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🐾 Ivan/Luka Kinktober 2025 — Prompt List

Welcome to IvanLuka Kinktober 2025!
This fic is a collection of 31 self-contained oneshots, one for each day of October. Some are playful, some are dark, all are centered around Ivan and Luka's messy, obsessive love. Each day's kink is listed below with a one-sentence teaser so you know what's coming. I also tend to make really long prompts without noticing but it's not because it's full of filler stuff, it's because I focus too much on tension lol, but trust me when I say that the entirety of the chapter is just straight up smut.

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Day 1 — Biting / Marking
Ivan thinks Luka's skin looks too good and makes a canvas out of him.

Day 2 — Voyeurism
Roommates Ivan and Luka watch each other for months and masturbate to each other.

Day 3 — Fear Kink
Luka finds out about a kink on TikTok and learns the hard way that not everything is fun.

Day 4 — Overstimulation
Luka ties Ivan up and milks his cock like a cow.

Day 5 — Size Play
Luka wakes up tiny one morning and can fit in Ivan's hand.

Day 6 — Knifeplay
Mafia Ivan lets his beloved wife Luka use a knife on him during sex.

Day 7 — Semi-Public Sex
Teacher Luka x College Student Ivan. They can't resist each other after class.

Day 8 — Somnophilia
Ivan wakes to Luka touching him in his sleep and lets it happen.

Day 9 — Humiliation
Ivan degrades Luka with words until Luka can barely look at him.

Day 10 — Bloodplay
Licking wounds, not lethal, just disgusting lol.

Day 11 — Role Reversal
Luka in control for once, and Ivan lets him. Or Ivan let's Luka top him

Day 12 — Medical Malpractice
Doctor Ivan fucks Luka on the operation table with full, twisted consent.

Day 13 — Rough Sex
Ivan fucks Luka stupid. Mild hole gaping.

Day 14 — Worship
Ivan treats Luka's body like a god.

Day 15 — Breathplay
Ivan chokes Luka to the brink of death, and Luka loves it.

Day 16 — Exhibitionism
A club, an alley, and nasty, dirty sex against the wall.

Day 17 — Dacryphilia
Ivan thinks Luka has never looked prettier than when he cries.

Day 18 — Impact Play
Boyfriends Ivan and Luka experiment with belts, whips, and fists.

Day 19 — CNC Fantasy Setup (Rape Kink)
Ivan "kidnaps" Luka on a late jog and makes him submit.

Day 20 — Corruption
Ivan teaches Luka something filthy, age difference Ivan is 40 and Luka is 18.

Day 21 — Facefucking
Rough play until Luka is throat fucked dumb.

Day 22 — Pain as Pleasure
Hair pulling, nails, bruising, spanking, Luka loves every ache.

Day 23 — Leash & Pet Play
Luka as the pet, Ivan as the owner.

Day 24 — Monster AU
Tentacle monster hybrid Ivan takes Luka apart.

Day 25 — Gunplay
The safety is on, but Luka doesn't know that, Ivan does.

Day 26 — Nipple Torture
Biting, clamps, overstimulation until Luka chest is swollen and he's shaking.

Day 27 — Overpowering Restraints
Ropes, cuffs, spread wide, nowhere to run. Ivan ties Luka up and they have fun.

Day 28 — Watersports
Ivan treats Luka like a toilet.

Day 29 — Ghost AU
Poltergeist Luka died a virgin and wants to lose it before passing on.

Day 30 — Mpreg
Bloody, messy post-birth sex, Ivan can't resist Luka even then.

Day 31 — Blood & Love (Halloween Special)
Vampire Ivan, sex after violence, obsessive, messy, eternal. Luka almost dies due to blood loss lol.

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Closing Note

Updates every day of October. Thanks for joining me and happy Kinktober!!! ♥︎

♥︎honeisenpa1®

Chapter Text

The movie washed the room in soft color. Blues that turned the white T shirt on Luka into water, golds that slid over his thighs and made them look warm. He had showered not long ago. His skin held that faint pink it always did after heat, the delicate places first, the dip of his collarbone, the edges of his ribs when he breathed in, the hollow inside his knees when he folded them up. Vanilla and lavender trailed him from the bathroom and settled in the cushions. It threaded the air like a promise.

Ivan leaned back and let the couch take his weight. He could pretend to be comfortable, spread out, heavy, the bigger body that always fit wherever he wanted anyway. The movie tried to hold his eyes. It failed. Every time the screen brightened he caught a new detail on Luka instead. The wet shine of hair that had dried in soft disorder. The cling of thin cotton where the shirt stuck to his chest and then fell loose again. The pink of his mouth when he licked a drop of tea from his lip without thinking.

Luka curled deeper into the corner, petite and precise. His legs tucked under him first. Then he unfolded, slow, like he was stretching for the sake of stretching, not for the way Ivan's breath stuttered when pale skin slid free of the hem. The shirt had ridden up during all of it. Luka did not tug it down. He glanced at the screen as if he were absorbed, lashes low, mouth soft with interest. He was not absorbed. He knew exactly where Ivan's eyes had gone and stayed.

"Is it good," Luka asked. His voice was quiet. The question could have meant the movie. It did not.

"It's fine," Ivan said. He sounded bored. It was not boredom. He let his hand fall between them on the cushion and did not touch him. His knuckles almost brushed the inside of Luka's knee. Almost was the point.

Luka shifted, like he was getting comfortable, like he needed a better angle to watch the plot. He turned and faced Ivan instead, knees up, arms wrapped around his shins, the white shirt slipping higher as if it had decided to become air. The movement opened him without shame. The lace he wore was white too. Small and pretty. It did not hide anything. It framed. It made the soft swell beneath it look obscene in its sweetness. It made Ivan's mouth go dry.

Luka blinked at the television. He did not look at Ivan. Heat climbed his throat anyway. It colored the thin skin there, it kissed the tips of his ears. He knew. He liked being seen like this. He liked being the reason Ivan stopped pretending he cared about anything else.

Ivan followed the lavender. He did not move closer, he only breathed deeper. The smell folded around the clean line of Luka's body. The shirt clung, then let go. It dragged over a peaked nipple for a second and left it marked by the fabric alone. Luka's breath caught, small and helpless, the sound not meant to be heard. Ivan heard it. The sound hung between them and hid under the music from the movie.

"You're fidgety," Ivan said. He kept his voice flat. Teasing without warmth.

"I'm watching," Luka said. He curled his toes and then uncurled them. He tipped his chin down so his lashes shadowed his eyes. "It's quiet."

"Mm."

Luka eased one arm free and rubbed at his calf like it ached. His hand slid higher. The motion lifted the hem a little more. He did not touch where Ivan wanted him to. He only made it worse. He shifted again and the couch dipped. The shirt bared the slope of one shoulder. The damp ends of his hair caught on cotton and then fell back against his neck. He looked like something that had been unwrapped and forgotten on purpose, a gift that waited, a problem that did not want a solution.

Ivan let his gaze drift up and down once, slow enough that it felt like a hand. Luka's throat moved on a swallow. The lace bit lightly into soft skin. The fabric was too thin to pretend at modesty. The cunt under it was obvious, pretty, needy, the outline pushing at the edge not with force but with insistence. The color in Luka's cheeks deepened. He pretended to care about a line of dialogue that did not matter. He brought his knees closer to his chest and hugged them. The pose made him small and made him impossible to ignore.

"Cold," Luka said, though the room was warm.

"Get a blanket," Ivan said. He did not offer it. He watched.

Luka did not get a blanket. He stretched his legs out instead, slowly, so the soles of his feet ended near Ivan's thigh. He flexed his ankles, pointed and relaxed, pointed and relaxed, a dancer warming up without leaving the couch. The movement made the lace shift and smooth. It made the shirt climb and refuse to drop. He was blushing harder now, and the blush had slipped down his chest. It lived in the thin skin over his ribs, it lived at the edges of his nipples where the fabric had teased them, it lived in the hollow under his stomach where the waistband curved.

"Comfortable?" Ivan asked.

Luka nodded. The nod was too quick. He bit his lower lip and let it go. He breathed out like he had been holding it without noticing. Vanilla sweetened the lavender. It smelled like his pulse.

The movie brightened again. Light slid over Luka and made his thighs look softer than they had a second ago. Ivan thought of teeth against skin that delicate. He thought of leaving marks that showed through the shirt when Luka pulled it back down. He thought of the way Luka would move when he bit, the way Luka always moved when anything even a little sharp touched him. He let the thought sit against his tongue and did nothing. He watched Luka pretend to watch the screen and enjoyed the way pretending hurt.

"Do you like this part?" Luka asked. He knew there was a fight scene coming. The music said it, the rhythm said it, the way the characters breathed said it. He was too sweet to be cruel, but he was cruel now. He did not look at Ivan. He set the question down and left it there.

Ivan looked back at the screen as if it mattered. He could have described the scene frame by frame on any other night. He did not remember who these actors were. The only picture he had in his head was Luka in his shirt and lace and blush, Luka folded open like an invitation he had not yet picked up. "It's fine," he said again. He was erect and unbothered by it. He let it sit against his thigh and refused to shift. He let Luka see nothing and feel everything.

Luka drew one knee back up and hugged it. The other leg stayed out, the foot close enough that if he pointed his toes a little farther he would brush Ivan's jeans. He did not point them farther. He let the nearness ache. His breath came a little faster. He swallowed again. He was not cold.

"M' Hungry," Luka said, as if that explained the way his mouth kept parting, the way he kept licking his lips like there was sugar there.

"What for?" Ivan asked.

Luka shrugged. His shoulder was bare now. The shirt had given up on staying decent. It drooped and showed the fine edge of a pink nipple, not fully, just a suggestion. Luka set his chin on his knee and pretended to be thoughtful. "Something sweet."

The word sweet hung between vanilla and lavender and the soft white lace. Ivan almost laughed. He did not. He let his hand shift the smallest amount, a nothing movement, an accident, and brushed the inside of Luka's ankle with a knuckle. The contact was barely a touch. Luka flinched like it was more. He did not pull away. His toes curled in. Color flared high on his cheekbones.

"Do you want me to pause it?" Ivan asked. He was polite. He was patient. He was none of those things under the surface.

Luka shook his head, small and stubborn. "I can watch."

He could not watch. His pupils were big, glossy black in pale yellow. He blinked slow, like his eyes were heavy. He pulled the shirt down with his free hand. It covered nothing new. It only drew Ivan's attention to what it did not cover.

A beat passed. Then another. Luka breathed. Ivan breathed. The couch breathed with the small shifts of weight. The movie threw color and noise at two bodies that refused to listen. The lace shifted when Luka shifted. The fabric caught and then slipped, and the outline beneath it pressed harder as if it had an opinion about all this pretense and wanted to be consulted.

Luka sat up straighter and then faced him more fully, cross-legged now. He placed his hands on his ankles like he needed to hold himself there. The shirt bunched at his waist. The light found the soft line of his belly and stayed there. He tilted his head a fraction, as if he were finally going to look straight at Ivan. He did not. He looked a breath to the side of him and smiled, small and nervous and pleased with himself.

"You're not even looking," he said, soft as a tease.

"I am," Ivan said. He was. He took his time with it. He let his gaze move up, over the slope of Luka's legs, over lace, over the flat of his stomach where faint pink still lived, over the shirt that had ceased to function as clothing, up his throat where lavender sat and warmed, to his mouth. He stopped there. Luka's lips looked bitten. They were not. Yet.

Luka pressed his knees closer together. It did not hide anything. It squeezed. The lace dipped. He made a small sound in his throat and swallowed it. He had nothing to say. He said it anyway by breathing harder.

Ivan lifted his hand from the cushion. He touched nothing. He rested his wrist on his own thigh and let his fingers go loose. Luka watched the fingers like they were a promise with a time on it. He wanted. He would not say it. He brought his hand up and pushed his hair back from his forehead. The move bared his ear and the soft place behind it. His pulse stuttered there like it was trying to speak.

"Do you want to move?" Ivan asked. He meant the movie. He meant the couch. He meant the inch he would close if Luka gave him anything at all.

Luka shook his head again. "I'm fine here."

The lie was lovely. It looked good on him. It flushed him, it made his chest rise and fall in a way that pulled the shirt tight and then loose again, rubbing the fabric against nipples that had already decided they were awake. He rubbed his thighs together like it was nothing. The lace took it and went a little darker where it touched heat.

Ivan let silence do the work for him. He had never needed many words. Luka broke first. He always did when he was this pink and this fragrant and this aware of himself.

"Ivan," Luka said, and then stopped. His mouth opened as if he would ask for something. He closed it and bit his lip instead. He looked down at his hands like they had tied him there.

Ivan's mouth curved. His snaggletooth caught light for a second. "What."

Luka's ears flushed brighter. He shook his head. "Nothing."

They sat in that nothing. The movie swelled toward a fight that did not matter. Luka's breath synced up with the rhythm of the music without meaning to. His foot brushed Ivan's jeans at last, the lightest touch, an accident that had been waiting to happen for ten full minutes. He pulled back like he had burned himself. The pull made the lace shift and the small cock twitched again against the edge. He sucked in a breath and let it out with a shiver.

Ivan lowered his gaze to the ankle he had brushed and then back up. He was patient. He could live in this kind of heat for a long time. He could let Luka make himself soft and open and pleading without a single command. He could watch Luka get lost in his own body and then act like he was doing nothing at all.

"Your skin," Ivan said, quiet, as if he were making an observation about the weather. "It looks good."

Luka's fingers tightened on his ankles. "Yeah."

"Pale," Ivan said. "Warm."

Luka's breath broke. He tried to smile and failed. "I just showered."

"I know."

The words landed heavy. Luka's eyes flickered. He tucked his chin and looked down the line of himself, at the shirt, at the lace that framed him, at the pink that kept trying to show through. He pushed the hem down again even though it had given up. He was shy in a way that was not refusal. He was shy in a way that begged for teeth.

Lavender thickened when he got flustered like this. Vanilla curled under it, cream and sugar. Ivan tasted it in the back of his throat and felt something low in his body answer. He did not adjust. He made Luka sit in the knowledge of it. He made Luka live with the fact that he could do this to Ivan without trying.

Luka licked his bottom lip. He did it slow this time, not because there was tea there, just because his mouth felt too dry and too sweet at once. The tip of his tongue was pink. It left the lip wet and shining. Ivan watched the shine until it dulled and then he watched Luka do it again.

"Are you bored," Luka asked. He tried to make it sound light. It came out breathy.

"No."

"What are you thinking about."

"You."

He said it like a fact. He did not blush. Luka did it for him. Color poured down his neck and into the collar of the shirt. He shifted again and that broke the standoff the smallest amount. He let his knees fall apart a little. He set one foot flat on the cushion near Ivan's thigh and the other on the floor to steady himself. It opened him without shame. It was an answer to a question Ivan had not finished asking.

Ivan leaned in. Not much. Enough to change the air. Enough to let Luka feel the breath that left him. He looked at Luka's mouth. He looked at the soft place behind his ear where the pulse jumped. He did not touch. Luka tipped his head to the side like he was trying to hear something better. He offered his throat without knowing he had done it.

"Do you want me to pause it now," Ivan asked.

Luka's eyes fluttered closed for a second and then opened. "If you want."

"I don't need to," Ivan said.

Luka made that small sound again. It vibrated at the seam of his lips. He tried to swallow it and failed. "I can keep watching," he said, and the words were useless.

Ivan smiled, slow. He could feel the point of his snaggletooth against his lip. He let his gaze drop to Luka's chest, to the faint outline of a nipple under damp cotton, to the way the fabric rasped when Luka breathed. He let Luka see him looking. Luka's hands tightened and then loosened. He breathed in a soft, shaky way that gave him away.

The couch had taken enough. The air had thickened to the point that it felt like a touch by itself. Luka's thigh brushed him again and did not pull away this time. His toes pressed into Ivan's jeans and curled there. He looked at Ivan at last, a real look, not the shy off-to-the-side one. His eyes were glossy and pale and needy. He wet his lips again and his voice dipped.

"Ivan, can you," he started, and then the word fell apart on his tongue, "can you..."

He did not finish. He did not need to.

Ivan moved. The ball dropped. The pretense shattered like thin ice under a boot. He was across the couch before Luka could think about it, not rough, just there, weight and heat and the kind of certainty that erased the rest of the room. One hand braced at the cushion by Luka's hip. The other caught Luka's wrist and pinned it above his head with lazy strength. He did not kiss him. He leaned in and breathed against the soft place behind Luka's ear. Luka shivered like he had been touched by something electric.

"Now you're watching," Ivan said, and his mouth ghosted the pulse there, not a kiss yet, not a bite, only promise.

Luka's answer was a sound he could not have made on purpose. He arched without meaning to. The shirt dragged over his chest and rasped where he was already too sensitive. He felt Ivan's girth through denim. He felt the shape of him and the refusal to grind it in. He trembled and hated that he trembled and loved that he could.

Ivan let his lips brush that place behind Luka's ear and then lower, slow, to the side of his throat. He tasted lavender on skin that had gone salty with nerves. Luka's breath went thin. His fingers curled and then opened again where Ivan held his wrist. His thighs fell open because there was no point pretending anymore.

"Keep your eyes on the screen," Ivan said. He did not mean it. He meant the opposite. He pressed the words into Luka's skin like a seal and then he opened his mouth and took the first piece of him between his teeth.

The bite he left was nothing. A threat. Luka felt it throb under the brush of Ivan's breath. He could not keep his eyes on the screen. He could not keep his hands from flexing where Ivan pinned one wrist to the cushion above his head. The other hand slid over Luka's ribs like it owned the terrain. Calm. Slow. Certain.

"Up," Ivan said, quiet, not a request.

Luka lifted his arms. The white T shirt went with them, inch by inch, soft cotton dragging over sensitive skin that had not cooled yet. Air found him in stages. First the slope of his stomach. Then the shallow curve between ribs. Then the pale peaks beneath the fabric that had already been brushed rough by the shirt. Goosebumps chased the path Ivan made. Luka gasped like the air itself had teeth.

Ivan did not rush. He peeled the shirt higher, letting the hem catch on Luka's nipples and tug. Luka's back arched without his permission. He made a sound he would have swallowed if he could. The shirt came off at last and fell somewhere behind the couch with a soft whisper. Luka lay there in lace and blush and nothing else. The cool hit him fully now. He shivered and then could not stop.

Ivan leaned in and did not kiss him. His mouth hovered and moved the way a hand would move when it knows exactly what the body beneath it will do. He feathered across the edge of Luka's jaw. He skimmed the corner of his mouth and stayed out of reach. He let the heat of him touch Luka without giving him anything to take. Luka chased and met nothing. His breath grew thin and wild.

"Please," Luka said, barely a word.

Ivan hummed. He shifted his weight and let Luka feel all of him. Denim pressed to lace. Hard pressed to soft. He settled fully and did not move again. No rub. No charity. Just presence. It stole the little composure Luka had left. Tears pricked his lashes and he blinked hard to clear them. The ceiling blurred anyway.

"You're shaking," Ivan said. Amused, not unkind. Still in control.

"Ivan, please," Luka said. His voice broke. He tried to tilt his hips and Ivan stopped the movement with the weight of his body. Pinned. Held. Claimed without being fed.

A small, helpless noise left Luka. Ivan let it sit between them and then rewarded it with almost nothing. He lowered his mouth to Luka's skin again, not a kiss, only a breath ghosting over the bite he had left, then the fine place behind Luka's ear where his pulse ran too fast. Luka jerked like he had been shocked. His free hand fisted in the cushion. He bit his lip. His eyes flooded clean.

"Look at you," Ivan said, soft. A chuckle slid under the words. "So easy to open."

"Please," Luka said again. He tipped his face up, mouth parted, offering. He could not stop trembling. He did not want to stop.

Ivan let him want longer. He traced the line of Luka's throat with lips that never quite touched. He let cool air do the first cruelty and heat do the second. He moved to the side and skimmed over collarbones that lifted and fell too quickly. Luka arched into the absence like a plant follows light. Tears slid at last. He made a weak sound and tried to hide it, then gave up hiding and turned his face to Ivan instead.

"Good..." Ivan said. "Now."

He caught Luka's mouth and kissed him.

It was not gentle. It was not rough. It was as heavy as weather and as slow as hunger. Heat met heat and gave none of it back. Luka sighed into it and that opened him further. Ivan took more. He pressed down harder at the same time, denim locking lace in place so Luka could not grind or run. Luka tried anyway, instinct more than plan. Ivan denied him with his weight and deepened the kiss until there was nothing left in Luka to think with.

The second pass was wetter. Luka tasted like mint and warmth. Ivan licked into him and took his breath. Slick gathered and made a soft sound between their mouths. Luka chased it without shame. He whimpered into Ivan's tongue and Ivan hummed approval that Luka felt in his chest. Luka grabbed at his own wrist where Ivan had pinned it, as if he could hold himself together that way. His thighs shook. His toes curled into the cushion. The lace did nothing to hide how gone he was.

The third pass turned filthy. Ivan angled his head and dragged Luka open. He kissed like he wanted to drink him. Luka answered like he had been thirsty his whole life and had finally found water. Spit pooled and slicked the corners of their mouths. Ivan took Luka's lower lip between his teeth and pulled until Luka gasped. He let it go and found the inside of his mouth again. He licked slow, patient, thorough, until Luka made a noise that could have been a sob or could have been the beginning of a prayer.

"More," Luka said into him, or tried to. It came out as broken sound. He was shaking too hard to make sense.

The fourth pass was worse in the way Luka wanted. Ivan set his mouth soft and then worked it deeper, deeper, until Luka whined and arched and forgot about the movie and the room and his own name. Mint turned sweet with the heat of it. Luka's tongue trembled under Ivan's. Ivan chased it, caught it, coaxed it back every time Luka tried to retreat. He did not give him space to come down. He let him hover right there and fed him only this.

The fifth pass ended on a bite. Ivan caught Luka's tongue with his teeth and held it. Firm. Not cruel. Enough to pull a bright, shocked yelp from Luka's throat. Luka's eyes flew open and then fluttered shut again. Ivan let him feel the pressure, let him realize he had nowhere to go, then eased. He tugged Luka's tongue out of his mouth as he withdrew and watched, eyes black and amused, while a wet line bridged the space between them. It stretched and trembled and broke on Luka's chin. Luka flushed so hard it ran down his neck. He looked wrecked and beautiful and hungry for whatever would happen next.

"Good," Ivan said. "Now breathe."

Luka tried. Air came in ragged. He could not decide if he wanted to hide his face or show it. He chose showing. He tilted his head and gave Ivan the line of his jaw. He did not know he had done it until Ivan took it.

Ivan kissed Luka's jaw with the same patience he had used to refuse him. Soft presses that warmed the skin without giving relief. Luka turned with him and tried to keep up. Ivan reached the hinge and nipped. A small bite. A test. Luka jumped and gasped and went soft all over.

He found the ear next. He teased the rim with lips and then a light scrape of teeth. Luka made a noise Ivan loved, high and open and helpless. Ivan bit a little harder and Luka arched. He tried to touch and could not. Ivan's fingers were still around his wrist, easy but unmovable. Luka's other hand pressed at Ivan's shoulder like he needed to know the muscle was real. It only made Ivan settle heavier. Denim ground into lace and held him flat. Luka keened under his breath. Tears slid again.

"Please," he said. The word frayed. "Ivan, please, I can't, I need, I need..."

"You need nothing," Ivan said, easy. His mouth curved against Luka's skin. He kissed just behind the ear and felt Luka almost come apart. "You need to be patient."

"I can't."

"You can."

Ivan moved down to the neck and stayed there. He did not bite at first. He pressed plush kisses that built heat and then denied satisfaction at the exact second Luka leaned into them. He breathed on the damp spots he left and listened to Luka shiver. He set his mouth at the side of Luka's throat and sucked slow until color rose under his lips. Luka whined. The sound went thin and high. Ivan licked the mark and moved an inch and did it again.

Luka flailed the way a pinned thing flails when the body has to move. It looked like panic and felt like need. His wrists flexed beneath Ivan's grip and then he let go of the fight and opened. He arched and offered his throat completely. His pulse kicked against Ivan's mouth like a trapped bird. He was so warm there. So soft. So easy to bruise.

Ivan left a ring of heat along one side. Small blooms, each one deliberate. He made a constellation on the other side to match. He kissed the hollow at the base and felt Luka try to sit up even though Ivan was holding him down. Another whimper. Another tear. Luka was speechless now except for these small sounds. Ivan gathered them like trophies.

"Pretty," Ivan said. "Keep still."

Luka tried. His body did not obey. He arched again. He rolled his head to the side to give more of his throat without thinking. He panted. He made a pleading noise that did not have a word attached to it and then made it again because it felt good to make it.

Ivan moved to the collarbones and lingered. He traced the ridge with his mouth and let his teeth catch and slide. Luka bucked like it tickled and hurt at the same time. Ivan pressed him down and enjoyed how easily the couch took the fight out of him. He drew a bruise on the left side, shallow and wide. He set another over bone on the right, darker, the kind that would take days to fade. He admired them for a second and then made more.

He did not give Luka a pattern. He let Luka guess and guess wrong. A soft kiss. A breath. A light scrape. A sudden suck that pulled a gasp out and left Luka shaking. He painted that pale chest with small purples and deeper roses and rested his cheek there for a second, listening to Luka's heart run. It stuttered and kicked and slowed and sped up and never settled. Ivan smiled against the skin and bit again right where he felt the next jump.

"Please," Luka said, hoarse now. His lashes were wet. His mouth was swollen and pink and slick from kissing. His chest rose fast and fell slow and rose fast again. He tried to lift his hips and meet the weight on him. Ivan denied him with nothing but gravity. Luka sobbed without sound.

Ivan gave him a little. He rocked once. It was not enough to satisfy. It was enough to make Luka cry out and shiver and then hold himself very, very still as if stillness would earn him more. Ivan chuckled low and kissed the soft center of his throat as a prize. He sucked there until color bloomed and Luka moaned through closed teeth.

"Good," Ivan said. "You're learning."

"Please..." Luka whispered. "Kiss me again."

"Later."

He kissed Luka's jaw instead. He dragged his teeth lightly and Luka followed like there was a hook in him. Ivan's hand shifted and found Luka's other wrist. He pinned both now with one broad palm above Luka's head. The other hand slid down and rested at Luka's hip, heavy, anchoring, refusing him leverage. He pressed his hips down again, denim to lace, and held. Luka trembled so hard the couch creaked.

"You're going to make a mess," Ivan said. Warm laughter under it.

"I don't care," Luka said, breathless. He blinked tears back and failed and did not apologize for any of it.

"Good."

Ivan bent and set another mark at the fragile place where throat meets shoulder. He sucked slow and hard until he tasted the promise of a bruise. Luka whimpered and offered him the other side without being asked. Ivan took it. He worked that side longer, until Luka could not keep quiet even if he tried. Sound came in little bursts. Short and raw. He chased them. He set his mouth lower and bit where bone ran close to skin. Luka jolted like he had been plugged into something. He babbled a please again that had no shape.

"Quiet," Ivan said, still soft. "You want the neighbors to hear you?"

"I don't care," Luka said again, and the honesty of it made him flush darker. He turned his face into Ivan's hair and breathed there. Lavender came back at him. He shuddered with it.

Ivan licked across the top of Luka's chest, a slow line that did not touch where Luka needed. Luka arched up to chase. Ivan pressed him flat and laughed. He kissed the hollow at the base of Luka's throat and then lifted his head enough to look. Luka was a mess. Marked. Wet-mouthed. Eyes glossy and bright. Lace clung to heat and revealed more than it hid. His thighs trembled where they framed Ivan's hips. He was trying so hard to be good because being good seemed like the only way to get more.

"Beautiful," Ivan said, honest this time.

Luka made a small sound that might have been gratitude. He tried to nod and could not with the way Ivan held him. He settled for breathing yes.

Ivan kissed behind Luka's ear one more time, a slow seal on that spot that made Luka quake. He bit there again, gentle. Luka shivered head to toe. Ivan smoothed his palm down from Luka's hip to the flat of his stomach and stopped. He felt the heat coming off him. He felt the jump of muscle that said touch me. He did not. He lifted his hand away and put it back on Luka's hip where it did nothing but remind him who had him.

"Keep your eyes open," Ivan said.

Luka forced them open. He tried to focus and failed. The room had narrowed to Ivan's mouth and Ivan's weight and the marks that kept blooming whenever Ivan wanted them. His lashes were wet. His cheeks were blotched with color. His lips trembled and then steadied. He blinked up and looked wrecked and ready.

"Good boy," Ivan said, almost a whisper.

Luka shook. He arched. He breathed a sound that could have been a yes. He waited.

Ivan lowered his mouth toward Luka's chest. He paused there, breath hot and close, not touching yet, not even a graze. He looked up once, making sure Luka saw it. The promise. The threat. The gift.

"Watch," Ivan said.

Luka watched.

Ivan did not rush, he never rushed, he only laid the world out the way he wanted it and watched Luka fall into place. Luka's wrists were still caught above his head under Ivan's hand, fingers flexing and then loosening like he had already learned there was no point in fighting. His chest rose too fast and dropped too slow. The room felt cooler without the shirt, the air played along his skin, it drew color to the places Ivan liked most, the soft pink peaks that tightened when the draft found them.

"Watch," Ivan said again, quiet.

Luka tried. His eyes were glossy. He nodded and the motion dragged a small sound out of his throat.

Ivan lowered until his breath warmed Luka's chest. He did not touch at first. He let the heat tease, he let anticipation do half the work, he let Luka arch a little and then a little more. When he finally set his mouth down, he did it like he was tasting sugar he knew belonged to him. A kiss that was not a kiss, a slow press that turned into tongue, then the faintest scrape of teeth that made Luka gasp and try to pull his hands free.

"Easy," Ivan said, lazy and pleased.

He circled one peak with the flat of his tongue, patient, until it drew tight and shiny and begged. He breathed across it and watched Luka shiver, watched his belly jump at the temperature shift. He closed his mouth around it and sucked, not hard. Enough to gather every soft sound Luka did not mean to make. Luka's back lifted off the couch. The movement rubbed him against the denim weight pinning his hips, a little friction he had not earned, a little fire that made him whine.

Ivan let him have a heartbeat of relief, then changed the angle and took more. He worried the nipple with slow pulls that felt cruel in how careful they were. He chewed it the way he would worry candy, gentle pressure and then a firmer one, tongue soothing after each bite. Luka's head tipped back. His lashes were wet. He bit his bottom lip and failed to keep quiet.

"You're not even a girl," Ivan murmured against him, voice amused, "and your nipples are this soft. All pink already."

Color flooded Luka's face. He turned his head away and then back again because looking at Ivan only made it worse and better at the same time. Ivan switched sides without being asked. He paid the same attention there, even more, as if the first had only been practice. He took his time, he sucked until Luka's breath broke into little pieces, he let spit slick everything until it gleamed in the television light.

Luka twisted under him. It was not enough to move Ivan. It only made the couch creak and showed how badly he wanted. He arched to feed Ivan more, he tried to roll his hips and Ivan settled heavier to stop him. The denial made Luka tremble. His toes curled. His knees opened and then closed and then opened again because he did not know what to do with the heat that kept climbing.

Ivan pulled back just enough to admire the mess he had made. Luka's nipples stood swollen and wet, glistening under the low light like ripe fruit ready to be bitten again. The pale skin of his chest was marred with blooming shades of pink and purple, each bruise a proof of possession, each one making Luka look even softer, even sweeter. Ivan's smile curved slow, hungry, as if he had stumbled on a feast that belonged only to him. He lowered his head again and dragged his tongue from one peak to the other, unhurried, savoring the shine and taste as if he could spend forever here and still be starving.

"Soft," he said, as if that were a sin. "You like when I do this."

Luka nodded too fast. He made a hoarse noise that might have been a yes. He tried to say please and lost the word in a breath. Ivan laughed under his breath and went back to work. He made a rhythm and then broke it. He gave Luka a pattern to clutch and then changed it the second Luka's body started to catch up. He set his teeth and released, he sucked and soothed, he kissed and then did not, he let the cool air sting and then warmed it again with his mouth.

Luka was shaking now. His fingers kept closing and opening against the cushion. His throat worked, he swallowed on nothing. He tried to tuck his chin, shame bleeding into the tremble, and Ivan nudged him with a breath and a word.

"Look at me."

Luka did. The sight of Ivan's black hair fallen over his eyes, the sharp glint of that tooth when he smiled, the calm in his face when his mouth was doing something so indecent, it broke something in him and soothed it at the same time. He made a small sound that had the shape of Ivan's name. Ivan closed his mouth around him again and sucked harder. Luka cried out and arched so high the couch complained. He could not stop. He did not want to stop.

Ivan used his free hand then. He brought his palm up from Luka's hip to the center of his chest and pressed him down, steadying him, owning him. He thumbed lazily across one wet bud while his mouth tormented the other. Luka's breath went wild. He was babbling nothing now, those small wordless sounds that always pulled a smile out of Ivan, sounds that meant he had forgotten how to hide what he felt.

"You're shaking," Ivan said again, quiet laughter in it. "For this."

"For you," Luka said, and the honesty of it lit him up.

Ivan rewarded him with a longer pull, a deeper suck that drew another helpless cry from Luka's throat. He mouthed the sore peak until it throbbed, then he mouthed it again, greedy, a little cruel. Luka's eyes rolled half-closed. He looked drunk on attention, drunk on being seen and used this way, drunk on the care that looked like control. Ivan loved him like this. Ivan loved how easy it was to make him come apart with patience and teeth.

He went back and forth, he painted the pale chest with small marks that would darken later, he made a ring of bruised color around each peak as if he were framing them. He sucked them back to glossy stiffness and let them rest, then took them again. Luka writhed and Ivan held him where he wanted him. Denim stayed hard and heavy at Luka's hips, a constant reminder that he would get nothing unless Ivan gave it.

"Please," Luka whispered. "Please, I can't, I need, I need..."

"You need to take it," Ivan said, easy, and smiled against him.

Time slipped. The television stuttered through a bright scene that threw cold light over everything, then sank back into shadow. Ivan did not look away from the body under his mouth. Luka tried to be quiet and failed. He tried to breathe slow and could not. He tried to keep still and the tremble took him again.

Ivan dragged his mouth off with a wet sound and watched Luka's chest twitch in the absence. The nipples were swollen now, slick, deeper pink that looked hot to the touch. He blew a slow breath and Luka flinched hard, his whole body jumping like a note struck on a string. Ivan laughed softly and went back in, he chewed one as if it truly were candy and Luka made a broken noise and folded, then arched again, body torn between running and reaching.

"Good," Ivan said. "Take it."

Luka said his name again, a prayer now. His lashes clumped with wet. His lips were parted and slick, his breath fogging and catching. He was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with mercy.

Ivan pressed down harder at Luka's hips, deliberate weight that pinned him to the couch and denied every small attempt to grind. The pressure made Luka choke on a gasp. It made his legs shake. It made him so aware of how close relief was and how far. Ivan took another slow pull from his chest and Luka broke.

Luka's back arched hard against the couch, straining under the weight of Ivan's hold. His moan broke open, long and helpless, filling the room until it shook in his own chest. His cock twitched against the thin barrier of lace, desperate for touch that never came, overwhelmed only by the pressure of Ivan's body and the heat pinning him down. The tension built sharp and unbearable, dragging out with every pulse, his release tearing through him. He spilled thick into the fabric, soaking himself in wave after wave that refused to end, the wet spreading fast and dark against Ivan's jeans.

Ivan rose just enough to make Luka feel the loss, just enough to make him see. His gaze dragged down, slow, taking in the wreckage he had made, the shine on Luka's chest, the raw pink where his mouth had worked, the soft tremor that kept running through him.

"You made a mess," Ivan said, quiet and pleased.

He looked down at himself, at the dark mark across denim where Luka's need had released without permission. His mouth curved. He set his free hand at Luka's waist, fingertips light, then slid his thumb toward the edge of lace.

"I guess you don't need to wear these anymore," he said.

He caught the waistband and peeled it down slow. The fabric had already given up, it curled and clung and then let go. Air touched skin that had been trapped and Luka shivered head to toe. He sucked in a breath and let it out as a small, wrecked sound. Shame and want ran together in his face until it was all the same color.

Ivan tossed the ruined lace aside without a glance. His eyes never left Luka. He watched the way every taut line of Luka's body leaned toward him in spite of the hold pinning him down. He watched Luka's wrists twist helplessly in his grip, fingers curling in frustration. He watched his eyes beg, wide and wet, even when his mouth had gone shy and silent.

"If you want this..." Ivan murmured, fingers sliding to the top button of his jeans, "...behave."

The button came undone with a sharp pop. He didn't rush. He dragged the zipper down slow, each notch a deliberate sound in the quiet. Luka trembled beneath him, eyes glued to the movement, chest heaving like the sound alone might undo him.

Ivan stood, still watching, and peeled the soiled denim down his hips. He let it fall careless to the floor. The plain white shirt came next, pulled over his head in one easy motion. Pale muscle caught the light, shoulders broad, chest sculpted and firm from years of use, the sharp lines of his stomach carved in shadow and definition. Luka stared like he had been starving. His blush climbed higher, his body tried to arch up toward nothing, chasing friction that wasn't there, pathetic in its need.

Ivan snapped his fingers once. Luka's eyes jumped back to his face at once, caught in the command like a leash.

"If you want this..." Ivan said again, grin lazy and merciless, one hand cupping his hardness through the last barrier, "...then you have to behave."

Luka moaned. It was soft and ruined and honest. He arched again, needy, back bowing, chest marked and slick and beautiful. Ivan's hand tightened on his wrists, not cruel. Certain.

"Good," Ivan said. "Stay still."

Ivan cocked his brow like he had already read Luka's thoughts, then lowered himself again, steady and deliberate. His weight settled between Luka's thighs, holding the restless hips down. Luka's breath hitched. His chest was marked and shining, his whole body alive with nerves, but Ivan ignored the obvious. He ignored the needy cock straining for him. He lowered his mouth to the flat of Luka's stomach instead.

The first kiss landed soft, nothing more than heat. Luka shivered anyway. Ivan smirked against the skin and gave another, lower. He lingered, teeth catching just enough to make Luka jolt. The belly tightened beneath him, pale skin flexing, and Ivan hummed his approval. He pressed more kisses down the slope, lips dragging lazy, tongue flicking when Luka gasped too loud. Each mark was small at first, then darker, a bloom of color that proved where his mouth had been. Luka twisted on the couch, caught between running and offering more, and Ivan's hand steadied him without effort.

"Good boy," Ivan murmured. The words were quiet, almost thrown away, but Luka's face went redder than the marks on his chest.

Ivan's path curved toward Luka's side. He licked the sensitive line where ribs gave way to waist, then bit sharp enough to make Luka cry out. Luka's hands clenched the couch cushions. His whole body arched off the surface for a second, then dropped again when Ivan soothed the bite with his tongue. Luka turned his face to the side, embarrassed, but the sounds kept slipping out of him. His hips tried to move, only to be caught and pressed down once more.

Ivan took his time. He mouthed at Luka's stomach until the pale skin turned blotchy with color, each kiss wet and deliberate, each bite leaving Luka twitching beneath him. He sucked harder in certain places just to hear the sharp intake of breath it pulled, then soothed the mark with the flat of his tongue. His teeth scraped lazily across the curve of Luka's waist, and he lingered there, refusing to rush lower, tasting the salt and warmth of his skin as though it might keep him fed.

Only when Luka had gone pink all over did Ivan drag himself lower. He reached the dip of Luka's hips, where the skin grew softer, more delicate, and set his mouth there too. He sucked until Luka whimpered and tried to twist away, then followed the sound, lips sealing harder, leaving bruises in his wake.

He pressed his mouth to the edge of bone, teeth grazing slow across it until Luka shuddered and whimpered low in his throat. Ivan didn't move on right away. He lingered there, sucking once, sharp enough to bruise, then smoothing the mark with his tongue until Luka twisted under him.

Only then did he shift lower, lips finding the inside of Luka's thigh. The skin there was thinner, more tender, and Ivan bit down hard enough to leave a perfect imprint. He held it, savoring the way Luka's whole body jolted, then pulled back to admire the rising mark.

Luka sobbed into the couch arm, muffled and desperate. His legs spread wider without him thinking, an instinctive plea for touch where none would come. The air cooled the wet heat between his thighs, slick betraying him, his cunt clenching for something more even as Ivan stayed just out of reach.

"Pathetic," Ivan whispered. His lips brushed Luka's inner thigh again, slower this time, almost tender, only to follow with another sharp mark. Luka yelped, the sound catching, his thighs trembling as his toes curled hard into the couch. Every inch of him quivered like he might shatter, but Ivan only laughed under his breath, low and amused, and bent back down. He turned Luka's skin into canvas, mouth dragging, teeth catching, each kiss and bruise laid like a stroke that belonged to him alone. Luka was gasping now, every breath broken, noises spilling free no matter how tightly he bit his lip.

Ivan lingered long enough for Luka's body to beg without words. Then he rose, sudden, and Luka's eyes flew open, wet and wide, a flicker of fragile hope breaking through his haze. Ivan didn't grant it. He shifted Luka's legs instead, folding them back inch by inch until his knees pressed nearly to his shoulders. The stretch pulled a sharp cry from Luka's throat, his hands straining in Ivan's grip.

Ivan's palms pinned him steady as iron. He held him open, deliberate, making him feel every second of the exposure. Luka's cunt trembled bare in the cool air, a soft ring flushed and greedy for more, clenching instinctively as though reaching for something that wasn't there. A shiver tore through him from the inside out, leaving him gasping as Ivan looked down at what was his.

Ivan only looked. He dragged his gaze over Luka's flushed skin, over the quiver he could not control, over the entrance that begged silently for him. Luka's voice cracked into the stillness.

"Please. Ivan, please."

Ivan lowered again, not where Luka wanted, never where Luka wanted. His mouth brushed the inside of Luka's thigh, high enough to promise, cruel enough to deny. He lingered there, lips dragging slow, teeth grazing until Luka's breath hitched sharp. Then he bit down, hard enough to make the muscle twitch, hard enough to leave a mark that bloomed dark against pale skin.

Luka cried out, the sound breaking from his chest. He begged again, the words tumbling out raw, until his voice cracked into nothing. Ivan only smiled against his skin. He kissed around the rim, close enough that the heat of his tongue made Luka's entrance flutter, trembling at the phantom touch, yet he never gave what Luka thought he needed.

Another bite followed. Then another. Ivan's teeth mapped him inch by inch, leaving circles of bruised color across the tender skin of his thighs. Each one burned hot, a brand of ownership pressed into him. Luka writhed under it, gasping, toes curling, thighs spreading wider as though baring himself might earn mercy. But Ivan only circled closer, cruelly careful, biting harder the nearer he came, marking him until he was nothing but a canvas of purple and pink.

Luka sobbed, back bowing off the cushions, hands clawing helplessly as if he could tear through the fabric itself. He twisted, desperate, trying to force what Ivan refused to give, but Ivan only pressed him down harder, the weight unyielding. Teeth closed on his thigh again, sharper, deeper, until Luka screamed. The cry cracked into a moan that shook him apart, leaving him trembling and broken. His body clenched tight, once, twice, then again, and release tore through him without mercy. His cum spilled over, hot and thick, striping his stomach, splattering his thighs, even catching against Ivan's mouth. Luka's eyes squeezed shut, a sob choking out as pleasure and shame knotted inside him until he thought he might split.

Ivan caught it like it belonged to him. His tongue swept slow over Luka's stomach, deliberate, savoring the taste with every stroke. He followed the mess wherever it had landed, licking it away as if he were cleaning a plate, leaving Luka bare and burning in his wake. Each lap was another humiliation, another reminder that nothing about him was his own. When Ivan lifted his head at last, his lips shone, his throat worked as he swallowed. Luka saw it happen, clear as daylight, and his face flushed hot enough to sting.

"Please, Ivan," Luka whispered. His voice was shredded, his body weak, his eyes dazed but desperate. He looked wrecked and beautiful at once, hair stuck to his temple, lashes clumped, lips trembling.

Ivan sat back to admire him, black eyes gleaming red at the center. He looked at the ruin spread beneath him, his chest swollen and raw, thighs painted purple with his teeth, stomach sticky and shining in the low light. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, smearing what was left across his skin, and smiled like a man who had all the time in the world.

"Please fuck me now, hm?" Luka begged, voice breaking apart at the end. It was too bare, too desperate.

Ivan's gaze dropped, lingering on the slick between Luka's legs. He let his hand ghost close, close enough that Luka's greedy cunt clenched around nothing, his body already reaching for him. Then he pulled back, denying even the brush of his fingers. Luka whined at the loss, the sound raw, humiliated.

Ivan leaned down until his mouth touched the shell of Luka's ear, his tone low, cruel, steady. "Maybe. When you learn how to behave."

Luka broke then. The sobs tore out of him raw, shaking his chest until his words collapsed into pieces. "But I've been good," he managed, the plea splintering apart as the tears spilled hot down his cheeks. He tried to turn his face away, ashamed, but the sound still filled the room.

Ivan froze. For the first time all night, his certainty faltered. The sight, the sound, cut through him sharper than he wanted to admit. The cruel edge drained from his chest, leaving only silence. He stared down at Luka, at the wet lashes clumped together, at the trembling lips, and for a long moment he didn't move.

Then, slow as if the decision cost him, Ivan's hold softened. He drew Luka up into his lap, gathering him close until Luka's forehead pressed against his shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around him, steady and strong, and he let his hand find the back of Luka's head, stroking once, twice, until the sobs began to ease. His thumb brushed away the damp streaks clinging to pale lashes, and he bent to kiss the corner of Luka's eye, tender and quiet, almost reverent.

When he pulled back at last, his smile was soft, almost defeated, as though he had given up a fight with himself. "We'll do it your way tonight then."

Luka sniffled, lifting his head. He stared into Ivan's eyes, wet lashes still trembling, the tears drying to heat as quickly as they had come. He shifted in Ivan's lap, grinding down against the hardness beneath him with a small, stubborn sound. "I won't go easy on you for this," he whispered, voice still raw. "You hear me?"

Ivan shuddered, the sound low in his throat. His mouth found Luka's neck, biting down gently, sucking until the mark bloomed warm and dark under his lips. He hummed against the skin, arms tightening around Luka's body as though he might never let him go.

"Okay."

♥︎

♥︎honeisenpa1®

Chapter Text

The bathroom light spilled a warm square into the hall. Steam drifted out in soft threads. Luka meant to pass by, he really did, but he stopped when he saw Ivan in the mirror. The towel sat low on Ivan's hips. Water ran in slow lines over pale muscle, over the cut of his stomach, over the hollow beside his ribs. Ivan brushed his teeth like the body under the steam was nothing special, like his shoulders were not throwing hard shadows against the tile. He tipped his chin and the sharp snaggletooth flashed when the corner of his mouth pulled up at his own reflection.

Luka went still in the crack of the door. One hand on the frame. Breath caught. The mirror gave him everything. Ivan's black hair, damp and messy. His eyes dark and flat with focus. The long lines of his back when he leaned and spat and reached for the faucet. The towel rode even lower as he moved. Luka's pulse tripped and ran.

He should look away. He should keep walking. He stayed. He stared like a thief. Heat climbed his throat and burned the tips of his ears. He pressed his mouth shut and tried to breathe quiet. His chest rose too fast. His shirt dragged over sensitive skin and rasped where it brushed him. The fabric skimmed a nipple and he bit back a sound. His free hand slid down to his pelvis without thought. He palmed himself through soft shorts, light at first, testing, then a little more when nothing in the world punished him for it.

Ivan rinsed his mouth. He wiped his face with a clean towel and left the skin damp. Droplets clung and caught the light as they gathered and fell. Luka watched one run from collarbone to the edge of the towel and disappear. The spot the water left behind made him dizzy. He swallowed and touched himself again, slower this time, as if he could trick his own body into patience. His palm dragged. Heat answered. He squeezed his eyes closed for a breath and saw Ivan's body on the back of his lids anyway.

He opened his eyes and the mirror put him right back where he should not be. Ivan turned his head to one side to check his hair. The muscle along his shoulder shifted under wet skin and stood out sharp. Luka's hand moved again. He tried to be gentle. He failed. His hips made a small push into his own touch and he flinched at himself and did not stop. His shirt fell against his chest and rubbed, a soft scrape that made him gasp. He clapped his other palm over his mouth and held it there, shaking.

Ivan set the towel on the rack and reached for his toothbrush again. He stood easy and tall in the fog and the mirror, a quiet animal that did not need to perform to be watched. He rolled one shoulder. He lifted an arm and raked his hair back with his fingers. The lift pulled every muscle of his torso tight. Luka's knees went weak. He gripped the doorframe and breathed through his nose and palmed himself harder, panic and want braided tight in his stomach.

The crack of the door narrowed when the house sighed. Luka eased it open again by an inch, then froze like a child caught with candy. Ivan had not looked up. He was humming under his breath, something that barely had notes. His mouth curved faint. The snaggletooth flashed again. He tipped his head to spit and the cords in his neck stood out and then softened. Luka could not look away. He stroked through fabric and heat rolled up his spine and landed behind his eyes.

He wanted to say his name. He wanted to step in and press himself to the damp skin and be told what to do. He did neither. He watched. His breath fogged the paint near his lips. He dragged his palm again. His shirt brushed him cruelly and he made a small sound against his own hand. His face flamed. He squeezed his thighs together for control and failed. The movement pushed him gently into his own touch and the gentle was somehow worse.

Ivan turned off the water. He shook his hands once. He reached for the towel by reflex and then did not use it. He let the water sit and shine. He stood, shoulder wider than the doorframe behind him, calm as gravity. Luka stared at the towel swearing it would slip. It did not. It stayed where it was, low and obstinate, and that was its own kind of torture.

Luka's fingers tightened. He palmed himself with a little more pressure and then a little more, courage blooming only because Ivan could not see him. His breath came thin. His shirt flicked his chest again and he arched a fraction against nothing. The sound he made this time was too loud in the hall. He bit his palm until he tasted salt and forced himself still.

Ivan reached for the light. Luka's heart lurched. The towel shifted when Ivan moved, just a breath, a suggestion that made Luka sway. Ivan took one step toward the door. Luka panicked on instinct. He let go of himself. He snapped his hand off the frame. He slipped back into the dim like a shadow that had never been there.

He walked fast. He tried not to run. The dorm hall felt too bright, too long, the air too cold where his shirt had rasped him raw. He pushed his door open and shut it soft, careful even in dread. His back hit the wood. He stood there and breathed, eyes wide, holding himself together with both hands like something might spill. His body ached with want that had nowhere to go. He looked down and flushed deeper, shame and thrill fighting in his chest.

He crossed the room in three steps and fell onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling and tried to think of anything else. He found nothing. The mirror image of Ivan hung there anyway, water running, towel low, mouth curving around soft toothpaste foam, that lazy way of standing like he had all the time in the world. Luka squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forearm over them. Heat throbbed in his body, old and familiar and brand new all at once.

From the hall he thought he heard the bathroom door open and close. The soft pad of footsteps. The quiet of a towel being hung the right way. He went still and counted his own heartbeats until the sound passed his door. He let the breath out he had been holding as if it could save him. It did not. He rolled to his side and curled toward the wall. His mouth was dry. His shirt still rasped against his chest every time he breathed.

He stayed like that, up on an elbow, listening for more sound and hearing none, until the ache won and the fear of being caught beat it by a hair. He tucked a hand under his pillow and the other under his ribs and tried to convince himself he could sleep. He could not. Ivan's image followed him into the dark, towel and water and teeth and the lazy strength of him, and the stubborn, shameful truth that he would watch again the next time the light spilled into the hall.

For the next two weeks Luka lived inside a new kind of hunger. It was not loud. It did not knock or announce itself. It slid in during the quiet parts of the day and curled up behind his ribs. He told himself he was fine. He told himself he would stop. He kept watching.

The first time it happened after the bathroom night, he was on his way past the living room with a bowl in his hand and nothing in his head but the plan to eat and mind his business. The blinds were half shut. The afternoon light came in like water. Ivan was stretched out on the couch. Not a towel this time. Nothing at all. Bare dick out in broad daylight as if he couldn't care if Luka walked out and saw him like this. One long leg bent. One arm behind his head. The other resting over his stomach like it had fallen there by accident. He was not hard. He was not anything but at ease. Even like that he looked heavy and indecent. Luka stopped dead in the doorway and forgot how to breathe.

Ivan tipped his head and yawned. The sharp tooth flashed. His stomach pulled tight as he stretched, the hard lines of it cutting clean under pale skin. The muscles along his ribs shifted and settled. It all looked lazy, careless, something a body did when it had the right to take up space. Luka swallowed and stared like a thief again. He knew he should move. He knew the bowl would slip if he did not hold it tighter. He stood in the soft dark of the hall and let his eyes drink.

Ivan reached for his phone. He did not look toward the door. He did not cover himself. He scrolled, face flat with that same bored calm that always made Luka want to climb out of his own skin. He stretched again. The movement pulled a quiet sound out of Luka before he could smother it with his lips. He pressed the bowl to his chest to feel something cool and went light headed instead. He wanted to kneel. He wanted to run. He wanted nothing at all except to keep watching.

He did not get caught. Or if he did, Ivan did not say. When Luka finally forced himself down the hall, the sound of Ivan breathing followed him like a hand on the back of his neck.

Another day, he found Ivan standing in the mirror by the front entry, the cheap one they had stuck to the wall at a bad angle. Ivan had pulled on a pair of black sweats and nothing else, and he was raking his fingers back through damp hair. His arms looked longer like that, long and pale and made of easy strength. The lines at his shoulders were clean and hard. The motion of his hand was slow enough to be careless and slow enough to be not careless at all. Luka hovered at the corner like he had been put there and forgotten, palm drifting down to his shorts on its own.

He told himself he would look for one count of five. He counted ten. He counted twenty and kept going. Ivan rolled his head and his neck made a quiet sound. He tugged his hair back again and let it fall. Luka breathed through his nose and tried not to make noise. He was not touching himself, not really, only pressing lightly, only enough to feel the heat he was pretending not to feel, only enough to know he was alive. His shirt brushed his chest with every breath and did not help. He pressed his other hand to the flat space over his heart and found that it ran like a scared animal.

Ivan leaned closer to the mirror and looked at his mouth. Luka watched the snaggletooth bare again in a near smile that was anything but his. The expression made Luka's knees go weak. He pulled back into the hall and waited there with his eyes closed until the sound of Ivan moving away gave him permission to breathe.

Time did not fix it. The second week was worse. Luka started to plan his day around the small windows when he knew Ivan would be in the open. He went to the kitchen when he heard the cupboards. He drifted past the living room if the television came on. He pretended to look for a book if Ivan's door stood open. He hated himself for it. He could not stop. Shame sat warm at the base of his throat. Desire poured over it in slow, steady passes until the shame turned sweet.

He told himself he would only look for a second. He never did. He lingered. He learned the way Ivan's back looked when he stretched with his hands braced on the counter, the cut of shoulder to arm, the soft pull of skin over triceps. He learned the soft rasp of the towel when Ivan dried his hair and the way the muscles in his stomach tightened when he lifted his arms to do it. He learned the idle curl of Ivan's fingers when he leaned back on the couch and stared at nothing, and the slow flex when he stood up and rolled his wrists once like a bored animal waking.

At first, Ivan seemed to move through it like he did everything, unbothered. Then something changed, not a lot, not enough to let Luka off the hook, enough to make him more nervous and more bold at the same time. Ivan took longer doing simple things. He brushed his hair back more times than he needed. He stood at the counter a moment too long with both hands braced and his head tipped down, as if he were listening for something only he could hear. He lifted his arms slow to stretch and held the shape, the hard lines of his stomach pulled tight like a picture that was meant to be looked at. He turned his mouth when he caught himself in a reflection, a small curve that made the snaggletooth show, the kind of smile a man wears when he knows he is not alone.

Luka noticed because he could not help noticing. The noticing made his ears go hot and his palms sweat and his shorts feel too soft and too thin and too tight. He told himself to stop. He told himself to knock on doorframes and make noise and be normal. He found himself silent instead, careful with his breath, careful with his feet, pressed to the line where tile met carpet and stuck there like a picture on the wall.

One evening he turned the corner into the living room and almost stumbled because Ivan was there on the couch in only a towel, the same white one from the bathroom, tucked low and stubborn around his hips like it knew him well. Ivan sat with one leg up, foot on the cushion, knee bent, the other long and relaxed. He leaned back and let his head find the armrest. He rested one hand low on his stomach, just above the towel's edge, fingers spread. The light from the window had gone gold, and it made Ivan's skin look brighter, smoother, something meant to be touched and never marked.

Luka caught himself on the back of a chair and held on. He knew he should back away. He did not. He watched the hand on Ivan's stomach flatten and slide up an inch and then down that same inch again. Not a stroke. Not anything he could charge with meaning. Only a lazy idle over the place where fabric turned to skin. The towel stayed put. The line of Ivan's hip looked sharp and unfair. Luka's mouth went dry and he bit down on his lower lip to keep from making a noise.

Ivan's eyes were half closed. He looked like a drawing of a saint and a sin at the same time, like something that made worship look easy. The lazy hand traced a circle and stopped. Luka let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. He dared a touch through his shorts, a soft press of his palm that was barely anything, and almost folded at the knees regardless. He forced the hand away and gripped the chair instead. The wood bit into his fingers. He liked the bite. It anchored him just enough not to embarrass himself.

Ivan shifted. The towel held. His mouth curved at nothing. He ran the edge of his thumb along his lower stomach and stopped just at the border of the white cloth. Luka made a small sound without realizing it. He clapped his hand over his mouth and held it there. His pulse thundered. He watched the way Ivan's fingers spread and rest and rise, the way the muscle under his skin moved in lazy ripples, the way every small motion seemed designed to pull a line of heat down Luka's spine.

He should have left. He stayed instead until the light went dim and the room went blue and the sound of his own breathing scared him into retreat. He was shaking when he got to his room. He leaned against the door and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He hated how wet his eyes felt. He hated how wonderful his body felt in the same breath.

The days stacked. The ritual held. Luka floated through classes like a ghost and came back to the dorm like a tide. He passed the living room and found Ivan on his stomach on the rug, stretching his back in a slow bow that made the lines of his body stand out. He found him in the kitchen turning a mug in his hands, the simple drag of his thumb over the handle somehow obscene. He found him at the mirror pulling his damp hair back, the lift of his arms pulling the muscle at his ribs tight, the soft skin there begging for teeth. Each time Luka told himself it was only for a second. Each time he stayed until his nerves rang like a struck bell.

Ivan knew. Luka could feel that in his bones. He knew it when Ivan's movements got a shade slower. He knew it when Ivan stood at angles that showed him in the glass of the television, reflected in the black even when it was off. He knew it when Ivan walked past him in the hall and brushed his knuckles lightly against Luka's wrist by accident, if that was an accident, and Luka nearly sank into the floor.

The worst was when Ivan stood in the kitchen with a towel thrown around his hips after a shower and did nothing but drink water from a glass. The water slid down his throat. He tipped his head and swallowed and the light caught the point of his tooth again. The towel sat low and stubborn. Luka leaned in the shadow of the doorway with his heartbeat in his mouth. Ivan set the glass down and rested his hand low on his stomach again, the same careless place, fingers splayed, thumb idly tracing a line no one needed him to trace. Luka swayed. He pressed his palm lightly against himself through shorts and pulled his hand away before he could humiliate himself in the open. He felt the press anyway. It burned.

That night the sound of the shower came late. Luka stared at the ceiling and told himself to sleep. He did not. Steam curled out under the bathroom door and across the hall like a hand beckoning. The door stood not quite shut. Just enough to make a sliver of bright. Just enough to insist that it was a mistake. Luka stood up without meaning to and walked down the hall on quiet feet. He stopped a foot from the light and leaned into the paint with the side of his head. The steam brushed his cheek and made him shiver.

Water ran loud. It hit tile and skin. There was another sound under it. Soft and rhythmic. At first Luka thought it was the pipes. Then he knew it was not. His hand found the doorframe and closed there until his knuckles hurt. He told himself to leave. He did not. He stared into the crack.

Ivan stood under the spray with his head tipped down. Water ran off him in lines that made him gleam. His chest rose and fell in long, patient swells. His hand braced high on the tile, fingers spread. The other moved against his thick girth, slow, unbothered, the kind of motion a man made when he had no reason to hurry. He hummed faint in his throat, a sound swallowed by the water but still there, the kind of sound Luka wanted to bite into and swallow down himself.

He should have turned away. He should have. He gripped the frame harder and stared instead. His palm slid against his shorts before he even knew it. He pressed once, light, and nearly sank to the floor. He pulled his hand back like it had burned him and held onto the doorframe again with both fists, shaking.

Ivan shifted, just a little. He turned enough that Luka could see the long line of his ribs, the slow pull of his stomach, the way his forearm flexed as he kept the rhythm. He was not putting on a show. He was only existing. But the angle was perfect, too perfect, as if some quiet part of him had tilted for Luka's sake alone. Luka's knees bent before he could stop them. His body bowed against the frame like it had been pushed there.

He moved his hand down again. This time he could not stop. He pressed. He rubbed. His teeth closed on the back of his wrist to keep the noise inside. His eyes watered. He watched the way Ivan's mouth parted under the spray. He watched the muscles along his side shift with the drag of his hand. He timed his own stolen motions to match, like he was nothing more than a shadow dancing after the real thing.

Ivan never sped up. He kept that same pace, slow, indulgent, savoring. His head tipped back and water slicked his throat. His lips curved the smallest bit, not quite a smile, not quite not one either. Luka's heart twisted. He pressed harder through the thin cotton at his hips. He matched each flex of Ivan's hand with a jerk of his own. Shame pooled thick in his chest and sweetened until it tasted like sugar.

Steam blurred the edges. Luka felt dizzy. The hum in Ivan's throat rose a shade, not louder, only deeper. Luka's body answered without asking permission. His grip faltered on the frame. His legs trembled. He pressed his palm harder and the pressure curled into heat, sharp and sweet. Ivan's shoulders pulled tight. Luka bit down harder on his wrist. His hips twitched. His whole body went tight and broke.

His cum spilled hot sudden, and thick. He bit back the sound but still made a noise, muffled and raw. His shorts went damp. His knees almost buckled. He clung to the frame and shook, head pressed to the wall, chest heaving. In the slice of light, Ivan's head tipped back again and his hum broke off sharp. His hand stilled and then tightened once, and Luka knew without needing to see the rest. Heat ran through him at the thought of it, sharp enough to make him gasp again.

He stood there until his body stopped shaking. He backed away without looking. He shut his door behind him and sank to the floor, forehead on his knees, throat aching. He could not stop thinking of the way Ivan's body had angled, the way his hand had moved with no rush at all. He hated himself for how good it felt to match him. He hated how badly he wanted to do it again.

That night he could not sleep. His sheets twisted around his legs. His skin felt too tight. He shoved the blanket down and touched himself under the thin cotton, soft at first, then harder, biting his lip to keep quiet. His door was not closed all the way. He knew it. He left it that way on purpose. Shame curled over his chest. He could not stop. He slid his hand again and again, trembling under the heat of his own palm, thinking of the water on Ivan's skin, the lazy drag of his hand.

Footsteps came down the hall. Luka froze. His hand clamped still over himself. His chest rose sharp, fell sharper. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to kill the sound. The steps slowed. They paused right outside. Luka's heart slammed against his ribs hard enough to hurt. He lay there in the dark with his cock in his hand and every nerve screaming. A soft shift of sheets gave him away. A gasp slipped before he could strangle it. Silence answered.

Ivan stood there. He did not knock. He did not push the door open. He stood long enough that Luka felt the weight of him like a brand on his chest. Then the steps moved again, steady, calm, walking past, down the hall. The air rushed out of Luka's lungs all at once. His hand shook as he pulled it away. He rolled to his side and pressed his face into the pillow, hot with humiliation and want. He hated himself for leaving the door cracked. He hated himself for wanting Ivan to pause. He hated himself most for how much worse it would be next time, because there would be a next time.

♥︎

This little game kept going because neither of them called it a game. Days stacked. Nights dragged. The dorm learned their rhythm the way old buildings learn the shape of their tenants. Doors stayed cracked when they should have been closed. Shadows paused where they should have passed. Water ran too long. Silence got loud on purpose.

Ivan still walked by Luka's door at night the way a tide walks by a shore. Slow. Regular. He paused like always. Long enough for Luka's body to tense under the sheets. Long enough for heat to collect low and mean. Long enough for Luka to feel seen even if nothing moved in the hall except the shift of air. Then the steps went on, steady and unbothered, and Luka lay there with his pulse burning in his throat and the ache in his belly stubborn as hunger.

Tonight the ache had teeth. Luka told himself he was done with the soft, sweet version of it. He wanted more. He had thought about it for a week, chewing the thought until it went from frightening to necessary. He left the door the same way he always left it, cracked just enough that a strip of dim hallway cut the dark of his room. He turned the lamp low so the light sat warm on his skin and made the edges of him shine. He undressed slow, as if anyone were watching, which made it worse when he caught his own reflection in the window and flushed at himself.

Naked on the bed, he felt small and brave at once. The air kissed him everywhere. His chest drew tight with each breath. His nipples pricked under the light draft and the thin brush of his own forearm when he moved. He lay back and let his knees fall apart the smallest amount, then more when courage came, then wider than was decent. Heat licked up his face. The lamp threw a soft glow over the pale lines of his body and made the edges of his ribs look like gentle wings. He stared at the ceiling and dared himself to keep going.

He reached for his mouth first. Two fingers brushed against the curve of his lower lip, light enough to feel the heat there, testing, almost shy. His breath caught before he let it go, a shaky exhale that fogged the moment. Then his tongue lolled out, almost shy.

The fingers pressed forward. He parted for them, slow, deliberate, the way a door creaks when it doesn't quite want to open. The warmth of his own mouth greeted him, wet and eager, and he let the intrusion linger.

He closed his eyes. Sucked gentle, like the fingers were candy he had no wish to finish, drawing sweetness from them at a pace that nearly stilled time. His tongue shifted, curling, sliding, tracing the ridges of skin until slickness coated every inch.

When he pulled back, it was reluctant. A soft pop broke the air, fragile and loud all at once. He bit down on a sound that wanted to escape, holding it between his teeth, trembling on the edge of release.

The shine on his fingers caught the light. It looked wrong, indecent, as if they had already been somewhere secret. It looked like a vow whispered into the dark, a promise he couldn't take back even if he wanted to.

He let his hand wander lower to his opening. Not fast. Not clumsy. He traced the rim like he was making a map he planned to follow later. His body answered everywhere he touched, eager and too honest. When he reached the place he wanted, he hesitated and then pressed just enough to feel something bright and tight answer him. His eyes fluttered closed. A sound slipped out before he could strangle it. He breathed through it and did it again. His thighs shook. His toes curled into the sheets. The lamp seemed to hum with him.

"Ah~" he whispered, and the word felt dangerous in the open. He swallowed and tried again. "Ah..."

He found a slow rhythm and let it draw the sting down to a warm throb. He kept one hand on his chest to steady the rise and fall because it made him feel like he might fly apart otherwise. He rolled the heel of his palm over a peaked nipple and it sent a streak of heat right back down, a loop that tied him up in himself and refused to let go. His mouth fell open. The air tasted like dust and something sweet. His eyes wet with how much he wanted and how close the wanting sat to shame.

"I... Ivan," he moaned sweetly, barely a voice at all, like a name would conjure a ghost, like a ghost might finally touch him if he asked nice enough. Saying it made his stomach jump. The heat climbed and his body clenched around nothing but the idea of more. He pressed and relaxed, pressed and relaxed, and his breath found a ragged rhythm that made the room sway.

He opened his eyes because the dark behind his lids made him too brave. He needed the shape of the room to hold him. He needed the strip of hallway to remind him where the world started and ended. He looked toward the door and his body stopped like a song killed in the middle of a note. He could feel himself clench down on his fingers in a startled pleasure, he could feel his own pulse kick hard enough to make his vision spark.

Ivan stood in the doorway.

He was only a shadow at first, a tall shape cut out of the dim, the red pricked in the center of black eyes catching the lamp like coals. Then Luka's eyes adjusted and the details came one by one. The bare feet. The loose drawstring of sleep pants that did nothing to hide the shape beneath. The easy set of his shoulders. The curve at the corner of his mouth that said he was amused and patient and in no hurry to leave.

Luka could not make his hands move. The one hand over his chest pressed harder in panic. The other pressed deep inside his cunt, slick and trembling, the heat of his own skin ringing in his fingertips. Shame flooded him so fast he felt cold for a second under it. Then the shame turned, the way it always turned with Ivan watching, and the cold melted into something that made him arch the smallest amount against the sheets.

Ivan leaned a shoulder to the frame like he had taken that posture a hundred times in a hundred doorways, like he had been carved to fit there. He looked at Luka's face first, not at the open legs, not at the hand that had nowhere to go now that it had been seen. He held Luka's gaze as if looking anywhere else would be impolite. The smile deepened a fraction. He did not say a word.

Luka tried to cover himself and failed. His elbows slipped. His legs closed an inch and opened again because closing hurt worse. His mouth shaped an apology that he did not want to give and could not find anyway. He swallowed and the sound seemed loud enough to carry down the hall. Heat climbed high along his throat and settled there like a collar.

He could have pulled the sheet up. He could have rolled over. He could have begged. He did none of it. Something stubborn and ruined in him lifted his chin instead. He put his fingers back where they had been, slow and deliberate, as if time would forgive him if he moved gently. The first touch sent light through him. His eyes fluttered shut and opened again because he could not bear to look away from Ivan and could not bear to be seen doing this in the same breath. He let the breath out he had been holding.

Ivan's gaze slid down then, finally, a polite allowance. He took in the pink buds on Luka's chest, the rise and fall that had gone wild, the gleam of Luka's hand where the lamp painted it. He looked lower and Luka thought he might die from it. The attention felt like a mouth. It felt like a bite. It felt like the same slow hand in the shower, patient and certain and meant to be watched.

The shape in Ivan's pants had gone from suggestion to fact. He did not hide it. He rested two fingers in the pocket like he needed to anchor himself or like he was sparing Luka the glare of his own heat. The curve at his mouth stayed, lazy and amused, but the black of his eyes had gone heavier. He was not bored. He was not pretending to be. He was choosing to do nothing and it hurt in the way Luka liked.

Luka drew his palm in a slow line and broke on it. A soft sound escaped. His head tipped back. He bit it down and dragged his gaze to Ivan again because looking away felt like giving up and he had not invited this only to run from it now. His body trembled under his own hand. His thighs shook. His breath went ragged and thin. He could feel the room watching him even if the only eyes that mattered were standing in that doorway.

He stopped thrusting his fingers then started pressing again, stopped and started, as if testing how much humiliation his chest could hold before it spilled. Ivan let him. He did not move a step inside. He did not offer mercy. He watched with that small grin and that hard heat and those heavy eyes and he let Luka do the work of ruining himself. The lamp hummed. The hall stayed quiet. The whole building felt like it had leaned in to listen.

"Ivan..." Luka moaned again, torn between plea and prayer.

Ivan's grin edged sharper. He lifted his hand from his pocket and tipped two fingers in a small salute that was not a salute, the laziest acknowledgment in the world. He did not cross the threshold. He did not ask for permission he did not need. He stood where he was and made the air between them heavy.

Luka's body answered. It could not help it. He arched just enough to make the mattress sigh. His toes curled. His head rolled to the side and then back. He worked himself with a slow, careful rhythm that felt like apology and defiance at once. His eyes stayed on Ivan's face because the face was safer than the heat lower down, because the face told him everything he needed to know without a single word.

It would have been kinder if Ivan had shut the door. It would have been crueler if he had smiled wide. He did neither. He watched, quiet and intent, letting Luka learn how far he would go with the door open and his body warm and the man he wanted leaning there with amusement and an obvious ache of his own. Luka shook with it. He felt split in two, the part that could not bear to be seen and the part that needed nothing else. He let the needing win. He always let the needing win with Ivan.

They didn't speak. The only thing that moved was Luka's chest, shaky and fast, and Ivan's eyes, steady as a hand on the back of Luka's neck. The lamp held everything in the same soft color. Luka could feel the night leaning in to listen.

Ivan's gaze dropped, then lifted again to Luka's face like a predator watching his prey. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants and tugged it just enough. The fabric slid down over bone and muscle and stopped. He freed his throbbing cock with a small, careless motion and let the air touch him. Twitching, mad with arousal, the veins of it pulsing against the air. Luka's eyes followed every throb with thrusts into his heat.

Heat moved through the room as if something had breathed out. Luka made a sound low in his throat that he did not recognize as his own. His slick hand stuttered and pressed deeper into his cunt, trying to reach where he ached to be filled. The reaction surprised him. It surprised Ivan more. A dry laugh slipped from him, soft and wicked, not unkind.

He wrapped his hand around his girth and stroked once, slow. Back and forth, back and forth, the same patient rhythm Luka had watched through steam, only closer now, only for him. He did not look away. Luka could not. Their eyes locked like hands. His fingers ran across the slick of arousal and spread it down his entire length with every pass. The squelch of his palm against skin reaching Luka's ears.

The room began to fill with sound. Not much. Only breath that kept losing shape and finding it. Only Luka's helpless noises, small and wet, each one pulled out of him like a thread. Only the low grunt when Ivan squeezed at the base and dragged up in a long, ruthless line. The air warmed and then felt thin. Luka's stomach pulled tight. Heat sank low and held there, heavy as a stone dropped in a lake.

He tried to be quiet. He failed. Every time Ivan's hand moved, Luka's answered. Every time Luka's body trembled, Ivan's mouth curved. The rhythm turned into a language and neither of them needed words for it. Luka could taste metal on his tongue from biting down too hard. He breathed around it and kept going. He could not stop. He would not have stopped even if Ivan had shut the door and left him in the dark.

Ivan worked himself with the kind of patience that made time drip. He palmed slow, then slower, the heel of his hand sliding down before the draw back up. He let his thumb catch and tease. He tightened and released like he believed in mercy and then proved that he did not. His breath deepened. The muscles in his stomach jumped under the lamp glow. Luka had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. It hurt.

He reached for the sheet with his free hand and missed. His palm landed flat on his own chest instead. The brush across a peaked nipple sent bright heat shining through him. He gasped. The hand between his thighs sank a little deeper. He felt the tight answer to it and shuddered, head tipping back, throat open to the room. If Ivan had said his name right then, Luka thought he would have fallen apart on the spot.

"Look at me." Ivan said, soft and steady.

Luka looked. His whole body tightened in relief and panic at once. He matched his rhythm to Ivan's, slow and deliberate, then broke it to test whether Ivan would let him. Ivan did not speak again. His eyes said everything. Do it. Take it. Give it to me while I watch. Luka gave him everything he had.

The night thinned to a thin ribbon between them. Luka could hear the whisper of Ivan's skin in his own breath, could feel the pull of Ivan's hand in the ache of his own. He thought he might beg without meaning to. He pressed a shaking palm over his mouth to hold the sound in place. The other hand kept moving against his insides, deep and careful, rubbing and pressing, spreading himself more open to the heat that would not come.

Ivan's jaw tightened. His head tipped back for a second and then forward again, eyes never leaving Luka's face. His strokes grew a shade firmer, not faster, like he was giving himself the order to wait and obeying it. Luka answered with a helpless push of his hips that made the mattress start to complain. He flushed with embarrassment. Ivan's mouth edged into a grin that made the embarrassment feel like gasoline.

It came on like a tide. Luka felt the build before he could think to brace. The heat gathered low and bright and then climbed, climbing in slow pulses that took his breath with them. He knew he could not hold it. He knew he did not want to. He tore his hand from his mouth and wrapped his cock with it, the instinct to hide and the need to be seen striking sparks. He worked himself through it with the other, deeper and a little clumsy, eyes locked on Ivan like the stare itself kept him from flying apart.

"Ivan..." he moaned, broken and grateful and scared, and then the wave hit him.

He spilled hot seed across his own stomach in streaks that shone in the lamplight. His body jerked once, twice, again, each pulse a little weaker and a little sweeter. He tried to breathe and could not and then could. He shook with it, limbs going useless, jaw aching from how hard he had clenched his teeth. The hand on his chest slid and left a wet print over his heart. He stared up at Ivan because he could not bear not to. The look on Ivan's face hollowed him out in one long sweep. Pride. Hunger. Something that looked like relief.

Ivan answered a beat later, exactly like he always would. His hand tightened and his breath broke. He stroked once more and came with a low, rough sound. He caught the thick release in his palm with thoughtless neatness, chest heaving, eyes still on Luka's face. The sight knocked something loose in Luka's ribs. He did not know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He did neither. He breathed.

Silence came back slow. It settled like dust. The lamp hummed. The hall breathed. Neither of them moved. Luka's heart started to behave again one careful beat at a time. He realized his hand was still buried deep inside and pulled it away with a lewd pop as if it had been caught stealing. A line of slick connected the shine of his fingers to the swollen opening. Heat rolled up his throat in a delayed wave of shame and pleasure. He swallowed and looked at the ceiling until the trembling in his legs faded.

Ivan was the first to shift. He tucked himself away with the same unhurried economy he brought to everything. He stepped in at last and Luka flinched, small and involuntary, the way a wild animal flinches when the tree line breaks. Ivan stopped one pace from the bed as if he had expected that and waited, gaze moving without hurry, taking in the mess on Luka's belly and the set of his mouth and the way his knees kept wanting to press together even now.

His eyes landed on a box on the nightstand. He reached for it, found tissues, and cleaned his hand with careful, almost fussy passes that would have looked funny if Luka had not felt so bare. Then he surprised Luka again. He set the box down and put a knee on the mattress. Luka went still. Ivan did not touch his skin. He gathered the blanket instead and wrapped it around Luka in a steady sweep that left only his face and a lock of pale hair showing. He lay down beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Luka blinked, dazed. They were roommates in different majors who lived together. They did not do this. They didn't even talk outside of whatever... this... is. He half expected Ivan to stand and leave as if none of it had happened. Instead he felt an arm slide under his shoulders and another around his waist. Ivan pulled him in until Luka's cheek met a warm chest. He tucked the blanket tighter. Luka stared at the cluttered edge of his nightstand and tried to remember how to speak.

Ivan's mouth tipped into a small pout he had no right to wear and somehow did anyway. He nudged Luka once, gentle, to make him look up. "Hey, roomie..." he started. The voice was soft and teasing at once. He hooked a finger under Luka's chin and coaxed his face up until their eyes met.

"Don't tell me we're still not gonna talk to each other, even after all this?"

Luka's mind tried to sprint and fell flat on its face. He was wrung out and floating and full of questions. He could not make a sentence. He stared and breathed and tried again. Ivan's gaze stayed kind. It felt like being looked at by something dangerous that had chosen to be tame for the moment.

"Should we date?" Ivan said, simple and serious in a way that sent Luka's thoughts scattering like birds.

Luka choked on air. He had braced for anything but that, a joke or a smirk or a retreat into silence. "D-date..." he managed, and wanted to disappear into the blanket.

Ivan's mouth tugged down. It was ridiculous how much that little frown hurt to see. "You don't want to date me," he said. "You're the first person I've ever shown my... dick... to." He winced on the word like he was not sure he was allowed to say it out loud. "Shouldn't we date? Am I not correct?"

The wobble in his voice was a knife in Luka's chest. He shook his head hard and put both hands on Ivan's chest as if he could keep the words from slipping. "No. No. I'm sorry. I was just confused. Your personality was a lot different than I thought."

Ivan's eyes warmed. "What kind of personality did you think I have?" he asked, voice dropping half an octave deeper, that gentle rumble that always made Luka feel like he was standing too close to a storm.

Luka shivered. He looked up and got caught in a gaze that had gone half lidded and hungry in a way that was not about bodies at all. "I... I thought you were... a playboy..." he said. The truth came out small. He hid his face in Ivan's chest on instinct, mortified at himself.

"A playboy." Ivan repeated, like he needed to test the shape of the word in his mouth to see if it fit. His chest moved under Luka's cheek with a soft huff that turned into a laugh. Not mean. Pleased.

"Well now that you know that I'm not..." he said, "...will you date me?"

Luka flinched like someone had touched a bruise and then lifted his head because he could not not look. He froze. The lamp put a warm halo on Ivan's skin. His face was open and bright. A blush climbed across his cheeks like a sunrise he had not meant to have. He smiled at Luka the way people smile when they are not performing for anyone at all.

And Luka...

Luka felt his own face go hot to match. He buried himself again, breath catching on a new kind of ache, sweet and stupid and clean. "Fine." he said into the warm skin of Ivan's chest. It came out small and stubborn and sure.

Ivan's arms closed around him like a promise. The blanket held. The room went quiet in the way rooms do when something true has been said. Luka lay there with his heart too big for his ribs and realized that somewhere between a cracked door and a sliver of light he had acquired a loser of a boyfriend who happened to look like a popular playboy. It felt like the best mistake he had ever made.

♥︎

♥︎honeisenpa1®

Chapter Text

They were both face down in their phones on the couch. The living room was quiet except for the soft click of thumbs and the whisper of the fan. Luka scrolled without looking at anything. He had that bored, hungry look he always got before he latched onto something. Then the sound from his phone changed. A too chipper sound, bright and fast. He turned it up a little and Ivan glanced over from the other end of the couch.

"Fear kink," the video said. "It's about adrenaline and surrender. It isn't abuse if everyone knows the rules."

Luka's thumb hovered. His eyes sharpened in a way Ivan knew too well. He watched through once. Twice. Then he opened a new tab and typed with speed that said he was already halfway gone. Articles flashed by. Lists. Think pieces. He tapped one after another and his cheeks warmed while he read.

Ivan went back to his feed and pretended not to notice. He knew that look. Luka had found a new idea and was about to bring it into the house like a stray animal he refused to leave outside. A minute later a foot nudged Ivan's leg. Then nudged again.

"What?" Ivan said without looking up.

"Nothing..." Luka said. He hesitated. "Okay. Not nothing."

Ivan set his phone on his chest and gave him the slow stare that always made Luka fidget. "Go on."

Luka held up the screen. "Have you ever heard of... fear kink?"

Ivan's mouth flattened. "No."

"You have." Luka teased, trying not to smile. "You just never called it that."

"I don't scare people for sport." He sounded bored. He was not bored. Luka's eyes had the shine of a bad idea that would not leave until it got what it wanted.

"Not for sport..." Luka said. "...for me."

Ivan stayed still. Luka shifted to his knees on the couch and edged closer. The phone glowed between them, bright and dumb, full of paragraphs Luka did not need and already believed. He started to speak faster.

"It says it's about control and trust. And you are good at both. It's not about actual harm. It's about making me feel like you could. You know. In a controlled way. The videos say it can be intense. A little dangerous on purpose. I know you'd never actually hurt me. That's why it would work."

"No." Ivan said, calm and flat.

Luka blinked. He grinned like he had expected that. "Hear me out."

"No."

"You're not even listening."

"I heard you." Ivan picked up his phone again. "The answer is no."

Luka leaned over him and planted the phone face down on Ivan's chest. "Please?"

"No."

"Please."

Ivan gave him a long look that made Luka's grin wobble. "Fear isn't a toy." His voice was soft. It still managed to fill the room. "You don't poke it and laugh when it growls."

"I am not laughing." Luka's mouth went stubborn. "I'm asking you to do it with me."

Ivan's gaze stayed steady. Luka kept talking because silence scared him more than anything.

"I have rules," Luka said quickly. "I did the research. We can set boundaries. We can make a plan. You can keep control. You like that. I will do what you say. I want to try it once and if I hate it, it dies here. If I like it, we try again with tighter rules."

"No." Ivan said again.

Luka slid closer until their knees touched. "You scared me once without meaning to. Remember. And I loved it. I loved how you looked at me like I was a small thing you could put in your pocket. I shook for an hour and then slept like a rock. Please. Do this with me. I want to feel it for real."

Ivan stared at him. The fan ticked. Luka swallowed and forced himself to hold the look. He dropped his voice into a sweet, dangerous place.

"Do it because I asked." he said. "Do it because you can."

Ivan's jaw flexed. It was a tiny motion. Luka saw it and pressed.

"I'll be brave." Luka said. "Until I'm not. You're there when I fall apart. You are always there. I know you."

Ivan looked at him for a long time. Then he looked away and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Luka read that as the crack he needed and leaned in.

"Let me set a scene..." he whispered. "I leave for work in the morning. You stay home. When I come back, you're here. Not the you who makes coffee and folds towels. Another you, different. The one who could make a room stop breathing. You wait in the dark like a loan shark who came to collect. I walk in and you step out. No hello. No warming up. You corner me. You press until the air thins. You say terrible things. I say please. I say no. You watch me panic. But you never break me."

Ivan closed his eyes. He breathed once. Twice. When he opened them they were flat and dark as a pond at night. "No." he said, but softer now. The word did not have the same weight and the previous times he said it.

Luka smiled. "You already see it."

"I see you regretting it." Ivan's tone was dry. "I see you crying and shaking and cursing my name."

"Maybe." Luka said. "But I asked for it."

Ivan stared at the ceiling as if there were an answer written there. He dropped his eyes back to Luka. "Rules." he said. "Now."

Luka brightened and grabbed his phone again. "Okay. Here is what you can do and cannot do." He took a breath and counted on his fingers. "Slapping hard is okay. On the face or body. Punching is not okay."

"Define slapping hard." Ivan said.

"Hard enough to sting and leave a mark. Hard enough to make me see stars. But not hard enough to actually break skin. If I fall, you have to pick me back up."

"Mm."

"Dry penetration is okay," Luka said. "But only if you open me up with fingers first. No just shoving in because I don't want my hole to irreperable."

Ivan's eyes cooled further. "I wouldn't just shove it in like that even if you told me to."

"I know. I'm being thorough." Luka ticked another finger. "Punching near my body is okay. Like a slam into the wall next to my head. The sound. The shock. Not on me. Not on my ribs. Not my stomach. Nowhere on my body."

Ivan nodded once.

"Shoving is okay. Grabbing roughly is okay. You can move me how you want as long as you do not throw me across the house."

"Understood."

"Pinching is okay. Biting hard is okay. You can leave marks. You can make it last. I want to see it later."

Ivan watched his face while he said it. Luka flushed and kept going.

"Humiliation is okay," he said, voice smaller but steady. "You can say anything you want. Whore. Cumslut. Waste of space. You can talk about my body. You can say it is good only for this. You can tell me to beg."

Ivan's eyes flicked down. "And choking?"

Luka took a breath. "Choking is okay. Just don't break my neck." He tried to make it a joke. Ivan did not smile. Luka sobered. "You already know how. You always keep it safe."

"I do."

"Good." Luka looked at his list and then at Ivan. "That's the spine of it. You can be cruel. You can be cold. You can push until I shake. You cannot put me in the hospital."

Ivan's mouth twitched like he wanted to say something and chose not to. Luka took that as a win and surged on.

"I want you to play it like it is real," he said. "If I look like I'm having fun, don't trust it. Keep going. I want to feel scared. I want my body to forget for a second that we are us. I want it to think it's in danger and then figure out that it is safe because it is you."

Ivan sat back. He studied Luka in a silence that made the skin on the back of Luka's neck prickle. Finally he asked, almost idly, "When?"

"Tomorrow," Luka said, too fast. Then he smoothed his voice. "Tomorrow after work. I will text you when I am on the way so you can get into character. Turn off the lights. Leave one lamp in the kitchen on. Make it look like the house is holding its breath. Sit where you can step out with a shadow. When I come in, don't wait long. Don't let me talk. Don't let me reach for the light."

Ivan listened without nodding. When Luka finished he looked at him a long time. "Safe word?" he said.

Luka laughed. "Are you serious? Do we really need that?"

Ivan did not laugh. "Just in case."

Luka made a face and then looked down at his hands. He picked at a nail that did not need picking. "Fine?" he said. "How about... Till?"

Ivan's brow lifted. "My ex?"

"It's a name I would never say during sex?" Luka said, a cheeky smile crawling back onto his mouth. "So it is good, right?"

Ivan stared, then sighed. "Good."

Luka leaned back into the couch cushions and exhaled like a man who had just talked his way out of prison. He locked his phone and set it aside. "You're the best."

Ivan's gaze didn't soften. "I will ask once more. You want fear?"

"I want you." Luka said. "And fear with you."

They sat in the quiet for a while. The fan murmured. The room felt different already. Luka felt it in the way Ivan was not moving, in the way his body took up space like a closing door. He swallowed and tried to look careless. It did not quite work.

"Aftercare." Ivan said.

Luka blinked. "Yes. Right. After. You hold me. We talk. You tell me how I did. I tell you where it went wrong and where it went right. I drink water. You make fun of me for crying. I sleep."

"I do not make fun of you for crying." His voice was almost gentle. Almost.

"You do in my head." Luka said, grinning. Then the grin faded, Ivan looked like he was still contemplating this whole thing. Luka places a hand over Ivan's, "Hey..." He started, "I trust you."

Ivan looked like someone had slid a blade under his ribs and pressed. Only Luka would have seen it. He nodded once in a way that looked like a vow.

They got ready for bed without talking about it more. Luka brushed his teeth and kept catching himself watching the mirror like it might pull Ivan's reflection into a shape he had not seen before. Ivan moved quiet and slow through the room. The lights went off. The dark felt fuller than usual.

In bed Luka tucked his cold feet between Ivan's calves the way he always did. Ivan didn't push him away. Luka curled into his side and tried to act normal. Ivan laid a hand on his back. The touch was neither soothing nor rough. It was just there. Luka listened to the rhythm of Ivan's breathing and let it teach his body how to do the same.

"You're really going to do it?" Luka whispered into the dark.

"Yes?" Ivan said.

"You're not going to hold back?"

"No."

Luka shivered. Ivan did not rub his back. He left his hand where it was and let the weight of it answer. Luka smiled into the pillow, terrified and excited and proud of himself for asking for what he wanted.

"You think I'll regret it?" he asked.

Ivan did not answer. The quiet stretched. Luka laughed softly, nervous. "You think I'll regret it." He confirmed.

Ivan thought, again, of Luka crying and shaking. He thought of how small Luka would look with the hall light behind him and the door closing. He thought of the way Luka's mouth would open around nothing when the world went loud. He thought of the safe word and how he would listen for it under everything else.

"You will get what you asked for." he said at last.

Luka went very still. Then he sighed, content and wrecked before anything had happened. "Good," he whispered.

They fell quiet again. The fan ticked. The city breathed through the window. Luka slid a hand across Ivan's stomach and stopped there, warm and harmless. Ivan stared at the dark and let tomorrow build itself in his head, piece by careful piece. He didn't say, out loud, that Luka would probably regret it. He did not say that he would be there when the regret turned into relief. He did not say that he would hold him when it was over and kiss his eyelids like a truce.

He only said, "Sleep."

Luka obeyed. He always did, when Ivan used that voice.

♥︎

Morning came soft and golden. Luka woke to a warm weight across his waist and the slow rise and fall that meant Ivan was awake before him. The room felt different. It held a quiet that made his skin prickle. He turned in the sheets and found Ivan already watching him, that steady look that always made Luka feel seen to the bone. Ivan didn't say good morning. He pulled Luka close and tucked his face into his neck. The hug lasted longer than usual. When Ivan finally let him go he pressed a kiss to Luka's mouth, gentle and sure. It was thicker than routine. It tasted like an apology folded into sugar. Luka felt the apology and smiled against it. He didn't need it. He wanted everything that apology meant.

The day moved in jerks. Coffee and a quick shower and the slide of a shirt over sensitized skin. Ivan handed him his bag and kissed him again in the doorway. The kiss had that same weight to it. Luka's stomach turned with excitement. Fear sat beneath the excitement like a second pulse. They stood there breathing each other for a few beats. Ivan's hand rose as if to touch Luka's cheek again. He stopped himself and laid his palm against Luka's shoulder instead.

"You're going to be late." he said.

"I know." Luka tried not to sound eager. He failed. "I will text when I clock out."

Ivan nodded. The nod looked like a promise. Luka left him in the doorway with the morning around his shoulders and the city waking at their feet.

Work dragged and sprinted. Luka kept losing time in small holes. He would look at the clock and swear only a minute had passed. Ten would be gone. Then the next hour would crawl across the screen like a wounded thing. He forgot files and found them again. He answered emails that did not need answers. He remembered the knife in the outline at the worst possible moment and had to sit down with his hands on his knees until the world steadied. He drank water and it tasted like the way Ivan had said sleep the night before. Not loud. But not gentle either. Just heavy and inevitable.

He told himself he was fine. The telling did not matter. He was thrilled. The thrill made his limbs feel both light and clumsy, the way they did the second before a roller coaster dropped. He imagined a lamp left on in the kitchen. He imagined the dark around it. He imagined stepping into that dark while a shadow that knew his name stood still and waited. Each time he pictured it, his body tightened in a way that felt like shame and pride holding hands.

He watched the clock bruise its way toward freedom. The last fifteen minutes stretched like chewed gum. He wiped his palms on his pants and cursed himself for caring. Then the hour turned. He typed On my way and hit send before he could think. Ivan's reply arrived with a single thumb. Luka stared at the small, stupid icon and felt a shiver climb his spine from tailbone to neck.

The train sounded too loud. Doors opened, people poured in, phones lit up like stars, and none of it touched him. He moved through the crush without feeling any of it, his body held upriver by a current he had asked to drown in. The walk from the station to their building felt new and wrong. He saw their front steps and stopped halfway up. He told himself to breathe. He obeyed. He reached the landing and saw the door.

It was not closed. Only an inch. Just enough to turn a line of ordinary into a mouth.

Luka smiled without meaning to. He had to smooth his face with a hand to wipe the smile off. He rolled his shoulders back and shook his wrists. The day washed off him in a sheet. He put the key away and pressed one finger to the wood. He eased the door open. The hinge gave a slow creak that sounded like the start of a story.

The apartment breathed out cold. All the lights were off. One lamp in the kitchen clicked faint with heat cooling in the bulb. The chairs were wrong. Two lay on their sides. A third leaned against the table with one leg buckled. Drawers gaped. A line of spoons shimmered on the floor like fish in low light. A plant lay tipped over near the window with dirt scattered like a map. The sight struck him in waves. First the mess. Then the intention. Then the skill. He almost laughed, quiet and breathless. Wow, he thought. He really went for it.

He stepped in and the door stood at his back like a witness. He told himself to act. He dug up a tremble from memory and set it loose in his voice.

"Hello." he called out, careful. "Is... is anyone there?"

The sound of his own voice startled him. It made the hairs on his forearms lift. He moved past the kitchen. His shoes slid a little on spilled potting soil. The living room felt wider with the lamp off. Shadows pooled under the couch and along the baseboards. He made a show of pulling out his phone. He tapped at nothing, fingers shaking for real now, and lifted his chin.

"I will call the cops." he said. It came out thinner than he wanted. He swallowed and steadied. "I mean it."

The slam from the door hit like a gunshot. Luka jerked so hard his phone jumped in his hand. That flinch was not performed. It ripped up his spine and made his teeth click. He spun on instinct. The door had closed. He hadn't seen the hand that pushed it. He hadn't heard the step. The slam bounced around the room and then fell quiet, leaving his breath loud in the same way a cry can make a church feel bigger.

He almost smiled at the rush. The almost passed like a shadow behind his mouth. He took a step back. The lamp flickered. A second light came on near the hallway and threw a slice across the floor. A shape stood in it. He knew that body. He did not know that man.

Ivan's face had gone flat in a way that wiped away everything soft. He wore a tacky button up in a pattern Luka would never have let in the house. A black suit jacket over it. Black slacks that caught the thin light like water. A gold chain winked at his throat. It should have been funny. It was not. It was a uniform and it worked. The look made Luka's mouth go dry. The red at the center of Ivan's eyes caught the light and did not glow. It sat there like a warning.

"Who are you?!" Luka yelled. "What the hell are you doing in my house. Get out before I call the—"

Click.

Ivan's hand slid into his jacket and came out with a small pocket knife. He did not snap it open like a movie villain. He pinched the notch with two fingers and unfolded the blade with a neat little movement that made Luka's stomach drop. The metal looked dull. It still made the air feel sharp. Ivan pointed it at Luka without theatrical flourish.

"Sit." he said, and pointed past him.

Luka followed the line of the knife with his eyes and saw a chair he had failed to notice when he walked in. It sat in the center of the living room, turned to face the kitchen, turned to face him. He forced a scoff into his throat.

"Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own—"

The crash cut him off. Ivan's foot sent the garbage can over. The week spilled out in a rank scatter. Coffee grounds. Plastic. The pale curl of an onion skin. The sound hit Luka behind his sternum. He flinched again, not as hard as before, still hard enough to tell the truth about his nerves.

"Take a seat." Ivan said.

Luka looked at the chair. He looked at the knife. He made his mouth twist into a smile because it was either that or groan at how good Ivan was at this. He moved toward the chair and let his knees bend. He sat. The cushion gave a little. The chair's back pressed between his shoulder blades. The room shrank.

"W-who are you?" he asked, letting a stutter ride the words.

Ivan crossed the small space without hurry. He stopped in front of Luka and crouched, not close enough to comfort, close enough to crowd. His free hand lifted and touched Luka's face with a careless softness, fingers sweeping his cheekbone like he was checking the quality of glass. Luka's breath snagged. The same hand closed hard around his jaw and tilted his face up until their eyes met. The pressure was exact. Not bone breaking. Not kind.

"Don't tell me you have forgotten your debt?" Ivan asked, the tone flat and menacing.

The red at the center of those eyes held nothing. Luka felt his heart drop and hit the floor. It bounced hard enough to echo. He had asked for this. He had begged for it. Knowing that did not help. His mouth found a shape anyway.

"I thought I didn't have to pay until another month," he said. He didn't plan to sound defiant. But he did. He saw the flick in Ivan's gaze when the word month came out like a dare.

Ivan's eyes gleamed. The palm came fast and flat. The slap caught Luka's cheek with a sound that cracked the room. Heat bloomed under the skin and rolled over his ear. Tears jumped to his eyes without permission. He didn't cry. Not yet.

"Hey. What are you—"

The hand in his hair came like a trap. Fingers dug at the roots and held. The world tilted. His face met the countertop with a dull thud that made his teeth throb. He tasted copper. The knife didn't touch him. He felt the shape of it in the air next to his throat like a cold idea.

Ivan bent until his mouth sat over Luka's ear. His voice arrived so close the words felt like breath inside Luka's head. "Stop talking. You're irritating me."

Something broke loose in Luka's chest. Not a bone. Not a vow. A small piece of safety he had carried in his pocket since he was a child. It slipped and fell and he heard it hit the floor inside himself with a sound that made him shake. He tried to find his breath. But he found something else.

He was hard. He felt the proof of it like a bruise that bloomed and kept blooming. Shame ran over the heat and didn't put it out. The shame made the heat worse. He hated himself. He loved Ivan. He let out a breath that sounded like a man finally telling the truth to himself.

Ivan didn't miss it. Luka felt a smile shape near his ear. He didn't see it. He felt it in the way Ivan's lips almost touched his skin and did not. He felt it in the satisfied silence that followed. The hand in his hair loosened enough to pull his head up. Luka, blinking, found the room again. Ivan stood between him and the door. The knife hung easy in his hand. The chain at his throat glinted. He looked like a man who could ask for anything and get it.

"Stand." he said.

Luka stood. His legs stuttered and then held. Ivan's gaze moved down. Luka tensed as that gaze passed the place he wanted to hide. Ivan's mouth curved. He did not comment. He didn't need to. He stepped in and Luka stepped back until the back of his calves met the chair. Ivan leaned down with that same cool indifference and righted the other chair with one hand. The scrape against the floor made Luka's shoulders climb toward his ears.

"You want to bargain?" Ivan asked. The question sounded bored. The knife tipped a fraction. "Say something smart."

"I can get the money," Luka said. He tried to sound quick and capable. He sounded like a man underwater. "Give me a week."

"You don't have a week."

"Three days."

"You don't have three days."

Luka swallowed. The room swam a little. He tried to think of the script he had written for himself when this was only a fantasy. He tried to remember where the safe word sat in his throat. It felt far and light. He put his hands up slowly. His palms were empty. He could not stop looking at Ivan's mouth.

"I have nothing on me..." he said. "You can see that."

Ivan's eyes cut to his hands. He reached and caught Luka's wrist. The grip was impersonal and exact. He turned Luka's hand palm up and looked at it like it was a receipt. He dropped it. He caught the other. He did the same. Luka's fingers twitched after the release. Blood rushed back into them and sang thinly.

"You have nothing." Ivan agreed. "So you can buy your time another way."

Luka forgot how to swallow. He felt the memory return when Ivan stepped closer and the knife moved to rest, flat and cold, against the counter near his hip. Not touching him. Near. The edge of metal reflected a sliver of Luka's shirt and the tiny tremor of his own breath. Ivan did not look at the knife. He looked at Luka. And Luka knew exactly what Ivan had been referring to. He felt the heat rise to his chest.

"You'll beg for my cock." Ivan said.

Luka shivered at the words. He had planned to be brave and sly. He had planned to toy more with Ivan, but the Ivan in front him was really good at his role. His vacant eyes chewed those plans up and spat out a raw yes. Luka's mouth moved around it.

"Please."

"Louder."

"Please."

"You don't sound like a man who believes he has anything to trade." Ivan said. His voice did not rise. He took the knife away from Luka's person and folded it back with a small click that sounded more final than the slam had. He slid it into his jacket. His empty hand came up and rested on Luka's throat. Not pressure. Not yet. The simple weight of it told Luka how large the world could be. "Try again."

"Please," Luka said, and this time the word came from the place shame had warmed. His eyes burned. He did not blink. He stared into the red and thought of the morning kiss and the way Ivan had said sleep.

Ivan's thumb pressed a little where the pulse beat. Luka's breath hitched. He felt the edges of his vision turn soft. He rocked on his heels a fraction. Ivan caught his balance with a curl of fingers and a half step, efficient and quiet. He did not laugh. He did not soothe. He simply kept him upright and let the moment write itself into Luka's body.

"Good." Ivan said, and the word dropped into Luka's chest like a coin into a jar. "Now sit."

Luka sat. His knees obeyed too fast. He wanted to hide his face. He wanted to keep going until the world fell off its hinges and left him hanging there and then put him back with both hands. He settled for breathing.

Ivan paced a slow half circle. He picked up the chair he had knocked down and set it right. He toed the garbage into a smaller mess. He did it without haste. He did not look at Luka while he did it. The dismissal scalded and soothed at the same time. Luka felt like a lamp left on a windowsill, bright and stupid and waiting for someone to turn him.

Ivan stopped in front of him. He let silence thicken until Luka's hands curled into fists on his thighs. Then he leaned in until his mouth hovered by Luka's ear again.

"You're hard," he said, matter of fact. "Over a man closing a door?... If I knew my debtor had been a slut... I would've taken advantage of this ages ago."

Luka shut his eyes and let the humiliation wash through him. It found everything it wanted and filled it to the brim. His breath left him in a shaky rush.

"Pathetic," Ivan added, not loud. "Look at you."

Luka looked. The red pupils looked back. For a second the man wearing the chain was gone and the man who had kissed him in the doorway stood there instead. He saw that man. Then the chain caught the light and the room changed its shape again.

"Stand." Ivan said.

Luka stood. The chair scraped. The sound made him flinch. Ivan's hand found the back of his neck. The grip was firm and inch by inch it turned into comfort without losing the shape of threat. Luka's body answered like a bell.

"Walk." Ivan said.

Luka walked. He moved where he was put. He hated himself and loved the hand that moved him. He didn't know where this would end. But he knew this was exactly where he had asked to be. He let out a shaky breath and tasted fear and salt on his tongue. He knew which man had put those tastes there. He knew the man would take them away when it was time. He did not know when that would be. The not knowing broke something open in him that had needed to break for a long time.

Ivan walked him past the bedroom. Not there. Past the living room wreckage. Past the chair he had already learned to obey. The grip at the back of his neck never hurt, it only directed, a steady pressure that took away choices one by one. The bathroom door stood open like a mouth. Ivan put him through it and planted him in the tub.

Luka stared at white tile and a curtain he never used. There was a sting in his lip where the slap had landed. Another ache in his cheekbone from the counter. When he licked the corner of his mouth he tasted blood, thin and metallic. It wasn't enough to matter. But it mattered anyway. His body kept inventory without permission. His heart counted it faster than his head could.

The water came on with a wrenching rush. The first burst hit his shoulders and made him flinch. Cold. Not cool. Cold. A shiver grabbed the muscles along his spine and squeezed. He reached to step back out of the spray. A hand closed around his throat and put him into the wall instead.

Tile kissed his shoulder blades. Water soaked his hair and slid down in lines that made him blink. Ivan's knuckles pressed under his jaw to keep his face tipped up. The grip was exact. Firm enough to pin him. Not enough to stop air. The message sat in the space between their bodies. You are not going anywhere. You are not dying either.

"W-why?" Luka choked. The word scraped its way out, thin with the cold.

"If you're offering up your body to negotiate for time," Ivan said, voice flat and cold, "I have to make sure it's clean. Who knows what kind of cocks you've stuffed inside of you."

A bolt of heat went through Luka like a fuse catching. He blinked into the spray. He could not stop the thought that ran through next. It is chilling how good he is. He is exactly what I asked for. The thought did not calm him. It pushed him further. He needed more. He wanted to be more scared than this.

He spat in Ivan's face.

The spit mixed with the water and vanished fast. The look on Ivan's face did not change. The hand at his throat tightened, quick and sharp, enough to bruise, like a clamp that cut the word rising in Luka's mouth in half. Breath jammed. Stars pricked the edge of his vision. Then the hold eased at once, as if someone had turned a knob. Air slid back in. Luka coughed. The cold made the cough burn all the way down.

Ivan said nothing. He pushed Luka down by the shoulders. Luka went because the hand told him to go. The tub floor pressed against his knees. Water churned around his calves and made his socks heavy. Ivan bent and stripped him without grace. Shirt. Socks. The buckle on his belt clicked and then sang against the porcelain as it fell. Luka tried to help and made a mess of it. Ivan caught his wrist and pushed it away. Luka's breath sawed in his chest as the last piece of clothing hit the tub with a slap.

Cold water over bare skin was a lesson. It erased everything except the now. Luka's teeth began to chatter. He hated that sound. He could not stop it. He pressed his jaw shut and focused on the way Ivan's hands moved.

Those hands were not gentle, but they didn't hit, just as he asked. They handled. A palm pressed under Luka's jaw, tilting his head back to expose the neck. Fingers swept at the nape like they were checking for hidden things. The touch moved under his arms and squeezed, quick checks that made him twitch. Down across his chest. Over the skin he knew Ivan had memorized a hundred times in softer rooms. The fingers landed on his nipples and paused. Not long, but long enough to let the cold bite deeper. Long enough to make him kick out his foot in reflex. Then on, down his sternum, across the flat belly that jumped under every pass.

He knew where those hands were going. His brain sent heat in a panic. His body could not tell the difference between rescue and ruin. He forced his eyes open and tried to be brave in his own head. This is what you wanted. This is the burn before the sweet. Trust him. Trust the plan.

The water drummed. Ivan's shadow hung over him. The hand reached lower.

Ivan's touch paused at the edge, the blunt tip of his finger resting against the tightness like a threat. Luka tensed, instinct making him clamp down. Ivan only smiled at the resistance before pressing forward, slow and merciless, until the tightness gave way around him.

The stretch burned. The cold did nothing to blunt it. Luka let his head fall back against tile. He made himself breathe through his nose, slow and steady. He tried to let the pain turn its corner into pleasure. It always had a corner. He waited for it. The water hissed. His heartbeat drowned it out. He didn't know how long he sat in that small, a hard place between hurt and want. Then Ivan pressed the spot that made the world turn bright behind his eyes and Luka's mouth fell open on a broken sound.

A palm cracked against his cheek. The sound was a sharp report in the echoing room. His head snapped to the side. Heat bloomed under the sting with humiliating speed. The fingers left the place that had just made him see stars. The absence hurt in a different way.

"Did I not tell you not to make noise?" Ivan said, voice still flat. "You keep testing my patience."

Another slap landed on the same cheek. Luka squeezed his eyes shut and rode the throb. Before the hand lifted, the palm curved and rubbed once, almost tender, a soft apology buried in the cruelty. It was gone in the next blink, swallowed by cold and tile and the steady grip that kept him on his knees.

Luka looked up through wet lashes. Defiance found him like an instinct he could not unlearn. He let it into his face even while his pulse threw itself against his throat. His mouth tried to shape a laugh that would have sounded like a dare. Ivan huffed out a dry laugh first. The sound was nothing and everything. It said he saw everything Luka tried to hide. It said he would not be thrown off the path.

The water sheeted over Luka's shoulders. He felt small and bright and stupid under it. The bathroom had shrunk to a soundstage. Every note of it mattered. The rush of the shower. The thin skid of a foot against porcelain. The breath that hitched when Ivan adjusted his stance. Luka drew another breath and shivered hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Ivan's hand found his throat again. A signal that his body understood better than his head. It steadied him and took his breath in the same motion. He knew he could end it with one word. He knew he wouldn't. Not yet. Not while the cold ran down his spine and the heat bloomed under the skin his lover had just struck. Not while fear finally started to spread its wings inside his ribs.

"Up." Ivan said, quiet.

Luka's legs obeyed before he was ready. He staggered on the slick floor. Ivan caught his arm with one hand and hauled him to his feet like he weighed nothing. The shower beat on. Luka swayed. The room felt tilted. His lip stung. His cheek burned. His body tried to put the cold and the pain into a single story and could not decide whether to call it mercy or punishment.

Ivan shut off the water. The sudden silence roared. Luka stood shaking and dripping while the last drops fell from the showerhead and hit the tub with small ticking sounds. Ivan looked him over like a man studies a ledger. No hurry. No kindness. Only the steady math of a debt about to come due.

"Out." Ivan said.

Luka stepped over the edge of the tub. He almost slipped. Ivan's hand closed on his upper arm and steadied him. Then the hand tightened and turned and Luka understood he was not being helped, he was being moved.

He cast one last look at the cold, clean white of the tub and the puddle gathering dark on the tile. He told himself again that this was what he wanted. He told himself again that he was not scared enough yet. His body argued both points and lost. He let himself be walked. He did not look back.

Ivan hauled him out of the bathroom with a single word and a hand that knew exactly where to hold. Up. Luka stumbled over the threshold, wet feet slapping tile, then wood. The apartment felt wrong in the best way. The air held dust and cold water and the broken scent of a day snapped in half. Ivan didn't look back. He dragged Luka by the arm like a man moving a piece of furniture he had already decided where to put.

They went straight for the bedroom. Luka's heart ticked louder with each step. The doorway opened and he stopped short, shocked at what the room had become. Their bed had been stripped of its neat look. Sheets twisted. Pillows thrown to the floor. The dresser drawers were open the way mouths fall open in surprise. A shirt hung by one sleeve from a knob. The lamp on the nightstand leaned as if it had been asked a question and did not know the answer. There was nothing delicate left. Not a lick of the room it used to be.

Ivan shoved him forward. Luka went down on the mattress with his knees hitting the edge first. Hands pressed between his shoulder blades, firm and uncaring. His chest met the cold cotton. Then those hands shifted his legs without asking. A quick push to the back of one knee. Another to the other. He landed spread wide, breath knocked short by the pace and the shock and the way his own body kept trying to brace and failing.

He felt bare in a way the bathroom had only started. Cold water clung to him in droplets and started to chill. His cheek still stung where the slap had landed. His lip throbbed in time with his pulse. The floor lamp in the corner hummed softly, a thin thread of sound that made the rest of the room feel more silent. He could hear Ivan breathe. He hated that he liked that sound in this shape.

He was not opened up properly. He knew that because he knew his body and he knew Ivan. He knew the math of what would hurt and what wouldn't. The knowledge did not save him. It only made the space in his head narrower. He swallowed and tasted iron. He did not lift his head. He did not want to see Ivan's face and find nothing there to hold on to.

The first slap landed hot and mean on the curve of him. It cracked the room open, sharp enough that his yelp broke loose before he could stop it. He bit it down fast, teeth clamping hard on the sound, but the sting still rushed outward in a bloom of fire.

Silence stretched. His breath became ragged and uneven. He had just enough time to think it was over before the next slap came, harsher, a perfect echo. The pain doubled back on itself, flashing white behind his eyes. His fingers clawed at the sheets, trying to ground himself, but there was nowhere to hold on.

The third came slower, drawn out like a kept promise, and the weight made it worse. His body tensed in dread before it even landed, every muscle wound tight. When it did, the ache spread deep, crawling under his skin like ink in water. He gasped and hated that the sound broke free.

A fourth. His vision swam, his face burning, his hands slipping uselessly across the bed. The humiliation hit harder than the pain, how his body liked it, how it betrayed him anyway. His cheeks burned, all of them.

By the fifth, he was shaking, his laugh thin and reckless, words spilling out because he didn't know what else to do. "Is that the worst you can do?" His voice cracked, cocky and scared in the same breath. It sounded exactly as it was, a challenge from a boy who should have kept his mouth shut.

Ivan's eyebrow twitched. A small tell. Luka barely saw it before Ivan's hand left him and found the lamp on the nightstand. Fingers wrapped the base. The next motion was simple and clean. terrifyingly casual.

The lamp flew past Luka's head and the world detonated. Glass shrieked against the wall and burst apart, a sound so sharp it carved through his ears. The scatter echoes like gunfire, shards spraying the room in a glittering rain. Luka ducked without meaning to, breath slamming out of him as a piece nicked his calf and spun away under the bed. For a heartbeat, he thought it had gone through him. His heart jolted high in his chest, then stumbled, then ran.

The silence that followed was worse. A hot silence, ringing, as if the air itself had broken too. Luka forced his head up. Ivan's face was carved smooth, unreadable, heartless. No anger, no heat. Just the cold ledger of a man who had come to collect.

Fear arrived then. The real kind. It did not shout. It sat down in the middle of him and made everything quieter. His breath shortened. His body drew itself smaller at the edges even while Ivan kept his knees open. The room's new darkness felt like hands against his skin. He remembered he had a word that could end it. He remembered how it tasted in his mouth. He did not reach for it. Not yet.

Ivan's palm found the back of his neck. Not the nape where it might have felt kind by accident. Lower. The heel of the hand pressed. Fingers spread along the line of his shoulder. The weight said stay. Luka stayed. He felt the cold from the bathroom still dripping down his spine. He felt the heat where Ivan's hand had landed before. His body did not know which signal to follow. It tried to follow both. He shivered hard.

"Look at you..." Ivan said, lazy and bored. "Begging for a discount with your eyes."

Luka's mouth wanted to be brave. His body wanted to disappear. He settled for breathing and keeping his knees where Ivan had put them. He heard movement. The rustle of fabric. The soft scrape of a belt tongued from a loop. A zipper's small metal confession. Ivan was not rushing. He was not taunting either. He moved like a man getting ready to do a job he had done a hundred times.

The mattress dipped beside Luka's hip. A hand pressed to his lower back and flattened him further. Another slid to his jaw and nudged his face to the side. He stared at the wreck of the lamp and the glittering mess around it. He imagined one piece catching sunlight tomorrow morning. He imagined still feeling the handprint then. The thought made something in his belly tighten and twist.

He wanted to say something cruel. He wanted to make it funny. He wanted to take back what he had just done and ask for gentle. All three wants crashed and failed to stand. The grip at his neck tightened a hair. He shut up without being told.

Ivan's breath touched the back of his ear. It was warm and steady. He spoke without heat.

"You dress a room like a child," he said. "You owe like a man who thinks bills write themselves. You don't learn. That is why men like me exist."

Luka felt the words more than he heard them. They slid into the places that were already shaking and built a little fort there. He did not know if he could topple it. He did not know if he wanted to.

A hand left his neck and slid down his spine. The touch was impersonal and thorough. It mapped him like a problem to be solved. Luka felt each vertebra say hello under those fingers. The hand settled on the hurt place and pressed. He hissed before he could choke it back. Ivan did not gloat. He took the information in and adjusted his pressure like a craftsman noting where the wood had a knot.

Another slap. Not on the same mark this time. Lower. The heat jumped and then merged with the first. Luka shook with it. His thighs wanted to close. The hands did not let them. A shameful sound broke from his throat and hung in the room like steam.

"You want to be brave." Ivan said. "But you're not." He paused as if considering a ledger line. "However... you're obedient. That has value."

Luka wanted to snarl that he was only obedient because he trusted the man behind the voice. The voice would not care. The voice was not here to be convinced. He bit the inside of his cheek and tasted copper again. The taste made him think of the bathroom tile and how clean it had looked with him on his knees. He wondered if he would ever be able to look at that tub the same ever again.

He felt watched, not in the soft way he loved, but in the kind that made his skin crawl. Ivan's gaze moved like a hand. Across his shoulders. Down the middle of his back. Over the round and red of him where the hand had worked. To the places the cold water had left goosebumps. He wanted to hide. He wanted to spread wider. He did nothing. He breathed. He held on.

His own body betrayed him with steadier proof. He could feel his own cock, slick and obvious, a pulse where there should not have been one. Humiliation rolled in a wave from belly to throat. He trembled and hated it. He pressed his face into the sheet to hide a sound that did not need hiding. The sheet smelled like their detergent and like Ivan. The domestic detail broke something open in him. Fear poured into the gap and lit up the edges.

"Is that the worst you can do?" he had said again, but it was nothing more than a whisper. He should not have said it. He would always say it. That was who he was with Ivan, brave enough to make a dare while shaking hard enough to rattle his own bones. He breathed through the regret and let it sit in his mouth for a moment so he would remember the taste later.

Ivan shifted his weight on the mattress. The bed complained with a small sound. Another slap, quick and bright. He felt it land and felt the hand stay. The palm rubbed once, the smallest mercy, then left again. Luka's eyes flooded with heat. He blinked hard and kept them clear. He wanted to see. He wanted to mark every second of this and know where each one fell.

The nightstand made a tiny scraping sound as Ivan's hand brushed it. Luka glanced up in time to see the chain at Ivan's throat catch the low light. It looked wrong here. It looked right. The room held its breath with him. Even the air waited to see what would come next.

"Ask nicely." Ivan said.

Luka could not find the place in himself where yes lived. He found please instead. It was smaller and more honest.

"Please."

"More." Ivan said, amused without smiling.

"Please," Luka said again, and heard his own surrender in it, and hated how good that felt.

Ivan's fingers curled in the back of his hair and tightened just enough to remind him who he belonged to. The reminder steadied him and broke him in the same breath. He bit his lip and tasted copper and water and something like relief disguised as dread. He could stop this with a single word. He could decide that he had had enough. The power perched on his tongue. He did not use it. He wanted to know how far the edge went before it dropped away.

Ivan leaned over him. Luka felt the weight of him like weather. Clouds gathering. Pressure building. The hand on his back slid lower and held him still, patient and implacable. The lamp glass glittered on the carpet like fallen stars. His cheek throbbed with every beat of his heart. His body thrummed with ugly wanting. The fear was here. It was finally here. It climbed into his mouth and made even his breath sound like a secret he should not be telling.

He turned his head and found the wall with his eyes, as if it might offer a line to hold. It offered paint and shadow and nothing else. He swallowed and found his own voice again. It came small and hoarse.

"Please..." he repeated, because that was all he had left that would not break the scene in half. "Please."

Ivan did not answer. He didn't need to. The quiet said yes for him. The quiet said this is the price and I am here to collect. Luka shut his eyes and let the fear crest. He let it flood him. He let it make him new. He knew where the word lived if he needed it. He would not mistake the path. Not with Ivan watching. Not with the rules set. Not with the promise under every cruel thing that had happened already and every cruel thing still to come.

He breathed. He braced. He burned.

Not yet. He could still keep going. That was what Luka told himself as the bed dipped and the room narrowed to breath and weight and the hot throb in his cheek. His pulse climbed into his throat and stayed there, knocking from the inside like it wanted out.

Ivan's palm found his neck again and closed. Tight. Bruising. The world pinholed. Luka's mouth opened without sound. His fingertips bit into the sheet and missed. Cold air moved over his back and did nothing to help.

"Be still." Ivan said.

The grip eased for one second. A sip of air. Then clamped again. Luka felt the cycle like a metronome set for panic. Tight. Ease. Tight. Each release tiny and mean, just enough to keep his body from shutting down. It rewrote the room into breath math. It told him when he was allowed to live.

He heard the rustle of fabric. A button worked loose. The small rasp of a zipper that sounded louder than the lamp shattering had. Ivan shifted his hips against the backs of Luka's thighs, a hard promise in the way bone and muscle met. Luka's vision blurred and cleared. He focused on the glitter of glass on the carpet and the pale crescent of his own knuckles and nothing else.

"Look at you..." Ivan said, bored and cruel. "Already shaking over nothing."

Luka would have laughed on a better day. He did not have air for it now. He had air to survive and even that belonged to the hand at his throat. The hold loosened again, one measured beat. Luka dragged in a ragged breath and coughed. The cough burned. The grip closed and cut it off.

Pressure built behind him. A deliberate push into his cunt that made his spine lock and his legs kick an inch against the mattress before the hand on his neck forced him still. Pain flared bright and mean. He made a sound that was not a word. He stared at Ivan's face that was shadowed by the night and told himself that Ivan was just playing his role.

The hold eased and tightened in a rhythm that felt like being counted. Luka learned to fit his breaths into the spaces he was given. He held his legs open because anything else made it worse. He felt the warmth of his blood pooling at his skin and finally eased because at least the slick of it made it bearable. He waited for the pain to find its corner and turn. It took too long. It took forever. Then the angle changed and something low inside him lit up. The noise he made was ugly and grateful. A moan that blurred the line of pain and pleasure.

The palm cracked across the back of his head and set his face into the mattress. The fingers left the place that had just sparked and returned to his throat. Heat climbed up his cheekbones and broke. His nose ran. His eyes flooded and spilled. He fought the instinct to wipe his face. He failed. His wrist twitched and the hand on his neck punished the twitch with another squeeze.

"Did I say you could make noise?" Ivan asked, even and flat.

Luka shook his head because there was no air for words. The hold let him breathe for one heartbeat. He dragged air into his chest and lost it when Ivan thrusted forward again, snapping his hips mercilessly into Luka's throbbing heat. The bed hit the wall in a dull thud. Another. Another. The cadence turned violent. It was relentless. Each time Ivan pulled away Luka thought he might get a break. Each time the next drive answered that thought with a harder no.

His face went wet in a way that had nothing to do with want. Tears smeared into the sheet. Snot made his breath loud and ugly. His mouth opened and closed. He found a sound and lost it. He found a rhythm and lost it. He rode the hand on his throat like a tide he could not fight.

"Listen to yourself." Ivan said, voice low at his ear. "A few thrusts and you're wrecked. Are you sure you're trying to please me? With a cunt this loose it can't even get off properly."

Luka tried to hold himself quiet. The bed made it impossible. The shocks traveled through the frame and into his ribs and shook sound out of him whether he allowed it or not. Short moans. Broken cries. They came raw and got swallowed by the next impact and the next.

The grip on his neck kept switching. Tight. The mercy. Then tight again. Ivan timed it to the drive of his body so the edges of Luka's vision kept going gray, then white, then back to ugly color. He learned to hear the tiny warning in Ivan's breath before the next squeeze. He learned and it did not help. He could not brace enough. The timing always beat his preparation by one second.

"Fucking whore." Ivan murmured.

Luka wanted to deny it. He didn't have that power. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be good. All that came out was a wet keening sound that embarrassed him while it saved him. He choked it off because the hand told him to choke it off. The next release on his throat gave him a sip. He coughed and tasted dust and iron.

Ivan's pace did not change. He ran the same merciless line again and again until it blurred into one long strike. Luka's body learned it and failed to learn it. His knees slid on the sheet. His thighs shook. His hands clawed at nothing and came back with nothing. He felt his own face go hot then hotter then start to buzz like a limb fallen asleep.

"Say thank you." Ivan said.

Luka tried. The word broke in his mouth. The hold eased. He dragged air and caught a corner of sound.

"Tha-" he managed, and the grip closed again and took the rest. He choked on the words.

The room tilted. His hearing went tinny. Panic flickered, sharp and hot, in his chest. He found the shape of a word that would end the night and held it on his tongue like a piece of glass. He told himself not yet and could not hear himself over the bed and the wall and the small animal noises his body made without him. 

The hand eased again. He gasped and snot ran fresh. He could not stop it. He could not care. His jaw worked. His tongue felt too big. He could not make any word except please and that word did not help him now.

Ivan's voice came from very close. "Open wider," he said, running his hand along Luka's rim and using his thumb to stretch the bleeding skin further, and the next drive knocked the rest of the air from Luka's chest. "There you go. That is all you are good for."

Luka's vision went narrow and dark at the edges. He felt his face begin to change color the way his palms did when he pressed them against glass. He thought he would pass out and part of him wanted to. Passing out would be quiet. Passing out would be easy. Passing out would be wrong because he had asked for this and he wanted to be here when it ended so he could say he had done it.

The hand eased. One breath. He dragged it in and made a sound he had not meant to make. The hold closed. His eyes went bright with static. The bed hit the wall again. And again.

"What a slut." Ivan said, conversational and cruel. "How many guys have you let do this huh? You seem to like it so much. Rather work as a prostitute than in an office? I'll put in a good word for you."

The taunt punched through him and his body betrayed him. Heat coiled, sharp and urgent, right at the edge. His breath hitched, thighs trembling, his release close enough he could feel it rising in his stomach. For a split second he thought he might cum just from the shame. But the feeling of Ivan's hand clenched tightly at his throat and the air he was barely able to breath started to crack at him. It stripped everything else bare and left only the static.

Luka's chest tightened, his mouth choking for the one thing it needed. Shame burned white and loud. He felt the edge finally. Not the sweet edge. The real one. The place where his body said stop in a voice that did not ask permission.

He found the glass word again and this time it cut his tongue when he picked it up. He held it there and waited for the next mercy. The next breath Ivan would allow him. The next chance to use his mouth for something that would end the math of breath and noise and hurt.

The hold eased for a heartbeat. He grabbed that heartbeat.

"T-Till," he choked.

Then everything stopped.

The hand left his neck. Air crashed in and made him dizzy. The bed went quiet. The wall held still. Fingers that had been iron a second ago found his face and wiped tears and snot away with care that made his chest break open for a different reason.

"I hear you." Ivan said, his voice sounded human again. "I have you."

Ivan's hand dropped the second the word left Luka's mouth. His grip vanished so fast it almost startled Luka more than the choke itself. He pulled out at once, movements jerky and frantic, then gathered Luka up like he might fall apart if left alone for a second longer. His arms were strong and sure but the way he held him was panicked. He kissed Luka's temple, then his hair, then his temple again, as if one kiss could erase the last ten minutes.

"Are you okay? Did I go too far?" Ivan's voice cracked hard on the word. His breath shook against Luka's skin. "I'm sorry. Baby—"

Luka lifted a trembling hand and pressed his palm to Ivan's cheek. The touch steadied them both. His fingers twitched but his smile was there, faint and crooked. He leaned his head against Ivan's shoulder.

"Just shut up," Luka whispered, his voice soft and hoarse. A long silence stretched before he added, almost like it was a joke he wasn't sure was funny, "I'm fucking scared." The word cracked into a laugh.

Ivan froze. Scared. Luka had said it. Clear and simple. No bravado. No jokes to hide it.

For a heartbeat Ivan stared, stunned, undone. Then he laughed too, low and rough, the kind of laugh that slipped out when there was nothing else left. Wasn't that the point? Wasn't this the line they agreed to walk? But hearing Luka admit it, raw and bare, it burned in his chest.

"I've got you..." Ivan murmured. "It's over." He wrapped Luka tighter, hugging him close enough to feel his heartbeat.

He carried him carefully to the bathroom. Ivan tested the water over and over with his wrist before lowering Luka into the tub. His hands steadied, but his eyes stayed wide with guilt. He washed Luka like porcelain. A warm cloth ran over his chest, wiping away sweat and tears, down his arms to his scraped knuckles, then over his stomach, his legs. He murmured apologies under his breath, like each word could smooth over the bruises blooming on Luka's skin.

Luka lay quiet, too tired to speak, letting the care wash over him. His eyes closed, opening now and then when Ivan's thumb brushed too tenderly at some fresh mark.

Ivan lingered. He cleaned away grit and tiny glass specks from Luka's feet, his jaw tight with self-reproach. He kissed the arch of Luka's foot when he was done, a quiet, desperate act, then moved on.

When the bath was over, he lifted Luka from the water, wrapping him in a towel, then in a blanket so thick Luka disappeared inside it. He set Luka on the edge of the bed but didn't leave his side, drying each strand of his damp hair carefully with the towel. His fingers worked slow, rubbing warmth back in. Every few moments he pressed another kiss, onto his forehead, temple, and cheek. Whispering into damp skin, "You're safe now."

On the couch, Ivan finally sat with Luka in his lap. Luka curled small against his chest, the blanket cocooned around him. Ivan rocked him instinctively, a slow back-and-forth motion. He spoke in a hush.

"You're okay. I've got you."

Minutes slipped by. Luka breathed soft, ragged at first, then steady. He didn't move, didn't even lift his head. But his body stayed pressed into Ivan, like he trusted him enough not to run, even now.

Ivan's chin rested on Luka's damp hair.

Luka stirred at last, breaking the silence with a dry whisper. "Let's not do this again."

Ivan blinked, startled, then huffed a laugh. He kissed Luka's forehead again, softer than before. "Agreed."

But he didn't let go.

He carried Luka to bed. He laid him down carefully, adjusting pillows, tucking the blanket until Luka was swallowed in it. Then Ivan slid in beside him, pulling Luka against his chest again, as if there hadn't been enough holding yet to prove it was over.

Luka's lashes fluttered, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He muttered something half-sarcastic about Ivan's clinginess, but Ivan only smiled and kissed his hair.

"Sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

And he didn't. Long after Luka's breathing evened out, Ivan stayed awake, watching him. He kissed Luka's temple one last time, whispering against his skin.

"I love you."

Only then did he let himself close his eyes, Luka's heartbeat steady under his palm, the storm behind them at last.

♥︎

♥︎honeisenpa1®

Chapter Text

They played with the kind of focus usually reserved for war. Luka arranged his hand neatly on the coffee table and tried not to smile at the two wilds hidden there. Ivan slouched on the other side of the couch with one knee up and a look that said he only cared because Luka cared. He did care. He was down bad enough to pretend otherwise.

"Blue." Ivan said, lazy. He dropped a seven. Luka changed it to red with a snap and watched Ivan's face do that tiny twitch when a plan bent. He loved that twitch. He loved getting one over on a man who could dismantle a room with a stare.

"Uno~" Luka said, too sweet. He laid a draw two. Ivan's eyebrow lifted. Luka basked in it.

"You rigged it..." Ivan said, bored voice, warm eyes.

"Skill." Luka said. "Cry about it."

Ivan's laugh came quiet and deep. He picked up his penalty cards. Luka laid his last one down like a magician ending a trick and then flopped back against the couch with a dramatic sigh.

"I win~" he sang, sing-song and smug.

Ivan tipped his head and gave him that look that always made Luka feel like a peach cut open and set in the sun. "What's my punishment?" he asked. He made punishment sound like a gift.

Luka crawled over his lap and straddled him without hurry. The game scattered under his knees. He picked up a ribbon from the coffee table. It was satin and silly, something they had used to tie back curtains when they were playing house for real. He held it up between two fingers and watched Ivan's gaze follow it.

"Nobody touching me without permission." Luka said. He looped the ribbon around Ivan's wrists, light and pretty, the bow ridiculous on a man with shoulders like that. "And if you undo those tonight, I won't have sex with you for a week... and you'll have to do what I say."

Ivan's mouth curved. He could have snapped the ribbon like thread. He did not even test it. "A week is a very long time." he said.

"Don't test me." Luka said, soft threat, softer smile.

Ivan leaned forward just enough to press his forehead to Luka's chest. He breathed in, long and content, like the ribbon had solved something he did not have words for. "I'm yours." he said. No teasing in it. No armor. He leaned back and offered his bound wrists, palms up.

The room changed temperature. It always did when Luka stepped into this version of himself. The fan hummed. The city murmured through the window like an ocean far away. Luka threaded his fingers into Ivan's hair and scratched lightly at the scalp. Ivan's eyes slid half shut. He relaxed under the touch in a way that sent a little thrill through Luka's stomach.

"No sulking." Luka said.

"I'm not sulking," Ivan said. He looked at Luka like he was a problem he hoped would take all night to solve. "I am anticipating."

Luka laughed. It came out excited despite his effort to stay smooth. He took Ivan's hands and brought them over his head, resting them on the couch back. The ribbon glowed like a silly secret against his wrists. Luka leaned in and kissed the bow. It was nothing and everything. Ivan's breath came a little deeper.

"Hands stay," Luka said. "If they wander, you sleep on the couch."

"I'll die," Ivan said, deadpan.

"You will live..." Luka said. "Barely."

Ivan looked sinful and obedient like that. Wide shoulders surrendered to a satin knot. He rolled his head along the cushion and watched Luka from under his lashes, hungry and patient at once. It was almost unfair, the way he could hold still and make Luka feel like he was the one being devoured.

"I'm excited to see what you'll do," Ivan said.

"Are you now?" Luka asked, teasing.

"I am." Ivan said, and the honesty in it knocked something warm and cocky loose in Luka's chest. He had won a card game. He had also won the night.

Luka sat up straighter on Ivan's lap and took inventory of what belonged to him. The line of collarbone that asked for teeth. The stretch of chest that went hot under kisses. The little points that never got attention because they were not usually the focus. Luka looked down at Ivan's nipples and then up at his face.

"These..." Luka said, soft and pleased. "They never get their turn."

Ivan's eyes flicked down. A faint flush rose, one of those rare tells Luka hoarded like treasure. "I didn't think you liked them," he said.

"I like whatever you let me like." Luka said, and the truth of it made Ivan's breathing break in the middle just a little. "Tonight... I like them a lot."

Ivan settled deeper into the couch, wrists still obedient and loose against the cushion. "Then like them." he said. "Take your time."

"I plan to." Luka said.

He adjusted his seat, slow and purposeful, just to watch the ripple that passed over Ivan's face when pressure landed and then left. He did not push it. Not yet. He wanted the room to learn his pace. He wanted Ivan to feel every inch of what this win meant.

"Repeat the rule." Luka said.

Ivan looked up at him. The red in his pupils had a sleepy glow that meant trust. "If I touch you..." he said quietly, "we don't have sex for a week."

"And?"

"I do what you say."

"And?"

"I stay still," Ivan said, and the words looked good on him. "Even when I don't want to."

"Especially then." Luka said.

He fixed the bow one more time. He smoothed his thumbs over the inside of Ivan's wrists where the skin was thin and soft. He kissed there. He watched Ivan's throat move when he swallowed. He felt the way Ivan fought his own instinct to reach and did not let it win.

"Good." Luka said. He reached for the hem of Ivan's shirt and pushed it up slowly. "That's enough rules. Now we do."

Ivan's laugh came back, warm and quiet. "Yes wifey." he said.

Luka tried to keep a straight face. He failed. "Don't distract your handler," he said, trying to sound severe. It did not help that Ivan looked at him like a man who had just been handed his favorite vice on a silver plate and told to overindulge.

"My handler is sexy." Ivan said.

Luka pinched his side lightly. Ivan behaved. The ribbon did nothing to hold him. Love did all of it. Luka felt drunk on that fact for a second. Then he steadied, breathed, and let his hands find their first target.

"Eyes on me." Luka said.

Ivan obeyed.

"Hands stay," Luka confirmed once more.

"They will." Ivan answered.

"Good." Luka said again, softer now, and bent to begin.

Luka did not start with a grab or a kiss. He started with air. He let his breath move across Ivan's chest, light and warm, just enough to make the skin notice. The ribbon bowed soft against Ivan's wrists where they rested over the couch back, satin stupid and pretty on a man who could break doors with his shoulder. Luka smoothed a palm down Ivan's sternum and felt the steady rise and fall, a tide that did not hurry, the heat under the skin real enough to make his own breath change.

"Don't move..." Luka said, not because Ivan needed the reminder, but because he liked hearing it in the room.

Ivan inclined his head. His eyes did not leave Luka. He looked calm and hungry at once, the kind of hungry that learned patience the hard way. Luka leaned in until his hair brushed the edge of the raised shirt, then he pulled the fabric higher and trapped it under Ivan's arms. The reveal never got old. That pale stretch of chest. That calm line of rib. The two soft peaks that sat there like an invitation nobody ever took. Pale brown, neat and small, waiting. Luka felt possessive. He felt charitable. He decided to be both.

He drew circles around the left nipple with a fingertip. Not touching the center yet, only tracing the circumference, small and slow. He did the same on the right, making mirrored paths that did not meet. The skin warmed under the attention, a quiet flush rising. Ivan's throat moved. The sound that came with the swallow was almost nothing, a private thing, and Luka smiled to himself. He followed the circles again, smaller this time, closer, teasing the edges until both peaks tightened on their own.

"You look good when you obey." Luka said. "It makes me generous."

Ivan's mouth made a shape that might have been a smile on a different man. It passed and left his face smooth again, a calm surface over hot water. Luka brushed the pads of his thumbs over both nipples, just once, light, then lifted his hands away and watched the shiver that chased his touch across Ivan's chest. He did it again, a little more pressure now, a soft drag that turned into a pinch at the end. Ivan exhaled through his nose, long and measured. His wrists flexed once against the ribbon. The bow did nothing to restrain him. The rule did the work.

Luka pinched properly. He caught each nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled them back and forth, delicate first, then less so. He watched for the small tells. The change in Ivan's breathing. The faint flare of his nostrils. The quiet way his shoulders settled deeper into the couch as if bracing for nothing and everything. Luka felt a quick laugh catch in his chest. He swallowed it and kept working. He wanted the room to hear only the fan hum and the tiny noises a mouth makes when it opens and closes to breathe.

He switched to nails. He scratched lightly over the peaks, a whisper of sensation that would have been nothing on any other part of the body. Here it mattered. The flesh tightened, peaks sharpening, the color deepening from pale brown to something a little darker, heat blooming. Ivan's eyes softened around the edges. Luka saw it and made a pleased sound under his breath. He dragged his nails again, then soothed each sting with a slow rub of his thumbs. He watched the tension ripple and settle, ripple and settle, the way a lake moves when a fish jumps and disappears.

"Eyes on me." Luka said.

Ivan obeyed at once. His gaze held steady, heavy lidded and attentive, like a man attending his own favorite sin. Luka felt the compliment land in his bones. He took it and did not pretend he did not need it.

He leaned in and tasted. The left nipple first, a wet circle drawn in patient laps, a kitten's tongue at the edge of something more. Ivan's breath hitched, small, not enough to be a sound, enough to be a fact. Luka put the peak between his lips and sucked, gentle, just a seal of mouth and skin, a hum in his throat for vibration, a slow pull. He released with a soft pop and watched the nipple stand up slick and proud. He went to the right and did the same. He kept his hands down on Ivan's ribs for now, pressing just enough to feel the effort Ivan made to stay still.

He alternated. Left, right, left again. Licking, sucking, stopping, waiting, starting again. He measured the pressure by the way Ivan's gaze went unfocused then sharpened. He measured the heat by how quickly the peaks reddened under his mouth. He measured the patience by the way those tied wrists shifted a breath and then went quiet again. The ribbon held a perfect bow for the first time in its silly life and Luka wanted to kiss it for doing its job even though it did nothing at all.

He brought teeth into it. Not a bite yet, just a graze, the soft burr of enamel catching on wet skin, a suggestion of pain that the tongue erased at once. The muscle under his hands tightened hard enough to change the shape of Ivan's chest. The breath came a little faster. Luka felt it under his palms like the thrum of a quiet engine.

"You're blushing~" Luka said, pleased, and he pinched again, harder than before, then eased off and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

He sucked long enough to make his own jaw ache, then shifted without warning to a sharper pull. The grunt that broke out of Ivan could have been a cough if he had wanted to pretend it was. He did not pretend. He let the sound exist and then locked it down, his throat moving, his eyes back on Luka with a kind of proud restraint that made Luka wild. Luka laughed into his skin and did it again.

He used contrast, because contrast drives people mad. He blew cool air across the wet nipple until he saw the skin pebble under it, then he took the whole thing back into his mouth and warmed it again with slow heat. He tapped a nail against the peak, a soft click, then flattened his tongue and pressed hard, hold and release, hold and release, a metronome he could not hear and could feel anyway. Ivan's breaths came to meet that rhythm without trying. Luka felt ownership crackle in his stomach like an electrical storm too far away to be dangerous and too near to ignore.

He traveled. He kissed the edge of Ivan's collarbone, teeth barely scraping, and came back to the left nipple with a kind of reverence he refused to name. He rolled it between his lips and then between his fingers, switching sensation before the body could get used to any one thing. He paid the same worship to the right. He pressed both peaks with both thumbs at once and watched Ivan's jaw set against an urge to move.

"Good boy..." Luka mewled, softer now, not a tease.

Ivan stayed. A muscle jumped at the hinge of his jaw. His lashes lowered and lifted again. He looked calm. He was not calm. Luka could feel the way the heat had started to gather low in him, a hum that reached Luka through the shared press of their bodies. He had never loved patience like this before. He did now.

He tested limits. He pinched both nipples and tugged outward, drawing the peaks away from the chest until the skin pulled in small tents. He held, then let go, then pinched again with a twist, slow, possessive. He bent and sucked the left nipple hard enough to pull a sharp breath out of Ivan, then he bit. Not enough to bruise deep, enough to warn.

Ivan's brows furrowed and a grunt broke out of him, involuntary and rich. He held himself still anyway. Luka felt pride bloom with his arousal. He laved the bite with his tongue, slow and contrite, then moved to the right and did the same without apology.

Ivan's voice came low and rough, a scrape of gravel given permission to speak. "You suck my nipples like milk will come out of them, do you think you're a baby?"

Luka smiled against his skin. He did not answer in words. He sealed his mouth around the nearest nipple and sucked harder than before. Then he bit, clean and sure. The sound Ivan made this time was not a grunt. It was a quiet noise that sat right at the edge of a moan and refused to cross. His brows tightened. His eyes did not close. Luka kissed the bite and tasted the heat his own mouth had left behind.

"If that's what you want to think." Luka said, and the smugness in his voice made Ivan's mouth twitch again, a surrender he would never name.

He went slower then, because slow is crueler. He drew long, patient circles with his tongue, smaller and smaller until he was barely moving, then he held still and let nothing happen for a count that turned his own bones to glass. He watched Ivan wait. He felt the wait like pressure in his own throat. He rewarded the stillness with a soft suck that made the nipple swell and burn, then he pulled back and admired the shape he had made.

"Pretty." Luka murmured. "You get so pretty here."

Ivan took that like a man takes praise from a god he does not worship in public. His breath shook, one small tremor that would have been invisible if Luka's hands had not been on him. Luka kissed both peaks, quick and sweet, then resumed the lesson.

He used both hands at once, thumb and forefinger pinching, free fingers spreading over Ivan's chest for leverage. He worked left and right in a rhythm that never gave the body a clean pattern to settle into, first one, then the other, then both together with different pressures, then a pause that meant nothing and everything. He watched color deepen. He watched the sheen from his spit turn the skin to glass. He could have stopped there and called it art. He did not.

He slid lower for a moment, just to make Ivan think the focus would shift, then he came back up and took the left nipple in his mouth again, sinking into it like a man drinks from a well he trusts. He hummed. The vibration traveled through the flesh and into Ivan's chest. Ivan made no sound, though his hands turned on the couch back and the ribbon's bow tightened and settled.

Luka gave the right nipple a matching devotion. He sucked until his cheeks ached, then he released and put his tongue on the very tip and flicked fast, light, and relentless. Ivan's body jerked under him, a small sharp movement he could not hide. Luka smiled without mercy and kept going for another heartbeat, then he soothed with a broad stroke, slow and warm, like balm.

He drew back to look. Both nipples stood swollen now, reddened and sensitive, the color deeper than the pale brown they had started with, the skin around them kissed into a faint flush. Luka's chest swelled with a ridiculous pride that made his eyes sting for no reason at all. He blinked it away and leaned in to press a kiss to each mark like he was sealing an inked letter with his mouth.

"Mine..." he said, not loud, not soft, simply true.

Ivan's eyes warmed. His lips parted on a breath that could have been a word and was not. He swallowed it back like a man who knows how to keep things. Luka felt the ache of wanting him to lose one thing, just once, for him. He did not push for it yet. He was not done building.

He added his nails again, a scratch that woke every nerve he had just soothed, then he pinched and pulled and rolled and bit, a precise set of variations executed with the focus of a scientist who knew that every repetition shifts the outcome. He kept the pressure right below pain. He dipped into it for a heartbeat and came back. He let Ivan's body chase the line without crossing. He took pleasure in the way Ivan's chest rose too quickly sometimes and then slowed by force, a man who refused to be rushed by his own desire.

Luka talked, because talking filled the air with ownership. He said that Ivan looked beautiful like this. He said that they should have done this sooner. He said that he would do it again tomorrow and the day after if Ivan kept behaving. He said good boy in a tone that made Ivan's eyes darken an extra shade, a private storm with no lightning and all thunder. Ivan gave him almost nothing back. The silence felt like a gift larger than any moan.

Time thinned. Luka lost track of how long he had been using just his mouth and hands. He knew only the map of Ivan's reactions and the way his own body had started to buzz with a steady current that made his fingers feel too sensitive. He put both nipples in his possession one last time, one in his mouth, one between his fingers, and forced himself to slow again. He sucked gently. He rolled gently. He let the burn warm rather than sear. He waited. He watched Ivan breathe.

He pulled off and blew one more soft breath across both peaks, a final cruel sweetness. Ivan's chest shuddered and settled. Luka kissed left, then right, then the center of Ivan's sternum, a benediction. He dragged his palms down the ribs and back up, soothing, smoothing, rubbing warmth back into the skin he had tormented.

He sat back on Ivan's lap and looked at his work like a painter who had been told to sign. Both nipples were swollen and tender, glazed with his spit, flushed and perfect. The skin around them had the faintest constellation of pink where his teeth had pressed. Luka raised his eyes to Ivan's face. He found the stoic patience he knew and the soft ruin he had created behind it. He felt greedy for both.

"You're holding so well," Luka said. "I should reward you for that."

Ivan's gaze flicked to Luka's mouth and back again. His wrists turned, the ribbon's bow whispering against the couch as if it understood the plea and would not carry it. Luka tucked the shirt up higher, almost to Ivan's shoulders, a pretty indignity, and pressed one more kiss to each nipple, slow and tender, apology and promise in one.

"Round one..." Luka said. "Complete."

Ivan's voice came back as a low thread. "You are very thorough."

Luka laughed. "You have no idea."

He rolled his thumbs over the peaks again, lighter now, watching the quick wince that was not quite a wince cross Ivan's face. He loved that wince. He loved the way Ivan tried to hide it. He loved that he could pull it back out with a flick of his tongue. He did, for the pleasure of it, then he sat up and breathed, steadying himself.

"We're not moving on just yet." he said, almost kindly. "I want all of it. Every little change. Every little tremor."

Ivan nodded. The nod was slow and committed. Luka settled in for another pass, not because he needed more proof, but because more proof felt like worship and he had never been good at keeping his worship quiet.

He grazed with nails, he soothed with palms, he sucked until his lips tingled, he bit until Ivan grunted and then soothed again. He took breaks that lasted three heartbeats and felt like full minutes. He returned to the work with new pressure each time. He went until his jaw ached and his shoulders complained and his own chest felt tight from holding his breath without noticing. He went until the peaks looked almost obscene in their swelling and shine, then he finally gave in to tenderness and kissed both one last time.

"Perfect," Luka said. "You're perfect."

Ivan looked at him like that word had never meant anything until now.

Luka pulled the shirt down a fraction, not to cover, only to frame the marks he had made. He slid his hands up to Ivan's throat and felt the echo of the restraint there, a steady pulse, a calm that had learned how to sit on top of fire. He pressed his thumbs under the jaw and tipped Ivan's face up. He kissed him, soft and slow, heat without rush, taste without demand. When he pulled back he put his mouth to Ivan's ear.

"We're only getting started." He whispered.

Ivan's breath left him in a controlled exhale. His eyes said he knew. His body said he wanted. His wrists stayed where Luka had put them.

The ribbon bit softly into Ivan's wrists when Luka tugged it again, just to remind him. A bow, innocent and flimsy, tied above veins and muscle that could snap it if he felt like it. Luka liked the lie of it. He liked that Ivan was holding himself back, waiting, obeying, choosing restraint because Luka said so.

He tested that restraint right away, savoring the small rebellion in the act itself. His fingers slid beneath the waistband, brushing skin and cloth before curling in. The rasp of the zipper filled the quiet like a threat, metal teeth parting with a rough scrape. Fabric yielded under his tug, reluctant at first, then falling away in one smooth pull. The shift in air was instant, heat spilling over bare skin, coolness pressing into what had been hidden. A heavy thickness sprang free, the weight of it rising before it slapped against Ivan's pelvis with a dull, urgent sound. Luka's gaze dropped and stayed there. He let himself linger, eyes bright with both mischief and hunger.

Ivan's cock was already flushed, the color deep and almost feverish. A bead of wetness clung stubbornly to the tip before sliding down, slow and deliberate, tracing the line of a vein that stood out against the heavy length. He looked as if he had been waiting like this for hours, straining, aching, demanding attention with every throb. Luka let his eyes travel the whole shape of him, deliberately unhurried, and his mouth curved. The smile came slow, shameless, half admiration and half cruelty. He let the silence stretch just long enough to sting before his voice dropped into a velvet purr.

"Someone's impatient."

Ivan breathed a dry laugh, the kind that lived low in his chest and gave away nothing. He didn't argue. He didn't apologize. He sat like a statue taught by a saint, the bow a pale spot against his skin, everything else steady except for the thrum under it.

Luka bent close, almost enough to touch. He let his breath sweep down, a warm whisper that made Ivan's jaw twitch once. That tiny tell was delicious. Luka could have given in there. He could have wrapped a hand around all that wanting and watched composure burn. Instead he straightened, slow and deliberate, and left Ivan's expectation empty.

He rose to his feet with a smile that tilted wicked. He took his time with his shirt. Fingers at the hem, a lift that turned into a slow peel, skin revealed inch by slow inch. He shook his hair free as the fabric left him and the movement drew Ivan's gaze like a hand. Pants next. Button by button. The quiet click of metal. The whisper of fabric easing down his hips. Every pause an eternity.

Ivan watched and did nothing else. His focus pinned Luka in place and heated him from the inside out. Luka made a show of it because the show was the point. Shoulders rolled and caught the light. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm cultivated for the stage and stolen for the couch. His waist rocked just enough to tease, hips drawing invisible shapes that promised things he would not give yet.

He tilted his head, looking back over his shoulder with a grin that carried no shame at all. His hands slid behind him, spreading himself open with deliberate slowness, as if he wanted Ivan to see every stage of the reveal. The smallest shift was enough to show what Ivan craved most, a secret turned into a display.

The cunt that belonged only to him.

Flesh glistened faintly in the low light, pink and flushed from attention the night before, still a little swollen as if it hadn't quite recovered. The sight was indecent and perfect all at once, soft and tight and vulnerable, yet brazen in the way Luka offered it up. It looked like something meant to be touched immediately, yet Ivan could not move an inch. Luka knew it too. He lingered in that pose, letting Ivan's silence thicken around them, and his grin only widened.

Ivan's composure cracked, but only at the edges. The rest of him stayed rigid in the chair, shoulders back, jaw firm, eyes locked on Luka as though he could will himself not to move. The only betrayal came lower, in the sudden twitch of his cock that gave him away. A bead of precum welled at the flushed tip, trembling before gravity pulled it down in a slow, glistening trail that slid over sensitive skin. It caught the light as it lingered, obscene in its honesty. His body begged, but Ivan didn't. He stayed still, breathing measured, holding himself back as though restraint alone were the point.

Luka smirked, certain and smug, because he had put that look on Ivan's face and that bead on his skin without a single touch. He turned back around and crossed the short distance over the rug, unhurried, the picture of someone who had all night. He sank down to the floor between Ivan's knees and folded into a neat sit. Close enough for the fan of heat to meet his own, far enough that the Ivan's skin just barely feathered against him.

His knees nudged Ivan's, spreading himself bare under Ivan's intense gaze. He leaned back on one hand and let the other rest on his thigh, head tipped in a lazy challenge. Ivan's throat worked. Luka watched the swallow move along a line he wanted to kiss. The room held its breath with them.

Luka raised his hand. He took his time bringing fingers to his mouth, letting the anticipation do half his work for him. His tongue met them first, a wet sweep that turned into slow, careful attention. Sound carried in the hush. A slick noise, shameless and deliberate. The shine built on his skin. His eyes refused to leave Ivan's.

"You like this?" he asked, sweet and cruel. "You want it, don't you?"

Ivan didn't answer with words. He answered by letting his shoulders settle deeper into the couch, by keeping his wrists easy against the bow, by giving Luka the calm of a man who was losing his mind in the most exact way and had chosen to do it beautifully.

Luka let his fingers fall from his mouth with a wet, deliberate pop, lips shining as if they had been painted just to tempt him. He dragged the gloss down over his chin, across the pale line of his throat, then lower still. The path was languid, taunting, his eyes never leaving Ivan's.

He stopped at the place that mattered most, pressing those slick fingers against his opening, coating the swell of flesh until it gleamed. He didn't play coy about it, there was nothing shy in the way he spread himself for display. His own breath hitched, unplanned, because even the performance bled into something real.

He pushed. One finger to knuckle, then another, slow enough to make it obvious how tight the fit was. When his fingers sank to the base, his body gave a subtle tremor as though it had been waiting for the stretch.

It was not enough and he knew it, but he acted like it was, letting his mouth fall open in a moan that filled the room, rich and satisfied. His head tipped back, throat bared, lashes heavy as if he were drunk on the sensation already. The sound rolled out of him like warm honey, indulgent and wicked, and across from him Ivan's jaw clenched hard, muscle twitching with the effort it took not to move.

The ribbon strained once, a faint rustle, the kind of noise that begged to be repeated and never was. Ivan's arms stayed where Luka had put them. The rule held. That was hotter than anything else they could have done.

Luka moved with intent. He thrusted his fingers in small, focused motions and let the pressure bloom. He searched for the angle he liked best and lingered there. He made every gasp a little louder than necessary because Ivan deserved to hear how good it was. He knew he was showing off. He knew Ivan wanted him enough to be still. Both truths fed him.

Time loosened and stretched like taffy. He let pauses happen, then began again, sighing in a way that carried a soft, greedy edge. He lifted his hips and lowered them. He curled his fingers and uncurled them. He let the air fill with the rhythm of his own breath and the quiet mechanical hush of the fan.

Ivan gave almost nothing. That was the drug. A muscle at his cheek jumped when Luka's voice broke prettily. His chest hitched once when Luka tilted his chin and gasped. A bead of sweat gathered and held at his temple, reluctant to fall. All of it was enough to make Luka want to be worse.

He let the performance sharpen. He licked the corner of his mouth. He made a sound he knew would set Ivan's teeth on edge. He smiled with his eyes, heavy and wicked, and whispered, "You're not even touching me and you're already there."

Ivan breathed in and breathed out. The line of his throat moved. That was all. Luka loved him for it.

His free hand drifted lower, a deliberate slide over his stomach as if he wanted Ivan to watch every inch of the journey. Fingers curled around his cock, the grip firm, holding himself tight. He gave the first stroke lazily, almost testing, and let his breath catch with the drag. Another followed, steady, measured, like he was laying the foundation of something that would take time.

Then the rhythm built. A little faster, a little harder, each pull gathering heat in his belly, each stroke dragging him closer whether he wanted to admit it or not. His hips lifted into his own hand without shame, body working for its reward, and every sound he let slip was both invitation and proof of how badly he craved it.

The sounds that left him came from somewhere low and pleased. His hair fell forward and made a soft curtain. He exhaled through it and looked up from underneath, eyes bright enough to sting. Ivan's nostrils flared, barely. Luka wanted to kiss the self control out of him and refused to do anything that would help.

"Imagine if you could touch me." he murmured, voice frayed by pleasure and sugar-sweet with malice. "I bet you'd finish in seconds. But not yet. You don't get to."

Ivan's breathing sharpened. Not sloppy, but not wild either. Just heavier, a rough draw through his nose, the kind of sound a man makes when he is fighting a battle he will win because he said he would.

Luka worked himself with that in mind. He stroked harder. His body coiled tight and tighter, then tighter still. He found the place where pleasure starts to hurt and held himself there, hovering, a tremor under the skin, a sheen at his lip, a heat running from spine to belly like a lit fuse. He kept his eyes on Ivan through all of it because watching him not move was the only thing stopping him from falling apart too soon.

He felt it crest. It climbed and climbed until the whole room felt narrow, until the air tasted thin and sweet. He held for one more impossible heartbeat. Then he moved.

And at the very last moment, he pulled his fingers free with a wet, lewd squelch.

He rocked forward on his knees and rose over Ivan's fram, body flushed and shining, eyes bright with fever. The distance between shared heat and contact vanished. He stood over Ivan as if he had been meant to be there since the first time they spoke. He knew exactly what picture he made, bare and breathless, looking down at that beautiful restraint.

He let go.

Hot seed spilled hot across Ivan's abs. Luka painted him deliberately, each pulse marking skin, dripping down the lines of muscle.

He did not rush through the finish. He dragged it out like it was his job. The first pulse landed high, gleaming. The second cut a bright line through the first and slipped as it caught on heat. The next broke into smaller arcs, each one a separate victory, each one a soft brand drawn by a hand that shook and steadied, shook and steadied. He watched it spread along the grooves that work had carved into Ivan's body, then gather at the places where skin dipped. He breathed through it and let the room hear what that kind of release does to a person who has waited and performed and won.

He emptied himself like the act was a confession. It came in waves that felt endless, and when he thought he was done, his body found another mean streak of pleasure and he spilled again, slower now, a last bright proof of ownership that slid toward Ivan's hip and caught on the line of bone.

He stood there shaking, not from weakness, from satisfaction pushed so far it hummed like electricity. His chest climbed and fell as if he had run up a hill. He blinked sweat from his lashes and smiled down at the ruin he had made of a careful man.

Ivan did not break the rule. The ribbon rustled once, a quiet protest that died immediately. His hands stayed where Luka had put them. His body jerked once in a reflex he strangled at birth, and then he went still again, breathing hard, jaw set, eyes dark and sure. The want sat heavy against his stomach, flushed, slick, and unsatisfied, and still he did not move.

Luka bent, close enough to taste the heat off his skin, close enough to make a liar of his own patience if he leaned one inch more. He watched a thin line slide along a sharply cut muscle and felt pride land so deep it made him dizzy.

He brought his mouth near Ivan's ear and let his voice fall soft and sweet as melting sugar. "Round two complete~" he whispered. "And you still haven't touched me. Good boy."

He straightened, palms braced on Ivan's thighs as he caught the last of his breath. He took in every inch of the picture they had made, from the silly satin bow to the careful mess across Ivan's stomach. He wiped a stray strand of hair from his own cheek with the back of his wrist and laughed under his breath, giddy and mean.

"Look at you." he said. "Look at what I did to you."

Ivan's mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk he would not give Luka completely, not yet. His eyes had that low red glow, trust lit from within. He breathed out slow, reset everything in his spine, and lifted his chin a fraction as if offering himself to whatever Luka decided came next.

The ribbon gleamed. The fan hummed. The city beyond the glass kept moving without them. Luka's pulse slowed by inches. He dragged his fingertips along the edge of the mess he had painted, barely touching, a feathering glide that made Ivan's abdomen jump. He smiled again, softer now, honest under the swagger.

Ivan held his gaze and said nothing. He did not need to. The proof of it was written on his skin.

Luka rose from the rug with the slow grace of someone who knew he had already won. His body moved like silk over skin, unhurried, deliberate, until he perched on the edge of the coffee table directly across from Ivan. He sat neatly, knees together, back arched just enough to show he was aware of every line his body made under Ivan's gaze.

For a long moment he simply looked at him. Ivan sat back against the couch, arms bound behind him with the damned ribbon, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. His eyes tracked Luka without moving, jaw locked as though control was a physical weight he had chosen to carry.

That was when Luka lifted his foot. Lazily, as if it took no effort at all, though the movement was calculated down to the smallest detail. Pale skin caught the glow of the lamp, flawless save for the faintest blush of pink across the arch and at the tips of his toes. They were neat and manicured, the nails short and glossy, a kind of dainty elegance that looked almost too perfect to be real. It was, in every sense, a pretty foot, and Luka knew exactly how pretty it was.

He tilted his ankle just so, letting Ivan see the smooth underside, before extending his leg and setting that dainty foot against him. The contact was direct, the soft ball of his foot pressing against Ivan's throbbing girth.

Ivan let out a sound at once reluctant and relieved, a deep groan dragged up from his chest. His cock twitched under the touch, betraying him, leaking fresh slick against Luka's toes.

Luka's smirk widened, slow and knowing. He pressed flatter, his sole spreading over the hard plane of Ivan's pelvis. The dampness smeared against his skin, painting his pretty toes with the mess of Ivan's arousal. He shifted, testing the weight of it, then began to slide. Up and down. Up and down. The rhythm was unhurried at first, as though Luka were simply exploring the texture of him, but the effect was merciless.

Ivan bit the inside of his cheek. His abs flexed with every breath, muscles tensing in sharp relief as though they were the only thing keeping him still. He held himself like stone while Luka worked him, refusing to give away more than he had to.

But Luka saw everything. He saw the heat in Ivan's face, the strain at the corners of his eyes, the way his chest rose a little faster with each pass of his foot. He pressed harder, sliding with more intent, dragging slick across skin until the obscene sound of it filled the air.

"You're trying so hard..." Luka teased, his voice a purr. "All that control, and you're still leaking for me."

Ivan didn't answer, jaw locked, but his breathing told the truth. His body betrayed him, shuddering under the quickening pace. Luka's foot worked with cruel precision, strokes gaining speed, pressure mounting until Ivan's restraint frayed.

It didn't take much more. The moment cracked open in an instant, and Ivan spilled with a groan that seemed to tear itself free despite his clenched teeth. Release spilled thick and hot, streaking over Luka's toes and mixing with the mess already smeared there.

Luka slowed only after he was satisfied the last shudder had passed. He pulled his foot away with a lewd squelch, strings of slick clinging before breaking. He glanced down at the mess coating him and feigned a little frown, coy as ever.

"You made a mess, Ivan..." His voice carried mock disappointment, though the smile pulling at his mouth betrayed him.

He rose from the coffee table and crossed the small space between them in a glide, sliding easily into Ivan's lap. He pressed himself forward, his smaller cock nudging against Ivan's thickness where it still twitched from release. The contact made him sigh as if he had been waiting all along.

Hands planted back on Ivan's knees, Luka began to grind. Skin to skin, slick against slick, the friction obscene and wet. The sound of it filled the quiet between them, lewd and undeniable.

Ivan's eyes never left his. He watched Luka move, lips parting as though words might slip out, though none did. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to throw Luka back against the coffee table, to drive himself into that greedy little hole until Luka forgot his own name. But he didn't. He clenched his jaw until it ached, sat bound and trembling, and let Luka rut against him as though the entire game belonged to him alone.

Luka shifted in Ivan's lap, rolling his hips with the same steadiness he had shown from the start. His rhythm was careful, deliberate, each grind measured to remind Ivan who was in control. Ivan had already spilled over himself once, messy and undone across Luka's dainty toes, but his cock betrayed him now, still hard and straining as if release had never happened.

The heat between them pressed close. Luka's small body moved slow, a teasing weight, enough to drag slick against Ivan's cock but never enough to push him close to the edge again. The pace was almost lazy, a kind of cruel patience that left Ivan aching under him, every grind of Luka's hips more torture than mercy.

He could feel it, the way Ivan's chest swelled with each breath beneath him, the subtle tremor of control tightening every muscle. Luka leaned back slightly, letting his hands rest on Ivan's knees again as he kept that maddening rhythm, circling just shy of what Ivan wanted most. His grin flickered each time he caught the tightening line of Ivan's jaw, each soft groan forced through teeth that refused to part.

When he finally stilled his hips and pulled them back, it was with the flourish of someone who knew exactly how much he was withholding. Luka remained perched prettily on Ivan's lap, posture flawless, a mischievous grin curling across his lips. Then, slowly, he lowered his palms to the heat between them.

His hands came together around Ivan's throbbing cock. Even with both of them wrapped tight, the girth outmatched him, spilling wide beyond his fingers. Luka gave a teasing squeeze, just enough pressure to feel the urgent twitch against his palms.

Ivan's response was immediate. A sharp breath slipped past his composure, chest jerking faintly as if his body had betrayed him. Luka's smile deepened, slow and predatory, as he slid his slicked hands against the mess of cum already coating him.

The movement was unhurried, almost reverent. From the very base, up to the swollen head, Luka drew the tension out of every inch. When he reached the tip, he pressed his thumb against the crown, smearing the bead of arousal there and pushing it down with his nail. Ivan exhaled in a ragged, sharp breath, and Luka rewarded himself with a quick stroke back to the base.

Up and down. Up and down. The sound of slick skin filled the room, obscene and wet, but Luka's pace never changed. Not tight enough to give deep pleasure, not fast enough to bring Ivan anywhere close to release. It was an excruciating tease, designed to strip away every layer of patience without ever crossing into satisfaction.

Ivan's composure began to falter. At first it was only in the way his breaths grew heavier, chest rising with sharp pulls of air. Then the silence broke, soft groans escaping low in his throat, impatient sounds he could not stop. Luka reveled in it, watching the cracks appear in the armor, but still Ivan did not break. His jaw was iron, his wrists tense under the ribbon, his body an effort of restraint even as it trembled for more.

Luka let his hands fall away with a final, feather light pass. He slipped gracefully from Ivan's lap, dropping down onto the rug between his legs. The shift left him staring upward, eyes coy and lips plush, framed by the angle of Ivan's thighs. The sight alone was enough to make Ivan's chest clench, his breath stuttered as though he might lose his grip on control entirely.

Then Luka leaned forward, his mouth opening, his tongue pressing flat against the swollen head. He dragged it slow, savoring the taste, salt and skin and heat. He lapped at him like a dog savoring a spoon, deliberate in his degradation, soft in the way his tongue swept up every drop.

He sealed his lips over the tip at last, cheeks hollowing gently as he sucked. He bobbed his head softly, just at the crown, never dipping lower, keeping his teasing confined to that sensitive point.

But it was enough.

Ivan came again without warning, his control shattering all at once. A groan ripped out of his chest, low and rough, louder than anything he had allowed before. Luka startled for half a second, then smiled against him, swallowing down the thickness with obscene delight. His throat bobbed as he drank, every movement shameless.

Ivan's abs clenched hard, his body jerking with the force of it. His breaths came sharp, stuttering, as though even the act of drawing in air was a fight now. The sight below him only made it worse, Luka looking so wanton, so willing, so greedy.

With a wet pop Luka pulled his lips away, licking the tip clean with a flick of his tongue before leaning back to wipe the mess from his mouth. His lips glistened, swollen and slick, and his expression was pure mischief.

"That's the second time you came..." he teased, voice sing-song. "How much more can you take?"

Ivan had no words, only his body's betrayal. His cock twitched again, defiant, laying heavy and hard against his stomach as if he had never spent at all.

Luka laughed softly at the sight, fondness mixing with his cruelty. His grin softened at the edges, his chest warming. He loved Ivan so much.

Luka's eyes roamed Ivan's larger body as if he were taking inventory after a storm. The nipples he had teased into dark buds still looked tender under the low light. The mess of slick painted across his stomach caught and held a glow. The angry cock at the center pulsed like a second heartbeat, the axis around which the rest of Ivan's composure turned. Every breath told on him. Every tightened muscle read like a footnote about impatience and pleasure. Luka felt a proud little lift in his chest. He had done this. He had turned his steady man into a quiet mess and had done it with two hands, a ribbon, and a mean streak of love.

He tipped forward as if to kiss, then changed his mind and climbed back over Ivan's lap. The movement was unhurried, careful, almost ceremonial. His palms found Ivan's shoulders and pressed, soft at first, then firmer, until Luka was hovering above the swollen tip, balanced and precise. One small jerk of his hips could have plunged Ivan deep inside. One choice, and the world would rearrange with a single sound. Luka held there instead, an inch of air saving and damning them both.

He looked into Ivan's face. Those deep, dark eyes sharpened the moment their gazes met. The red pupils were bright and hungry, and Luka could feel the hunger without being touched. It had the patience of a dog that had learned every trick and would perform them all just to be told 'good boy'. It had teeth hidden behind gentleness.

Luka smiled. He leaned in and kissed Ivan softly, short and sweet, just enough to feed and starve in the same breath. He tugged back with a whisper ghosting his lip. "You're being so good. So I'll give you a reward." The way he murmured it sounded like mercy. It felt like power.

He sank slowly. His rim caught on Ivan's heat with delicate precision and pressed down, a careful claim that asked to be answered. Ivan's head went back against the couch in a sudden surrender, breath breaking in his throat as the first plush give of Luka's body met him. Luka let out a shaky breath that sounded like relief dressed as pain. It stretched, more than his fingers, better than any other fit in the world. He loved Ivan's dick. He loved the way it found him like it had been made to measure, the way it pressed all the right places until his whole body lit from the inside.

He held back, which felt like a miracle in slow motion. He moved with caution that was not coyness, only control. He set a pace that did not answer the ache, only drew a neat circle around it and made it brighter. The room filled with the hush of skin finding skin, the wet sound of heat meeting heat. Ivan's breath roughened. Luka's mouth opened and closed as if he were remembering how to speak and choosing not to.

He kept that slowness until there was no more distance left. He let the last inch slide home and breathed a soft sound that might have been a thank you if he believed in prayers. Ivan was finally buried deep inside. It was tight. It was hot. It was wet. The pulse of Ivan's cock pressed again and again where Luka needed it most, and the little ridges inside Luka seemed to grip on instinct, holding, refusing to let go. It was so good, and it made the edge of control feel like a wire under the skin.

Luka smiled, small and vicious with affection, then moved up. The sensation of closing as he lifted off him made his head tip back. It painted his breath with a thin sound that he tried to swallow and could not. Ivan shook under him. It was not dramatic, only the tremor of a man who had been told to be still and was doing his best to obey.

He did it again. He rose slowly, making the emptiness count, then dropped without warning. The contact landed with the kind of sound that turns heads, a loud slap of slicked skin meeting slicked skin that echoed into the room and seemed to hang in the air. Ivan's muscles clenched. His fists tightened until the knuckles went white under the ribbon that still lay like a joke over iron.

"And again," Luka breathed, more to himself than to him. He pulled up with care, then crashed down with delight, the angle truer this time, the reach deeper, the answer immediate. He set a rhythm that asked for surrender and gave none. Harder, faster, deeper, until his own voice stopped pretending at composure and spilled raw and pretty into the night.

"Luka." he heard, thick and low, the kind of warning that is really a plea. "Luka... I'm gonna—"

He lifted off at once and shifted away, hips moving out of range, heat closing as if it had never opened. The absence was cruel and generous. Ivan's body did what bodies do when the line has already been crossed, and nothing can be taken back.

Ivan twitched with his third release. Luka did not waste a second. He brought his hands back to the girth to milk him dry, coaxing the last pulses out with a sure touch, watching the way they slowed and softened under his palms. He stroked and soothed in the same motion, a caretaker and a menace at once.

When Ivan finished, the aftershock took him. His body jolted in small, helpless waves. His mouth fell open and forgot dignity for a moment. His face was flushed with heat from throat to hairline, a rare flush that Luka wanted to kiss until it faded. The sight woke something possessive and sweet in him. This was his. All this restraint and the undoing of it. All this quiet, and the noise that cracked through it.

Luka smiled again, and it did not have much meanness left in it now. "You can go one more time right?"

Ivan flinched. It was tiny, almost nothing, a little start in the shoulders, a minute stutter in the breath. The words landed like a coin in a fountain. One more. It sounded simple. It felt like a promise that might unmake him or make him new.

"One more?" he repeated, and the question was almost a laugh even if his voice could not find the sound. His eyes stayed on Luka's. The red in his pupils was darker now. The hunger had edges. The trust did too.

Luka softened a fraction. He smoothed his hands over Ivan's chest, palms sliding over the mess and heat, fingers brushing the tight buds he had bitten earlier. He did not push or rush. He let his weight settle again on Ivan's lap and rolled his hips just enough to remind him what waited if he behaved, just enough to prove that Luka was not done loving him for the night.

"Yeah," Luka said, and the word came out tender and cocky at once. "One more."

He kissed the corner of Ivan's mouth, then the other, then the spot just under the cheekbone where laughter sometimes lived. He sat back and took Ivan in like a painter backing up from a masterpiece to decide where the last strokes should go. His hands traced idle patterns on Ivan's shoulders and down the arms to where the ribbon held. He fixed the bow even though it did not need fixing and smiled down at it as if it were a ring.

"You're still being good," he said, and the approval lit a heat that had nothing to do with friction. "I love you more when you're good."

Ivan didn't know if he had one more in him. His body already felt wrung out, every nerve trembling from what Luka had already coaxed out of him. Yet the moment Luka slid forward, dragging his gaping heat along Ivan's softened length, his body betrayed him. A spark kindled and caught, the half slack flesh stirring back to life under Luka's deliberate friction. Ivan huffed out a laugh, low and breathless, the sound of a man defeated by his own hunger.

Luka caught it, of course. He smiled in quiet triumph, shifting just enough to let his rim clench and unclench around nothing while sliding himself along the length. Each drag painted a shiver of sensation across Ivan's cock until it hardened again despite the protests of his exhausted muscles. Luka wanted to see him collapse all over again. Wanted to see him break apart until there was nothing left but heat.

He rocked higher, lining himself with teasing precision. Luka slid all the way up Ivan's pulsing cock, letting the swollen head catch on his stretched rim once more. The pause lasted only a breath, then Luka pressed back, and his hips dropped hard against Ivan's pelvis. The force rattled through Ivan's frame.

"W-Wait. Luka. I'm still—" Ivan's warning never finished. Luka cut him off with another drop of his hips, sharper this time, and Ivan's composure cracked into a full moan. He clenched his jaw almost instantly, ashamed of how raw it had sounded.

"No more waiting." Luka shot back, voice bright with cruelty and care tangled together. "You came three times already. And I only came once. That doesn't seem fair, right?" His pearly teeth flashed as he lifted up again and slammed down, the sound obscene, wet and sharp in the quiet room.

Ivan twitched. His body wasn't ready for more, but Luka didn't give him the grace of coping. Luka's thighs burned as he set a merciless rhythm, each bounce of his body carrying all his weight, pressing Ivan deep into his stomach. Every thrust punched sound out of him, every grind drew new heat from where there should have been none left. Luka's moans spilled open, high and unashamed, while Ivan's eyes caught on the sight of Luka's smaller cock bouncing helplessly with each slam. It was too much, and Ivan couldn't keep up.

The edge crept up fast for Luka. He felt it spark at the base of his spine, crawling through every nerve until he chased it like a man possessed. His insides clutched tighter around Ivan's length. Ivan's body twitched beneath him with overstimulation, every muscle caught between pleasure and pain.

"Ivan..." Luka's voice broke on a moan as he slammed down one last time, burying him as deep as he could. Release tore through him, sharp and unrestrained. His cum spurted up and across Ivan's face in thick, white ropes, marking his cheeks and mouth.

"Luka... I'm... it's not—" Ivan barely had time to speak before he groaned loudly, head snapping back against the couch. His voice carried the weight of surrender as his body followed Luka's. But this time it was different.

Luka felt it almost instantly. The waves of thin liquid spilling into him, flooding and trickling out in sudden warmth. The spray of Ivan's release filled him, not heavy but endless, running like water down his thighs. Ivan's hips twitched, rutting upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper inside a place he already owned.

Luka slowed, rolling his hips in tight circles to ride it out. He relished every drop, every involuntary spasm Ivan gave him. He didn't care what it was, only that it was his, only that Ivan's body gave until it had nothing left to give.

The room filled with nothing but gasps. Luka's, high and broken in satisfaction. Ivan's, ragged and uneven as the overstimulation shuddered through him. His big frame still twitched under Luka's smaller body, his face wet with release and heat.

Luka didn't move to pull out. He stayed exactly where he was, plugged full, his chest pressed close to Ivan's as he let his hands wander up to the ribbon. The knot came undone easily, and Ivan's hands dropped like stones to his sides, heavy and useless. His arms trembled, too drained to lift.

Leaning forward, Luka caught Ivan's lips in a soft kiss. The contact smeared them with the mess they'd made, but neither cared. Luka rested against his sticky chest, breathing into the warmth, hearing the fast hammer of Ivan's heart under his ear.

He hugged him gently, mindful of the shivers still running through Ivan's frame, and tucked his face against the curve of his throat. His words came quiet, but steady, the kind you anchor yourself to. "I love you." Luka pressed his mouth to Ivan's throat, sealing it with a kiss.

They drifted into sleep right there on the couch, tangled in each other, their skin sticky with sweat and the mess they had made. The exhaustion was heavier than the discomfort, and neither of them stirred for hours.

When Ivan finally woke, the apartment was quiet. The city beyond their windows was muted, only a faint hum against the silence inside. He blinked against the dim light, his body stiff from the couch, and then looked down to find Luka still fast asleep on his chest. His weight was warm, his breath slow and even as it brushed across Ivan's skin. For a long moment Ivan simply watched him, memorizing the way his lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint crease between his brows that never quite vanished, even in sleep.

His gaze drifted lower and he realized, with a muted laugh he dared not let out, that he was still buried inside him. The sound caught in his throat, silent and fond. Every part of him ached with the instinct to move, to shift, but he stilled himself. He didn't want to wake him. Luka deserved this peace.

With care, Ivan wrapped his arms around his petite lover and shifted his weight. Luka stirred faintly, a soft sound escaping his throat, but his body remained pliant as Ivan eased him off. Ivan guided him down onto the couch cushions, laying him flat with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his broad frame, tucking a throw over him to shield against the chill of the room.

Rising, Ivan didn't bother to dress. The night had stripped him of pretense. He padded to the bathroom, twisting the tap until water began to rush, waiting until it warmed and steam curled into the air. He leaned against the counter, watching the tub fill, feeling the fatigue in his bones but ignoring it. This wasn't about him.

When the bath was ready, he returned for Luka. He scooped him up with the ease of someone who had carried him before, but this time there was no urgency, no hunger. Only care. Luka's head lolled against his shoulder, his lips parted as though still lost in dreams. Ivan adjusted his hold, keeping him steady, and lowered him into the tub as though lowering something fragile, irreplaceable.

The water lapped at Luka's skin and he shifted faintly but did not wake. Ivan knelt at the edge, and washed him slowly. His fingertips traced over skin in patient, reverent motions, careful not to startle him. Each pass of the cloth felt like an unspoken vow, that he would care for him, even when he treated him like a cum bank. Ivan chuckled at the thought and continued to clean with gentle scrubs.

By the time the water cooled, Luka was clean, his lashes still resting on his cheeks. Ivan lifted him once more, dried him with a towel, and dressed him in soft clothes that smelled faintly of detergent and the faint lavender they both pretended not to notice. He smoothed damp strands of hair from his face, pressing them down carefully as though the act itself mattered.

Only then did Ivan take his own quick shower, rinsing away the night with brisk efficiency. When he returned, Luka was curled on his side beneath the covers, a small shape against the wide bed. Ivan slid in carefully, as though afraid to break the spell, and gathered him close. Luka shifted in his sleep, instinctively molding against him, and Ivan felt the last bit of tension leave his body.

He pressed a kiss to his temple, breathing him in, his heart thick in his chest. For all his control, all his power, there was nothing more humbling than this, Luka safe in his arms, trusting him even in unconsciousness.

"I love you too," Ivan whispered into the quiet, words meant only for the dark. His arms tightened, holding him as if he could keep him safe through sheer strength alone. And this time, sleep came easily, peaceful in a way like it had the night before, and the way it would for many more nights to come.

♥︎

♥︎honeisenpa1®

Chapter Text

Luka was half asleep when he stirred under the blanket. Something about it felt heavier than usual, like Ivan had gone and bought one of those thick hotel comforters without telling him. He tried to burrow further into it but the weight pressed down, making his limbs sluggish. A little groan left him as he shoved at the fabric, thinking maybe he was just too tired to move.

When he finally blinked awake, the light slanting through the curtains hit him wrong. The whole room looked off. It took a second for his eyes to focus, but once they did he froze.

The bed wasn't just soft and comfortable anymore, it was enormous. The stretch of mattress stretched like some endless plain. The nightstand beside him was no longer a modest piece of furniture but a towering structure. Luka's heart stuttered as he turned his head and spotted his phone lying beside him. It should have been small, thin, easy to swipe around with one hand. Instead, it looked the size of a suitcase, maybe bigger, like a goddamn dresser tipped onto its side.

He scrambled backward, and that was when another detail hit him. He was naked. His clothes hadn't shrunk with him. Pale skin, long legs, every inch of him exposed on the vast sheets. A curse spilled out before he could stop it, sharp and panicked, as he covered himself with his hands and then realized that was laughable. There was nothing small enough to hide behind.

"What the fuck...?" Luka whispered, the sound squeaky in the huge quiet of the room.

His pulse hammered. He had to tell Ivan. He stumbled across the wrinkled blanket, each step like walking uphill, and reached his phone. The device was a slab, heavy as hell when he shoved his shoulder against it to tilt it enough to see the screen. His tiny fingers looked ridiculous against the oversized keypad. He tried anyway, jabbing at letters one at a time, his whole hand covering multiple keys.

"Babe. Come here. It's an emergency."

It took forever, sweat prickling down his spine as he typed it out. By the time he pressed send, he was breathing hard.

He didn't have to wait long.

Footsteps thundered in the hall, too loud in Luka's ears. They were coming fast, closer, and then the door swung wide. Ivan filled the frame, sharp in his suit pants and shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. His face was taut with concern.

"Luka? What's wrong? I got your SOS—" His words cut short when his gaze dropped to the bed.

Luka sat there naked, confused, and even a little furious, shrunken to a fraction of his size. He crossed his arms over his chest like that would help.

Ivan's brows lifted, his expression almost comical in its lack of alarm. He tilted his head slowly, like he was trying to make sense of a peculiar puzzle piece. Then he stepped forward, calm and measured, while Luka's eyes went wide at how monstrously large his boyfriend looked.

"I- I shrunk," Luka stammered, his voice breaking in disbelief.

"Yeah. No kidding." Ivan's tone was smooth, almost amused. He bent and reached out, careful but unhurried, and Luka was scooped up with startling ease.

Luka found himself perched in one of Ivan's hands, legs dangling over the edge, the warmth of that massive palm heating his bare skin. Ivan braced the weight with his other hand, testing it like he was holding a new piece of equipment.

"You're still kinda heavy—" he murmured.

Before Ivan could finish the thought, Luka leaned down and sank his teeth into the pad of Ivan's thumb.

Ivan barely flinched. If anything, he looked faintly entertained.

Luka scowled up at him, voice sharp. "I'm not in the mood for your remarks. I'm small, I'm naked, how am I supposed to go to work like this?" His hands flew up to his hair, fingers tangling as he pulled dramatically, his frustration echoing like a tantrum from a dollhouse.

Ivan hummed low in his throat, a thoughtful sound. "Call in sick. Let's take care of this first."

The calmness in his tone was infuriating. Luka wanted him to panic, to freak out, to do something other than stand there with that faint curl of a smile. But no, Ivan just looked down at him like this was some new situation to manage, nothing more. Luka kicked at his palm, tiny feet smacking against warm skin, but all that did was make Ivan chuckle under his breath.

"Not funny." Luka hissed. His cheeks burned with humiliation, his chest rising fast with each breath.

Ivan only lifted him closer to his chest, eyes steady, voice mild as ever. "It's a little funny."

Ivan carried him downstairs like a secret, one hand braced under Luka's back, the other curled lightly around his thighs. The stairs felt different from this angle. The banister soared like the side of a ship. The light that spilled across the landing looked too large for the space. Luka had to fight the urge to tuck himself under Ivan's chin and hide there forever. He kept his arms folded instead, jaw set, pride holding the line where dignity could not.

The kitchen was warm and already awake. Ivan had been here earlier, moving through morning the way he always did, quiet and efficient. There was coffee in the pot, steam lifting in thin threads. Plates sat on the counter, edges shining. A skillet waited on an unlit burner, glossy with butter that had gone patient. The smell of toast and bacon wrapped the room, close and sweet. It should have made Luka feel safe. Mostly it made him feel small.

Ivan set him carefully on the cool counter near a plate. It was Luka's plate. It looked like a plaza now, sprawling and ridiculous, a field of eggs piled bright and soft, triangles of toast stacked like a wooden fence, bacon curled in glossy ribbons. Luka stared. His stomach pulled in two directions at once, hunger and outrage feeding each other.

"How much can you even eat when you're this small?" Ivan asked, light and dry, as if they were talking about a haircut. He poked Luka's cheek with a single finger, the touch gentle, the size of it obscene. Love sat warm behind the poke. Luka could feel it. It only made him scowl harder.

He swatted the fingertip away and tried to look lethal in a tank top made of air. "Do you really think I'm in the mood for food right now?"

"Yes." Ivan said, and somehow made the single word sound like wisdom. He slid into the chair Luka usually took, long legs folding, eyes soft in a face that still read as composed. He rested his forearms on the table and simply looked at him. Endearing was too small a word for it. "You're cute, even like this."

Heat climbed Luka's neck before he could stop it. It died just as quickly when his brain reminded him he was still naked. He crossed an arm over his chest for no real reason and glared up at his giant boyfriend. "I need clothes, Ivan."

"I will look." Ivan said. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of Luka's head. The kiss landed like a stamp, claimed and comfort in the same breath. "Eat."

"Ivan."

"Eat." he repeated, not unkind.

Ivan stood and moved away, the chair legs whispering against tile. Luka watched him go, then dragged his gaze back to the plate. He edged closer, toes catching on the slight lip of the ceramic. Even though he was not small enough to need a ladder, the scale still hurt his pride. The eggs rose in fluffy hills. The toast looked like a fort wall. The bacon was a glossy switch that promised both pleasure and a mess. He eyed the glass of orange juice and felt his soul leave his body for a second. The glass reached nearly to his shoulder. When he pressed his palms to the cool condensation and pushed, it did not budge, a pillar bolted to the earth. His hands slid and left little crescents in the fog. He took a step back and glowered at it as if that would help.

How was he even supposed to eat? His own silverware would be a joke. His hands? No. Absolutely not. He would rather starve. He folded his arms again and prepared a very well worded speech about dignity.

Footsteps returned before he could deliver it. Ivan set a shallow cardboard box on the counter, the edges scuffed with old play. He opened it with the care of a man who refused to break things, even cheap things.

"Remember when your cousin came and we babysat her?" Ivan said. "She left a bunch of her toys here. They could help. Though the only clothes I could find were on this doll... and it's not much."

He lifted a Barbie out of the box. The doll was nearly Luka's height and twice as smug. The plastic smile glittered under the lights. Luka narrowed his eyes at it like it had come to take his job. The doll wore a white tank top and something that was technically underwear. Not lingerie. Not anything of use. Barbie underwear, little, clean, and unforgivable.

Luka stared at the outfit, then at Ivan, then back at the outfit. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's better than being naked..." he muttered, choosing survival over ego. He stripped the clothes off the doll with quick, irritated tugs. The underwear fit. The tank top almost fit. It clung across his chest and rode up his stomach until it sat like a crop top that pretended it was not trying to be sexy. He pulled it down. It climbed back up with bright confidence. He gave up.

Ivan looked at him for a long second. His gaze traveled from Luka's messy blonde hair to the thin line of bare belly where the top kept surrendering. His jaw flexed once, a tight clamp and release, then he set the doll aside like it had done him a personal favor.

"She left these too." Ivan said. He reached into the box and pulled out a scatter of miniature things. A tiny tub with little gold feet. A bed with a quilt as thin as paper. A sofa the size of a shoe. Teeny plates and cups. A knife and fork that wouldn't dent butter. Everything Luka needed. Everything except more clothes.

He set the tiniest plate by the real one, then the cup, then the fork and knife. He looked at the full sized breakfast like a problem to be solved and solved it with a chef's calm. He cut the eggs into portions Luka could manage. He sawed triangles of toast into delicate wedges and kept the crusts on because Luka always ate them first. He chose the softest bacon and snipped it into bite pieces that still gleamed. He poured orange juice by the tablespoon into the doll cup and set it down with the care you give a priceless artifact.

Luka stood there very still and watched his boyfriend rearrange the world to suit his new size. He felt something in his chest do a warm, stupid thing. He would never tell Ivan this, he would rather chew glass, but he almost teared up.

Ivan slid the tiny plate closer. "Breakfast." he said.

Luka sat down on the counter like it was a bench, legs swinging, then reached for the fork that looked like jewelry. He stabbed a piece of egg and almost laughed at himself. He ate instead. The eggs were perfect, pillowy and seasoned like someone who knew his mouth. The toast cracked just enough. The bacon melted and left a shine. He lifted the doll cup with both hands and sipped. Tart sweetness kissed his tongue. Shame was a loud echo in his head but hunger was louder. He ate.

Ivan did not touch his own plate. He leaned on one elbow and watched like a man who had been waiting a long time for the movie to start. There was nothing lewd in the way he looked at first. Just fondness. Then Luka shifted on the counter and the crop top slid higher and the Barbie underwear hugged his hips just right. Fondness grew teeth.

Ivan cut his eyes away and back again. He set his jaw like that might hold the dam. Luka ate another piece of egg without looking up and Ivan let his gaze drop, just once, to the neat curve of Luka's ass under the white cotton. Air left him in a quiet, unhelpful breath.

This was not good. He knew better. He had a tiny boyfriend on his counter wearing a tank top that refused to behave and underwear that used to belong to a toy. He should not be thinking about anything except solutions. He wanted to tease him anyway. He wanted to set a single fingertip on that bare strip of stomach and watch Luka go pink. He wanted to put him in his palm and make him whine. He wanted to make him come and cry, and then scold himself for even letting the idea bloom.

Ivan narrowed his eyes at the counter like it had personally wronged him. He dragged his focus back to Luka's face. Luka was chewing happily and pretending not to notice how hard Ivan was working to be good. The pretending was kind. It was also gasoline.

"Is it okay?" Ivan asked, voice even, voice safe.

"It's good." Luka said around toast, lips shiny with butter. "You always cook good." He swallowed and chased it with a careful sip of juice. "The cup is adorable." he added, then rolled his eyes like he hated himself for saying it.

Ivan nodded. He looked at the cup like it was a problem he had solved and not a dangerous object now that Luka's mouth had touched it. He reached for a napkin and folded it down to Luka's scale, neat corners, crisp lines. He could not help the way his fingers wanted to arrange and tend. It was who he was. It was also a way to keep his hands busy when they wanted to misbehave.

Luka wiped his mouth and set the napkin aside. He glanced down at himself, at the way the tank top had lost its war again, and tugged it lower. It sprang back up. He sighed and gave up with a little huff. Pride was taking on water fast. Love was the only thing keeping the boat from tipping.

"What if this is permanent?" he asked, too quick, too casual.

"It won't be," Ivan said, steady. "You woke up small. You'll probably wake up normal." He paused, then added, softer, "If not, then we'll adapt."

Luka looked up at him, a piece of bacon pinched between two fingers, and smiled like a boy and a problem at once. "You always say that like it fixes everything."

"It often does." Ivan said.

Silence moved in, not heavy, just thick with a hundred things they did not need to say. The clock ticked. A car went by outside with its music low. Coffee cooled in the pot.

Luka finished his eggs and flicked a glance at the platter like he might dare another pass. Ivan's mouth curved. He took the tiny plate and offered another spoonful of eggs without being asked. Luka accepted it and tried to look put upon while his face betrayed him. He ate. Ivan watched him eat. It was domestic and ridiculous and perfect in the way that makes something ache behind the ribs.

When Luka finally pushed the little plate away, he patted his stomach like a satisfied cat and then remembered himself and scowled again. "Don't say cute," he warned.

"Understood," Ivan said, and his eyes laughed while his mouth obeyed.

Luka turned sideways, small hands braced on the counter. The Barbie underwear had a cheerful little bow at the hip that mocked him. He ignored it. He swung a leg and felt the seam tug in a place that made his skin go hot. He stilled and pretended nothing had happened. Ivan's gaze dipped and climbed, so subtle most people would have missed it. Luka was not most people. He hid a smile in his cup.

Ivan's restraint strained again. He let out a breath that shook at the end and ran a hand over his own jaw as if the motion could sand down need. His knuckles brushed his lower lip. He looked like he was thinking about paperwork. He was not.

He rose from the chair without a word. The move startled Luka and pleased him at once. Ivan walked to the sink and rinsed the big knife he had used to cut bacon. He dried it and set it away. He wiped the counter even though it did not need wiping. He gave himself tasks, small and precise, and finished each one as if the fate of countries depended on it.

"Let me know what you're finished." he said, still looking at the towel in his hands. "We can take this upstairs and look for some solutions."

Luka laughed. It came out light and bright, like glass in sunlight. He picked up the tiny fork and speared the last piece of toast. He ate slowly, just to be mean, just to watch the way Ivan's throat moved when he swallowed nothing, like he didn't know what was so funny. Pride rallied. Power hummed. He loved this man. He loved how hard he was trying not to be a menace.

He set the fork down. "I'm done."

Ivan set his palm down flat on the counter. It was steady, waiting, the lines of it like a cushion carved just for him. Luka stared at it, unimpressed, then gave a little sniff and perched himself on top as if it were a throne instead of skin. He sat prettily, legs tucked, posture proud. To anyone else it might have looked ridiculous. To Ivan, it was the only thing in the world worth holding.

He could feel the weight of him, soft curves pressed lightly against the pad of his hand, the warmth of Luka's body distinct even through his own thick skin. His thumb twitched once with the urge to stroke, but he restrained himself. He carried Luka upstairs, quiet and careful, until they reached the bedroom.

"Well, now what do we do?" Luka asked, swinging his legs over the edge of Ivan's hand like a boy on a dock. The movement nearly tipped him off balance, but Ivan's fingers curved just enough to steady him, enclosing without trapping, and set him gently down on the rumpled blanket.

Ivan leaned back a little. "We can try Reddit." he said, voice flat as stone.

Luka froze, mouth partway open. He gave him a look that could have cut glass. "Are you even trying to—" He stopped, his glare shifting downward. His eyes locked on the swell in Ivan's sweatpants. The bulge was obvious, pushing against the fabric, familiar enough that Luka's face went hot on instinct.

His finger jabbed toward it. "Are you hard right now? Why?"

Ivan glanced down. No embarrassment touched him, only a brief acknowledgement as he pressed his hand lightly against himself, more to confirm the truth of it than to hide. His eyes returned to Luka's without flinching. "You look really sexy right now." he said, as if reporting a fact.

Luka arched an eyebrow. "Well we can't have sex. I'm too small. You'll literally rip me in half if you tried. I wouldn't be surprised if your dick was bigger than me now." His laugh was sharp and scoffing, a shield against how his stomach curled warm at the words.

"I know that." Ivan answered. Stoic as ever. He knew it, and he would never hurt Luka, not like this, not ever. But the want didn't vanish. It thrummed in him like a second pulse.

Ivan's hand lifted, deliberate, steady as if every second mattered. A single finger reached out, the size of a pillar next to Luka's frame, and for a heartbeat he only hovered, letting the anticipation coil in the space between them. Then he touched.

The fingertip brushed over Luka's cheek first, tracing the line of bone beneath skin, then circling lightly at the corner of his mouth. Ivan's gaze followed where he pressed, as if sketching every detail into memory. Luka leaned into it without meaning to, lips parting on a shallow breath, already undone by how reverent it felt.

From there Ivan drifted lower. Down along the slope of his neck, pressing just enough to feel the flutter of Luka's pulse against his fingertip. He lingered at the hollow where collarbones met, tracing a slow half circle there, as if testing how much of Luka's trembling could be felt with a single point of contact.

The finger moved again, sliding across Luka's chest. His nipples hardened instantly, oversensitive from everything before, and Ivan's touch didn't rush past them, it lingered, circling, brushing once, twice, until Luka gasped out loud and arched to chase more. The sound made Ivan's brow crease faintly, the closest he came to a smile.

Further still, that huge fingertip wandered down the ridges of his stomach, pausing to press at the dip of his navel before slipping lower. Luka sucked in a breath when it reached the small of his back, Ivan letting it rest there for a long, steady moment, warm and heavy as a brand.

And then it moved again. Over the curve of his ass, soft, round, and made smaller yet by scale. Ivan rubbed once, a slow stroke that made Luka twitch so hard he almost whimpered.

But Ivan didn't stop. The touch continued down his thighs, the pad of the finger sliding with patient pressure, dragging over muscle and skin inch by inch. It was slow, achingly slow, like the tide pulling away from shore, leaving Luka shivering and straining toward him long after it had passed.

Luka shivered. His pride urged him to snarl, but his body betrayed him with the arch of his back and the heat pooling low in his stomach. He looked down, jaw tight, only to see his own cock straining against the ridiculous white underwear.

"See..." Ivan said softly, eyes calm but voice heavier. "You're hard too." His finger moved, pressing with the lightest pressure over the damp fabric. Luka's hips jerked, and a moan slipped out despite his clenched teeth.

"You're such a freak." he spat, but his breath caught halfway through. The words landed weak against the sound of his own desire. He pushed the tiny underwear down himself, the tight tank following after, his fingers fumbling, exposing his nipples and cock to the air. It gleamed, flushed and leaking, humiliatingly eager.

Ivan's eyes narrowed, squinting as if Luka were sunlight he couldn't look at directly. His fingertip came down again, slow and deliberate, pressing and rubbing gently at Luka's arousal. Compared to his massive hand, it was like touching something fragile, a treasure that could be shattered.

Luka moaned outright this time, falling back against the mattress. His legs spread on instinct, offering himself up to the rhythm Ivan gave him. Each stroke made his small body twitch, every nerve stretched tight.

"Feel good?" Ivan murmured, gaze never leaving him.

"Yes." Luka gasped, though his pride tried to twist it into something less. He rocked up against the finger, grinding shamelessly, chasing the friction with small, desperate sounds.

It didn't take long, but Ivan made sure every second counted. His fingertip pressed and dragged with deliberate weight, calloused skin scraping just enough to spark heat against Luka's slick cock. Each stroke drew a tremor from him, small at first, then sharper, his hips jerking no matter how he tried to control them.

Luka's breath quickened. Every inhale caught in his chest, every exhale a broken sound, until the rhythm of his gasps matched the rhythm of Ivan's touch. His thighs tensed, little muscles straining, toes curling against Ivan's palm. He looked wrecked already, lips parted, eyes glassy, forehead damp with sweat that had nowhere to hide on his small body.

Ivan kept watching. Patient. Attentive. The barest narrowing of his eyes said he noticed each shiver, each desperate twitch, and adjusted the pressure like he'd done this a hundred times before.

Then Luka cracked. His back arched in a sharp curve, his head thrown back, and a moan poured out of him, long and drawn, until it broke into ragged shivers. His release spilled hot over Ivan's skin, streaking across the massive finger that had been working him so carefully. His chest heaved, rising and falling as if he'd been sprinting, every breath a fight to come down from the peak.

Ivan's laugh cut through, quiet but rich with warmth. He tilted his head, gaze soft in its own way. "Even the way you cum is cute."

Luka lay flat, panting, the flat of his stomach rising with every breath. He turned his face away in embarrassment, but the need inside him hadn't dimmed. If anything, release had only sharpened it. He spread his legs again, baring himself without words, his body aching for more.

His cunt clenched, still sore from Ivan's use the night before, and he whispered before he could stop himself. "Maybe... your pinky..."

Ivan's eyes widened. He leaned closer, testing the thought, then carefully pressed his smallest finger against Luka's entrance. He felt the resistance at once. His brows knit. "It's a tight fit..." he murmured, pulling back.

"If you work it open, it could fit." Luka said, lower lip stuck out in a pout that didn't match the hunger in his eyes.

Ivan studied him, calculating, caught between need and care.

Luka pushed, tempting him further. "When I turn back to normal, I'll agree to whatever you want to do next time we have sex." His voice was half challenge, half promise.

Ivan stilled. That was no small offer. He let the silence hang a moment, thinking. Then, "Okay. But if it hurts more than you thought, you tell me. And then we stop."

"Yeah, okay, whatever, just start alrea—" Luka's words jolted into a strangled gasp. Ivan had bent down, closer than he'd been yet, and pressed his tongue over Luka's tiny body.

Ivan had lowered his head and pressed the flat of his tongue against Luka's stomach, slow and deliberate. The muscle dragged across warm skin, leaving behind a sheen of slick that caught the light. He kissed the flatness softly in between, as though every inch of Luka's tiny body deserved reverence, then returned with another languid sweep of his tongue.

The touch wrung a moan out of Luka. His legs stayed spread, restless, trembling faintly in the air as if they were waiting for the moment Ivan would finally move lower, lower to the place he truly wanted him. But Ivan lingered, unhurried, savoring his path.

When his tongue pointed upward and pressed against Luka's flushed nipple, Luka flinched. The tiny bud was still tender from the night before, nerves raw, and the slick wetness made the sensation spark all the way down to his gut.

"Ivan... no. Not there. My hole..." Luka moaned, his protest shaky, words at odds with the need dripping from his voice.

Ivan didn't budge. He leaned in closer, teeth brushing, and gave the nipple a nip. Just a little bite. Not enough to hurt, but harder than his usual teasing love bites. Luka gasped, more surprised than in pain.

His small hands reached up and pushed at Ivan's nose, a flimsy barrier. When he looked up, he found Ivan's eyes focused entirely on him, steady, intent, and gentle despite the sharpness of his size. Luka's heart thumped in his chest. Even here, even with the danger of how small he was, Ivan was so careful. He loved Luka that much.

Ivan rolled his tongue again, dragging it back and forth across Luka's chest. Then he switched sides, giving equal attention, circling, flicking, letting the swollen buds stiffen under his care. Each pass left them flushed red, erect and glistening with slick. When at last he pulled back to look, his expression softened. A faint smile touched his lips, endearment shining in his crimson eyes. His tiny boyfriend looked wrecked already.

Luka's breath hitched. He couldn't take it. His hands hooked under his knees, and he spread himself wider. The motion was obscene, bold, his small body open in invitation. His sphincter clenched and unclenched, a deliberate show, as he stared straight into Ivan's eyes with raw, lustful need.

"Please, Ivan..." he mewled.

Ivan's gaze dropped to where Luka was offering himself. The pretty pink cunt, the swollen rim that twitched and beckoned. It opened faintly, calling to him, tempting him closer. His breath came out shaky.

"Fuck..." Ivan muttered, almost under his breath. His chest rose and fell, rough with the effort of restraint. He dragged in another breath, eyes fixed on the small figure before him. "You really—" His words cut off with another curse, low and ragged, like his control was fraying.

One hand moved to his shirt. He stripped it off in a single tug, fabric snapping against his skin, baring the stretch of muscle Luka had always adored. For a moment he let Luka stare, let him see what towered over him, huge and heaving with every breath. Then Ivan shoved his sweatpants low, his cock springing free, flushed and heavy. Precum slicked the crown already, gleaming in the dim light, and he wrapped a fist around himself. Slowly, deliberately, he pumped the length, spreading the wetness from tip to base, drawing out a groan that rumbled from deep in his chest.

Only then did he bend again, lowering his face toward Luka. His breath fanned hot across Luka's stomach, over his thighs. He paused just above Luka's cock, tongue lolling but not touching yet, just close enough for Luka to feel the promise of it. Luka squirmed, a whimper catching in his throat, straining upward toward the heat he knew was coming.

Ivan finally lowered, tongue pressing broad and wet against Luka's cock. Luka jolted as if shocked, a strangled cry ripping out, his body arching helplessly into the drag of that massive tongue. The slick stroke left him trembling, nerves alight.

Ivan's free hand stayed wrapped around himself, pumping slow at first, savoring the contrast. He matched his rhythm to the pace of his tongue, careful, steady, working Luka in tandem with himself. Each motion was deliberate, his towering body tight with the effort not to overwhelm the man writhing beneath his mouth.

Luka's moans spilled out, raw and shameless. Every time Ivan dragged his tongue over him, his hips bucked against it, chasing more, unable to resist. He tried to hold back, but the sensation built too fast, too deep. The pressure broke him.

He came with a cry that stretched thin, arching high and trembling as pleasure tore through him for the second time, shaking him down to the bone.

Ivan laughed quietly, chest shaking with the sound. Even this was cute, Luka panting, legs twitching, body spent but still wanting more. As the climax spilled out onto Luka's stomach, Ivan was there instantly, lapping up the fluid with his tongue as though it belonged to him. His mouth dragged lower, leaving Luka's skin shining wet in his wake, moving inevitably toward the place Luka had begged for.

Ivan's tongue dragged up Luka's body once more, a slow glide that left skin shining. He paused at Luka's face, close enough for his breath to warm the tiny mouth, then tipped forward and gave him a quick kiss. It was barely there, a soft stamp of affection, and then he was moving again, tongue sliding back down the plane of Luka's chest toward the open invitation between his legs.

He hummed as he pressed his tongue at the clenching cunt, low in his throat, a sound that rumbled through his mouth and into Luka's body. He lapped at the familiar flavor and slicked up the entrance, careful and patient, as if he could convince the tight rim to open just for him by worship alone.

It took only a few passes for him to understand it wouldn't work. He sat back up, face thoughtful, mouth wet, eyes dark with focus. This wasn't working. His tongue wouldn't just magically fit into Luka's hole, his tongue was thicker than his pinky, and no amount of careful pressure would change that truth.

Luka whined at the absence, a small breathy sound that made Ivan's chest tighten. The little body on the pillow twitched with impatience, legs still hooked up and open, the clothed curve of his belly heaving in quick motions. He looked wrecked and sweet and entirely beyond dignity, and Ivan loved him so much he had to look away for a heartbeat just to steady himself.

He looked down again and found Luka staring back, eyes glassy, mouth soft and sulky. Ivan plopped a sweet kiss on his hair as an apology. "Wait here," he said, voice gentle. "I need to find something to open you up. My tongue is too big."

Luka pouted, the motion small and devastating on a face that size, and let Ivan get up. He watched from the bed as Ivan moved through the room, barefoot and careful, a large man suddenly hyper aware of the world he could knock askew with a careless step. Ivan disappeared into the bathroom, and drawers slid open, the soft thud of bottles moved aside, the click of a cabinet sounded. Luka fidgeted, hands on his knees, trying not to rock with need.

Ivan paused at the sink. His gaze fell on a weird shaped wooden hairbrush that did not look like any brush he owned. The back was smooth and rounded, and there was a removable head with thick wooden bristles set into a flexible pad. Maybe a massager. He did not know Luka owned one of these. He turned it in his hands, judged the size, the shape, the smoothness of the small rounded pegs.

He walked back out with it, holding it like a question. "Hey..." he asked, showing the wooden brush. "Is this important to you?"

Luka looked at it in confusion. "It was a gift from Hyuna—"

Snap!

Luka's mouth fell open. Ivan had broken off the massage pieces in a single clean motion, separating the bristle pad from the handle, then pried a few of the rounded pegs free from the base. He carried the pieces over and sat carefully on the bed, every shift measured to keep the mattress from jostling too hard.

"Hey..." Luka started, indignant and breathless at once. "That was a really good massager—"

He moaned before he finished the complaint. Ivan had already pressed one of the smooth wooden pegs into the leaking hole. The rounded tip slid against slick and the rim answered with a tight pull. Luka looked down, mesmerized and flustered at the same time, vision full of the wooden rod spreading his cunt nicely.

"Don't do that without warning—" he tried again, but another moan cut him off when Ivan pressed it deeper. The angle found the little place inside that coaxed noises out of him like a squeaky toy. His toes curled into the pillow. His fingers grabbed at the skin under his knees and held on, spreading himself wider because that made it feel better.

He did not want to fight it anymore. Ivan always knew how to make him feel good. The peg was small enough to be safe, big enough to feel like something. The slick made it glide, and the pressure lived right under pleasure, which was exactly what Luka wanted.

Ivan worked in a rhythm that was more careful than it looked. In and out, a measured push and retreat that matched Luka's breathing, each stroke testing the give, each pause letting the rim flutter around the shape. His fingers began to slick. He had a little trouble gripping the wood with his fingertips, but it was enough. Luka was enjoying every minute of it, little sounds stuttering out of him, thighs trembling.

Ivan's mind was already on the next step. He brought his pinky down and sized up the wooden rod against his finger. Luka would need to fit one more rod in to take it. He would not rush that. He would not hurt him. He would do it right.

He began to circle the rod, twisting and prodding, spreading and widening Luka's nasty cunt to make space for another one. The motion stretched without tearing. Luka felt it as a deep pull, an ache that ripened into want, a bloom that kept unfolding as long as he let it. He let it.

Ivan raised the second peg to his mouth and put it between his lips. He swirled it around with his tongue to make it as slick as possible. A string of spit clung to it when he pulled back and he let it drip out onto Luka's hole. More spit fell like goop over his pelvis. It was disgusting and sexy at the same time, and Luka heard himself whine at the sight.

He picked up the second rod and began to prod at Luka's hole that still greedily sucked in the first. It was tight, but it was manageable. Ivan placed his thumb at Luka's ass cheek and spread the hole further, steady firm pressure, nothing abrupt. The second peg caught the rim and held there for a beat while Ivan judged the angle, then he began to press into the slickness.

Luka tensed, body protecting itself on reflex, but he tried his best to relax and let the second rod in. He adjusted his grip and pulled his legs even more to make more space. He felt like a cock loving slut, and the thought made him blush and bite his lip and push back against the pressure like he could not get enough. It was exhilarating. It was filthy. It was perfect.

Ivan ripped off the bandaid. He did it with care and confidence, a clean press with no jitter. The second rod slid past the resisting ring and seated beside the first. Luka's breath snagged and then came out in a gasp that had his whole body shaking. Luka threw his head back with a moan he didn't mean to make.

Ivan let it rest there. He didn't move the pegs much, only a small adjustment to keep them from pinching, then nothing. He wanted Luka to adapt to the spread. He watched the tight rim quiver and then learn, watched the small belly relax by degrees, watched the line between pain and pleasure drift until it sat in the right place. He waited through that slow shift, and he let Luka feel it. The waiting felt long enough to measure in calendar time. The fan hummed. The sheets warmed. Luka's breath stretched out and slowed, then hitched again, then steadied.

Finally Luka looked up at him with hearts in his eyes. "Ivan," he whispered, and the sound shivered through both of them. "This... feels so good." He mewled when he said it, a little broken, all gratitude and greed. He bucked his hips with a slutty rhythm that made the pegs rock inside him, and Ivan's cock twitched in his fist without shame.

Ivan let out a dry laugh that sounded like surrender. He wrapped his cock with his hand once more, slow and sure, and dragged his fingers down the shaft in a move that matched what he was about to do to Luka. His other hand pinched the bases of the pegs together, keeping them steady while he began to move them.

He did not yank. He drew them out in a slow pull, a fraction at a time, until the rounded tips were just barely at the edge of Luka's rim. Luka's mouth fell open, eyes wide, waiting for the inevitable. Ivan held him there on the brink, then put his thumb flat across the ends of both pegs and pressed.

The rods slid back in at once, a deep, deliberate fill that punched a cry out of Luka's tiny body. Luka arched and clutched his own knees harder, open and trembling. Ivan pumped his cock to the sight, breathing rough, control thinner than he liked to admit. He did it again, the slow pull, the hovering pause, the firm press, each cycle smoothing the way, each press sinking deeper without force.

Luka's expression went soft and shameless. He looked ruined and blessed at the same time. The little sounds fell out of him on each push, each one sweeter than the last. His hips kept time on instinct, chasing pressure, offering himself up in greedy little rolls. His eyes stayed on Ivan's, glassy and sure, like he needed the sight of his man just as much as he needed the stretch.

"You're so hot." Ivan murmured, and the words came out low and reverent. He didn't need to say more. He could see it all. Luka was just sexy and beautiful in more ways than one. The tiny body, the big want, the courage to ask for exactly what he wanted, the trust that let him take it. Ivan loved every inch of him.

He steadied the pegs with one hand and stroked himself with the other, pace patient, not greedy. He watched Luka breathe. He watched the rim swallow and release and swallow again. He watched his own spit slick Luka's pelvis into a mess and somehow felt proud of the shine. He thought about his pinky fitting after this, and the thought made his jaw tighten. He thought about a future where Luka was back to size and this night was a memory they would ruin each other with for months. He thought about how lucky he was to have a man who could make him gentle and merciless in the same breath.

"Tell me if it hurts..." he said, because he could not stop caring even when he was shaking with how much he wanted. "...then I'll stop."

Luka shook his head, panting, voice thin but sure. "Don't stop." he said. "Please."

Ivan pressed the pegs deeper again, slow and sweet, and gave him exactly what he asked for.

Ivan continued to fuck Luka with the two rods. Slow, then quick. Slow, then quick. The rhythm was hypnotic, a teasing game that wound Luka tighter with every shift. Luka moaned so much his voice grew hoarse, each sound breaking into the air, raw and needy. His little body curled and stretched, legs spread so far it looked obscene. He looked like an actual slut, every inch of him betraying the surrender he could not hide.

"Ivan... your pinky. I want you inside me." Luka moaned it like a plea, soft but insistent.

The words landed like a strike. Ivan paused. The hand wrapped around his cock stilled. The member twitched at the sound, hard enough that it hurt. His head dropped back for a breath, a dry laugh leaving his mouth. Luka didn't know what he was asking for. Or maybe he did, maybe that was the point. Ivan wished Luka would grow back to his normal size. He wanted to fold him over, slam his cock deep inside, press and prod at every place that made Luka lose his mind. The image was so sharp it nearly undid him. But Luka wasn't big. Luka was small. And Ivan had to make do with what he had.

He lowered his head and put his pinky into his mouth, lathering it up really well with spit. His tongue rolled over the knuckle, wetting every inch, until it gleamed. He pulled back with a soft pop, lips wet, eyes already dark with focus.

Then he reached down. He pulled the wooden rods out with care, each one sliding free with a slick sound. Luka shivered at the sudden emptiness, hole flushed red from the stretch, gaping open as if begging for more. Ivan could practically hear the throbbing from where he sat. He licked his lips without thinking, caught in the sight. He bent over and pressed his tongue against it softly, just once, testing. He pushed gently, then pulled back. His tongue was still too thick, he knew it, but it was nice trying. Luka trembled under the touch, thighs shaking.

Ivan pressed his pinky against Luka's rim, and Luka tossed his blonde hair into the pillow, mouth falling open. Pleasure stole him whole as Ivan slowly entered his pinky. The fit was impossibly tight and yet giving, his body yielding inch by inch to the intrusion.

It was warm, slick, hot, and tight. Ivan could feel Luka's heart beating against his fingertip, pulsing in frantic rhythm. He pressed deeper. Slowly. Slow. Until his pinky was buried all the way to the knuckle. It was a sight to behold, small body stretched around a single finger like it was more than he could take.

A tiny Luka, with Ivan's pinky jammed inside. It looked like an entire arm buried deep.

"Move..." Luka moaned, the word falling slurred from his lips. His head lolled against the pillow, eyes glassy, lashes wet.

Ivan's gaze softened. His mouth didn't curve, but his eyes did, the corners crinkling with quiet amusement. He shifted his hand just enough, answering the command without a word. The first press inside was unhurried, deliberate, a stretch that made Luka gasp and clutch at the sheets beneath him.

Then came the rhythm. Steady. Certain. A measured pace that matched the drag of Ivan's fist over his own cock. In and out. Up and down. The movements mirrored each other like a metronome, syncing the room into one cadence.

The air thickened with sound. Slick, wet, shameless. Each thrust drew a noise from Luka that filled the quiet, moans spilling raw and unrestrained. They carried every note of desperation, high and broken, cracking whenever Ivan's pinky pressed deeper, circling just enough to make Luka quake.

Ivan watched him carefully, noting the twitch of his thighs, the way his toes curled, the helpless cant of his hips. He adjusted pressure, angle, speed, like a craftsman shaping clay, intent on drawing out every reaction. Luka writhed against the pillow, body convulsing whenever the thick finger buried deep, each thrust a jolt that left him trembling harder.

The pace shifted, just slightly quicker. Then again, faster, deeper. Ivan's control never wavered, but his movements grew more insistent, driving Luka higher without letting him fall over the edge too soon. Luka's breath hitched, stuttered, came in ragged bursts as his eyes fluttered shut, damp with tears of overstimulation.

"It's- too much..." he gasped, though his body told another story, bowing into every thrust, chasing the pressure with shameless need.

Ivan leaned closer, his breath hot against Luka's cheek. He kept the rhythm merciless, pumping himself in the same unrelenting pace, towering presence enveloping Luka.

"I-Ivan..." Luka's voice cracked, desperate and small. His spine arched off the pillow, every muscle tight, his body straining toward the inevitable. "I'm gonna—"

The words broke into a cry. His head tipped back, mouth open on a sound that was almost sobbed. Release tore through him in violent waves, sharp and overwhelming, thick seed striping his stomach in messy lines. His entire body shook, every muscle clenched as the orgasm wrung him dry.

Ivan's finger never faltered, carrying him through the aftershocks, dragging out each shiver until Luka collapsed limp against the pillow, trembling in the aftermath.

Ivan followed a beat after with a groan that shook his chest. His own release spurted high, cum flying across the sheets like a mountain from Luka's perspective. He gripped tighter, shuddering through the finish, his jaw clenched on the sound he didn't manage to hold back.

For a moment the room was still except for the sound of their breathing. Luka lay boneless against the pillow, chest heaving, his skin damp and glowing under the low light. His thighs quivered, unable to close around the finger still buried inside him. Ivan's hand rested heavy on his stomach, feeling the aftershocks that rippled through his small frame.

Ivan watched him in silence, eyes dark but soft. Luka looked utterly spent, hair plastered to his forehead, lips parted and trembling. It should have been enough. It should have been more than enough.

"One more time..." Luka whispered, voice thin but steady plead. His lashes fluttered as he turned his head, the faintest smile tugging his lips. He was limp, trembling, and yet still craving. He wanted Ivan's cock inside him so badly it hurt. But, Ivan was too big. His pinky would have to do.

Ivan didn't argue. His pinky stayed buried, but now he shifted positions. Careful as always, he reached down and lifted Luka up from the pillow, small body fitting easily in his hand. Then he leaned back against the headboard, body settling into the wood.

He placed Luka against his newly erect cock. Luka lay back against it, his tiny frame dwarfed by the sheer size of the shaft behind him, sitting deeper on Ivan's pinky as he adjusted. The sight made Ivan's breath catch. His whole body shuddered.

This had to be straight out of a perverse fantasy. Luka against him like this, trusting and wanton, his own cock standing tall behind the man he loved, it was too much. And Ivan, steady as ever, let the fantasy unfold, every detail seared into him.

Luka stared up at him, his eyes wide and dark with something between awe and lust. Ivan's muscles loomed overhead, every line of him thrown into sharp relief by the afternoon light, chest rising and falling as his panting steadied into long, controlled pulls. He was massive like this, larger than life, veins standing in his neck, the heat of his body pressing down on the room itself. The throbbing cock at Luka's back pulsed like it had its own heartbeat, steady and insistent, and Luka could feel every thud reverberate through his tiny body.

"I thought of something fun..." Luka murmured, voice low and mischievous.

Ivan cocked a brow, the smallest sign of curiosity flickering over his otherwise steady expression. He loosened the hand that held Luka steady and let him move as he pleased.

Without taking Ivan's pinky out, Luka shifted and spun, his small limbs wrapping tight as he hugged Ivan's girth. It was like clinging to a pillar of flesh, a living column that radiated heat against his entire frame. The skin was slick, hot, taut with veins that stood out like ridges beneath his lips. Luka's arms didn't even meet when he tried to circle them around, fingers clutching at air halfway across the breadth of Ivan's shaft. He pressed himself close, cheek brushing the surface, and bent forward to suck on one of those bulging veins.

The cock twitched against his mouth, a heavy jerk that made Luka smile. He kissed it again, softer this time, and laughed under his breath.

Ivan watched silently, his gaze heavy and patient, as though every move Luka made was being memorized.

Luka tilted his head back and shot a grin over his shoulder, cocky as ever. "Use your other hand to press me against your cock. Then fuck me with your pinky."

For the first time today, Ivan's composure cracked. His eyes widened, a flash of disbelief breaking through before smoothing back to stoicism. "You want me..." His voice came slow, almost disbelieving. "...to use you... like a... pocket pussy?"

Luka's grin only widened, pretty and wicked all at once. "Wow, you're so smart. I love when you get the gist so fast—"

He didn't get to finish. Ivan's hand shifted, massive fingers closing carefully around Luka's torso. He pushing him slightly, as though weighing him in his palm, gaze steady and unreadable. Luka wriggled in his hold, laughing breathlessly, taunting him with every squirm.

Ivan's silence stretched. The tension hung heavy, until at last, he exhaled. His pinky pressed in deeper, slowly, inexorably, stretching Luka until a shudder wracked his small frame. Luka gasped, his bravado crumbling into a sound high and needy.

Only then did Ivan move his other hand. The enormous palm curved around Luka's back, pressing him with deliberate care against the rigid length of his cock. The size difference was obscene. Luka's chest and stomach flattened against the thick shaft, the heat of it branding his skin.

A low moan ripped out of him the instant friction hit. His nipples dragged against slick flesh, his cock sliding helplessly as Ivan shifted him just a fraction up, then down. The movement was slow at first, almost experimental, as though Ivan was testing just how much Luka could take. Luka writhed in his grip, caught between the press of cock at his front and the relentless pinky filling him from behind.

There was nowhere to escape. Ivan's hand held him snug, guiding every glide, forcing him into the rhythm until his moans turned shameless, desperate. Each drag across that impossible heat sent sparks through him, leaving him trembling, lost in sensation.

Ivan looked down at his slut of a boyfriend, utterly captivated by the sight. Luka clung to him with arms spread wide, face pressed into the slick surface, body twitching with pleasure. He looked lost in it, gone somewhere only Ivan could take him. The sight alone nearly undid him.

Ivan picked up the pace, not all at once but in punishing increments. His pinky worked harder, sinking and pulling out in a rhythm that grew steadier with each thrust, the sound of it wet and obscene. Luka's small frame was guided mercilessly against his cock, Ivan's palm dragging him in long, deliberate strokes.

Every time Luka's chest and cock rubbed the thick shaft, a broken gasp ripped out of him. He tried to swallow the noises, to bite them back, but they poured out anyway, high and needy, tearing free with every movement. His hair clung damp to his flushed face, his body straining as if it were too much to endure.

Ivan adjusted the angle, pressing him closer, then easing him back, watching with sharp eyes as Luka writhed and quivered. The rhythm shifted again with slower, deeper thrusts of his pinky that had Luka crying out, then faster shallow ones that left him keening for more. Every change broke Luka down further, stripping his bratty edge until only helpless sounds remained.

The room filled with it. Slick, shameless sounds, the slap of wet friction, the air thick with the heat of it. Luka's moans were scattered between the obscene rhythm, his body arching helplessly as the pressure coiled tight inside him.

"Ivan—" His voice cracked, strangled with desperation. "I'm... I'm gonna—"

His insides squeezed hard around the pinky, clenching with frantic need. Ivan groaned, low and guttural, composure cracking at last. "Me too, baby." His breath stuttered, and his pace picked up, just a fraction faster but infinitely more desperate. His grip tightened, holding Luka flush against him, as though afraid he might slip away.

The inevitable crashed over them together. Luka's little body convulsed, twitching and spasming as his climax ripped through him, sharp and relentless. Hot spurts smeared across the shaft he was pinned against, streaking Ivan's cock in messy lines.

Ivan broke at the same time. A guttural sound tore out of him, raw and unrestrained, as his cock jerked against Luka's body. Release came in heavy, thick waves, spilling over Luka in torrents.

To Luka, it was a storm. A downpour of heat and slime, pouring over his chest, his stomach, his hair. It plastered his lashes together, streaked his arms, clung in ropes to his thighs. He lifted his trembling hands to wipe at his face, but the flood only smeared thicker.

He gasped for breath, overwhelmed, blinking through the mess. His body quivered still, every nerve overfired and raw. The pinky slipped free at last, leaving a shocking emptiness that made him whine. Disoriented, trembling, he barely had time to register the loss before Ivan's massive hand was scooping him close.

Warmth enveloped him again, heat and steadiness pressing him to the broad chest he'd been pinned against. Luka shuddered, barely clinging to composure, and then felt the first wet stroke of Ivan's tongue.

Ivan's tongue moved with unhurried purpose, lapping up his own cum like a dog because that was how much he loved Luka. He started low, licking across Luka's cock until it twitched in raw sensitivity, Luka's small hips giving a weak jolt he couldn't control. Ivan didn't stop. He followed the trail upward, broad strokes flattening over the plane of Luka's stomach, collecting every streak and bead until the skin shone wet again, this time with spit instead of cum.

Luka groaned faintly, the sound breaking into something high when Ivan's tongue brushed over swollen nipples. He squirmed, chest rising helplessly, but Ivan's hand pinned him steady against his palm. Each lap was slow, thorough, until Luka's chest heaved, sticky replaced with warmth.

Upward still, Ivan dragged over the soft line of Luka's throat, lingering there, feeling the pulse flutter beneath his tongue. He licked along Luka's jaw, the edge of his cheek, even across his face, sweeping away what had splattered there. Luka squeezed his eyes shut and gave a hoarse little laugh, humiliated and soothed all at once.

By the time Ivan drew back, Luka was slicked with nothing but spit, dazed and pliant in his hold. His hair clung damp to his temples, his lips parted as though even breathing took too much effort. He let himself be handled, every muscle loose, trusting Ivan to finish the work.

Only then did Ivan lean in, his lips meeting Luka's face in a kiss that was softer than the cleanup had been. It lingered, tasting of sweat and salt and something intimate beneath it. Luka made a faint noise against his mouth, too weak to be bratty, too spent to resist.

Ivan chuckled low in his chest, amusement curling through the sound as he finally drew back. His gaze dropped over the tiny, wrecked body resting in his palm, and the corner of his mouth tilted in a smile.

"Get bigger already..." he murmured, tone warm despite the tease, "...so I can fuck you properly."

The afternoon light spilled into the room, gilding the sheets in soft gold. Luka lay sprawled across Ivan's palms, boneless and pliant, his body still slick with spit. The mess clung in cooling patches along his chest, his stomach, even streaking his face where Ivan had licked him clean. Luka groaned faintly, eyelids heavy, the sunlight too bright for his dazed eyes.

"This can't be hygienic." he muttered, voice hoarse, barely more than a complaint under his breath.

Ivan's chest rumbled with quiet laughter. He looked down at the tiny figure in his hands, amusement and affection written in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Probably not." he agreed, and bent to press a kiss against Luka's damp hair. His smile softened as he studied the wreckage he had made, as though Luka were something precious, his to admire and care for.

He placed him gently onto the nearest pillow, taking care not to jostle him, as though Luka might dissolve if handled too roughly. Ivan's hands hovered a second longer, reluctant to pull away, then finally left him there. Straightening, he stretched, letting his nudity rest unconcealed in the late sun. His cock hung heavy and spent, softened now, but still impressive in its sheer size. Luka's eyes locked onto it immediately.

He stared brazenly, lips pressed into a pout, frustration mixing with longing. The view only made the ache sharper, reminding him of what he couldn't have while small. How badly he wanted to be big again, big enough to climb onto Ivan's lap, to ride him until they both broke apart. The thought sent a dull throb through his body even in its exhaustion.

Ivan caught the look, the pout, and his smile deepened. "Be right back." he murmured, voice low but certain. Then he turned, calm as ever, and disappeared out the bedroom door.

The silence that followed was strange. Luka lay back on the pillow, the indentation of his small body barely visible in the fabric, and waited. He could still hear his own heartbeat in his ears, faint but steady now. He counted breaths. The sun shifted fractionally across the sheets.

Then it came. With a blink, one, two, three, four, five, his world lurched. The fabric beneath him stretched and shrank, the ceiling above zoomed downward, the very air seemed to shift against his skin. He gasped as his body expanded, limbs lengthening, chest rising, his frame returning all at once to the form he knew.

Luka sat upright at once. His hands flew to his face, to his chest, sliding down his thighs, touching to make sure it was real. No longer fragile, no longer doll sized, his body was his own again. Relief rushed through him, heady and dizzying. Then his expression shifted, mischief creeping across his features like the slow curl of a grin.

He smirked, already imagining Ivan's reaction.

Ivan carried the little plastic tub in his hands, filled it carefully at the bathroom sink until it was just the right temperature, and tested it with his knuckle. It was ridiculous, he knew, a toy basin meant for dolls, hardly worthy of his lover. But Luka had been so small, sticky and dazed, and Ivan wanted to give him some semblance of comfort, even if it came in absurd form.

He chuckled quietly to himself at the thought, walking back toward the bedroom with the tub cradled against his chest. He pictured Luka's pout, his dramatics, his inevitable bratty remarks about being treated like porcelain. The thought warmed him, softening his face into something almost tender.

But the moment he stepped through the doorway, the tub slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor.

The sight before him stole his composure entirely.

Luka sat on the bed, full sized again, the sunlight cutting golden lines across his bare skin. He was posed like a vision, legs folded beneath him, body upright and open. His hands clasped at the backs of his thighs, pulling himself apart with deliberate intent. He spread himself wide, showing the gaping ruin of his body, offered up shamelessly for Ivan's gaze alone.

Ivan froze. The breath caught in his chest, his jaw tightening as he felt his cock stir, twitching back to life despite the exhaustion of earlier. A dry laugh escaped him, almost disbelieving.

God.

God, he loved Luka so much.

♥︎

♥︎honeisenpa1®

Chapter Text

The door clicked behind him and the apartment gave him that hush that meant this was home. Ivan loosened his tie as he stepped out of his shoes, the evening heat still clinging to his shirt like a second skin. He could smell garlic and sesame and the faint lift of scallion in oil, a domestic halo that would have made any man soft if the sight that followed did not make him hard first.

Luka stood at the stove in absolutely nothing but an apron. The strings crossed his spine in pale bows and the hem barely kissed the swell of his hips. The rest of him was bare and warm under the kitchen light. Ivan paused in the doorway, lips parting, tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth like a predator catching the first taste of blood. Luka was usually conservative with his shyness, even after ten years. He was the type to flush when he undressed, the type to hide his mouth behind his wrist when he laughed too hard. Seeing him like this felt like finding a gift on the counter with your name already written on it.

He moved without hurry. His steps made almost no sound on the tile. Luka didn't turn to greet him. He only shifted a little, the most deliberate inch, offering Ivan a better view of his behind as he stirred the pan. Oil hissed in a gentle rhythm. A pot of rice ticked its last few minutes on the back burner. Luka's hair unapologetically wavy and messy and a few strands kissed adorably at his neck.

Ivan's gaze fell lower. Luka's cunt was so pretty, as pretty as he knew it to be, pink and swollen and used all thanks to the way Ivan never seemed to get enough of it. Even the soft gape didn't diminish a thing. Luka was still as tight as they came, only now Ivan could press in without that first deathly resistance that used to make him grit his teeth. He had trained the body that trusted him. He had earned that ease. His chest went heavy with a quiet gratitude he would never say aloud. Luka was the sexiest wife in the world, according to Ivan, and the kitchen did nothing to disagree.

He closed the last of the distance and pressed his hardness to Luka's ass, slow and certain, a hello he preferred to words. His arms came around Luka's waist and settled there, palms splayed over warm skin and cotton string. He bent to the shell of Luka's ear and let his breath warm it.

"Did I do something good?" he murmured. "Why the feast?"

He wasn't talking about the food on the stove.

Luka rolled his hips once and pressed back into him, a small test that made Ivan's jaw tick. "Those ahjummas at the housewife committee were saying that their husbands like stuff like this." he mumbled. His tone tried to be casual and landed somewhere closer to shy, and he pushed his cunt back against Ivan's clothed girth like he wanted to underline the point with his body.

Ivan hummed, a low sound that sat in his chest like a pleased animal. "I need to keep my innocent wife away from them..." he said, and he could not keep the smile from his voice. "...I like when I have to work for it." His hand traveled up Luka's flat stomach, slow and proprietary, and found a nipple already swollen under the heat. He pressed there and felt it answer him. Luka moaned, soft and helpless, and Ivan let the hand curve and hold. "But this also isn't so bad every now and then." he added, and the understatement was almost funny.

Luka shivered and bucked his hips, the motion small but true. "They were talking about knifeplay." he whispered. The words sounded like they had been stored under his tongue all afternoon, like he had practiced them to himself over the sink while the rice rinsed clear.

Ivan kissed his neck. He bit softly and sucked, not hard enough to bruise, only enough to make Luka gasp and tilt his head. He hummed against skin as a reply, a note of permission without the sentence.

"Apparently their husbands like that too." Luka said, and then he stopped. The rest of the thought sat on the edge of his mouth and would not fall. Ivan pinched his nipple again, a little firmer this time, a quiet instruction to continue. Luka's breath hitched. "Would you want to try it?" he asked, and the hesitation in it made something tender pull in Ivan's chest.

Ivan's hand rose and shut off the stove with an easy twist. Fire went to blue lick then vanished. He untied the apron in one sure motion and let it drop to the floor. Luka did not protest. He let himself be lifted by the hips, light and obedient in Ivan's hands, and placed onto the cool marble of the counter. The contrast pulled a quick sound from him. He looked up at Ivan like a person looks at the first star they see that night, half relief and half worship.

Ivan stripped out of his dark suit with the economy of a man who had taken off a suit too many times to make a performance of it. Jacket down, shirt open, sleeves rolled, the slow reveal of a torso that told its own history even when he said nothing. Slashes. Burns. The neat round honesty of gunshot wounds. Old stories written in new skin. His muscles flexed under the light and threw clean planes across his body. He pushed his briefs down and stepped out of them. He did not hide the way his flaccid cock still hung heavy against his thigh. It made Luka flush every time, and this time was no different. The heat that rose in Luka's face only made Ivan move slower, as if shyness was a candle he wanted to keep lit.

He opened a drawer without looking and took out a kitchen knife, the one with the weight he preferred for citrus and quick work. He flipped it in his palm once to feel the balance and then placed it in Luka's hands. Luka's fingers curled around the handle. His mouth parted on a breath he did not realize he had been holding.

"Knifeplay..." Ivan said, and the word sounded like he was greeting an old acquaintance, polite and unsurprised. "If you want to try it, turn me on." He took Luka's palm and pressed it low, cupping his soft cock with Luka's hand, making the contact mean something without forcing it. He looked down at Luka and narrowed his eyes, not unkind, only focused.

Luka stared back. He could see the love there, always, even when Ivan's face was all quiet angles and patience. He could see the doting under the calm. He still gulped, throat moving as if the swallow could steady his hands. The knife felt heavy and alive in his grip. The counter was cool under his thighs. Ivan was heat at every point of contact, a living wall at the edge of his vision.

The overhead light hummed in the kitchen, warm against the tiled floor, spilling across the counters and over the two of them. Luka sat still with the knife in his hand, his chest rising and falling as he looked at his husband. Ivan did not move, his dark eyes holding steady, telling Luka without words to go ahead, to do whatever he wanted.

His fingers trembled slightly as he shifted the handle in his palm, the metal catching the glow from the light above. He lifted it slowly, his nerves tightening with every inch. His eyes never left Ivan's. Luka pressed the flat of the knife against his tongue, cool and sharp against soft flesh, and dragged it in one long lick. The steel carried a faint tang of soap and kitchen oil, but Luka only tasted Ivan in his mind, his attention fixed on the man watching him.

Ivan's brows furrowed, the lines on his face deepening with focus. A pause hung between them, thick and drawn out. His lips parted faintly, a quiet intake of breath breaking through the silence. Luka felt heat spread into his hand, sudden and undeniable. Ivan's girth began to swell against his palm, the twitch of arousal undeniable. Luka's pulse hammered in his ears, pride sparking faintly at the reaction.

That pride was short lived. His focus wavered for a single second, and the edge of the knife pressed too close. Pain shot across his tongue, sharp and immediate. He hissed as blood bloomed in his mouth, metallic and hot.

Ivan moved at once. Whether it was fear or excitement, Luka couldn't tell, but Ivan's hand clamped firmly around his wrist and yanked the knife away from his lips. The force jolted through his arm, leaving his palm bare and aching where it no longer pressed to Ivan's body.

Then Ivan leaned in, closing the distance in one decisive movement. His mouth sealed over Luka's with shocking hunger, tongue sliding against the wounded one, sucking and lapping at the copper taste until Luka's member began to twitch to life. The kiss was messy from the start, heat and blood and spit mingling in a tangle that spread across their lips and smeared down their chins. Ivan pressed harder, deepening it with a possessive claim, forcing Luka to yield completely.

Luka whimpered into him, a sound caught between pain and pleasure. The sting of his tongue turned into molten heat, throbbing in time with his pulse. Ivan's tongue pushed deeper, relentless, licking and sucking until Luka's head spun. His cock twitched in response, precum spilling down in a slow dribble that wet the underside and smeared against his own skin.

Every movement was obscene, their mouths sliding slick, the noises too wet and raw to ignore. Ivan swallowed each broken sound Luka made, and when he finally pulled back it was only far enough for a ragged breath. His lips still clung, dragging across Luka's lower lip with a string of drool and blood stretched between them. Luka gasped into the sliver of air, chest heaving, but Ivan dove in again, taking more, claiming more.

Drool slicked Luka's chin, copper tang thick in both their mouths, and still Luka couldn't pull away. His body ached for it, cock hard and leaking, his hips twitching in tiny movements he couldn't control. By the time Ivan finally eased back fully, Luka's lungs burned and his lips were swollen, parted in a desperate gasp. The slick string between them glistened under the kitchen light, trembling before it broke and dripped onto Luka's skin.

Ivan's eyes flared with red heat, his chest rising and falling with restrained control. He lowered Luka's wrist again, guiding the knife with measured precision until the cold edge pressed lightly against his own chest. Luka stared, heart hammering as the blade hovered over pale skin.

"Don't use this on yourself." Ivan said, his voice low and steady. The firmness in it struck Luka harder than the kiss had, cutting through the haze of heat. "Never again."

The words settled like a command. Ivan's fingers tightened around Luka's hand, making sure he felt the weight of them. Then he clarified, softer but no less commanding. "If you want to do this, use it on me." His stare did not waver, red pupils fixed on Luka's with such adamant force it sent shivers racing down his spine.

Luka's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his heart aching with a mix of fear and love so powerful it made his chest ache. He nodded, the movement small but certain. Ivan's mouth curved into a smile, one snaggletooth catching against his bottom lip, sharp and oddly endearing.

"Good boy." he murmured, voice rich and warm. His free hand slid up Luka's arm, grounding him, reassuring him. Then his smile deepened, eyes softening just enough to balance the command. "Let's continue."

The kitchen light hummed on above them, their shadows long and heavy against the wall. Luka's pulse raced, but his grip tightened on the knife, his body alive with trust and fire.

Ivan watched the tremor in Luka's grip like it was weather he had already decided to walk through. The knife quivered a little in slender fingers, light catching on the edge, the kitchen's warm bulbs turning steel into something almost gentle. He lifted his hand and covered Luka's, big palm swallowing the shake until it stilled under the weight of him. Heat bled from Ivan's skin into Luka's knuckles, steady and sure, the kind of warmth that tells a body to breathe.

"Look at me," Ivan said, quiet, not a command so much as a place to rest.

Luka looked. Pale yellow eyes met black with red pupils, the strange and familiar of Ivan's gaze holding him steady. Ivan pressed Luka's hand more firmly to the handle, his thumb fitting into the groove of Luka's thumb, his other fingers settling over the backs of Luka's. The blade tipped forward, slow as a tide, until cool metal met Ivan's chest. A breath hung there. The sharp kissed skin. Luka flinched like a bird, not away but through it. Ivan did not move.

The first touch broke the surface. Not a plunge, only a whisper of cut that opened with the soft insistence of a letter being slit. A line appeared, thin and bright, then red as the blood pooled at the edge where steel held it. Ivan's eyes did not leave Luka's. There was no pain in his face, only a calm that had learned to live beside worse. If there was any feeling at all, it was the way his love for this man crowded out everything else.

"Good..." he murmured, barely a breath. "Go on."

He guided the motion, slow, deliberate, drawing Luka's hand down the breadth of his chest. The blade traveled a short path, then stopped because Ivan stopped it, not because Luka had to. He loosened his cover over Luka's fingers and eased the knife away, letting their hands fall together. Then he tipped his chin down to look. A shallow line had opened, a clean bright red that beaded and broke, the smallest river finding its course over muscle.

"See," Ivan said, and there was something like pride in the word, not in the cut, in the trust it represented.

Luka's hand still trembled, but less. His shoulders had lowered by a fraction. His breath was not caught in his throat anymore. Ivan took Luka's free hand, the one not holding steel, and set it over the line he had made. Luka's palm met warmth and wet and the slow swell of a heartbeat under skin. Ivan kept his hand there, covering Luka's again so Luka felt the pulse twice, once in the chest under his palm and once in the fingers around his hand.

"Don't be afraid, my love," Ivan said, voice softened by something that lived deeper than patience. He pressed Luka's hand a little harder to the blood, as if to anchor him. "As long as you don't get hurt, you can do whatever you want with me." He lifted Luka's hand and, before the blood could slide away, brought it to his mouth. He turned Luka's palm and kissed it, soft, unhurried, lips closing over copper and warmth like a prayer said for the living. "That is how much I trust you."

Something gentle and fierce broke open behind Luka's eyes. The flush on his cheeks rose like heat from a stove. He looked at this beautiful dangerous man who had set his own heart out without a flicker of regret, who offered his body like a cathedral for Luka to walk through. The kitchen light made Ivan's scars glow and made the line of blood look almost ceremonial, not a wound exactly, more a mark of belonging.

"I love you," Ivan said, simple as water. His red pupils sharpened, not cruel, only unwavering. "Luka."

The name landed in Luka's chest and settled there like a hand. He nodded once, then again, a quiet loosening moving through him. A breath that might have been relief left his lungs and took some of the fear with it. He lifted the knife again and Ivan did not guide him this time. He only anchored him with two steady hands, broad palms finding the soft of Luka's thighs where they bracketed his hips at the counter's edge.

Those hands were steady heat. Ivan held, not to trap, only to remind. His thumbs stroked the inner sweep of Luka's thighs, slow, reassuring, up toward the hinge of his pelvis and back again in passes that grounded as much as they aroused. The motion was warm and practical and intimate, the way a person rubs life into cold hands. Every sweep said you are safe and every pause said I am here, and Luka found the rhythm without thinking.

He brought the blade to the other pec, careful, testing. The edge kissed skin and he drew it like a pencil line, so light a lesser man might not have felt it. A tiny scratch appeared, as small as the mark a car door leaves in a careless lot, neat and narrow and already beading. The first cut had been Ivan's hand over his. This one was his alone.

Ivan's mouth curved, tiny and real. "That's it," he said, encouragement wrapped in praise. His hips shifted without conscious decision, the slow press of his body answering the heat in his chest. The head of his cock, heavy now, dragged lazily against Luka's knee where Luka sat open on the marble. It wasn't crude, simply honest, a body telling the truth that the mind had already admitted. He did not hide it. He did not apologize for it. He only breathed out, a little rougher than before, and let Luka see him.

Luka's color deepened. The blush climbed down his throat like a spill of wine. The contact was so simple and so unchecked that it felt more intimate than anything he could have posed. It was a secret face no one at the warehouse would ever be allowed to witness. It belonged to the kitchen, to this hour, to the two of them. The thought made Luka's stomach flutter. Heat gathered low and wet, not just arousal, a tender pride. This is mine, he thought, this is the man the city will never see.

He tipped the blade away and set it flat for a second against Ivan's sternum, cooling the skin he had just asked to bloom. The contrast made both of them breathe sharper. Ivan's thumbs slid another patient path up Luka's inner thighs, then back down, the pads smoothing over gooseflesh that rose where steel had passed. Luka swallowed, felt the slide of his throat, heard the little click his tongue made against his teeth where Ivan had kissed the wound closed minutes ago.

"Again." Ivan said, not as an order, as a wish.

Luka leaned forward a fraction, balancing with one hand on Ivan's shoulder, the other holding the knife steady. The steel glided over the top of Ivan's chest, tracing a line that did not break skin this time. Skin remembered, though. A shiver moved through muscle that would never admit weakness anywhere else. Luka followed it with his eyes, then with the gentlest angle of pressure until the blade just barely opened a new bead. One drop formed and clung, fat and brilliant, before it smudged under Luka's palm when he set his hand there to feel what he had done.

Ivan's breath went thicker, not from pain, from sensation layered and layered, metal, heat, Luka's touch, the drag of his own body against Luka's knee like a metronome he could not pretend away. A soft sound escaped him, not quite a groan, more the exhale a man gives when a heavy weight lifts from his shoulders. He leaned in until his ribs brushed Luka's stomach, close enough that Luka felt the rise and fall count out the seconds between them.

"You're shaking less now." Ivan said, approval warm in the words.

"I am." Luka answered, a little surprised to hear there was a voice left in him. "It feels different now."

"How?" Ivan asked, eyes not leaving his face.

"Like drawing on you," Luka said, and the admission made him laugh once, breathy and sweet. "Like writing my name."

"You can do that if you want." Ivan said, and the honesty in it made Luka's spine light.

He set the tip at the left side of Ivan's chest and drew the barest curve, then another, something more suggestion than letter, nothing a stranger would read, everything a lover would understand. It did not break skin. It did not need to. He wiped the blade on Ivan's shoulder and the smear he left looked like paint. The light above them turned the red to a dark garnet. Luka's hand steadied even more.

Ivan's hands tightened on Luka's thighs. The grip was firm and gentle in the same breath, a promise and a reminder. His thumbs pressed again into the soft places, finding the line where strength meets vulnerability, and worked slow circles that soothed and coaxed. Luka's legs relaxed under the touch, not because they had to, because they wanted to. The knife felt less like an argument and more like an instrument. His fear had shifted into attention.

"Good boy." Ivan praised again, low, fond, the words made of affection more than kink tonight. His eyes softened, a strange warmth inside the black and red, a furnace tucked behind stone.

Luka's breath hitched. The praise went straight through him and made something go wet and aching in a way that had nothing to do with sharp things. He lifted the knife again and traced another small path, just below the collarbone, then pulled away to watch the blood rise in a neat seam. It was shallow and clean. He exhaled slowly, then looked back at Ivan's face for the reaction that mattered more than anything the skin said.

Ivan's answer was simple. He shifted that lazy rub of his cock higher along Luka's knee, the drag heavier now, a tell that would have been invisible if Luka did not know this body like his own. His mouth tilted the smallest degree as if to say you are doing very well without using the words. He leaned forward, not to take the knife, only to put his mouth at Luka's pulse for a second, lips parted, breath hot, not biting, not sucking, just a press that deepened the shared hum between them.

"Again." he breathed, softer still.

Luka obeyed him. He brought the blade down in a path that crossed the first line, a small X that bled at the meeting point and made the drop there rounder than the rest. He watched it swell and break and drag a thin trail toward the center of Ivan's chest. He set the flat of the knife to it and smeared it left like a brush. Ivan's chest rose under the touch. Luka followed the breath and painted a darker stroke right where the breath wanted him to.

How is Ivan so shameless? Luka thought, and the answer came back with a strange sweetness, he is shameless here because this room belongs to us. He pictured the men at the warehouse with their crisp shirts and cooler eyes and knew none of them would be permitted to see this version of his husband, the soft pulse at Ivan's throat, the way his body admitted need in a simple grind against Luka's knee. The private side of a man everyone else mistook for a blade.

The thought made Luka slick with want and pride, a heat that had nothing to do with the stove he had forgotten to turn back on. He set the knife aside for a heartbeat and laid both palms flat to either side of the newest line, pressing warmth into the skin he had marked. Ivan let his own hands glide higher on Luka's thighs, thumbs finding the edge of tender flesh where thigh meets pelvis, working slow there, grounding him again, coaxing him forward without pushing.

"Keep going." Ivan said, voice low and even.

Luka picked up the knife once more. The shake was gone. Only a thrum remained, eagerness and love braided tight. He leaned in so close the points of their noses almost touched, breathed the same air, and set the edge to a fresh stretch of unmarked skin. The kitchen light hummed above them. Outside the window the evening had gone from purple to ink. In the glass, two figures blurred together into one shape, all heat and trust and blood.

He drew the next line with a hand that finally felt like it belonged to him. Ivan watched him with that calm, hungry tenderness and pressed again, slow and sure, against the inside of Luka's thigh, shameless and true. Luka's blush deepened. His body answered. The knife moved like a signature. And the night, which had started with a nervous idea spoken into the hum of a kitchen, opened its mouth and let them step farther in.

The knife felt heavier than Luka had expected, heavier because it carried Ivan's steady eyes with it. His fingers curled tighter around the handle, not from strength but from nerves, and his throat bobbed as he tried to breathe past the lump that had lodged there.

"C-Can I really write my name?" Luka whispered. His voice sounded small in the kitchen's brightness. The light hummed above them and cast a soft glow over Ivan's bare torso. Luka's gaze had already fixed on a spot just above Ivan's v-line, a place where the shadows gathered and where he wanted to claim him.

Ivan leaned close, lips brushing Luka's temple, a brief kiss that smelled of copper and warmth. "I already said you could." His words were low, coaxing, sure.

The knife lowered in Luka's trembling grip, and with every inch closer to Ivan's torso, the air between them thickened. Luka gulped audibly, the sound loud in the quiet room, and the sharp edge hovered near the skin it was meant to mark.

Ivan's hands moved with calm purpose. They slid up Luka's thighs, palms broad and warm, until they reached the curve of Luka's ass. He squeezed once, firm, spreading the flesh so Luka shifted slightly on the cool countertop. The stone's chill seeped into Luka's skin, grounding him against the heat of the man between his legs. Ivan's forefinger came to rest gently against Luka's cunt. He did not push, not yet, only settled there as though waiting, a reminder that the hole there belonged to him.

A shiver ran through Luka's body, the kind that traveled from the base of his spine to the top of his skull, and his breath hitched. He pressed the knife carefully and began to carve. An L first, slow and deliberate, the blade scratching its letter into living skin. Then a U, the curve imperfect but carried by intent. K followed, then finally A.

The line of letters bled, small rivers forming, and Luka's smile broke through his concentration. It was faint but proud. The blood trickling down Ivan's thigh felt more real than the metal ring on Luka's finger. This was proof, red and alive, that Ivan belonged to him.

"I did it—" Luka began, but his words cut into a startled moan when Ivan moved without warning. The finger that had rested idly surged forward, burying itself to the knuckle. Luka's body clenched around it in an instant.

His head fell back, lips parted, chest rising as if he could not catch enough air. The knife froze in his hand, suspended.

Ivan leaned into him, mouth finding Luka's collarbone. His teeth grazed before he gave a soft nip. "It looks like you're the only one having all the fun..." he murmured, voice low and amused.

The knife shifted with Ivan's motion and pressed into the ridges of his abs. It broke the skin by a fraction, enough to spill new blood. The sting was sharp, real this time, and for the first time Ivan felt it.

Luka's eyes widened. His opening tightened around Ivan's finger as he stared at the thin red spilling from the wound. He yanked the blade back immediately, horror overtaking him.

"I-Ivan... I hurt you... the blood—" Luka stammered, panic edging his voice higher. Tears welled quick in his pale eyes, falling in tiny drops that caught the kitchen light before breaking against his cheek.

Ivan's answer was not words at first. He pressed a second finger inside, stretching Luka wider. Luka moaned through his panic, body betraying fear with want. Ivan's mouth moved against his skin again, this time not with teeth but with soothing kisses. He shushed him softly, breath steady against the frantic pulse in Luka's neck. His lips traveled upward, finding the spot behind Luka's ear, then tracing along his jaw. Every kiss told him hush, every press of mouth against skin told him you are safe.

Finally Ivan captured Luka's lips, slow and anchoring. Luka's tears smeared against his mouth, salt mixing with the iron that lingered from the cut.

When Ivan pulled back, he spoke in a whisper that carried weight. "Shhh. I'm okay baby."

He did not stop there. He kissed Luka's tear streaked cheek, tender and lingering, then kissed the corner of his closed eye. He held his face between both blood-stained hands as though Luka were something holy and fragile.

"Keep going." Ivan encouraged, steady and sure, as if Luka's hands could never do him harm.

Luka's hand bit hesitantly against the hilt of the knife. His knuckles were pale with the pressure he used to keep himself steady, yet the blade never moved closer than a cautious hover. He held it up as if the mere weight of steel might betray him, but he didn't let it touch Ivan's skin. Not yet. His chest rose and fell faster than he wanted, his body tense, and all he could manage was to keep the knife raised, suspended, uselessly threatening but never daring.

Ivan's patience was unreadable, his black eyes with their pinprick red pupils never wavering. His focus never left Luka, not even when his hand sank lower. Ivan's fingers pressed inside, slow at first, sinking deeper with each movement. Luka flinched at the stretch, his breath spilling out in a quick gasp. He was still a little dry, slick barely enough to help, so there wasn't much friction. But even that lack of resistance left Luka feeling loose and strange, his body betraying him by granting Ivan more room to move. The looseness gave legroom for Ivan's careful but insistent rhythm.

A quiet sound left Ivan's throat. He clicked his tongue softly, as though Luka were being difficult without even trying. Then, just as quickly as they had entered, the fingers pulled free, wetness clinging to them in the dim kitchen light. Ivan rested his palm firmly at Luka's back, grounding him there against the counter with a grip that was steady and possessive.

With his other hand, Ivan lifted Luka's leg and guided it onto the edge of the counter. Luka instinctively raised his other one to match, though the heat in his face betrayed how exposing the position felt. The spread was obscene, his body tilted back and propped open, and Ivan drank in the sight without hiding his hunger. Luka's pretty cunt gaped under the gaze, fluttering with nervous clenches that betrayed his arousal no matter how he tried to keep still.

Luka's flush deepened all the way to the tips of his ears. He poked the blade against Ivan's collarbone with a shaky hand. The tip never broke skin, only hovered close enough to remind them both it was there. "Stop staring." He pouted, his voice soft but insistent.

Ivan's composure cracked for just a moment. His cock twitched visibly, his jaw tightening, and a sound slipped free, low and rough. It was almost a groan but too deep, too hungry, nearly a moan dragged from the core of him. "But it's so pretty," he said, voice pitched low against Luka's ear. "It wants me so bad. See?" He tested with a single finger against Luka's opening. The reaction was immediate. Luka's body sucked him in like it had been waiting all along. Ivan's mouth curved at the edges. "It's so greedy." He teased, his tone sharpened with pleasure.

Luka's chest rose with another unsteady breath. He let the knife ease away, his hand falling slightly, and gave Ivan the silent permission to continue. His thighs trembled against Ivan's shoulders where they rested, open and helpless.

Ivan leaned closer, his mouth parting above Luka's spread body. Luka's eyes went wide when Ivan let spit drip freely from his lips. It fell in a thick, obscene line and landed on Luka's entrance, slick glistening as it threaded from mouth to cunt. The sound it made was wet and shameless.

The sight alone made Luka whimper. His cock twitched, leaking more than before, a fresh bead of arousal glistening at the tip. It slid down against his skin and smeared across his thigh.

Ivan saw it instantly. His eyes narrowed, and with a shift of his hand he pressed his palm against Luka's smaller shaft. His grip was loose at first, just a light pump, strokes shallow and almost teasing. Luka bucked into the touch involuntarily, glazing Ivan's palm with slick, and his face crumpled in need.

A few more strokes and Ivan let his hand travel lower again. His fingers dragged through Luka's mess before he pressed his middle and ring finger together and sank them down, burying them deep into Luka's needy entrance. The stretch forced Luka's back to arch sharply. He tossed his head back with a gasp, his mouth falling open. His thighs shook against Ivan's shoulders as those fingers worked him open, ruthless and steady.

Ivan wasted no time. He angled his hand, pressing deeper until he found the familiar plush spot inside. The reaction was immediate. Luka's body jerked with every press, his sweet moans spilling out without restraint. Each sound was soft but unrelenting, desperate proof of how easily Ivan could unravel him.

Ivan's palm at Luka's back pressed harder, shifting him closer to the counter's edge. Luka's body slid just enough for Ivan's cock to line against him. The heavy shaft lay in wait, angry red at the head, throbbing under the weight of Ivan's control. The base grazed against the outer rim of Luka's hole while his fingers kept moving inside without mercy.

"I-Ivan..." Luka moaned, his voice breaking between each word. His hands clutched uselessly at the counter's edge, trembling. "...Put it in now." His plea rose in a cry, sharp with need. Luka wanted to cum, he wanted more, and his words left no room for disguise.

Ivan's chest rumbled with a sound between a hum and a growl. He bent forward and pressed his mouth to Luka's jaw, voice a low murmur. "Okay." The word was soft, yet dangerous in its promise. His eyes fell briefly to the knife that dangled between them, Luka's fingers loose now from distraction. Ivan's lips parted, and he caught the knife's tip in his teeth. The edge scraped harmlessly along enamel as he tugged it away, biting down on steel until it clattered against the counter with a final note.

His hand left Luka's body for the briefest moment. The sudden emptiness where his fingers had been left Luka gasping, the sound wet as Ivan yanked his hand away. The squelch echoed in the close kitchen air, lewd and unrestrained.

There was no pause, no hesitation. Ivan replaced his fingers with his cock. He pressed forward in a single unyielding thrust. The stretch was brutal, burying himself deep into Luka like it was nothing more than routine. His hips snapped forward, driving himself to the hilt with all his might.

The force of it dragged a cry out of Luka. His head fell back, his voice breaking, and the sound was pure pleasure. His throat bared, pale and vulnerable, to the man above him. Luka's body tightened around Ivan, his milky white throat exposed in surrender.

Ivan's grip at Luka's back tightened, holding him there, keeping him spread open and trembling as if he were something precious and breakable, even as he claimed him with unrelenting force.

Ivan didn't waste a single second. His hands slid down and found the familiar ridge on Luka's thin waist, the spot he always liked to hold when he wanted to remind Luka exactly who he belonged to. His grip tightened there and his hips snapped back once before slamming forward again. The motion was sharp and unstoppable, like a magnet falling into place, each thrust pulling him deeper and deeper until Luka's body trembled around him.

Luka's nails dug into Ivan's shoulders, desperate for something to anchor himself against. His husband continued with deep, gut punching thrusts, each one carrying the full weight and force of his frame. Luka's head fell back, his throat open and vulnerable, every sound ripped out of him without control. He could only sit there on the counter and take it, his body helpless beneath the onslaught, and it was too good, far too much, but he couldn't ask him to stop.

His hands slid lower, shaking as they moved over the sweat-slicked skin of Ivan's torso. Luka's fingertips pressed at the bleeding cuts there, careful but deliberate. The sting of touch made Ivan's hips jolt harder, his thrusts sharper, his need sinking even deeper into Luka's body with punishing rhythm. Luka cried out at the change, the sound half a moan and half a sob, his vision swimming from the force of it.

His mind turned into sludge. Every thought melted into nothing under the loud, echoing slap of Ivan's hips meeting his. The sound was obscene, wet and sharp, filling the kitchen. Luka didn't know if the noise carried through the walls, if the neighbors could hear the chorus of skin against skin, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he knew was the pounding force of his husband's body colliding with his own, a rhythm that left him undone.

Luka's moans fell free like a song, unsteady and high pitched. They tangled with Ivan's breaths, the sound raw and unrestrained. Ivan's mouth latched onto Luka's neck, biting into the skin with enough force to leave bruises. It was a claim, a mark of territory, a reminder written into Luka's body that he belonged here, on this counter, spread and trembling. Luka's eyes rolled back at the sting, his arms tightening around Ivan's shoulders as his voice broke into another cry.

Ivan slowed. The sudden change left Luka gasping, desperate for more. Ivan pulled out with a lewd pop, wetness spilling in the silence. Luka shuddered at the emptiness, his body trembling at the sudden loss, and a whine tore out of his throat. But Ivan never left him wanting for long.

He flipped Luka with practiced ease, guiding his body down onto the countertop so that his chest pressed against the cool surface. Luka's cock and stomach met the cold tile, his back arched high under Ivan's grip. Ivan's palms pressed firmly at the small of Luka's back, adjusting the angle, spreading him wider. Luka's fluttering cunt was left vulnerable, open, and waiting.

Ivan plunged back in with a loud slap that echoed through the kitchen. Luka's cry broke against the counter, his cheek pressed to the surface as Ivan pulled back only to slam forward again with all his might. His husband's body surged into him over and over, brutal rhythm punctuated with wet slaps and Luka's endless cries.

Luka was undone. His sounds poured out as a series of moans, broken sobs, spit trailing from the corner of his mouth, his nose running freely. He was a mess, ruined completely by Ivan's body, every ounce of composure stripped away with each relentless thrust.

"God you're so fucking sexy." Ivan's voice broke in a grunt, hot against Luka's ear as his hips drove faster, deeper, into Luka's insides. His words came with another bruising snap of his hips, his voice full of hunger.

Luka tried to answer but no words formed. Only gurgles of drool and broken moans spilled out, his voice shattered by the pace, his body unable to give him anything but raw sound.

Ivan could feel it, the shift in Luka's body. His wife's hole tightened desperately around him, clenching with a rhythm that betrayed how close he was. Ivan adjusted without missing a beat, his thrusts becoming shorter, quicker, digging deeper into Luka's stomach with ruthless precision. His eyes narrowed as he focused on nothing but that reaction, the way Luka's body gripped him.

"You're gonna cum baby? Me too." Ivan's voice was low, strained, each word cut with the effort of his movements.

Luka babbled nonsense in reply, his face pressed to the counter, words broken and spilling apart. Ivan reached down, his hand firm as it wrapped around Luka's cock. He pumped him with sharp strokes, pushing Luka toward the edge as his own thrusts hit harder, stimulating him from both ends until Luka's body bucked wildly.

And then release broke over them both. Luka screamed, his voice ragged, as his body clenched down with punishing tightness. He twitched with release, his whole body spasming under Ivan's grip. Ivan pulled his cock all the way out until his swollen tip kissed Luka's rim, then plunged forward again, burying himself to the hilt as his own release tore free. A loud groan ripped out of him, guttural and deep.

Luka's body twitched helplessly. His cock pulsed in Ivan's hand, painting his palm with thick seed, the wet mess dripping down and smearing between them. Ivan's thrusts stuttered, uneven, as he emptied himself deep into Luka's warmth. The heat filled him, spreading through Luka's body, Ivan's hips locked tightly against him.

He rolled his hips slowly after, steady and deliberate, making sure every last drop was buried deep. His cock plugged Luka perfectly, sealing him full and stretched, nothing wasted, nothing slipping away. Luka's whimpers fell softer now, his body shivering in aftershocks.

Ivan spun him carefully, guiding Luka back into his arms. His chest heaved, his mouth open against Luka's temple, and he pressed kisses there with surprising tenderness. His lips trailed to Luka's damp cheeks, kissing the eyes swollen from tears. Luka blinked up at him, dazed, while Ivan's hold around his body was tight and protective, as if he would never let him go.

Ivan's arms wrapped securely around Luka's smaller frame. He lifted him with a gentleness that seemed at odds with the violence they had just shared in the kitchen. Luka was limp in his hold, pliant, his chest pressed against Ivan's as if he were nothing more than a delicate flower being carried to safety. Ivan's steps were steady as he made his way down the hall, every movement careful to keep Luka shielded in his arms.

In the bathroom, Ivan lowered his pace. He pulled his cock out of Luka gently, his breath heavy but his hands controlled. Luka was set down onto the toilet seat, petite body slumping as though every ounce of strength had left him. He sat in a daze, watching with half lidded eyes as Ivan turned on the water in the large tub.

The faucet gurgled to life. Ivan's broad hand tested the temperature, then reached for the shelves of expensive soaps and salts. He poured a little of everything, the scent filling the air with lavender and sandalwood, steam curling up in slow spirals. Luka blinked slowly, his chest rising and falling, mesmerized by the way his husband moved through the room with efficiency, preparing the water as if it were a sacred ritual.

When the tub was ready, Ivan came back to him. He slid his arms beneath Luka once again and carried him to the bath. Luka made a soft sound but did not resist, his head falling against Ivan's chest as if the heat there was enough to keep him from drifting away.

The water embraced him when Ivan lowered him in. Luka hissed quietly at the change in temperature but soon melted into it, his body loosening. Ivan knelt beside the tub, sleeves rolled back, and took the washcloth in hand. He cleaned Luka with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the brutal hunger he had shown minutes before. His movements were efficient, practiced, but never rushed. Each stroke along Luka's skin wiped away sweat, salt, and the faint stains of blood until Luka was fresh again.

By the time Ivan leaned back, Luka was squeaky clean. His hair was damp and clinging to his temples, his skin pink from the heat of the water. He looked small, almost childlike in that moment, but the softness in Ivan's eyes refused to see him as anything but precious.

Ivan dried him off and dressed him in warm teddy bear pajamas, the fabric thick and soft, almost comical against the heat of what had passed between them. Luka accepted it wordlessly, eyelids fluttering shut as Ivan carried him once more. He tucked his wife into bed carefully, pulling the blanket to his chin and brushing the damp hair back from his forehead.

Ivan took a quick shower after, the sound of the water echoing down the hall. When he returned, he wore only sweatpants, a towel draped over his head as he dried his dark hair. But the bed was no longer occupied. The blanket was thrown aside, the pillow dented where Luka had been, but his small frame was absent.

Ivan stopped in the doorway, water still dripping down his shoulders. He saw him then, sitting upright with an open first aid kit in his lap, a glare settled firmly on his flushed face.

"So you were just going to go to bed without properly dressing your wounds?" Luka's voice was soft but sharp, laced with that particular nagging tone he reserved only for Ivan. His brows furrowed, the kit open and ready, hands already pulling at gauze and antiseptic wipes.

Ivan stood still, towel slipping slightly as his calm face gave nothing away. Only his eyes betrayed him, glimmering faintly with a mixture of affection and amusement.

"They aren't deep. They aren't bleeding anymore either." Ivan said flatly, his voice even, as though it were the end of the matter.

"Sit." Luka pointed firmly at the edge of the bed. His hand wobbled with fatigue, but the command was unyielding.

Ivan huffed out a laugh, the sound low and full of endearment. He obeyed, dropping onto the bed with a heavy thump, shoulders relaxing as Luka gathered the supplies.

Luka's hands moved with surprising steadiness for someone so exhausted. He disinfected the wounds carefully, his lips pressing together in concentration when Ivan's skin twitched beneath the sting. He applied antibiotic with light strokes, muttering under his breath about stubborn husbands, then pressed gauze into place. The cuts were small but scattered, and Luka matched each one with a patch or dressing, adjusting the sizes as needed until Ivan's torso looked patched together by love itself.

When he finished, Luka sat back with a proud little smile. His cheeks glowed with satisfaction. He wobbled to his feet, padding across the room to Ivan's dresser. His small hands pulled out one of Ivan's warm T-shirts, the fabric oversized compared to Luka's own body. He returned and lifted it, tugging it gently over Ivan's head. Ivan bent slightly to help, his dark hair damp against Luka's fingers.

As soon as Ivan was fully dressed and every wound covered, Luka wasted no more energy. He tackled him, small body pressing against Ivan's chest, and laid over him like a doll. His arms wrapped around Ivan with no strength but all the weight of need.

"Okay. We can sleep now." Luka's voice was muffled against Ivan's chest, but the determination in it was clear.

Ivan's eyes widened at the sudden impact, his breath catching. But warmth filled him quickly, his muscles relaxing as his arms came around Luka in return. He held him close, tight but tender, the strength of his body curling protectively around Luka's fragile frame.

"Okay good night." Ivan murmured, lips pressing to the crown of Luka's head. His eyes drifted shut as the scent of soap and warmth filled him. His breath evened out, a rare softness in his features as he let himself surrender to rest.

♥︎

♥︎honeisenpa1®