Pathologic Kink Meme!

[maximumhusky]

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

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Aspity/Aglaya- interrogation

[(Anonymous)]

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.

FILL 1/2 - Aspity/Aglaya- interrogation

[(Anonymous)]

Aglaya shifted her weight between her legs as she stood in the drafty hallway of the home where they said the woman who first brought the plague lived. There’d been no answer to her repeated knocking, so Aglaya had tried the handle and the door had swung wide open. She’d called out to no response, and now she stood quietly in the doorway, weighing her options.

It wasn’t likely the woman had fled - she’d been here since the last plague, after all. But to leave her home unlocked and unguarded was dangerous with the way muggers and thieves had begun to roam the streets in the daylight. Aglaya’s heart pounded as she considered the other possibilities. Was the woman dead? Or worse, infected?

Aglaya had been lucky to make it here all the way from the Cathedral unscathed, it’d be a shame to step right into a cloud of stale, sick air now. And yet, her duty called her. Aglaya needed to investigate every person of interest, and this woman, Aspity, was the last person she had to speak to.

The others had been easy to summon and even easier to interrogate, each with their own thinly concealed agenda. But Aspity didn’t play by the rules, it seemed, and neither Bachelor nor Haruspex, nor even the little Changeling seemed to have much influence with her.

So, the situation assessed, Aglaya stepped forward, a loud creak sounding from the floorboards as she moved. She sucked in a breath, the hair on the back of her neck rising as she crept down the hallway, heartbeat pounding in her ears. At the end of the hallway, a familiar looking doll sat haphazardly on a crate, and Aglaya’s hand twitched towards her holster as she grew closer to the doorway at the end of the hall.

It was completely dark on the other side of the doorway, and every muscle in Aglaya’s body was tense as she stepped through.

“People usually wait for an invitation,” a low voice drawled out, and Aglaya’s jaw dropped in a silent scream as she jumped, both arms stretched out in front of her tightly gripping her pistol. A scratchy laugh followed, and fury raced white hot through Aglaya’s veins as she lowered her gun.

“People usually answer a summons from the Inquisitor,” she snapped, professional demeanor momentarily forgotten. “Didn’t you hear me knocking at the door?”

Aspity looked down at the floor, disinterested. “You must not have been pounding hard enough,” she answered.

Aglaya frowned, already desperate for the interaction to be over. No wonder no one had been able to haul the woman into the Cathedral for questioning. “You’re quite lucky I came down here to question you rather than simply hand you over to the guards.”

“Oh, how kind of you, Lady Inquisitor,” Aspity said, looking at her fingernails.

It wasn’t easy to get under Aglaya’s skin, she’d been an Inquisitor for years, after all. She was trained to deal with all kinds of criminals and villains, and she was not going to let some stubborn woman out in the steppe get a leg up on her.

“You’re welcome,” she responded airily. “Now, how long have you been living here?”

The woman’s dark gaze was piercing as she looked Aglaya up and down from across the room. “Since I was born,” Aspity replied. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask such simple questions after coming all the way here.”

“I’m merely establishing your background,” Aglaya said coolly, her composure returning. “But wait, that’s…” She paused for a moment, considering. “Everyone I’ve spoken to said you appeared in the town just five years ago. This isn’t my first time doing this, you know.”

Aspity smirked, stepping closer. “If you were smarter, you’d have stayed back home in the Capitol.”

Jaw clenched, Aglaya inhaled deeply through her nose, willing herself not to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her affected. “I could have you killed for lying,” she said, but Aspity continued to look unaffected.

It was irritating, so terribly irritating that Aglaya’s mere presence wasn’t enough to make the woman submit. The cold façade she’d spent years crafting and perfecting, her power and authority, her learned intimidation, all of it meant nothing to this short woman clothed in rags.

“What do you know about the shabnak-adyr?” Aglaya asked, moving along with her questioning; she didn’t have all day.

Now Aspity smiled, the low light glinting against her sharp teeth, lips stretched almost gleefully. “Funny you should ask,” she said, drawing ever nearer.

Aglaya felt her heel move off the ground, her weight shift as she began to step backwards, but then stopped. What was it about this woman that had her so out of sorts? Her pulse moved quickly against her neck, and her mouth was dry as she moved her foot back to its original position.

“Are you afraid of me, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Aglaya shot back. “Stop avoiding the question, I’m well aware of your knowledge on the Kin and their beliefs.”

Aspity pouted, a mocking gesture. “All right, dear, I’ll take pity on you, since you really are helpless.”

Aglaya refused to rise to the bait, stared impassively at the woman before her in silence, waiting.

“The shabnak is an evil spirit, a mere skeleton that needs a woman’s flesh to cover its bones. The one who brought the Sand Plague, who will bring ruin to this town to balance the scales.” Aspity was solemn as she spoke but smirked again as soon as she finished. “Do you believe that, Inquisitor? There’s just one person bringing disease to this town, and once you have them hanged everything will go back to normal?”

“I’d rather like for that to be the case,” Aglaya said, “but that’s merely fairy tale thinking. It’s true that this town is testing the limits of reality, it’s grown far too unnatural to ignore. It would be nice if I could wrap this up easily - a little miracle of my own.”

Aspity laughed, “I wasn’t expecting a government official to be so idealistic. So, you believe these people deserve to die? All because someone built a structure out of wishes and dreams?”

Aglaya frowned and stepped forward, drawing herself up to her full height so that the candlelight flickered under her chin, casting dramatic shadows across her face. “My job here is to save lives, not destroy them. You would do well to remember that.”

“I would, wouldn’t I?” Aspity moved closer still, her head tilting up and that same insufferable smirk still cut across her face. “But I’m not so sure. I think you already know who the shabnak-adyr is, isn’t that right?”

She wouldn’t back down, not now. “It would be prudent to wait until all the evidence has been gathered before making decisions such as that. Were I to have the wrong person executed, it would cost me my own life.”

“We certainly wouldn’t want that,” Aspity purred. “I’ll tell you how to find the shabnak, then.”

The woman was close to Aglaya now, far too close, and she was tilting her head up to murmur in Aglaya’s ear.

“Her legs are made of bone, with nothing to cover them. Were you to disrobe each woman in the town, you’d make quick work of it, wouldn’t you?”

Heat rose up the back of Aglaya’s neck. “Or, it would be a complete waste of my time while the shabnak slips away undetected.”

Warm lips brushed against the space just below Aglaya’s ear, “Perhaps you might even start here.”

Immediately, Aglaya stepped backwards. “Such insolence,” she reprimanded. “I’ve seen people put to death for much less.”

“Oh?” Aspity asked, her head cocked to the side. “And will you put me to death, Aglaya?”

The use of her name made Aglaya see red - perhaps she’d been wrong to ignore the woman’s cheek this long.

“Where were you during the riots?” Aglaya pressed.

“You really need me to tell you?”

“For the record,” Aglaya insisted, jaw tight. “Where were you?”

“In the termitary, of course,” she replied, as easy as it should have been the first time.

“But you weren’t locked in.”

“Of course not. I had others to rescue, you see. Keep them from being slaughtered by the likes of the townsfolk.”

Aglaya hummed, “So you do have a heart, after all.”

“Unlike you,” Aspity spat.

Hands curled into fists at Aglaya’s sides. “What are you implying?” She snapped.

“Come now, Aglaya, don’t look so surprised. You’ve only come here to save your own neck. You just need to find someone to label as the cause of this mess and then you’re free.”

“How did you -”

“Am I wrong?” Aspity’s eyes shone dark in the candlelight.

Aglaya was at a loss for words. “I - I’m here to do my job!”

“And your job involves going into innocent people’s homes and harassing them?”

“You left me no choice!” Aglaya exploded. “You brought this on yourself and now you’re mocking me?”

Aspity snickered, and as Aglaya fumed, her laugh grew louder and louder until she was doubled over, arms wrapped around her waist as though she might split apart at the seams.

“Oh, Inquisitor,” she gasped, “All it takes is a little push and your decorum completely vanishes.”

“You’ve been trying to make a fool of me since I’ve been here,” Aglaya hissed.

“Since you got into town, yes.”

Aglaya stepped forward, rising to her full height to look down at Aspity. “You think you’re so smart,” she said, “but you’re messing with the wrong person. I’ll call the guards into action the second I return to the Cathedral.”

Aspity gasped, eyes wide and Aglaya’s lips spread into a smile, reveling in the fear on the other woman’s face, the feeling she’d been trying to instill into her the moment she’d walked in the door. Candlelight danced across Aspity’s face, bright spots twinkling in her eyes. They were close enough now that Aspity’s breath tickled her face, cool and moist.

Without meaning to, Aglaya’s eyes traveled lower along Aspity’s jaw, down the tendon of her neck as it twitched. She licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry.

“It would be such a shame to kill me, wouldn’t it, Aglaya?”

“I’m not so sure,” Aglaya murmured. “I’m not quite sure you’re much use to me alive.”

A sudden, sharp noise split the air as Aspity cackled again, no doubt another joke at Aglaya’s expense. Aglaya wasn’t going to let her get away with treating her like this. She needed swift and effective punishment.

“Get on your knees,” Aglaya snarled, the skin on her nose wrinkling.

Aspity’s eyes were nearly black in the candlelight, and though the room was dim, Aglaya felt that she was watching someone starved gaze upon a feast. Her pulse quickened, breathing unsteady as Aspity’s gaze dropped down to her lips, her breasts.

Hardly any time had passed at all, but it seemed like an eternity before Aspity spoke, another challenge, “Make me.”

It seemed as though Aglaya had left her self-control back at the Cathedral, and she was no longer able to control her impulses. She’d only been trained in self-defense as far as it concerned firearms, yet she still lunged forward to grab Aspity’s cloak in her fists.

Just as quickly Aspity swung her fist forward, narrowly missing Aglaya’s face, she focused instead on grabbing Aglaya’s hair close to the roots, pulling it out of the neat bun that sat at the crown of her head. It stung as her head was sharply pulled to the side, and she released her grip on Aspity’s robes with one hand to claw wildly at her face.

“Why don’t you listen to me?” Aglaya screeched. It was immature, so incredibly childish, but so was the woman before her, and she was desperate to gain control of the situation.

A foot stomped down on hers and Aglaya yelped in pain, her other hand slipping off of the cloak, and then her hand was on the back of Aspity’s neck, and she was coming closer and then, as if it were happening in slow motion, their lips crashed together.

It hurt, like a misplaced headbutt, and Aglaya had definitely bitten her own lip in the process, but as she pulled away, breathless, she saw her own expression reflected in Aspity’s face, and she leaned down again, less forcefully this time.

Iron mixed with saliva, smeared across their lips as they kissed, more violently than Aglaya ever had before. She lost herself to it for a moment; the sharp teeth against her lips, mouth sucking roughly at her tongue, a hand gripping the back of her neck hard, as though she might turn and run away at any moment.

Their breath was loud, the only sound in the room save for the creaking of the house against the bitter wind outside. Finally, they both drew back, Aglaya dazed and breathless. For once, it seemed Aspity didn’t have a snarky comeback.

artemy/daniil - spit kink

[(Anonymous)]

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.

burakovsky public sex

[(Anonymous)]

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.

artemy/daniil breeding season

[(Anonymous)]

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

mugger/guard resolved sexual tension

[(Anonymous)]

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.

vampire daniil

[(Anonymous)]

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.

vampire!daniil/artemy (1/2)

[(Anonymous)]

There are two different modes of hunger warring for dominance in Daniil’s stomach, sitting with his back a little too straight against the chair, grip a little too tight around his pen. The first is an aching pit in his stomach, threatening to swallow his body whole. It saps his strength, pulling what little keeps him living down into an abyss in the pit of his belly as he tries, desperately, to focus on something of greater importance. In the city he could go for weeks without feeding and never notice the difference, but the Sand Pest has been a drain on all his resources and it tears at him, demanding he not ignore it. It’s like the claws of a cat sinking into his flesh, tongue running over the sharpened edges of his teeth as he tries to focus his attention on the microscope in front of him.

The second – the second is a burning skin, invigorating, attuning all of his attention in another direction, hyper aware of his surroundings. His eyes widen, his mouth waters, the ghost of his pulse elevates. Funny, how being dead didn’t change the sensation of arousal all that much. Fear, excitement, hunger. All of it the exact same as when he still had a beating heart. When his time comes, and the Pest or the citizens of this town make an end of him, he wonders what Burakh will see in the corners of his body. His brain must be what keeps him still ticking, still feeling all these things he shouldn’t when everything should have shut down.

Maybe he’ll ask him sometime. After the fog has lifted, the dense particles of sick have dispersed and the town is back to normal. He’ll offer him a drink and ask if he’s ever heard of creatures that roam the night in search of a warm body to feast into, what he’d make of how they live. He can see the sparkle in the bright hues of his eyes, laughing at Daniil for believing in something so childish. And Daniil will smile, ask the man to humor him, and take his words with him when he leaves. Because he must leave; in the City such things are regarded as a fairytale, a bedtime story, and Burakh is educated just enough to feel the same. But he is not the local population. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

The man on the bed stirs, and Daniil sucks his lip between his teeth, scribbling down a note on the sheet of paper he’s torn out to work with. Useless, all of it. What they need is some sort of chimera, and Daniil’s yet to see such a thing even here, where the impossible is probable. His further attempts at a vaccine are laughable at best, but that’s no reason to give up. He has such little in the way of options left to him.

He turns in his seat, arm over the back of his chair, and watches Artemy rest his feet upon the ground. He’s learned the rules of the house well enough to keep his shoes by the door to keep the bed free of the mud he’ll have collected in the indents. It’s just the sort of well-meaning but useless pleasantry Daniil is used to; it doesn’t, after all, mean the bed has actually been kept clean. They both carry the plague on their backs, on their clothes, sinking into their skin from the terror of the world just outside the door. The stress weighs heavy on them both, and Daniil watches Artemy roll his neck to lift some of the burden in the cracks of his joints, fingers curled over the edge of the bed.

Daniil watches, and he hungers.

“I trust you slept well?” The question amounts to little, and he knows Artemy will say he slept fine as if Daniil couldn’t hear the way he turned in his sleep, the soft rustle of fabric moving as he twitched. It’s beneath Daniil to notice such things, beneath him to care, because there’s so little he can do to soothe the troubled mind that he things Artemy would agree to. He’s not above hypnosis here or there, but something about touching Artemy with his glamour makes him feel ill. Worse than the gnawing sensation making its way to his fingertips, fingers trembling as his script grows less and less legible.

Artemy, to his credit, doesn’t bother to lie. He shrugs instead, and Daniil follows the roll of his shoulders with one leg crossing over the other. He can’t sate that hunger, either. “I’ve had better.” Daniil squeezes his legs, but the result is mere frustration. I could give you better, he thinks, and has to angle his head down to keep from giving his colleague a look he does not deserve. He wants, yes, of course. He wants Burakh so badly his head spins, but he won’t resort to trickery to get him. Things will happen or they won’t, and Daniil would rather they don’t than cheat his way into affection. “Have you eaten?”

A hoarse, bitter laugh nearly works its way to the surface. Daniil refrains with a pained look, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. “No,” he says. Perhaps he should have lied; Artemy stands now to approach him, movements slow as he works his way across the room. “There’s nothing around to eat,” he defends, and in a way it is true. He will not risk exposure by feeding on his Bound, and nor does he desire to know the taste of Sand Pest beneath his tongue. He’s not expecting Artemy to outturn his pocket and produce an apple for him, setting it on his desk.

With great disdain, Daniil sighs. “O curas hominum…” Artemy tilts his head, and pushes the apple closer toward him, eyes a bold challenge. Daniil does not duck his head yet, caught as he is by Artemy’s gaze. His hips beg to squirm, his body longs to wrap around the strong form of the man in front of him, his base desires growing stronger the longer he goes without indulging. Artemy’s fingers walk up the side of the apple, toying with the stem, and Daniil’s mind surges. He gets the feeling the fruit is not the only one being played with.

“What’s wrong, oynon?” The words are steady, unaware of the question they ask. Daniil watches Artemy’s fingers pinch the stem, and settle, one fingertip against the top. “Don’t like apples?” He should shake his head, claim an allergy, but the way Artemy stares holds his attention rapt. As if Artemy is the one who possesses the ability to hypnotize, and not Daniil. His hand lifts and sets fingers against Daniil’s cheek, thumb pressed to his lips. He pushes past them, thumb grazing the sharp points of Daniil’s teeth. “You have such pretty teeth for biting.”

His mouth waters as thumb brushes tongue. He wills his fangs to retract, grip excruciating on the back of his seat. It’s too late, now – Artemy has slid his thumb against a sharp point, not quite deep enough to cut into flesh. Daniil brushes his tongue out against the pad of Artemy’s thumb, and feels the vibrations of Artemy’s body as he shivers. He pulls at Daniil’s top lip until his sharpened teeth are exposed on the bottom. The hungers in his stomach are starting to combine now, to form one big wave to wash him over. Daniil nearly growls as Artemy’s thumb leaves his mouth, and he says the words he had before falling asleep once more: “You need to eat.”

There’s a droning in Daniil’s head, a drive to follow instinct, to reach out and touch Artemy. He holds himself in place, body tense as he watches the other man move. “I can’t,” Daniil says. The words are simple, and yet his gaze betrays him, swallowing Artemy’s form whole. He watches the man rock back on his heels and tug at the neck of his sweater. His eyes fix on the tug of his fingers. He should hold out the pretense for as long as he can, but lies fail him when Artemy lifts his head to expose his neck. “Mortal food cannot sustain me.”

“I know,” Artemy says. Daniil watches his fingers move across his buckles, undoing the tunic and lifting it from his head. Surprise settles easily over him. He should be frightened that Artemy knows, worried about the inevitable hunt that will end his life, but Artemy works with such a casual nature that Daniil cannot help but feel assured in his safety. “That is why I am offering my neck to you.”

There it is again, that phantom pulse, rabbiting as Artemy pulls up the hem of his sweater and exposes his soft stomach, his broad chest, his strong shoulders – so many places for Daniil to sink his teeth into. Daniil finds his legs spreading, heat spreading to his groin as he leans in his seat toward his colleague. His eyes roam up from the buckle of his belt to his brow, trying to keep a neutral expression. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Burakh?” It’s too late for Daniil to do much more to turn back, his left hand already tracing a pattern on Artemy’s chest. He can hear the rapid beat of the other man’s heart. If he removed his glove, he could feel it. “You’re playing with fire, here.”

Artemy/??? - Caught masturbating

[(Anonymous)]

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!

Artemy alone time, interrupted (FILL)

[(Anonymous)]

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."

Rubin/Daniil: patching up and fondling

[(Anonymous)]

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/Any Woman Spanking

[(Anonymous)]

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

Re: Yulia/Any Woman Spanking

[(Anonymous)]

A loud smack echoed through the room and Eva twitched slightly, the slaps against her ass just beginning to sting. Yulia, the woman behind her, worked methodically and ever so carefully. Not careful as in gently, no, that wasn’t the intention here, but rather each strike of her palm or instrument was calculated to deliver a precise feeling. Sometimes it was gentle, the soft pat before a harsher blow, or quick, successive slaps just hard enough to sting.

There was a pattern, certainly, though it was never predictable to Eva. Of course, she tended to get lost in the sensation and she cared little if many strikes resembled another. She just enjoyed the play and lucked out in having Yulia as a partner.

It had been a simple case of opposites attract; Eva’s carefree attitude to Yulia’s stern demeanor, her capriciousness to the other’s stability, one who wore skirts for the purpose of attracting other women and one who wore pants for the same purpose. What one lacked, the other made up, and although conflicting ideals sometimes lead to arguments, they were well matched otherwise.

It made sense, then, that what had started off as Eva’s flippant suggestion had turned into something so deliberate. If Eva thought about it too long, she’d get teary eyed, the amount of work her partner put into satisfying her was overwhelming sometimes.

Right now, though, she focused on the sensation of being spanked, the cool leather glove on Yulia’s hand as it smacked against her reddening thighs and ass. Eva’s pelvis was propped up by a few pillows on the bed, her knees spread wide to support her as she leaned forward against the bed, her arms folded beneath her chest.

Yulia liked to start slow, although Eva could take it or leave it. There would be a harder blow every once in a while, one that really smarted. Sometimes she thought she could see stars, the surprise of the blow and the stinging sensation mingling together, feeling herself grow needier all the while.

In between slaps Yulia would massage roughly, the seams of her gloves catching occasionally against skin as she dug in her thumb, stroked the inside of Eva’s thighs, getting her to open up more. And then suddenly the loud smack would sound through the room again, seeming to Eva as if it rang throughout the earth.

Then there were several slaps, a few on each side, one on her thigh, the pain starting to dull as time went on. Several hard spanks across her left asscheek made Eva shout, but Yulia could sense she was growing used to it, the way Eva stopped jerking with each slap, no short gasps, and cries but long moans that merely grew louder on impact.

It was freeing, giving herself to the other woman. Frankly, Eva just liked sex, didn’t care if it had all the bows and whistles or not, she enjoyed it all the same. She could live without the ritual, and she often did, and there was something enticing about being able to come on Yulia’s fingers in just a few minutes, quick sex had in the closet fully clothed except for the distinct lack on underwear beneath her skirt. No matter how familiar they were with each other, it never stopped being exciting.

But this, this was something else entirely. When she lay herself bare here beneath her lover, she entrusted her whole being to her. Trusted that Yulia knew her so completely, to understand what she wanted, what she needed without speaking. Of course, there were rules, words, signals, not everything went perfectly every time. But there was trust, always.

Trust now, as Eva melted into the bed, sweaty forehead against her arms, that Yulia understood. And she did, stepped back to grab the riding crop beside the bed. Each hit now was sharper, a new layer, and Eva was back again, writing which each thwack of the crop. The surface area was smaller than Yulia’s hand, each impact stinging a bit harder, and while dangerous in other hands, Yulia was always careful, never striking the same place twice, ignoring the less fleshy backs of her thighs.

Between strikes she would run the crop lightly over Eva’s ass and thighs, gentle before the quick whir in the air, giving Eva just seconds to prepare before another hit.

Eva couldn’t help but wiggle backwards, spread her legs further, she could feel herself growing wetter as the minutes ticked by. Yulia gently rubbed her thumb in circles across Eva’s sore ass, the glove still cool as it pressed into the dimples and marks scattered across her body. She leant down and pressed feather light kisses against hot flesh. Eva whimpered in response, grateful for the reprieve, yet shaking from the lack of attention to her pussy.

It was agonizing, having her lover’s mouth so close to where she needed it, and knowing that it wasn’t time yet. Still, she moved against Yulia’s mouth, earning her a low chuckle.

“Not yet, dear,” Yulia said as she pulled back, the first words she’d spoken in a long while. “You look beautiful, though, absolutely gorgeous, all for me.”

Eva whined but wasn’t disappointed. Good things came to those who waited. The crop was back, a shower of quick light strikes before a harder blow close to the inside. Eva couldn’t help it, she yelped, tired body jumping to react. It didn’t seem like it would be tiring, just lying on the bed, but the impact play took a lot out of her as it went on, her body quickly trying to remedy the pain she was so desperate to feel.

There was a euphoria almost, the adrenaline that came with the anticipation, moving close with expectation, then twisting away immediately, the chemicals racing to soothe the sharp sting. It seemed as if it would go on forever, and Eva quickly lost herself to it, the edges beginning to feel fuzzy. Her world had narrowed to just her, the crop, and the woman in control of it.

She almost considered rutting against the pillows, partly for relief and partly for the blow she knew would come after, but she was still. Her clit strained against the pillows, rubbed against them with each impact but it wasn’t the same. Just short, quick brushes against the pillowcase before it was over. She wanted to be good, take whatever came without complaint and wait patiently for the hot touches afterwards, the quick movements inside her, the embarrassing speed at which she came.

Her arms ached where they pressed against the bed, sweat dripped from her brow and down her thighs, Eva was almost floating, transcending the pain. She must have gone quiet because Yulia was leaning down by her face, brushing sweaty bangs out of her forehead.

“Doing alright, dear heart?” She asked.

Eva tried to move her lips but all that came out was an “mmm”. She nodded weakly instead. Yulia smiled, fingers still carding through her hair, and Eva leant into the touch without thinking.

“Want the paddle, or are you done?”

Eva nodded at the former, and then again when Yulia asked to confirm. The paddle was her favorite. The surface was wide and flat, it hurt far less than the crop, a way to wind down a bit without moving back to the hand. Instead of a sting, it was a larger blow, a hit, a dull thunk.

She gasped for air at the first hit, feeling the heavy wood for the first time that night. Yulia gave ample time to prepare for each blow, she wasn’t aiming to be unpredictable now. Eva rocked with the pattern; backwards before the hit, forwards after, rubbing against the pillow ever so slightly as she did.

This part never lasted long, so close to the end. Eva was completely out of her head now, just warm, and slightly numb, ready to be fucked. After the tenth hit, Yulia placed the paddle back with the crop and knelt onto the bed behind Eva.

“Look at you, you poor thing,” Yulia cooed as she rubbed gently over the red marks, then used both hands to spread Eva’s cheeks apart, further revealing her sex.

Yulia’s hand teased across her inner thighs, rubbing along the sides of her pussy without touching where she knew Eva wanted her. It was a silly game, both of them knowing it would end the same way it always did, but there was something enthralling about the tension, pulling just tight enough to be fully taut, but not snap.

Eva kicked her foot gently on the bed, her way of saying to get on with it. Yulia chuckled again, warm, and throaty.

“Something you want to say?”

Eva grumbled, enjoying the boneless feeling too much to try to articulate. But Yulia acquiesced after a few more moments, rubbing the pads of her gloves between Eva’s long folds, the meeting of her wetness against the gloves was audible, and Eva moaned. She could have sunk down on Yulia’s fingers right then, but the position put her at a disadvantage and Yulia had already moved on, wet fingers pressing down firmly just above her clitoris and rubbing gently back and forth.

Eva pushed her hips down into the delicious pressure, finally feeling something substantial. Yulia’s movements were small, she was used to this and so was Eva, hips bucking down before Yulia withdrew her hand entirely.

Eva hadn’t the presence of mind to be irritated, and even so, Yulia was in control here. She’d decide when Eva would come, and she wouldn’t come a moment before then. There was peace in that. Just as she’d settled, though, Yulia breached her with a single finger and Eva nearly sobbed. It was nowhere near filling, she was so wound up, but it was something at last.

She clenched around the gloved finger, desperately fucking against it before she realized Yulia wasn’t moving at all. Eva didn’t need to turn her head to see Yulia smirking, she knew well what that looked like. Nevertheless, she hadn’t pulled out. Eva was free to use what little freedom she’d been given, and she did.

Thrusting back against Yulia’s finger shakily, Eva moved her thighs together, trying to put pressure on her clit once again but it just wasn’t enough, she was desperate. Eva wasn’t bound, she could use her arms, but they’d been trapped underneath her for so long and she felt so limp, the effort she would need to exert to actually push a hand underneath her hips to grind against was far too much, and so she continued to put on her lewd display.

Yulia’s breath quickened, and Eva knew she was doing well. It was rare that Yulia wanted to be touched, but it was enough for Eva just knowing how much she turned the other woman on. She clenched just once more on the downstroke and Yulia huffed, pulled out, and before Eva had the chance to mourn the loss it was replaced with two fingers, curling inside her and then she was crying out in earnest.

The fingers inside twisted and scissored her open, although she didn’t need much assistance. The twisting motion was heavenly, just the feeling of the movement inside her was blissful. Yulia added a third finger, and then a fourth, moving in and out with the motion of Eva’s hips.

Hot tears spilled down Eva’s cheeks, mingling with the sweat as she moaned, words far beyond her. There were other times they made love where Eva talked, dirty or conversationally, but when they fucked like this, she was so desperate with need there was nothing she could say, only show with her body.

Yulia stroked her back gently with her free hand, broad strokes up and down, the touch reminding her somehow of an embrace, a safe feeling.

It didn’t take long for Eva to come like that, already someone who came faster than average, and with a twist of Yulia’s wrist she yelled out, legs shaking wildly as she fully collapsed against the pillows, muscles spasming around Yulia’s fingers, back arching even as she lay on her stomach.

Both were still for a moment, catching their breath. Yulia removed her hand from Eva, and then took off her glove before touching her back, no barrier between them. Her fingers skated over warm flesh once again, rubbing her thumb here and there where the marks must have looked worse.

Yulia didn’t hit terribly hard, but it was important to assess the damage, and Eva wouldn’t be moving anytime soon as it was. She murmured sweetly as Eva lay there, though she couldn’t discern the words, head still clouded with the endorphins.

Eva wasn’t sure how much time passed, but then Yulia was at her ear again, petting her hair sweetly as she had before.

“I’m going to get a few things and I’ll be back in a moment. Is that alright, my joy?”

“Yes,” Eva said, voice hoarse.

Yulia gave her another quick pat and was off. Eva dozed off while she was gone, though surely it had only been a few minutes. She woke as ice wrapped in rags were being placed on her ass, and she relished the cool feeling. Bruising was inevitable, but the ice did help. A damp rag wiped down her back and between, and a softer cloth pressed against her face.

Sometimes Eva thought Yulia enjoying this part more than the sex, she knew the woman took pride in taking care of lovers. Face wiped clean; Eva looked to see two glasses of water on the bedside table and moved to reach for one.

“Ah, careful!” Yulia said, “I’ll get it for you, don’t worry. Here, tilt your head up.”

Eva drank greedily from the glass, spilling water on her freshly cleaned face, but it was no matter. She gulped the second glass down just as quickly. Yulia beamed down at her and Eva had to look away, her expression too bright.

“Let’s get your arms stretched out,” Yulia said, gently easing Eva’s arms out from where they’d been folded beneath her. “There we go, much better.”

Her arms hadn’t quite gone numb, but pins and needles raced down her veins as the blood flowed back into her hands. Yulia gently massaged up and down her arms, easing the sensation.

“You don’t have to do everything,” Eva mumbled.

Yulia smiled down at her, bent down to press a kiss to the crown of Eva’s head, “Oh, but I want to.”

Eva let out a breathy laugh, “I’m only saying.”

Of course, she enjoyed the attention, but it seemed rude somehow to let herself be pampered like this, although Yulia insisted it wasn’t pampering, but necessary care, and besides, was there anything wrong with pampering her girlfriend?

“Oh, right, I brought in a pastry from the kitchen, you should have a few bites even if you don’t feel hungry.”

“Mmm, that sounds good.”

Eva would protest more, but it was frankly adorable to watch her partner transform into a mother hen, bustling about her and feeding her bites of pastry off a fork. They talked as Eva ate, until she felt like sitting up and moving to the armchair across the room as Yulia stripped and then remade the bed with fresh sheets.

Laying back down on the fresh sheets was wonderful, and while she hadn’t technically had a bath, Eva felt clean and luxuriated in it. Yulia was still busying herself, trying to get away with a third refill of water before Eva tugged on her sleeve.

“Cuddle?” She asked and gave a look Yulia couldn’t refuse.

“Alright,” she sighed, “if you’re certain there isn’t anything else you need.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “I need you to come lay down with me. And take that shirt off already while you’re at it.”

Yulia laughed, “Anything for you, dove.”

When Yulia finally slid into bed, Eva clung to her like a lichen, arms and legs wrapped around the woman before she was even fully settled. Her head resting above Yulia’s heart, Eva felt at peace, completely content.

“Love you,” Eva mumbled, and fell asleep before she could hear Yulia’s reply.

Artemy/Any or OC, The College Experience™

[(Anonymous)]

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.

artemy/daniil - morning wood + embarrassment

[(Anonymous)]

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.

Re: artemy/daniil - morning wood + embarrassment

[(Anonymous)]

Omg please this is so cute

Re: artemy/daniil - morning wood + embarrassment - FILL

[(Anonymous)]

Daniil's dreams had been surprisingly calm and his sleep unexpectedly restful, considering the stress and hurry of the ongoing crisis, and yet he immediately, viscerally regretted it, all because of the way he'd just now awoken.

It was a simple enough matter to have shared a mattress with Burakh, even if that mattress was far from large enough for the both of them at once. And while it was awkward, nothing especially bothered Daniil about having ended up little spoon to Burakh's broad embrace, either, save for how it stopped him from being able to get up and out of bed without waking Burakh up. Daniil felt warm and bleary. Comfortable, even.

And there were a thousand points of anxiety raising gooseflesh down his back. Because he couldn't move away without drawing attention to himself, but nor could he simply stay here, pretending he couldn't feel the half-hard press of Burakh's sizeable prick against his ass. He couldn't. There were the obvious ethical concerns, for one thing, on top of which it was literally going to drive him insane.

Their bodies were crescented together. At some point in the night they'd shifted from lying respectably parallel to all but cuddling, with Burakh's arms wrapped firmly around Daniil's middle and holding his back flush against Burakh's torso: the muscles there, the faint beat of his heart. (And Daniil knew where all that blood was pumping, didn't he.)

Burakh's unconscious breath was warm at the back of Daniil's neck. Daniil made a concentrated effort to shut his eyes, block out his sense of touch somehow, and will himself with every ounce of hope in his body to fall back asleep. If luck was on his side, Burakh's erection would peacefully subside or he'd roll onto his back and release Daniil from this hell.

Neither of those things happened. Daniil couldn't even fall asleep. He was far too aware of the rigid length nestled against his body, so terribly close to where he'd want one to be if this were a different time, circumstance, and bed companion entirely. Heat was building in his core and his nerves were alight with excitement for something that was absolutely not going to happen.

A flash of images played through his thoughts in an instant. He could rut back against Burakh's erection and wait for the man to wake up, already roused, and see where things went from there. Maybe Burakh's confident, workmanlike hand would slip beneath the hem of his sleep bottoms and search into his wet heat. Maybe—

Anger and shame at himself exploded in Daniil's mind in an instant, like a lightning strike. All in what felt like a single motion, he threw Burakh's arms off from around himself and leapt out of bed. Only then did he realize how fast his own heart was pounding. How tightly he'd clenched his jaw.

Also like a lightning strike, everything was different in the aftermath. Where there might have been a smell of ozone in the air there was instead the quick, confused blinking of Burakh's eyes in the early dawn.

"Something on fire, oynon?"

Daniil's facial muscles made an admirable but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to render any expression besides his very strong desire to hurry down the stairs and out of the building. Through some miracle, he managed to keep his feet flat on the floorboards.

"Not exactly, no," he answered uncomfortably, with a pointed but unintentional glance further down the bed.

"...oh, shit."

"Right. So." Daniil turned on his heel then, facing his desk and pulling his chair out to sit down. He might not have been able to escape utter embarrassment, but it was in the past now, and he needed to get to work. So he told himself, ignoring the fully-body flush that hadn't even begun to lessen.

The mattress creaked gently as Burakh shifted around, turning himself to face the wall. "Sorry. That definitely wasn't intentional."

"It's biological," Daniil supplied, flipping his journal open to review his notes from before he'd gone to bed.

With Burakh.

"Biological. Yeah. But still—you know. Sorry."

Daniil let out a sigh and forced himself not to turn and look Burakh's way. He'd spent enough of this morning in an addled fit as it was. "I can't blame you for automatic physical functions that happen when you're literally unconscious, Burakh. It's fine."

"You jumped out of bed like I'd stabbed you," Burakh protested. "Although, heh, I guess in a manner of sp—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence."

"Fair enough," Burakh laughed. There was still a thin line of discomfort in his tone of voice, but it seemed they could both be diplomatic about this mishap. Good. "...Do you want to finish what we started, though?"

Daniil froze up. Surely that was also a joke. Although it wasn't very funny—not that this would have been the first time that a supposed joke had flown right over his head. Slowly, he turned, leveling Burakh with a silent and blank stare.

"Sheesh," Burakh said, laughter still in his voice, "a 'no' would have worked too, you know. No need to try to kill me with your mind... Forget I said anything."

Daniil shook his head in disbelief. "You're ridiculous. Don't try to trip me up again; I'm working."

"Trip you—? Dankovsky, I was coming on to you."

"Sure." Despite himself, Daniil felt his cheeks warming in a blush, but he committed himself to ignoring it. Or, at any rate, to not acknowledging it.

He was less able to ignore the movement in his peripheral vision when Burakh sat up entirely. "Oynon. Dankovsky. Look at me."

Daniil did. Burakh was shirtless; apparently he slept only in a pair of underwear bottoms. Daniil was suddenly encountering some difficulty in keeping his gaze trained on Burakh's eyes. He was strong and broad and soft, hair trailing down his built torso and his sun-warmed skin.

Daniil wasn't looking at his eyes, was he? Shit.

"Yes?"

"So you're clearly somewhat distracted."

"And whose fault is that?"

"I'm not pointing fingers! I'm trying to say... What I mean is... Look, we may as well."

Daniil raised an eyebrow. "Does that line usually work well for you, Burakh?"

And Burakh clicked his tongue, tsking at Daniil's reticence. "How well do you usually do your work when you're distracted in this way? Maybe you're just that good at repression, and I've got something to learn from you."

"...no. Not really." With another sigh, but a much abbreviated one, Daniil pushed his microscope back further away from the edge of the desk and folded his notebook closed. "If you really mean this—"

"I really mean it."

"—then let's do it quickly. Neither of us can afford to waste more than," he calculated, pausing to glance out the window and find the sun, "...forty minutes or so."

Burakh snorted. "That's very precise."

"Someone has to be." Daniil shrugged as he stood up. He was doing his very best to seem casual about it all, as if he did this sort of thing frequently, but the ever-returning blush on his cheeks (and traveling down his chest and out to his ears) no doubt gave him away.

Luckily for him, Burakh seemed to be blushing too. His expression was screwed up in an awkward something that approached a smile as he fell back down onto his side and moved back to make room. His eagerness did a lot to lessen Daniil's nerves, though so did being able to immediately turn and face away from Burakh so he didn't have to worry about being seen.

They fitted together just the way they'd been before, the mattress creaking slightly as two grown men shifted around and got comfortable. Daniil felt slightly ridiculous as Burakh got hold of him and pulled him back into that tight embrace... But there was no denying how being held like that made him feel.

Wasting no time now that Burakh was aware of the situation and had given his permission, Daniil arched backward, rolling his hips to find Burakh's prick again. It had gone limp in the intervening minutes, but if Burakh's sharp gasp over Daniil's shoulder was any indication, that wouldn't be a problem for long.

Moreover, Artemy was doing more than his fair shape of helping this time, balancing out his prior unconsciousness by meeting Daniil halfway with forward rolls of his own hips, rutting against the thinly-clothed crease of his ass. He also slipped a hand up and under Daniil's sleep shirt. Burakh's wide palm spread heat up Daniil's belly toward his chest, keeping him embraced, secure, held.

Daniil's long, low moan could only have encouraged him. Soon enough Burakh was pinching a hardening nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his own breath heavy in Daniil's ear as Daniil gasped his own pleasure to match the hard rut of Burakh against him.

"Hold on— Burakh, wait, stop—"

"Mngh?" Burakh asked as his movements instantly stalled, then, somewhat more eloquently, "What's wrong?"

Daniil pushed away from him enough to turn around in his arms. Then nudged his far shoulder, encouraging him to fall over flat on his back, which he did.

"Nothing's wrong at all. I'm moving things forward," Daniil answered, in the same second he began unbuttoning his sleep shirt to throw it aside. His bottoms came off next and both clothings fell in an unceremonious heap on the floor.

The twitch of Burakh's prick was visible through the fabric of his underwear. "Forward's good," he confirmed all in a rush. "I'm a big fan of forward."

"As am I," Daniil agreed, tucking fingers under the hem of Burakh's underwear to pull it down to his knees.

As Daniil repositioned himself, spreading his legs wider so he could align Burakh's full length between the folds of his core, he felt Burakh kicking one leg around. Kicking the underwear off, Daniil realized, and grinned as he slowly began to move.

"Oh. Oh, fuck," Burakh moaned.

Daniil could only hum agreement. He'd screwed his eyes shut to focus on the feeling of the sweet drag of Burakh's cockhead against his own prick, enlarged and poking out of its hood. His own slick made it easy to ride the length of Burakh's prick. Each and every sliding thrust felt more natural and necessary than the last.

Burakh seemed to agree with that, too: his hands grabbed onto the soft of Daniil's ass, fingers digging in so hard it would probably mean bruises, just to slip harder and more efficiently against him.

This was what Daniil had wanted. The heat and the movement and the building need. This had been his private daydream and the cause of his sudden horror not more than fifteen minutes ago. Exactly this.

"F-fuck, Dankovsky... I need—Let me fuck you. I mean," Burakh interrupted, correcting himself, "if you, uh, want that. Because I want that."

Now it was Daniil who laughed a little, giddy and flattered, and brought his movements to a lazy, barely-there rocking. He drew out the long seconds before he responded just to watch the desperate hope in Burakh's eyes.

Then, finally: "Yes, I want that, too."

He sat up on wobbly knees to assess the mess he'd made of them both. Burakh's prick was wet and glistening with Daniil's slick... enough of it to use to ease himself down. Next he leaned back, reaching two fingers through his core to wetten them, then reaching them around to start to prise himself open.

"Oh."

"What? Don't tell me you have a problem with this. If you meant to come on to a man in the first place, I figured you'd have assumed—"

Burakh was quickly shaking his head. "Dankovsky, do you really think I'm one to look a gift horse in the—well, the..."

"Don't finish that sentence either," Daniil groaned, half in exasperation and half as he curled his own fingers the way he knew he liked. He felt himself relaxing. Leaning further back so he could see what he was doing, he took Burakh's prick by the base in his other hand and slowly worked up the length until he had enough control to guide it against his hole. It took some doing to slip it first against his fingers then pull those fingers away without botching the whole operation, but when both of them hissed simultaneous noises of pleasure, Daniil felt confident enough to brace both palms against the bed behind his back.

"Stay goddamned still," he insisted, lowering himself down what felt like a millimeter at a time.

Burakh's hands had tightened entirely in the sheets, fabric twisting hard into his balled fists. "Yeah, got it, will do..." he breathed dreamily, not seeming especially like he could move if he tried.

All told, it wasn't much time at all before Daniil managed to take him in entirely, bottoming out on his prick with his back arched so he was nearly looking straight up. Somehow he wouldn't be surprised if he'd seen a scattering of stars painted across the ceiling. Especially once he started moving and Burakh's hands held fast onto either side of his waist.

Daniil lifted himself up and back then dropped down and forward, slowly at first but not for long, until he and Burakh were fucking in a rough, dirty rhythm, skin smacking against skin every time Daniil slammed down to meet their bodies together.

Burakh's hands dug in tightly again. Yet another set of deep bruises marking Daniil's skin. Daniil could hardly deny the way the strength of Burakh's hands made him shiver with arousal. He bit down on his lower lip as his toes curled in and his front hole ached to no avail, clenching desperately around nothing while Daniil drew his pleasure elsewhere.

Still— "Touch me already..."

Nodding rapidly, apologetically, Burakh lifted one hand off of Daniil's waist and immediately placed it with his thumb pad just under Daniil's prick, ready to push up and rub. "Like this?"

"Yes," Daniil gasped, and then again, "yes, yes," until it became something of a mantra, less a word than a noise, and one that continued through the onrush of Daniil's orgasm. Any coherent thought disappeared in a long moment of reckless bliss that left him quivering and panting in its aftermath.

The thought of getting up and facing the day nearly pained Daniil. He stayed seated on Burakh's prick for as long as he could get away with it, rubbing against his pelvis to steal whatever more sensation he could from Burakh being buried so deep inside. As it turned out, he could only get away with it for a minute or so while Burakh was still catching his breath, then he was quickly heaved up and off.

"I'd be worried about my dignity, being tossed around like that," Daniil teased near-breathlessly, "except I'm not sure whether you still believe I have any."

Burakh rolled his eyes. Among the mess of shining slick on him, there was also a trail of thicker white cum running down his softening prick and over the curve of his balls; it was no doubt a match for the wet warmth dripping out of Daniil's hole and gathering between his thighs. He must look absolutely ruined.

But all Burakh said, after everything, was "you're exactly the same pain-in-the ass arrogant colleague you were yesterday, don't worry," and. Well.

Daniil liked this morning quite a lot more already.

artemy/daniil - morning wood + embarrassment fill... 2!

[(Anonymous)]

i really liked this prompt and so i... also wanted to try filling it, i hope that's okay!
--
The offer had been what Daniil would term a nicety. He wasn’t prone to those. He’s not exactly been in the most generous of moods in the short time he’s spent in this hellhole, and the town hasn’t given him much of a reason to feel more giving.

Present company is the one exception to the rule. Daniil’s not sure what to call it – just a funny feeling he gets when he looks at the other man, this wriggling notion in the pit of his stomach and sometimes his chest that tells him he can expect more out of the Haruspex. Damned if he knows about the other two healers, but there’s something different about Artemy. Something Daniil can’t quite name, but something he’s keeping his eye on all the same.

So, what the hell. He can offer up his bed in this trying time. It’s not like he’s using it; at least, not the first time he offers, busy with the sample of bull’s blood Artemy brought by to have him check. But it’s not an isolated incident. Artemy comes back, sometimes for chats, sometimes for quick naps. They’ll take their rest where they can get it, but last night they both needed to get a little shut eye and…

Well. Here they are. On the bed. Spooning, with Artemy’s arms wrapped around Daniil’s waist. It’s probably the first time in five years Daniil’s been held like this. It might give him feelings akin to affection if there wasn’t a more pressing issue.

Pressing into his backside, that is.

He’s not sure what to do with this. He’s been awake about five minutes now. For the first minute and a half he didn’t want to move because he was comfortable, which wasn’t something he could boast about his usual sleeping habits. And the other three and a half minutes he hasn’t wanted to move because there’s a sizeable erection pressed into his ass, and he’s feeling mortifyingly caught between confusion and total, unbridled lust.

This must be one of those feelings Burakh inspires in him. Pity he didn’t realize it sooner – or maybe much, much later, when he could make a move in a way that wouldn’t be miserably awkward. Artemy’s still snoring away right next to his ear, dead to the world, and Daniil’s not sure he wants to try and extricate himself and wake the sleeping bear. There’s no good outcomes to this mess if he does, just an awful shuffle of excuses as his companion tries to work out apologies that Daniil, frankly, doesn’t want to hear, and –

God, it’s been too long since he’s had sex. He can feel his arousal working its way through his body as his mind just dances with the possibilities, with flitting images of Artemy’s hand down his pants and his hot breath on Daniil’s neck, his teeth sinking into flesh, opening Daniil up to take him in.

“Shudkher.” It’s the quietest Daniil’s ever heard another person swear.

“Oh good,” Daniil says, “you’re up.”

He hopes the pun speaks for itself. Artemy isn’t in any hurry to remove himself, possibly in the wake of his embarrassment locking his body into place. Daniil can feel the heat from Artemy’s cheek on his own before the man even speaks again. “Dankovsky –“

“I think we’re beyond last names now, Artemy.”

“Daniil,” he corrects, and then he squirms, and Daniil has to bite his lip from making some sort of stupid noise at how wet he’s getting, “I am – I am so, so sorry about this. I don’t know what happened –“

“Yes you do,” Daniil says, and either his imagination is very good at psychosomatic sensations or Artemy has just gone even more rigid. “It’s early morning. Your body is in the process of waking up. Blood flow to the area and… all that.”

“Right,” Artemy replies, his voice faint. “Blood flow.”

But there’s something that just doesn’t line up in the way he speaks. Too soft, not agreeable enough. Or maybe it’s the way his hand still hasn’t moved from Daniil’s waist, his hips only jerking his body against Daniil’s without making any significant progress to move away. And Daniil might be oblivious to many things: to social customs, to norms, to tradition, but he’s not stupid. If things are going to be lingering in this direction – well, there’s no need for them to straggle when he can simply help them along.

“Artemy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to do something about this little problem, or am I going to have to assist you?”

There’s a moment of genuine thought process, when Artemy doesn’t say anything at all. His fingers squeeze Daniil’s hip, but don’t move, like the man himself isn’t sure of what to do. It takes a second for him to answer, his voice rough as it pushes through his throat. “Honestly, I think I’m a little stuck.” He sounds wrecked already, and Daniil wants to hear more of it.

“Allow me to help you, then.” Daniil sets his hand over Artemy’s and pushes their thumbs under the band of his trousers and undergarments, shimmying them down to mid-thigh. He hears Artemy’s guttural oh as he pushes back against his clothed erection, reaching one hand back to try and jerk the man’s slacks down. It’s a little difficult when Artemy’s not really following the implied direction, his hand curved around Daniil’s thigh, but Daniil manages well enough with the buttons.

He catches on, finally, and their hands clash around the actual disrobing of his dick. Something that Daniil would very much like to see, but he’s fine for the moment just wrapping one hand around his length and getting a feel for it. Thicker than Daniil had been expecting – so it wasn’t just the fabric of his trousers giving him an edge. Daniil’s hand strokes down and his legs part, for as much as his half-worn trousers will let him.

“My thighs,” he says, and Artemy gets the message much quicker this time. Artemy adjusts himself so his cock is situated between Daniil’s parted legs, and waits for Daniil to lower his leg to make his first jerky move forward.

“Oh,” Artemy says again. Daniil pulls the hem of his shirt up, looks down to where the head of Artemy’s cock has started to poke out from between his thighs. Artemy shifts and presses as close to Daniil as he can, his testicles pressed to Daniil’s thighs. “You’re wet.” The words come out as a revelation, his cock moving back through the slick on Daniil’s skin before he thrusts forward again.

“Astute observation,” Daniil chides, but he’s too breathless to put any venom into it. Artemy’s fingers are burning where they grab onto his hip, and he’s reaching his left hand down to part his folds. Artemy rolls his hips and Daniil makes a horrible little noise, something akin to begging in the tone.

“You’re into this,” Artemy concludes. Daniil can’t think of any pithy remarks to make to that, and so he settles for keeping his mouth clamped shut as his bedmate’s fingers make their way down around his thigh. If nothing else, his partner’s movements are becoming more confident, rocking with a sort of rhythm as he works himself between Daniil’s thighs. “Nothing to say to defend yourself? You just liked the feeling of my cock against your ass?”

Daniil squeezes his legs tight together in response, and Artemy’s nails bite into his skin. He moans, pulling himself up, throwing his left leg over Daniil’s hips. His cock slides between Daniil’s folds, nudging his own neglected dick in the process. It makes Daniil squirm, desperate for rougher contact.

var/artemy I know what organ I want from var

[(Anonymous)]

p2 var is hot. good. I think artemy deserves to get dicked down by him. you know, the relieve some tension.
bonus point for a sub-y artemy.
(I know that the penis isn't an organ but it was funny this way)

silly smut time!

[(Anonymous)]

there's not enough silly smut in this fandom so i would like to see something silly. as long as you incorporate that pizza pasta ditty into it [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9czpYfVowvg], idc how you do it! any pairings are fine (except stakh/artemy, sorry), trans or cis, anything goes!

thank u!

maria/eva pegging

[(Anonymous)]

we all know maria has dom energy, we know she wears the strap, but i have yet to see that energy utilized on eva. they are both boss bitches, and i think regardless of romantic feelings, they've probably gotten it on a few times. i would like to see it.

artemy/daniil - cumplay

[(Anonymous)]

wanting to see daniil getting artemy to cum on his face/body and finding it intensely arousing. i generally like daniil to be trans but cis is fine as well.

MORE VLAD JR FEMDOM

[(Anonymous)]

I DEMAND VLAD JR GETTING FUCKING WRECKED. JUST ABSOLUTELY DOMINATED. I WILL MARRY U IF U DO

trans!saburov/victor

[(Anonymous)]

they're old they're sexy and sweet af. i love them so much but also i need more trans headcanons in pathologic (like, yeah, there's dannil and andrey, but what about SASHA)
so!!!
fluff, lots of kisses, maybe oral and of course aftercare. please please i'm nothing

bad grief/andrey

[(Anonymous)]

is anyone still active here. anyways there should be more bad grief/andrey stuff out there... literally anything of them will do just please