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"Dazai, I would like to have sex with you."
At first, Dazai was taken aback by the dichotomy between Fyodor's formal tone and his words' straightforwardness, but the confusion was temporary.
"Oh? And how do you want us to do it?" He crossed his legs, with expertise masking his previous hesitation under confidence, even though he knew very well nothing could ever escape Fyodor's heedful eyes.
Indeed, their present circumstances weren't exactly in favour of such acts—their prison cells, transparent boxes they were trapped in with seemingly no chance for escape, allowed them merely to see each other. There was just no way something like that could ever happen!
...Or at least there wouldn't be if his cellmate wasn't the devil himself.
* * *
"Okay, let's sum it up, shall we! Basically what you're saying is, you want us to have phone sex, without phones?"
"Exactly! It will be just the same as any far distance intercourse, the only exception being that we will be able to see each other. Meaning—it will be even better!" Fyodor clasped his hands together with a big smile—if you ignore the obscenity of his declaration, he'd look almost innocent.
Almost. The fact that he took off his shirt seconds after went against it a little bit.
"I'll allow you to do the honors," he said, the yellowish light of Meursault illuminating the naked skin of his chest.
"How kind of you." In reality, the russian's words concerned him more than they should—Fyodor wasn't one to let him take the lead, let alone give it to him himself— willingly . Why the sudden change of heart?
But, in the end, it all didn't matter to neither of them; Dazai would not miss the opportunity of getting any information about Fyodor that might come in handy in the future and Fyodor would get his relief. It was only obvious that both would get whatever they wanted out of this.
Not that Dazai would make it any easier for his makeshift lover.
He smiled encouragingly. Finally has come the time to gather all of his experience in the field of human intimacy in one culmination point.
"Say, Fedya ," he started, putting emphasis on the nickname, knowing very well what reaction it would revoke, "if I was there with you, what would you do?"
Just as expected, a shiver went down Fyodor's spine, purely because of someone speaking to him in such an affectionate way. How much more pathetic could he possibly become?
"Hmm," he hummed contently. "If you were there with me, I'd make you strip until you're completely naked in front of me."
"Woah, hold your horses a bit, won't you? Straight to the point, huh? Sorry, but I'm the kind of person who always leaves the best part of the meal for the very end."
"A... meal, you say." Fyodor's eyes became narrow slits as he contemplated Dazai's words. Dazai didn't continue the thought.
"For now, since you're already half-naked, let's focus on you . Touch your chest."
When Fyodor made himself comfortable on the pillows, keeping in mind to present himself in a way which lets Dazai see everything, his hand immediately jumped to his chest. With long, slim fingers he traced every bone poking out of his skin, every rib so clearly visible through his woeful physique. His legs were closed tightly, as if there was rope holding them together; he doesn't want Dazai to see this part of him, not yet.
When his hand ghosted over his nipple, Fyodor's head flew back. He always prided himself in being a patient man—a skill which, with Nikolai as his companion and Dazai as his rival, he has been forced to learn—but it seemed like today wouldn't be filled with virtues anyhow. With hurry, he pinched the pink nub, hard. A moan. Teeth clenching. The pressure on his groin growing. A hand on Dazai's own.
Fyodor bit down a finger of his free hand. The other one ran down his stomach and now was tugging on his pants' waistband.
"May I?" he asked, eyes hazy. Obedience. Submission. Dazai always knew that Fyodor would enjoy this sort of dynamic, he just didn't expect the role that he'd take on.
Dazai nodded, massaging his clothed erection. Fyodor did a quick job of sliding his pants off, revealing the part of him he has sheltered throughout his entire life, now completely bare, covered with not even underwear—because of course he wouldn't wear any.
Fyodor spread his legs as much as he possibly could, and, just as with every action he has taken under Dazai's gaze, he put up a show out of licking his fingers until they're dripping wet with saliva. He let the drool dribble down his chin and flow down his wrist, as filthy as the original sin, as sweet as the forbidden fruit. Did you know? After Eve swallowed a bite of Eden's most wretched treasure, she licked the sweet nectar off of her palms, longing and craving and yearning for the taste she was never meant to discover and will never savour again. And, in the end, Fyodor was no better than her.
"Fyodor," he heard Dazai whisper, a snake-like smile on his face. "What do you want me to do to you?"
A few seconds of consideration.
"I want you to make it hurt ."
"You think that pain will erase your sin? That it will make you pure?" As expected, Dazai saw through him perfectly. "Not happening. I'll have you beg for it and stain you even further than you did yourself." Almost too perfectly.
"Why? Why will it not?" The words were much louder than intended, but right now, Fyodor couldn't care less.
"You seem to not understand." A frown. "You see—the real world is nowhere as simple as mathematics. Here, two minuses do not equal a plus, and it would be foolish to claim otherwise. You cannot regain your purity by taking it from someone else."
"Are you implying that you have lost it, too?"
"Oh, haven't we all?"
"Yes, but of course—us, the followers of the Lord's word have indeed. It seems like only by pain even greater than our Saviour's torment could we ever obtain what is holy and divine. But you? What crime of yours could be deserving of the sacred punishment?" Holy and divine? Sacred? It was no use, to Dazai it was all nonsense—a bunch of meaningless jargon.
"A truly terrible crime—innocence was its name. Although it is already long gone..."
"Innocence is a virtue, Dazai."
"Innocence is just a kind word for ignorance, and a place in which it is a value is a breeding ground for monsters."
"Call them monsters if that is what you wish for—for me, they're but means to achieving divinity."
"I've always found your coping mechanisms rather amusing," he mocked. Fyodor paid it no mind whatsoever.
Instead, he gnawed at his legs, the nails scraping his skin. He moved to his bottom, and—contrasting the harsh way he treated his thighs—he began rubbing slow circles onto it, smearing the spit all over himself. With care, he inserted one finger, the movement sending shudders down his spine. He gasped, muscles clenching .
He took a quick look at Dazai, who at this point was fully enjoying himself, his thumb teasing the slit of his dick.
Fyodor bit his lip at the view. With shallow thrusts, he opened himself up, taking in all of the foreign sensation. At first, having something inside of him was odd—definitely not pleasurable, but not unwelcome either. But now, when his fingers finally found his prostate? If he wasn't scared of committing any more sins, he'd chant His name like a wicked prayer.
And the reason for his feelings occurred to him as unusual at best—there was nothing special about his movements, really. Just in and out, in and out, in and out—so simple, so unimaginative, so repetitive. So why, why something so dull had him writhe like there was no tomorrow?
The shame of having someone's eyes piercing through you like you were a wounded rabbit and they were a malnourished beast—and the rush of adrenaline through your veins because of that.
However . Right now, he did not have the time to fully ponder on his feelings, as he had more... important things to take care of. After all, Dazai also had to have something out of this, hadn't he?
Fyodor let out a long, exaggerated moan, knowing that Dazai would love to hear it—and love it he did. The groan Dazai let out in response to Fyodor's was undoubtedly one of pleasure. Not even caring for suppressing the shameful sounds that threatened to leave his throat at any given moment, he grabbed himself tighter and stroked faster.
Fyodor toyed with him as if he was nothing but a puppet—Dazai felt like if he would even try interrupting Fyodor's rhythm, he'd feel the resistance of the strings attached to him.
But that's okay, he's doing exactly the same.
"Stop."
"What is it, Dazai?" Fyodor, albeit without much enthusiasm, did as he was told, stopping his finger halfway in.
"One who never knew bitterness will not know Heavenly happiness. I have told you already, haven't I? I'll have you—"
"I'll have you beg for it and stain you even further... was it? I wish luck upon you and this task, although I doubt it will do much."
"Oh, Fedyusha, don't be so mad! These grains of gall, just as the monsters you're so fond of, are but necessary means..."
"...To achieving divinity. Yes, yes, curtains rising—let the show begin."
"Someone's eager, I see. But it's surprising, really," Dazai, seemingly lost in thought, swiftly brushed off Fyodor's request. "I'd never accuse you of taking interest in such vile acts."
Very well; I'll play with you this game of cat and mouse if that's what your heart desires.
"Unfathomable are the nuances of the human psyche, Dazai."
"I really do find your psyche interesting, though. Didn't you say that our bodies are sacred temples just a few days ago?" Dazai didn't expect an answer, really; the question was asked out of pure malice, and he presumed his cellmate would know this by now. But Fyodor either didn't notice or didn't care for his intent.
"Over time, unused temples will rot from the inside—when that happens, they must be destroyed and built anew."
"Oh, I see how it is now! You just want me to wreck you, destroy you in the worst way possible, so I can further your delusion of belonging amongst the saints."
How ironic it was—the question Dazai wanted to know the answer for Fyodor laughed off with nothing but a small chuckle.
"Well, since you're so hungry for it, let's start all over again and see for how long you'll be able to preserve this silly dignity of yours," he laughed.
And thus, Fyodor did as he was told. He brought himself closer and closer to the end line—that is, until he was abruptly interrupted by Dazai yet again. And then again.
And again.
Frustration boiled in his chest like an acid. When he saw Dazai part his damned mouth around the poison-filled word, triumph glistening in the corner of his eyes, he let out an animal-like bawl as if he was an accused who just heard the judge's conclusion.
Though that's not to say that he wasn't guilty.
He looked at Dazai with the last remnants of hope. It's no use, it's just no use.
"One word. Just one word and it'll be yours. The alleviation you want so much.
Fyodor felt like he was between a hammer and an anvil. He knew exactly what Dazai wanted—for him to be robbed of honour and dignity right there, right now, on his very eyes. But how far , he wondered, how much further can I go, so that I will not wander off to a place with no return?
"Oh, be damned!" his hand jumped to his groin in a desperate attempt to ease the tension in him.
"I wouldn't do this if I was you." The statement was said in a tone casual enough to make him stop mid movement.
Consideration was useless, for his words - his strongest weapon and hardest shield, have been turned into a double-edged sword. His hand has fallen onto the hard mattress.
"Please." Despite the word's meaning, it sounded nothing like a plea.
"That's it?" Dazai pouted in disappointment.
"You've said 'one word', have you not?"
"I don't knooow," he elongated the vowel in fake boredom. "Perhaps if you tried a little bit harder, maybe, oh, I dunno... Maybe try praying to me like you do to your god. Yes, that will do!"
It's no use, it's just no use.
"Отче наш, сущий на небесах–" he began, voice hesitant.
"Japanese, куколка."
He breathed harshly through his nose.
"Our Father who art in heaven," he recited through clenched teeth, little emotion in his voice, "Hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done both on earth as in heaven..." Perhaps that's enough. Perhaps the humiliation he felt was enough to please Dazai.
"Please, continue." Vanity, vanity and deceit—that's what his hopes truly were.
"...Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, just as we forgive our debtors, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever."
"Amen." Dazai hummed in contemplation. "Hmmm... I wish you'd put a little more feelings into it, but I suppose it'll go off." Dazai's finger began tapping on his chin teasingly, and he swore to God— his God—that if he was there with him, he'd bite it off.
"It wasn't that hard, was it? See? You did it! You may now get off!" Fyodor found the words ironic when said by someone who long ago discarded their hand and was now grinding against the rough fabric of the pillow the prison provided.
And even so, even so he did as he was told, taking a hold of his desire and picking up the movement he was previously forced to abandon by the very same voice.
It wasn't difficult for Fyodor to get lost in his pleasure, all discord with his temporary lover long forgotten. Soon enough, he whispered Russian sweet nothings under his nose, foreign words Dazai had no chance of understanding, but devoured every single one of them nevertheless. "Пожалуйста, умоляю," he kept saying. And Dazai, he hasn't even wondered what their meaning was, not a single bit—all that mattered to him was Fyodor's soft tone, the softest one he's ever heard and probably will ever hear from him. As long as he could hear his rival utter these weirdly gentle syllables, so unfamiliar to his ears, nothing else mattered.
Fyodor forced the buzzing of the white noise out of his head by shaking it viciously, because he can't, he cannot, he mustn't surrender his dignity, his honour, his pride to him—not yet, not so easily. He can't lose, he can't lose if that means letting Dazai win.
"Are you familiar with the game of chess?" He asked with a breathy voice.
"But of course, I'm quite fond of it."
"We will play one and only one game. I will prove to you, I'll prove to you that, even in—in a state like this, you're no better than me and I'm no better than you and none of us is better than the other, because we are equal, we were equal mere minutes ago and even with me in a state like this we are still equal—" an unwelcome moan interrupted his senseless rambling.
Dazai looked at him with pity.
"You can start," he said.
Fyodor let the venom on the tip of his tongue slide down his throat.
"Pawn on d4."
"Knight on f6."
"Kn– knight on e2."
"You cannot. This place is taken."
"D2! I, ah , I meant d2." Panic overtook him as he tripped over his one and only weapon.
"Surely. Pawn on e5."
Fyodor furrowed his brows. A trap. It's a trap. But. What else was he supposed to do, with his lips led by Dazai's?
"My pawn takes yours." His cheeks were rust-coloured, his hair sticking to his sweat-covered face.
Arousal spread through Dazai's body like a disease.
"Knight on g4." He didn't know. He did not know what Dazai was planning. He couldn't tell his intent, even though it was so obvious, even though he knew—he would've known.
The moan-filled air was hot against his skin. He gasped when the scratchy fabric of his duvet glided against his desire. The moan-filled air was hot against his ears, preventing him from hearing anything and anyone else.
He thrust his hips upwards, farther into the warmth of his own hand, the friction too much and not enough at the same time.
"Your turn," he heard someone say through the fog. What language was that again?
"Ah, indeed... H3," he picked randomly, not entirely sure whether he did so in Russian, English or Japanese. Or was it Ukrainian?
"Knight on e3," Dazai laughed with sincere happiness, not bothering to hide the pride and enjoyment he took in his mental superiority over Fyodor, perhaps even more than in the very act that caused him to stumble. "Checkmate." He emphasized every single letter, shaking with satisfaction.
Fyodor lost.
He lost.
To him .
The realisation came late but shook him to the core all the same. How delusional he was to even think that he could win with a full body and a blank mind!
"My turn on asking questions! How much longer are you gonna last?"
Little pained 'ah, ah, ah's served as the only answer he would get.
"I see. I've had my fun. You did more than enough already. Rest. Rest and, someday, sometime, regain your dignity."
With his words, Fyodor's body gave out entirely, all of his efforts to stay in a sitting position oh so obediently going in vain as he felt himself surrender his weight to the uncomfortable buck. The dam which kept the tears silently welling in his eyes from spilling broke down. The entirety of him rocked with every violent shudder and shaky shiver that coursed through his body. The way his head trashed back and forth as he came closer and closer to the final scene of this act was beyond his control; his half-asleep mind was led purely by animalistic instincts. With one final mechanical jolt, he finally closed his eyes, all the tension built up over the course of what seemed like hours of strain leaving him with nothing but aching muscles and heavy eyelids.
If Dazai cared for Fyodor's well-being, surely he'd be worried beyond grasp by his reaction to the supposed pleasure he should be feeling. Fortunately for him, the white pleasure that overflowed himself successfully kept him from thinking. Instead, his eyes—those of an animal more than a human—stayed wholly focused on Fyodor. His chest, heaving with shallow breaths. His limbs, scattered on the bed. His hair, all over his unseeing eyes and in his wide open mouth.
His face, and the fucked-out expression on it. The tears dripping down his cheeks and drool dripping down his chin. The lips parting around one pant after another. This seemed to tip over the chalice for Dazai. He came, turning the pure white of the bedsheets into a filthy one.
With no warning, Dazai jumped onto his feet, not caring enough to even pull up his pants.
"Mr. Guard watching us right now!" he yelled into the void of Meursault, unsure of whether anyone even heard him at all. "Would you be so kind and treat Fedya some tissues?" He looked at ‘Fedya’ with a mixture of disgust and pity. Fyodor fumbled with the bedsheets, trying to cover himself.