Vova, fuck!

Angry as a thousand devils, Dima slowed down near Gavrilov’s door and, exhaling a long breath, pressed the bell with force. The stream ended a long time ago, and he still couldn’t come to his senses. And the most offensive thing is that he knew who this same Trubochist was and what he needed. Sex-hungry fagot! Usually Dima was more loyal to homosexual jokes and jokes, but this was already crossing the line. He was angry. Very angry, in fact, and Danila would have to hurry so that the rage that had subsided did not rise again! “Yes?”, the door finally answered in Gavrilov’s voice. “Who…” Dima gritted his teeth. “Open up, the chimney sweep has arrived,” he growled without wasting any greetings, interrupting Danil’s somewhat confused mutterings. Gavrilov immediately perked up. “Oh, Dima! Come in, come in, come in!” He trustingly opened the door, smiling at Yuryev with his softest predatory smile. “Why are you without warning? I would put the kettle on, we would drink tea…” Gavrilov’s voice was friendly and even somewhat surprised, as if he really did not expect a friend to visit him. But Dima had known Danil for too long and knew how to look through the mask. Gavrilov was waiting. His lips curved in a smile, his hands lived their own lives, and his intent, expectantly impudent gaze, which did not fit with his soft voice, betrayed his owner in every detail. And if in the first second of their meeting Dima also began to think — maybe it was really a completely left-wing person, a subscriber, who was so infatuated with him? — now all his doubts were dispelled. Moreover, by answering Danil with the same gaze, Dima obtained one more piece of evidence: at the sight of his unusually angry face, Gavrilov dropped his mask for a moment and grinned mischievously at the tips of his lips. It only lasted one short moment, but it was enough for Dima to realize it and become furious again. “Tea? Oh, I wouldn’t mind some tea!” he said with emphasis, walking into the hallway and slamming the door behind him. Danil flinched from the sharp bang, and Yuryev smiled predatorily. “The stream was heavy, a little hotter wouldn’t hurt.” “Oh, were you playing horror games again?” Danil snorted, just like a raccoon, moving towards the kitchen. “Well, how? Did you shit yourself?” “When are you going to shit yourself on air?” Dima frowned. “There’s one of my fans who managed it without me,” he muttered, following his friend into the gloomy kitchen. “Yes, I shit so much that it stank to the end!” “Hah!” Gavrilov put the kettle on the stand, but was in no hurry to turn it on. Looking at Dima, he leaned his elbows on the kitchen cabinets and arched slightly. With his height, it must have been difficult to stand straight all the time. However, Dima noticed a special intent here, and his gaze unconsciously twitched towards the protruding well-shaped ass, hidden under soft home pants. “This fagot ruined my entire stream. Bitch! These disgraceful songs ruined the entire atmosphere of the game! And why did I even pick it up if we could listen to this Vova, the fucking Trubochist?!” “This is the first time I’ve seen you bomb for donations,” Danil chuckled. “Yes, fuck, I’m bombing! What the fuck do you tell me to do?! Have you even heard this complete pig’s shit?” “Come on, these are not bad songs!” Danil fell silent, realizing that he had let it slip, and Dima angrily let out the air through his teeth. “Bitch, you weren’t there! How do you know what kind of pissing songs there were, about cum, fucking and fags? Eh, fag? Couldn’t think of anything smarter?!” “Oh, okay, sorry,” Danil looked happy, like a raccoon that got to the trash, and not at all guilty. Although Dima understood that it was stupid. “It was just a prank. We need to increase your views.” “A prank that got out of control!” Dima moved towards him, which did not make much of an impression on Danil. Of course, with their height difference! Tall and thin, Gavrilov looked at him with a friendly and absent-minded look, almost licking his phantom mustache. “Control?” he said slowly, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You want control, Medal?” “Yes! And Uncle Quantum hasn’t received a beating for a long time,” Dima muttered, somewhat wounded by the fact that they didn’t pay much attention to his threats. “So give it. You know, you just have to ask, and everything will be.” Yuryev stopped. Looking intently at him with eyes in which mad little devils were dancing, Danil felt with his hand the back of the chair, turned it towards him and slowly sat down, folding his palms on his knees, like a little obedient boy. Shit! Dima’s pants immediately became hot, and an unnaturally red blush returned to his cheeks. His worst secret was that he could spit on gays and other “abnormalities” for at least a thousand years, but both Dima and Danil, who was watching him, knew the truth — only someone who was one himself could swear so naturally and angrily. So the songs and jokes of Vova Trubochist were, perhaps, very painful, because they struck at the very truth. Which Dima, of course, would not tell anyone. “Uncle Quantum forgot that dirty words are bad,” Dima said slowly, taking a step forward. Danil smiled, looking at him fearlessly. In truth, Yuryev did not remember whether he had ever seen fear in those sparkling and open eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot!”, he shook his head slightly dejectedly, and then grinned. “But it was fun! You were so angry, Medal! If you were a teapot, you probably would have boiled.” Dima took the hint and walked away to remove the teapot, which had been squealing with its spout, from the fire. However, the moment of respite from the watching Gavrilov did him good. His gaze fell on the soap stubs lying in the saucer by the sink, and a grin spread across his lips. “Bring me some laundry soap. I know you have it.” Gavrilov stood up and left silently. How he, with all his height, moved so silently, probably even he himself did not know. While he was gone, Dima made tea and took cookies from the table, acting just as impudently as Danil on his stream. So what? Here, in this apartment, he felt completely at home. Gavrilov’s gaze was filled with curiosity when he finally returned, carrying a large piece of laundry soap. Apparently, it had never been used in this house — the soap side even retained part of the wrapper, which was unceremoniously torn off from it. Dima armed himself with a knife and cut off a small oblong piece from the piece, no larger than his index finger. Danil slightly bowed his head, hovering over Yuryev’s shoulder and breathing noisily down on him. “I didn’t think you were a supporter of such punishments,” he said somewhat surprised, thinking that Dima was going to wash his mouth with soap for all those “shameful songs.” Dima almost laughed, imagining Quantum’s face at his next orders. “Take off your panties and lean your elbows on the table,” he remarked curtly, grinding off the corners of the resulting piece of soap. Gavrilov held his breath, and then slowly let the air out. “What?” he said in a childish, confused manner, blinking. “Did I express myself indistinctly?” Dima raised an eyebrow. “Uncle Quantum, by chance, hasn’t forgotten: what I ask will be done?” Danil blinked again, now looking very perplexed. But Yuriev’s sharp, impetuous and commanding tone made him experience pleasant sensations from the unreality of what was happening. No one spoke to him like that except Dima, at least in real life. And Danil knew that no matter how angry Yuryev was, he never did anything that could cause irreparable consequences. He could have spanked him with a belt or with his hand, which by the way was no less heavy. He could punch him, tie him up, and even force him to apologize in public. But he never caused him pain that Danil could not bear. Perhaps that is why Gavrilov constantly teased him, driving him into a frenzy, knowing that Dima would punish him, but in such a way that, in the end, they would both like it. Danil turned around and slowly pulled off his pants, and then his underpants. He moved his foot, carefully pushing the laundry further away so as not to trample it, and leaned on the table, feeling Dima’s gaze with his shoulder blades. Yuryev looked at him as if he were prey, and Gavrilov’s inner raccoon sounded the alarm, but Danil waved him off. Exhaling, he bent over slightly and spread his legs slightly to the sides, showing off himself. Something that only a Medalist could allow himself to see. And then… then Dima moistened the soap preparation and, spreading his friend’s thin buttocks with his fingers, resolutely stuck it into the contracted anus. Danil exhaled convulsively, lightly squeezed his buttocks, and then shushed him when Yuryev’s heavy hand slapped them. “Sit down, the tea will get cold,” Dima suggested peacefully and sat down opposite, clutching the cup and pretending as if nothing had happened. This was something new. Danil sat down, feeling an unpleasant sensation in his ass. He looked at his cup, above which fragrant steam rose, and again turned his gaze to Dima. “And… that’s all?”, he didn’t understand anything. According to his assumptions, the prank on the stream was at least a good beating. Well, or at least for rough, primitive, very exciting sex. Dima was very angry when his nature was hinted at in public places. However, today he seemed to be up to something. Danila would also know what. Dima gave him a strange look in response. “Didn’t they do this to you as a child?” he asked, taking a bite of the cookie. “Uh… No?” “Clear.” Dima thought for a moment. While he was thinking, Danil took a sip from the mug, trying not to lift it. There was noticeable discomfort in the ass, but it was strangely exciting. Gavrilov fidgeted restlessly in his chair, slightly squeezing his legs, and then Yuryev came to life. “I don’t want to wash your mouth, I’ll need it for something else,” he muttered, and Danil’s pale cheeks turned pink when he guessed why. “The soap inside you will melt and there will be… mmm… an interesting effect. You will like it. And yes, I forbid you to go to the toilet. You will endure until I allow it. Is that clear?” Danil nodded, licking his dry lips. “Well, so that you won’t be so bored sitting around doing nothing, you’ll peel potatoes. I’m hungry, but apparently you don’t have anything again.” Yuryev slightly opened the refrigerator — fortunately, it was nearby — and winced. “And you are predictable, Quantum.” “Well, I wasn’t expecting guests…” “Don’t talk like a bitch, at least to yourself, Quantum!” Danil shut up and fidgeted restlessly again. The tip of the soap poked into his prostate, and his penis rose in interest. Gavrilov clenched his legs, hiding his growing excitement, but Dima displeasedly shushed him from his seat: “Took your knees to the side! Why haven’t I actually seen your dick?” “Fucking fly,” Danil muttered, breathing heavily. Excitement and discomfort came over him in waves, holding him back. “So, when it becomes completely unbearable, ask me. And I will be so generous that I will immediately let you go to ease your soul. Well, if you try, something good will happen.” “And then?” Danil asked quietly, not feeling the usual final note in his friend’s voice. Dima looked contentedly at his shrunken, absurd figure and bared his teeth: “And then I’ll fuck you. So much that it won’t seem like enough. I’ll fuck you like a bitch, like a cheap prostitute, for whatever you’re worth.” Quantum felt the heat that arose from the dirty words, and his cheeks became even more crimson. It seems Dima noticed this too. “Yeah, bitch! But that’s what you wanted, right? Sent me all this bullshit to excite me, right?! And which one of us is the fagot, huh? Say it, say it!” “I…” Danil swallowed. The trembling intensified, and Gavrilov, groaning quietly, brought his knees together again, bending down. “I…” He felt Dima’s palm on his knee and slowly moved it away, suffocating at the same time from lust and from the usual embarrassment that he could not completely overcome. “I can’t…” “Hypocrite…” Yuryev touched his friend’s aroused nature and pulled his hand away when Danil whined subtly. “You can’t say, but how to send a song or insert your dirty hint, you’ll be happy to do it! Maybe I should really wash your mouth? I have the right… liquid.” And he laughed infectiously, completely in a Medalist way, satisfied with his own pun. And then they cooked together. The potatoes were frying, they smelled delicious — at least they hadn’t messed up any part of the cooking process, and the food was safe — and the world looked serene. Gavrilov, however, could not appreciate it. His stomach was churning and he really wanted to go to the toilet. As luck would have it, Dima turned away from him, stirring potatoes in a frying pan, and the only way to attract him was by voice. It’s not that Danil wasn’t going to use it. Rather, he suspected a trick, and suspected it very strongly. “Medalist,” he finally called quietly. “Yes, yes, Uncle Quantum?” “I…I…well…” Dima turned off the fire, turned around, pressing his back against the stove, and smiled broadly, rolling a spatula between his fingers. Against the background of him — dressed, polished, mocking — Gavrilov, naked to the waist, suddenly felt so dirty that he almost fell out of his chair. “I want to go to the toilet,” he said, licking his constantly dry lower lip. “Please, may I.?” Yuryev’s smile became wider. “Well, then go,” he said calmly. “Eh,” Danil looked dumbfoundedly straight into his laughingly narrowed eyes. “So simple?!” Dima sighed eloquently, and Danil, still feeling the catch, headed to the restroom. An aching and bursting stomach did not add points to thoughtfulness. And the catch was not long in coming: as soon as Gavrilov entered the toilet, he heard Dima’s mocking voice right behind him. “You know what?”, he pressed on his back, pushing him into the room, and Danil turned around sharply, freezing in confusion under his gaze, like a raccoon in front of a boa constrictor. “I just remembered… you know who? Our mutual comrade, Vova Trubochist. Do you remember this? So, he asked — he asked very fucked up! — when will I crap myself on the air… You saw it, you must remember!” Danil turned pale. Dima pulled out his phone and clicked on the camera icon, after which he turned his gaze to Gavrilov. Gavrilov felt how quickly a blush took over his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his legs, but did not move from his place. “Please don’t,” he said quietly, looking away. “Why? Your shouts from your place on the stream were devoid of embarrassment. What has changed?” “I…” Danil didn’t know how Dima managed to constantly make him tongue-tied, but it was a fact that could not be refuted. “I won’t do this again. Please.” Dima’s gaze softened somewhat. “Okay,” he breathed, putting the phone in his pocket. “Finish here and come back. But if you do something like that again, I’ll give you an enema on the air, understand?” Danil nodded and, when his friend left, closing the door, he hurried to do his business. He had never heard of this method of punishment that Yuryev had come up with for him, but he had to admit that it turned out to be quite effective. His anus burned and pinched, and if he had not been a light masochist, this would have stopped him from any pranks towards Dima. But he liked a little pain, so the unusual punishment only fueled his excitement. He washed himself in the shower, which, however, did not at all alleviate the languor that arose in his genitals, washed his hands and returned to the kitchen. Dima, however, was not observed there. Perplexed, Gavrilov turned around and screamed in surprise when a short but strong body slammed him into the wall, instantly capturing his wrists. Maybe Dima was short, but he was strong and assertive. He squeezed his knee between the legs of his captive friend, pressed on his lower back, forcing him to arch, and, without giving Gavrilov time to realize, he invaded inside, into the warm and cramped depths. Danil screamed again, tensed his hands in someone else’s grip, but did not try to pull away. There was already a slippery condom on Yuryev’s penis — apparently, he got ready while Danil was cleaning up after himself. Continuing to squeeze his friend’s hands, clasping his lean stomach with his other hand, Dima moved rigidly, sniffling against Gavrilov’s back. He reminded Danil of a hedgehog, and the initial confusion gave way to fun. Hedgehog and raccoon! Just a lovely combination! “Why are you laughing, you fucking horse?” Dima growled during a break between frictions. “Bitch! I… now… will… knock all the laughing out of you!..” “Yes…” A wet sigh or sob escaped from Danil’s lips when the dense head of Yuriev’s penis hit his prostate with force. Dima heard this and began to aim at this place. He kept pressing and pressing on Gavrilov, as if he was trying to break him, and Danil, unable to stand on his trembling legs, sank to the floor. Gasping, he fell chest-first onto the cool parquet and raised his ass. His friend’s warm palms immediately wrapped around his stomach, allowing him to rest his hands on the floor. Dima literally lay down on him, continuing his wet movement, and Danil began to breathe convulsively, closing his eyes. Too good, too, too… “Ay-ay!” he screamed, clenching like a string. “God, Dima! God, this is… this is…” “Yes, yes, Quan… tum!.. This is yours… yours…” Yuriev’s broken voice turned into a barely audible muttering whisper. He lowered his head, and Danil felt plump, warm lips hesitantly touch his back. Dima kissed him, touchingly and carefully, and these gentle touches, so disharmonious with the hard movements of the penis inside, broke something inside Gavrilov. He screamed again, twitched, feeling how the floor under him was becoming warm and wet from the spray of sperm. Dima came next and satedly leaned on him, forcing him to slump completely to the floor. For some time they lay there, stunned, feeling the gradually fading notes of pleasure. Finally, Dima raised his head and blinked. “We screwed up,” he whispered, slowly withdrawing from his friend’s lean body. Danil, breathing heavily, turned his head and looked at him with a slightly unfocused gaze. “Again… half fucked…” “Will you… ever… wait until we get to the bed?” Gavrilov softly clarified, pausing between words. The excited languor ended and was replaced by drowsiness and relaxation. Dima grinned. His grin was absent-mindedly good-natured and did not resemble the grin with which he came to this apartment a couple of hours ago. He reached out his hand and brushed Danil’s disheveled hair out of his eyes, after which he said quietly: “Mischief managed.”