Feast Your Eyes

Oh man, I'd give my left leg and a hot dog to touch those spectacles! were the words Rudy felt forming on his tongue before pushing them through the boarding gate, waving farewell, and sending them on a one-way trip to Dubai.

No! This wasn't the time for that... and besides, he had a role to play.

Looking around, he shook his head.

"Hannah, Deborah," he spluttered, dodging a scurrying Labrador as he ran up to them with arms outstretched. His own dog remained firmly clasped in his hand. "There are phones out, you know!"

Upon his interjection, the two ladies began to look up, only to glance down but a second afterward.

Slip!

Before he could cry out "foul", a streak caught his peripheral. By reflex, Rudy re-positioned the side of his foot to stop just before the Labrador's trail sniffing face was accidentally hydraulically pumped by his foot. In his move to avoid the dog, like any prisoner to physics, he lost his balance and gasped as he realized on what trajectory he and certain parts of his were riding.

"Oh crud," Rudy gawked, either in his mind, or outloud; it was a blur, and so, apparently, was his mustard.

Like something straight out of Disney gag 101, his hot dog rocketed out of his hand, arched through the air, and splattered all across Hannah's and Deborah's wondrous, light diffusing chests. Gasps littered the foreground as his hands made sure to flail forward and with a soft kiss of skin, were heroically cushioned by none other than those very two pairs the women were exhibiting gladly, moments ago.

"Ooh." A clear, feminine snicker arose from behind. "Nice catch, girls!"

Trying to focus on something, anything but the deliciously soft, firm, ahem, chests he was being cradled by at the moment, he realized that sounded like Tania's voice; a hot, leggy brunette and one of the older of their circle, as well as being a newlywed, too, starting two months prior -- unforgettably so, because who'd forget that post-ceremony party?

Or, he thought, it could've been Phoebe. Though, however physically plausible, characteristically that was impossible. Her shell of modesty would balk at the notion and then fold into an origami. It was just hard to blot out since their voices sounded uncannily similar when excited.

Speaking of which, through the dusty recesses of his ear canal, he thought he heard one now.

"...dy?"

Oh, shoot. Was he still holding on to their breasts?!

"Crap," he pulled back as Hannah and Deborah looked at him with unreadable expressions with brows slightly raised, breasts still covered in his (former) lunch, and doing no favors for regulating attention in their smothered condition. "Sorry! I'm, I was..."

"So dead," interrputed Hannah. "Deb?"

"No one touches our breasts shamelessly and lives to tell about it," the short-haired brunette nodded and looked at Rudy, then at her fellow condiment-breasted friend with a faint slyness. The two seemed to mouth words to the other before finally buckling into a giggling fit.

Finally, Rudy watched with wide eyes as Deborah looked down at her chest. She was covered in ketchup, pickles, mustard, mayonnaise, and what looked like something he mighta coughed up mid-tumble. It was real muck. So it arrived to his puzzlement, then, when she slapped the palm of her hand against her chest, ketchup splattering everywhere. "We just had a fun idea, Rudy," she voiced with testy dryness, and began smothering the disassembled hot dog across her breasts.

Slap!

Rudy turned his head to see Hannah doing the same, shucking her straight blonde hair out of the way, grinning hazardously at the man as she pinched a wallop of mustard onto her nipples.

"Someone's going to have to clean this up," she sighed showily as Tom gave a gamely cheer from the grill, saying something to the effect of 'Show 'im', or 'Rockin', or whatever, followed soon by the seemingly lighthearted jeers of the other swimsuit-clad guys and girls lounging at their studiously picked out spot.

Rudy chuckled nervously as he pressed his inner leg silently against his hardening member.