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Seeing Nikita at a function was a rare occurrence in itself. He wouldn’t even be there if not encouraged by Artyom who barely tolerated his own friends to begin with & just wanted some amusement which he most commonly found in the brunette. Nikita was his puppy, always at his service, especially serving him well if he was bored and needed to humiliate someone.
To Nikita‘s misfortune, Artyom was bored again. And really interested in what Nikita would look like if he wasn’t an utter social reject. To turn his little experiment into reality, Artyom decided that the solution was simple: enough vodka to drown out whatever made Nikita so painfully awkward. Perhaps, somewhere beneath all that silence, there was a social butterfly waiting to be dragged out.
Artyom couldn’t remember when his friends had become so painfully predictable and annoying. The same jokes, the same laughter & the same stupid fucking look in their faces. His gaze shifted to Nikita next to him.
He was sitting there quietly, shoulders slightly hunched, it was almost impressive how effortlessly he managed to make himself invisible. Nikita was awkwardly laughing along them in a desperate attempt to somewhat fit in. ‘They were Tyoma’s friends after all‘. Nikita truly was pathetic, Artyom thought.
Artyom sighed, reaching for the bottle of vodka he’d brought along.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked, turning toward Nikita.
Nikita looked at him cautiously. “What?"
Artyom smiled, already knowing he had his attention.
"You’re boring.”
Before Nikita could respond, Artyom shoved the bottle into his hands before catching his chin with the other, forcing his head back.
"Maybe you just need to loosen up."
He tried to protest, but the neck of the bottle was already pressed against his lips. Artyom held his face in place while angling the bottle upwards, forcing Nikita to involuntarily swallow the caustic liquid making his throat scorch.
After several gulps, Nikita grabbed at Artyom’s sleeve, signalling him to stop but scared to push him away any further as his fingers barely tugged the fabric. His spinelessness made Artyom even more excited.
As soon as the bottle was lowered, Nikita doubled over, coughing violently before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"What the fuck, Tyoma?!", he spat, his lips stained wet from the vodka just as his big eyes were from the bitter taste.
…
Nikita‘s drunken state didn’t meet Artyom‘s expectations or hopes. Instead of transforming into the outgoing social butterfly he’d envisioned, Nikita slumped in his chair, mumbling incoherent nonsense and bursting into hysterical laughter at the slightest inconvenience.
He did loosen up a bit, but Artyom seems to have overworked his inner social butterfly with the amount of alcohol he forced him to chug down.
"Tyoma" , Nikita mumbled, turning toward him with a lazy smile tugging at his pale lips. His unfocused eyes struggled to settle on Artyom’s face, "can you taknmnmlhs"
"What?", Artyom frowned, slowly feeling the effect of the alcohol on his own body.
"I havenmbsjm, ‘m unwell"
"What the hell is your problem Nikita?", Artyom spat, clearly disrupted by his incoherence.
One of the others glanced over, "I think he‘s unwell, Artyom"
"Yeah what the fuck do you want me to do?", he shot back to Nikita.
His question, however, was quickly answered by Nikita folding forward in his chair, a dry gag escaping his mouth.
Artyom swiftly got up, grabbed him by the arm, hauling him to his feet and dragging him away from his friends. Nikita followed him obediently, like he always did, nearly tripping over his own shoes twice due to his drunken state.
"‘m sorry tyoma", Artyom heard along some mumbles from behind.
"Shut the fuck up", Artyom‘s grip slid down to Nikita‘s wrist, "if you wanna act like a fag who can‘t tolerate a little alcohol in front of my friends, at least fucking own it."
It wasn’t that Artyom particularly cared about his friends, or what they thought of him. He barely tolerated them on a good day. But something about Nikita never doing what he was supposed to do annoyed the shit out of him. It was generally Nikita that annoyed the shit out of him, but it was also Nikita who made him stay.
It wasn’t for his dependence. Artyom knew that Nikita was practically incompetent without him, but if it was anyone other than Nikita fagging around like that, he would have ditched them regardless of the probability of them committing suicide if he left. Artyom had never felt obligated to keep anyone else around.
It also wasn’t entirely the pleasure he received from humiliating him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching Nikita squirm beneath a few words, or seeing how obedient he became whenever his voice hardened. Even tho Artyom did wholeheartedly enjoy exploiting his emotionally vulnerable state & dependence for his sadistic liking, this explanation fell to short for Artyom‘s highly complex feelings.
Artyom himself was aware of that, yet tended to reduce it to the two prior given reasons. It was easier to call Nikita pathetic than to ask himself why he kept reaching for him anyway.
He dragged the barely conscious Nikita toward a patch of shrubs by the roadside. Before Nikita could even comprehend what was happening, Artyom hooked two fingers between his lips and into his mouth.
Nikita’s jaw slackened instinctively. The moment Artyom’s fingertips brushed the posterior third of his tongue, his throat convulsed in a violent gag. The inside of his mouth was almost unnervingly warm. Saliva coated Artyom’s fingers, slick against the ridged surface of Nikita’s tongue, his teeth grazing Artyom‘s knuckles.
He’d always wondered what made Nikita tick. If taking him apart were possible, Artyom suspected the answer would be disappointingly simple.
Artyom pushed deeper into his mouth until his fingertips met the edge of the soft palate & then his uvula. A string of wet, choking gags tore from Nikita’s throat. His body lurched forward, and the first wave of vomit surged up.
Artyom tried removing his fingers from his mouth but it was too late, Nikita‘s warm vomit stained his fingers and hand. Artyom shoved his fingers back in his mouth without hesitation, curling them to trigger another retch.
Nikita, barely able to stand, dropped down to his knees, his arms supporting his weight. Artyom stood behind him, one hand fisted tight in his dark hair, holding him in place while he essentially fucked his fingers into the boy’s mouth, forcing him to empty his stomach.
Nikita didn’t push him away, or show any sign of resistance other than weakly tugging at Artyom’s sleeve to signal him to remove his hand when the vomit was about to spill out of his mouth. As Artyom kept working his fingers deeper, exploring Nikita‘s convulsing, warm mouth, which he allowed himself to, hoping Nikita would not recognise his intimate touches due to his drunken state, the strong grip on his hair shifted to a rather caressing motion. Nikita‘s hair wasn’t particularly soft, it wasn’t clean either, Artyom could feel the grease collecting on his palm. He lost count of how many times Nikita threw up. The wet, guttural sounds, retching & choking distraught him.
When he finally decided he tortured his friend enough, Artyom yanked his head back by the hair, forcing him to look up. Nikita‘s eyes were glassy & unfocused, tears staining his flushed cheeks. Chunks of vomit clung to the corners of his mouth and dripped from his chin.
"God Kitja, you‘re such a mess.", Artyom muttered, using the back of his hand to wipe the the vomit off his lips before smearing it on Nikita‘s shirt.
"Open your mouth"
As Nikita obeyed without hesitation, Artyom took the opportunity to collect saliva in his mouth while gripping his jaw. He wasn’t sure what made him do this or what made him want to do this, but he knew he‘d blame it on the alcohol later despite being sober enough to be aware of his actions. Artyom spit directly on Nikita‘s tongue and watched him swallow it.
"So fucking obedient.", he let his hand slowly glide to his neck, softly squeezing it as Nikita watched him with those big puppy eyes he hated so much.
"Tyoma…", Nikita slurred.
Artyom sat down on the ground beside him, watching Nikita turn to him unsteadily. Nikita‘s gaze lazily shifted down to his crotch. "Why didn’t you tell me you were a fag earlier."
If he was fully sober, he would have lashed out, probably hit Nikita like he did a couple of times. But it was when looking down on his pants that he realised his dick was fully hard. And with his cock straining hard against his pants as well as the sight of Nikita, desperate and helpless on his knees like that, he wouldn’t even consider changing the situation. Nikita immediately slumped sideways, leaning heavily against Artyom’s shoulder, his face pressed into the crook of Artyom’s neck.
Artyom laughed mockingly instead. "If I was a fag, would you have sucked my dick if I told you to?"
Nikita blinked slowly, processing what just had been said to him by his best friend and mumbling something incoherent into the side of his neck.
"Use your words, Kitja.", Artyom threaded his fingers through Nikita’s hair.
“…yeah,” Nikita breathed, “I would, probably.”
"Would you also have let me fuck you in the ass?"
Nikita didn’t answer that question, he pressed his burning face harder into Artyom‘s neck, his breath tickling his skin.
Artyom just smirked to that, “You would eat your own vomit again if I asked you now, wouldn’t you?”
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Nikita muttered in response.
“You sure about that?” Artyom leaned in closer. “Because right now you look like you’d do anything I fucking told you to.”
Artyom reached over to the small puddle of Nikita’s vomit on the ground beside them. He dipped two fingers into the warm, chunky mess, coating them thoroughly. Then he brought them up to Nikita’s mouth, smearing it across his lips.
“Open.”
Nikita hesitated for half a second, but then his jaw parted. Artyom pushed his fingers inside, feeling the wet heat of his mouth again. “Suck.”
Nikita’s tongue moved sluggishly, licking and sucking the vomit off Artyom’s fingers with wet sounds. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes glassy and half-lidded. A thin string of saliva and bile connected his lips to Artyom’s hand when he finally pulled back.
Artyom watched him intently, his cock throbbing at the sight. “Good boy. See, i told you."