[ 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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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.
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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?