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To say that Till hates Ivan would be an understatement. Each time he opens his stupid mouth something ridiculous comes out and Till hates him even more. It's times like tonight where Till wonders why he still hangs out with the freak, years of matching scrapes on their knees and broken crayons be damned.
“Ivan, if you just said what I think you did, the answer is no,” Till spits out. “And for the love of God, do not repeat yourself.” He crosses his arms and slouches against his headboard.
Ivan makes the wrong choice of speaking. Again.
“I was merely asking a trusted friend for assistance. Forgive me for overstepping,” Ivan apologizes, returning his focus to his “anatomy” assignment.
Let the record show that Till does not think he is sorry in the least.
“We are not close enough friends for you to be asking to look at my fucking genitalia, Ivan.”
Till watches as Ivan’s eyes flick over to one of the only pictures he has framed on his desk. Inside sits a photo of them as children sitting at a kitchen table, their heads just barely reaching above the edge. Till sits with his legs folded underneath him, tongue poking out between his lips as his small frame leans over the table scribbling away in one of his many sketchbooks. Next to him sits Ivan, who is doing nothing of value. His round face is turned towards Till, watching him intently like the creep he came out of the womb as.
He looks stupid. It's Till’s favorite picture. But no one could force him to admit that, even if they made a threat on his life. Till chooses not to acknowledge it, but having it proudly displayed out in the open is admission enough.
Dark eyes slide their way back to Till’s. An accusatory smirk blooms on Ivan’s lips, “Sure. If you say so.”
Letting it go would be the smart idea. Till should forget Ivan’s bizarre request, even the man himself seems agreeable enough to move on. He will not let his curiosity win.
He lets his curiosity win. “How would that even work? You expect me to just lie back and think of England while you st—… while you stare at my…?” Till trails off. He can’t bring himself to say it.
“Well, even though my intentions are purely educational, I would hope that me studying your vulva wouldn’t be so unpleasant,” Ivan says.
Vulva. Ivan can't be serious. Till shouldn't even be entertaining this conversation, let alone considering the request. Despite his feeble attempts at keeping his distance, Till can't pretend like there's anyone else in the world that can read him the way Ivan can. Judging by the sly arch of his brow, Till can tell Ivan knows he's second guessing his initial refusal.
“What would I be getting out of this?”
Ivan is a shark, and he's just smelled blood in the water.
Till can't bring himself to look Ivan in the eyes, God only knows what horrible expression he would find. “Till, I’ll drop it if you are truly against it, but I would really appreciate the opportunity to visually familiarize myself with yo– a vulva. Textbooks and lectures can only provide so much information. As for compensation... let's just say I owe you.”
Why Ivan finds this important Till may never know, but what he does know is that Ivan has got to stop using that word.
“Fuck, fine! Fine.” Till’s mouth is moving against his will? Surely there's no other explanation as for why he agrees. “You can look, or whatever, but call it something else. Literally anything else.”
Ivan closes his laptop and slowly sets his books to the side. “I only thought it best to use clinical terms. What would you rather me call it, Till? Your pussy?” Till’s breath quickens as Ivan slowly moves from sitting beside him, placing himself directly in front of Till. Ivan’s dark irises bore into Till’s own as he murmurs, “Your cunt?”
“I, uh, either’s fine, I guess,” Till grumbles. “But no touching, Ivan, I’m serious. You can look, but that's it.”
Ivan rests his hands on Till’s knees. “Of course, Till. I sincerely appreciate your willingness to assist me with this.”
The hands inching up his thighs snap Till out of his Ivan-induced haze. He kicks his legs out and frantically scrambles out of his bed. “I can undress myself. I don’t– I mean… it's not like I’m fully stripping for you. I can manage taking my own fucking pants off.”
Till turns his back to Ivan and starts untying his joggers when he hears a soft laugh coming from the world's number one pervert.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Till asks, briefly glancing over his shoulder to shoot a glare at the aforementioned pervert.
In his peripheral, Till sees Ivan gently shake his head. “Nothing, Till. Come sit when you’re ready.”
With a deep breath, Till steels his nerves and shoves his pants and briefs down to his ankles. He roughly steps out of them, leaving his socks on and crawls back on the bed. Till lays on his back, propped up on his elbows to keep an eye on Ivan, lest he try to act on any other ideas in the name of "education.” His knees are bent, but his thighs remain close together.
“Well? Get on with it,” Till snaps. He attempts to sound harsh, but with the way his voice shakes he's sure he missed the mark. If Ivan notices, he's uncharactaristically kind enough not to mention it.
Ivan hovers his hands between Till’s legs, palms faced towards the inside of his thighs. He looks up at Till, seeking permission. “No need to look so worried Till, it’s just so I can properly see.”
Till nods, begrudgingly accepting his fate. He made his bed and now he is (literally) lying in it. Till watches as his legs are gently parted, exposing his bare cunt to the cool air. A shiver jolts down his spine causing his legs to tremble. Ivan The Pervert’s mouth lifts up at the corner. A quick there-and-gone smirk. Till can't fucking believe him sometimes. It's quiet in the room other than Till’s shuddering breaths, and he's becoming increasingly aware that Ivan is just casually staring at the most intimate part of him.
“I have never doubted that every single part of you is beautiful, but it is nice to finally confirm it with my own eyes.”
Ivan breaks the silence with what seems to be a compliment, but all Till hears is that he has thought of Till’s pussy and its anticipated beauty before. What a freak. Who in their right mind spends any time at all thinking about their friend’s pussy? Ivan, Freakatron 3000, that's who. Till mentally curses whatever bullshit higher power decided to saddle him up with Ivan. What did he do to deserve this?
What breaks Till out of the headspace of blaming everyone and everything he can think of for his current situation other than himself is the realization that he is starting to slick up, dampening the light gray hair on and around his outer lips. Ivan isn't even touching him and his body is already betraying him.
“Beautiful?” Till scoffs. “What about my pussy could you possibly consider beautiful?”
To Till's horror, Ivan adjusts himself so that he's laying on his stomach bracing himself by his forearms. He flicks his eyes up to look at Till with a serious expression, his pupils blown wide with desire.
“What about it wouldn't be?” Ivan sighs, his warm puffs of breath ghosting over Till’s slick folds. “Your cunt is such a pretty shade of pink, and it looks so soft. I would very much like to find out if it's as smooth as it looks. Till, please let me touch?” Ivan begs, his dark eyes glimmering.
Ivan's strong grip keeps Till’s legs spread apart, preventing him from snapping them shut. Truthfully, Till should have known Ivan wouldn't be satisfied by just a look. You can always trust Ivan to take a mile when given an inch. Furthermore, Till shouldn't be imagining what Ivan’s fingers would feel like touching him, spreading him open for further inspection. Till’s beginning to feel just as sick and twisted as the man that's currently between his legs, looking utterly enamored with the sight in front of him.
Till’s face must have given something away because the next thing he feels is Ivan's thumbs sliding up his thighs, caressing the sensitive skin there before settling and spreading his lips apart to fully expose his cunt.
"What–” Till tries asking, but it comes out whinier than he expects so he quickly clamps his mouth shut, falling back onto the bed and flings his arm over his eyes in embarrassment.
Ivan lets out a low hum of appreciation as he strokes his thumbs up and down Till's folds. This shouldn't feel good. He should stop Ivan from any further exploration, or at the very least scold him for convincing Till to let him take this further than just a look, but the words won't come out. Till mentally berates himself for having the audacity to like it. He briefly considers the merits of searching for a priest to perform an exorcism as soon as Ivan’s done with him.
“You’re leaking, Till,” Ivan murmurs, “Do you normally get this wet when you touch yourself?”
At this point, Till doesn't think there's anything he could do to save face. The thing is, Till doesn't touch himself. Every time he tries it, it takes too long, and he quickly jumps to the conclusion that his body's pathetic excuse of an orgasm isn’t worth the effort. He resigned himself to the fact that his body is simply uninterested in pleasures of the flesh. Leave it to Ivan to disprove Till’s theory with nothing more than a heated gaze and a gentle touch. Till can feel his slick slowly seeping from his entrance down his perineum, between his ass cheeks, and dangerously close to his sheets.
They should have laid down a towel.
Till begrudgingly accepts his fate and musters enough courage to admit to Ivan, “I– I don’t. Touch myself. And why the fuck are you asking anyway?”
He hears Ivan sharply inhale and Till does his best to steel himself before he removes his arm from his face. Till slowly pries his eyes open and his gaze immediately narrows at the sight between his legs. Ivan is looking up at Till with his trademark stupid smirk and eyes full of utter delight. His sharp canine pokes into his bottom lip as he ignores the question. Till figured he would. “Never?”
“I’m not sure how it’s any of your business, but no. It never felt good enough to be worth my time,” Till huffs out.
Ivan is certifiably insane. A pysch ward wouldn't know what to do with him. There is no reason he should look thrilled to hear about Till’s unsuccessful masturbation efforts.
“Well, it seems as though this lesson will benefit us both. I get to study your pussy and in turn you will learn how to properly pleasure yourself.”
A bitter retort sits on the tip of Till’s tongue, because if this is truly Ivan’s first time, then what would he know about teaching Till how to “properly” touch himself? Before he can open his mouth, though, Ivan leans closer and proceeds to do two things he never thought his pervert of a best friend would do: First, Ivan rests his arm on the inside of Till’s thigh and places his palm sideways on top of his mound. His thumb and forefinger form a ‘V’ to spread him open, all for Ivan to press his nose to Till’s clit and inhale. As if that wasn't jarring enough, Ivan twists his wrist, palm facing up, and sinks his first finger into Till’s wet heat.
Till lets out a choked moan as his walls clench around the intrusion, locking Ivan’s finger in place. “What the fuck? What the fuck, Ivan?” Till cries out.
“You smell so good, Till,” Ivan moans. His eyes roll back as he presses his whole face into Till’s cunt to take another deep breath through his nose.
That must have been Ivan’s breaking point, because things quickly take a turn for the worse. Or the better. Till doesn't have the mental capacity to decide anymore, especially not when the finger inside of him curls and presses up at the same time that Ivan’s mouth latches onto his clit.
The sound that Till makes isn’t human. And who could blame him when Ivan's tongue is lapping at his swollen clit? Till’s breath is coming faster now, short little puffs followed by something akin to a whine. Ivan releases Till’s clit with a wet ‘pop’ and nearly pulls his finger all the way out. Till, much to his own surprise, is about to snap at Ivan for stopping what he started, but Ivan turns his focus to Till’s slick opening to slide his second finger in next to the first. The stretch stings for a moment, but Ivan crooks his fingers and presses into the spot Till was convinced was a myth and Till keens.
Ivan fucks his fingers into Till at a steady pace as he leans his head back down to mouth at Till’s inner thighs. He alternates between wet, open mouth kisses and harsh bites that he immediately soothes with a gentle swipe of his tongue.
It feels amazing, but Till is loath to admit he craves Ivan’s mouth elsewhere. “Ivan, please, I need–” he starts, but begging Ivan for anything is a new low, and Till’s not sure he can bring himself to finish his plea.
Ivan’s head shoots up to meet Till’s heavily-lidded gaze, Ivan’s black irises bore into the teal staring back. “What do you need, Till?” he asks, “You know I will do anything you ask of me.” Ivan’s breath is shockingly even, and Till is a little put out that he’s the only one so affected by what they're doing.
Till swallows his pride for the sake of what is likely to be the best orgasm of his life. Not that he has anything to compare it to, but the way his entire cunt is pulsating as if it has its own heartbeat is a pretty strong indicator of what's to come. Till takes a shuddering breath, “I need you to suck my clit again. I swear to God I’ll die if–”
Turns out the begging wasn't necessary. Before Till can finish his sentence, Ivan is licking a long stripe from where his fingers are disappearing inside of him up to his clit. He briefly nibbles at the tip with the intent to torture Till, he’s sure, then proceeds to heed Till’s request by wrapping his lips around the swollen bud and sucking.
Till wails. His legs try to close around Ivan’s head but Ivan’s hand that was spreading his folds open quickly moves to press his thigh against the bed. At no point does Ivan cease his rhythmic movements. The sight of Ivan between his legs enthusiastically eating him out becomes too much, so Till throws his head back onto the bed with a thump and closes his eyes.
Any thoughts Till could've had abandon him as he rocks his hips to meet Ivan’s fingers as he thrusts into him. Till doesn't think Ivan will stop until his body is limp and satisfied, but he reaches down to grip Ivan’s hair with both hands and holds him close just in case. He will not take any chances.
The room is filled with Till’s short, breathy moans and the wet sounds of Ivan devouring his cunt. It's lewd, and Till is certain he's never been more turned on in his life. Ivan gives his clit a short break before the suction becomes too overstimulating by pressing his tongue flat and licking up with firm strokes.
When Till’s hips begin to stutter, he opens his eyes and looks down to find Ivan staring right at him, dark eyes shining with something Till isn't coherent enough to place. Till whines and hopes Ivan gets the message that he's close because Till does not trust his voice. He should have known not to question Ivan, unfortunately the man knows him inside and out, and as of today, that can be taken literally.
Ivan returns his lips to their rightful position around Till’s clit, though the finesse he had before is long gone. Ivan slurps at his cunt like he’ll never get the chance again. Till would not correct that assumption if asked, lest Ivan get an even bigger head.
Till’s legs are shaking uncontrollably, and he knows he's not far from coming all over Ivan's stupid beautifully flushed face. Ivan must have decided two fingers were not enough, because suddenly Till can feel a third sliding in and curling up to join the other two. Till’s walls clench around them, preventing Ivan from continuing to fuck them in and out. This proves to be a non-issue, though, because Ivan quickly switches tactics and curls them up again to pet Till’s formerly-mythical g-spot.
It is Till’s undoing. His back arches and his thighs fight desperately against Ivan’s firm hold. Till screams, or at least he thinks he does. His ears are ringing, so who could say? He won't be asking Ivan for confirmation. What he does know is that Ivan has done the impossible and made him squirt. He knows because he can feel the liquid spray from his pussy into Ivan’s mouth, and Till can hear the click of his throat as he gulps it down.
It's filthy; and although Till knows he should be disgusted, he's not. The first coherent thought that crosses Till’s mind is that maybe an exorcism is no longer required, because the orgasm Ivan just pulled out of him sure felt like one.
Till is still trying to catch his breath when Ivan gently removes Till’s hands from his head, his hair is messy and his mouth is wet with spit and come. He’s practically glowing, which makes no sense considering Till is the one who nearly ascended to the heavens via orgasm. Then, Ivan fully sits up and says, “That was incredibly informative. Thank you for your participation.”
The post-orgasmic haze clears and Till sobers at his statement. He scrambles to sit up, internally cringing at the feeling of the fine hairs on his inner thighs sticking together from various bodily fluids when he closes his legs. Till firmly presses his back into the headboard in an attempt to ground himself. Till knew he didn't do anything for Ivan in return, but his nonchalance grates on Till’s nerves and he feels the embarrassment he was holding in the back of his mind settle in his chest. Ivan must notice Till’s rapid change in demeanor because his smug expression shifts and his eyebrows furrow in concern.
“Till, what's wrong?”
Till bristles at the confrontation. He would've preferred if Ivan left without acknowledging what happened, but Ivan has never been the kind of person that keeps his thoughts to himself.
“Nothing. It's fine. I’m fine. I consented, against my own better judgment, but you didn't do anything I didn't want you to if that's what you’re worried about.” Till attempts to get up and out of his bed, wanting nothing more than to get dressed and escape, but his legs must have turned to jello because they buckle when he tries to stand.
Ivan is somehow at his side and catches him before he falls and embarrasses himself further. Ivan rests a gentle hand on his back, “That is not what I am concerned about.” The corners of Ivan's lips briefly twitch up into a there-and-gone cocksure smile, “You’re pouting. Why?”
What a fucking asshole. Till grabs a random pair of gym shorts lying next to his bed and tugs them on as best as he can while staying seated. It doesn't matter if they're clean, he just desperately needs to cover himself. Till briefly weighs the consequences of admitting that he's disappointed that Ivan got no pleasure from what they just did, and decides nothing could make this situation worse than it already is. Fuck it.
“You didn't like it. You're all normal and I can't even stand without falling,” he laughs dryly. It's not funny, but he’ll do anything to steer attention away from how his voice is beginning to waver again. Till is decidedly not a fan of how weak and pathetic he’s sounded tonight.
Something that looks like pity flashes in Ivan’s eyes and Till refuses to meet his gaze. “Don't look at me like that,” he huffs out.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you pity me. I can't stand it. I think,” Till sighs, “I think you should go.” It's actually the last thing Till wants.
He must be really sick in the head, because what he really wants is for Ivan to hold him. Till is going to have to commit himself to a mental facility, because he comes to the horrific realization that now he wants Ivan to kiss him. How could he give Till mind-fucking-blowing head and not even want to kiss him? Not for the first time, Till wonders what could be so wrong with him that not even Ivan, the world's biggest freak, can find it in himself to want him.
Ivan reaches a hand to cup Till’s cheek and turns Till’s head to face him. “My sweet, beautiful Till. Does it feel like I did not enjoy myself?”
Before Till can ask what he means, Ivan uses his other hand to grab Till’s wrist and guide it towards Ivan’s lap then releases his hold.
Oh.
Oh.
Till watches his fingers as they shakily trace down the tent in Ivan’s pants. He makes his way back up and sharply inhales when he feels the damp spot at the tip. Till snatches his hand back and his wide eyes dart up to look at Ivan. He’s breathing hard through his nose, eyes boring into Till’s.
“I almost came in my pants when I was eating your pussy. Twice,” Ivan confesses. “I promise you, pleasuring you is the best thing I have ever done in my life.”
The tips of his ears heat up and Till can feel his face flush as he scoffs, “You don't have to exaggerate. I get it now.” Till throws all caution to the wind. He’s already come this far. “Do you want me to, like, do something? For you, I mean.”
Ivan smiles. Not the creepy one, but a rare, normal smile, “Do you want to do something to me?” Till doesn't miss Ivan changing the phrasing, but he chooses to ignore that for now.
“I think so. Yes,” Till starts, “You’ll have to tell me what to do, though, I don't think I have your… instincts,” Till finishes with a mumble.
Ivan hums, “As much as I appreciate the offer, I really do have to finish studying,” he says as he gets up to collect his things. “Do not misunderstand me, I would very much like your hands, or your mouth, on my penis.”
Till grimaces, “You’re getting all clinical again.”
The severe look Ivan levels him with sends a shiver down Till’s spine. “I was only trying not to overwhelm you. Till, I want your hands on my cock. I want to fuck your mouth until you're crying and gagging on it,” Ivan says in a low voice. Then his face settles into something more familiar and Till is almost convinced he imagined it.
Gentle hands hold Till’s face and Ivan leans down to press a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Until next time, Till.”
Then he's gone.
Till hears the front door click shut, and wonders if he ever truly hated Ivan at all. He tries to shut down that dangerous train of thought, but knows his heart isn't in it.