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“Ohhhh my dear friend!” Nikolai sang gleefully as he appeared, arms flung wide. “I’ve missed you!” He rushed forward in a blur of motion and clasped Fyodor’s hands in his own with exaggerated affection. "My chest wrenched when I knew you were fine!"
The deer-in-headlights look Fyodor wore was not one Dazai had seen before. He imagined his own expression was similar.
“Why I came, you asked?” Nikolai exclaimed.
Fyodor had not asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?!”
Silence. Fyodor stared at him.
“TO KILL YOU RIGHT AWAY,” Nikolai snarled maniacally, eyes bloodlust-bright, teeth sharp with hunger.
Dazai blinked. “Woah.”
Fyodor, on the other hand, had the sense to look sheepish.
“The wish to save my friend is indeed very difficult to falter!” Nikolai spun on his heel with theatrical glee. “That’s why I need to shatter this determination—such to prove the free will of homo sapiens! From now on, you two will be participating in a jailbreak duel,” he declared.
Fyodor and Dazai stared. Then their expressions both went dark and rapt with something monstrously demonic.
“You indeed,” Dazai said, smirk wicked, “have a very good friend.”
Fyodor smiled cruelly. “I know, right?”
…
Dazai turned the needle in his hand, pleased by the turn of events. “So if I inject this, I’ll die in thirty minutes?”
“Yes!” Nikolai chirped, cheerfully throwing his arms up. “You’ll spout blood from every pore too! Writhing in pain!”
“What a work of art,” Fyodor mused, examining his own with a subdued sort of amusement.
“The game is simple,” Nikolai said, gesturing like a ringmaster. “Whoever escapes Meursault first wins! I’ll have you both inject that lethal poison…”
With a dramatic flourish, Nikolai procured a briefcase from his cloak, brandishing its contents with a gleefully murderous look in his eye.
“…and only the first escapee can have the antidote.” He tapped the glass ampoule inside the case with a gloved finger. “This is the only vial of it in the world. So…”
The room was silent.
Then Fyodor's eyes narrowed with a dark, devilish glint. “…In the next thirty minutes… either I…” He paused, grinning toward Dazai. “…or Dazai will die…!”
“Mm…” Nikolai purred. “I do feel bad for Dazai-kun, though. I only really wanted to kill Dostoy. But if I don't do this, he'd never take the poison, you see.”
Dazai merely cocked his head. “Why apologize? This is a golden chance.”
“A gift from heaven,” Fyodor murmured, eyeing the syringe. The gleaming bloodlust in their gazes were sick with desire.
Nikolai beamed, waiting.
Slowly, Dazai rolled back his sleeve. “Then,” he said lightly, “shall we make this interesting?”
Fyodor looked at him. Their eyes held.
Dazai smirked. “We might as well fuck first.”
Nikolai blinked. “What?”
Dazai turned, his expression far too pleased. “What?” he echoed. “Did you think we'd just agree right away?”
There was no bed in the room—just a wide metal control panel bolted to the floor, blank screens lining the wall behind it. The guards were gone. The air was sterile and still. Somewhere, a vent hummed quietly.
“No restraints,” Fyodor said, as if confirming something aloud. “No cameras either.”
Nikolai’s voice cracked. “You’re—seriously?”
Dazai hopped up to sit on the edge of the table, hands behind him for balance. “One of us dies in thirty minutes,” he said. “What better way to spend some time before the countdown?”
“You can’t be serious—”
“But I am.” Fyodor’s tone was flat. “Sit.”
“—What?”
“I said,” Fyodor repeated, glancing toward Nikolai just once, “on your knees. There.” He pointed to the floor, just beside the briefcase.
Nikolai didn’t move.
Fyodor looked away, already moving toward Dazai. “If you want to watch, Kolya… you’ll watch from there.”
Dazai chuckled. “Oh, I like when you talk like that.”
Nikolai’s hands twitched. And yet—
—he dropped to his knees.
Fyodor’s hands were cold when they touched Dazai’s waist. Fingers slid under the hem of the prison-issue shirt, dragging it up slowly—impersonal, methodical. Dazai lifted his arms without being told.
“Gentleman,” he murmured mockingly. The fabric caught briefly at his shoulders before Fyodor tugged it the rest of the way off and dropped it to the floor.
Nikolai hadn’t moved. He knelt exactly where Fyodor had told him to, beside the briefcase. The syringe still glinted inside, cradled by velvet.
“Are you watching?” Dazai asked, voice light.
Nikolai didn’t answer.
He was watching.
Fyodor’s hands smoothed over Dazai’s ribs, up the sharp line of his back, down again with precision that felt closer to examination than affection. Dazai didn’t flinch. His head tipped back, exposing the long slope of his bandaged neck. His breath caught—barely.
“You’re already hard,” Fyodor said flatly.
Dazai’s smile twisted. “It’s been a while.”
“You disgust me, truly.”
“And yet here you are,” Dazai sing-songed, shifting on the console’s edge. “Evidently just as pent-up as me, this close to fucking me anyway.”
Fyodor didn’t respond except to glare and nudge Dazai—not gently—into sliding off the control panel and turning around, a silent command Dazai obeyed smugly. Fyodor pressed him down, slowly, firmly, until Dazai's chest met the metal surface and his cheek pressed to the table. Dazai hummed as if it were a pillow.
Against his thighs, Nikolai’s fingers flexed.
Fyodor’s hand slipped between Dazai’s legs, then, and Dazai jolted, his hips twitching.
“Sensitive,” Fyodor said, still clinical.
“Obviously you don’t care about being locked up without getting off for weeks, O Holy Saint of Purity,” Dazai said, breathless. “Not even a good dream to—ah—fuck.”
Fyodor squeezed.
Nikolai made a sound in his throat—somewhere between a scoff and a growl, eyes gone dark and menacing.
Fyodor didn’t turn around. “Quiet.”
Turning his head enough to flash a grin past his shoulder, Dazai said, “Poor thing. Getting left out.”
“Shut up,” Nikolai snapped.
Dazai clicked his tongue. “Touchy.”
In one practiced motion, Fyodor pulled Dazai’s pants down. They stuck briefly to his skin, then slid down to mid-thigh. Dazai hissed at the sudden exposure, not from modesty but from how cold the air felt on bare, overheated skin. His cock was already half-hard—flushed, twitching against the table.
“God, that’s humiliating,” Dazai laughed softly, then glanced at Nikolai. “For you, I mean. Hope you’re getting a good view, Kolya.”
No response but a further narrowing of the eyes. Nikolai was breathing through his nose now, jaw tight, his whole body locked up like it was physically painful not to move.
Fyodor leaned in, mouth brushing Dazai’s ear. “You’re performing,” he murmured.
“You told him to watch,” Dazai breathed.
“I didn’t tell you to put on a show.”
“You think I’m doing this for him?”
Fyodor didn’t answer. He dragged his hand lower, sliding along the cleft of Dazai’s ass with slow, unhurried precision. “Leaking from this alone,” he said, with quiet disgust.
Dazai moaned—bit down on it too late. Fyodor’s fingers pressed harder. From the floor, Nikolai let out a breath that was more like a whimper.
“You want to touch yourself?” Fyodor asked suddenly—not to Dazai.
Nikolai froze.
“You can answer, Kolya.”
Nikolai didn’t look up. “Yes,” he said through his teeth.
“No,” Fyodor denied, and returned his hand to Dazai’s cock.
Dazai choked on a laugh. “Ah, that’s mean.”
“You get off on it.”
“Obviously.”
He was trembling slightly now. Not from fear—never from fear—but from how wound-up he already was. Fyodor hadn’t even done anything real yet, and Dazai was panting like he was already close.
The humiliation was part of it. So was the attention. So was the denial.
Fyodor curled his fingers around him, finally, and Dazai couldn't help the jerk of his hips. Still kneeling, Nikolai bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
Fyodor’s fingers slicked with spit. That was all Dazai got. He flinched when the first finger pushed in—sharp and unforgiving.
“Fuck,” he hissed, forehead pressed to the metal console. His thighs twitched where they were spread awkwardly around the edge. “Could at least pretend to be gentle.”
“You’re not here to be coddled,” Fyodor said. The second finger slid in beside the first. Dazai bit down on a sound that still escaped as a breathy gasp.
Behind them, Nikolai stared. Eyes wide, unblinking, mouth parted slightly like he might laugh or cry or scream. He did none of those things. He simply watched, knuckles white against his knees.
Dazai made a soft, high noise in the back of his throat as Fyodor’s fingers scissored.
“So tight,” he observed, with quiet derision.
“You say that like it’s my fault,” Dazai panted. “We’ve been locked up for so long it's tedious and your—”
Fyodor crooked his fingers just right. Dazai jerked forward, nearly losing his balance. At the sight, Nikolai’s breath hitched audibly, and he nearly growled.
Fyodor slid his fingers from Dazai without ceremony, punching a sharp inhale of breath from his lungs. “That’s enough.”
“Already?” Dazai rasped, dazed. “You’re so—” He cut off when Fyodor grabbed his hip and aligned himself.
There was no pause. Slow but unrelenting, Fyodor pushed in, letting Dazai feel the full stretch and weight of it. Dazai stiffened, breath shuddering, a low moan dragging out of his throat as he was filled.
“F-fuck—”
He shook against the control panel, shoulders taut, legs trembling where they braced awkwardly around the metal edge. The stretch was sharp, burning, not enough prep for comfort but just enough not to tear.
Nikolai made a sound—too soft to be a protest, too desperate to be nothing, but Fyodor didn’t speak or even glance at him. He held Dazai in place with one hand and pushed in to the hilt, slow and firm, until there was nowhere left to go, until Dazai whimpered.
“Look at him, Kolya,” Fyodor said, the nickname curling around his tongue like a cruel taunt.
Hair clinging to his temple, Dazai turned his head sluggishly. His eyes met Nikolai’s across the room. “Oh,” he breathed, voice syrupy with pain and pleasure. “Still there?”
Nikolai’s nails dug into his thighs. He tried to hate them both, but the hatred folded in on itself until it felt more like possession being shattered, like his own desire and loyalty to Fyodor being mauled until it meant nothing to anyone but himself. He wanted to be the one getting ruined by Fyodor, the one being punished with touch, anything that would make Fyodor see him again. Anything that would make Fyodor his, the way he was supposed to be—
“Poor thing,” Dazai cooed. “You look like you’re about to cry.”
“Don’t speak to him,” Fyodor said.
Dazai’s grin widened. “That for me, or for him?”
Fyodor pulled back and thrust in hard enough to knock the air out of him. Dazai whined at the blunt sting, wrecked and choked off. A sharp, keening sound that echoed in the sterile room—Nikolai flinched like he’d been struck.
“Sit still,” Fyodor commanded, low.
So there was no choice in the matter—Nikolai didn’t move. He couldn’t. His jaw was locked tight, his body rigid. Eyes aflame with bloodlust threatening to spill like magma, yet unable to by virtue of his insurmountable loyalty and submission to Fyodor. His cock strained visibly against the front of his pants, untouched.
Fyodor thrust again. And again.
Face pressed to the cold table, Dazai took it, gasping, fingers white-knuckled on the edge. His cock dragged against the metal with every movement, already leaking with the twist of subdued pleasure and searing burn.
“Ah—you—goddamnit—” he choked.
The pace turned brutal quickly. Fyodor thrust with no rhythm, no warning—deep, fast, and relentless. Dazai gasped, then snarled, then moaned into the table, his cock twitching against cold metal with every jolt.
“F-Fuck—slow down—”
“You said you wanted this,” Fyodor replied, tone infuriatingly calm.
“I said fuck, not—fuck me raw,” Dazai hissed. His nails scraped the table. “Fucking sadist—”
Nikolai couldn’t breathe. Every sound Dazai made ricocheted through his ribs. He told himself it was disgust, but the pulse hammering between his legs said otherwise. Fyodor’s shoulders flexed with every movement—still so calm, so composed—and all Nikolai could think about was how that composure was supposed to belong to him.
Fyodor adjusted his grip and rammed in harder. Dazai choked on a sound that wasn’t quite a moan.
“Stop—fuck, stop treating me like a thing—”
“You are a thing,” Fyodor murmured. “That makes you mine to use.”
Dazai whined in protest, but he didn’t move. He was panting now, flushed red from neck to ears, sweat starting to drip down his spine. He clenched helplessly around every thrust, and Fyodor only fucked him deeper.
Nikolai couldn’t take it. He stood, hesitant, knees trembling and hands hovering at his sides, twitching like he might reach for Fyodor. Or Dazai. Or some weapon in his cloak that wasn’t yet there.
“No,” Fyodor said, without looking, and Nikolai froze as though he had no grasp over his own autonomy.
Fyodor’s voice was soft, unhurried. “Back on your knees, Kolya.”
Nikolai wavered.
“Now.”
And that was it. He dropped. Hit the floor with a quiet thump, shaking all over, teeth bared despite the obedience.
He looked wrecked. Pale. Sweat beading at his brow. His cock strained visibly against the front of his pants, leaking into the fabric. Even so, he had not touched himself.
Barely able to focus, Dazai lifted his head. “Poor obsessive little—freak,” he gasped. “You’re not even—ngh—part of this.”
Nikolai's nails cut crescents into his palms. He imagined taking Fyodor’s place, imagined Dazai’s face cracking under his hand, though not with lust but with unrestrained violence—just to make Fyodor look at him again. The thought made his stomach twist with shame and arousal at once.
“I'll kill you for this,” he threatened, voice trembling with how intensely he wanted to lunge forward and tear Fyodor from that vile creature, to shred Dazai's smug expression into bloody tatters.
“You'd kill both of us,” Dazai replied, voice strained but dripping with venom and delight. “But your dear friend is busy fucking me.”
As though he'd been slapped, Nikolai flinched, automatically shifting to pull something from his cloak—
“Enough,” Fyodor snapped. "Behave."
Nikolai had forgotten how to blink. Every breath Fyodor took seemed to decide whether he lived or died. When Fyodor spoke, it was like gravity—Nikolai’s body answered before his mind did.
Fyodor didn’t stop fucking Dazai. Dazai shook as Fyodor slammed into him again—back arching, fingers spasming, legs trying to hold position on the console as his thighs started to give out.
“Ah, fuck—” Dazai hissed. “Stop being—so—goddamn cruel— We're supposed to be—”
“We are not anything,” Fyodor corrected calmly, unaffected by Dazai's pain or protests. “Your idea was amusing, and I obliged because it suited me, but neither you nor my pet have a say in this.”
The next sound Dazai made was more animal than human. Fitting.
“And yet… you want to come, don’t you,” Fyodor said, voice like frost. “Truly a wretched creature, you are. Worse than me, mm?”
Dazai groaned something unintelligible.
“Use your words.”
“I'll kill you too—fuck—”
“Beg.”
Dazai gritted his teeth. His pride warred with his body, and his body was losing. The pain was immense, the raw friction of Fyodor's cock dragging against his walls nearly unbearable even as the burn twisted with pleasure and the heat built low in his gut. It was almost worse for it.
“I’m not going to beg while you—” Dazai groaned, head falling to the table as he shook, hips jerking to try and get away, get closer, he didn't know. “—while you fucking molest me—”
“You asked for this,” Fyodor replied, bored, as though he were not also balls-deep in Dazai, chasing his own pleasure. He didn’t slow. He didn’t touch Dazai’s cock. He just kept pounding into him like it was inevitable. And—well, it was.
“Slow the hell down,” Dazai gasped, angry but too pathetic to be intimidating. “Just—let me come—fuck—please—”
“You’ll come when I say,” Fyodor said. “Not before. Not from pleasure.”
From the floor, Nikolai whimpered. He reached toward his own crotch, fingers shaking, but Fyodor didn’t even need to look.
“Don’t,” he said.
—Nikolai’s hand stopped midair. It was worse than a slap. The kind of absence that said he wasn’t worth commanding anymore, even if he was still owned. His hand hung there mid‑air, trembling, until he dragged it back down like a dog told to drop stolen food. Clenched it into a fist and nearly slammed it against the floor. Or his own head.
Dazai moaned again—high, near-broken. He was close. Too close. It was obvious in the way his hips bucked helplessly, the pitch of his voice, the desperate twitch of his cock dragging against the console, even as he writhed from the pain.
“God, Fedya—you fucking—”
“Not yet.”
The name sparked something hot and murderous in Nikolai, and he could barely temper the vicious shaking from deep within him, could barely quell the bloodlust, could barely control the sharp baring of his teeth, even as he did nothing but allow himself to be forced to sit there and watch.
Fyodor’s thrusts didn’t slow.
Dazai shook beneath him, hair plastered to his forehead, voice hoarse from gasping. “You’re—fuck, you’re such an asshole—” He braced himself against the control panel with one trembling arm, the other trapped beneath his chest. “I said I was close like—five minutes ago—are you even listening to me anymore? This fucking—hurts—”
Fyodor didn’t respond. He kept moving, deep and brutal and steady. The sound of it echoed in the barren chamber—wet and obscene, Dazai’s panting and swearing punctuating each thrust.
Finally, Nikolai snapped. He lurched to his feet with a guttural growl and tore the cloak from his shoulders—his hand dove into the inner lining and came out with a gun.
Dazai’s head jerked up. “Oh fuck—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Nikolai pointed the barrel at Fyodor, whole body shaking. “Look at me.”
Fyodor did. Just a glance.
Nikolai’s hands spasmed. Against his own volition, the gun slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clang. He stood there for a second, breathing like an animal—wild, raw, feral.
Then he screamed.
It wasn’t words. It was rage—hoarse and ugly, spit flying from his mouth, hands clawing at his own hair like he could pull the feelings out of his skull by force. “You don’t even care!” he shouted. “You don’t even fucking see me—!” He kicked the gun across the room. It hit the wall and spun out, useless. “You're mine, I obeyed you—! You touch him like he matters—!”
Dazai wheezed out a laugh, dazed and breathless, as though he wasn't being used half-against his will now too. “You sound jealous—”
“SHUT UP!” His voice cracked in half. Nikolai staggered back, clutching at his own chest like it hurt. His cock was still hard. Still leaking. He looked like he might cry or kill or collapse, and none of it would fix what was breaking inside him.
Unmoved by the display, Fyodor didn’t speak. Didn’t even slow. Dazai moaned as Fyodor slammed into him again, eyes fluttering, lip bitten bloody.
“Y—you’re a fucking demon—” Dazai whined.
Fyodor’s fingers dug into his hips, bruising.
“Can I—fuck—can I come now—”
The denial came quiet, apathetic, all the more cruel for its detachment. “Not yet.”
Nikolai dropped to his knees again like he’d been shot.
Fyodor looked at him again. “You’re loud,” he said, with that awful, deliberate softness Nikolai remembered from before Meursalt—when Fyodor would say do not move and he stopped breathing.
“You were told to sit,” Fyodor continued, fucking Dazai deep and slow now, cruelly unhurried. “You were told not to touch yourself. You pulled a weapon. You disobeyed every order I gave you.”
Nikolai was panting. Shaking. “I—just—you weren’t looking at me, Dostoy, you weren’t saying anything—”
“I didn’t need to,” Fyodor said. "I do not belong to you. You belong to me." He pushed in deep again, nailing his prostate, hard enough that Dazai cried out, whole body spasming.
“F-Fuck—fuck—Fyodor—!” His voice cracked into a wail. His cock spilled hot against the control panel as he came untouched, clenching around Fyodor’s cock like his body was begging him not to stop, even if by now he was over the whole thing.
Fyodor, of course, did not.
“Wait—wait—can you just—fuck—fucking demon—”
Fyodor fucked him through it—deeper, harder, like Dazai’s orgasm hadn’t counted until he said it did. Tears forced their way from Dazai's eyes, and he whimpered something incoherent into the metal.
“You already made him come!” Nikolai shrieked. He sounded more than insulted. “You let him—what about me?! What the about me—!”
Gaze slow, precise, venomous, Fyodor glanced at him again. “But you’re misbehaving so much, Kolya,” he said, almost cooing. “And you know what happens to bad dogs.”
Nikolai made a strangled, inhuman sound. Then dropped his hands to his sides. Sat straight, shaking violently with the effort. Kept his mouth shut.
Obedient.
But his entire body was twitching—every breath shallow, every muscle tensed like he’d burst through his own skin if he were given half a second of permission. He was hard and leaking and furious and humiliated, eyes wet, bared teeth trembling and manic with forced stillness.
Dazai whimpered as Fyodor slammed in again. His hips jerked helplessly—overstimulated now, nerves sparking raw with every movement.
“Stop—fuck—stop—I already came—”
“And I've yet to,” Fyodor said simply.
It could have been a laugh or a sob that Dazai choked on; it didn't particularly matter. Fyodor gripped his hips tight, thrust once—twice—buried himself to the base, and finally shuddered. He came deep inside Dazai, exhaling slowly through his nose, eyes shut like he was listening to music.
For a moment, the room was still—just the sound of breathing, heavy and uneven, Dazai's breaths ragged as he twitched against the table, limp. Nikolai trembled on the floor.
Then Fyodor let go. Pulled out with neither ceremony nor caution. Wiped his hand down the side of the console like none of it meant anything. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look at either of them.
Dazai slumped against the control panel, slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in uneven shudders. His arms gave out the moment Fyodor pulled away, and he lay there panting, legs shaking, still dripping from where Fyodor had left him. A thin smear of blood and cum dripped down the inside of his thighs, more blood coating his lips from where he had bitten so hard he'd torn skin.
“You’re such a fucking prick,” he muttered, voice cracked and hoarse.
Fyodor said nothing, so Dazai turned his head just enough to glare at Nikolai through his hair.
“And you’re pathetic,” he added. “Didn’t even get a hand on your dick and you’re the one crying.”
Nikolai didn’t move. He was still kneeling. Pale. Soaked in sweat. Eyes glassy. He looked like a circus corpse—something taxidermied in a display of mania. His cock was still hard. The front of his pants were damp. He hadn’t even been touched.
Not once.
He twitched. Just barely.
Dazai snorted and looked away. “Fucking waste of time,” he mumbled. He picked up his discarded shirt and began pulling it on.
Meanwhile, Fyodor's breathing had already slowed. His hands were steady, as they always were, and he didn’t speak until he’d tucked himself away. Then he glanced at the briefcase on the floor—the two syringes waiting like loaded dice.
“Well,” he said, voice light. “Shall we begin?”