pathologicroundrobin | Pathologic Kink Meme!

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Pathologic Kink Meme!

Hello, welcome to the Pathologic Kink Meme! WARNING: This one is NSFW!

Please make anonymous prompts for things you would like to see, or anonymously fulfill prompts by creating stories, poetry, drawn art, music, or anything! I just want to say that this prompt meme is open to people of all skill levels, so have fun!

Some basic rules that were recommended to help out before we get started:

- This is the Pathologic Kink Meme, and it's NSFW! Please post any NSFW prompts or fills here. A good rule of thumb is whether or not you'd be comfortable with your boss at work looking over your shoulder and reading what you have on screen.

- If anything is a little too explicit in detail (e.g. in terms of medical procedures or gore), it probably needs to be here as well. Basic mentioning of medical procedures is allowed, but this is just in case for folks who have limits in regard to certain explicit things. Speaking of explicit things...

- Please use tags and content warnings, especially for things that people might be triggered over. For prompt fillers, please put those tags in the beginning of the post so that way people can skip over them if need be. Tags can also attract people to your art if it has content that they're interested in, so it can be a helpful tool for content creators as well.

- No writers of incest (kains which does include aglaya and her relatives, stamatins, olgimskys, etc), underage/adult ships (which DOES include Clara,) or rape. Please don't make anything gross happen to underage characters!

- Multiple fills to a single prompt is not only accepted, but wonderful! It's a win-win for everybody!

- In the case of a filler of a prompt going inactive for a long time in the middle of a story, it's okay for a different person to continue where they left off. Please make it obvious that you're not the original author, and then feel free to write.

And that's as much as I have in regards to rules! Hopefully these answered answer any questions you might have! Feel free to recommend any rules of your own, or ask me for clarification on the current ones.

AND THAT'S IT! Have fun! :D

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Spurred on by a bastardization of his spoken dialogue: “That's okay, we just need to wait for a regular train. I'm to receive this... huge thing.” Petr gets some alone time. Naturally, he decides it’s time to try and take the biggest dildos he owns.

I would like this to just be him, without any ships involved. However if you wanted to include any fantasies of his that don’t mention specific characters, that would be more than okay. As in, I would love to see that.

I also heavily prefer Petr to be written as trans!

Mega bonus points for:
- Starting off trying to be quiet, giving up on trying
- Overstimulation
- Deepthroating

please?

YEAHHHH PLEASE x2

patho vore

i wound up writing something kind of long for this, and my brain wound up mashing together classic & two. i hope it's okay;;

--

The factory he’s lead himself to – the warehouse, the whatever-it-is, this abandoned building – it has clearly seen better days. Even the outside looks worn, rarely cleaned, and of all things there is a bull standing to the side of it, eyeing Daniil warily. It’s not the bull, he thinks, that should be looking so suspiciously at him. Were he a superstitious man, he’d go up and demand to know where Artemy Burakh was. If it was true he’d entered the Abattoir and never left. If he’d simply –

No. Not here. Not now. But if not now, when? Daniil doesn’t let himself give in. There’s no such thing as a good time, not in conditions like this. He’d asked where to find Burakh’s Lair and been told, “Let your heart guide you.” He’d scoffed, but felt himself drifting all the same. To the train tracks, walking that uneven path until now. Daniil doesn’t ask or so much as wonder how he knows where he is, because he doesn’t believe his heart is capable of telling direction. He just looks at this place, and suddenly, he knows.

Daniil feels a pit in his stomach, dropping out. Looking at the building feels odd, like he’s touching something beyond what he should be able to reach, trespassing on private property. And he is doing just that, in all technicality. Better the intrusion than the wait. Better to fumble trying to do something than do nothing at all. He supposes he could have sent a courier to find Burakh, they’d ceased to communicate via secondhand messengers days ago, perhaps even a week now. Something would have felt uneven and wrong in sending a third party here in Daniil’s place.

Mourning, Daniil thinks. The word comes through his mind like a train, force and noise and steam, overwhelming and brutal. If It’s true that Artemy has disappeared, never to return, Daniil will want this time to mourn his losses to himself. He couldn’t handle it if – No.

The doors to the hideout are not heavy so much as they are old, rusted protesting against the open. And when he steps in the first thing Daniil notes are the stains on the floor, blood leading down the stairs into a tiled room. This first floor smells of Earth, of herbs and the metallic sting of fresh blood. Daniil takes the stairs down to the tile, and realizes the smell of death mostly radiates from here.

A part of him wonders how the Haruspex managed to work in such a place. It’s dirty, blood on the floor and the operating table and the curtains that hide a bed. He can see dust on the shelves and the top of the cabinet. The tiles could really use a good scrubbing. Something in the thought makes his throat close up, tense, and he lets out a shaky breath. He can’t fault Artemy for not having the time to deal with menial work of his surroundings, but to think he’ll never get around to it – that Daniil will never get to nag him over it – he covers his mouth with his hand, and paces.

He needs to compartmentalize. To think, damn it, about what to do next, what moves to make. If he’s going to be alone now, fighting this plague, he needs to find out what progress Artemy was making. Pick up whatever trail he’d left behind, even if Daniil is totally unsuited to following through on it. Figure out where Rubin is and… And… And he feels cold against his cheek. This isn’t how things were meant to go. Artemy was a fighter, a healer, and he was meant to pull through all this. He was meant to produce a vial of blood for Daniil to study, and produce a panacea from that sample. They were meant to survive, to be together. It all feels so very bleak without him.

There’s the sound of metal scraping as the doors open once again, and Daniil takes a breath to ready himself. It’s Sticky, he figures, it must be. He hasn’t seen the boy around Town recently, and this will be the worst way to greet him. He nudges at his face with his wrists to wipe away the few tears that made it past his eyelashes, and turns to find himself faced with Artemy.

The Haruspex looks strangely energized for the ordeal he must have just gone through, eyes wide as he looks at Daniil. He presses his fingers to Daniil’s neck, and Daniil swears he can feel his pulse through the pads. “Have you been crying, oynon?” Daniil runs his tongue along his lips, and opts to ignore his composure. His hands grasp at the front of Artemy’s shirt, pulling him down to weld their lips together.

The scent of blood makes Daniil’s head reel, mouth hard pressed against Artemy’s. Artemy stumbles forward, pinning him to the larger alembic, his hands warm and dirty against Daniil’s vest. Daniil opens his mouth to admonish him, for scaring him with the idea he might’ve died in that damned abattoir doing god knows what, but Artemy catches his open lip, his hands moving up to Daniil’s face. Instead of a protest, Daniil makes an embarrassing noise, his face burning. He’s not sure where to put his hands on Artemy, settling on his chest.

Artemy leans into his hands, letting out a soft moan, and pushes his knee between Daniil’s legs, hitting against his groin. Daniil takes this to be a hint, groping Artemy with intent through the rough fabric of his clothes, and letting Artemy fall against him. Artemy breaks from his mouth to nip at Daniil’s jaw, lips soft and teeth pinching at tender skin. Daniil moves his hands to Artemy’s waist, hiking up his tunic to run his fingers up Artemy’s back. Artemy’s mouth hits the start of his neck and he bites harder, bites wider around Daniil’s flesh, grinding his knee in place. Daniil’s body tries to grab at him, tries to cling to his body through his clothes, exhaling as he spreads his legs apart. His gloves form a barrier, keeping him from sinking his nails in the way he’d like to. He feels useless like this, consumed by the heat of Artemy’s mouth against his neck.

He jerks his hips to rub against Artemy’s thigh, hands turning to fists against his back. Artemy grunts, putting his hands to Daniil’s waist to push him back. He leaves a wet kiss against Daniil’s neck as he goes, letting Daniil’s heels fall back to the floor. He sets his eyes on Daniil as he starts to dismantle his tunic, but it’s too much to look at. Daniil feels the flush warming over his entire body, using this moment to work his gloves off, hands shaking. He manages a whole one before his eyes flicker to the bizarre toy in the corner, goosebumps breaking out over the back of his neck. Artemy follows his gaze, and the ghost of a smirk crosses his face. He moves, bare-chested, to turn it in the other direction.

Daniil starts to set his gloves on the operating table and feels a pull on his hips. He sets the heels of his palms against the edge, pinned again by Artemy’s hands. Only his right hand sits free of the glove, Artemy ignoring his half-finished undressing in favor of tugging at the pin that holds his cravat in place. He frowns at it, brows furrowing in impatience, and Daniil swats his hand away to work on it himself. Artemy turns his attention back to Daniil’s waist. It takes little time for him to strip Daniil’s belt away, to hook his fingers under the waistband of his trousers and sink down with it. Artemy grazes his lips on the inside of Daniil’s thigh as he tugs off his shoes, mouth light and teasing. He works his way up in a pattern Daniil can’t unravel, one hand pressing his left thigh open and the other setting his hip in place as he mouths Daniil’s center, tongue darting out to run along his seam. Daniil’s fingers curve over the lip of the table, and tilts back, his heart pounding in his ears. Artemy kisses over him, and stands, pushing at his hips until Daniil slides further up on the table.

Then he puts his hands on either side of Daniil’s waist, and pulls over top of him.

It takes Daniil a moment of open admiration to reach for Artemy’s hips, less delicate in his movements to free him of his trousers than he had been with his own cravat. He’s feeling more desperate now, aching to see Artemy fully, to know the texture of their bodies pressed together. But Artemy only allows the pants to fall down past his knees before he straddles Daniil’s left thigh. He hovers, shadow falling over Daniil, pulling at his vest. Daniil lets him at it without interference, mind buzzing at the feeling of Artemy’s sex against his skin.

“You wear too damn many layers,” Artemy says. It comes out gruff, his hands pushing up Daniil’s shirt once his vest is opened. He pulls at this too, popping buttons off in his haste to roll the aforementioned layers from his shoulders. Daniil tugs at his binder, pulling it up over his head before he leans closer to Artemy, tracing and squeezing his breasts. Artemy moves in closer, sliding over Daniil’s open thigh to press their lips together. Artemy pushes Daniil back down to the table and looms over him, Daniil’s hands roaming up to his collarbone, and cups his right breast as he ruts against Daniil’s thigh. Daniil presses his tongue to Artemy’s lips and lets Artemy pull him in, curl his tongue around Daniil’s own. Artemy’s hand travels lightly down Daniil’s side until he hits his opposite thigh, spreading it on the table. “Keep it open,” he says. Daniil hooks his heel under the edge of the table.

Artemy doesn’t start slow. He takes two fingers to cover Daniil’s clitoris and start to rub in fast, tight circles. Daniil’s hips squirm on the table, longing to buck up but held in place by the weight of Artemy on his thigh. He shifts from circles to back-and-forth rubbing, before sliding his fingers back to skate between Daniil’s folds. Daniil whines where their lips meet, growing wetter against Artemy’s fingers. His fingers are teasing, dipping deep and rubbing hard before pulling back to trace his outline. Daniil wiggles his left thigh against Artemy’s body and revels in the more insistent thrusts he receives back. His hands travel down to Artemy's stomach, and Artemy rolls against him, dampening his thigh.
He runs his fingers back through the wet and presses one against his entrance. He pushes, and Daniil welcomes it, body pulling the digit further inside. Daniil tries to sit up, to touch more of Artemy’s body, and finds himself pushed back down by the shoulder. The table is cold against his back, sending a chill across his body. He feels his nipples harden at the touch, mouth open against Artemy’s as the other man fingers him. Artemy presses another against his entrance and pushes to open him, catching Daniil’s gasp with his lips. Daniil squeezes around his fingers, and Artemy’s breath shakes. He starts his hips up again, rutting on Daniil’s leg, not slowing the pace of his fingers as he adds a third inside.

Daniil’s head hits the table, letting out a small cry as Artemy tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. Artemy pulls his fingers out and rubs Daniil’s cunt in time to his own thrusts against Daniil’s leg while Daniil wiggles his hips and tries not to whine. He fails. He can feel Artemy smirking against his mouth as his fingers push back inside and fuck him quickly. Artemy curls his fingers and Daniil lets out a moan muffled by Artemy’s lips. He rolls his fingers back out to grind his palm against Daniil’s clit, moving his mouth to Daniil’s ear to grumble, “Let me hear you.”

His nails try to dig into the table as Artemy moves in again, fingers curled and coaxing his body. He wants to reach out and touch the man on top of him, but he feels so dizzy and breathless, as though he might fall off the table if he tried to move. Artemy’s tongue presses against his ear as his fingers thrust hard. Daniil feels the fingers hit something and his mouth goes slack, panting the word Yes over and over as his vision starts to go spotty, Artemy chasing his orgasm with speed. He comes with a loud cry, an ugly gasp, his back trying to arch past Artemy’s grip on his shoulder.
The body against his shakes as Artemy pulls his fingers out, resting his hands on the table to focus on humping Daniil’s thigh. Daniil touches at his stomach with his gloved hand, fingers teasing down where Artemy grinds against him, and lets Artemy rub straight against his palm. Daniil lifts his middle and pointer fingers to rub between his folds and lays steady as Artemy pulls his hips up. He straightens his fingers, and watches Artemy sink down on them.
The heat of his body is so much more than Daniil could have ever imagined, slick and warm even over his gloves. His free hand grabs Artemy’s waist, thumb caressing the skin gently as Artemy works himself on Daniil’s hand. Daniil wiggles his fingers as Artemy sinks down and smiles at the groan that passes his lips, head tilted back. He curls his fingers just as Artemy had done for him, rubbing toward himself as Artemy rocks on him. He feels Artemy’s walls squeeze around his fingers and does his best to work his wrist up in little thrusts until Artemy chokes and starts to come.

Artemy still hovers over him for a second before he pushes Daniil’s wrist back and out from his body, and rests his weight on top of him. Daniil pulls his hand back to his face, spreading his fingers to look at the cum coating them. He considers it for a minute before he hooks his forefinger under the cuff of his glove, and drops it to the floor, running his hand through Artemy’s hair. He can still feel Artemy’s wet pussy against his thigh, and jostles against it. “Not again,” Artemy breathes, deadpan. “Not yet.”

“Hm. Yes. Next time, I think we should use a bed,” Daniil says. “This table of yours is filthy. Probably contracted several bloodborne diseases just now.”

“What makes you think the bed’s any better?” Daniil would swat at him if he wasn’t so exhausted. All the adrenaline has left his body in one go. Instead, he tips his head until it smacks into Artemy’s, and lets his eyes flutter shut. His body tingles at the light touch Artemy puts on his waist, running up his side. “Not that I’m complaining,” he begins, his nose grazing Daniil’s cheek, “But what brought this on?”

“You didn’t meet me in the Termitary,” he says. “They told me you’d gone into the Abattoir, and they weren’t sure if you’d even come out alive. They told me if you survived you’d be some place my heart would take me.”

“So your Line lead you here.” Artemy is quiet for a moment, turning his head to kiss Daniil’s cheek. Then he shifts, sitting up on the table and pulling Daniil up with him. “We can’t sleep on this thing now, it’s filthy.”

“Are you saying it wasn’t before?” he ignores the look he feels coming his direction in favor of picking up his undergarments and trousers from the floor, sliding them back up his hips before he reaches for his shirt. The sleeves and the back of his vest are stained now from the way he’d been held against the table. He grimaces. Doesn’t want to even think about how much it’ll cost to have those stains removed. It’s also all he has to wear for the moment, going through the motions of redressing himself before Artemy catches him at the elbow.

The look in his eyes is a soft one, less manic than it had been when he’d come in the Lair. “Stay,” he says quietly. “There’s a bed in the back there you can sleep on. I know it isn’t big enough for the both of us,” he says, when Daniil opens his mouth to argue, “But I won’t be using it soon anyway. I have work to do out here. You just… Stay.”

Daniil isn’t sure what he wants to say. He knows that what he should say is no; he has his own work to attend to. But the way Artemy is looking at him makes it hard to pull away. He feels himself swaying internally, before he finally topples over in Artemy’s direction. “Alright,” he acquiesces, “But next time, we do this at my place.”

could be Daniil/any guy but preferrably Artemy... i want someone accidentally finding out he Daniil has a praise kink and using it against him. in a fun, consenting way, obviously.

Hi OP! Sorry it isn't an art fill, I hope this is okay.

--

He is often accused of being an inconsiderate man. Shaking out the flame from the match held between his fingers, Daniil reflects that he is simply hard to impress.

With an attention span better described as singularly-focused - closer to obsession than anything else – it is probably for the best that he isn’t easily swayed by people. Instead of being preoccupied with the intricacies of those around him, Daniil instead found it more beneficial to puzzle out the answers to questions renowned for stumping bright minds. Twisting and turning impossible riddles, agonising through the late night over
theorems; it was all a familiar routine. Scientific enquiry, unlike people, couldn’t hurt him.

Well, he pauses, thoughts turning to the memory of a cacophony of metal and glass. He picks the lit candle up and turns to place it in the centre of his dining table. Better not to think about that.

The array in front of him is a prime example of just how considerate Daniil could be - if given the proper motivation. A fine table cloth, multiple candles, two sets of gleaming cutlery in perfect alignment; it’s a romantic setting straight out of those cheap books his university roommate had liked to read. Maybe the Daniil from that time would have scoffed at the effort, but Artemy Burakh has more than earned his admiration in the three months since that last meeting in the Cathedral. He’d certainly earned enough of it to motivate Daniil to go to such lengths – and more - for their date.

And more he’s gone. While the dinner simmering on the stove is a nice start, the true jewel in Daniil’s plan lies in the basket set on his kitchen bench. Its contents had arrived earlier that morning in one of the first trains to pull into the Gorkhon station since the courier operation had resumed, a full month and a half after he had placed the (rather expensive) order. At the time he’d been embarrassed and confused over spending so much money on a mere friend, but now, three weeks into their relationship, he’s pleased for his forethought.

He’s pulling the pan off the stove’s burner when the knock comes. A quick glance at the clock confirms that his boyfriend is precisely on time, and a slight smile starts to pull at his lips. He doesn’t bother setting the pan down: instead he crosses the floor of his apartment to open the door one-handed.

Artemy looks relaxed. He has one hand shoved into his pants pocket, the other still lowering from knocking. His hair has been brushed – Daniil can tell – and despite the chill the sleeves of his lilac button-up have been pushed up his forearms. Like usual, he is gorgeous, setting sun turning the ends of his hair golden umber and illuminating his frame.

“Hi,” Artemy greets, cheeks flushed from the cold, and he steps forward to wrap Daniil in a hug. Daniil laughs a little at his forthrightness, lifts the pan to avoid spilling, and tucks his face into the warmth of his man’s shoulder.

“Hello,” he mumbles. There is a soft feeling in his chest, the sort that only seemed to materialise when Artemy was around. It was like he was a coiled spring, releasing and settling at Artemy’s touch.

They step away from each other, but one of Artemy’s hands drift down to hold Daniil’s spare one, and the man allows himself to be pulled inside. “Woah,” he says, eyebrows lifting as he takes in the ambience. “You’ve outdone yourself. Are you trying to impress me?” There’s a twinkle of humour in his green eyes, although Daniil can spot the genuine appreciation below the veneer of flirting.

He likes being able to read Artemy. Likes that he’s been afforded the time and position to learn him well enough in order to do so.

“Depends – is this enough to earn me a fourth date?” Daniil responds, gesturing for Artemy to sit at the table. When he does, Daniil leans down over his shoulder to spoon the contents of the pan onto his plate, and presses a kiss to Artemy’s temple. Artemy turns his face to catch Daniil’s lips, a sweet, glancing peck that spoke of familiarity.

“I suppose so,” Artemy teases. “You’ve gone to the effort of cooking for me, after all. That can’t go unrewarded.” To emphasise his statement, Artemy pops his first forkful into his mouth. His eyes widen, to Daniil’s smug delight. He’d told Artemy that dinner would be taken care of, of course, he’d just neglected to mention his sublime culinary abilities.

He sits down in his own chair, and then the conversation turns: to their respective days, to idle gossip, to the inaccuracy of Lombroso’s phrenology, to their favourite books. By the time their plates are empty and the candles have burnt low, Daniil’s cheeks hurt from laughing.

“Stop it,” he pleads, wiping a pretend tear from the corner of his eye - although it isn’t far off from becoming a reality.

“What’s wrong, erdem?” Artemy grins, leaning back in his chair. His bare forearms flex, drawing Daniil’s attention. “Am I too humerus for you?”

The Bachelor snorts, and slaps a hand over his mouth at the sound. His rebuke is muffled: “I cannot believe I’m dating somebody who thinks puns are the height of comedy.”

“You’re the one laughing!” Artemy points out, waving a fork in his direction.

Daniil rolls his eyes and leans forward to snatch the fork, then stands to collect their plates. “Pity laughter, I assure you.” The larger man moves to join him at the sink, but Daniil gives him a look that freezes him in place.

Artemy watches him for a few moments before a slow smirk spreads across his face. A sense of trepidation creeps over Daniil.

“Don’t tell fibias, kheerkhen…”

Daniil groans, and drops the dishes into the sink. “That’s it,” he states with finality. “Your gift privileges have been revoked.”

“Gift privileges?” Artemy asks, perking up even while a puzzled frown twists on his lips.

“You haven’t been curious?” Daniil nods towards the basket. “That’s for you. Take a look.”

Artemy shuffles into the kitchen, green eyes bright, and pulls back the checkered cloth resting over the basket. Daniil watches him intently: Artemy’s face slackens, and his cupid-bowed mouth drops open just a little. He knows it’s probably the first time his boyfriend has seen such an assortment of fruit; raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, some tangerines, even. He’d tried to organise blackberries (his personal favourite) but the courier hadn’t been able to procure any, let alone promise their safe arrival.

“Daniil…” Artemy breathes, picking up a plump strawberry to more closely inspect it. “These are…”

“All for you, yes,” he proudly says, stepping away from the sink and closer to his partner.

“You really did this for me?” Artemy asks, dropping the berry to wrap his arms around the small of Daniil’s back. His voice hasn’t lost the breathless quality, and he sounds a bit incredulous, like he couldn’t believe anybody would listen closely enough to remember his anecdotes.

But Daniil can remember it as clearly as though it had happened yesterday – the way Artemy had pointed at a raspberry in an encyclopedia, and off-handedly mentioned never seeing one in person. He’d sounded wistful, wanting. It had stirred something yet-unknown in the Bachelor.

“Well, yes, you told me that you’d nev-” his response is cut off by Artemy swooping down to kiss him. His lips are warm, and Artemy moves them to brush against his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, expressing a sort of gratitude and appreciation that made Daniil’s heart ache. They stand in the kitchen for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms and exchanging kisses, hands beginning to stray over the straight lines of buttoned clothing.

“The fruit-” he reminds them both when it becomes clear things are getting heated as Artemy mouths along his neck.

“-will still be there when we’re done.” Artemy finishes for him, pulling away long enough to smile. Daniil lets himself be led to the bedroom, well-stoked desire singing across his nerves.

It’s not their first time - not even their second or third - and he’s now starting to memorise the map of Artemy’s body. He’s fastidious at the best of times, but especially delights in cataloguing the different ways he can draw reactions from Artemy.

For example, there are some things he likes more than others: soft tugs to the hair, fingers scratched against the base of his neck, a firm grip on his waist. And there is a spot, just below Artemy’s ear, that if Daniil presses a kiss to –

Artemy exhales; a soft, contented sigh.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” Daniil murmurs, lips curving into a smile against his lover’s warm skin.

Their clothes have already been discarded, so when Artemy places a hand on his stomach it’s bare skin on skin, and he can’t help how his abdominal muscles flex in anticipation.

“Do I?” Artemy asks, head lolling backwards. Daniil can’t catch a glimpse of his face to know whether he’s teasing or agreeing. I know at least one way to make him agreeable, Daniil thinks, and places both hands on the man’s chest to push him down onto the mattress. Artemy goes easily, all liquid gold limbs, sprawling out against the sheets.

One of the other things he’s catalogued about Artemy is the way his breath hitches when Daniil dusts his fingertips along the insides of his thighs. He knows that if he were to press his palm to the underside of Artemy’s cock, he would find him hard, and that if he ran a finger down below his balls, his knees would open accommodatingly, eagerly.

Making men eager is something that has always gratified him. No matter how clever, how large, or how strong they were, Daniil could make all men tremble under his hands - even the ones who were technically his professional superiors would invariably end the night moaning, bent underneath him and begging for more. ‘Magic hands’, one lover had called it.

There must be some truth to that, because under his hands he’d made Artemy gasp and plead enough to agree to date him. Which was lucky for him, because he loves putting his hands over the curves and hard lines of Artemy’s body.

Daniil slots one of his own thighs between Artemy’s, and leans down to suck marks along his collarbone. He grinds down against him and touches an oil-slick finger to the cleft of his ass. A stray hand lifts to scrabble in Daniil’s loose hair.

“You look so good spread out for me,” Daniil rumbles, voice deeper than normal. “I can’t wait for all the things I’m going to do to you.” He dips one finger past the muscle of Artemy’s entrance, slowly sliding it deeper, a torturous tease that he knows will leave the man wanting.

Predictably, Artemy groans.

“If you only knew half the things I want to do to you,” he replies, just a little high-pitched, wiggling his ass to bear down on Daniil’s finger. Obligingly, Daniil adds a second finger and crooks them, humming in satisfaction when the cock against his thigh twitches.

“Don’t leave me wondering, darling.” He bites at a nipple, then kisses it sweetly when Artemy jerks at the sensation.

“Bent over the couch,” Artemy’s hand tugs on his hair, pulling and squeezing just on the edge of too-much, yet never crossing that line. “On all fours in the kitchen. Spread eagle on this bed, taking my cock and red-faced-“

Daniil stops. He sits up, mouth pulling away from the nipple he’d been playing with, two fingers nearly sliding completely free. “What?” He asks, a little incredulous. His boyfriend’s face is flushed, eyes a little glazed, but he’s looking up at Daniil like he’s some sort of angel, all open honesty and adoration. It makes something warm flutter in his chest… though not enough to skip past what he’s just heard.

“Sorry, taking your cock?” He clarifies.

Artemy rises to meet him, cupping Daniil’s jaw to press feather-light kisses along his cheeks. “Mm,” he hums, “you’d look so beautiful stretched around me, Danya.”

Normally the diminutive from Artemy’s mouth would make him acquiesce to whatever request the man asked of him, but this time his brow crinkles. “I- uh, am glad you think so. But that’s not… for me. Thank you.” If he’s a little stilted, a little awkward. he’s comfortable in the knowledge that it won’t be laughed at.

A pair of thighs box him in and a large hand engulfs his, positioning his fingers back against Artemy’s ass. He sinks down. “Oh?” The man asks nonchalantly, like he isn’t riding Daniil’s hand. “Never tried it before?”

Daniil bristles. “Of course I have,” he snaps. Those first few times, fresh out of the closet and midway through his first year of university, had all carried the expectation that he would be the one to bend. And frankly, they’d all ended unsatisfactorily, leaving him uninspired. Ever since then he’d made it a matter of pride that the men leaving his bed never felt that way. “Some people just don’t like it, Artemy.”

His partner leans back, forcing the fingers into a new position. The cock that sits flush against the menkhu’s stomach is nothing to scoff at, and Daniil hopes that by wrapping his other hand around it the conversation will move on.

Naturally, it doesn’t.

“I bet I could make you like it.” Artemy’s watching him, a playful expression on his face.

Daniil scoffs, and twists his hands just so, to remind Artemy who the professional was here. Really, had he ever been remiss in his duties to deserve this questioning? If Artemy was trying to earn a particularly spectacular performance, then he’d be more than happy to provide one.

But instead of sighing and leaning back onto the mattress like he expected, the larger man lifts himself from Daniil’s fingers and splays one large hand across Daniil’s entire pectoral. The other hand drifts down to his waist, delicately stroking his skin and raising goose pimples. “I can see you in my mind already, squirming. You’d love it,” Artemy tells him, nipping at one of his ears.

Despite himself, Daniil shivers.

“Artemy-“

“You’re so loud, all of the time. I bet you’re the sort that only shuts up when you’re getting fucked so hard you can’t breathe.” Suddenly, strong arms hook underneath his legs and pull, and Daniil finds himself blinking up at the ceiling. He makes a noise of protest, but falls quiet when Artemy’s hands glide along his thighs, his stubbled-face following and nudging his knees open.

“You like it when I talk.” Daniil complains, voice hitching when a tongue laps at the underside of his balls.

“That I do. But let’s see what you’re like when you’re silent.”

He tenses, expecting the tongue to travel lower and wondering how best to put an end to the proceedings, but he’s pleasantly surprised when Artemy takes his cock into his mouth instead. This, at least, was a familiar exchange – and if Artemy wanted him silent, then he could give him that. He relaxes, a hand twisting into dark blonde-brown curls. The matter is settled then, he muses.

Artemy holds nothing back. He swallows him down and sucks, hollowing his cheeks, taking deep breathes through his nostrils. He bobs, and when he comes up he flicks a tongue over the head of Daniil’s cock, circling it before he slides back down. Daniil muffles a groan into his free palm, feeling a line of spit drip down from his shaft to between his ass cheeks. The next time Artemy has his nose pressed against his pubic hair he hums, the vibrations rattling against him and making him ache.

It’s enough to make him renege on being quiet. “Fuck, you’re good at that,” Daniil tells him, because he is.

Artemy’s green eyes dart up to meet his, and the sight makes the lust in his stomach spike. He tugs on the curled hair and Artemy pulls off with a pop, lips red and glistening. “Show me what else you’re good at.” Daniil purrs, gently tugging again.

He is, of course, referring to Artemy’s not-insignificant skill at riding, but a wicked grin spreads across his partner’s face and he dips low to press his tongue against-

“Artemy!” Daniil tries to wriggle away, but hands clasp his hips and hold him still.

The tongue laps at his hole incessantly, and his traitorous still-damp cock responds. Rimming is something he has considerable experience with, but nobody has ever exchanged the favour; he instinctively throws an arm out against the mattress to grip the sheets - as if they will offer support in this trying time. The wet heat probing at him swirls one last time, then begins to work its way inside. Unbidden, Daniil moans, his face flushing.

It’s… embarrassing. He covers his face with his remaining arm, and bites into his skin to keep the obscene sound at bay. Artemy seems determined to make that difficult for him because one hand leaves his hip to work his cock in tandem, and Daniil sucks in a breath of air, squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten.

He hopes Artemy won’t look up, that he won’t catch the flush of his cheeks or notice how firmly he’s biting his forearm.

The mouth pulls away from him, and Daniil can breathe again.

“I’ll make it good for you, kheerkhen. So, so good.” Artemy begs him. He sounds wrecked, which is completely unfair, considering Daniil is the one with spread legs and a leaking cock.

He releases his arm and peeks up at his lover. The burning need in his expression and the earnest determination in his eyes sends a bolt of electricity all the way to his toes, a sort of unfamiliar desire unfurling low in his gut. He’s almost afraid of how much he wants. If he says no now, he knows Artemy will stop – but the words stick in his throat. He feels hot all over.

The seconds stretch on, yet he can’t bring himself to open his mouth and end it.

A single finger slides from cock to entrance. The pressure is foreign after so many years and his heartrate quickens.

Daniil doesn’t say anything.

A tip – just the tip – breaches him. He screws his face up, exhaling long and hard a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

“So good,” Artemy repeats. But he doesn’t move any further.

“…if it’ll make you shut up.” He acquiesces with a grit, and he isn’t sure who is more surprised – Artemy, or himself.

Artemy’s expression shifts into pure excitement, which makes him want to immediately retract the permission, but the finger inside him starts to push in and suddenly it becomes a matter of ego. Artemy could take much more than just a finger – he took Daniil’s whole cock, regardless of what tempo he set, and Artemy never complained, not even once. Quite the opposite, in fact. Yes, the intrusion was overwhelming, but he’d handled worse. Daniil swallows and tries to breathe through it.

Cool liquid drips onto him – the oil he’d discarded earlier, he realises.

“That’s it, Danya,” Artemy coos, sliding the digit in and out with more care than he generally afforded the man. “Just like that. Breathe, and relax.”

It feels… uncomfortable. The stretch is just like he remembers it; bearable, yet lacklustre. He shifts his hips to try and alleviate some of the sensation, which is exactly when Artemy adds a second finger and curls. The air chokes out of his chest and his hips still, stars bursting in his eyes.

What the fuck, he thinks weakly.

Artemy pauses, alarmed by his response, but after searching Daniil’s face he delicately, carefully, repeats the action. Daniil keens, and Artemy smirks.

There is something incredibly smug about the way his boyfriend manoeuvres his legs to rest them on his shoulders, and something intoxicating about the way he hunches over, practically folding him in half. With his aching length trapped between his thighs and stomach, and knees so close he could kiss them, he feels entirely at Artemy’s mercy.

And the man knows it, too. He’s only too happy to take advantage of the change in position. The new angle allows the fingers plunging into him to reach that spot with what can only be a surgeon’s precision, coaxing and stroking at the bundle of nerves until Daniil whines from the back of his throat.

“Flexible and eager,” Artemy croons, breath hot against his ear. “Just like I thought. You like that, don’t you?”

“No,” Daniil tries to deny it, but it’s a little too quick, a little too breathy, even by his own reckoning. There’s a huff of laughter against his neck, followed by open-mouthed kisses, sucking their way up to his jaw. Artemy clearly isn’t deterred by his lie, because the fingers continue to fuck him. The movement creates a rocking motion, forcing his thighs to rub against his straining cock, making a mess of his stomach.

A third finger works its way into him and Artemy begins to stretch him open, taking his time to caress and flex and rub and push. Daniil can feel sweat collecting at the base of his neck, can feel his toes curl.

For a few moments, his focus homes in on the weight of a body above him, on the full sensation. None of the men in the past have been confident like this, have been patient like this, have angled or moved like this. His head feels heavy.

“Now who makes the most beautiful sounds?” The menkhu asks, sitting back on his haunches. Daniil hadn’t been aware he’d been making sounds, and feels the flush of his face reignite. His legs fall from Artemy’s shoulders, naturally slipping either side of him. There is a pleasant ache in his hamstrings, but he misses the force against his dick.

“Are you done?” He pants. “Have you made your point yet?” He won’t give in, he won’t bend. No matter how good it felt, his pride won’t allow it. He’s been accused of being an uncompromising man, and considers that assertation more accurate than being inconsiderate.

“No – not until you beg me to fuck you.” Artemy withdraws his torturous fingers and without hesitation flips him over onto all fours. Daniil goes more easily than he would later admit. “Not until you me beg to make you cum.”

“I won’t.” Daniil firmly, but when the ministrations begin again, he’s glad for sheets that he can bury his face into. Artemy seems determined to wring noises from him, deliberately dragging across his prostate over and over, at times speeding up and at times slowing down. He bites down and fights to keep silent.

“Beg for it,” his lover’s voice is low, heavy.

“No,” Daniil grunts, releasing the fabric. His hands scrabble to grip the edge of the mattress.

The fingers inside him curl and he whimpers.

“Beg.” Artemy demands.

“No!”

The fingers still. Daniil doesn’t have to be able to see him to know Artemy is shrugging, all faux nonchalance, and suddenly there is cold air where before there was warmth. He feels empty, so empty - and desperate.

“Wait! Wait – I..” The words stutter out. He clamps his jaw shut to stop them.

A large palm brushes against the curve of his ass, settling just beyond where he wants it. He thinks he might die if they don’t touch him soon. “Yes, Danya?” Artemy coyly replies, voice lilting. Smug bastard, he thinks.

“I… please.” It feels like poison, dragged from his lips and coiling in the air. He hopes that it’s enough - that he won’t be asked to elaborate.

Naturally, he’s wrong.

“Please what?” And Artemy sounds so proud of himself, so inexplicably pleased. It makes Daniil want to bite him.

But the thought of things ending here stings worse than the fingers had, and so instead he clenches his teeth and spits it out. “Please fuck me!”

Later, when he isn’t lust-mad, he’ll remember how he’d pleaded and would feel embarrassed. For the moment, the pressure of Artemy’s lips against his neck is enough to make him sigh. Curled over his body to reach his neck, Artemy’s hips are flush against him and for the first time Daniil can feel the length of his hard cock.

That’s going to be inside me, he thinks faintly. He isn’t sure if the thought leaves him dizzy from desire or anxiety.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Artemy purrs, trailing along his vertebrae. “I’ve been dreaming of having you for weeks.” A rough hand tugs – just once – at his dick before squeezing his ass, pulling the cheeks apart. He’s still slick from earlier but Artemy takes his time liberally dribbling more oil. Then he seems to want to familiarise himself by sliding and grinding, the head of his cock catching against his entrance occasionally.

It drives Daniil to distraction.

“Get on with it,” he snaps, patience wearing thin. It isn’t actually his first time, after all.

Artemy huffs, but to his credit the motions stop. He places a firm, steadying hand against the middle of Daniil’s lower back, and lines himself up.

“It’ll be okay, darling,” is the final warning he gets before Artemy rolls his hips forward.

Daniil buries his face back into the sheets. Intellectually, he knows that he’s been well-prepared, but the pressure is entirely different from three fingers and, as Artemy slides in inch by agonising inch, he reminds himself to breathe, to relax.

He tries to focus on the thumb gently caressing his back. It’s not an effective distraction; it feels like he’s going to rip at the seams.

“W-wait,” Daniil pants, voice strained and muffled against the bed. “It’s too much-it’s too-uh!” The sensation changes dramatically when Artemy bottoms out, full and heavy.

“Daniil,” Artemy shudders out, fumbling with his free hand to grasp at Daniil’s front, stroking him. The touch makes Daniil jerk involuntarily, jostling the cock buried deep inside him and drawing a moan from the back of his throat. “Fuck!” Artemy curses, the hand on his back clenching.

Experimentally, Daniil shifts, using his knees to push up and back and – ah, yes. Right there, the thing that makes his eyes roll. Distantly he registers Artemy making some sort of noise, but it isn’t until his boyfriend starts to move with purpose that Daniil makes his own choked sound.

The patient pace Artemy sets is the sort that only comes from a man used to working for what he wants. He isn’t overly eager – doesn’t push with more force than Daniil can handle, he simply rocks in and out, and strokes at him and stretches and hits there and never, ever, moves too quickly. The heat surrounds him, covering his face and neck and chest, burning where their bodies touch. Daniil thinks he might melt.

“Arch for me, baby,” Artemy gasps. Daniil complies instantly, spreading his knees lower and wider, lifting his hips up and pressing back into Artemy’s cock.

“Fuck, that’s beautiful,” Artemy moan his appreciation, the hand on his back spreading and flexing along his spine. “You’re gorgeous, Danya, look at you.” His thrusts come firmer. “You really are quiet when you’re being fucked. Let me hear you, baby.”

“Ar- Artemy,” the name is long and drawn out along Daniil’s lips. He tries to say more but his tongue feels thick and clumsy, and he can’t focus on anything except the way Artemy pushes into him. It seems as though just his name was incentive enough, because Artemy picks up speed, the new force digging Daniil’s face further into the sheets.

The hand on his cock is unrelenting. He can feel himself approaching the precipice, a delicious crescendo that makes his toes curl and as he arches even more, desperately. He wonders how he’ll live this down.. and how quickly he can make it happen again.

“Right there,” he practically sobs, head lolling to the side when Artemy finds the right angle to hit his prostrate with every thrust. “Jesus, fuck, Artemy – right there.” He hopes he won’t have to beg again, but knows instantly that he would.

Mercifully, the man doesn’t make him: “Cum for me, Daniil,” Artemy commands, burying into him with newfound rigour, his own voice a little tight.

And with one more thrust and a tight squeeze on his dick, Daniil does. It shakes through him so powerfully his knees give out, spilling over Artemy’s hand and his own stomach in thick rivulets. His cries, shaped in the form of Artemy’s name, are incomprehensible to his own ears as his blood sings, skin on fire.

Artemy stiffens behind him, and follows suit, emptying inside him. Hands clench and a low groan rumbles from his chest, before he pulls out and collapses down beside him, gulping for air.

Daniil turns around onto his back, flopping a hand onto his partner’s chest, scrabbling against sweat-slick skin to play with the chest hair he finds there, feeling the deep inhalations. A larger hand captures his, and Artemy turns his face to look at Daniil, a breath-taking smile on his face.

“Well? Did I make it good for you?” He asks, green eyes twinkling.

Honestly, Daniil would do a great many things if it meant he could make Artemy look like that. A tender warmth, quite different from the heat he’d felt before, blooms in his chest. Given the wetness he can feel oozing between his legs, that warmth is perhaps the only reason he answers so honestly.

“Yes, alright. You proved you know your way around.” He rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the smile from spreading across his lips. Artemy shuffles closer, pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Good. I’m glad.”

Daniil leans into the touch, brushing his fingertips over Artemy’s jaw and cheekbones. For a moment, they simply enjoy each other. “Are you ready for your gift now?”

Artemy pulls away, quirking one eyebrow. “What do you mean? I just had it, didn’t I?”

Daniil scoffs. “Your actual gift, idiot.”

“Mm, I’m not sure it will be as much of an osteoblast as the first one.”

The sound of a hand smacking flesh resonates around the apartment, but not as loudly as the laughter.

After a long day at the hospital, the three doctors are very tired but...(you guessed it) THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!
Would love if it starts as just them sleeping. Then it could evolves in any direction you want: platonic thoughts, fond thoughts, accidental cuddling, not so accidental cuddling, full on banging. So many possibilities

He knows it’s a dream from the tight hold on his hips, the lips pressed to his shoulder so the other man’s nose can rest in the crook of his neck. This is too pleasurable to be real life – not just as it stands right now, but ever. There’s no explanation for how he’s wound up with his vest open, shirt so loose that Burakh can reach a section of bare skin to rest on, but Daniil knows better than to look for logic in the inconceivable. His cravat is on the floor, and in the waking world he’s too fussy to let it simply crumple on the ground like that. Little touches that sell the fantasy.

Burakh’s hand is moving to his stomach, pushing up the fabric of his shirt to skim his fingers across Daniil’s navel. His touch is gentle, soft, but his hands themselves are rough from gloveless work. It makes the hair at the nape of Daniil’s neck stand on end to feel his touch against such sensitive skin, fingers pulling back to his waist once more. This Burakh is built the same as him, a secret shared between them both in the hazy early morning hospital shifts. He can feel the slope of his chest against his back when Burakh stands upright and curls his fingers under his vest to pull it down, and wonders what it might be like to turn in his arms and press against him.

This other Burakh, though, he doesn’t know. And he assumes it is a Burakh from the cut of his jaw, the color of his eyes and expression he wears as he comes to stand before Daniil and assess him. This one wears gloves, worn and black but clean nonetheless, a thinner leather than the ones Daniil usually sports. His hands are deliberate, working the rest of the buttons from Daniil’s shirt undone. The leather is warm on Daniil’s skin as he brushes the collar aside, letting the Burakh behind him roll it off Daniil’s arms. The Burakh in front lifts the hem of his binder, and the one behind curls his hands over Daniil’s breasts. His head drops to watch the gloves toy with his belt and remove it, Burakh dropping to his knees to kiss his stomach and pull his trousers down.

The one behind him lets go of his right, nails teasing as it moves down the curve of his stomach and under the waistband of his undergarments, settling between his legs. He starts to rub at his clitoris as the gloves pull the undergarments down and push his knees apart. It’s now he realizes how wet he is, air cold against him. With nowhere else to set his hands he rests them on the Haruspex’s shoulders, slipping down to a firm chest as he rises from the ground. The man behind him pulls his hand back up to rest on Daniil’s stomach and drops his head down to breathe hot against his neck, mouth open and teeth resting against the flesh. Daniil’s hands slide down to the belt in front of him, feeling a hand drop to massage his inner thigh. Burakh pulls his own underwear down to free his cock, and strokes it.

Daniil moves a hand down to rub his folds, feeling teeth sink into his shoulder as the Burakh before him sets his hands on his hips. He grinds his cock against Daniil’s stomach before his hands move to his ass, lifting his thigh up. Daniil hooks his leg around his waist and touches the tip of cock, pressing it to his entrance. Burakh puts a thumb on his folds to hold him open, and starts to sink in.

His head hits back into Burakh’s shoulder, mouth open. It’s been too long since he’s done this, his body squeezing at every inch pressing in. His heel presses into Burakh’s waist, encouraging his movement. He pushes in to the hilt, and moves his hand to replace his double’s, pulling Daniil up to have both legs wrapped around him. Daniil’s weight falls on the man behind him, one hand wrapped around his stomach and the other tightly squeezing a tit. Burakh’s hands are tight on his waist as he starts to move, slow and steady. Daniil’s hands move back to his shoulders, nails desperate to sink in and finding nothing. His open mouth lets out a whine, and the man behind him kisses his jaw, down to his throat.

The hand on his breast leaves, but Daniil has trouble focusing its movements with the way Burakh’s hips snap into his. He feels a movement against his back like the man behind him rummaging through his pockets, and hears a snap. The hand is now against his spine, and moving downwards, a slick finger sliding between his cheeks. He feels a pressure against his entrance, and gasps as a finger pushes through, noisy and wet into the air. The Burakh in front of him dips his head to bite his collarbone, thrust rough inside him. The finger in his hole pulls back before pressing forward, pushing in further.

“God,” Daniil breathes.

“No,” the Burakh in front of him replies, thrusting so hard Daniil’s chest bounces. “Just us, oynon.” A second finger presses against his entrance and pushes in. Daniil tries to bites his lip, but Burakh catches him and pulls back with his own teeth. His beard scratches against Daniil’s face, overloading his senses as his eyes close. Daniil wraps his arms around Burakh’s neck and lets his legs be spread farther.

The two mirror each other in movements, cock sliding out as fingers press in, fingers pulling back as hip meets hip. Burakh picks up the pace, grip on Daniil’s thighs tight as he thrusts. Daniil’s body seeks to curl around him, whimpering as a third finger presses inside him and spreads. He’s never known such pleasure before, and his body trembles in awe of it. A finger curls just right as it pulls back, and Burakh’s dick brushes an area that sends sparks shooting through his body, crying out as they move in tandem. He pants, feeling his orgasm building up in his stomach, listening to Burakh grunt as he drives into him until he topples, body clenching and shouting as he climaxes. Burakh digs his teeth in tight enough to draw blood, working his hips as he groans and Daniil feels him burst, pulsing in his body.

Burakh gently sets Daniil’s legs back down on the ground, cock slipping from between his legs. Daniil feels his cum seeping out, dripping down his thighs, and rests back. His legs are wobbly as he turns in the arms of the other Burakh, face pressed against his chest. His fingers pull out of his ass, and settle on his cheeks, steadying him. “You haven’t come,” Daniil mumbles. His hands fly to Burakh’s trousers, working them down his thighs.

“This is your dream,” he points out, but doesn’t stop Daniil from grabbing his arm and jerking him toward the bed. It’s a small little mat, Daniil has just noticed, supported on some boxes. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in this place before.

And Burakh goes, thighs spread, wet and cheeks flushed as Daniil kneels between them. “Yes,” Daniil says, “My dream. So it’s my rules, and I want to pleasure you.” He sets his palms on the inside of Burakh’s thighs and presses his face in, kissing up near his hip. He makes his way down, tongue dragging in the slick left between his legs. He moves up to Burakh’s sex, placing soft kisses along the line and pulling his lips away wet.

He doesn’t register the other Burakh moving behind him, not until he feels his prick settle in the cleft of his ass, rubbing against him. His cock slides between Daniil’s cheeks until Daniil tilts down to press his face further in to the other man’s cunt, hips lifting. He feels the head of Burkah’s dick pushing against his hole, and curls his fingers on the floor as he starts to press inside.

The man on the bed leans up, puts his fingers in Daniil’s hair and pushes the fringe out of the way. Daniil hums against his folds, tongue darting between them and sucking around his dick. He raises his right hand tentatively, mouth moving up the line of body hair to press a finger against his entrance. He can feel Burakh’s fingers shake against his hair and tug. He leans forward and flicks his tongue out to trace his lips, finger swallowed by the warmth of the Haruspex’s body. He feels his cunt grow wet again, thinking of another time and place where he could climb atop him and hold him down, listen to him thrash against the sheets. He places a second finger against his entrance and gasps as the man behind him fills him, testicles pressed against his skin.

The Burakh behind him does not take his ass as slowly as he had his pussy, and he finds himself moaning as he licks at the other’s folds. His fingers thrust with force, with speed, eyes opening and crossing to watch the man on the bed pant and lose composure. The sound his fingers make is lewd as they slide in and out, pressing a third alongside them and sucking his clit when he moans loudly. Burakh’s hips buck against his face and Daniil places his tongue flat against him to let him rub off, curling his fingers toward him and pulling. Burakh thrusts his hips against Daniil’s fingers and calls for him, walls squeezing as he nears his climax.

Behind him, Burakh’s hand reaches between his legs to rub his folds, pounding into him. Daniil moans, head going dizzy, fingers spreading in Burakh’s pussy as he gives a shout and starts to cum around his finger. Daniil keeps kissing at him as he comes, mouth working up into little whimpers as the man behind him grunts. He shouts when he feels teeth digging into his shoulder. Burakh shoves three fingers inside him and he squeezes, body working its way through a second orgasm. There’s a grunt, and a curse, and he feels Burakh still in his ass, filling him.

There are a few moments of breaths heavy as they all wind down, Burakh’s hands gentle on his hips as he pulls out. Daniil rests his head on the other’s lap, body going limp as cum spills down the back of his thighs. He feels lighter, somehow, even as Burakh leans up to look down at him. His fingers are so soft on Daniil’s cheek he can barely feel them, leaning down to –

Daniil jolts awake, heart racing, legs cramped, and wet between the legs.

very sweet, very fluffy. i need to see artemy be LOVED

In either direction (or both!) and with any body part, though I'd especially appreciate Artemy being in love with Aglaya's tits.

Do not want: D/s. Artemy being a little soft and pliable while Aglaya likes to take advantage of that is great, but no power dynamics or kink, please!

I have no no special demands there, I just had a dream where Eva wandered in the steppe to bath and met Aspity. Can be gen or ship, would prefer P1 characterisations but not mandatory. I want to see girls of opposite sides meeting and that is all

basically just them writing letter erotica to each other. bonus if artemy is the one who escalates the minor flirting into explicit territory.

I think Daniil should beg for Artemy to cum inside of him. Just lots of talk about being filled up by him, can be a bit possessive if you want, established relationship or not i dont care

Do not want: breeding kink
Don't mind: trans Daniil is totally ok

This is my first time posting a request on a kinkmeme, hope I do this right ^^;; (not that it's that complicated of course).

A prompt for folks who have knowledge of both Pathologic 1 and Pathologic 2 and would say they write the characters as distinct and different. I would love to see a fic where P2 Daniil finds himself in the uncanny same-but-different setting of P1, and meets and has a tryst with P1 Artemy. Perhaps they're both attracted to the versions of each other from their native universe but are hesitant to act on that attraction, but see the alternate universe versions as a viable outlet for their sexual frustrations.

The sex can be any kind you think fits, I'm just here for Bachelor/Haruspex being hella turned on by the existence of alternate incarnations of their secret plague crush.

This can be surreal, with the characters unsure of whether this is a dream. Bonus points for the characters finding each other attractive for being different from the version they know, as well as similar. For example, P1 Artemy might like that P2 Dankovsky is (IMO) more jerk-with-a-heart-of-gold than scheming snake, and P2 Daniil might be excited by P1 Artemy being a bit edgier and more confident.

I love this so much. Seconded.

w@ (happy noises)

Thirded, i need this

“Paint me like one of your Russian girls...”
Peter’s eye for detail and his thirst for Twyrine, his scattered mind is stuck on Eva. He wants- no, needs to draw her. He needs to feel her. To put his mind to ease.

Body worship, lots of intimate touching and passionate sex.

look, we've all seen the recent fanart trend where daniil is a naga. i think naga daniil should fuck. preferably artemy, but that's up to you.

The inquisitor arrives in town, she interrogates all the important people in town.
One of them is an incredibly non-cooperative steppe woman. I want Aspity giving her hell, but she's an inquisitor, she's used to that kind of people.
The twist is, Aspity secretly finds it very hot.

I headcanon that Peter is Bi/Pan, and has been in at least one relationship before moving away from the Capital.
I do apologize if this does not meet up to OP's standards, but I hope y'all enjoy!
---

On nights like this, Peter preferred his own company over the company of others. Dreary nights, where the Twyrine does not whisper sweet nothings into his ear and his brother Andrei is entertaining others. Nights like tonight where he is alone with his thoughts, scattered and wandering. He sat in bed, staring out the window of the quiet town. Night had fallen, time slipping away from Peter once again. He had taken off his coat a while ago, feeling vulnerable once again. A vulnerability he wasn’t too comfortable most nights. However, on a night like this… he felt his shell become too restricting for him.

Peter’s body felt hotter than usual. The cool nights in the steppe had often chilled him to the bone, but tonight, he was burning up. Even his cotton shirt and trousers felt too constricting for him. His wandering thoughts had made him think on some of the new arrivals. That Dankovsky fellow seemed pleasant enough, well spoken and had an air of enlightenment about him. He was quite attractive, all around aesthetically pleasing. Peter wasn’t too sure why his own mind wandered to Daniil, but it had also wandered to the other beautiful inhabitants of the town. Eva, slender and fragile. Moving with the grace of a ballerina, a warm smile to lift the hearts of many. Many more people flooded his mind, but nothing stuck more in his mind than their hands. Soft or rough, he didn’t mind as long as they knew how to caress him. It was maddening.

On nights like tonight, he often settled for his own hands and the end of his hairbrush for stimulation. However, the heat in his loins was far greater than what he settled for. He shuffled around in his studio for his new toys, trying to maintain the stimulating thoughts on his mind. After searching in his closet, he found them. In one of his last visits to the Capital, he slipped from Andrei’s grasp to purchase a cock ring and a dildo. Feeling it in his hands, he felt overwhelmed by the girth of it. He could feel his own cock straining in his trousers, a shiver crept up his spine from thinking of the night he was about to have.

Peter returned to his bed and stripped himself. The cool air on his body was exhilarating, he sunk down onto his bed and began to stroke his cock. Long, drawn out strokes to get himself to half mass, before taking the time to gingerly slide the cock ring onto his shaft. Peter could immediately feel the firm grip the ring had on his penis, and after pumping his cock a bit more he felt like he was already getting close to release. He took his hands away from his penis for a moment to work on his asshole. Lubricating his fingers well, he eased one in after another. Thrusting and curling his fingers coupled with his own thoughts of hands caressing him and touching him had driven him crazy. Peter tried his hardest to bite back the moans and curses, throwing his head into the pillow to muffle his cries. He could feel his precum leaking onto his thigh, he wanted to ride this ecstasy as long as he could.

After much teasing and prepping, Peter finally grabs his dildo. He could feel his cheeks warm up as he held the perverse object in his hand. He opened his mouth to give the dildo a coy lick. There was no taste to it yet, but Peter continued to give it loving licks and sucking on the head. His fevered thoughts had wandered to a man he had an affair with in university. Strong shoulders, bovine features and a fat cock to match his stature. His thoughts perverted his other senses, the memories of his taste and his memories of guttural groans goaded him to plunge his head further down on the meaty shaft before him. Before Peter knew it, he already had the dildo far into his mouth. He pulled away from the dildo, a trail of saliva hung from his lips. Peter admired his sloppy blowjob in the candlelight, adding more lubricant to the dildo. Peter gently set the dildo down on the ground and positioned himself over the tip. Time had seemed to melt away once he felt his asshole stretching to accommodate the size of the toy. He threw all sense of modesty out the window and moaned as loud as he could. Peter didn’t care if anyone heard him or even saw him, he bounced on the shaft of the toy. The ecstasy was too much for Peter to handle, as soon as he bottomed out on the dildo, his release came and came and came.

“Oh god, yes!” He jerked out a bit more cum, before falling onto the cold wooden floor. He rode out his moment of ecstasy for just a bit longer before coming back to his senses. The cool air felt quite refreshing for once, as Peter took a moment to admire his messiness. He wasn’t too fond of the cleanup, but it was all worth it. Peter wanted a night like this to last forever.

Seconded! I live for Burakhovsky letters <3

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Page 13 of 16

Pathologic Kink Meme!

Newest Activity!

Solo Petr (And He Has a Size Thing)

daniil/artemy watersports

Re: daniil/artemy watersports

no subject

Re: artemy/daniil autopsy table

Daniil/Artemy praise kink

FILL (1/3): Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky finds out that Shrimping Ain't Easy

Re: FILL (2/3): Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky finds out that Shrimping Ain't Easy

Re: FILL (3/3): Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky finds out that Shrimping Ain't Easy

Burakh/Rubin/Dankovsky: Sleeping together

Re: Pathlogic 1 Artemy/Daniil/Pathologic 2 Artemy

trans daniil uses a strap-on to take good care of artemy

Aglaya/Artemy - body worship

Bathing in the steppe: Aspity/Eva

artemy/daniil - long distance dirty talk

Artemy/Daniil being filled

P1 Artemy/P2 Daniil Because Pathologic Meta Lore is my Kink

Re: P1 Artemy/P2 Daniil Because Pathologic Meta Lore is my Kink

Re: Aglaya/Artemy - body worship

Re: P1 Artemy/P2 Daniil Because Pathologic Meta Lore is my Kink

[Body Worship] Eva Yan/Peter Stamatin

no subject

Aspity/Aglaya- interrogation

FILL: A Night Like Tonight [Solo Peter Stamatin and Toys]

Re: artemy/daniil - long distance dirty talk