Chapter 2
His brows furrowed in concentration, attacking this task with as much vehemence as he would any other.
His jaw dropped and his eyes fluttered shut as they rutted against each other, gripping each other's thighs, blunt nails digging into each other's skin.
Nikolai loved when they did this, loved seeing the pre-come soak through Tristan's briefs and grey sweatpants because he just couldn't help himself from getting so wet.
He loved how dirty it felt.
So base, so animalistic, just messy, thrusting hips and hands twining through tangled hair.
Gripping, clawing, gasping, moaning.
Their grunts echoed off of the windows and back to their ears, the pornographic noises spurring them on further.
The air around them was musky, smelling of sex and want.
"Such a whore for me," Nikolai murmured into Tristan's temple.
The movement of his hips grew sloppier as he neared his release, but he needed Tristan to come first, needed to watch him fall to pieces beneath him.
"Can't even take your clothes off before you fuck me.
You want it too much."
Tristan shook above him, huffing out harsh breaths and obscene swears.
He nodded vigorously, whimpering and moaning and pulling the sensitive hairs at the nape of Nikolai's neck.
He was always so pushy, so nagging.
Up until the moment Nikolai took him apart, unwound him until he reached the very center of him just like this.
Niko was going a little fucking insane.
"Want it dirty and fast, yes?
Want to make a mess of yourself to remember me by?"
"Yes,
, oh, I—" Tristan stilled, tucking his head into Nikolai's throat and groaning as he pulsed into his briefs.
His hips gave short, erratic thrusts, and pulled Nikolai's hair so hard his scalp burned.
The pain shot Nikolai right over the edge, and he came with an embarrassing noise that he hoped Tristan was too delirious to hear.
The euphoria was a tangible, physical sensation, buzzing like bees beneath his skin, numbing his hands and his face, melting every single bone in his body into a dense sludge.
He slumped, sated, into Tristan.
The wet spots on their clothes rubbed uncomfortably together, and he hissed at the overstimulating bite of rough cotton against his softening cock.
They laid like that an age.
Nikolai hoped they could stay here forever.
"Come on," Tristan said suddenly, shoving Nikolai off of him and standing on wobbly legs.
Nikolai's hand shot out and grabbed at his waist so he wouldn't fall over right into their glass coffee table.
He blinked the fog out of his eyes as he stared curiously up at his husband.
"Where are we going?"
"You are going to put every spice in the pantry back where it fucking belongs." Tristan grabbed at him with demanding, insistent hands.
"Come on.
Stand up."
And, so what if his husband withheld dinner from him until he put the spices back in their natural order while he supervised?
This, Nikolai believed, had been worth it.
Tristan's insistent voice carried throughout their household suddenly one Wednesday evening.
"Nikolai,
get
in here."
Nikolai paused his game on the television and tossed his controller to the side.
He tried not to run down the hall towards their bedroom in his excitement, choosing instead to utilize an eager stride.
"What is wrong,
kotik
Tristan stood by the bed, lips thinned in displeasure.
He gestured towards the mattress and raised his brows.
Nikolai feigned confusion.
"I do not know what you mean by this."
"The bed, Nikolai."
"This is where we sleep, yes.
Good job, Blake.
No brain damage from hockey yet.
This is good sign." Nikolai's lips twitched as he fought off a smile.
He felt himself going hazy as all the pieces of his plan were set into motion exactly how he'd anticipated.
"Fuck
off
." Tristan huffed and yanked the duvet back, revealing the sheets beneath.
"You didn't put the sheet on when you made the bed."
"The sheet is on the bed." Nikolai gestured to the fitted sheet, pretending he did not know the anatomy of a set of bedsheets.
Excitement pulsed through him, hot and slow and anticipatory.
"Ah.
Maybe this is bad sign, then.
Do you need better glasses, maybe?"
flat
sheet, Volkov." Tristan glared at him, his big brown eyes judgemental and patronizing.
"You forgot the flat sheet."
Nikolai rolled his eyes.
"Is fine.
Is no big deal.
Can I play my game now?" He jerked a thumb back towards the living room, hoping Tristan didn't call his bluff.
He wasn't leaving this room unless it was in a body bag.
His hands already itched to press down into the skin between Tristan's shoulder blades, to shove him into the mattress and make him forget the difference between a flat sheet and a fitted sheet altogether.
Tristan crossed his arms, petulant.
With his nose turned up in the air so condescendingly, there was really no other way to describe him but as a brat.
Or a diva.
Or a princess.
"The bed has to have a top sheet or else the duvet will get dirty."
"The duvet will get dirty anyway," Nikolai pointed out casually.
"My wife just gets
so
wet when I fuck her.
Makes a mess every time."
"I do
Nikolai inched closer to his husband.
He felt a little like an apex predator cornering its prey.
"You do.
You know this.
I bet you are wet right now, yes?"
Tristan's jaw worked.
"Am not."
Nikos snaked an arm around Tristan's waist, exhaling a satisfied breath when Tristan let him.
"What will you bet on this?"
Tristan had drifted forward as if by magnetic force, eyes fluttered shut and lips parted.
He kept his eyes closed, but his brows scrunched in confusion.
"If you are wet for me right now, what do I win?"
"I'm not—I'm not betting with you."
Pozhalysta
How can I be good husband if I do not know what makes my wife wet?"
"You can be a good husband by putting the flat sheet on the fucking bed, Nikolai." His words were harsh, but his desperate grip on Nikolai's waist, pulling him in close, gave him away.
"Tristan." Nikolai threaded a sternness through the short command, authoritarian because he knew how eager Tristan was to please.
Tristan's exhale was shaky, stuttered and hesitant.
"If I'm wet, then I'll suck you off."
Nikolai tilted his head.
"And if you aren't?"
Tristan swallowed, panting out heavy breaths against Nikolai's cheeks.
He thought long and hard for an apt punishment.
"You, um...
you have to...
fold the laundry for a week."
This was so familiar, so cozy, so boring, so...
domestic
Nikolai swallowed the moan that tried crawling its way up his throat.
His eyes trailed slowly down Tristan's body, pausing at the clear bulge in his shorts.
"Take off your pants and get on your stomach."
Tristan rid himself of his clothes swiftly and moved on quick feet, climbing onto the bed.
He rested on his stomach, his cheek pressed against one of the pillows at the headboard.
His legs were spread wide, begging Nikolai to climb between them.
Nikolai did just that, knees digging into the mattress as he grabbed handfuls of Tristan's plump ass in his palms and spread him wide.
Tristan choked, curling his hand into the sheets and burying his face into the pillow.
Please
"Please, what?" Nikolai taunted.
"Want your mouth."
"Let me see first." Nikolai momentarNiko abandoned his backside and grabbed at his waist.
"Lift your hips."
Tristan whined, but obeyed anyway.
He rolled over slightly so Nikolai had a better view of his hard, leaking cock.
His pre-come was smeared on the duvet already, soaking into the cotton and darkening it from grey to a deep charcoal.
"What did I say?" Nikolai asked, sinking his teeth into the meat of Tristan's thigh.
"Always so wet for me.
Already making a mess."
"Shut up," Tristan hissed, falling back on his stomach to hide his shame.
He was so greedy, already rutting into the mattress beneath him.
Nikolai sucked his teeth, disapproving.
"Is no way to beg, is it?"
"I love you.
I need you.
, Nikolai." He was babbling now, speaking whatever words came to mind without consideration or pause.
They were beautiful all the same, Nikolai's favorite words in the English language in his favorite awkward, stuttered, devoted voice.
"I love you so much,
zaychik
," Nikolai whispered.
You will never know how much.
This is impossible
He spread Tristan once more and leaned in, lapping at his hole with a fervid enthusiasm.
He stiffened his tongue, prodding gently before flatting it against his puckered entrance, easing him open.