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Rumors, the most tame ones, used to say Nikolai Gogol couldn’t stay still in place for too long. And those rumors were incredibly wrong.
He had tons of energy to spare, to metaphorically light up entire buildings without even affecting him, and that energy had to be spent on anything. Sure. But that meant nothing; he could also indeed spend quite the amount of time not only in perfect stillness but also striking a wide range of poses. That was how he had started getting some modeling gigs, after all.
It hadn’t been the biggest deal ever at first, just helping Sigma with a few of his pictures then getting “paid” in food, either homemade or dining out. But after a while, Sigma had also started recommending him to friends and/or acquaintances who leaned more into the professional side of arts per se, and one thing had led to another; which started out as simply giving a hand to a friend had turned into some sort of side job. It wasn’t the most stable, but it was fun and let him meet all kinds of people. Besides, the pay tended to be fairly nice.
Long story short: such gigs did wonders when it came to satisfying Nikolai in several ways. So, when he got contacted by some man named Fyodor Dostoyevsky, asking for a model who would take part in a medium-to-long-term project… he didn’t even have to think about it.
What Gogol couldn’t expect or predict, though, was how the whole thing was fated to turn out even better than he could have ever imagined.
The days prior to their first meeting and likely first session too, Nikolai had entertained himself by wondering (theorizing even) how Fyodor might be. And to his absolute delight, it became crystal clear since right from the start how not only was he meeting his expectations, but also exceeding them.
“Pleasure to meet you.” He had said, somewhat theatrically and in a soft voice which brought out everything else; Dostoyevsky was pretty handsome, and Nikolai couldn’t describe the look in his purple eyes with a word that fitted more than ‘enticing’.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” Nikolai himself answered, in the same demeanor and enthusiastically shaking his hand. “So, big ol’ pencil and paper, is it?”
“Now, yes. Though, if you stick around enough, I can bring canvas and all.” There was no need for him to add more, since they had talked details beforehand; the question was for giving Nikolai’s next words an opening, and Fyodor simply going along with it made things even more interesting.
“Then are you gonna paint me like one of your French girls and whatnot?”
“Hm.” Fyodor made a pause, snorting in a way he may have missed, weren’t Nikolai already mesmerized by him. “Would you like that, Kolya?”
Huh, a nickname so soon. He liked that. He really, really liked that.
Maybe, just maybe, undressing should take the shortest possible time. But Nikolai liked to slow things down a little, spending some extra seconds to turn it into a bit of a show. Because what was life without flair, and because Fyodor was watching.
Sure, it was the same Fyodor who was going to be staring at him for a big chunk of time (literal hours) while drawing, but that was the key: drawing. While, before he was ready and doing the required pose, he could have all his attention on Nikolai himself. Something he intended to put up to a good use.
“Can I take a look at the masterpiece once it’s done?” The question left his lips with ease, and a giggle followed shortly after. “Or are you embarrassed, Fedya?”
“Not at all.” Was Fyodor’s response, in a soft voice and teasing demeanor which perfectly matched Nikolai’s.
“I can’t see it, you’re not embarrassed, or both?”
“Would you like to know.” Such an answer made Nikolai laugh.
“Course I do, or I wouldn’t be asking.” Seemingly, it was going to take more than that to convince Fyodor, and he was more than up for the challenge. “So, I’m willing to go pretty far to reach my goal.” As he spoke, Nikolai had already finished taking off his gloves, then swiftly started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Hm? And how far is that, Kolya?”
As far as finding a way to take a peek if he didn’t manage to convince Fyodor with any other… argument. But he intended to wait, at least a bit more. After all, maybe keeping being the perfect little model would be the key to success.
“Would you like to know.” Nikolai answered, mirroring Fyodor’s exact tone and adding a smidge of smugness for extra spice. He had already taken off his gloves, gesturing to unbutton his shirt too as the conversation went on; something which allowed him to highlight his toned upper body when putting his hands over his own hips as a way to emphasize those words. There was a smug smile on Gogol’s face too, so it only grew wider when the trick worked and Fyodor glanced exactly towards where he intended. “Anyway, how do you wanna do this?”
“Our little challenge or the work?” Looks alone had been a good starting point in picking his interest, but the way that scene was playing out… oh, that was something else entirely. Keeping up with each other’s responses had become some tiny makeshift game, which they had also set up so smoothly and effortlessly without prior planning.
Or, in other words: saying they had instantly clicked wouldn’t be an understatement, and the novelty of such a feeling was the icing on the cake.
“Both, obvi.” Nikolai tilted his head and shrugged. “But first things first! Y’know, what pose you wanna, do I strip completely or keep something…”
In theory, now the next step was waiting for Fyodor’s instructions. In practice, he went on and removed his shoes and socks, because the answer was easy to predict.
“Yes.” Fyodor said, staring right at him and smiling with intent.
There it was.
“Ah! Yes what?” Evidently, Nikolai didn't need to ask for further clarification. But he wanted to, he wanted Fyodor to say it out loud.
“Strip for me, Kolya.”
Fyodor didn't need to phrase it like that either, as if he was asking for something rather scandalous and not what he was already used to doing from previous modeling sessions.
Not like Nikolai minded getting scandalous with him anyway, though.
“As you wish, my Fedya.” It showed, too, in the tone he answered with, and how Gogol let his shirt fall from his shoulders before completely removing it.
He then turned around, supposedly to leave said shirt over a chair instead of carelessly tossing it anywhere, but also to create a little more effect. The motion wasn't very quick, but caused enough momentum for his braid to move to the front, falling over the right side of his chest and leaving his back in full display. With everything it entailed.
“Beautiful.” Fyodor's comment didn't take too long to be released. He might be referring to Nikolai's back entirely, the twin scars across his back or even both. Probably both. But still, his next words had a clear objective. “Makes one think you used to have wings. In another life, maybe.”
“You calling me an angel?” It was quite the compliment, and he didn't bother hiding how much it pleased him. It was also a somewhat amusing thought, given how nothing that crossed his mind at the moment was exactly holy.
“Wouldn't you like to know.”
With the same amount of flair he had been demonstrating through all the meeting, Nikolai moved on to unbutton his pants, pulling them down with his underwear at once as he crouched, and got back up in order to put those clothes in the same chair he had picked for the shirt.
It wasn't until he was fully naked when Nikolai glanced over his shoulder, not turning back around yet so Dostoevsyky would have to wait a bit to get a view of his body's front.
“All ready here! Now tell me the pose, will you?” He winked, making way for what was coming next. “Besides, I'm quite flexible, so don't worry about me not being able to pull off what you want. I will.”
They started with small things, which consisted of Nikolai having all freedom to choose poses and the only instruction being to change every ten minutes while Fyodor scribbled; warming up, he figured based on previous experience.
At least, till Fyodor considered himself ready and settled for a more definitive one.
So there was Gogol, occupying a whole couch in a relaxed demeanor, his entire body stretched out in a way that wasn't really uncomfortable and his arms raised up framing his face. He had put the shirt back on, and not only that was the only thing but he had also left it open, sides falling next to his abdomen. Nikolai actually liked it, the feeling of having some cloth around him while also keeping most of his skin on display for Fyodor to see.
“Have you ever been told you're any artist's Holy Grail?” Speaking of the devil, there he was, with yet another golden compliment. Not like that was a source of complaint, but the opposite; Nikolai found himself craving those more and more as seconds passed.
How wonderful, and at the same time somewhat concerning, meeting someone who had such an effect on him so intense and quickly. But right at the moment, Nikolai was more than eager to enjoy the ride.
“Not with those words, but I know what you mean.”
“Ah, then I don’t have to clarify further. Good to know.” Such an answer made Nikolai pout dramatically.
“Not sure.” He replied, batting his eyelashes in the hopes that playful gesture convinced Fyodor to go on. It might be new information, and even if it wasn’t, it didn't matter as much as how he wanted to hear it from him.
“First of all, your hair and eyes.” No, it didn’t take too long for Fyodor to indulge him, and Nikolai’s pout turned upwards and into a smile. “Very remarkable colors, not to mention the heterochromia. Again, those scars, which inspire epics. And your body as a whole is the dream for anyone wanting to do anatomy studies.”
“Aw, how much you flatter me, my Fedya!!!” Nikolai chirped, clearly pleased.
It wasn’t just how such praise was music to his ears, but also the way he suspected it by no means was something contained to the realm of making art. They had scheduled some regular breaks (hourly, to be more precise), and he noticed how Fyodor’s eyes changed. When working, he glanced at Gogol with an artist’s gaze, focused and down to work. But the moments they stopped, his look was of a man who liked what he was seeing, down to… some other things.
And if Nikolai had any doubts, those would be dispelled sooner rather than later.
Fyodor had been sitting fairly close to him at all times, allegedly in order to not miss any detail, yet with a distance which made his argument more or less believable without outright refuting Nikolai’s suspicions. Right after suggesting they took a more extended pause and he agreed, though, he sat even closer. Straight up on the same couch Gogol had basically conquered at that point, to be more precise.
It didn’t take a genius to know where things were going, and not only was Nikolai willing to let it happen, but intended to play his part to pave the way.
“Seems like you have something in mind, Fedya.” Stretching with no shame, he raised an arm to tug at Fyodor’s tie, pulling enough to make him lean in and reveling in how quickly Dostoyevsky followed the lead… after a brief moment of surprise with its respective ‘gasp’ of company.
“I do.” He answered, in a soft, alluring tone that managed to send a succession of goosebumps down Nikolai’s body and at the same time added fuel to the fire progressively burning hotter inside him since they met.
“And it’s…” Their game might as well stay even then, because he wasn’t going to miss a chance to pull the strings and make Fyodor confirm out loud something Nikolai already saw coming once again, less in a moment like that. “Tell me, what is it?” He even insisted, resorting to mirroring his tone a second time, pulling a bit more so their faces ended up about to brush.
“You, obviously.” Fyodor gave in and answered, with his lips right over Nikolai’s. One of his hands raised as well, playfully playing with his braid, and the other…
… the other was soon placed over his thigh, traveling up with warm caresses, clear intent and a very evident destination.
Nikolai smiled from ear to ear, and just as he closed the remaining (barely existent) distance to kiss Fyodor’s lips with voracity, his next pull was directed to undo the tie’s knot.
Needless to say, work per se was forgotten for the rest of the day, distracted as they were with each other.
That didn’t mean Fyodor would never touch a pencil for what remained of the evening, since way into having dinner Nikolai caught him ditching his food in favor of sketching something. It was a sweet and somewhat amusing image, seeing him trace the lines, only partially dressed and pretty much disheveled after all they had done.
“What?” He asked, nonchalantly, upon noticing Nikolai staring right at him with his eyebrows raised. “Rejoice, Kolya, for you have inspired me greatly.”
Gogol smiled, and even without being able to see his own face, the softness in it was unmistakable. At least until it turned to literal gluttony, when his eyes wandered towards Fyodor’s leftovers.
“So… you’re not eating that, Fedya?” He was waiting for his response, yes, but also had already stretched out a hand that snatched the plate containing said leftovers the same second Fyodor shook his head. “Thanks!!!” Nikolai lost absolutely no time and leaned in, leaving a brief kiss over his cheek before proceeding to make the food disappear. “Ah, and since you’ve basically called me your muse and all, I guess I don’t have to doubt if you wish for me to come back tomorrow and all or nah.”
“Did you really doubt it?” Fyodor replied, only glancing at him for a second before continuing with his sketching. “We had a deal, after all, and I take pride in being a man of my word.”
Before answering that, he made sure to finish eating, mainly to create a bit of suspense. And once done, he bursted into laughter.
“No, not really. We can follow today’s schedule, and I mean every single detail, if you want to.”
There might not be a spoken answer, sure. But in the way Fyodor leaned down himself, cupping his face with one hand and licking some crumbs off his mouth by licking lips and all skin nearby, Nikolai immediately picked up an evident ‘yes’ to the previous suggestion.