"I scream, you scream, we all scream for an ice cream..." - Dom/Orli, PG13

[unautremonde]

Pairing: Dom/Orli.
Rating: PG13
Summary: Dom might be the best at selling ice cream, but when it comes to making it, Orlando's definitely got the touch...
Disclaimer: last time I checked, Orlando wasn't an ice cream shop owner. And Dom was no ice cream mogul. I think it's safe to assume that this never happened, then.
Author's Note: Thanks to Ryn, Aelane and Kia for putting up with me when I'm the most boring whiner ever. Thanks also to Ryn and Aelane for the quick read through. Thanks to Piran for coming to visit. You're always welcome any time, darling. This is for you. ;-)

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I scream, you scream, we all scream for an ice cream...

Dreams have only one owner at a time.
That's why dreamers are lonely.

Erma Bombeck

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Dom never interferes with Orlando’s creative process. Of course, when it comes to doing business, there’s no one quite as good at selling ice cream as Dom. But when it comes to making it, Dom feels pretty clueless. He’s happy to watch, though; to witness the sparks in Orlando’s eyes when he’s managed to mix the perfect batch, to create the perfect new flavour. Dom’s just happy to know he’ll be the one to get the first taste.

If Orlando’s particularly happy with the results, if he knows he’ll be a hit the following day when the tourists stop by and swoon over the “Apriberry swirl” or the “Chestpine mix”—and if Dom is really really lucky—Orlando lets him get his first taste directly off his fingers.

Orlando never makes the same ice cream twice. He considers himself to be an artist, and he’s told Dom a hundred times: artists shouldn’t try and reproduce the same masterpiece over and over again. Once you’ve done it perfectly, you move on to the next endeavour. The only exception to Orlando’s rule is the secret mystery batch that started it all and which has become the little shop’s main attraction. The black ice cream no one—not even Dom—knows the ingredients for, and which has little swirly swirls of white running in it is always on the menu.

The only thing that’s changed about that one is the name. When Dom first came to the shop and witnessed Orlando’s ice cream talents, the mystery batch was called “Pirate’s delight”; now, it’s become “Wistful twist”, and Dom can’t make Orlando understand how much a name can put a customer off. Dom will keep trying until Orlando changes the name back to something more appetizing, though. No matter how hurt Orlando still is at the thought of Johnny leaving him for the Haagen Daas manager, Dom knows how good for business this particular flavour can still be.

In the meantime, Dom is happy to be here, to watch as Orlando’s stained fingers dip delightfully into the creamy swirls. He’s not sure what Orlando’s been working with, but there are red and purple stains on Orlando’s fingers, traces of experiments with flavours, scents and tastes that Dom can’t wait to feel against the tip of his tongue. He imagines swirling it between Orlando’s thumb and index finger, salty sweat mixing with strong strawberry and sugar.

Dom won’t ever admit it to Orlando but he’s been spoiled for any type of normal ice cream that comes with biscuits and whipped cream. Dom likes what he tastes raw off of Orlando’s skin, the taste that much harsher, that much more unforgiving. He can feel his tongue stained by Orlando’s taste as much as Orlando’s skin is stained by the constant flow of unrefined syrups, wild berries and chestnut lingering as he dips his own fingers further under Orlando’s belt, reaching down eagerly, and lapping at sweatier, unmarked skin.

Sometimes, Dom feels so greedy, so impatient that he can’t wait for Orlando to have finished sampling and to have put away the flavours he’s most happy with before he grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around, pushing him impatiently against the long table where Orlando has been working. Orlando never fights, always humours Dom and lies back, letting Dom’s insatiable tongue clean him up, erase every lingering bit of ice cream from his hands.

Dom likes to take his sweet time, though, and when Orlando is finally left boneless and sated, they’re both lying amongst bowls of melted ice cream. The cream drips to the floor, Orlando’s shirt imbibed, purple stains spreading from his fingers to his mouth and to his shirt, but a happy smile matching the sparkle in his eyes. Dom then knows Orlando wouldn’t dream of being angry at him and will only dig into his reserves, serving ice cream he’s served weeks before, offering an apologetic smile to returning customers and promising extra servings to those who have already tasted the flavours before.

Because Dom feels guilty, and because he believes it is rather unfair that the cook never gets second servings, he always turns around, then, and crawls back on top of Orlando, licking voraciously at swollen lips, helping himself to another taste.

TBC...not, lol.