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“Can you-“ Till grunts, throwing an elbow behind himself blindly. It connects with something that goes ‘oof’, but Ivan’s hands don’t retreat. His big palm remains splayed out over Till’s stomach under his shirt with the other arm wound beneath him. “Move. I’m hot.”
Ivan groans, and then he ducks his head and buries his face into Till’s spine. It’s not helping, which Till complains about in earnest, but Ivan never listens. He’s like a damn furnace, which is nice in the winter but not right now when Till feels sweaty and disgusting.
Ivan’s fingertips rub shapes over his skin that could easily be misinterpreted as soothing, but unfortunately, Till knows him too well to think that’s his intention. “Ivan,” he mumbles, eyes still glued shut with sleepiness. His hand inches lower over Till’s abdomen. It is not subtle in the slightest.
“Quit it,” Till scolds, but he makes no move to throw Ivan off of him. The whole back of him is tacky with heat, his underarms too, and it’s cloying and uncomfortable. He’s already irritable. Being hot isn’t helping. Being hot makes him want to punch things.
Ivan offers nothing in defense. His fingers spread apart to cover as much surface area as possible, and he nudges his pinky finger into the piercing hooked in Till’s belly button. It gets raw and irritated every time he plays with it because he doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘gentle’. For some reason, Till has only threatened to let it close and has yet to do it. (It’s not because he likes the attention Ivan gives him over it. It’s not.)
Till is almost asleep again when Ivan’s fingers wander from his stomach. He makes a muddled sound of protest as they slip beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, and Till slaps half heartedly at the back of his hand.
“Stop,” he grumbles. Ivan pets over his pubic hair like he’s soothing Till back into rest. It isn’t working. “I’m on my period.”
Every movement pauses for a few seconds. Ivan freezes in place, and then he makes a low noise against the nape of his neck, lips pressed against Till’s skin amidst the long strands of hair clinging to it. He mutters something that sounds like ‘it didn’t take’, and Till’s mouth twists into an angry scowl.
“What are you talki-“ he starts, beginning to shift so he can throw his irritated glare into Ivan’s face instead of at the wall where he can’t see it.
“Are you using the cup I purchased?” Ivan interrupts, and every word that resides in Till’s mind is instantaneously zapped out of existence. His mouth brushes over the knobs of Till’s spine as he speaks, and his fingers press into his pubic bone a little harder as they continue their stroking. “I would be delighted for you to empty it into my mouth.”
Violence explodes through his body. Till shouts as he twists around to face Ivan, throwing his limbs about in a tangle of horror and fury. Most of his uncoordinated attacks land, but Ivan is undeterred.
“It came sixteen hours earlier than I anticipated it would.” Ivan’s eyes are wild, and Till whines as he writhes beneath him in an attempt to throw him off. Somehow, he’d gotten the upper hand in their tussle, and he’s got both of Till’s arms pinned above him with his full weight seated atop his thighs. Ivan is fucking heavy, and as much as he squirms, he can’t get free.
“Ivan,” Till complains, tone lacking the bite he’s going for. Ivan’s unoccupied hand is shoving his shirt up his torso, and Till’s stomach tenses as he drags his fingertips over it so lightly it tickles. “Ivan, get off. ”
“I will,” Ivan replies. He’s smiling genuinely, and Till despises himself for the way his heart squeezes as their eyes meet. He looks overjoyed, the sick fuck. “Be patient, Till. I know you’re a bit of a cumslut, but you can wait.”
Till bucks beneath him with a shout, and he strains desperately against the hold Ivan’s got around his wrists. “Shut up!” he shrieks, anger and embarrassment flushing his whole face with heat. He wants to throw Ivan off the edge of the bed and beat him with his fists in a way that won’t make him hard, but he’s fucking immovable, and Till slumps with a huff.
“Are you finished?” Ivan asks. His tone is amused, and he inclines his head at Till questioningly. Fucking patient asshole. The least he can do is pretend to be frustrated that Till is fighting him so hard, except he’s even keeled and unbothered and fucking amused. Till’s gonna kill him in his sleep so Ivan can’t enjoy it.
He refuses to answer. Till turns his face away to frown at the wall, and Ivan waits another few moments to ensure he’s settled. Then, his hand continues its path downward, and he traces over Till’s prominent hipbone with his nail. It sends chills racing over his skin, and he can’t hide the way it makes him shudder. Ivan sees all.
“I would like to give you an orgasm,” he informs. His voice has gone a little lower, sort of sultry. Till swallows and does not look in his direction. He can’t give away the fact that it’s giving him heart palpitations. Ivan’s hot, okay? He’s attracted to his boyfriend. Fucking sue him. “It helps to ease the cramping.”
Till knows he’s not lying. It’s scientifically proven to help with pain or whatever. Till’s read it in articles online before. For once in his life, Ivan isn’t coming up with a convoluted, elaborate scheme to get into his pants.
“No,” Till replies, monotone. Ivan’s mouth twitches at the corner. It’s the only indicator he gives of feeling frustration. “I don’t want to get blood on the sheets.” Ivan would get blood on him too, but Till’s not the least bit concerned about that. The last time he’d gone to the doctor to get it drawn, Ivan asked for an extra vial to take home. He’s really not worried he wouldn’t like the blood part.
Ivan lets go of his hands at once. His weight lifts off Till’s thighs, and he rises from the bed without a word. “Where are you going?” Till calls after him, but there is no answer. Till can hear his bare feet on the carpet in the hallway as he retreats.
Thirty seconds later, he returns with a towel in his hands. It’s black, thank god, although if it were up to Ivan he’d probably want it to be bright white so he could see exactly which places to suck on to get the blood out with his tongue. Fucking lunatic. Disgusting, filthy, annoyingly handsome lunatic.
The bed creaks as Ivan climbs onto it on his knees. He crawls over to Till like a predator, coming to rest between his feet. He’s a starved man waiting for his feast. His eyes are hungry. It’s difficult to swallow, and Till spreads his legs as if he were commanded by an invisible force to do it.
Ivan slides the towel beneath his pelvis with minimal groping. He’s intensely focused, and he’s breathing hard enough that Till can see his whole chest rise and fall with every instance. He looks like he’s about to unhinge his jaw and swallow Till whole. God, Till’s made a grave mistake agreeing to this, hasn’t he?
Ivan fists his hands into the loose fabric around his knees. He tugs, and Till lifts his hips to help him slip off his pants. They slide over his feet one leg at a time, and then Ivan drops them blindly over the side of the bed.
There’s a lump in his throat that hurts to swallow. Till’s heart is beating so hard, nerves singing from anxiety born of a new experience. He’s fairly certain he could do anything to Ivan and he’d enjoy it, and yes, Till really does mean anything. He can’t say the same about himself, though. Like a normal sane person, he has limits, ones that Ivan is strangely good at pushing.
Ivan hooks both of his hands in the waistband of Till’s underwear and gives him no time to second guess his decision before he draws them down. He’s eager, he moves quickly and decisively, but he’s abnormally gentle with him as he strips him of his clothes. His head bows, and he presses a hot trail of kisses down Till’s calf as he gazes up at him from between the cradle of his knees. His lashes are so long. It’s not fair that Ivan is so pretty.
His expression is full of devotion. It’s arresting, the sheer force of it, and it snatches the oxygen from his lungs when Till looks at him too long. He lets his head flop back onto the pillow with a huff, and his hands snake into dark hair to hold onto Ivan loosely. Why does his chest feel like it’s full of butterflies?
There is a long, deep inhale from below him as Ivan’s mouth dances up the inside of his thigh. Wide eyed, Till lifts his head and finds his suspicions confirmed. Ivan is huffing the scent of his cunt like an addict, nostrils flaring and pupils blown wide open from the hit.
“Ivan!” Till barks, like admonishing him for his depravity will do anything but make his dick hard. He kicks at his shoulder anyway, and Ivan’s chuckle washes over him in a hot rush. Their stares meet over the length of Till’s body when he dares to look. Ivan seems incredibly pleased, satisfaction dancing in the crimson rings of his eyes. God, he is such a freak.
“You smell divine.” Ivan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. Till’s whole pussy throbs, but his hips remain frozen in place out of stubbornness alone. His face is so close, and his hands skim up his legs until they come to rest at his hips. They’re big, they cover the majority of his waist when he splays them out, and he squeezes around Till as he sucks in another deep inhale.
“You’re disgusting.” There is no bite in his words. Till can’t even fake being turned off by this. His heartbeat is soaring with anticipation, and he’s starting to sweat behind his knees. Fuck, he turned Till into a freak too.
Ivan hums. He bends to ghost his lips over the insides of Till’s thighs, so lightly, and it takes everything in his power not to squirm. He wants more, his mouth is so close to where he needs it, but Ivan is an outpouring well of patience. He presses his kiss to Till’s pubic bone, lingering there as he breathes in and out, and Till grips at the root of his hair tighter.
One hand begins to migrate. It drifts up his trembling thigh and dips into the dampness behind his knee, and then it climbs back down his hamstring leisurely. Ivan lets his nails drag, they’re filed smooth and trimmed short because Till refuses to let him finger him if they’re not, and the weightless touch of them sends chills skittering over his flesh. He can’t hold back a whole body shudder at the sensation, and Till bites down on the noise that punches out of him.
He is absolutely transfixed by Ivan’s expression. He is in rapture, focused and intense as he stares between Till’s thighs. He catalogs every detail with his gaze, files it away in his endless, errorless database of a memory for Till specific knowledge. The scrutiny makes his gut clench, and in the privacy of his own mind, he can just barely confess to himself that the possession in his stare is terribly attractive. How Ivan conditioned him to enjoy this, Till will never know.
There’s a soft tug from deep in his cunt. It’s a dry pull from up high in his core, and Till groans softly at the uncomfortable feeling. Ivan has his index finger and thumb pinched around the string of his tampon, and he’s tugging at it with gentle movements that don’t do more than just rock it within him.
“Ivan,” he huffs, frowning down at him, pushing his knee into his shoulder to scold him. Red eyes dart between Till’s face and his cunt, and he can feel the blaze simmering in his cheeks from the intensity. How does Ivan manage to stare into him? “Just take it out.”
Ivan bends his head, and he presses a single kiss against Till’s clit. His plush lips tease the shaft with the promise of suction, and his hips chase it hopefully. It does not come, and his mouth slips away as Ivan laps over the crease where his ass meets his thigh instead. There’s sweat collecting there, and he lathes his tongue over it leisurely. Till really wants to kick him, but Ivan’s just gonna get off on it if he does, and then this will take even longer because he’ll get hard again immediately and be renewed in his drive to torture Till.
“As you wish.” That deep pull returns, and it takes every ounce of self control Till has to stay still. Ivan drags his tampon out of his body in a slow draw, wet and uncomfortable in a way that makes him cringe. Till’s usually hasty about it, but Ivan’s drawing it out as long as he can for his own sick enjoyment. Maybe he should have to deal with a period since he clearly likes it so much.
Finally, it slips out of him fully, and Till puffs out a relieved sound. He does not see what Ivan does with it, he lets his upper body flop back against the mattress as his gaze drifts to the ceiling, but he’s not sure he wants to know where it goes anyway. It’s probably best if that knowledge stays between Ivan and the universe. Till can use his imagination, and none of the options are good.
Two hands grip into the meat of his ass. They pull apart meanly, baring his holes for Ivan’s gaze, and Till grumbles his protests while doing nothing to stop him. His cunt squeezes from the attention, yearning and impatient for touch. Till can hear the smile in Ivan’s breath.
“Ivan,” Till murmurs, dark hair sliding along his knuckles as Ivan inclines his head. It’s starting to get long, and Till is very excited to get to yank on it. He’s been growing it out only at Till’s insistence that he’ll look hot with a ponytail, and Till is never wrong.
“No mouth,” Till breathes, and simultaneously, Ivan’s tongue licks up the whole length of his slit. A cry bursts from Till’s throat without thought to containment, and his whole pelvis jerks as he chases the feeling.
“Are you sure about that?” Ivan is laughing, deep and throaty and annoyingly attractive, and Till scratches at his scalp in retribution. Ivan’s answering moan is low and ruddy, and desire pulses through his cunt. “It seems your body is speaking for you, Till.”
“I-“ he starts, but then Ivan flicks the tip of his tongue over his clit, and his hips jolt. Till bites down on a whine, and Ivan’s breath wafts over his pussy as he titters. “It’s- It’s gross. ” It’s difficult to get his words out when his brain feels like it’s screeching to a halt. Ivan knows this, too, and he’s using his evil black soul to time his abuse just right so he can watch Till struggle.
Ivan hums, and he bows his head to lick over Till’s cunt with the flat of his tongue. He’s soaking wet with a mix of arousal and blood, and he’s torn between wanting to shove Ivan away and grinding into his face until he cums. It’s quite the mental whiplash.
“I think your taste is quite luscious.” Ivan’s statement rumbles through his core. He’s speaking with his lips right up against Till’s pussy, and the vibrations are making his legs shake. “It makes me want to tear open your skin with my teeth and drink the blood from your veins.”
A gasp cuts through his throat with its abruptness. Till’s whole body lurches like he’s been electrocuted, and then he’s immediately assaulted with pleasure as Ivan closes his lips around his clit and sucks. He shouldn’t be feeling anything but fucking terror at the horrifying things he spews, yet for some reason it just makes him wetter. What the fuck is wrong with him?
Ivan sucks on his cunt like a man starved. He’s loud and messy, his tongue pulsing against the underside of his clit as he suctions his mouth around the base of it with obscene slurping sounds. He moans into Till as he laps at him, licking around his hole and stuffing it into him to drink his blood straight from the source, and Till wails and rides his face with urgent grinding of his hips.
It’s an assault on his senses and his sanity, one that leads to overstimulation in a slippery slope. “Ivan,” he huffs, grappling at the nape of his neck, his hair, his forehead. His eyes lift to meet Till’s over the length of his body, but his mouth does not stop on its quest, and he pulses repetitive suction around the length of his dick.
“It’s-“ Till starts, but the words won’t come out, they can’t come out. His tongue feels too thick and his mind feels muddy with the murk of an orgasm just out of reach. He wants it, he wants to cum so badly, but it’s too much and not enough at the same time and he needs more.
Ivan being Ivan, he knows precisely what Till is attempting to communicate with him without him having to get it out. They’re unable to understand one another in every single other context, but for some reason Ivan can read him in bed like there’s an instruction manual for getting him off.
Two of his fingers pet across his hole. Till shouts as he bears down on them, hips jumping, and Ivan inhales a deep breath that rasps through his nostrils before he dives back in. With his tongue licking at the base of his own digits, he sinks them inside of Till in a slow glide, slick and easy from the absolute fucking mess pouring onto the towel from between his thighs.
Till’s fingers twist, and so do Ivan’s. His knuckles drag over the walls of his cunt, and Till’s breath rushes from his chest in a ragged huff. Slick gushes out of him, and Ivan pumps his hand into him in a steady back and forth as he laps along his labia. He’s moaning against Till’s skin, Ivan is enjoying this maybe more than Till is, and when he bears down around his fingers he groans deeply into his cunt.
His lips close around Till’s dick again, sucking hard and building an intense pressure at the base. He turns his hand palm up, and with a gentle push, Ivan slots a third finger inside of him. It’s an easy glide, but it’s just enough of a stretch to leave him utterly breathless as he adjusts to it, clenching around the width of his knuckles and rocking into the unrelenting press of his hand.
Compelled by an unknown mystery force or his own self loathing need to embarrass himself, Till lifts his head from the pillow, pushing himself up onto his elbows so he can look at Ivan. His eyes are closed in rapture, lashes kissing his cheeks, and he looks entirely at peace in his spot between Till’s legs. He’s got his whole face buried in his cunt, and there’s blood and slick and spit as far as the bridge of his nose from his enthusiastic dedication. Ivan is absolutely enthralled by his task, drinking him in like the sweetest nectar. Till should be humiliated by what’s happening, but he just can’t bring himself to feel shame when Ivan is so devoted, so obviously enjoying himself.
The look of him takes Till’s breath away. It wheezes out of him in a huff that wracks his whole body with shudders, and he combs shaky fingers though Ivan’s hair. Till’s entire frame is trembling, he’s teetering on the precipice of being able to finally cum, but he just needs that little bit more to push him over the edge.
“Ivan,” Till pants, his whole face burning. His chest is heaving as he sucks down desperate lungfuls of air, and his grip in Ivan’s hair tightens at the root. “Ivan, I’m- I’m so close, please.”
Crimson eyes slip open. There’s a far away look in them, like Ivan is so high on dopamine he’s barely in his head, and his pupils swallow most of the color in his irises. They’re glazed over with pleasure, and when they meet Till’s, he blinks slowly like it’s difficult to keep them open. Till’s never seen him like this before, so into it it’s like he was drugged. If Till hadn’t lost his breath already, he sure would have at the sight of him. It’s a shame he can’t photograph it. His phone is out of reach, so his memory will have to suffice.
Ivan’s fingers crook upwards inside of him. He ruts them against Till’s walls in a steady rhythm like he’s beckoning his orgasm from within, and Till cannot look away. Transfixed, he watches as Ivan slurps around his clit, face completely buried in his pussy. It is the pulsating, insistent pressure of his sucking that pushes him over the edge, and Till sobs and clings to him as he shakes apart on their bed with Ivan’s half lidded eyes glued to his face.
Dedicated to his task, Ivan does not relent until Till’s heaving and shoving at his head. He’s burning all over with sensitivity, and his cunt milks his fingers with desperation. He’s hiccuping overwhelmed little noises as the aftershocks course through him, and he’s trembling all over as he comes down from the intense high.
Ivan lifts his head from him slowly, like it’s a lead weight on his neck. His lips, his chin, his nose, his cheeks, they’re all covered with shiny spit, with slick cum, with Till’s blood. His mouth is open as he pants, understandably out of breath, and his skin is flushed pink and glistening with sweat. His hair is a mess from Till’s pulling, and his eyelids are drooping from the overflowing chemicals in his brain. His pupils are dilated so wide, and he gazes at Till like he’s the only thing there is to see in the universe. He is a sight to behold, better than any orgasm.
Painfully slow, Ivan withdraws his fingers. There is blood pooled in the center of his palm, soaked into the lines of his flesh, and it drips down his wrist from just how much there is as he lifts his hand up. It snakes down the length of Ivan’s forearm, clings to his elbow, and then a single drop falls to the towel beneath him. Ivan’s eyes dart to it, sharp and cataloging, and then they return to Till’s.
If Till were a normal, sane person, he’d probably be disgusted. Frankly, he should be horrified. Ivan’s covered in his blood. He's aroused beyond belief because he’s covered in Till’s blood, but it sends a thrill of excitement through his veins. Somehow, Ivan conditioned him to like this shit, or maybe Till’s been a freak all along and they’re just made for each other.
Ivan holds the contact between their eyes as he lifts his hand to his mouth. With the flat of his tongue, he laps the blood off the side of wrist, lathing the muscle over it with a long, wet drag. Till loses his breath in a ragged exhale. He can’t look away, and Ivan lolls his tongue out from between his bloodied lips to show him the puddle of fluid in his mouth before he swallows it.
Till tries to say his name, but nothing comes out. He can’t say anything . Ivan holds him in the spell of his gaze, frozen in stillness as he licks the blood from the webbing of his fingers and underneath his nails. He is unreal. Ethereal. Till cannot fathom how he’s deserving of such a man, freak or not.
Ivan raises himself onto his knees with flexing thighs. Between Till’s legs, he yanks down the waistband of his pajama pants, and he tucks the elastic beneath his balls. He is painfully hard, flushed red at the tip and leaking so much precum, and Till’s eyes dart between his awed expression and his aching cock as he wraps his dirty hand around himself.
Filthy. It’s filthy. Disgusting and perverted and depraved, and yet all Till can think about is how turned on he is by the blood smeared over Ivan’s face, his hand, his erection. He wonders what Ivan would do to him with one of those spiky paddles he’s seen online, or maybe a knife, how deep he’d cut and how lowly he’d moan as blood spilled from Till’s flesh. He wonders how his lips would feel against his throat, sucking him dry like a vampire after he slurs his throat.
Ivan’s cry is a shout of pleasure. His moan is so loud, so urgent, and he pumps his fist ardently over his cock. Till cannot bring himself to look away, transfixed by his overwhelming arousal, and he stares with rapt attention as Ivan spills over his cunt with a desperate call of his name.
Between his legs is a sickening mixture of fluid. It’s hot and wet, and when Ivan angles his hips forward to smear the head of his cock through it, the mess swirls into a pinkish hue. It’s fascinating. Till wishes it was inside of him, that Ivan was scooping it out with curled fingers to swallow it down.
By the time they get out of the shower, Till’s legs have stopped shaking. His skin remains flushed from the heat of the water and from the arousal still simmering in his gut at a low boil. Ivan’s hands don’t help. They pinch and knead as he washes Till’s body, and he leans his shoulders back into him and allows his touch to wander between his thighs under the guise of washing him clean. Ivan gives him another orgasm under the water with one arm looped around his waist, holding Till’s back to him.
After, with damp skin and towel dried hair, Till spreads his legs as he leans back on the toilet seat. Ivan is knelt between the altar of his thighs, gazing up at him worshipfully, Till’s most devout follower. With precise care and mind numbing focus, he eases a tampon into Till’s cunt, two fingers sinking into him to press it inside fully. He heaves as it settles, and Ivan’s fingers drag along the string as he withdraws them.
Later, when Ivan is busy cooking and Till knows he won’t be walked in on, he pulls out his phone. He checks over his shoulder just to be sure there are no prying eyes lingering, and then he types his query into the search bar: ‘tools for bloodplay’. When he checks out, he uses Ivan’s credit card.
Perhaps trying new things isn’t so anxiety inducing after all.