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“To feel anything deranges you. To be seen with such a weakness only opens the wound deeper.”
Fyodor’s words cut through heavy air with striking ease. He didn’t make eye contact as he spoke, electing to sit with his eyes locked on the thin pages of a book, as if he hadn’t just uttered a declaration which exposed parts deeply hidden by the fair-haired man across from him.
Nikolai had tilted his head, his only visible eye piercing, and the meaning embedded within his gaze spoke only of infatuation.
“And what do I feel, Fedya?”
Fyodor closed his book without marking his spot, leaning back in his chair as the sweet sound of piano reverberated from a small radio sitting on the table beside him. ‘Nocturne No.19,’ He recognized as the name of the song. In E minor.
“You are eternally, devastatingly, romantic.”
A laugh erupted from the man across from him. It disrupted the music, and Fyodor found that more unforgivable than any of Nikolai’s twisted ideals.
“What does that mean? Romantic…”
The response came quickly, and without any mercy.
“Romance, as the world makes it out to be, is nothing more than a chase after fleeting courtships that rarely end without some kind of emotional turmoil, correct?”
“There are a lot of flaws in that statement, but sure.”
Fyodor hummed. Closed his eyes.
“Romance isn’t sweet. In fact, it is quite the opposite.”
“How so?”
“It is dark. It torments. It is the furor of passion, and the despair of an idealism that you cannot obtain. Said idealism is not constricted solely to human love.”
He returned his vision to the world to be met with a gorgeous look of realization shimmering in Nikolai’s gaze. A realization that cut deeper than any of Fyodor’s words could hope to achieve, although they certainly did assist, and certainly did their fair share. Nikolai didn’t need to speak, because Fyodor wasn’t done twisting the knife. He stood, approaching him, his aura replaced with a disgusting sense of unreadability— Nikolai found that his limbs would not move.
Unlike him, perfect, divine Fedya had locked his intentions behind walls built from impenetrable steel and diamond long ago. Little could shake his mind and even littler could actually leave an imprint on him, but there had to be something. There was always something.
“Perhaps it is in human nature to love.” Nikolai replied.
“Then that would make me something inhuman.” Fyodor purred. “Because I do not feel love.”
Nikolai noticed the smallest flicker of doubt in the demon Fyodor’s mind. A slightest bit of hesitance, a slightest bit of uncertainty in his assertion.
And he reveled in such a recognition.
“..You don’t know what love feels like.”
Fyodor peered at him with interest. He was standing directly in front of Nikolai now. Could practically feel the heat of his skin, he stood so close. He knew that Kolya’s biggest weakness lay nowhere other than in Fyodor himself. The proximity, the heat, the temptation— it was a trap, and Nikolai took the bait with hunger.
"You are the only one who understands me." Nikolai’s breath shook his voice, his heart thrummed in his chest like a bird trying to flee the cage of his ribs. "You have to be aware of what you do to me. Of the way you make me feel."
The direct approach caught Fyodor off guard, his eyes flashing slightly wider with curiosity, and with the desire to listen.
"You are too scared to put a name to it."
"Would you allow me to act on it, then? Rather than have to say it?"
Fyodor's alabaster face, akin to that of a porcelain doll, remained unwavering. If he felt anything, Nikolai would not have been able to tell.
"I am aware of what you mean by that."
"But not my intentions."
"You really don't know me, if you think I'd accept such a proposition."
Nikolai leaned forward, golden eyes half-lidded, burgeoning with yearning carnality.
Fyodor's soul lay twisted in inhibition as he stared down at Nikolai— someone who would dedicate himself to him in body and soul, mind and heart— someone whose lips parted on a laboured breath as he met Fyodor's gaze without flinching.
"I know what you fear. But in this space, you can say and do anything and I will not abandon you. Show me the parts of yourself that you haven't allowed anyone to even brush up against. Watch me see you in your entirety and not even flinch."
Fuchsia eyes narrowed with distrust, but he would have been a fool to deny that Nikolai did make him feel. And the other knew that.
"Will you let me show you what it feels like to love, Fyodor? If not just once."
He swallowed. Shocked to find that there was a lump in his throat refusing to diminish. He did not answer. He did not know the answer.
But Nikolai did.
He’d succeeded in turning the tides without even knowing that the war was waging.
Tense limbs remained perfectly frozen as Nikolai’s gloved hands slowly, gently, pressed up against Fyodor’s thighs.Trailed up to his hips. Slipped under his shirt and back down again. They moved with a supreme sense of awareness— Nikolai closely watched his every reaction, every quick breath, every soft twitch— he paid no mind to his own wishes, only his perfect, divine Fyodor’s.
“This is lust.” Fyodor breathed.
“No, my sweet, this is love.”
No one had ever touched him in this way before. Nikolai didn't need to ask to know that. His mere hesitance and his behaviors revealed the truth; after all, how could he, such a seraphic man, allow himself to be tainted by the desires of the flesh?
Fyodor didn't understand why he was allowing this to happen. He didn’t understand why his body chased every fleeting caress of hands against his skin, why his blood became a thrum in his veins as his heart picked up its beat. He should be ending it, he knew that, but as Nikolai's hands trailed further up his inner thigh, a soft gasp fled his lips and he came to the horrifying realization that he was already too far gone.
"How must you feel, to be allowing yourself to be tainted by something you sought to destroy?" Nikolai asked the question, but received no verbal response. Instead, a swift gyration of hips succeeded in drawing his attention back to the matter at hand.
Fyodor possessed countless doubts, countless reasons to back away, to run, but as Nikolai rose to meet him, all he could do was melt.
Pink lips collided softly, slender, lithe fingers entangling themselves in cream white hair. Teeth clacked against each other and skin warmed with every fleeting touch. Fyodor grasped a hold around Nikolai’s throat, reflexively, intimately, and gave the softest squeeze to the muscle there. The pulse beneath his fingertips thrummed. Hammered out a staccato so melodious, he could have listened to it for hours. Truly, such a sinister promise of human emotion couldn't possibly be met with open arms—his very nature opposed that— and he gasped for breath the second their mouths parted. How cruelly, the intoxication of desire set sparks aflame in his chest, and the feeling of true lust rekindled back in a flash of incandescent urges.
Nikolai showed him a dangerous grin, one with teeth bared in a threat, but both men knew damn well that if Fyodor wanted this to end, it would be over in a second. If he wanted, those fingers could shoot forward and free the smirking man from the cage he called reality.
In fact, neither would be entirely opposed to such an ending. But the feeling of skin on skin, tendons and muscle working hard to keep their bodies together, something beautiful found its home in the way their limbs intertwined.
The faintest glimmer of acceptance brushed to the surface as their lips pressed together. The faintest.
“Sinful.” Fyodor whispered, but his voice shook with desperation. He was cracking. Becoming insatiable.
“If love is a sin, then how could god love his creations?”
“This is different.”
“How?”
Fyodor fell forward a step, his weight remaining in support only by how Nikolai’s arm rose in quick assistance. His eyes stared far into the distance, unseeing of what lay there before them, glassy amethyst set into marble likened to the shape of a face. His fingers suddenly tightened around Nikolai’s throat, and he breathed out his response as if he were confessing a sin before a priest.
“It is not— supposed to burn like this.”
His heart screamed demands he could never bring himself to admit to wanting. Kiss me. It almost hurt. Show me that I really do take predominance over you. Demands of ‘prove yourself to me.’ And Nikolai ran his fingers through his dark hair, moved against his scalp. Fyodor’s shaking hands attempted to follow suit and traversed a path from his neck, skating along a jaw, until he was cradling his face in his palm.
“Where does it burn?”
“In here.” Fyodor clutched at his chest. “You feel— You feel—”
“What do I make you feel, Fedya?”
“Good.”
Only Fyodor could understand him. Only that celestial being could look into his manic eyes and tell exactly what thoughts and feelings dominated his mind, and for that reason, Nikolai knew he would rather die than put whatever it was they had at risk. But, it tormented him, to look at this man and hold back the flames that licked up at his chest.
In the beginning, he assumed it was a mere desire. That turned into an infatuation. That turned into love. Now, his Fedya was right in front of him, and it was he who had no desire to name the feeling that ate him up inside. For to name it was to make it real.
None of that mattered anymore, not when their hips met each other halfway, and a soft hymn of gasps and whimpers tumbled unceasingly from the demon's captured lips.
One of Nikolai's hands gripped the back of his waist tightly. The other pressed against his cheek. Fyodor emulated his actions the best he knew how too, and entangled his hands in the man's silvery white locks as he worked their mouths together. But Nikolai pulled away all too soon. Even though they both wished, however unknowingly, that it would last forever.
Nikolai's mouth moved but Fyodor couldn't hear nor comprehend the words that came out of it. All he knew was kiss me, hold me, fuck me— and uncharacteristically impatient, he tugged roughly at the hair he retained grasped in his hand, earning a sharp gasp from those slightly swollen lips.
"Stop talking, Kolya." He breathed. "Just touch me before I change my mind."
And they knew then, in that moment of addicting sin, the other was the closest thing to heaven they would ever need.
Nikolai discarded his gloves, his accessories, his coat— all too slowly for Fyodor's preference, and so he reached up to tear the clothing off the other. Nikolai's bare hands, soft and human enough to burn, trailed burning touches as they worked to unbutton Fyodor's shirt, running along his exposed, alabaster skin. And in the meanwhile, Fyodor removed everything that adorned Nikolai’s upper half.
Fyodor considered physical attractiveness trivial, but he was aware that his body wasn’t necessarily attractive by societal standards. He was too thin. The bones of his hips jutted out too much, and his ribcage was visible from under the paleness of his flesh. His body betrayed his anemia entirely, revealing the illness in everything from muscle mass to skin tone. And yet, they both knew that it was he who retained full control of the situation.
"You feel better than freedom." Nikolai gasped, and by the way his voice fluttered he fucking meant it. Fyodor captured his face once more and their lips melded into each other, sighing into the kiss and he felt as though he was on fire. He felt it in his bones, through his veins, and he knew, oh he knew that he shouldn't be doing this, but it felt too electrifying to resist. It made him feel real. Alive, and pure, and present in reality. Each time their hips pressed together it sent a wave throughout his entire body, and as Nikolai sucked down on his tongue, his mind flashed to white. Shattering into pure hunger for the man whose hands explored his body— every curve of his muscle, running along the bones that stood out from underneath his skin, trailing down his v-line and just barely, purposely avoiding the spot Fyodor wanted him to touch the most. Even though he should have wanted it the least.
Nikolai sank his teeth into his lower lip just hard enough to generate a metallic taste between them. It was bruising, intoxicating, and—
He whimpered.
Nikolai devoured it.
"Let me please you." He was breathless. "Please, Fedya, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, please—"
Why, oh why did Nikolai have to beg? He should have been able to predict this, predict the way this would progress and unfold, but his mind faltered right when he needed it most. His mouth opened but no words came out of it. He didn't even trust himself to speak. How interesting was that?
So he responded with a hard, open mouthed kiss that earned an addicting albeit muffled noise from Nikolai, and it burned with affirmation.
"Fyodor—"
His real name. Nikolai grew impatient with the repetition his demon was adjusting to. And yet, Fyodor couldn't take his mouth off of him, cutting him off right as he tried to speak again.
So Nikolai opted to take matters into his own hands.
Fingers slipped underneath the waistline of Fyodor's pants, tugging them down as they devoured each other. Nikolai ran his slender fingers down Fyodor's already painfully hard length from through his underwear— and the action wrenched the most delicious moan from his mouth, his limbs shaking as his hips chased the source of his pleasure. He could hardly believe such a noise came out of him, but Nikolai gave him no time to find regret. He pressed the heel of his palm against his erection and pushed upward in rhythm with the frantic bucking of hips. Fyodor saw more than stars, he saw a universe.
"Fuck—"
Such a lewd word coaxed from his lips. Only in times like these, he decided, he wouldn't reprimand himself for it.
His nails dug crescents into Nikolai's back. A mark for later. Proof that this all was real. Proof Nikolai was his. Oh, and he did belong to him, didn't he? Nikolai devoted each and every inch of himself to Fyodor, because he was the only one who'd ever been able to understand even a whisper of him. Such a pure, unofficial kind of ownership, that Fyodor knew that the second he opened his mouth, Nikolai would come running.
Their lips parted, Nikolai pushed him back until the back of his knees hit the bed and he tumbled backwards onto it. And then he got on his knees, and Fyodor's mind finally caught up with his body.
Oh. Oh god.
He didn't speak, staring down at Nikolai with wide eyes as he gripped the meat of his thighs. Only a thin layer of fabric separated his Kolya from the thing he desired most.
"I need confirmation, Fedya."
Knowing exactly what he meant, Fyodor nodded.
"Gentle." Was his only request.
Nikolai pressed his open mouth against Fyodor’s length from through the boxers, and the sight of it was enough to make him crumble. He let out a strangled cry as his hips snapped forward, not bothering to hold anything back, he keened for more.
Nikolai merely stared with wide eyes. Until the realization that he was making his Fyodor break without any effort set in, and he was all over him again. Practically tearing the boxers off of him and taking his painfully hard cock into his mouth. The taste of precum permeated his tongue but it tasted like heaven to him, and Fyodor choked out a sob as a painfully good pleasure ate up his lower half. The coil in his stomach shot up again and oh fuck— he could feel himself dissolve under the feeling.
This was dangerous. This was too dangerous—
His fingers entangled themselves in Nikolai's white hair and he pushed his mouth further down, making the man choke, but neither of them cared in the slightest. Nikolai's cock throbbed in his pants because Fyodor was face-fucking him without even realizing what he was doing, and he realized then that this is what euphoria really was. He sucked down, purring out a low hum that reverberated through his length, and Fyodor's toes curled as he threw himself upward to try and get more, any more of that wet heat.
"Kol- Kolyaahh." His accent came out thick. Heavy. His breath shook his voice every time Nikolai took him down his throat. The jester's face glew and tears pricked at his amber eyes, half-lidded with lust, and Fyodor realized then that Nikolai had been grinding against his leg. He didn't dare put an end to such a beautiful visage.
The sight of his once untainted face, stained vermilion from the actions he had taken, how could he forgive himself? The solution presented itself from behind the mask of his religious morals. Transcendence hid itself within the actions and desires of humanity. The closer you get to death, to desire, to freedom— nothing exists to be more pure than that. Walls degrade. Birds become trapped. But the thing about love is that even whence it ends, you will never forget the way it once made you feel.
"Ni-Nikolai."
He pulled him off of his length, and the other whined in protest. Staring up at him with irritation, he whined out:
"I wanted to make you cum, Fedya, please. I wanted you to cum down my throat—"
Oh, those words did something wild to him. And he pulled Nikolai up and slammed their mouths together and didn't give a damn that he could taste himself on his lover's mouth. Could he say that? Lover? Such a foreign word to even think, but in this moment, wrapped in this feeling, he found he no longer cared. Nikolai's still-clothed hips ground relentlessly into his own and Fyodor grasped wildly at his hair, legs spreading, practically begging for him to touch him, fuck him, do anything to him as long as it was more.
Such a pretty little thing, so desperate and filthy, Nikolai could not deny him.
"M' gonna prep you." He breathed out. "It's gonna feel strange and you're not gonna like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna make you feel so good you won't be able to think about anything else but me."
It took a lot to convince Fyodor to trust someone, more than anyone could hope to achieve, but Nikolai must have been able push past those boundaries somehow because the only thing on Fyodor's mind was that he wasn't being filled fast enough. He growled out his confirmation, but he didn't take his hands off of Nikolai for even a second.
"I don't care how bad it feels. I won't go another moment without you inside me."
Nikolai's lips curled into a grin, but his eyes were too clouded with lust for it to come across in the romantic way he wanted it to.
"Do you have lube?"
Oh.
Right.
Fyodor's silence earned a soft sigh of exasperation from his partner. Even though the lack of such a thing wouldn't be too terrible a hindrance.
"Alright, then. We'll have to make due with a combination of spit and precum."
Nikolai watched as his Fedya's face scrunched up in disgust at such a suggestion— Spit? Really?— but that displeased expression morphed quickly back to pleasure as one of Nikolai's hands returned to his cock, the other pressing its fingers right up against his lips.
"Open, Fedya. If you don't want to use mine, we can use yours."
Right as he spoke, he gave a quick jerk of his hand that forced a choked moan out of Fyodor's throat, and he took the opportunity to slide his middle and ring finger past his lips. Obedient little thing, the promise of sex overwhelmed any sense of resistance, and Fyodor sucked down on the digits as Nikolai gently thrusted them in and out of his mouth.
"Good boy—"
That earned a bite, too belittling.
"Ah, sorry. Use your tongue, please."
Better. He allowed that to suffice, and ran his tongue along the slender fingers as he sucked down on them. Nikolai's hands tasted oddly sweet, even though a faint semblance of precum lingered, nothing existed that dissuaded Fyodor from not continuing his set course of action. And Nikolai could not tear his eyes away.
His unrivaled Fyodor, exemplary and divine and without equal, with his face flushed and hair disheveled, here. Sucking on his fingers like he would die without them. Nikolai almost didn't want to pull them away, but the promise of a pleasure far more intoxicating convinced him to put an end to the sight.
Fyodor let out a quiet noise of disapproval as Nikolai pulled his fingers from his mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting them to his tongue, he found himself melting like wax on a candle. Heated, desperate, aflame. His limbs trembled softly as his legs were pushed apart, staring down in awe at the man between them— he moved himself further up onto the bed to make room for Nikolai to get on too, and so there he lay— spread out on his back, so, so, so close to Nikolai that he could feel the heat radiating off his skin, but not close enough.
Something warm and wet pressed against his hole. Something he recognized as Nikolai's fingers.
"Tell me if it hurts, Fedya. I don't want to hurt you, would never want to hurt you—"
His breathing still shook his voice, but with the way Fyodor spread his legs further at the sound of it, he'd be damned if he didn't let the string of his self restraint wither and snap. A single finger slipped in to the first knuckle. Fyodor's expression remained unchanged, except for a slight narrow or his eyes. Then to the second knuckle, and then all the way in.
Sweet sinful thing, Fyodor gasped out at the stretch, and he was tight. Tight enough to make Nikolai drool, but the guttural noise his demon let out— just by that one finger. Those hot walls tightened around the single digit, desperate, trying to get it deeper into him. More, more, more.
"Pl- Please. More, I need— Ahhh- I need more."
Nikolai bent, curling his finger and wrenching a delicious moan from Fyodor, who didn't hesitate to snap his hips forward. He slid the second finger in, and this time, Fyodor seethed with discomfort at the sensation. Eyes squeezing shut and teeth bared in slight anguish.
"It'll get better soon, my angel, I promise."
Angel? No, his Fedya was a god. How lucky Nikolai must be then, to have such a being wrapped around his finger. To be two deep inside him, scissoring him open slowly, watching as that look of discomfort turned to one of ecstasy. His cock was flushed pink from the lack of attention, soaked with precum and glistening. Tentatively, Nikolai used his free hand to run a finger down the frenulum, and Fyodor's whole body jolted in a spasm.
"No— Feels too strong—"
He gasped, he whined. Nikolai realized slowly what he meant by that.
Fyodor didn't have a concept of pleasure, did he? But to go to such lengths to avoid being tainted, to avoid even experiencing an orgasm. Nikolai's lips parted as he came to the understanding that Fyodor had either never cum before, or hadn't at least in so long that he didn't remember what it felt like.
Fyodor's hips bucked impatiently. He needed his Kolya to hurry up. He fucking wanted, needed to feel him inside.
"Wanna feel full of you." He gasped out as he fucked himself on those lithe fingers. "Pl—Agh, Please make me feel good."
And once again, Nikolai found himself being eaten alive by a yearning so intense it ached.
"I'll make sure you feel every last part of me."
It burned. Hot and heavy, those fingers pulled out of Fyodor and something much more dangerous replaced them— Fyodor's muscles tensed as he felt it press against his hole, pushing in slowy, gently, and although it burned it wasn't fucking fast enough. It felt like Nikolai was tearing apart his insides and he squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to remove himself from the pain.
But he was inside. Even if not fully, and even if it hurt, Nikolai was inside him. Bonded with him in the most intimate physical way possible. And it felt good. Not the act itself, not yet, but the concept that Kolya was the one ruining his innocence. He hated it and he reveled in it. He wanted it to stop and he wanted more. He dug his nails into the fabric of the bedsheets and imagined it were the skin on the other's back. Nikolai bottomed out inside him, pelvis pressing against soft flesh, and a flurry of praises and begs and breaths fled his mouth incessantly.
"Fyodor— You feel, you feel perfect. Please, please, oh god."
The demon wrapped his slender legs around his waist, pulling him in closer with a weak effort. Nikolai doubled forward against his thin frame and Fyodor purred out his permission.
"You're going to make me feel like heaven, aren't you, Nikolai?"
His lips curled in a smirk that reflected the few shards of dignity he had left.
"You're going to make me forget how to think. Make me forget about how wrong this is. Make me only be able to focus on you."
It was a demand, not a request, arising from the urge embedded deeply within him to not regret this once it was over. How foolish was he, to give up part of his life's purpose because of his desire for this man. Whenever he was near him he felt flames. He needed him, as much as he never wanted to admit it, Nikolai had found a way to slip past his walls and sink his teeth into his soul. He needed him, in more ways than just sexual. And he realized that with a tinge of fear, but even that was overwhelmed by the kind of desperation Nikolai made him feel.
"Destroy me." He breathed.
He never knew that bliss had a flavor until Nikolai began to thrust into him. It tasted of passion, tasted of desire, and it tasted human. Nikolai pushed deep, languid moans from him with every movement— paying no attention to his own pleasure, only indulging in Fyodor's. And when he brushed against a specific bundle of nerves, Fyodor no longer cared about the consequences of his actions, or the depth of how this would affect his ideals as he threw his head back with a scream.
"Right there!— Do that again!"
Tendrils of pleasure worked their way throughout his body, throughout his being, twirling inside of him and rushing down his lower back to his length. Nothing had ever filled him so fully before, so achingly pleasant, so wonderful that it almost hurt. The pain that he had expected evaded him, muted under the waves of gratification, replaced with an all-consuming urge to achieve more of the sensation. As Nikolai hand gripped him, faster, stronger, his thrusts deeper, there spiked a sensation within him that he didn’t remember ever experiencing. He didn't think he ever had experienced it before. An unbridled, white hot euphoria that shot throughout his entire body, right when Nikolai pressed against an untouched part inside of him.
And Nikolai recognized it in the way Fyodor's eyes shot open, wide and begging, even if no words left his mouth, for him to hit it again.
Hips pushed forward relentlessly as Nikolai pulled his Fedya closer by the hips, moving him in rhythm with his thrusts. He could feel his own release building up but he forced it down. No way would he allow himself to tip over the edge before he sent his lover flying off it.
Fyodor grasped at Nikolai desperately and threw his head back with loud moans that almost sounded like sobs, they were so intense. Making sure Nikolai slammed into that place every time, every time.
Warmth flooded his entire being. A pulsating, electrifying feeling that tingled inside him and washed out in perfect crashing waves that made him writhe. Back arching, he never wanted it to stop, he came hard. Releasing with a cry loud enough to make his voice break, he chased his euphoria with desperate, shaky bucks of his hips. For once in his life, he couldn't think. He didn't even want to think. All he could do was moan and plead as Nikolai finally oh so finally let himself go, filling Fyodor up so good that it earned a sob from him, eyes stained with tears from the physical shock of experiencing such a biblical feeling.
"My perfect Fyodor," He remotely heard Nikolai whisper. But his body couldn't move, and he found it impossible to open his mouth. He realized then he was smiling. A hazy, post-orgasm smile, but he meant everything it insinuated.
Nikolai pulled out of him slowly— a feeling he found himself unfond of— before locking their lips together in a kiss much softer than the ones that had preceded it.
He didn't expect Fyodor to be able to move for quite a while. He wasn't even entirely sure the man would be able to walk the next day. He moved to go grab a wet rag to clean the both of them off, but Fyodor made a desperate noise that surprised them both when he felt the touch of Nikolai's skin leave his own.
"Stay."
His voice was barely a whisper. But the weight of it hit Nikolai with more impact than a bullet could ever hope to achieve.
They both knew Fyodor would wake up angry, disgusted at the dry sticky feeling on his body. He would probably press his lips into a thin line. Reprimand Nikolai for not thinking ahead and going to clean them off anyways. But Nikolai could only smile. Fyodor was supposed to be the smart, calculative one, wasn't he? Always predicting the effect events would have, working to break the perceived timeline and embed his preferred outcome. He wondered if Fyodor had been able to predict this. Maybe not consciously, but he wondered if somewhere, deep within him, the demon saw the risks of allowing himself to get close. He wondered if he looked at those risks and felt a pang in his chest of an emotion not so different from fear, as Nikolai once did. And he wondered if he allowed himself to dance with that risk until eventually, he succumbed to the longing to be loved that had eaten up at him for so long. Nikolai could feel a tinge of pride. There was nothing more terrifying than the idea of being known.
He laid back down, and pressed his lips to Fyodor's neck— and feeling his heart pulse beneath his skin, Nikolai reminded himself that it wasn't so terrible to feel love for someone else. Even if Fyodor didn't reciprocate the emotion, he could find peace in knowing that he never saw him as lesser because of it. Perhaps that was what he feared. What led him to detach himself from any kind of emotion. The fear of rejection, and the fear of hurt.
Fyodor watched him carefully. Nikolai knew he could tell what he was thinking by the way his brows furrowed lightly, eyes lost in wondering, breathing ever so slightly slowed. Before Fyodor could stop him, before he could stop himself, he said it.
"I love you."
Fyodor didn't seem surprised by his boldness. He sat in silence, thinking, analyzing the risks, the benefits, the reasons, but he knew deep down that there was no real logic to love. That was what scared him.
"I do not know," He began. "If I am capable of feeling love."
Nikolai expected this response. After all, he could not say he had fallen in love unless he hit the ground.
"That's okay." His voice still shook. "I don't need you to."
Fyodor, much to Nikolai's surprise, responded by wrapping his arms around him, and pulling him into a soft embrace. Head against Fyodor's chest, Nikolai could feel tears prick at his eyes. He didn't understand why.
"I don't know if it's love," Fyodor continued. "But it's undeniable that somehow, in some way, I do—"
He cut himself off. Doubting himself.
No, that wasn't it. He was just scared of what words were about to become something more. Putting a name to it. He was finally, finally allowing himself to put a name to it.
"I do feel something for you."
Nikolai gave him a slight squeeze before he kissed him again, and he tasted of a new kind of desperation that Fyodor thought felt like paradise.
"All I need," Nikolai whispered against him. "Is you. Whatever that may mean."
Love.
Fyodor tried the word out in his mind. Wandering deeper into what he felt for Nikolai. His eyes grew heavy with sleep, his frail body exhausted from the exertion sex had taken on him. He didn't have to fear Nikolai leaving him. He could allow himself to rest.
Nikolai had buried his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. His scent.
Love.
Fyodor decided he liked it.