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“You’re going to get us caught if you’re not quiet.”
“Shut the fuck up! Y-You’re the one who—”
Till is forced to cut his protests off as Ivan’s broad hand drifts daringly underneath the waistband of his boxers.
Shame and arousal burn through Till’s veins in equal measure, and the sensation of his favorite black tee bunching up under his back combines with the itchiness of the wet grass to create a truly uncomfortable concoction that he, strangely, does not hate. If anything, it only serves to remind him that they’re both in public, mere feet away from where anyone could hear them.
Ivan’s sweaty, having just finished football practice half an hour prior, and Till’s eyeliner is smudged to the high heavens (and not in the artful, deliberately messy way he usually tries to go for in the mornings). Till’s skintight jeans are crumpled in the grass next to them, along with Ivan’s own workout shorts, both damning signs of their mutual horniness. The autumn chill, despite the warmth of Ivan’s body above him, tickles Till’s nose, and he resists the urge to sneeze right in Ivan’s face, because it’d be gross, and because Ivan would be into it.
Their shared apartment is just a short 10-minute walk from campus. They could be entangled in the expensive 690-thread count or whatever the fuck sheets that Ivan likes to buy because hehe funny number, or hell, if Ivan wanted to get freaky with it, they could be swapping spit with hands down each other’s pants in the entrance way of their unit—close enough to the general public that if someone walked by, they could hear what was going on, but still being respectful by not pulling out any genitals until they were behind closed doors. A respectful amount of exhibitionism, if Till had to give an answer about his thoughts about engaging in Ivan’s general kinkiness.
Instead, they’re out here. Getting it on like they’re the springtime rabbits in the wrong season. Completely against Till’s will.
(Ahem.)
Till tried his best to convince Ivan that they could wait a few minutes, but Ivan’s persistent, and Till…
Well, for all Till likes to protest, he’s mostly all bark and no bite (at least, once they grew out of the phase where they punched the living daylights out of each other) when it comes to Ivan.
The sun shines pleasantly through the gaps in the bleachers above them in a way that seems to bathe Ivan in a wash of light, and Ivan’s palm is warm against the clothed skin of Till’s cunt. The crotch of Till’s boxers is steadily growing damper, even as Ivan does little more than cup his mound teasingly, the light pressure there matching the lopsided grin adorning Ivan’s face.
“Did you even wash your hands?” Till snarks, but it’s a touch weak. “You think I’m going to let you touch me when you’re so sweaty?”
It’s a pitiful defense, and they both know it. Till’s let Ivan do much worse to him.
“Of course, I did,” Ivan says. “I rushed to take a shower before you got here to pick me up. I wouldn’t want to give you an infection, babe.”
If Till were a lesser man, he would have swooned. And they say romance is dead!
Through the rushing of blood in his ears, Till registers the bright and peppy cries of, “Give me an A! Give me an N! Give me an A, K, T!”
It’s their university’s cheerleading squad, working hard to practice their award-winning (if a little bit cheesy) routine in time for the upcoming game their football team has against their rival school; the game is one that all the players and fans have been looking forward to all season, a match that draws alumni from all across the world and even unaffiliated onlookers into their massive stadium. Even the students of Anakt University who don’t care for sports will often go to the game, assuming they can score tickets, just to cross it off their bucket list. The game is also the last game of the season, and the last game of their entire university athletics careers for the seniors—and Ivan is no exception, having no plans to pursue any further sports contracts after he graduates with his literature degree.
(Till’s grateful that Ivan’s choosing to accept sponsorship deals off the field instead of risk his brain health by playing well into his mid- and late twenties. Even though Ivan was scouted to join a professional team, the potential health risks aren’t worth the financial benefits. Between Till’s job as an art teacher at a private academy and Ivan’s lined-up gigs, plus their shared savings, they should have enough to support themselves financially after graduation without needing to resort to for-pay brain injuries.)
Even though Ivan has no plans to continue playing football after he graduates, it’s still a game that he should be more focused on, given that he’s their star quarterback—but, well. He’s a bit too busy trying to leave the indents of his teeth on the side of Till’s neck to think about optimal plays.
Ivan’s snaggletooth digs particularly harshly into the juncture where Till’s neck meets his shoulders. Till hisses, then resolutely continues his attempt to push his sweaty, muscular, and incredibly hot boyfriend off of him.
His attempts are rather weak, and he’s kind of half-heartedly pushing, but Ivan can’t be allowed to be a horny menace without at least a little pushback.
…Even if, nine times out of ten, Till is just as eager to get into his pants, it’s the principle of the thing.
Ivan coos and presses a soft kiss to the red skin of the bite, then trails his hand out of Till’s pants to rub soothingly at the lines rubbed into his shoulder from the too-tight straps of his binder. Ivan’s massaging motions feel nice on his sore muscles—Till knew he shouldn’t have worn the brand-new binder out that morning without breaking it in first—but Till, loathe as he is to admit it, misses the pressure of Ivan’s palm against his groin.
“Do you want my help taking this off?” Ivan asks, his fingers slipping under the straps to soothe the ache. “It might make things more comfortable for you.”
The offer is tempting, but.
“I’m not taking my binder off in public,” Till replies, his fingers curling into the front of Ivan’s jersey. “Just—hurry up with whatever you want to do!”
Ivan raises a stupidly perfect eyebrow, his eyes shining crimson in the low light. He looks ravenous. “Whatever I want to do?”
Okay, Till’s going to regret saying that.
Without further preamble, Ivan moves further down Till’s torso, stopping briefly to press a kiss on the jut of Till’s hips, where old hickeys are already fading, before pulling down the zipper of the Till’s skinny jeans.
For a moment, Till fears that Ivan’s going to pull down his boxers completely, leaving his bare ass to contend with the gross feeling of dirt and grass on bare skin (they’ve been there, done that, and Till’s not eager to repeat the experience even if he did have a none-zero number of orgasms to show for it), but Ivan does little more than stare.
Ivan spends enough time just looking at Till’s crotch that Till starts squirming, blush climbing steadily higher on his face. “I told you to hurry up, so what are you waiting f—fuck!”
Somehow, some way, faster than Till could even register, Ivan’s managed to wriggle two fingers through the front opening of Till’s boxers to tease at Till’s dick, rolling it between his index finger and thumb. The callouses on Ivan’s fingers provide a sharp mix of pleasure and pain, and Till has to bite his lip to keep from letting any more incriminating noises out.
“Warn a guy before you do shit like that,” Till pants, his nails digging into the meat of Ivan’s shoulders. As Ivan alternates between fast and slow strokes, gentle and harsher rubs, Till’s body fights between the warring needs to press closer to the delicious pressure and pull away from the maddening teasing.
“You told me to hurry up,” Ivan says at the same time he sneaks his middle finger into the tight clutch of Till’s cunt. “I’m just doing what I’m told.”
Till’s wet, wetter than he should be considering they’re laid out on the grass underneath the football stadium’s bleachers like a pair of hormonal teenagers—really, they should’ve outgrown all these urges since they entered university, learned their lesson from all the times they almost got caught fooling around in the locker rooms of their old high school—so Ivan’s finger slides in easily.
Arousal burns like a pot threatening to boil over in Till’s gut. Without much thought, he rocks his hips further into Ivan’s hand, encouraging Ivan to continue his ministrations. It’s a bit awkward, Ivan’s fingers a little too long to comfortably play with Till’s clit and finger him smoothly, but Ivan gets the message, adjusting the position of his hand so that Till can grind his dick on the meat of Ivan’s palm and thumb while Ivan bullies three fingers directly into Till’s hole.
The squeeze is a little tight, but definitely not as much as it would have been had they not fooled around just the night before. (Till’s hips still ache a bit from how tightly Ivan gripped them while drilling into him. Fuck, this really would be more comfortable if they were on a mattress.)
The opening in the front of Till’s boxers gets soaked in no time, and Till can tell Ivan’s more impatient than he’s letting on when he finally pushes the fabric down and out of the way. The wet-grass-on-asscheeks sensation is just as gross as Till was expecting, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make to feel more of Ivan’s skin directly on his own.
They stay like that for several, unhurried minutes, Ivan lazily pumping his fingers in and out of Till’s hole while Till chases after his palm for more pressure on his dick. Even though the sparks never stop, after a while, Till grows frustrated; every time he manages to get a good rhythm going, Ivan pulls his hand away, leaving Till’s dick neglected and his hole halfway empty.
Ivan’s made Till come without playing with his dick before, but it usually takes much more time—something they do not have if they want to finish before the cheerleaders realize they’ve been used as background noise. Till’s basically memorized the cheer team’s own practice schedule due to how often he watches Ivan practice, and they’re already halfway done.
Till doesn’t realize he’s started whining until Ivan shushes him, leaning in close to nuzzle his cheek with his nose.
“Shh, shh,” Ivan murmurs, pressing a placating kiss to Till’s temple. “Do you want to come that badly? Do you want me to make you come?”
There’s still pride left in Till, so he doesn’t reply, but he must look so bullied that Ivan takes pity on him anyway, pressing his palm back on Till’s clit.
Despite Ivan’s words, Till’s still doing a lot of the work, swiveling his hips so the pressure on his dick is just right. Although Ivan continues to finger leisurely him throughout, he’s little more than a glorified sex toy, letting Till grind on him and chase after release with little regard for the near-painful boner he’s sporting.
Till knows that Ivan could stay like this forever. He’s expressed the sentiment before, that he’d love to be inside Till for the rest of his life—whether fingering Till until his skin turns wrinkled or keeping his cock nestled snugly as they go about their day-to-day—but today, Till wants more from Ivan than for him to be a glorified dildo.
“You talk a big game for someone who’s not doing much,” Till pants, moving his leg to kick the back of Ivan’s calves with the heel of his foot. “Are you going to do something or what?”
“Mm, I don’t know,” Ivan replies at the same time as he crooks his fingers up just enough to tease at the spot where Till’s particularly sensitive. “I’m pretty happy right now. Did you want me to do something else?”
“Did I want you to—?!” Till sputters, clenching his cunt as tightly around Ivan’s fingers as he can, like it’s some sort of punishment. “What the fuck, you started this!”
“I did?” Ivan tilts his head as if in thought. As if the bastard’s had a single useful thought in his entire life. “I don’t recall.”
Even though Ivan’s resumed playing with Till’s clit, Till is sorely tempted to knee him in the face and walk home by himself, sex and boyfriend be damned. They’re under the bleachers, for fuck’s sake, and the cheerleaders have moved to practicing their flips—they really don’t have a lot of time. Why would Ivan stick his hand down Till’s pants, tease Till’s cunt with his huge hand, then proceed to be a stupid tease about it?
And besides—when has Till ever had to beg Ivan for sex? (Plenty of times, because Ivan loves hearing Till beg, but that’s neither here nor there.) With how much they go at it, “having sex with Till” should be another extracurricular on Ivan’s long list, right above football; too bad it’s not something to be put on a resume, because Ivan would have years of experience to boast about. It’s a job position he never plans to quit, after all.
“Did you get concussed during practice today?” Till spits, staring up at Ivan before quickly glancing away, his face cherry red. “Just—just make me come already, or stick it in, I don’t care!”
Ivan twists his fingers and pinches Till’s dick. Till stifles a moan that, if released, would have probably echoed through the bleachers. The sounds between them grow slicker as Till feels himself dripping all over Ivan’s hand and onto the grass.
Surely, surely, Ivan can’t resist that. Till’s practically begging Ivan to get his dick wet. Ivan’s probably got all sorts of adrenaline and hormones rushing through his blood, having just finished practice. Isn’t Ivan’s self-proclaimed favorite place inside Till?
And yet, against all odds, Ivan doesn’t do much more besides make a lazy scissoring motion with his fingers, pressing the pads of his fingers against the walls of Till’s hole. It’s nice, as it always is, but it’s just. Not. Enough.
“I don’t want to rush things,” Ivan says, his little snaggletooth peeking out as he smirks. “You said I could do anything I want, didn’t you?”
Yeah, Till did say that, but he didn’t mean for Ivan to just use his cunt as a handwarmer.
Till wants to strangle Ivan, and just as he opens his mouth again to cuss Ivan out, Ivan twists at his clit with just enough pressure that he has to gather himself with a gasp.
Fucker, Till thinks, except Ivan isn’t even doing any of the fucking Till wants.
Instead of sitting up, pulling up his pants, and stomping home to continue off where Ivan clearly doesn’t want to with some toys that don’t have a mind of their own, Till grits his teeth through the slow-burning pleasure and snaps, “If you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I’m sure one of your teammates—”
A near-yowl rips itself from Till’s throat as Ivan roughly pulls his fingers out, yanks his boxers down, and pushes his dick into Till in the span of seconds. Ivan sets a relentless pace, his hips slamming against the backs of Till’s thighs as his hands, now no longer occupied with edging Till, move to adjust Till’s legs to rest more securely against him, ankles against Ivan’s stupidly broad shoulders.
“Did you guys hear that?” Till vaguely hears one of the cheerleaders ask as he’s being pounded into the grass. Drool lines the corner of his mouth, and Ivan’s hands, damp from sweat and Till’s own fluids, grip Till’s hips like vices.
“Probably a stray cat or two,” comes Mizi’s reply, a touch of humor in her voice. “I’ve seen them around campus sometimes.”
Ah, shit. Till did say hi to Mizi when he came out to the field to wait for Ivan, and she would have noticed that neither of them said bye to her. She’s no stranger to their antics, especially having known them since high school. She 100% knows what they’re up to, which means that Sua will 100% know what they’ve been up to once Mizi comes home from practice, which means Till will have to deal with Sua’s look of disgust the next time they meet up at the local burger joint for their semi-weekly hangouts.
But shame has no place in Till’s mind, now, what with the way Ivan slows down and speeds up in maddening intervals.
“One of my teammates?” Ivan huffs at the same time he pulls out partially, the drag of his cock against Till’s inner walls both a relief and a torture. “You think one of them could satisfy you?”
“Who knows,” Till pants, sneaking his hands underneath Ivan’s shirt to dig his nails into Ivan’s shoulder blades. “I’ve never tried.”
It’s an empty threat. Till has never shown even a speck of interest in any of Ivan’s football teammates, and, in fact, if asked what kind of person he’d date, a footballer would be at the very bottom of his list, just above people working in finance. It just so happened that Ivan and Till grew up together, from before Till chose his name, and Ivan went through a slight identity crisis with wanting to fit in and pad his resume for university apps, and they’d had a slight falling out in freshman year of high school to the tune of “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne. They’re obviously together now, and got together halfway through high school, but, yeah, Till wouldn’t have chosen a football player for his life partner, but he did choose Ivan.
And besides, even as insecure as Ivan was at the start of their relationship (too bad for Ivan wanting to be mysterious and unknowable, because Till knew how to read the lines in between those easy, empty smiles), they’ve now gotten to a point where their loyalty to one another is never in question. They practically started their lives together, and they’ll definitely be spending the rest of the time they have on this earth together.
(For better or for worse, Till can’t imagine a life without Ivan at his side. Ivan knows this. And Ivan can’t imagine a life without Till at his side. Till knows this.)
(They love each other. It’s a fact. It’s sappy as shit.)
It's an empty threat, and they both know it.
But that doesn’t change the fact that, sometimes, Till likes to rile Ivan up, and Ivan likes to be riled up in turn.
“So, you want to try?” Ivan asks, thrusting his cock back in just slowly enough that Till’s toes curl inside his high-top sneakers. “Is that why you’re letting me fuck you under the bleachers, where anyone else could see you?”
Till clenches hard around Ivan’s length, fear at being seen by anyone else and arousal at the reminder of just how reckless they’re being mixing into one head-spinning concoction. “You’re the one who started—”
“But when they see you like this, they’ll know they stand no chance,” Ivan continues, steadily ramping up the pace of his thrusts. “I’ve been carving my space inside of you for six years. Does your body even remember what it’s like without me living in it?”
Ivan punctuates the end of his question with a dirty twist of his hips, pushing his cock in so far that Till swears he can feel it in the back of his throat. Without giving Till any time to recover, Ivan reaches downward and flicks Till’s dick meanly. Till’s dick has been much more sensitive since upping his dosage of T, so the hint of Ivan’s nail against the nub hurts—but unfortunately, Till’s into that.
“Fuck,” Till whimpers, kicking his legs reflexively, “Ivan!”
“Nobody else will ever get to know how warm you are inside,” Ivan grunts, sucking a hickey into the skin of Till’s upper neck. His snaggletooth catches on Till’s earlobe, tugging at the piercings there with his teeth before moving on. Sweat drips from Till’s temples and smears against Ivan’s cheek, and Ivan goes ahead and laps that up too. “Nobody else will ever lick the salt from your skin.”
“Because that’s gross,” Till replies, breathlessly canting his hips upward as much as he can to welcome Ivan’s dick at a better angle in his hole.
Ivan hides a small chuckle against Till’s neck, prompting shivers to race down Till’s spine. “Yet, you let me do it.”
Till’s feeling a little generous for more reasons than one, so he says, “Because you’re you.”
Even though it’s impossible, Till swears he feels Ivan swell up even more inside him. It’s probably just because Ivan’s moved his hand away from Till’s clit and is pressing down on Till’s stomach, though, as if he’s trying to feel for himself exactly where he is inside. Ivan’s eyes shine like twin stars, his pupils blown wide, and for the millionth time today Till finds himself both scared and horny.
“Fuck,” Till moans as Ivan picks up the pace of his thrusts, “Wait, Ivan—”
Ivan adjusts himself so that he can lean down and properly kiss Till, sucking on Till’s tongue and running his own against the backs of Till’s front teeth. Till kisses back just as fiercely, tilting his head eagerly and craning his neck to invite more of Ivan’s taste into his mouth.
(Maybe, just maybe, some of Ivan’s mannerisms have rubbed off on him. Considering how often Ivan’s rubbed off other things on him, it’s only natural.)
Till is so preoccupied tracing the edge of Ivan’s snaggletooth with his tongue that he doesn’t notice Ivan’s wandering hand until it’s pressed right up against his throat.
“I should’ve been doing this from the beginning,” Ivan teases. “I’m sure the entire cheer team has heard you by now.”
“Fucker,” Till wheezes against the light pressure of Ivan’s fingers on the sides of his neck. It’s too much. It’s not enough. “And whose fault is that?”
“Hm, that would be me.” Ivan smirks. It’s unfair how hot he looks, a light sheen of sweat on his too-handsome face.
“It’s all my fault,” Ivan muses. “All mine.”
Ivan slams home, deeper and faster than before, right as he tightens his grip on Till’s neck and squeezes.
Till’s eyelids flutter, his mouth opening in a silent scream, and he comes hard, pleasure wracking all throughout his body as his walls spasm around Ivan’s thick cock and he squirts all over Ivan’s thighs and lower abdomen.
“Till,” Ivan sighs, and he follows Till right over the edge, just like that, a sticky and hot wetness filling Till’s cunt to what feels like the brim. Till truly has no frame of reference for this aside from animated hentai and his very own doujinshi collection, and he’s always feeling a little floaty when they have sex, but he truly thinks it’s a marvel, how much Ivan comes.
Thank fuck for free reproductive healthcare through the university. Since he first got it, Till has put the copper IUD in his uterus to good use; it’s done an amazing job at making sure that they’re not becoming fathers every time Ivan comes inside him. Which is all the time.
Slowly, their breaths even out and their heartbeats calm. The world comes back into focus: Till’s pretty sure his shirt will have grass stains he’ll have to scrub desperately to get out, and the distant chatter of the cheerleaders registers as background noise in his head.
If they were at home, Ivan would’ve likely pouted and clung to Till to let him keep his dick inside until it either fully softened or hardened again (which one depended on the day), but even Ivan seems to have some sense of proper public conduct, now.
As soon as Ivan pulls out, some of the cum trickles out of Till’s hole and onto the grass below. Till’s morbidly curious if there’ll be a dead patch there in a week or so, or if it’ll be amazing fertilizer. Heh.
“You guys might want to get out from under there soon.”
Till may be fucked out, but he’s not too tired from one round to not immediately start sputtering and turn a deeper shade of red in embarrassment. “Mizi! I—I swear it wasn’t my idea.”
“Mhm,” Mizi says, still sounding bright but absolutely not convinced. “And that’s why I’m standing at an angle where I can’t see anything. All the others are in the locker rooms, so if you hurry, you can leave before anyone else notices.”
“You know us too well!” Ivan calls back cheerily. “Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll leave soon.”
“Great!” Mizi’s voice grows farther away, presumably as she moves to join the rest of her cheer squad to shower and change. “Sua’s coming by in five minutes, so if you don’t want her judging you both, you should hurry up.”
Till doesn’t need to be told twice.
With all the fear he has in his heart of being publicly humiliated by a girl whose eyes only come up to his chin at best, Till scrambles to grab his skinny jeans and boxers from where they’re crumpled on the ground and pull them both on. The way the fabric clings to his still-wet folds is a little uncomfortable, but there’s no time to be picky.
Till’s in the middle of forcing his legs through the jeans when Ivan, who’s pulled on his boxers but still has his athletic shorts at his ankles, grabs his wrist abruptly.
“What—what are you doing?” Till wriggles his hips and jumps a little to get the pant legs further up, a task that’s made infinitely harder with one of his hands held hostage. Till wishes he could focus on getting semi-decent again, but he glares at Ivan anyway. The look in Ivan’s eyes spell trouble. “What do you want?”
“I’m doing the laundry tonight,” Ivan says, his eyes shining suspiciously bright. “So, remember to take your boxers off immediately when we get home. It’s very important.”
It takes Till a few moments to realize the implications of what Ivan’s saying, but when he does, he wastes no time in grabbing Ivan by the collar of his jersey.
“You fucking freak—!”
And that’s how Sua finds them, her unimpressed glare burning into Till’s skin even as he shakes Ivan with all the strength he’s got. Ivan, on the other hand, just looks amused.
Ah, damn. Till’s never going to let Ivan convince him to have sex in public again. As a matter of fact, Till’s never going to show his face on the football field again, “it’s important to support your significant other in their extracurricular activities” be damned.
(And if Till’s right there the very next day to pick Ivan up from another one of his grueling football practices, then that’s neither here nor there.)