Or so they (didn't) tell me
Title: Or so they (didn't) tell me
Fandom: The Headshot (original)
Pairing: Axell Toft/Il'ya Kosmov/Evelyn Hutchcraft
Rating: NSFW
Warning: alcohol abuse, dubious consent, dirty talking, unreliable narrator
Wordcount: 2127
Note: partecipa alla settimana 6 del #COWT6 di maridichallenge per l'esame di fine anno: Aimatopolis (Prompt: reati in materia di stupefacenti)
Summary: But what happened in Oslo?
"I have no idea what you're saying, love," Axell laughed softly, sipping at his drink.
"Of course you don't, I'm fucking wasted," Il'ya muttered to himself.
"This is like Petersburg all over again," Evelyn said, her voice warm and amused.
"No, it's not, and thank God for that," Axell answered with a laugh, reminding her how he had to haul Il'ya's ass up a flight of stairs because he had been too drunk to walk.
"I'll drink to that," Il'ya toasted, even knowing that his drinking buddies couldn't understand him, and drained his glass.
It had been easy, drinking himself under a table and forgetting that it was 1924's Russia; the people in the inn were friendly, spoke a friendly language, offered friendly toasts.
He had much more of a hard time when he got home, alone in his apartment, under the warm stream of a perfectly functioning shower, alone with his thoughts, with all the time to acknowledge the fact that time travel was real, that he had spent two days straight jumping around the time-line with two trained assassins he had only just met, and a suitcase filled with a frankly ridiculous amount of cash sitting under his bed to prove for it.
When Axell had texted him asking if wanted to see what Oslo was like this time of this year, he hadn't even thought about it before accepting. A seven hours flight just to go out for drinks was a little ridiculous, but Il'ya was past caring.
He was well past the half-way mark of his bottle, too. Hence, his inability to speak English. He wasn't that drunk; it was just that the language center in his brain was a real light-weight, and after a while it couldn't manage more than one language at a time.
He had no way to convey that to his companions, though.
"Slow down there, buddy, or I'll have to take you to the hotel in a fireman carry like last time," Axell said in fact good humoredly , putting a hand on the back of Il'ya's neck.
Il'ya wanted to grimace, because it was so damn patronizing, but didn't try to shrug him off. He didn't know if it was the liquor, or the fact that the three of them were squeezed on a tiny sofa that was probably intended for no more than two people, or that he was just a naturally tactile person, but Axell seemed to be even more handsy that night. More than he had been in the short time they had known each other, anyway. It was probably a mixture of all of those things.
Evelyn, plastered against Il'ya's other side, let out a small laughter and leaned over him to grab the bottle of vodka. She poured herself a drink. "I wouldn't be so worried, Axell. I'm pretty sure he's gonna be fine," she reassured him with a smile. "His toasts are still under two minutes long. We're ought to worry when he's talking for more than five minutes," she concluded, elbowing him in the ribs playfully.
Il'ya smiled despite himself, and stuck out his tongue at her. It made her laugh again. "See? He's still with us," she said, and Il'ya watched her knocking back her drink in one go.
When he tried to pick her up the first time - was it really just a couple days ago? - she had been beautiful, out of reach, cold and too distant to touch, sure and superior, absolutely uncaring of the world around her in her bright yellow cocktail dress; but she wasn't. She was pressed right against him, warm and laughing, flushed and relaxed. The blue strand in her blond hair kept falling in her eyes every time she moved, and Il'ya's hand itched to tuck it away behind her ear.
It felt too intimate, for him to indulge in the gesture, but- they were drinking together, and it wasn't the first time. They had slept in the same bed. She was right there.
She was right there, and Il'ya was clearly more drunk than he thought because when he reached over to sweep the hair away, he touched her cheek instead and kissed her.
He almost pulled away, a broken, unintelligible apology already on his lips, but Evelyn was already kissing back, no hesitation in the press of her mouth, her hand grasping his arm to keep him in place. Axell whooped behind him, his hand tightening gently on the nape of Il'ya's neck, warm, almost encouraging.
He realized he had lost himself a little in the kiss when it came to its natural end, and the embarrassment came back tenfold. He felt the urge to explain that he wasn't like that, he was better than that, but Evelyn didn't look bothered in the least, and it stumped him.
"You're a good kisser," she said, and she sounded surprised.
Il'ya didn't know what to say at that. Not that she would've understood whatever he had to say.
"Is he?" Axell asked, surprise in his voice too. "No offense, darling," he added quickly.
"No, no, I mean," Evelyn gestured, picking up the bottle again and pouring, the vodka catching the low light as it sloshed against the glass. "He's a little too straight-forward, but he's got technique. I don't know, it works for me."
Il'ya didn't know what to say at that. He couldn't say if it was supposed to be offensive, or if she was being genuinely taken aback by his skills, especially because Axell's hand was still on his neck, and he was mindlessly pressing little circles in this spot right under his left ear, and it was getting really hard to care. Il'ya was probably either too drunk or not drunk enough for this.
"I'm a little curious now," Axell smiled. "Sweetheart, would you mind?"
"What?" Il'ya started, but then Axell put his other hand under his jaw. Oh.
"May I kiss you?"
Il'ya was definitely too drunk for this. He was supposed to push Axell away, but his hands felt good, warm and gentle as they cradled his head, and he was still hot from kissing Evelyn. He wouldn't have minded kissing her again, but she was busy with her drink, and it was Axell who wanted to kiss him. It was just a kiss. He felt himself nod.
Axell smiled, and leaned in. He started soft, just a touch of lips, but then he opened his mouth and Il'ya sighed, and did the same. Axell tasted like beer, and kissed like he wanted to steal Il'ya's last breath, and was a goddamn tease, never letting Il'ya taking control. Il'ya nipped at his bottom lip, vicious and vindicative.
"You're a copycat," Axell said fondly, licking at his bitten lip and carding a hand through Il'ya's carefully styled hair, gently tugging at it. "I bet you're really good at following instructions in bed. But you're bratty as hell."
Il'ya bristled and pushed him away, leaning on the table to get at the bottle. He felt hot and flushed -and there was a little vodka left. It would've been bad luck, just leaving it. He was shivering all over, but managed to pour it without spilling it everywhere. The clear fluid burned in a familiar way while it went down his throat. It took away the taste of beer, and settled his nerves.
Evelyn took the bottle from his hand, and smiled.
"Let's get this corpse off the table, and take this somewhere more private."
He didn't have a clear memory of the trip to the hotel. Il'ya remembered only that they had picked up another bottle of that excellent vodka - not Russian, but Vikingfjord was shockingly good, and felt really smooth going down, especially since it was exactly as freezing as it was supposed to be - and that they had flagged a taxi, but that was it.
Much more clear in his mind was Evelyn's smile in the hotel's elevator.
"I have plans for your mouth," she said, looking right at him, as matter of fact as if she had been talking about the weather.
"So we're doing this," Axell commented, with the same tone.
"I hadn't sex in months. And you're both hot and available. I would be fucking crazy if I turned down an opportunity like this one. As long as you're both okay with this. You are, right? You were trying to pick me up in a bloody bar before you even knew me."
Il'ya looked at Axell, who smiled. He tried to smile back, but he was too nervous. He sheepishly lifted the bottle he was holding in his hand, hoping that it was going to be clear what he was trying to say.
"Oh, I know how you boys' plumbing works. I'm not in the mood to get fucked, anyway."
---
Drinking and fucking weren't usually a good combination, but as Il'ya drank vodka straight from Evelyn's mouth, he found that he didn't give a fuck. Her skin was even smoother than he thought, and there was a softness to her flesh that made him want to never stop touching her. He choked on his own breath every time she squeezed him through his slacks; though he wasn't getting any harder than that, it didn't mean that it wasn't driving him crazy.
He was distantly aware of Axell getting slowly undressed behind her, and only because he was in his line of sight as Il'ya busied himself into sucking a bruise in Evelyn's neck. He had a very interesting look on his face, though, and Il'ya sort of liked it being watched like that.
"You're wearing too many clothes," Evelyn sighed against his cheek, as she tried to undoing the button of his shirt with clumsy fingers.
"Clothes make the man," Il'ya replied, with a breathless laughter, taking off his waistcoat and the shirt in one go.
"I still haven't learned Russian in the past two hours, but whatever you said, this is better," she sniped back, taking a step back to get a look. "Jesus, you're thin. I was hoping for a little more."
Il'ya carefully didn't pout. Axell made a rude snorting noise that sounded a lot like a laughter. Il'ya replied with a rude gesture. Evelyn pinched him on a nipple and Il'ya yelped. " I didn't say you're ugly, you're just scrawny," she scolded him. "I still like you."
She took his hands, placing them on her waist, and Il'ya breathed out. Soft, soft skin. He really liked her. Such a pity that she clearly didn't want anything more than a single night of sex. He kissed her softly, working his way up on her back, unhooking her bra and cupping her breasts, kneading them gently, focusing on every single sensation as best as he could.
"Get on the bed," she whispered, pulling away. "I need to take care of Axell too, or he's going to feel lonely."
"Like I would care," he muttered, but he followed her instructions and settled back on the pillows to watch them.
It hurt a little, seeing the two of them making out, especially because Evelyn was clearly more appreciative of Axell's body than she had been of Il'ya's, judging by the way her hands roamed. Axell was admittedly well build; he had wide shoulders, well shaped arms, a smooth, hard stomach. They were a very attractive couple; Il'ya found himself to be more envious than turned on.
He reached for the half-finished bottle of Vikingfjord sitting on the nightstand, and pulled a long swig, hoping that the cold liquor would wash away the nasty feelings.
"Drinking without us, gorgeous?" Axell asked, sitting next to him on the bed. He took the bottle from him and drank too. "Jesus, this stuff is vile. I don't know how you guys can stand it."
"We don't, we just down it and hope for the best," Evelyn answered, lightly and dismissively, pushing Il'ya back down and straddling his chest.
She had removed her panties; Il'ya could practically taste her already. "Are you a good kisser down here too?"
---
"... and then he gave her the most amazing orgasm in her life," Svetlana said, reapplying her lipstick.
"And Axell? What did he do?"
"Oh, he blew him, probably. He looks like he would be good at that, I don't know why."
"Oh my god. Oh my god, I wish I had a night like that. And Il'ya told you all this?"
Svetlana laughed. "No, of course. The fucker wouldn't tell me anything. But let's be serious, wouldn't you have fucked them?"
"Yeah, youre right. Just a question."
"What."
"How do you know your brother is a good kisser?"
Svetlana just rolled her eyes.
Fandom: The Headshot (original)
Pairing: Axell Toft/Il'ya Kosmov/Evelyn Hutchcraft
Rating: NSFW
Warning: alcohol abuse, dubious consent, dirty talking, unreliable narrator
Wordcount: 2127
Note: partecipa alla settimana 6 del #COWT6 di maridichallenge per l'esame di fine anno: Aimatopolis (Prompt: reati in materia di stupefacenti)
Summary: But what happened in Oslo?
"I have no idea what you're saying, love," Axell laughed softly, sipping at his drink.
"Of course you don't, I'm fucking wasted," Il'ya muttered to himself.
"This is like Petersburg all over again," Evelyn said, her voice warm and amused.
"No, it's not, and thank God for that," Axell answered with a laugh, reminding her how he had to haul Il'ya's ass up a flight of stairs because he had been too drunk to walk.
"I'll drink to that," Il'ya toasted, even knowing that his drinking buddies couldn't understand him, and drained his glass.
It had been easy, drinking himself under a table and forgetting that it was 1924's Russia; the people in the inn were friendly, spoke a friendly language, offered friendly toasts.
He had much more of a hard time when he got home, alone in his apartment, under the warm stream of a perfectly functioning shower, alone with his thoughts, with all the time to acknowledge the fact that time travel was real, that he had spent two days straight jumping around the time-line with two trained assassins he had only just met, and a suitcase filled with a frankly ridiculous amount of cash sitting under his bed to prove for it.
When Axell had texted him asking if wanted to see what Oslo was like this time of this year, he hadn't even thought about it before accepting. A seven hours flight just to go out for drinks was a little ridiculous, but Il'ya was past caring.
He was well past the half-way mark of his bottle, too. Hence, his inability to speak English. He wasn't that drunk; it was just that the language center in his brain was a real light-weight, and after a while it couldn't manage more than one language at a time.
He had no way to convey that to his companions, though.
"Slow down there, buddy, or I'll have to take you to the hotel in a fireman carry like last time," Axell said in fact good humoredly , putting a hand on the back of Il'ya's neck.
Il'ya wanted to grimace, because it was so damn patronizing, but didn't try to shrug him off. He didn't know if it was the liquor, or the fact that the three of them were squeezed on a tiny sofa that was probably intended for no more than two people, or that he was just a naturally tactile person, but Axell seemed to be even more handsy that night. More than he had been in the short time they had known each other, anyway. It was probably a mixture of all of those things.
Evelyn, plastered against Il'ya's other side, let out a small laughter and leaned over him to grab the bottle of vodka. She poured herself a drink. "I wouldn't be so worried, Axell. I'm pretty sure he's gonna be fine," she reassured him with a smile. "His toasts are still under two minutes long. We're ought to worry when he's talking for more than five minutes," she concluded, elbowing him in the ribs playfully.
Il'ya smiled despite himself, and stuck out his tongue at her. It made her laugh again. "See? He's still with us," she said, and Il'ya watched her knocking back her drink in one go.
When he tried to pick her up the first time - was it really just a couple days ago? - she had been beautiful, out of reach, cold and too distant to touch, sure and superior, absolutely uncaring of the world around her in her bright yellow cocktail dress; but she wasn't. She was pressed right against him, warm and laughing, flushed and relaxed. The blue strand in her blond hair kept falling in her eyes every time she moved, and Il'ya's hand itched to tuck it away behind her ear.
It felt too intimate, for him to indulge in the gesture, but- they were drinking together, and it wasn't the first time. They had slept in the same bed. She was right there.
She was right there, and Il'ya was clearly more drunk than he thought because when he reached over to sweep the hair away, he touched her cheek instead and kissed her.
He almost pulled away, a broken, unintelligible apology already on his lips, but Evelyn was already kissing back, no hesitation in the press of her mouth, her hand grasping his arm to keep him in place. Axell whooped behind him, his hand tightening gently on the nape of Il'ya's neck, warm, almost encouraging.
He realized he had lost himself a little in the kiss when it came to its natural end, and the embarrassment came back tenfold. He felt the urge to explain that he wasn't like that, he was better than that, but Evelyn didn't look bothered in the least, and it stumped him.
"You're a good kisser," she said, and she sounded surprised.
Il'ya didn't know what to say at that. Not that she would've understood whatever he had to say.
"Is he?" Axell asked, surprise in his voice too. "No offense, darling," he added quickly.
"No, no, I mean," Evelyn gestured, picking up the bottle again and pouring, the vodka catching the low light as it sloshed against the glass. "He's a little too straight-forward, but he's got technique. I don't know, it works for me."
Il'ya didn't know what to say at that. He couldn't say if it was supposed to be offensive, or if she was being genuinely taken aback by his skills, especially because Axell's hand was still on his neck, and he was mindlessly pressing little circles in this spot right under his left ear, and it was getting really hard to care. Il'ya was probably either too drunk or not drunk enough for this.
"I'm a little curious now," Axell smiled. "Sweetheart, would you mind?"
"What?" Il'ya started, but then Axell put his other hand under his jaw. Oh.
"May I kiss you?"
Il'ya was definitely too drunk for this. He was supposed to push Axell away, but his hands felt good, warm and gentle as they cradled his head, and he was still hot from kissing Evelyn. He wouldn't have minded kissing her again, but she was busy with her drink, and it was Axell who wanted to kiss him. It was just a kiss. He felt himself nod.
Axell smiled, and leaned in. He started soft, just a touch of lips, but then he opened his mouth and Il'ya sighed, and did the same. Axell tasted like beer, and kissed like he wanted to steal Il'ya's last breath, and was a goddamn tease, never letting Il'ya taking control. Il'ya nipped at his bottom lip, vicious and vindicative.
"You're a copycat," Axell said fondly, licking at his bitten lip and carding a hand through Il'ya's carefully styled hair, gently tugging at it. "I bet you're really good at following instructions in bed. But you're bratty as hell."
Il'ya bristled and pushed him away, leaning on the table to get at the bottle. He felt hot and flushed -and there was a little vodka left. It would've been bad luck, just leaving it. He was shivering all over, but managed to pour it without spilling it everywhere. The clear fluid burned in a familiar way while it went down his throat. It took away the taste of beer, and settled his nerves.
Evelyn took the bottle from his hand, and smiled.
"Let's get this corpse off the table, and take this somewhere more private."
He didn't have a clear memory of the trip to the hotel. Il'ya remembered only that they had picked up another bottle of that excellent vodka - not Russian, but Vikingfjord was shockingly good, and felt really smooth going down, especially since it was exactly as freezing as it was supposed to be - and that they had flagged a taxi, but that was it.
Much more clear in his mind was Evelyn's smile in the hotel's elevator.
"I have plans for your mouth," she said, looking right at him, as matter of fact as if she had been talking about the weather.
"So we're doing this," Axell commented, with the same tone.
"I hadn't sex in months. And you're both hot and available. I would be fucking crazy if I turned down an opportunity like this one. As long as you're both okay with this. You are, right? You were trying to pick me up in a bloody bar before you even knew me."
Il'ya looked at Axell, who smiled. He tried to smile back, but he was too nervous. He sheepishly lifted the bottle he was holding in his hand, hoping that it was going to be clear what he was trying to say.
"Oh, I know how you boys' plumbing works. I'm not in the mood to get fucked, anyway."
---
Drinking and fucking weren't usually a good combination, but as Il'ya drank vodka straight from Evelyn's mouth, he found that he didn't give a fuck. Her skin was even smoother than he thought, and there was a softness to her flesh that made him want to never stop touching her. He choked on his own breath every time she squeezed him through his slacks; though he wasn't getting any harder than that, it didn't mean that it wasn't driving him crazy.
He was distantly aware of Axell getting slowly undressed behind her, and only because he was in his line of sight as Il'ya busied himself into sucking a bruise in Evelyn's neck. He had a very interesting look on his face, though, and Il'ya sort of liked it being watched like that.
"You're wearing too many clothes," Evelyn sighed against his cheek, as she tried to undoing the button of his shirt with clumsy fingers.
"Clothes make the man," Il'ya replied, with a breathless laughter, taking off his waistcoat and the shirt in one go.
"I still haven't learned Russian in the past two hours, but whatever you said, this is better," she sniped back, taking a step back to get a look. "Jesus, you're thin. I was hoping for a little more."
Il'ya carefully didn't pout. Axell made a rude snorting noise that sounded a lot like a laughter. Il'ya replied with a rude gesture. Evelyn pinched him on a nipple and Il'ya yelped. " I didn't say you're ugly, you're just scrawny," she scolded him. "I still like you."
She took his hands, placing them on her waist, and Il'ya breathed out. Soft, soft skin. He really liked her. Such a pity that she clearly didn't want anything more than a single night of sex. He kissed her softly, working his way up on her back, unhooking her bra and cupping her breasts, kneading them gently, focusing on every single sensation as best as he could.
"Get on the bed," she whispered, pulling away. "I need to take care of Axell too, or he's going to feel lonely."
"Like I would care," he muttered, but he followed her instructions and settled back on the pillows to watch them.
It hurt a little, seeing the two of them making out, especially because Evelyn was clearly more appreciative of Axell's body than she had been of Il'ya's, judging by the way her hands roamed. Axell was admittedly well build; he had wide shoulders, well shaped arms, a smooth, hard stomach. They were a very attractive couple; Il'ya found himself to be more envious than turned on.
He reached for the half-finished bottle of Vikingfjord sitting on the nightstand, and pulled a long swig, hoping that the cold liquor would wash away the nasty feelings.
"Drinking without us, gorgeous?" Axell asked, sitting next to him on the bed. He took the bottle from him and drank too. "Jesus, this stuff is vile. I don't know how you guys can stand it."
"We don't, we just down it and hope for the best," Evelyn answered, lightly and dismissively, pushing Il'ya back down and straddling his chest.
She had removed her panties; Il'ya could practically taste her already. "Are you a good kisser down here too?"
---
"... and then he gave her the most amazing orgasm in her life," Svetlana said, reapplying her lipstick.
"And Axell? What did he do?"
"Oh, he blew him, probably. He looks like he would be good at that, I don't know why."
"Oh my god. Oh my god, I wish I had a night like that. And Il'ya told you all this?"
Svetlana laughed. "No, of course. The fucker wouldn't tell me anything. But let's be serious, wouldn't you have fucked them?"
"Yeah, youre right. Just a question."
"What."
"How do you know your brother is a good kisser?"
Svetlana just rolled her eyes.