Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Ah, ah. Stop squirming, Dazai.”

Icy skin belonging to Fyodor’s thin fingers nimbly grazed the skin of Dazai’s thighs as the Russian man moved in, his body nestled between the other’s legs, and his slender hands holding scarred thighs apart. Squirming at such touches amused Fyodor to no end, he only found it endearing how easily Dazai’s confidence could shatter the moment he lost control over this game of theirs. Predicting Dazai’s flinch, Fyodor’s fingers catch Dazai’s chin before it could tilt back, grinning devilishly at the sight of Dazai’s pretty thighs quivering around him. The sight was enticing, even more so when said thighs were glistening wet from Dazai’s arousal.

The bet they made was tense, however, Fyodor was unconcerned from the beginning. As always, he was sure he’d be the one to win against his opponent, even as Dazai’s very being seeped with deadly confidence. Putting their bodies on the line was a way of stripping away each other’s control and dignity in a game of chess, yet, Fyodor found the prospect of having such humiliating possession over Dazai’s body to be something far too thrilling to resist. Fyodor was sure of the results in the end, and he longed to see Dazai’s body twist with submission.

“You didn’t think you could win against me, did you? I thought you’d be more than ready for this outcome.” Fyodor’s gentle voice was but a mask, hiding his seething pride beneath the surface of his composure. A battle against a man like Dazai wasn’t an easy one, no doubt; however, that only made it far more satisfying in the end. He loved seeing the hints of Dazai’s confidences shatter from within his eyes, the way sweat slowly drifted from Dazai’s forehead when he realized Dostoevsky’s move in the little chess game they played. But, of course, Dazai had only realized his mistake once it was too late. And no matter what he did, the results would end the same.

“Did you enjoy our game? You’re the one who suggested to put our bodies on the line, i expected more enthusiasm.” His words were nothing more than a mockery, meant to humiliate Dazai for the failure of an attempt at trying to best him. Fyodor’s hand swiftly dipped between the fabric of both Dazai’s pants and underwear, where he then pushed them down to Dazai’s knees with ease. The sight of Dazai’s cleanly shaved cunt did nothing to deter Fyodor, as he merely slipped two fingers against the soft slit of Dazai’s intimate area.

“Does the mere foreplay get you this aroused, Dazai-Kun? You’re already so wet.” Fyodor mused to the silent room, pushing Dazai further against the cold floor in an attempt to stop the younger man from squirming. He didn’t care much for the safety of their intercourse—this was a show of control and power, after all. His hand finds itself tightly wrapped around Dazai’s throat, his heart’s pace slowly beginning to ramp up as he forced Dazai to remain still to ready himself.

“Don’t squirm. It’ll only hurt more…” With that simple warning, Fyodor leaned in impossibly close, his soft breath brushing against the flesh of Dazai’s face as he slowly began to ease his length into Dazai’s seeping wet folds. Fyodor could feel a shudder of thrill run rack his body, the feeling of Dazai’s cunt, so tight and wet, enveloping his shaft far too thrilling. A moan of satisfaction and pleasure left his lips, his eyes fluttering, and his hands harshly attempting to pin Dazai’s hips down to stop him from moving.