Chapter 1: The Taste Test Begins
Sunlight streamed through the wide windows of Jaune’s living room, casting long, warm bars across the polished wood floor.The air was soft and still, heavy with the scent of honey and clean skin. Silk cushions in deep reds and golds were scattered in a loose circle around a low, dark table. On it sat two small porcelain pitchers, beaded with condensation, and a row of delicate cups that caught the light.Ruby Rose bounced on her knees, her silver eyes wide with anticipation. Her short red hair seemed to catch fire in the sunlight. "I can't believe we're actually doing this," she whispered, her voice a mix of glee and nervousness.
"Neither can I," Weiss Schnee said, perched stiffly on a cushion. She adjusted the hem of her white blouse, her spine perfectly straight."It's...unconventional."
Blake Belladonna, curled comfortably to the side, merely smirked. One black cat ear twitched. "It's milk, Weiss.Just a different source."
"But it's not from a cow," Weiss countered, though her piercing blue eyes kept drifting to the pitchers.
The sources of the milk sat opposite them, radiating a calm, fertile warmth. Pyrrha Nikos smiled, one hand resting on the pronounced curve of her belly beneath her simple green dress. Her long red hair was a cascade over her shoulder. Beside her, Yang Xiao-Long grinned, stretching her arms above her head and causing her tank top to strain across her own swollen breasts and rounded stomach.
"Totally natural," Yang said, her lilac eyes sparkling. "And trust me, it's way more fun than regular taste-testing."
She grabbed her tank top, and tossed it aside, letting her large, heavy tits to spring free.
Ruby's eyes widened, but she couldn't help but stare. Weiss's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. Blake's ears twitched, her gaze flicking between Yang's breasts and the pitchers on the table.
Pyrrha chuckled, her voice soft and warm. "You're making them nervous, Yang." She began to unlace her dress, revealing her own full, round breasts, the nipples dark and engorged. "It's just milk, after all."
Ruby reached out, her fingers brushing against Pyrrha's belly. "It's just...so different," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"So... for science?" Blake asked as she pulled out a note book, "I'm taking notes on our findings." Her amber eyes gleamed with mischief as she jotted down something with a small, elegant pen.
Yang laughed, her golden hair swaying as she leaned back against the cushions. "Oh, so you're a scientist now? I like it."
Yang reached a hand up to squeeze her breast. A small dribble of white milk beading from her nipple.
"So who first?" Yang asked , her eyes sparkling with challenge. She glanced at Ruby, then at Weiss. "Ladies' choice."
Ruby bit her lip, her eyes darting between the two women.
Ruby forgot how to breathe.
Yang’s breasts were magnificent. There was no other word for them. They’d always been full, always been a presence, but pregnancy had transformed them into something almost architectural—heavy and round and visibly dense, the skin stretched glossy over the swell of milk-engorged tissue. A fine blue vein traced the curve of her left breast, a tributary of the great river of her body, and her areolae had darkened from their usual pink to a deep rose-brown, wide and soft-looking, the nipples already pebbled tight from the cool air of the room. A single bead of fluid clung to the tip of her right nipple, catching the light like a pearl.
Pyrrha’s breasts were different. Smaller than Yang’s, but only by comparison—against any ordinary measure they were still full and generous, riding high on her chest despite their weight. Her areolae had deepened to a warm cinnamon, and her nipples stood at proud attention, darker than the surrounding skin. A faint tracery of silver stretch marks curved along the underside of each breast, delicate as calligraphy, and her skin held that translucent quality that Ruby had noticed in all of Pyrrha lately, as though pregnancy had polished her from the inside out.
Both of them, she realized, were already leaking. Just a little. Yang’s right nipple glistened. Pyrrha had a single thin trickle tracking down the slope of her left breast, a meandering line that curved toward her belly before losing itself in the valley of her navel.
“Well,” Weiss said after a moment, her voice slightly hoarse. “That’s certainly… a visual.”
“You’re staring, Ice Queen.” But Yang’s grin had softened into something almost shy. “How’s the view?”
“Adequate.”
“Adequate. She says adequate. Blake, write that down. Weiss says my tits are adequate.”
Blake’s pen moved. “Noted.”
Blake’s voice was dry, but her eyes were bright, her cat ears twitching with amusement. “And what about Pyrrha’s? Also adequate?”
Weiss’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but she didn’t look away. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen them before.”
“Well, now you have.” Yang gestured grandly at Pyrrha. “What do you think?”
Pyrrha just smiled, her eyes soft. “I think they’re beautiful, just like Yang’s.”
Ruby, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, finally found her voice. “So, who wants to go first?” she asked, looking around the circle.
Pyrrha shifted, one hand rising to cup her belly almost unconsciously. The movement drew Ruby’s gaze downward—to the perfect globe of her pregnancy, the way it transformed her athlete’s body into something rounder, softer, more grounded. Jaune’s child was in there. Jaune’s child, growing in Pyrrha Nikos, the woman who’d once been the strongest fighter Ruby had ever known and was now, somehow, even stronger.
And Yang—Yang was carrying his child too. The thought still made Ruby’s head spin sometimes. Her big sister, pregnant. Her big sister’s body, reshaped around new life the same way their mother’s body had once reshaped around her. The symmetry of it ached.
“Okay,” Yang said, businesslike. “So here’s the deal. I’m six months along, which means my supply is pretty well established. Production’s been ramping up for a while now. Jaune says—” She paused, and that shyness flickered again, there and gone. “Jaune says it tastes sweet. Like almonds and honey. But he’s also a giant sap who tells me I’m beautiful when I’m drooling on the pillow at three in the morning, so his credibility is questionable.”
“He’s not wrong about the beautiful part,” Ruby said, and then immediately wanted to sink into the couch cushions.
Yang’s expression went soft. “Aw, Rubes.”
“I’m serious. You’re—both of you are—I mean, look at you. You’re growing people. That’s insane. That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. And you’re both so…” She gestured helplessly. “Glowy.”
Ruby finished, her cheeks pink. “You’re both just…glowing.”
Pyrrha smiled, her eyes warm. “Thank you, Ruby. That’s…that’s a lovely thing to say.” She looked down at her belly, her hand still resting on the curve. “I do feel different. More…present, somehow. Like my body is finally doing what it was always meant to do.”
Yang nodded. “I get that. I feel like…like I’m finally in my skin, you know? Like I’ve been waiting my whole life to feel like this. Anyway. Pyrrha. You’re at seven months, right?”
“Nearly eight now. The midwife says my supply is excellent.” Pyrrha touched the underside of her right breast with tentative fingers. “I’ve been… expressing. To prepare. The texture is thinner than I expected. Almost like skim milk, but with a slightly different mouthfeel. More velvety.”
“Velvety,” Blake murmured, writing.
“Mine’s richer, I think.” Yang cupped her left breast, lifting it slightly, and a fresh bead of milk welled at the tip. “Creamier. Jaune says it coats the tongue more. But again—questionable credibility.”
“Only one way to find out,” Ruby said, and her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Right? That’s the whole point.”
The room went quiet.
Not an uncomfortable quiet. An expectant quiet. The kind of quiet that settles over a room right before something important happens, something that can’t be undone, something that will shift the architecture of relationships in ways subtle or profound.
Pyrrha spoke first. “How should we…?”
“Glasses?” Blake suggested. “We could express into the glasses, and then—”
“No.” Weiss’s voice cut through the suggestion, sharper than she’d probably intended. She paused, visibly collecting herself. “I mean—if we’re doing this, if we’re really doing this, then shouldn’t we… directly? From the source? Otherwise it’s just milk. It could be any milk. The point is that it’s theirs. ”
Another silence.
Then Yang laughed, bright and startled. “Weiss Schnee, are you asking to suck my tits?”
“I’m asking to conduct a proper comparative analysis.” Weiss’s cheeks were crimson. “Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s already weird. It’s the good kind of weird. Embrace the weird.” Yang settled back against the chaise, her breasts shifting with the movement, and spread her arms along the backrest. “Okay. Come here, Ice Queen. Let’s see if you can keep that cool exterior while you’re latched onto my nipple.”
Weiss rose from the couch with the dignity of a queen approaching her execution. She crossed the space between them in four precise steps, her spine straight, her chin lifted. But her hands trembled slightly as she knelt beside the chaise, and her voice when she spoke was softer than before.
“Tell me if anything hurts.”
“Nothing’s going to hurt.” Yang reached down to cup Weiss’s cheek, her thumb brushing the crest of her cheekbone. “You’re not going to hurt me. Just—gentle at first, okay? The letdown reflex can be intense.”
Weiss nodded. She leaned in.
Ruby watched her sister’s hand slide from Weiss’s cheek to the back of her head, fingers threading through white hair. Watched Weiss’s lips part, watched her tongue dart out to wet them, watched the moment of hesitation before she closed the distance.
The first contact was barely a kiss.
Weiss’s mouth brushed Yang’s nipple with a tenderness that seemed almost reverent, her lips barely touching the darkened skin. Yang’s breath caught. The bead of milk that had been clinging to the tip transferred to Weiss’s lower lip, a single glistening droplet that she caught with her tongue a moment later.
“Oh,” Weiss breathed.
“Good oh or bad oh?”
“Just—oh.” Weiss’s tongue swept across her lip again, chasing the taste. “It’s… I need more. To be sure.”
“To be sure,” Yang repeated, amused. “Right. For science.”
Weiss’s mouth returned to Yang’s breast with more confidence this time. She latched on properly, her lips forming a seal around the areola, and Ruby saw her sister’s whole body go taut. Yang’s head fell back against the chaise. Her fingers tightened in Weiss’s hair. A low sound escaped her throat, something between a sigh and a groan, and her free hand went to her belly, palm pressing flat against the curve as if to steady herself.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting around Yang's nipple, and Ruby could see the muscles of her throat working as she swallowed.
Yang's hand in Weiss's hair tightened, her fingers flexing. "That's...that's good, Weiss. That's really good."
Weiss made a noise of agreement, her eyes still closed, her cheeks flushed. She shifted slightly, her body leaning into Yang's, and Ruby saw the way her sister's hand on her belly began to move, her fingers splaying out, her thumb brushing against the underside of her breast.
Ruby's own body responded to the sight, her nipples tightening beneath her shirt, a warmth gathering between her legs.
"That’s it,” Yang murmured. Her voice had gone husky, stripped of its usual bravado. “That’s—yeah. Just like that. You’re doing so well, Weiss. So good.”
The praise seemed to undo something in Weiss. She pressed closer, her mouth working more eagerly, and Yang’s milk flowed faster now—Ruby could see the way Weiss’s cheeks hollowed with each swallow, the way her throat moved, the way a thin trickle escaped the corner of her mouth and traced a shining path down her chin.
Ruby’s own mouth was watering. She couldn’t help it.
“Blake,” Yang said, her voice still rough, “you might want to write this down. Weiss Schnee is, and I quote, ‘adequate’ at this. That’s what she said about my breasts, right? Adequate. Well, her technique is also adequate. We’re both adequate.”
Weiss pulled back just long enough to gasp, “Shut up, Xiao Long,” before latching on again with renewed determination.
Yang’s laugh dissolved into another groan. Her hand left her belly to cup her other breast, the one Weiss wasn’t attending to, and Ruby watched her sister’s thumb sweep across that neglected nipple. Milk beaded instantly, then dripped—a fat, heavy droplet that splashed against the curve of her belly and slid downward, leaving a glistening trail.
“Pyrrha,” Ruby heard herself say. “I want—”
The words stuck in her throat.
Pyrrha understood anyway. She always did. She shifted in her armchair, making room, and her hand extended toward Ruby with that same gentle invitation she’d offered a hundred times before—on the training floor, in the quiet of the dormitory, in the aftermath of battles and breakdowns and moments too fragile for words.
“Come here,” Pyrrha said. “I’d like that. If you want to.”
Ruby went.
She crossed the room on legs that felt disconnected from her body, and she knelt in front of Pyrrha’s chair the way Weiss had knelt beside Yang’s chaise. The carpet was soft beneath her knees. The afternoon light had shifted, falling across Pyrrha’s shoulders in honey-colored bars, and her milk-slick skin gleamed.
Up close, Pyrrha smelled like vanilla and salt. Like warmth. Like something Ruby couldn’t name but recognized anyway, something deep in her hindbrain that whispered safe, safe, safe.
“You don’t have to,” Pyrrha said softly. “If it’s strange. I know Yang is your sister, and I’m—”
“You’re family.” Ruby’s voice came out fierce. “You’re family too. You’re all family. Jaune and Yang and you and Weiss and Blake and—” She pressed her palm to Pyrrha’s belly, feeling the warmth of it through her skin, the impossible solidity of the life growing inside. “And this little one. All of us. Okay?”
Pyrrha’s eyes went bright. “Okay.”
Ruby leaned in.
Pyrrha’s nipple was darker than Yang’s, the texture slightly different against Ruby’s tongue—silkier, perhaps, or maybe that was just the quality of Pyrrha’s skin. Ruby closed her lips around it and sucked, gently at first, the way she remembered doing with something in a childhood too distant to name.
And then the milk came.
Not a trickle, not a hesitant bead, but a steady, warm rush that filled Ruby’s mouth with something so rich and alive it was almost like drinking from a living thing. The taste was different from Yang’s—sweeter, but not in a cloying way. More like honeyed tea, with an underlying depth of something earthy, like the first bite of a ripe peach after rain. The texture was lighter, almost like drinking a fine, velvety cream, but with a subtle resistance, as if Pyrrha’s body was offering itself in layers, each swallow a small surrender.
Ruby moaned around Pyrrha’s nipple, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her dress.
She could feel Pyrrha’s body responding to her touch, her breath hitching, her belly tensing beneath her hand. The milk kept coming, a steady stream that filled Ruby’s mouth and spilled over, tracing a warm path down her chin and onto her neck.
“Ruby,” Pyrrha whispered, her voice ragged. “That’s—you’re—”
Ruby pulled back, her lips glistening. “Am I doing it right?”
Pyrrha nodded, her eyes soft. “More than right. You’re—” She paused, searching for words. “You’re making me feel things, Ruby. Good things.”
Ruby smiled, her cheeks flushed.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. No, it’s… it’s like a release. A pressure easing. The milk’s been building all day, and when you latch on it just—flows. It’s a relief, actually. A very…” Pyrrha paused, searching for the word. “Intimate relief.”
Ruby understood. Her mouth was full of Pyrrha, full of warmth and sweetness and the rhythmic pulse of milk letting down against her tongue, and it felt like a secret. Like a gift. Like something Pyrrha was giving her that no one else in the world could give.
Across the room, Weiss made a sound—a sharp, startled inhale—and Ruby glanced over to see her pulling back from Yang’s breast, her chin slick with milk, her eyes wide.
“The aftertaste,” Weiss said. “It’s different from Pyrrha’s. I can already tell. Yang’s is—it lingers differently. More honey. More—” She licked her lips. “I need to try Pyrrha’s to compare.”
“Trade?” Ruby suggested.
“Trade,” Weiss agreed.
They swapped positions with the careful choreography of people who’d fought beside each other for years—Weiss rising from her knees, Ruby withdrawing reluctantly from Pyrrha’s warmth, the two of them passing each other in the center of the room. Ruby’s shoulder brushed Weiss’s, and she caught the scent of Yang’s skin on Weiss’s breath, sweet and musky and familiar.
Then Ruby was kneeling beside the chaise, and Yang was looking down at her with an expression Ruby couldn’t quite read. Pride, maybe. And something else. Something tender.
“Hey, little sis.”
“Hey.” Ruby swallowed. “Weiss said it tasted like honey.”
“Weiss has a refined palate. You’ll probably just think it tastes like milk.”
“Yang.”
“Ruby.”
“Can I—?”
Yang’s smile softened. “Yeah. Come here.”
This was different.
Ruby had expected it to be strange—her sister’s breast, her sister’s milk, her sister’s body that had once shared a bunk bed and a bathroom and the back seat of their dad’s car. But when she leaned in, when she closed her mouth around Yang’s nipple the way she’d done with Pyrrha’s, all she felt was love.
Yang’s milk was richer. Creamier. The taste hit Ruby’s tongue like a wave—honey and almonds, just like Jaune had said, but also something deeper. Something almost savory. It coated her mouth and slid down her throat with a warmth that spread through her chest and settled in her belly, and Yang’s hand in her hair was strong and steady, and Yang’s heartbeat was audible in the quiet room, a steady rhythm beneath the soft sounds of Ruby swallowing.
Ruby could feel the letdown, the way Yang’s body responded to her touch, the way the milk flowed faster and hotter as she sucked. She could feel Yang’s body tensing, her breath hitching, and she knew that she was doing something right, something good, something that made Yang feel as good as Yang was making her feel.
“Ruby,” Yang whispered, her voice ragged. “That’s—you’re—”
Ruby pulled back, her lips glistening. “Am I doing it right?”
Yang nodded, her eyes soft.
Yang’s milk was richer. Creamier. The taste hit Ruby’s tongue like a wave—honey and almonds, just like Jaune had said, but also something deeper. Something almost savory. It coated her mouth and slid down her throat with a warmth that spread through her chest and settled in her belly, and Yang’s hand in her hair was strong and steady, and Yang’s heartbeat was audible in the quiet room, a steady rhythm beneath the soft sounds of Ruby swallowing.
“That’s it,” Yang murmured. “That’s my girl. You’re doing so good, Rubes. Taking everything I’ve got. There’s more if you want it. There’s always more.”
Ruby wanted it.
She wanted all of it.
She drank until Yang’s flow began to slow, until the rich sweetness on her tongue gave way to something more dilute, and then she pulled back, gasping, her lips tingling, her whole body humming with a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
“Okay,” she managed. “Okay. Weiss is right. The aftertaste is completely different.”
“I told you.” Weiss’s voice floated over from the armchair, where she was kneeling in front of Pyrrha, her lips still glistening. She’d clearly been sampling while Ruby was occupied. “Pyrrha’s is almost floral at the finish. Like jasmine. Yang’s is more caramel.”
“You’re describing my breast milk like it’s a wine flight,” Yang said.
“It’s a legitimate comparison! The terroir is completely different—your diet, your metabolism, the stage of your pregnancy—”
“Terroir. She said terroir. Blake, are you getting this?”
Blake’s pen flew across the page. “I’m getting it. I’m also noting that both of you have distinct physiological responses during letdown. Yang’s pupils dilate more. Pyrrha’s breathing pattern changes—she goes into a four-count inhale, six-count exhale that matches her meditation rhythm.”
“You’re monitoring our vital signs?” Pyrrha asked, startled.
“I’m taking notes for science. We’ve established this.” Blake said, not looking up from her notebook.
Ruby laughed. The sound bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest, bright and effervescent, and once she started she couldn’t stop. Yang joined her a moment later, and then Pyrrha’s quiet giggle layered over theirs, and even Weiss cracked a smile, and Blake’s ears swiveled with what Ruby recognized as deep feline satisfaction.
“We’re ridiculous,” Ruby said when she finally caught her breath. “We’re absolutely ridiculous. We’re sitting here tasting breast milk like it’s a gourmet sampler and Blake is taking notes and Jaune isn’t even here to see it.”