Characters: Michael/Lincoln (Slash, Crack)
Summary: It's the anti-porn...
Author's Notes: My last Australian Flood-Auction fic for clair_de_lune.
Also for fanfic100 ("Food") and writers_choice ("Meal").
"I've got the whipped cream," Lincoln said. "Anything else?"
"Maybe some strawberries," Michael suggested.
"How about a banana?" Lincoln made a crude gesture with an imaginary fruit.
Michael snorted. "Not unless it's yours."
Lincoln grinned, lost in thought. "Yeah…"
"So, bedroom?" Michael offered, "Or right here on the floor? Lincoln? Lincoln!"
"Huh?" Lincoln snapped back to the present. "Oh. Well, why wait—let's go here."
"All right." Michael pulled his shirt off and lay down.
"Mmmm." Lincoln kneeled down next to him and ran his hand across Michael's chest and stomach. "Perfect."
Michael closed his eyes in anticipation, a smile curving his lips. He heard Lincoln shake the can of whipped cream and—
"What?" Lincoln looked confused.
"That stuff's freezing!"
"Well yeah, Michael—it's been in the fridge."
"Hmm," Michael grumbled. He was determined not to spoil the mood, especially when they'd barely gotten started. "Keep going." He tensed his stomach muscles and willed himself not to flinch.
Lincoln blasted him a few more times (That had better not be a smiley face, Michael thought), then leaned in to lap at Michael's skin with tantalizing caresses of his tongue.
"Nice…" Michael stroked along Lincoln's neck and shoulders, enjoying Lincoln's lazy attentions.
"Strawberries?" Lincoln murmured.
Lincoln placed a strawberry between Michael's lips, and Michael's hand went to it automatically to hold the stem. He bit off the bottom and chewed it happily.
"Not like that!" Lincoln said. "We're supposed to eat it together."
Lincoln put another strawberry in Michael's mouth, and leaned down to nibble at it. Michael made a muffled noise of protest, and Lincoln pulled back. "Now what?"
"The juice is sliding down my neck!"
Lincoln sighed. "Back to the whipped cream it is…"
This time, the cream felt warmer. It was warmer—warm enough to drip down Michael's side with slow, slimy surety.
"Don’t worry, I'll take care of it," Lincoln said. He sipped and licked at the pools and trails of it on Michael's body.
Apart from the stickiness, it felt kind of good, which was why it took Michael awhile to notice that Lincoln had suddenly slowed down.
"Something wrong?" Michael asked.
"I, uh… I don't feel so good."
"No…" Lincoln groaned. He rolled onto his back and squeezed his eyes shut. "Go on without me."
"This isn't a war movie, Lincoln. And this whole thing was supposed to be mutual, anyway."
"Mutual?" Lincoln waved the can of whipped cream at him weakly. "Try eating half of this. You'll catch up."
"That's disgusting. So that's it? We're done?"
Lincoln just groaned again, and let the can of whipped cream fall out of his hand and onto the floor.
"Fine. I'm taking a shower." Michael got to his feet, careful not to roll into anything along the way. He walked to the doorway, and paused to survey the disaster before delivering his final shot: "And the thing you planned for tomorrow, with the leather handcuffs and the feather?"
"Yeah," he confirmed. "Forget it."
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