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

LINKS:

Pathologic Prompt Meme: https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/825.html
Pathologic Round-Robin: https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/654.html
Pathologic Kink Meme (nsfw): https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/1201.html
Contact me here if you have any questions!: https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/1347.html

Newest Activity!

Latest Prompt: [Body Worship] Eva Yan/Peter Stamatin (link)
Latest Fill:
Bathing in the steppe: Aspity/Eva link)
Latest Comment: "Thank you so much, I wanted this filled so bad! [. . .]" (link)

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(A/N: hi, this is the first time i'm ever posting any of my writing for pathologic. i hope it fits what you're looking for from this prompt - i love this pair.)

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Night is the perfect time for gathering twyre.

Very few people outside of the Kin go out into the steppe anyway, so Aspity almost always has the fortune of not having to interact with most members of the town.

Almost.

There's someone in the river. Not only is there someone in the river, but from the corner of her eye, this person looks as if they are *bathing* in it. It's in the middle of the night in autumn, an absolutely absurd time to be doing anything without warm clothes let alone completely nude. She attempts to keep herself focused on gathering twyre, to not look at whatever idiot has decided to expose themself in the night.

After a while, she realizes that her twyre seeking had somehow unconsciously brought her closer to the river. Close enough to perhaps even make out the feature of the bather even with her poor eyesight. She pointedly keeps her gaze at the ground, listening for nearby herbs - that's what had brought her in this direction anyway. The buzzing and swishing of the herbs. Nothing else.

But she feels a gaze on her. The bather has clearly noticed her, and is now examining her from afar like she's an insect trapped under a glass.

"I'm not looking at you, so would you stop staring at me?" Aspity finally snaps at the bather, eyes still fixed on the dirt and grass below her.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize it was making you uncomfortable. I was just interested in what you were doing - you're gathering twyre, yes?" the bather asks, their voice sweet and dreamlike. "And I don't mind if anyone looks at me. I don't think nudity is anything to be ashamed of."

"Bathing at night in September is something to be ashamed of," Aspity sneers, still not looking at the person in the river. "It shows how very empty your head is."

"I've heard the cold can be quite invigorating and good for the body, you know."

"Then you're very gullible and could do with some shame."

The woman ignores Aspity's snipe at her. "What's your name? I don't think I've ever seen you before."

"Of course you wouldn't have. I live in the Crude Sprawl beside what you might see as the 'unwashed masses', and you speak like women from the Capital." Aspity spits, her resolve not to look the bather in the eye weakening the more she wishes to shoot a glare in the woman's direction.

"Well, I'll go first then - I'm Eva."

"And I didn't ask," Aspity spits, irritated that her words don't seem to be sharp enough to penetrate this Eva woman's thick skull.

"But I'd like to know yours, which is why I offered you mine." Aspity can hear the smile in the woman's voice and she can't help but look up to send a dirty look her way.

But the woman's appearance alone manages to disarm the daggers in Aspity's gaze in an instant. Moonlight rolls off her like the drops of water clinging to her skin as she leans against one of the rocks by the edge of the river; Aspity can't tell for certain, but she might have freckles dappling her body as well. Her face is soft and pretty, and her hair is long, slicked back after having held her head under the water. She looks serene, flirtatiously so, like one of those suggestive paintings by that hideously depressed artist in the Skinners.

Aspity hates that she's perfectly aware of the way her eyes travel along the contours of the other woman's body, and how they refuse to stop despite it. The woman lets out a gentle, musical laugh, and Aspity darts her eyes away, feeling heat climbing up her neck and into her cheeks and hoping that the moon's light washes her skin out enough so Eva's inquisitive eyes don’t see.

"You're also quite charming yourself, dear stranger. A delight to look at, even when scowling." Eva says, situating herself more comfortably, as one would do when settling into a chair at a close friend's home.

Aspity wishes that Mother Boddho would take her back into the dirt from whence she came when she peers out of the corner of her eye to see how the soft curves of Eva's stomach, breasts, and arms lay naturally against the stone. It both provides a sense of decency, but also evokes the erotic suggestion of one body against another. This woman must be attempting to taunt her, Aspity decides, using her physical beauty in some way to draw her in before mocking her mercilessly. Utopians play strange heartless games. Ones that involve making some part of Aspity's gut feel flattered at being called a 'delight', despite her obvious dowdy appearance.

"How goes your search for twyre? I've heard that the Brides can actually hear the herbs speak to them in the Steppe. Is this true for yourself? You seem like you're able to spot them with such ease."

"Yes. It's part of why I run this errand. Do you have any more dull questions?"

Eva smiles again. "Actually, as luck would have it - I found an herb on my way here from the Stillwater, dear stranger. I've heard it's not the most common." She reaches towards a leather satchel laying on the rock, and produces a sprig of swevery from it.

"I was going to give it to Andrey, but I'll happily trade it to you for your name," she says, teasingly. Of course she would know Stamatin. Of course.

Aspity had been searching for more swevery this evening per Burakh's kind request, and the trade-off did not seem that bad. Given this woman's Utopian lifestyle, it's incredibly unlikely their paths would cross again. They had avoided each other for years already, so she doubts that this Eva would ever step foot inside the Crude Sprawl of her own volition.

"Many call me Aspity," she sighs, irritated. "Are you satisfied?"

"But what do you call yourself? A name is important," Eva explains, voice still lofty and sweet. Her fingers trace slow, looping patterns on the rock beneath her. "I like to know what people wish their souls to be called by." Aspity's eyes nearly roll out of her head.

"Sahba Usp'tae, Aspity, Sahba-ötün; choose whichever you can say without hurting yourself too badly," Aspity snaps. "Leave the sprig by the shore, and I'll retrieve it once you're finished making your poor bathing decisions."

"Sahba Usp'tae," she repeats, a dreamy smile forming on her lips. Her attempt at pronunciation is better than most, surprisingly. "It sounds lovely."

Aspity grimaces at the flattered sensation returning to her stomach. "You're enamored with too many inconsequential things."

"Well, come take my half of our trade, Sahba Usp'tae," she says, leaning her cheek on her palm and holding out the orange flowered herb. "I wouldn't want it to be blown away in a gust of wind, so it'd be best to take it now."

Aspity moves to grab the sprig from Eva's hand, the woman doesn't immediately let it go. Instead, her fingertips graze Aspity's hand.

Their eyes meet briefly and Aspity regrets it, unable to look elsewhere.

“You know, this herb reminds me of you. Uncommon, but lovely in its own way," Eva says, amber eyes showing a very convincing mimic of sincerity.

"And it's bitter as bile," Aspity adds, snatching it from Eva's hand. What was this woman's problem? Comparing her to flowers as if she were something delicate? How utterly ridiculous.

"It was lovely meeting you, Sahba Usp'tae. I hope to see you again," Eva says with the same calm expression, waving to her.

Aspity doesn't respond to her farewell, turning on her heel and walking quickly to the refuge of her home as quickly as possible.

She'll just have to return at dawn to find the herbs for Burakh, and in the meantime, she should rest her eyes. This encounter has taken more energy from her than she ever would have wanted to have spent on some Capital imbecile.

When she sleeps, she dreams of the feeling of warm freckled shoulders under her hands.

(op here)
Thank you so much, I wanted this filled so bad!

It is exactly the kind of fill I wanted,
Eva is so lovely here, and you really manage to drive home how they live in entirely different worlds.
Aspity is so snappy and awkward, such great characterisation.
And your writting style is very evocative, I love the way Eva is described mostly with words associated with softness and warmth, (the round face, the cushion like rock), While the environment is much more cold and sharp. She feels like an apparition out of this world.
"When she sleeps, she dreams of the feeling of warm freckled shoulders under her hands." THE LAST LINE KILLS ME, you can't deny the gay, Sabah, no matter how hard you try.

Amazing fill, thank you for sating all of my lesbian urges

gross wet kisses, daniil wanting artemy to spit in his mouth, one of them drools on the other while being fucked, sloppy blowjobs, just anything regarding spit that isn't used as a means of degradation.

i think they've kept their hands to themselves pretty well so far, but something makes them break. i want them going at it somewhere inappropriate - the theatre? the town hall? an alleyway? someone else's house? idc. they can't help it.

i like my daniil trans, but it's not necessary.

twyre is in bloom. daniil pumps Artemy full of cum.

you can do whatever you want with this. cis or trans Artemy are equally appreciated

I had a couple of different ideas, so I played around w characters for this!!
--

(dated April 12th, 18XX)

My dearest Katerina,

I dreamt of you once more, an intimate scene from what will soon be our bedroom. You stood by our bed, your hair falling in waves down your back as you unclasped your necklace, chain sliding down your breast as you set it aside. I could only watch you, for you were eclipsed in a light too bright and too blazing for me to approach. I could feel the heat of your body as you removed your coat and gloves. I’ve never seen so much as the delicate skin inside your wrist, but my imagination conjured such a picture to mind I could feel my breath grow ragged in my sleep. You started to remove your dress, down to just your slip and this! This is when I awoke, body stiff and muscles tense.

Is it terrible of me to wish to have seen you further? Your skin teases me. In each our meetings I find myself drawn to your neck, like some terrifying beast, set on tearing into your flesh. You fill me with a passion I’ve never known before. It’s hard to believe how fast these months have flown by, and that in just another I will be able to call myself your husband. Do not worry yourself on the duties of a Mistress. I will make a mother of you yet.

Lovingly,
Your Sasha

(dated March 2nd, 18XX)

My darling Victor,

Is that the best that you can do? I know I had you pegged for a quiet man, a man of simple pleasures, but this is simply too much. It isn’t as though I mind holding hands with you, but I had envisioned something a little more daring. Perhaps I ought to show you what I mean? Take this, in example:

It’s a lucky thing for us you keep house a reasonable space from any neighbors. It wouldn’t befit people of our standing for the public to hear the noise we’ll make when you return home to me. I hope you haven’t scheduled any meetings out ahead, those architects be damned. You are my husband first, and all else second. You have marital duties to perform when you arrive.

I know that you are a shy man, so I won’t expect you to take me right there in the doorway – but I hope you won’t insist on getting under the covers before we start. It’s been too long since I’ve seen your body. I need to know its taste from the pads of my fingers, drawing breath from you with every stroke of my hand. Your family aspires to a higher plane of existence, and I can give that to you. But maybe I won’t; maybe I’ll tease you, punish you for being away so long. I won’t let you touch relief until you’ve begged me for it. I know it’s not an easy thing for a man of your family, but I have no doubt I can wring the words from your mouth. It looks best curved around my name, anyway.

Your wife,
Nina

(dated May 5th, 18XX)

A,

Per your last letter. I take it there is something lacking in our correspondence, but I’m not sure how much I can promise. Unclear on the amount of censorship performed on incoming letters. Are Inquisitors-to-be permitted such solicitations? Or would they not consider our relationship a scandal? We are only two women, after all. Even if one of us is an Inquisitor.

I’ll try to be brief. I know you appreciate that sort of thing, at least when it comes to letters. You protest when my hand is between your thighs, but you look so much better the longer I linger there. You were so certain you’d be the one above me. Have you convinced your peers that’s where you belong? I hope you have. I hope no one else conceives of the pleasure of you on your back. I know I left my marks before you went back to training – nowhere easily seen, but I wonder if their touch distracted you in classes. I can imagine you, legs crossed tightly. Did you start to rub your thighs together and stop, all at once, aware of your surroundings? Do you even take the tights off before you’re thinking of me? You’re rather impatient, given your chosen profession. I guess I’ll have to teach you how to wait.

Will this satisfy you for now?

Fondly,
Y

(dated February 22nd, 18XX)

Danya,

Been starting to get restless again. Moved to architecture with my brother (don’t think you ever met him). I’m not much for the theoretical. Found I’d rather get out there, get my hands dirty. Studying’s gotten me nowhere. Tests are easy enough, but what’s the point if you’re not doing anything with it? So I’ve been out prowling the streets, looking for some kind of trouble to get into. Not sure if you’ve heard about it. Chances are you will do.
Saw Dimitri back at the old haunt. Says you haven’t left your lab in a fortnight. Broke up again, he figures. So I’m here writing this, one friend to another. Just like old times, right? All you’ll have to do is imagine me there with you.

Start off on your stomach. I’m sure you remember the way my nails bite in your skin. You can put a pillow under your hips if you like, so long as you don’t give into pressure. Not just yet. Remember the heels of my hands on your back, grinding all those places you can’t reach; between your shoulder blades, mid spine, your lower back. You like to fake that you can’t touch there because my hands are rougher. You always liked to be the pretty boy, the softer one. Pliable and elegant.

You’d be more comfortable with your shirt off, Danko. Don’t wait for me to undress. Settle yourself back down, and quit your bitching. You know you’ll like it when you let yourself relax.

Bet I can feel your ribs when I run my hands down your sides. You never were good at taking care of yourself during long hours at the university. That’s why you need someone to take care of you, and I’m here now. Your briefs slide so easily down your hips. At least your ass gives me something to grab onto. You squirm when I get you like this, even before the oil hits your body. I let it slide between your cheeks for a moment, just to tease you. I like the way you roll your hips up to me. Makes it easier when I press my finger against you. You’re only haughty until I’ve got a finger in you, then you’re rutting against me. I don’t even need to do much in the way of work. But I will. I’ll push another finger into you and spread them. Curl them. I still know where to touch to make your toes dig in the bedsheets. I’ll take it slow just to watch you buck up into me, and I’ll pull back nice and slowly.

I’ll wait until you’ve started to settle down, and fill you. I want to watch your nails dig in the bedspread, to hear you curse under your breath. Those guys you’re with never give you the right kind of satisfaction, and I can put my finger against it and push until you’re rubbing off on the pillow.

I think you’ll feel better when your cock isn’t so heavy. Think about it.

Cheers,
Andrei

(dated September 2nd, 19XX)

My lovely and gentle Yulia,

It seems you know me all too well! I have found myself in exactly the predicament you described. Is it ridiculous for a grown woman to be jumping at shadows so? But everything feels like it’s ending, and I can feel the ground rushing up toward me just as if I were falling. My head aches. My heart aches. My whole chest aches, at times, and I miss you.

I won’t break this quarantine my Daniil has instated, but being without you is torture! How is imagination supposed to make up for the warmth of your embrace? For your delicate fingers against my collar? The calming smell of your cigarettes? He tells me to stay at home, to rest and stay hydrated, and I do. I lay in bed all morning and think of you.

It feels strange, writing it to you like this. When was the last time we were together – truly together? I think of the weight of you in bed beside me, your hand trailing down my arm, and I get goosebumps. We thought we’d have all the time for another date, another kiss, another touch. Or at least, I did. You’re always so ahead of things. Did you know? And do you know, now, that I am lying in bed again, dizzy with the thought of you?

If I close my eyes, tilt my head back, stretch my back just right… I can almost feel you. Your fingers on my stomach, your kisses on my lips, and both trailing down. You could push aside my skirt and set your hand upon my thigh. And I know you like the way I taste against your tongue, but I want to taste you, too. You do everything for me, Yulia, and never ask for much in return. I want to return your kindness, reciprocate the love you show me. Let me undress you. Let me push your sweater away and kiss your breasts. I know you’re not as open as I am, but at least let me roll your tights down and press my lips to you. I’ll keep your leg supported by my shoulder, and you won’t have to worry for a thing!

Perhaps I shouldn’t make this letter so intimate. I don’t know if you would like to receive such a thing. These kinds of thoughts are better whispered in close quarters, over low-lit candles and bottles of twyrine. Then I could tell you all the things I want to do, the ways I want to hear you say my name.

When this Pest is over. I want to feel you, the sheets, and nothing else.

All my love,
Eva

(dated November 23rd, 19XX)

Artemy,

I can’t say I’m displeased that you think of me as such a gentleman, but wherever did you get the idea I’d be prudish? Are you sure that’s not projection, my dear? I’ve received letters of sexual intent from many past lovers. I can’t say all of them did something for me. The words are nice, of course; always good to know you leave an impact on the person you’re romancing, but I find it difficult to get off from words on paper.

You, on the other hand… I can imagine your face going bright with blush. Have you ever received such a missive? A little part of me hopes that you haven’t. I’d really like to be your first. It’s such a shame we couldn’t fuck before I had to leave Town. Sex isn’t everything, of course, but sex with you would be so nice. I used to listen to you dream when you slept in my bed, listen to your little grunts and imagine them coming harder, faster. Then you’d wake, and the outline of your cock would press against your trousers and I’d wonder what you dreamt of that you woke in such a state. I’d gotten myself jealous, thinking it was one of your barely-clothed steppe girls – but now, I wonder. Was it me you were dreaming of? Should I have given into reckless urge and woken you with my mouth around your cock? You’d look good with your eyes blown wide, mouth a little open, hand in my hair and bucking into my face.

I hope you’re touching yourself just reading about it. Sitting on that matt you call a bed in your workshop, fist around your length. Would you like to know all the ways I touch myself when I think about you? Because I do, Artemy. I think of you when I’m on my back in bed, tugging on myself. It never feels like enough, because it’s never you. And I’d prefer your hands over mine – on my chest, on my thighs, stroking me. I coat my fingers in oil and run them over my entrance, pretending yours are the fingers that open me.

Did you know I’d get on hands and knees for you? You should feel honored. Few men ever see that side of me. I don’t know that you’d like it. You’re too sentimental. You’d want to see my face when we’re “making love”. But just once, you should take me like this. You’ll slide in deeper with my hips angled down, body pleading for your cock. You can push my face into the mattress and fuck me ‘til you have me in tears, begging you to let me come. This is what I think of when I sink on my fingers: You, filling me, not even needing to touch my prick to make me dirty the sheets. And the neighbors must think I have you over, for I’ve cried out your name so many times this week, just pleasuring myself.

I should be back within the month, and then we can try out your bed together. You’ll want to do something sensible for a date, I suspect, but I beg you: please, no theatre. I think we’ve had more than enough for a while.

Yours,
D. Dankovsky

we all love a good enimies to lovers plot that ends in mind-blowing sex. the inherent sexual tension between the muggers and guards is overwhelming and I'd like to see that fixed. please get as wild with a plot/backstory as you'd like but I WOULD like them to have sex. thank you.

feeding while fucking, anyone?
I prefer artemy as his partner, but if you have any other ships in mind - I would love to see that.
bonus if daniil is trans.

Artemy looks at him as though dividing him into sections for easier disassembly. And, perhaps, that’s exactly what he’s doing. Daniil doesn’t really mind the look in his eyes, leaning back in his seat with his arm slipped over the side. If Artemy wants to stare, well, who is Daniil to deny him the simple pleasure of admiring his body? Daniil turns his head, tilts it down to read the book on his desk, and toys with the clasp of his pin. Idly, like he doesn’t notice the shift in Artemy’s posture once his neck is exposed, like his peripherals don’t latch onto the trajectory of Artemy’s eyes. His fingers rest on his collarbone, pushing the top button of his shirt undone.

In one easy movement, Artemy is his. “How long are you going to tease me, Daniil?” Daniil knows his smile betrays his understanding. He’s not coy in the least, but then he’s always been proud of the way he can capture a man’s attention. Even men who insisted he was not their type fell to him in the end. Daniil is just good at getting what he wants, and Artemy is no different. He hears a groan at the expression on his face, and uncrosses his legs so they fall open a little, eyes focused on the lines of his book.

Or so he would have Artemy think. Artemy clearly isn’t buying it, setting his own book aside on the bed and standing. He crosses to where Daniil sits, leaning into his space to kiss his neck. His scruff tickles Daniil’s skin, but he holds his body still, not wanting to let onto the goosebumps that rise on his skin. He wants Artemy to work for his reward. He’ll get there in good time, anyway. Artemy’s hand is soft against his cheek, teeth scraping against his neck as he kisses with intent. His hand skims the surface to the clasp of his pin, fidgeting with it. It comes loose rather easily, and Daniil hears the clink of the metal set against his desk.
His hand goes next to Daniil’s thigh, pushing it open. Daniil tries to slide his other leg over, but finds himself stopped in place by Artemy’s knee resting in the chair right in front of his lap. He acquiesces; Artemy has made it impossible now to look anywhere else, hand curved to direct Daniil’s gaze toward him. Daniil smiles in a way he hopes comes across as oblivious, infuriating but pleasant. Whatever his expression implies, Artemy ignores. He touches the corner of Daniil’s lips with his own, and Daniil starts to follow, eyes lidded.

He pulls back before Daniil can catch up to him. His lips linger on Daniil’s chin, right hand tugging the fabric from around his neck. Daniil guess his trajectory, and knocks his head back to let Artemy press soft kisses to his throat. He squirms in his seat, groin pressing against Artemy’s knee. His fingers curl against the page of his book, not quite ready to admit defeat. He won’t rut against Artemy’s knee. Aroused, yes, but he’s not desperate. His head comes down to rest his chin on Artemy’s hair as his eyes flick back to his book, Artemy’s fingers working on the top button of his shirt.
Daniil feels Artemy’s nose brush against a sideburn, a small warning before teeth start to tug on his ear lightly. His hasty left hand drifts to Artemy’s hip, but he holds his own in place. Artemy knows his weak points, kissing the section behind his ear, making his way back to Daniil’s jaw. He pinches, softly, and Daniil’s eyes flutter shut, reminding himself to breathe even.

A weight seems to move from his chest, and he realizes that Artemy has managed to undo his vest buttons while he was otherwise occupied. Heat burns in Daniil’s cheeks, but the sudden splash of color is all he’ll permit Artemy to see. He turns the page of his book idly, trying not to get caught up in watching his shirt stripped away. Artemy’s fingers are so light on his stomach that he shifts, rubbing against Artemy’s knee, and curses internally, blinking rapidly. Artemy is starting to win.

Artemy tugs at the strap of his binder with a little whine, lips moving along Daniil’s shoulder wetly. Daniil’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, his breath stuttering as Artemy’s hand slips up his binder to touch his cleavage. His hands are warm and rough against Daniil’s cold and sensitive skin, and he feels his nipples harden at the promise of fingers that never quite touch them. Artemy leaves his binder pulled up as he sinks to the floor, his hands pulling Daniil’s hips to a slouch in the chair. He kisses along Daniil’s stomach, working at the button and zipper of his trousers. He slides Daniil’s pants down to his knees and works his way back up, the scratch of his beard titillating on the inside of Daniil’s thighs.
By the time his mouth presses against Daniil’s clothed sex, the fabric of his undergarments have gone damp. “You’re not really interested in that book, Kheerkhen,” he says, kissing up Daniil’s stomach. His fingers slide under Daniil’s thighs, pulling him forward.

And Daniil lets himself be manhandled. “I suppose not,” he agrees, book falling to a close on the desk. He inclines his head to take Artemy’s kiss, but misses. Artemy’s mouth lands on his neck, lips pressed to his pulse and nipping. Daniil frowns, wrapping his legs around Artemy’s chest. Artemy pushes at his shoulder for his coat to fall on the back of the chair he sits on, and Daniil assists. He starts to pull his binder over his head and feels Artemy lean up on the chair, his lips closing over a nipple, pulling it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around. Daniil feels his heart race, frustrated with his position. He thinks of palming Artemy through his trousers, but there’s no easy way for him to reach from where he is.

The chill air of the room hits when Artemy moves his mouth to kiss back down Daniil’s stomach, pulling his undergarments off slowly. Daniil looks down the line of his body with impassivity, allowing Artemy to part his thighs and kiss the insides. Daniil threads his fingers through Artmey’s hair, tugging as moves inward, lips only lingering over Daniil’s folds for a moment before moving to the other thigh. Daniil tries not to let on to the way his grip tightens, body sliding another inch until his lower half hangs completely off the chair, but he loses a semblance of composure as an oiled digit slips between his cheeks, pressing against his hole.
“This would be easier on the bed.” Artemy says it casually, not waiting for a response before his tongue slides between Daniil’s folds.

“I’m fine,” Daniil says, but he knows his demeanor gives him away. He tips his head back, letting his hips roll against Artemy’s mouth. He doesn’t mind relaxing his body to let the finger press up inside of him, grinding his teeth to keep from biting his lip. Artemy’s mouth leaves his folds as he presses his finger in, kissing just below his navel and hooking Daniil’s right leg over his shoulder for support. Daniil plays at lazy, letting Artemy be the one to nudge his thigh open to give his finger more room to press in Daniil’s body.

A second finger rubs against his hole and his fingers tug in Artemy’s hair. Artemy takes the pull as encouragement to sink his teeth in Daniil’s thigh, fingers breaching his body. Daniil’s mouth parts and he wiggles, sex growing wetter, pushing himself down on Artemy’s fingers. Artemy sucks on his flesh, fingers spreading, and it’s almost too much. Artemy’s fingers slide out and back in slowly, tongue pressed flat against his skin, and Daniil huffs. He’s going to fall off the chair at this rate.

“Alright,” Daniil says. Artemy’s fingers twist, and pause, waiting for Daniil to continue. “We can move.”

It doesn’t seem fair to Daniil that Artemy is still clothed while Daniil himself is nearly bare. Artemy doesn’t let him move himself, rearranging Daniil’s thighs to wrap around his waist and picking him up from the chair. It’s not a long walk to the bed, but Daniil could still protest. Wouldn’t be a good look on him, though, playing it as cool as he is. Better to let Artemy think this is how he expects to be treated. Artemy sets him down on the bed gently and kneels removes his boots, kicking them away before he kneels on the bed over Daniil.

Daniil removes his gloves and spreads his legs as a suggestion, but Artemy doesn’t reach for his belt or make any indication that their encounter is going to be progressing. Instead, he presses a finger to Daniil’s chest, and starts to…trace him, for lack of a better term. To plot his body out, down the middle, light over his navel, ending right at the start of his folds. He picks up and starts again, horizontally, from nipple to nipple, from hip to hip; and then, in spirals, over his heart, his lungs, his kidney. It’s oddly intimate, and Daniil doesn’t dare move.

Finally, Artemy leans down to kiss him. Daniil feels like he’s been starved, pulling a little too frantically at Artemy’s smock, loosing all the buckles he can reach and simply attempting to pull it up over his head when he fails to make a dent. He can feel Artemy’s lips in a smile against his own, and he reminds himself to go at it slower, to be the one to frustrate Artemy. Artemy does give into his demands, pulling away to drop his smock to the floor. Daniil runs his hands up Artemy’s stomach, feeling his own breath hitch when Artemy drops a kiss to his collarbone, kissing around his chest, circling his left nipple without ever taking it in mouth. His fingers just – tease his stomach, and Daniil finds himself rutting against nothing. Artemy’s hand finally makes it between his legs, but his fingers don’t really penetrate him. They simply linger.
He has half a mind to start pleasuring himself, but he’s determined not to let Artemy see him like that. He watches Artemy uncap the oil and drizzle it on his fingers, turning Daniil to his side to press his fingers between his cheeks again. It’s three this time, and Daniil can’t control the way his mouth opens and his hips shift back to shove them in further. His hands tighten in the sheets, rocking onto his back. Artemy’s other hand settles on his thigh, thumb caressing his folds, pressing down near the top. Daniil grinds up against his thumb, body throbbing.

Artemy twists his finger, and pulls them out. For a moment, he simply looks at Daniil, deciding what to do next. And Daniil stares back, hoping some word will come to mind for him to get things back on track. “You’d make such a pretty wreck,” Artemy tells him. Daniil nearly balks at him, but Artemy takes his lips again, fingers falling between his legs and rubbing him fast. His finger presses against his entrance, and Daniil’s riled up enough now that he accepts it easily, hands tight on Artemy’s sweater. His hand is shaky as he reaches down to rub the bulge of his trousers, and Artemy bucks against his hand, but it’s not enough to put Daniil in the lead. Artemy’s pressed a second finger inside him and curled his fingers.

And Daniil makes a simply embarrassing noise in return. His eyes are shut too tight to see the grin Artemy gives him, but he can feel it when he bites the other man’s lip. It’s smug.

“Take off your clothes.” Daniil intends his words to come out bossy, a command, but Artemy’s fingers are just shy of brushing right where he needs them. The words leave his mouth as a plea, and what it earns him is Artemy’s fingers pulled out and rubbing his folds. Fucking tease. Daniil gives a hard tug to the waistband of his trousers, and Artemy simply lets him, not responding to his command. His fingers are wet when they move, pushing his thigh to the bed and scooting down to wrap his lips around the top of his sex and suck. Daniil’s hips jerk, but there’s nowhere for him to go, feeling those fingers press inside him again. His fingers skirt around the areas that make Daniil’s toes curl, Daniil only half-realizing that he’s been trying to arch his body to bring them closer to where he needs. Artemy dodges his efforts every time, pulling back just when Daniil’s about to hit something.

He angles his hips, and presses down, only to find Artemy pulling his fingers out of his ass. “Artemy,” he says, and his voice comes out high-pitched and whiny. Artemy’s eyes flicker up, his tongue pressed flat against his folds and dragging up as he moves. He leans on his elbows, brow quirked. “Please,” Daniil says. It’s the closest he’s gotten to begging before. Fingers press between his folds and enter him again, and his grip tightens against the sheets. How long is he going to keep doing this?

Artemy considers him for a moment. “You look good like this,” he comments. “Mouth open, but you’re not saying anything. Legs spread, cheeks flushed, brown blown out by black in your eyes.”

“Please.” The word slips out before he can tell himself to calm down. How many fingers has Artemy slipped inside him now? It feels like four – oh, and he spreads them, and Daniil gasps audibly, Artemy’s stubble brushing his skin, those fingers curling toward him – “Please!”

“Please what?” Artemy asks. Daniil can hear his heart pounding in his ears, Artemy’s following the curve of his ass to press against his hole. He really is going to keep doing this all night, teasing him until it drives him crazy. And Daniil’s lost any semblance of control over his body, working his hips down on Artemy’s fingers, always chasing when Artemy starts to pull away. His teeth dig at his lip.

His body squeezes on nothing, and groans in his exhale. The words just slip out of his mouth: “Fuck me. Please, god. Put it in.
A horrible second passes in which Artemy doesn’t touch his body at all. Daniil watches him strip off his sweater and lean down, Daniil’s hands desperately clinging to the back of head, pulling him down for a kiss. Artemy’s tongue presses between his lips and he keens, legs wrapping around his partner’s waist. The fabric of his trousers is too much under his skin, and he starts trying to kick the fabric down with his heels. Artemy laughs him, a rumble that radiates through his chest. “You’re a mess, Danya,” he chides, but he does rock back onto his knees and start to pulls trousers down. Daniil watches him pull his cock out and stroke it, terrified for a moment that Artemy’s going to finish himself off and leave Daniil on his own. But Artemy doesn’t; he takes Daniil’s thigh in his hand and pulls it up to his chest, holding himself stead to press inside.
Daniil knows his traitorous body reacts before he can even hope to steel himself, though Artemy’s already called it. He’s a mess. “You look debauched,” Artemy says, free hand feeling up Daniil’s chest. “Like I said. Looks good on you.” His hips start to work, but slowly. “You’re really so gorgeous when you’re wanting, knuckles white in the sheets, back arched up to meet me.” Daniil flushes, and Artemy leans to kiss him, moves deliberate. “And I thought you looked good before. Nothing compares to this.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Artemy rolls his hips, and the noise that leaves his mouth is like a whimper. Artemy whispers meaningless encouragements into his ear, thrusts finally starting to pick up as Daniil squeezes around him. He puts a hand on Artemy’s back, digging his nails in, finally managing to groan out the word, “Faster.”
“Faster?” Artemy repeats, but his pace doesn’t quicken. It starts to slow to a crawl, even as Daniil squeezes on him. He looms over Daniil, movements stopped, staring at him. “You want me to go faster?”

“Please.” That word has fallen out of his mouth more times tonight than in the past two months put together. “I’m so –“ He swallows. His body throbs. Artemy puts a hand on his cheek, and he realizes it’s wet. He tries to grit his teeth, but it fails.

“Beautiful.” Artemy kisses his cheeks, brushing the tears away with his thumb. “How badly do you want it, Daniil? Would you get on your hands and knees for it?”

His pride squeezes at him. Any other time, any other person – it would be so easy to say no. But he finds himself rolling over without giving a proper answer, ass in the air. He feels Artemy shift, hears him tinkering with something in the background before his slicked-up cock rubs between his cheeks. “You’re pretty like this, too,” he praises, his hand on Daniil’s spine making him arch. The head of his cock pushes between his cheeks, against his entrance, and inside him. Daniil moans as he sinks in. “Seeing you like this… Hm. I never want to pull out.”

Daniil opens his mouth to tell him to get on with it, but his hips are gripped tight into a sharp thrust that leaves him shouting. Artemy hadn’t lied. With their bodies aligned he starts to snap his hips hard and fast, and Daniil knows he’s muttering nonsense under his breath as Artemy fucks him. He grips the sheets with a sudden intensity, body bursting with heat as Artemy presses into something that makes him shout. His legs tremble slightly, nearly giving way when he cries out, orgasm taking over. His vision goes spotty for a moment, and he hears Artemy curse behind him, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room as he feels Artemy tense and release. His body pulses around Artemy’s cock as his thrusts slow and stop.
He feels Artemy looking at him a moment longer before he pulls out, hands gentle as he turns Daniil to lay on his side. Artemy moves off the bed for a moment to remove his trousers completely, and lays back down with his arms wrapped around Daniil.

“You’re pretty in the aftermath, too,” he says, nose rubbing against his neck. He kisses every inch of skin he can reach. Daniil tries to scoff at him, but he doesn’t manage to make much of a noise. “Is pretty the wrong word? Handsome.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Daniil mumbles. Artemy kisses his neck. “I never beg like that,” he states, just so they have it on record. “Don’t expect me to do that again.”

Artemy laughs. “I know,” he says. “I don’t.”

Cliché prompt, but... Artemy gets caught jacking off by someone else, and what happens next is fair game. Do they join in? Do they sneak away to guiltily think about what they saw? Is Artemy completely embarrassed by it? Does the embarrassment somehow make it even better for him? You decide, dear anon!

I'd be interested most in the other person being either Daniil, Grief,
Eva, or Andrey, but it can be anyone (the only one I'm iffy on is with Rubin). Trans headcanons are a-ok!

Rubin takes care of Dankovsky after he's been hurt and Daniil is...very receptive to his colleague's hands and maybe a bit flirty.
I want a medical examination that turns sexual between these two, bonus for Daniil being very blunt and some flustered Rubin.

Yulia spanking her partner please thank you
bonus for gentle but firm Yulia and loving aftercare

“Tell me what you see.” What a ridiculous question, Daniil thinks. I’ve got a blindfold on. I can’t see anything. But he hears, hears the heels of those fine leather shoes as they tap against the wood of the stage, the accompanying sound of the cane as Mark sets it down just ahead of himself, wood creaking when he leans against it. This, he can imagine: that suit, the scarf, Mark’s face in the dim lighting and the dust in the air around them. He can imagine the wood worn thin from rehearsal after rehearsal, scratches and chips from set pieces moved and dropped and dismantled against it.

But that wasn’t the question. And they’ve been over this before. ‘Not ‘what do you imagine,’ Bachelor; what do you see?’ Daniil’s brows furrow and his shoulders tug where he’s kept in place, tied too tightly to the chair. Mark will let him sit here and wait, agitated, until he gives the man a proper answer. “I see a town,” Daniil says. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. And it fits, doesn’t it? This is the role he was given to play. And if he doesn’t see it yet, he will soon enough.

“Is that all?” Mark seems to be behind him, now, leaning in so their knees press together. The touch would make Daniil shudder, if he could move. He feels the heat all pool in the same location, throbbing any time he feels something like contact. “Normally I can’t get you to shut up. Even when you’re not in the script. You ad lib too much.” He taps Daniil’s heel, but there’s nowhere for them to go, either. He doesn’t imagine the Bachelor would sit like this, but he’s not really in character yet. This has been more of a brainstorming session, director to actor. “You see a town,” Mark repeats. “And what sort of town is it?”

At least they finally seem to be getting somewhere. “A small town,” Daniil says. He can picture it now. Rows of townhouses, of little flats. Twisting walkways, made of stone. A few manors. Grocery stores on the bottom levels of apartments. “A quaint one. Not even a suburb. Rural. Far out in the steppe –“

“No, no, no,” Mark interrupts. “You’re being too literal.” Daniil tries to roll his shoulder, and the rope tugs at his skin painfully. A drop of sweat slides down his neck, under his collar. How long have they been out here? “Think, Bachelor: What is town?” A spread of land with people. With homes and buildings. Shops, families. But those answers had gotten a hard whack across his thighs, and no relief in his position. He feels Mark to his right, feels his eyes following the curve of his shoulder. Daniil’s ass is asleep, and all wiggling his hips does is rub his erection against the front of his trousers.

Not enough. Mark knows what he’s doing. “A town is a body,” Daniil says. It will have the names of one. Flank, chine, backbone. He tries to picture the form it will take, but it is nothing like a human’s. A cancerous form, a blob. A head too large, a stomach too wide, legs unfit to carry it.

He thinks Mark coos the word Good, but it’s spoken too softly for him to hear. It wasn’t meant for him, anyway; not a praise, but an acknowledgement of progression. “And what are you, Bachelor?” Not a man, he thinks. That’s not what Mark would want to hear. Something more abstract. If a Town is a body, then what is a person?

“I am not the Bachelor yet. The play has not begun.” Mark clicks his tongue against his teeth. Wrong answer. Daniil feels Marks knees press against his own, and can imagine how he stands, resting his weight on his cane to loom over Daniil. The height difference is not so great, but when he’s got Daniil bound to a chair the way he has…

Long fingers, cold fingers, press against his jaw. He doesn’t pretend this is a gentle caress. This is Mark, angling his face upward. And there’s no pretense, either, that Daniil can see him. It’s not about what Daniil can do, it is about Daniil obeying. “Do you even know why I’ve brought you here? Why you’re bound as you are?” Mark asks. It’s a rhetorical question. Daniil could only provide him sarcastic answers, anyway. Strangest audition I’ve ever been to. “How can you portray a man who seeks to overcome the limitations of Death if you yourself only rely on what you can see, on what you can touch?” The fingers slide down his jaw to grip his chin.

The ropes feel tighter against his chest, and he realizes he’s being pulled against them. His erection throbs. Transcend your boundaries, indeed. Daniil moves back, out of Mark’s grip. He waits for the blow to his thighs, body rigid, his tongue between his lips.

But it never comes. The hand leaves his face. He doesn’t hear Mark move away, though their knees no longer knock together. There’s a pressure, suddenly, against the base of his cock, and Daniil tries to squirm. Mark’s voice is calm, somewhere above his head. “What do boundaries do, Bachelor?” The more Daniil struggles, the better it feels. “Do they confine us?”

“They define us.” He doesn’t know why the answer comes as easily as it does. The pressure dissipates, and Daniil groans in frustration. He feels something, a hand, pushing on his thigh. He feels his zip being pulled, and nothing else. The implication is clear: Go on. “Our responses to our boundaries define us. How we react.”

His cock is pulled free of his trousers. The grip on it is almost painful. “And how does one overcome their boundaries? How do you transcend?”

“You step outside.” He doesn’t need to be asked, Of what? His hips are dying to move, to grab at any stimulation. “You step outside of yourself, of the role you portray.” He gasps as the hand drags up his length, as a digit pushes hard against the slit. He hates how easily riled up he’s gotten, how the bonds put in place have sunk heat so heavily in his stomach. This is not his preferred method of sex, but they’ve been here over an hour now and he’s been on edge for half of it.

He doesn’t dare entertain the thought of Mark’s mouth around him. His voice comes from somewhere he can no longer place, head dizzy. “Good.” Mark’s hand on his cock is tight, his strokes a statement. Each one feels abrupt, and when Daniil’s orgasm hits him he isn’t quite expecting it. He grunts, overstimulation setting in as the hand pulls him to a twitching mess. It’s a moment before the hand pulls away, sitting with his cock falling against his trousers.

“I think we can call the scene,” Mark says.

a/n: sorry for the bad pun in the title. i know this turned partially into pillow-talk fic, and i sort of blacked out and wrote this all in one night, but i'm hoping it's what you were looking for, anon! i decided to write this with trans masc daniil.
-----

"Burakh, oh God -- God, please. Please," Dankovsky pants, spreading his legs wider around Artemy's hips to take his cock deeper inside of him. "I've wanted this -- you so damn badly, mn...!"

Artemy had no idea that Dankovsky would be so vocal in bed, and so enthusiastic. He perhaps uncharitably thought Dankovsky might have been a bit of a selfish lover, wanting his partner to do the work for him while lounging back. Instead, Artemy is having to keep up with the frantic pace Dankovsky has set, meeting the roll of his hips with thrusts upwards into the overwhelmingly warm, tight body above him.

"I-It must have been a while for you, yes?" Dankovsky asks, making short noises of exertion on every downward movement he makes. "You must be -- nngh -- so pent up..."

"I... Yeah. Yeah, I think," Artemy responds, dumbfounded and somewhat dazed at the sight of Dankovsky being so disheveled and reckless on his lap. He grips onto the Bachelor's hips tightly and relishes the feeling.

Dankovsky looks down at Artemy, face flushed and mouth in a slack smile. "Going to fill me, Burakh? Spend inside of me? I won't stop you -- not at all."

Artemy pulls Dankovsky down into a sloppy kiss, distracting him from working his hips, but Dankovsky's body clenches tightly around his cock in a way that feels nearly unreal. Artemy didn't really imagine their first time together being so impromptu and so desperate, but it felt right, taking the Bachelor and being taken in return like this. It's heat and it's pleasure and it's the culmination of weeks of dancing around the inevitable.

"If that's what you want, yes. God, yes."

Dankovsky could just about ask for just about anything and Artemy can't think of anything that would make him deny the Bachelor in that moment.

"I'm going to be the first, right?" Dankovsky asks against Artemy's lips, words pressured by his rapid breaths. "The first one you come inside like this?"

Artemy nods and Dankovsky's fingers flex on Artemy's chest as he shudders, starting to rock backwards onto Artemy's length in this new position. Dankovsky's slick mixed with Artemy's pre-cum has made quite the mess out of the inside of both of their thighs.

"Good." The words come out from Dankovsky's throat roughly. "You... You'll love it. Filling me, taking me -- ah! -- as all y-yours..."

The mental image of Dankovsky lying on his back, with his face, neck, and chest flushed red, his cunt still swollen with arousal and leaking with Artemy's own come is a sight that his mind deems as the most important thing he needs to make a reality. He grunts and pushes Dankovsky onto his back, who gasps at the second change in their position, which is replaced with a staccato litany of ah-ah-ah! as he throws his head back, hair a messy halo against the sheets and his hands gripping tightly onto Artemy's forearms.

"Still good?" Artemy manages to ask through his heavy breaths. He feels the telltale pressure settling around the base of his cock, but he wants to at least try to hold back and bring Dankovsky to orgasm before himself.

Dankovsky grits his teeth and nods rapidly, wrapping his legs around Artemy's waist and trying to pull him in as close as possible. Sweat rolls down Artemy's face and his back as he continues thrusting into Dankovsky's core, and he admires the way that Dankovsky's chest is heaving under his, dark chest hair on his pale skin poorly hiding how his blush had traveled down his neck to his sternum. He loves finally being able to look at the man beneath him, and wants to commit this moment to memory -- even if this is a one-time occurrence. He certainly hopes it isn't.

But the feeling of being too tightly wound is too much for Artemy, and he feels the need to warn Daniil, of the off chance the man had changed his mind within the short span of a few moments. "I-I'm going to come, Daniil...!"

"Inside. Please -- God, please come inside me," Dankovsky pleads, his eyes squeezed shut and his voice catching with his breath. "I need it, please, Artemy."

Artemy thrusts inside Dankovsky as deeply as he can, and spills inside of him, cock pulsing as he empties and his voice not allowing him to moan Dankovsky's name, despite him wanting to so badly. Dankovsky's sex tightens around him, and Artemy's hips jerk forward -- his orgasm lasting far longer than he thought possible.

"That's it... God, just like that..." Dankovsky groans, a deeply satisfied smile on his face, reaching down between his thighs to start rubbing roughly at his own swollen cock.

His walls spasm around Artemy; it's overstimulating and damn near painful with how sensitive he is, but Artemy doesn't want to stop. He starts thrusting again, a bit slower than before. The wet sound of his come and Dankovsky's slick being pushed inside the other man's cunt is obscene, but near divine at the same time.

Dankovsky must feel the same, as his body tenses and then shakes, back arching and chin pressing to his collar. Rather than moaning, Dankovsky comes with a hiss between his teeth that turns into a gasp. Artemy has to pull out for his own sake as Dankovsky's hips twitch upwards one, two, three times before he collapses limply onto the bed, chest rapidly rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

Artemy shifts himself backward and pulls out, resting on his heels despite the now-unignorable protesting from his knee to behold Dankovsky laying in post-coital bliss. The Bachelor had been right about having been pent up -- it's not as if Artemy had much time or thought to spare for himself since he'd gotten home in September; there was always something to do, something to see to, someone to take care of. It feels indulgent to drink in the sight of Bachelor Dankovsky looking so debauched, beautiful, and satisfied. Artemy can't help but feel an overwhelming fondness thud in his chest.

"What... Why are you so far away? Come back here," Dankovsky pants, reaching lazily towards Artemy, but not bothering to lift himself off the mattress. "I thought you were the romantic sort, and I'll be extremely cross with you if you don't live up to that expectation."

Once again, Artemy couldn't refuse the bachelor even if he tried, or hold back the short laugh that Dankovsky's wording evokes from him. He lies back down beside Dankovsky, collecting his smaller frame in his arms and pressing his lips to the side of his head.

"Better now?" he asks.

"Much," Dankovsky sighs, nosing against Artemy's chest and wrapping his arms around his middle. "I don't know about yourself, but I felt like this was long overdue."

"Which part? The part where I hold you or the part where I finish inside you?" Artemy earns a lazy swat at his back.

"The entire thing, you idiot," Dankovsky mumbles against his skin, but his words are devoid of any anger or even irritation.

Artemy strokes Dankovsky's black hair back, not minding the sweat it leaves on his hand. He kisses Dankovsky's head again and strokes down his spine lightly before settling his hand on Dankovsky's lower back; he likes seeing the hairs on his arms raise in response.

"It's hard to be the 'romantic sort' when you've got your face hidden like that."

"Well, you didn't say such vulgar things..."

"I'm saying what you were basically saying about a minute ago, Dankovsky."

"Daniil," Dankovsky corrects him. "I believe we've more than crossed the threshold for being on a first name basis."

"OK then, I was just saying what you were saying a minute ago, Daniil," Artemy repeats, not budging on the point.

Daniil turns so his cheek presses against Artemy's chest, faint stubble scratching lightly at his skin. "It would be cruel to hold me accountable for things I may or may not have said during that time, as I was emotionally compromised."

"'Emotionally compromised'?" Artemy asks, raising his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Daniil huffs, traces of a scowl in his voice. "Don't taunt me, or we won't be doing this again."

"You'd want this again?"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I would," Daniil responds quietly, tracing his fingers in lazy circles on Artemy's back. "It's not like I just ask for these things from just anybody."

Artemy impulsively reaches a hand down to slide between the coarse hair hiding Daniil's folds before slipping between them and rubbing two of his fingers across Daniil's cock lightly, earning him a sharp inhale from the Bachelor. He can feel his come on his fingers - still warm from being held inside Daniil's body. "Then is it too 'vulgar' to say I liked some of those 'things' you asked for?"

"Not if you keep doing that, no." Daniil shudders and his hand grabs at Artemy's back, his well-used sex trying to grip around Artemy's fingers involuntarily when he strokes between his folds, only for the digits to slide away back up to his cock.

Artemy leans down the best he can, trying to tempt the Bachelor into meeting him halfway and letting him kiss him properly. Daniil bares his neck to oblige, kissing him at languid pace that has Artemy feeling interest return and settle between his own legs.

"Give me a minute, and I'll fill you again, kheerkhen," he murmurs against Daniil's lips, taking great pride when he hears Daniil's breath catch in his chest again. Speaking in such an overtly sexual way to someone else feels somewhat foreign, but he's certain he'll get used to it, especially if he gets to practice while Daniil's hips twitch forward against his hand.

"Trying to spoil me are you?" asks Daniil, a wry smile on his face.

"Maybe, but you're not the only one who wants this."

As Artemy slides two fingers back inside of him, Daniil guides Artemy's head down to kiss the pleasured sounds out from between his lips.

Potential CW: alcohol and/or drug use.

There's a lot of fic about Daniil's wild times in university, so I'd like to see one about Artemy! What did he get up to? Flings, parties, classmates, teachers, culture shock, all that good stuff. I'm sure his time in the Capital wasn't all spent missing home.

SECONDED!!!
Pretty please, anyone.

OP here and wow thank you. This is perfect and exactly what I wanted. Thank you thank you!

By the time he makes his way back to the Lair, he's exhausted. His leg is cramped, his feet are sore, and he's getting a little tired of being accosted from every direction every time he has to make his way through a burned-out district. Luckily, he hasn't got it much worse than a couple new scrapes that'll scab over soon. Nothing needs stitches, no bones need to be set. When he gets into his warehouse, he can just sit back and rest.

The kids are gone - told Artemy they'd be back sometime the next day. He hadn't liked the idea at first, didn't feel comfortable with them roaming around the Town, the plague nipping at their heels - but these were self-sufficient kids who'd practically raised themselves without his help. He's sure they can manage an evening without him.

It gives him, anyway, some much-needed alone time.

Artemy enters his little room and pries his boots and socks from his feet, tucking them under his bed. He's got pockets filled with herbs and organs, enough to make another couple batches of painkillers once he gets the alembic warmed up. He goes through his pockets, sorting them as he waits, setting the food he's managed to procure in an untouched drawer to divide up later. He rolls his shoulders to work out the kinks in them, and indulges the idea of deft fingers prodding into them.

He flushes, and feels heat curling low in his stomach. He doesn't need to sleep. He'd stopped by the Stillwater and used Dankovsky's bed for that, and the scent of the man's cologne on his pillows left him wanting. It feels wrong, feels perverse to lust over someone with everything going on, but his hormones don't seem to care at all about the conditions of the world around him. And when he thinks of the Bachelor... His mind goes fuzzy, for a moment, drifted off to think about his soft, slow voice, the scars on his cheek, the deep brown of his eyes.

When he comes back to reality, and rubs his thigs together, he can feel how sensitive his sex is against the fabric of his undergraments. And this is another reason he's glad to have the Lair all to himself tonight. It's been quite a while since he's touched himself, and it's getting hard not to be distracted by every little when he so badly needs to get off.

Once he's got the bigger machine set up to brew antibiotics, Artemy moves to his sink to wash his hands thoroughly. He double-checks beneath his nails, cleans them out of dirt and soot, and dries them off the cleanest towel he can find. He walks himself back to his little room, toes curling against the floor, and pulls down his pants.

The air feels cool against the heat of his body, his thighs growing wet as he rubs them together. He moves his pillow to set it against the wall. He pushes himself up on the bed, thighs apart, and leans back, fingers covering the nub at the top of his groin, and rubbing in little circles. He doesn't keep lubricant here, isn't even sure where he'd find some given the chaos outside, so he wants to make himself good and wet before he tries going further. His mind wanders, again, thinking about the bow of Daniil's lips, the cut of his jaw, how soft his hands would probably feel beneath those gloves. Artemy's fingers slip down and rub between his folds, right hand curling on top of the mattress. He spreads his thighs farther, taking a second to pull his left thigh up on the bed before he presses a finger back against his entrance, and pushes.

It doesn't take much coaxing for his body to accept it, tilting his hips to rock his finger in and out. God, what would his fingers feel like, without the leather? Artemy can imagine them smooth, nails perfectly manicured, perhaps a little cold against the flush of his skin. He considers Dankovsky holding his folds open with one hand to finger him with the other, and slides a second finger inside along the first. To his own fingers he feels soft and sensitive, stretching his walls as he thrusts. And his own fingers feel rough against his skin, almost too rough to be pleasurable, but he's so damned horny it probably wouldn't matter what he was fucking himself with.

Somewhere in the distance he feels a tug, telling him to pay more attention. He ignores it; whatever it is he needs to do can wait until he's finished here, slick fingers pulling out to rub at his cock again. Artemy bites his lip, and starts to think of Dankovsky stripping for him, one ridiculous layer after the other until the peak of his collarbone is exposed, fingers breaching his body again as a pale expanse of chest comes to the forefront of his mind.

Then it shatters, like glass, when he hears the scuffle of a shoe against tile. Artemy's eyes blink open, a third finger pressed against his entrance. Dankovsky had been on the edge of turning around when Artemy catches his eyes. At least the other man has the decency to look as mortified as Artemy feels in that second, but it doesn't stop him from turning back around to face Artemy. "Burakh," he says, and then clears his throat for how high-pitched his voice has gotten. His eyes flicker down to Artemy's hand, and Artemy realizes with some embarrassment that he hasn't stopped his movements at all. Dankovsky shifts, and something about the way his coat flutters drags Artemy's eyes downward. There's an obvious tent to his trousers.

"Do you need something, emshen?" It's a little bold of him to keep going as he is, but Dankovsky's clearly transfixed by his fingers, and not at all repulsed the way Artemy would have otherwise feared. His brown eyes are blown so wide the hue is nearly gone from them, and when he shifts weight between feet, his erection becomes all the more obvious. "Or are you here to give me a hand?"

"A hand is not what I would give you." How he manages to say it so politely is bizarre, borderline hilarious. His eyes have finally turned back to Artemy's face, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Was that an invitation?"

"And here I thought you were the brilliant one." His tone lacks the sarcasm needed to pass the statement off, but he's conflicted. Being caught should have made him stop, should have shut down whatever residual lust he had to work out, but here Daniil Dankovsky was staring at him with open desire, following the way his hips roll into his hand as he spreads his fingers. "Work it out for yourself."

Dankovsky takes another moment to watch him. "I haven't got a condom," he announces.

"I don't care," Artemy replies.

That seems to be enough for the Bachelor. He strides - for as much room as there is to do so - from the doorway to bed, pushing Artemy's thighs apart. The movement pulls Artemy further down the bed, and he winces in discomfort as his knee hits the edge of a crate sharply. He thinks Daniil is too dazed to notice, but his attention pivots rather quickly. "Would this be easier for you lying horizontally?" Artemy nods, a little embarrassed to have to change anything. But Daniil crawls up with him, hovering over him, between his legs. He takes more care in unbuckling and unzipping his trousers than Artemy had, and Artemy watches, mouth dry, as Daniil removes his right glove, and strokes his cock.

Artemy tries to spread his legs, his right one falling off the mattress as he does. Dankovsky grips himself by the base as he presses between Artemy's folds, set against his entrance. He rocks his hips forward, and Artemy feels his body too readily grab at him. Daniil sets his left hand on Artemy's thigh, his right next to his head, and rolls his hips. Artemy gasps as Daniil fills him slowly, and tries to grab at his back. His fingers meet with snakeskin, and he groans, tugging at it. "Take this stupid thing off." Daniil scowls at him, but doesn't argue, and Artemy pushes his hands up the back of Daniil's shirt, sinking his nails into his skin.

Daniil moans, and Artemy feels his sex grow wetter around the cock inside him. "Please," Artemy says, his voice low as its ever been, "Start moving." His left hand goes tighter on Artemy's thigh, and he obliges, thrusts long and full. Artemy gasps, breath noisy as it catches in his mouth, pulling at Daniil's back as his hips snap. Daniil rests his forehead against Artemy's, his breath hot as it comes out between his teeth. The sound of their bodies moving together is wet and loud in the space they occupy, and it's almost more than Artemy can handle. Daniil shifts his hips when he thrusts and Artemy cries out, body squeezing hard around Daniil. He hears his partner swear under his breath, and his thrusts pick up speed, jostling the mattress beneath them.

He's so close. Daniil pushes his thigh up, and he whimpers, his left leg wrapping around Dankovsky's waist. He looks down in time to see Daniil sticking his middle finger between his lips, tugging the glove off. Even before the fingers cover his cock, he feels a spike of arousal; and when they do, rubbing him intently, he bucks his hips up into Daniil's. Daniil fucks him fast, and Artemy punctuates each thrust with a wordless noise, until his cock brushes something and Artemy shouts, hips rolling up again. Daniil doesn't need to be told what to do, gripping his left thigh and repeating the movement until Artemy seizes on him, spasming around his cock. Daniil huffs, moving his hand from Artemy's sex to grip the side of the mattress as he thrusts hard, three times, and starts to come.

Artemy lays with his ears ringing, breath hard in his chest, feeling Dankovsky cock throb between his now too-sensitive folds. He shifts his hips uncomfortably, and Daniil moves, sitting back on his knees and tucking his cock back in his pants. Artemy feels his cum spill out of his body, and flushes. Oh, that was not safe, but oh, how he wants to do it again.

Dankovsky seems to take the shift of his hips as a cue to get up off the bed, stepping around his dropped coat and gloves to tuck his shirt back into his pants. "Well," he says. "I did have a question when I arrived, but I'll be damned if I can remember what it was now." Artemy can't bring himself to apologize. He has enough on his plate without someone adding more to it. Dankovsky retrieves his gloves, sliding them back on, and Artemy stores away in his memory the image of him peeling one off with his teeth. He'll have fun alone with that one. "I'd say we should do that again."

"But...?"

"But perhaps, you'll let me buy you dinner first." Dankovsky smirks at Artemy's dumbfounded expression. His eyes travel down his form again, to his splayed legs. Something feels like promise in the way Daniil licks his lips at the sight before he turns. "I'll see you later," he says, "If I remember my question, or come up with something better."

so much bedsharing fics with these two and nothing where daniil wakes up with his dear colleague's hard dick on his ass and getting obscenely turned on by it, much to his distress. artemy wakes up and is turned on by the fact that daniil is so flustered by it, and maybe tries to take care of their situation.

artemy gently teasing daniil is a major plus. no preference on if daniil is trans or cis. just nothing where daniil acts without permission, obviously.

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