Original Story: Whipped Cream
"Whipped Cream" is rated R for mild sexual activity. It is a response to musemuggers' prompt #451, option #2.
She let them in through her kitchen door, set her purse on the formica table and stood in the middle of the floor with her arms wrapped around herself.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asked.
"No," she said, her voice full of tears. "How could anyone be 'all right' after something like that?"
He placed the plastic bag on the counter and drew her into his arms.
"She didn't suffer," he said. "She probably never knew what hit her."
She slammed a fist against his chest.
"She's dead!" The fist opened and she clutched at the fabric of his suit. "She's... she's gone!"
"Yeah."
"What am I going to do?"
"Have a bath."
"What?"
"Seriously. Have a hot bath. It'll relax you." He kissed her forehead. "Go on, now. You've got blood on you, anyway."
"You'll wait?"
"I'm not going to leave you alone." He kissed her again, and she disappeared into her bedroom as he turned to the contents of the bag.
She was back in a very few minutes, her damp hair betraying that she had showered rather than bathed.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Something to make you feel better."
She put her arms around him from behind and stood on tiptoe, trying to peer over his shoulder, but he was tall enough to make that futile. Eventually she moved to stand beside him.
"Strawberries?" she asked.
"Yep." Bright red berries peered up at them from a glass bowl, their cut surfaces glistening. He dumped the contents of another bowl on top and scraped the last of the whipped cream out with the whisk. "Strawberries and cream," he said.
"She loved strawberries."
"Yeah. She'd be glad to know you're enjoying them."
"I can't."
"Okay," he said, "I'll just have to eat them all myself." He extracted a berry with blunt fingers, used it to scoop up a dollop of cream, then popped it into his mouth. "Nice," he said, and licked the cream from his fingers. Her eyes followed his hand back to the bowl as he chose another berry. She licked her lips as he ate it. He moved his hand just a little more slowly this time, and she caught a cream-covered finger in her mouth and sucked it clean.
"Good?" he asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's really good." He took another berry, and she ate it out of his hand, then chose one herself and fed it to him.
"You've got cream on your face," he said, and kissed it away.
"I got it on your suit," she said. He looked down, tried to wipe away the white smear with his hand and only succeeded in getting more cream on the dark wool. "You should probably take it off," she said. She slipped the buttons through the buttonholes and pushed the jacket off his shoulders, then began on his shirt buttons.
"Do I have whipped cream on that, too?"
She said nothing, but she dipped her finger in the cream and then drew it down the front of his shirt.
"Okay," he said. He scooped up three fingers worth of cream and applied it to her bathrobe.
"Not fair," she said. "This is all I have on. I've got to get rid of your undershirt and your pants and your shorts and your socks...."
"We're going to run out of whipped cream," he said.
"We'll recycle," she said, and sank to her knees in front of him, smearing the cream from her robe down the front of his shirt and trousers. He followed her down, sat cross-legged on the linoleum and drew her into his lap. "What about your shoes?" she said.
"I'll give you the shoes for free," he said, and kicked them off. She laughed and drew his socks off as well, then suddenly went sober and sat back in his lap.
"How can we do this?" she asked, tears brimming in her eyes. "How can we do this when she's dead?"
"We can do it because we're alive," he said. He slid his hand inside the robe, found her nipple and drew his thumb back and forth across it until it hardened into a peak. "We're alive," he said again. She looked up at him, nodded and twined her arms around his neck.
"We're alive," she said, then pressed her berry-flavored lips against his in a long kiss fiery enough to melt away the last of the horror and permeate them with warmth.
"We're alive," she said, and he felt in the fervor of her embrace that she finally believed it.
She let them in through her kitchen door, set her purse on the formica table and stood in the middle of the floor with her arms wrapped around herself.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asked.
"No," she said, her voice full of tears. "How could anyone be 'all right' after something like that?"
He placed the plastic bag on the counter and drew her into his arms.
"She didn't suffer," he said. "She probably never knew what hit her."
She slammed a fist against his chest.
"She's dead!" The fist opened and she clutched at the fabric of his suit. "She's... she's gone!"
"Yeah."
"What am I going to do?"
"Have a bath."
"What?"
"Seriously. Have a hot bath. It'll relax you." He kissed her forehead. "Go on, now. You've got blood on you, anyway."
"You'll wait?"
"I'm not going to leave you alone." He kissed her again, and she disappeared into her bedroom as he turned to the contents of the bag.
She was back in a very few minutes, her damp hair betraying that she had showered rather than bathed.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Something to make you feel better."
She put her arms around him from behind and stood on tiptoe, trying to peer over his shoulder, but he was tall enough to make that futile. Eventually she moved to stand beside him.
"Strawberries?" she asked.
"Yep." Bright red berries peered up at them from a glass bowl, their cut surfaces glistening. He dumped the contents of another bowl on top and scraped the last of the whipped cream out with the whisk. "Strawberries and cream," he said.
"She loved strawberries."
"Yeah. She'd be glad to know you're enjoying them."
"I can't."
"Okay," he said, "I'll just have to eat them all myself." He extracted a berry with blunt fingers, used it to scoop up a dollop of cream, then popped it into his mouth. "Nice," he said, and licked the cream from his fingers. Her eyes followed his hand back to the bowl as he chose another berry. She licked her lips as he ate it. He moved his hand just a little more slowly this time, and she caught a cream-covered finger in her mouth and sucked it clean.
"Good?" he asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's really good." He took another berry, and she ate it out of his hand, then chose one herself and fed it to him.
"You've got cream on your face," he said, and kissed it away.
"I got it on your suit," she said. He looked down, tried to wipe away the white smear with his hand and only succeeded in getting more cream on the dark wool. "You should probably take it off," she said. She slipped the buttons through the buttonholes and pushed the jacket off his shoulders, then began on his shirt buttons.
"Do I have whipped cream on that, too?"
She said nothing, but she dipped her finger in the cream and then drew it down the front of his shirt.
"Okay," he said. He scooped up three fingers worth of cream and applied it to her bathrobe.
"Not fair," she said. "This is all I have on. I've got to get rid of your undershirt and your pants and your shorts and your socks...."
"We're going to run out of whipped cream," he said.
"We'll recycle," she said, and sank to her knees in front of him, smearing the cream from her robe down the front of his shirt and trousers. He followed her down, sat cross-legged on the linoleum and drew her into his lap. "What about your shoes?" she said.
"I'll give you the shoes for free," he said, and kicked them off. She laughed and drew his socks off as well, then suddenly went sober and sat back in his lap.
"How can we do this?" she asked, tears brimming in her eyes. "How can we do this when she's dead?"
"We can do it because we're alive," he said. He slid his hand inside the robe, found her nipple and drew his thumb back and forth across it until it hardened into a peak. "We're alive," he said again. She looked up at him, nodded and twined her arms around his neck.
"We're alive," she said, then pressed her berry-flavored lips against his in a long kiss fiery enough to melt away the last of the horror and permeate them with warmth.
"We're alive," she said, and he felt in the fervor of her embrace that she finally believed it.