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alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody · 2 months ago

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kinktober #19

Invasive Vines 🌿 / Sweet Shop 🍭

“Candy’s possessed,” David announces, and Ben shakes his head.

“Always has been.”

“What?” says Kristen, cocking her head, and Ben rolls his eyes.

“You’ve never seen that meme? You have four meme-age daughters and you’ve never seen the astronaut meme?”

Kristen shrugs. Ben goes to pull it up on his phone.

Father Ignatius fills them in on the case; a candy shop in Brooklyn has reported an unusual increase in gluttony from its customers and employees. Apparently it’s not the only candy shop affected recently, either — just the only one devout enough to call the church.

“How do we know it’s demonic gluttony and not just kids pulling pranks for Halloween?” David asks, and Father Ignatius shrugs.

“How should I know? That’s your job. I know it feels like busy work, but if it really is something demonic, it would be good to get a jump on it before the holiday. I get enough parents asking about razor blades in apples and whether celebrating Halloween is un-Christian without adding demonic candy to the mix.”

“Razor blades in apples has never been a thing,” says Ben. “It’s like the hoax about people giving kids drugs in Halloween candy. No one is wasting their hard-earned drugs on trick-or-treaters.”

Sister Andrea falls in with them as they file out of his office as if she’d been part of the conversation the whole time. “Well, of course it would be candy eventually,” she says. “Why do you think I use marshmallows to catch demons? They’ll eat themselves sick on the stuff if they get the chance.”

“Do you?” asks Kristen with interest. “Use marshmallows?”

Sister Andrea nods. “For the smaller ones, yes.”

“Okay,” says Kristen, because sure, why not. “Please don’t ever tell my girls about that. We’d never get rid of the ants.”

She lets Ben sit shotgun as David drives them out to Brooklyn, her gaze flickering between the Halloween decorations adorning the blur of brownstones outside her window and the open bag of candy corn in the center console between the boys.

“Where’d that come from?” she asks, leaning forward and crinkling the bag.

David shrugs. “One of the church volunteers leaves little baskets for everyone at the church. She never misses a holiday.”

“Huh,” says Kristen. She’s not much for candy corn, but there’s something irresistibly sweet about watching David and Ben throw back handfuls while they talk about the case and banter about who had the worst Halloween costume back in the day (Ben pulls up a picture of him and Karima as awkward teens, wearing the most half-hearted, ill-fitting generic Star Trek uniforms Kristen has ever seen: “Mom didn’t exactly get the memo on what they were supposed to look like.”)

When they pull up to the candy shop, the place looks worse for the wear. The front window has been smashed and covered over with brown paper scrawled with the words WE’RE OPEN!, and the doorknob looks like it’s been blown off with dynamite and recently replaced with a shiny new one. “Jesus,” says Ben, cradling the new knob in his hand, and David’s brow furrows.

“Is Halloween that cutthroat these days?”

“Spend an hour at my house after trick-or-treating,” says Kristen over her shoulder. “It’ll make your war journalism career look like Goodnight Moon.”

Ben laughs and follows her in, and David shepherds them from behind. The shop owner explains that they’ve had problems recently with employees stealing sweets from the store in bulk, with customers coming back to demand more than they paid for with the sweaty, aggressive insistence of desperation, with break-ins faster than they can repair the front windows that leave the till and safe untouched, but the candy bins emptied.

“Is there one candy that seems to be more of an incentive than the others?” asks David, and the shop owner shrugs.

“The frogs have been a target. So has the candy corn, the regular and the pumpkins.”

Kristen mouths The frogs have been a target to Ben over David’s shoulder. The air inside is warm and humid despite the October chill outside, and when she leans over one of the bins and picks up a gummy frog with a marshmallowy underside, it sticks unpleasantly to her fingers.

“And do they share a manufacturer?” asks Ben, sweeping his gaze around the shop. “Could’ve been some sort of chemical additive accidentally mixed into certain batches that’s reacting with a common medication or something.”

“Sure, lots of them come from Wingate’s in Jersey,” says the shop owner dubiously, “but not all of the varieties from the same manufacturer are causing the problems. The jujubes are made there, too, and nobody’s touching those.”

“That’s because they’re jujubes,” says Ben under his breath.

“I like jujubes,” Kristen protests in a whisper.

“We’ll look into it,” David overlaps, louder. “Please don’t hesitate to call us if anything further happens.”

“Honestly?” says Ben from the backseat when they’re safely ensconced in the car. “Ignatius is right, this does feel like busy work. It’s probably some local parenting group trying to make a statement about how addicted kids are to sugar these days.”

“Ooh, yeah, probably,” agrees Kristen. “That’d be a pretty savvy approach, actually. Call the church, call it evil, and bam, you’ve got a great excuse to toss your kid’s Halloween candy.”

“Yeah,” says Ben, leaning forward for another handful of candy corn. “Or to eat it all yourself.”

—

The next day, both of the boys look under the weather. Ben’s brown skin looks a bit grayer than usual, and David’s forehead is beaded with sweat, even though St. Joseph’s Parish is notoriously drafty. They’re waiting for her on a bench in the church hall, Ben slumped lightly against David’s big body,

“You guys good?” asks Kristen, setting her bag down beside David’s knee. “There a cold or something going around?”

David grimaces. “I’ve got some bad news about that candy corn.”

“Oh no,” says Kristen, her stomach dropping. “From the volunteer?”

Ben nods, pressing an arm to his own stomach. “Yep.”

“So, what?” she says, laying her palm first on David’s forehead, then Ben’s: they’re both a little damp, but not feverish. “Were you both just up snarfing candy corn all night?”

“Yeah, just about,” says David, eyes downcast. In his turtleneck and thick sweater, he looks less like a man of God and more like a New England college student trying to explain away a hangover. “I said Mass this morning, but I had Father Dement take over for me this evening. I feel awful.”

“Do we think it’s related to the case?” Kristen asks, patting both of their knees and squeezing herself in between them. “Like a sabotage attempt?”

“Nah,” says Ben, stifling a burp. “I think we just got caught in the crossfire. Wingate’s probably manufactures candy that’s sold all over the city. It’s gonna be a miserable Halloween for most of New York if we don’t figure this out.”

Kristen looks between them. “Do either of you really think you can survive a drive out to Brooklyn right now?”

David swallows hard. Ben shakes his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says, resting a hand on each of their knees. “What do you say we go back to my place and regroup there? The girls will be in school for a few more hours, so it’ll be quiet.”

David nods gratefully. “I didn’t realize until today how badly a sugar coma would mix with church incense.”

“Why do I feel like maybe this is your doing?” Ben teases weakly as Kristen helps him to his feet. Beneath his t-shirt, she can see that he’s bloated, his stomach pressing against the thin fabric. David’s sweater is too thick for her to do the same, but now she wants to know. “Like you decided we needed a day to get mommed and slipped us wacky candy corn.”

“Oh, yes,” says Kristen, hauling up David next. He’s heavier, and when she puts a hand on his middle to steady herself, she gets the answer she’s craving: his stomach, too, feels hard and round beneath his clothing. “I’ve been playing the long game, dressing up as a little old lady and dropping off holiday gift baskets for everyone at church for years just to prepare for this moment because I think you guys aren’t getting enough days off.”

“Hmm,” says David, mock-suspicious. “I never said it was a little old lady.”

“They’re volunteers at the Catholic church,” quips Ben from Kristen’s other side. “The population skews heavily toward little old ladies.”

David laughs, then winces, palming at his belly. Kristen covers his hand with her own, and even though she’d never want him or Ben to be uncomfortable, there’s something thrilling about how big he feels, how packed full. She wants desperately to hear the sounds the two of them might make about it.

“So,” she says, hooking arms with them and leading them out to the car. “How long do you think before this candy thing goes viral?”

—

David and Ben are quiet on the drive back to Kristen’s. She keeps the heat off despite the chill, opens the windows to let in the rich, therapeutic wet-leaves-and-rain scent of fall, and she even resists the urge to crank up the radio and sing along when “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” comes on.

She gets the boys set up on the couch, brings blankets and pillows, and digs up the green ginger tea she only ever pulls out when one of the girls is sick. She finds a half-empty, probably-flat bottle of ginger ale she clearly shoved to the back of the fridge months ago and forgot about and divides it among two glasses with ice, then pulls three mismatched mugs from the cabinet and pours tea. It takes two near disasters before she decides that she cannot cool-girl it up and walk out with all five cups at once.

“Need help?” calls David from the next room.

“Nope, I got it!” she yells back. “Just sit there and relax!”

She takes the ginger ale out first, then the tea. They’ve left room for her between them on the couch, and she slides in easily. “How’s that?” she asks, giving Ben’s stomach a little pat and David’s knee a squeeze. “I can get the heating pack from upstairs, too, if you want it.”

“Maybe later,” says David, wrapping an arm around Kristen as Ben starts on his tea. “I’ll just use your heat for now.”

“Mmm, fine by me.” She tucks her sock feet beneath her on the couch and gently massages his swollen belly. “You feeling any better?”

David catches a burp in his fist. “Not as nauseous. Just achy.”

She applies a bit of pressure with her hand, and David lets out a soft noise that would make her weak if she weren’t already curled on the couch. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Yeah, there you go, baby. Let it all out.”

“Hey, can I get in on this?” asks Ben, shifting his weight so he’s canted more toward Kristen.

“Of course! I have two hands.” But she turns in his direction and gives him some attention, too, rubbing his belly and helping him push out a few uncomfortable burps. “Yeah, that’s it. Does that feel better?”

Ben sighs. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I wonder how long it takes to detox from candy corn,” muses David, and then kicks out a laugh. “Another question I never asked myself until we started this job,”

“I feel dumb,” Ben grumbles into his mug. “This happens to people we assess, not to us.”

“That’s the universe putting us in our place,” says Kristen, sipping her own tea. “Just like my favorite Bible verse says: what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

David rolls his eyes. “Yes, what book is that again?”

Kristen shoots him a winning smile, all bright teeth and fluttering eyelashes. “Uh, I think it’s The Book of I Have Four Daughters Who Love to Push My Buttons.”

“Hey,” says Ben suddenly. “Does candy corn have gelatin in it?”

Kristen raises an eyebrow. “Ew. Does it?”

David fishes his glasses from some heretofore-unseen pocket and perches them on the end of his nose. “Looks like it does,” he says after a moment of googling. “And those frog gummies probably would, too, right? With that marshmallow base?”

“Yeah!” says Kristen, crowding in. “Do you think it’s related to the pork thing? What was the name? Belmonte?”

David scrolls. “Of the company, yeah. Garcia was the guy who ran the farm we visited.”

“Right, with the son who got possessed,” Ben puts in. “Gelatin’s gotta come from somewhere, and Jersey’s close enough that the Garcia farm could be a viable source. And it would explain why only some of the candies were affected. The stuff without gelatin would be totally fine.”

“Score one for the jujubes,” says Kristen, and Ben pokes her gently.

“Hey!” she teases. “I don’t know why you’re picking on my taste when David once told us he genuinely enjoys the Eucharist wafers.”

“You know how I think you could enjoy those?” says Ben, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “Drop ’em into hot oil like everyone’s doing with those rice paper circles on VidTap so they puff up and get crunchy. Little salt, little hot sauce …”

“You can’t deep-fry the Body of Christ,” David protests, laughing. “Another group of words I never thought I’d say in that order.”

“But are they the Body of Christ before they’re consecrated, though?” asks Kristen, drawing her knees up to her chin and leaning on David. “I think you can just buy them in bulk online, unblessed.”

“Let’s find out,” says Ben, opening his phone. “Oh, yeah. You can get a thousand for under twenty bucks.”

“Nooo,” moans David, dropping his head into his hands. “I thought we were here to regroup, not blaspheme.”

“We already regrouped,” says Kristen brightly, kissing his cheek. She takes Ben’s free hand and brings it into her lap. “Now it’s time for blaspheming. And if all this talk about communion wafers is making you hungry, I’m sure I can scrounge up something …”

“No!” yelp David and Ben in unison, and Kristen grins.

“Okay, okay. Just keep me posted. I wouldn’t want either of you going hungry.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry again until the weekend,” says David, leaning back on the couch and bringing his ginger ale to his lips.

Ben lets out a burp. “I dunno,” he says with a crooked smile. “I could probably be convinced a little sooner. I don’t have dinner plans tonight.”

“I’ve got chicken soup in the freezer,” says Kristen. “If I take it out now, it’ll have plenty of time to thaw. That all right?”

She ducks back into the kitchen, then gets a fresh kettle going and makes herself a little snack to eat while the water heats. When she goes out to the living room to collect mugs, Ben is bunched against David, a blanket pulled over their legs.

“Nap time?” she guesses, and they both nod. They look irresistibly cozy, and the kettle will wait, so instead she cuddles up to David’s other side and pulls the blanket over her own legs as well. Beneath the fleece, she finds David’s hands, laced over his belly, and then Ben’s, braced on David’s arm. When she dozes off, it’s to the slightly uneven rhythm of their breathing, to the warmth of their heat.

#feedist kinktober #feedist kinktober 2024 #my fic #my writing #evil tv show #kristen x david x ben #also disclaimer i was raised catholic but haven't practiced since i was a kid #so everything i know about catholicism comes from this show and penny dreadful

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