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Vezalius lets out a sigh as Vantacrow’s lips close around a small, delicate bud on his swollen chest. His nipple sucked by the warm lips gently and hesitantly, Vezalius can’t help but twitch and stifle a moan. It must be the side effect, he insists. He may have underestimated the impact of his latest potion—continuous lactation, swollen breast, chest pain…. He should have taken all these into account while testing the potion on himself. He doesn’t want to cover his chest with bandaids and breastfeed his teammate after all. Meanwhile, Vantacrow seems to be indulging himself in Vezalius’s taste, scent, or the softness of his chest, maybe. It’s almost like he’s got a fetish of being breastfed by the medic in his team. He is way too eager, sucking on Vezalius’s nipples as if craving more milk from a mother. But, Vezalius can’t quite say he’s not enjoying it. He claims, to no one but himself, that he likes discovering unknown sides of his teammate, and it totally took him aback when he learned the eagerness while the tyrant was first suckling his chest. It was…delightful seeing him blush once he saw the faint bite marks around his nipples. “You were like an infant that’s teething,” he said with a mischievous smirk, and the blush on Vantacrow’s cheeks deepened. Now that Vantacrow has his lips closed tight around his right nipple, Vezalius stretches his right arm placed on his thigh, and stops his hand atop Vantacrow’s head, his fingers threading the spiky hair. Then he pushes his head forward, demanding him to suck harder. Getting the cue, Vantacrow quickens his suckling, his tongue joining and brushing the leaking nipple. He tastes a faint sweetness in the milk. Vezalius can hold back his heavy panting no more, and lets out all the noises as his teammate, his close friend keeps on stimulating his oversensitive nipple with both his lips and tongue. Perhaps his teeth will join too. As he closes his eyes in pleasure, Vantacrow’s hands grab his waist, as if to stabilize himself. But the next moment, he pushes him by his waist and climbs onto him. His mouth never leaves his nipple and his hands remain around his waist. Vezalius now loses all his abilities to organize any thoughts or sentences. Nothing more than broken moans is coming out of his mouth. Is there any coherent thought going on in Vantacrow’s head? Who knows. The instant he pushes Vezalius, his close friend, onto the couch, it has been destined that not everything he does can be explained by pure logic. In the end, Vantacrow leaves a featherlight kiss on both of Vezalius’s pink, swollen, overstimulated nipples. As he gazes at his teammate, he sees his fair skin covered in layers of rouge, and there are tears stuck in the corners of his eyes, which are also painted red.