thh-r

[thh-r]

Living in the dorm was hard for Neil. It wasn't the thin walls, the creaky bed, or even the communal refrigerator where his food perpetually disappeared. No, it was much worse than that.

The problem was called Matt Boyd.

Tall, muscular, with confident movements and a languid gaze that stole Neil's breath. And also… oh god. Neil couldn't help but notice his cock. Legs spread wide, practically begging someone to drop to their knees between them, loose pants that couldn't hide the impressive size, and in the mornings - black boxers barely containing what clearly wouldn't fit entirely.

Every time Matt stretched, revealing a strip of tanned abdomen, or casually ran a hand down his hips, Neil felt the blood rush to more than just his cheeks. He tried not to look, but his gaze was drawn to every movement of his roommate - the way his back muscles played under the thin fabric of his t-shirt, how low his jeans sat, revealing his hip bones…

And the worst part? Matt noticed.

He didn't push Neil away, didn't make fun of him. On the contrary - he smirked when he caught Neil looking, ostentatiously changed clothes slowly, or unexpectedly leaned in so close that Neil felt like he was about to feel his breath on his skin.

"What are you frozen for?" Matt asked one time, leaning against his desk, looming over Neil so much that he almost inhaled his scent - sharp, with notes of soap and something hot.

"I…" Neil's voice betrayed him, trembling.

"Maybe you need help relaxing?" Matt ran a finger down his shoulder, and Neil thought he knew exactly what thoughts were swirling in his head.

And the worst part was, Neil was already imagining exactly how Matt could do just that.

[thh-r]

Riko barely made it into the common room before a barrage of suggestive jabs flew his way.

"Suck a tractor driver!" Kevin yelled, and the room erupted in laughter. Everyone except Riko, of course.

"Yeah, Riko, that'd be nice," Nathaniël chimed in, clapping him on the shoulder. But his hand lingered a little longer than it should between friends, and Riko felt a jolt from the touch. What the hell was going on?

For the second week in a row, he'd been haunted by jokes about some tractor driver.

"Honestly, Riko, we're telling you straight: go and suck a tractor driver," Kevin, as the main inspiration behind this brilliant idea, was genuinely amazed at his friend's stupidity. First of all, Riko had been talking about his wet dreams with Nathaniël for three months, and Kevin was worried his hand was going to fall off soon. Secondly, Riko had been pining after that upperclassman for a year instead of just admitting it. Third, how could anyone be such an utter idiot?

"I don't need your tractor driver," Riko hissed, glaring at Kevin with a look full of incomprehension and annoyance.

"You broke my heart," Nathaniël exclaimed in mock tragedy, clutching his hand to his chest. "But, I hope if you agree to have dinner with me, I can forgive you. Now, I have to run, work awaits."

And Nathaniël, leaving the room immersed in silence, left. No one went to see him off, knowing that he knew his way around the intricate corridors of the dormitory. Of all their strange company, only Nathaniël managed to study and work full time at the same time. He managed part of the company that his father had passed on to him. No one understood why he needed a university at all. "I'm willing to jerk off to these languages, so my age is no obstacle to getting an education," Nathaniël snapped when Matt made a remark about his age at the very beginning of their acquaintance (Nathaniël was already twenty-four then). Their company was formed by accident and spontaneously. Last year - Matt, Nathaniël, Alison; third year - Jean and Nicky; and second year - Riko, Kevin, Andrew. They looked comical, because each of them was known at the university, and almost all of them studied in different faculties.

*

Riko was sitting on the kitchen table in the apartment, dangling his legs in the air, while the owner was working magic at the stove. He liked it here: cozy, quiet, and Nathaniël was here. Homey, relaxed, in his element. He wanted to see this picture forever, but even more he wanted to go over, hug him, and drown in a kiss.

"So what's the deal with this tractor driver?" he broke the silence.

"And why did you decide it was a joke?" Nathaniël turned around, gave Riko an evaluating look, and, returning to the stove, continued stirring the meat in the pan.

"What do you mean?" Riko expected to hear a reasonable explanation. Instead, Nathaniël seemed to be playing with him.

"Just suck me off," Nathaniël said calmly, turned off the gas, turned to Riko and slowly walked towards him. Riko's eyes widened in incomprehension, his eyebrows crawled up.

"Ask who I am by my first profession, and all your questions will disappear," Nathaniël buried his fingers in Riko's black hair, tilting his head back to look down at him. He slowly massaged his scalp, waiting for Rico to come out of his stupor.

"Holy shit. Are you a tractor driver?" Riko bit his lip like an offended child. They all knew and were laughing at him!

"Good job, Riko. You've earned a prize," Nathaniël smiled and, leaning down, touched his forehead to his before touching his lips gently, almost weightlessly.

"Then I have to fulfill your request," Riko jumped off the table, took the initiative, and pulled Nathaniël into the bedroom, knowing every corner of this apartment.

"Hey, I'm hungry!" Nathaniël protested, but didn't really resist.

"God damn it, I'm hungry too. In every sense," Riko stopped and playfully shoved Nathaniël in the chest, "I've been jerking off to you for three months, three! So first I'll suck you off, and then I'll get fucked. At least twice."

Nathaniël pushed Riko onto the bed, starting to fulfill the second part of his fiery speech. He was hungry too. For Riko. And wasn't going to wait any longer.

My channel: https://t.me/D_WAYMAK_SEX

[thh-r]

Living in the world of crime leaves its mark, like a tattoo burned under the skin. Maybe Aaron and Nathaniel didn’t care. Nathaniel - because of his childhood, broken and scarred with scenes of his father dismembering people. And Aaron - because of habit? Perhaps it was scary at first, when he and his brother were only fifteen and just started pushing drugs, but now, after living with Nathaniel for five years, under the impenetrable protection of his clan and himself, the fear had receded. It wasn't scary to be killed by an ambitious drug dealer eager to take your place. No one in their right mind would want to mess with the Butcher, let alone the Lord.

Breakfast together – that was their personal ritual, a sacred time when the world around them ceased to exist. When there was no need to rush anywhere, when the one you loved sat right across from you. That's what Nathaniel thought, watching a sleepy Aaron. His light hair was tousled, falling over his forehead, and his eyes weren't fully awake yet, a remnant of night dreams still swirling in them. Vulnerable, beautiful, his.

"Want to fuck you with a gun barrel," Mynyard mumbled, as if still floating among the clouds, detached from reality.

Nathaniel smirked, but frowned immediately when the meaning of the words sank in.

"What?" echoed in the kitchen, bouncing off the walls. Aaron jumped, his gaze darting around.

"What?" he repeated, trying to understand where that absurd phrase came from. He blinked sleepily, focusing on Nathaniel.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, studying Aaron. Surprise and a desire to tease battled within him.

"Only if it's new, completely disinfected, and unloaded," Nathaniel agreed, an intonation in his voice that Aaron knew all too well. Something about that tempting idea, that dangerous hint, was awakening excitement in him.

"Wait, what? You agree?" Aaron stared at Nathaniel as if he were an alien. His eyes widened, disbelief mixed with arousal clear in them. He leaned forward, reaching across the table.

"One more question, and I'll be the one fucking you," Nathaniel growled, suppressing a smirk. His gaze slid down to Aaron's lips, and a picture flashed in his mind of those lips closing around the barrel. That idea seemed even more appealing than the first.

I'm going to get a manicure tomorrow so there won't be any posts for the next two days. I'll have to get used to tapping my nails on the keyboard again.

My channel: https://t.me/D_WAYMAK_SEX

[thh-r]

Neil in his thoughts: Fuck. I want him inside me. Stretching me for a long, long time. I want to feel empty for days.

Andrew: Actually, I can hear your thoughts.

Neil: I know. That's why I'm thinking about it.

Permission for art received.

My channel: https://t.me/D_WAYMAK_SEX

[thh-r]

AU: "Eden" (BDSM club) - a place where people were secretly trafficked.

Nathaniel: Hey, babe, I think you've come to the wrong club. It's going to be too hot tonight.

Andrew: I think you're in the wrong place. Twinks like that belong in X.

He turned and walked towards the bar.

Nathaniel: You have a short temper. You'll be my most prized possession.

***

Nathaniel ran the knife over Andrew's skin as gently as he could. It was hard to hear Andrew's words through the gag, but it sounded like he was asking him to stop.

Nathaniel: Handsome, I'm telling you. BDSM is just a way of having fun for you. For me, it's a way of life and love.

My channel: https://t.me/D_WAYMAK_SEX

[thh-r]

AU: Exams

The stall was a sweltering trap, thick with the stench of bleach and desperation. Neil dug through crumpled cheat sheets stuffed in his sock, cursing math and his own damn luck. Numbers danced before his eyes, blurring into a senseless mess. Forever. He'd been stuck here forever.

A pounding on the door yanked him out of it.

"Get out," – the proctor's voice was flat, threatening. The knocking repeated, insistent and annoying.

This was it. His shot. Neil frantically scanned the symbols, trying to grasp something, to memorize anything. He desperately calculated, mumbling answers under his breath like a prayer.

"I'm opening the door now, and I don't care if you're naked," – came the warning from outside. Neil flinched. Time was up.

He hastily shoved the papers back into his sock, slammed the flush, and threw the door open with all his force, hoping to clock the proctor. Missed. The guy calmly stepped aside.

One pulse hammered in his head – adrenaline. Without thinking, Neil grabbed the guy's collar and slammed a kiss on his lips. Bold, desperate, insane. Like he wanted to steal all his confidence and power.

"For luck," – Neil spat out, pulling back. His lips burned, his cheeks flamed. He spun around abruptly and strode forward, trying to get as far as possible before the proctor could recover.

The hallway seemed endless.

"Andrew," – the proctor whispered quietly behind him. His voice was choked, like he was afraid of being heard.

"Neil. See you around," – he answered just as quietly, not turning back. He didn't care if Andrew heard him. It was about saying it.

I need comments. Lots of comments! Tell us about the most daring attempt to write off.

My channel: https://t.me/D_WAYMAK_SEX

[thh-r]

The city choked. Each explosion - a dying breath, torn from a ravaged chest. Neil pressed his back against the icy brick of the cellar, feeling the cold seep into his bones, as if the fear itself was becoming part of him. Escape. Escape from his father, the general obsessed with darkness, for whom his son was merely a pawn in a mad game. His father would find him. Not for forgiveness, but for punishment, for example - that was the most terrifying.

He gripped the pistol convulsively, his fingers numb with cold. A boy, not a soldier. Prey, not a hunter. But his father's gaze, as cold as a winter wind, left him no choice.

A creak. The sound of a bone breaking, one he heard too often. The door opened a crack, letting in a sliver of light and plumes of frosty steam. A silhouette emerged in the opening.

Neil tried not to breathe. Not now, when he’d only managed to get further away from the crowd of soldiers who knew him better than he knew himself.

The silhouette froze. A pale face, dusted with snow, framed by light hair. Eyes - like shards of ice, cold and empty. A uniform. A German soldier.

Neil wasn't ready to go back to his father. Back to the ranks. Those eyes were looking at him. At him, when he so desperately wanted to live. He had no strength, his hands wouldn't obey. Noise and nothing else in his head. To live. The pistol felt too heavy, just like it had as a child on the training ground, aimed at the soldier's heart.

"Don't shoot," – a voice, hoarse from the cold and fatigue, said unexpectedly. "Don't shoot, please. Let me die on my own."

Neil didn't believe a single word.

"You're the enemy," – he hissed, spitting the words out like the bitter smoke of heavy cigarettes.

The soldier nodded. "To me, you are too. But I can see in your eyes that we share the same goal."

An explosion. The cellar shuddered, dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. No screams, no. There's been no one here for a long time, it's being cleared. In another day, the Red Army will poke around here.

"Deserter?" – Neil tried to hold the pistol steady, but his hands were shaking. His lungs were tearing from the air, as if a pile of shards had been poured into them, and they were cutting him from the inside. The new overcoat, recently stripped from some officer's corpse, didn't warm him as well as it should.

"No. A spineless man of the system. Andrew Minyard" – he took a few steps towards the wall and collapsed onto the concrete floor next to Neil, who pressed his gun hand to his chest.

Andrew took out a pack, flicked out a cigarette. A match flared, illuminating his face for a moment. He raised it to his lips and took a drag. Clouds of smoke, mixing with the frosty steam, drifted in the musty air. The smell of tobacco, sharp and pungent, overpowered the stench of dust and death.

"My father's a general," – Neil whispered, pressing his head against the wall. – I was supposed to stand by him, to carry the faith. Neil."

Andrew released a plume of smoke, watching as the ash, like snow, fell to the floor. The smoke burned his lungs, bringing at least some warmth. "My father forced me to come here. He's proud that his son is killing for the Reich. But I'm tired of the blood, of the filth. I wanted to live. My brother wanted to live. But..." – he trailed off, his lips closing around the filter, the words weren't necessary, Neil understood everything from his eyes.

The explosions were becoming quieter.

"Switzerland," – Neil said, remembering his mother's quick, insistent words.

Andrew stubbed out the cigarette, grinding it into the wall. "Anywhere. Just to be in silence."

Neil stared at Andrew, trying to discern the truth through the haze of vapor.

"What if I bring death down on you too?" – Neil asked, although he knew that Andrew had no choice.

Andrew shrugged. "Then we'll die together."

The war roared outside. In the cellar, two ghosts, two lost souls, were deciding their fate.

Neil held out his hand. "Then let's go."

Andrew took his hand and felt a warmth he'd

almost forgotten, a roughness from deep scars. "With you."

The snow swirled, covering the ruins. Two silhouettes in the gloom – enemies or allies? Reflections of shattered walls and desires in their eyes. Ahead – only darkness and the unknown. But perhaps, there, beyond the front line, something awaits them that can melt the ice that has burrowed under their skin, down to the very bones.

My channel: https://t.me/D_WAYMAK_SEX

[thh-r]

Warmth. Andrew woke to hot breath on his neck. Thick, intoxicating, like the air before a storm. Someone had wrapped themselves around him from behind, pinning him to the mattress with hot palms. Andrew froze, still with his eyes closed, but already sensing that something was off. Nathaniel was never this insatiable.

He usually slept still - cold, perfect, like a marble statue. But now his body was burning, and his ragged breath seared Andrew's neck, sending shivers down his spine.

"Nathaniel?" His voice cracked into a whisper.

In response – a moan. Deep, animalistic. Nathaniel’s hands tightened on his hips, pressing so hard that Andrew could feel every finger through the thin fabric of his underwear.

Nathaniel was sniffing him. Deeply, with a hoarse, broken moan, as if suffocating from the aroma alone.

"Are you…" Andrew's voice broke when a sharp fang grazed his jugular vein, "…Hungry?"

Nathaniel moaned, almost painfully, not really thinking clearly. Andrew's blood was special.

Nathaniel had known it from the first drop - a rich taste with a slight bitterness, with a shiver of adrenaline, with the heat of the life that beat so fiercely in his veins.

It drove him insane.

From the scent, when Andrew was nervous.

From the taste, when he was aroused.

From the sound of his heart, when fangs pierced his skin.

"I can’t..." Nathaniel pressed his sweaty forehead against his back, "...Can't..."

Andrew laughed - and Nathaniel felt his blood accelerate.

Now Nathaniel was trembling, holding back with the last of his strength. Andrew felt something hard and hot pressing into his back.

"Don't let me, if you're against it. Tell me to go," Nathaniel gritted his teeth, but his hips jerked forward.

Andrew bit his lip. He was aroused. And, damn it, so was he.

"Bite."

Silence.

Then – a sharp inhale, fingers digging into his waist.

"This is going to…"

"I know."

Andrew turned to face him. Nathaniel looked ruined – his eyes glowed brightly in the darkness, his lips were parted, a crimson blush stained his cheeks.

Andrew sharply looked away, feeling his own body respond with arousal.

"I don't want to hurt you," Nathaniel whispered, but his hands were already sliding over Andrew's torso, greedy, possessive.

"You won't."

A lie.

It would always hurt.

Damn it.

The fangs entered his neck sharply, but perfectly – as if Nathaniel knew every vein, every inch of his skin.

Pain.

Sharp, sweet, making him cry out.

But almost immediately – warmth, spreading throughout his body.

Nathaniel moaned, pressing his lips to the wound, drawing out his blood slowly, savoring every drop.

"Drink," Andrew whispered, feeling his body tense from the mixture of pain and pleasure.

*

The first taste burned his throat.

Hot.

Sweet.

Perfect.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes back, feeling every drop spread through his body - liquid fire, filling his veins, reviving dead flesh.

Andrew cried out - and Nathaniel moaned in response, digging his fingers into his hips.

"More," he latched onto the wound, drawing out life, reveling in every beat of the heart beneath his lips.

Andrew threw his head back - Nathaniel felt it. A faint taste of salt.

"Yes…" escaped Andrew before he could think.

Fingers slipped down, grasping Andrew through the fabric. Nathaniel's hand. Hot. Strong.

Nathaniel broke away from his neck, his lips glistening crimson.

"Now," he licked the blood from the corner of his mouth, never taking his burning gaze off Andrew, "I'm not finished."

Andrew flinched as Nathaniel began to move his hand - slowly, deliberately, squeezing him so hard that his vision blurred.

"Sh-shit."

Nathaniel smirked, feeling Andrew's cock throb in his palm.

"You love it," he leaned down, nipping at his earlobe, "Love it when I drink you, and then..."

Andrew's mouth opened in a silent scream, his fists clenching the sheets. He shuddered – fangs pierced his neck again, blood gushed into Nathaniel’s throat, and...

Everything.

He came with a quiet moan, arching his back, feeling waves of pleasure wash away everything else.

Nathaniel growled, holding him close, licking the blood from his neck.

"Perfect," he whispered, and there was something possessive in his voice. "You come from my fangs."

Nathaniel pulled back, licking his lips invitingly.

Andrew gasped, trembling.

"Yeah."

*

Later, when the room stopped spinning, Nathaniel pressed his lips to the wound apologetically.

"You're perfect," he licked up the last drop, savoring the aftertaste. Nathaniel grinned, baring his white fangs. “It’s a turn on.”

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