In the evening in the cold

      In the apartment, breaking the silence of the night, there was such an annoying and nasty sound of a bell outside the door. The lights in the rooms were no longer on; it seems that their owner had long gone to bed, but an uninvited guest brought him out of the stream of dreams.       Arseny went out into the corridor in pajama shorts, putting on a T-shirt on the way. He was a little shaggy and already, it seems, even managed to doze off after he put down the phone. Popov did not know who could visit him at such a late hour, but he had guesses. And they were justified. Looking through the peephole, Arseny saw a long guy standing in front of the door, and without wasting any extra time, he quickly unlocked the lock, letting his colleague into the apartment.       - Ars, - Anton greeted dully, going inside and taking off his sneakers one by one, pressing the backs with his socks. - Anton, - the landlord answered him, took the light windbreaker from the guest and patted him on the shoulder, already knowing what the conversation would be about. - Where is Alyona, how is Chiara? – It seems, to be polite, Shastoon asked, just in case, talking very quietly. - They went to Yevpatoria – Alyona was given a vacation ticket at work, and she took Chiarochka with her. I told you about it in the dressing room today, did you forget or didn't you listen? Arseny nodded to Anton in the direction of one of the rooms, inviting him to come in. Shastoon went there first, answering. - I probably forgot. Arseny nodded understandingly once more, pursing his lips. He was not angry at Anton at all, but on the contrary wanted to help him now with his next mental problem. Shastun's visit to Arseny in the middle of the night was not the first. It all started a few months after the beginning of the relationship with Ira. Anton could not cope with his beautiful and exhausting girlfriend, he tolerated her because he loved her madly, and if his character began to break him, he resorted to Arseny to calm down. Popov always accepted this young man – after all, colleagues, friends, see each other more often than their own families; they have already become so close that they can come and complain. Men's conversations take place, and Arseny never complained about his unlucky Romeo in the person of this sunny and funny Anton, who still did not want to accept the obvious things. He loved his beloved too much and could part with her, no matter how much advice Arseny gave him. Perhaps it was Anton who came to Popov because they were like two boots in a pair, because before Arseny had a wife and even a child, he also got into such situations, from which the young Shastun suffered. That's why Anton reached out to his colleague – he understood, accepted and supported him, knowing what it was like. Arseniev's character was very useful in such seemingly hopeless situations. - Tea, coffee, maybe something stronger? The man leaned his buttocks against the edge of the kitchen countertop while Anton sat down at the table. The kitchen was clean, as if Alyona had never left. Arseny was a lover of cleanliness, he learned this from Pozov. There was a vase of flowers on the table. Anton refrained from making any jokes about this aspect - he doesn't want to be funny right now. - Do you have vodka? "Oh, so it's too bad. Anton usually doesn't drink such strong drinks. - No, just wine. Arseny replied, opening one of the cabinets above the table. – Red, dry, sweet. Seven years of exposure. Will you? - yes. Anton waved his hand, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes from fatigue. Shastun could hear the locker door closing, Arseny putting a glass glass on the table in front of him, and the delicious-smelling liquid pouring into it. Then I heard the sound of the thick bottom of the bottle on the wooden countertop, the opening of the refrigerator door, the sound of something warming up in the microwave and a slap on a chair - it was Arseny who sat down opposite. Opening his eyes, Anton examined the elegant glass in front of him. There was a dim light in the kitchen, and the wine looked dark scarlet, even burgundy. Ars cut the cheese into neat slices and put it on a plate with several pieces of fried chicken breast on it. Pushing the snack towards the glass, the man raised his head and looked closely at his friend. Anton was silent, his lips tightly compressed, and only stared in front of him at the glare in the drink. - Will you tell me what happened to you? Arseny asks carefully, but Shastun is still silent and shakes his head, saying that it's not time yet. – All right. Have a drink, you'll feel better. Are you driving? – Another nod, now positive. – Then stay at my place for the night. Besides the stories, do you have a shoot tomorrow? - We planned a natal chart ... - Anton meows in response, takes the wine and presses his lips to the edge of the glass. - Early? - No, not really. - Great, you'll even have time to come home from my place and change your clothes. Are you going to take a shower? A minute's silence is filled with the soft sound of broken meat and barely audible chewing. Anton thinks, looking somewhere towards the window, and again turns his eyes to Popov. - yes. – He finally answers, and Arseny nods that he understood. - Do you want to watch a movie or go straight to bed? I'll lay out a sofa for you in the hall. – Arseny is not pushing. He speaks softly, knowing that Anton is probably sad right now. He had already learned all the habits of the guy in this state, so he decided to just talk to the Shastoon for now. The wine was soon supposed to relax such a prisoner of some of his thoughts, who was now clamped down, and then Anton would tell what had happened again in his personal life. - I want you to do it again. – Anton finished his wine and reached for the bottle with greasy fingers to pour himself more, but Arseny did it for him. Shastun nodded gratefully and just put a slice of tender cheese in his mouth. - Even so? Popov raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, propping his cheek with his hand. Anton nodded again. – That's what they did recently. - A month ago. I already want it again. I'm sad, you know? Arseny nodded. He understands, of course. The last time Anton asked for this was really about a month ago, when he and Ira tried to break up. It seemed to Popov that Anton was already dependent on this brawler, because otherwise his friend would not have tormented himself so much. It has already become a habit, it has become something as understandable as two and two, it turned out to be as simple as the fact that three people die every second, and incredibly mundane as waking up in the morning. Arseny felt sorry for Anton, but there was nothing he could do about it. - OK. Tell me when you're ready. A nod and another sip of wine. – Do you remember the safe word? - "Without tenderness" - Yes. Arseny folded his hands on the table in front of him and looked out the window. The night sun seemed friendly to him from behind a cloud, and in some places stars peeked out. Cars were driving downstairs, and sometimes people were walking. That's how the world works: everyone has their own problems, and everyone solves them the way they can. In fact, people are directly insignificant specks of dust, bugs that die and are born again, producing a real perpetual motion machine from this. If you imagine, then the problem of the Shastoon is not only with him. Surely there is another Anton Shastun somewhere, who is now drinking next to his friend. It's so strange that I don't want to load my sleepy head with thoughts. - Let's go, - Arseny heard Anton's slightly more untied voice from his thoughts. He turns his head to the guy and looks at him for ten seconds, coming to reality, and then nods and gets up from his chair. - Come on. – He agrees. Anton leaves the snack and the bottle on the table, washes his hands of the fat meat and moves towards the room. Arseny follows Shastun, escorting him to the bedroom. They know what to do, both of them have already practiced it more than once, and Anton remained so relaxed after that that he could start chasing the careless girl again. Anton went over to the bed that had already been spread out – Ars was already going to sleep – pulled a hoodie over his head, followed by a T-shirt, and sank down on his stomach on the bed, putting his hands under his head. - Should I tie it up or not? Arseny's voice was heard somewhere to the side, followed by a belt plaque. - Don't. I don't want to be immobilized today. – Came the reply, and Anton shifted a little, getting comfortable and swinging his legs off the bed. - Okay, whatever you say. Arseny went over to his bed, where Shastun was lying. The guy was already not moving, getting ready. The wine was working properly, and Anton was very relaxed and spread out on the bed in a puddle. - Are you ready? - Yes. That was enough. Anton heard a slight whistle from the swing and a moment later felt the belt drop on his shoulder blades. It wasn't very painful, but it was quite noticeable. The guy sniffed the air convulsively, feeling the pulsing pink stripe on his back. It's good that they have separate rooms where you can change clothes in privacy, otherwise you won't be able to avoid questions about where the scratches and scars come from. Enough time has passed since the last time, and the skin no longer looked injured, and now it was getting an unhealthy look again. The blows fell one after another on the back, not falling below the waist so as not to touch the coccyx, and did not rise above the shoulders. He and Arseny had discussed this moment at the very beginning, when Anton came running all scared, depressed and confused, asking to do something with him. The guy was always against the usual spanking, because, firstly, he felt sorry for his ass, and secondly, he did not want to humiliate himself even more. Ars offered him this alternative himself. He himself had no previous experience, as he had never tried to do this before. Alyona believed that this was complete nonsense, and did not even allow her husband to suggest such a thing, but Arseny did not insist. Popov was not in the role of a sambissive either, and at first he was afraid to harm his sudden passion, but then both got used to their places, and it began to enter into a routine. "It hurts, Ars," there was a hiss from below, and the man stopped, clutching the gun in his hand. - Shall we stop? Anton is breathing heavily and seems to whine sometimes. His back turned red like in a bath after a broom, and uneven scars appeared in some places. Arseny feels sorry to continue, remembering how funny and handsome this man becomes when he goes on stage. How many emotions can accumulate in him during the performance, before and after. It's hard to imagine, but Anton is now like an open book for Arseny. - She cheated on me, - the guy meowed, not answering the question from above. Arseny purses his lips and waits, inactive. You can't hurt, you can't hurt. – With my best friend, can you imagine? I didn't even find out about it from him, but from her friend, who blabbed by accident. No one would have told me anything like that. It hurts. The man no longer wants to continue. Anton is already emotional without his pressure, he is nervous, bites his lips and cheeks, twists rings on his fingers, but does not dare to cry. Anton never cried during their sessions, he was not even aroused by pain. Arseny thinks it's time to stop this. He got too carried away, didn't follow up, didn't notice. The guy on the bed gets a cold shiver, and Popov throws the belt on the floor. It was a stupid idea to do this. - Without tenderness, - Anton lifts his head, hearing such a pleasant velvety voice, turns and looks at Arseny with incomprehension. – Without tenderness. Arseny repeated, sitting down next to him on the bed. – I want to finish. I'm finishing it myself, I don't want to do it anymore. While Anton is recovering, sniffing and straightening his hair, Arseny puts the belt in the closet and goes to the bathroom to wash up. Next, Shastun slaps there, and when Arseny frees up his room, he takes a shower, feeling unpleasant jets of water on his hot skin. For the body, every such time is stressful. I need to get some sleep to fully recover. After the shower, the guy returned to the room, where Popov was already waiting for him with a tube of body milk in his hands. Anton was wearing only a man's shorts. He silently crouched down in front of the elder, and gentle fingers with cold cream touched his red back. Anton didn't say a word, just squeaked sometimes when it got ticklish or unpleasant. Arseny kept thinking whether it was worth starting this conversation now, or whether it was better to leave it for the morning, but still could not stand it, sat down closer to the sufferer and put his hand on his shoulder. - Anton, I won't hit you anymore, even if you really want to. Come to me, I can take care of you, but don't cripple yourself, okay? I'm not going to take part in this, if you can't stand it now, then look for a dominant from the club or Tinder, okay? Anton turned his head and looked at Popov with unhappy eyes. He sighed, bit his lip, and his eyelashes trembled. - I can't look at you when you're really in pain, and you're putting up with it." Arseny repeated, putting his arm around his friend's shoulder and starting to stroke the back of his head like a father, burying his fingers in his curls. – Leave Ira, Toh? You'll find yourself another life partner. She doesn't deserve to feel this way because of herself. You can't not love yourself like that, okay? Anton pursed his lips, glistening in the dim light, and pulled his knees up to him, resting his head on them. Even though he had drunk, Arseny knew that in the morning Shastun would remember everything. He knew how the scars on his back would hurt again, and that Anton would sleep on his stomach tonight. - I'm tired. Anton replied, and Popov got up from the bed, pushing his colleague towards the pillows. - Lie down here, I'll lie down on the couch myself.