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

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Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky finds out that Shrimping Ain't Easy

[(Anonymous)]

Daniil is way too overconfident about his abilities as a top. One night he's ready to demonstrate such abilities, but instead finds himself the one curled over, moaning, and loosing his composure. No preference for which sexual partner you choose, but please make Daniil flustered.

I was imagining this as an art fill, but if you manage to write it as a story instead, my heart would be happy with either!

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

[(Anonymous)]

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tell fibias, kheerkhen…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Artemy exhales; a soft, contented sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Predictably, Artemy groans.

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, taking your cock?” He clarifies.

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

[(Anonymous)]

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

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

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

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

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

Naturally, it doesn’t.

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

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

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

Despite himself, Daniil shivers.

“Artemy-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daniil doesn’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck, he thinks weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fingers inside him curl and he whimpers.

“Beg.” Artemy demands.

“No!”

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

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

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

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

Naturally, he’s wrong.

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

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

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

[(Anonymous)]

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

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

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

It drives Daniil to distraction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. I’m glad.”

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

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

Daniil scoffs. “Your actual gift, idiot.”

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

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