Se Majesté.

Je te sens partout.

Nikolai Gogol + Fyodor Dostoyevsky. 

Smut. Contains ability play.

Fingers dressed in red gloves travel gently through sickly pale skin, undoing the silk shirt and taking it off from the body as Fyodor chokes upon being deepthroated by the jester. At the same time, another hand is pulling his underwear, knowing exactly what to do despite the silver haired young man wasn't really checking on what were his hands touching.

Fyodor is laying down in their bed, with Gogol sitting on his chest and fucking his mouth slowly. His hands disappeared onto the black and white coat, appearing over Dostoyevsky's chest and legs behind Nikolai. Gogol smirks playfully after getting rid of the Russian's few clothes, enjoying how annoyed the raven looks about being the only one naked. The jester then gently got up from Fyodor's chest, letting him breathe correctly. As he did this, he grabbed his coat and thought for a second. What else could he do to tease the young man?

Eventually, the Ukrainian gently picked Dostoyevsky up and sat him down on his thighs, fondling the Russian's waist and hips, drawing imaginary figures on his thin body with his fingers. He then proceeds to grab the bottle with lube he has prepared earlier to make foreplay a little shorter, considering that Fyodor didn't like waiting.

Like every single time they made love, the prep was short and hurried by a grumpy raven.

This ended soon, by Fyodor's request, and soon he was sitting on Nikolai's aching boner, trying to get used to his size. Dostoyevsky was holding his partner's hair, as he tried to move slowly.

It was a habit. They started slow and then gradually kept going faster until both were over. And they never got tired of repeating it. It wasn't necessary, why would they? They knew what they like, and they liked what they knew. And as long as they were together, it was perfect.

The raven was more than happy, as he gently rode Nikolai, trying to get his sweet spot stimulated. Gogol knows what he's trying, so the jester doesn't waste a second before aiding the Russian, spreading his pale legs with one of his hands. As he did that, his other hand started teasing him- playing with one of his small nipples.

Enjoying the silver haired man's tease, Dostoyevsky yanks Nikolai's ponytail before starting to moan, trying his best to stay calm, quiet and steady. It was hard. The Ukrainian knew every single weakness in his partner.

As they kept teasing each other, knowing one of them had to climax first and "lose", Nikolai feels the need to play dirty so that he won't lose. His hand disappears on the coat that lays in bed and suddenly his hand is holding Fyodor's behind the Russian's back and the tip of his thumb restraining the young man from reaching his climax.

Dostoyevsky protests, though he is liking how sensitive he's becoming. It doesn't take long before he's already begging for release, with his eyes filled with tears and crimson red from embarrassment. He didn't usually beg, but Gogol was teasing him enough. Groaning the moment he hears the jester asks to hear a "please", he can't do much before saying such word and earning the permission he craved for.

Trembling as he immediately bit Nikolai's shoulder, he came with a muffled whine, frowning upon seeing that playful smirk making fun of him once again.

Swearing at himself for falling in love with such a hot bastard.

584 words.