The Ghost of a Name
The physical reality of full-time lactation without medical suppression had finally pushed Luciel’s body to its absolute limit.
Over the last forty-eight hours, his prolactin levels had peaked into uncharted territory.
His chest was no longer just full—it was perpetually engorged, rock-hard, and aching with a throbbing, heavy pressure that a four-month-old infant couldn’t possibly drain on his own.
Kai was a good eater, and at four months old, his appetite had grown significantly, but he was still just a baby. Luciel, on the other hand, had become a human reservoir.
Every loose flannel shirt he owned was ruined within hours.
The disposable nursing pads were completely useless, soaking through in minutes and leaving cold, wide, translucent puddles of white fluid blooming across his chest.
The skin over his breasts was stretched so taut it looked polished, the pale, freckled flesh marbled with faint blue veins that throbbed in time with his frantic heartbeat.
Desperate for relief, Luciel had secretly ordered a medical-grade electric breast pump to the apartment, checking the tracking app like a lifeline. It had arrived that afternoon while Adrian was stuck at a high-stakes corporate dinner with the tech firm’s CEO and international investors.
By 11:30 PM, the apartment was deathly quiet. Kai was sound asleep in his crib, oblivious to the world.
Luciel sat on the living room sofa, the television turned off, the only light coming from a single amber floor lamp in the corner.
His flannel shirt was thrown over the back of the couch.
He sat entirely bare-chested, the plastic, cone-shaped flanges of the double electric pump pressed tightly against his swollen, heavy breasts.
Rhythmic whir. Rhythmic whir.
The quiet, mechanical hum of the machine echoed in the silent room.
Luciel let out a long, trembling sigh, leaning his head back against the cushions.
The suction was intense, a mechanical tugging that pulled his dark rose, swollen nipples deep into the plastic tunnels.
It was uncomfortable, almost clinical, but the relief was instantaneous.
Through the clear plastic tubes, two thick, steady streams of pure white milk were spraying into the attached bottles, filling them up with astonishing speed.
“Thank god,” Luciel whispered, closing his eyes as the agonizing, hard pressure in his chest finally began to ease. “I can finally breathe.”
----
Suddenly, the heavy click of the front door lock shattered the silence.
Luciel’s eyes snapped open in sheer panic. He scrambled to turn off the machine, but before his fingers could hit the power switch, the front door swung open.
Adrian stumbled into the entryway.
His normally immaculate slate-blue dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his tie missing entirely, and his dark brown hair was a wild, messy mane.
He leaned heavily against the wall to kick off his dress shoes, a low, exhausted groan escaping his lips.
Even from across the room, Luciel could catch the distinct, sharp scent of expensive whiskey and premium wine.
Adrian was drunk. Not stumbling, black-out drunk, but heavily intoxicated—his inhibitions entirely melted away by a night of mandatory corporate toasts.
“Adrian!” Luciel squeaked, his hands flying up to cover himself, but the bulky plastic pump flanges were still suctioned tightly to his bare chest, the tubes dangling awkwardly. “You’re... you’re home early! Hold on, don’t look, let me—”
Adrian didn’t listen. He lifted his head, his deep green eyes bloodshot, hazy, and dark with a fierce, primal intensity.
The moment his gaze locked onto Luciel sitting bare-chested in the amber light, his pupils dilated completely.
He didn’t look shocked. He looked like a starving man who had finally found water in a desert.
“Luciel...” Adrian growled softly, his voice incredibly deep, rough, and thick with alcohol.
He didn’t stop. He crossed the living room with heavy, uncoordinated but determined strides. Before Luciel could untangle himself from the wires of the pump, Adrian collapsed onto his knees on the carpet right in front of the sofa, wedging his massive, muscular frame directly between Luciel’s legs.
“Adrian, wait, you’re drunk—” Luciel stammered, his face exploding into a violent, breathless crimson.
Adrian didn’t say a word. He reached out, his large, heavy hands wrapping around Luciel’s waist, pulling the younger man forward until Luciel’s thighs were pinned against his broad shoulders.
He buried his face into the soft dip of Luciel’s neck, inhaling deeply, his hot, alcohol-laced breath sending a violent, trembling shiver straight down Luciel’s spine.
“You smell so sweet,” Adrian muttered against his skin, his voice desperate, a low whine tearing from his throat. “I’ve been thinking about you all night. Every hour. Every second. I couldn’t breathe in that room, Luciel. I just wanted to come home to you.”
Luciel’s heart was hammering so violently he was terrified it would shatter his ribs. “Adrian, please, look at me, you’re not in your right mind. Let me take the pump off—”
Adrian pulled his head back, his green eyes locking onto the plastic flanges pressed against Luciel’s full, rounded breasts. Without an ounce of hesitation, Adrian reached up. His large, warm fingers gripped the plastic, gently but firmly peeling the suction away from Luciel’s skin.
The sudden release of the machine’s pressure, combined with the intense, intoxicating heat of Adrian’s proximity, triggered a massive, uncontrollable let-down reflex.
The moment the plastic was removed, a heavy, rich bead of white milk welled up rapidly at the tip of Luciel’s dark rose, swollen right nipple, followed instantly by a steady, slow drip that ran down the pale, smooth curve of his chest.
Adrian’s breath hitched. A dark, possessive hunger flared in his green eyes.
“Adrian, no, don’t—”
Before Luciel could finish the sentence, Adrian leaned forward, his large hand cupping the heavy, milk-filled weight of Luciel’s right breast, supporting the soft fullness. He lowered his head and wrapped his warm, wet mouth entirely around Luciel’s swollen nipple, sucking strongly.
“Ah—! Oh my god, Adrian!”
A sharp, piercing gasp tore from Luciel’s throat, his back arching off the sofa cushions as his fingers violently tangled into the thick brown hair of Adrian’s head.
The sensation was overwhelmingly intense—the rough, hot, human suction of Adrian’s mouth was completely different from the clinical tugging of the machine or the gentle nursing of four-month-old Kai.
Adrian was pulling with a fierce, desperate hunger, his tongue swirling around the sensitive, rose-colored flesh, gulping down the warm, sweet milk that poured directly into his throat.
Luciel’s head spun, a wave of profound, toe-curling arousal crashing through his core.
His lower body felt entirely liquid, a deep, pulling tingle shooting straight to his stomach.
He couldn’t push him away. He didn’t want to.
He was so desperately in love with this man, so intensely attracted to him, that he let out a soft, trembling sob, his thighs tightening around Adrian’s broad shoulders as the older man continued to aggressively drink from his body.
----
After a long, breathless minute, Adrian slowly pulled his mouth away from the damp, crimson nipple. A small thread of white milk clung to his bottom lip, glistening in the amber light. He looked up, his green eyes heavy-lidded, glazed with sheer passion and intoxication.
He didn’t give Luciel a second to recover. Adrian surged upward onto the sofa, his massive, muscular body pinning Luciel flat against the cushions. He wrapped his strong arms around Luciel’s waist, pulling their bodies together until there wasn’t a fraction of an inch of air between them.
“Adrian...” Luciel whimpered, his blue eyes wide, staring up at the handsome, flushed face hovering over his.
Adrian leaned down and captured Luciel’s lips in a deep, bruising, entirely uninhibited kiss.
It wasn’t the feather-light touch on the forehead from the night of the storm.
This was a reclamation. Adrian’s mouth parted Luciel’s lips with a possessive force, his tongue sliding inside, tasting the faint sweetness of the milk mixed with the raw, burning heat of the alcohol.
Luciel let out a breathless moan into the kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around Adrian’s neck, completely surrendering to the euphoria of the moment.
He felt loved. He felt desired. He felt like his soul was finally merging with the man of his dreams.
Adrian pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his lips brushing against Luciel’s flushed cheek as his breathing came in ragged, heavy gasps. He pressed his face into the soft blonde strands of Luciel’s hair, his hands sliding down to grip Luciel’s hips with an agonizing, desperate tightness.
A low, trembling groan tore from deep within Adrian’s throat, his voice cracking with a raw, intoxicated vulnerability as he pressed his eyes shut.
“Luci... ah, Luci...” Adrian moaned against his ear, his voice thick with a desperate, lingering need. “God... Luci... don’t leave me... stay right here...”
Luciel froze.
The euphoria, the warmth, the dizzying spiral of arousal—it all shattered into a million jagged pieces of ice in a single, devastating second.
Luci.
To Adrian, the intoxicated contraction of the name was a desperate, breathless shortening of Luciel. In his drunken, passionate mind, he was crying out for the young man currently pinned beneath him—the beautiful, soft anchor who had saved his family.
But to Luciel, the word sounded entirely different.
In the quiet, echoing chamber of Luciel’s insecure heart, he didn’t hear his own name. He heard Lucy. His twin sister. The woman who had worn this exact same face. The woman who had stood at the altar with Adrian, the woman who had signed the divorce papers and shattered this man’s soul.
A cold, suffocating horror washed over Luciel. The roaring blood in his ears turned into a deafening scream of humiliation.
He doesn’t see me, Luciel thought, an agonizing twist of pain ripping through his chest, so sharp it physically nauseated him. He’s drunk. He looks at my face, he tastes my milk, he holds my body... and he thinks I’m her. He’s grieving her. He’s just using me to fill the empty space she left behind.
“No...” Luciel choked out, a sudden, heartbroken tear spilling down his pale, freckled cheek.
With a sudden surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, Luciel shoved his hands against Adrian’s broad chest. “Adrian, stop! Get off me! Put me down!”
Adrian, completely disoriented and heavily weighted down by the alcohol, blinked his green eyes in confusion as he was pushed back. “Luciel...? What’s... what’s wrong...?”
“Don’t touch me!” Luciel sobbed, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated agony. He scrambled out from under Adrian’s heavy frame, tumbling off the sofa onto his knees.
He didn’t look back. Clutching his unbuttoned flannel shirt over his bare, heavily dripping chest, Luciel bolted down the hallway.
He slammed the guest bedroom door shut behind him, turning the lock with a sharp, violent click before collapsing against the wood, his chest heaving with silent, devastating sobs.
In the living room, Adrian slumped back against the sofa cushions, his eyes closing as the heavy wave of alcohol finally pulled him into a deep, unconscious slumber, entirely unaware of the catastrophic misunderstanding that had just broken the heart of the man he loved.