Chapter Text
You can’t recall the last time you had been so close with someone. While intimacy was not a new concept, it was still uncomfortable in acknowledgement. You rarely found comfort in others, through their desperation to connect, you simply weren’t as emotionally available as some of them needed you to be.
You were grateful that he didn’t need that. Yesenin– his name, one you find quite fitting– has a bitter view on the world. He’s mildly worrisome with his pessimistic remarks, but he’s made for good company, and you’re silently glad that he’s stayed so long.
He sits with you at the table, kitchen empty as it often is when you enter, sipping absently at some beer as you both talk about everything that comes to mind. You think he’s on his fifth, but you haven’t bothered strictly counting, as you’re nearly on your ninth. You find it would be hypocritical to consider limiting such friendly company, following the off chance that stopping his intake might ruin the moment and sour his mood. The thought sends a shrill pang through your chest, one you ignore.
You like the way he talks. Poetic, you think. Words seem to come as easily to him as air comes to his lungs– even though he coughs a lot, which you think is either a result of smoking or liver complications– your point still stands.
“My good man, you’ve been staring for a while now. Is there something on your mind?”
Being addressed so directly hurts your head in a way. You can’t help the groan that tears from your throat, as you slump forward against the table, head in your hands. He raises a brow, downing the rest of his current drink, not speaking of your behavior, though amusement glints in his eyes.
“I’ve just, so… fuck.” You gesture at him lamely, dropping your arms and crossing them over the table. He hums lowly.
“What about me?” He reaches for another beer as he speaks, looking at you through lidded eyes.
“You talk nice.” It’s stupid, but it sounds close enough to how you feel, with your brain muddled and dumb from the alcohol. You’re sleepy, but simultaneously alert, watching his shoulders shake with soft laughter.
“You are troubled by my way of speaking? My good man, are you thinking quite right?” His smile widens as you grunt, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.
“You talk so pretty, talking about such… shit, things.” You mumble tiredly against your hands, having lowered them to look at his face again. He’s pretty, in a way, with his high cheek bones and slender jaw. He’s lanky, and while not an inherently attractive trait with his tall stature, you think it suits him. Even so, most of his features swarm yours, much larger by comparison. It both repels others and draws them towards him.
He hums, again, his smile faltering to make way for a much more somber expression.
“Well… I’ve never thought about the way I talk. Crude, yes, but no one’s pointed out my mannerisms before.” He raises his brows sharply at you, but his eyes remain indifferent. “You are the first to draw my attention to it. I just speak my mind, my good man, and there’s nothing more about it than that.”
You close your eyes, sighing heavily. It wasn’t meant to offend him, though you aren’t fully sure it did, he’s regarding your presence now in an odd way.
“I’m, I didn’t…” You slump further against the table. He snorts, the only outward display that your comment hadn’t upset him. You close your eyes, willing away the impending headache.
“There’s no harm, my good man. It’s something for me to think about that isn’t the shit state of the world.” He sneers against his next sip of beer, glaring at the drink in his hand. “I know you don’t mean anything by it. Don’t take my reaction as malice.”
You hum weakly, letting your head thump against the table. He startles at the sound, eyeing you apprehensively. You reach out and place your hand over his. He tenses, muscles freezing in movement, but he doesn’t pull away.
“You manage… good.” The alcohol has officially slurred your speech, but you don’t care all that much. You can’t string your thoughts together much anyway. You watch as he downs the rest of his current beer, hand twitching briefly under yours. But still, he doesn’t pull away. He stares at your fingers pressing lightly onto his, and he doesn’t move, as if afraid to ruin something. He doesn’t stay quiet for long.
“... To you, at least. I think I manage shit. My whole life is shit.” He sighs heavily, squinting at an unopened beer can. You can tell he’s thinking of grabbing it. You slide your half empty can to him, and his eyes widen just enough for you to notice. He makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, shifting his hand– the one you had taken captive– slowly, to intertwine your fingers with his own. You hum, something like a smile pulling at your lips.
“You haven’t, hurt anyone, here.” You turn your head and yawn against the table. He shakes his own, smiling despite his outward opinion.
“No, I suppose I haven’t.” He makes quick work of your own beer, seemingly inspired to reach your level of drunkenness. So, you watch as he downs another. And another. He downs 3 back to back in silence, letting you hold his hand all the while. You squeeze his hand lightly, and he ducks his head, grimacing at the undoubtedly sour feeling in his throat, but he squeezes back almost reassuringly.
You can’t help but laugh. You aren’t sure what’s so funny about watching him down so much alcohol, maybe he made a face, but he’s making one now as your body shakes with giggles. His stoicism cracks and he laughs along with you, after a moment of quiet contemplation, taking a firmer hold of your hand.
“You are very entertaining company, my good man.” Your laughter trails off as you try to find your breath, pulling him closer to you. You feel a soft ache, a need to be next to him, a need that he easily fulfills without question. “Very clingy, as well. Are you quite alright?”
You nod as you lean into him. His smile shifts a tinge awkward, almost nervous, faltering altogether when you wrap your arms around him. He’s comfortable, you reason, warm and soft despite his thinness. Your arms reach high to tangle over his shoulders, his hands held out away from him in surprise. He slowly brings his hands down to your waist, with you shuddering at the contact, but he leaves them there.
It’s nice to be held like this, not quite with passion, but with a sort of content. You don’t move, or speak, and while he holds you, he seems eager to break the silence.
“... Is this a common occurrence for you?” He shifts slowly as you attempt to bury your head into his neck. You take a deep breath, breathing him in, making a high sound in your throat as you press your face harder into his skin. You feel his breath falter with breathy chuckles, hands smoothing over your waist and to your back in a soothing motion.
“I dunno.” Your lips pull tight, pressed thinly against him, and he laughs. You condemn him in your mind, but fondness prevails as he continues to rub his hands along your clothed skin. It feels nice, and you want to blame that solely for the warmth spreading through you, blood rushing south. He doesn’t seem to notice at first.
Inevitably, you feel him tense against you. His hold goes rigid, hands stilling against your hips. You can’t bring yourself to look back, to meet his eyes, which are undoubtedly searching for yours.
He shifts again, making a soft sound– likely of discomfort, considering just how close you are to him. He draws in a slow breath.
“I-.. My, uh, good man, are you..?” Hard, your thoughts finish for him. You know he doesn’t need to finish the sentence, all things considered, as you’ve put him in such an awkward predicament. He heaves a sigh as you nod, hands lightly squeezing your hips.
You blame the alcohol for what happens next. Your mind fogs, the two of you desperately pulling at each other, and with each clash of tongues and teeth you become aware that you’re in your bedroom. He hands off the bed with his long legs, helping you fervently undress yourself. It hits you that he’s still dressed, and you whine high in your throat as you tug at stressed buttons.
“Be patient- I got it, you’re okay.” He makes a low sound in his throat, slipping out of his own clothes, smoothing large hands over your torso. You slump back onto the mattress, exhaling hard through your nose. He leans down, practically curling into you, burying his face in your neck as you arch, his fingers tracing shapes onto your ribs.
You hook your legs over his hips, and he chuckles, letting you guide him between your legs. His chuckles fade into breathless groans as you grind up into him, his head falling forward. His hips stutter against yours, and he pushes down on your chest.
“W- wait, okay, wait a minute…” He gasps into your neck, leaning back to watch one of his hands cup your rear. You, again, arch into him, his fingers probing your hole.
“Hold on, I can’t… I can’t let you get hurt.” He holds his breath as his fingers begin to breach. It really does hurt without lube, but that hasn’t been a priority as of late, so you grit your teeth and bare it. Mercifully, he goes slow, giving you time with each movement to adjust– and with each pause the burn fades, pleasure steadily building in your gut.
You jolt as he hits the nerves deep within you, choking on a loud sound. It certainly feels more intense, likely from the alcohol, and he leans down to kiss your neck as his fingers scissor you open. The heat continues to build, your core tightening– but he abruptly pulls back.
Complaints bubble in your throat, cut off as his prick presses against your entrance. It doesn’t quite penetrate smoothly, but his patience makes it pleasurable, and he bottoms out with little resistance.
The two of you sit breathing heavily for a moment. He begins to grind against you, overwhelming you with himself, the fullness of him inside of you. His hips move slowly, hands lightly pushing down on your waist, steadying.
You’re not used to the priority of your pleasure. You especially– at least, initially– would never expect it from him. Despite this, he angles his hips to make you arch, to send electric currents up your spine, pressing down on you to keep you grounded. You’re sure you would be off the ground otherwise, far away from here. He kisses your skin, muttering soft nothings into your ear, stroking your hair, and, eventually, stroking your length in time with his thrusts.
He caves over you, shuddering as you release hard into his palm. Your breath escapes you as he nears his own peak, breathing open-mouthed into your jaw. He shudders against you, hips grinding into yours as he releases.
You both sit there for a moment, trying to find your breath, with him still inside you and seed spilled between both your bodies, his chest lightly pressing against yours. He’s warm, but not in an overbearing way, not unpleasant like the sun is.
You like it.