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“Till,” Ivan sighs. Till thinks he’s annoying.
“If you fail another test, you’re going to need to redo the unit.” He blinks, sparing Till a cursory glance, “You know that, right?”
Ivan’s brandishing Till’s midterm paper, waving it around like a protest flag. Except it’s a one-man march, consisting of only Ivan, and the cause he’s rallying for is ‘Save Till’s abysmal grades before he has to extend his degree by a year’.
There’s a fat ‘27%’ scrawled in bright red ink in the top right corner, and Till’s face burns in embarrassment even though he knows nobody gives two shits about what his score is. But Till likes to think he has some semblance of pride remaining, and it’s dwindling with each second that number is being flashed to everyone streaming out of the lecture theater.
“Shut the fuck up! That has nothing to do with you, leave me the fuck alone,” he hisses back, grabbing at his paper while cursing Ivan’s unfairly long arms.
“But Till,” Ivan’s sighing again, exaggerating the exhale, and Till has to physically resist the urge to punch his face in. Performative bastard. “If you can’t finish your units in time, we won’t be able to graduate the same year!”
“So? We’re not even studying the same thing!”
Till’s only doing this fuckass financial accounting unit because he needed an elective and all the other ones were either already full or at 8am in the morning, with a 50% final grade weighting on attendance. Ivan needed it for his finance minor, and somehow managed to rope Till into joining his class for ‘bonding’. Like they didn’t spend enough time together already.
“The professor made the paper harder anyway. The average was a forty-seven and half the questions weren’t covered in the syllabus,” Till grumbles. He sounds so defensive it’s almost pathetic.
He also decidedly ignores the ninety-nine sitting on Ivan’s paper, topped off with a ‘fantastic’ written in cursive and finished with not one, but two exclamation marks. He was docked a mark because he had written in pencil instead of pen, having lent his to Till when he had forgotten his pencil case.
Till would feel bad if Ivan didn’t look so smug.
Ivan, the Till-aholic he is, must know exactly what Till’s thinking, his eyes flicking to his own paper, before looking back at Till. For some reason, he doesn’t say anything. But the corners of his lips quirk up, and he’s giving Till the look, and Till can’t decide if he’d rather Ivan just say it outright.
Ivan steeples his fingers together with a serious gaze, eyebrows set. Till thinks it’s a great impersonation of a manager about to break the news that employee salaries will be slashed due to budget cuts.
“I could help you.”
Till does a double take.
Ivan, teaching? He’s pretty sure that would just turn into a Bullying Till™ session.
Ivan waves a hand in front of his face, “You’re lacking in motivation, right? You don’t see why you should try in a class that isn’t even related to your major,” – that part’s true, Till thinks begrudgingly – “and that you only attend in order to see your favorite upperclassman.” Nevermind.
“Who said your my favori-” he tries, but Ivan’s shushing him, finger hovering dangerously close to his lips.
“But fear not, your good ol’ Ivan-hyung has a solution for you! I’ll even give you a free trial, so come over to mine after your workshop.”
Till opens his mouth to question how the hell he knows what he has after, but quickly realises it probably has something to do with the suspiciously Till’s-schedule-shaped paper in the back of Ivan’s phonecase. Fucking stalker.
He blinks as he processes Ivan’s words.
“Wait, free trial for what–”
But Ivan’s already gathered all his things and disappeared out the door.
Fuck.
—----
Well.
Till doesn’t really know what compelled him to come. He’s standing outside Ivan’s dorm room, and about 3 different groups of people have walked past and he probably looks like a moron.
There’s still time to change his mind. All he has to do is turn around and walk away. Even if that means all he did was trot over here, stand in front of someone’s door for five minutes, then leave. That’s perfectly normal behaviour. Yeah. So he’ll just go–
And the door opens.
Fuck.
Ivan stands in the opening of the door, unblinking. Unmoving. Like he can’t believe Till actually came even though he’s the one who invited him over.
Also, he’s shirtless.
But that’s besides the point.
“Till! You’re here,” Ivan smiles, beckoning him in, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Till looks him up and down. At his slightly mussed hair, and his prominent lack of shirt.
He swallows. “Evidently.”
Ivan’s smile doesn’t falter. He pats the spot next to him on the bed, and Till follows like a dog because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do.
“So,” Ivan starts, laying back like he’s in a lounge commercial, “You’re probably wondering what I have in store for you.”
He pauses dramatically, locking eyes with Till.
“I’ll let you have sex with me.”
Silence.
What.
They sit there for what is probably a good fifteen seconds before Till’s brain catches up.
He flushes, stammering, “I– You– What the fuck?”
Ivan continues, unperturbed. “You’ve been pent up lately, Till. As your ever-so-observant hyung, I’ll help you out”, he says as if he’s doing Till a favor, swinging his leg over until he’s straddling Till’s lap.
Ivan speaks with confidence. Like he’s so sure that anyone he asks would be falling to their knees at a chance to bed the hottest guy on campus. Which is probably true, actually. Till doesn’t want to entertain the other idea, which is that Ivan’s somehow, despite Till’s fantastic acting skills, figured out that Till has a fat fucking crush on his best friend of eleven years. He’ll be damned if Ivan figures it out, so he responds with,
“And why would I want to have sex with you?”
Ivan actually hesitates. “You don’t?” he droops, “I’ve been told I’m attractive.”
Till snickers, and without thinking, adds, “Obviously. That’s like, objective.”
Then he realises what he just said.
“Wait, forget that-”
But that cocky fucking grin has already made its way back onto Ivan’s face.
“So you do want it.” he breathes with something resembling relief, shamelessly grinding against him. “You want me.”
“Shut the fuck up, I was just stating facts-”
“And the fact is,” Ivan interrupts, leaning in and tilting Till’s chin towards him, “You want to fuck me.”
Any further denial on Till’s part is rendered useless because, despite Ivan barely doing anything, he’s fucking hard.
There’s an obvious tent in his pants, and Ivan’s grin widens. Shit. What is he, a hormonal teenager?
He doesn’t get time to think much because Ivan, with regained conviction, pulls Till’s dick free.
Ivan freezes.
Till would’ve relished in the way the blood drained out of his face more if it wasn’t his own cock that Ivan was gawking at.
Till bristles self-consciously. He forces out, “What?”
Ivan shifts around, avoiding his gaze.
“Look, if it’s too small or some shit, I can just use my fingers too-”
“No!” Ivan screams, slapping his hand over Till’s mouth. Till raises an eyebrow.
“It’s, um…” he continues, voice uncharacteristically small, “You’re really big, Till.”
He balks.
Ivan’s hand is still over his mouth as he uses his other to pull his pants down and slather a ton of lube on Till’s dick.
“But it’s fine. I can take it.” He winks, nervousness vanishing in a second. His expressions change so much within the minute that Till briefly wonders if Ivan’s bipolar.
Not a moment later, Ivan’s raising his hips up, lining his hole up to Till’s concerningly hard cock, before he remembers something, “Ah wait, but no touching. ‘Cause, you know, free trial.”
He snickers, and without further ado, sinks down, sheathing himself on Till’s cock in one go.
The tight heat is all over him in a second, clenching hard and fast and Ivan’s screaming into his neck.
Till groans and grabs the sheets as tight as he can, trying to convince himself that the slightly scratchy fabric is Ivan’s waist. It doesn’t work very well.
Ivan’s panting on top of him, labored breaths pushed out of his chest as he adjusts to Till’s size. He tests a few rolls of his hips, before he raises them up and slams back down with a mixture of gasps and high-pitched moans echoing through the room, lube and precum dripping out of his ass and onto Till’s thighs each time.
“Ngh, hah, how are you so big–” he’s struggling, one hand coming down to Till’s shoulder to reposition himself for a better angle. The for a twink goes unsaid, cut off with a cry as Till’s cock reaches deeper inside him.
Till hears it all the same, but chooses to disregard in favor of taking in Ivan’s flushed expression, eyes half-lidded and brows furrowed in concentration.
Till’s getting some sort of power trip from watching him, even though he’s not the one in control of the situation. He blames it on Ivan. Till thinks most of his life problems can be accredited to the man currently whining and bouncing on his cock.
Soon enough, Ivan’s calling out his name, and then he’s sinking down one last time before he’s cumming, curling into Till as a drawn-out moan escapes his lips. His hole tightens impossibly, and Till follows after with a groan, fisting his hands further into the mattress.
Ivan stays on top of him for all of three seconds before he’s lifting himself off with nothing more than a quiet ‘ngh’, walking with shocking ease towards his open laptop and paying absolutely no mind to the way Till’s cum streams down between his legs.
His voice rings out with a clarity that has Till questioning whether or not the Ivan he had heard a minute ago was a hallucination, “So? What did you think?”
Till’s still heaving. Fuck Ivan and his superhuman stamina. “It was fine,” he bites out.
Ivan’s apparently satisfied with his half-assed answer, because he spins back around, wielding his laptop, the screen open to a spreadsheet that appears awfully convoluted, considering only two columns are filled out.
“Here’s my offer,” Ivan states without further explanation, leaving Till to figure out the Excel bullshit on his own.
Till squints at the too-bright screen, eyes honing in on one row.
‘90+: Anything’
“Anything…” he echoes.
Ivan takes it as a question, snapping his laptop shut with a click despite probably knowing Till is nowhere near finished reading. Fuckass.
“That’s right!”, and oh god, he’s really sounding like those scam adverts now, “If you get at least ninety percent on the upcoming assignment, I’ll let you do anything to me for thirty minutes. Including-”
He pauses theatrically, kicking a box out from under his bed, “using any of these.”
Till looks down.
It’s a box. Filled.
With sex toys.
Vibrators and dildos of various shapes and sizes, nipple clamps, gags, the whole shabang. Is that a fucking leash?
Till blinks. Looks up at Ivan.
He’s smiling, unashamed. Even with Till’s come still dripping down his legs and onto the floor, and his own streaked across his stomach. Because a haul of… pleasure devices is a normal thing to have in your college dorm.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Till’s starting to seriously consider asking Ivan to speak in any other way that doesn’t scream ‘I’m selling mops for the cheap price of $5.99!’. He’s almost expecting him to follow up with ‘Buy yours today and we’ll even throw in an extra one, free of charge!’
Ivan continues, “Start studying today, and I’ll consider adding a special bonus, just for you!” And oh my fucking days what is Ivan’s business degree doing to him?
He looks up, and Ivan’s blinking innocently. This fucker’s definitely doing it on purpose. Also, Ivan’s glancing between Till and the door, and oh right. He should probably leave. Leave and forget this encounter ever happened.
Because, unlike what Ivan’s arrogance leads him to believe, Till is not one to be swayed by momentary pleasures. Especially those given by Ivan.
He is not tempted by the prospect of seeing his broken facial expression again. Nor the chance to see him choking around a gag while Till rips him apart from behind. Nor what Ivan would look like as he presses a dildo into him along with his dick, stretching him even wider as Ivan cries.
Mm. Ivan crying…
Till pulls an all-nighter in the library later that day.
—
Till’s hunched over his computer in the furthest corner of the library, because god forbid Sua, or Luka, or Ivan finds him.
He sighs in exasperation as the numbers blur together on the screen. His balance sheet isn’t fucking balancing.
Till rakes his hand through messy gray hair and slouches back in the dingy library chair that he’s made his home for the past twelve hours. Craning his neck back until he’s facing the ceiling, Till resigns himself to seeking assistance from a higher power.
And makes direct eye contact with Sua.
Till almost falls off his chair.
“What the hell are you doing here?” She says in lieu of greeting, and glimpses at his computer. Till’s lack of diligence in this unit is evident when Sua, who is the only person he sees nearly as much as Ivan, follows with, “and since when did you do accounting?”
He grimaces, “...The start of the year?”
Sua raises a meticulously plucked eyebrow at him but spares him the lecture, opting to plonk herself down on the other side of the table.
Till goes back to staring daggers into his balance sheet. All his executive functions are going into resisting the urge to lay on the ground and reabsorb into the earth, instead of figuring out why his numbers aren’t adding up. He wants to give up. Alas, he’s a man with a mission. Which is to get into his best friend(?)’s pants. But who’s judging?
Sua notices his frustration and has mercy on his pathetic self, because she remarks with a point of her finger, “You totalled the liabilities wrong.”
Till scans over the column for the umpteenth time. Rams some numbers into his calculator.
She’s right.
Till feels joy for the first time since he started working.
—
It’s three hours before the deadline.
Till wants to die.
His assignment is technically completed. He checks his source citations for the third time, because it’s the easiest thing he can do to still feel productive. He doesn’t even consider looking at his three-page analysis again.
Fuck Ivan. Fuck him and the weird agreement he came up with. Ivan can go fuck himself. Till doesn’t care anymore.
If he’s lucky, maybe the TA won’t look at his work too hard. So he uploads the file with a sigh, watching the submission bar fill up until the little ‘100%’ pops up with a little celebratory confetti animation.
Till wishes that was his actual grade. Instead, he flops down onto his bed, praying for a pass.
—
It’s a week and a half later until results are released. Till’s sitting in a cafe with Mizi when his phone screen lights up. He reads, ‘Results for ACCT1172 Assignm…’.
He swipes it away before Mizi has a chance to ask.
It sits in his mind for the rest of the day. Haunting, teasing. Till doesn’t think he’s ever been this stressed over checking an elective grade before.
He accepts his fate later that night. His room is dark, illuminated only by his phone opened up to the student portal. The results tab stares intimidatingly up at him.
It’s fine, really, Till thinks. He’s been preparing himself for this outcome for the past week. He is fully prepared to stomach any result. Or so he likes to think. Worst case scenario, if he gets, like, a one hundred and thirty percent on the final exam, he might be able to spare himself from retaking. Although, at that point, maybe he should just switch units and force Ivan to take him to all the 8am lectures.
He takes a deep breath. Exhales. Mentally apologises to his mother. Physically sinks into a kneel on the ground. Clicks the button. Closes his eyes as the page loads, each part of the website slowly coming into view.
Peeks one eye open.
And screeches.
He’s so loud that whatever weird security system is set up in the school’s dorm goes off, and the seventy students residing in the building are forced to evacuate out into the foyer at two in the morning.
No one’s happy, for obvious reasons, and everyone’s either grumbling and cursing under their breaths, or too tired and have already accepted that the grass will be their bed for the night.
Till slinks away into the corner, hoping no one reaches the realisation that he is the cause of their disrupted sleep. But his heart’s beating so fast he can’t bring himself to feel remorseful for more than a second. He looks back down at the results page.
45/47.
Six swift taps into his phone calculator give him the confirmation he needs.
95.7%. A ninety-six, really. It’s the second highest score. The forty-six is probably Ivan. But that doesn’t matter. His score’s higher than half his art assignments.
And, his brain supplies helpfully, it’s higher than Ivan’s requirement.
Till’s dick does absolutely not twitch in delight at the realisation.
He’s barging into the dorm building next door – the one that Ivan stays at, because Till’s was full and it was the next closest – before he knows it, using the spare key card that Ivan somehow convinced the resident dean to give him, even though most students are only allowed one.
He doesn’t bother knocking, because he knows Ivan’s still awake, and he has a weird power to be able to sense when Till is nearby. He stopped questioning it a while back.
Sure enough, the door opens a half-second later, revealing a very awake and very shirtless Ivan.
“Till?” he smiles, “To what do I owe the pleasure? Especially at this fine hour?”
Till shamelessly thirsts over Ivan’s defined abs for a moment, licking his lips before he shoves his phone screen in Ivan’s face, because that explains everything.
“You owe me something,” is what he manages to spit out.
Till watches Ivan’s brain connect the dots in real time, eyes widening almost imperceptibly like he didn’t think Till would actually be able to do it. Till can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore.
“Congratulations, Till,” Ivan replies. His tone is awfully deadpan and anyone else would think he’s insincere, but Till’s long since gotten used to his way of talking. Ivan pauses, “But did you really have to come over now? At,” his eyes flicker to the corner of Till’s phone, “2:15?”
“Shut the fuck up, it’s not like you’re doing anything else,” he bites out, shoving Ivan into his room and locking the door behind him.
Ivan smirks, like he’s devised some sort of master plan and Till’s the idiot that’s fallen into his trap. “You must’ve been really excited to see me.”
Till doesn’t honor him with a reply. Just backs Ivan into the bed, climbing over him as Ivan scrambles, “Wait, Till, I’ll be more than happy to entertain you in the morning when people are out in their classes, but everyone’s still here, what if someone hears–”
Till grabs Ivan’s nipple in a bruising pinch, relishing in the way he gasps in response, “Then you’ll just have to be quiet then, won’t you?”
Ivan whines. It’s the prettiest sound Till’s ever heard.
He needs more.
Till tugs the box out from under Ivan’s bed, fishing through it to see what he has to work with. He clips nipple clamps onto Ivan’s chest, slips on a vibrating cock sleeve and sets aside the biggest vibrator in Ivan’s collection. He debates on the gag, before realising it might muffle the noises he intends on goading out of Ivan later, and drops it back in.
He pulls the rest of Ivan’s boxers free, revealing his glistening hole, and–
Wait.
Till halts, using both hands to push Ivan’s legs apart to get a better look. Ivan’s puffy entrance winks back at him, already slightly gaping and dripping with lube. He circles a finger around the rim, watching it twitch lightly and levels Ivan with a look.
Ivan doesn’t have the gall to look even the least bit flustered. He whispers, “I prepared myself already. I knew you could do it, Till.”
This fucking freak. He should’ve known Ivan’s surprise earlier was a facade. At least it makes his job easier. He’s making the most out of these thirty minutes. Stingy fucker. Knowing Ivan, he’s probably counting the seconds in his head or some shit.
“Then you’ll be fine if I do this, right?”
And he proceeds to plunge the vibrator into Ivan’s hole.
Ivan gasps, throwing his head back in pleasure, “Ngh– Big– Till, it’s big, too big– ah…”
His voice is small, and he looks so vulnerable spread open beneath him like this, body violated by all the toys both on and inside him. Till doesn’t reply, too busy fumbling with all the remotes, trying to figure out a way to turn them on at the same time while his brain is repeating a mantra of fuck Ivan fuck Ivan fuck Ivan.
Finally, his dexterity comes into good use and he finds the right grip to ramp all the settings to the maximum in one go.
Ivan wails.
His arms thrash, and Till traps both his wrists in a bruising grip so that Ivan doesn’t hit him in the face. His heels dig uselessly into the mattress, legs spread apart around Till’s waist.
“AAH! NGH– Till! Till, Ti– hngh– Till, toomuchtoomuch ah! Wait, Till, please, I can’t do it, one at a time, please– Till, I can’t–”
Till isn’t listening.
He watches the way Ivan’s eyes widen, soft pink lips dropping open at the unbearable stimulation pounding through his body from every angle. The way Ivan begs – quietly, after Till reminds him what time it is – for him to slow everything down, to give him time to adjust, to have a break, but his legs fall apart wider and his back arches to let the vibrator in deeper.
He’s asking for more.
So who’s Till to refuse?
Throwing the remotes to the other side of the room, he ignores Ivan’s cries in favor of nudging two fingers into Ivan’s rim, pressing in slowly, steadily.
Ivan twitches in response, but is clearly too far gone from the ongoing onslaught to notice any substantial change. He twists his face to try to muffle his moans into the pillow, and when he can’t quite reach, settles for biting his lip instead.
So Till keeps going. He scissors his fingers apart, making room for his index, then spreading that apart too, trying to stretch Ivan’s rim enough for his thumb. He’s too focused on trying to make enough space for something bigger to care about anything else.
Everything blurs to static around him; the squelching of lube as he presses his fingers deeper and further apart, the little whines Ivan lets out with each push, the way his thighs flinch weakly and aimlessly beside Till’s hips.
After what feels like an eternity, Till sits back. The hole his fingers have been abusing for the last 10 minutes is red and swollen. Clenching. Gaping.
It’s ready.
Till’s dick twitches from where it sits rock-hard against his stomach as he admires his handiwork. Leaning forward, he peppers little kisses and bites – just enough to leave a mark – across Ivan’s chest, neck, arms, anywhere he can reach.
One last peck on Ivan’s lips. Gentle. Apologetic.
Then he takes his fingers out and sinks his cock in.
Till groans, enveloped in a wet, tight heat, the vibrator buzzing away on one side. He can’t even begin to imagine what Ivan must be feeling.
“Fuck! Ivan, Ivan, Ivan, you feel so fucking good, shit–” Ivan’s trembling around him, and Till watches in awe at the way his poor, beaten rim stretches around two massive intrusions tearing him open, instinctively tensing but still accepting the ache wholeheartedly.
Till almost feels bad for Ivan’s little hole. Almost. Even after Ivan stretched himself, his entrance was only just loose enough to stomach a slight stretch. Now, Ivan’s speared open, the pulsing of his walls failing to accommodate just visible through the gap created where Till’s cock and the vibrator meet.
It can’t get better than this.
But it does.
It does, because Till looks up, and Ivan’s wrecked.
His head’s tilted back, exposing the pale expanse of his neck now covered in hickeys. Till’s hickeys. He’s always wondered if Ivan bruised easily, and now he can see it firsthand, in 4K HD.
Drool dribbles down his chin, mouth wide open in a soundless moan, having gotten used to staying silent for the sake of the other dorm residents. There’s a red-hot flush painting his cheeks.
And best of all, Ivan’s crying.
Tears well up on his lower lashes before streaming down his cheeks, and Till feels a sudden urge to immortalise this moment. The image of perfect-prince Ivan, spread out and crying on Till’s cock like a slut.
His phone’s open to the camera app before he knows it. He takes a close-up, far shot, birds-eye-view, you name it.
Once he’s satisfied, he checks the time.
2:35. 10 minutes left. He grumbles, because that’s nowhere close to enough. Although he doubts Ivan’s keeping track at this point. If he is, Till will just have to fuck it out of him.
With re-invigorated determination, he adjusts his grip on Ivan’s waist, and starts pounding into him with a passion.
True to his expectations, despite the drastically heightened stimulation, Ivan’s too fucked-out to say anything, nothing but slurred ‘ngh’s and ‘ah’s falling out his lips.
Till takes Ivan’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it and teasing it gently between his teeth. He grimaces at the familiar metallic taste, but is too busy chasing his climax, thrusting into Ivan as rough and fast as possible, to care.
A garbled sound, barely audible above the smacks of Till’s pelvis against Ivan’s ass, leaves the raven’s mouth. Words.
“Full… T-Till… please, too– too full…”
He says it gently, quietly, like it’s all he can muster. It probably is.
But Ivan’s arms, shaky and weak, come to wrap around the back of Till’s neck, pulling him closer. His eyes are dilated, red filling his irises as more tears slip down his cheeks.
More. Harder. Faster.
And Till’s dick takes it as an invitation, only reaching deeper into the addicting, tight heat surrounding him as Ivan pants below.
“Ivan. Ivan. You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting this. To do this to you,” he pushes his face into Ivan’s chest, breath hot against Ivan’s overstimulated nipples. “I thought I was going to go insane every second I looked at that fuckface assignment. But– shit– then I remembered what I’d get to do to you. You’re so good for me.”
Till bites down over the clamp. Ivan moans, high pitched and keening. Till thrusts harder.
He briefly wonders what Ivan is feeling. The toys have been abusing him at full speed for almost half an hour, remotes still lying abandoned in the corner, and now Till’s dick has joined the party, shifting the pulsing vibrator back and forth in the process, battering into Ivan’s sensitive walls without mercy.
The thought (along with the warm hole clenching around him) is enough for Till to come undone, moaning into Ivan’s neck with one last thrust, pumping Ivan full.
Ivan whimpers at the sensation, and Till’s last shred of pity yanks the cock sleeve off. The friction has Ivan following soon after.
Till pulls out to spare Ivan the stretch, but leaves the vibrator quivering inside as Till’s come slides out, dribbling onto the bed.
The release of pressure must help Ivan regain some of his cognitive functions, because he’s blabbering, “Ah… Till, please, too much… just– just pause it for a moment, just a second, please, please, I came already, I can’t take it anymore–”
And Till was planning to stop, really. His phone tells him it’s exactly 2:45, marking the end of their supposed deal. Any disciplined man would respect their rather rushed terms of agreement and step back. A mature adult wouldn’t get more riled up at their lover’s fucked-silly expression.
But Till is known for a lot of things, and his discipline and maturity are not one of them.
Plus, he reassures himself, looking at Ivan’s ruined face, it’s not like he remembers.
He leaves Ivan whining miserably on the bed and goes to grab the remotes as his thoughts continue, it’s not like they signed a contract or anything.
The terms were already shoddy at best.
Right?
Till exhales.
Right.
So with nothing but self-reassurance and the insatiable urge to wreck Ivan, he removes the vibrator and plunges his dick back in.
The searing heat is back in a second, and Till’s bucking into it without abandon. He’s fucking addicted. Ivan feels too good.
Till wonders if one’s libido can improve within the hour, because his cock is already hard again, ramming in with a mind of its own while Ivan mewls, overstimulated and shuddering with the effort to stay silent.
Till, merciless, presses the vibrator against Ivan’s dick, and he jolts, seizing violently, then cum is spurting out of his still-sensitive cock again.
He clenches down hard, and Till curses as he fills Ivan with another load.
Well. That was anticlimactic. Oh well, he needs to leave some ideas for next time, anyway.
Till blinks. Next time. That has a nice ring to it.
He pulls out, but keeps the vibrator buzzing against Ivan’s softened cock, just to see what will happen. Because Till’s not a cat, and if curiosity wants to come kill him, it can go fuck itself.
Ivan’s brows furrow in pain, the vibrations now too much after two orgasms, but his arms make no attempt at trying to shift him away, and his legs tighten where they’re wrapped around Till.
Masochist…
Till files that thought away (for now) and turns everything off. He leans down to wrap his arms around Ivan in a hug, nuzzling his head into his neck and revelling in the way Ivan’s sensitive body jerks before relaxing into him.
“Thank you, Ivan. I really liked my reward.”
Ivan doesn’t say anything, but nuzzles back against him.
Till hesitates for a second, wondering whether or not now is a good time to ask his next question.
He shoots his shot.
“So, if I get above ninety on the final, can I get an hour?”
—
Bonus (notes about the fic and info about the characters)
- Ivan had strict parents that expected him to act ‘proper’ and all that since childhood. Now, he acts more childish around Till because he feels comfortable. Till pretends to be annoyed but he lets him because he knows Ivan didn’t get the chance to when he was younger.
- Ivan and Till both like each other, and are like 97% sure the other likes them back. Neither have confessed because they’re idiots.
- Till likes when Ivan smiles, but he likes seeing his crying and vulnerable expressions more.
- Before dating, Ivan’s the flirty one and Till’s the shy one. When they (eventually) start dating, Till’s the one that gets handsy and possessive, while Ivan gets flustered.
- Ivan exhibits many Till-related freak tendencies, including but not limited to:
- Keeping a printed copy of Till’s weekly schedule in the back of his phone case. You can find Ivan reprinting it in the library whenever Till’s schedule changes.
- Stealing Till’s shirts and wearing them underneath hoodies in winter to keep Till’s scent with him. Ivan thinks that Till doesn’t know because he’s wearing something over it. (He does).
- Sneaking into Till’s room at 2am every morning to watch Till’s sleeping face for five minutes, sometimes ten.
- Then waking up at 6am to get Till’s coffee order (memorised to the T) and bringing it to him in person.
Till is very much aware of everything Ivan’s doing. He lets him because it reminds him that Ivan likes him. Although he worries about Ivan’s sleep schedule.