Archive of Our Own ^beta

Boring as they may well be, certain meetings were a necessary evil.

Those meetings in the Vanilla Kingdom were a far too common necessary evil for Shadow Milk Cookie’s liking.
Especially those where his brilliance was required.

Since the so-called ‘rehabilitation’ of the Beasts, public relations between Crispia and Beast Yeast have become far more government official. Shadow Milk’s over-abundance of knowledge unfortunately leaves him as the perfect person to discuss trade unions with.

He knows damn well that politics is a waste of time and space, if these puny little new turn-of-the-century countries want resources so badly, why don’t they just come and get it? They all seem happy to do so with those Soda Islands that they deem so uncivilised, it’s hypocritical to change their tune when the land they want has powerful cookies in it’s residence.

But no, now he must sit in a far-too-plush seat for hours on end listening to drivel. He’s not even allowed to zone out, lest he accidentally agree to Earthbread’s stupidest allyship yet.

At least a meeting in the Vanilla Kingdom has its perks, with such a pathetically doting other-half, Shadow Milk Cookie gets a beautiful room with a view, and a dedicated escort through the kingdom. Pure Vanilla Cookie’s commitment to being such a good host is amusing. Poor dolt has been far too much of a gentleman to even consider complaining about Shadow Milk hogging the waffle-cone printed bedsheets.

Walking through this extraordinarily bright hallway feels dull compared to the effervescent glow radiating from his… companion. The brilliant flicker from candy-wax candles situated in the golden candelabra sconces seem unneeded with such a beacon walking through the hall.

“Penny for your thoughts, Shadow Milk?” The beacon asks, long white lashes fluttering, but eyes staying closed. Pure Vanilla’s hand moves to rest atop Shadow Milk’s shoulder, keeping the Beast Cookie in place.

“Mm, it’ll cost you more than a measly penny for my thoughts Nilly, they’re priceless,” He scoffs, but there’s no malice laced in the scoff, as there used to be. Perhaps he’s finally mellowing out with age. Perhaps being around all five of those pesky Ancient Cookies for such long periods is rubbing off on him.

“Apologies, how many coins do you require to humour me with a little conversation?”

“Tch, knowing you, it’ll be more than just a little conversation, we’re already running behind schedule, we should have been the first people in the meeting room, but someone just had to show me his newest potted plant, hm?” He pushes the hand off of his shoulder with a brisk swipe, taking a couple strides ahead of Pure Vanilla. Trying to chivvy up the Ancient.
This hallway seems to go on forever, and Vanilla’s long legs mean even his slow steps catch up to Shadow Milk’s power-walking in a matter of seconds.

“Come now sweet, can an old king not request a little small talk from his favourite jester?” He tilts his head to the side, long flax-coloured hair spilling over his shoulder, his smile soft and warm.

“Spit it out, what’s your real request?” Shadow Milk spins on his heels, coming face-to-chest with the awakened Ancient. Pure Vanilla’s radiating smile glows down upon him, it seems innocent enough.

He speaks up, as if butter wouldn’t melt on his divine dough. “A simple one my dear, you see, it has been quite a while since I have last seen you. And yet… I haven’t received any displays of you missing me, like I have you.”

“You’re asking for a kiss, huh? At least you have enough shame to not beg for it outright.” Shadow Milk glances behind himself, and then behind his other-half.

Good, no one’s around.

“Would you prefer it if I begged?” Pure Vanilla’s leg creaks slightly as he makes a move to kneel. His knees are only bent slightly before Shadow Milk squawks at him to get up and act his age. “Ah, I take it you would rather I stand whilst I ask then?”

“I’d rather you didn’t ask at all, you know you’ll ask for more, greedy old man.”

“I promise you, I would never want to over-indulge in you, dear, it’s simply been far too long, with you cooped up in that spire by yourself,” Pure Vanilla takes a step closer, his face still ever so serene.
From this angle, Shadow Milk can see a glint of pastel yellow and baby blue peak out from under those white wings of lashes. “I’m sure you get just as lonely as I do, is it wrong for a man to request an affectionate gesture from his souljam sharer?”

“Witches, no, I know you Nills, you can’t stop at one kiss.”

The healer’s bottom lip juts out slightly, an expression somewhere between a childish pout and a wise man lost in thought. If his eyes were open, Shadow Milk is sure Pure Vanilla would have been staring off into space, unfocused eyes aimed at the waffle-cone décor surrounding them.
“Ah, but, perhaps, it would be worthwhile to prove your hypothesis wrong, Bluebird?” He smiles sweetly, his face beams with heavenly light, contrasting with the desires that Shadow Milk knows the man harbours, far, far too well.

He’s challenging the scholar that ruminates deep within Shadow Milk’s soul, coaxing it out, daring Shadow Milk to deny the opportunity to win this debate.
He weighs the pros and cons in this mind.
On one hand, it ends up being only one kiss, sweet and quick, they go on with their day, and they don’t arrive late to the conference. But that side also concludes with Shadow Milk having to accept defeat, an academic loss. A dreadful stain that would be on his career, even if those days were behind him, his pristine record would be tarnished.
On the other hand? Pure Vanilla escalates the situation; as he always tends to do, they’ll be late for the meeting, or worse, miss it entirely. Shadow Milk is sure that route will end with ruined make-up, torn jumpsuit, and a bruised ego and body. But… he’ll have won the thought experiment. Passing with flying colours, even, and he’ll have enjoyed the experience whole-heartedly…

“Alright, fine, one kiss, and be quick about it!”

The request is met with a hum of approval from Pure Vanilla, large hand placing itself beneath Shadow Milk’s chin. As Pure Vanilla advances, Shadow Milk finds himself backing against the wall, eyes squeezing shut, his hand fumbling around behind him, feeling a door handle jut out. Hand closing around the handle, he pushes it down, the door moves aside, letting the two inside, giving the respite of homely shadowing from the bright décor of the Vanillian abode that previously surrounded them.

Pure Vanilla’s free hand ends up playing with one of the inky tendrils that cascade down Shadow Milk’s back, the black tentacular substance’s prehensile nature wraps itself around Pure Vanilla’s hand, trailing down his arm, clinging to it like a python would a branch. The pale blue underside suctions onto Vanilla’s tanned dough.
Pure Vanilla lets out a soft laugh, bringing the hand to his own face, and pressing a kiss to where the tentacle has claimed his palm.
Shadow Milk feels his face heat up into a violent indigo, flustered by the chaste act.

Lips press against Shadow Milk’s warm cheeks, before moving straight to their target, capturing Shadow Milk’s. Vanilla’s round, plush top lip slots perfectly into the break between Shadow Milk’s far thinner, angular lips. He doesn’t even register that he’s already parting his lips before that devious pink tongue slips past the barriers. His own, long blue tongue darts out to meet it, and Pure Vanilla hums happily at the enthusiasm.
His own hands cup Pure Vanilla’s face, the cold, blue skin warms up quickly upon contact with Vanilla. His partner’s face is just as hot as his own, it’s reassuring to learn that they’re both getting hot and heavy from such a simple kiss. His hair is still wrapped around Pure Vanilla’s arm, flowing sleeve rolled up to the elbow, just so that Shadow Milk can entwine himself further around his naked arm, pulling his soulmate closer. They have to shuffle around slightly, switching so that Shadow Milk is the one pressed against the door, so that the taller man can have more room in the tiny closet. It’s such a tight fit, but they’re managing it.

They break apart for air, Pure Vanilla’s smiling softly, his chest heaves with every intake of air. Shadow Milk feels himself shiver as his back presses further into the door, looking up at now open eyes, those pastel irises seem darker, clouded almost. If the Ancient had pupils, Shadow Milk is sure they would be fully blown out right now. He’s sure his own slit pupils are circular now too.

Despite the many heavy layers of cloaks and robes between them, Pure Vanilla’s wandering hand is still spotted and swatted away with an annoyed hiss. Ah, and he had been oh so close to the zipper’s head too. The jumpsuit is already situated exposing the expanse of Shadow Milk’s chest on a normal day, surely it’s not uncouth to want to unfasten it the rest of the way…

Getting caught truly is a shame.

“We don’t have time for that, you dolt! I told you to be quick!” Shadow Milk’s hushed tone carries a scent of aggravation, his dual-chrome eyes flit towards the closet’s door. “I told you when you pulled me in here, a kiss, nothing more!”

Pure Vanilla frowns, arms hanging awkwardly by his side. He’s backed and bent against the wall, coats swaddling him. There’s barely room for one normal sized cookie in here, let alone an Ancient and a Beast.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to disrupt your busy schedule, Shadow Milk.”

“My Sche- My schedule?! It’s YOUR meeting, not mine! I don’t even need to be in that conference room, YOU DO!” Hands are flung in the air, well, as in the air as they can be in this cramped space. Claws brush against the ceiling as Shadow Milk brings his arms down. The blue Beast swivels himself around, making ample contact with his other-half, unable to create any distance. He shuffles away, reaching for the door’s handle, one rather primitive compared to the rest of the Vanilla Kingdom’s adornments.
As one hand grasps around the handle, two sneak onto Shadow Milk’s lithe waist, resting comfortably just inches above hip-dips.

“Ah, but my dear, surely we have time for at least a little stimulation?” The front of Pure Vanilla’s robes brush against Shadow Milk’s jumpsuit, the robe’s soft, white cotton against his black lycra is not an uncommon sensation, but it sure is unexpected when the minimal touch evolves into the pushing of Pure Vanilla’s front against his ass. In such a small confined area, one may mistake it for an accidental touch, if not for those large hands enveloping his sides.

“Ngh… well… just be quick about it!” His hands flatten against the door, clawed nails curling under in anticipation.

Vanilla starts slow, rocking backwards and forth on the balls of his feet, an all-too-familiar presence finding itself slotting between the dip of Shadow Milk’s cheeks. His hands grip onto the Beast’s waist, not tight enough to leave marks, but certainly more substantial compared to how they were ghosting not a minute earlier.
Shadow Milk can’t help but to press back onto his other-half, keening into the touch. He knows they have to be fast, that’s the only reason he’s encouraging this behaviour. Time is not on their side, meaning foreplay is off the menu, luckily his body is still riled up from their kiss earlier.

If you could even describe it as that, it had felt more like being devoured.
Shadow Milk lets out a sharp gasp, the feeling returning. Pure Vanilla’s nose nuzzles against his neck, nudging tendrils of hair out of the way, revealing the bare nape nestled between the gap of his ruff’s end. Vanilla doesn’t have the luxury of unlacing the ribbon holding the ruff closed, burying his face amidst ruffles as he mouths at the untouched, blue skin. Combined sensations of hot air and scraping teeth send a shudder down Shadow Milk’s spine, pooling in his stomach. The steady hum of pressure against his leotard’s crotch now forms into an almighty ache as his cock strains against the stretchy fabric. No amount of elasticity could numb the bubbling want for release.

Sweat rolls down Shadow Milk’s neck, and a tongue darts out to lap it up, dragging a trail across the expanse of blue dough, licking up every droplet that falls.

Salty.

Shadow Milk’s body stutters, claws darting to scratch onto the door, removing the lacquer and leaving behind thin white lines as he tries to anchor himself back into a standing position. It’s too late though, Pure Vanilla’s palm is already pressing against his back, forcing Shadow Milk to bend. He’s practically perpendicular in pose, scrambling to grab onto something, anything. He grips the door handle with one hand, the other has to lay flat against the wood. Pure Vanilla’s clothed erection rubs against him with even more fervour than before. He’s speeding up his thrusts, his hands holding Shadow Milk in position, bringing the Beast backwards, he feels just like a ragdoll, limbs akimbo. He has to wrap his own hair around Pure Vanilla’s torso, replicating a harness, just to keep them both together. It’s undiscernible who’s grip it tighter, the tentacles strapping Vanilla down, or that large hand gripping fully around his own waist.
His back feels wet as vanilla scented droplets of sweat fall onto him, leaving behind dark little stains on the already pure black jumpsuit.

“Hah… fuck… Nilla-” His breath hitches, his hand moving from the door to the front of his jumpsuit, intending to palm at himself through the fabric. Whining softly, Shadow Milk only gets a second or two of the sensation before a hand grabs at his wrist, pulling it back.

“Don’t cheat, I know you can cum without it, can’t you, sweetness?”

He can’t even protest against Pure Vanilla’s syrupy statement. He’s right, Shadow Milk is incredibly close, teetering on the edge of orgasm, he only needs a little bit more attention and he knows he’ll get off.

“Will you behave and leave it alone?”

“Agh- fine! Fine! Just unhand me-!” His hand is released, allowed to return to its position on the door, propping Shadow Milk up. Pure Vanilla’s hand returns to his back, running up and down his jutting spine, bumping across each ridge. The Ancient’s nails are trimmed, but he still drags them across Shadow Milk’s back, knowing that even the subtlest of actions leave marks on the delicate blue dough that hides beneath the lycra.
Not once has Pure Vanilla slowed, how he’s able to keep such a consistent and fast rhythm is beyond even the ex-fount’s knowledge.

“Fuck- witches-” A shudder comes from behind Shadow Milk. A guttural groan accompanying it, Vanilla’s body trembles, sending shockwaves down the tentacles that wrap around the healer. Shadow Milk feels his tendrils writhing atop Pure Vanilla’s spasming member, coaxing the cream out of it. He’s unable to control himself as he milks Vanilla dry, wrapping around him atop of his robes, pumping each and every last droplet out of his other-half.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes are screwed shut, he’s doubled over, head pressed against the small of Shadow Milk’s back. His knuckles are white as both his hands wrap around Shadow Milk’s waist, encircling him completely. He’s pulling Shadow Milk backwards, humping against the Beast as he fucks into the clothed cylinder that the tentacles have created. Ragged breathing leaves damp spots on Shadow Milk’s back. Breath hitching as Pure Vanilla’s hands start roaming lazily, they circle back to Shadow Milk’s front, ghosting over his still straining erection, instead choosing to trail up the jumpsuit, pushing aside where the zipper lays open, onto that vast expanse of exposed blue torso.
It doesn’t take a genius for Shadow Milk to realise that Pure Vanilla’s searching for his chest. Large hands grope at the small mounds of tissue, fingers taking perfect place, the perky indigo nubs of his nipples fit perfectly between the splay of forefinger and middle.

It’s a pathetic attempt at playing with his breasts, but it’s working. It’s just enough attention to keep Shadow Milk excited, just not quite enough to get him teetering over the edge. His tentacles are still holding Pure Vanilla’s hips in place, and the Ancient rocks back-and-forth softly, muttering sweet nothings as he presses kisses into the sweat drenched bodysuit. Kisses trail upwards, reaching the break in his ruff once more. Instead of just mouthing at the expanse like a mutt, Vanilla nips and sucks at Shadow Milk’s scruff, drawing out dark purple bruises, marking in a place he knows Shadow Milk can’t reach, or cover up on his own.

Rough fingertips brush over the sensitive buds, century-old callouses create friction against Shadow Milk’s soft skin. The whimper leaves his throat before he registers it. Having the same hands that nurtured a nation obsessing over his body is an addicting thought. The same digits that reared countless livestock, traversed lands upon lands, and built these very castle walls are man-handling Shadow Milk with overwhelm of perverse desires.
Hips buck backwards against Pure Vanilla. His eyes widen as he realises his partner’s already back at half-mast.

“You fucking freak of a man,” He hisses, hearing that familiar sheepish half-chuckle in his ear. “You’re far too old to be getting it back up that quickly.”

“Hah… perhaps you simply have such an effect on me, my dear,”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, ‘Nilla,” Shadow Milk scoffs, but he can’t deny the somersaults that his stomach engages in at such an inappropriate compliment. Heat has been pooling in his groin for a good while now. He’s so close, he might just explode if Pure Vanilla doesn’t stop man-handling him.

“On the contrary, my dear bluebird,” He’s humming softly, a husk covers that usually soft voice. “Flattery gets your jam pumping, I know you~”

Hands move south, gripping at Shadow Milk’s waist once more, but instead of just holding him in place, Vanilla is pulling Shadow Milk backwards, speeding up his pace once more. He feels like a ragdoll in the Ancient’s grasp. He’s still attached by his tentacles to Pure Vanilla too. His lungs catch in his throat with each pull back, his head thrown back in a permanent tug. He gags, breathless at the sudden rough behaviour.
The way that Pure Vanilla’s clothed cock buries itself in the curve of the Beast’s ass is heavenly. Fuck, he can’t wait for that meeting to be done with, so that they can continue without the clothing barrier. In their own bed-chamber too. His body cramps from the claustro-setting. His whole body aches if he thinks about it, his cock aches the most, still strained angrily against his bodysuit. He can tell it’s been weeping for a good while; so neglected, so upset, just wanting to be touched, for Shadow Milk to jerk himself once or twice, that’s all he needs.

Fuck just his lungs, it feels like his heart is in his throat too. Every heavy-hitting thrust against him adds to the bubbling pressure in his groin. Even though Pure Vanilla’s hands are in one place now, moving him to-and-fro as if he weighs nothing, Shadow Milk swears he can still feel them crawling all over him, groping at every body part but his cock.

“GAH-! Vanil-AH! Fuck-! I-!” Shadow Milk scrambles, trying to right himself. He’s bent over so far, his body is an acute angle. How he didn’t realise he could see his feet before now is beyond him. Hands scratch at the floor, he can see Pure Vanilla’s powerful legs from underneath his robes. He’s practically watching himself get humped, as if he was a bitch in heat for Vanilla to stud.

The jam is rushing to his head just as fast as it’s rushing to his dick. Mind a blank as he wonders if he’s going to pass out or cum first. Both are going to happen soon enough, vision blurring, all he can see is the cream of Pure Vanilla’s robes and cloak before everything fades out.

Shadow Milk is unsure if the noise he left out was a cry or a scream, whatever it was, everyone in the Vanilla Kingdom surely heard it loud and clear. Birds were absolutely fleeing the roosters as he wept, blueberry scented cream covering the inside of the lycra cage. Pure Vanilla follows soon after, his robes well and truly ruined with that vanilla essence.

Those caring arms wrap around Shadow Milk’s waist, holding him up, his whole body far too limp and bent to stay anywhere close to upright. Vision returns in blots on parchment. It’s all cream, all around him. Swaying side to side, his limpness seems to get limper, and consciousness fades from his dough.

If Pure Vanilla hadn’t stolen his soul-jam before, it definitely felt gone now.

“Oh, my… I believe we should play truant for this meeting, my dear…” Pure Vanilla’s honest concern goes unheard and unregistered.

—

Blinking open mismatched blue eyes, Shadow Milk is once again assaulted by cream upon cream upon cream. It’s the master bedroom, Pure Vanilla’s bedchambers. He’d recognise these waffle-cone patterned bedsheets anywhere. There's a familiar plushness behind him, Shadow Milk rotates his head slightly. Feels like four, maybe five pillows are propping him up, he’s practically upright.
He feels washed, clean in places he wasn’t sure existed before.
His… his clothes feel different too. Meekly, he raises his arm. Soft yellow silk pyjamas greet him, too large for him too. The fabric hangs off the end of his hands, creating cloth paws. They stink of vanilla, and of Vanilla.

Speaking of, it takes a good second for Shadow Milk’s eyes to focus in the monocolour room. Rocking softly, unfinished knit blanket thrown across his knees, and book long abandoned on the side table, Pure Vanilla snores softly. Reading glasses askew as his head tilts to the side (They must be quite heavy, the lenses are more chunks of sugar-glass than any lenses Shadow Milk had ever seen, then again, he’d only worn eyewear for cosmetic reasons before). The angelic figure before him surely can’t be the same pervert from earlier that day.

“Tch, old men need their rest.” Shadow Milk mutters to himself, he’s too tired to consider waking him. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that.

He’s cute when he’s asleep.