James: Don't you love Thanksgiving?

Smoke: Even though neither one of us is American? (considers this for a moment) Yeah. I think I do.

James: It wouldn't have anything to do with how much you like it when we cook in the kitchen, would it? (inserting his tongue into Smoke's ear)

Smoke: (moans appreciatively and backs into James' groin) Maybe. I love the way you stuff…the turkey.

James: (wrapping his arms around Smoke's waist to anchor him for a couple of well-aimed thrusts) Mmm…my favorite part is when I *baste* the turkey. All those juices…mixing and churning…

Smoke: …spattering the insides…

James: Ooh, you *are* a hot little thing this early in the morning, aren't you?

Smoke: Can't you tell?

James: Nope. Must need another taste.

Smoke: Bite me.

James: With pleasure.

(The turkey gets *well done* while the boys clean off the table and make room for more stuffing)

End

Adam: (licks his fingers) Mmm…I love Thanksgiving.

Jazz: You just like getting your fingers all slick and wet. (arching his back prettily)

Adam: (slides his fingers inside the waiting warmth of Jazz' body) Umm…I think you like it more than I do.

Jazz: (groans as his dick hardens in anticipation) You could be right. But I think you need to show me what you mean.

Adam: (dips his fingers in the fresh onion dip before proceeding to paint an edible line down the crack of Jazz' ass) How's this?

Jazz: Wouldn't James have a fit if he knew why we stole the dip?

Adam: Have you been in the kitchen lately?