Chapter Text
It started with a plush.
A plush of him, as a matter of fact. A plush that Truthless Recluse happened to find Shadow Milk working on atop his bed- Well, the bed in the guest room he’d been treated to, calling it 'his' was a stretch- because he was a pest. He’d been so happy to show off his work and push it into Recluse’s hands and show off every detail. It was a tiny thing, barely stretching from his elbow to his fingertips, even with the pointed hat. Made of felt and suede, love for more than simply the craft was evident in every stitch and seam. Especially in the way he’d made this facsimile of Recluse smile under mismatched button eyes.
It was adorable. And it stirred the compassionate curiosity the River wasn’t able to drown about this little hobby, even if his questions were more dry and terse compared to how Pure Vanilla might've asked them. Those questions led to more questions, until Shadow Milk's grin twisted and he asked a question of his own.
Well. That query sparked a whole new conversation. One that was held with the plush in Recluse’s hands as a solemn witness and led to him in this dressing room, feeling like a fool as he fumbled with buttons on a frilly white shirt. Shadow Milk was holding onto his staff as part of this power play. Bastard. Really, he should have higher standards, more self-respect, a sense of shame, or even just the wisdom to stop trying to indulge Shadow Milk’s stupid, stupid ideas.
But what Recluse had instead was the memory of that lovingly made plush, soft and pliant in his hands, and paper-thin promise that this would make him smile just like that little doll.
So here he was. Tucking his shirt into long trousers and pulling his hair out from under his starched collar. Shadow Milk needed access to his legs and robe was too cumbersome, or so the story went. The River of Rebirth (or perhaps the sheer weariness crumbling him from the inside out, but admitting he was that exhausted was a touch too honest for a Truthless Recluse) made him selfish enough want to at least try for the sweet escape Shadow Milk offered in playing this game. It was a foolish hope to think Shadow Milk could even deliver on his promise. Even more foolish to let himself be this debased, this vulnerable, this…willing to indulge.
Indulge himself, or Shadow Milk? Again, Recluse didn’t know. And it was easier to tug on the velvet jacket he'd been provided and walk out rather than figure it out.
“Lookie, lookie, aren’t you a handsome little cookie?” Shadow Milk purred, materializing as a blue smudge in his peripheral vision. He sauntered over, giving him a once-over with a head tilt so exaggerated it had to be intentional. His approving hum felt no different then a wolf's hungry growl. Even if Recluse couldn’t make out his expression, he could feel the weight in his gaze, the expectation thrumming in the air. Shadow Milk stepped closer, buttoning his jacket and smoothing it out with hands that were strangely gentle.
This was…well. Recluse didn’t really know exactly how Shadow Milk’s appraisal made him feel. Degraded? Objectified? Excited? Comforted, because no matter how much he loathed to admit it, there was something nice in bearing the ugliest parts of his soul and being fawned over all the same?
“I’ll take your word for it,” Recluse murmured, smiling dryly. His voice was softer than he would have liked.
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you get a good look soon enough. First things first!” Shadow Milk snapped his fingers. The air tightened with the familiar breath of magic. He took his sweet time in marionetting Recluse, letting thin blue ribbons suspend for a moment to make sure Recluse got to see them in all their blurred glory before he wound them around his body. Up his legs, down his arms, crisscrossing across his chest, giving Shadow Milk a way to maneuver him at every point of articulation. The ribbons were comfortably cushioned by his outfit, but not so much that he couldn't feel their secure hold on him. If he tried, he could tug against these puppet strings, but the point of this was that he wouldn’t. The point of this was that he’d be, well…
“Such a pretty puppet,” Shadow Milk cooed, honestly cooed, saccharine and patronizing. Recluse’s cheeks heated in more than indignation alone. A flick of his wrist sent Recluse’s limbs moving, clasping his hands behind his back, bending his knee and resting his toes on the ground. The perfect picture of blushing bashfulness, a picture painted with as much fluidity as if Recluse orchestrated this pose.
But it wasn’t him at all. He had no say in this movement. And that realization settled fuzzily in the back of his mind, warm and pleasantly prickly.
“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” Recluse huffed. He was moved into deep bow, tilting his head to keep eye contact. Was it worth much? Unlikely. But he hadn’t forgotten what was left of his pride yet (even if, a voice in that fuzzy part of his mind whispered, he was probably going to soon enough).
“Oh, this? Just making sure we’re all set to go.” He was pulled up from his bow and maneuvered into a slow spin, arms outstretched. “Would suck to realize I can’t move your forearms how I want to halfway through, right? No one likes playing with broken toys.”
The part of him that was still Pure Vanilla wanted to gently inquire about the bitterness woven into Shadow Milk’s tone. Wanted to be there as he confessed what he already knew (and profoundly understood) about the weight of loneliness and isolation. Wanted to hold him through the painful memories and promise him an end to the solitude.
But Truthless Recluse didn’t have the energy or drive that Pure Vanilla did. So he let the comment be waved away by these silly gestures Shadow Milk was having him do.
“What are we even going to do?” Recluse sighed. Years of diplomacy taught him how to mask his feelings with an even, measured tone. Politely interested, yet appropriately neutral. A less needy way of asking What are you going to do to me? How are you going to make me fall apart and what are you going to do with the pieces?
“What does anyone do with their shiny new toys?” Shadow Milk snickered. He should be offended enough to tug himself free of these binds and sulk off to his guest room and lock the door and refuse to look Shadow Milk’s way for at least a week. Should be. But the back of his mind was replaced with cotton wool that hummed pleasantly with this treatment. “Play games, of course!”
“Everything’s a game to you.” There was a slightly concerning lack of proper bite or bitterness to his voice. Shadow Milk stopped puppeting him around to have him stand at attention instead.
“You say that like it’s a problem. More things should be games to you, Nilly!” He laughed, mussing up his hair. Recluse blew at a strand that fell over his eye. “All you have to do is play along, doll. Easy-peasy. I’m sure it’ll bring a smile to that cute face of yours.”
“So, I’m allowed to-“ Recluse began.
“Ah ah ah! Puppets don’t talk, now do they?” He chided, wagging his finger an inch away from his face to let him make out the flick of blue. So, the game was officially starting, then. Shadow Milk cupped his face and leaned in close enough where Recluse could sort of make out details if he squinted. Details such as the sparkle in his mismatched eyes that spoke to something beyond simple mischief, the blush staining his own cheeks, a sharp smile revealing sharper teeth. His scent of blueberry buttercream and ink filled Recluse’s hitched breath and made his jam run a little hotter. If only that heat transferred to his glower.
“Don’t look at me like that, games are fun!” His voice dropped to a low, mellifluous murmur. “But yes, you’re allowed to move your face a bit. This time. Who knows? I might want you to at some point.”
Presumptuous, wasn't he? Assuming there'd be a next time? Recluse narrowed his eyes a little more to get one last sting in. No matter how much he wanted to surrender, he couldn’t let himself make it easy. If only for the scraps of ego he had left. Nothing more. Certainly not because he didn’t know how practice what he preached about taking it easy or being cared for every now and then.
“See, you’re getting the hang of this! Now just sit back, relax, and play your part, mkay?” A wave of Shadow Milk’s hand sent him walking with an uncanny grace. These strides were nothing like his own, wide and long, too even, too perfect, uncaring of any potential underfoot obstacles or changes in terrain that would send him sprawling. “Come on! Off we go! Trust me, this'll be fun!”
Trusting the cookie of deceit. What a joke. And yet, under the trickster’s guidance, he wasn’t tripping over anything. Just marching along like a toy soldier. And wasn’t it nice, in a twisted sort of way, that this made him feel so looked after? The lamb rather than the shepherd, even if he was being led by a wolf?
“Heeere we are!” Shadow Milk swung open the double doors to a room in the spire that Recluse had never been in before. He squinted, turning his head side to side, trying to get a decent understanding of what this room was, exactly. It seemed like some sort of parlor or sitting room, with blurs that were probably bookshelves and couches or coffee tables and splashes of color that were probably rugs. Or perhaps just patterns in the carpet.
“Now, what game to play first?” Shadow Milk hummed. “Hmm…What about dress up?”
Recluse huffed, rolling his eyes sharply. “You already-“
“Tsk tsk! Forgetting the rules already?” Shadow Milk’s tone wasn’t quite sweet enough to mask the threatening aura. The ribbons woven around his body tightened in warning, digging into his dough. Recluse swallowed. Hard. “You’re my little puppet now, alright? And puppets are nice and quiet.”
Recluse didn’t answer. The ribbons relaxed.
“Good!” Shadow Milk beamed and pinched his cheek before he walked a few paces away and sat down. And then Recluse was pulled along, walking with the same wide strides, until he was right in front of Shadow Milk- who swiftly made Recluse straddle him, secured only by his thighs pressing against his waist. His face heated with how compromising this position was, even with no one to see. Shadow Milk promised this game was purely between the two of them, for whatever nothings his promises were worth.
“Look up for me, doll?” One of his hands was holding Recluse by the hip, and the other held up a thing of- Mascara? Really? Recluse narrowed his eyes. Makeup was a little excessive, wasn’t it?
“What's that face for? Puppets are supposed to be pretty. Besides, it’s not like I’m making you sit through a full face of makeup, just a teeny bit on your eyes and cheeks. So, go on, look up for me. If you keep testing me like this, I really won’t play nice.”
A wicked, reckless part of Recluse was tempted to be even more defiant. Push Shadow Milk so he’d get pushed twice as hard in return. He'd hold onto some dignity for a little longer that way if nothing else. But that thought was outweighed by the soft, dull humming in the back of his mind from being tied up and maneuvered in this manner, whispering Isn’t it nice to stop fighting and simply let things happen to you, for once?
Besides, some makeup was far from the worst thing in the world. And if he truly hated it, he knew exactly how to make this stop. Two snaps, rapid fire- So he could literally 'snap out of it', because Shadow Milk was incapable of suggesting anything without slipping in a double entendre or joke- and the ribbons would fall off his body and he’d be free to storm out of here. So he relaxed, schooled his expression into neutrality, and prayed to whatever deities might care that Shadow Milk wouldn’t render him any more blind than he was currently as he turned his gaze skyward.
“You’re even more adorable when you’re not being stubborn, you know,” Shadow Milk teased, the brushes of the mascara wand making him fight the urge to blink. “And maybe it’s nice to not fight me on every single thing I try to do for you, huh? Maybe I’ve got some decent ideas, you ever consider that?”
Recluse wasn’t going to concede to that yet. Maybe staying silent was a good thing. Shadow Milk giggled and set the wand aside. Recluse blinked rapidly, unused to keeping his eyes open for that long, much less with someone so close to them. Some mascara smudged when he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to make them feel normal again.
“Looking prettier already,” Shadow Milk purred. Something wet swiped under his eye- Shadow Milk’s thumb, damp with his spit. Even if Recluse was allowed to reply, the intimacy of Shadow Milk cleaning his face had him short circuiting too much to do so. Had the years left him so starved for this sort of simple closeness? Or was it another effect of his anathematization? “And now to do something about those dark circles.”
Ah. Those. Dolls didn’t get so tired as to have eye bags, because they didn’t have fitful sleep interrupted by nightmares of drowning, of tainted river water and lies filling his mouth as he struggled to break the surface. Or nightmares about wars waged eons ago blending with those soon to waged where no amount of healing magic could save his friends.
The whole point of this was to not think about that. To not be able to worry about when this delicate thread of balance would shatter. Even if it meant losing himself to a charade, crafted by the very danger he was supposed to know how to handle.
He kept perfectly still as cool makeup was dotted under his eyes, not quite erasing his worries, but dulling them. Tucking them away for a while. There would be time for that later, of course. Presently? Recluse would shove his melancholy into a dark corner of his mind so he could enjoy this game. Lose himself to it. Forget himself, if this worked out.
And it really wasn’t difficult to relax under the methodical brushstrokes on his face.
Shadow Milk started humming again, now taking a pencil to his brows, defining them with deft strokes. The care and steadiness of his hands spoke to years of experience. That same fond curiosity started to well up in his chest- Where did he learn this? Was it one of the many things he just knew from when he was the Fount of Knowledge, or did he learn this? Did he do this for others, for performances only, or simply for love of the art?
Maybe one day, he’d ask. When Shadow Milk wasn’t gently holding his face steady and applying blush to his cheeks with sweeping featherlight strokes. For something so simple, it was so nice- the pleasant, unfamiliar tune Shadow Milk hummed as he worked, the puff of his exhales warming Recluse’s dough, the embrace of the ribbons across his body. It was so easy to relax into it. Let his breathing slow as the world outside of Shadow Milk and his doll melted into something quieter than background noise.
“There we go.” The makeup brush was set down in exchange for something larger and silvery. The shape was too vague for Recluse to make out. And trying to focus enough to get some sort of detail didn’t seem worth it, not when relaxation was draping over his shoulders and sugarcoating his thoughts.
Recluse’s breath caught in his throat when Shadow Milk started brushing his hair. He was…gentle. Far gentler than what seemed possible for a Beast. He slowly worked through the mussed up locks with the hairbrush first, then followed it with fingers that seemed more interested in merely petting him than actually taming flyaways. The last time someone did something so simple as brush his hair had to have been lifetimes ago, and even then, it was with a distant sort of reverence. The kind aides reserve for their king, not…not this. Never this close, this indulgent in touching him.
How ironic, to be in what was once the Spire of All Knowledge and unable to think of a word to describe how this felt than good.
Recluse’s eyes fluttered shut in contentment, letting this feeling wash over him. Any last protest from his remaining sliver of pride was smothered by the warm fog spreading in his mind and down his limbs. What was the point in being dignified anymore? His corruptor was puppeteering him at Recluse’s own request. He was no longer a paragon of anything. No longer so high above he was rendered untouchable.
And it felt so indescribably lovely to be touched once again.
“Aw, you love this, don’t you?” Shadow Milk tucked some of his hair behind his ear. “Feeling all nice and cozy, puppet?”
Oh. He really was feeling exactly that- nice and cozy. Something about the ribbons wrapped around every limb, the gentle application of makeup, and the brushing of his hair soothed him to the point of almost disconnect. It made him feel just shy of tipsy while being completely sober. Everything felt a little slower and heavier and warmer and so much sweeter. Relaxation and arousal were a headier combination than he anticipated.
Was this arousing? Well. It certainly wasn’t turning him off. Bondage aside, all of this was fairly chaste, though, wasn’t it? And yet.
And yet.
Recluse craved more. More in quantity, yes, but more in intensity, too.
Shadow Milk set the brush aside, and Recluse managed to catch himself before chasing after more. Maybe this was awakening a few things in him.
“Oh, you are.” Shadow Milk’s voice was wonderstruck and underlined with a slight rasp that landed hot and heavy in Recluse’s stomach. He cracked his eyes open to see his wicked grin before his head was tilted up to expose his neck. “I think a bow would finish the look nicely.”
Shadow Milk ran a finger down the front of his throat, claw-like nails lightly scratching his dough. He didn’t dare even twitch. The thrill of danger and the softness of trust, however absurd the latter was, stole the breath from his lungs. Here he was, docile as any good lamb should be while the wolf clamped his jaws around him. Some hero. Some savior.
“White or gold? Match your cute little eye?” Shadow Milk was talking more to himself than to Recluse, his finger still resting on the hollow of his throat. And then it lifted, replaced by his hands tying something under the collar of his shirt with far too many brushes against his dough to be accidental. That was fine, though. More than fine. “Aaaand there we go! You’re so cute, you know that?”
Recluse could get used to being called cute like this. Complements about his appearance weren’t rare by any means, but none of them could compare to how Shadow Milk’s oozing flattery blended with this lustful, relaxing mist in his mind and heart and soul.
“C’mon, doll! Why don’t we take a look in the mirror?” Another wave of his hand and Recluse was now standing, the strings doing more work to keep him upright than he’d care to admit. And then he was walking, completely unworried about tripping under Shadow Milk’s guidance, until he found himself in front of a mirror, able to catch the sight of his staff in Shadow Milk’s hands in the fuzzy reflection. So, he really was going to let him see, for a moment at least. Well, then. Recluse closed his eyes, letting the sight of his staff fill his mind.
It was only a few subtle changes, yet they did so much work. He knew his outfit was soft, tailored, and the color of dull twilight, but now he could see the golden starscape embroidered in the velvet and the sapphire silk ribbons that crossed and looped and tied into bows all across his body, equal parts bondage and art. Shadow Milk straightened the bow at his throat (gold was what he decided on, apparently, and it was a nice match to the embroidered details on his jacket), the motion guiding his attention to his face. The makeup was understated, really. Just enough to make his lashes a little longer, brows more defined, hide the bags under his eyes and color his cheeks a sweet pink. Yet those small touches really made him look like a cute little doll, plucked off the shelf to be played with. And that would've made his knees buckle if it weren't for his strings.
“What can I say? I’m a master at this.” Shadow Milk grinned, setting the staff aside. Recluse blinked his eyes open, his lips now parted around slow breaths as the world turned vague and blurry again. “Oh, wow. You’re really getting into it, huh?”
Into this role, or this headspace? Probably the latter. Everything felt a little floaty, a little syrupy, sickly-sweet and yet oh so comforting. This was the mindlessness that Shadow Milk promised, wasn’t it? It had to be. This was a role he should have hated- A king, an ancient hero, a proud bastion against evil; none of those facets of Pure Vanilla should have found this shamelessly indulgent surrender appealing.
But Truthless Recluse was really enjoying this chance to stop thinking, stop fretting, take a selfish respite from caring to be cared for. Played with. There was no risk of choosing the wrong thing or letting everyone down again because he wasn’t choosing anything. Maybe in the morning, he’d be mortified. Maybe.
“How do you feel?” Shadow Milk looped an arm around his shoulders. “Pretty good, right? I'll give you an exception to that 'no talking' rule, just this once.”
“Yes.” The syllable felt clunky on Recluse’s tongue, as if it belonged to a foreign language. It was an effort to get it out. But he could say it, could articulate it, however whispered it was. Not even touched and already so far gone. What a pathetic picture he must’ve made. But this state of mind was so lovely, so cloying and comforting, that he’d debase himself however was needed to keep being played with.
“You can barely talk, can you?” Shadow Milk’s tone was that of pure glee. “Already? After just some makeup and hair brushing? Aren’t you full of surprises!” He burst into giggles, squishing Recluse’s cheeks in his hands. “Aw, puppet, now I really wanna play with you forever and ever.”
Shadow Milk didn’t give Recluse the time to think about that, to imagine a world where day and night were meaningless and he could exist without the capacity to worry about his world, his future, his friends, any of it (And that was for the best, because Pure Vanilla would never forget the disgrace of Truthless Recluse letting that thought cross his mind. It was too selfish. Cruel, really). He just clapped his hands and brought Recluse to the center of the room.
“Now, then! How about a tea party?” Shadow Milk pushed Recluse onto a loveseat, opting to adjust his posture with his hands rather than the marionette strings. His touches were warm and firm, an artist positioning his muse to have his back straight, hands folded in his lap, ankles crossed. The air tensed with magic once again, and the dark blur that he’d come to recognize as Shadow Milk’s portal came into view in the corner of his vision. The faint sounds of porcelain clinking filled the air. Maybe he should have been even a touch worried, letting Shadow Milk handle hot liquids around him in this state.
But Shadow Milk had been so careful with his puppet, hadn’t he?
“You know, I was gonna save this part of our game for last,” he confessed. Cups and saucers clicked quietly against each other as he spoke. “I had all sorts of little things planned to get you into your role. Like playing cards, except I'd play for both of us and make you watch as I made you lose. Or having you sit pretty as I read some dirty books to you, getting you horny but not doing anything about it. But you became my doll so readily I don’t even need to do any of that!”
Recluse felt too relaxed and honeyed to be embarrassed about being so easy. Who cared? Recluse was nothing to be proud of, no one to admire. He had no reputation to uphold here.
“Here you go!” Shadow Milk curled his fingers around a teacup, leaving his pinky extended. He clinked his teacup against Recluse’s before pulling his arm to bring the cup towards his lips, barely tilted so he could drink without spilling. Vanilla chamomile, sweetened with sugar and cream.
His favorite. He had no clue when- or if- he told Shadow Milk that, or why, but the only thing that mattered to Recluse was that Shadow Milk remembered that little fact.
For the first time in so long, Recluse smiled. It was a lazy, off kilter smile, floaty and fuzzy as he felt, but it was truly happy. The unburdened, unfiltered, rather sybaritic kind of happy. The kind of happy that was a step short of overheating him, with his hot flush and warm tea and velvet clothes, but that was fine. No, he didn’t mind at all.
“What do we have here! Didn’t I tell you I could turn that frown upside down?” Shadow Milk set his cup down to hold Recluse’s cheeks instead, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. This close, Recluse could see how his slit pupils had widened into disks and feel the warmth of his too-close body threaten to burn him alive. “You’re so, so, so pretty. My pretty little Nilly puppet. All mine.”
Every new murmured word washed over him so sweetly, made this lovely fog of his thoughts even thicker. Another sip of tea was brought to his lips. This time, he drank more deeply. Properly indulged in the flavors, the warmth, the way it perfectly accompanied the wool over his mind and blanketing his soul.
“You have such a precious smile, puppet!”
Because of you, Recluse thought. For playing with him. For turning off the endless storm of stress. For loving him, or at the very least, letting Recluse taste some flavor of being loved without the trappings of worship.
(He didn’t know if that flavor was vanilla chamomile and or blueberry buttercream and ink.)
One more sip, then the cup was plucked from his hand, his fingers curled back into relaxation by clawed fingertips before Shadow Milk kissed him. Slowly, lazily, pulling him close and finger combing through his hair. Recluse tried to kiss back, floaty as he felt. Shadow Milk responded by tugging his hair to tilt his head back and bite at his lips. If that turned Recluse into a rag doll, blissful adoration bubbling up in his chest as he let himself be utterly pliant, well, it was only him and Shadow Milk who would ever know.
“You’re so sweet, aren’t you?” Shadow Milk murmured against his mouth before his kissed him again. Deeper this time, pushing him back against the loveseat and grabbing at his hips. The ribbons around him tightened ever so slightly, and that might have made Recluse shiver pleasantly. Or it could have merely been that he was borderline lightheaded with the way Shadow Milk’s tongue was invading his mouth, barely giving him room to breathe. Not that he minded. It was just another tendril of heady smoke wrapping around his soul.
“Pretty little Nilly,” Shadow Milk hummed against his lips, his breaths hot against Recluse’s flushed cheeks. His chest strained against the ribbons as he worked to catch his breath. “Maybe I should have put lipstick on you. Kissed you until it got all smeary and messy and left you like that. And you’d be happy with that, wouldn’t you?”
There was no shame in his eyes as he smiled in response. Granted, there wasn’t much of anything in his eyes other than sheer want. There was no room for any real thoughts. Only the feel of Shadow Milk’s hands roaming his body, caressing and grabbing him through ribbons and clothes.
“Oh, I should’ve asked you to do this ages ago. Look at you, smiling and all dolled up, having the time of your life, hmm? I can play with you however I want and you’re just happy to be along for the ride.”
Yes. Yes, Shadow Milk could play however he wanted. He wasn’t afraid of him at all- The gentleness of his tone, the sugar in his words, the careful way he touched and cooed over him all felt so wonderful. Maybe it was a lie to lure him in, but if that really was the case, would he bother with being so gentle?
Shadow Milk kissed down his throat, adorning his dough with sharp bites that made his breath hitch. The pain from his needlepoint teeth was mellowed by this trance he’d lost himself too. Each dulled sting with each new bite felt as loving as the praise and kisses. Shadow Milk wanted him. Liked him. Adored him, cherished him, dressed him up and gave him tea and called him lovely things without expecting anything other than a playmate in return.
“I think I know exactly what I want to do with you.” A new note was added to his words. Darker, needier, slithering right below endearing and playful coos. Shadow Milk eased off Recluse, and he was far too deep in this game to feel ashamed of how he missed it already. Some more tugs to his strings and he was kneeling in front of him, arms pulled behind his back. Recluse’s lips parted on instinct more than anything.
“Smart doll, aren’t you?” Shadow Milk patted his cheek, and that was where all pretense of gentleness ended. He tugged Recluse close by his hair, the jolt of pain translating to pure pleasure, until his cock was fully situated in Recluse's mouth and his nose rested against the patch of white hair at the base. His moan hit Recluse's ears with a heavenly jolt that buzzed alongside his jam. There was barely any room to think or breathe. No time to process the salty-sweet taste or offer kitten licks to the head or shaft. Shadow Milk was just treating him like the doll he was. Dolls didn't lick or flirt or wrap their hands around their partner's length, didn't tease or hum or take breaks to gasp for air or give honeyed kisses to sensitive dough.
He'd given head before, yes, but not like this. Every last thought was pushed out of his head by Shadow Milk's hurried pace, pulling Recluse back and forth and thrusting his hips with a primal urgency. He couldn’t wipe reflexive tears from his eyes or the drool from his chin. Only swallow his spit and Shadow Milk's cock to the best of his abilities so he didn't choke (He wasn't afraid of that, though. Two snaps. Just two snaps and he could breathe if this became the unpleasant kind of too much).
How Recluse loved it. He could just exist in this fog. All he had to do was relax his throat and play along. Let vanilla chamomile tea be washed away by the taste of Shadow Milk. Witches, he’d never felt so turned on in his life. He was so hard it ached.
“G-Good doll,” Shadow Milk panted, and that simple praise licked at Recluse's body like wildfire. The rest of the world had long since faded to radio static. All there was was Shadow Milk. His gasping and moaning, his fingers in Recluse's hair, his voice, his praise, his scent, his taste, the weight of him on Recluse's tongue and feel of him against his lips. “Such…such a good doll. Shit, your mouth feels so nice.”
This was a Heaven Recluse didn't know if he deserved but greedily indulged in regardless. Memories of reasons why he may or may not have earned this were too distant for him to grab at. He'd take what he'd been given. What he'd been offered.
He didn’t get any sort of warning before Shadow Milk's grip tightened into a dully sparkling sting. He just froze and keened and came down Recluse's throat, giving him no choice but to swallow it all. Only then did he pull away, letting Recluse pant heavily, dazed and pleased and still reveling in the taste of Shadow Milk.
“You look so cute right now,” Shadow Milk panted, smoothing down the hair he’d ruined. Recluse could only blink and smile drunkenly. If it weren’t for the ribbons keeping him perfectly immobile, he’d surely be rutting against the first thing he could reach for some sort of relief. He hadn’t felt this sensitive in decades, since that brief flicker of time where he was actually young and starry eyed and inexperienced with anything but his own hand.
“You’re my perfect puppet, Nilly.” Shadow Milk kissed his forehead, and Recluse was desperate for more. For something. For anything. He begged for it with batting lashes that shone with tears, the word please on the back of his tongue but never working up the will to push forward. “I’ll play with you how you want, don’t worry.”
Shadow Milk slid down from the loveseat, gently pushing Recluse to lie on the floor- Not using his strings, just hands that felt like wildfire in the best of ways.
He wasn't romantic or sensual in getting Recluse off in the slightest. One hand palmed at his cock through his trousers while the other traced meaningless patterns across his chest, kissing and biting at his neck all the while. And that was preferable, because anything else would have needed his puppet strings to be cut and the ribbons to fall from his body (And, if he was more honest, he could admit that this roleplay and how long it had been since the last time he'd had sex worked him up so much that contact without the barrier of clothing would probably be overwhelming). Like this, though, he could relish in the comfort of the binds as his pleasure reached its peak in what was probably a minute or two but felt like so much longer. Time was a vague suggestion to Recluse.
"You can cum, doll. Go on." Shadow Milk whispered into his ear, lips damp with his spit. Who was Recluse to deny such a command from his puppetmaster?
A soundless facsimile of a cry left his lips as his muscles clenched and strained against the ribbon. White stars painted his vision, the culmination of everything that transpired undoing him utterly. His climax felt so good it hurt, tearing at fragile seams and burning the edges of his soul. He never wanted to come down from this high.
When he did, it was with his chest heaving and eyes completely unseeing, blinking out fresh tears. Everything was shaky and blurry and unconsciousness beckoned at him from the edges of his vision. And despite it all, despite how ruined he felt and certainly looked, he still had that love-drunk smile.
“Look at you,” Shadow Milk cooed, lying next to him. The weight and warmth of his arm draped across his chest overwhelming and grounding all at once. “You’re perfect. You’re mine, all mine. I’m never going to let you go now.”
This gentleness was going to ruin him if he indulged too much. Confuse him and warp his senses even more than they were from his dip in the River of Rebirth. Everything in this Spire was born of self-servicing subterfuge. But what else could he do, when Shadow Milk embraced him like he wasn’t a broken pile of shards from the stained-glass mural he once was? When Shadow Milk kissed away tears that no one else ever had?
Please, Recluse thought. A small whisper of a thought, but it was the only thought he could even put words to. Please. Hold on tight and don’t let go. With your ribbons, your arms, I don't care. Just hold on.
Recluse was too spent to hold himself together, after all. He needed the ribbons to do that for him. He wanted to be a puppet for a moment longer, weakly shivering against his binds and still smiling up at Shadow Milk. His puppet master wasn’t back to his obnoxious self yet. No, he was still rather being so caring towards his favorite toy.
So he drifted. He closed his eyes and let himself feel everything in leisure. The woolen embrace of his afterglow, the warmth of a washcloth wiping away makeup cut by tear tracks, the gentle caresses of crafty, wicked hands. He might’ve drifted for a minute, or five, or sixty. Time was syrupy and his thoughts even more so. Besides, thinking about time would mean thinking about when this would end, when anxious and tired thoughts would be crashing back into his head.
“All clean,” Shadow Milk hummed, stroking his cheek. The ribbons slid off his body, He missed them already. Their guidance, their comforting constriction, their promise of there’s no wrong answer for you to pick. “Liked being tied up that much? Don’t worry, we’ll play again. Very, very soon.”
He was stripped from his ensemble before his pants could get uncomfortably cold and sticky. The cold air against his dough was soothing the lingering fever of arousal. The warmth of the blanket draped across his body before he was scooped up into Shadow Milk's hold was equally settling. The fact that he didn't have to summon any strength and could let himself be carried through the Spire, hazy and utterly worn out, was the comfort he chose to indulge in the most, though. If he didn't, he would fall victim to the creep of guilt and anxiety, eager to reclaim their space in his heart.
So when Recluse was tucked into a bed that might've been his or Shadow Milk's, he offered zero protest. He surrendered to the cool bedsheets and heavy comforter and possessive hold of Shadow Milk. If he was more awake, or less eager to escape into slumber, he might've noticed the reverent touches across his dough or felt kisses against ringed bite marks.
Instead, he let sleep claim him seconds after his dough touched the mattress. And this time, his usual nightmares were be replaced with dreams of puppetry and saccharine indulgence and devotion.