[ he doesn’t respond right away, licking and cleaning in even intervals, his red gloves dyed with an even deeper red where he carelessly let some drops fall onto the fabric. ]
Mn. It's because I know this is special that the taste is elevated.
[ but, if he remembers correctly... ]
This is your prize, remember? And I recall I also said your neck...
[ he's really going to let him do it? that's too generous! he holds onto his wrist with one hand, his other slowly reaching for his neckline, tugging at the fabric. ]
Oh, I shouldn't draw blood from here... It's such a dangerous area... But surely you wouldn't die from something like this, would you?
( if you wanna bite his pussy we're gonna have to talk about it first )
Is that what you're afraid of? That I'll die if you bite too hard? ( snickering, he taps the side of his neck, right next to the visible windpipe. ) As long as you don't bite through the jugular, I'll be fine.
( maybe. he might get a little anemic tomorrow, nbd. )
Though, I'm sure you'll have to fight your desire to do so really hard, won't you?
[ a chill runs down his spine, prompting him to release his bloody wrist and focus both hands on his neck this time - one gently caressing upwards with some added pressure, thumb brushing against his jaw, the other keeping his clothes at bay by tugging his shirt downwards. he leans his head against the crook of his neck, rubbing his nose and lips against warm skin, eyes closed as he inhales. ]
Even if you don't die, Fedya, it'll still hurt, won't it? [ his teeth graze him, holding back. ] Are you sure you want me, and only me, to witness your face overcome with agony? Gasp for air as you clutch my arms and try to stop me? Is that fair?
[ he could bite him now, he could... but instead be opts for dwelling in his fantasy, slowly licking a trail up his skin from collarbone upwards, savoring every taste and every warm thump of his heartbeat against his tongue. ]
( his wrist dangles there, unmoving; it stings, still, blood pouring from the bitemark, but he doesn't seem too concerned — this is the kind of pain he can relish; controlled, received willingly. it's strange, still, to welcome an intrusion into his personal space — but he does, the feeling as exhilarating as ever, letting nikolai press his tongue against his neck and tug at the front of his shirt. )
Of course it will. That's the whole point. ( it's not the pain that he's most excited for, anyway — it's what else nikolai might do to him; it's the exclusivity of it all, of the fact that he doesn't let anyone in quite this close, of his own, touch-starved loneliness he tries to so desperately mask with nonchalance. ) I want to see your cruel face — I want you to deny me any breath. Can you do that for me, Kolya?
( do u prommy u won't stop if he begs!!
exhaling a stuttering breath, he feels himself relax, head tipped to the side as nikolai licks at his skin, not unlike an animal would. dazai was right... but this moment is for fyodor alone — and so is kolya, whether he knows it or not. )
[ bite, he says, as if it were a demand and not him begging for it. lucky for him, whichever the case may be, nikolai is nothing but eager to please. his face flushes with excitement and other emotions he can't explain immediately after, laughing under his breath. ]
Your wish is my command, and you'll still have two wishes left.
[ and before fyodor can reply, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh still coated with saliva, his hold on the other side of his neck tightening to keep him in place as streams of warm blood start flowing freely in contrast with his pale skin. the metallic taste feels thick on his tongue, but that doesn’t stop him from drinking it— first with long, deliberate laps, then by pressing his mouth against the fresh wound to suck more out of him like some starved beast.
the truth is this is no more than an act. a performance of the highest quality, because fyodor asked him to be cruel and give him that sadomasochistic experience he craves - the one no one else can give him, except nikolai himself.
so he takes a deep breath, getting into character, all to please him the best way possible. ]
. . . Haha. The truth is, I always wanted to see you at the brink of death, Fedya. That's the reason I want to kill you. The more you look at me, the more I want to break you in a million pieces.
( it is a command — fyodor doesn't beg, though, well — on the list of experiences he hasn't been through yet, that one's pretty high up, too. there's exciting novelty in having an underling like nikolai — or perhaps an equal, considering their rank hardly differs, but —
fyodor plans, and the rest of them obey. he's never thought of himself as someone on the equal footing.
that nikolai might scheme against him barely even crosses his mind — if he does, he'll simply get rid of him, the way he gets rid of every other obstacle. for now, though — he hisses, as the other's teeth break through pale skin, breath stuttering when the stinging pain spreads all across his shoulders. it's an unique sensation; the wound, first, and then the soothing of the flowing blood, further calmed by nikolai's tongue. fyodor can't afford too much blood loss without getting dizzy, is the thing — being anemic, and all — and he can already feel his head spin, which only enhances the sensation further. )
Have you, now? ( is it a lie? a part of the act? or is it the truth? fyodor doesn't quite care to discern that right now.
instead, he turns his head towards the other, eyes alight with something new — and smiles, as if he's won. )
Good. The stronger you feel about me, Kolya, the happier I am. ( now this... is definitely a lie, but — who cares? if it's an act to satisfy fyodor, then he'll take full advantage of it — even if it means wringing nikolai completely dry. ) Come, show me more.
[ it's true they were never truly equal - during their scheme at the government office, nikolai was supposed to actually kill himself in front of the camera, a role he gladly decided to play because it's what fyodor wanted; he never questioned it, it simply seemed like something natural. he ultimately went against fyodor's wishes due to his own nature, but also... because if he died at that time, how would he know how fyodor reacted to it? how would he know if fyodor regretted it? if he missed him? maybe he was playing a prank on nikolai like god asking a devout to kill his children and test his loyalty.
it scared him how easily he accepted his orders, how easily fyodor could take his freedom away. yet nobody else had ever taken the time to get close to him like fyodor did. obviously he's being used, but... is that a bad thing? if he gets to spend more time with fyodor, does it matter? ...it should matter. fyodor obviously sees him as a replaceable pawn, as an inconsequential life form that has one or two good uses in him but that ultimately can be disposed of at the drop of a hat.
and that's where the dilemma starts. ]
Fedya . . .
[ oh, he knows there's no weight to fyodor's words at all. he's just goading him on as usual, but who cares? worrying enough about him to play along, to tell him what he wants to hear, to let him touch him and trust him enough to do this to him, to talk to him so sweetly because he knows that's what nikolai wants— isn't that the same thing he's doing for fyodor, too? and then, isn't that love? ]
Make no mistake, Fedya. I don't hate you. I love you so much I don't know what to do with myself. I want to be the one that ends your life, yet that would link our story together for eternity . . .
[ he pulls his face away from his neck, mouth bloody, looking down at him with a dizzy expression. he brings his hands lovingly towards his neck, wrapping his palms around it to stop the bleeding at the same time as he pushes him down onto the couch, and he begins slowly adding pressure to his grip. ]
No, Fedya, you show me. Let me see how you beg to me.
[ and to make it even harder to get any air, he leans down over his body with all his weight, planting a bloody kiss directly on his mouth, open and deep, pushing his tongue inside so he can taste his own blood. ]
( what wouldn't nikolai do, to be free of his cage? nothing — but, ah, who wouldn't want to be free of the chains of emotion and guilt that bind us? his desperation to discard all that's earthly makes him comically easy to manipulate and goad — it's unfortunate, really, that he fell into fyodor's hands; that he fell for fyodor, having found some sort of understanding in the other, even though fyodor himself has never struggled with any of kolya's problems. emotions? feelings? guilt? no such things exist, when you're the god's chosen one — if he'd ever felt them, he's long since forgotten, turning into the perfect instrument of death.
but, ah — he's an instrument of perfection, too. of quelling the chaos — both around the world and within nikolai's heart.
to hear that he's loved — to hear that he's revered; it shouldn't matter, but in a way, it does. to know, full-well, nikolai means every word; he might be confused about the meaning of love, of what it means to love and what to expect, but his earnest honesty is plain to fyodor, and endears him to kolya in a way that makes him want to entrap the other forever.
a gilded cage, just for him to dance as fyodor commands — for all eternity. longer, even. )
It'll always be your choice. ( what to do with himself — but also, it won't be.
still, fyodor leans back as nikolai pushes him down onto the couch, feeling the sting in his neck and the burning sensation of a piercing wound, squeezed now with the other's long fingers. he gasps — and his eyes widen, as if panicked, though it's always hard to say whether he is or isn't surprised. he's an excellent actor, after all — and he allows himself this; a natural reaction, body tensing and expression falling, both hands wrapping around nikolai's wrists, as if he were in actual distress. )
Kolya, I can't — ( breathe, he wants to say, but — the taste of his own blood and the pressure of nikolai's tongue pushing into his mouth successfuly stop him from doing so, the other's weight pinning him down to the couch. is this what it's like, to be entirely helpless? he could free himself, if he were willing to kill nikolai — but he isn't.
not now.
instead, he returns the kiss; his own, fading heartbeat continues to thrum quietly in his ears, and he stirs, when his lungs begin to burn, vision blurring. his fingers remain coiled around kolya's wrists, but his grip fades, as the remnants of oxygen escape his mouth, small, choked sounds exhaled against nikolai's lips. )
[ the intoxicating taste of fyodor's blood provides the perfect flavor to their kiss, made even sweeter by fyodor responding to it. he feels a chill run down his spine - a sign of elation; a physical manifestation of something from the other, something he so desperately wants to name for fyodor but can't. fyodor has to decide what it is, he always makes the decisions for both and this shouldn't be any different. nikolai chooses to ignore his orders if his brain tells him there's more fun to be had through a different path, but for the most part, it wants to obey fyodor despite his personal gripe.
sometimes, though… sometimes, he wishes his feelings were properly returned so he could see the point of no return and finally end this. for now, wordless affirmation - actions that look like affection but could really be anything, is enough to keep him in a death grip. fyodor's schrödinger’s feelings. a horrible, perfect balance.
still, nikolai is also human. he presses a leg between fyodor's, deepening the kiss fervently as his own body begins to react to his friend gasping for air, fingers digging deeper into the soft flesh of his throat, stopping all air and blood flow. he hums into his mouth, pushing his tongue inside deeper, hissing when fyodor's grip on his wrists increases.
he continues on for a few more seconds even after fyodor lets go, and when he doesn't move anymore, he finally softens the hold on his neck, allowing him to breathe again, pulling away from his lips to let him take in air. ]
. . . Haah. [ he looks down at his bloody face, breathing heavy, face fully flushed. ] This look suits you, Fedya.
( fyodor's an excellent liar — that much, nikolai knows.
still, for some reason — and this reason is unknown even to him, really — he refuses to lie to kolya about love. a personal preference, maybe — it'd be all too easy to simply go with the flow and falsely admit whatever feelings nikolai wants out of him, but — ah. where's the fun in that? to put the other at ease is hardly fyodor's goal, in any of this; if anything, keeping him on constant edge, constantly yearning for that final validation and never receiving it — isn't that just the most cruel torture of all?
and still, he's so good to him, regardless.
he can feel nikolai's thigh pressing between his own — the way his body tenses and goes slack, as air escapes lungs, a burning, desperate sensation blooming within his chest. it's all controlled, but — it feels new, still, to let go in any capacity, and the excitement of that can't be denied. he's undoubtedly flushed, pale skin tinted pink as his eyes shine something near-manic.
once he's free to breathe, he gasps — his vision blurs, black splotches where nikolai should be, and it takes him a moment to re-focus again, throat hoarse. he'll bruise, where nikolai squeezed — any sort of impact tends to leave long-lasting marks on an anemic body. )
It suits you, too. ( that excited, near-feral look nikolai gets, when things go his way. fyodor smiles; reaches up to... unbutton a few buttons of his shirt... scandalously so. it's warm, though; he's rarely one to say that. ) I'm beginning to think this side of you should be reserved for me alone.
( hum. )
What do you think, Kolya? How far are you willing to go to defile me?
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no subject
Mn. It's because I know this is special that the taste is elevated.
[ but, if he remembers correctly... ]
This is your prize, remember? And I recall I also said your neck...
no subject
( judging by how much the other seems to be enjoying himself, anyway.
he glances at the red-stained gloves, then at his bleeding wrist, and tips his head up. )
My neck and my tongue, you said? ( come here and do it, then. )
no subject
Fedya—!
[ he's really going to let him do it? that's too generous! he holds onto his wrist with one hand, his other slowly reaching for his neckline, tugging at the fabric. ]
Oh, I shouldn't draw blood from here... It's such a dangerous area... But surely you wouldn't die from something like this, would you?
no subject
Is that what you're afraid of? That I'll die if you bite too hard? ( snickering, he taps the side of his neck, right next to the visible windpipe. ) As long as you don't bite through the jugular, I'll be fine.
( maybe. he might get a little anemic tomorrow, nbd. )
Though, I'm sure you'll have to fight your desire to do so really hard, won't you?
no subject
[ a chill runs down his spine, prompting him to release his bloody wrist and focus both hands on his neck this time - one gently caressing upwards with some added pressure, thumb brushing against his jaw, the other keeping his clothes at bay by tugging his shirt downwards. he leans his head against the crook of his neck, rubbing his nose and lips against warm skin, eyes closed as he inhales. ]
Even if you don't die, Fedya, it'll still hurt, won't it? [ his teeth graze him, holding back. ] Are you sure you want me, and only me, to witness your face overcome with agony? Gasp for air as you clutch my arms and try to stop me? Is that fair?
[ he could bite him now, he could... but instead be opts for dwelling in his fantasy, slowly licking a trail up his skin from collarbone upwards, savoring every taste and every warm thump of his heartbeat against his tongue. ]
I couldn't possibly be that lucky . . .
no subject
Of course it will. That's the whole point. ( it's not the pain that he's most excited for, anyway — it's what else nikolai might do to him; it's the exclusivity of it all, of the fact that he doesn't let anyone in quite this close, of his own, touch-starved loneliness he tries to so desperately mask with nonchalance. ) I want to see your cruel face — I want you to deny me any breath. Can you do that for me, Kolya?
( do u prommy u won't stop if he begs!!
exhaling a stuttering breath, he feels himself relax, head tipped to the side as nikolai licks at his skin, not unlike an animal would. dazai was right... but this moment is for fyodor alone — and so is kolya, whether he knows it or not. )
Bite. ( a simple order, then. )
no subject
Your wish is my command, and you'll still have two wishes left.
[ and before fyodor can reply, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh still coated with saliva, his hold on the other side of his neck tightening to keep him in place as streams of warm blood start flowing freely in contrast with his pale skin. the metallic taste feels thick on his tongue, but that doesn’t stop him from drinking it— first with long, deliberate laps, then by pressing his mouth against the fresh wound to suck more out of him like some starved beast.
the truth is this is no more than an act. a performance of the highest quality, because fyodor asked him to be cruel and give him that sadomasochistic experience he craves - the one no one else can give him, except nikolai himself.
so he takes a deep breath, getting into character, all to please him the best way possible. ]
. . . Haha. The truth is, I always wanted to see you at the brink of death, Fedya. That's the reason I want to kill you. The more you look at me, the more I want to break you in a million pieces.
no subject
fyodor plans, and the rest of them obey. he's never thought of himself as someone on the equal footing.
that nikolai might scheme against him barely even crosses his mind — if he does, he'll simply get rid of him, the way he gets rid of every other obstacle. for now, though — he hisses, as the other's teeth break through pale skin, breath stuttering when the stinging pain spreads all across his shoulders. it's an unique sensation; the wound, first, and then the soothing of the flowing blood, further calmed by nikolai's tongue. fyodor can't afford too much blood loss without getting dizzy, is the thing — being anemic, and all — and he can already feel his head spin, which only enhances the sensation further. )
Have you, now? ( is it a lie? a part of the act? or is it the truth? fyodor doesn't quite care to discern that right now.
instead, he turns his head towards the other, eyes alight with something new — and smiles, as if he's won. )
Good. The stronger you feel about me, Kolya, the happier I am. ( now this... is definitely a lie, but — who cares? if it's an act to satisfy fyodor, then he'll take full advantage of it — even if it means wringing nikolai completely dry. ) Come, show me more.
no subject
it scared him how easily he accepted his orders, how easily fyodor could take his freedom away. yet nobody else had ever taken the time to get close to him like fyodor did. obviously he's being used, but... is that a bad thing? if he gets to spend more time with fyodor, does it matter? ...it should matter. fyodor obviously sees him as a replaceable pawn, as an inconsequential life form that has one or two good uses in him but that ultimately can be disposed of at the drop of a hat.
and that's where the dilemma starts. ]
Fedya . . .
[ oh, he knows there's no weight to fyodor's words at all. he's just goading him on as usual, but who cares? worrying enough about him to play along, to tell him what he wants to hear, to let him touch him and trust him enough to do this to him, to talk to him so sweetly because he knows that's what nikolai wants— isn't that the same thing he's doing for fyodor, too? and then, isn't that love? ]
Make no mistake, Fedya. I don't hate you. I love you so much I don't know what to do with myself. I want to be the one that ends your life, yet that would link our story together for eternity . . .
[ he pulls his face away from his neck, mouth bloody, looking down at him with a dizzy expression. he brings his hands lovingly towards his neck, wrapping his palms around it to stop the bleeding at the same time as he pushes him down onto the couch, and he begins slowly adding pressure to his grip. ]
No, Fedya, you show me. Let me see how you beg to me.
[ and to make it even harder to get any air, he leans down over his body with all his weight, planting a bloody kiss directly on his mouth, open and deep, pushing his tongue inside so he can taste his own blood. ]
no subject
but, ah — he's an instrument of perfection, too. of quelling the chaos — both around the world and within nikolai's heart.
to hear that he's loved — to hear that he's revered; it shouldn't matter, but in a way, it does. to know, full-well, nikolai means every word; he might be confused about the meaning of love, of what it means to love and what to expect, but his earnest honesty is plain to fyodor, and endears him to kolya in a way that makes him want to entrap the other forever.
a gilded cage, just for him to dance as fyodor commands — for all eternity. longer, even. )
It'll always be your choice. ( what to do with himself — but also, it won't be.
still, fyodor leans back as nikolai pushes him down onto the couch, feeling the sting in his neck and the burning sensation of a piercing wound, squeezed now with the other's long fingers. he gasps — and his eyes widen, as if panicked, though it's always hard to say whether he is or isn't surprised. he's an excellent actor, after all — and he allows himself this; a natural reaction, body tensing and expression falling, both hands wrapping around nikolai's wrists, as if he were in actual distress. )
Kolya, I can't — ( breathe, he wants to say, but — the taste of his own blood and the pressure of nikolai's tongue pushing into his mouth successfuly stop him from doing so, the other's weight pinning him down to the couch. is this what it's like, to be entirely helpless? he could free himself, if he were willing to kill nikolai — but he isn't.
not now.
instead, he returns the kiss; his own, fading heartbeat continues to thrum quietly in his ears, and he stirs, when his lungs begin to burn, vision blurring. his fingers remain coiled around kolya's wrists, but his grip fades, as the remnants of oxygen escape his mouth, small, choked sounds exhaled against nikolai's lips. )
no subject
sometimes, though… sometimes, he wishes his feelings were properly returned so he could see the point of no return and finally end this. for now, wordless affirmation - actions that look like affection but could really be anything, is enough to keep him in a death grip. fyodor's schrödinger’s feelings. a horrible, perfect balance.
still, nikolai is also human. he presses a leg between fyodor's, deepening the kiss fervently as his own body begins to react to his friend gasping for air, fingers digging deeper into the soft flesh of his throat, stopping all air and blood flow. he hums into his mouth, pushing his tongue inside deeper, hissing when fyodor's grip on his wrists increases.
he continues on for a few more seconds even after fyodor lets go, and when he doesn't move anymore, he finally softens the hold on his neck, allowing him to breathe again, pulling away from his lips to let him take in air. ]
. . . Haah. [ he looks down at his bloody face, breathing heavy, face fully flushed. ] This look suits you, Fedya.
no subject
still, for some reason — and this reason is unknown even to him, really — he refuses to lie to kolya about love. a personal preference, maybe — it'd be all too easy to simply go with the flow and falsely admit whatever feelings nikolai wants out of him, but — ah. where's the fun in that? to put the other at ease is hardly fyodor's goal, in any of this; if anything, keeping him on constant edge, constantly yearning for that final validation and never receiving it — isn't that just the most cruel torture of all?
and still, he's so good to him, regardless.
he can feel nikolai's thigh pressing between his own — the way his body tenses and goes slack, as air escapes lungs, a burning, desperate sensation blooming within his chest. it's all controlled, but — it feels new, still, to let go in any capacity, and the excitement of that can't be denied. he's undoubtedly flushed, pale skin tinted pink as his eyes shine something near-manic.
once he's free to breathe, he gasps — his vision blurs, black splotches where nikolai should be, and it takes him a moment to re-focus again, throat hoarse. he'll bruise, where nikolai squeezed — any sort of impact tends to leave long-lasting marks on an anemic body. )
It suits you, too. ( that excited, near-feral look nikolai gets, when things go his way. fyodor smiles; reaches up to... unbutton a few buttons of his shirt... scandalously so. it's warm, though; he's rarely one to say that. ) I'm beginning to think this side of you should be reserved for me alone.
( hum. )
What do you think, Kolya? How far are you willing to go to defile me?