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Pure Vanilla feels a little embarrassed.
It isn't as if this is some important meeting— nothing concerning the other Ancients or the Cremé Republic— just matters regarding local Vanilla Kingdom issues that required his presence and little else. Simply mediating… does tend to bore him sometimes, he must admit, but he knows his role as a figurehead (a title he greatly prefers over "King," as the citizens still like to call him) of the Vanilla Kingdom. He understands the necessity of his role, don't get him wrong. Though, understanding does little to stop boredom from creeping in each time he has to idly watch delegates drone in circles over things he could've solved in minutes.
But he knows how this goes. Any solution he could offer would only placate, not resolve— and extend an already arduously long meeting another few hours. Best to let conversations play out to their full extent over risking one party objecting his supposed "favoritism" towards another.
So, he stays quiet, and watches, and listens.
He shifts in his seat and bites back a huff.
He can't be obvious— can't let himself be caught. But the tight warmth of the Soul Jam of Deceit wrapped snugly around his length makes this a near-impossible task.
He's made sure to keep one hand up on the table, hoping it dispels any suspicion that would surely arise from both his hands down in his lap combined with his… attempts to appear composed.
His other hand rests below the sight line of the delegates, wrapped firmly around the back of the Soul Jam, discretely (he hopes) hidden beneath his robes.
It was originally Shadow Milk's idea, of course. "I just can't stand to see you all pouty and bored, 'Nilly," was his rationale— but Pure Vanilla knows his other half more than well enough to instantly suss out Shadow Milk's game. The Beast wanted to try out something new, and Pure Vanilla was more than happy to entertain him.
It isn't as if they hadn't… experimented with their Soul Jams in the past— far from it. They'd tried just about everything under the sun— pressing the halves together, dipping fingers and tongues into the gems, and, on occasion, even fucking into the nebulous space of the Other Realm existing within them.
Bringing the Soul Jams into bed had been a life-altering decision— the resonance of two halves being brought closer to being one than they had in a millennia (while their holders relish in each other) proved to push them to new heights of overwhelming pleasure. Pure Vanilla knows how much he loves to be close to Shadow Milk in every perceivable way, and if his other half's demands to keep finding new uses for the Soul Jams in bed said anything, he's inclined to assume he feels the same.
But never had they tried anything outside of the bedroom, away from one another… and especially not in public.
Well… 'public' was being generous when talking about a dozen other cookies, but still. It took less convincing than anyone might've thought for Pure Vanilla to agree to try it out (none at all, not that he would ever admit it) despite his instinctual inhibitions.
He'd arrived to the conference room in the Vanilla Castle early, Shadow Milk's Soul Jam already in hand, "generously lent to him by his humble jester," as the Beast had put it, before Pure Vanilla tied the stole-turned gag over his mouth— another request Shadow Milk had made: he wanted to be bound and gagged for this. Pure Vanilla had huffed out a laugh at first— not only was Shadow Milk requesting to be deprived of his Soul Jam for some sex experiment, but now also depriving himself of his senses or ability to relieve himself without Pure Vanilla's help. He'd protested at first— argued that Shadow Milk had nothing to prove, that perhaps he was pushing himself too far— relenting only when Shadow Milk had agreed to a lighter set of bindings. At an earlier point in time, Pure Vanilla would have found a request of this nature out of character, the Beast's past considered. He knows now, far too intimately to worry too much, just how much Shadow Milk likes to be pushed to extremes— yet he can't help but push back when he thinks it is called for (the knowledge that Shadow Milk can escape his bindings whenever he wants is apparent, but the Beast plays surprisingly fair when it comes to sex).
The image of Shadow Milk— eyes covered and those in his hair appearing as blue crescents and neatly tangled in unused stoles from Pure Vanilla's typical attire, hands tied to prevent him from getting himself off (the Ancient had insisted on leaving his legs free for his own peace of mind, despite the clear)— burns behind his eyes as he settled at the head of the table in the empty meeting room. He hikes up his robes, revealing to himself the already hard length raised eagerly between his legs. He shamefully meets the eye of the Soul Jam— the slit he's about to stick his cock into— as he brings it downwards, grasping his shaft with his other hand and lining them up.
He can't believe he's about to do this… but he brings the slit towards his tip all the same. His cock weeps a bead of precum when it breaches the slit— clearly as eager as he is in how readily it takes him in. It takes Pure Vanilla little effort to sink the Soul Jam down his cock, quickly settling it at his base. He knows the space within the Soul Jam exists… somewhere in the Other Realm, but the sleeve it forms around him is plush and welcoming in a way its typically empty presentation doesn't seem to suggest. Hand on the back of the brooch, holding it in place, he grinds a few slow circles into the sticky warmth and lets out a small sigh at how it pulses around him. He gives a shallow thrust, and—
There's a rustling from outside the door, and it takes Pure Vanilla everything he has in him to not startle. He practically throws down his robes from where they were pushed up by his hips, grabbing the table with one hand to pull his chair closer to the table, his other hand resting atop the fabric covering his… situation as the door swings open and delegates begin to file into the room.
So that's the situation he now finds himself in: achingly hard while buried in a temptingly plush slit second only to Shadow Milk's own pussy while citizens of his (former) kingdom debate over which crops would be most useful to plant in the upcoming season. He hopes the flush that is surely covering his face isn't too obvious to them.
He wishes, oh how he wishes to fuck into the slit without inhibition, the meeting having already dragged for two hours with no end in sight. Instead, he grinds and bobs the Soul Jam at every opportunity he could to shift in his seat or adjust his robes without raising suspicion.
He's getting impatient.
…He has to keep up appearances.
Pure Vanilla makes a deal with himself: if this meeting doesn't end within the next hour, he will find a reason to dismiss it. Perhaps it wouldn't be the best use of his power, but even he isn't above using it for this predicament. He sighs. Shadow Milk would be proud of his willingness to deceive for something so silly.
It doesn't take very long after his resolution for the meeting to fade into a low, droning haze far away from his mind. His thoughts, instead, turn to conjuring Shadow Milk in every possible scenario he may be in right now— so close, yet so far away, his other half is likely writhing, soaked thighs rubbing together in desperation for some form of relief after hours of being dangled over the edge… knowing that the only one who can give him what he needs is just out of his reach. He'll take care of Shadow Milk so well, his twitching pussy ready for Pure Vanilla to—
"My King, is everything alright?"
Pure Vanilla snaps back to reality and bolts upright, only now realizing he had relaxed back into his seat in his reverie for Witches know how long. He forces— with Herculean strength— the feeling of the Soul Jam being jostled around his cock into the back of his mind before he answers the expectant cookie staring over at him from across the table.
"Yes, of course," he replies, only now realizing that the meeting has concluded, and that the delegates were looking towards him for a final word of dismissal.
"Ah! You are all free to go. Thank you for your time this afternoon." He rushes out his words with an urgency he doesn't often possess yet forcing himself to maintain the image he know he must portray. He hopes his expression isn't too tight… he can't say the same for the situation around his cock, the Soul Jam pulsing in response to the sudden loss of movement.
It's all he can do to not rush the cookies faster as they filter out of the room far too slowly for his liking. He waits for a beat after the door shuts behind the last cookie before he wills the lock shut with a touch of magic— there's no way he's walking anywhere in this state.
Pure Vanilla feels far too exposed in the large, empty meeting room, light through stained glass leaving little shadow to hide in. He doesn't hesitate to shove his robe back up past his lap, exposing what he could only describe as an utter mess— the Soul Jam of Deceit having long been softened through his activities now almost melting around his cock. He grabs the Soul Jam with too much force, the impact of which triggers streams of goopy blue liquid to dribble down his cock, adding to the sticky puddle already coating his pelvis.
There is no need for a decision to be made, no time for thought, because the moment his hand meets the Soul Jam, he is already dragging it up and down his cock with far less care than such a precious artifact should ever be treated with (not that it mattered at this point, the Soul Jam having long been defiled by now), chasing release that he has been denying himself for far too many hours.
The wet sounds coming from before him are lost upon his ears, the only thing on his mind the burning desire to finally reach his peak. He at least has half a mind to bring his other hand up to his mouth to muffle his own noises, teeth sinking into the dough of his knuckles.
He really, truly feels as if he is losing himself in the otherworldly pleasure of the Soul Jam. It takes Pure Vanilla one final thrust before he finds release, dragging the Soul Jam to the very base of his cock and grinding it there as he empties himself into it.
He leans deep into the back of his seat and lets out a contented sigh, hand still pushing down on the Soul Jam and keeping it flush to his skin. He stays there, tension seeping from his body— until he realizes something else is seeping down into his lap as well. Pure Vanilla feels his expression shift to a grimace.
A natural consequence, of course: a mixture of the Soul Jam's lubricant and his own spend begins to trickle out of the slit around his cock. He's had his fun, and all Pure Vanilla wants now is to return to Shadow Milk's side and… tend to his other half.
Swallowing a moan, he slowly draws the Soul Jam back up his cock, blue-tinted mixed fluids remaining in its wake. He removes it, finally, with a wet pop that, to him, echoes in the empty room. He looks down at his utter mess of a lap— there is fluid everywhere, sticky and tacky in the open air. He begins— mostly in vain, he knows— to try to wipe away the evidence on his skin against his already defiled robes, when the Soul Jam now resting upon his thighs catches his eye again.
The slit, clearly gaping far wider than the typical fine line (thanks to himself, Pure Vanilla knows, face flushing) is leaking Pure Vanilla's cum in a thin trickle. He bites the inside of his cheek. He can't exactly… leave it in this state when he returns it to Shadow Milk. He dabs his robes against the leaking spend to wipe it away— only for the smallest pressure against the gooey surface of the Soul Jam to trigger a gush of his release from the dark center.
Oh.
It quickly becomes apparent to Pure Vanilla that his robes are not well suited for this particular task, which… should have been obvious, he supposes. His mouth begins to water as his mind settles on the next best course of cleanup… why didn't he think of this first? Instead of further soiling his robes, he can just—
Pure Vanilla lifts the Soul Jam up towards his face, granting himself a much clearer view of the consequences of his work. The slit is weeping white, combining with translucent blue that still seeps from the surface of the softened gem. He doesn't stop to think before bringing it to his mouth and giving the slit a kitten lick before it can overflow onto his hand.
The taste is unlike anything Pure Vanilla has experienced— the sharp blueberry tang of the Soul Jam softened by sweet notes of vanilla that belong to Pure Vanilla and Pure Vanilla only. There is no hesitation as he begins lapping at the slit for more— he may as well be a man starved.
Cleaning up after sex had never led to this specific… method before, and Pure Vanilla almost mourns the amount of meals he has lost to a stream of water and a drain. The taste of Shadow Milk's Soul Jam alone is his favorite treat in itself, but with his own flavor coating it? His mind short circuits.
He begins to lose himself in the action; whenever the taste of vanilla begins to fade, he thrusts his tongue deeper into the slit, drawing out more cream from where it had settled within— subsequently earning more tangy slick in tandem.
His face must look like a mess right now… he can feel excess fluids coating his mouth and chin— yet he can't bring himself to care as he noses his face further into the Soul Jam. He comes up for breath only when absolutely necessary— when his lungs begin to burn and he feels as if he may pass out face first into the greatest feast of his life… if he wasn't in a publicly accessible space he would not have minded if he did.
Time seems to melt away the longer he goes, the ebb and flow of cream and slick seemingly endless. He can feel the echoes of the Soul Jam's pleasure in his own— he can only imagine how Shadow Milk is reacting to this right now.
…
Shadow Milk!
Pure Vanilla's mind is suddenly thrust back to the present, the realization of just how long he has been away dousing him like a bucket of freezing water. In his fervor, he'd entirely forgotten his desire to return to his other half.
He lowers the Soul Jam from his face and gazes at it for a moment. Clean isn't the way to describe it— surface covered in his saliva, the gem a malleable mess still oozing blue slick— but he seems to have cleaned all of his release from the slit. (He knows, actually, that there was already no more cream to find minutes ago— he just couldn't find it in himself to end his meal early.)
Mess in his lap forgotten, Pure Vanilla promptly stands from his seat, opens a portal back to his room (mastering the Other Realm had come rather easily to him early into his Awakening) and steps on through. He doesn't miss the pulse of the thoroughly desecrated Soul Jam in his palm— whether it be in response to returning to its holder or the anticipation of said holder at Pure Vanilla's approach, he doesn't know.
The sight that greets him as the shifting blue and black hues of the Other Realm (dotted with sparks of gold— a more recent inclusion) fade from his view nearly has him paint the inside of his robes all over again.
On his bed is a quivering, shuddering mess— bound, gagged, and blindfolded, Shadow Milk jolts towards the shuffling noise Pure Vanilla makes when he finally steps the room. He groans lowly, rubbing his— extremely slick thighs together— even if he wasn't standing right by the edge of the bed, the squelching sound alone would have been more than enough to alert him of the very obvious fact before him. Shadow Milk's debauched state will surely be burned into his memory forever.
Pure Vanilla tosses the Soul Jam— which he passively realizes he is still holding in his palm— somewhere onto the bed without a second thought, mind consumed by the far more pressing matter of caring for his other half.
He climbs onto the bed beside Shadow Milk, panic taking root at the growing thought that he… may have pushed things a little too far— barely noting the deep blue flush of the Beast's cunt (and considerable puddle of cum soaked onto the sheets before him)— quickly tearing away the gag and blindfold as fast as his hands allowed.
Drool-covered and teary-eyed, Shadow Milk blinks up at the sudden intrusion of light— before limply tilting his head towards Pure Vanilla. Said tears had joined rivers of drool, forming shiny, wet rivulets down deep purple-tinted cheeks and past his chin.
The previously closed eyes in his hair blearily blinked open, some far more slowly than others— Shadow Milk always did play the part until the curtains fell (and usually even after)— forming shapes equally as teary as those on his face. He doesn't miss the hearts that stare up at him between tears.
Pure Vanilla reaches his slightly trembling hand to cup Shadow Milk's cheek, thumb rubbing away a tear threatening to fall from his eye— before another one quickly forms to take its place. The Ancient can see, reflected deep in Shadow Milk's eyes, that the sentiment isn't lost upon him— though they both know that the Beast would never admit it out loud.
If he didn't know him better, the strand of hair reaching out to wrap lightly around his wrist alone would be more than enough of an indication confirming the fact.
"Bluebird…"
The healer lets out a shaky breath, voice trembling out like a newborn fawn taking its very first steps, "Are you alright?"
Shadow Milk replies first with an owlish blink, mouth slightly agape.
Pure Vanilla mentally facepalms at his own ambition and lack of consideration for how significantly his… unsavory decisions in the meeting hall would affect his other half.
He shifts his hand down to Shadow Milk's naked shoulder, same strand of hair following along before he starts again.
"Shadow Mi—"
"If you don't get inside of me right now," Shadow Milk's eyes, razor sharp in a way they hadn't been a second before, lock with Pure Vanilla's own— a breath shuddering from his slick, spit-soaked blue lips, "I am going to crumble you." His voice is laced with a deadly seriousness reserved for only the most dire of situations, and Pure Vanilla knows he is in for it.
And yet he can't stop his expression from shifting to a small frown, the healer in him wanting first and foremost to assess Shadow Milk's current state despite logic— and, of course, the very real threat of being crumbled (he giggles to himself)— screaming at him to do what Shadow Milk has demanded of him.
"Shadow Milk, are you su—"
"Pure. Vanilla." Shadow Milk's voice is seething— he needs not say anything more, threat clear through the cracks of his voice.
Shadow Milk knows what he wants, and who is Pure Vanilla to deny him?
(…Especially after hours of delayed gratification.)
"If you complain later, you'll have nobody to blame but yourself," the healer's voice is resigned more than anything else— at least he no longer worries that he has pushed Shadow Milk past a breaking point… which, in retrospect he supposes, should have been expected.
Pure Vanilla moves to shift himself down between Shadow Milk's soaked thighs— and is stopped by the tightening of the same strand of hair wrapped firmly around his wrist, forcing his hand to remain at his cheek. He shoots Shadow Milk a look— helpless, yet pointed. "You're going to have to let me go first if you want me to 'get inside you,' as you requested."
Shadow Milk huffs, staring back with a glint of defiance in his eyes, then glances off to the side as the grip on his wrist loosens, a nearly imperceptible "I wasn't even doing anything," falling from his lips.
The Ancient magically wills his robes and Soul Jam off from his body to be neatly folded elsewhere, and makes it a point to untie the binds around the Beast's wrists as he settles between his legs. Shadow Milk's arm shoots downward towards his cunt, only to be caught in Pure Vanilla's prepared iron grip.
"Now, now," he chides, amusement coloring his voice, "You will cum by my hands or you won't cum at all."
Shadow Milk yanks his arm back and buries his fingers into his sweat-soaked hairline. "Then let me cum!" He sobs out, voice splintering.
And yet, despite Shadow Milk's vehement demand, he can't help but take a moment to admire the view before him: cock lined up with his dripping, hungry entrance, Pure Vanilla eases in the very tip of his length. Shadow Milk's arms fall to the bed like dead weight, eyes boring into Pure Vanilla and mouth opening to issue what is surely another demand.
The healer's deepening smile is Shadow Milk's only warning before he fills the Beast in one push.
The noise that escapes from Shadow Milk is utterly devastated— a sharp, broken sound— and Pure Vanilla needs to hear it again. He glances up to Shadow Milk's face before he moves again and— if he thought the face that greeted him at his return to his room was something, he hardly has the words to describe Shadow Milk's pleasure now.
New tears have sprung from his eyes, streaking in well-worn paths down his cheeks. His mouth is hanging open, heavy breaths sighing past bitten lips— Pure Vanilla can't stop himself from surging up to take them in his own. A gasp is sucked in before Shadow Milk reciprocates, mouth moving against his like the cure for all his ails could be found between Pure Vanilla's sweet lips. Pure Vanilla wishes he could taste this all the time. It’s a flavor he’s fiercely addicted to, by now— the sharp, sour tang of blueberry and the sweetness of vanilla combined as one.
By the time they're done, Pure Vanilla would think, if all his thoughts weren't consumed by the far more important task of consuming Shadow Milk's mouth, their lips will be swollen with kiss-induced bruises.
Shadow Milk abruptly breaks away with a turn of his head, eyes blazing with untamed lust.
"Move."
Pure Vanilla moves. A sharp thrust met with a sharp inhale, and Shadow Milk's hands fly up to wrap around his neck, claws buried into his hair. Like this, they breathe each other's sighs— Pure Vanilla swallows each punched-out gasp like the only air left in the world exists between them.
Shadow Milk doesn't let him look away from his face— any perceived attempt to do so is harshly met with the threat of claws at his nape— though it isn't as if there is any other view worth watching. Still, Pure Vanilla wants to see his lover, and all of him at that. He stills his motion and pulls himself up just slightly, still caged in Shadow Milk's arms. He has mere seconds before he's dragged back down into another biting kiss.
The image burns like an ember in his mind as Shadow Milk has his way with his mouth, Shadow Milk framed in a halo of his hair, eyes in various states of disarray; rolled back, forming hearts, crying— and reflecting ecstasy that cannot be put into words. And more importantly, the sight of inky black hair weaving into his own bright blond that falls around them like a curtain— joined in far more ways than one.
He wishes Shadow Milk would let him relish just in his presence more. He decides to relish in something else in retaliation.
Pure Vanilla brings a hand to Shadow Milk's abdomen and pushes against the bulge he knows is there. Shadow Milk screams, walls tightening like a vice around his cock. He rests his forehead against that of the Beast, eyes mere inches apart as he slowly draws himself out. He waits for the spark of recognition before pushing himself back in— and back down.
"Pure Vanilla," the words shake between heavy gasps, eyes shooting wide open, "you're a monster."
"And yet, you wouldn't have it any other way," he sighs back.
He hardly has time to build a rhythm before he feels the telltale spasms of Shadow Milk's walls.
"Cumming— agh— I'm gonna cum—
"Then cum for me, Shadow Milk." Pure Vanilla shifts his hand down to Shadow Milk's clit and rolls it once between his fingers— and Shadow Milk is gone.
Shadow Milk's shuddering body and pulsing walls have him following soon after, driving himself as deep as he can go before he finally cums inside of Shadow Milk himself— not the imitation of the Soul Jam.
Pure Vanilla drops his weight down onto Shadow Milk's still heaving chest and earns a light slap against the top of his head— he knows the Beast isn't actually mad with how his hair rises to curl around him in a pseudo-hug.
"So?" Shadow Milk's exhausted voice warbles out, and Pure Vanilla raises his head to admire the beauty of his purple-flushed face.
"So, what?"
"Who's better?"
In some other context, Pure Vanilla may have poked further into the Beasts avoidance of what he truly wants to ask, but he instead grants him the mercy of the answer he knows Shadow Milk is seeking.
"Nothing can compare to you, Shadow Milk," he replies with a peck on his nose.
"Even if—"
Pure Vanilla shuts him up with a chaste kiss. "Hush now. Do you really think I would choose any object over having you?" He props his head on his hand and drags a finger in aimless circles on Shadow Milk's chest.
A shiver echoes through Shadow Milk's body. "But—"
The healer's finger finds its mark low on the Beast's abdomen and pushes lightly down against the still- present bump. Shadow Milk's breath hitches as Pure Vanilla stares down at him. "And if you don't believe me, I suppose I will just have to prove it to you, again and again."
Something playful yet dangerous glints in Shadow Milk's eyes. "I'm still not convinced," he feigns a yawn, then grabs Pure Vanilla's jaw and pulls him close. "Prove it to me."
Pure Vanilla is more than happy to oblige.