Work Text:
His chest hurt.
Too forward? Please, it was hardly anything jarring around here. Alarming? Probably. It meant he was full—No, it meant he was overfilled. Here, that was bad. Here? It was medically an issue. Not that Shadow Milk had cared for this exact outcome only a day prior.
"Nilly" was on a trip. A two day trip, but knowing him, he'd be returning this evening. Golly, his hero. Except—his true hero refused to treat him at all. Nope—That guy was too busy dealing with Shining Milk, the most intolerable mookie on the farm. He got to have him all to himself? Why? Because, apparently, that was Shadow Milk's punishment. After kicking the newbie, Pure Vanilla, in the face… several times… and refusing to let his hands touch him and—Witches forbid—the milking machine, the Recluse decided that—no, if Shadow Milk was going to make his grave, he would sit in it until Nilly came home to deal with his favorite cattle instead of turning him into some sort of meal.
Even though that wretched Nilly did that anyways. Technically.
That left one question - what now? Well, now, Shadow Milk was stuck in the barn. Stuck because his entire upper body felt stiff. Uncomfortable. Hot. His tail, spotted white, blue, and black, flicked behind him in annoyance. He spent the better half of the morning pacing—and oddly enough, Blueberry Milk, a mookie known for his gentle knowledge and even gentler curves, actually stayed behind in the room next to his. Worse—he even tried to strike a conversation with Shadow Milk. What an intolerable brat.
"Have… You eaten yet?" Blueberry tried, voice wavering on the last syllable. "You should at least eat some of the leftover breakfast I left by your gate—it's bitter, like you like it."
"Shut up." Shadow Milk grumbled; his hoof harshly kicked at the wood blocking between their designated areas.
Blueberry Milk, predictably, yelped. Judging by the shuffling on the other side, he must have stumbled back. Good. Even better, that "oof" sounded like he fell. Great.
That was enough to soften the wrinkle in Shadow Milk's eyebrows; his ear twitched in amusement. Serves the kid right. His multicolored hues shifted over to the general space of the room—ignoring the tray at the gate—and landed on a lush, dark blue bedding in the midst of all the hay. It was fluffed up rather well, with various gifts and even a small sewing station besides it for Shadow Milk's (quiet) hobby of creating plushes alongside little outfits or accessories for the mookie calves located on the farm. Maybe if he… No, definitely not. The ache would make him too clumsy to hold a needle. He'd prick himself on the thumb again and have more needless fussing from the wrong caretaker. Fine. He won't sew anything. Fine.
As if to sulk more, Shadow Milk sauntered over to the comfort of his bedding and delicately lifted a blanket between the pinch of his index finger and thumb. He raised a brow at the pillowing—judgmental. No, he shouldn't. Shadow Milk pressed his thighs together, uncomfortable, as his expression turned from a huff to fully realizing the level of distress his body screamed at him. Witches—why did he decline yesterday? Witches—he couldn't even think straight. Witches—it was like two balloons had stuffed themselves deep inside his tits and now he needed to figure out a way to deflate them and—
"WITCHES."
"Shadow—" Blueberry started.
"I said SHUT UP."
Shadow Milk practically threw himself onto the layers of hay, blanket, and pillow. Subconsciously, his tail wrapped around a tan little doll with long locks of golden hair; the blanket he once held now draped half lazily over the lower half of his body. As much as he wanted to rest on his tum, the grating sensation of his attire over swollen nipples proved to be too much to even properly consider it. Instead, trembling claws (manicured, to an extent—While he preferred them sharp, he couldn't always stop the sickeningly sweet care he'd occasionally get) snagged onto the helm of the spotted cow bikini, pulling the fabric on the string to the side. The exposure of the leaking little bloom forced a near-shy sigh from Shadow Milk's lips; his body shivered from the sudden chill. Unlike Shining or Blueberry, he had much more dignity than to attempt…— anything beside fresh air. Obviously. He wasn't some sniveling, pathetic milkmaid. No, he'd leave that to the anxious brat in the next room—although, Shadow Milk wouldn't be surprised if Blueberry left for his daily duties. Everyone in the farm was spoilt—everyone outside of himself. What, punished because he wouldn't let an amateur ruin his production? How ridiculous. That Recluse… couldn't he give Shadow Milk the time of day, too?
A flash of tender blue and yellow crossed Shadow Milk's mind. Long, silvery lashes as trained hands worked, prodding in all the right areas and—
Shadow Milk snarled, dragging the plush from his tail and to his arms in a close embrace. He turned, hissing from the jostled milk locked behind soft skin.
"Ah—Ah—" He whined; something grazed against the revealed nipple.
Upon glancing down, his eyes widened slightly. Nilly, while trapped in a plush form, still managed to find ways to torture Shadow Milk. Ways to get under his skin and utterly piss him off. The plush's sealed smile cheekily poked against the blueberry toned nipple; a dark spot was quickly forming on the stuffed toy's features with each trickling glob of milk. A dark flush exploded over Shadow Milk's features. He—He wasn't here, and yet… If he just—No, what was he thinking?! Shadow Milk's tail snapped in annoyance. No, he wouldn't.
But it hurt.
No, he wasn't some tamed beast.
He adjusted his weight a little, resolute—until the movement caused his thighs to squish together, rubbing knees, and he nearly bit jam into his mouth from the simple fact that the doll's nose caught onto his chest in the movement.
Okay, fine.
Maybe just a little bit of an indulgence. It wasn't as if anyone would be coming in soon. Everyone was gone. Busy with the day. Obviously. What was once a terrifying scowl on Shadow Milk's features melted into begrudging acceptance—his hand cupped his chest.
"Serves you right for abandoning us for that half a cookie… Honestly, 'Nilly, you've missed my best performances this week." Shadow Milk grumbled—not unlike a pouting runt. "The least you can do is—is… mnh…"
He massaged the tender swell, shaking his head and burying half his face into the bedding. With each squeeze, a temporary relief barely kissed his mind. Milk oozed and dribbled from the teet—wasted to some plush who couldn't even bother to open his mouth. Whatever. Their loss. The farm didn't deserve his production if they were going to neglect him like this. It… It didn't feel good to resort to such childish play. It didn't feel good to grind his chest against the soft stuffing. It didn't feel good to whine under his breath. It didn't feel good to imagine Nilly's lips there instead. To imagine that it was his calloused, experienced hands massaging and taking care of him.
"Blue bird..?" He'd murmur—like some rotten prayer to the Witches above.
That he was whispering sweet nothings and gentle scoldings and humming to himself over the wetness that was slowly soaking its way through Shadow Milk's underwear. Shadow Milk hated imagining these things. He hated that 'Nilly. Hated him.
Hated him for leaving him alone.
Perhaps this is why, in the midst of his depravity, Shadow Milk didn't notice the shuffling of well-worn boots, nor the call of his name. He didn't notice the click of keys as it unlocked the gate, nor did he notice the slight shift in weight as a stronger, more firm form pressed his knee onto the hay. With eyes squinted shut, it was obvious he wouldn't notice his Nilly—not until those familiar worn hands rested over the one squished on Shadow Milk's bosom. Not until he felt the breath of his Nilly against his spotted, fluffy ear—shhh…
"I'm here, my love," Nilly's words—not unlike a call of devotion. "Shh… Let me be your… relief."
Shadow Milk had half the nerve of kicking this pheasant off with his heel—instead, the mookie's eyes shifted into an expression of soft shock. Worse yet, vulnerability. Anxiety. Relief. Fear. When met with Nilly's own expression—calm, sweet—the tension in his body relaxed. The worst part? Instead of outright insulting him like Shadow Milk had planned, a pathetic little "Moo…" slipped between the cracks of his feigned rage. A plea in his native tongue. How shameful. Shadow Milk scowled, choosing to figuratively bury his head in the sand and literally bury his face against the bedding with a huff. If Nilly wanted to be over him like a dog in heat—whatever. He just needed to do his damn job.
"Took you long enough, poppet," The mookie seethed. "Bet 'twas real nice 'ta play around with that lady—White Willy? Lily? Whatever. Did you enjoy getting your strings plucked Bah—Baaah…"
He hardly noticed the detail of a certain someone guiding his own hand away from… and cupping his… Witches. The spurt of milk—accompanied by Shadow Milk's whine—was nothing short of shameless. His back arched slightly from the relief of it; his gaze shifted to the culprit once more. Nilly, much to his credit, raised the stained fingertips to his lips, suckling away the droplets as if he had just spilt a little from the carton. Shameless bastard.
"I had no idea you were part sheep, bluebird." Nilly mused—crow's feet wrinkled on the edge of the kiss of his eyes. "Or… Humor me with this one—Does it hurt so badly that you've gotten your instincts mixed up?"
Oh, Shadow Milk was going to crumble this caretaker.
If looks could kill, Nilly would've been none the wiser—No, the heated glare from Shadow Milk practically made him swoon. Something caught in his throat, a lump, and a flutter resonated deep within his gut—pooling into something scorching in the fabric of his loins. He swallowed. Thickly. Shadow Milk rolled his eyes as the hooded expression that caught onto Nilly's features; the flush over his ears and down his neck wasn't cute. It was the most wretched thing Shadow Milk had seen all morning. Oh, but to Nilly? The view—Shadow Milk's chest rising and falling in uneven, flustered syncopations; his body flushing nearly as dark of a shade of blue as the redness in Nilly's face with his lush, darker inner hair creating a sinful halo around his moldable folds of skin—it was nothing short of exquisite. His only exposed nipple looked so angry—so peeved at its negligence. It taunted with each wasted drop. A shining apple in the garden of knowledge. Meant to be bitten. Meant to be worshipped. As much as temptation teetered out with each breath, there were still some farmerly duties to be done before Nilly would be allowed to have his fill. How cruel.
He hummed, wordlessly hooking his hand—surprisingly cool against Shadow Milk's overheated skin (nearly prompting a whimper)—around the squish of his love handles. Shadow Milk heeded the request, if only to receive the care that would be coming. At least SOMEONE could do his job around here. Witches. His tail snapped out of impatience. Nilly had the gall to chuckle as he reached over to a small cupboard beyond the bedding. Out came the necessary supplies—some alcoholic wipes to detox, an innocent gray pail, and lube. Shadow Milk raised a brow at the last item, yet said nothing. Instead, his knees grated against one another.
"Hurry up—You already missed the opening act so quit waiting in the wings." Shadow Milk, in a vain attempt to maintain some semblance of control, smirked as he pulled down the top entirely.
Had this been the other one—the naive brat, that would've been enough. For his Nilly, however, it was just another Tuesday. Although Nilly did have the nerve to whistle lightly as he looked back over to Shadow Milk. The mere sound brought a gentle bubble of shame over his features. The nerve—Shadow Milk's headbutt to Nilly's shoulder, harsh, only made the old man laugh out loud. Even when he promised his horns drilled directly into his firm collarbone. Curse this man and his farmer build. He hated the feeling of his caretaker's gentle pets—hated that he didn't move away from the shoulder either. He just… stayed there. For a few minutes perhaps...? He would never say. He stayed there and took in the scent of Nilly—his Nilly—the musk of vanilla root and pine wood lingered on his clothes. If Shadow Milk nuzzled into the scent, it was a secret hidden between the natural creaks and groans of the barn. If he let out a little moo from how tender each brush of fingers felt between his locks of hair—if he moaned with each rub behind his ears, Shadow Milk decided to be none the wiser to it. He also blatantly chose to ignore the bucket that Nilly rested between their bodies; it hovered just to the side of the desired location.
"Are you ready..?" Nilly murmured; husky and low. Comforting.
Shadow Milk huffed. His hand pawed at Nilly's cardigan. Yes, he wordlessly whispered, hurry.
The mookie's ear flicked at the sound of the rip of the alcoholic wipe. He shivered from the cool contact on each nipple. Tried not to whimper as the first few test squirts fell directly onto the bulge of Nilly's pants. Once the sterilization was complete, the pail moved directly beneath the dripping teet. Nilly's handiwork was nothing short of an expert—Shadow Milk had long gotten used to the sound of his milk's spray hitting the metal. What he wasn't used to was the particular words Nilly purred.
"I heard you refused care from our most recent hire… Why did you kick him my dear? Do you… not like him, perhaps? A shame… He really is a sweetheart."
Shadow Milk didn't trust his voice enough to answer. He couldn't even give Nilly a look from his current concealed position. The silence? Deafening.
"Bluebird… Ahh… What am I going to do with you?" The smug lilt in his tone was not the reason why Shadow Milk felt the hair on the back of his neck stand. "Let me think… Oh, I've got it—You'll like this one, I promise."
Nilly's voice dropped in its pitch.
"I could split you on my cock. Force your hips to stutter over mine—squeeze them and roll them slowly with each thrust… Make you taste your milk when we kiss… Unravel you and rework you five times over—Or, better yet, break our previous record outside of your heat… What was it, twelve times?"
Shadow Milk's torso subconsciously rutted ever so softly against the bedding—uncomfortable. Hot. The touch of Nilly's hand against the curve of his hip's dip was too cold to relieve; it was too hot to tame. Worse yet, it robbed Shadow Milk of the fondling he'd grown attached to within the past few minutes. He whined, huffing out a bated breath and sinking subtle fangs into Nilly's shoulder—and if he licked the area apologetically afterwards, Nilly was none the wiser. The mookie's gaze was fixed on that evident bump in his handler's pants. That damn bump. He could taste it in his mouth—feel the ghostly texture of his veins on his tongue. If Shadow Milk didn't know any better, that damn liquid was an aphrodisiac. One hit—Just one—
"Shh, shh… I'm here. Shh… I'm here and yours bluebird," Nilly pressed a kiss onto Shadow Milk's cheek. "How do you want me?"
"With your pants off." Shadow Milk hissed, half-heartedly knocking his knee against the now full bucket. It hardly budged, but the effect came all the same.
Nilly frowned. A cute, almost pathetic thing. One that hardly crossed his features anymore—Unless Shadow Milk threatened something like the livelihood of a fresh batch of milk. Now, if that frown morphed into a similar scowl he'd grown fond of from the Recluse—He tittered lightly to himself as Nilly set the pail away from the bedding. Yes, a scowl on his Nilly's features would look lovely. That silly Recluse—denying him of his fun when he knew Shadow Milk wanted him, not the newbie on the block. That brat was too busy screwing around with others and honestly? Shadow Milk wasn't in the mood. How could he trust some runt to take care of business anyway? Maybe he could scare that kid into quitting—or maybe, he could become his own personalized servant with the correct training… How could—
"Bluebird."
Oh.
When had Nilly gotten so close?
"What."
Nilly's knee pressed against the dewy texture of Shadow Milk's lower garments. His hands—those cursed hands—slotted themselves perfectly against rounded hips (much plumper than their first time—Shadow Milk was, in fact, much healthier nowadays after all).
"Could I… be a little selfish? I'm sorry."
Shadow Milk loosely bared his fangs. Slightly pointed. Animalistic.
"You're the most selfish man I've ever had the absolute displeasure of meeting."
While the words carried a bite, the tone was far softer—more melodic. Some could even call it enchanting. Nilly puffed out a small breath of laughter, shaking his head. One hand had mysteriously disappeared from its position on Shadow Milk's hip.
"Yes, call me selfish. Name me the most desperate man—if it's for you, I'll gladly get on my knees. If it's you—"
Shadow Milk's underwear ripped away from its position a little too easily. Cheeky bastard—he undid one side of the strings while he wasn't paying attention. Worse yet—Worse yet—
Shadow Milk keened, arching his back at the sudden intrusion of a plush index finger. His hips trembled against the way the digit curled, striking right against his g-spot. Nilly—
"You… You—Always playing so dirty—" Shadow Milk hissed.
"Anything for you, Bluebird. Anything," Nilly kissed his beloved's cheek. "So long as you think of me, want me, need my cock… I'll give you everything. My heart—my soul. It's yours."
It was difficult to focus with how Nilly worked his cunt—stupid, really, with how much it already squelched with one finger alone—and worse yet, he spoke as if he actually… Whatever, it was better to ignore it. Shadow Milk pounded a fist half-hazardly against Nilly's chest. A warning. A request. A need. Nilly dragged a second finger along his walls. Hummed, pleased, at how slutty his mookie's fleur sounded; he toyed with its dripping nectar between fingertips. It would take—yes, it would take so well, but the desperation and whines from Shadow Milk were well worth the wait.
"Do you think you should be rewarded, love?" Nilly questioned; it was innocent in its delivery. Curious, even. "Should I really stuff you up? After all the bruising you gave our newest hire… Should I?"
His thumb was nearly cruel in its circular pressure against the cunt's nub, rubbing it with such dragged out movements, Nilly almost felt a little bad when he spotted the way tears poked at the edge of Shadow Milk's lashes. Almost, if it wasn't for the fact that he knew full well that he liked it. No, loved it. Loved how it was only his Nilly who could work him up like this. Loved that he was back in his arms—home. Upset that he had gone, no doubt about it. Poor thing.
"Nuh—Nillyy…" Shadow Milk complained, shaking his head. "I want you."
He applied a little more pressure to his clit.
"Should I?"
Shadow Milk's moan was delicious. So delicious, Nilly bit back a soft moan of his own. His cock, painfully hard and even more painfully tight beneath his clothes, begged to be released. Shadow Milk had technically asked with about as much kindness as he could muster… He supposed it was enough punishment for now. Nilly slipped the fingers away, affectionately licking the leftover blueberry slick and smiling to himself over the blush that surely crossed over Shadow Milk's expression. He was quick to partially undo his pants, yanking them down and pulling Shadow Milk forward and half onto his lap, guiding his upper body to rest on the bedding.
"Finallly…" He caught the mookie grumbling—and promptly shut him up from any smarter retorts with a single, well angled rut into his tight folds.
He truly was prepared—that much was obvious. Shadow Milk's entrance gave way far too easily to say anything otherwise. The mookie covered his face with his arm as drool slowly oozed from his mouth between hiccupped sobs of surprise. How endearing. He wanted this yet trembled and sobbed the moment he was speared onto his Nilly's dick. If Nilly were closer to his prime, he likely would've come from the intrusion alone. Unless—
… Hmm.
"That's one, isn't it?" Nilly teased, allowing the tips of his hands to dance along the gentle bulged outline below Shadow Milk's belly button.
When pressed, they both hissed out. How sinfully delectable.
"Oh dear, you must be awfully pent up… So soon—It's as if I were made to please you—As if you were made to take—me—"
Nilly rocked his hips as he spoke; a bead of sweat rolled down his brow. He bit his lower lip. Right. Onto the show before Shadow Milk grew too impatient. Maybe, just maybe—this time, it'll take again. Maybe…
"Made to give you every—everything—Fuck—"
The gritty sound of skin, fluid, and cloth rustling soon filled the barn; Shadow Milk's moans and Nilly's murmurs weren't any quieter. Feeling each bit of tension in Shadow Milk's body as it grew closer and closer to the edge—trying to hold on and fuck him through his orgasm—spilling his seed deep into his womb—Let it take, please take. Take, take, take, take—
The farmer leaned down, affectionately nuzzling his mookie as he rutted through the aftershocks. Shadow Milk, smiling, closed the gap between them with a single kiss; he cupped his face as if it were his first drink of water at an oasis, having been parched for so long. Of course, with them, it never ended on the first round. The second round was far needier than the last—Nilly pressed Shadow Milk against the bedding, raising his beloved's knees beside his head and scrambling his last load of cum with a new batch. A neglected mookie was always a depressed mookie.
Something Nilly would never tolerate.
As for the forgotten mookie on the other side of the stall—assumed to have gone out—The Fount could only chew on his own finger; little indents of his teeth lingered against his azure skin. His own fingers couldn't seem to stop fucking itself against his cunt. It was dizzying overhearing them. Something panged deep within the Fount's chest. A yearning. Longing.
Perhaps he, too, could find such a bond one day.
When was Healer scheduled to come around again?