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day0walkersdrafts · 7 months

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kinktober day three - hate

Yasiel hates Johann.

It’s not an exaggeration. He’s easy to hate. Affluent, smug, attractive. He walks the long hallways of Johann’s manor and feels that hate twist inside him, like an ugly tree root nestling in. They meet because Johann goes to the same snide cafe as him—Yasiel doesn’t realize until later that Johann only went because he owned the cafe. Or at least his name did; the assets were wrapped up in something somewhere, a nasty accountant typing up tax write offs somewhere for the rich fuck.

He buys Yasiel a coffee one day. It’s not kindness, but rather, look how little this costs to me. A tossed credit card that is sleek and black on the counter to a barista that can only stare at it with dull, flat eyes. Johann leans against the counter, back to her and front to Yasiel. He smiles, this curling, confident thing. Disgusting. Gross.

Filthy.

That’s sort of what it feels like, being with Johann. Nasty. Yasiel likes to pretend he isn’t into it. That he just hates Johann—and he does. Yasiel doesn’t even pretend not to and he thinks Johann is just as into that as Yasiel is into feeling like he’s doing something wrong.

—

“Stop being a dick—hah.” Yasiel’s hands slide across Johann’s sweat slicked chest, fingernails digging harshly into skin that is unsettlingly pale. He huffs out a shivery breath, one of those fists curling around the other man’s bicep for purchase to give himself leverage—thrust his hips forward and back, grind for pleasure. “I’m trying to get off.”

“I can see that.” Johann’s voice is equally breathy, rough and hoarse but also mean. Smarmy fuck. Yasiel’s two toned eyes flick up to catch that shit eating bastard grin he always has.

“Fuck off.”

“You first?”

Yasiel’s hand slides from Johann’s bicep to his throat, wrapping harder, squeezing. It makes Johann’s hips jump up, enough to make Yasiel fall forward. The weight of himself, bearing down on that hand causes Johann to make a deliciously submissive, whimpering sound. It feels like a suiting punishment considering Johann’s locked hands on Yasiel’s hips were just keeping him from all the length he wanted. Teasing and mean, the way Johann is until—

He squeezes again, watches pale eyes swim up. Yasiel’s thumb brushes, almost affectionately, against the adams apple between his palms. He watches, in savage satisfaction as Johann’s mouth slackens, his eyes squeeze shut, his breath catches. At this angle, he’s handsome. Carved features looking submissive and pretty. Yasiel uses the lapse in his focus to grind himself back, sink further. Deeper. The feeling of Johann, throbbing hard inside him makes his own eyes flutter.

This push and pull is something Johann always seems to demand anytime they come together like this. Like he wont fuck someone if they’re not actively trying to make it into a fight; and Johann likes losing the fight, but it has to be lost well. Yasiel isn’t usually into that. And yet—with Johann, playing some mind game to get what he wants (fucked, filled, stretched, an orgasm that makes his ears ring and his thoughts blur) is fun.

He wishes it wasn’t but…no denying.

Johann’s hands palm across his thighs, up over his sides. They draw down, squeeze appreciatively at his hips again, jerking him forward. Yasiel doesn’t like knowing Johann is stronger than him, but in that moment, it’s good. To be handled a little bit, to be forced forward and back in a familiar fucking motion. Yasiel’s sweaty hair dangles around his face. He moans, head dropping forward until it’s touching Johann’s chest. His hands give another harsh squeeze and Johann responds in desperate kind.

Yasiel’s mouth moves to Johann’s—and they don’t kiss. Not…really. Their lips are close, Yasiel’s brown and hazel eyes staring into Johann’s dark, black abyss of a gaze. They don’t kiss. Their tongues touch, move together, spit slick. They don’t kiss, but Yasiel leans down and closes his eyes and lets Johann’s mouth touch his—it’s not a kiss. He listens to Johann’s desperate sound as his hands give one more, final, cruel tightening grip.

“Touch me,” Yasiel says in a nasty, angry tone, teeth snapping down on Johann’s lip. Make me cum, that’s the part that matters. Just make me cum.

The bite makes Johann’s body jump—the nip of pain always gets him. Yasiel’s learned that early on, the first time, when the absence of it seemed to make Johann petulant. I like it when it hurts. There’s more than a few bites across his pale body, all in the shape of Yasiel’s teeth.

Johann’s hand closes around Yasiel’s cock, giving it a soft and then encouraging tug. Faster and then faster as Yasiel’s hips move in that tandem rhythm. His body bows, arched over Johann as he keeps hold on his throat for leverage. He feels Johann thrusting up, hard, rough bucks of his hips that aren’t graceful, but get the job done. Make Yasiel feel fucking good. Electric tingles over his body with every hammering thrust.

Both of them get loud at that, not words, but obscene moaning until either of them hit that point. An edge that they work each other over; Johann’s fist pumping as release pours over it, drips onto his stomach. And Yasiel’s strong, painters hands holding his throat roughly.

Yasiel slumps, hands braced on the mattress. He trembles with the soft aftershocks, calves tightening. He pants hard, strings of his dark black hair sticking to his face. He looks down at Johann, who smiles at him in that way he smiles. You like me, Yasiel, look at you, getting off on my cock, you’re so into me it’s making you stupid, so stupid. Yasiel seals a hand over Johann’s mouth to cut off that curling grin. He shakes him a bit, watches those dark, soulless eyes flicker with annoyance.

“Did,” Yasiel breathes the word out, shivering at the feel of Johann’s hand moving a slow, almost gentle path over his hip. Cupping his ass, squeezing appreciatively. “Did y-your butler put those towels in your fucking towel warmer?” Rich fuck had an electronic for everything.

“Are you thinking of my butler after I made you cum?”

Yasiel slides off him, to the side, lays on the bed, still breathing hard with a hand across his forehead.

“I’m thinking of showering you off me,” he mumbles. His eyes are closed, so he can’t move away in time to avoid Johann’s sweetly manipulative kiss to his cheek.

—

“This is one of my favorites,” Yasiel mentions, casually pulling the book off the shelf. He’s in those silk pajama bottoms that Johann has in every various shade of red you can buy it in. Costs the same as his rent for just one pair, and Johann has enough he could wear a fresh pair every day for a month and not need to do laundry once. Not that Johann does laundry. There’s maids for that.

“Dostoevsky?” Johann is holding two different ties in a mirror, pretending to decide which one he’ll pick. Yasiel looks over his shoulder and already knows he’s going to go with the black one. He still feels a sickening surge of satisfaction when Johann begins to slide it around his collar.

“Yeah. Didn’t know you were a fan.”

Johann snorts and rolls his eyes. He crosses from his walk in closet (that is the size of Yasiel’s embarrassingly small kitchenette) to his ceiling to floor bookshelf. It’s lined, packed full save for the random decoration that pulls the room together. Modern, chic, intelligent. Artfully planned.

“I asked Nomi to get books for me. Haven’t read any of them. Need to borrow one for school?” He suspects that Johann realizes he’s put too much venom in the statement, prodded at Yasiel a little too much—because he instantly goes a little softer. Rounds his shoulders. His body language feels textbook sometimes. Like he learned how to human from a webinar. Johann steps closer, hands taking Yasiel by the waist and tugging him closer.

“Can I hang out here?” Yasiel asks, instead of rising to the soft bait. He hoods his eyes, pretends to look bored, slides the book back in place with what little room not occupied by Johann’s body he has. He folds his arms across his chest and pretends he’s not looking also at that little, little bruise his thumbs put into Johann’s throat.

“Whatever,” is how Johann replies, with a dismissive flap of his hand. “Order food from the kitchen or something. You’re so skinny.”

—

He doesn’t, because it feels insane to order food inside a house. Well. It’s a mansion, really. Not a house. So many hallways, that he’d once gotten lost before and had to desperately look for one of the many employees Johann had to get himself back to the bedroom. He’d been so embarrassed to ask and they’d not even cared. It made Yasiel wonder how many people got lost in this mansion, looking for a way back to Johann’s bedroom.

But he does read. He lays in the bed, on his stomach, chin in his palm. He’s read the book before. He has an annotated copy back in his own apartment. Not for school. He and Mouse had read it in tandem, chapters together, put notes. Mouse had hated the book. She’d torn it to shreds in the margins, in her scratchy scrawl.

Yasiel didn’t care for it either, but when he reads it, he imagines the pinch of her brow in annoyance and feels comforted.

Mouse would hate Johann too. Actually hate him, the way Yasiel doesn’t really.

“D’you mind?”

Yasiel jumps, snapping the book shut and sitting up on the bed. His breath catches in his chest painfully at the surprise of seeing a man in Johann’s room. But…it’s just The Butler.

They stare at each other then. Yasiel finds himself suddenly exposed, shirtless and clearly in this bedroom for a reason. Tino seems equally embarrassed, his cheeks ruddy underneath his facial hair. He’s looking at the walk in closet, hands neatly folded behind his back. It pushes his barrel chest out, promotes how broad he is. Yasiel’s throat tightens, his tongue fat and mouth dry.

“What?” he manages, laughing awkwardly to cover for himself. He sinks slightly, gets comfortable amongst the messy sheets.

“Need t’get Johann’s laundry. Nomi’s under the weather, not lettin’ her get out of bed—” Tino seems to cut himself off when he realizes that he’s maybe oversharing with Johann’s latest fuck buddy. He gestures to the closet with a black gloved hand. Yasiel stares at that hand for a little longer than necessary. He plucks at the string on the pajama bottoms absently.

“Not like I own the bedroom,” Yasiel teases. “More your place than mine.”

Tino moves swiftly into the closet then. It makes Yasiel’s smile drop off. He waits for a moment. His hand lingers on the book he’d shut. Then in a swift motion, he slides off the bed. His body is undeniably sore—it wasn’t like Johann didn’t give it just as good in bed sometimes. His shoulders burned from the position earlier, where his arms had been locked behind his back. His thighs were tired, trembly, unsteady knees and feet as he wanders to the closet.

He watches as Tino begins sweeping clothes into a sleek black hamper.

“How long have you worked for Johann?” He leans against the door frame. His arms tuck around his middle, shyly. Tino doesn’t look at him. Not directly anyway. There’s an undeniable glance in his peripheral that Yasiel locks onto.

“I don’t wanna bore you, kid,” Tino replies, a bit of a gruff laugh in his voice.

“Do I look bored?” He really looks up then. Tino’s eyes seem to start lower and then walk their way up to Yasiel’s face.

“Tired.”

“Johann wore me out, I guess.” He swears he doesn’t mean it that suggestively, and yet he’s shocked at his own dark tone. He clears his throat and brushes his long, dark hair out his face. “Jesus, sorry. Sometimes, I forget how to be normal after being around him so long.” Tino shrugs a shoulder, non committal. Looks back to the laundry.

Yasiel steps forward.

“You’re rolling your sleeves up wrong,” he comments.

“Pardon?”

His southern accent feels alluring and Yasiel can’t help but keep trying to pluck words out from him. They’re the same height, he realizes, but Tino must have fifty pounds on him. Maybe more. He’s broad. Muscular. That’s what Yasiel is focusing on, the muscles of his forearm. His hand lifts, cups underneath Tino’s elbow. He laughs, feeling winded and silly.

“You’re rolling these wrong. Can I fix it?”

Tino black gloved hand flexes. The tendon in his wrist stands out. Yasiel tilts the arm in his hands and begins working at the white sleeve that’s haphazardly rolled up.

“If you do it like this,” he pauses to glance up at Tino’s dark brown eyes. They’re lovely. Softer than he’d expect, with crows feet stamped at the corners, where he might smile. Nomi, he thinks. That’s who makes him smile. Can’t possibly be Johann. Yasiel’s hand smooths the sleeve down and then starts to roll.

“It’ll look neater,” Yasiel explains as the sleeve folds into a perfect smooth cuff. He angles himself around to get closer to Tino’s other arm. He’s still holding one of Johann’s stupid silk shirts. Yasiel takes it, tosses it into the hamper and then his hands return to Tino’s arm. “You don’t mind me doing this?”

“No.”

Yasiel looks up.

“That’s crazy.”

“What? That I don’t mind you fixin’ my clothes for me?” Tino’s laugh is full chested. Rich. Yasiel slowly closes a hand around Tino’s forearm.

“No. I mean, crazy I can’t even fit my hand around your arm. You’re kind of a thick guy, huh?”

The dark red color is back in his cheeks, eyes turning to flint as they look down. Yasiel has slender hands—he’s only somewhat embarrassed that the evidence of painting clings to his fingernails.

“You’re still here?”

Yasiel jumps backward, away from Tino. The butler turns to his work quickly, stuffing shirts into the hamper. His cuffs are neatly pressed now, folded properly. A heartbeat breaks out across Yasiel’s entire body at the feeling of being caught doing something wrong. He glares at Johann, in the entrance to his closet. He’s sneering, knowing and…pleased.

“Want to stay for dinner?” Johann asks, a possessive paw around Yasiel’s hip, pulling him close.

“No,” he answers, pushing at Johann’s face, to stave off the inevitable devouring kiss thats all for performance and likely for voyeurism. He slips out the other mans grasp, walking into the bedroom to begin looking for his clothes. He feels oily and slick and hot and wanting and annoyed and like he’d really enjoy having dinner on someone elses dime because he’s usually eating ramen and pieces of bread with how little his stipend is.

“Want the book?”

Yasiel pauses, his hand around the strap of his messenger bag. He looks up at Johann, who holds Crime and Punishment out stretched. He looks carefully neutral, face smoothed over into an easy mask of nothing. If it’s a mask at all or if that’s just Johann. Nothing. Yasiel looks over his shoulder to the butler in the closet then reaches for the book. Johann steps closer as he does. His hand lifts to tuck a strand of Yasiel’s hair behind his ear.

“See you soon, Yas,” Johann says confidently.

#yasiel #johann #tino #yasiel x johann #yasiel x tino #i have no idea what au this could be tbh

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