Work Text:
“Do you believe in god?”
Two boys lay on the grass, letting the artificial sun warm their faces. The afternoon heat was just enough to make them docile—enough to soothe and relax and make inside thought seep out in private whispers.
“Hm?”
Ivan watched in his curled position as Tills eyes fluttered. The boy turned his face to him, eyes soft and sleepy. Ivan repeated himself. “Do you believe in god?”
“No… I don’t think so. Do you?” Till’s voice was soft as he spoke, something not rare but not exactly common either. Ivan liked when they were quiet together. Of course he liked when they bickered and roughhoused too; but something about Till’s private attention, when he doesn’t have to notice a crowed forming or teachers coming to pull them apart, when they can lay next to each other and Ivan can inhale each one of Till’s exhales, can count his eye lashes and trace his fingers along his face, something about existing only within each other was addicting.
Ivan shimmies closer to Till and hums. He stares openly at Till’s face, much to the younger’s embarrassment, and takes in the way the light makes Till’s eyes glow—how it reflects off his gray hair and make it a shiny shifting teal. He watches Till watch him in silence. Watches the boys eyes flutter again before lifting open as he fights the inevitable nap that awaits him.
It happens once, twice, five, and six times before Till loses the battle. A greedy part of Ivan revels in the thought of Till wanting to look at Ivan just as badly as Ivan wanted to look at Till.
He moves impossibly closer. Ivan wishes he could merge with Till—could live inside him, in his ribs right by his heart and feel it beat against his back, his face, his lips, all day. Forever.
A sigh slips past his lips. “Yeah, I do,” he breathes, even though Till is long asleep and can no longer hear his answer.
˙⋆✮
22 was a young age to die. Only just coming out of adolescence into proper adulthood, barely having a chance at living. Not that Ivan’s life would be fulfilling, as he worked diligently along side his guardian to keep sponsorships coming and business partners pleased.
Ivan’s life wouldn’t be wasted dying on the stage compared to everyone else. Sure, he was terrified of the notion, but that didn’t negate the fact that if he died the world wouldn’t be losing anyone special. He had no natural music talent or ambitions to help spark creativity, the only thing he had were his good looks and charming abilities and even that ment little in the world of idols.
He’s sure he’s going to die on that stage. That Till will steal the show and wow the audience and live.
Till was a light. He couldn’t help but shine and captivate in what he did. A natural born talent with such a strong niche, Segyien fell over themselves to root for him despite his disdain for them.
So Ivan isn’t worried. They wait backstage for their call time and Ivan doesn’t fret over Till losing. Dying should be quick and easy and Ivan will be able to watch over Till as he makes his way through the rounds. Simple.
He tells himself this over and over while they wait. While they’re escorted down the bright white hallways to the stage lift. When Till reaches out and quickly squeezes Ivan’s hand—the first time he’s touched Ivan today, but that’s fine ‘cause Ivan knows Till is nervous. Is sensitive, his poor boy.
He keeps thinking it when the music starts. When the boring blank stage is suddenly encapsulated in dark reds and burnt oranges, holographic stars beaming through the air around them.
Ivan thinks and thinks it. Turns it from belief into fact and sings.
˙⋆✮
Till swims in Ivan’s clothes. He was tall, has always been one of the tallest kids in the class before they graduated. He towered over Mizi and Sua when they all played together and was forced to kneel in group photos lest he be banished to the back.
But even with Till being so tall, around Ivan he was tiny. Where Till was lean Ivan was broad. It made Ivan’s shirts hang off one of Till’s blushing shoulders and dwarf his hands and turned his pants completely unusable.
Till sat flushed on Ivan’s bed letting Ivan look his fill. It was his idea to trade their stage outfits—half an attempt to make light of their situation, of their world. Ivan gently pushed Till back and felt a thrill at his compliance, guiding him to lay flat on the bed and look up at Ivan.
He let himself loom over Till from his place at the bed’s edge. His hands caressed Till’s skin. His arms, his chest, his ears. Along his eye lids and down to his lips. Ivan felt delirious, felt insane and dirty as his eyes raked over Till—as his fingers slipped between pink lips, one then two, selfishly without asking, just to feel Till’s warmth.
He was filthy and twisted and so so gross for feeling this good, for chasing this high.
And Till, he was just so
“Perfect.”
The words stumbled out from deep within Ivan. From that depraved part of him that’s greedy and perverse. Till blinked slowly and just let him prod, let his fingers trace molars and trace down his tongue.
“You’re so perfect Till,” he shuddered. When Till finally gagged, muffled and real, Ivan almost went boneless. Almost collapsed right on top of his god and tried to force his way further in.
He had to reign himself in.
His fingers slide past those lips to leave a wet, tacky trail of spit down ruby cheeks. Along Till’s neck and down his collarbone. Ivan let them snag on the loose gaps his clothes left on Till’s body before finally clasping a thins wrist.
He brought Till’s hand down to his inner thigh. Higher and higher until they rest on the hot bulge of Ivan’s pants. Till’s hand thrashed in his grip and suddenly he was squeezing Ivan, hard. His grip was mean and Ivan felt himself jerk forward and whine as he throbbed in his pants.
He peaked up at his love and saw the delight in his eyes. His hips rolled into Till’s small hand as the younger alternated between a merciless grip and a limp one.
His Till could be so cruel. Ivan wanted to swallow him whole.
˙⋆✮
When Till pulled him to dance Ivan felt himself light up. They twirled around the stage and Ivan has never felt so alive, stumbling beneath the fake meteor shower with his best friend. Till was a bad dancer—it was one of his lowest scores back in the garden—but he didn’t let that stop him from beaming up at Ivan.
He didn’t care about the audience watching them for once, the constant eyes monitoring their every breath. Ivan felt so free. He could close his eyes and imagine a world where it’s just the two of them. Just them and the stars and nothing stopping them from being one.
They harmonize beautifully.
They complete each other.
And when the final note drifts through the air, Ivan feels peace for the first time in his life.
˙⋆✮
Till has always craved freedom.
He wanted to create what brought him joy not what teachers forced him to produce. He desired a choice in what he wore and did. Who he spoke to and how he spent his time.
He hated fan meets and fan service. He hated the private meetings his guardian set up for him to serve at.
Till was the kind of person that was impossible to stifle. His light burned no matter how harshly he was punished, no matter how many boundaries he pushed, no matter how many rules he defied in their society.
Ivan knew this well.
He also knew that within their world, Till would never be free.
It doesn’t matter if he wins the entire stage. Doesn’t matter if he blows up in stardom to never seen before heights. Till would always be prisoner to their world. He would always suffer, always crave to be—to exist beyond expectation and would always be denied. Always be crammed back in line, bound and gagged and dragged off to complete his next schedule.
Maybe that’s why Ivan did it.
Let Till loose. Let him sacrifice himself for Ivan.
He knew before hand, for a while now. Had seen glimpse of poorly concealed drawings. Of renditions of Till’s death. Him falling angelically to the ground, blood spewing out of his neck. Him laid at Ivan’s feet in a puddle of red. Him, with tears twinkling like precious stars falling down his tragic face.
Ivan didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want Till to even more.
And yet he knew the greatest gift he could give his god—the purest repayment for Till’s never ending love—was death. The most ultimate form of freedom.
˙⋆✮
The gunshot rang echoed in Ivan’s ears as Till slumped against him.
Ivan lowered them to the ground, bringing a trembling hand to cusp the back of Till’s head.
Till did this for him, because he loved him. Because for some reason he felt that Ivan should live, should get a chance at a proper life.
Ivan knelt holding him and waited for the guards to pry them apart. He’d leave after the days events. Ivan always knew how, always knew a way past the scary guard Segyien. Knew where a base waited, housing a human rebellion.
He never told anyone. Till wouldn’t have been able to leave. He’d be too scared, too sad to leave behind the girls, their friends. Till was a sweetheart like that.
Ivan sat in cooling blood and decided. He’ll leave quickly and come back just for Mizi and Sua. He won’t let them die here. Because Till wouldn’t want that, they were all each other had.
He shook harder when Till was finally dragged from his grasp. When they escorted him back to his pod, past Sua’s weeping figure and Mizi’s dimmed, pitying eyes.
He wouldn’t be compliant any longer. Till believed in him.
That had to be enough.