Ivan Kosin
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
18
Views:
14,756
Reviews:
84
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
18
Views:
14,756
Reviews:
84
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
After
Ivan was sleeping and so missed the exact moment when Malcolm and the men arrived. This was no matter; he was woken presently by a loud sound and sat up in time to see Malcolm, nude, entering their bedroom still wet from the shower, toweling his dark hair.
"Mal?"
Ivan felt pressed to inquire, because part of him suspected that he might still be seeing things; his own thoughts were not to be trusted. The apparition smiled.
"Ivan."
The carrier blinked a few times; his head felt surprisingly clear, but his vision seemed to be blurred by something. Out of habit, he raised a hand to his eyes and wiped them clear. Malcolm moved forward, and Ivan knew immediately that what Miller had said in the kitchen was accurate. He was not the same; his movements were odd, almost lyrical, as if he carried a new weight or a new balance within him. There was a smattering of bruises along his torso and upper thighs, a healing mark here and there on his knees and shins, and an angry purple bruise on his left temple.
Ivan wanted to say everything, to make a full confession before this vision - this ghost - before he disappeared forever and Ivan was lost to the void. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words dried in his throat and blew away. Malcolm came closer, and Ivan was gripped with an irrational fear; that if he came too close, he would touch Ivan an this beautiful dream would be lost - the vision would break and scatter on the wind. Malcolm sat down on the edge of the bed and even at a distance, Ivan could feel the heat from him.
"I've missed you, Ivan." was all he said, then he reached out and caught the shivering carrier's wrist in one hand. Ivan froze, and blinked twice (discreetly, so as not to broadcast his fear), and waited…but nothing happened. Malcolm was real, the heat of his skin was real, the water dripping onto the white coverlet from his still-wet hair was real, the towel, stained and with a small hole in the corner from where it had caught in the doorjamb once, was real. Everything was real.
Malcolm pulled the towel from his neck, dropped it on the floor. Then he began to move again, with that sinuous, novel way of his, bringing Ivan closer even as he leveraged himself into a better position on their bed. He drew the carrier in for a kiss; Ivan did not resist, out of respect and out of fear of this new thing that was in Malcolm. Their embrace was hungry, and bold, and Ivan tasted mint in Malcolm's mouth, and also something that had a dark, smoky hue and seemed vaguely medicinal. Then Malcolm pushed him, so that he fell onto his back on the ragged pile of sheets all mussed from where he had been fitfully sleeping. Ivan tried to get back up, but Malcolm had shifted between his legs, throwing his balance. Then Mal caught his hips and turned them upwards; like a shot, he was inside of Ivan.
Ivan hadn't even known he was ready, but in the moment of entrance, there was no struggle or even friction - just a smooth slide into the place where he had wanted to be, longed to be, these past lonely weeks. Malcolm did not come down towards him; instead, he kept his hands on Ivan's hips as he thrust himself forward, slipping backwards and leaning just slightly on his haunches before launching fully again into the carrier's exposed cunt. He burst abruptly and without warning to Ivan, his fingers on Ivan's pelvis tightening so fiercely that there might be bruises.
Ivan gave no resistance throughout this enterprise. There was nothing to say that could convey his feelings, and to try would have thrown the whole thing off and then Malcolm might have gotten angry and left again and Ivan couldn't have that. He couldn't have that. And so he spread his legs and did not ask questions about where Malcolm had been and what he had seen and why he moved now as if something had uncoiled itself from the base of his spine. Instead, he panted and groaned, and when Malcolm finished inside of him, spurting bursts of hot cum between his walls, he was thankful.
~:~
What they had between them was sacred. Malcolm knew that now. They were tied up in it together, two serpents with tangled tails, bound together by the irreversibility of their bond.
Malcolm slept, and he dreamed again of the meadow.
Ivan slept, and he dreamed of nothing.
~:~
"Mal?"
Ivan felt pressed to inquire, because part of him suspected that he might still be seeing things; his own thoughts were not to be trusted. The apparition smiled.
"Ivan."
The carrier blinked a few times; his head felt surprisingly clear, but his vision seemed to be blurred by something. Out of habit, he raised a hand to his eyes and wiped them clear. Malcolm moved forward, and Ivan knew immediately that what Miller had said in the kitchen was accurate. He was not the same; his movements were odd, almost lyrical, as if he carried a new weight or a new balance within him. There was a smattering of bruises along his torso and upper thighs, a healing mark here and there on his knees and shins, and an angry purple bruise on his left temple.
Ivan wanted to say everything, to make a full confession before this vision - this ghost - before he disappeared forever and Ivan was lost to the void. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words dried in his throat and blew away. Malcolm came closer, and Ivan was gripped with an irrational fear; that if he came too close, he would touch Ivan an this beautiful dream would be lost - the vision would break and scatter on the wind. Malcolm sat down on the edge of the bed and even at a distance, Ivan could feel the heat from him.
"I've missed you, Ivan." was all he said, then he reached out and caught the shivering carrier's wrist in one hand. Ivan froze, and blinked twice (discreetly, so as not to broadcast his fear), and waited…but nothing happened. Malcolm was real, the heat of his skin was real, the water dripping onto the white coverlet from his still-wet hair was real, the towel, stained and with a small hole in the corner from where it had caught in the doorjamb once, was real. Everything was real.
Malcolm pulled the towel from his neck, dropped it on the floor. Then he began to move again, with that sinuous, novel way of his, bringing Ivan closer even as he leveraged himself into a better position on their bed. He drew the carrier in for a kiss; Ivan did not resist, out of respect and out of fear of this new thing that was in Malcolm. Their embrace was hungry, and bold, and Ivan tasted mint in Malcolm's mouth, and also something that had a dark, smoky hue and seemed vaguely medicinal. Then Malcolm pushed him, so that he fell onto his back on the ragged pile of sheets all mussed from where he had been fitfully sleeping. Ivan tried to get back up, but Malcolm had shifted between his legs, throwing his balance. Then Mal caught his hips and turned them upwards; like a shot, he was inside of Ivan.
Ivan hadn't even known he was ready, but in the moment of entrance, there was no struggle or even friction - just a smooth slide into the place where he had wanted to be, longed to be, these past lonely weeks. Malcolm did not come down towards him; instead, he kept his hands on Ivan's hips as he thrust himself forward, slipping backwards and leaning just slightly on his haunches before launching fully again into the carrier's exposed cunt. He burst abruptly and without warning to Ivan, his fingers on Ivan's pelvis tightening so fiercely that there might be bruises.
Ivan gave no resistance throughout this enterprise. There was nothing to say that could convey his feelings, and to try would have thrown the whole thing off and then Malcolm might have gotten angry and left again and Ivan couldn't have that. He couldn't have that. And so he spread his legs and did not ask questions about where Malcolm had been and what he had seen and why he moved now as if something had uncoiled itself from the base of his spine. Instead, he panted and groaned, and when Malcolm finished inside of him, spurting bursts of hot cum between his walls, he was thankful.
~:~
What they had between them was sacred. Malcolm knew that now. They were tied up in it together, two serpents with tangled tails, bound together by the irreversibility of their bond.
Malcolm slept, and he dreamed again of the meadow.
Ivan slept, and he dreamed of nothing.
~:~