Work Text:
Nick and Charlie are not here. From what we know from Sarah, they’re not with each other either. It’s weird.
I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around. Children behave, we say. Except Sarah. And Mark. And Mike. And Irving? She’s a grown ass woman. With needs.
Go on, Sarah! Get you some. No fallow fields here. They need to be plowed and fertilized.
Speaking of handling, Sarah likes to talk while she milks us. She's filled us in on the goss about Nick. He’s with Danny (sigh, so so jelly, we’re ready for his jelly cause his body’s so bootylicious for us, babe) and James (we bet he’s looking hot, smelling good, grooving like Danny’s under his hood). Over our horns, we blow them a kiss, we can handle, handle this.
Sarah also likes to talk a lot when she’s milking something else. How do we know?
She invited Mike over for a lovely afternoon. They walked the fields, had some tea, spilled some tea, and then she showed him the drums. He was almost inconsolable. Almost. She consoled him behind the drumset. We think it was good.
“OHDEARMIKEYESRIGHTHERELIKEACHERUB! BANGAGONGGETITON! GET! IT! ON! SUCHADEARTOMEGOODMAN! OHHEAVENSIMCOMINGHOME! OHSWEETMYSTERYOFLIFE!!”
That’s good, moo? We don’t speak humans at peak screaming, but we get noises. And, my bull, she was quick. Nick’s plums didn’t fall far from Sarah’s tree. Or his tree… we like them plums. And peaches. So cheeky, we are. And horny!
Soz, we’re a bit tipsy on Mootinis. We like them dirty. Like we like our Sarah. Queen! Slay! Moo!