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Till wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get himself out of this situation.
Hiding sandwiched between a pair of dress pants and a black knit sweater, Till had trapped himself in the closet. Ivan’s closet. In his dorm room. Where Till was definitely not supposed to be. And now he was peering through the panel shutters of the closet door at the form of his boyfriend on his own bed, pants pulled down to his thighs and cock in hand, stroking slowly.
Till had had a valid reason for breaking into Ivan’s dorm while he was, in theory, supposed to be in class. He’d lost his portfolio the day before and had been going frantic searching for it. The portfolio was his entire grade for his studio art class and already had four projects in it; at this point in the semester, if he’d really lost it he’d be beyond fucked. He’d already asked everyone he knew, Ivan included, if they’d seen it, only to be answered with shrugs and “I’ll keep my eye out”’s. He’d also looked everywhere--under his bed, every single one of his classes, campus lost-and-found, hell, even the big willow tree just off campus that he skipped seminar sometimes to sleep under. Still, he couldn’t find it and was rapidly running out of places to check.
Which brought him to Ivan’s dorm. It wasn't that he thought he'd left it there--he'd never actually been up to Ivan's room, in all honesty--it was just that he didn't trust Ivan. He felt bad for checking, but he had no choice. When they first got together, just shy of a month ago, Till had caught Ivan with one of his sketchbooks in his backpack. It was an old one with a bunch of drawings--truly too many--of a pretty, pink-haired nude model that had taken over his imagination after she’d modeled for his freshman charcoal drawing class. He had no idea how he’d gotten his hands on it, especially considering he was sure it had been buried in the bottom drawer of his desk since his second year, but he was rightfully pissed and embarrassed. He’d made Ivan give it back and swear not to take anything else without his permission, and that had been the end of the conversation. Or so he thought.
Though he hadn’t caught Ivan with anything else of his since and he truly had no reason to believe he’d taken it, he had to check. Just to be sure. So Till had snuck into his room while he was in his biochemical lab--a long, two-hour block session--and started looking. It was barely even sneaking around, he had justified, considering he had his own key to Ivan’s room. He had been assured he was welcome to come over whenever he wanted, even if he’d never actually done so, so really there was nothing wrong with stopping by, taking a quick look, and leaving.
After looking under the bed, behind the desk, beside the dresser, and even under a loose strip of laminate, he was starting to lose hope. Absolute despondence washed over him as he stood in the middle of the dorm room, thinking about where else he could check. He was relieved Ivan hadn't taken it, but that also meant he was completely out of options.
That was when he heard the key turn in the lock on the door.
Till nearly jumped out of his skin as a hundred thoughts rushed through his brain. Burglar? Or is Ivan back already? But his class should’ve just started! Aah! I’m not supposed to be here! Gotta hide, gotta hide! In a panic, he rushed into the only hiding place he could think of--the closet. He darted in and closed the door behind him, slapping a hand over his mouth and nose like he was in a slasher film. Or maybe that was just an extra precaution in case it really was a burglar.
Ivan dropped his backpack on the ground as the door closed behind him and stretched. He looked around the room, stopping to make direct eye contact with Till peering out of the slatted closet door. He can’t see me, he can’t see me, he can’t--
Ivan yawned and took a seat on his bed, taking off his shoes and pulling off his hoodie, tossing everything onto the floor. He was wearing one of Till’s t-shirts under his hoodie, one he’d been lent some couple weeks ago after he'd stayed the night with Till. Till had wondered where it went. It fit a little tighter on him, causing it to ride up his stomach when he laid his head down on the pillow. He cast another one-off glance at the closet door before sinking into the mattress.
Till breathed quietly, eyes darting from Ivan’s exposed stomach to the door of the dorm room to his own hand on the closet door handle. He suddenly wished he hadn’t hid; if he’d just stayed in the middle of Ivan’s room he could’ve played it off, like “Haha! I came to see you but I forgot you had class. I was just about to leave, but now you’re here! What a coincidence!” But there was no way he could feign innocence after hiding in Ivan’s closet. Instead, he tried to concoct a plan that would let him escape with his pride and Ivan’s trust. If Ivan had skipped his afternoon class, Till figured, he was probably going to take a nap before going to club in the evening, so if Till could stay where he was until he passed out, he’d probably be okay. He could sneak out as soon as he was sure he was asleep. Ivan was a heavy sleeper anyway. That could work.
Till’s thoughts were interrupted by soft rustling and a sharp breath. He drew his gaze back over to Ivan and his eyes flashed wide at what he saw. Ivan was palming himself over his pants. Till watched him, mouth agape, as his fingers stretched over the outline of his cock and rubbed down.
This was bad.
Till’s face grew hot and he looked away, staring down at his shoes. It wasn’t anything Till hadn’t seen before--they really hadn’t wasted any time getting into each other’s pants once the ushy-gushy ‘mutual feelings’ stuff was out of the way--but there was a big difference between having sex with your boyfriend and being his unknowing voyeur. Till resolved himself to avert his eyes until Ivan was done. He’d probably jack off and fall asleep, and then Till could leave as planned.
Easier said than done.
Till squeezed his eyes shut as Ivan let out a soft moan. Then another. Till was surprised and, selfishly, a little pissed--Ivan was never noisy in bed with him, and yet his own hand felt that good? There was no way. However, his irritation faltered when he heard rustling and the distinct sound of a zipper being undone, and he couldn’t help but peek his eyes open.
Ivan had shifted just enough that Till had a clear view. He was stroking lazily at his hardening cock, pants pulled half down and thighs spread. His hand moved intentionally, building himself up slowly. Till realized then that this wasn’t going to be a quick pump-and-go session; he was going to take his time. Another moan rolled off of Ivan’s lips, and Till became aware of the growing strain in his own pants.
Ivan pressed his thumb against the tip of his cock, rubbing it up and down as he squeezed the shaft. Till watched intently, the sound of blood throbbing in his ears mixing with Ivan’s quiet groans. Ivan’s other hand hooked beneath the hem of his borrowed shirt, pushing it up and out of the way to expose his chest. He painted his fingers across his chest before rubbing and pinching at one of his nipples. The gasping moan he let out as he played with his chest and swiped his thumb against his tip at the same time went straight to Till’s dick, becoming embarrassingly hard.
No, no, no, I shouldn't be seeing this. Till closed his eyes again and leaned back until his shoulders hit the closet wall. Still, the image of Ivan laid out on the bed, practically on display for him, had burned itself into his mind. Did Ivan usually play with his nipples when he jerked off? Till had never touched him there, but if he liked it maybe he could--
Till berated himself for his wandering thoughts. At the same time, he wondered if this could be the chance for him to see what Ivan was into. Ivan was adaptable both in and out of bed. Whatever Till wanted, he'd do without even a whisper of a complaint, but when it came down to what Ivan actually liked, what he actually wanted, Till really wasn't sure. If it was for research, maybe it'd be okay to watch? His eyes almost opened when--
“Haah, like that…” The sound of Ivan's voice interrupted Till's stream of consciousness, and he kept his eyes screwed tight. For a moment, Till was confused by Ivan’s words. If he's touching himself, why would he--? Only for the clarification to hit him like a blow to the stomach. “mmh…Till.”
No way. No fucking way.
Till's eyes flew open. He took a step back toward the closet door, suddenly tossing out half the rationale for his current dilemma, and glued his gaze onto Ivan's body. His head was pressed back into the pillow with his mouth open, letting Till see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he panted and moaned. His shirt was still pulled up to his collarbone, chest exposed, nipples hard, and his pants had slipped down a little further, letting Ivan spread his thighs just a bit wider. One hand was still pumping his dick, faster now than before, while the other was stroking the head. Even from where he was across the room, Till could see that his tip was starting to glisten with precum.
Till wanted nothing more in the world than to touch him.
“Till, please,” Ivan spoke again, as if he was begging him to do just that. But Ivan never begged. Till was the one who would whine and beg and plead for Ivan to please just fuck him before getting exactly what he wanted. But the way that Ivan's head thrashed to the side as he said it told Till that maybe that could change.
Hesitantly, Till ghosted his hand over the front of his pants, pressing his palm against his own hard dick. There was an edge of guilt and shame to the action that just made his blood pump harder. He was sure Ivan couldn't see him from here, and even if he could he was certainly too preoccupied to care. Till undid his belt as quietly as he could, silently cursing himself for wearing one at all, before undoing the front of his pants and dipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. His neglected cock wept with relief at his touch.
Still, just as Till’s hand started to speed up, Ivan’s slowed down. He stopped stroking himself and instead sat up, kicking his pants the rest of the way off and reaching over the side of his bed. Till continued to stroke himself slowly, trying to see what Ivan was reaching for. He watched as Ivan pulled open the last drawer of his nightstand, grabbing a half-empty bottle of lube. He laid back down, positioning himself at the edge of the bed with his knees up and bent.
Till could see everything. And he knew exactly what Ivan was doing.
He poured a small amount of lube into his fingers and rubbed it between them, warming it up. His other hand traveled down to his cock, getting back into a good rhythm. Till held his breath as he watched Ivan’s lubricated fingers reach below his dick. Slowly, almost teasingly, they slipped between his cheeks, spreading lubricant over his hole. He rubbed over it at a languid pace, fingers gliding over his entrance and just barely teasing it. His hand on his cock also moved up and down with intention, drawing out shaky breaths that ended in low groans. Till was amazed at his self restraint; he would've for sure had two fingers inside himself by now and been debating a third, but Ivan was patient, deliberate. Practically performative. And the sound of his deep voice straining at his own controlled movement was like a drug to Till, flowing through his veins as he pumped himself faster.
Without warning, Ivan shoved a finger inside himself, gritting his teeth hard as he did. “T-ill, fuck…” he whined as it slid up to his knuckle. Desperately, Till slowed down to keep himself from tipping over the edge too fast. It was too much; Ivan was getting off to the thought of Till touching him, fucking him--the idea alone was enough to make him lose it. He'd never fucked Ivan; in all honesty, he'd always been much more keen on getting railed by his thick cock. And selfishly, with Ivan pinning him against every available surface in his dorm room and fucking him senseless every time, he'd never even considered he might be interested in switching positions.
But seeing him like this, legs spread and starting to thrust his finger in and out, going quiet as he worked himself open, Till was already making plans for next time.
“Hnnh--” Ivan slid a second finger inside, breathing slowly to force himself to relax. He was tight, Till could tell, but he knew what he was doing. This wasn't Ivan's first time fingering himself. Buried to the knuckle, he spread his fingers apart, moaning softly as he stretched himself open. He began slipping his fingers in and out, pushing deeper each time.
Till timed his strokes with Ivan's thrusts, bucking up into his own hand. He covered his mouth with his other hand, trying to hide his erratic breathing. In his mind, Till could imagine himself on top of Ivan, replacing his fingers with his own, fucking him harder, deeper than he could by himself. He'd curl them and thrust up, make Ivan arch off the bed and twist his knuckles into the sheets. Reality wasn't that far off, with Ivan starting to writhe against the mattress as he fingered himself faster.
God, he was so pretty.
Till let his imagination take over. He wanted to fuck him so bad, it was all he could do not to rip open the closet door and take what Ivan was offering. He wanted to grab his thighs and hook his legs over his shoulders. He'd watch those pretty dark eyes blow wide as he slid his cock in and buried it up to the hilt. Till could be rough with him. He'd pound into him until he was moaning his name like a whore, not bothering to care if any of the neighbors could hear.
“I'm close…”
He could jerk him off while he did it, wrapping his fingers around his thick cock and pumping in time with his thrusts. He'd grind against his prostate until he was begging him to let him come, his deep voice broken and desperate. And when Till got close, he'd tell Ivan he was gonna come inside him, fill him up, force him to take--
"Till--hahn!" Till snapped back to reality just in time to watch Ivan come, spurting over his hand and stomach with Till’s name on his tongue. He stroked himself through it, keeping his fingers shoved deep in his hole as he pumped.
Till screwed his eyes tight and fucked his fist erratically, chasing his own high. He bit down hard on the hand covering his mouth, desperately trying to keep quiet as tears started to gather in his eyes. The image of Ivan coming undone in front of him and the sound of his voice moaning his name replayed over and over in Till’s mind until he was just about to tip over the edge. He was so close--
Then the closet door opened.
“Till?” Ivan asked, taking in the vision in front of him: Till--face flushed red and teary, pants bunched up at his thighs, hand down his underwear--vigorously jerking himself off in his closet.
Till wanted to die. No, he needed to. He wondered if he'd die on impact if threw himself out the window. They were on the fifth floor, it might work.
He wrenched his hand out of his pants and fumbled to cover himself up, orgasm beyond ruined. “L-look, it's not what you think! I mean, well, I didn't mean to, it was just, I--”
“What are you doing in here?” he asked, leaning in closer, one arm resting up against the threshold. Ivan had redressed while Till was focused on getting himself off, which only made him feel like a bigger creep.
“Ah, in your dorm, or your…closet…?” I need to kill myself.
Ivan raised his eyebrows.
“I, uh,” he started, realizing he had no choice but to come clean. “I was looking for something of mine, and I thought you might have it, but you didn't so I was going to leave, but then you came back and I didn't know what to do so I hid, but then you--”
Ivan laughed softly, obviously amused. “Okay, okay,” he said. He paused, almost pensive. “Did you enjoy the show?”
Till turned beet red. “That’s--!”
“It's alright,” he continued, reaching down and taking Till’s hand in his. “I don't mind.”
How wasn't he fazed by this? Ivan wasn't easily flustered, but even he had to feel a little violated by the situation. Till had seen him messy and pathetic and depraved, and yet he wasn't the least bit embarrassed. For God’s sake, he was fingering himself on full display and moaning Till’s name as he came--basically performing for him like a porn star and he wasn’t--Oh. Wait.
“Ivan, did you…know I was in here?”
“Hm? No, I had no idea,” he answered, sounding almost convincing. Coupled with the innocent look on his face, Till nearly believed him. Ivan gave his hand a squeeze, soft and sweet, before he grasped it harder. He started to drag Till out of the closet by his hand, leading him across the room.
“Wait, what're you doing?” Till asked as he was pulled along, grabbing at his waistband in an attempt to keep his pants from falling the rest of the way down and tripping him.
Ivan pulled him in front of his bed, cornering him between his body and the mattress. “I didn't realize you were such a pervert.”
“Hah?!” His ears were burning. “It's not like that, I swear--!” Till retorted, feeling the last shreds of his dignity dissolve. His eyes dropped to the floor.
“Relax, I'm not mad,” he assured. He grasped Till by the jaw, holding him in place so that he had no choice but to look at him. “Did you like watching?”
Till swallowed down the lump in his throat, and pulled back against his grasp to no avail. Ivan already knew the answer to that question; he just wanted to hear him say it. That was one thing Till knew about Ivan for sure: he liked getting a rise out of him. He had one of two options: he could fight him, tell him he didn't, it was an accident, he couldn't help it, or “...I did.”
The gentle smile that pulled at the edges of Ivan's lips felt like it was trying to hide a nasty, wicked grin. “...So you are a pervert.”
Till didn't deny it this time.
Ivan let go of his jaw with a squeeze, but he didn't release Till. Rather, he lowered his hands and slid his thumbs through the belt loops just below his ass to yank him forward, pressing their hips flush together. Till’s still-hard dick rubbed against the front of Ivan's pants and made his breath hitch. “Why don't you return the favor?” he asked. “Let me watch you finish yourself off.”
“I…” Till started before he faltered, no idea what to say. The idea was absolutely humiliating, but he had also gotten so close earlier that there was a part of him that really, really wanted to come.
Ivan's hands traveled up his thighs to his waist, holding him firmly by the hips. He leaned in to kiss Till on his closed lips, once, twice, before it was hesitantly reciprocated. “I like it when you're embarrassed, Till,” he cooed into his mouth. “Your face gets so red.” Ivan kneaded his fingers into Till’s skin as he kissed him again, pressing the pads of his thumbs directly into the hard bone of his hips, firm enough to leave small bruises. “It just makes me want to bully you more.”
Till grumbled into his mouth. This fucking guy.
Still, kissing Ivan was intoxicating; Till couldn't get enough. After imagining himself touching Ivan on every part of his body, actually getting to feel him made his head spin. He drew his hands up to the either side of Ivan’s jaw first, dragging his blunt nails against the pale skin of his neck. The feeling sent a shiver up Ivan’s spine. He kissed him slowly only at first--then like he was hunting him down, tongue sliding against his lips and forcing his mouth open. His hands flew into Ivan’s hair, holding him in place with a tangled death grip as he kissed him deeper. Ivan was rapidly losing control of the pace. And God, it felt good. With his tongue pressed against Ivan’s, Till moaned into his mouth. It was like he was possessed. Ivan gasped for air between kisses, only for Till to descend back onto his lips. He could hardly keep up. Till pulled down hard at the locks in his grip to expose Ivan’s neck, a move that caused a quiet moan to erupt from the latter’s throat.
Suddenly, the hands on Till’s waist grabbed him hard, fingers digging into his sides, and shoved him away. Till fell backwards and his shoulders hit the mattress with a thud, legs draped over the side. Ivan took a step forward, slotting one leg between Till’s knees as he loomed over him.
“Iv, fuck--”
His face was pink. For once, Ivan was a little flustered.
Ivan leaned down and hooked his fingers around the waistband of Till’s boxers, taking back the lead. “Show me.” Till scrambled to grab at Ivan’s hands as they pulled his underwear down, exposing his half-hard cock. Ivan stared him down, his gaze sliding over Till’s body so physically it felt like hands on his skin. “Touch yourself.”
Till’s hand twitched, fighting the part of his brain that was still aflame with humiliation under Ivan’s undivided attention. Ivan leaned down towards him, speaking in a low hush. “You got yourself so close before, didn’t you? Don’t you want to come?”
Hesitantly, Till slowly drew his hand back to his dick, wrapping his fingers around the length. He slid his thumb along the top experimentally. His eyes darted from Ivan to his hand, back to Ivan, looking for a reaction. Ivan’s expression was one of barely restrained hunger; he gazed down at Till like he was being served up to him on a platter. Unwavering and almost obsessive.
Till couldn't stand it.
“Show me how you do it when you’re alone,” Ivan demanded, his voice so unfairly clear and warm for the words that were coming out of his mouth.
Till’s eyes darted around the room as he began to stroke. He couldn't look at Ivan while he did it; the embarrassment he felt was overwhelming. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” Ivan asked, the question burning in Till’s ears. “Do you ever pretend I’m the one doing it?” He needed to look elsewhere, anywhere. Still, the shame--knowing he was being watched--it only made the whole experience feel more...everything. Ivan’s deep, clear voice and the sounds of Till’s own quiet panting reverberated in his ears, making them burn hot with blood. The pads of his fingers buzzed as they pumped up and down along the length of his cock. In that moment, all that mattered was Ivan’s attention, and that attention made it feel like Ivan had complete control. “Or, maybe you like to imagine I’m going down on you?”
Till whined quietly, a particularly good stroke punctuating the end of Ivan’s question. With it, he caught Ivan’s gaze with his own despite his best attempts to avoid it. With the way Ivan was looking back at him, he could only imagine the fucked-out expression he was making. His mouth was part-way open and his breathing was getting heavy.
“You like that, Till?” Ivan asked, shimmying his leg forward and leaning down over-top of him. He put his lips next to his ear. “Are you thinking about my mouth?”
“N-no.” As if Till could’ve helped it.
Ivan laughed softly, and the heat in Till’s ears only grew. “I know you’re thinking about how good my tongue would feel on your cock.” His breath tickled the side of his neck. “Tell me I’m right.”
The numb feeling in Till’s hand only made it easier for the vision of Ivan slotted between his legs, lips bobbing up and down his shaft in time with each stroke, to materialize in his mind. He could feel tension building in his stomach.
“I-Iv…” he choked out, voice breaking. “T…tou--ah…ahn…”
“What was that? I can't understand you.”
“Iv…touch m-me. Touch…me--haah…”
Ivan sighed, sounding practically disappointed. “Mm, that’s not how this works,” he chided. “You're putting on a show for me.”
Till’s head lolled to the side, turning away from Ivan. He was frustrated, utterly humiliated, and dripping with precum. His eyes darted around the room, scanning his surroundings as if he was searching for something to ground him. The dresser, the floor, the ceiling light, the desk, the hand-made poster for Till’s band Ivan had hung up on his wall--anything, anything, anything besides Ivan's dark eyes and plaintive smile.
“Come on, Till,” Ivan whispered, “fuck your fist like the desperate slut you are.”
And that's when he saw it. In the closet with its door wide open, nearly-concealed by the rows of hanging clothes and a basket of dirty laundry, just behind where he had been standing, Till made out the corner of a large, flat, rectangular bag.
He stopped and sat up in an instant. Suddenly, his impending orgasm didn’t matter.
“Is that my fucking portfolio?”
Ivan's eyes flashed. Till was already up, sloppily pulling his pants up as he moved across the room with speed. He fumbled around in the closet, hoisting the basket out, letting the clothes spill on the floor, and ripping aside rows of hanging clothes. He yanked on the corner of the black bag until it was pried free and Till and Ivan could both see exactly what it was.
“Why the fuck do you have this?” Till demanded, portfolio in hand, every ounce of sweetness draining from his body and filling back up with boiling hot rage.
Ivan played it cool. “I found it earlier, that's your portfolio right? I was going to give it back to you after class.” He paused. Calculated. “What? Did you think I stole it?”
Till wasn't satisfied. “Where'd you find it?” He practically spit out the words.
Ivan looked at him, pleading innocence with his pretty face and soft expression. “Strangely enough,” he started, with practiced confidence, “Under a willow tree just off campus. By the pond with all those pretty lily pads.”
“Willow tree.”
“Yes.”
“Willow tree?”
“Yes?”
“Right,” Till confirmed with a sarcastic bob of his head. “And you found it this morning?” Ivan nodded slowly. “Was that before your 9:00 AM or in the fifteen minutes between that class and your recitation across campus? And when exactly did you bring it back here?”
Ivan's expression barely hid the oh shit behind his eyes. “You know my schedule.”
Till moved swiftly across the room and took Ivan by the collar, bunching it up in both hands and pulling his face toward him. “You’re a fucking thief.”
Ivan peered down at him nonchalantly, the slightest frown creeping at the corners of his mouth. “Are you mad?”
“Yes, I'm fucking mad!” Till retorted. “Do you know how much time I've wasted looking for this? I've been up since 6:00 AM checking every place I could think of--I had to miss a tutoring session!” He tightened his grip before letting go, pushing Ivan back with enough force that he stumbled, nearly falling back onto the mattress. “I have a critique on Friday--do you have any idea what would've happened if I didn't have it? Do you realize how important this is?”
Ivan stared back at him, as if he had no idea why Till was so upset. “I was going to give it back.”
“Not. good. enough.” Till clenched his hands into fists, shoulders tensing and relaxing as he tried to calm down. He sighed. “We talked about this last time. Why the hell did you take it in the first place?”
Ivan's eyes lit up, presented with the opportunity to explain himself. “You've been so stressed and pissed-off with school and work and your band lately, I thought if it went missing, when you got it back you'd be so relieved none of that would matter anymore,” he answered. “I just wanted to take it for a day or two, that's all.”
Till believed him. That was the exact sort of roundabout fucking logic that Ivan's idiotic, Till-centered brain would use.
“Besides,” Ivan piped up again, “you were asleep.” He grinned. “It was easy.”
“You--!” Till exclaimed. He had half a mind to kick his ass. Instead, he gritted his teeth. “If you were so concerned about my stress levels, why couldn't you help out like a normal boyfriend? Like bring me lunch or give me a massage or blow me or--or something.”
“Do you want me to suck you off? I still can--”
“Ugh! You're not listening--”
“Let me do it Till, I'm sorry, let me do it--”
“Shut up!” Till grabbed him by the jaw and pushed him back until he caught on the edge of the bed, falling flat on his ass. Ivan obeyed and went silent.
Till’s head was all screwed up. He was frustrated in every sense of the word: pissed at Ivan and denied an orgasm--twice. He was in no mood to have a constructive conversation about boundaries. Really, he was half-tempted to actually let Ivan go down on him; he could fuck his throat until he gagged while he came in his mouth and then leave him alone in his room. But Till knew he'd soften if he saw those big dark eyes looking up at him apologetically with his lips wrapped around his cock. It wouldn't work.
“Flip over,” Till demanded, gesturing at Ivan. “We'll talk about this later. Flip over and put your ass up.”
Ivan didn't move. “Till, what are you--”
“Stop talking.” He took a deep breath. “You wanna get me off? Let me fuck you facedown.” There was a delicious look of shock on his face that Till instantly catalogued in his mind. “You did a good job prepping yourself earlier, right? So it shouldn't hurt.”
Ivan didn't even bother to hide his pleased smile.
Till scoffed. “Knock that look off your face or I'll fucking do it for you.”
“Do it,” Ivan whined out, a little breathier than either anticipated. He'd shifted forward on the bed as he said it, as if he really hoped Till would hit him.
Till’s eyes lit up in shock. He wanted to do this to prove a point--he was pissed!--but he was rapidly coming to terms with the fact that his boyfriend was perhaps a bigger freak than he had realized. It wasn't that he was entirely unaware, if bite marks and bruises on Till’s skin that took several days to heal were any indicator, just that Ivan's masochistic streak was new. No matter what he did, Ivan was going to enjoy every second of it. “W-whatever,” he muttered. “I told you to shut up. Now move."
Ivan listened. He turned over onto his stomach and got on his knees, pressing his face into the pillows. Till got on the bed behind him and reached around to undo the button and zipper of his pants and pull them down to his knees. He disrobed him enough that he'd be able to spread his thighs open to fuck him. Till pulled his own pants and underwear partway down, just enough to get his dick back out. He took it in hand and climbed on the bed behind Ivan, working on stroking himself hard again.
“You're a fucking liar, you know that?” he started, staring down at Ivan's body with his back arched, looking a little too eager. He was still clothed from the waist up, wearing Till’s shirt. “Lying about stealing my shit, and lying about not knowing I was in here.”
Ivan neither confirmed nor denied his accusation, choosing instead to stay quiet for once.
“You wanted me to watch you,” Till continued, still pumping himself out of Ivan's line of sight. “You wanted me to see you fuck yourself--hear you moaning my name. If I'm a pervert, what's that make you?”
“Exhibishionisht?” Ivan answered Till’s rhetorical question into the pillow.
“Quit talking.” Till laid a hand on Ivan's ass and spread him open. Despite himself, his heart was pounding, some mixture of adrenaline, anger, and pure want (and maybe some nerves) all flowing through his veins. “If I have to tell you again, I'll stop. I'll leave you here.”
That seemed to do the trick.
Till lined his tip up with Ivan's entrance, smearing precum against the rim. Slowly, he pushed inside, forcing himself into his hole. He was tight. By the way Ivan's breath was slow and uneven, Till could tell that the stretch burned: not enough lube, not enough prep. Good. The way that Ivan's walls squeezed around him and the muffled whimper Ivan let out as he bottomed out made Till realize he wasn't going to last long.
Till placed his hands on either side of Ivan's waist, thumbs pushing under his shirt and gliding along his hipbones. There was something erotic about both of them being barely stripped down, not bothering to take the time to take anything more off than they needed to. Till pulled out almost fully before he pushed back in with a slow, drawn-out thrust. Testing the waters. The view of Ivan below him, lanky body stretched out and pliant was foreign. But Ivan felt so good inside, better than even Till’s imagination could come up with. He wanted more.
Till pulled back and snapped his hips forward, his experimental phase ending abruptly. Till gripped Ivan's waist harder, holding him in place as he repeated the motion. Ivan stayed silent, his eyes screwed shut.
“Hhn--fuck,” Till groaned, adjusting his grip on Ivan’s waist so he could slam himself back inside. He was picking up the pace roughly, fucking Ivan like he was just a toy to be used.
Till watched Ivan’s arm shift, slowly moving under himself to stroke his dick as he got fucked. He moved carefully, as if he was trying not to get caught. In an instant, Till stopped moving and buried himself inside Ivan’s ass, harshly grasping his wrist and yanking it behind his back.
“How fucking dare you,” Till spit, pushing Ivan’s wrist forward until his arm was bending at an uncomfortable angle.
“Ah! T-ill, -t hurts!” Ivan whimpered, uncharacteristically sharp and desperate.
Till’s cock throbbed at the sound of Ivan’s pathetic voice. He started fucking him again, holding Ivan’s arm against his back with one hand while the other dug into his waist, keeping Ivan in place. His pace was erratic, like a dog in heat. He managed only another few thrusts before he was spilling out, cumming into Ivan’s ass.
Sweat dripped down his forehead and landed on Ivan’s back, pooling against his arm as Till rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. All he could hear was the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and his own heavy breathing. If Ivan was making a sound, he couldn't tell and quite frankly, he didn't care. Slowly, Till pulled out, releasing his grasp on Ivan’s wrist in the same moment. Cum spilled out of Ivan’s hole and dropped onto the bedsheets between his legs.
“N…no, Till wait, I--” Ivan mumbled, pushing himself up on shaky arms and looking back over his shoulder to see Till getting off the bed and redressing himself. Ivan was still painfully hard, brought close to the edge after being used. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I need you, just--”
“You can get yourself off after I leave.” Till spoke, trying to remain apathetic as if there wasn't a distinct wobble in his legs. “I don’t care.” He picked up his portfolio as he finished straightening himself up.
“Till…”
“Also,” he continued, cracking open the door to the room. Ivan sat up and offered his full attention. Till gestured with his portfolio, staring daggers into his skull. “We’re not done talking about this. I’m still pissed.”
“R-right…” Ivan responded, trying to hide the fact that Till’s livid expression only turned him on more.
“Mmh.” And with that, Till disappeared into the dorm’s hallway, closing the door behind him and leaving Ivan by himself.
A wave of regret swept over Till as soon as the door locked behind him. His mind repeated What the fuck was I thinking? over and over like a hammer against his brain. Though perhaps he wouldn't have felt so ashamed if he knew that as Ivan cleaned off in the shower, vigorously stroking himself to the feeling of bruises developing on his hips and Till’s cum dripping down his legs, he was already dreaming about what else of Till's he could possibly take that would piss him off even more.