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Ivan is nothing if not persistent. He’s been persistent in pursuing Till until the other had given up on correcting people when they referred to him as his boyfriend, in flirting with Till for years on end and carefully building up the sexual tension between them until Till finally snapped one night, and finally in introducing him to his laundry list of kinks, little by little.
The most recent thing he was persistent about just so happened to be getting Till to choke him.
Personally, he was into it, of course – giving Till power over him, in a blatant, physical sense, was ultimately the sexiest thing he could think of, no matter what form it took. Till wasn’t as easily convinced, fussing about the power exchange and possible health risk and whatnot, but Ivan eventually got him to agree to it under one condition.
Even while he's already on Ivan's lap with his cock inside him, ready for it as can be, Till still doesn't seem fully sold on the idea. “You remember what we agreed on, right?,” he asks, his brows furrowed with what looks like irritation, but Ivan knows him well enough to be aware it’s poorly-masked worry. “If you need a break, you’ll let me know.”
“Of course,” Ivan reassures him with an easy smile. He’s fully aware that him and Till have vastly different ideas of what needing a break means in this context – Till probably means “feeling mildly uncomfortable” whereas Ivan would only ask for a break if he was on the verge of passing out, and even that only because he wants to be able to watch Till, but that’s details, really.
Till eyes him with some level of suspicion, but eventually, he carefully fits his hands around Ivan’s throat, fingertips pressing in just below his jaw, and when he’s not met with any signs of discomfort, he slowly adds pressure, taking a shaky breath of his own when Ivan tilts his head back in silent encouragement. “Gonna move now,” he mutters, following through on it without waiting for a response.
Ivan lets out a soft moan at the sensation, airy from the perfect pressure of Till’s hands around his throat and the wonderful, hot tightness of him around his cock in equal degrees. Ivan wants to touch him, be closer to him until he feels like they’re melting into each other, wants to fit his hands over Till’s and encourage him to squeeze harder—
“Keep your hands down,” Till warns, the slightest breathy edge to his voice, “or I’m getting off right now and leaving you here by yourself.”
It’s not an entirely convincing threat; Till is soft at heart and Ivan excels at making things go his way, so it wouldn’t take much sweet, pitiful begging to make him go back on his word. But Ivan obeys, putting his hands back on the sheets below them and keeping them right there, too tempted by the promise of Till granting him the pain he craves – the kind of pain that only Till can give, because it’s him, and that makes it special.
And it feels so good, being inside Till, being used by him while his hands are wrapped around his throat with just the right pressure to make his head spin. Every now and then, Till’s balance wavers when he lifts his hips, making his grip instinctively tighten a little, and every single time, it adds to the fire in the pit of Ivan’s stomach.
It’s not lost on Till, either. On one of these upstrokes, he exhales half a laugh, incredulous and a little bit grossed out in a way that makes Ivan feel like he might cum on the spot if it keeps up. “You’re seriously turned on by this, huh…?”
Ivan knows he doesn’t need to answer verbally; he’s being blatantly obvious enough as is, in his shivering, breathless inhale and the flutter of his eyelashes, and the way Till can undoubtedly feel his cock kick inside him. “More,” he whispers instead, “Till, please.”
Till’s breath hitches, and even with his vision going in and out of focus, Ivan can tell that the blush on his cheeks only deepens. “The hell you mean, ‘more’?,” he asks, somehow managing to sound angry-flustered like Ivan can’t feel him clench down on him. “I’m literally choking you out as we speak, isn’t that enough for you?”
Ivan laughs, though it comes out closer to a wheeze with the insistent press of Till’s fingers beneath his jaw. “Come on, you haven’t– ah—haven’t even drawn blood yet.”
“Fucking freak,” Till mutters under his breath.
Ivan doesn’t even try to hold back his moan.
Realistically, Till doesn’t even know about half the things that Ivan gets off to, and Ivan intends to keep it that way – because knowing that your tentative-kinda-sorta-boyfriend gets turned on by pain is one thing, knowing that he’s jerked off to the fantasy of you cutting into his flesh until you can stroke the bared layers of muscle and bone is another, and definitely not something that Till would be into. Fantasies are just that, though, and as hot as it is to imagine Till hurting him more than he ever would in real life, Ivan still far prefers the real Till in front of him, who wraps his hands around his throat with mild hesitation and gets embarrassed and calls him a freak about it.
That very real, very present Till leans in right now, initiating a rare kiss that quickly turns messy because Till’s kisses are always a little all over the place and Ivan is too starved of oxygen to focus on getting him in line.
He almost wants to ask what he’s done to deserve this honor, when he feels teeth snag on his bottom lip – hard and unexpected enough that he lets out the most undignified moan of surprise he has all night. It’s a small point of pressure on soft, sensitive skin, easy to break, and Ivan can feel Till’s lips curl into a smug little smirk against his, letting him know that it’s exactly what he was going for.
Ivan shudders at the thought. It would almost be scary how fast Till learns, if it wasn’t so hot.
Till takes his right hand off Ivan’s throat and goes to slip it in between their bodies, and while that, along with the soft, bitten-off moans falling from Till’s lips every time he shifts in his lap, is enough to tell him that it’s a good thing – that Till is getting off on this, too –, Ivan can’t quite stop the disappointed whine that makes its way from his throat at the loss. Till is doing a valiant job of keeping the pressure on his pulse points, even with his non-dominant hand, but it’s still not quite the same like this.
Till, beautiful, sensible Till, notices his little dilemma, making a show of heaving an irritated sigh at it. “Jeez, just—” He hesitates for a moment, like he’s not even sure where he’s going with it himself, before he settles his fingertips at Ivan’s collarbone, blunt nails digging into his skin. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”
Ivan sucks in a breath in eager anticipation, and then Till is dragging his nails down his chest, leaving soft red marks that sting with the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. It’s not quite what Ivan wants – Till could reach into the cavity of his chest and hold his beating heart and Ivan would thank him – but it’s enough to fuel his arousal, enough to have him immediately groan, “Do that again.”
He’s almost surprised with how willing Till is to indulge him, raking his nails over his skin once more, harder this time. It stings so sweetly, making Ivan’s grip on the bedsheets tighten instinctively. Oh, how he hopes the marks will stay, at least for another few hours. He already misses the pain when Till finally reaches down to touch himself.
From there, it doesn’t take long until Till’s movements turn into a desperate, dirty grind, trying to keep the pressure of Ivan’s cock against his sweet spot while he jerks himself off with quick, harsh strokes; his rhythm falls apart almost entirely, his left hand trembling where he still has it wrapped around Ivan’s throat. It’s so hot Ivan thinks he might die – seeing Till so worked up, essentially being used like a toy by him – he just needs something, needs just one little push—
Till whines something that sounds suspiciously like his name, and then, he tips forward and buries his teeth in the crook of Ivan’s neck.
With the groan that rips from his throat, Ivan feels rather than hears Till muffling his own sounds against his skin, feels the first hot drops of Till’s cum spurt against his stomach. His hands fly up to Till’s thighs against his original instructions, holding on for dear life as he thinks, God, yes, fucking ruin me, make me bleed for you, leave me scars so I don’t ever forget you’re mine – I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.
Then, with the mental image of Till’s bloody, bruising bite marks on his skin, Ivan’s peak hits him hard enough that his vision whites out for a moment.
He comes back down from it with Till's hand loosening around his throat while he pulls away from where he bit him. After a long moment of silence, catching their breaths and coming back down to Earth, Till looks at him, and Ivan can feel a shiver run down his spine when he sees the blood smudged against his lips – a small amount, but there nonetheless, and Ivan knows it’s his.
Till seems to have the same realization, perhaps tasting iron, his eyes narrowing as he throws a glance at the base of Ivan's neck. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, “that was definitely too much.”
It’s cute how much he worries beneath that tough exterior of his. Ivan hums, then leans in to lick his blood off Till's lips, pretending to ignore the startled little noise it draws from him but really reveling in it. “I'd say it was just right,” he says brightly.
“You're bleeding.”
“Exactly.”
Till stares at him, his eyebrows furrowed, though the concern in his features is definitely far outweighed by disturbed bewilderment now. “Calling you a freak doesn’t even cut it.”
“Is that your way of inviting me for round two?,” Ivan asks him with a grin.
For a split-second, Till, despite blushing all the way up to his ears, looks like he might complain or possibly try to be a voice of reason. He does neither of those things, though – and he certainly doesn't say no to the suggestion, either.