Wax

Leroy's Post Nut Clarity

A/N: I wrote this completely on a whim; a combination of something sweet and spicy for the weekend, for anyone looking for a little pick-me-up in the midst of trying times. 

This takes place right after the long awaited chapter 57, Vanilla and Leroy's first time. I went back to the chapter and re-read my own writing whilst savoring the comments you Beans graciously left and it made my day despite the second-hand embarrassment of reading my own smut. The sentiment is an odd mix of being terribly appalled by my choice of words and at the same time in awe of the sheer illegal audacity Leroy and Vanilla can be at times, much surpassing expectations of my own as their creator LOL. 

Enjoy this one.

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[Leroy]

The splendid aftermath of hot sex was what he would have called it. Sure; some people roll over and head to sleep right after the deed but a cut of the male species experience a lightbulb going off in their head like a revelation; a spark of inspiration; a stroke of wisdom. All thanks to the nut.

And judging by the sudden improvement of my mental dictionary, I was pretty much knee-deep in this lightbulb experience—breathing in the scent of my partner in my arms, thoughts sharper than day. Wide awake.

He was fast asleep and cozied up under the covers, lashes brushing the crook of my neck and the remnants of his voice still in my head. The gasps, the whispers; names, and shivers.

Over on the other side of the room, I could see Leo's eyes blinking in the low light while Chicken slept next to him on the L-shaped couch. All of a sudden, the only thought running around in my head was the number of positions we covered in a single night that was our first.

Not gonna lie, I had a list long before we ever got to this point and mentally, I was checking off nearly half of whatever was on there—a feat the me of last week would have thought physically impossible. Yeah, well. Guess I really did underestimate the power of a genius. Who would've thought; fulfilling years of fantasies and dreams in a single night all came down to a single dessert.

It didn't even taste how I thought it would. Clouded memories were part of the deal and I'd factored that into the conception of the dish from the start, much of it coming from my own knowledge and research of vanilla beans; an ingredient I both loved and feared. To think he'd known all along, too. And had the confidence and all the faith in the world to believe I'd rise to the challenge.

I checked my lower half. It was up.

Figures. Pretty sure everyone's fantasized about their first time at some point in their lives—I was no exception. It was natural to have expectations, that much I knew, but wanting a healthy relationship went above everything else so I tried my best to avoid setting the bar. Stuff like that wasn't realistic anyway and whatever people saw on media was almost never the case in reality. Especially the sort of shit that featured zero prep work and all the inches in one go because wow, 'a perfect fit' exists.

Looking down at sleeping snow in my arms was enough to tell how spent he truly was. Four was the number we settled on. The first was fire, just like he'd promised: ice in flames. The second was just as good, but called for some doubling back on the pace or Vanilla wasn't going to last till a third, and then, a fourth.

Four positions.

I had a surprising favorite—sure, all four were real hits and the ones with a view of his face were naturally going to come out on top, but the one that had him in pieces was the last.

On a whim, I'd gotten up to get him a glass of water but passed the foot of the bed to see a view like no other. Crossed legs, curled feet, back arched, eyes closed, arms above his head where I'd left them. Without thinking, I'd wrapped a hand around one ankle. It went around with room to spare. Got the other ankle. And pulled.

Straight towards me and right over my shoulder till he was lined up perfectly—inner thighs pressed up against my shaft, wet from one, two, and three. His reaction was dessert; the final course of the evening and he had his hands reaching down, fingers brushing the surface of my abs to steady himself. Slowly, I spread him. Legs in the air. A perfect, slender 'V'.

That one was good.

He'd liked it too; I could tell from the way his walls curled and twitched around my cock, tighter in a position he was made to give up all control and hand me the reins instead, unable to do anything but sit back and enjoy the ride.

Back to the list.

Future options to consider: more standing positions. And sitting. And sideways, fuck how could I forget. Anything less strenuous on his core also meant more stamina, less of a workout, and longer nights. 200 IQ. On the other hand, I didn't mind an hour-long plank or an entire session in push-up position. Lifting and holding him up against a wall wasn't impossible either—I'd done it a couple of weeks back. I could do it again. There was also the fire hydrant... a classic; everyone in the crew knew exactly what it was.

"If I hadn't known any better, I would've thought you were trying to mentally solve the world's most challenging mathematical equation."

I snapped out of my lightbulb and turned to my partner in crime—his half-lidded eyes gazed up at me; the cutest mumble past his lips.

I let him in on the secret. "Nine minus four equals five."

"... never would've guessed," his laugh was like the sound of falling snow. "How are you still alive?"

"Told you. Never underestimate the stamina of an idiot."

"... good for you. I'm this close to passing out." He stretched and sighed.

"Water?" I sat up.

He paused. "That was exactly what you asked before going back on your word that the third round was the last."

Not denying. I dared a smirk. "Wait here."

I got him the glass and helped him up, sitting on his side of the bed while he sipped away, leaning against my shoulder for support. As though experiencing the lightbulb himself, my partner raised the subject of my winning dish on his own accord.

"Leroy. You never tasted your dessert throughout the entire process of making it?" "Not once." "Every component?" "Every component." "And the thought never crossed your mind? Not at all?" "Figured I wouldn't be able to taste it anyway, so... no. Just made it exactly how I imagined myself making it."

"...I understand you're likely the most gifted idiot on the planet but even so, that sounds perfectly absurd," he was shaking his head in disbelief. I laughed, sharing his surprise and amusement. It did all sound pretty crazy.

"That candle," I took his empty glass, placing it on the bedside table and tapping the side of my head. "It's been in here for years."

"You came up with a recipe for a dessert you thought you'd never get to taste," he phrased it better than I ever could. And in less words. "That candle must've been waiting for a long time."

I stayed quiet.

He closed his eyes and took my hand. "Waiting for someone to burn for."