“Onthe counter?”
“Yes.”
It may have been Rowan’s birthday, but he gave no protest before following Milo’s orders.
“First…” Milo began, after plating a slice and picking up the fork, “just the pie.” He moved in between Rowan’s legs, which he spread wider in invitation.
The aromas that assaulted Rowan now that the pie was cut made him teeter on the countertop like a cartoon wolf catching visible scent trails. He leaned further forward as Milo brought the first bite to his lips and fed it to him. “Oh my god…”
“Good?” Milo bounced on the balls of his feet, making his apron’s ruffles flounce a little too. “That exclamation is a positive one, yes?”
“Yes.” Rowan seemed barely willing to swallow, but his expression proved it wasn’t because it was bad, or even too hot, but because he didn’t want the flavor to leave his mouth just yet. When he finally did swallow, he hummed like he had at the view of Milo’s ass. “Holy shit, Milo, this is—”
“Wait.” Milo was already scooping another bite onto a fork and used a spoon to dig into one of the tubs of ice cream and carefully added a dollop on top of it. “I want you to really relish the flavors before you tell me specifics. Next, with cinnamon.”
Milo knew Rowan loved cinnamon ice cream but rarely had it. He would at least have an idea of how the flavors should complement one another.
The flutter of Rowan’s eyes and accompanying moan after his mouth closed around the fork said he had underestimated how much.
Definitely better than the pie alone.
“Now, the lemon.” Milo quickly fed Rowan a third, well-proportioned bite.
“Ngnnn…” That particular grunt meant Rowan’s toes had curled. “This is—”
“One more. Cinnamon again with the lemon lingering.”
As Rowan was still finishing his previous swallow, looking like he could have kept eating bites until the entire tin was empty, he accepted the new bite with all those lingering aftertastes melded together. “Fuck.”
“Good?” Milo asked again.
Rowan’s eyes were heavily lidded and his cheeks looked flush—among other parts of him. “Positively… orgasmic,” he said.
Milo bounced again, and the flounce of his ruffles must have made him look like a doll or the animation of some GACHA game pinup character—which was intentional. Some of those GACHA games were very inspiring for outfit and pose ideas to catch Rowan’s attention! “You were so helpful in determining the right flavor profiles to get this right. Now I want you to explain to me with each new bite how well I did.”
Rowan looked too charmed to question Milo, though the growing heat and playful suspicion in his eyes said he knew exactly where Milo intended to take this taste test. He watched patiently as Milo scooped up another bite—always smaller, manageable portions—and this time added a dollop of both cinnamon and lemon ice cream to the fork.
“Tell me, Rowan, what flavors you pick up on and how each nuance makes youfeel. So maybe… maybe,” Milo said again softer, “I might understand what it means to taste something.”
Perhaps it was the rawness of the admission that made Rowan’s expression change and his breath catch. This had always been equally about doing somethingforRowan and proving something to Milo, a little touch of intersecting humanity to connect them better than before.
Milo couldn’t taste, not in the human sense, but he could understand just like someone born blind or deaf or who saw the world in some other unique way could have things described in their terms to know themselves and the world better.
The next bite made Rowan moan around his mouthful, and a dribble of ice cream spilled onto the bare part of his chest where his button-down shirt was undone at the top.
“Oops,” Milo said as Rowan hissed from the cold, though any indication of apology would have been a lie, since Milo had intended for that to happen eventually. “Allow me…” He opened Rowan’s shirt another one, two, three buttons down, and bent to lick the ice cream from his collarbone—with his vibrating tongue.
Rowan moaned again and shifted on the countertop, his growing hardness beginning to press up against his jeans and therefore Milo’s stomach where Milo was purposely letting more of his weight press down.
“Go on.” Milo batted his eyes up at Rowan from his bent position. “Describe to me how it tastes.”
Rowan dropped his head back, laughing lightly. “It tastes… um… balanced? Not too sweet, not too tart, just…ohhhh…”
Milo had continued to undo the last few buttons of Rowan’s shirt and moved immediately to the button and zipper of Rowan’s jeans, sliding his hand inside beneath Rowan’s underwear. “Yes?”
“Milo…” Rowan laughed again. “You know humans also have trouble multitasking when one of those tasks is… distracting.”
How hard and wet Rowan was in Milo’s hand proved that, but Milo simply batted his eyes again and grinned. “You can do it,” he said, teasing his long fingers up and down the pulsing vein along Rowan’s underside.
