[ he also omits the part where their parting is inevitable because he plans to kill fyodor one day. that's irrelevant now, when their faces are so close, and he has no choice but to lean in and kiss his lips, chaste and clean, lasting only a few lingering seconds. ]
( what's a relationship without some secrets? although, well, fyodor can make an educated guess about nikolai's endgame - the curse of being a genius, maybe.
for now, none of that matters.
the kiss is greeted with a small smile; he motions for nikolai to come sit with him, instead, because keeping his head turned like this is annoying. )
Will you stand behind me forever? My neck will hurt. ( :( he's delicate )
it takes him by surprise, for sure. he laughs under his breath, holding onto the offered wrist with his free hand; slender and transparent, warm and cold at the same time. a miracle of blood and heartlessness - something only possible for someone like fyodor, he thinks. ]
It's the Antiques Roadshow, coming to a town near you!
[ he wastes no time to press his tongue against the exposed skin, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh until he draws blood, immediately lapping it up to not waste a drop. ]
( his skin is all but translucent, blue veins visible beneath; he watches, some sort of idle interest reflected in his eyes, as nikolai takes his arm in hands and sinks his sharp teeth into flesh.
a small hiss escapes his lips, then; it's a momentary sting, immediately soothed by both the blood and the other's tongue. )
It's the books I worried about, not myself. ( and speaking of, he's going to put that book away with his free hand, turning his shoulders towards nikolai. ) You can get me dirty; I'm not pure in the first place.
( just going to... push that arm up, a little, further against nikolai's teeth. )
[ right, he did say the books, and he was rather insistent that he himself is not a clean person. nikolai remembers, but he doesn't fully agree. fyodor is otherworldly, like a fairy or a demon - both pure creatures at their core.
nikolai might not fully understand fyodor, nor does he want to, but he's gotten pretty good at reading the air when they’re together. in a twisted way, knowing each other's intentions means there's no secrets between them - at least, none that matter. he would never kill fyodor in such a mundane way, and he's sure if fyodor wanted to kill him he'd be dead by now. it gives this moment a special meaning; fyodor rarely gets to experience pain, and nikolai gets to be the one that fulfills that bizarre need.
when fyodor turns to face him completely and presses his arm further, nikolai pulls the arm he had around him so he could hold onto fyodor's with both hands, his face heating up with excitement, almost salivating. ]
You're wonderful, Fedya. Beautiful and intricate, like a maze of pure marble where all the exits lead to an infinite sea of ink-black waters.
[ he presses his tongue on his wrist again, this time aiding himself with his thumbs to coerce more blood to spill from his bite mark. when it feels like it’s about to run dry, he sinks his teeth in again— hard, letting a thick stream of red run down his skin before drinking that as well with slow, deliberate laps of his tongue, eyes closed, his breath shaking in ecstasy. ]
( it's unlike fyodor, to hold anyone in high regard — and yet, he can't help but marvel at nikolai's endless bravery, as he touches him the way he would a lover, rather than a poisonous snake. as he drinks his blood — which many would call dirty, noxious — as if it were heavenly, instead. it's not surprising, but it still makes the breath in his throat catch, momentarily; he's not used to pain, much less being touched so freely, and so — every sensation nikolai so graciously provides him feels like he's discovering something new altogether.
his shoulders shake, as the sting of the bites settles in properly; nikolai's teeth sink into flesh again, and fyodor hisses, feeling his body tense up — and then relax into the sensation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, head falling back against the couch's backrest.
it hurts. it feels good. the distinction between these two is blurry, at best. )
You look happy. Does poison taste that good, Kolya? ( his lips curve in a small smile; of course, his blood isn't going to harm the other, but —
considering just touching him could, doesn't that still count as something lethal, at best? like gently caressing the tip of a blade, rather than a person. )
You're the only one to ever taste it and survive. So special.
[ 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. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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( he's the worst person you know he's but he's also your wife? )
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[ but he tilts his chin so their faces are close together. ]
I should have killed the ones texting you sweet nothings, however.
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( he's so understanding, see? smile, smile. )
Aha. Maybe another time.
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[ oh… doki again… ]
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( spoken with a gentle smile while looking him right in the eye.
the part where he admits it's because nikolai can be really useful is ofc omitted. )
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[ he also omits the part where their parting is inevitable because he plans to kill fyodor one day. that's irrelevant now, when their faces are so close, and he has no choice but to lean in and kiss his lips, chaste and clean, lasting only a few lingering seconds. ]
I shall never leave you.
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for now, none of that matters.
the kiss is greeted with a small smile; he motions for nikolai to come sit with him, instead, because keeping his head turned like this is annoying. )
Will you stand behind me forever? My neck will hurt. ( :( he's delicate )
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What am I interrupting?
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I'm brushing up on my Japanese; nothing important. ( guy who doesn't need to do Alla that )
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[ here comes an arm to wrap around his shoulders. ]
Want to make out with me instead?
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First... ( he rolls one of his sleeves up, sticking his wrist up to kolya's lips. ) Your reward.
( bite :) )
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it takes him by surprise, for sure. he laughs under his breath, holding onto the offered wrist with his free hand; slender and transparent, warm and cold at the same time. a miracle of blood and heartlessness - something only possible for someone like fyodor, he thinks. ]
It's the Antiques Roadshow, coming to a town near you!
[ he wastes no time to press his tongue against the exposed skin, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh until he draws blood, immediately lapping it up to not waste a drop. ]
You did ask me not to get you dirty, after all.
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a small hiss escapes his lips, then; it's a momentary sting, immediately soothed by both the blood and the other's tongue. )
It's the books I worried about, not myself. ( and speaking of, he's going to put that book away with his free hand, turning his shoulders towards nikolai. ) You can get me dirty; I'm not pure in the first place.
( just going to... push that arm up, a little, further against nikolai's teeth. )
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nikolai might not fully understand fyodor, nor does he want to, but he's gotten pretty good at reading the air when they’re together. in a twisted way, knowing each other's intentions means there's no secrets between them - at least, none that matter. he would never kill fyodor in such a mundane way, and he's sure if fyodor wanted to kill him he'd be dead by now. it gives this moment a special meaning; fyodor rarely gets to experience pain, and nikolai gets to be the one that fulfills that bizarre need.
when fyodor turns to face him completely and presses his arm further, nikolai pulls the arm he had around him so he could hold onto fyodor's with both hands, his face heating up with excitement, almost salivating. ]
You're wonderful, Fedya. Beautiful and intricate, like a maze of pure marble where all the exits lead to an infinite sea of ink-black waters.
[ he presses his tongue on his wrist again, this time aiding himself with his thumbs to coerce more blood to spill from his bite mark. when it feels like it’s about to run dry, he sinks his teeth in again— hard, letting a thick stream of red run down his skin before drinking that as well with slow, deliberate laps of his tongue, eyes closed, his breath shaking in ecstasy. ]
Ahh . . . Fedya . . .
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his shoulders shake, as the sting of the bites settles in properly; nikolai's teeth sink into flesh again, and fyodor hisses, feeling his body tense up — and then relax into the sensation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, head falling back against the couch's backrest.
it hurts. it feels good. the distinction between these two is blurry, at best. )
You look happy. Does poison taste that good, Kolya? ( his lips curve in a small smile; of course, his blood isn't going to harm the other, but —
considering just touching him could, doesn't that still count as something lethal, at best? like gently caressing the tip of a blade, rather than a person. )
You're the only one to ever taste it and survive. So special.
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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...
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( 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. )
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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?
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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?
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[ 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 . . .
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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. )
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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. )
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