him that he must sample our spanakopita as the spinach is especially fresh today." he said.
"Good! But does he know that you know who he is?" Miklos asked. This would not do, a food critic visiting their new restaurant would be more likely to want to be incognito, to sample the food without preferential treatment or worse...special attention paid to the food he was served. Marcon must think that what he would be served was the same as any would be served.
Miklos turned to the task of making the saganaki, their restaurant provided the Halloumi cheese browned in olive oil and topped with lemon juice and a small salad (not the Xoriatiki, a more ambitious salad, this was merely lettuce and tomato with an olive-oil-based dressing served on the side) as an appetizer . It was the work of a moment to sear the halloumi cheese and then he poured the lemon juice (he regretted not using a real lemon freshly squeezed for this, but this did let him pour a precisely accurate amount of juice onto the halloumi, a more reliable method) over the cheese. He levered it expertly onto a dish as Davros made ready the salad and Davros (whose job was waiter and cashier to Miklos' cook and dishwasher) took the tray out to their distinguished guest. As he did, Miklos sighed in relief. The slow business was in its way a blessing, for if he had to serve the eminent gourmet and food critic Phillip Marcon while also serving a crowd of others, he would have trembled. At least their struggling business had this redemption, he could give Marcon the best for he was their sole diner.
Davros came back and his face was no longer alight. "We are ruined!" he moaned.
"What do you mean? What have you done?' Miklos demanded, his heart sinking.
"Nothing, nothing! I have done nothing, I am innocent!" Davros said. "Is it that pig, that dog, that cow who is sitting at our table!"
"What do you mean?"
"He has already decided upon his review." Davros said. "When I came in to you before, I saw him take from his pocket a small book and write in it but I thought nothing of it. But when I put down the saganaki and the salad, I saw the words he had written. They are the words he plans to use for the title of his review for our restaurant."
"But he had not eaten a single bite!" Miklos protested.
"He does not care!" Davros said. "I saw him laughing when I brought out the food. Maybe he thought I could not read the English. But I could and I did."
Miklos heart went cold. A bad review from such a prominent critic could destroy them. They had both worked for five years to save enough for this restaurant, and even so, their lives hung by a slender thread. Either their restaurant made good in this first month, or they would have to close. "What did he write?"
"The Dolmade: Food that makes you wish your stomach had been turned to stone by the Gorgon's Head!"
Miklos was stunned. "He can do this?" he said.
"He can and he does." Davros moaned. "Remember the review of the French bistro we read just last week? How to Poison your Poodle,' that was what he named it. And that lovely little French place is closed today, is it not?"
"It is." Miklos said, and he sat down upon his little stool. All the years of labor, all the effort and the work, preparing the restaurant, buying the plates and the glasses, stocking the cellar with the finest Greek wines. And this...THIS would be their reward!
"What are we going to do?" Davros moaned.
Miklos pondered and the answer came to him like the cold breath of death upon a winter's day. "We have only the waiter's revenge." he said stolidly.
Davros gasped, and looked at his brother. A waiter's revenge was simple, though its execution varied. The simplest thing a waiter could do to a patron who had offended him was to spit on the food. If the offense was more grievous, other less savory options were available, such as pissing in their wine or dipping your dick into their soup, or clipping a few pubic hairs and mixing it into their entree. Yes, a waiter had any number of choices.
Miklos went to the window and looked out at the famous gourmet. Yes, he was writing and he was chuckling evilly. He couldn't be writing anything nice. Again, the cold hand of revenge clutched his heart. "He will be ready to order now, I think. You will take his order with every show of politeness and obsequiousness." he ordered. "We shall see what he chooses and select our target."
He was in charge of this restaurant and over Davros for more reason than his two additional years of life, Davros knew him for a clever man, and Davros smiled and went back out to the critic, and took his order. Miklos watched him the way a man in a foxhole would watch the approach of an enemy, holding his fire until he could not miss.
Davros came back and Miklos took the order from him. The famous critic had chosen the fricassee of lamb. Perhaps he wanted to see how long it would take them to deliver it. A fricassee made from scratch would take nearly an hour. But any smart cook had done as he had, he had partially cooked the lamb and lettuce already, it need only to be seared in a skillet and replaced with its lettuce, and while it seared he would make the eggs with lemon sauce, and then mix them together. A mere five minutes and they were done.
"A working man would be grateful for such a plate of fricassee of lamb so quickly." he muttered to Davros. "But it works to our benefit, he will expect it to take time for me to make this dish." And he placed the dish upon the table in the central area.
"What are we to do?" Davros asked.
Miklos smiled and he unfastened his pants. "Time for the waiter's revenge."
"Are you going to piss on his fricassee?" Davros asked in some horror. "He will notice it for certain, the odor!"
"No, we will not ruin this by letting him smell our revenge." Miklos said. "You must help me with this." And he took out his cock, nine fat inches of Greek schlong. "Together, we will garnish this fricassee with our own special Greek sauce." And his hand began to pump up his tool, and it rose to full height and potency.
"Are you mad?" Davros said, aghast.
"Yes, I am mad." Miklos said. "As you should be, as well. Is not all your money in this restaurant along with mine?"
"Yes, but..."
"And will his review not destroy our dreams, crush them into the dust beneath his wheels?"
"Yes." Davros' tone was more considered now.
"And do you not swell, if not with passion, at least with rage?" Miklos asked him. "Join me in this revenge, my brother, and he will eat our anger and we will have this much satisfaction as we labor for another five years so that we may try again to have our own little restaurant."
Miklos' hand was now strong and sure upon his pud and he wanked it above the yellow-and-brown mixture. Oil was there in that mix, and salt and egg white. The seed of a man...of two men...could vanish upon such a dish, never be noticed. Miklos watched as Davros realized that.
"He will eat it." Davros said. "He will. He has eaten all of our saganaki already."
"Join me, my brother." Miklos said.
"And Davros' hand came up to his crotch and his big hands, roughened by the years of washing dishes and digging ditches as he labored for their shared dream, clutched the gleaming gold zipper of his jeans and he brought it down with a r-r-r-r-r-r-t!
"Join me, my brother." Miklos said again, softly. His breath hissed between his lips after the exertion of saying those few words, for his body rallied itself to other tasks, and his hand moved upon himself, long sure strokes upon his manhood, and the blood rushed to the glans, swelling and reddening the cockhead so that it glowed redly above the yellow eggs and the brown lamb with its shards of cooked lettuce.
And Davros' hand went into the warm folds of his jeans and found the dark occupant within, and drew forth his power and his strength. Miklos' eyes fastened upon it, he had not seen his brother's dick since their days of youth when in their innocence they had shared their pleasure in their bed at night. Davros' cock seemed at least as big as his own, and Miklos' eyes darted from his to his brother's and could not decide which was bigger? It should be his, he was the older brother, after all! Always he had a bit of height, of strength, of superiority over Davros, for him to fall short here was unforgiveable!
But Davros pumped up his prick and it shone in the light of their kitchen and Miklos measured its length and its girth and he found himself wanting.
"Join me, my brother." he said again.
Davros moaned as his hand sped up on his organ, stroking and squeezing his long, too-long pud, it was not right that even his pleasure should be greater!
"Give that to me!" He commanded to Davros and his hand went over and grasped his sibling's dong and Davros gasped again, surprise...and pleasure.
Miklos' hand remembered the years before in their bed, and he found his hand warming to its task with a surprising adroitness. He had no jerkiness to his motions, no fumbling in his strokes, he pounded Davros' cock and it was a smooth, established, well-known rhythm and Davros' sighs of pleaure he remembered as well.
"Ah, this is as we did as children!" He breathed.
"No, this is not all of it." Miklos cautioned him.
Davros looked at him and that face warmed with a smile as he remedied the lack, which was to reach over and take older brother's dick and Miklos' cock surged as it, too, remembered.
"Now it is as it was when we were young." Miklos said, shuddered as his body affirmed that memory, affirmed it well, yes, yes, this is it, this is what we have missed all these years!
"The fricassee is getting cold." Davros said. "We cannot serve this dish to him cold."
"I have the oven warmed and waiting." Miklos said. "We can place these plates inside the oven without fear, and re-warm it for him. He will not notice."
"No, he will not notice." Davros sighed. "Ah, Miklos, this is a great joy! Why did we ever stop this? You are not married, nor am I! Why did we take separate beds?"
"When our sister married and left us for her husband's house, the bed was there and the room, as well." Miklos said. "And it was not I who left you, it was you."
"I left to get my own room." Davros sighed as his hand pumped steadily away at Miklos. Miklos noticed that Davros' prick was also getting hot and red. His own body was shivering with the need, for they never dawdled in this as children, it was pump-pump-pump, squirt-squirt, sigh, and then sleep, for the morning would come again too soon. That urgency returned to him and he knew he would not be able to prolong this. But then, what was the need?
He looked into Davros' eyes and he saw the need to wait. It was there, the reason, in his eyes, in his mouth, that mouth, so soft and moist and waiting, lips parted, yearningly....
He reached up and he kissed Davros, kissed his younger brother and those lips moaned their gratitude into his mouth as the tongue slid out to make its acquaintance with Miklos' and they danced about each other, the dance of joy, the dance of reunion, so long, it had been so long!
"Ah, hah!" Miklos groaned as Davros released his mouth at last, as that pink tongue returned to its own abode, its visit and reunion completed. "Ah, ah, soon, now, we shall have our revenge."
"Yes, our revenge." Davros agreed. "And our renewal, too! Ah!"
They dared not groan out with full volume their need, for their distinguished guest was but a few score feet away from them, eyes looking out the window as he pondered, then back down to his book to write more lies, more disgusting, vainglorious lies! Miklos had read those reviews, all the bad words, and it had encouraged him to open his restaurant the more...why not, when all the restaurants in town were so bad? Now he knew better, but when he rebuilt again, in later years, he would know better than to trust to reviewers, and he would work to make sure his customers knew not to trust the critics either! A small place open to the sun and meant for the common man, who knew good food and who would not read the snobbish reviews, that was who he needed to cook for!
"Yes, yes!" He said, the new vision arising from the ashes of his dreams, and with that confidence, with that surge of renewal and redemption, so too rose his passion for his brain had planned with the pounding of blood driven by lust, it had colored his thoughts though he hadn't noticed it, for he wanted that open-air restaurant so that he could see Davros moving about in the sunlight, open and golden and glorious to the sun! "Yes, yes, we will do it, we will do it!" he cried out.
And Davros, who had been watching his face, took that to mean that Miklos was on the edge of coming, and he erupted with a flush to his face and a long low moan to his mouth, his eyes closing slowly and then Miklos' hand was the hero riding upon a thrashing, spewing monster that spurted upon his arm and sleeves! "Ah, hah, guh, hah!" Davros gasped out, mindful still of their need for silence in this, and Miklos remembered then, only then, their plan and he levered Davros' dong around and down and aimed it for the cooling fricassee and let that pearly silver flow mesh with the golden egg and the bronzed lamb bits, a precious feast!
Davros looked down at his cock, still dribbling with his ejaculate, and he looked up again at Miklos and his hand fastened tighter as his jaw set in determination and Miklos was now the victim of his brother's ambition, to make him come now, right now, while they could share still a bit of the sparkling diamonds of climax together.
Miklos saw that strength and knew he would never again be superior to his brother, now they were partners, they were equals, and the acceptance of that rendered his cock compliant to Davros' wishes and since Davros wanted orgasm, it would obey!
With a fiery flash up his body, climax struck Miklos and he held back his surge of seed, and Davros pounded him the harder yet, and Miklos stumbled with his constrained orgasm, wracked by his lust, living upon the very rarified heights of ecstasy that he could not endure forever, but for a little longer now, yes, God, yes, a little longer now, now, NOW!
And he relaxed the hold and his cock burst as if with flame. He spewed upon the fricassee and it was a thick creamy load that splashed upon the dish, inundating it with his seed, drenching it entirely as Miklos gasped, stumbled, and fell upon Davros who supported him, held him in place, guided him, held him...saved him!
As his climax died, Miklos looked with eyes glazed and dimmed by desire and he saw Davros still through that, he would know his brother anywhere, and he reached up and Davros kissed him in that warm glowing feeling when the body still feels the places where orgasm has assailed it, and is remembering, remembering, savoring and relishing still, until it all dampened down into a solid mush of expended manhood...emptied.
Miklos regained his feet and said, with his last erg of breath, "Now, we put the dish into the oven for just a few minutes, to warm it again."
Davros, who had recovered more than Miklos, did the honors while Miklos found a rag and wiped his sweat-dappled face.
A few minutes more and he removed the dish and placed it on the tray, his mitts protecting his hand. "Warn him the plate is hot." he told his brother. "We don't want him burned while he is eating our little fricassee with our special sauce upon it."
"I shall be sure to mention the special sauce." Davros said with a grin.
Miklos grinned back. They were ruined...but the renewed relationship made up for it, somewhat. He could wait and build again. This time the right way.
He was even able to watch as the critic, a plump, rather fussy-looking man, nibbled at the fricassee. Bit again, more this time. And began to feast upon the platter.
He and Davros exchanged glances and Miklos chuckled (softly) to himself. After the man was gone, he and Davros could relish their revenge.
The man ate the entire fricassee and when he was done, Davros took out, without being told, the complimentary piece of baklava that they also served with every meal.
Davros listened to the man and then looked at Miklos. So did the critic. And then, to Miklos' consternation, he motioned for Mikos to come out and speak with them!
Miklos did, wiping his hands upon his rag and tossing it on another table nearby. "Is there a problem, sir?" he said.
"Not at all, not at all!" Phillip Marcon said to him. "I just wanted to shake your hand." And he did, pumping Miklos' hand, the same which had just held Davros' pulsing dong and which had been smeared with Davros' jism after, up and down he shook with enthusiasm. "I want to introduce myself. I am Phillip Marcon, the food critic for the Gazette and I must admit that you have surprised me."
"I have?"
"Yes, that fricassee was amazing. I can't figure out what you added to it, this waiter said it was a special sauce you added?"
"Yes, yes, a special sauce."
"Well, son, you'd better bottle that special sauce, because when people read my review, they are going to demand to be able to buy it." the critic said.
"Bottle it?"
"It was wonderful!" the man said. "I admit I was going to pan your restaurant for using bottled lemon juice"--he had noticed that? Miklos thought--"on the saganaki. But this fricassee made up for it, yes, sir. Wonderful flavor to it, rich and exotic. I think I'll return for another dish of it for supper. You will be open at seven o'clock?"
"Seven? Yes, yes, we will be open."
"Good!" Marcon said. "I'll invite some friends from the paper and let them all taste your special sauce for themselves."
"All taste it?"
"Yes, indeed, you'll be selling gallons of it by the end of the month or I'm not Phillip Marcon...and I am!" The man laughed. He placed a fifty-dollar bill on the table, saying, "Keep the change." and took off, and Miklos watched him toss the little black memo pad upon which he had written that horrible headline, into the trash can.
"He liked our special sauce?" Davros said to Miklos.
"He did." Miklos said. He looked at the plate, wondering if he could taste the combination himself to see....but Marcon had almost licked it clean and dry!
"He wants us to bottle it?" Davros said. "We can't bottle this!" His hand went to his crotch and cupped it, and Miklos felt his own body stir in memory at the sight.
Miklos considered their dilemma. "We shall have to become a most exclusive restaurant." He said. "Only serving our special sauce to the select few. A very high price they must pay, and they must reserve their table in advance. It is the only way we can supply the special sauce for them."
"Are you mad?" Davros asked him. "How could we possibly...even if we did...how could we do it all by ourselves?"
"We shall have to call all our male relatives over from Greece to help us in our restaurant." Miklos said. "The entire family can come to America at last, and they can help us make our special sauce."
"You are mad." Davros said.
"When they arrive, they will all need a place to sleep." Miklos said. "I think you and I should move into the little storeroom upstairs. There is enough room to place one bed there for us." he said.
Davros considered that, and smiled. "We will sleep together again."
"Of course." Miklos said. "But we'll need to keep a bottle handy, to catch our special sauce. Mustn't waste any of it."
Davros smiled broader and his hand came over to touch Miklos' groin. "I think we should start our supply for tonight." he pointed out.
Business was slow in their little restaurant. But it would not remain so. Miklos nodded, and the two retired to the kitchen to whip up another batch of their special sauce.
THE END
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