A/N: Behold. The moment we have all been waiting for. 

This chapter is 8k words long and of course, my way of thanking you Beans for waiting years (Vanilla and Leroy relate to this) for this to happen HAHAHAHAHA thank you for your patience. And naturally, this three-week chapter took me much, much effort and though I myself am extremely pleased with the outcome, I can only hope you feel the same. It is past midnight here after a long day and my eyes are closing. 

There is a perspective switch in the middle of this very long, very steamy, VERY THICK chapter and it's been some time since Flight School, but I decided to write the latter half in third-person because it provides a better picture of the character's emotions and depicts the scene from a bird's eye view (YES THIS IS WHY FLIGHT SCHOOL IS WRITTEN IN THIRD PERSON). Anyway, strap in and hold on because this chapter is an avalanche and a single flame combined.

Enjoy.

________________________

[Vanilla]

It is extremely difficult for someone who places less emphasis and importance on anything remotely romantic or sexual in their lives to describe the act of kissing. That would be me. On one hand exists the most generous of mankind partaking in such activities at parties and with multiple different people in the span of one wild night. Some take a step further to draw interesting conclusions: equating kissing to breathing and sounding perfectly absurd but even then, people were allowed to live the lives they wanted to live as long as they weren't doing anything illegal, per se.

But to the relative and quiet minority of people on the vague spectrum of sexuality, the act of romantic kissing can sound fairly intimidating. Now I know it sounds like I'm on the brink of contradicting myself; how could someone who doesn't care for romance or sex feel anything about kissing, let alone caution and intimidation?

To a man of rationality and reason, I'd simply eliminated all means of distraction—unnecessary engagement in sexual activity is therefore one such thing to a person of my nature. The only time I could ever fathom to be faced with the prospect of a kiss, of wanting to engage in such an act, was if my partner was a specific person.

And thus here we are, pressed up against each other in an elevator going against the laws of my universe and and and engaging in... i-in. Each other.

"Open."

"Wha..." I blinked up at him through a blur. "Mmh—!"

Words went out the window the moment I felt his tongue against mine, taking in the scent of smoked cinnamon and the sweetness of cream and coconut, an otherworldly combination made only possible by the very dessert I'd enjoyed mere hours before.

He moved in a way I could only describe as deep, fingers reaching into my hair and then lower to my neck while he worked on a knee-buckling pleasure on the roof my palate.

I struggled to remain standing, reaching behind me for the handrails that lined the elevator in a fever but felt his hands on mine at once, filling the gaps between my fingers and guiding me to his shoulders instead. The next thing I knew, he'd shifted closer and propped me up against the railings like I weighed close to nothing—hands resting firmly on my waist to prevent any further instances of malfunction.

Now, I'd like to add that it'd been a little more than two weeks since our last engagement and though that isn't necessarily the longest time conceivable, I'd like to offer it as an excuse to account for my extreme lack of reason and self-control. Surely, a sudden influx of criminal activity would have anyone else feeling something akin to melting under the sun. Surely.

How we got to this point was fairly simple: I'd made to my counterparts Amelia and Pao an easy escape of feeling under-the-weather before sneaking out of the party and rejoining said criminal at the main building of the resort. The unspoken plan was to head up to my room in the producer's villa that was on the top of the hillside, which was how the elevator came into play.

Yes, the ride was supposedly short. Thirty seconds was the time I'd imagined it would take to get to our floor but what I hadn't expected was illegal activities to ensue the very moment the doors slid shut.

The short ring of a bell had my eyes flying open and darting straight to the digital display above the elevator doors. It wasn't our floor.

Within the split second my attention had strayed, Leroy caught on from the shift in my gaze and backed off, licking his lips and passing a thumb under his chin just as the elevator doors slid open. A group of unsuspecting tourists filed in, not quite noticing the odd tension between me and the illegal existence who'd pulled back to the other side of the elevator with a smirk up his sleeve, giving a tad too much ground for comfort.

I was confused for a grand second. And then I was falling over.

Th—he—! I felt the silicone bud throb and pulse inside, sending sparks up my spine in a single beat and I was reaching up to cup a hand over my mouth before I knew it. That complete, utter...

As expected, I could feel his eyes on me from across the elevator. To meet that gaze would be equivalent to making the gravest of mistakes because surely, they'd burn. And they did.

He had his phone in one hand and the other in his pocket, leaning back against the railings in a state of complete leisure and enjoyment. I was reduced to mere glares, through vision blurred by the most criminal of pleasures—unlawful and unsanctioned. Unfair. Underhanded. Practically cheating.

I held onto the handrails for dear life, shifting my weight to rely entirely on the metal to steady myself and yet, none of that was nearly enough for what was to come. The low hum of the device picked up, doubling the intensity and pace of its movement all at once and heavens, railings or not, I was all but falling to my knees there and then.

Keeping it together meant dwelling on the one and only thought my mind was capable of forming: how this magical lift ride seemed to warp time and refuse to come to an end. The only sound that came through my fever dream was the dull drone of the ventilation and my labored breathing. Then came the ring.

It cleared the clouds and had me pulling myself together as the other guests shuffled out the elevator doors. I sighed in relief, a hand over my chest whilst resting my eyes on the tip of my shoes. The doors slid close after a second of silence, and with my sanity somewhat restored, I dared a glance.

"Leroy," I somehow managed, feeling the words flutter weak in the air. "Turn it off. A-and stop looking at me like that."

"What exactly did you like about the dessert?"

"I—please. We talked about this! It was... the... it tasted... really—"

"Be objective."

"Wha! How dare you accuse me of... of... and as much as you'd like to hear what I thought of your dish, I too, would like to hear yours! You haven't said a thing about it. And about your tastebuds returning. And... nnha—! Leroy," if I hadn't known any better, I would've thought myself begging. "Turn it off."

He did, closing the distance while my mind was in a state of recovery to reach for something below my neck. By the time my gaze followed his, he had pulled back to admire his work of art: a single top button of mine, undone.

"Ah yes," I breathed, having expected some greater form of intimacy I was far too embarrassed to admit out loud. "All that for a button. Of course. Classic criminal."

"I'm surprised you're still standing," he had the gall to muse, holding the doors open when we finally arrived at our floor. I gave him a look, careful with every step I was taking.

"Vanilla Julian White, standing under such dire circumstances?" I scoffed under the pretense of sarcasm, heightened senses dwelling on the fabric of my pants against my inner thigh. "What shocking news. And look, he's even capable of walking! How surprising."

"I'll give you five seconds to take that back," he mused with a thumb hovering over the screen of his phone.

I waved my flag at once, holding onto the arm he'd extended in offer and telling him to wipe that smile off his face.

*

Alas, how could I?

A mind filled with nothing else but a single person thus proves extremely frightening once more: I'd completely left poor Leo and Chicken out of the picture and imagined an evening with Leroy in private. And so to be greeted and welcomed home by two pairs of expectant, gleaming eyes did indeed come as a surprise.

I picked up Leo at once, holding him to my chest for a nuzzle whilst heading over to his food and water dispenser for a quick check. The camera reported positive results. My cat raised his head, rubbing the top of it against my chin. Affectionate.

"I know you miss him," it took me a moment to register who, exactly, it was Leroy had decided to speak to out of the blue. "But it's my turn today."

I gave the lion a look. "He's a cat, Leroy."

They proceeded to participate in a standoff—staring for a good second or two before Leo hopped out of my arms with a meow, padding over to Chicken who had his head raised at his owner, tail wagging. Leroy reached down to give his boy a well-deserved chin rub for looking after his tiny companion while we were out.

"I'll deal with the kids. You... need any help?" I watched his eyes flit downwards, then back up to meet my gaze. The audacity!

I huffed, feeling the tips of my ears grow hot. "No thank you, I'm fine on my own. In fact, I shall be done in a minute. Excuse me."

Cue hasty retreat into the bathroom and closing of the door. The last I saw of the criminal was him raising a finger in a kneeling position as though to give the kids a good lecture. I imagine snacks were at stake.

A mere hour ago, I was having these pants freshly pressed and ready for the cocktail party. Yet, here I am taking them off after attending the above-mentioned activity for a grand total of five minutes. An odd, but certainly not unwelcome phenomenon, only probable in the presence of Leroy Cox.

I busied myself with removing the foreign object, reaching behind to tug gently on the silicone wire attached to the device whilst bracing against the sink top. Sadly, this was a two-hand affair requiring fingers to stretch and to tug; and so distracted I was by this complicated task that locking the door was the last thing on my mind.

This meant a certain idiot walking into a scene of complete embarrassment.

"—!!!" I paused.

Our eyes met in the mirror and it took me a moment to register the expression in his eyes as pleased. He seemed to lose track of time, staring at the underwear slid halfway down my thighs and the black strap secured around my right.

"Wha..." I turned to face him instead, tugging the front hem of my shirt downward as much as I could. "I—knock. Please." My thighs shifted closer together on instinct.

"What's this?" He approached, gaze continuing to rest on the strap before slipping a dangerous finger past the inner band and running it along the flesh of my inner thigh. I gasped, reaching down to stop his hand from going any further.

"W... don't do that. It's just a... thing. It has a wire attached to the... well, you know what its attached to. I-it's a preventive measure. I'm sure no couple would like to find themselves in an embarrassing situation at the doctor's should an incident were to occur."

He hummed, closing the distance and bracing his hands on the sink top by my sides; left and right. "Turn around. I'll help you with that."

"I can manage fine," I protested at nothing in particular because either way, I was turning around to oblige. He ran his hands under water and soap while I gave myself a mental rundown of what was about to happen, holding onto the edges of the sink for balance and bracing for discomfort.

What I had not expected was a moment of tenderness; Leroy placed a hand over mine, filling the gaps between my fingers with a word of reassurance. "Breathe."

In a single motion, he'd spread the sensitive flesh apart with his fingers and tugged on the silicone wire, easing the device out much smoother than my personal attempt seconds earlier. I was flinching every now and then, listening to the embarrassing sounds coming from a certain part of myself. Thank heavens my partner decided to make an effort to distract me from any other possible sources of discomfort.

"So. How long?"

I struggled to raise my gaze, meeting his through the mirror and realizing he'd been watching the entire time. I looked away; down at the wash basin. "..."

"Right after the shoot then."

"No," I bit my lip, quick to correct him. And because everyone knows geniuses loved correcting others, I suppose he'd... oh. I paused, connecting the dots and realizing I'd done him a favor by proving his point. He looked surprised, but pleasantly so—raising a single, expectant brow. Clearly amused.

I crumbled under his gaze, giving in quietly. "... this morning."

This brand new piece of information seemed to surprise him further; removing the rest of the device in a single, alarming tug that had me shuddering in his hands. "The whole time?"

I remained silent, recovering from the burst of discomfort and sudden emptiness inside me where the plug had been sitting for hours. Mind you, I'd made the conscious effort to time breaks throughout the day and managed properly on my own without the aid of my partner but that had all been in the context of zero... additional... automations that involved unsanctioned, um, vibrations.

"Someone knew exactly how today was going to end." He laughed low, kissing the tip of my ear which of course, did terrible things to my heart as he very well should have known how sensitive they were.

"Oh be quiet. I-I... it's a training kit for a reason."

"We had fun," Leroy detached the wired device from the strap on my upper thigh and held it up in the mirror. Like a prize. "It's bigger than the last one you got."

"Well Mr. Cox, I believe that's the point of a new training kit." I huffed, taking it from his hands and running it under the tap with a special cleanser that came with the device. "I will not stand for another one of your classic 'It's not going to fit' lines in the middle of... our, um escapades."

He hummed, wandering hands reaching under my shirt. "Escapades."

I pretended to remain unfazed, busy with the washing while he had other ideas; one of his hands slid down my front, past my waist to skim the band of the strap I'd left unattended. The other brushed and teased parts of my chest I'd never thought were sensitive. Alas, Leroy was a fool. In truth, there was no further need for any supposed mood setting or tension building o-or what the urban dictionary termed as 'foreplay' because, well, all he really needed to do was take one look at the embarrassing state of my underwear to know exactly how affected I'd been since our little... episode at the cocktail party.

Sigh. If only he knew better; and yet, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Dancing with a fool was something I happened to find incredibly enjoyable. That one, specific fool.

He'd unbuckled the strap around my thigh with a single hand that lingered after, fingers sinking into pressure points that felt almost like a massage except, w-well, I was finding it increasingly difficult to remain standing upright.

"Do you know," he started off excruciatingly slow, matching the pace of his fingers. "You arch your back every time we kiss?"

I fumbled with the device, nearly dropping it in shock. "Wh—that..." The prospect was considered and the conclusion, uncertain. "That is not..."

A shivering heat raced up my back at his touch; stroking slow, a hand wrapped around the most private of areas and a calloused thumb kissing the tip in a tease. I had to put a pause on what I was doing to place everything aside just to keep my balance in check.

Leroy's response to my defensive streak was to laugh, low and amused. Then it was him telling me to look in the mirror and in the next moment, kissing me senseless like this was the real competition and I was his challenge. Naturally, I panicked.

"Mhhn! Nh. Ha—"

There was no telling where he acquired the skills of a supposed expert in his life void of romance which of course, had me slightly intimidated and nervous about my own personal performance. I did my best to follow his lead, leaning into his hand that had made its way upwards to cradle the side of my face. The other held firmly onto my waist, locking it in position.

I was panting hard, gasping by the time Leroy pulled away. He passed a thumb under his lip, observing the effects of his work before cracking into an illegal smile of victory. "You see?"

Had I the energy to deal a deserved blow to his chest, I would have. The criminal had me sandwiched between the sink top and him, fingers tracing the curve of my back and his front flush against mine.

"N-no. No. I don't see—how could I? You're in my line of sight; my vision is filled with you! I mean I couldn't... possibly... while all that was happening." I gestured at the phenomenon that was us, spent from the kiss and unable to English.

It did not help that I'd chanced upon an embarrassingly foreign face in the mirror—cheeks flushed with heat, glasses askew and glistening lips. Took me seconds to realize who that was.

"All what was happening?"

Leroy did not let up. He refused me a break and proceeded to remove his shirt from the bottom up, right before my eyes. Naturally, he understood full well the effects that tended to have on my now-weakened state of mind, teased beyond belief.

"I... I refuse to respond to a question you know the answer to. Now, are we heading to bed or not?" "Patience, Mr. White." "I—! I am. Patient. Mind you, you're speaking to someone who's been waiting for several months for this to happen." "I win by default. Been waiting for years." "W-well. This isn't a competition. But... good. Alright then. The bed it is." "You say that twice but you're still leaning against that counter like your life depends on it."

"That's because—!" My thoughts came to a pause. There simply was no elegant way to describe my current state. "I'm trying to... so... I did not foresee the um, the effects of the training kit to take a toll on my, well, my ability to... move. My movement. Issues. I, um... I can't walk, Leroy." I finished quietly. Gaze lowered to the floor.

Without looking up, I could feel his presence lean into mine; and then it was his fingers at the side of my face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Could've said so earlier."

In a single, sweeping movement, he lifted me off my feet, one arm supporting my back and the other, hooked below my knees like an awful married couple on their honeymoon evening and not one—not a single complaint escaped my lips. To say I was out of character would've been a severe understatement.

"Someone's incredibly attractive this evening," I said off-handedly, face buried into his neck.

He snorted a laugh. "Don't lie. You think that every time of the day."

"I assure you, I don't. Though I must say I'm impressed by your wild imagination and seeming confidence."

"Says the one impressed by many things today."

"W-well... yes. Admittedly, I was. But as I've mentioned, you seem... somehow, just. More... attractive. In this very instance." I explained, sheepish as he lowered me carefully onto the covers and I was all of a sudden made readily aware of the sheets brushing against the bare skin of my thighs.

"This instance?" He toyed with the buckle of his belt, teasing a view that had my ears flaming hot in a heartbeat. My gaze dropped elsewhere.

"That's. That's um—"

"What you did today," his fingers traced the loop of my ankle before wrapping his entire hand around it. "Was an open challenge." In a blur, he had both my ankles in his grip and pulled them apart to position himself between my legs, raising them to the level of his waist before popping open a bottle of lubricant. All without breaking his gaze. "And you know I like a good one."

I reached for a pillow by my head and held it close to my chest, shielding myself from the burn of his eyes. "Hm. So what if it was."

"You're saying Mr. White wasn't expecting this to happen after he'd gone to the trouble of riling me up on purpose?" He mused, knowing exactly how I felt about the um, the pleasant view. "You knew what you were doing."

Leroy's gaze lowered to the area below my waist and I shied away, thighs closing on instinct. Our eyes met and he had the audacity to say nothing; all he did was give me this look that was a cross between leisure and sheer enjoyment. As though knowing something good was about to happen without his prompting and simply waiting for it to unfold before his eyes.

"Nghhh..." I made a sound of dissatisfaction, raising the pillow further up my face before gradually spreading my legs apart again. On my own.

"Good." I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Oh be quiet. If you weren't... ha—mghn!" My mind stopped short the instant I felt his fingers skim the rim of my entrance.

"Tell me if it hurts."

___________________

[Third]

Vanilla acknowledged this from behind his pillow with a single nod, heart racing unimaginably fast; anxious, nervous, excited, even, to feel those fingers inside him again and in place of a hard, inanimate object. And as much of an idiot Leroy may have seemed at times, there was certainly no denying that he knew Vanilla perfectly well. In truth, the criminal had in his head a wealth of knowledge accumulated from their past escapades (every single one of them!), as though those were the lessons he'd signed for and this was the exam he'd been waiting to sit.

There was little suspense.

His fingers, warm and slippery from lubricant, eased into the stretched opening and searched at once for the soft, pleasured spot of his partner's that he knew would send him reeling in his hands; something he'd committed to memory.

The response was immediate. Vanilla's hips lifted away from the covers to meet his touch and with a hand over his mouth and eyes closed, abandoned his grip on the pillow to opt for the sheets instead.

"Good?" Leroy leaned in for a closer look, taking in the view as his fingers did the work—grazing. Teasing. Stroking that sweet spot of his partner's.

The latter was not in the state for words. Seconds and he was there, back arched into a sensual curve; stifling cries with a hand that, too, trembled from the pleasure of a full-body orgasm built up from before.

"Mm..." His sigh seconds after was warm and sweet. It tasted of tea and milk; his chest rise and fell, slowing in pace and gradually returning to peace. As though he'd been holding back a release of this level for the longest time and finally, had said wish fulfilled.

And like every other professional criminal, Leroy had been lying in wait for an opening of such nature. He kept his eyes fixed on Vanilla coming down from his high, reaching for the condom he'd readied earlier by the bed and ripping open the packaging. Rolling it on, his eyes drifted to the sensitive entrance that throbbed from the stimulation and could not resist circling it with his index. Even from the surface of his partner's skin, Leroy could feel the inside pulse from his high. Warm and welcoming.

The view pleased him immensely but it was popping open the bottle of lubricant once more and emptying a quarter of it on the length of his shaft that lit the spark of anticipation. He warmed it next, wrapping a hand around his shaft and visualizing it buried deep in the soft, wet heat. Pumping twice for an even coat.

He thumbed the entrance once before spreading it wide.

"You've been quiet," he eased in. "Not sure if I'm used to that."

It did not take his partner very long to feel the stretch of his walls all at once—an uncomfortable, tear-inducing pain pricking his lower half and killing all thoughts in an instant.

"H—!" Vanilla held on to the sheets beneath him, unable to stifle a cry from escaping his lips. His breathing quickened from the intensity of it all, searching for an outlet that ended up being the very same pillow he'd tossed aside. Pressing it deep into his face, he cut off access to the world and focused on a single thought: new glasses had to be due by the end of the night. Thank goodness for the spare he'd brought along.

Concerned, Leroy waited for the muscles gripping the head of his shaft to let up before taking things a little deeper. The slightest movement however, was enough to have Vanilla panting aloud. He had no other choice but to remove the comfort shield between them, tossing it aside and hearing a quiet whimper of surprise coming from his partner.

Slender fingers fumbled for any other form of support and Leroy hastened to provide his own. He'd stopped completely; the head of his shaft just barely past the entrance and swelling in size from the mind-fogging heat.

"Let's switch," he offered, spare hand reaching down for a better hold on pale hips and gently pulling out. "You don't look so good."

The most Vanilla was capable of doing was nodding quietly, shifting his legs a little to ease up the space between them. Leroy lifted, then repositioned his partner in a way that had them facing each other; the latter resting comfortably on his lap with his legs apart. Chests much closer to each other's than before.

"It'll work," Vanilla insisted under his breath, adorably stubborn about their sexual compatibility and wanting to reassure his soft-hearted companion. "I'll be fine this time."

Said companion laughed, planting a kiss on his forehead and resting calloused hands on silken hips. "Ready?" His partner responded by leaning in, hands placed shyly on either side of Leroy's shoulders. The cue to continue.

He started by lowering Vanilla's hips onto his length and feeling it slip into the open heat. More relaxed than his former attempt. It made his cock throb; a rush of heat pooling in his lower half that yearned for its entirety to be warmed and sleeved. He held back the desire to rock upwards, driving the rest of his shaft into his partner.

"You okay?" He turned to observe Vanilla's response, feeling the muscles around his tip tense and and relax to accommodate the growing size. But his partner had his face buried in the crook of Leroy's neck, crumbling from the intensity once more and throwing his arms around the broad muscled back for extra support.

It was clear to anyone that he was experiencing a fair bit of discomfort despite all the prep and effort the couple had been making thus far. And so unsurprisingly, it took just one little sniffle from Vanilla for Leroy to finally crack.

"Fuck," he breathed, losing heart and pulling out carefully. He set his partner on his lap, cradling his face in his hands. "I don't want to hurt you."

At once, Vanilla was snapping out of his pain—eyes flying right open and staring straight into his partner's. He bit back every shock of pain in his lower half, sitting upright and straightening his glasses as though about to launch into a full-blown debate. This was not a new look on him; Leroy had seen the snow turn into an avalanche many a time, burying victims in a weather of rage.

A single, deep breath was what he liked to start with. "We are not going through this again."

"Vanilla. You have tears in your eyes."

"It's a natural reaction from the intensity of emotions and physicality combined! Surely, you'd be able to tell I'm not in any genuine pain. This is a completely different thing and and and to think you're putting a stop to this for the third time—"

"I'll never forgive myself if you get sent to the ER for this."

"Leroy," Vanilla said as calmly as he could manage, tone deathly quiet. And had they not been in bed with their dicks out and raging hard, you'd think they were talking about the weather next Saturday. "If your thing isn't in me in the next minute, I will personally set this entire establishment on fire. Do you understand?"

And so he'd flipped the switch.

Needless to say, the criminal idiot was rendered speechless by the assertive desire Vanilla had expressed for his sex and as the natural progression of all things natural would naturally dictate, he was undeniably, exceedingly, naturally, turned-on. And with this came a grand, sensual idea he never thought himself capable of coming up with.

Holding his partner's gaze with candle eyes that were still and unwavering, he leaned backwards. Slow. Resting against the pile of pillows stacked before the headboard.

"All yours."

Hm. The bespectacled genius paused; blinking to register the circumstances he'd thrown himself into and restarting the system that was his brain. Alas, a fault—the possibility of Leroy handing him the wheel and by extension, full control of the current situation, had not been factored into his calculations, thereby taking him completely by surprise.

Indeed, the pair was experiencing their very first, um, tryst, of sorts and true enough, every virgin was bound to have insecurities and concerns on their first go at sex no matter the amount of research one had consumed prior to the act. Hurting one's partner or giving them a terrible first experience was the last thing any romantic lover would like for their relationship and therefore, logically speaking, Leroy was justified in his reluctance to take things further at this point in time but behold! A wealth of information existed in the form of Vanilla Julian White: an expert at thorough research and a long-time reader, digester of complex instructions. And so he steeled himself.

There was nothing to be afraid of. He knew what he was doing.

If anything, the bean was quietly proud—sizzling with sparks at the thought of his partner's trust and leaving the rest of their adventure up to him. A perfect demonstration of see-saw-ing.

"Alright," he nodded, clearing his throat and adjusting the frames on the bridge of his nose. "I'll take care of things. But I need you to, um. If you could just... keep your eyes closed."

"... the entire time?"

"W-well yes. Until I say so. I suppose. But yes, the entire time unless I say otherwise."

To think his little genius had something up his sleeve, thought Leroy. And so he decided to go along with said plan of the century. For the fun of it.

Once alone in his space, Vanilla shifted his legs for a better view of what he was working with. He reached down, running the tips of his slender fingers along subtle veins lining his partner's entire length whilst estimating the time and effort it would take to further accommodate it. To his surprise, it grew. Again.

"Leroy!"

"What the fuck were you expecting?" Laughed the other, eyes closed as instructed and appearing as though he was in the middle of enjoying a leisure massage. "Teasing my cock like that."

He received an indignant huff in response, hearing the quiet rustling of sheets and the pop of the bottle of lubricant he'd used earlier.

What he did not know and could not see was Vanilla reaching behind to loosen himself further, stretching his hole with his fingers like he'd read in proper books and scientific papers. The other hand gripped the sheets for support, allowing him to lower his entire frame and align his lips with his partner's shaft.

It is a known and perhaps commonsensical fact that Vanilla was every teacher's ideal, model student. And thus it should not take anyone by surprise that he'd learned and perhaps mastered the art of cock-tasting within the span of two prior lessons. Or was it three. The author forgets.

Either way, the bespectacled bean took pride in his job as a food critic and what else but tasting should he be doing at all times of the day, every day? Most importantly, no critic would ever be in the right mind to allow something foreign to interfere with the flavor and taste of their dish and so...

"Fuck," his partner's breath hitched, fingers weaving into his snowy hair at once and tugging gently at the raw sensation of a wet, slippery heat around his shaft. "You sure?"

Removing the condom was not something Vanilla had foreseen himself doing but the ugly taste of rubber on a sensitive tongue like his own was simply unforgivable. His response to Leroy's question was not in the form of words; working his way up and down the entire length and feeling the tip of its head prod the far end of his palate—the roof of his mouth.

It made him shiver, whimpering involuntarily but with his mouth full, made so much a sound that resembled a squeak.

By the end of Vanilla's grand work shift, his insides were significantly softer and relaxed while his partner's size had grown to what he hoped was its maximum. Perhaps this, too, had been the issue. A novice wouldn't have known what else to do with a shaft at fifty-percent. Half-flaccid items, according to research, do not penetrate very well.

At last, he was ready.

Steeling himself once more, Vanilla braced for another attempt at a deeper connection—lining himself up and then slowly, carefully lowering himself back down onto his partner's shaft. He gasped in surprise at the relative ease, feeling the walls inside him stretch into a snug fit inches past the head.

Amongst every little tidbit of information he was collecting along the way (that research had unfortunately not been able to provide), the bespectacled bean found a surprising appreciation for a personal favorite, and it was the heat. The heat that needed some getting used to.

Granted, it was a part of another person; therefore foreign; and therefore expectedly strange and foreign. Yet, the pulsing heat—snug and thick—stirred a fluttering satisfaction in his chest that felt, above all, frightfully addictive.

"A... almost."

Vanilla was not the best liar and convincing himself, let alone the owner of said shaft, needed some work. In truth, he was struggling past a point, thighs overexerted and the tips of his fingers skimming his partner's abs to steady himself; legs trembling like a flower in the wind from holding his current position: hovered over Leroy's lap.

He wasn't going to last much longer. Quick calculations were made in a blur: if he wasn't going to take the rest of it in the next couple of seconds, failure was due.

And so with a trembling lower lip, and a single deep breath, Vanilla tried his best to take more of his partner inside him.

It was then that he realized candle eyes staring—gaze lowered, fixed on the exact point in which they were connected. Those flames did not flicker.

"W-wha...?" He managed between breaths. Panicked. "I said... not... to look..."

The criminal continued to do what he did best. Breaking the rules. "Thought I'd see how you were you doing." Of course he wasn't going to listen.

Poor Vanilla resorted to obscuring his partner's vision himself, hands reaching out in an attempt to put a stop on those flames but alas, slender fingers were caught and cuffed in the form of cheesy handholding. Instead of pushing them aside, Leroy filled the gaps between them with fingers of his own; locking them in place. It was a disaster.

"Y-you..." "How's this?" "Nha—I—I'm... not... doing very well."

The heated gaze went back to staring, focused, again, on the exact spot they were connected. Of course, he begged to differ. "I think you're doing good." It burned harder. "Very good."

A warmth blossomed in his partner's chest, stirring a heat that ran upwards along the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. So he liked the praise, the criminal was quick to note. There was further evidence to support his claim: Leroy could feel the tight, sensitive heat around the head of his cock shift and clench unconsciously, sending him into a whole other realm of pleasure that had a silent 'fuck' slipping past his lips.

Encouraged by the praise and decidedly positive response, Vanilla got right back to work in an instant; lowering himself further and using his partner's abdomen to steady himself. One would imagine the search for balance to be firm and decisive but the criminal was putting up with sensual brushes—slender fingers tracing the outline of his abs and skimming shyly as Vanilla eased himself up and down in small movements. Thighs shuddering every time he went a little too low.

A view Leroy could certainly get used to.

He felt the head of his shaft reach a point deep inside his partner; the sweet spot he knew by the back of his hand. The tension eased a startled whine of pleasure that was hurriedly stifled by the latter's trembling hands as his head threw backwards amidst lost control.

Leroy held fast onto his partner's waist, steadying the latter's lower half that had nearly given way from the sheer pleasure that had caught him off guard. The extended time he'd been holding that specific position in addition to the physicality of sex that poor Vanilla was most certainly not prepared for had him in shambles.

He stilled; eyes fluttering close and chest rising slowly to steady the nerves fried from constant stimulation he had been receiving in the past hour. A single thought crossed his mind: he liked this decision. To be the one in control. Settling on a pace he was comfortable with and very much preferred. Or so he thought.

Opening his eyes had every cell in his body alit—burning, smoking, scorching under the flames of his partner's gaze and it

was

danger.

"Don't," he swallowed a cry. "Look at me like that."

"... like what?" Candle eyes refused to leave his own. They burned and etched into the snow. It was the look of a man about to snap. Close to losing all control of every rational cell in his body.

Fazed, Vanilla attempted to re-adjust his lower half for another approach but the subtle movement had his hips rocking against the very same pleasure spot that had him weak in an instant—waist giving out and causing his entire frame to fall forward and into his partner's arms.

The latter did not miss a beat. He caught him well, hands running along the sides of his chest and holding him up to ask the grand question of the hour.

"My turn?"

Vanilla blinked twice, eyes half-lidded in a daze before finally noticing the relief that washed over him the instant he was asked. Passing the baton was easier than he thought. So the bespectacled bean sighed a word of thanks, allowing his partner's hands to rest on his hips for better control and the moment he did was the moment he surrendered.

Leroy rocked upwards.

His partner's head was thrown back in an instant and an unintelligible, embarrassing sound escaped his lips.

Again.

It was criminal; watching his partner lose himself as he held him captive by the waist, hips snapping upwards again and again—the head of his cock driving against that pleasured spot and feeling the walls around him pulse and clench, twitching with every thrust.

"Y—ha—!"

Vanilla could barely speak. His fingers scrambled for balance and support, something to hold on to. Leroy caught and guided them gently onto his shoulders, once again steadying his partner with one hand on his hips and the other reaching behind the latter's neck to bring him in for a heated kiss. The poor bean did not quite know how to feel about having so many parts of himself stimulated at the same time. There was the pulsing heat sliding against the craving muscles of his walls inside, snug and slippery; the sounds, the bed, the wetness of it all; the heat in his mouth and the taste of smoked cinnamon and rum, and the hands. On his hips, thumbing the tip of his own private area, on his waist for control.

"Leroy... I... can't... any...—?!"

The stimulation was enough to send Vanilla past the edge, climaxing for the second time in the span of ten minutes. He was shaking; sensitive and pleasured and still, sitting on half his partner's shaft.

Leroy weaved fingers into the former's hair, comforting and soothing him from his high. Their chests rose in unison and the proximity was new danger all over again.

"You need to stop doing that." He whispered to the other, amusement in his voice.

"Doing... what?"

"Milking my cock." He laughed and promptly sending his partner into a flustered frenzy of embarrassment.

"W—what do you..."

"Inside," his gaze flickered downward. And back up at Vanilla. "You keep doing that. Clenching and unclenching."

"O-oh. Sorry, I... I didn't know I was... I don't know how. I can't seem to control it," he seemed genuinely distraught, as though Leroy had raised an actual issue when the truth was indeed the opposite. "I'll try my best..."

The professional criminal snorted. "I like it, dumbass."

"Oh."

"Does it hurt?" His eyes drifted back to where they were connected.

"No! N—why do you... why is that always the first thing on your mind? I'm fine. Clearly," his partner huffed, upset. The present lack of movement made it so that he could feel the part of Leroy's shaft inside him throb and pulse more so than before. "Do not, do not even think of suggesting we end it here."

Leroy mused over the cute shit. "Alright then, what does Mr. White suggest?"

"I..." Poor Vanilla. "Do you really need this spelt out for you?"

His partner laughed low, pulling out carefully and switching things up in a heartbeat. Their places were swapped; Vanilla on his back, gazing up at the world's greatest idiot in a daze.

"Watch your head," said the latter, placing a hand on top of his partner's head as though he was in the middle of giving head pats for seeming comfort which of course, confused Vanilla for a brief, tender moment until understanding hit him.

Hard.

"—?!"

Without having to look, he knew Leroy was buried to the hilt; deep inside him with a single rock of his hips and in the next instant, pulling back for a heart-stopping friction only to drive the entire length of his cock right back in.

Vanilla felt his hips buck, pleasure sky-rocketing in a single movement and no longer able maintain a firm grasp on reality or control over his mannerisms, let alone his voice.

The rhythm established by his partner was criminal. Strong and heated, every snap of Leroy's hips sent his head ramming against the headboard and had his partner not placed his hand on top of Vanilla's head, lost brain cells were indeed, due.

There was a loud, unreserved creaking of the bed that harmonized the wet, desperate sounds of skin on skin; breathing and names. In whispers.

Prior experience told the criminal all that he needed to know. One prime, sensitive spot that would have his partner's feet curling in pleasure: the tips of his ears. He licked and bit.

"Good?" He breathed, pulling back for the view but poor Vanilla was in no state to respond. Back arched high, eyelids fluttering, and lips parted in sweet, sweet surrender, he held on for dear life.

Leroy was close; cock sleeved and warmed by the snug and feverish fit with each and every snap of his hips.

"I'm pulling out."

At once, he watched his partner panic at the height of their heat. "W-wait—"

His thighs closed shut on instinct and tightened their hold on Leroy, locking him in the current position they were in. Candle eyes were wide and ablaze, like a still light in the dark; concentrated in a single, heated flame that burned.

"Let go." He said, voice low in warning but Vanilla could barely hear his partner under the influence of a powerful building heat, pleasure spiking up his back at every thrust that had his hips rolling upwards subconsciously to meet in want.

"Ha... mmh—Leroy—" He gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes that were teary with need and mouthed a single, a desperate word.

Inside.

Leroy almost laughed. No doubt, he was thrown. Off his game. Again. And impressed, naturally, for sure; his partner never failed to surprise him, time and again.

"Where the fuck did you learn something like that." He thrusted deep, burying his shaft to the hilt and unloading a heat unlike any other. Their highs were in sync, breathing hard as they rode it out together and for Vanilla, uncharacteristically pitched as he came down from his high and felt the heat inside him pulse in waves.

Leroy cradled his partner's head dearly as an odd, calming peace washed over them both. It made him smile. Hair that smelled of chamomile.

The pair, breathing in the presence of the other, remained that way for some time; soothed by their touch and proximity. There was an odd clarity and weightless-ness that replaced the fog and heat as they came down from their high, and it was only after Leroy's off-handed concern about the sheer force and amount of thrusting that might have somehow caused his genius a severe loss of brain cells that they eased up on the moment. Laughter was quiet and their company, enjoyed.

"Like I asked, where the fuck did you learn something like that."

"You underestimate the research of a professional genius." Vanilla closed his eyes, seemingly ready to end the day when his partner promptly pulled back, out, and rammed his still-hard, full-sized shaft back into the wetness of his heat—earning a sweet cry of surprise in reward.

"And you underestimate the stamina of a professional idiot."