Archive of Our Own

Nursing a whiskey at the end of the bar is not the most dignified position to be found in, but Daniil's had worse. At least he doesn't have anyone's blood on him this time.

He notices Artemy as he's descending the stairs, his shadow stretching tall and wide on the wall behind him. Their eyes meet for a second as Artemy takes the last step before heading for the bartender. The fleeting eye contact pricks through Daniil's miserable stupour. That's right, he's at the Broken Heart. He was supposed to be drowning his sorrows, but realises now that he's barely through his second drink. He doesn't remember ordering it. He doesn't remember much about the past weeks.

A distraction would be nice. It's good that one just walked in.

Daniil could probably just about make out what Artemy and the barkeep are talking about but he finds his focus elsewhere. Suddenly he has a lot to do, fixing his posture, straightening his cuffs under the lid of the bar, running an inconspicuous hand through his hair and fixing the crooked clasp at his ascot. Being in such an obvious rush about it might be embarrassing if there was anyone to see, but the bar is basically empty, no Andrey lurking around either, just a few of the regular drunks snoring in a corner and a couple dancers chatting by the stage.

This is an opportunity to let his eyes rove over Artemy a capite ad calcem, if nothing else.

It's not even his height – not that that's insignificant – but something in the way Artemy holds himself. He knows how to use his size to his advantage, how to stretch to his full height to intimidate a town leader. But Daniil's also witnessed him leaning down, keeping his limbs close to his body, making himself smaller. He thought this was something he only did around children and young women, until that time in the Stillwater some days back – a week? Ages ago.

Artemy had folded his hands on his lap as he knelt. The look he'd fixed up at Daniil had been apprehensive, but stubborn as he is – stubborn like a bull, Daniil supposes – he'd not shied away from Daniil's gaze or words, had kept his bright eyes locked on his.

Artemy's not wearing his smock this time. He's dressed in a sensible if worn wool coat and the blue jumper Daniil's seen poking out of his collar before. Thoughts of civilian clothing and uniforms – Daniil's labcoat in the Capital versus the snakeskin coat here – threaten to fill his head, but then Artemy seems to conclude his business with the barkeep and glances over at Daniil. Daniil tilts his head in invitation. This should be a dance he knows, one the two of them have even engaged in before, but the rules have changed in the meantime. The two of them now is untreaded ground.

Artemy moves over to him in a few long strides, movements deliberate and steady. "You're here," he says, stopping a foot from Daniil.

"Where else?" Daniil hears himself ask and has to stop the thought from forming.

"I suppose I feared – " Artemy stops, shaking his head.

Feared that he'd left? Or that he'd stayed? Daniil is well aware he's overstayed his welcome. A supply train finally reached them the day before last – Daniil didn't get on it. Cut that thought too, let it fall off his shoulders. Ad acta!

"It's good to see you, erdem," Artemy settles on. The former, then. A small wave of relief thrills down Daniil's spine.

"Get a drink," Daniil says, boldened by Artemy's words. "On me." A hesitant shadow crosses over Artemy's face and they're right back to unfamiliar steps. "Or do you not partake?" He could swear he'd seen Artemy with a bottle of twyrine before.

"No, I – " Artemy rubs a hand over the nape of his neck. "I'm taking a break from spirits, for a while. Found myself overindulging during..." he trails off.

Daniil watches him perform his own version of cutting the thought, tension shifting around his eyes.

Daniil searches for a way to keep the conversation going, eventually settling on "Letting go of indulgences, then?"

"Not...as such," Artemy says, glancing at him, then back at the bar. Is it nervousness or anxiety? Is he looking for an out or an in? "Just a singular vice."

"Vice, huh..." Daniil muses.

"Never caused me much good, in the long run. Just momentary..." Artemy trails off again. Daniil gets distracted by the way the veins and tendons on the back of his hand move as he taps his fingers on the bar.

"Momentary relief?" That's certainly what he'd gotten from Artemy. The long run – he hadn't let himself consider the long run. It's not usually in the books for men like him, doesn't seem particularly relevant to the current moment either.

"I suppose," Artemy nods, shifting his weight so he's leant more towards Daniil. He still hasn't pulled up a chair. With Daniil perched on the bar stool they're almost of a height.

Artemy has faint freckles on his cheeks, a memento from the summer. Daniil hasn't noticed them before, didn't notice them on any of their run-ins during the plague, not during their tryst, not when he had Artemy leaning over him telling him he would have gutted him for his town.

Daniil moves his eyes to the golden whiskey in his glass. There was no ice available, but he supposes it would have melted by now anyway. He takes a breath. They didn't end up gutting each other. The town is here. Both of them are here. Some things are not, but –

He lets the thought pass. He has a drink in his hand and a handsome man at his side. He'd like to do some indulging of his own, if he got on steady footing on its reciprocity.

"What of your other vices, then?" he asks, managing to make eye contact again, flicking his eyes quickly to the pout of Artemy's lip and back up. "Any of them outstayed their welcome?"

How could he have missed the freckles? From the moment he first met Artemy, his eyes have been fixated on him – his hands got there, too, that once.

Artemy inhales sharply. "No," he says, keeping his eyes on Daniil's. They're light, betraying the way his pupils have widened in the dimness of the bar. "No, rather the opposite."

"You've been left wanting," Daniil chances. It's a risk.

He watches Artemy's throat work through a swallow and knows it paid off. "I have."

Daniil takes a sip of his drink, letting the liquid flow warm into his stomach along with Artemy's aqcuiescence. When he pulls the glass away he finds Artemy's gaze drawn to his mouth, too.

Daniil sits up straighter. "I never got to see your workshop," he says.

"No," Artemy replies, his voice gone rough.

"You have – equipment there, I've heard," Daniil goes on, turning in his seat so they're face to face, chest to chest, barely a foot of space between them. "The alembic you brew your tinctures with. I admit a professional curiosity."

"Purely professional, of course," Artemy says in sotto voce, leaning in and glancing at him from under his brow.

Daniil has eyes, and a type, but it's this boldness that is Artemy's most attractive quality. He finds the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself, muscles remembering the action even if his brain does not quite.

Artemy leans back and nods his head to the direction of the stairs. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Daniil agrees, sliding off the chair, leaving his half drunk whiskey behind. "Let's."

-

Artemy has barely pushed the enormous metal door to his workshop shut behind them before he's crowding into Daniil's space. He pushes Daniil's back to the door with hands on his shoulders, positively towering over him. The door is cold, rust rough to the touch.

"Giving up the pretense so soon?"

"It's just you and me here," Artemy says. "No need to pretend." Then he kisses him.

Oh, damn this man, damn his earnestness, his boldness, damn his lips and his teeth and his tongue.

Daniil lets himself be kissed for a moment, lets himself be held and touched, before he pushes back and bites Artemy on his lower lip, threads a hand into his hair and tugs. Artemy's breath catches and a broken sound slips from the back of his throat, his mouth going slack.

Artemy pulls back for a second, breaking the kiss and clearing his throat, before pushing himself back against Daniil. There's a flush softening the sharp cut of his cheek. With every touch Daniil finds himself more energised, his senses growing more aware, malaise fading to the background.

They fight for control for a moment, tongues pressing past each other's lips, hands grabbing and pulling none-too-kindly. It's an even match, which lets Daniil know Artemy's holding back on him – it would take him no effort to overpower him if he so wanted. Daniil lets himself enjoy it for now.

Artemy's mouth is wet, his tongue clever, the line of his body warm where he pushes into Daniil. His hands sneak under Daniil's coat, burning hot around his waist. Daniil finds himself affected sooner than he expected, blood rushing in his veins and anticipation tingling under his skin, urging him to move things along.

"I thought there was no need to pretend here," he says into Artemy's mouth, keeping his tone light, teasing. Artemy tries to shut him up with another kiss.

"Out there, you're a leader," Daniil says on a hunch between the next kiss and the one after. He hasn't been afforded the time or energy to spend too long analysing Artemy's inner world, but, well, Occam's razor. "Here, you can be lead."

Daniil pushes on Artemy's waist with his full strength and Artemy lets him turn them so he's the one pressed to the door. "You don't have to take care of anything," Daniil continues, "To do anything," another bite to Artemy's lip, another muffled moan from him, "Just take what I give you."

Artemy's finally melting against him, mouth going lax, strong grip on Daniil's waist turning into softer, mindless groping.

Daniil breaks the kiss to look up at him. Artemy doesn't shy from his eyes, but he does look a bit apprehensive again, something nervous in the way his eyes flick between Daniil's as a swallow works its way through his throat. Daniil runs hands over his jaw and into his hair.

The few times he's let himself think about this in the past days – not fantasizing, just passing his mind to be cut off like so many unwelcome thoughts – he's seen flashes of himself as mean, taking his frustrations out on the man who bested him. Faced with him now though, with his eyes and the stupid little open 'o' of his mouth, with the way he slumps down against the door he was just towering over, Daniil can't find anything inside himself but a gaping maw of want, and over it a slightly condescending fondness. "Now, are you going to pretend?"

Artemy's chest heaves.

"Are you going to pretend that you are anything but what you are?"

"What – " Artemy swallows. "What am I?"

"Mine," Daniil says without thinking.

It takes him a second to realise what he's just said. Startles him enough that it must show.

The world tilts.

He's never –

He doesn't –

Has no allowance to. Even a second time with anyone is a rarity.

The only thing he's ever called his is gone. That must be why, a slip of the tongue to fill that hole, and he's compromised besides, drunk on both whiskey and touch – never mind that he didn't even finish his second drink.

"I can be," Artemy says into the thick silence. Daniil whips his head back up. Never one to back down from anything, Artemy. "Just – Don't pretend, either."

Daniil almost laughs. Now what would that be like?

"We both know," Artemy adds. He looks dead serious, brow furrowed, lines around his mouth taut. "Be honest with me. Don't pretend you don't know."

"What, that you're 'mine'?" The words feel cold coming out of his lungs, freezing on his tongue.

"And you're mine. You said it yourself. Right hand and left, and all."

Faced with his foolish words thrown back at him, Daniil takes a step back, mind reeling for his next argument. He blurted out that damned line in a moment of naïveté, he never – he never meant for it to be taken with gravitas, let alone remembered.

Just as he finishes that thought, Artemy surprises him again.

"I want you to fuck me," Artemy goes on, like that doesn't throttle Daniil's insides anew – All those days of numbness and he's really experiencing the whole gamut of human emotion within two minutes, here. "I want you to fuck me, and I'd like you to not pretend while you do it."

Daniil works down a swallow against vertigo, against the sharp brightness of the words. The sudden wave of arousal fights against pride in his chest.

"You can go back to pretending tomorrow, if you want. But if you want me to be honest, you should do me the same courtesy," Artemy says. His face is flushed a deep red, his eyes wide and a bit wild. Now that Daniil's noticing, he doesn't look just serious – there's frustration, even fear, in his features. This isn't easy for him either.

Daniil crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. He isn't used to being made speechless. Eventually he might be able to admit that it's another part of Artemy's pull.

God, but he really wants to fuck Artemy. Just the thought of it, of those strong thighs spread around him is enough to make his limbs itch with the need to cross the distance between them. If he'd known that was on the table he'd have been banging at his door days ago. All it would cost him is his dignity and the careful distance he's managed to build between himself and –

Artemy must see the cracks building in his defence. "It was good for you," he says, taking a step closer, then another, "Wasn't it?" Daniil backs up and Artemy follows until his back hits brick. "Last time."

Artemy doesn't touch him, just looms over him, hands in fists at his sides.

"It was," Daniil admits.

"It'll be better now," Artemy goes on. The bright flush of his ears and the way he's struggling to keep eye contact betray his embarrassment. The fact he is fighting through it and going after what he wants anyway is undeniably attractive. The fact that what he wants is Daniil is, well – "We've got time," Artemy goes on. "We know what the other wants."

"Do we?"

Artemy raises his brows, giving him an unimpressed look. Yes, yes, they do.

Artemy shifts a little closer. He keeps opening his fists and clenching them back shut, betraying the nervous energy in him, coiling beneath the surface.

Fuck, what is Daniil thinking? He wanted distraction. He has a gorgeous man vibrating to climb into his lap in front of him. And he's refusing because of – what? A foolish slip of the tongue?

He turns his jaw up defiantly. "Show me, then." Te provoco.

Artemy is motionless for a beat, just staring. He lowers first his eyes, then his mouth onto Daniil's lips.

He's not gentle about it, but not fighting for dominance anymore, either. If anything he's coaxing, daring Daniil to enter his mouth, to wind a hand in his hair. Daniil takes the bait. Artemy responds beautifully to his every move, letting him lead without becoming passive. He's open with his need, encouraging Daniil with his movements, with licks and trembling breaths.

Daniil will have him moaning by the end of this, will have him sobbing if all goes well.

Daniil pulls them flush to each other, Artemy's body strong and warm and solid against him. Solid, indeed, he remarks, feeling Artemy's hardness press against his lower stomach. He barely got to touch it last time – after he'd come down Artemy's throat it had taken only a few tugs before Artemy spilled over his fist. He's looking forward to remedying that. As soon as possible, preferably.

"Did you have a bed in here?" Daniil asks between this kiss and the next.

Artemy nods. "Y-yes, yes, down – "

He takes hold of Daniil's forearm and tugs him down a set of narrow stairs. Daniil gets a quick glimpse at Artemy's workspace. He isn't sure what he was expecting, but a spotless worktable and neat rows of bottles was not it – hell, there isn't a single sprig of twyre out of place. Even the air smells sweet and minty, not at all what Artemy's morbid ingredients would suggest.

Then they round a corner into a small sleeping nook and Artemy's mouth is back on his. Daniil pulls at Artemy's sleeves and manages to get the woollen coat off his shoulders without breaking the kiss for more than a few breaths. It falls to the floor unceremoniously. Daniil pulls off his gloves and shrugs out of his own coat, too, feeling sweat threatening to prick at the small of his back. It's warm in Artemy's lair, warm and humid. The air – the air smells so nice. How can it smell this nice?

Daniil pushes at Artemy's shoulders until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the cot. It's not the most comfortable place he's ever bedded someone in, but it's Artemy's, and the thought fills his lungs with a sense of intimacy that –

He distracts himself by straddling Artemy's lap. His thighs are so thick that Daniil feels a stretch in his pectineus sitting over them. Daniil pushes his hands under Artemy's jumper and they meet skin – oh, he's not wearing a union suit at all, just an undershirt and pants. It makes Daniil's blood roil in excitement, all this free access to skin.

He spends a while just exploring and groping his way up Artemy's muscled back, his softer front, the lovehandles at his flanks – oh, Daniil spends a good while on those, pressing his hands in and letting them sink into the softness there. He's getting thoughts again, inappropriate thoughts that burn too bright – thoughts of mapping out each centimeter of Artemy's skin and being meticulous about it too, ensuring there isn't a single spot he hasn't touched.

Daniil pulls Artemy's jumper off along with the undershirt, not quite managing in one movement. Artemy emerges from the bundle of wool with his hair electrified and pointing every which way, looking quite ridiculous with his bitten-red mouth gaping and wide eyes blinking and there it is again, that damned fondness.

Daniil disctracts himself by kissing a line down Artemy's throat and sliding his hands to the fastenings of his trousers. He worries a bruise with his mouth into where Artemy's neck meets shoulder and focuses on slipping buttons free. He has to leave Artemy's lap to messily untie his boots and pull them off along with his trousers and underwear. He stands back up, panting –

God, he really is panting, isn't he, can feel the flush covering his face. Not at all composed – the opposite of how he always aims to come across.

Artemy leans back on his hands, naked and flushed, thighs spread around where Daniil stands, comfortable in his nudity and the disparity of Daniil's still fully clothed form. He's panting too, but he doesn't look as surprised by the fast pace as Daniil feels. If anything he looks a bit – smug? Obviously aroused, yes, but there's also a little curl of satisfaction to his lip, something like amusement twitching at the corner of his eye.

Daniil kisses him before he can taunt him with an acknowledgement of how obvious Daniil's need is.

Artemy stretches out on the cot, turning himself ninety degrees while already half crouched in an absurdly casual show of the strength at his core. Daniil sits on the edge of the firm straw mattress, leaning over him, hands in his hair. You'd think he'd have gotten tired of his mouth on Artemy's by now but he only finds himself growing more ravenous with every press of it, with every lick and bite.

He slides a palm from Artemy's shoulder to his neck, noting the way his breath hitches as Daniil's palm settles over his throat before sliding down his chest. Artemy's nipples have peaked from the air and Daniil spends a moment running his thumbs over them. He swallows Artemy's quickening breaths, enjoying the way his grip on him goes lax in little twitches. He gropes and pulls at Artemy's tits, feels the pectoral muscle underneath shifting as Artemy gives up on holding on and lets his arm fall.

Daniil follows the line of muscle past his armpit to his deltoid and along his arm, down to his wrist, almost to his –

He snaps his hand back, slides it over to Artemy's flank instead. He hears Artemy inhale, like he's about to remark on it – Daniil shuts him up by kissing him with new fervour.

He feels a twinge of shame at the back of his head. What is he, a coward? Scared of a touch? What danger could there possibly be in a hand clasping another?

Another voice in his head provides him with an immediate answer. Everything he's held in his hands is –

Artemy, ever brave, breaks the kiss. "Stop thinking, – " he pants, " – and fuck me."

For once, Daniil agrees.

He finally climbs onto the bed fully, getting on his knees in the space Artemy makes for him between his legs. His thick thighs spread open around his half hard cock, the red tip just barely peeking out of foreskin. Daniil runs palms down the thighs and to his groin, thumbs stroking along his adductor tendons. Artemy's hips jerk up beautifully, his cock rolling to the side, spreading a trail of clear liquid on his stomach.

Without thinking, Daniil leans down and licks up the length of it. It twitches against his tongue, forming a new drop at the tip for Daniil to lap up. Artemy pants and jerks his hips up. He's big, but not much bigger than Danii's used to. He goes for another lick, just the tip of his tongue this time, keeping the touch light and teasing. Artemy's thighs tense and shake around his shoulders.

Daniil cups his balls in his left palm and presses down on Artemy's perineum with the thumb of his right. Artemy's thighs clench closed in shock, a moan escaping his lips and turning into a choked off whine as Daniil presses down again. Daniil has to force his thighs back open with his elbows – if that's how Artemy reacts to external stimulation, Daniil can't wait to hear what he'll sound like with Daniil's cock in him.

But wait he must, since he wants Artemy desperate before giving him release. He kisses down Artemy's cock, just fleeting presses of his lips, then back up with a lick. He worries his glans with his tongue for a while, keeping up the pressure on his perineum, rolling a testicle gently between his thumb and other fingers.

Artemy's thighs keep twitching, his hips jerking up, his erratic moans flowing more freely with each passing moment. God, but he's gorgeous in the way he's letting himself go, little by little, lick by lick, press by press. When Daniil takes a moment to just breathe on his twitching cock, fully hard now, Artemy grunts and huffs in frustration, but doesn't ask him to stop.

"Silly me – it seems I forgot," Daniil muses around a twitch of a smile, close enough for Artemy to feel his breath and the vibration of his voice, as Daniil looks up at his heaving pecs, the sweaty line of his throat. "Was there something you wanted?"

Artemy lets out a frustrated groan. He's crossed his arms around his face, hiding his eyes from the room.

Daniil takes the tip of his cock between his lips and hums. "Hmm?"

"F-fuck me," Artemy manages from behind his arms. Daniil watches his throat work around a swallow. Then, quieter, more rumble than words: "Please."

Daniil finally slides his fingers down to his hole and – pauses. It's –

"Did you – ?" he asks, stunned to a stammer. "Have you – ?"

Artemy's hole is slick with oil and when Daniil presses onto it experimentally, it gives easily under his touch, swallowing the tips of two fingers greedily.

"I – I did – " Artemy gasps out, voice strained. "Earlier."

"Hmm," Daniil hums, struck with an image of it, of Artemy on this bed with his own fingers inside him, hips rolling into his hand, face pinched with frustration at it not being enough. "Was it any good?"

"Not as good as – " Artemy gets out, "– as this could be, if you got a move on."

"You're a smart man, you should've gathered by now," Daniil reminds him, pulling his fingers back out. "I like you desperate."

Artemy gasps as Daniil rubs over his hole with three fingers, pushing onto it but not in. Then he laughs, a broken, hoarse sound. "You've got me, believe you me."

"Hmm?"

"I – " Artemy rolls his hips back onto Daniil's hand, small, uncoordinated jerks that don't do anything to get his fingers inside, but make for a good image for Daniil to savour. "It wasn't – enough, I – "

"Missing my cock, were you?" Daniil's asks, mouth working before his brain again.

"I was," Artemy admits through pants and gritted teeth. "Had to – had to come get you."

It makes sense suddenly, the realisation settling over Daniil with terrifying clarity. The clean sheets, the organised workspace, the fresh scent in the room – Artemy planned this.

Daniil doesn't make a habit of repeating his trysts – he's certainly never planned one. The thought of Artemy cleaning up, preparing himself, nervous with anticipation – it's too much, too bright, red and frightening. It burns something inside Daniil, a thrilling pain underneath his breastplate. He has to turn his head from the thought, can't look straight at it.

Daniil shoves two fingers in, to divert his attention if nothing else. Artemy closes his eyes and moans, an open, throaty, loud thing. He swallows up two fingers like it's nothing. Daniil pushes in a third.

Artemy's hot and wet around him, just tight enough to feel good, but loose enough that Daniil could easily just push in with his cock. The revelation's still making his head spin, making the throbbing of his own cock uncomfortably insistent – he might even admit the connection if he was a different person under different circumstances. As it stands, it's just the pressure of Artemy's hole around his fingers that's making him twitch and weep into his trousers, a simple physical reaction, pure response to stimulus.

So he fucks Artemy with his fingers, shoving his trembling thighs open with his free hand and pressing down onto his perineum with a thumb, holding onto his prostate with his whole hand and massaging it from both sides. Artemy's biting onto his arm to keep quiet, but the moans are forming so deep in his chest it's practically for naught.

"Stop," Artemy suddenly demands, voice a low growl. Startled, Daniil goes to pull out, but Artemy throws a hand out and grabs onto his wrist, pushing him back in. "Don't – " he pants. "Stay. Don't move, just – "

Daniil waits, concern alleviated by the way Artemy's still throbbing around his fingers. There's a bite mark on his forearm, the skin glistening with spit.

"I want to come – with your cock in me," Artemy pants, resting the wet arm over his eyes. His lips are bitten red and swollen, saliva smudged around them. He'd been about to – "So get your cock in me."

Daniil pants at the realisation, at how carried away he got, at how close they were to ending this too soon.

His blood rushes in his ears as he struggles with his belt and the buttons of his trousers, the hem of his shirt and the union suit underneath. So many layers, why the hell does he wear so many layers, why didn't they take care of this half an hour ago, when his hands weren't covered in oil and his chest wasn't yet roiling with need.

Artemy turns over to his hands and knees while Daniil struggles, and God, that isn't helping one bit. He arches his back a little, his hole twitching, cock falling heavy and wet between his spread thighs. He's so confident in his skin, so comfortable with his body and its needs. Fuck, to think, a quick suck and a few tugs of his cock could have been all Daniil ever got of him.

Daniil finally gets his cock out. It's red and throbbing, wet at the tip. He tends to put his own need to the back burner while he's riling up his partners and that had been the case here too, right up until –

Now, Daniil's afraid this won't last long at all. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He needs to make this good for Artemy, it rears up in him with a frightening intensity.

Focus, now. He's in control of the situation, of the next hour, of the both of them.

To prove that to himself, he lays a hand over the back of Artemy's neck and pushes down. Artemy goes easily, willingly, lowering himself so he's laying on his elbows, back arching in a natural, delicious curve. His muscles move as he finds a comfortable angle to lay in, shadows shifting over his broad back and shoulders.

Daniil keeps his hand on his neck for a few moments longer before sliding it along his back to his hip. He presses his cock to his hole, but doesn't push in yet. He wants to hear one more of those pleas. He spits on his cock to make the eventual slide in easier and some of it lands on Artemy's hole. It twitches enough that it almost sucks the tip in and Daniil has to shift back a little to keep from slipping inside.

Artemy arches his back further, pushing himself back onto Daniil's tip. "You want to hear me beg, is that it?" he asks, voice a deep rumble.

"That's the idea," Daniil agrees, starting up a rhythm of rubbing himself against Artemy's hole, letting his tip catch on his rim, still not pushing in. "You've been doing beautifully so far."

"Beautifully..." Artemy repeats, then inhales. "Please," he says, voice deep and sure.

"What would you like?"

"For you to fuck me, like I've kept repeating, ad nauseum," Artemy says, a mix of frustration and amusement in his voice.

"But it sounds so good coming out of your mouth." The Latin did, too.

"You know what sounded good coming out of your mouth?" Artemy taunts.

Daniil pauses. He can't mean –

"Can't escape it now, can you?" Artemy says, turning his head just enough for Daniil to see one eye over his shoulder, looking up at him with challenge. "You've got to give in."

That's not true. He could leave at any moment.

"Come on, please," Artemy asks, letting his voice break into a groan and his eyes fall closed. "Daniil, fuck me."

No, Artemy's right. Daniil has no choice but to –

He takes a hold of Artemy's hips and pushes in with one motion, keeping his focus on his hips to keep the movement steady, to fill Artemy up completely without letting him take a breath. Artemy's hole is well stretched enough to let him sink to the root in one exhale, but not without some friction. Artemy moans openly, his hole twitching and throbbing around Daniil as he gets used to the feeling.

Daniil pulls back and pushes back in right as Artemy's rim threatens to free the head of his cock. He starts fucking him slow and steady, keeping his movements as controlled as he can bear, what with Artemy hot and wet and pulsing around him. Kneeling over him coitus more ferarum gives Daniil a view of the way he shudders as Daniil bottoms out, the way his brows twitch and neck tenses as he pulls out. What he isn't getting is Artemy's heat pressed to his front, being able to feel the shudders and twitches.

Daniil sets a shallower rhythm that is easier to maintain and gets to work on the buttons of his own waistcoat. His fingers are trembling and fumbling, close to useless, but eventually he manages to tear the waistcoast off without injury or complaint from Artemy.

He would have to take his trousers off as well to get out of his union suit – damn, Artemy might have the right idea with the separate underwear, there – so he has to decide that feeling Artemy's warmth through his shirt is close enough.

He runs his hands down Artemy's sides and lowers himself on top of him along with them. His face reaches barely up to the top of his spine. God, he loves fucking bigger men, having all that weight and strength bending to his will, but it does make things inconvenient sometimes. As is, Daniil has to make do with kissing along Artemy's shoulder blades, sneaking his hands below him to tug at his nipples.

The change in angle seems to make Artemy quite happy, if the new desperate edge to his groans is any indicator. Daniil shifts his focus to his hips, trying to keep his rhythm steady and angle consistent, trying not to give in to the urge to just piston his hips with abandon and spill inside Artemy as soon as he can – God, there's a thought, Daniil's seed spilling out of Artemy's used hole, Daniil using his tongue to gather it and push it back in –

Daniil squeezes his eyes shut to keep the thought from escalating, but it's too late, he's already there, thinking of claims, of bruises and bites and wanton abandon, of filling Artemy up, of –

"You're still – " Artemy pants, " – thinking."

"Thinking of you," Daniil replies, voice hoarse. "I assure you."

"What – " Artemy asks, " – about me?"

Instead of replying, Daniil lays his forehead at the top of his spine and fucks him, focuses on just fucking him, on getting that angle right.

It works, at least in the sense that it shocks a new pitch out of Artemy, makes his thighs shake and spread further apart, lowering them both. It doesn't work in shutting him up.

"Your mind's – already there," Artemy gasps. "Now let your body – follow."

Daniil hears a choked out sob and realises with belated horror that it came from his own throat. That's – This is –

"There you go," Artemy gasps. "Come on," he urges. "Let go."

Daniil's thrusts are growing more erratic. He squeezes his eyes shut and sees bright red behind his eyelids. Artemy's red too, his hole, his cock, his lips, the tops of his cheeks, the inside of his mouth, the inside of him all over, all the muscle and organs, all of his viscera, his blood, all seven liters of it is red – and waiting for Daniil, up on offer.

Why shouldn't he indulge in it? Why shouldn't he take it, claim it, make it his? It's so close, impossibly close, he can almost taste it.

Artemy shifts underneath him, twisting his torso and pushing himself up, winding a hand in Daniil's hair and then he is tasting it, tasting all of it that Artemy has in his mouth. It's red and wet and hot just like the inside of him, pulsing and shifting around his tongue as it is on his cock. Daniil's no londer in control of his hips, no longer in control of his hand that slides up past Artemy's clavicles to settle at his throat, no longer in control of his thoughts that scream red, red, red and wet and pulsing, red and –

The burning thoughts, blindingly bright, don't feel so terrifying anymore, not when they come with this.

His other hand finds Artemy's cock, soaked and throbbing. Artemy moans into his mouth desperately. It vibrates against the hand on Daniil has on his throat and tastes sweet in Daniil's mouth. Oh, he's thinking of Artemy down his throat and in his stomach now, their mixed saliva sliding down into it – Artemy's already had Daniil come in him once, has had it slide down his oesophagus, has had it settle into his stomach and dilute into his bloodstream. There's already a part of Daniil in him and Daniil's about to give him more, fill his hole with it, push it back in with his fingers and tongue if it threatens to slip free.

He's fucking Artemy with force, in desperate, heavy thrusts that Artemy is meeting with his own hips, both of their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. It's not what he's used to, none of this is what he's used to, not thoughts like this, not this gaping need, not the way his blood burns in his palms and tongue and cock.

Artemy's arms give out and the kiss breaks, clumsily, a trail of saliva falling to his face as he slumps back down to the mattress.

"W-what – " he gasps out, throat still held in Daniil's hand. "What am I?"

Daniil bites him on the shoulder, the closest part he can reach, making Artemy moan hoarsely, the sound close to a yell. Daniil fists his cock quicker, wrist aching. His other hand leaves Artemy's throat, slides over his shoulder, sweaty and trembling, down his arm, past the sharp jut of his elbow. He laces their fingers and Artemy responds in kind, locking them together.

"Say it," Artemy insists, looking at him over his shoulder with half lidded eyes. Though his pupils are so blown there's nothing to see in them but black, they're bright, blinding to look at.

Daniil stares at them, lets the light consume him. His hand burns.

"Mine," he snarls, letting the word coil its way around them like a snake until it's all he knows, all he's ever known to be true. "Mine."

Artemy's eyes widen, like he wasn't sure he was ever going to get them here, like this wasn't the only place this could ever end up. He just stares, for three, four, five thrusts, and then his face screws up, his eyes close –

Artemy's body goes taut and he comes, wet and warm and messy over Daniil's hand, over the bed and his own thighs.

Daniil works him through it and past to overstimulation and Artemy whines and sobs and squirms under him, but doesn't ask Daniil to stop, doesn't bat his hands away. His hole is pulsing around Daniil, like it's asking to be filled, like it can't take being this empty anymore.

Finally, Daniil gives him mercy and pulls his hand off. He raises it to his mouth and laps Artemy's come up, swallows him down greedily, with haste. He tastes bitter and salty, tastes sex and something frightening.

Artemy's hand slides up to Daniil's hair and forms a fist there. He jerks Daniil closer, giving him a hard look. A sliver of shame runs through Daniil at the thought of what he's been reduced to, licking Artemy's seed off his hand, selfish hips pistoning into Artemy's body with no care for his comfort. The shame thrills him.

"Don't forget," Artemy pants, lax and spent, yet firm in his voice. "You're mine, too."

Daniil sobs through his orgasm. It's not pretty like Artemy's sobbing was, no, it's desperate and ugly and wet, screws his face into a grimace, makes him lose his balance and fall down onto Artemy limp and graceless. It feels never ending – just when he thinks he's done, Artemy's body wrenches another drop from him, and another, and another, and he sobs and he moans and he keeps pushing his hips into Artemy, into his wanting hole, into the perfect body underneath him, into the man who's willing to look at a creature like him and claim it his. There's no more pretence, no more appearances, no more polite distance, just a man needing another.

Finally, he pulls out of Artemy's heat. In his delirium it doesn't take any thought at all for his body to clumsily slide down so he's face to face with the mess he's made of Artemy's hole. He shoves Artemy's thigh out and up and licks up the mess he made of his perineum, pushing it up and back into him. It's not his first time doing this, but he's certainly never done it post coitus.

He can't fathom why he hasn't. Artemy's hole is red and ruined and soft and takes his tongue so easy he sinks in with the barest pressure. Artemy shivers and trembles and pants underneath him as Daniil fucks his come deeper into him. Oh, if only he could plug him up, make sure it never leaves. As is, he'll just have to keep him close enough to fuck often, daily, hourly –

Daniil's slowly regaining his awareness, just enough to recognise his thoughts shameful and terrifying, but not enough to stop them from flowing, from getting worse. Thoughts of keeping Artemy with him in the Stillwater, sharing a bed with him, keeping him full, fucking him every night, until Daniil knows all of his quirks and sweet spots, until there's nowhere he hasn't touched, licked, fucked, rubbed his come in or onto. He keeps his eyes shut and pushes his tongue in deeper.

Mine, his body screams, red and violent and frightening.

Artemy winds a hand into his hair and pulls.

Yours, it screams too.