Chapter 4
The kitchen smells of burnt sugar.
It’s the smell of a morning already gone wrong—I scorched the caramel for the second time, and Hessou has taken it as his personal cue to lounge on my counter in a silk robe and nothing else, one ankle hooked over the other, plucking dried rose petals from my garnish tray to chew like candy.
He’s made a habit of it.
He shows up just after sunrise, with an entitled tilt of his head, gives me a kiss that tastes of smoke, and then I make him come. It’s become routine—his donation, as he calls it—for my experiments. A spoon or two at best. Not nearly enough to build a new base.
“Still thin,” I mutter, swirling the tiny pool of his cum. “You’re useless.”
“Mm,” Hessou purrs. “Then stop begging me to come.”
“I don’t beg—”
“You whine. With those pretty hands in my pants and your tongue on my cock. It’s a very convincing performance, then.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s not wrong. I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can put his observations, when a sound snaps my head toward the back door.
It swings open.
It’s subtle—someone knocks on it once and it just opens with the sound of old hinges. Then silence, as if the person on the other side is suddenly unsure they’re supposed to be here at all.
And then I see him.
Jean.
And he’s hard.
He’s wearing the same worn shirt as last time, sleeves rolled just past the elbow, the fabric pulling slightly across his chest. A heavy flour sack is slung over his shoulder, and he’s standing just inside the doorway like someone might throw him back out.
His cheeks flush before I can even greet him.
“Bonjour,” I say, softly.
He swallows like he forgot how. “I—uh—Beno?t’s sick again. He asked if I could—just today, I swear I didn’t—”
Hessou slides off the counter.
“Oh. So this is the boy.”
Jean’s eyes snap to him.
He looks between us—me, standing sticky and sugar-dusted in an apron, and Hessou, lean and perfectly composed. Jean looks ready to dissolve into the floor.
I smile, biting back a laugh.
“Jean, this is Hessou. Hessou, this is—”
“Your favorite ingredient, I hear,” Hessou finishes, stepping a little closer. “You didn’t say he was this pretty.”
Jean blinks, a flush is spreading all the way down his neck.
“He’s shy,” I explain, tilting my head, my gaze locked on the thick outline of Jean’s cock. “But wonderfully generous.”
Hessou hums and walks a slow circle around him, a full, appraising loop.
“Does he taste as good as you said?” Hessou asks.
“Better.”
Jean makes a soft sound—a perfect, mortified, utterly aroused little noise.
Hessou steps in behind him, and inhales softly.
“Sunshine. He really does smell like sunshine.” Hessou’s eyes flick to me, something bright behind them. “You said I was your rarest flavor.”
I cross my arms, leaning back against the wall.
“I said both. You don’t need to be jealous.”
“I’m not.”
I snort, and he moves to my side, leans into me while watching Jean the whole time.
“I can see why you’re obsessed,” he says to me. “But you didn’t say he was this shy.”
“I did,” I say lightly, stepping in close enough to touch Jean’s sleeve. “You just didn’t listen.”
Jean’s eyes dart between us, and he licks his lips.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, monsieur,” he says. “I can… I’ll just leave the flour here.”
“Jean,” I say, my fingers brushing down his arm until I find his wrist. He shudders. “I don’t want you to run away again.”
His mouth opens, then shuts again.
“I thought about it. You were delicious, but I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought maybe I’d gone too far.”
Jean shakes his head, flushed all over. Anyone else would have fled. Or punched me. But Jean just stands here—face red, cock hard.
“I wanted to ask,” I continue, because only an idiot would let this chance slip away. “If you wanted to… try it again. We’d stop the instant you asked.”
He swallows, then finally speaks.
“My body hasn’t stopped burning since that day. I… I can’t calm down, even when I try. Just with my hand, it doesn’t help. I keep thinking about how it felt. Your mouth. And the way you— and the look on your face when you swallowed.”
He pauses, blinking fast. His cock visibly leaking through the front of his pants, the wet patch darkening fast.
“I ache all the time now. I leak through everything. I had to stuff a rag in my underwear just to come here.”
I glance at Hessou.
He looks utterly delighted.
“Mon Dieu,” he murmurs, eyes tracing the line of Jean’s flushed neck. “Are you always like this?”
Jean nods, helpless.
“It’s worse now,” he mumbles.
Hessou steps forward, his voice quieter.
“You’re sure you want this? It can all become too dirty, too fast.”
“I want it,” he says clearly.
I smile.
“Good. You’ll like it.”
“Yes,” Jean whispers.
Hessou exhales behind me—not quite a laugh, not quite a groan.
“Let’s see what your boy can really do, then.”
I guide Jean inside and the sack of flour hits the ground with a soft thud, landing forgotten in the corner where the morning light spills through the window. Jean lets it go without a second thought.
I step in close and untie my apron, letting it fall to the floor. Then I reach for the first button of his shirt.
His breathing hitches.
“May I?” I ask, brushing my fingers against the buttons.
He nods.
I undo each one slowly, watching his skin appear inch by inch—golden and dusted with freckles, the slope of his chest smooth and trembling slightly with every breath.
And God, he smells edible. Sweetened cream left in the sun.
Hessou stays to the side, leaning back against the marble-topped counter, arms folded loosely, watching us intently.
I push Jean’s shirt off his shoulders and let it fall.
My hands go to his skin at once, tracing the line of his clavicle, skating down his sides, smoothing over the hard plane of his stomach.
Everywhere I touch, he flinches with the startled sensitivity of a man who’s never been touched by another man before. It’s endearing.
“Is this alright?”
He nods again. “Yes. Just nervous.”
“That’s fine,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his jaw. “You should be. We’re not like the girls you might’ve had.”
“I haven’t,” he says quickly, eyes down.
That makes me freeze. I look up at him.
“Not at all?”
He shakes his head, cheeks redder now.
“Never did. I’ve… I’ve never…”
“Then we’ll be careful,” I say quickly, trying to save him from the shame. “And you’ll tell me if something feels wrong.”
“It’s already wrong, but I like it anyway,” he blurts, then covers his face with both hands like he wishes he could disappear.
Hessou chuckles.
“I like him,” he purrs, stepping forward at last. “Even if he’s not mine.”
“He can be ours,” I say, pulling down Jean’s pants. They fall with a heavy drag of fabric, and his cock springs free, massive and flushed, wet at the tip. The rag he mentioned earlier falls to the floor with a wet plop. “He’s got plenty to share.”
Hessou lets out a low whistle.
“Mon Dieu, Louis. No wonder you liked it so much in your mouth.”
Jean’s trying hard not to look at either of us, but his cock betrays him completely, twitching and drooling pre-cum in long, sticky strings that catch the light.
I crouch in front of him, breathing in deep. The smell is clean in a filthy way, like something that should be preserved under glass.
“I want to taste you again,” I murmur, looking up at him. “Will you let me?”
Jean bites his lip.
“I want to,” he says. “Please. I—can’t stop thinking about it.”
My fingers wrap around the base of his cock, and he jolts—hips bucking forward instinctively, a strangled little sound coming from his throat.
Hessou hums behind me, and I feel his fingers touching my hair. “Don’t break him too fast, mon amour. You’ll ruin him for the rest.”
“I’ll ruin him slowly,” I mutter, licking the bead off the tip. “Like a reduction.”
I flick my tongue under the head of his cock and he jolts, gasping, thighs tightening. The taste blooms instantly, and I moan, mouth stretching greedily around him, sucking just the head, letting it sit heavy on my tongue.
“Oh ah…” Jean whimpers, hips twitching. “Dieu—”
“You see?” I murmur, pulling off and swallowing the salty pre-cum that had already gathered on my tongue. The second my mouth leaves him, a fresh bead wells up and spills over. “His yield is indecent.”
“I wonder how much you’ll be able to collect.”
“Bring me an empty bowl. A small one,” I say when I realize Hessou is right, I’m not here to just drink, I’m here to collect his essence and create art with it.
“Let me smell him,” Hessou says, stepping forward with a ceramic bowl in hand. He passes it to me and goes straight for Jean’s throat.
His hands slide up Jean’s chest, one palm flat against the center, the other curling gently around the nape of his neck. Jean stiffens at first, but then Hessou leans in and inhales just under his jaw, slow and thoughtful.
“Hmmm… You would blend beautifully with oakmoss and citrus. Very bright. Very tempting. You smell wearable.”
Jean shivers, breath catching.
I look up, lips still wrapped around Jean’s cock. Hessou moves lower, nuzzling the damp skin of Jean’s chest, then licking just under one nipple. His hands dip beneath Jean’s arms to raise it. He leans in, nose brushing the armpit, and inhales again.
He pulls back and murmurs against Jean’s ear, “I want to use you. Distill you. Let Louis devour you while I wear you.”
Jean’s cock kicks in my mouth so hard I choke, letting out a moan, full of panic and arousal. His whole body is shaking now.
The taste floods again, and I groan around it, addicted to the heavy weight on my tongue.
“You like that?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I lift for a breath.
“I d-don’t know,” he stammers, eyes darting between us, his cock twitching against my cheek. “No one’s ever—”
“You’re being studied, mon c?ur,” Hessou purrs, licking lightly at Jean’s hairy arm pit. “I could bottle you. Sell your lust.”
I grin, hand stroking slow up Jean’s shaft. “He’s not for sale.”
“You and I both know he will be… in a way.”