Birthday Cake

Trigger Warnings for unreality/dream logic, symbolic sex, discussion of internalized guilt towards sensuality, and brief hints of past, sexual abuse.

As Florence's mind drifted off, he found himself in that dark space once more. Except, his surroundings were different this time around. He stood on a round platform, looking behind him to see it was the top of several layers and, therefore, the smallest. Dollops of icing framed the scene, the white icing bright against the pure black backdrop.

Florence stood in a dress, a perfect replica of the one before though stiffer in appearance. White icing covered a battery frame, smoothed out into its delicate design of bows and lace. His hair was painted with a glossy sugar paste, up done like the flame of a candle as he stood with his head held high. The breasts of his dress were prominent, containing whipped plums with cherries on top.

"Florence?" a voice asked, causing him to turn to the space just in front of him.

The man stood there, only a few paces from him on the dessert stage. He wore a tux made out of light, pink chunks that were beginning to drip down, exposing the skin below. He'd used it to slick back his hair, black turning more gray in hue beneath its surface. The man smiled and licked the syrup that dripped its way onto his lips, supple, and retaining some color from it.

 "You look so beautiful, my dear. Might I show you just how beautiful?" the man asked, pushing his front foot forward.

His words called Florence closer, the two leaving footprints in the icing and their collective residue behind them. Florence had stepped out of his shoes, bare footed against the velvety surface, and the man mimicked this action. Their shoes were left in their original positions, moving to the center of the huge cake.

Upon reaching it, the two met each other in a kiss. Florence's heated skin combined with the chill of the man's as Florence began to taste the man's sticky substance on his tongue.

Then he could feel it on his skin, against his hair, and tickling his cheeks as it began to rain down from the nondescript sky. They paused from their kiss for a moment to look up, letting it flow down the slope of their noses and the curves of their lips.

Florence's body became as silky as the icing, easily pushing down within the latter as it became like liquid pudding beneath his feet and around his skin. The indent beneath him created a small pool, liquid ice cream filling up to his ankles and giving Florence's feet something to splash in as he giggled to himself. 

The man grinned, faintly showing off his teeth as his arms wrapped around Florence's middle. Florence's eyelids lowered as the man shifted closer to speak against Florence's lips.

"You are so adorable, my sweet."

The two cascaded down so that the man could lay on top of Florence as they continued their kiss. Yet the act was not forceful, both having a perfectly soft place to fall.

Their forms left markings in the now moistened frosting, pliable enough to embrace the crumpling back of Florence's dress. It was as if its non-existent zipper was becoming undone, the man's hands running down its tender surface.

"You're so soft," he whispered as the ice cream seeped from his face to Florence's shoulders, "I want to be soft too."

The dress' corrosion increased tenfold at the addition of the man's melting, streams running down in rivets and bringing the frosting with it. The vanilla beneath was exposed, the man's knees becoming embedded in the softening batter.

Florence could feel his breath hitch, legs wiggling as they began to feel the open air beneath the fluffiness of the cake. More cream sunk into its crevices, the only thing the man had to do was lay there.

"Shhh," the man said, his reclining form sinking down, down, down.

Perhaps he only looked and sounded like Max, but those features became even clearer when their faces were this close together. Florence could feel the man's breath, as fresh as recently rinsed fruit, against his cheeks, and he found his legs coming up to intertwine with the man's.

Florence wished he could somehow wrap the man in his cocoon of cake without disturbing its structure. The man's form was so buttery it might just work, and Florence imagined it tasted just the same.

Florence didn't fight it as his hands came up, stroking down the man's body to brush away the thawing cream that now covered them both. It stuck to Florence's legs, though did not restrict them as it solidified in easy to chip chunks.

The man reciprocated, mouth sinking into the bits of cake remaining at the top of Florence's legs. It coated the parts below, the cake's spongy surface damping them gently. 

 "Let me free you once and for all," the man whispered against them, and in between swallows.

The man's elegant nose and sculpted lips still looked beautiful, even with the cake's gooey contents covering his face. That mouth opened more and more, humming as Florence's skirt broke open like a dam, gushing out its shimmering contents.

The man's legs, positioned on either side, pushed the halves apart before stumbling into the ravine. He fell skin first on top of Florence as both the remains of his dress and the man's suit framed them. The frosting certainly didn't look like snow anymore.

Florence couldn't hold back a sound as the man's touch felt as smooth as butter, Florence gripping onto his slick hair to bring him closer. They both were lubricated, bodies slipping and sliding together as their collective pairs of hands became soaked.

When their lips touched, Florence was overcome by the taste of honey and strawberry, revealing the reason for why the man's lips were so uncharacteristically pink.

Florence moved to drain them of all their color, softly biting down on the polished surface of the man's bottom lip as their faces rubbed together. His lip's flavorful juices shimmered in the glow from Florence's hair, redder hues showing in the glossed up brown. 

 Moldable form met moldable form, Florence keeping his hands gentle against the man's chest as he pressed down. The man's milky skin felt as if it might cave in if his brushes became too harsh, Florence's own sugary chest sinking to greet it.

The man's cold, smooth surface combined with Florence's warm fluff as their bodies and lips met over and over again. The sensation of the man's body against Florence was just as sweet as his taste, and even more addictive.

Everything began to mix together, from the crumbs and liquids on their bodies to the icing that was beginning to become ripped from its place.

"That's it," the man said, gliding against Florence's eager hands, "Touch me however you please."

A hole formed beneath them, and soon, as they melded down into it with the intensity of their thrusts, that blend was the only thing Florence could see. 

 In the clouded darkness, Florence could feel the man's sly figure, sharp shoulders occasionally gaining some heft with the falling crumbs. They caught on the remaining, sticky traces present on both their outside edges, the fresher substance serving as the solvent between them to ensure there was no painful friction against their skin.

Those groans were a familiar symphony echoing in Florence's ears, deepening as they were muffled by the makeshift ceiling of cake mix.

Yet, Florence brushed the crumbs off as his hands explored and groped the pliable parts of the man's body. The rich scent in the air strengthened as Florence kneaded, taking his time exploring the plush texture.

Florence's own sounds were not as familiar, ankles wrapping around the man's waist to pull him further into Florence's form.

 "So soft," the man whispered in Florence's ear, speaking through breaths, "That man will never touch you again."

The man's mouth found those whipped cream breasts, Florence able to feel the juices of the cherries seeping out with the man's suckling. They brought with them the cherry's vanilla coating and bright red food coloring, visible even in the dark.

"It feels so good to taste you like this..."

A shiver went down Florence's spine at the man's breath, the juices flowing down in watery bursts to match the man's rapid pace. Yet, the sensations paused when Florence let out a quiet whine.

"Would it make you feel better if you tasted me too?"

The man climbed Florence's body, and the mixture completely became one as he wrapped his lower half around Florence's head.

Flinching awake, Florence smacked face first against an exposed chest, nose wrinkling in his shock. However, as sleep released him long enough for him to feel his limbs, he realized he was curled up against a nude figure, his bent legs snuggled into their thighs. Their skin was warmed by the blankets Florence could feel wrapped around him, their hands coming up from Florence's lower back to rub his shoulders after stirring.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You don't have to be afraid," a voice whispered, a pair of soft lips pressing against Florence's forehead, "I'm right here."

"Max," Florence breathed, head lulling onto his chest.

Florence's eyes soon fluttered closed, and then there was only that darkness and his warmth. Within it, Florence swore he heard a voice speaking softly.

"I'm proud of you, my dear."