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The thing about playing the fool was that a good one knew very well the role they were playing.
Nikolai believed himself to be one of the highest quality fools there ever was. The jesters of the medieval times, harlequins, and even pantomime characters couldn’t compete with him. He was special. He had something that placed him above the rest of them all. An act so great that no one would ever be able to replicate it.
The act apparently lasted for a very long time.
Two hours and thirty six minutes, to be exact.
Nikolai had been sitting under Fyodor’s desk for two hours and twenty two.
Now, Fyodor knew that he was under there. He had told Nikolai to kneel and wait like a patient little doggy trying to get a bone. To be completely fair, Fyodor was very busy, so busy that he couldn’t even spare a second of time on the fact that Nikolai was kneeling under his desk, waiting for him. After the first hour, Nikolai had realized that there wouldn’t be any bone for a very long time.
He could practically hear the laugh track play as he sat there on the hardwood floor, knees burning and the pattern of the wood indented into his tender skin. Fyodor’s body and chair blocked out what little light the room had. He could barely even see his own hands.
He couldn’t even leave if he wanted to. Fyodor wasn’t going to move anytime soon, and the desk was pressed up against a wall. Nikolai was trapped. He hadn’t planned it, but he was always ready to incorporate a surprise into his act.
Nikolai was fine with it. Every good clown knew that the best jokes were those at one’s own expense. Nikolai hadn’t planned it, but the little trick Fyodor was playing was definitely entertaining him, even though he wasn’t having the best time. Nikolai didn’t really mind. Why would someone care if a jester injured themselves while juggling? His comfort was something to be ignored rather than tended to.
It helped build character. He didn’t particularly need more character, but personality was important in show business. How else was he supposed to terrify and destroy society?
Nikolai was shoved out of his head when Fyodor’s leg brushed against him. The man flinched, hitting his knees on the desk, causing him to accidentally kick Nikolai in the process. Nikolai let out a yelp and attempted to moved out of his kneeling position, which only caused him to hit his head. He sat there as he heard Fyodor’s chair move away.
“Why are you still under my desk?” Fyodor had bent so he could see Nikolai.
Nikolai stared back at him for a few moments, much like a deer caught in headlights about to be destroyed by a truck. He could feel the heat of stage lights on his back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
This caused Fyodor to smile, almost laugh too! Nikolai held down his excitement. It wasn’t over yet, the main event hadn’t even begun. Fyodor motioned for Nikolai to stay there, so he did, despite the urge to crawl out and lay himself down on the floor.
“So devoted to whatever you decide to do. I really can’t decide wether it’s foolish or honourable.” Fyodor hummed, running a hand through Nikolai’s hair, much like one would pet a lap dog. He leaned into the touch, moving to rest his head on the man’s thigh. It wasn’t the most comfortable place, due to the lack of muscle and fat, but he loved it anyway.
Nikolai smiled at the man’s words. Sometimes insults sounded like applause to him. Every word spat at him was worth a thousand people encouraging him to keep going. “Devotion is necessary in life, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” Fyodor sighed. “Yours is just different. It makes me feel ill sometimes.”
Nikolai laughed at that. He pulled his gloves off as he spoke, shoving them in his pocket. “You’re always sick with something. How can you be so sure that it’s me?”
Fyodor’s hand paused mid pet and tugged harshly on his hair. Nikolai yelped, much like a dog getting its tail stepped on, when he was pulled closer by the shorter hair on the top of his head. The man’s grip was tight, almost close to ripping the hair out of his scalp. Nikolai continued to let out small whines as he scrambled to regain control, following wherever the man’s hand led him. The crowd roared with laughter. He felt his cheeks flush as satisfaction ran through him.
Moments like these always led up to the main event. A show of control after a line was crossed, always ending with Nikolai right where he wanted to be.
Once, on a particularly exciting night, he had been playing around with the idea of playing Fyodor’s cello. Nikolai wasn’t the most knowledgeable about musical instruments. Fyodor knew this very well. Nikolai had picked up the bow, feeling its weight in his hand. Unfortunately, before he could even play a single note, it was snatched from his hand. Instead of passive aggressively berating him in that cold voice he always had, Fyodor just stared at him. He stared into his eyes, looking at Nikolai like he had just threatened him. Nikolai hadn’t expected it, and in a moment of pure foolishness, he burst of laughing.
Fyodor slapped him immediately after he stopped laughing. Nikolai still remembered the horrible sting on his cheek, the blooming warmth. He also remembered the laugh that echoed across the room when Fyodor realized that he had instantly sprouted a large tent in his pants.
After that, he could only keep begging for more. He needed something bigger than himself. Something so great that it couldn’t be ignored. Fyodor was that thing. The pain, the insults, the mind numbing pleasure. Fyodor gave those to him without hesitation.
Nikolai knew it wasn’t because of love. It was probably a display of power, or some sort of manipulation tactic. Nikolai didn’t mind. He still had power. He knew what Fyodor was doing, but he egged him on. Every little trick was a dare, every word was a leash tugged on. The goal was always the snap. Showcasing his power over Nikolai after being tested one too many times. That was when the act got good.
Nikolai couldn’t help but grin when he noticed that his face was right in front of Fyodor’s crotch. The main act was about to begin.
“You’re so desperate for attention that it’s almost adorable.” Fyodor gently brushed his thumb across Nikolai’s bottom lip, smiling. It was as if he was attempting to recreate the experience of being with a lover.
The fool allowed it, leaning in closer to Fyodor’s body. Every single word made his blood pump faster, his heart beating loudly within his chest. Everything in his body was screaming at him to rip Fyodor’s pants off, but he didn’t. Eventually, the man would let him do it. That was how the act always played out. No changes had been added to the script, and Nikolai was well rehearsed.
Nikolai looked up at Fyodor and gave him a smile so wide that it would be extremely unsettling to anyone that wasn’t Fyodor Dostoyevsky. “Oh, but I’m only desperate for your attention! I suppose that would only make you feel worse, wouldn’t it? What a tragedy this truly is.”
“I wouldn’t call it a tragedy.” Fyodor said, stone cold.
Nikolai could hear the audience laugh, a sound he was all too familiar with. It seemed that every mistake he made was just another joke for the world to laugh at, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. Perhaps Fyodor was right, in a way. He was almost constantly in the spotlight. It was bright, so bright and so hot that it burned like the sun itself.
He let out a small laugh. “Stories can become a whole new genre when the perspective is changed. For you, my dearest, this is probably a comedy, a very drawn out comedy. Most people would be bored by this point. I hope you still find me entertaining.”
Fyodor’s hand ran through his hair while he hummed something. Nikolai took a few deep breaths. Something was building within him, a strange restlessness making his mind unable to focus on what was going on. Fyodor’s touch was so warm, so comforting. He wanted to fall asleep on the man’s thigh. Nikolai forced himself to open his eyes. He still had work to do.
He lifted himself up while waiting for Fyodor to respond to his comment. He waited for a moment before looking up at the man, only to find his own face reflected in deep violet. Fyodor smiled when they made eye contact.
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Fyodor said, finally undoing the button on his pants. He cupped Nikolai’s face in his hand while he allowed the fool to pull his cock out. The man’s thumb caressed his cheek so tenderly that it felt like a mockery of love instead of the real thing. Nikolai didn’t mind either way. The counterfeit was good enough for the both of them. It was simply apart of the performance.
He looked up at Fyodor, but his face was the same as always. A devious smile and those fucking eyes staring back at him. Fyodor was taunting him, daring him to back out, to yell about how horrible it all was. He was being used. Nikolai knew that. Fyodor knew that he did. It only made the act more entertaining for him.
Fyodor was the type of man that couldn’t help but turn everyone around him into useful little toys. Nikolai couldn’t even get himself to leave. The affection, the desire, he needed it. He craved Fyodor’s attention and ire. He needed that burning spotlight on him, even though it felt as if it was burning through his clothes and into his skin. Nikolai needed to be seen for once, and Fyodor’s eyes were perfect for the job. The demon appreciated his performances, understood them too. Absurdity for the sake of absurdity. Doing horrible things just to break the invisible barriers that society forced upon them. It was art.
He felt Fyodor gently tug on his hair, a sign that he needed to he on with it. Nikolai took his cock in his hand, smiling when he heard the man let out a deep breath. Even the slightest reactions from Fyodor felt like pulling teeth. He was much more reactive in moments when Nikolai had his hands on him. It was fake, Nikolai just knew it had to be. He was simply portraying the role of a usually stoic man breaking down. Just another one of his tricks to make the show more entertaining.
Nikolai decided to stop stalling. He started by slowly licking Fyodor’s cock, making sure to take his time. He wasn’t awfully fond of the taste of skin, but he was fine with Fyodor’s taste. Despite his appearance, the man was quite hygienic when he knew Nikolai was coming over.
With another tug on his hair, Nikolai finally decided to take the man’s cock into his mouth. Still wanting to build some tension, he only took in an inch or two at a time. He gently sucked on the head, not applying too much pressure. He restrained himself from using too much tongue. Fyodor could be awfully sensitive at times, and Nikolai didn’t really want to get kicked that night, even though it was quite entertaining to see the man get flustered.
“Hurry up. I don’t have time for this.” Fyodor said, despite knowing the fact that Nikolai had made sure to check his schedule before hand.
Nikolai took the man into his mouth inch by inch, going slowly and allowing himself to get used to the feeling. He pulled back a bit when it got close to his throat, not wanting to stop teasing so quickly. He was used to the movements, knowing the most effective ways to satisfy himself and Fyodor. After doing it so many times, Fyodor’s length in his mouth felt almost comforting, especially when it wasn’t being violently shoved down his throat.
Nikolai continued for a while, only taking more of Fyodor into his mouth when he felt like it. It wasn’t too long or thick, completely average in most ways. Nikolai still found himself satisfied. Fyodor didn’t really use it much anyway, so the size didn’t really matter to him.
He decided to take a small risk. Slowly, Nikolai stared to grind his crotch on Fyodor’s leg. He felt his leg move to press against him, making him whine around the man’s cock.
The man let out a soft sigh when Nikolai finally decided to take all of him. He moved forward until the tip of his nose was pressed up against the man’s body. Nikolai stayed for a few seconds before pulling off completely, smiling at the groan Fyodor had accidentally let out.
“You’re doing good, so good.” The man sighed, brushing some hair out of Nikolai’s face.
He didn’t push him, didn’t move him. Fyodor simply let him do whatever he wanted. It was almost cute in a horrific way, how Fyodor let Nikolai have so much fun with his body. He should’ve been dead by now, but for some reason, he wasn’t. Fyodor wanted to see the show continue, to witness more of his art. Wasn’t that the point of performing? To earn praise and entertain? He was supposed to be happy with Fyodor’s reaction, but it felt bitter. The taste in his mouth mixed with the taste of the man’s precum, making him feel nauseous.
Nikolai tried to get away from the thoughts in his head, taking the man into his mouth once again. He couldn’t feel Fyodor’s hand on his face or head. His leg wasn’t pressing against him either, like every single touch had disappeared. If he wasn’t making the occasional noise, it would look like the man didn’t even notice him. There was a sort of distance, an odd wall between them.
He pushed himself further, but the thoughts wouldn’t go away. Did performing this same scene over and over again actually make him happy? Allowing himself to be used, never getting more than what he was given despite being starving for something new.
It didn’t feel like his art. It felt detached, as if it was too far gone for Nikolai to get back.
Every scene, every punchline. He was always the one to be laughed at. Fyodor was never the butt of the joke. He always had the witty comeback, the last snide remark before the curtains closed. Nikolai was never the one that decided when the show ended. It would end when Fyodor was finished, even if Nikolai was far from done.
The show never belonged to him. The praise and applause was for Fyodor.
He felt a sharp burning on his back and the top of his head. The spotlight was too bright. The heat that the light produced was painful. Nikolai could practically feel his clothes melting onto his body. The smell of his own burnt flesh filled his nose. His nose stung, beginning to become irritated. Smoke was probably filling the room, especially if the light was strong enough to burn him. He gasped, but he couldn’t get any sound out. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to cry out but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything at all.
Nikolai winced as Fyodor grabbed a handful of hair and forced him off of his cock. He gagged and wheezed, tears falling off his face uncontrollably.
Had he choked? The audience was silent, staring at him in shock.
Nikolai tried to stop himself from gasping huge breaths of air, but he couldn’t. His body refused to cooperate, forcing his lungs to fill with oxygen. His throat wasn’t sore, a sign of a job left unfinished.
“Kolya, are you really trying to die by choking on my cock? I thought you were too good to rely on cheap tricks.” Fyodor sighed. “After all this time, have you really not improved?”
The audience was laughing again, but Nikolai didn’t respond. He could feel the man’s eyes on him, staring at his face. Nikolai refused to raise his head, too ashamed to look into those eyes again. He kneeled there, tears drying on his cheeks, waiting for whatever would come next.
Fyodor let go of his hair and stood up. He pointed at his desk chair before speaking. “Come, sit on the chair.”
Nikolai looked up at Fyodor, unable to move. The man looked back, more demonic than ever, despite the sudden kindness in those dark eyes. He felt his legs shake when he stood up, not used to standing after kneeling for such a long time. Nikolai looked back at Fyodor before he sat on the desk chair. It was still warm from Fyodor’s body heat, but that didn’t comfort him at all.
As soon as he sat down, Fyodor crawled onto his lap. He gently cupped Nikolai’s cheek in his hand, kissing his forehead. “My dearest fool, you truly astonish me. The way you continue to destroy yourself…”
Fyodor’s lips pressed against his, starving for more of Nikolai’s soul. He couldn’t help but kiss back. It was so sweet. Cavities were probably forming in his teeth, not to mention the plaque going into his arteries, threatening to stop his heart. Nikolai still kissed back despite it all.
“Destroying oneself is necessary for art, isn’t it? At least, it is for good art.” Nikolai rested his chin on Fyodor’s shoulder, leaving small kisses on his neck.
He heard Fyodor sigh. “Art? What are you talking about?”
“This, what we’re doing right now-“
He was interrupted by Fyodor stifling a laugh. Though barely any sound came out, Nikolai could tell that Fyodor was amused by the way his chest shook, trying to keep his laughter from coming out.
“You call this art?” He continued laughing, not even trying to hide it anymore. “I’m so sorry, but you always manage to entertain me with your thoughts. It’s just a bit absurd that you think fucking me is art. I understand the logic behind it, but it’s still so stupid.”
Nikolai felt his face burn, either from shame or anger. Fyodor was just being mean. He just wanted to see more of Nikolai’s thoughts, more of his soul, more of his artistic expression.
He moved his head to look at Fyodor and smiled at him. “No, you don’t understand. This is a performance. The way we dance with each other, playing the role of a couple in love.” Nikolai felt his smile grow. “We’ve been doing this for so long, it’s easy for me to get lost in it sometimes. It gets hard for me to tell if you’re even acting at all. I simply forgot my lines, that was all.”
Fyodor moved closer, pressing his face against Nikolai’s chest. The man breathed deeply, eyes fluttering shut. An amused smile was still plastered on his face. Nikolai ran a hand through the man’s hair, ignoring how greasy it was.
Fyodor let out a sound of contentment. “Simply forgot your lines? I guess that’s alright. I just wonder if you can continue with this, especially with how mixed up you seem to be getting. I don’t want you getting any ideas in your head.”
Nikolai knew exactly what Fyodor meant by that. He continued stroking the man’s hair as he tried to keep smiling. The man looked so calm, so innocent, vulnerable, especially with his eyes closed. He felt warm against his chest, almost comforting. The fact that Fyodor had the nerve to act like his while forcing Nikolai to keep his emotions so distant from their act made his heart ache.
There was nothing he could do about it. Absolutely nothing. He just sat there, letting Fyodor sit on his lap, quietly humming some classical piece from some composer that Nikolai couldn’t name.
The show had to go on, of course. The curtains would never fall on this act until Fyodor finally cut his heart in half.