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"Come on, Rubin, I don't have all night."
The loud, boisterous voice rings through his skull abruptly, startling Stakh from his revere, and his trembling hand slips, pressing the scalpel sideways into the soft breast tissue. Stakh takes in a sharp breath as he stares at the deep, off-kilter cut bleeding red on pale, translucent skin, his eyes widening in horror. Andrey looks at the wound on his chest and laughs, cruel and mocking, as he places his hand on Stakh's and moves it, recentering the blade so it rests comfortably between his breasts.
"Get your head in the game, boy! What kind of doctor are you if you're so easily distracted, hm?"
"I- I'm new at this," Stakh says, quiet and reserved. He doesn't look Andrey in the eyes as his hand starts the cut anew, focusing intently as the blade slices through flesh like butter. Andrey's encouraging moan sounds above him, and Stakh feels a quick surge of pride.
"Well, you better learn quick. Old Burakh will never accept you as his pupil if you can't even cut me open."
"Shut up. Shut up! I'm trying!" Stakh says, his frustration mounting. "My hands aren't as steady as they used to be. But I'm learning, and that- that matters."
"Oh please, is that all you have to say for yourself? Just one excuse after another?" Andrey's voice laced with judgement. "Incompetent at war, useless with healing. What good are you to anyone if you can't be helpful, huh? Ah, but don't you worry," Andrey says, his voice suddenly soft and demure as he slides a warm hand up to Stakh's cheek, thumb lazily stroking days old stubble. "That's why I'm here. We're going to practice together, and you'll find your place. Soon the whole town will see your hard work and welcome you with open arms."
Stakh lets out a small, shaky breath and looks up at Andrey with wide, pleading eyes. "Do you promise?"
Andrey leans over, mindful of the scalpel embedded into his chest, and presses a small, chaste kiss to Stakh's lips. "I promise. Now, get to work." Andrey says as he pulls away slowly, resting back on the slab of stone he sits upon and wiggling to get comfortable. Stakh is unsure how pleasant it must be, laying on the rough surface of the cold stonework table in his Master's lair, but Andrey makes no ill noise, barely flinches as warm skin touches the hard stone. Stakh looms over him and touches the flesh of Andrey's stomach gently, his fingers featherlight as they travel up his ribs, his breast, to his collarbone where it presses down, anchoring Stakh as he resumes.
The blade no longer trembles as he presses down into the sternum, carving past skin and muscle with ease. Andrey pants, shivering as the hand on his collarbone slides down and gently strokes the open wound. Stakh's rough, calloused fingers are delicate as he pries the skin apart, blood trailing down the ribcage in long, dark stripes. He notices how fast it bleeds from the wounds and frowns. Was this because of the narcotics Andrey is so fond of, or does he simply bleed easy? Stakh couldn't help but wonder as he presses into the deep cut, trailing his fingers through the warm, soft meat before relenting. Andrey makes a disgruntled groan, and Stakh can't help but grin, just a tiny quirk of his lips as he resumes cutting.
The sternum opens up into the abdomen, and Stakh's eyes widen with desire as Andrey's body thrums with life, each organ calling out to him in a cacophony of noise. The blade halts at the navel, soaked vibrant red as Stakh pulls it from Andrey's gut and sets it aside. His hand ghosts above the precisely made cut and Stakh marvels at his handiwork, pride bubbling up to his chest as he admires the clean laceration. He's not his Master, he cannot trace the Lines as he does, but Stakh can cut with precision and perhaps that is enough.
"You're doing good, Rubin. So good ." Andrey speaks up, unexpected tenderness lacing his words. Stakh's face flushes, and he tucks his chin into his chest, unable to not be embarrassed at the compliment. "I want more, though."
"What do you want, Andrey?" Stakh says, thumbing the laceration gently. "Just ask, and I'll give it to you. Anything."
"Anything?"
"Yes."
Andrey chuckles softly, shaking his head in a way that Stakh interprets as endearing. He reaches to his wound and smoothly peels the skin and fat, revealing the thrumming flesh of his internal organs, pumping hot and red and alive .
"Show me how much you want to be a part of me, Rubin," Andrey says slowly, watching Stakh with unreadable eyes. "I know you love me, but won't say it, so use your actions instead. Are you hard?"
He is. "I am."
"Do you want me?"
He does. "Of course, I do."
"Then fuck me. Ah- no, no, not there." Andrey catches Rubin's bloody hand as it began to reach for his cunt, guiding it up to hold his twitching stomach gently. "Here. Right here . I want you as far inside as you can reach, Rubin."
Stakh feels a sudden surge of affection, leaning over and pressing a hard kiss to Andrey's mouth. Andrey moans and tilts his head, reaching up to grasp Stakh by the shoulders and guide him onto the stone table. Stakh's clumsy as he climbs up, kneeling on each side of Andrey's torso heavily, looming over his bisected body. Andrey pulls back from the kiss, cupping Stakh's hard cock through his slacks and impatiently reaches inside. Stakh groans as Andrey's hot hand slips around his cock, pulling it out from below the waistband and stroking him roughly. His hand uncharacteristically smooth, like that of a marble statue. Andrey wickedly grins as Stakh closes his eyes and pants, giving the cock a hard squeeze that leaves Stakh gasping in pleasure-pain.
"Come on, come on, come onnn , hurry up, Rubin," Andrey says as he grasps Stakh's hips and pulls him in close, his heavy cock hovering above the bleeding wound.
Stakh nods, his mouth feeling as if it were full of lead, and grasps the base of his length, giving Andrey one last wary look before placing the head between the liver and stomach. His lips part and his eyes fall closed as Stakh slips inside the wanting body in one fluid movement. There's no friction, and hot, sticky wetness encompasses Stakh, the heat inside almost unbearable as he bottom's out. Stakh opens his eyes and blushes as he meets Andrey's gaze, alight with excitement and adoration.
"That's it, Rubin," Andrey purrs encouragingly, stroking Stakh's quivering hips slowly. "Start slow, yes, yes , just like that. Oh, you feel so good."
Stakh loses himself to sensation, blood pounding in his ears as he pumps himself into Andrey's guts, deeper and harder with every thrust. The room fills with the sick sound of wet slapping, and Andrey's heat spreads up through his body, settling deep within his cold bones and lighting Stakh ablaze. He leans over and presses a crushing kiss to Andrey's mouth but suddenly chokes as a wave of blood fills his mouth, tasting of twyrine and decay. Stakh gags and tries to pull away, but Andrey grabs his head, laughing against Stakh's lips as he holds his head still.
"Don't pull away now. You wanted this, dear Rubin," Andrey says, gasping as Stakh bites his lower lip. The flesh pulls apart, and a sweet, cloying odour fills the air, turning Rubin's stomach. "Tell me you want me, that you love me, Rubin. I know you want to. You know you'll never get another chance to belong to anyone other than me, so give in. Say it, say it! "
"I- ah! I love you, Andrey," Stakh gasps, scorching hot tears stinging his eyes as he tears up. It's too much, it's too hot, he's burning up, but Stakh can't stop. He gags and chokes but kisses Andrey anyways as he pounds into his gut. He's drowning in hellfire, and his head spins, and he cries out as he comes, the world suddenly reeling into darkness and then-
Stakh gasps as he jolts awake, panting like a wounded animal as he frantically looks around his room. His stomach violently churns, and Stakh quickly sits up, throwing the window open and vomiting loudly into the night. The hot, humid summer air blows across his face, and Stakh shivers, his entire body burning up and feverish. Stakh takes a few moments to breathe and calm his erratic heartbeat, sitting back onto the bed with little grace.
A nightmare. It was all a nightmare. Stakh's fine, and Andrey's fine too. Or, as fine as Andrey can be. Stakh heavily swallows as he thinks of the man in his dream, grimacing at the bittersweet taste in his mouth, and lays back down, feeling his forehead. He's got a fever for sure, probably caught something from one of Isidor's latest patients. Stupid, how stupid he is. Stakh needs to be more careful if he- if he-
Stakh scowls and rolls onto his side, facing the wall, ignoring the soreness in his gut as he curls into a tight ball. The nightmare was just that: a nightmare. It means nothing to him; it was nonsense conjured up by a sick brain, that's all. It- it has to mean nothing because if it doesn't-
Stakh shuts his eyes closed and squeezes them until his head spins, his jaw grinding as he refuses to be ill again. He clears his mind, focusing on the muffled tick, tick, tick of the clock in the other room. He falls asleep like that, tense and unmoving though his body screams in protest.
He doesn't dream the rest of the night.