The Halloween party was in full swing, the music raucous and the costumes wild and exotic. Halloween parties in Salem, Massachusetts, were always an event.
Orange-and-black streamers twirled from the ceiling to the back-draped walls, Jack O’Lanterns flickering around the room.
The buffet table was a sensory delight, especially to Clark’s super-senses.
He was appreciative of the roast meats and fresh vegetables: turkey, chicken, and beef; steamed broccoli, carrots, corn, and tomatoes. There were baked potatoes with chives and crinkly, spicy French fries, pickles and relishes and apple chutney.
And the sweets!
His mouth watered for cinnamon-dusted apple and pumpkin pies, cranberry bread, and pumpkin muffins.
Clark picked up a muffin. He breathed in the sparkly scent of pumpkins and cinnamon, appreciating the shape and color, the muffin full but light in his hand. He took a bite, the rich, spicy flavor crystallizing on his tongue, the sprinkle of cinnamon sweet and luscious. He closed his eyes in orgasmic delight.
“Appears you approve of the pumpkin muffins, Cap.”
Clark smiled as he swallowed. He opened his eyes.
“Appears I do, Iron Man.”
He didn’t need X-ray vision to know that Bruce was smirking under the scarlet-and-gold mask.
“Great party,” Clark said.
Clark smirked this time. “Delicious.”
Bruce picked up a muffin. “Enticing.”
Clark bit into his muffin again. “Yummy.”
Bruce laughed, lifting his faceplate, taking a bite.
Bruce savored his muffin. “Nice texture.” He swallowed.
“Exceptional.” Clark sighed in gustatory satisfaction. “Right, Pumpkin?”
Bruce’s eyes glittered. “Right, Muffin.”
& & & & & &
He tasted sweet, salty, and spicy.
He tasted Bruce.
Even yummier than a pumpkin muffin.