Work Text:
Artyom didn’t know why he did what he did but now the cold, wet, blue raspberry flavored truth was staring him down without mercy. It– it was an impulse! A sudden reaction, nothing to it, nothing to do about it! But oh God what a horrible time for an uncontrollable impulse he’d wished he could’ve well, controlled. Pavel was still in shock over the incident, the slimy half-frozen erm, liquid? Liquid seeping into the groin of his pants and dripping down his legs, pooling on the linoleum floor. Artyom was mortified, but even more than that he was terrified when Pavel finally shot his glare up at him, the initial surprise passed. Or passéd, even.
“N-now Pavel I can explain–” he couldn’t.
Pavel didn’t give him time to anyway, and leapt at Artyom like a tiger leaps at raw beef. Or like a small and very damp and sticky Russian leaps at a slightly taller, less damp and sticky Russian. The two of them crashed to the floor and Artyom felt dizzy for a moment until he realized his head was spinning because Pavel was shaking him back and forth from his collar. Oh God, the putrid bléu syrup was seeping into Artyom’s shirt and undershirt from Pavel’s pants, augh! He could feel it on his skin now, it was positively disgusting!
“Pavel please, lets settle this in a more civil–”
Pavel had already begun pouring the remains of the slushee into Artyom’s open mouth.