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Summary
“Don’t touch me,” Fyodor states, jerking weakly. His hand slips instead, slick with sweat. Dazai’s grip tightens reflexively to keep him from falling back wrong, thumb pressing briefly into the pulse at his wrist.
The traitorous heart within Fyodor’s chest stutters at the contact. He feels it like an accusation.
The thought comes uninvited, vicious and fervent: this body is a failing instrument. Overheated, inflamed, demanding. A sack of damp meat filled with heat and filth and treachery. Fyodor has spent his lifetimes disciplining it, denying it excess, denying it indulgence—and now it dares to betray him like this, flushing and trembling under another man’s hands.
Under his hands.
or: they fuck. that part is easy. this is not.
Whumpuary 2026 - Day one - “Don’t.” (Alt)
Series
- Part 1 of Whumpuary 2026
- Part 6 of A Hunger With No Mirror