Appetites || {Kink of the Week}

  • A/N: For Kink of the Week’s “Feeding” Prompt || Food and sex are not often things I mix in practice, for a variety of reasons. But isn’t it just such a luxurious and decadent pleasure? Why wouldn’t you mix them, with so many sweet foods to choose from, why– there’s some people even consider aphrodisiac! I was excited to return to Cam and Caroline from this story written forever ago. 
  • Content/Warnings: Foodplay, Historical fiction, Victorians, oral sex, nonbinary F/NB
  • Word Count: 1380

There wasn’t any room on the floor of Cam’s wagon so Caroline had to scramble gracelessly in all her skirts and petticoats on to the high bed at the back and they ate of tarnished silver chargers laid out on the patchy quilt. And even then, Caroline still had to occasionally bat the stray leg or sleeve or ruffle of one of the many costumes hanging from the ceiling away. She didn’t know why Cam had so many blasted costumes, she’d never seen them in anything but trousers and a ratty tailcoat and a silk ascot which had seen better days. Sometimes Cam didn’t even bother with a shirt, and when they did it was usually some kind of billowy lace monstrosity they’d found God knows where. She assumed it was something to do with Cam’s crow-like disposition: if the performer saw something they liked, it often wound up somewhere in their wagon. Hence the motley array of silver platters and serving bowls upon which they were dining. 

Between the two of them they had managed quite a spread. 

The vendors had watched Cam suspiciously as they examined wares but Caroline’s coin and imperious glare usually made them think twice. That said, Caroline hadn’t been watching Cam the whole time and she wasn’t completely sure the little mesh bag of sticky figs had been procured in an above-board fashion. But she had learned not to worry about it too much. Caroline had procured a little parcel of oysters, still with bits of ice clinging to the rippling shells when they laid them out on a dented platter bearing some half-worn away coat of arms in the middle. 

“Do you suppose any of these ever have any pearls?” Caroline asked, watching Cam’s little flick-knife flash in the lamp-light as her lover cracked the oysters open with a dexterous twist. It was warm in the wagon, thanks to a fat little stove in the corner, and Caroline had opened her blouse and Cam had abandoned their tailcoat and sat in their open shirt in spite of the cold rain outside. How nice it was, Caroline thought, to be curled up together and sharing so decadent a feast…

“I’ve never seen one.” Cam said, with a laugh. “But if I did, I’d have a ring made just for you, little bird.”

Caroline snorted, long-since past the point of being flustered by Cam’s overtures, which they handed out as freely as the rest of their affections. 

“Open your mouth.” Cam said, knife between their teeth as they took Caroline’s chin in their hand. Tipping the oyster between Caroline’s lips like an offering of communion. Caroline closed her eyes.

The oyster was bright and salty, and yielded like a ripe cherry under her teeth when she bit into it, filling her mouth with brine and sweetness. She sighed with pleasure, and when she opened her eyes, Cam was looking at her smugly. 

“Did you know?” Cam asked, as they cracked an oyster for themselves, licking salt water from their thumbs. “That they consider oysters to be an aphrodisiac?”

“As if you need it.” Caroline said, watching her lover devour their share of the oysters like a hungry fox, lapping at their fingers. Once Caroline had found Cam’s lack of refinery alarming, but now it was like all of Cam’s other peculiarities: thoroughly charming. 

“Not at all. You are far more delicious and I shall never have my fill of you.” Cam declared proudly. Caroline flushed, delicately swallowing her last oyster. 

“Oh, you cad.” She said, picking up a fluffy madeleine from its nest of pink tissue paper. Cam had picked up a pomegranate from a silver bowl with what looked like lion’s feet on the bottom. Caroline watched as they braced their thumbs against it and pushed, hard, forcing the rind to yield and split, eliciting a groan of satisfaction from her lover. Their fingers delved into red tear, parting the flesh. 

“Come here, little bird.” They said and Caroline obediently leaned across the spread of scattered plates and fruit and chocolates and madeleines, bracing her hands on Cam’s  thighs. Looking into their gray eyes as she obediently parted her lips. 

Cam grinned as they pressed the pomegranate seeds into Caroline’s mouth, long bony fingers slipping across Caroline’s tongue, making sure she swallowed every one, juice running down their palms and wrists, dripping down Caroline’s chin and throat, spreading down over her breasts and blooming bloodily at the edge of her corset, the white batiste of her camisole. 

“And now you have to stay here with me forever, little bird.” Cam said, with an air that started out very solemn, but they burst out laughing at their own melodrama. 

“Oh, you daft thing, I can’t stay here forever. You know that. And besides, we wouldn’t both fit in this gloomy old magpie’s nest you call a caravan!” Caroline protested, trying to mop juice from her face with the hem of her petticoat. 

“Let me help.” Cam said, bowing their head to lick away the wine-colored smears, sucking them away from Caroline’s lips, tongue tracing over her racing pulse, dipping into the hollow of her throat. 

“Oh, Cam–!” Caroline breathed, leaning back into the pile of garishly embroidered cushions she half-wondered if Cam had pinched from a brothel, with all their blood-red ribbons. Cam settled astride her legs, spidery limbs a tangle in the confined space, caging Caroline against the pillows as they bent to chase away the rivers of tart pomegranate between Caroline’s breasts, following the ruby tracings as a perfect excuse to lick as suck at the cream-white flesh, the cherry-pink nipples. 

Caroline moaned, fingers diving into Cam’s short black curls as her lover moved downwards, past where they had yanked the ribbon out of the neckline of her chemise, fingers deftly parting the busk of her corset. All the better to allow Caroline to squirm about, she supposed. 

“I think I’m still hungry.” Cam said, again failing to maintain a serious expression at their own stupid joke as they shifted back, hands caressing the shape of Caroline’s legs through her embroidered stockings as they pushed up her layers and layers of skirts. Caroline was absolutely no help, watching Cam through the fringe of her eyelashes, feeling her heart race with anticipation as she felt Cam’s thumbs tracing over her thighs, watched the little furrow between their eyes in vague consternation as they moved aside all the lace and silky trimmings until she felt their warm breath on her skin. 

“Come here, little bird.” Cam purred, wrapping their long arms about Caroline’s thighs, pulling her close and burying their face between her legs.

Caroline’s fingers twisted sharply in Cam’s curls as her lover tasted her as one tastes a ripe fruit: hungrily, and with messy enthusiasm. Broad swipes of their tongue, sucking and licking at her lips as if sucking fruit from a summer peach. Tongue darting in to taste the sweetest, most intimate part of her, teasing her clit with electric strokes.

She felt Cam’s fingers slip inside her, felt her body yield in the same way as the pomegranate had, letting Cam’s fingers plunge into her, curling and thrusting in deep waves. Sucking Caroline’s clit into their mouth. Over and over again, as if trying to satiate a bottomless hunger. 

Caroline’s back arched sharply and her thighs pressed against Cam’s cheeks as she felt everything rise and rise and then give way, moaning loud enough that Cam’s neighbors could probably hear it. Cam laughed between her legs, and the muffled sound hummed against her sensitive flesh, making her shiver. She positively melted into the rumpled quilt, panting. 

Cam rolled over onto her thigh, wiping their chin and licking their fingers with the same expression of pure pleasure as they had while devouring the oysters. 

“Satisfied?” Caroline panted, fixing her skirt as she watched her lover reach for one of the sticky figs that had tipped across the quilts in the course of things, watching them tear the slick purple flesh with their teeth to savor the sweet flesh inside. They laid their head in Caroline’s lap, looking up at her with their strange pale eyes outlined with black cosmetic. A wry smile on their sticky lips. 

Never, little bird. Not with you.”

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