Special Coffee
So, this was what I started writing before I started talking to @juuyeah about the intention, feelings, and vibes of her work.
I've always loved the idea of this situation (by love, I think it's hilarious, to have one guy get this special coffee, and the other guy being jealous and wanting some). This was definitely meant to be more sexual, but when I realized that Juu was viewing it more comforting, I stopped (and it kind of fizzled out...?). I'm sharing what I have anyway because I found it funny. I may write more, I may not. Just depends on what I'm feeling.
CW: breast milk, implied breast feeding kink, implied throuple, I'm actually really bad with trying to tag shit
Corbeau didn’t notice it at first.
You bringing Philippe a cup of coffee was normal. Harmless. Something partners did for each other. You’d even bring him coffee on occasions (though he could be a bit picker about his coffee). But it wasn’t until he started really paying attention to your behavior, and Philippe’s, when you’d show up that Corbeau started to think that he was missing out on something.
And that realization—small as it was—set his teeth on edge. It pissed him off, really. You all were a throuple, after all. How dare you leave him out!
When you’d arrive with the warm beverage you’d blush prettily—why on earth were you blushing? It was just a cup of coffee!—while handing Philippe the cup. And Philippe would respond with a warm, loving, almost shameless look. Not out of character in the bedroom—but jarringly out of place on the clock. Corbeau expected Philippe to play the part of his right-hand man seriously. He had a reputation to uphold after all, and expected strict professionalism from all of his employees. But there he was, acting like a boyfriend who struggled to keep his lewd thoughts to himself.
Corbeau would watch Philippe take a long sip from the cup you’d handed to him. Watched as his tongue flicked out afterward—an absent, almost indulgent gesture, like a kitten catching the last drops of milk, before turning to you and making a comment prompting you to laugh. The larger man would then offer you a sip, and you’d blush again—embarrassed this time—before politely declining, bringing him down to kiss him sweetly on the lips, and then be on your merry way.
Over a fucking cup of coffee.
But today—today was different.
When you handed Philippe the cup today, you had a worried expression as he took a drink. Corbeau wondered if, perhaps, you tried something different and were worried that he wouldn’t like it. Which didn’t make sense, really. Contrary to popular belief, Philippe could be quite picky about his coffee—more-so than him!—so if you had tried something knew, Philippe would have approved it first.
In any case, Philippe’s expression didn’t change much when he took a sip, but he was quick to murmur something to you as you turned red again and began fidgeting with your hands.
Corbeau strained to hear the conversation from his desk.
“It seems a bit more bitter this time,” he heard Philippe say. “Did you put chocolate in it as well?”
“I didn’t produce a lot today, so I added it to make up for the lack of sweetness and I didn’t want to add just sugar.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Perhaps I’m not doing an efficient job.”
That made no sense. Efficient at what?
He couldn’t tell if Philippe’s gaze lowered to your chest, but he watched closely as the larger man lifted a hand and gently felt your breast through your clothes—cupping it, testing the weight—before switching to the—
—WHAT?!
Corbeau’s tapped a finger on his desk in annoyance. Why on earth was Philippe fondling your breasts (which he agreed were lovely and gorgeous) on company time? That’s not what he was paying him for, damnit!
He continued watching as you pecked Philippe on the cheek—mindful of the spikes on his mutton chops—and turned to leave, and then squealed when the large man slapped your ass.
Corbeau took a deep breath and exhaled. He’ll get to the bottom of things one way or another.
As Philippe made his way back to his normal spot, slightly off to the side and behind the chair—Corbeau removed his glasses, reaching underneath his desk for a microfiber cloth.
“So…is that a new blend of coffee I should know about?” he asked, wiping the lens of his glasses.
Philippe paused mid-step, cup still in his hand. “Hmm?”
“The coffee she brought,” Corbeau clarified mildly, placing his glasses back on his face. “You seem…particularly invested in it today.”
Philippe’s mouth curved—not a grin, exactly. Something warmer. Amused. “It’s a special one,” he said.
Corbeau finally lifted his gaze, sharp and assessing. “Special how?”
Philippe glanced toward the door you’d just exited through, then back to Corbeau. “It has a special ingredient.”
Corbeau’s fingers stilled against the arm of his chair. “You’re being evasive.”
“I’m being considerate,” Philippe corrected easily. “You know how possessive you can be.”
That earned him a faint huff of irritation.
“I also know when something doesn’t add up,” Corbeau pointed out.
Philippe took a slow sip, eyes never leaving Corbeau’s. “You noticed, then.”
Corbeau clenched his jaw as he pounded a fist on his desk. “You groped our lovely do-gooder in front of me, in my office, on company time, and expect me to not notice??”
“Why are you so upset? We've agreed to share her, with her consent.”
"That—that's is not the point, Philippe!" Corbeau sputtered for a moment, before collecting himself. “Considering you’re the one who is picky about coffee,” he inhaled through his nose, “you described today’s as lacking sweetness. Which struck me as odd, considering you’re the one who insists on bitterness.”
Philippe’s smile deepened. “Ah. Then perhaps you should taste it yourself.”
He extended the cup.
Corbeau eyed it like it might be a challenge. “What are you doing?” he said.
“Sharing,” Philippe replied. “Hardly unprecedented between partners.”
That gave him pause. Then, Corbeau reached out and took the cup and took a sip.
The bitterness hit first. Then the chocolate, faint but present. And beneath it all…something else. A softness. A subtle creaminess that didn’t belong to dairy or sugar. It lingered at the back of his tongue, unfamiliar and strangely warm. Pleasant. Warming. Comforting.
Corbeau frowned. “…What is that,” he asked slowly.
Philippe watched him with open interest. “You can’t place it.”
“No,” Corbeau said. “And I don’t enjoy not being able to identify what I’m consuming.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Well?” Corbeau prompted.
Philippe leaned back, unbothered.
“It’s breast milk.”
Silence.
Corbeau stared at him.
“…Excuse me?”
“Yours,” Philippe clarified mildly. “Or rather—hers.”
Corbeau set the cup down with deliberate care. “She isn’t pregnant.”
“No,” Philippe agreed. “She isn’t.”
Another pause.
Then, incredulous: “Then how—”
“There are other ways, boss,” Philippe said, clearly enjoying this now. “Induced lactation doesn’t require pregnancy. Just…consistent stimulation.”
Corbeau’s brow furrowed. “Consistent stimulation?” he repeated.
“With hormone supplements.”
“And you’re telling me this,” Corbeau said carefully, “as though it’s common knowledge.”
Philippe shrugged. “Common enough.”
Corbeau leaned back in his chair, expression shifting—not disgusted. Not angry. Thinking. “…Huh,” he murmured after a moment. “I never thought of that.”
Philippe’s eyes flicked to him. “Most people wouldn’t. It’s not really a…common interest, as you well know.”
“I see,” Corbeau said, “Is that why she’s been bringing you coffee every day.”
“Yes.”
“And the concern earlier?” Corbeau pressed. “her comment about 'not producing' as much.”
Philippe nodded, and sighed, almost woefully. “Yes, apparently she didn’t have much today.”
Corbeau exhaled through his nose, something dangerously close to a laugh threatening to surface. “So, I’ve been watching you drink—”
“—a very personal beverage,” Philippe finished smoothly.
Corbeau pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right…I honestly had forgotten about your breast-feeding kink, Philippe.”
“Or you blocked it out,” Philippe offered.
Corbeau looked up sharply. “You enjoy this.”
Philippe shrugged. “Perhaps. Though if I also recall, you seemed interested in it when we first talked about it before we got her involved.” He looked down at Corbeau with a smirk.
Corbeau lifted a brow. “Careful,” he warned. “You’ll give people ideas.”
That earned him a look—sharp, assessing. Interested.
“You are enjoying this…” Corbeau sighed.
Then, casually—almost too casually—Philippe added, “You should ask her sometime. I’m sure she’ll be willing. After all, it’s far more enjoyable, for both parties, when it’s taken directly from the source.”
Corbeau’s eyes glittered with interest.
“From the source, you say?”
“Right off the teat,” Philippe clarified, utterly unapologetic, lifting the cup and draining it.
Corbeau watched him swallow. Then, he laughed—low, amused, the sound of a man who’d just had a suspicion confirmed rather than learned something new.
“God, damn. You really are living your best life,” he said lightly. “And here I thought you’d grown subtler with age.”
Philippe set the cup on the desk, licking his lip. “She might be in a little discomfort today,” Philippe said, tone deceptively offhand. He tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps she used the right side and that's why not much came out. The left side’s definitely fuller.”
Corbeau’s jaw tightened—just briefly.
Philippe leaned back, considering. “I was planning on stopping by tonight,” he said. His gaze flicked to Corbeau. “But you’ve been staring at that cup like it owes you something.”
A pause.
“Care to step in?”
Silence.
Then, Corbeau rose from his chair, straightening his coat with deliberate calm. “You really do know how to make an offer, Philippe,” he said quietly.
The larger man smiled, knowingly. And Corbeau, for once, didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was looking forward to it.
