Vigor Mortis: A Positively Filthy Lily & Tom Sexcapade
Esmerelda isn't the only one having fun in Lake Nipples...
Lily never expected to be spending her wedding night in the morgue, but here she was at 3 a.m., her flimsy lab coat wrapped around her bare shoulders for warmth, filling out end-of-life paperwork for the man she’d loved like a father — Burt Poppingcorn. Sure, she wasn’t on call that night and hadn’t personally examined the body, but she’d been doing her actual father’s paperwork since she was a teenager, and that arrangement wasn’t going to stop just because she’d graduated from medical school.
“Ready to go home yet, doctor?”
She looked up to see Tom in the doorway; his tie undone, his tuxedo jacket draped over his right arm like a birthday party magician. She smiled sadly.
“I’m so sorry, Tom. I didn’t want our wedding night to end like this.”
“Why are you apologizing to me? It wasn’t my best friend’s father that went insane and fell out of a helicopter. I’m the one that should be taking care of you.”
“I’ll be done soon,” she said. “I’m doing my best to write up this death certificate, but my brain is so broken I can barely put together sentences.”
“Well, you’ve been through a lot today, and you’re exhausted. And I’m going to take a wild guess… you forgot to eat at the wedding, didn’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“You always forget to eat when you’re busy. That’s why you’re a total bitch when you come home from work.”
Lily smirked. Being a hotshot hospital doctor was a very stressful job, and Lily considered herself to be a strong, independent woman who didn’t take shit from anyone, especially when she was hungry.
“You sure know how to sweet talk a gal, don’t you?”
“What? You know I like it when you’re a bitch. It gives me a reason to put you in your place.”
“Is that so?” she responded, her eyes lighting up.
“Let me ask you a question, Dr. Lilian Tootie Tashman-Muffins — what would you do for a gourmet, three-course meal right now?”
“Anything you asked me to.”
He dramatically whipped the tuxedo jacket off his arm.
“Compliments of the Mac Muffins Memorial Hospital cafeteria, madame.”
“Ooh la la,” cooed Lily. “What’s on the menu, monsieur?”
“I’m going to make you guess,” said Tom as he turned down the morgue’s fluorescent lights, leaving them flickering and buzzing like angry wasps; snapping pops of dying light ricocheted off the stainless steel surfaces like a disco ball. They illuminated the morgue just enough that she could barely make out his silhouette in the doorway, but otherwise it was too dark to see much else. She heard him moving towards her; she slipped off her lab coat and dropped her clipboard full of paperwork onto the floor.
“Fucking in the morgue?” Lily purred. “We haven’t done this since our first date.”
“Kinda poetic, isn’t it?” Tom replied, slinking ever closer with the tray deftly balanced on his arm like a man who’s only waiting tables till his modeling career takes off. “I certainly didn’t think we’d end up here on our wedding night, but I think we can make the most of it.”
He set the compostable dinner tray on the metal slab next to them and grabbed her hips, leaning in as if to kiss her, but stopping just before he reached her mouth.
“How hungry are you?”