Bag Boy

Word Count: 4518

Rating: M

Pairing: ExB

Summary: Twentysomething hairdresser Bella Swan just can't seem to get a date. What happens when she starts ogling the teenage bag boy at the local Thriftway? Is it desperation, or fate? Humor/lemons/icecream. o/s


"Umm, paper or plastic?" he asked, voice breaking slightly as he ogled my chest.

He was too cute. Messy copper-colored hair, piercing green eyes, and the most boyish grin I had ever seen.

"I'll take it any way I can get it—just double-bag it so it doesn't get messy and drip," I said as he packed the ice-cream neatly into my cart. Jesus, how much innuendo can I throw into one sentence? It must be a gift.

His face illuminated with a scarlet blush, and I knew he had noticed my Freudian slip. Hopefully, this guy would be fantasizing about my Cookies and Cream when he got home tonight.

I mentally slapped myself for being such a perv. I was twenty-five, and he couldn't be a day over 18. Hell, he was working as a bag boy, for god sakes. If he were in college, he'd have a classier summer job—like making lattes at a bookstore.

"Thanks," I purred, handed the cashier my money, and walked out of the store. I made sure to lean over my cart as I walked past him, giving him a nice shot of my micro yoga shorts.

As I packed the groceries into my car, I continued to berate myself for my childish behavior. What was I, some horny teenager? Not too far off. I got plenty of action in college—hell, I was in a sorority, but once you're in the real world, getting a piece didn't come as easy.

Bars sucked. The men there were even worse than frat-boys. Even when I went to just have fun with my girls, Angela and Jessica, I still couldn't keep the leeches off me. They were like vampires who sucked the sex-drive right out of me. I didn't want anything to do with them.

And in my line of work, you just don't meet men. Well, straight men, at least. I was a hairdresser, and while I had plenty of my clients just begging me to meet their sons, I just couldn't mix work and pleasure that way. I mean, what if I went and banged a client's son and then didn't call him back—I'd lose a customer. And gain a reputation.

So what was a girl to do?

Apparently, ogle bag-boys at Thriftway. Ugh, what had my life become?

"Miss, you forgot your wallet," a voice called out behind me.

BAG BOY!

He followed me out! I refrained from picking my wedge and spun around to see him.

He loped toward me with the grace of a gazelle and the slow-mo effect of a teen heartthrob. I felt like swooning as he handed me my wallet.

"Thank you," I breathed, wanting to say more. Like, hop in my car and we'll eat this ice cream together off each other's crotches.

Classy, Swan, classy.

"You're welcome," he said sheepishly. "You wouldn't want someone stealing your identity. That's worse than if someone just stole your money or used your atm card." He looked like he had said something stupid, and was berating himself for the non-sequiteur.

I nodded, wanting to extend the conversation more. "I know, they could like, use my credit cards to buy kiddie porn or something," I said, realizing that I should have taken some Immodium for my verbal diarrhea.

Oh my god, I was talking to this guy about illegal pornography. Way to keep your cards close to you, Bella.

"That would be bad," he agreed, not seeming to notice the strange turn our conversation had taken.

"How old are you?" I blurted, not realizing that we were just talking about kiddie porn and now I'm ogling this young boy and asking if he's of legal age…

This time I actually smacked myself in the head. My wrist took control when it realized my brain was clearly not functioning right. Ouch.

He laughed, and replied, "Eighteen as of Saturday," he said proudly. Good, he was TWO days older than eighteen.

I smiled nervously and wished him a happy belated birthday. He did a little goodbye-wave and walked back into the store.

In the time it took me to get back to my apartment, I had used every combination of cuss-words I could think of, peppering myself with insults. I noted that I should try using the term "shitty shitty douche fuck" more often, but then realized it sounded too much like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and that reminded me of my recent kiddie porn discussion disaster with the cutest guy I've seen in ages.

I was a glutton for punishment, I realized as I wheeled my cart through the aisles. I was just here yesterday, what the hell would I be doing back again? He would totally know I was stalking him.

"You didn't get that ice cream all over yourself, did you?" a voice from behind me asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "I mean, I thought I double-bagged it. Was it tight enough for you?" the cute bag-boy asked, raking his hands through his messy bronze mop.

"Oh, no, that shit was tight," I said, and scrunched up my face in horror. "I mean, you do a great job. I just realized that I need something to put on my ice cream. It's naked." I pointed to the hot fudge.

Tight. Naked. I was the queen of absurd word choice.

He grabbed a bottle of Magic Shell Caramel and smiled. "Have you ever had this?" he asked, enthusiastically.

I shook my head, no. Less words equal less embarrassment in front of Green Eyes, here.

"It's awesome," he said, voice rapt. "You pour it over ice-cream and it hardens, all crispy."

I looked at it puzzled, and shook the bottle. "How does that work? It's liquid," I said, and then did something stupid. I unscrewed the cap and poured a little on my finger. "See?" I asked lamely.

He raised his eyebrows, clearly astounded that I had technically just stolen from the store. I licked my finger to taste the caramel, and soften the blow of my infraction.

But apparently I didn't soften anything. I noticed his apron starting to stick up, and he quickly grabbed a box of ice-cream to distract me.

"Well, since we opened that," he said quickly, "we may as well try it on this." He cracked open the Brownie Coffee Obsession and poured a little of the magic shell on it. I was thoroughly distracted by his boner, but I pretended to enjoy watching the sauce solidify.

"Wow!" I shouted. "It got so hard so fast!"

SHITTY SHITTY DOUCHE FUCK! He must think I was talking about—

"I know, taste," he said, scooping a little dab of ice cream and the caramel shell onto his pointer and holding it to my mouth.

Oh sweet Jesus, I was going to have part of him in my mouth. I swallowed the impending drool and took his whole finger in.

Go big or go home, right?

I grabbed his hand and pulled it out, slowly, making a primal sound in the back of my throat. What? I loved anything brownie-related.

"Uhh," he said, trying to form a coherent sentence. "I know you don't need more ice cream, so I can buy this one, since we defiled it." Once again, he got that self-deprecating look on his face and I tried to soothe his self-inflicted wound.

"Only if you eat it with me," I said boldly.

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed at myself for thinking the word cocked. "Here? Want to eat it in the breakroom?" he asked. "I did just have lunch, but, whatever."

He did seem eager to spend more time with me, so I steeled my courage and officially asked him out.

"When do you get off?" I asked, once again realizing the weight of my words after they come out of my mouth.

His eyes widened again.

"Off work? Like, maybe we could have some ice-cream tonight, since we both seem to like ice cream and eating it?" I said, sounding like I had just learned the English language and was not yet proficient.

He drew a long breath. "Seven. I get off at seven, every day. I'll bring toppers."

I looked at him quizzically.

"Like, things you put on top of the ice cream. Like what you licked today—liked today. Ugh," he groaned. "I'm such an idiot."

I took the ice cream from his hands and looked him straight in his green eyes. "You're not an idiot. If anyone has said anything stupid today—or yesterday for that matter—it was me. Now, I'd love for you to top my dessert. You seem like a topping expert."

Wait..what? Yup, did it again.

We both laughed, mortified, and exchanged numbers and info. You know, like our names, since we hadn't even mentioned them yet.

His name was Edward, which was hot in an old-timey kind of way.

Holy fudgesicles, I had a date.

Now, the real question is, will there be a cherry on top?

How to do my hair, I wondered. You'd think hairdressers would have it easy, right? We can do anything we want to our hair, and with skill, too.

Wrong.

Problem is I've done so much with my hair that I'm just bored to tears with it. Colored streaks, short-retro bangs, even a super modern wedge—you name it, I've done it. But now, it's been on the grow for a while, and I just don't know what to do with it.

So, I blow it straight, use my flat-iron, and throw in a cute headband. Hmm, not bad. Plus, the headband will keep the hair out of my face when I'm blowing the bag boy.

Oops, did I say that?

I mean, it will keep the ice cream out of my hair.

When I'm smearing it on his stomach.

Damn, cool off, Bella.

And just as I put the finishing touches on my mascara, and a little perfume between my boobs, I heard the doorbell.

Eep! I checked to make sure I didn't have any embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions, and strode to the door, doing my sex-walk.

Wait, why waste it, he couldn't see me doing it. Ok, stash the sex-walk until he comes in. Right.

I opened the door and lo and behold, there was that gorgeous creature. Holding at least two full bags of groceries.

My eyes popped open, "Hi Edward," I said, "you didn't have to bring the entire store, you know."

He laughed bashfully, and came inside (me. J/k). "I didn't know what you'd like, so I brought one of everything. I guess we'll have a smorgasbord," he suggested.

I helped him with the bags and escorted him into my small kitchen. I rented the bottom floor of a big old Victorian house. The woman who lived upstairs, Vera, was the sweetest little lady you'd ever meet. She's quiet, and never cared if I blasted music or masturbated loudly to gay porn. Great landlady.

"Hungry?" I asked Edward, trying to make conversation without jumping his newly-legal bones just yet.

He eyed me, drew a long breath, and answered. "Hell yes." Unf, there goes my plan of keeping cool for a while.

"Let's put together our little ice-cream sundae bar, shall we?" I suggested, and grabbed a bunch of little bowls from the cabinet. Edward began taking the items out of the bags and arranging them into sauces and toppings.

We had quite the spread.

Our two ice-cream flavors were cookies and cream and the coffee brownie one I licked from his finger earlier. I got tingly and wished we got mint.

You know what that stuff does, don't deny it.

As for sauces, Edward picked up marshmallow, caramel magic shell, and…

…be still my aching heart…

…Nutella.

Do you think he'd mind if I proposed? We could run away to Vegas tonight, I think.

He caught me eyeballing the Nutella. "Good stuff, right?" he asked, nearly begging for my approval.

"Better than good," I half-whispered, and began separating the sprinkle-ables.

There were rainbow and chocolate jimmies, gummy bears, flaked coconut, and three different kind of nuts. "You look like a nut-lover," he said, then clasped his hand over his mouth in horror.

"I am! I am!" I reassured him, adding "I'm glad you got pre-crushed ones, because I hate having to bust them."

OH god.

At this point, Edward relished the fact that we both had tremendously bad diction, and he just gave me a pat on the hand and stifled a grin as he grabbed the bowls.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with me as we began to scoop ice-cream. He felt so warm brushing up against my side, and even though his arms were only touching my elbows, I could tell how toned he was.

Plus, his shirt was a little tight around the shoulder and chest area. MMM. He was wearing a short-sleeve green crew-neck and dark jeans. It should be illegal to look this good and not fuck me.

"So, how do you like it?" I asked, arranging my sundae with one scoop of each flavor, some marshmallow, Nutella, and nuts.

"I'll take it any way I can get it," he said, mirroring my words from yesterday. I blushed, and he kept his eyes on me as he spooned all three sauces onto his ice cream slowly. I gulped.

At this point, I was nearly panting. How was I going to proceed? Flat-out seduction or just casual conversation and then accidentally touch his piece?

"Let's sit," I said, and pulled the chairs out from the granite island. The smorgasbord was situated at one end, and we were at the other.

"Try mine first," he said, and spooned some of his sundae in my mouth.

I moaned, and complimented his extraordinary topping skills.

"How about I taste yours?" he suggested, and I grabbed my spoon and planned to give him a masterful bite. I swirled it around in all the different goodies, completely consumed in planning a good bite.

Too bad I didn't know what was happening on his end.

I raised the spoon quickly—too quickly—to his mouth—

-as he was sneezing.

"CHOO!" he exploded as my spoon collided with his nostrils.

It happened too fast to duck.

My perfect bite had been blown to bits by his forceful sneeze, ricocheting off both our faces violently.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" I shouted as he clasped his hand to his nose. Apparently the tip of the spoon had raped one of his nose-holes and he had started to bleed.

I grabbed a towel, wet it, and wiped off my face before gingerly wiping the sticky ice-cream remnants from his face as he pinched his nose.

"Thanks," he said, taking the towel and finishing the job.

I buried my face in my hands and stared glumly at my sundae, waiting for him to tell me he was leaving.

"Wow, ice cream tastes so much better when taken nasally," he said, using his finger to tip my chin upwards.

He was smiling.

"I'm such an ass," I mumbled.

He urged my chin closer, and I felt his warm breath on my face. "Let's try that taste again," he said, loading up his spoon and feeding me a second bite.

It was heaven.

This time, I made sure to look into his eyes, and bring my spoon to his mouth ever-so-slowly. "Mmm," he said. "You make a mean sundae." The smile was back, and this time it was so broad I could see a small dimple in his left cheek.

I wrinkled my brow as I realized that he hadn't brought something. "Where's the cherry on top?" I asked, perplexed that he could have forgotten something so elementary to a smorgasbord.

He blushed. I mean, fuchsia-blushed. "Ahh, well, I guess that would be me," he said, and planted a hesitant kiss on my lips.

My breath caught in my throat as I tried to rationalize what he was saying… and doing.

"Um, yeah, I know that's absurdly forward, but," he said, stumbling over each word to get to the next. "You're so hot, and I don't want to go to college a virgin, and I've never come close to having a girlfriend, and—"

I grabbed the fuckhot bag boy by his rumpled red hair and kissed him furiously. My tongue ran along his lips until they parted for me, ready for whatever it was he wanted to learn from me. I tasted vanilla, caramel, and an inexplicable flavor that must be just Edward.

"Delicious," I muttered, pulling away slightly.

"Look, I know what I said must make me sound weird and desperate and ridiculous, but, I don't know. I'm not usually like this," he said, looking down.

Now it was my turn to tilt his head up. I looked him squarely in the eyes. "No explaining. Just you," I panted, "me," I continued, grabbing some marshmallow on my finger, "and this dessert. Got it?" I asked, placing my finger at his lips, waiting for him to take his cue and suck.

And man, did he suck.

No, like in a good way. Really good way.

He took my hand in his, and slipped my finger past his lips slowly. His tongue lapped up the sticky topping and swirled around my finger. God I wished I had nipples on my hands, I thought. He pulled my finger out just as slowly, and pinned me to the granite countertop.

"I'm glad we have so much variety," he said. "I want to use all of these on you." He was leaning over me, sweet breath in my face, and I felt him grind up against my hips, ready to play.

I grinned and, of course, grabbed the Nutella. "We start with this," I said, and spread a thin layer of the chocolate-hazelnut heaven down his long, sinewy neck. I took a long, warm lick, savoring the smell of his aftershave mixed with the fudge.

He made a soft moan, and I could tell that even something as minor as clothes-on foreplay was new to him. This, I decided, is going to be fun.

"Your turn," I said into his ear, and he pressed himself against me suggestively. I bit my lip in anticipation.

He lifted my top off, getting right to the good stuff. This boy was a quick learner. Oh hell, he's a new high-school grad, of course he wanted to get my shirt off fast.

He drew a long line of marshmallow across the tops of my breasts, dipping his finger back in the jar several times to make sure he had an unbroken stripe. "So thorough," I said, admiring his work, and pushed his head down to lap it up.

He resisted, raised his eyebrows, and said "Not yet."

Edward then proceeded to press some of the rainbow sprinkles into it. I laughed. It was cute.

"I have an idea," he said, scooping me off the floor and into his arms.

"I have lots of ideas right now," I said, nibbling on his ear. He shuddered, and sprawled me across the long granite island.

"I'm going to make you into an edible work of art," he mused, fussing with the fastens on my bra.

I helped him unclasp it. "Sounds like fun," I said, and he slid the pink lace off my chest without disturbing a single sprinkle. Masterful.

If he was ogling my breasts yesterday at the store, he was virtually memorizing them right now. I didn't mind, in fact, I arched my back the way they do in pinup posters just so he could get the best angle. "Like what you see?" I asked.

His face was stern, concentrating. "I'll like it more once you're covered in chocolate," he said, voice husky, as he jammed two long fingers into the Nutella.

"Fuck," I breathed, as he began to paint me. He swirled the thick chocolate over my nipples, careful to be symmetrical. Wouldn't want one choco-nip bigger than the other, right?

The spread felt so satiny, and his fingers moved so skillfully, I threw my head back in ecstasy. "Are you sure you're an eighteen-year-old virgin?" I asked. Clearly, this boy had put these skills to use.

He licked his fingers slowly, and said, "Yup." Then, he grabbed the caramel sauce and literally poured it down my stomach. I gasped at the sensation.

"But you're so confident," I panted, "and you really seem to know what you're doing," I said as me rubbed the caramel across my tummy and onto my hips.

He leaned towards my face, and brushed my hair aside. "I have a lot of pent up desire," he said, velvet voice licking my ears, "and a great imagination," he added with a smile.

And began to lick.

He started with the caramel, which I sort of wanted to protest against, since it made my stomach look more tan and fit, like I was wearing old-school tanning oil. Then, as his tongue swirled around my navel, I decided that any sort of protest would be flat-out stupid.

My body shuddered as he devoured me. His tongue was so thorough, sucking every last drop of chocolate from my breasts, and using his teeth to softly scrape all the little rainbow bits from my cleavage. I gripped the cold counter, wanting to come just from that sensation alone.

He seemed to read my mind. "Not yet," he said again, finishing the last section of sauce. He scooted the half-softened cartons of ice-cream towards us and fidgeted with the waistband of my panties.

"I hope you don't mind the cold," he said, pumping the spoon in and out of the cookies and cream.

My mouth couldn't form an answer, so I just pulled off his shirt. My hips involuntarily lifted from the granite, desperate to get closer to him, and he slid down the tiny thong with a satisfied smirk.

"Good," he said, all traces of his former awkwardness gone.

Some people are savants, I decided. You could meet the most socially bone-headed guy, and he's a math whiz. You could end up friends with a girl who may say the most inappropriate things in public, but she's a bargain-hunting genius.

I decided that despite Edward's knack for saying the wrong thing, like me, he was a sexpert without even trying.

A virgin sex-god—is that possible?

"Get ready," he said playfully, and dragged the ice cream-laden spoon right between my legs, leaving a cool buttery trail.

I gasped at the sensation, and it began to melt quickly down my thighs. "Let me take care of this," he said, and promptly lowered his head down onto the sticky path.

He was an organized licker; I had to hand it to them. He got the drizzles first, cleaning off my thighs before headed to the main course. My body twitched with desire—I needed him desperately. He spread my thighs boldly and I felt the ice cream trickle in, teasing me with its freezing cold goodness. And then came the heat.

Edward dove in, burying himself between my legs. He wasn't shy about it. He licked and lapped and used his fingers to get every last drop of sweetness, whether it was the ice cream, or pure me. He let out a muffled moan, looking me in the eyes as I wrapped my legs around his shoulders and came, shouting his name. He gripped my thighs as they trembled against his ears, and then pulled himself upward, licking his lips seductively.

I lay there, legs sprawled, panting, and sticky. But I desperately needed more. "Now, give me that cherry," I demanded, nearly growling.

He crawled on top of me like a predator, and I snatched his pants downward viciously. It's unfortunate that my counter is so narrow, because this effort caused us both to crash onto my floor.

Mutual "ooofs" sprung from our mouths, but the fall did absolutely nothing to hinder our momentum. In fact, it urged us on, so we could soothe our now-sore bodies with each other's skin. The impact had knocked his jeans all the way to his ankles, and he kicked them off fast, but not before fishing a condom from the pockets.

"Always this prepared, Edward?" I asked teasingly.

He was naked now, and perched over me seductively. "I told you, I knew what I wanted tonight," he said, breathing deep and kissing me one more time before situating himself between my legs.

"How do you want it?" he asked, mocking our earlier conversation once more.

I didn't answer, I just sat up slightly, wrapped my arms around his muscular torso, and pulled him down to me, desperately.

He took the hint, and pushed inside me.

He is a big boy, I realized. I thought he was all the way in once or twice, but then he just kept going. His expression was priceless—absolute awe. He looked down at me like I was some sort of goddess or princess, not some sticky hairdresser who picked him up from the grocery store, like some sort of perv from To Catch a Predator who preyed on teenage boys.

His eyes told me he was in heaven, but his body was sinning something awful. God, was he good. His thrusts were measured and had just enough push without feeling frantic or possessive. The way he ground his hips to mine at the end of every pump had me soaring towards orgasm faster than I ever thought possible. The way he clutched my face and dipped his tongue into my mouth as he slid in and out of me spoke of years of lovemaking, not someone's clumsy first time.

Like I said, he was a sexual savant.

"Bella," he moaned, nuzzling his face into my collarbone. My name rolling off his sweet lips did the trick, and within seconds, I was trembling with orgasm. My legs clenched and squeezed him deeper inside me as he came along with me. "Fuck, Bella," he cried, and collapsed on my sticky chest.

He rolled off me and smiled that one-dimpled smile again. He stroked my hair and blushed. I wondered how all the blood got back to his face so fast.

"Thank you," he said shyly, sincerely. I ran my hands down his sweaty chest, and back up to his blissed-out face.

I didn't know how to answer. Did I say, no problem, anytime? Did I try to make plans to see him again? Did I grab the second tub of ice cream and smear it all over him?

I decided I'd just re-visit one of our new private jokes. "Tight enough for you?" I asked, and we laughed raucously in each other's sticky-sweet embrace.