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A makeshift buffet of ice cream toppings littered the small dining table shoved in the corner of Stanley’s tiny kitchen. Several glass bottles of fruits, syrups, and one filled with chopped nuts cluttered the table. A pint of homemade vanilla bean ice cream was left in the middle of the mess, a discarded scoop next to it dripped the melting treat onto the table.
The warm spring sun trickled through the only window that overlooked the Snyders’ back yard, filled with ripening fruits and vegetables his family grew. Outside, his mother weeded through the rows, a large sunhat shading her from the heat.
“A foundation of smooth, soft serve vanilla ice cream, topped with chopped fruit, freshly made whip cream, and of course, chocolate syrup: that’s what makes the perfect sundae,” Xeno excitedly proclaimed as he filled his bowl.
“You’re crazy. Get rid of the fruit and top it with crushed nuts. Now that’s a sundae!” Stan disputed his friend as he spread a thick layer of nuts atop the mess of sugary clouds. He dumped the chocolate sauce all over the top of his creation, staining the perfect white of his ice cream.
“If you eat nothing but sugar all day, you’re going to get cavities and your teeth will fall out,” Xeno lectured, placing the last spoon full of chopped bananas into his bowl. He grabbed for the abandoned syrup the moment it left his friend’s hand. He could feel the slow-flowing sauce shift in the bottle as gravity affected it.
“Oh please, that’s just a lie adults tell you so they can keep the good stuff all for themselves. You have to stop being so gullible, Xe!” Stan smacked the smaller boy’s back, sending the jolting force through his lithe frame. His friend tensed from the shock and violently squeezed the mostly-empty bottle. The lingering sauce spurt from the bottle’s mouth with an airy whine. Dots of chocolate rained upon his perfect creation.
“It’s astounding what information you readily accept and what you reject. At this point, you’re living in a reality of your own making.”
“Why yes, I am great,” Stanley joked back, purposefully ignoring what Xeno said.
“Oh how different the world must look through your eyes.” Xeno shoved a spoon into his creamy concoction and shoveled it into his mouth.
“It’s a lot messier, that’s for sure,” Stan chastised. He laughed at the splotch of chocolate syrup that clung to Xeno’s nose, painting him with sugary cocoa. It was as if one very large freckle had jumped into existence in the middle of this face.
Stan turned his attention away from his own sundae. His hands cupped Xeno’s head, chubby cheeks resting in the warm caramel of his sun-painted palms. Stanley bent over and licked the small snack from his friend’s face, leaving behind his saliva as the only proof of Xeno’s mess.
“Stan!” Xeno scolded, taken aback by the blatant imposition on his person.
“It’s a little bit sweeter too, so I guess it evens out,” Stan laughed. He half-heartedly raised an arm to protect himself as his friend rained a storm of lackluster punches on him for his transgression.
A small flower blossomed in the garden of Xeno’s mind as their playful fight came to an end when Stan’s spoon fell over– launching a small hailstorm of nuts over the two of them. It reminded them of the ticking clock that was their melting ice cream.
Xeno had a new experiment to conduct. If his friend so readily touched him in a far too-friendly manner just for a taste of chocolate syrup, what else could get him to cross that imagined line?
Xeno found an excuse to eat sweets around Stanley more often, using any reasoning he could. Low blood sugar and a skipped breakfast led to the blond sharing a single sucker from his stash. The melted sugar tasting of faux berries painted Xeno’s lips and stained them a soft lilac. The scientist took note of how those golden eyes seemed to linger, but no matter how much attention he brought to his lips– lapping along the sweet coating or puckering them while talking to pop his Ps– nothing brought Stan further than some light fidgeting.
On another occasion, fresh baked cookies crumbled in Xeno’s hands. They fell to bits the moment his teeth pierced the oven-warmed treat. Several small chunks of the pastry clung to his cheeks. Stanley licked at his thumb and brushed it over Xeno’s skin, collecting the offensive mess and lapping it up. A soft reprimand for rushed eating followed the gentle touch.
Bubble gum was a bust. Literally. Xeno’s jaw grew sore from how much he worked the stiff sweet. He wasn’t even testing Stanley that time. He was simply using the handy candy to create a sphere to reference in one of his rants about space and the planets. He had blown it up to a sizable degree but before he could clamp down and handle the bright pink globe, a finger shot out and destroyed the balloon.
A popular overseas game ushered a challenge to Stanley, daring him to close a gap between them in order to bite off as much of a chocolate coated biscuit as he could. The flavourless end of the pocky stick sat between Xeno’s lips as his eyes dared to question his friend’s grit. Their lips brushed for an electrifying second before Stan receded and showed off the entire chocolate covered stick held so delicately between his ivory teeth.
With some light prompting, Xeno even managed to force his friend beyond that light touch. Xeno popped a sour candy and his face instantly contorted, overwhelmed by just how strong the flavour was. A complaint and a question was all it took for Stan to take the treat off his hands… or rather, out of his mouth. Their lips brushed and teeth parted, tongues pressed against one another as Xeno used the excuse of transferring the sour marble from his mouth to Stanley’s. The ridicule at not being able to handle such a small amount of citric acid was worth his results.
Xeno slowly and meticulously worked his way down the candy aisle, taking notes of each interaction and how Stan avoided or accepted the silently proposed touch. Never did his face flush nor his eyes dilate. The heart beat shared between their skin was always steady, kept in check by the marksman’s training. It seemed that in the end, Stanley viewed the touches they shared the same way Xeno did: just another fact of life. An inevitable means to an end; one for science, one for sweets.
The two boys sat under the dwindling shade of an old oak tree that branched over the majority of Xeno’s lawn. They had spent the whole day tinkering with one of Xeno’s rocket models. The young scientist had conducted several launches to obtain data on the fuel consumption rate and propulsion created in his smaller model to account for the needs of a final construction. Stanley had played golden retriever all morning and ran to pick up the machine wherever it landed, oftentimes having to climb into the trees or over neighboring fences to collect it.
With the summer’s heat swelling and sweltering, they were forced to hide in the last dredges of shadow that lingered under the sun’s zenith. A small blessing in the form of popsicles was ushered out on a tray by Xeno’s father. He’d taken a break from his paperwork to check on the kids, making sure they hadn’t sweat themselves into a puddle.
The rough bark of the tree bit into the back of Xeno’s shirt while his white lab coat lay neglected halfway across the lawn. He lazily lapped at the flavoured ice, allowing the sticky cherry sugar to melt along the length of it before pooling on his top finger. Xeno mindlessly licked up the offending liquid before sliding his tongue back up to encase the top of his dwindling popsicle.
Stanley seemed far more eager to finish his off, swallowing the ice in only three bites so he could feel the way it melted inside him and gifted all of its chill to his burning insides. His eyes landed upon Xeno’s own treat, envy painting a green ring around his pupils.
The deep onyx of Xeno’s eyes shifted and looked up at the blond. His hands were on his legs, fidgeting in his seat as if anxiously living vicariously through each lackadaisical flick of the smaller’s tongue.
In his distracted observations of his friend, he allowed the heat to consume his icy oasis. The side of it melted to the point of criticality and the hydrophilic properties failed. The bright, ruby red popsicle fell from its precarious perch on the wooden stick, and dropped into the divot of Xeno’s collarbones. The lingering ice melted even faster coming into contact with his overheated skin. Rivers of sweet blood flowed over his flesh and trickled beyond his T-shirt.
Xeno’s disappointment didn’t make it farther than his lips before he realized Stanley’s eyes had never strayed from the cooling sweet. Wordlessly, Xeno craned his neck to the side, inviting Stan to seek out the taste he coveted. A tongue, already painted with the lingering flavour of sticky cherries, swiped over the blond’s lips. His body moved, slow and clunky as if puppeteered by strings.
Stanley crawled over to his friend, inserting himself between Xeno’s puffy pants. His hands tread against the dry grass under him, keeping him grounded to the summer-warmed world. Those intense eyes of pure sunlight never strayed from the dripping mess that painted the canvas of Xeno. He dipped his head down bringing his face to the patch of flesh offended by the sugary blood of his popsicle.
A breathless shiver froze Xeno, replacing the rough scraping of the tree’s bark and the overwhelming heat they sat in. His blood chilled faster than any single icy treat could provoke. A bead of sweat rolled down the sensitive skin behind his ear, tickling at his unruly white hair. His legs tensed, pulling in closer and encasing the marksman who didn’t pay the movement any mind.
The comforting warmth from Stanley’s breath seared itself into Xeno’s body and mind. A small prickling in his brain whispered that he would never forget this moment for the rest of his life; that right here, right now, would be a core, defining memory in which the foundation of his very being would be built.
The swirling of his psyche stilled when he felt the lava of Stanley’s tongue touch the base of his throat. The thin skin that protected one of the most vital areas of his body rippled with goosebumps. A breath slipped beyond slack lips as he danced to the flames of conflagration. His mind filled with smoke and his heart melted.
Tresses of golden wheat tickled the bottom of his chin, taciturnly commanding Xeno to bow to his friend’s movements. He tilted his head back, bearing the entirety of his throat to the cold, sharp teeth that grazed it. A fear wrapped around his heart– burnt to ashes in the cage of his chest. This wasn’t his quiet, kind, sugar loving friend that lapped at the salt of his skin. This was a feral beast that could rip him apart and paint his lips with the ruby red of his life blood.
The tongue traveled further before flicking at the base of his chin, a small gemstone of saliva sparkled in the shifting shadows and rays of light that wound through the labyrinth of leaves. Xeno’s chest jolted as he drank in a lungful of air, suddenly aware that he had been holding his breath this whole time.
Stanley didn’t afford him a moment to regain his cognitive prowess. The blond was already dipping his head to repeat himself. Another stripe tattooed itself atop Xeno’s veins as he felt the tongue ascend once more. His body shook from fear. From shock. From… something more.
Small, pale hands launched up and grasped at the soft, blue cotton of Stan’s button-up shirt. The cerulean waves wove a turbulent sea of uncertainty and a plea for more. The athletic boy complied. His tongue ventured lower, lapping at the goblet of his clavicle. Ripples disturbed the puddle of popsicle that pool there. Each tide translated to electricity that shot through Xeno’s skeleton. His breaths grew heavy and sweat dotted his forehead anew.
Before he could even grapple with the forming thought of wanting something more, Stanley’s hands ventured under the hem of his crimson shirt. He pushed the cotton comfort up and exposed the taut skin of Xeno’s stomach. The blond shuffled his body, shifting even lower than before.
His attention landed on a river of melted ice that traveled past Xeno’s chest, beyond his budding nipples, and down to his abdomen. The tip of his tongue licked delicately at the chasm of his belly button.
“HNN!” A strangled noise jumped from Xeno’s core and disrupted the mute moment. His knees clamped down around Stan’s frame, holding him still and daring him to break from his delirious quest for sugar.
The bid went unheeded and Stan's tongue entered the scientist’s belly once more– curling and bringing the spilled liquid up like a bucket at a ground well. Something tensed beyond Xeno’s abs. Something flinched. A heated blush burned his cheeks. His hand slid from the treacherous waves of fabric he clung to, and gently caressed the soft corners of Stan’s face.
Finally, his friend’s trance was broken and his attention was torn from the lingering taste of the melted treat. Sun met space as their eyes collided.
Time seemed to stand still. Xeno didn’t know why he had wanted Stanley’s attention so badly. What words did he want to share? What did he expect from his friend? His hand buzzed and burned, twitchy with the need to push him off and reclaim his personal space, but his body… his body had a different plan.
The grease stained embrace of his hand guided Stan further up his lithe frame, pulling him towards the branching rivers of red that now stained his skin with a sticky finality. Stanley nodded his understanding, breaking their eye contact and descending once more to taste the divine nectar. His tongue danced along the front of Xeno’s ribcage, teasing the shoreline of soft stomach and supportive skeleton.
His tongue went up. Up over the undeveloped ridges and crests of Xeno’s underwhelming muscles, up past the thunderous beat of his heart pioneering its rebirth from ash just to ignite once again, and up to his puckered nipples. The warmth of the shaded summer day, the icy touch of his melted popsicle, and the burning caress of Stan’s sticky tongue engulfed Xeno in a tsunami of sensation.
Xeno squirmed under the pulsing tongue that flicked over the erect bud. More noises sprung from his mouth, strangled by the last shred of his sanity attempting to reel back his reactions. The mess adorning his chest had evaporated and left behind the cherry syrup. Stanley had to scrub his porcelain skin to relieve it from the artificial flavouring. The rough sponge of that tongue tracing over the pink hills of his chest was all Xeno could focus on.
When his nipples were finally cleaned of the offensive fluid, Stan’s interest turned to the mouth of the river that had unleashed the flood upon his friend’s flesh. He gently lapped at the thin path between Xeno’s chest and his neck. A tan hand shifted the loose, red fabric of his T-shirt as he unveiled the last of Xeno’s chest. Stanley’s breath burned his being.
The taller boy finally pulled away, content with his job performance. His tongue darted out for its encore, licking at the red residue that painted his lips a bright, unforgettable scarlet, as if he were wearing lipstick. The picture of him wearing Xeno’s body had completely overwritten everything else. All that existed in that moment was the golden locks of hair, glittering in the shifting sunlight, those unfocused and uncaring eyes, and the proof of their experiment circling his mouth.
With hazy bliss blinding him, Xeno’s eyes slowly drifted down. He took in the wrinkles around Stan’s shoulders where he had held on tighter than Xeno had realized. He saw the relaxed rise and fall of his chest calming down, but mostly, he took notice of the peculiar bulge that tented his friend’s grey pants. He could feel something against his own anatomy that matched it– an unusual protrusion that left him with a pit in his lower stomach and a swelling need in his blood.
“Salty,” Stan lamented. Their eyes locked once more, the fog rescinded and their cognitive thinking skills rebooted under the afternoon sun. “...but not bad.”
“But, not bad,” Xeno parroted. He slowly pulled himself into a more dignified sitting position after having slipped down under the aggressive onslaught of tongue and teeth. He flattened his shirt, hiding away the glittering trails of saliva that dressed him. “Perhaps, a subsequent experiment is needed.”
“A second taste?” Stan asked, hoping he was on the same page as the scientist.
“A second testing phase. Next time somewhere more secluded.”
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