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The Broken Heart was a safe haven for all kinds of miserable people, which Bachelor Dankovsky just so happened to be. His life’s work destroyed, papers burned, Thanatica in ruins, and worst of all, he found himself in this backwater town staring down a cup of that pungent stuff these hicks called twyrine. It wasn’t his first glass either. His senses were thankfully starting to blur along with his bitter emotions, washing away into a heady fog. Usually he liked his mind whip sharp, ready to take on any challenge, but today, he thought he had earned a little drink. That, and the music here was awful, the decoration gaudy, and he wished that naked woman had more clothing on. Daniil huffed, mumbling under his breath “totum revolutum.”
At least the place wasn’t too busy, the plague and Saburov’s orders had seen to that. Of course, just his luck the place couldn’t be completely empty, so he could drown his sorrows in peace. He ordered another glass, the barkeep knowing better than to poke at him by now. His mind wandered, Andrey was usually decent company, an educated man like himself, though he was glad he wasn’t nearby to see him like this. Daniil was in the middle of another gulp of that disgusting liqueur when he felt someone brush up against his side, taking the seat next to him.
“The plight of an artist, eh old boy?” A slurred voice piped up, Daniil spotting greasy long hair and a beak of a nose out of the corner of his eye. That, alongside a bottle in his hand, allowed Daniil to identify the man instantly. Peter Stamatin. A handsome man, though with his wit drowned by drink, he wouldn’t be the best for conversation.
“I am not an artist, and I am not your ‘boy’,” “boy.” Dankovsky snapped, his own words slurring and skipping without his control. He was unfortunately more of a lightweight than he thought, though it seemed he hadn’t lost his tongue.
“One might say surgery is an art, and even more might say defeating death is another. Though failure defines every artist just the same.”
The bachelor groaned, taking another drink instead of responding to his words. They hurt more than he’d like. What would Stamatin know of failure?! He’d created something otherworldly, something Dankovsky could never hope to understand, only to preserve. And yet he might as well have failed at that as well.
He turned to look at Peter, wanting to snap at him in a rather uncouth manner, but instead found understanding in his dark, clouded eyes. He hated it. It must’ve been pity, there was no way he could understand. His mind went blank for a moment, he furrowed his brow. This… disheveled drunk… was quite pretty wasn’t he? Despite his sunken, tired look, he had what was undoubtedly a softness to his face. His hair, as unkempt as it was, looked particularly flattering, his eyes were outlined by long eyelashes, his lips were just as soft as anything. This was problematic. It was hard to listen to him without having his mind wander. Good god, was he really so pathetic to be thinking like this right now? Yet, he was utterly entranced. How had he not noticed his good looks before? Well, it’s not like Peter did anything to highlight them.
The blasted herbs and drink must be getting to him. Exhaustion and this stupid town, the slow lull of Peter’s voice rocking him like waves, though he didn’t find meaning in whatever words he was saying. He wondered for one brief, idiotic moment if he had caught the sand plague, the way his body felt so warm. Dankovsky found his gaze drifting lower, over Peter’s his pronounced collarbones, the sharpness of his neck. He was of course, stopped by the obvious, that he was wearing clothing. Oh this wouldn’t do. The bachelor’s eyes flicked back up, finding Peter in a whole other world, yet like there was no one but them in the room. He felt like he was going to be sick. He opened his mouth to vomit, but instead what came out was
“Wwould… you have.. relations.. with me.”
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he found himself clarifying that he meant sex. Peter’s eyes opened wider than Dankovsky had seen themhe’d seen him before, exposing pools of dark iris usually hidden beneath his long lashes. God, he was making a drunken fool of himself. Maybe he would take his revolver and go outside and end it, were the town not counting on him.
As he was about to get up and go bury himself, Peter took his hand, “The September air gets to us all…the comfort of a warm body is not asinine, though twyrine may be elevating your senses. Your desires. I will do my best to provide a remedy, old boy. Know this is not of pity-“
Dankovsky groaned, and stood up, pulling Peter with him, if for nothing more than to quit his patronizing. The world spun around him, and he almost had to sit back down, instead finding himself leaning against Peter’s willowy fame, to his utter and absolute embarrassment. He almost wished the place was more populated tonight now, knowing that rumors spread fast in this podunk town.
Dankovsky swore he heard someone give a whistle as he and Peter made their way to the rooms in the back, knowing full well he couldn’t make it back to Eva’s place in this condition. Nor would he want her to know what he was doing tonight. He was a grown man, a man of great esteem at that! He didn’t need her to know who he was copulating with. Once again to his utter dismay, he found that he was still holding Peter’s hand like a boy with his father, though he never did something so embarrassing as a child. Peter’s hands were long and veiny, yet soft at the palms. His nails were bitten down to the beds, uneven and sharp. Daniil made a note not to let him finger him.
It was a short walk to the small bedroom where he presumed Peter or Andrey stayed when they were too hungover to make it home proper, much to the Daniil’s dismay. He would’ve liked more time to mull it all over, to present himself as the roguish bachelor he was, instead of some needy sluttish man. To charm Peter with his words, talk circles around him. Alas, he found himself collapsing onto the bed instead, mumbling Latin under his breath in slurred speech. A soft hand rubbed his back through his coat, which he hadn’t taken off even when inside the stuffy pub. It… felt quite nice. Would probably feel even nicer on bare skin. Heat had been blooming throughout his body the entire night, but now it started to pool in his loins.
Daniil felt uncomfortably hot, most likely for various reasons, but he found himself moaning under his breath as Peter stroked his back. “Remove my coat, would you?” he asked, though it came out more like “reemovee mhn coatt pleasse.”
Regardless, Peter got the message, and began to gently take it off, manhandling Daniil a bit in the process, which only served to fuel the twyrine fire inside of him. The distinguished bachelor found himself growing wet between the thighs, and tried to get himself into a position that made it easier for the Stamatin brother to remove his clothing. God, he hoped he wouldn’t remember this come morning.
“Twyrine is heightening your senses old boy, bringing two souls closer to one. I’m honored you chose me for this…”
“I would’ve chosen anyone, you just happened to be the lucky sot that bothered me in my ‘heightened state’,”“heightened state”, Daniil tried to snap, but it came out with a whine as Peter’s hands ghosted over his shirt, his nipples hard despite the heat of the room. He was on all fours, making it difficult but possible for Peter to reach around to his front. It made the gesture more intimate than Dankovsky would’ve liked, but something deep in him roared for more. Each button coming undone made him shamefully arch up against Peter’s body. Soon all were unfastened, and his meager chest was exposed to the air. He hadn’t bothered binding it, the layers of his clothing pressing it in. Peter seemed to enjoy it though, if the way his hands were cupping and squeezing him were any indication. He was gentle with his exploration, even when he pinched at his hardened nipples.
“Pudenda…” Daniil murmured under his breath, gasping in a shameful way as Peter’s hand started to slip down his front, soft and warm against his ribs, then his belly, and then lower. Teasing at the line of his waistband, one hand still cupping his breast. He could feel him panting behind him, like some ragged animal. Chest rising and falling against his back, Daniil found his heartbeat speeding up in turn. The room was starting to smell of arousal, overtaking the scent of those good for nothing herbs. Peter’s arousal was making itself clear as well, if the way he was shifting for purchase against him made any indication. Dankovsky didn’t find himself thinking of other men’s genitals quite often, he liked to think of himself as a man married to his work. But at the current moment, he realized the younger Stamatin was… decently well endowed. At least from what he could feel.
“Remove your clothing as well. I cannot be the only one in such a state, now can I?” The bachelor tried to sound flirty, but it came out slurred and weak.
“Of course, doctor. Our consummation would require your utmost comfort.” Peter’s breath was heavy against his ear, and though his words were slurred as always, there was something calming about his steady body.
Daniil didn’t like being called brother by a man whose penis was going to presumably be inside of him very soon, but he knew Peter was trying to comfort him in that odd way of his. It made him feel a little sick to his stomach, the care Peter was treating him with. He would’ve rather him just… fucked him senseless. Dankovsky was not some blushing maiden! Though he wouldn’t say he was experienced either. Peter withdrew for a moment, and Dankovsky watched him remove his clothing, something odd and unpracticed. His movements were jerky yet fluid, like some odd flightless bird as he slipped from his garments. Daniil allowed himself to stare, for Peter had been enjoying him enough before.
He could count each of his ribs, though his gut protruded just slightly, the sign of a man who had been too heavy on the drink, yet not heavy enough on the food. His arms were a frail sort of thing, though strung tightly with some amount of muscle, bone was the primary source of structure. Lanky and thin, awkward and sharp, yet Daniil found it incredibly attractive. Of course, it probably helped that he was only in his undergarments at this point, bulge visible and making Dankovsky’s mouth water.
“Mentula par excellence..” he spoke, trying to regain composure, to regain the upper hand. “Your..” he gestured awkwardly at his cock, undoing his own belt with his free hand. He stared at the thing, as Peter seemed to blush with his whole body, bending down to remove his underwear. Dankovsky paused for a moment as he watched his cock spring from them, slender as the rest of him and curving upwards towards his drawn in stomach. But it was long, and painfully attractive to the bachelor.
“Thank you…” Peter seemed at a loss for words for once, shifting from foot to foot. Dankovsky found it surprisingly … cute? An odd word for the Stamatin brother. Daniil removed his belt, then his pants, and finally his own undergarments, discarding them on the ground next to the bed. He got back into the position he was in before, on all fours, as he didn’t want to look at the eagerness or lack thereof on Peter’s face as he took him. This was purely a business transaction. Something to distract him, to make him feel better. To forget for a couple of hours.
“You may go ahead.” Dankovsky huffed, not sure what he was waiting for. His cunt exposed to the air felt odd, but he was dripping wet, his thighs coated with his fluids. He hoped this place had some sort of washroom.
Peter lined himself up, causing Daniil to shiver as he felt the tip of Peter’s cock brush against his entrance. It felt utterly pathetic being as sensitive as he was, feeling himself throb in anticipation. Peter gently rubbed a hand against Daniil’s waist, which made Daniil excruciatingly aware of the blood burning in his cheeks. He was getting terribly impatient when he finally felt Peter push himself in, he whined feeling him push inside, and gasped when Peter slipped out, his warm cock rubbing up against Daniil’s swollen clit.
Danksovsky whimpered, and to cover that horribly demeaning reaction, shut his eyes and demanded he just … put it in already. He would’ve gestured with his hand, had he not been so focused on keeping his balance on his elbows.
“Apologies, old boy. You’re rather… lubricated already-“
“Please don’t say it like that.” Daniel groaned, the word lubrication making him feel as if he was some sort of motor vehicle or gadget of his instead of a very aroused man. “Just do what you’re going to do, less talking.”
On his second attempt, Peter was much more careful and pushed himself inside properly. Daniil exhaled as he felt himself being split open. Peter was going nice and slow, trying to allow time for Daniil to get used to his length, as well as savoring his tightness and warmth. Daniil could have sworn he could feel Peter’s cock in his stomach when his hips finally pressed up against him.
“Are you-“ Peter began, somehow tender despite his throbbing cock stuffing Daniil’s insides.
“Yes, please just … go. Keep going. Stop asking!” The bachelor tried to keep his cool, keep control of the situation despite his slurred speech, though it seemed to work somewhat and Stamatin obeyed.
As Peter pulled back Daniil felt empty, his body missing the heat of Peter’s cock. He tried to stifle a groan when it returned, feeling warmth disperse throughout his whole body. His legs felt slightly weak, which was an embarrassment on his legs’ part, and he tried to force his attention to staying upright on his terms. It would be unbefitting for someone like him to go limp while taking cock. To be honest, it was unbefitting for someone like him to be bent over in the back of a bar taking some drunkard’s cock, but that line had already been crossed. Peter set the pace, slowly pushing in and pulling out, quietly huffing to himself. He had his beautiful thin hands on Daniil’s hips, trying to steady them both. He was bringing his hips all the way into Daniil with each thrust, hilting inside him completely. It was… an undeniably good feeling when Peter’s cock hit against his sweet spot over and over.
The slowness felt respectful, if a little boring. It was obvious Peter was restraining himself, which annoyed Daniil a bit. What, was he some kind of delicate flower? No, he was a man, and could take it like one. Yet still he gasped like a girl when he felt Peter pull him onto his cock as he thrust in, hitting his sweet spot much harder than he had before. Still, it was slow, but more deliberate. Finally Peter seemed to be participating rather than trying to solely focus on Daniil. His quiet moans were… well, cute. Daniil could feel his ears burn with embarrassment when he thought that. That is not what this was about. There was no cuteness, this was two men using eachother and that was it. Surely Peter was thinking the same thing. A transaction and nothing more. They could both get off and then never speak of it again. Then why did Daniil find himself so focused on his whines, his breathiness and his seeming desperation as he slowly but surely picked up the pace. Hit after hit, Daniil was finding himself more and more aroused. He could hear himself becoming wetter by the way the sounds of their bodies coming together.
Peter was clearly working himself up, mumbling to himself. Daniil was fine to ignore his ramblings, the man was always on about something, it made sense he would be the same way during sex. He tried to tune him out, to focus on the pleasure instead. Though his voice was rather nice to listen to, he found himself thinking. He almost shook his head visibly to clear that thought. It was only then when Peter bent himself over Daniil, wrapping his long arms around his waist. Daniil tensed, not afraid of Peter but afraid of the intimacy. Peter’s head was resting by Daniil’s neck, his words now ringing through his ears, it was much more difficult to drown them out. Of course Peter’s voice had no effect on him, none whatsoever! It wasn’t's not like the rumblings of his chest against his back made him tremble, his whole body becoming weaker and weaker as Peter became notably more desperate from his pace. He was becoming faster, and sloppier. His formerly deliberate strides were changing into something more animalistic. Peter was whimpering right up against Daniil’s ear. Like the rest of him, his sounds were beautiful. God, Daniil could not believe he was thinking that. Clearly the air was getting to him. Squeezing his heart or whatever nonsense, the way Eva was always saying.
Though most of Peter’s mumblings were too slurred to make out between breaths against his ear, Daniil caught some of it. Tangling of tongues, of bodies joining, the idea of two souls, whatever they may be merging. “Would that defeat death, perhaps? Creation of new life? Or simply postpone the inevitable?”
What nonsense was Peter saying?! It was as if he was reaching inside of him, twisting his words, his ideas, his work, almost as if to make fun, almost understanding but through a twisted lens. Miracles were possible in this town;, the Polyhedron showed that. Was Peter truly a miracle maker? Daniil’s thoughts slurred into one another, turning into heavy breaths and spinning headaches. Pleasure and heat and Peter’s words, each thrust deep into him piercing his soul alongside it. He was a scientific man, he didn’t believe in souls. But Peter was making him feel differently. Dankovsky wondered for the first time if someone finally understood him. That was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Drunk and fucked stupid in the back of a bar and he was wondering if he was in love. Peter was always saying such nonsense. Why was it affecting him now? He was patheticsuch a pathetic man. In his weakness, he mistook pleasure for love. He was a weak, weak man. This town had taken him and wrung him dry, just like it did to everyone. It had to be destroyed. He couldn’t be the only casualty of this wretched place. It ruined people. This place ruined him. Peter Stamatin was ruining him.
He clenched around Peter’s cock, all premise of dignity lost as their bodies writhed in a sweaty dance, each slap of Peter’s balls against swollen clit driving him closer and closer to the edge. He would’ve cried, but he wanted to keep some shred of that lost dignity, even if he didn’t remember this in the morning. Peter’s hand let go of his hip, and snaked low and under his collapsing body, rubbing up against the slight paunch of his belly. Dankovsky could almost feel his womb ache. Peter’s fingers spread and massaged, examining him as he continued to thrust, their animalistic natures paused for a single moment as he touched him gently. Maybe this place wasn’t completely ruined. The blasted twyrine was getting to him, as wasand the feeling of swollen and sweaty cock deep inside of him. He didn’t care what happened. Nothing else existed anymore. He was a ruined man. His work was never to be complete. But he could extract pleasure from another still. Something he was unable to do before, not without overtaking them mentally.
Peter’s grunts and whines continued, and the idea that he was nothing and no one anymore brought Daniil over the edge, alongside the hammering of his insides. He fully collapsed on the bed, hips in the air as Stamatin pistoned inside of him, almost howling like a dog at this point, all mumblings lost as the room swirled around Daniil. It was just them now. The bachelor gave a weak grunt and his insides tightened around Peter, his orgasm washing over him in warm waves. He could almost smell the twyre, the whitewhip.. those herbs that blossomed and ruined this place. But his body could still provide. Peter gave another whine, and hilted himself fully inside of Daniil, his nuts tensing as they unloaded, flooding his insides white. He came for a nice long time, bucking his hips weakly to empty himself out inside, rope after rope of fertile seed being pumped into Daniil Dankovsky, the failed bachelor.
He didn’t care. Panic was a far away emotion, and at the moment, his womb being flooded was calming, almost fulfilling. He was taken. He had performed a purpose. And fuck it felt good to feel Peter begin to soften inside of him, cum leaking from his ruined hole and staining the bed. Maybe something was blooming inside of him. That was a worry for the morning. Peter collapsed atop of him, but his weight wasn’t very much. Just enough to feel… comforting. Their chests rose and fell in unison, heartbeats running to the same rhythm.
“Dankovsky.. old boy.. Isn’t twyrine beautiful?”
“Hhhngh.”