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“Rodya!” he hears behind him and the familiar sound of feet rushing against the ground towards him. An arm wraps around his shoulder, Razumikhin’s harsh breath hitting his ear. “There you are, brother! I have been searching endlessly for you.”
Raskolnikov did not bother with a reply, but as per usual Razumikhin took no offense. “How was class? You are done for the day now, yes?”
They waded through the crowds, passerbys waving to Razumikhin. He greeted them silently but kept pace with Raskolnikov. Rodion despised the attention, head held down to face the ground. He disliked even more how they acted as though he were not there, anchored to Razumikhin.
“I have to study now,” he said in response to Razumikhin’s earlier inquiry, picking up the pace as a group of girls approached to hang off of Razumikhin. Thankfully, Dmitri waved them off with a charming grin. By now most knew it was senseless to try for anything with Razumikhin when he was trailing after Raskolnikov.
“Study? Ah, Rodya, you have been studying incessantly for the past three nights. How about we go out for drinks tonight. It can be my treat! A beer would do you a world of good.”
“I have no time for such foolishness, Razumikhin. You spend too much time around freeloaders who forget that this university is an establishment for learning, not-”
“Yes, yes, I understand. Fine then, studying it is. What today, more Nietzsche? Perhaps we could read about Marx for a change.”
“I never said you-”
“Nietzsche is fine! Have you finished your article yet? I can look it over for you if you would like.”
“It’s almost done. I don’t need your help. Surely you have your own work to do.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose I should complete some of my translations. Perhaps you can say goodbye to Nietzsche for today and we can work on some together?”
Their rent was due soon and it was true that Raskolnikov had fallen behind in his translation work. He had pawned off his father’s watch fob to cover for the last month, much to Dmitri’s protest.
“Fine,” he agreed, reluctantly waiting as Razumikhin purchased a few bottles of beer off of a boy on the road. Razumikhin only grinned sheepishly at the disapproving look.
When they had returned to their apartment, Razumikhin wasted no time opening the bottles and handing one to Raskolnikov.
“I did not want to go out to drink, what makes you think I am interested in doing so here? We cannot be drunk while we are translating; we’ll lose our jobs.”
“Come now, it’ll go flat if you don’t drink it! You fuss too much, a single drink will not ruin our translations.”
Perhaps not for Razumikhin who drank heartily when the opportunity presented itself, but Raskolnikov would not succumb to the idea that he could be overpowered by a simple fermented beverage.
“That’s a good boy!” Razumikhin clapped him on the back as he drank. He had forgotten how foul the taste was and Razumikhin only laughed as his face twisted in disgust.
“Well then, shall we get started?”
~
Razumikhin had finished with his translations, hanging off of Raskolnikov as he struggled with the proper placements of accents.
“Agh, this is ridiculous!” he hissed, shoving away the papers. Razumikhin was quick to steady the ink so that it not spill over the half completed translations.
“No, no, the fault is mine. I insisted you drink and it appears to have affected you more than I anticipated.”
“It is not my fault I am not an alcoholic hound!” He finished off the rest of his bottle, wiping away the excess from his lips onto his sleeve.
He waited for Razumikhin to say something to soothe him and take responsibility for his drunken stupor, but he was met with silence. He turned around to scold Razumikhin more, but the other man rested his chin over Raskolnikov’s shoulder, arms coming around to hold him in place.
“Ah, the alcohol seems to be affecting me as well,” he said with a giddy laugh, never mind that Razumikhin had finished off two more beers than Raskolnikov. “You can finish the translations later, have another beer.”
He guided Raskolnikov to the couch, pulling him against his chest and lifting his own half drunk bottle to Rodion’s lips. Raskolnikov swatted his hand away, grabbing the bottle and finishing off the drink. He could feel the wave of dizziness swoop through him, Razumikhin’s firm hold keeping him steady.
Then Razumikhin was laughing, deep chuckle reverberating through Raskolnikov’s ear.
“What?” he grumbled, discarding the empty bottle onto the floor.
“Your cheeks are so red!” Razumikhin noted, hand coming up to pinch the flesh. Raskolnikov turned to scowl at him, startled by Dmitri’s closeness. A playful glimmer in his eyes as the hand pinching Raskolnikov shifted to card through his hair. Raskolnikov tried to ignore the way Razumikhin’s own hair framed his face, unshaven scruff defining his strong jawline. Had he gone out he likely would have charmed the barmaid off her feet, kissing her right there over the flat beer Raskolnikov was nursing. He would leave in a huff and Dmitri would, as always, chase after him.
Razumikhin’s hands moved to smooth over the skin where Raskolnikov’s brow furrowed. “If you frown so much you will start to get wrinkles soon.”
“As if I care about such things.”
“Hm, I suppose it would just add to your charm.”
Raskolnikov gave a dry laugh. “What charm?”
“Ah, do not joke. Surely, even you must have noticed the way the ladies eye you.”
“You are blind, Razumikhin. They are eyeing you, I am simply there.”
Razumikhin shook his head in protest, the strands of hair tickling Raskolnikov’s forehead.
“No, no! I’ve overheard them, too. They are intimidated by you, certainly, but they also talk about how kissable your lips are, if only,” he laughed, a finger trailing over Raskolnikov’s lower lip, “If only you would just close them for a moment.”
“That is stupid,” Raskolnikov huffed, equal parts in indignation and embarrassment.
“It is,” Razumikhin agreed, “They are far more kissable when they’re open.”
Raskolnikov’s eyes widened at that obscure comment.
“What?” Razumikhin asked, as though he had not said anything strange at all. Perhaps he hadn’t, Rodion was not familiar with the closeness between friends, and perhaps this was a typical compliment.
He found himself glancing down at Razumikhin's lips, pink and soft despite the harsh winter climate.
“Nothing. It does not matter anyway, I have no intentions of doing such things with them.”
“None of them? Sure they haven’t opened up to you yet, but I am sure if you tried you might even grow to like some of them.”
“I could never like them. They lack depth in thought, it is intolerable enough that I must attend classes with them.”
Razumikhin sighed, shaking his head. “What are you saying? You have never even spoken to them. How could you possibly make such assertations? Besides, a girl need not think deeply to be pretty.”
“What use is to me if she is pretty.”
Razumikhin chuckled, leaning back against the armrest of the couch. “Are you having me on? Surely even you must see a pretty girl and want to- well, you know.”
Raskolnikov shifted uncomfortably, lip still tingling from where Razumikhin’s finger had caressed it.
“Rodya, have you ever- ah, forget it, sorry, I am letting the alcohol speak for me.”
“Have I what ?”
Razumikhin considered his words for a moment before shifting closer to Raskolnikov, eyes curious.
“Have you ever seen a girl you’ve liked and taken her to bed?”
Rodion reeled back in shock, anger, and frustration.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I am not, Rodya. It is not as though I have, either.”
“Liar!”
Razumikhin frowned, throwing an arm over Raskolnikov’s shoulder so he could better peer down at him.
“Why would I lie to you? I haven’t! I have come close, probably gone further than you, but still, there is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I am not ashamed!”
“Good, good. It is not as though you are without faculty.”
“And I suppose now you will tell me I am extraordinarily handsome and could bed any woman I wanted?”
“Well, you are,” Razumikhin asserted, a teasing glint to his eyes, “Your talent in seduction, however… Well, I suppose I cannot complain.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Just the ramblings of a drunk loon.”
“Whatever. I still cannot believe you have never- ugh, I have seen you!”
“Seen me what?”
Raskolnikov could not bring himself to say a word more, turning his head away so that Razumikhin could not see his embarrassment. It didn’t matter as Razumikhin laughed into his ear anyway, head resting atop his shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve always left with you, have I not?”
“So what, you just kiss them and leave?”
“You say that as if to kiss a girl is not a wonderful thing, friend.”
“How can you say that it is? It is not as though you have experienced all the wonders of life to make a fair comparison.”
“Sometimes you make no sense at all, my friend. What should I do then, kiss a boy?”
“I am suggesting no such thing!” Razumikhin’s hand came to tilt his chin towards him so they were looking at each other once more.
“It is not such a bad idea. Perhaps, I will come to your same conclusion and realize there is nothing so great about girls anyway.”
“You are putting words in my mouth. Anyways, it is not as though you can go out into the streets and start kissing men. Who knows what trouble you will get yourself into.”
Razumikhin scrunched his brow, shuffling closer so his breath now tickled at the side of Raskolnikov’s neck.
“Would you let me?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft. Rodya could feel his breath catch in his throat, eyes dropping once more to Razumikhin’s lips, parted expectantly.
“I- You are drunk.”
“Yes. So are you.”
Razumikhin waited patiently, a warm hand reaching up to stroke Raskolnikov’s cheek.
“F-fine. Do what you must.”
The grin that split his face was dazzling, and he moved carefully as though not to scare Rodion away. He hovered there, breath entangling with Raskolnikov’s for a moment, a final chance to turn tail and run. Then his teeth came to pinch Rodya’s lower lip, tugging lightly, teasing his lips open. Razumikhin closed in open-mouthed, pressing firmly against him.
He could feel distinctly now the softness of Razumikhin’s lips, how full and warm they were against his own. He tried not to shudder against him, but little could be done for the thudding of his heart against his chest.
Then Razumukhin’s hands were cradling his face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones in the same slow steady cadence as his lips pushed and pulled against Raskolnikov’s. Rodya found himself chasing after Razumikhin’s lips in a feverish game of cat and mouse, spurred on by the pleased sigh Dmitri let out.
Razumikhin’s tongue traced hotly over Rodion’s and he jerked back, lips buzzing. Razumikhin looked dazed at him, a healthy flush to his cheeks and pupils blown wide. Raskolnikov did not want to imagine what he looked like in that moment, but the heat in Razumikhin’s gaze told him more than plenty.
“That should be enough, shouldn’t it.”
“Hm, you are too stiff Rodya and this position is much too awkward.”
Razumikhin pulled Raskolnikov to straddle his thigh. His thick strong thigh that dragged over Raskolnikov’s stiffened member causing him to buckle and shudder against Razumikhin.
“Ah!”
“Oh,” was all Razumikhin said, hands soothing Rodya as he trembled against him. Raskolnikov buried his face against the warm skin of Razumikhin’s neck, embarrassment swelling up inside of him. He did not know what to say if Razumikhin questioned him, acknowledged that a simple kiss had aroused Raskolnikov so immensely. Thankfully he said nothing.
“Dmitri-”
Razumikhin rolled his thigh against Rodya, the other’s breath catching in throat.
“You are unbearably beautiful Rodya, like the stained glass of a church steeple.”
Raskolnikov could not think, his entire body hot. He was only vaguely aware of the harsh grip he had over Razumikhin and how well built the other man’s arms were. He could not handle much more of this.
Gently, Razumikhin adjusted so they were looking at each other once more. Dmitri looked at him with an intoxicated adoration, more than just could be accrued to the alcohol. Raskolnikov could not bear to look at it.
“Your eyes must be the dark abyss where Siren’s lie. They call to me constantly. Do you hear me, Rodya?”
“You are speaking absolute nonsense.”
Razumikhin laughed breathless, his lips running over the bridge of Rodya’s nose.
“Am I not always; certainly that is how you think of me.”
“I have never thought of you as such. You are a good man with an intelligent head atop broad shoulders, but… Agh, I cannot even explain what is wrong with you!”
“You think my shoulders are broad?”
“You have just told me my eyes possess Sirens and that my physique resembles stained glass, but take issue with the notion that I acknowledge the width of your shoulders?” The words came out in a huff, his eyes closing as Razumikhin laid soft kisses over the lids.
“I take absolutely no issue with it. None at all.”
“Unhand me, you bear. Your curiosity has been satisfied.”
“Perhaps we should tame the Leviathan in your pants before we depart from Atlantis.”
Raskolnikov could feel the heat rise to his cheek, ears burning bright red.
“Your mouth is insufferable, Razumikhin. Leave it, it shall go away on its own.”
“On its own? What a terrible waste, terrible. You can take care of it, I would not mind.”
Razumikhin’s hands had fallen away from him, all he need do was get up and leave. Yet, he sat there straddled atop Dmitri’s thigh, cock throbbing in its confines.
“I couldn’t possibly!”
“Then shall I?”
“You must be joking.”
“Please ?”
Raskolnikov sat stupefied, but only bit his tongue to stifle a whine as Razumikhin cautiously unfastened his trousers. He forgot his own convictions as Razumikhin’s broad hand came over him, the slightest pressure sending waves of pleasure to lick up and down his spine.
“Ah… ”
Razumikhin’s hand pulled him out, grip gentle as he traced over the soft flesh in admiration. The flushed head of his cock peered out from the foreskin, glistening wet. Raskolnikov could not stand to witness it, but Razumikhin sat transfixed. The drag was dry and Razumikhin bent over, spitting into his own palm, hot breath fanning over the sensitive flesh. Obscene images wrought through him at the vision of Razumikhin there, his saliva slick and hot. He need only move slightly to brush against the flesh of Razumikhin’s cheek.
Razumikhin ended his turmoil, scalding tongue dragging up the stiff line of his cock. Once sufficiently wet he pulled away, the firm grip of his hand pumping at an accelerating pace. It was as though a wildfire had struck through Raskolnikov, and shaky moans spilled out of him unbidden.
Razumikhin placed soft kisses over Raskolnikov’s cheeks, and the simple motion of tilting his head such that their lips could meet pulled an equally desperate moan out of Dmitri. The kiss was uncoordinated, tongues and teeth and lips all vying for attention. Raskolnikov bit down on Dmitri’s lip, “ Dima ,” and he froze. For a frightful moment Rodya feared he had made a terrible mistake, that somehow after all this Razumikhin had finally grown disgusted at their behavior. Then the world tilted as Razumkhin lay him down on his back, wet mouth devouring his own. The pace of his fist grew fervent, and Raskolnikov went limp save for the twitching buck of his hips into Razumikhin’s hand.
“Rodya …” His voice was raw and his breath labored as though it were Raskolnikov who was ravaging him .
“Ah, ah…Mmh -”
Razumikhin nipped at his tongue, before soothing over it with his own. Raskolnikov could feel the saliva drip off of his lips, Razumikhin chasing after it like a rabid dog. Razumikhin’s hips shifted so they pressed stationary against his pelvic bone, Razumikhin’s own stiffness shockingly apparent. With every buck of his hips he could feel Razumikhin shudder against him, whining into his mouth without shame or restraint.
Razumikhin’s thumb rubbed under the head of his cock in rapid pulses, and Raskolnikov could feel the great sensation of being thrown into a delirium of all-consuming pleasure. The large broad strokes returned and Razumikhin’s lips pressed repeatedly against his own and his free hand came up to hold Raskolnikov’s and it was all entirely too much for a single man. With a choked sob he came into Razumikhin’s grip, trembling entirely.
“Yes, yes. Good boy, Rodya. ”
Razumikhin’s firm tongue lapped up the salty tears as they leaked from his eyes, soft lips venerating him. His world still spun and his breath was lost to him, wild and ragged as Dmitri’s hand finally slowed to stillness.
“Rodya? Are you- was that alright?”
“That was incredible,” he admitted in a daze, vision focusing enough to see Razumikhin grin down at him, bright and charming. It evoked a smile even out of Raskolnikov, defeated and breathless as he may be.
Razumikhin grabbed a raggedy handcloth, wiping Raskolnikov clean, though his clothes were now a wreck of sweat and semen.
“Leave it.”
“But-”
“Wouldn’t you like us to take care of you first, Dmitri?”
Razumikhin’s eyes went wide, teeth biting down on his lower lip.
“Yes, Rodya. Yes, please. ”