Archive of Our Own ^beta

Vanilla had always been, for Minhyung, the epitome of mediocrity. He saw it as the flavor for the indecisive, those without enough character to risk something sour, bitter, or explosively sweet. In his mind, vanilla was nothing more than the gray background of a painting, a flavor so bland it was almost invisible. He had always been one to seek intensity: the bitter hit of black coffee on the tongue, the dark density of strong chocolate that clung to the palate, the electrical sting of citrus fruits. He was fascinated by things that left a mark, that lingered in the mouth long after he tasted them. And because of that, when he thought of vanilla, all he found was emptiness.

This view, however, was not limited to flavor. It was a metaphor for how he faced life: monotony suffocated him. He couldn’t stand routine or stability, always feeling like something more intense was waiting for him around the corner. He never stayed in one place for long, not jobs, not relationships, not routines. He left everything before it could become a habit. The only constant in his life was that obsessive search for something that would shake him, that would keep him on edge. Something addictive.

So, when he ended up accepting a position at a pastry shop specializing precisely in vanilla desserts, he saw it as a bitter irony. It was a necessity, not a choice. Money was tight, and the offer was simply convenient. The uniform felt strange on him, too white, too clean for someone who had always preferred the dark and the chaotic. Minhyung looked at his reflection in the display case as he adjusted his apron, wondering how long he would last at a job that already smelled of monotony before it even began. The shop was bright, a space where everything seemed softened by a veil of sugar and cream: ivory-colored walls, light wood tables, glass cases overflowing with delicate desserts. Everything seemed to want to remind him that he was trapped in the kingdom of vanilla.

And this vanilla kingdom had a guardian, Ryu Minseok.

Minhyung noticed him from the very first moment, as if the man were part of the shop’s flawless decor. He didn’t seem like a simple employee; rather, he moved with the precision of someone who had lived in that place for years, as if every shelf, every utensil, and every drop of essence answered to him. The uniform, which felt forced and alien on Minhyung, looked custom-made on Minseok: a perfectly ironed shirt, an apron adjusted naturally to his waist, neatly combed hair, with only a few loose strands touching his forehead, damp from the kitchen's heat.

He was... perfect. And Minhyung hated perfection.

Minseok didn't talk much at first, only what was necessary to give him instructions: how to clean the ice cream machine, where to place the cones, how much whipped cream to serve in a standard portion. His voice was soft, but it had a subtle edge of demand. And that irritated Minhyung. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

It irritated him how Minseok would lean over the marble table to precisely measure grams of sugar, how he would dip a spoon into a mixture of cream and vanilla, and then bring just a touch to his lips, tasting it with the tip of his tongue, closing his eyes for a second too long. A simple gesture, but one charged with a concentration that Minhyung found indecent.

The smell was the worst. Vanilla, always vanilla. Stuck to his clothes, floating in the air, hiding in the uniform's fibers. Minseok wore it on his skin as if it were his natural perfume. And, with the passing days, that aroma he had despised so much began to seep into Minhyung's chest, like a sweet poison. He was unnerved to find himself inhaling more deeply when he passed by him, as if he needed to absorb every invisible particle of that fragrance.

And suddenly, as if infected by that scent, Minhyung started to notice everything. The way Minseok’s fingers would get stained with just a little cream when decorating a cake, and how he would lick them without shame, a practical but unknowingly provocative gesture. The gleam of sweat on the back of his neck when the kitchen filled with steam, causing a rebellious lock of hair to stick to his skin. The way he leaned over to write down orders, with a straight and elegant back, as if even writing were an art.

Minhyung hated it. He hated the calm with which Minseok inhabited that world of sugar and vanilla. He hated the perfection that seemed untouchable. Most of all, he hated the way he was starting to feel restless just by looking at him, as if that flavor he had considered boring was revealing a forbidden, addictive, impossible-to-ignore side.

He discovered it one afternoon, when Minseok handed him a freshly finished cup of ice cream.

"Try it," he said simply, in that soft voice, without looking at him too much.

Minhyung raised an eyebrow, ready to sarcastically reject it, but Minseok’s gesture was so natural, so almost intimate, that he ended up accepting. The flavor of vanilla filled his mouth: creamy, delicate, and round on his tongue. And suddenly, the memory of Minseok’s expression while tasting his mixes blended with that flavor. Minhyung felt an unexpected warmth, as if he wasn't tasting ice cream, but something much more dangerous.

That's when something changed in his mind: vanilla was no longer boring. Vanilla was Minseok.

And that's when Minhyung understood he was in trouble.

For Minhyung, Minseok was now like a vanilla ice cream. On the outside, he seemed cold, impeccable, too perfect to touch without ruining. But as soon as you tasted him, you discovered the sweetness, the creamy softness that melted on your tongue, that hidden warmth that was comforting and that you couldn't forget once you had felt it.

He confirmed it one day when he ruined a cake. He got distracted and measured the flour wrong, and everything ended up overflowing into a sticky mess. He was ready for a scolding, but Minseok simply laughed, a soft laugh that broke the heavy air of the kitchen. He leaned over the disaster and patiently showed him how to "fix" the mix, without a hint of annoyance. Minhyung barely listened, because he could only think that the smile was beautiful, fucking beautiful.

At first, he had seen the job as something simple, almost mechanical. But Minseok's dedication, that almost romantic passion with which he worked with vanilla, captivated him beyond repair. The boring transformed into fascination. The flat, into a surface under which a fire burned that Minhyung didn't know how to extinguish.

And then the fantasies began.

He would whip cream with vanilla and, without wanting to, he would think of Minseok’s pale skin, soft, smooth, elastic under his fingers. The repetitive motion of the whisk in his hand reminded him of a more intimate rhythm, one he couldn’t admit even to himself. And when he split vanilla beans, he imagined the softness of his naked body, wondering if his entire skin would be as delicate as that shiny pulp. And in his darkest moments, he would catch himself wondering if his semen would also taste like vanilla, if that sweet flavor could extend to every corner of him.

Everything became a trigger. From the way Minseok leaned over to scoop ice cream from the display case, revealing the shape of his narrow waist and the fabric of his pants outlining lines Minhyung shouldn't be noticing; to Minseok’s innocent gesture of tasting a drop of cream with his tongue. For Minhyung, it was a spectacle that quickened his blood, a veiled invitation to imagine that wet and warm mouth in other, more intimate places on his own skin, licking with the same dedication.

Every small daily detail in the pastry shop transformed into an impossible-to-ignore erotic stimulus. The way Minseok licked the spoon after tasting a mixture was, in Minhyung’s mind, a rehearsal for a blowjob. The click of his tongue savoring the sugar became a moan. The slow, rhythmic, and precise movement of his wrists while whisking was a perfect reflection of how Minhyung secretly wanted to be touched. When he saw him bend over to pick up a box from the floor, the fabric tensing over his rear, he thought of the pressure of those hips against his hands, of the contrast of the soft and moist skin under the brush of his fingers. When Minseok smiled at him, a tiny gesture, Minhyung fantasized about having that gasping, disarmed smile, as he made him tremble in a sweat-soaked bed.

He felt like a pervert, dirty, trapped in thoughts that haunted him even when he tried to look away. But the justification always appeared: It's not him, it's not me. It's the atmosphere, it's the damn vanilla, it's the suffocating heat of the kitchen that makes everything too intense.

And yet, Minseok was starting to notice. Their eyes would meet at inconvenient moments, when Minhyung was silently devouring him. Minseok didn't say anything, but he’d hold a slight smile, barely drawn on his lips, as if he understood all too well what was going through his coworker's head. As if he was amused by it.

Summer arrived to ruin his self-control. Korea filled with fresh peaches, entire boxes that the shop received daily to incorporate into desserts. Juicy, brilliant, giving off a sweet and fleshy aroma that permeated the kitchen. The heat was so oppressive that shirts stuck to their bodies, revealing more skin than Minhyung could stand to look at without losing control. The taller man helped the other to arrange the fruit, and the comparison was inevitable. The hair on the back of his neck bristled when he saw Minseok's hands hold a peach, carefully caressing it to check for ripeness, feeling the softness of the velvety skin with slow movements.

Minhyung’s hands trembled. The peaches were Minseok's cheeks: soft, rosy, delicate. They were his wet mouth, the promise of a sweet taste spilling onto his tongue when he bit his lips. They were also the rounded curve of his rear under the light summer pants, that firm flesh that Minhyung couldn’t stop imagining in his hands.

His mind went straight to the fantasy: he imagined sliding his fingertips over that white, damp skin, biting it like a ripe peach, feeling the juice spill onto his tongue. He wondered if the rest of Minseok’s body would be just as soft, just as juicy... if his buttocks would have the same appetizing shape as those brilliant fruits.

The idea immediately excited him, so strongly that he felt a painful pressure against the fabric of his pants. The apron was his salvation, covering his erection with a white veil of false innocence. He swallowed, his hands barely trembling as he reached for another box. The smell of the peaches, mixed with the vanilla soaked into Minseok’s skin, was driving him crazy.

And then, Minseok lifted one of the fruits, held it in his palm, and looked him in the eyes with a calm smile, as if he knew exactly what the other was thinking.

"Aren't they perfect?" he asked, in that soft voice that seemed to slide directly into Minhyung's lower abdomen.

In that instant, Minhyung knew he was going to lose control much sooner than he thought, because every peach he touched, every drop of vanilla he tasted, was going to remind him of only one thing: Minseok's body, and how much he desired it.

Meanwhile, Minseok worked with an enviable calm, as if the summer and sticky heat didn't affect him at all. In front of him, the marble table was covered with ripe, brilliant peaches, their soft skin giving off a sweet and intoxicating aroma that filled the entire kitchen. With a sharp knife, Minseok peeled them one after another with elegant movements, the wet orange pulp revealing itself under the peeling skin.

Juice ran down his fingers. Thick, golden drops that slowly fell to stain his wrists. Minseok, without thinking, brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them with his tongue, catching the sweetness automatically, almost innocently. But for Minhyung, there was nothing innocent about it. Every lick was like a direct hit to his groin. The tip of Minseok’s tongue moistening the tips of his fingers, the gentle way his lips closed around them... it was obscene, it was perfect, it was unbearable.

Minhyung felt something inside him break. The summer heat already had him burning, the kitchen was an oven, the vanilla smell hung heavy in the air, now mixed with the damp fragrance of freshly cut peaches. Everything was too much: the sweat sliding down his back under his shirt, the apron that barely concealed his constant erection, the sight of Minseok licking his fingers with a naturalness that made him wild inside.

Working in that state had become torture. He was always hard, always on edge, always repressing a gasp every time Minseok did something as simple as bending over or tasting a mixture. But now, with fruit juice sliding down Minseok’s pale skin, with those moist lips shining in the light, Minhyung felt on the verge of madness.

The peaches were no longer fruit. They were flesh. They were the perfect metaphor for what he desired. Soft like Minseok’s cheeks, sweet like the saliva he imagined tasting from his tongue, juicy like the inside he fantasized about exploring. Every cut, every drop of juice that Minseok licked from his own hand, was an image that Minhyung transformed into an explicit fantasy: Minseok naked, arching under his body, dripping with sweat and pleasure. Minseok licking not a sticky fruit-covered finger, but his throbbing erection. Minseok closing his lips, swallowing all his juice.

Dizziness hit him hard. He felt like he was melting like ice cream in the sun, unable to hold his composure. The heat, the fruit, the vanilla soaked into every corner... everything was pushing him towards an abyss of lust. His breathing quickened, his thoughts became more graphic, more indecent. He saw him bend over and thought of pushing his head down, he saw him lick a finger and thought of coming inside that mouth, he heard him laugh with customers and thought of how he would sound moaning.

Minhyung was sure he was going to explode, that his body couldn't handle much more of that tension. And the worst thing, what burned him the most inside, was that silent suspicion: that Minseok knew. That those small smiles he threw at him between cutting fruit were his way of saying: I know what you're thinking... and I like having you this way.

Vanilla was definitely no longer boring, and peaches were no longer fruit. Everything, absolutely everything, was Minseok. And Minhyung was one step away from losing control.

The pastry shop was buzzing from the morning. The air was thick, charged with sugar, vanilla, and ripe peach. The summer heat made the uniform stick to his skin like a second, uncomfortable, and damp layer. Sweat beaded on Minhyung’s forehead, which he barely managed to wipe with the back of his arm while serving tray after tray of ice cream. The constant murmur of the line, which stretched out to the street, made him dizzy. Everything was chaos: spoons clinking against cups, the mixer roaring in the background, orders shouted again and again.

And yet, none of that was what most distracted him. It was Minseok.

There he was, leaning over the counter, attending to a customer with that smile that seemed made to disarm anyone. The white shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to his back, revealing the outline of his shoulder blades, the line of his waist. Every movement was a torment for Minhyung. He felt the tension in his body grow with every second, as if the heat, the vanilla, and Minseok were a cocktail designed to break his sanity.

What Minhyung didn't know, or didn't want to admit, was that Minseok was playing a game. He understood it when he saw him taste cream in front of him: sliding his finger along the edge of the bowl, bringing it to his mouth with a slowness that seemed studied, his tongue barely poking out to lick it. Or when, between customers, he passed too close to him and, as if by chance, brushed his rear against Minhyung’s leg. Small, subtle, but clear gestures that ignited him more than he could bear.

The heat was unbearable, but what really suffocated Minhyung was that tension that kept him hard since the morning. He felt his skin tight under the apron, his hands sweaty, his mind lost in images he shouldn't be having. When Minseok came closer to whisper in his ear, due to the deafening noise of the mixer, the warm breath on his neck completely disarmed him. He was about to drop the tray he was holding. Minseok didn't even touch him, but the invisible brush of his breathing was enough to make his legs tremble.

The shop’s closing came as a partial relief. The shutters were down, the closed sign hung on the door, the street deserted. Inside the pastry shop, only the hum of the refrigerator, the clack of knives hitting the cutting board, and the metallic scrape of spoons sinking into the freshly churned ice cream remained. The silence felt thick, charged with what neither of them was saying out loud.

The clock passed midnight, and they still had to finish a huge order of peach and vanilla tarts. Minhyung tried to maintain concentration, cutting and mixing, but the tension had become impossible to ignore. Every time Minseok moved, every time he tasted something, Minhyung felt it in his body like a blow.

Suddenly, Minseok finished whisking a vanilla ice cream and, as always, tasted it first. He brought the spoon to his mouth with that delicacy that drove him crazy. He barely sucked, closed his lips around the metal, and then, without looking at him directly, extended the same spoon toward Minhyung.

"Try it. Tell me if the sweetness is right."

Minhyung took it. The metal was still warm with his saliva. Licking it was a simple gesture, but in that instant, it felt like an indirect kiss, as if Minseok’s mouth had touched his own. The ice cream tasted of vanilla, sweet, velvety, but the real flavor that made him dizzy was the fantasy of tasting Minseok himself. He could barely answer:

"It's delicious."

His voice came out hoarse, loaded with a double meaning that neither of them needed to clarify.

Minseok didn't respond; he simply continued working, as if nothing had happened. He cut the peach into perfect slices, placed them on the board, and took one between his lips. He bit it slowly, with provocative calm, letting the juice slide down the corner of his mouth. Minhyung watched him without pretense, feeling his throat close up and his erection throbbing violently under the apron.

The juice stayed shining on Minseok’s lips, who slowly ran his tongue over them to clean it. The gesture, so simple, made him burn all over. And when a rebellious drop escaped and fell onto his white shirt, staining it with an orange circle right in the center of his chest, Minhyung couldn't take it anymore.

"Wait..." he stammered, grabbing a cloth with trembling hands. He approached too fast, too eagerly. The cloth brushed against the damp fabric, but his fingers, restless, clumsy, ended up also brushing the hard skin of his torso through the stuck-on fabric. He felt the heat, the firmness, and then he noticed: Minseok's nipple hardened under the cloth, against the tip of his fingers.

Minseok didn’t move away. He just watched him, in silence, with a half-smile that disarmed him. The calm on his face contrasted brutally with the storm raging in Minhyung.

"What are you looking at so hard?" the shorter one asked, in a low tone, almost a whisper that smelled of a challenge.

Minhyung swallowed. He couldn't pretend anymore. The hand holding the cloth fell, useless, while the other reached out to grab Minseok's wrist firmly. The contact was electric, a spark that left him breathless. The tension, accumulated for weeks, exploded all at once.

"It's ridiculous..." he said, clumsy, desperate, direct. "But every time I try your desserts, I wonder if you would taste just as sweet."

The silence that followed was unbearable. Minseok stared at him, his lips still shiny with juice, his smile widening with dangerous satisfaction. As if he had been waiting for those exact words.

Calmly, he took a step towards him, closing the distance until his chest brushed against Minhyung's. He lifted his head, shorter but imposing. A slow and dangerous smile spread across Minseok's face, like a predator who finally sees its prey fall into the trap. He didn't pull his wrist away. Instead, he held Minhyung’s desperate gaze, widening his smile as he deliberately ran his tongue over the bright drop of saliva shining on his lip.

"Then... try me and tell me."

That was all the permission Minhyung needed. He pulled Minseok to him and crashed his mouth against Minseok’s in a kiss that was all hunger, like a reclamation. He licked Minseok’s mouth and, God, he was right, he was completely right. Minseok tasted of the sweetness of vanilla and the light, acidic flavor of peach skin, a flavor so intensely Minseok that it made Minhyung's head spin. The shorter one moaned into the kiss, tangling his free hand in Minhyung’s hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

Minhyung broke the kiss, both of them panting, and without a word, he lifted Minseok and placed him on the cold stainless steel of the prep table. The bowls of cream and cut peaches teetered precariously. He shoved them aside and brought his hands to the knot of Minseok's white apron. He untied it, slipped it off his shoulders, and then ripped the thin cotton shirt he wore underneath off and over his head.

Minseok's chest was pale and smooth, his nipples already hardened like little peaks. It was beautiful, damn beautiful. Minhyung dipped his fingers into the bowl of vanilla cream, and the rich, cold substance coated his fingers. He looked into Minseok's half-closed eyes as he brought his hand to his chest and smeared the thick, fragrant cream over one nipple and then the other.

He lowered his head and licked the cream, running his tongue around Minseok's nipple, licking it clean before sucking the firm bud into his mouth. Minseok moaned, arching his back against the cold metal and lifting his hips. The combination of the cold cream, warm skin, and hot moisture of Minhyung's mouth was an overload of sensations. Minhyung moved to the other nipple, giving it the same hungry attention, biting it just enough to make Minseok gasp and writhe. 

Minhyung went down, painting a trail of cream across Minseok's abdomen with his tongue, licking and sucking until Minseok writhed, a sharp, forceful moan caught in his throat. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down along with his underwear to his thighs with one sharp movement, leaving him exposed. Minseok was completely hard, his penis straining against his belly. His scent, of vanilla and peaches, was overwhelming.

Minhyung picked up half a peach from the tray, its flesh soft and juicy. He rubbed the fuzzy, slippery skin over the head of Minseok's penis, coating it sweetly. Minseok moaned, a long, desperate sound, as the cool fruit touched his hot skin. Minhyung tossed the fruit aside and leaned down, taking Minseok into his mouth with a smooth, deep motion. Minhyung devoured him with his mouth, his tongue working tirelessly, circling the head, swallowing him until his nose was buried in the soft hair at the base. The taste was incredible, the salty precum, the sweet residue of the peach, and the pure, sugary taste of Minseok. He sucked hard, and Minseok's thighs trembled on either side of his head.

Minseok's moan broke the air, ragged and unfiltered, a sound that went straight to Minhyung's heart. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white as vanilla against the cold steel of the table. He was falling apart, and Minhyung wasn't going to let him recover anytime soon. Not until he had completely broken him.

Minhyung leaned back just enough to admire his handiwork: Minseok's cock glistening with peach juice and vanilla cream, a mess of sweetness and need. He smiled proudly before diving back down, swallowing it whole. This time he took it deeper, pushing past the head until the tip grazed the back of his throat. Minseok cried out, a guttural scream that echoed off the kitchen walls, his hips jerking uncontrollably. Minhyung didn't relent but sank his cheeks in, sucking with a ferocity that left Minseok gasping for air, his body shaking like a leaf in a storm.

One hand caressed the base of Minseok's member, slippery with cream and nectar, while the other moved lower. Minhyung spread more vanilla mixture over Minseok's testicles, and the coolness drew another desperate moan from his lips. He spread it down to his thighs, massaging the sticky sweetness into his skin, his fingers caressing closer to where Minseok was most sensitive. Each stroke was deliberate, designed to bring him closer to the edge without letting him fall.

Minseok's voice broke again, and a hoarse plea escaped him. 

"Minhyung... please don't stop..."

His words dissolved into incoherence as Minhyung's mouth moved faster, his tongue swirling around the tip of his cock before diving back down. The combination of heat and pressure was overwhelming, and Minseok's body arched over the table, every muscle tense with anticipation.

Minhyung pulled back slightly, his lips still wrapped around the head, as he looked up. Minseok's face was flushed to his ears, his lips parted in ragged breaths, his eyes glassy and unfocused. 

"You taste like heaven," Minhyung growled, his voice low and full of desire. He swirled his tongue around the tip again before pushing it deep inside once more, savoring every ragged breath, every spasm of Minseok's body beneath him.

He could feel it, the tension building in Minseok's abdomen, the way his thighs trembled under his touch. Minhyung slowed down just enough to tease him, dragging his tongue along the underside of Minseok's cock in one long, slow lick that made him curse and writhe against the table. And then, when he felt Minseok was about to spill, he pulled away with a wet sound.

"Not yet. I haven't tasted you enough."

He pushed Minseok's legs back, leaving him completely exposed. He dipped his fingers back into the bowl and scooped up a generous amount of vanilla cream. He met Minseok's desperate, shining gaze, who just looked at him, unable to say anything, his body trembling with anticipation. Minhyung pressed a slippery finger against his entrance, slowly twisting it before pushing past the tight ring of muscles. Minseok threw his head back and a guttural moan escaped his throat as Minhyung's finger slid deep inside him, the cold cream in stark and exquisite contrast to the searing heat within. He opened him with a patience he didn't know he had, adding a second finger, then a third, moving them in a scissoring motion and curving them, exploring until Minseok sobbed, his cock dripping steadily onto his stomach and his hips shaking involuntarily.

The sounds coming from Minseok's lips were obscene: broken moans, muffled pleas, and gasps that made Minhyung's erection throb painfully. He could feel every tremor, every contraction of Minseok's body as he opened him up, preparing him for what was to come next.

"Minhyung... please.." Minseok begged, his voice broken and rough. His length dripped incessantly onto his stomach, oozing with desire. "I can't... I need..."

"I know what you need," Minhyung interrupted, his voice hoarse. He curved his fingers again, pressing harder against that spot inside him, and Minseok arched over the table with a gasp. He leaned down, brushing his lips against Minseok's ear as he left small bites.

Minhyung released his aching erection, stroking himself before positioning himself at Minseok's stretched, cream-filled hole. He pushed his head inside, and the tight, hot grip clouded his vision for a second. He penetrated him with a brutal, perfect thrust, sinking all the way in. Minseok screamed. The sound was pure ecstasy. Minhyung didn't give him a second to adjust. He set a punishing pace, pounding him, the table squeaking against the tile floor with every thrust of his hips. He leaned down, capturing Minseok's mouth in a careless, desperate kiss, tasting the sweetness and sweat on his lips.

He reached between them and grabbed Minseok's slippery cock in time with his thrusts. Minseok's body stiffened and he squeezed his eyes shut until his climax hit him. His release painted his stomach and chest with hot streaks, his body convulsing around Minhyung's throbbing cock. Minhyung enjoyed his own pleasure and, true to his word, leaned down. He ran his fingers through the mess on Minseok's stomach and brought them to his mouth.

He sucked his fingers clean, staring at Minseok's exhausted, ecstatic face. The taste was complex, fresh, and sweet, unique to him and addictive. Minhyung lowered his head to Minseok's stomach, his tongue following the trail of semen. He sucked it slowly, deliberately, loving every inch. Finally, he reached Minseok's softening penis and took it into his mouth once more to savor every last drop.

He pulled away, a mischievous smile on his sticky lips. 

"I knew it..."

Minseok looked at him, still dazed. 

"You knew what?"

"You have the best vanilla cream around," he said, kissing Minseok's body again, caressing his neck with his nose. 

The sticky sweetness of Minseok's orgasm still lingered on Minhyung's tongue, a delicious and addictive aftertaste that only fueled the fire in his gut. He bit the hollow of Minseok's neck, inhaling the mixture of the scent of his sweat, vanilla, and the heady perfume of the ripe peaches around them. 

Minseok lay exhausted beneath him, a beautiful, spent mess on the prep table covered in flour and cream. His chest still rose and fell in heavy, satisfying waves.

"I think you're the best dessert," Minhyung murmured against his skin, his voice low. "But I'm not done with all the prep yet."

A slow, lazy smile spread across Minseok's lips. 

"Yes? What's next, chef?"

With a fluid, powerful movement, Minhyung grabbed Minseok's hips and flipped him over. The air escaped Minseok's lungs in a soft, surprised gasp. His back formed a long, elegant curve, and his butt was perfectly exposed. Minhyung's hands, large and possessive, rested on his smooth buttocks, kneading the soft, firm flesh of those peaches. 

"The peaches, Minseok," Minhyung ordered, his voice a dark whisper that brooked no argument. "Pass me the bowl."

Minseok, docile and eager, reached a trembling arm toward the nearby counter and closed his fingers around the bowl overflowing with ripe, sliced fruit. He handed it over without a word, his body trembling with renewed, fresh, expectant energy.

Minhyung took a slice of slippery, shiny peach. He dragged it along the other's spine, leaving a cold, sticky trail. Minseok arched at the contact, and a low, yearning sound escaped him. Minhyung leaned down, his tongue following the same path, licking and biting the juice that oozed from the warm skin. So sweet, so fucking sweet.

"I'm going to savor every inch of you," Minhyung warned, his hot breath on Minseok's lower back. 

He took another slice and pressed it against Minseok's entrance, rubbing the soft, smooth fruit in slow, tantalizing circles. The cold made Minseok shiver, and then he pressed himself against the sensation, a wordless plea. Juice dripped, coating him.

"I'm going to make you even sweeter."

He leaned down, replacing his fingers with his mouth. His tongue, wide and wet, licked a broad swath through the sticky mess he had created. Minseok cried out, his fingers searching for support on the smooth metal table. Minhyung devoured him as if he were the most delicious fruit in the world, his tongue exploring and swirling, penetrating him with shallow, relentless thrusts. Minseok's hips began to move in small, desperate circles, rubbing against Minhyung's face.

Minhyung grabbed the pastry bag with the vanilla cream Minseok had prepared hours ago, already half melted but deliciously sweet. He squeezed a thick, cold line directly onto Minseok's slit. Minseok shuddered violently at the sudden change in temperature, and a broken moan escaped his throat as Minhyung poured all the cream into him, pushing it inside. He pressed one finger in, then a second, stretching him, coating his insides with the sweet, fragrant cream. Minseok was tight, hot, and squeezing around his fingers, his body eagerly accepting them.

After a few seconds, he withdrew his fingers, and Minseok let out a sound of pure disappointment. Minhyung didn't keep him waiting. He positioned himself again, the large head of his penis rubbing against Minseok's slippery, ready entrance. He placed one hand on Minseok's back, pressing him against the table. 

He pushed inside. It was a slow, gentle, exquisite invasion. The resistance was minimal, just a delicious, tight heat that yielded to the relentless pressure. Minseok's body opened up for him, accepting him once more, the vanilla and peach creating a slippery, fragrant glide. Minhyung reached the bottom, completely enveloped, his hips pressed against Minseok's ass. He held still, letting them both feel the totality, the pure, overwhelming fullness.

He began to move, with a slow, deep rhythm that made Minseok moan against the table with every thrust. Minhyung's hands anchored themselves to Minseok's hips, undoubtedly leaving bruises, pulling him toward his cock with every forward thrust. The slap of skin against skin, mixed with the slippery, wet sounds of their union, was obscene. The air was thick with the smell of sex and sugar. Minseok's voice cracked, and his knuckles turned white as he tried to grip the edge of the table.

The thrusts became faster, harder, more punishing. Each one shook Minseok, drawing muffled, pleasurable sounds from him. Minhyung could feel his own climax approaching, like a taut spring at its base. He slid a hand still covered in vanilla cream around Minseok's hip, finding his hardness, once again hard and dripping against the cold metal. He stroked it to the rhythm of his thrusts, with a firm grip.

Minseok cried out, a raw, unrestrained sound as orgasm washed over him for the second time, his body squeezing Minhyung's cock with violent, exquisite pulses. The sensation of being milked along its entire length was Minhyung's undoing. He thrust deeply one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his own release overwhelmed him, hot and endless, decorating Minseok's insides.

Minhyung, exhausted, collapsed onto Minseok's back. He buried his face in the nape of his neck, damp with sweat and hair, breathing in that unique scent that mingled with sugar and summer. They breathed in unison, erratically, out of sync, as if two hearts were trying to reach each other inside the same chest.

After a while, Minhyung forced himself to move. Gently, he turned Minseok’s face and kissed him. A deep, slow kiss that tasted of peaches, of vanilla... and of something he recognized with a shuddering euphoria: Minseok himself. His fingers collected the mixture of their passionate experiment that had begun to drip between them and brought them to his mouth, his eyes fixed on Minseok’s.

"I think I’ve found my favorite combination. I want to taste all of it again."

Euphoria overwhelmed him. He had spent so much time imagining it, fantasizing about Minseok’s forbidden sweetness, that now it felt like a dream come true. An exclusive, unique dessert, impossible to compare, the most addictive of all. The contrast of Minseok's vanilla, soft, creamy, unexpectedly intense; with his peaches, tender and juicy, became the perfect formula for him.

"I guess vanilla wasn't so boring after all," he confessed, almost laughing at himself.

Minseok, still with that dangerous calm on his lips, replied:

"It wasn't... you were just tasting it the wrong way."

The answer hit Minhyung hard, and he realized something that struck him more powerfully than any orgasm: he never wanted this moment to end. He had spent his whole life running from place to place, looking for something to remove the feeling of routine, of emptiness. He always found the same thing: people who tired him out, experiences that eventually lost their shine. But Minseok... Minseok was different. With him, every touch had a new flavor, every moan was a new recipe, every look a secret ingredient.

That night he had broken the rules, he had crossed the forbidden line, and nothing would ever be the same. From that moment on, every secret they shared would be a dream no one else would believe. They had become accomplices, a silent pair of addicts, exchanging their fantasies in the kitchen as if they were secret recipes.

And what began that night didn't stop. They always found ways and moments to create new flavors, hidden among pots, fruits, and spices. Vanilla was no longer a simple ingredient, but the echo of Minseok melting in his mouth. Peaches were no longer just fruit, but the juicy metaphor of his most intimate desire. Minhyung tasted and tasted, and each attempt left him hungrier than before, because he discovered that there was no sweetness that surpassed the other, that together they created something impossible to replicate.

For the first time in his life, Minhyung didn't feel trapped in monotony. It was never the same thing twice, never the same flavor. Every touch, every kiss, every bite, every drop of semen was different, as if Minseok reinvented the whole world just by touching him. And he, who had always fled from boredom, found in that infinite sweetness something that happily chained him: the need, the urgency to taste it again and again.

A secret shared in the suffocating summer heat, a bad habit that transformed into his greatest addiction. In the kitchen, between muffled laughs and whispers, their bodies drank each other like cups of a forbidden syrup. Time would stop with each encounter, the air would become thick and sweet, and everything would be reduced to a dream they knew no one else could understand, but which they knew was real every time they bit their lips not to moan too loudly.

Minhyung understood that the true recipe for desire wasn't in the kitchen, or in the sugar, or in the peaches. It was in Minseok. In his way of making everything seem like a forbidden game and, at the same time, the most natural thing in the world. In his ability to make even the air sweeter, to make time stand still just by touching him.

That was the truth revealed in that kitchen: that love, or whatever it was that bound them, wasn't measured in words, but in the addictive sweetness of shared skin. That there was no better dessert, more exclusive, more exquisite, than getting lost in each other. And Minhyung, for the first time in his life, felt complete, satiated, and hungry at the same time, completely sure that he would never tire of tasting Minseok.

Because Minseok wasn't just another dessert in his life. He wasn't just a summer season, or a passing whim. Minseok was the flavor he would never stop searching for, the one he could never substitute. His pretty boy, his perfect peach, his infinite vanilla. And Minhyung, for the first time, not only accepted being trapped in that sweetness, he wanted to stay there forever. Because, with a simple bite, Minhyung had become a hopeless addict.