Work Text:
It went a little something like this:
17:24
Hyuna (Grp Leader): just checkin again, we're all still free tmr?
Mizi: yesss
Sua (Asst. Leader): 👍
Luka: Yes.
Luka: But I might arrive a few minutes late.
Hyuna (Grp Leader): all g
Hyuna (Grp Leader): @Ivan @Till wbu guys?
Ivan: Good day. I'm afraid neither of us will be able to make it. Till isn't feeling his best… ^^;;
Hyuna (Grp Leader): ahhh. sorry to hear that, hope his condition improves real soon!
Hyuna (Grp Leader): oh but why r u also unavailable if only tills sick? do u have something planned as well?
Ivan: Till is reliant on me, at least for the time being. He's a bit stubborn, so I'll need to focus my attention on him so he can heal as soon as possible.
Mizi: sending my well wishes! poor fella, hope the fever subsides!! ><
Ivan: Oh, it's not a fever.
Hyuna (Grp Leader): oh, did he get injured? is everything ok?
Ivan: Haha, yes, don't worry. He's just having trouble moving around.
Hyuna (Grp Leader): oh, well… tell him to treat his body better in the future. hes still young!
Luka: And to not choose barbarians with no self-control as bed partners…
Mizi: ?!
Hyuna (Grp Leader): well now that it's out in the open i guess, dont overdo it guys
Mizi: O.M.G!
Mizi: makes sense now (0.0)
Ivan: I'll relay that to Till, thanks for the concern ~
Sua (Asst. Leader): riveting group discussion. let's conclude here.
Hyuna (Grp Leader): sounds good. have a good day everyone
Till: I TRIPPED AND FELL DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS
Hyuna (Grp Leader): ah
Mizi: omg sounds painful!!!
Till: IVAN IS FREE TOMORROW
Ivan: </3
Sua (Asst. Leader): did you really just try to use your roommate as an excuse to get out of the group meeting
Luka: Not so much getting out of the meeting as it is staying by Till’s side.. -_-
Hyuna (Grp Leader): regardless of what happened… get better soon
Till: I WILL. :/
It was by all means an insignificant and short-lived interaction, but once Till noticed it, he couldn't just simply un-notice it. Because there it was.
The assumption. A baseless one too, at that. The underlying and damn near immediate understanding that Till was the one in he and Ivan's budding relationship, bending over to take Ivan's dick. And that somehow it had rendered Till immobile for a period of time.
And Till wasn't lying, it really had been the fall that left his legs worse for wear. The sex only occurred after he was like that. That was a vital distinction.
Nevertheless, he couldn't let it go that easily.
“I don't get it.” Till had said, examining Ivan, who was sitting on the floor cross-legged in front of his laptop.
“Hm?” Ivan hummed, not really paying attention.
No, really. He didn’t get it. Because what actually made Ivan so indomitable, or at least made him seem that way to others? Was it because of his general excellence in every category imaginable? Till would argue Ivan was just born with a silver spoon in his mouth, giving him the advantage—and, alright, he'll acquiesce that maybe he had a scruple of natural talent.
But from the shit Till’s stumbled upon, there was a fair chunk of content about smarmy rich kids being (sexually) taken down a peg by guys who’ve lived more realistic lives. As far as Till's concerned, that was their exact dynamic.
“Yeah,” after a few moments of idle contemplation, Till breaks the silence. “I could top you.”
Ivan gave pause.
“Really?” His expression was as unreadable as ever. A bit frustrating.
Till shrugs anyway, the picture of cool headed nonchalance. “Sure.”
Slowly, Ivan adds, “What brought this on?”
“I mean like, think about it. People just assume I'm the bottom just ‘cause I’m shorter and you’re taller-” Ivan casts him a doubtful look, the meaning of which is lost on Till, “-but that doesn’t really mean anything in reality ‘cause I can top you regardless of my looks. Plus, some people like that sort of thing. Taller bottoms, y’know? It's a thing on the internet, but obviously in real life, too.”
When Till’s done explaining his side, it’s obvious Ivan isn’t convinced and there was a lot he was holding back from saying. Possibly. Or maybe he was just exasperated with Till. Or, more fantastically, Ivan was stunned by Till’s perfect reasoning.
The silence stretches on for a while, with every passing second having Till growing self-conscious and about to retract everything until Ivan tilts his head without looking at Till, about ankle-deep in thought with an oddly serene smile on his face. He eventually gestures vaguely, seemingly in placid agreement.
Till internally pumps his fist, pleased at how easy it was to convince Ivan when he’d usually expect to be challenged. More moments pass without Ivan making a move to correct Till in any way whatsoever, he’s just returned to being engrossed in his work, with deeper focus than before Till had interrupted.
So that was that. They were in agreement. Ivan agrees Till could top him.
That was supposed to be the end of it, Till was satisfied enough with that conclusion. Happy endings for all and whatnot. He didn’t expect its practicality to be called into question weeks after its relevance had expired.
That was the basic gist of what led them to the present.
They were both naked, with Till standing across the bed trying to stand in a way that made his hands covering his privates natural. Ivan was laid bare on the bed, legs spread. ‘This can't be happening,’ he thinks. Till was pointedly avoiding eye contact with Ivan’s… down there. As in, everything below his ballsack.
“Well, weren't you going to top me?” Ivan asked, a cocky smirk tainting his face.
There was doubt. As if Till couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it. Like it was only a matter of time before Till would crack from the pressure and beg Ivan to fill him instead so that all would be right in the world again—which isn't something that has ever happened, for the record.
Till scoffs, brows furrowed in thought. No, it wasn't hesitancy or performance anxiety. It was him being pensive, thinking things through, because he was considerate and frankly, worried for Ivan.
Not like Till’s size was any reason to gape, no. He was painfully self-aware about it and is heavyhearted to acknowledge that he's been humbled by Ivan's far superior length and girth, and shamed by Ivan himself about his ‘pathetic, useless cock’ plenty of times—with the man remaining repeatedly ignorant of Till's strong and opinionated feelings about Ivan's unhinged ‘dirty talk’, which was more akin to trash talk.
(He did not cry. Till stands by the truth, and he was honestly appalled at the bold claim that he was humiliated.)
Till was only looking at it from all angles. Ivan's never… used his backdoor exit as an entrance before, so Till was righteously at odds because from his experience, the first times are always a bit awkward.
That was it. He was afraid he'd hurt Ivan, which wasn't an indirect compliment to himself, honest. Ivan's also regretfully more robust than himself, but having anything shoved up your anus was bound to elicit pain even if it'd soon morph into pleasure.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Ivan’s taunting voice snaps Till out of his stupor.
He grits his teeth. “Shut up! I’m- I’m getting to it!”
“It’s not too late to change your mind, Till.” The tone was laced with faux-benevolence. As if Till would ever concede, especially when it was his pride on the line.
And yes, he’s already heard Ivan’s entirely baloney spiel about how ‘No one would fault you for not being able to overcome your natural disposition,’ to which Till eloquently retorted, ‘What disposition?!’
So, Till makes up his mind. He was going to make Ivan eat his words.
“Fucking– fine!” Till climbs onto the bed, spurred on by his own declaration.
Though when he’s actually in front of Ivan’s form, he suddenly halts and sits on his knees.
To his credit, Ivan does give Till the benefit of the doubt, allowing him a couple of seconds to muster up the courage. But that patience only lasts for so long.
“If you’re having doubts–”
Till shuts him down before Ivan can even finish the thought. “I can do it!” He hates how close to petulant he sounds.
“Right,” Ivan huffs in amusement. “So what’s the hold up? Little word of advice, you’re not supposed to keep your partner waiting. They’ll get the wrong idea.”
“...Wrong idea?”
Ivan leans closer, but not too close, they’re still a relatively safe distance apart. His voice dips a few octaves, just above a whisper. “They’ll think you’re not up for the task. In that case, I’d be happy to provide my servi-”
It takes everything in Till not to choke him out right then and there. He feels his face flood with heat which he regrettably recognizes to be embarrassment. “You asshole! I said I’d fucking do it!”
“You did say that, yes.” Ivan backs away, now resting comfortably against the propped up pillows. He nearly looks bored. “And I’ve been more than patient with you up until now. Are you going to be a man of your word?”
“I’m about to! Like, right now!”
…
“Till…”
Till hums in acknowledgement, face still burning, eyes staring into his lap.
“Do you know the concept of ‘right now’?”
“W-What kind of question…! Duh, obviously!”
Ivan sighs enduringly. “As cute as it is watching you squirm, it’s getting old.” A larger hand suddenly grabs Till’s wrist. Till barely suppresses a yelp. “This hand isn’t for nothing. You know the next step, right?”
“The n-next step…” Till echoes uselessly.
“Preparation.”
Till’s mind goes blank.
His eyes slowly drift to his own fingers, now clenched to form a weak, shaky fist. His fingers… going in Ivan’s… there?
No way. Impossible. Unthinkable. He wouldn’t do it. It was just… wrong.
The thought of Ivan engaging in regular human activities never even crossed his mind until this moment. Not only did the thought of Ivan… to put it in words, shitting and farting, felt incredibly out of place with his picture perfect image, but it also didn’t seem like a logical possibility, considering earth’s limited and scientific boundaries.
Suffice to say, Till felt repelled. And apparently it showed on his face.
“Chickening out?” Ivan’s infuriating smirk scalds his retinas. “If you need a demonstration, I can help you out this time.”
Till hates that he actually considers it. The last thing he wanted to do was resort to relying on Ivan’s help.
But… he has to face the facts. He's completely helpless as a first-timer.
He clicks his teeth. “Fine! Just this one time, then after, I'll do it. You got that?!”
Ivan waves him off, “Sure, sure.”
Without wasting any time, Ivan flips Till on his back.
He reaches out to retrieve a bottle of lube and makes quick work to smear a generous amount on his fingers.
“Pay close attention, Till.”
Till watches with bated breath.
But suddenly, Ivan pulls Till's knees apart and presses a finger to his hole.
Instantly, Till scrambles to conceal himself. He fails. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!” He all but screeches.
His cries fall on deaf ears, the finger breaching through the tight opening. “Hm? I'm showing you how it's done. What else?”
At the curl of his finger, Till gasps, a look of affront and betrayal overtaking his features.
Ivan tuts disappointedly, “Don't tell me… you thought I'd do it to myself? Where's the fun in that?”
“You assho– ngh!”
“Hah… you're still a bit loose from this morning,” Ivan slips in a second finger. “That's hot.”
Till recounts the morning's events. He remembers feeling salty because Ivan had fingered him open, only to leave abruptly due to work whisking him away. Ivan's recommendation? Use the dildo modeled after himself he gifted Till last Christmas.
Whether Till actually listened or not was besides the point. Point is, he was left high and dry.
“Fuck off, hngh, that was your fault!”
A kiss is pressed to his knee. “Sorry, duty called.”
Till flushes and mutters off to the side, “Just hurry up,”
“Can't. Gotta show you so you remember. It's just a part of the learning process.” Ivan scissors his fingers inside. “Prep is important, ‘specially if you're hellbent on making me take that five-incher.”
Till hisses in offense at the jab. By now, he was sporting a full erection, which he'll have Ivan know is fairly average!
“Oh, fuck off. I'm average! Sorry we can't all be like you!”
He wasn't going to let Ivan shame him into believing he was something he wasn't, not this time. Not everyone was an absolute unit like Ivan, who was large everywhere. Ivan only smiles at the inadvertent compliment. Ivan’s reply of: “I never said anything about you being small, but thank you.” goes ignored.
Sure, Ivan wasn’t oversized like Hyuna noona's brother, but he was tall and broad enough that he caught eyes, even when he wore face masks. Irritatingly, it made sense that he was packing down there as well. Till’s gaze subconsciously lowers to look at the topic of thought. He gulps.
No matter how many times he sees it, it remains a force to be reckoned with.
Ivan was hung like a fucking horse. It didn't take a genius to estimate that Ivan's length was double-digits in inches at a single glance. Crowned by neatly trimmed pubes, it was thick, long, and visibly heavy, like the mere act of being hard meant defying the laws of gravity. Likewise, Ivan’s balls were heavy, too.
Till would sometimes find himself fantasizing about nosing Ivan's balls while he inhaled the musky, heady scent of his large cock. He'd alternate between massaging Ivan's balls while tonguing the protruding vein on his shaft's underside, and sucking his balls while playing with the tip. But that was neither here nor there.
It truly wasn't fair how blessed Ivan was in all aspects.
A third finger joins in. “I told you to pay attention, Till.”
“Not my fault you're boring me,” Till huffs, knowing he's just being petty.
His words seem to incite something in Ivan. Most likely annoyance. Till can't help but internally celebrate the nerve he struck.
“Really? I'm boring you? You're aware I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart, right? Entertaining your random delusions, and now giving you a free crash course on anal fingering because someone didn't bother doing their own research beforehand.”
It's damn near impressive how Ivan’s usual cordial smile never leaves his face, even if the tension in it is much too palpable. Truthfully, when Ivan gets like that, it's enough to make Till’s heartbeat spike in fear—not that he'd ever confess that and give Ivan the extra ammunition. Nevertheless, Till grins shakily in return, a hint of canines flashing.
“S-So? Look at you, doing it all anyway, no questions asked, ‘cause you're that easy.”
Ivan leans in, “Yes, but,” his fingers rub against a familiar bundle of nerves , causing Till to buck his hips. “I'm only easy for you.”
“You're so goddamn corny,”
Then, Ivan’s fingers pop out, all wet and shiny. “I think that's enough.”
He places his hands under Till’s thighs and pushes them so that Till's knees nearly touch his torso, giving Ivan a better view of Till’s now loosened hole.
“Don't look away.” Ivan positions his cock in front of Till’s entrance , the tip kissing the rim. “I'm putting it in now.”
Till avoids Ivan’s intimidatingly attentive stare, but it works in the latter’s favor anyway because with nowhere else to look, Till’s gaze ends up transfixed on Ivan’s cock as it enters him.
“Fuck… how aren't you made for this? Look how greedily you're sucking me in,”
“Ngh…” Till groans, his forearm coming up to cover the lower half of his face.
It didn't matter if Till had played with that dildo earlier in the day, it could never compare to the real thing. He could never fully get used to the feeling of Ivan’s girth stretching him open, splitting him apart, he can't help but tighten around him.
“Shit, hah… ‘s big–!”
Ivan's a little more than halfway in when he says, “I know, but you can take it. You're more than capable, c'mon.”
“Fffuck— easy for you to say– hngh!” Till gasps when Ivan shoves the rest of himself in until there's no more left. “You’re not the one in my position– hah, god…”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm missing out, why don't you tell me how it feels?”
“Damn smartass–!”
Ivan pulls out by a few inches before unceremoniously slamming back in. Till chokes back a whine as Ivan rams into him, the sound of balls slapping against his ass making his ears burn.
With Ivan, it's always intense, there's never any windows for reprieve. He's already setting a merciless pace, pistoning his hips back and forth with his hands fiercely gripping Till’s thighs , rocking his body against the bed.
Till fists the sheets and nearly bites his tongue, refusing to cling to Ivan because they're still in the midst of a semi-debate, even though Till’s not sure how he's meant to retaliate if not with half-formed thoughts because it's plain to see that Ivan’s got the complete upper hand. As always. Fucking smug bastard.
Except Ivan’s not smirking now. He's biting his lips, his fang digging into skin. His eyes melt holes into Till's being, red pupils dilated in arousal. Laser-focused on pounding his stance into Till. To get him to admit he's right.
Ivan makes a very convincing argument. But too bad for him, Till's still got half a mind to withhold the admission. It's also partly his own fault for being too complacent, just taking it like the champ Ivan so often mocks him to be.
It's hard to chime in with a snarky comment when Till’s busy basking in the way Ivan’s cock impales him over and over again, the head bumping into his inner walls aggressively, drawing out moans and guttural noises from the both of them. Till thrashes around, but his legs are held firmly in place. The hold is bruising, it's painful, but Till can't find any fault in it.
He hates how much he likes being manhandled by Ivan, used like a plaything, a fleshlight for him to take out all his pent-up energy on. Hates how much it turns him on. Ivan abuses his hole like it's his God-given right. People who don't get the privilege of seeing what Ivan’s like in bed can truly only speculate, but the real thing puts their wildest fantasies to shame.
Ivan isn't kind or graceful. He doesn't say ‘excuse me’ when he forces his way in, he doesn't smile comfortingly either when you're inconsolable because of the rough treatment—doesn't even bat an eye at it, just derives more pleasure from it because it's in his nature. Just who he is. A total pervert.
But despite all of it, Till would rather take all of Ivan’s twisted affections than be a fool. A fool because he'd be just like the rest, the crowd of admirers that naively believe someone as flawless as Ivan didn't come with excessive baggage and a mother lode of oddities, to understate it.
Not that he ever admired Ivan, no. Possibly because Till is one of the few who knew Ivan before he'd mastered his facade. He was the only one close enough to notice it wasn't just him maturing. Ivan was a full-fledged liar now. But apparently that made Till his accomplice.
However, Till has yet to crack the mystery of how that relates to Ivan’s animalistic and disrespectful style of fucking, and why he's been appointed the role of victim. Why he, of all people, is the sole object of Ivan’s attraction. Till has attracted his fair share of creeps—especially during his heavy emo phase in high school—but Ivan takes the cake. It's not even a competition.
A hand glides from his thigh to the back of his knees, hoisting one of Till’s legs up. Ivan uses the same hand to wrap around his ankle and pulls it on to press an open-mouthed kiss on one of Till’s toes. Because of course he has a thing for feet as well. (‘Not just any feet, only yours.’ Ivan’s annoying voice reminds him internally.)
As indelicate as he can be in bed, when he's given the opportunity, Ivan never half-asses it. He's reliable that way. Till screeches and his stomach coils in a mix of terror and utter delight when Ivan bites down on a nipple, pulling it between his teeth, as he plunges into Till again and again. It's shameful how easily Till's reduced into a mess. All he can do is shriek and wail as he takes it, a precursor before real tears inevitably spill forth.
He hiccups dryly. Ivan slows for a bit, catching his breath. Still, he makes use of the downtime. He turns his attention to Till's painfully flat chest. His tongue laves over the nipple encased in a red bite mark while a hand tweaks his other nub, pinching, pulling, and rubbing the sensitive bud. Till flinches minutely, body tensing all over.
That's another thing. Ivan's forced a lot of epiphanies out of Till. For instance, he never knew his chest could be so sensitive, that it could draw such embarrassing reactions out of him. Evidently, Ivan rejoices in that fact. Till wants to shove him away (but noticeably doesn't) because he already knows that it only solidifies Ivan's belief.
“Hm?” Ivan hums with his mouth still preoccupied with a swollen nipple before he pops free and moves on to the next. “How is it? Ready to admit it?”
“Shut up! I'm not admitting shit, hah– this proves nothing!”
“You're still going?” Ivan's head leaves Till’s chest. “It's obvious you don't even believe your own words. Here, let me show you,” He brings a hand down to squeeze the base of Till’s weeping cock. Till fails to stop it, instead he shuts his eyes and twists his hips uselessly, a whine sitting in the back of his throat.
“I‘ve told you before, this cute penis of yours is completely useless. I'm happy to milk you dry with my mouth but you will never put it in me down there-” Till releases a whine in protest, “-okay? All it's meant to do is cum. You'll never be able to cum from putting it in because you like having your ass played with too much, right?”
Till shakes his head rapidly, Ivan’s words are like poison to his ears. He opens and shuts his mouth, trying to deny every harsh and inane assumption thrown at him, but words fail him. He feels helpless. At Ivan’s mercy.
“I trained you too well. I did good, right? Making sure you could only cum if you had a dick inside you, mine. You won't be satisfied with anything else, isn't that right, Till?
No, no, you're wrong. I can't have been trained, I'm not- I'm not a fucking dog! Till wants to spit back, but his mouth won't let him.
Ivan pulls his cock out, not fully, just leaves a few inches in. Till’s eyes widen, knowing what's coming.
He rams it back in, angling it upwards so that it precisely brushes against Till’s prostate but doesn't directly hit it. Till nearly orgasms from that alone, but Ivan’s hand prevents it anyway. All Till can do is leak out more precum, fresh tears now coating his lower lashes. Maybe if he's pitiful enough, Ivan will relent. Find it in himself to give it to Till nice and slow. It's not too late for them to be a normal couple.
It's nothing but a pipe dream.
“See? You almost just came. This is what you're like. You're so cute when you play hard to get and fight back, makes me want to devour you. But sometimes it gets annoying.” Till shivers at the sound of Ivan’s voice dropping lower. “It's okay. Just means I get to fuck you harder since I need to prove myself. It's worth it when you look at me like that,” his darkened gaze is predatory.
Ivan's truly relentless. With stamina that could last for days—withstanding enough that Till could blink and suddenly the sun's rising when it was a mild evening mere seconds ago—and the motivation to propel it. Till supposes he plays a role in that. His mouth's no good for anything but fucking into, so Ivan says, but when he tries to imitate Ivan’s wit, it's too endearing and too irresistible. Ivan just has to have all of him.
At last, Till is able to string a few words together. “Shut the fuck up-” but all the intended vigor is lost, his voice almost a whisper, all raspy and lacking the right amount of conviction needed to make Ivan listen. Not that he ever does. Pathetic, an unknown voice berates somewhere in his mind.
Ivan watches Till flounder, in awe. “Say it nicely.”
Till’s a bit too gone to question it. “P-Please- stop, stop talking. It's not true. It's your fault, you did this– I hate you, you're mean! Fucking asshole!”
Ivan pays it no mind. “Fuck… you're so cute. I could eat you. I want to eat you. Can I, Till? I got so lucky with you. I claimed you first. I must've done something noble in another life.” He rambles. His hand, previously encasing Till's dick, now begins to pump him. “Here, I'll let you cum first with my hand.”
Except this isn't how Till wants to come undone. But he'd be an idiot to think he had any say in the matter.
Ivan's dick slips out of Till, who holds back a whine. “Go on, I'm giving you permission. Don't hold back.”
It's so in character for Ivan to make Till orgasm from a handjob after spewing all that bullshit about how he could only cum from having his ass toyed with. Till almost feels like holding it in just to waste both their time, but he knows that if Ivan catches on to his half-baked plan, he'll face worse repercussions.
So, he begrudgingly accepts. Till's eyes roll back, letting himself focus on the sensation of Ivan’s impeccable hand jerking him to what would be his first orgasm of the night.
Within moments, Till’s hips fly off the bed as he lets out a long moan. He cums in spurts, getting his upper torso all messy and sticky. Till mentally reprimands himself for ejaculating so easily.
“Good boy. Cumming so prettily for me,” Ivan’s praise is a double-edged sword. “Let me fuck you again. I'm not even close to being done with you.”
Ivan’s rude and a fucking bully in bed, but for some reason, he still asks permission sometimes. Or at the very least, he makes demands that he has enough decorum to disguise as requests. Of course, Till wordlessly allows it, spreading his legs again.
Ivan's arms reach around his back and waist, lifting him to sit upright. Till’s confused for a few seconds following the sudden change in position. Ivan situates Till atop his lap, the shorter man's dick pressed against the other's abs, while he feels a long rod sliding between his cheeks from behind.
Till is hoisted up with ease as Ivan realigns himself. Then, as Ivan’s hands push Till down to sink into his cock, Till’s eyes go wide and his hands scramble to hold onto something. He drags his nails along Ivan’s back, keening at the terrible yet highly erotic feeling of being filled with no space spared.
It's almost too much.
Till has an ongoing love-hate relationship with the position. By the time Till’s fully seated on Ivan’s cock, it's hard to believe he managed to take all of the other man's length. It's too fucking deep. Like he's being suffocated from the inside. He's too full. Every tiny shift makes Ivan bump along his walls in a whole different way, there's no escape.
As Till struggles to catch his breath, he's still aware of the eyes watching him. For once, Ivan doesn't immediately start wrecking his guts, instead opting to observe his facial expressions for some unknown reason. Knowing Ivan, it's probably real riveting having an up-close view of every twist and furrow on his face, every droplet of tear and bead of sweat running down his red cheeks and temple.
He expects Ivan will say something smart and annoying, so he thinks he ought to beat him to it. “Fucking what.” Till grits out, still trying to accommodate the absolute monster inside him.
“Aw, don't be like that,” Ivan pouts. “Don't be mad.”
“You asshole, I wouldn't be mad if you could be normal for one fucking second!” Till sharply breaks eye contact, instead gazing past Ivan’s shoulder. Still upset yet in a quieter tone now, “W-Why are you always so mean? Why do you have to say those things? They're fucking weird!”
“Is it really that upsetting?” Ivan gets no reply, just a sniffle from Till who's still hiding his face. “Hm, then what should I say? What do you want to hear?”
Oh, how Till hated the gentle condescension.
In lieu of a proper reply, Till only bites down, teeth piercing flesh. Ivan doesn't even flinch.
“I'm sorry, Till, I can't make you right when you're wrong.” Till knows he's not genuine. Not even a bit. “But I think I have an idea,”
Using his hands on Till’s waist, he lifts Till up halfway then slams him back down. Till screams, spit flying from where he was sucking on Ivan’s skin.
Ivan moans too, sounding deceptively wanton. “You’re so deep inside me, Till~”
The reaction is instantaneous. Till squawks in affront, outraged. He's barely able to retaliate when Ivan repeats, except this time bucking his hips to rail into Till harder. Till swears his organs jostle at the force. His head tilts back, stars invading his peripherals.
“Fuck! Ivan—”
“Your dick is so good! It's hitting my special spot!”
“S-Shut up! Fuck, Christ—!!”
“Hm? No good?” As if the son of a bitch couldn't predict the backlash.
Ivan rams into Till repeatedly, fucking into him with newfound motivation, bouncing him up and down on his glorified weapon of mass destruction. It didn't really matter if Till was having the worst time of his life having his guts rearranged and insides desecrated while Ivan mocked him cruelly, that was probably the point.
Every time Till thrashes helplessly in Ivan’s lap, it only serves to further impale himself on the other's cock. It was unforgiving. Till claws at Ivan's ivory back, marring it with a torrent of scratches in the process. He bites and screams and uselessly begs Ivan to slow down–
All his efforts are in vain. They seem to do the opposite. For every instance Till tries to escape or bite back his howls of pleasure, Ivan takes it as a sign to up the ante.
At one point, Ivan pulls out—Till’s not sure if he should rejoice in the brief respite or curse Ivan for leaving him achingly empty—and Till’s back hits the bed once more. Though this time Ivan lifts the other’s hips and pushes his thighs down, practically folding Till in half with his ass propped up. Ivan’s always had a knack for scientific inquiry, this time the bastard must want to test the limits of Till’s lackluster flexibility. Despite it, he bites down his grievances, only mustering up a winded groan.
Ivan gets on his knees, supporting Till’s upraised back with a hand, and wastes no time shoving his way back into Till’s ruined hole. His hips snap as he enters with a slam. Till’s unstable position finally gives out, his legs slumping around Ivan’s waist, then clings. He digs his heels into Ivan’s back, pushing him in further.
It is when Ivan thrusts for the first time in the new position that Till cums for the second time. It came as a moderate shock to Till—who was too fucked out at this point to be truly embarrassed—but apparently not to Ivan, who had foreseen that Till would orgasm untouched. Which is why Ivan doesn’t momentarily pause, he just continues fucking into Till like he’s always done. Selfish, uncaring, and remorseless.
“W-Wait! Wait, wait, stop— I just ca- ngh!” A thrust that brushes even closer against his prostate quickly shuts him up, a long groan that pitches into a shriek intercepting his poor attempt to induce mercy.
“Shit, Till– you don’t know how debauched you look, you should see yourself. It’s fucking adorable.” Ivan coos, suffering through cuteness aggression. “How could you ever think you could use that pathetic little thing on me?” Humiliatingly enough, Till’s dick twitches and begins to rouse again.
“No one is as lucky as me to have you, my perfect cocksleeve, getting hard for me again. I almost feel bad,” Liar. “You were so sure you had me pegged.”
Till’s voice is all raspy now, sounding utterly defeated, body wracking with dry sobs. “S-S…Stop– please… I can't take it anymore–”
Then, Ivan hits Till’s prostate dead-on. Till cries out, but it dies out halfway, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.
As if the world wasn't already torturing him enough, Till’s traitorous dick ejaculates again. The uncontrollable action was made even more horrifying by the fact he'd only just gotten erect mere seconds after his previous orgasm, but this time he lasted even shorter.
Ivan grins and laughs but doesn't falter, amused and enjoying every second of Till’s suffering. A suffering of which he was the crux. Till knew that pain could bring about pleasure, but not the other way around, until today. The overstimulation was terrifying, Till felt real fear at how rapidly his control was slipping away. It no longer felt like he had authority over his body, instead having his actions puppeteered by Ivan's whims.
“You came three times now, haven't you? While I'm still at lonely number zero. Are there any limits to your selfishness? Don't go hogging all the pleasure, Till,”
Till wished so badly that he had the strength to retort. To kick, lash out, and blame it all on Ivan. It would be so easy to fault him. But as he felt Ivan pound into him with no sign of stopping for Till's poor sake, he felt that even the strength to wish for miracles was steadily vanishing.
“Poor Till, he can't stop cumming. No one taught him self-restraint, huh? What do I do with you?”
Ivan’s words dripping with poisonous honey barely registered to Till before he burst into tears. Sobbing, sniffling, wailing, hiccuping, the works. Till was useless to stop the fat tears rolling down his face. He wanted to crawl into a hole—not Ivan’s, today's events perished all those unbecoming thoughts and those adjacent, not that Till ever had any real desire to begin with—and die five times over.
“I'm close. Fuck, Till, you feel so good, such a turn-on… what a pretty crier…” Though Till heavily doubted that last bit. He hardly believed he looked good as he practically hacked up his lungs and threw an ugly fit. Still, Ivan looked all too happy to admit the following, “I've been thinking about doing this ever since you brought it up. I– fuck– wanted to make you cry.”
He didn't care anymore, damn it. Till stopped caring ages ago. He was more than willing to concede and then lay this all to rest. Yes, he was a fool. Ivan knows better, always does, because he's flawless and charming and has an incredibly disarming yet unnerving smile. However, still handsome throughout it all, infuriatingly.
Curse Ivan. Curse his stupid greed, his pride, his need to be right– no, specifically his need to prove Till wrong. Because winning isn't enough if Till isn't the sore loser. If Ivan was into BDSM, the only gear he'd make Till wear would be a cone hat with the bolded words DUNCE alerting everyone of his superior idiocy.
Well, he was indeed the biggest loser of all to still want Ivan’s kisses.
He grips Ivan’s forearms, nails scratching along. He weeps openly, “Ivan, please– I've had enough. Kiss me at least, please, I need—!”
Without having to be told twice, Ivan dives to crash their lips together in a heated, open-mouthed kiss that only flung saliva about as they pulled apart momentarily to twist their heads in opposing directions in what was the sloppiest kiss of the century. It distracted Till enough and aided him in enduring Ivan’s precise and world-shattering thrusts to his prostate. The only reason Till hasn't cum again was because he physically couldn't at this point. But there was no doubt he'd return to the regular program of spilling all over himself.
Ivan’s endless supply of stamina ensured his hips never wavered since this all began, but even Till—in his veritably broken state—could discern the slightest stutters in movement. The signal that told Till the other was nearing his climax.
Till’s cock had erected again just in time to witness Ivan’s unraveling. “Till, Till– I'm going to, ngh, gonna cum,”
Till squeaks, but it's understood to be a sign of encouragement, if Till’s frantic nods are also anything to go by.
True enough, Ivan finally tips over the edge with a long moan. A scream is ripped from Till’s throat as a final slam against his prostate has Ivan burying himself to the hilt to promptly empty out his balls inside Till, streaking his insides with hot, thick semen that spills out when Ivan pulls out to slap his cock atop Till’s own leaking member, having made a fourth mess simultaneously.
Till’s body throbs, his hole clenching around nothingness, just feeling the slick slide of cum oozing out lewdly. Till’s incoherent noises fade eventually, morphing into heavy breathing that's yet to even out. His legs fall beside Ivan’s knees, equally tired and drained.
Ivan leans above him, panting and huffing hot air into his face. Till wants to kiss away the knot between his brows, but they disappear on their own eventually. Soon, Ivan settles beside Till’s boneless form, gently cupping his jaw.
He still had room for talking, it seemed. Ivan's breathing recovers much quicker. “So? Were you taking notes?”
For a long time—or at least it felt long—nothing was said. Till shut his eyes and focused not on the provocation, but on leveling his breathing. Then, said between pants, “Shut up. You proved your point.” And then he throws in a middle finger for good measure.
“You're lucky, you know.”
“Huh?”
“I should've bent you on my knee the moment you uttered that drivel and spanked you bright red,” Till made his disagreement known through an indignant growl, unable to express deeper distaste due to his condition, “but I waited. Waited until the moment was right.”
Till snorted. ‘Lucky how? Because you let your feelings build-up over time and had me face the full brunt of it?’ was what he wanted to say, but his mouth refused to do his bidding.
“On second thought, maybe I shouldn't be so patient to enact discipline in the future.” Laughable effort on Ivan’s part, honestly. He has scary levels of restraint, but he's not patient. Patient made him sound forgiving. “Well, I can spank you either way.”
Whatever. Till's so out of it that the idea doesn't even sound totally repulsive. Perhaps the opposite. Maybe it was too early to actually tell, but Till was intrigued. Ivan caught on quickly, making a mental reminder for later.
“I'll get you some water. But we're not done yet, not even close. There's still three times you came without my permission.”
It sounded like a nonsensical issue that Ivan had improvised for some reason, when simply admitting ‘I'm not done fucking you, so I'll do it until I'm satisfied’ was enough.
But of course, it was Till's bad for assuming he'd be shown leniency. Cruel, Ivan. You're cruel.
And yet, Till doesn't argue. Just accepts the water bottle and allows Ivan to help him upright, gulping down the contents because God knows he'll need it. Maybe in the past, before they were together together, Till would complain and fight Ivan on it, saying his body couldn't withstand it.
Now, Till just lets Ivan get away with it.
Ivan’s cock slaps against Till’s cheek now, the empty water bottle discarded somewhere else. It twitches and Ivan Jr. is apparently homesick, eager to find warmth this time in Till’s mouth.
Ivan looks absolutely smitten with Till when he opens his mouth wide, tongue licking the tip coquettishly.
It'll be a while before the sun breaks past the horizon. They've got the whole night ahead of them.