Chương 56: B2, Chapter 10: A Spectacularly Innocent Ice Cream-Making Adventure

I'd made ice cream a few times when I was growing up. My family didn't have the money to buy an ice cream maker. Not even one of those cheap ones that barely worked and broke after the second use. But I had friends, and we'd made it in school a couple of times, too. The basics had to be locked away in my brain somewhere. Plus, I was pretty sure we had everything we needed. Cream, sugar, egg yolk, flavor. Maybe some milk, too. Turn it into some kind of custard, then slowly freeze it while turning.

And yet, despite that overwhelming encyclopedia of knowledge and expertise, I had no idea where to start. All the ingredients sat in front of us on the kitchen counter. A small bed of embers still burned in the stove, keeping the hob warm.

"If it's a custard, then we're supposed to cook it first, right?" Wynnie looked at me for approval.

"You can't make custard with raw eggs. They won't set right."

"Unless the sugar cooks the yolks," I pointed out.

"Sugar can't cook yolks," Shivai said.

"In a way, it can. It denatures the protein, and the effect is essentially the same as cooking, although you don't kill any bacteria that way. We'd still be at risk of foodborne illnesses, like salmonella." Both of the girls looked at me pleadingly. Neither of them said a word about salmonella. It was obviously another one of those Earth knowledge things they would have to trust me on. Contextually, it was obvious that it wasn't a good thing. I knew how they felt about what I'd just said.

Of course, Shivai wasn't going to let the idea go unchallenged.

"Please, can we please not serve people raw, frozen eggs?"

"Please," added Wynnie.

"Yeah, of course. I'd rather err on the side of food safety on this one, anyway."

"I don't even care if it's safe. That's just weird," Shivai grumbled.

"Cold cream sounds nice. Cold eggs are just gross." I offer my best, most agreeable nod in return. She wasn't wrong, and we had more important issues to tackle.

"So, cooked egg in the custard, then. Now, all we have to do is figure out the ratios." In short order, I put the three of us to work. We each took a large mixing bowl and added different ratios of our ingredients. Wynnie got the most eggs. She kept murmuring about how much she liked a thick, heavy custard, and so the extra yolks would be just perfect. I went for what I thought was a more modest amount. Shivai could barely be convinced to add a single yolk at all.

Not only that, but she insisted on using more milk than cream, because too much rich fat made her feel sinful. She didn't see the irony in that. Either way, that was fine with me. It wasn't like there was one single ice cream recipe to rule them all, anyway. And if we accidentally created gelato instead of ice cream, I wasn't sure anyone would complain about that. The thin, tinny sound of whisks slapping against metal bowls filled the kitchen. Wynnie punctuated her exuberant technique with quiet grunts of exertion.

Beads of perspiration stuck her flyaway hairs to her forehead. Shivai stuck her tongue out and bit down, concentrating on her task with fierce determination. Meanwhile, I just tried to ignore the burn flaring up in my forearm. I was giving myself quite the workout. Finally, we crowded around the hob, trying to manage all our saucepans simultaneously. If I'd thought it through better, we would've taken turns. Yet something about the activity made it feel more familiar, like a fun group arts-and-crafts project.

If the product was worse for how we clamored around a single stove, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that we had fun and gave it our all. I know. Cheesy. But I was always happiest surrounded by people I cared about, all working toward a shared goal.

"You have to keep whisking while it simmers!" Wynnie chided Shivai.

"If you just let it sit, it'll get chunky and gross."

"But my wrists are tired!"

"That's because you have such skinny little arms! There's no meat on them bones!"

"Yeah, well, we can't all be big, curvy girls with wide, baby-making hips like you, can we? I'm trying my best here!" I glanced at Wynnie, checking to see how Shivai's best-defense-is-a-good-offense report landed. The elf winced lightly at the mention of her size. I knew she was sensitive about it. And even though I reminded her often that she was absolutely stunning just as she was, that didn't mean she always felt the same. Shivai should've known better.

I was about to say something in Wynnie's defense, but the demonkin continued.

"I mean, how is it possible that an elf has bigger titties than a succubus? Your whole body is like, whoa." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Wynnie shook her head, her brow rising quizzically.

"What do you mean, like whoa?"

"I mean, look at you! You're all curves. I bet you could suffocate a gal between your thighs. Or a guy," she added, glancing at me.

"And that butt? It's like… it's like… a badonkadonk."

"A what!?" Wynnie didn't get it, but I burst out laughing. Had I used that term around Shivai? Or was that another one of those words that somehow transcended worlds? The plump elven innkeeper tried to look at her buttocks. She spun like a dog chasing its tail. Thick custard dripped down her whisk as she held it aloft. The faint yellow coated her fingers in sticky goo, and she let out a frustrated growl as she switched hands and licked the custard off her digits. She sucked in a sharp, excited breath.

"Oh, wow. This is really tasty!"

"It is? Let me try!" Shivai blurted. She shoved past me in a rush of purple energy, crowding against Wynnie and her place at the stove.

"Let me lick it! Let me try it!" Wynnie guarded her saucepan with her unblemished hand. Fresh drips of custard dribbled down the other.

"Stay away from my saucepan! Why don't you try your own?"

"Aww, come on! Just a little taste." Shivai's tail stood upright behind her, swishing back and forth chaotically. It slapped into me a couple of times, an ungainly, frantic thing with a mind of its own. Then, just as she had with the cocktails before, she moved faster than my eyes could register. Her hand lashed out, grabbing Wynnie's wrist tightly. Shivai brought the elf's hand to her face. The succubus's dark, forked tongue lapped delicately at Wynnie's sticky fingers.

"Oh. Ohhh. That's. That's not what I… mmm." Wynnie's eyes rolled back in her head, then closed.

"I guess that's one way to, uh. Um." Wynnie's observation died on her lips as Shivai stuck the elf's middle and index fingers into her mouth and sucked. For a few seconds, I just watched, dumbfounded. Was I supposed to say something? Was I supposed to stop this? And more importantly, did I even want to? I stared at my simmering custard absentmindedly as I watched the spectacle. Wynnie's fingers had completely disappeared into Shivai's mouth.

Full, dark purple lips sucked lovingly, cleaning the outsides, while her tongue licked between the split. Wynnie'd been rendered suddenly speechless, forgetting to be flustered. The succubus simply appeared to be absorbed in the moment. A rush of intensity gathered below my belt. I had front row seats, and whatever I was watching was fucking hot.

"Sh… Shivai? What are you doing?" Wynnie finally managed. With a wet, sticky pop, her fingers exited Shivai's mouth. The succubus blinked several times, looking around at the situation as though she'd only just realized where she was and what she was doing. Yet while the rest of her had frozen, her tongue didn't get the memo. It wiped at the rim of her full lips, clearing away any last evidence of remaining custard.

"Huh?"

"You put my fingers in your mouth."

"Um, whoops. This is awkward," said Shivai. She backed away quickly, picking up her whisk again and returning with renewed vigor to her simmering custard. It was as though she were trying to make up for lost time and act super natural at the same time. After a few awkward seconds, she glanced sheepishly at Wynnie.

"I just… it looked really, uh." And then, in an exceptionally tiny and apologetic voice, she finished, "I just wanted a taste." Shivai stopped moving her whisk again. The girls' custards bubbled away, filling the silence with a steady, quiet simmer. The curious tension in the room grew as thick as our food creations. I removed our custards from the heat and gave them all a final stir. Then I cleared my throat.

"Well? How did it taste?"

"It was divine," Shivai said.

"It felt really nice, actually," Wynnie said at the same time. She blushed, letting her constellation of brown freckles disappear into a rosy heat. The girls looked at each other, letting something unspoken grow between them. I almost wanted to excuse myself. For the briefest fraction of a second, I felt like a third wheel. But before that thought could grow, Wynnie's free hand slipped into mine, and she squeezed.

"So, what do we do next? Just freeze this solid, or what?"

"I'm pretty sure we have to churn it while you slowly cool it to freezing."

"Churn it?"

"Yeah. I, uh, don't really know how that works, actually. It has to keep moving while we add in air."

"Like a snowy cloud?" Shivai looked around the kitchen for I-didn't-know-what.

"Maybe we could blow bubbles into it with a straw!" Wynnie pursed her lips.

"You know, this dessert is starting to sound really weird."

"No, it's really good, I promise. But we definitely need to churn it. Otherwise, ice crystals form, and it gets all hard and weird. We want it to be smooth," I explained. There had to be something we could use to keep it moving and aerated at the same time.

"I think we'd want to use a whisk. Or a slotted spoon."

"Oh no. Not again. My forearms are killing me!" complained Shivai. Wynnie swatted at her and blew a raspberry.

"Pshaw! Just think of it as practice." Shivai cocked her head.

"Practice."

"Yep, practice. I think you already know what to do with your tongue, but your arm could use some stamina." Wynnie winked at me. Shivai looked up at me hopefully. So, practice, then. Wynnie was already starting to make some things pretty clear. Yet the little trick Shivai pulled with her tongue seemed to have unlocked something in the elf that was already barely restrained. The heated, embarrassed way she kept stealing glances at the short succubus made it clear that something was changing between us.

Not long ago, Wynnie had asked me not to rush into anything. Now, I wondered if she thought I was taking too long. The saucepans of custard steamed slightly as they cooled. A thin skin formed around the top of one, warning me not to wait too long to work with the mixture. I really, really didn't want to break whatever spell was binding Wynnie and Shivai together. But duty—and confections—called.

"Might as well start that practice now," I said, getting their attention.

"Here? Now?" Shivai trembled, nervous but excited. She looked at Wynnie for permission.

"C–can I?"

"I think he means churning the ice cream."

"I did."

"Oh. Shit. I mean… yayyyy." The demonkin's smile faltered, and her half-hearted attempt at sustaining her excitement wouldn't fool a barbarian using wisdom as their stat dump. She wore her heart on her sleeve like a mark of shame. Yet her earnest, always-honest reactions were refreshing. I didn't want to date a girl with an expert poker face. I wanted whatever messy, honest, gut reactions came. A person's heart was always so much more compelling before their self-consciousness managed to hide it.

Whether Wynnie felt the same, I couldn't tell. Her attention had already shifted back to the custards.

"I'm ready to freeze. Who wants to whisk first?" It was barely after noon. If we moved fast, we could probably try to sell some before service started. It was worth a shot. Shivai chewed her lip. I rubbed her shoulder, and she collapsed against me like a cat asking for attention.

"What do I get if I churn this custard good for you?"

"Ice cream. You get to try ice cream." I couldn't wait to introduce her to one of Earth's best creations.