Work Text:
Pure Vanilla disliked the Fount’s writings. A little strong, no? A little harsh? Perhaps. There was a good reason for this thought, of course. As always, the medium had good reason for his way of thinking at all times. Or something along those lines.
Combing through the library had long become his favorite pastime in the Spire. Now that he had full access to it—that he knew the Fount’s secret—No, Shadow Milk’s secret—he knew all was well. He had received non-verbal permission to peruse as he pleased—and pleased he was. Until now. Or, rather, he should be pleased. He wasn’t sure what to feel at this point. A book held open on his lap as he sat by the fireplace, shifted into braille thanks to Shadow Milk’s spiritual influence, and Pure Vanilla’s fingers lingered over a paragraph in the middle of the book’s old pages. This… This novel of sorts had been on a more secretive shelf. Cheeky. Teasing. It was as if Shadow Milk himself had dared Pure Vanilla to indulge in his curiosity. A book that was labelled “March 1st - April 1st” with an accompanying date that had long, long passed. This… This book had been a research diary of sorts. Similar to his published volumes, yet, it was much more personal. On the first page, the words had changed mid-sentence—a message from Shadow Milk himself.
- Seeing as you are oh, SO curious about my past, it would be improper as your mentor to ignore your begging little inquisitive heart, wouldn’t it?
Pure Vanilla had naively—stupidly—huffed out a small chuckle over the smug dialogue. Well, he shouldn’t bite the hand that fed him. He’d rather kiss it nowadays. In fact, it was quite the surprise when he was actually able to only a week ago. Ever since, Shadow Milk found himself sprawled atop Pure Vanilla in various ways—not unlike a cat. Endearing, wasn’t it? Except—
This book wasn’t endearing. This book was a raunchy recount of the Fount of Knowledge’s sexual research. The pages began simply enough—basic observations and personal thoughts on sex as a whole. Things such as—is sex truly designed to be an act of reproduction, motivated into everyone’s psyche by marking it as “pleasurable”? How could a cock piercing through a virgin cunt be as pleasurable as described as others while wept by others? Those with cunts were blessed with something called a “clitorus” —something Pure Vanilla was familiar with, yes, but the clitorus is a bundle of nerves designed to intrinsically bring stimulation to the bearer’s body. With stimulation, slick supposedly pooled from the area. The amount of slick depended on the individual. Based on the Fount’s own observations of his body, his slick production deemed itself to be slightly above average—likely due to his strength in spiritual power. Life bled from his soul. Thus, would that not make him more susceptible to the need of reproduction? No, that didn’t make sense. His friend, Flour, failed to find any sort of pleasures in this sort of discussion and had a notably low libido, yet her spiritual power was nothing to laugh at.
Hold on. Pure Vanilla rested his hand over his heated brow; his face flushed. The Fount… when he had his body, the Fount had a… and its libido was known to be… Well, it wasn’t anything to mark or later at this point. As much as he cherished his… partner (was he allowed to refer to him as such?), he was still ultimately a demonic entity. If he had been a succubus, this would be a different story. However, succubi were native creatures of Below. Seeing as the Fount once lived, this outcome wasn’t possible. Right. Of course. He lowered his hand. Perhaps another paragraph or two wouldn’t hurt. Shadow Milk had intended Pure Vanilla to read this—as frustrating as that was.
The Fount began with pressing lubed fingers against the outer folds—as the book stated—–and found the lube to be uncomfortable. In his notes, he mentioned his dislike for it. Really? Why? The note further elaborated that the clean up was a hassle. Thus, he disliked it. A few days after, the Fount had sculpted his own makeshift phallus to take inside. Seeing as it was a far older era, the Fount had sculpted the phallus out of wood, waxed it, and wrapped a cloth around it for fear of splinters. The thought did make Pure Vanilla snort in place—a welcomed distraction from the increasing heat in his core. A heat that continued to fill and press against the darkened fabric between his legs, forcing the book to raise slightly as it pressed uncomfortably against the area. Embarrassing.
Despite these endeavors, the Fount couldn’t bring himself to “orgasm.” He likely growled into his bedding, rump in the air; his darkening fingertips shoving the makeshift sex toy animalistically against his inner walls. Were his eyes wet with tears of frustration? How would they have tasted? Did his bangs stick to his sweat-slicked brow? What about his forming claws? Did they rip the fabric of his bedsheets? What did curses sound like from those velvety lips Pure Vanilla yearned to kiss? Witches. Pure Vanilla shifted his weight on the chair, crossing one leg over the other as he bit his lip. Focus. This… This was likely as Shadow Milk intended. He mustn’t falter from the entity’s advances.
The Fount of Knowledge found someone.
Pure Vanilla’s nails dug into the paper. Upon seeing how the pages wrinkled from the contact, his arm snapped upward. He blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Breathe. In, out. Right—of course. This was just a tale. Perhaps his nerves were finally cracking from the humility of it all. Witches know if Shadow Milk was watching. He mustn’t give in. If this were a strange attempt at his psyche, he mustn’t give in. He wasn’t… sure what to describe the sickly feeling in his chest. When he had read those words, a sudden chill overcame his body. Like a pile of ice drizzling over a furnace. The ice melted, yes, but it stung all the same. It was bitter. Cold. Difficult to swallow. Surely Pure Vanilla wasn’t… losing senses over a man long deceased. He lowered his hand once more. Reading.
The Fount was pleased by this person. He liked the stretch of his dick. Liked how he could almost taste it in his throat. Savored the taste of pre-cum. It was bitter, yes. Terrible. Yet, it was addicting. He loved the flex of muscle as this mysterious individual pulled against the base of his scalp. Loved how his nails dug into this stranger’s back; how it looked like it stung once morning came. He loved the devotion that littered across his chest–the stranger kneaded his breasts as if they were nothing more than stress balls for his own use. He loved the feeling of tongue down his throat and how—
Pure Vanilla snapped the book shut.
“Eh- Enough.” He hissed, resting the book onto the table as if it were poisoned. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps its toxins had long entered his bloodstream; it swallowed away his pride and left a disgusting truth in its wake.
Pure Vanilla was utterly, painfully, hard. So hard, it ached. His stomach clenched—dread sank deep into his gut. It sank the same way the Fount had sunk down onto that man’s cock, keening out a whine, no doubt—
“Enough!” He whimpered, covering his face in shame. His body folded over–resigned.
“... A bath. Yes, a bath sounds wonderful.”
Bitterly cold. It felt wonderful against his heated skin—nearly calmed his senses. Yet, his dick, flushed at the tip, stood hard beneath the icy currents. His clothes had been discarded into the provided hamper of his bathroom. Pure Vanilla sank his body deeper into the water, allowing air to bubble from his nose as he sulked. No matter how he tried—he thought of birds, yet it reminded him of his blue bird, Shadow Milk, who had bedded with someone and tricked him into reading about it—He thought of a story he read recently, but reading reminded him of the Fount’s journal, which reminded him of how badly he wished he had been the one who was allowed to kiss those lips. How he yearned to kiss them now. He could, couldn’t he? Perhaps Shadow Milk… wouldn’t mind it? Surely not. They had—once. Yet, that moment lingered in his mind almost every waking moment. Now, in this particular waking moment, an impulsive thought overcame his senses.
Sure, the Fount had his fun with that man—but what if Shadow Milk were here, bouncing on his—
Pure Vanilla dipped his head entirely into the water, savoring its cruel frigidity. Yet, the thought continued.
Shadow Milk, sliding his dick between the lost fleur. Shadow Milk, pressing his tip against his clit. Shadow Milk, using Pure Vanilla to chase his pleasure. Shadow Milk, desperate to just cum already. Shadow Milk, whispering into his ear. Shadow Milk, laughing at him now.
Pure Vanilla wasn’t sure when his hand had wrapped around himself. He wasn’t sure when he began to squeeze against the base, subtly creating waves in the water with each pathetic rut of his hips. He wasn’t sure when he began to press his hand against the slit of his need, rubbing the pre-cum that oozed from the area and into the surrounding water. His lungs burned.
His head burst from the watery depths; a moan bounced off the echoing walls with his next inhale. Witches. His ears burned from the sound of his own voice. Still. There was a shift in the air. Even as he whimpered with each desperate pump, he felt it. Something… Something was stopping him. Something watching. He could feel it. A thumb pressed against the head of his cock—and when he opened his eyes, a familiar smug set of blue gazed back.
“Oh, Pure Vanilla, masturbating as a guest in another’s house? How shameful, my sweet.”
The medium’s lower lip trembled. His gaze, wide and doe-like. Shadow Milk’s grin only grew. Icy talons found its place above Pure Vanilla’s, teasing the curve of his dick with each squeezed stroke. Soft pants quivered from the medium’s parched tongue. It craved its oasis. No, he craved for Shadow Milk. Yet, Shadow Milk continued his ministrations as if was the laziest thing in the world; as if he didn’t flush from holding Pure Vanilla’s hand on the daily. Now, he jacked off his shame like it was a deck of cards he liked to shuffle in preparations for their typical games. Something about it made his chest clench and his teeth grit. Something about it was far too smug. Too… much. Far too much. Not enough at all. Never enough. Pure Vanilla felt it—He started to understand Golden Cheese’s ideals. Truly, she may be the most greedy individual Pure Vanilla knew, yet she could never crave for another to the same degree that Pure Vanilla craved for the damn entity that pressed his other hand against Pure Vanilla’s hip—stopping him from chasing his pleasures and swatting away his hand.
“Like a bitch in heat,” Bored. Shadow Milk sounded so bored. “Well, I suppose this performance will do… I did catch you with your pants down, didn’t I? Hmm?”
“Shah-Shadow—” Pure Vanilla warned, wincing at the way a claw dug into the side of the sensitive flesh. Witches. Salty wetness pricked at his eyes.
“So! How was the novel? Was it as riveting as I recall? It’s been so long since I’ve had anything quite so… Hmm. Well, yours is almost there. It could stand to be a little girthier, no?”
Something dangerous flashed in Pure Vanilla’s eyes–Shadow Milk resisted the tremor that resonated down his ghostly spine.
“I..-I, Ah, III…eee..ahh…—Please—Refrain from—”
“What? Cat got your tongue? Honestly ‘Nilla, you’re acting like a virgin. You could stand to at least memorize your lines. Oh, Shadow Milk, this feels so good! Oh, please let me cum—That is how you call it, correct? Eh, words change and yet the feeling remains the same. So! How about it?”
More notably, Shadow Milk’s hand paused. The water in the basin had slowly stilled—after all, no physical force had allowed it to move since Pure Vanilla had essentially been forced to cease any chase of relief. Water dripped from his golden locks; his glossy eyes carried an unspoken ember. He quietly licked his lips.
“I love you.” He said—resolute.
The reaction was instantaneous. Shadow Milk’s features exploded in that ball of familiar blue energy reminiscent of a blush–he subconsciously kneaded Pure Vanilla’s need once more, prompting another hiss from the medium. The baffled expression quickly melted into a look that would’ve been much more scary without the color on his face. Pure Vanilla laughed lightly in his tizzy, rolling his head to his left side. His collarbone glistened slightly through the haze of the room’s candlelight; Shadow Milk’s eyeline hooked on the way a bead of water—sweat, perhaps? —rolled down his bare pectorals. Pure Vanilla rested his hand along the edge of the water’s basin. Easy. Relaxed. Shadow Milk swallowed thickly.
“Shut up.”
Pure Vanilla’s smile came easily. He hummed, about to speak—
“That man whispered the same thing, you know.”
Shadow Milk had never seen Pure Vanilla’s smile fall so quickly. Nor did he miss the way Pure Vanilla’s grip tightened. As if to make a point, Shadow Milk’s hand increased in its pace. Brutal. Unrelenting. Yet, he still wouldn’t let Pure Vanilla peak.
“Oh, yes—it felt good, really—Your imagination, use it.”
Shadow Milk leaned in—his voice laced with smug.
“Ah,” He moaned–shameless. “It’s so good… I felt like I was splitting right there on his dick. Ah! Oh, witches—”
His voice was filthy. Rotten to its core. An apple resting at the base of the tree in the garden of Eden; the worm eating it from the inside out.
“Mmnn… Harder, oh please—Harder—” Shadow Milk giggled. “Do you honestly think you could ever live up to his performance?”
Ever so tender—ever so gentle—a hand wrapped lovingly around Shadow Milk’s wrist. The softness in its touch momentarily confused the spirit, loosening his grip and allowing Pure Vanilla to rise from the chilly tub with a hush of water. Shadow Milk’s body floated along as his partner stepped out. Despite his best efforts, Shadow Milk couldn’t avert his gaze away from how Pure Vanilla’s cock bounced with each shift in his body—with each step. By the time they had entered the bedroom, Shadow Milk had started his squirming, letting his other hand bite against Pure Vanilla’s grip with subtle scratches.
“Hey—Unhand me you ridiculous—”
The gasp as Shadow Milk’s back landed on the plush bedding was cute. No, it was positively enchanting. Pure Vanilla caged the spirit almost instantaneously. Should Shadow Milk be truly uncomfortable, he likely would’ve phased to the floor below. However, the entity hardly budged. His arms had landed on either side of his head—Pure Vanilla couldn’t resist grabbing one and pinning above Shadow Milk. He could feel the head of his cock press against the ghostly jester’s tight clothing—and if he happened to rut slightly into the contact, he pretended not to notice the way Shadow Milk’s voice hitched. The spirit’s eyes seemed to be trained on Pure Vanilla’s; its gaze hooded. Dark. Heated. Yearning. Almost heartbroken. The pang in Shadow Milk’s chest was promptly ignored. Swallowed down. Forgotten. He ripped his gaze away from the other, scowling.
“Brute.”
Pure Vanilla lowered impossibly closer—his breath tickled against the other’s mouth. Lingering. Wanting. Denied.
“How did he do it?” Pure Vanilla asked. “How did he fuck my beloved? How—so I may rewrite those memories and carve myself into your very being?”
Now, it was Shadow Milk’s turn to greet silence. He clamped his mouth shut. Pure Vanilla scoffed, hanging his head low. Wet tongue met the curve of Shadow Milk’s jawline, trailing up until teeth sank into his pointed ear. Shadow Milk, understandably, yelped slightly. How long had it been since he experienced touch? He ignored the sensation of a familiar dampness below—something he wasn’t even aware he could still produce. Ghostly goo, he mused. The thought was cut off by the whine near his still sensitive ear.
“My love… How did he do it?”
“Witches—So needy—You read the book, didn’t you? Are you really implying you didn’t study before the exam? The nerve of—Ah—Hey!”
A sickening rip rippled through the air. It began at the curved indent of Shadow Milk’s belly button, stripping away the fabric until it fell away somewhere in the spinal area. The cool air hit his soaked cunt, prompting Shadow Milk to shiver—its scent of blueberries lingered in the air. Pure Vanilla’s sturdy palm cupped the puffed mounds; his thumb squished against the bean-like shape at the edge of the fleur. The spirit rested a hand on his partner’s shoulder; his body squirmed as if unsure whether to lean away or push into the touch. His hips seemed to betray him, opting to rub his slick against the fingers outside his entrance. While the words weren’t spoken out loud, his body whispered it all the same. Please. Neglecting this, Pure Vanilla’s thumb circled the sad, swollen thing. He absentmindedly rutted the head of his dick against Shadow Milk’s now exposed stomach. Soft. So, so impossibly soft.
From the noises that refused to crack from Shadow Milk’s sealed lips to the sensation of his ghastly cold flesh rutting against his hand—beautiful. He hated imagining someone else here—in this spot. Hated how they had the opportunity to see his beloved this way. Hated how Shadow Milk still thought about this apparent fling during the night’s hour of forbidden whispers despite having Pure Vanilla at his beck and call no matter the time. How often did Shadow Milk get off to the thought of this person? How often did they fuck while he was living? If that man’s spend took, it would be his offspring wandering this Earth. Pure Vanilla ignored the coil of rage deep within his soul at the thought.
His middle finger was being suckled ever so slightly into the wet warmth. Adorable. Really, it was a little endearing. Despite the scowl and refusal to speak, Shadow Milk’s body betrayed him all the same. How had Pure Vanilla gotten so lucky? He must make him forget about the other person entirely. He must. Shadow Milk deserved to be drunk on his cock—not the cock of the dead. He affectionately kissed his partner’s cheek.
“Like this, wasn’t it..? Let’s see… What happened next? Apologies, my love, you’ll have to forgive my, ah, old man memory.”
“ ‘Nilla, I swear to the wah-witches—”
Shadow Milk snapped his free hand over his mouth, muffling the moan that burst from its confines. Pure Vanilla—that conniving little—his lips latched over the clothed perked nipple on his chest. Suckling. Like a damn leech. His tongue swirled around the teet; it flicked against it. He hummed, forcing its vibration to tease Shadow Milk all the while. With a soiled sort of pop, he lifted his head.
“What was that, love?”
“Pure” Vanilla smiled at the glower he received; Finally—Finally, his finger sank deeply into his beloved. Shadow Milk’s reaction was sharp. His back arched off the bed slightly—only to raise more as Pure Vanilla’s finger curled in. One curl. Two. Three.
“Pure Vanilla!”
He found it.
Pure Vanilla hummed, absentmindedly slipping another in. Easing into that ball of nerves and teasing. Slow. Steady.
“Did he pull these sounds out of you? Did you call his name?”
At that, Pure Vanilla’s teeth scraped against the clothed nipple. Dangerous. Looming. Shadow Milk shook his head, cursing under his breath.
“Enough about him—’Nilla, if you don’t put it in me in the next two minutes—”
“Or what?”
Shadow Milk blinked.
“Whuh-What?”
“... Or what? I could leave you here. Dripping on my bed. Leave you in your ripped clothes. Tend to my own needs. Would you like to watch? Would you like to see my load wasted instead—instead of filling you? Well? Tell me, love—Tell me how badly… Please, don’t speak of him again. Please, tell me. Please.”
“So needy–I…I—”
A third finger. It twisted deeply into Shadow Milk, pulling him apart and nearly making him whole again. Upon glancing down, Pure Vanilla could make out the darkened outline of his fingers being clenched against Shadow Milk’s walls. Oh—He mustn’t. Breathe. Breathe—He couldn’t cum yet. Not yet. He couldn’t spoil it. Breathe.
“Please–Please, Pure Vanilla, if you–I don’t care about that stupid dead husk–please—”
“Shh… Shh…” Pure Vanilla let go of his beloved’s hand for a moment, wiping away pinpricks of tears that Shadow Milk hadn’t even noticed. “I must prepare you… You know that, don’t you?”
How he wished to taste Shadow Milk on his tongue. How he wished to taste his break over and over again. No, there would be other days. He must leave Shadow Milk craving. He must ensure that Shadow Milk memorizes the shape of his dick inside his walls—must ensure that Shadow Milk thinks of Pure Vanilla and only Pure Vanilla when he yearns. Only when he hungers for sin’s delightful taste.
“M’plenty… Ah–I’m ready, so please—”
The medium paused. He felt the way Shadow Milk continued to flutter around his hand. So needy. Needy for him. No one else. No one else was ever meant to see him like this. That was a truth Pure Vanilla understood far too well. Never again.
He slipped his hand away from his partner’s entrance, using the lingering fluid to lube his shaft with a few needy puffs of air. Blueberries. All Pure Vanilla could smell was blueberries. The sweet, enticing nectar of blueberries. He tentatively raised his soaked fingers, inspecting the luminescence of fluid draped between each digit. Water pooled in his mouth. Hungry. Needy. Pure Vanilla’s wanton tongue pressed against a rivulet of slick—the reaction was nothing short of immediate. His lashes lowered, masking the blown out expression in his eyes. Blueberry—Blueberry, Blueberry wine—he could get drunk off of it. He could chase this taste for hours. Work Shadow Milk up and bring him down again. Carve out his own tongue’s shape in his caverns. He could. He should. Oh, how he wanted to. Pure Vanilla gave a few more kitten licks. Thoughtful.
… Would it be so bad if he decided to bruise his knees now? Would it be so terrible? No, it wouldn’t be. No—He ought to. Shadow Milk demanded a performance after all.
“What are you stalling for—If you don’t shove it in—”
“Shh..” The medium cupped his partner’s face. “Patience, Shadow Milk. Let me make love to you.”
His words seemed to momentarily stun Shadow Milk—just enough to allow him to crawl down, down… peppering kisses along the chilled fabric—and eventually skin—of Shadow Milk’s body. He smiled between kisses at the tightening of his partner’s stomach. So sensitive to touch. So, so desperate. It wasn’t until Pure Vanilla’s breath ghosted over the chill of Shadow Milk’s pussy that his partner seemed to find his nerve again.
“You want to..? Pure Vanilla, you have no idea how your body could react to—“
He hummed, caressing his cheek into the side of Shadow Milk’s raised leg; he guided the knee to bend. Whatever complaint that was destined to fall from his partner’s tongue fell short—silenced by the bite that now marked itself on Shadow Milk’s inner thigh. He could feel a hand brush through his hair, seeking stability. Cute. So unabashedly cute.
“It’ll be fine, my darling… Let me show you my performance.”
He giggled at the way Shadow Milk’s entrance fluttered from the breath of his voice. Almost nervous. A shy maiden sitting at the sidelines of a ball. Oh, if that were the case, Pure Vanilla would be found under the sheets and layers of her gown. He placed a kiss on the very top of the fleur; his tongue pressed out to circle the swollen little bud without granting it the mercy of his touch. Shadow Milk’s hips jutted forward—an untamed beast. He had no choice but to rest his palm where bone met the curve of flesh, circling the hipbone with this thumb.
“Relax, my love. Let yourself indulge in simple pleasures.”
He pointedly licked along the outer edge of a fold, teasing Shadow Milk and tasting him all the same. Drunk. He feared he was drunk. He feared he may never remove himself from his rightful position between Shadow Milk’s thighs. It wasn’t long at all before his mouth met his mark. Pure Vanilla suckled against the angry bud, chuckling lightly over the way Shadow Milk keened from above. Such delight. Did the other man ever taste him? He hoped not. This… This was to be enjoyed by Pure Vanilla’s mouth and his mouth alone. To hell with everyone else. As if to make a point, Pure Vanilla moved away from Shadow Milk’s clit—prompting an annoyed whine from his partner—and bit, again, into the curve of where leg meets the hipbone. He bit again just slightly to the right of his last marking. Again—this time, a little higher. Again—to match the bite on one leg, of course. His. These were his marks to claim.
Each bite brought sweet massages to his scalp—with soaked hair, sometimes, he would taste watered down blueberries against Shadow Milk’s skin. A shame… He would hate to be cut off from his addiction so soon. Actually—his mouth watered again. Of course. He needed another hit, didn’t he? Just one more. He deprived himself from its tap for so long… Just one taste.
Pure Vanilla leaned forward once more, parting the area with two fingers. He smiled at the way droplets pooled from the area—and promptly took the spread cunt deep into his mouth. He moaned—although, he wasn’t sure if it was because of the taste or how Shadow Milk yanked at his hair and frankly, he didn’t care. It was cold. So unbearably cold that it felt hot. Dizzying. Intense. Frustratingly so. His hooded gaze rose to observe Shadow Milk—who evidently had been looking back down at him. Blown out pupils met blown out pupils. Yet, neither one of them felt the need to speak. Not when they communicated with one another so clearly.
I love you.
Pure Vanilla flexed his tongue’s muscle against his partner, dipping into the slick walls and lapping up its riches. The sound echoed in the room of The Spire; debauched and whorish. With the accompanied sound of Shadow Milk’s desperation… It made his ears burn. More. He wanted more of it. He needed more of it. Pure Vanilla’s finger pressed against the entrance of Shadow Milk’s mound; his mouth trailed upwards to suck against his clit once more. The finger’s penetration came without warning—it was adoring to feel the way Shadow Milk’s pussy clenched like a virgin at its entry. With the increasing flex of ghostly muscle and—Oh, his voice—
“Pure Vanilla! Don’t stop—Please, oh—I think I’m—Something feels—Ah!”
How endearing. He couldn’t bring himself to say it—not that Pure Vanilla minded. The medium continued in his ministrations. Determined. Patient. Had Shadow Milk not already been dead, he would’ve been by now. His voice kept raising in its octave with each thrust of the digit—striking directly against the sensitive batch of nerves inside. On the third, Shadow Milk’s voice broke.
Pure Vanilla tasted it. The sweet, tender taste of his beloved’s cum. Dangerous. This was dangerous. He eagerly licked against the center of his—his partner’s sweet bloom; his hand now pressed against the plush of Shadow Milk’s thigh. Melancholy lingered in the back of Pure Vanilla’s mind at the sensation of his juices dribbling down his chin. Wasted. He mustn’t lose the rest. He licked and feasted through Shadow Milk’s aftershocks—until he could hear his beloved’s hiccuped sobs between each breath. Shadow Milk pawed at Pure Vanilla’s head—desperate and weak.
“It’s—It’s too much, ‘Nilly, you’re going to kill me—“
Finally, Pure Vanilla parted ways from his sweet treat with one lasting kiss to the overstimulated bud. He felt a little pleased with the lingering trail of slick that connected to his tongue; his mouth parted and panting. Right. Breathing. He needed to remember to do that. Pure Vanilla’s lungs burned. He begrudgingly rose from his former—rightful—position between Shadow Milk’s legs and pressed an affectionate kiss against his partner’s mouth. Longing and sweet—but not without its subtle heat. Upon parting, Shadow Milk nearly had half the mind to swat the man. He licked his own lips, tasting himself. That pervert.
“You’re beautiful.” Pure Vanilla murmured, cradling the curve of Shadow Milk’s jawline and admiring his cheekbone with each brush of his thumb. He brushed aside the tears, mouth twisting up into a smile. His lips danced against Shadow Milk’s as he spoke—refusing to fully part.
Just like that, Shadow Milk had forgotten why he was peeved at all. Almost.
Pure Vanilla then guided his length’s tip to kiss against Shadow Milk’s clit. Rubbing. Teasing. Always teasing. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could tease. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist cumming right then and there. It wasn’t long. He knew it. He mustn’t push it. Yet, it was all he did. All to hear those frustrated whines from his partner— Who now covered his own face entirely as he pushed Pure Vanilla’s face away. The medium frowned.
“My love—”
“Don’t you ‘my love’ me, you devilish pervert—” His voice was hoarse. Cute.
Ever so reverently, Pure Vanilla took hold of Shadow Milk’s hands; he guided them to cup his face. Pure Vanilla nuzzled into the touch. He pressed a kiss against his inner palm.
“Please… Can’t I see you? Can’t I hear you..? Why must you rob me the grace you’ve given another?”
“You’re intolerable.” Shadow Milk deadpanned.
“I love you.” Pure Vanilla near-pouted.
“I–Tch–I’m aware.”
“Please?”
“...”
“Please?”
Shadow Milk groaned, rolling his eyes and turning his head to the side. That was as close to a ‘yes’ as Pure Vanilla would get—not that he’d complain. One of Shadow Milk’s hands trailed down the curve of the medium’s neck, lingering his fingertips against his collarbone. The other hand continued to nuzzle its thumb against his partner’s cheek. Affectionate. Silent, but affectionate. Loving. So, so loving. Pure Vanilla’s heart swelled at the feeling. How he cherished him. The world could crumble as he knew it—and he would be satisfied. So long as he was in his arms, he would always be satisfied. So long it was him—and no one else—he would be happy.
The whine from his partner snapped Pure Vanilla from his thoughts. Shadow Milk was glaring, again, up at him. The blue tint on his cheeks was only slightly more evident than usual.
“Enough with the sappiness—” He yanked the medium down, whispering into his ear. “Fuck me, Pure Vanilla.”
Pure Vanilla swallowed. He ignored the way heat tickled down his neck and nodded.
“As you wish, darling.”
Focus. Witches—He mustn’t come yet. He mustn’t.
Pure Vanilla inhaled. Exhaled. He shifted his gaze below—grateful that he could see this sort of encounter for once—
“You’ve bedded others? Of course you have. Horndog…”
Pure Vanilla let out a sheepish chuckle. Was that a jealous lilt in Shadow Milk’s tone? Well, with so much to give, it was only natural for Pure Vanilla to… indulge in the act.
“I suppose that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” Then, lower: “... And yet, here we are, in each other’s bed.”
It made moments such as these far more easy to handle. Once again, the medium took hold of the base of his shaft. He grazed alongside the mound’s walls, shivering at the way Shadow Milk’s slick coated his searing skin with a cool goo. Witches. He never thought he’d bed a ghost. No, he never thought it’d be possible. And ever still, there he was. With his love—whose body was framed with inky tendrils with hearts for irises—clenching his needy cunt with the edge of nervousness in his energy. How had he gotten so lucky? Pure Vanilla wasn’t sure—No, perhaps it was better that he didn’t know. Some things were meant to be left in the unknown. Such as their doings in this room. Alone. Together. His. Shadow Milk was his. No one else’s. Finally.
With a kiss to his beloved’s brow, Pure Vanilla eased the head of his cock into Shadow Milk’s entrance. He observed the way Shadow Milk’s eyes widened; his lips puckered into a soft “oh” shape as a melodic whimper broke from those lips. His hands wrapped over Pure Vanilla’s back, threatening to cause Pure Vanilla’s flesh to shed bloody tears. His legs wrapped around the other, attempting to scoot his love impossibly closer. Yet, Pure Vanilla could feel the edges of his sanity waver. Tight. So incredibly tight. Suctioning him in. Milking him. He could barely move. He spared a glance down—swallowing away the sensation of nearly losing it right then and there. Right there. He could see it. He could see the way his head poked through and pierced Shadow Milk’s body. Witches.
“Pah– Please… Shadow Milk… I can’t move—”
He ran soothing circles over the base of Shadow Milk’s womb, coaxing comfort and smiling at the eventual relaxation of his partner’s body. Slowly—steadily, he continued to ease himself in. He whispered sweet nothings to his ghost—how good he was taking it, how he fit him so, so well. However, it wasn’t until he bottomed out that he felt as if he could truly breathe again. Pure Vanilla let out something between a moan and a sigh; sweat dribbled from his brow. His gaze remained fixed at the way Shadow Milk’s walls flexed and folded around the foreign object inside. Needy. Loving. Oh, he loved him.
He forced his eyes away from the sight, deciding to take in Shadow Milk’s reaction. Drool slipped slightly out of his mouth—his eyes were squinted shut, as if overwhelmed by the sensation. His body also notably trembled, slick oozing from his hole. Had he..?
“Oh–Ohhh… Kay, Fine–I wave my flag–You’re…–You’re girthier–”
Pure Vanilla smiled. Ever so slightly, he reeled his hips back. Testing. The medium snapped his hips forward, puncturing an overstimulated gasp from Shadow Milk.
“Am I?”
“Yes–Oh, witches–I’ve waited so long–yes–”
The thrusts were slow. Agonizing. Patient. Pure Vanilla wasn’t sure where he got it, either.
“What–... What else…?” He grunted.
“Lah–Longer…–Fuller…–I feel…-”
“Keep going.”
“Come-Complete!”
Oh, he found the spot again. Pure Vanilla smiled. He supposed that was enough teasing for now. The last of his restraint was waning—how he hated that fact. How he wished he could continue forever. Time. They had time. For now, he must convince Shadow Milk of his devotion. He must carve out a hole in his heart for Pure Vanilla to occupy. He must.
Pure Vanilla’s thrusts became slightly more erratic. Desperate. His aim continued to weasel adoring little “Ah, ah, oh–”s from Shadow Milk; his claws began to draw blood from his shoulders. Perfect. He was so perfect. It was as if the Witches themselves had carved an other half for him so long ago—a half he craved for so, so long. A half he could now hold. A half he could fuck for as long as he’d like. His.
He couldn’t believe another had gotten to him first.
“Like this—This is how he fucked you, isn’t it? Do you taste me on your throat as well? Can you feel me in your womb? Will you take my children–Oh, please–Witches, please do—”
Pure Vanilla whimpered.
“Let me burn into your memory–let me the be the only one who can make you come undone like this–Let me be the only one who can make you come–Let me love you–Let me–Oh, let me, let me, let me—”
As the medium blubbered, another voice rose to answer his calls. A voice broken by moans, cries, and whines.
“Please–’Nilla, I’m–I love you–’Nilla, I love you–Never leave–Mine, you’re mine–I’m Cah–Cloh—”
“I’m yours–I’m yours—”
“I’m so close ‘Nilla—I think I’m–Please, I’m yours–Please–Make me yours—”
Pure Vanilla sealed their passion with a kiss, allowing his tongue to lick against Shadow Milk’s lower lip. He suckled the area for a moment, abiding his time as Shadow Milk openly whimpered into his mouth. The two fought for dominance between their tongues, yet it was Pure Vanilla who nearly swallowed his beloved whole. His hand took hold of the area above the back of Shadow Milk’s knee, raising it to land on his shoulder as he pressed impossibly closer. Suffocating. Whole. Complete. A moment of adoration; passion sealed between two—away from prying eyes. Pure Vanilla had long lost himself in the pleasure—dizzying and overwhelming. Too much. It was far too much. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could—
A particularly loud moan rolled off of Shadow Milk’s mouth, forcing him to break the kiss. Full body tremors wrecked through the spirit; Pure Vanilla felt the squirt of cum against his nether regions. He tried his best to work Shadow Milk through the orgasm—only to seize as his body was milked for all its worth. Spurts of Pure Vanilla’s come coated Shadow Milk’s inner walls—visible from the entity’s current undead state. He managed one thrust—then two. Finally, Pure Vanilla collapsed onto Shadow Milk with a grunt. He nuzzled his head into his chest, finding his slot still inside his partner and the comfort of his newfound pillows to be the ideal place to be. He also felt the soft caress of the other’s hands over his head. Grounding. Sweet. Although Shadow Milk always struggled to say it out loud, it was in these moments that Pure Vanilla knew. Shadow Milk loved him.
Silence filled the room outside of their mutual panting—a little curious, given the fact that Shadow Milk no longer “breathed” technically.
“Thrice.” The entity observed.
“Mnh..?”
“I… I came. Thrice.”
Pure Vanilla pressed a kiss against his partner’s chest. Patient, as always.
“He never made me come.”
The medium blinked. What?
“... You didn’t know? Witches, ‘Nilly, I thought you’d at least finish the story.”
“You mean…?--”
“The book was a lie. He was decent. But, he never made me come.”
Pure Vanilla continued in his snuggling. A deep warmth blossomed in his chest; his dick twitched with interest—still inside his soulmate.
“Is that so..?”
He sat upright, smiling down at the wrecked body before him. Flushed. Pure Vanilla’s cum swirling inside with his softening—No, hardening—dick entrapping it. Shadow Milk’s expression, exasperated and somewhat mortified. Anxious, maybe.
“I don’t like that look in your eye. ‘Nilly, I know what you’re thinking—”
His hand pressed harshly down onto Shadow Milk’s stomach—just over his own cock. The toe-curling bitching was worth it.
“Let’s see how many we’ve yet to coax out of you, shall we?”
And if Pure Vanilla choked on his tea the next day over the sight of Shadow Milk waltzing around with his loads still swirling inside of him, Shadow Milk only smiled as if it were his own inside joke.
Punishment for breaking him down and making him whole again for at least ten times over. Shadow Milk had lost count after the tenth.