Archive of Our Own ^beta

The reality is this: Till is, and will probably always be, mute.

It’s a real fucking shame, Ivan loved Till’s voice. Among many things he loved about Till, sure, but his voice felt special almost. 

The same reality is also this: Till can, and probably always would be able to, moan.

This is a conclusion Ivan comes to a month after Till had been cleared by the doctor for good, with Till shirtless in his grasp, Ivan’s fingers digging into the curve of Till's hips, his mouth cfoming to wrap around a perky nipple, and he sucks, when Till arches his back and moans .

It’s a debauched, raspy thing, crooked and half-choked, scraped from deep in Till’s chest, more breath than voice.

Ivan feels pleasure shoot up his spine like lightning, so blinding it almost aches. His dick throbs painfully in his pants. Fuck .

His gaze flicks up to Till’s face, watches embarrassment crawl up Till’s cheeks in splotchy red as he looks away, clearing his throat and shaking his hands in some form of apology. Ivan grins, leaning back to be face to face with Till, still refusing to meet his gaze. “Oh?” He murmurs against Till’s ear, “What’s this?”

Till’s face turns impossibly redder. Cute.

Ivan lets his hands roam around Till’s chest, circling his nipples with the tips of fingernails. “You don’t wanna say anything to that?” He asks, still grinning, “C’mon Till, don’t be embarrassed.”

Till slaps his hand over Ivan’s mouth, eyes narrowed. Ivan assumed that to mean, shut up and get on with it. Beneath Till's fingers, Ivan’s lip quirks. “Ophay,” he says, voice muffled. The malicious glee in his tone can be heard all the same. “If datsh what you vant.”

He lets his hands rest at the waistband of Till’s pants, sliding them down in one fluid motion, boxers and all.  “Here,” Ivan murmurs, voice low, “you wanna sit on my face? Or d’you wanna do something else?”

It’s been nearly six months since the last time, a stretch of silence and restraint, and months in a bed where Ivan wasn’t sure Till would wake from. Ivan figures Till deserves to choose, this time, what he wants. Ivan’s spent enough nights with his hand in his pants waiting for this that he doesn’t mind anything.

Till threads his fingers into Ivan’s hair, guiding his face closer. This close, Ivan can see everything in the dim light, the curve of Till’s nose, the softness in his eyes. It’s overwhelming. Not enough. Too much.

Ivan doesn’t know how to name the feeling blooming in his chest, but he’s sure it must be gratitude. Gratitude that he didn’t lose Till that day.

He lets his gaze drift down to Till’s lips, slowly mouthing something Ivan can’t quite make shape of. 

Oh.

I love you , Till’s lips say. 

Ivan’s chest caves within itself as he breathes out, crashing around his heart in the shape of bones and flesh. Fuck. Ivan can’t do this. Doesn’t really know what to do with Till’s love now that he has it. He’s wanted it for so long that now, with it in his grasp, he wants to return it.

Still, his feeble heart flutters around its hollow captivity. 

Ivan smiles shakily, thumb coming to brush over Till’s lower lip, slowly sliding over the peeling skin there. Beneath his fingers, Till’s lips spread in a soft smile. God, this isn’t how Ivan planned the night to go. He doesn’t want this softness anymore than he knows what to do with it.

Till pushes their heads together, a soft sigh escaping his hold as their lips touch. This, Ivan knows. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his mouth slanting against Till’s with quiet urgency. His tongue slips past parted lips, slow and seeking, tasting the warmth of Till’s mouth, coaxing him further in. He bites down gently on Till’s lower lip — not hard, just enough to feel it give — then soothes the sting with a slow drag of his tongue.

Till exhales sharply, hand tightening in Ivan’s hair.

Ivan swallows the sound, his own breath hitching as he kisses him again — slow, then hungrier, then slow again, like he can’t decide whether to savor or devour.

When he finally pulls back, it’s with effort, breathing uneven, lips kiss-swollen and red. He stays close, foreheads still touching, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

“Cute,” Ivan whispers, thumb brushing Till’s cheek. “But you still haven’t told me what you wanna do,” Ivan should probably stop making fun of Till’s lack of voice, but he can’t help himself from adding, “Cat caught your tongue?”

Till’s eye twitches, hands tightening around his face.

Ivan drawls, “Maybe a bullet caught it instead…”

His world turns on him as he’s pushed backward onto the bed, which he should’ve expected, it’s not like Till to not retaliate, but his chest still tightens in surprise.

He leans upwards on his elbows, smirking, watching as Till pulls his undergarments off in a quick movement, “Like what you see?” Ivan teases, spreading his own legs to grant Till space. He doesn’t expect Till’s gaze to linger all over him. Ivan’s not particularly self-conscious, has no reason to be, but embarrassment dyes his cheeks a light pink.

Fuck. Also not the plan.

He clears his throat, threading his hand in Till’s short hair, “C’mon Till.”

Till rolls his eyes, but lowers his mouth, not onto Ivan’s throbbing and embarrassingly hard cock, but beneath it, sucking hickeys into the inside of his thighs. Ivan groans, tugging at silver strands.

Slowly, teasingly—and Ivan knows this because Till is smirking against his thighs as he sucks at his skin—Till reaches his swollen balls, eyes flicking upward to meet Ivan’s, before he wraps his lips around his sack and hollows his cheeks out.

Ivan arches his back, “F-fuck—”

If Till could speak, Ivan’s sure he’d be mocking him right now. The mischievous glint in his eye might be worse than any words he could throw at him.

Till leans back, adjusting his position to finally angle his head where Ivan aches most, eyes still holding Ivan’s gaze unflinchingly, mouth lowering painstakingly slow until finally, finally , his lips wrap around the head of his dripping dick.

The sound Ivan lets out is a mortifying mix between a whine and a sob, hips jerking upwards. Till gags slightly, leaning back, but doesn’t give himself reprieve. What he doesn’t reach with his mouth he lets his hand take care of, flicking his wrist with every molten drag of his mouth. It’s been too long for Ivan to last, and Till’s lips are sinful at what they do.

He can feel the coil in his gut, tightening until his thighs are shaking and he can’t help himself from rolling his hips into the slick vice of Till’s mouth.

“I’m close, ngh, fuck , Till— Till —” Ivan’s eyes snap open at the sudden, obscene sound of Till pulling off him, spit trailing from his lips. His cock aches, pulsing in defiance. “F-fuck, Till—why?” The desperation in his voice bleeds out before he can stop it, thin and whiny.

Till shrugs, before slapping away Ivan’s hand when he tries to reach for his aching dick. Then, without a word, he climbs over him — over his chest, then his face — and settles there.

Ivan’s breath catches. The sight of Till like this, pussy flushed and glistening above his lips, nearly makes him groan. It’s obscene. Beautiful.

Ivan doesn’t need any more words to get the memo. His fingers dig into Till’s hips, dragging him down right over his mouth. He spreads Till’s folds, lets his tongue trace circles right over Till’s clit before he opens his mouth and sucks.

Till jerks deliciously above him, thighs squeezing Ivan’s head tight enough that he feels dizzy, a raspy moan falling from Till’s lips as his eyes roll back, “Ngh—haah– hah —” 

Ivan grins, circling Till’s dripping cunt before letting a finger sink in and crooking it against where he knows will make Till keen and buck his hips. If Till could talk, Ivan’s sure he’d be begging for more, opening his filthy mouth to plead and rut his cunt against Ivan’s face till he makes a mess all over it.

Somehow, Till’s silence makes everything feel louder. Louder in the way his breath catches when Ivan’s tongue flicks just right, louder in the trembling gasp that slips out when Ivan’s fingers curl inside him. Without words, every sound Till does make becomes sharpened, a cracked moan, a shuddering exhale, a startled whine, and Ivan drinks each one in like gospel.

He’s never had to guess what Till likes. His body tells him everything. The way he arches into touch, the way his thighs twitch when Ivan’s mouth closes around his clit. It’s all there, mapped out in stuttered noises and jolting movements, and it says more than words ever could.

There’s something almost filthy about it— about how raw the pleasure sounds when it has no shape but breath and broken syllables. Ivan’s cock aches with it, the knowledge that he is the one wringing these sounds from Till’s mute mouth, dragging them up from the softest parts of him.

Which is not to say that Ivan doesn’t miss the awfully obscene things Till would babble when Ivan would spread his legs out and fuck him till the bed was soaked with their fluids and Till couldn’t even sit right for days, because he does, but he finds he might just prefer this.

“Ah, ah, ah, mm— ngh !” Till almost slumps forward, one hand reaching to clutch the headrest and the other to thread his hands through Ivan’s hair, rolling his hips faster as he whimpers.

He’s close, Ivan notes, his whines are getting higher in pitch, needier almost, and Ivan feels almost suffocated beneath Till’s relentless thighs. Fuck, he feels dizzy with pleasure and the lack of oxygen. He considers, for a brief moment, if he should return the favour, get Till right there, shaking above him, and pull away, leave him aching for an orgasm, dangle it in front of him.

It takes one flick of his eyes upwards, towards Till’s sinful face, flushed red, eyes rolled back, for Ivan to forget all about that idea. He’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful; Ivan could never deny him anything, let alone something like this.

He speeds up his tongue, grinning as Till grinds down harder, his slick smearing across Ivan’s mouth and chin, thighs trembling on either side of his face. His breaths are uneven, punched out of him in gasps, little bitten-off moans that climb higher and higher in pitch. Ivan can barely keep still beneath him, his own hips rocking against nothing desperately. Fuck, he’s so hard it hurts . If this keeps up, he might cum from eating Till out alone. The thought turns him on more than he’d like.

He tightens his grip on Till’s hips, fingers digging into soft skin as he licks deeper, rougher now, tongue circling the swollen bundle of nerves with practiced urgency. He adds a second finger, curling them just so, and that’s what does it— Till is a simple man, afterall. He jerks, nearly sobbing, a garbled moan tearing from his throat.

His thighs clamp down around Ivan’s head and his whole body goes taut, trembling like a live wire. Then suddenly, he gasps—chokes on it—and a gush of wetness spills across Ivan’s tongue. Ivan moans, licking up the mess, Till’s cunt still spasming around his fingers.

It’s only when Till lets out a pained whimper and taps his fingers against Ivan’s head, that Ivan relents, leaning back to see the fruits of his labour. “Good?” He asks as Till lowers himself so he’s straddling him,

Till rolls his eyes. Ivan takes it to mean, the fuck do you think ? He grins, his hands once again falling on Till’s waist, “So stingy…I’m just making sure Till. You’re very welcome.”

Once again, Till rolls his eyes. It feels more amused this time than anything, so Ivan refrains from commenting on it, letting his hands idly play with Till’s breasts, cupping them and pinching his nipples. Till swats his hands away, frowning distastefully.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ivan raises his hands in mock surrender. He’s acutely aware of how sensitive Till’s chest gets after an orgasm. Sensitive enough to tremble in Ivan’s grasp until he cums from his perky nipples alone. Fuck is it hot, his mouth feels dry at the memory. “You still wanna do more?”

Till raises one eyebrow, unimpressed, duh . 

“Hm, just thought I wore you out is all,” He shifts beneath Till, brushing their hips together. “So you gonna return the favor or just sit there looking pretty?”

Till tilts his head, considering. Then he leans in, slow and deliberate, licking the mess off Ivan’s chin in one long drag. Ivan twitches beneath him, groaning softly. The tongue disappears, replaced by a smirk.

Cocky bastard. 

Till leans back, settling himself over Ivan’s knees. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but Ivan is too aroused to care, eyes glued to the way Till’s fingers slowly drag over his thighs, trailing to his bush before slowly sinking two fingers to the hilt inside his still dripping cunt. Ivan’s not sure which of them let out a whimper.

Till’s eyes scrunch shut, hips bucking forward as he slowly stretches himself out, putting on a dazzling show for Ivan. Slowly, he lets his pointer finger sink inside with the other two fingers, whimpering as he slows down. His lashes flutter against his cheeks as he exhales, shaky and thin. His fingers are buried to the knuckle now, and he gives a tentative roll of his wrist, testing the stretch. A soft whimper catches in his throat, and he keens slightly, head tipping back as he rocks into his own hand.

Ivan watches, rapt, half-lidded eyes drinking in every slow, deliberate movement. His breath hitches as Till parts his legs wider, showing him everything, the slick shine between his thighs catching the dim light. Each sound Till makes seems crafted just for him.

“Fuck,” Ivan murmurs, voice low and reverent, his own hand reaching for his arousal and wraping hesitant fingers around it.

Till peeks through his lashes at him, a flushed, breathless thing, lips parted around a shaky sigh. Then he moans again — high and airy — fingers curling deep inside himself, his thighs twitching at the angle. He’s close, again , thighs quivering as he rocks his hips.

He drags his fingers out slowly, watching the way slick clings to his knuckles, before pushing them back in with a wet squelch that has Ivan’s cock throbbing painfully against his hand. His pace quickens, shallow thrusts that make his whole body tremble. He adds the lightest brush of his thumb over his clit and gasps, body jolting.

His other hand clutches at the sheets for balance, muscles tight with restraint, but it’s unraveling fast. Ivan leans forward, unable to help himself, one hand ghosting over Till’s thigh, reverent.

“You look so good like this,” he murmurs, voice gone hoarse, “so fucking good for me.”

Till whines at that, loud and needy, fucking himself harder now, chasing an orgasm that Ivan’s sure eh can feel, before suddenly yanking his fingers out with a choked gasp, cunt fluttering around nothing as Till pants.

Ivan blinks, gaze drifting up to meet Till’s heedy one. In one fluid movement, Till crawls over his dick, positioning it right over his wet entrance. They moan in tandem as Till sinks down, Till arching his back, fingers clawing at Ivan skin as he shakes. “ Haah —” 

“S-so tight ,” Ivan groans into the crook of Till’s neck. Till’s pussy pulses around his dick, and it takes everything in him to wait instead of fucking Till’s tight cunt. “You good?” he manages, voice thick with restraint, every muscle in his body pulled taut.

Till nods, breath stuttering, eyes glassy as he tries to catch his bearings. His lips are parted in a silent moan, and his hands tremble as they brace against Ivan’s chest. He lifts himself slowly, just an inch, then sinks back down again with a shuddering exhale. The motion is tentative at first — testing — but the way his walls grip Ivan so snugly, so wet and warm, has them both gasping. God, Ivan has missed this.

He repeats the motion, a little higher this time, and the stretch makes him cry out, hands clenching against Ivan’s skin. His thighs shake, but he moves again, slow and steady, setting a rhythm that’s shaky but deliberate. His hips roll forward, then down, grinding as he sinks all the way back onto Ivan’s cock.

“F-fuck,” Ivan breathes, biting his lower lip hard enough to sting. “You’re so good, so good Till.”

Till moans—a soft, broken sound— and begins to ride him in earnest. Each motion is fluid now, deeper, more confident, his body rocking with practiced control. Ivan watches the way Till’s face scrunches up in pleasure, sweat starting to bead at his temples, his mouth falling open again in a silent, desperate gasp.

The sight of him like this — flushed, trembling, riding him slow and needy — has Ivan's heart thundering in his chest. Every time Till sinks down, it feels like his entire world narrows to the tight, wet grip around his cock.

He’s not sure how long he can last with Till fucking himself like that, so deliberately, so beautifully.

“Just like that,” Ivan whispers hoarsely, lifting a hand to stroke Till’s trembling stomach, then lower, brushing the soft skin just above where they’re connected, rubbing his fingers over the nub there. “You’re perfect.”

Till practically keens at that, hips stuttering in their pace. Ivan forgot how much Till seemed to like praise. He grins, “So good, so pretty, the prettiest man I know. So good for– fuck , ngh—me, yeah?”

Till squeezes around him, his fingers clawing against Ivan’s chest. He leans down, muffling his noises by sucking hickeys into Ivan’s neck. Ivan groans, sinking his hands into Till’s hair, dragging him away from his neck to press their lips together. Till sighs pleasantly into their kiss, slowing his pace down, letting his hands cradle Ivan’s face, leaning back from the kiss to gaze down at Ivan. 

He’s not sure what expression Till has, eyes narrowed from the soft smile he has, but it makes his feeble heart squeeze against his still caven ribs all the same. Once again, Till’s lips move, I love you .

Ivan has spent too long letting his feelings for Till go unspoken that those three words feel impossible for him to say back. Isn’t it ironic, that the mute one among them can say what he wishes and the one who can speak settles for letting his actions show meaning?

He should be ashamed, should tell Till. Its years of silence and never speaking that brought them where they are, a messy, toxic blend of a relationship. His mouth opens and falls close, words dying on his tongue. Fuck. Fuck--

It’s Till who snaps him out of his thoughts, flicking his forehead with his index finger, frowning at him as if to say, don’t be an idiot, I know you love me .

Ivan’s heart throbs. This can’t be good for him. Till can’t be good for him. He swallows thickly, sitting up to bury himself in Till’s collarbone. Till only blinks, before threading his hand through Ivan’s hair, slowly brushing through his hair comfortingly.

He slowly raises Till from his cock before letting him sit back down, starting a soft pace that does little to quell either of their arousals. Somehow, it still feels better then if he were fucking fast and hard into Till. He pecks the skin near him, dragging his tongue over all of Till, letting his hands reach where his mouth can’t. He trails his fingers over the scars on Till’s neck littering it with kisses, feels the vibration of Till sighing against his lips.

Finally, after what must be a lifetime of kissing, Till has enough, pushing Ivan back. More , his eyes say, more , the rocking of his hips say.

And who is Ivan to deny?

He flips them over, reveling in the surprised gasp Till lets out, his mouth falling open in something wordless and sweet. Ivan doesn’t hesitate—he wants to ruin him. He drives in deep, wasting no time pounding into him, his grip bruising on Till’s thighs as he spreads him wide, pinning him down into the mattress.

Till chokes on a moan, trembling beneath him, a shudder rolling through his body like a wave crashing against the shore. “Haah, ah —”

“Yeah? That good?” Ivan pants, words coming out in ragged gasps, heat blooming under his skin like wildfire. He watches Till try to respond but fail—just a high, desperate whine as his fingers find his own clit, rubbing in fast, frantic little circles.

His body’s already slick, glistening with sweat, hair sticking to his temple, chest flushed and heaving. He looks completely ruined, and Ivan wants him even more like this—wrecked and open, begging for every thrust.

He’s so beautiful. Gorgeous. Handsome. Pretty. Ivan doesn’t know what he did to deserve this man.

Each snap of his hips jolts Till’s body upward, dragging out broken noises from his throat. Ivan’s pace is brutal, desperate, his own thighs slapping against Till’s ass with wet, obscene sounds that echo around the room. His nails dig into Till’s skin where he holds his legs open—he doesn’t think he could let go even if he wanted to. The sight of Till flushed, eyes glassy and mouth parted in a gasp, is enough to make his head spin.

“Oh—ngh—ah, ah—!” Till keens, all he really has to say, eyes rolled back as his back arches, begging for more, as much as he can get. His fingers rake down Ivan’s back, nails digging into his skin, pleasure melding with pain.

It only takes a few more thrusts from Ivan for Till to start shaking on his dick, cunt splaying all over the two of them its liquids. Till mewls as Ivan keeps fucking into him, overstimulation making him quiver in Ivan’s hold, legs twitching as his orgasm hits him hard, hips arching off the bed as he cries out, voice cracking. His cunt clenches violently around Ivan’s cock, gushing over both of them in a slippery mess that only makes Ivan groan and thrust deeper.

He doesn’t stop. Can’t. Even as Till quivers beneath him, legs shaking, one hand still between them as if even that isn’t enough to keep the high going. He’s flushed everywhere—neck, chest, the insides of his thighs. Sweat coats his skin, making it glisten, making Ivan want to lick it off, taste the salt of it from the dip of his collarbone to the slick between his legs.

“You’re so—fuck, perfect, ” Ivan grits, burying his face in Till’s throat, biting down just hard enough to make Till jolt. The pressure only makes him clench again, and Ivan gasps, cock twitching from the sensation. Till’s whimpering now, wrecked and overstimulated but still moving his hips to meet every thrust, his breath stuttering out in little sobs. “J-just a bit more, yeah, please, please—fuck—don’t stop me please , don’t you dare—”

Ivan growls, his hands sliding beneath Till’s knees to fold him further, pushing his legs up until Till’s practically bent in half, fully exposed and trembling under him. The new angle makes Till cry out, raw and needy, as Ivan hits deeper, harder, something inside him snapping.

His hands scrabble at Ivan’s arms, nails dragging down hard enough to sting. Ivan doesn’t care. If anything, it makes him snap his hips faster, gritting his teeth as his own orgasm starts to build, tightening low in his spine like a coiled spring.

“You’re fuckin’— mine, ” he hisses, voice low and dangerous in his throat, leaning in to kiss Till hard—messy, teeth clashing, their breath shared between them. “All for me . A-and I’m all, ah, fuck , for you. All yours, only yours—”

Till lets out a strangled noise, biting back a moan as Ivan thrusts up hard enough to make the bed creak. “Ah–ah-–haah—”

He’s babbling moans now, eyes glossy, lashes wet with tears he probably doesn’t even notice. Ivan’s skin prickles at the sight, his brain short-circuiting as he watches the way Till’s body takes every thrust, sweat-slick and shaking and beautiful.

It only takes a few more frantic, grinding thrusts—driven by instinct more than control—before Ivan collapses into him with a low groan, hips stuttering as he cums hard inside Till, body trembling as pleasure rocks through him. His vision whites out. His whole world narrows to the sound of Till gasping against his ear, their bodies fused together, sticky and shaking.

Till whines as Ivan pulls out, cum slowly leaking out of his puffy pussy. His dick gives a twitch of interest at the lewd sight. With Till still panting, on the bed, splayed out with a hand over his face, Ivan grins, lowering himself to lick from his twitching entrance to his engorged clit.

Till practically jumps, legs clamping tight. He shakes his head hard, fingers tight in Ivan’s hair. Ivan simply smirks, lolling his tongue out to flick tentatively over the little nub. As expected, Till whimpers, body rolling towards him and away.

“Please?” He begs, “Just one more time?”

Till bites his lip. For a moment, Ivan is sure he’s going to shake his head, but instead, he not so subtly spreads his legs apart, refusing to meet Ivan’s eyes. Jackpot.

Ivan exhales a low breath, the sound heated, reverent. He slides his hands beneath Till’s thighs and lifts them, spreading him open fully, thumbs parting soft folds already slick with Ivan’s own sperm and flushed. A shaky breath escapes Till, his hips giving a tiny, instinctive jerk when Ivan’s breath ghosts over his cunt.

“God, look at you,” Ivan mutters, and then he doesn’t waste another second, he leans in, tongue gliding through the mess, lapping him up slowly, deeply. The moment his tongue flicks over the entrance, Till shudders, a strangled moan tearing from his throat.

Ivan dips his tongue in fully, fucking him with slow, hungry thrusts of it, nose nudging against Till’s clit. His grip tightens, fingers digging into flushed thighs as he eats him out with an unrelenting pace, wet, dirty sounds echoing through the air with each slick pass of his mouth. The taste of his own cum is almost bitter, but it tastes divine with Till’s own juices mixed in. He could cum again from this alone.

Till’s breath hitches. Then it turns into gasps, each sharper than the last. His fingers scrabble for purchase in the sheets, knees trembling, hips arching desperately into Ivan’s mouth.

“—Ngh—hah—” he chokes, voice breaking into high, breathless keening. He tries to pull away, to squirm from the intensity, but Ivan only growls low in his throat and presses him down harder, greedy.

Till’s back arches, skin prickling as Ivan seals his mouth over his clit and sucks — hard. His thighs jerk violently, muscles clenching, and a strangled cry escapes him.

Ivan hums, eyes flickering up to watch as Till’s head tips back against the pillow, mouth slack, chest heaving. Sweat slicks his body in a sheen, flushed and trembling under Ivan’s tongue. His hands fly to Ivan’s hair, tugging at the strands helplessly.

Ivan slides one hand down, two fingers replacing his tongue, sliding in deep with a wet squelch. His mouth latches onto Till’s clit again, tongue flicking fast and filthy.

Till goes taut. His whole body spasms, thighs locking around Ivan’s head, cunt clenching hard around his fingers as slick gushes out of him. He sobs a soundless moan, voice breaking, hips rolling in frantic jerks as he rides out the wave.

Ivan doesn’t stop until Till's pushing weakly at his head, overstimulation making him jolt and twitch beneath the touch. Ivan finally pulls back, licking his lips, chin and mouth glistening.

He presses a kiss to the inside of Till’s thigh, almost gentle. “You taste fucking divine,” he rasps.

Idiot, Till’s eye roll says. Ivan simply smiles, accomplished, finally settling down next to Till, pulling him close to him. He nuzzles Till’s hair, content to stay like this.

Still, he can’t help but ask, “Was it all good, Till?”

Against his chest, Till nods.

Ivan smiles into his hair, chest still rising a little too fast, skin sticky with sweat and slick and whatever else. He can feel Till’s heartbeat thudding against his ribs, can feel every shiver that hasn’t yet worn off, every breath that comes out shaky and uneven.

“Only good?” Ivan repeats, softer now. “Or so good you saw stars?”

Till makes a strangled noise that might be a laugh. He doesn’t lift his head. Just curls closer, face buried in Ivan’s chest like he’s trying to hide the pink blooming across his cheeks.

Ivan grins. Victory.

He rubs his palm down Till’s spine, slow and grounding, tracing the curve of his back until he reaches the dip above his ass, then back up again. “You made such pretty sounds,” he murmurs. 

At this, Till shakes his head. Ivan can feel the frown against his bare skin.

Ivan’s not sure what to say to that. He’s not mute, and he wouldn’t mind too much if he ever was. He’s unlike Till in that matter—the only one of them who used his voice to fight, who truly liked to sing, who’d stay up writing nonsense lyrics in his notebooks as he hummed.

It’s been a very long time since Ivan has sung.

It brings back terrible memories. He remembers blood, the crack of gunfire, the blur of headlights, Till’s terrified, confused face, fingers ghosting over his lips as pain bloomed in his side. He remembers thinking it was the end. Thinking he wouldn’t make it past twenty-two. Then Hyuna—and fog, and a mess of Till in the corner of his vision—dragging him back from the brink.

Since then, his voice has stayed in his throat. But now, with Till heavy and warm in his arms, still sticky and tired, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm— now, Ivan doesn’t mind.

He clears his throat softly. It almost startles him. Then he hums, he’s not ure what it is he’s humming, it sounds oddly familiar, a tune they’d be asked to sing when they were still kids. An old tune, too old to matter.

Till shifts, blinks up at him, brows twitching in confusion. Ivan looks away, settling to brush his fingers through Till’s short hair. He can’t stand to look at teh surprise and gratitude in Till’s eyes just yet.

The melody is nothing special. A couple of aimless notes, the ghost of a song he used to know, back when things were easier, or maybe just different. His voice is rough with disuse, cracking at the edges, but he leans into it anyway, long enough for Till’s eyes to slowly start flicking close, and for Ivan to follow soon after.