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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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."