Chapter Text
The silken white sheets, like ice underneath his skin, did little to save him from his mindless abandon.
Across the dimly lit room, the shadows danced to the tune of breaths. Or moans, if one dared to consider their vibranto and their insistent echo. To the tune joined the soft rustling of a duvet, moved up and down by something that shifted underneath.
Soft blue locks remained splayed over the pillow, even though they shifted like ocean waves with each violent crash.
"Mn-" a withheld sound slipped his lips, but he was too occupied with the dream-like fantasies to try and hold it in anymore. A shaky hand moved to his mouth to quiet himself, even if only because of the close proximity of their rooms.
The idea of being caught on the act—as tempting as it was—remained terrifying. Yet, even that spurred the jester further into the thorns of desire. His mind slipped and wandered, lost in the feeling of pleasure—he dared to wonder what could happen if he was found.
And then he continued, as if nothing happened, with his hand beneath the sheets as if to dull out the shame. Shadow Milk decided if he couldn't see the unheavenly atrocities he was committing, he wouldn't have his mind eat him alive.
But it didn't help much—as in the darkness of the room, his mind had a canvas vast enough to paint. "Nhhhhhh ffuck—" The beast felt the ache in his arm as the movement picked up, fragile muscles straining at one thought only.
He imagined it wasn't his hand, for a moment. That, for all the vigorous moving and harsh pants, it could've been… Pure Vanilla instead. How his skilled fingers would move across his skin with a definitive lack of diffidence, or how his lips—
Shadow Milk’s thoughts clouded for hours with the thought, earning shudder after shudder from desperate need. How would the monarch unravel him? Slowly, with gentle brushes of lips and grazes of fingers? Impatiently, like a starved man finally looking at a proper meal?
Or maybe, rough. Maybe he'd finally be done with putting up with all the brattish outbursts and for once, please for once, take Shadow Milk like he should've been taken so long ago.
That's all he wanted.
Shadow Milk’s other hand moved to his mouth at a sudden spike of pleasure, cheek pressing to the pillow near his shoulders as his thighs twitched beneath the generous duvet.
It built up. Each single passing thought, every moment that he could imagine what sorts of things Pure Vanilla would whisper in his ear—the pleasure spiked—
His arm twitched unpleasantly as the muscle gave way to ache, and he whined in distaste once he had to still. So close, yet constantly not enough. Had his body not been so fragile, that wouldn't be an issue.
Pure Vanilla wouldn't have that issue.
Blinking away the salty residue that collected in the clusters of his lashes, he started slow again.
How pathetic.