Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Goodnight, Till.”

“Night.”

The call disconnected, and with it the screen dimmed under Till’s thumb.

For several seconds, he remained exactly where he was, frozen with the phone still raised before him, staring at his own faint reflection in the darkening glass. Without Ivan’s voice occupying it, the bedroom seemed unnaturally quiet.

Then the display faded entirely, leaving Till alone with the reality of what had just occurred, what Ivan had done… what he had done.

He lowered the phone slowly. “Fuck.”

The word did nothing to relieve the pressure inside him; his entire body felt oversensitive, as though Ivan’s attention had left a charge within him that continued sparking after their connection ended. He could still hear every faltering breath, every slick, unguarded movement Ivan had failed to conceal completely… the way his own name had broken low in Ivan’s throat.

Till.

Spoken like that because Ivan had been losing control, because of him. The thought sent another pulse of heat through his abdomen, into his groin, sending life back into his already half-formed erection. Whatever self-control he had recovered during the final minutes of the call dissolved at once, bringing back the urgency that had awakened as Till listened to the obscene sounds of his teacher jerking off over him.

Holy shit.

Till threw his phone onto the bed, not caring to watch as it bounced back up and clattered against the headboard. He should ignore this feeling, finish getting ready, maybe wash his face, probably repair whatever damage the last half-hour had done to his eyeliner. He should fasten his belt, find his shoes and arrive at Mizi’s gathering before anyone could see the state Ivan had left him in.

That’s what he intended to do. Instead, he stood motionless, fingers hovering uselessly near the open buckle. The loose belt made him look as though he had been interrupted halfway through… Or was being invited to continue.

Ivan had called him beautiful.

His body had responded to the memory so far beyond anything he could convincingly ignore.

…He should do literally anything else.

He found his hand sliding over the front of his jeans, cupping himself through the denim, feeling the hardening length beneath his palm, and a shiver climbed up his spine. His eyes fluttered close as he stroked along himself through the stiff fabric, his hips swaying forward to press into his touch before he could stop himself.

Ivan had wanted him.

Yet wanted to preserve enough deniability to pretend he had not. How convenient.

Till pressed harder, frustration twisting through the pleasure. How was he supposed to carry on like that hadn’t happened? How could it be fair that Ivan had left him alone now, aching and needing more?

The mattress dipped under the weight of his knees, clothing shifting and falling around him as he pushed several rejected shirts aside. He sat back against the headboard and wasted no time before reaching for the button of his jeans once more, this time with no hesitation or nervous showmanship. He pushed the jeans and his boxers low enough to free his flushed and eager cock from the unbearable pressure of being forced against the stiff fabric for so long, kicking the clothing down his legs. One ankle became caught in the tangled clothing, and he swore as he kicked impatiently until both garments fell from the bed unceremoniously.  

He lay himself down, the pillow cool against the back of his neck, providing him with relief from the feverish heat of arousal gathered under his skin, if only for a few seconds. He closed his eyes once more, finding that the darkness behind his lids only made the fantasy clearer.

Ivan loose, his lips parted around the breaths he had tried so hard to restrain, face flushed with a hunger Till had never been allowed to witness but could suddenly imagine with excruciating precision.

Ivan stroking himself.

The moment Ivan, with his heavy length in his hand, appeared behind his eyelids, his fate was sealed. Before he could think better of it, Till’s fingers wrapped firmly around himself, hand already sliding down his length, pulling a shuddering gasp from himself. He bit the inside of his cheek, but the sound had already escaped into the room, rough and embarrassingly needy. His body was too ready, every muscle holding the accumulated tension of the call. His hand slid back up, precum already leaking from his pink slit, urging him into a faster pace far earlier than he usually would take. There would be no pretending he could take his time, no slow indulgence or matching the controlled rhythm he had listened to through the phone.

Ivan could hide behind a black screen and disguise what he wanted. Even while coming apart, he had the ability to at least attempt to keep his voice calm, to take his time.

Till possessed none of that discipline.

His fist moved with none of Ivan’s patience, rougher on his cock than he intended, driven by the memory of that first disrupted breath. By the way he imagined feeling that same hot breath panting down the side of his neck.

Till pressed the back of his head deeper into the pillow, his mouth falling open as he rocked into his own hand, delicious sharp shocks of pleasure shooting through his body.

“Ah… fuck.”

The imagined breath against his neck became a mouth, a tongue pressed wetly against the sensitive skin near his ear.

Till’s hips lifted instinctively from the bed, chasing the pressure of his own hand. The mattress creaked under the abrupt movement, and he reached blindly for the pillow beside him, catching the corner in his free hand and gripping until his knuckles ached.

He wanted to slow down; he wanted to savor it, really, he did, but never in his life had he been this excited. This was not just his body reacting to whatever face or body happened to catch his attention, his teenage hormones driving him wild, which he was unquestionably familiar with. He masturbated, thought of pretty girls with their soft thighs above their knee-high socks, men with V-lines that slipped into their gym shorts with much more regularity than he even liked to admit to himself. But none of those fantasies had ever felt like this. This was the first time he had brushed so dangerously close to real contact with another, and not just anyone… With Ivan. And he could feel the consequences of it burning through him.

Ivan had heard him… watched him… Ivan had wanted him back.

Did Ivan understand what he had started? Is this what he wanted all along?

With considerable effort, Till lightened the pressure on himself, forcing himself to breathe deeply, trying a different rhythm, shorter strokes under his swollen tip. Attempted to trace the scene back to its beginning rather than racing towards its inevitable end. Ivan’s unexpected call, that velvety voice, made warmer by wine.

‘I felt like talking to you.’

Till had been so consumed by the strangeness of the admission that he had failed to ask what it meant. Why had Ivan felt like talking to him? Why now? Loneliness? Affection? Desire?

His mind travelled further back, returning to the charged moment between them, the silence of the classroom, Till lifting his shirt, Ivan staring at the fresh silver against his skin.

Had Ivan thought about it after Till left? Had he sat alone replaying the sight until curiosity became something darker? Till imagined himself pushed back against Ivan’s desk, papers scattering as Ivan’s hands caressed his body. Ivan’s mouth lowering to the reddened skin around one piercing, lips closing with need around his nipple.

A broken whine escaped him at the thought, his controlled pace faltering already as he pumped his glistening cock, rubbing his thumb over the head to smear the precum farther, his stomach contracting at the sensation.

He remembered standing with his back to the camera, looking back over his shoulder, hearing Ivan’s sudden intake of breath. Had it felt like Till had knowingly looked right into his exquisite eyes framed by thick, darker lashes? Remembering the tremble in his body when he recognized the wet, repetitive sound. The realization that Ivan was using the sight of his body to bring himself closer.

Till squeezed harder, the pleasure intensifying so abruptly that his shoulders pressed down and his hips bucked forward. A breathless sound caught behind his teeth, half-gasp and half Ivan’s name, though he managed to swallow it before it became fully formed.

His heart was hammering in his chest. It was all too much. Somehow, it was still not enough.

He wished he could have seen Ivan’s face, to know how his expression quirked when Till pulled his shirt over his head, whether his eyes had widened when Till opened his belt… whether Ivan had looked ashamed of himself, or hungry with the same need Till felt.

There was no restraint in Till’s movements; he stroked himself frantically, the wet sounds of skin on skin filling his ears, his mind going into overdrive as his eyes fluttered closed.

Ivan’s hand must have moved achingly slow on his own length… controlled, experienced enough to know precisely how to draw it out. Had Ivan finished? Had Till’s teasing, the unzipping of his jeans, made his come pool out, coating his long fingers? Had Till pushed him that far? Ivan had sworn under his breath… his perfect voice breaking as he reached the point of no return? That loss of rhythm he had heard… that soft warming of his own name becoming a helpless sound as Ivan finally surrendered to what he wanted?

He tugged the pillow towards his face, trying to muffle his own gasps.

An amalgamation of videos he watched under covers in the dead of the night guided him to a new scene. Now in his mind, it wasn’t his own fist jerking him, but the larger, rougher hands of his teacher, kneeling between his legs, broad shoulders framed by Till’s thighs, hand pumping up and down, his face moving closer and closer, those beautiful, symmetrical features just mere breaths away from his length, as dark eyes lifted towards him. His wet lips rubbing against the sensitive tip of his cock, begging him to cover those lips with his white, sticky come.  

Till’s stomach tightened. He wanted it, needed it. Needed Ivan’s hand, Ivan’s mouth, Ivan’s body pressing him into the mattress.

He needed him, he needed his…

‘I felt like talking to you.’

…voice.

Till’s had slowed almost to a stop.

His eyes opened, blinking away moisture that had gathered along his lashes in the ecstasy of it all. He rolled his head sideways, his discarded phone only inches away, lying near his shoulder, the screen still dark against the rumpled sheets.

No.

No way. He couldn’t. Of everything he had done all night, that would be fucking craziest. Unhinged. There was no fucking way he could do that.

His fingers shifted around himself, sending another ripple of heat coiling into his abdomen.

…could he?

Ivan had taken what Till offered while hiding safely inside the darkness.

Why should Ivan be the only one permitted to take? Why couldn’t Till… also take something in return? Would that be so wrong?

He wanted Ivan to know exactly what he had done to him, what those quiet commands and broken breaths had left behind. Most of all, Till wanted to drag him back into the heat he had created rather than allow him to recover alone and pretend he had remained untouched by it.  

He wanted Ivan to say his name in the way that had unravelled him, to know whether the composure had returned, and if he could destroy it a second time.

Till’s body arched again, his control scattering under another rough stroke of his hand.

He found his other hand closing around his phone.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He whispered, some small thread of sanity trying to stop him – but he was already too far gone.

He unlocked the screen, flicking through until Ivan’s name presented itself at the top of his recent calls. He hovered above it, knowing all it would take was a small movement, and the call would be activated.

He could still put the phone down. Could still finish alone in his hand, get dressed, and arrive at the gathering and behave like nothing had happened.

His other hand jerked downwards again, uncontrolled and urgent, ripping a fractured sound from his throat, and at the same time, his thumb deliberately struck Ivan’s name, the dial tone ringing out, and yet he was still shocked by his own audacity.

Ivan answered on the fourth ring.

“Till?”

The concern in his voice cut straight through the fever that had driven Till to call. It was sharper than before, stripped of the languid amusement and playfulness the wine had softened him with, as though Ivan had seen Till’s name reappear and assumed something must have gone wrong.

“Are you alright?”

Till pressed the phone more firmly against his ear. The frantic motions of his hand had eased the instant Ivan answered, startled into something more discreet, less certain, despite his body remaining painfully poised on edge, every breath brushing against the outline of a sound he couldn’t properly contain.

“Y-yeah,” he managed poorly, internally cursing as he heard how thin and unconvincing his answer had been.

Ivan remained silent for a moment, allowing Till to hear that the classical music must have been turned off in the short space of time between their calls. Till pictured Ivan sitting upright now, a crease appearing between his brows as he abandoned whatever remained of the wine and gave Till his full attention.

“…Are you upset?” Ivan asked carefully.

Till shook his head into the pillow before remembering that Ivan could not see him.

“No. No, I’m not upset.”

Another pause followed, and Ivan sounded genuinely at a loss when he spoke again. “Then… what, Till?”

Closing his eyes, Till drew from the little strength he had remaining from his earlier spike of courage. “I felt… like talking to you.”

He borrowed the words directly, hoping Ivan would recognize them, understand what Till could not bring himself to say… But with every passing second, his nerves leaked out through rapidly forming cracks.

“…Why?”

Ivan sounded confused, not excited or interested or –

Till’s courage deserted him all at once. The call had seemed inevitable only moments ago, his need for Ivan’s voice so enormous that pressing his name had felt like the only possible thing to do. Now, with Ivan listening, Till could hear the stupidity of it. Maybe he had been wrong about it all, misinterpreted every sound, Ivan’s odd breathing patterns only being because he was drunk and tired, Till’s imagination making something filthy out of nothing.

And even if he wasn’t wrong – maybe Ivan wanted nothing fucking to do with this.

“I – this was stupid,” Till blurted, the words stumbling over each other. “S-sorry. I don’t know why I called. Just forget it.”

Humiliation flooded him; he fumbled with the phone, his palms sweating, his fingers trying to find a way to end the call before he could make matters worse.

“Oh…”

The single syllable stopped him. There was warmth in it now, a quiet note of understanding. Till’s heart lurched painfully.  

He heard footsteps on Ivan’s side of the call, followed by the subdued creak of furniture as Ivan settled into a seat. Till could envision him leaning back, one hand resting against his mouth while comprehension gradually altered his expression.

Till exhaled sharply through his nose, chest heaving under the fear that he had finally crossed too far.

“…You have always been my favorite student, Till.”

His green eyes widened incredulously, his voice faltering. “…What?”

Ivan gave a low chuckle, fondness cracking through. “Don’t sound so shocked. Every teacher has their favorites. Most of us are simply sensible enough not to admit it.”

The change in direction left Till struggling to keep pace. “And… I’m –”

“Mine.” Ivan said.  “You’re my favorite.”

Till didn’t need a mirror to know that a deep blush had spread over his cheeks, absolutely nothing to do with the burning heat that had risen while he had gripped himself and furiously chased toe-curling pleasure.

His hand stuttered almost involuntarily around himself again, sending pleasure flaring through his body again.

“Why… why are you telling me that?” Till whispered, not trusting himself with anything louder.

“I thought you wanted to talk, Till?”

Till could hear the smirk in Ivan’s voice.

“As you so kindly observed earlier, I do enjoy the sound of my own voice – if I left the conversation entirely to you, you’d probably spit some angry remark out within a minute.” Ivan continued before Till could prove the point. “But you’re right – that’s not reflective of the full story, is it?”

Till licked his moisture back into his lips, “I don’t-”

“I knew you’d be infuriating from the moment you stepped into my classroom. You were suspicious of everything I said, determined to interpret even the most harmless of interactions as a personal attack.”

“You – you were a jerk to me the first time we met – in front of Mizi and –” Till tried to protest, heart still hammering in his chest, as he began to find a gentle rhythmic motion below.

“Ah, ah, ah. I welcomed you with my exceptionally charming banter. Please restrict yourself to the facts…”

“You embarrassed me.”

 “It took you all of five minutes to decide you hated me.”

He had hated him. At least… hatred had been the easiest name to give what Ivan stirred in him back then.

“However, you proceeded to surprise me… again and again,” Ivan said, his tone dipping into something quieter, more reflective. “You have this somewhat furious quality about you, so much life inside you, even when you’re trying to convince everyone there isn’t… You fascinated me. You’ll always be fascinating to me.”

The momentary pause in Till’s earlier motions did nothing to stop the pleasure climbing swiftly as his fist glided up and down his length, still slick and wet with his own body’s evidence of just how stimulated he had been, was. He clung onto every one of Ivan’s words, his body wanting to nestle closer to Ivan’s silky voice. Till pressed his face partly into the pillow, trying to stifle the way his voice hitched, realizing he was still holding the phone too close, far too late.

If Ivan had heard, he gave no indication.

“Are you not going to ask me to elaborate?” Ivan asked, laughing softly.

Till’s face burned, but he did want more. “Why?” he managed.

“Because, Till…” Ivan mused, a smile purring through the speaker into Till’s ear, “Despite being perpetually irritated, you are also extraordinarily talented.”

Till’s breath trembled. Compliments had always made him defensive. Usually, he dismissed them before they could settle, assuming there was mockery buried somewhere within the guise of kindness or that as soon as he dared to believe it, the person offering them would eventually take it all back. This time… for a reason he could not articulate, he trusted that Ivan would do neither.

His palm tightened instinctively, and pleasure pulled hard through him, making one leg jerk across the sheets.

“Your art,” Ivan continued softly, losing the last of its teasing quality. “You always could capture your chosen subjects so completely in just a quick sketch, make something mundane into something worth looking at…” Ivan paused as though considering his next words with diligence. “I still have your drawings of me that Mr Hamilton confiscated.”

“Fuck off,” Till stammered, squeezing his eyes shut as if it could erase that particular memory.

Ivan laughed gently again, “It was strange to finally have that insight into your head…” Then his voice dipped once again. “Is that how you see me?”

“I…” Till attempted to begin, only for the sound to dissolve into a strangled sound.

Till dragged the phone away from his ear and tapped blindly on the screen until he found the speaker icon, before dropping the phone onto the mattress by his shoulder. He could no longer bear Ivan’s voice pressed directly against his ear. It had already slithered into his head, filling every corner until Till could not separate Ivan’s words from the fantasy gathering around them as the rumble of that voice drew its tongue along the tip of Till’s weeping cock in his hand.

Now Ivan’s voice entered the room, enveloping him inside the moment. Ivan continued like he had not expected or needed an answer to his question at all. “And then your writing…”

Till shielded his face with his forearm, his breath escaping hot against the inside of his elbow, shaking despite his attempts to steady it.

“You pour more into a single page than most people manage in their entire lives. I always look forward to reading your work, even when I can clearly tell you had written the whole thing at two in the morning and refused to proofread a word.”

Till made a muffled noise of protest.

Ivan ignored it. “Lyrics scribbled in margins. Verses tucked away at the back of your notebooks submitted for marking. Half-finished lines crossed through so heavily that I assume you believed no one could still read them.”

Till’s wrist moved in long, deliberate strokes. Up and down, again and again, his fist twisting near the top before plunging back down again.

 “I read every word you give me,” Ivan said. “Whether you intended me to or not.”

Ivan’s words penetrated a place far more sensitive than Till could have anticipated.

“Your lyrics and music always have been where you are most honest, Till,” Ivan murmured.

Till's hips shifted restlessly under his hand.

“Your musical ability amazes me,” Ivan murmured. “Plenty of people can be taught how to play well… You are different.”

Till wanted to tell him to stop. He wanted to demand that Ivan keep speaking until there was nothing left inside him that had not been pulled open and named.

His body chose for him, as his lithe body writhed across his sheets, trying to push down the desire to cry out. He was suddenly conscious of the repeated wet, sloppy sounds of his fist jerking himself, disturbing the stillness of his bedroom, yet his wrist did not falter.

Ivan must have heard the frantic motion; there was no possible way he had not. Yet he continued with the same deliberate care, granting Till the dignity of pretending concealment was still possible even as the evidence betrayed him.

“Sometimes I wonder whether you understand how much of yourself you give away.” Ivan’s voice roughened slightly, like a man confessing to an obsession he had kept secret too long. “I don’t think you understand what happens to you on a stage.”

“Sir…”

“You transform.”

Till’s thighs trembled.  

“The moment you step up on the stage, everything else becomes irrelevant. You make it impossible to look anywhere else.”

Till remembered every performance he had ever given that Ivan had witnessed in excruciating clarity. Ivan lingering at the back of the cramped school hall, too tall to disappear completely among the other teachers, watching with an expression that Till had been too frightened to attempt to understand.  

“No teacher could have taught you or given you that kind of presence.” Ivan allowed the words to settle. “You were born to create, Till.”

Till bit hard into the fleshy base of his palm, not caring if he broke the skin or left marks as long as it prevented Ivan’s name from tearing out of him. His heels dragged over the mattress, bunching the sheets under him, the sensations coiling tighter through his abdomen while his hand continued to move, each stroke bringing him closer to an edge he could no longer see past.

“Till.”

Ivan spoke his name with the same awe he had given his music, as though Till himself were another creation he could not look away from.

“Do you understand,” Ivan asked, each word slow and devastatingly clear, “how incredible you are?”

Till couldn’t answer even if he wanted to – his hips now rising off the bed, chasing his own hand for the relief he needed with every fiber of his body, Ivan’s words repeating until they seemed carved directly into him.

The pressure climbed so suddenly that his breath vanished, his entire body drawing taut against the mattress, muscle tightening in anticipation of a surrender to the inevitable rush that felt only seconds away, when Ivan’s voice slipped through the room again.

“Slow down.”

Till’s eyes flew open as that rich and velvety voice caressed him again, the distance they had used as protection earlier suddenly meaningless.

“Slow down for me, Till.”

His body protested immediately; every nerve demanded that he ignore him and continue until that unbearable tension finally broke, but Ivan’s authority reached somewhere instinctive that he couldn’t help but respond to.

Till loosened his grip, holding the base of his cock until the sensation subsided, his whole body shaking under the denied release, the sudden loss of urgency almost painful.

He pushed his head deeper into his pillow, jaw clenching as a low, displeased growl rumbled in his throat.

“That’s it,” Ivan said, “There’s no need to rush.”

Till’s stomach tightened at the approval; he guided his hand over his length again, forcing his wrist into a slower, less punishing pace now, obedient despite the needy lift of his body under him.

Trust Ivan to be a sadist the instant he was given the opportunity.

“You deserve to enjoy yourself tonight.”

The shift in subject should have pulled Till back towards reality. Mizi would be expecting him tonight, and time continued passing with each labored breath. His abandoned clothes remained scattered across the floor and bed, the eyeliner he had intended to fix undoubtedly smudged beyond rescue.

But now, those were problems for the future Till to deal with.

“It’s about time that you get out of the house, make several questionable decisions, and complain bitterly about them tomorrow, all in the name of a good time. Mizi will look out for you. You might find you actually enjoy being a teenager for once.”

Till’s throat worked uselessly; Ivan always made it sound so simple. It was simple for him. Not people like Till.

“Just try not to overthink it for once tonight,” Ivan said, “just for a few hours.”

The contradiction hurt in a way he could not explain. Ivan had spent the last several minutes dismantling him with an intimacy Till had never experienced, and now he was calmly encouraging him to go out and live as though the world beyond his bedroom remained unchanged.

“You spend so much time preparing for things to hurt you that sometimes you miss out on all the moments that might not.”

“Hmm,” was all Till dared offer, and even that sounded frayed.

He forced himself to keep the slower pace Ivan had asked of him, and so he experimented with the pressure instead, alternating between long, tighter strokes and shorter, looser ones, following a rhythm that existed only within his body. Heat spread steadily through him again, gathering rather than rushing, winding him tighter with every controlled movement.

“But,” Ivan added, and Till heard the faint smirk returning, “since you asked for my opinion earlier, I should probably be honest.”

Till’s hand stuttered.

“You really do look beautiful tonight.”

His breath came apart.

“I know you didn’t believe me before,” Ivan continued.

The compliment was no longer startling, yet it still pierced him deeply where he had no defenses. Till lay half hidden by his own arm, flushed and shaking, sweat beginning to gather against his skin, feeling nothing close to beautiful.

Ivan seemed to anticipate the objection before Till could find enough air to voice it. “The use of some proper clothes helped obviously,” he said, the dry humor briefly returning. “But you look just as good when you’ve clearly rolled out of bed and arrived at class without once consulting a mirror. Hair sticking in every direction, no time for eyeliner… Effortlessly cute.”

Cute –

A pitiful, broken whine escaped Till, loud and uncontrolled, mortifying.

“S-sorry,” he whispered, before clamping his free hand over his mouth, not trusting himself to keep the waves crashing through his body inside as his slow rhythm collided with embarrassment and pleasure.

“Let me hear you, Till.”

It felt like Ivan was reaching his hand toward him, an invitation to finally abandon their pretense altogether, the pretense that they had been trying to keep intact for months. The fiction that Ivan could not hear what Till was doing, that Till did not know what Ivan had done. That neither of them had been moving steadily towards this moment long before tonight.

“It’s… it's too embarrassing,” Till whispered. His heart seemed lodged in his throat, beating hard enough to make every breath shake.

Ivan chuckled, the deep tones brushing over Till’s skin, leaving goosebumps in their place. “As though I haven’t already heard enough to understand. You have nothing to be embarrassed about… Certainly not your voice.”

Till swallowed, beads of sweat gathering at the nape of his neck.

“You have a gorgeous voice, Till.”

Whatever restraint Till was trying to keep ahold of finally gave way. He lowered his trembling hand from his mouth and seized the bedsheets beside his head instead. The fabric twisted through his fingers until his knuckles whitened under the pressure. His other fist still slid over his cock, slick and effortless now, and as he rubbed his thumb over his red and swollen slit, a breathy moan slipped freely from his lips.

Once Till had allowed the first sound to escape and reverberate around him, the rest followed with frightening ease.  His gasps grew louder, moaning openly, each breath carrying another helpless fragment of pleasure as he climbed higher. He stared blindly at the ceiling as his vision blurred at the edges.

“I-Ivan…”

His name fractured between Till’s moans, thin at first, then growing louder and bolder when Ivan did not turn away from him for it.

“Ivan.”

“I know,” Ivan murmured. “It’s okay.”

There was unmistakable satisfaction tucked into the reassurance, warm and dark and quietly possessive. Ivan was listening to every faltering inhale, every helpless sound Till could no longer force back behind his teeth, and somehow being heard made restraint impossible.

Till’s head rolled back and forth across the pillow, his fingers twisting deeper into the sheets, clinging to them as though the mattress were the only thing keeping him tethered to the room as he fully surrendered to his body and needs without attempting to apologise for it again.

“That’s it,” Ivan encouraged softly. “You’re doing so well.”

Till cried out, pumping his cock harder at the praise.

Ivan hesitated only briefly before his voice dropped lower. “Ahh, there it is…” Ivan sounded almost wonderstruck by the discovery. “So that’s what you’ve been looking for all along, isn’t it?”

Till shook his head weakly, though whether in denial or desperation he no longer knew.

“You’re so good, Till,” Ivan said gently. “Such a good b-”

“Don’t say that,” Till begged, knowing he wouldn’t be able to bring himself back.

Ivan laughed lightly in amusement.

Heat tore through Till in a violent wave. His back arched from the bed, the sheets pulling taut around his fist. The words turned his limbs weak and his thoughts incoherent.

“Ivan,” Till gasped, the name barely recognizable. “Fuck, Ivan…I – this is too –”

“I’m here.”

Till squeezed his eyes shut once more, trying to understand how this could feel so utterly and completely consuming. Ivan was not touching him, not even in the same room… Yet the words held him through the unbearable intensity of everything he felt. How had Ivan sounded so impossibly composed earlier, especially in comparison to Till’s complete lack of discipline? Although now, Till could hear the strain gathering under Ivan’s careful cadence. Each sound Till failed to smother seemed to loosen Ivan further, roughening his breathing and stealing fractions of control from the spaces between his words.

Till wanted to ruin the rest of it, to make Ivan as wrecked as he felt.

Then Ivan spoke again, almost casually. “No matter who you meet tonight,” he said, “you won’t forget about me, will you?”

Till’s heart lurched. The jealousy was wrapped in his silk, subtle enough that another person might have mistaken it for just teasing… but Till heard it clearly. More than jealous perhaps. Some private and selfish part of him needed reassurance that Till would carry this with him. That no stranger in the dark of the night could displace what had happened between them.

Till shook his head. “I won’t,” he promised breathlessly, “I – I won’t.”

Ivan listened for several seconds before, quietly. “Show me.”

Those words transported Till back to the classroom, his fresh piercing tingling as Ivan’s perfect self-control fractured, just enough, to let his own selfish desires ebb through. He had wanted to see him then, and he wanted to see him now.

Despite every fiber of his being already understanding, Till clung to ignorance for one more second. “What?”

“Turn on your camera.”

His thoughts scattered and slipped over each other, the room narrowing to one point on the ceiling as his stomach fluttered. “I – I don’t know if I can…”

“You can.” Ivan remained maddeningly calm. Though his next breath betrayed how much the request had cost him. “Only your face, I won’t ask for anything more than that.”

Till’s eyes fell to his phone lying beside him. There was a part of Till that knew he should refuse, that they were already falling so far from grace with every word spoken and gasp of pleasure… straying from any version of their relationship that could be described as innocent. Yet, his arm was already extending, his hand shaking as he reached for it. He lifted it above himself, the device shaking slightly in his grip, and his thumb slipped across the screen before finding the camera icon.

He pressed the button. The camera activated, facing away from him, capturing only the dim blur of his bedroom ceiling. Till kept it that way, unable to turn it towards himself yet. Only a few moments later, the black square that represented Ivan burst into colour, as Ivan’s face filled the screen.

At the sight, Till forgot every objection he had ever possessed.

He was even more beautiful than Till had allowed himself to imagine. His dark hair had begun curling at the ends, softened and disordered from where his fingers must have passed through it. The wine had warmed his features – his dark eyes wide and heavy-lidded at once, his pupils having expanded until only a thin ring remained around them.  Till had never seen Ivan look at anyone that way… never seen anyone look at him that way.

Till felt a ludicrous flash of vindication through the haze.

He had been right. Ivan had been worth seeing. Had known that beautiful voice belonged to something equally devastating on the other side.

The corner of Ivan's mouth curved. “It seemed only fair that I joined you this time.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Till switched to the front-facing camera.

Till stared back at himself from the small corner of the screen and felt humiliation crash through him. His silver hair lay scattered across the pillow, wild around his flushed face. Heat stained his cheeks and travelled down his throat in vivid color. Tears he hadn’t noticed forming were slipping towards his temples, carrying thin black traces of ruined eyeliner behind. His chest lifted violently at the bottom of the frame.

There was no disguising what Ivan was doing to him.

Ivan leaned forward, moving over his phone until his face occupied nearly the entire screen, looking down into it with such focused intensity that the angle distorted the distance between them, his throat bobbing. For one dizzying moment, Till felt like Ivan was directly above him, his arms braced on either side of his head out of view, dark hair falling towards his face as his dark gaze pinned him against the bed.

Ivan’s lips parted, his tooth peeking out. “You…” His voice failed him. Ivan stared at him openly, his eyes moving over Till’s damp lashes, his flushed cheeks, the dark trails staining his skin. His pupils seemed to dilate further. “… you’re fucking perfect, Till.”

A helpless sound escaped Till, and he turned his cheek into the pillow, seeking refuge in the cool fabric, squeezing his eyes shut, as he continued to climb dangerously higher even as embarrassment made him want to disappear.

“I knew you would look beautiful like this,” Ivan continued, but the eloquence that had carried him through the rest of the call had deserted him. “I knew it, but I never… Till, I never imagined…” He swallowed once more.

He looked overwhelmed, visibly falling apart as though the reality of Till had exceeded every fantasy and left him unable to reconcile the two. His expression held lust, certainly, but it also held something else… awe.

Ivan’s breath faintly disturbed the microphone. “Oh my god.”

Till turned further into the pillow, caught between wanting to protect himself and the desperate need to witness every second of Ivan’s collapse.

“Don’t hide from me… Let me see your eyes.”

The request reached into Till and drew him back toward the phone trembling above him. Red and green met through the screen, and the effect was immediate. Every defense Till had constructed fell away as Ivan looked directly into him, watching every tremor pass across his face. Till could see his own mounting desire reflected back at him, darker and more controlled, but no less consuming.

Till’s hips thrusted upwards, fucking his own fist, meeting himself with every frenzied flick of his wrist. He moved erratically, all rhythm he had maintained abandoned in favor of speed as he pumped his cock toward the blinding excitement he felt winding tighter and aching deep inside of him, giving himself over to Ivan’s gaze while he watched him unravel.

“Ivan,” He moaned, the name dissolving into another sound before he could contain it.

Ivan leaned closer still, like he was forgetting that the screen could not bring them nearer.  “Look at you,” he whispered, almost lost under Till’s cries. “I don’t deserve this.”

“I’m… I-Ivan – I’m gonna –” Till gasped out, his back arching off the bed, trying his best not to break their gaze but failing.

“Come see me on Monday.”

Till barely understood him, pressure filling every part of his body until thought itself felt unfeasible. “W-what?”

“Monday,” Ivan repeated, “I want you to come see me after your classes are finished.”

Till’s fist stroked his cock in short, desperate strokes over his swollen tip, hand already dripping with his precum, his toes curled tightly into the sheets.

“I will,” Till panted, nodding frantically. “I will... I’ll come.”

Ivan’s familiar smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, but there was nothing ordinary left in it now – he looked pleased, hungry, and almost unbearably certain.

“You promise?” Ivan’s eyes darkened, with a mischievous, knowing look. “You promise you’ll come for me, Till?”

The deliberate double meaning sliced through the last thread of Till’s control. The world narrowed to Ivan’s face, Ivan’s voice, and the unbearable relief of finally breaking under his gaze.

“Ahhh, ah Ivan… I-Ivan…”

His hips snapped upwards into his hand, pleasure tearing through him so suddenly that his entire body seized around it. A cry ripped from his throat as the bed creaked beneath him. Till came hard, his hot cum spilling out over his fist and fingers, dripping onto the bedsheet between his thighs as he continued to jerk helplessly into his hand, continuing to pump himself while wave after wave crashed through him.

There was no room for embarrassment now.

Till’s head tipped back further, deep moans escaping his throat with abandon. His legs trembled across the sheets, muscles drawing taut before releasing only to tighten again.

Distantly, beyond the roaring in his ears, he could hear the silky murmurs of Ivan talking him through it, encouraging him, helping carry him through his orgasm and each overwhelming pulse.

“That’s it…” Ivan murmured. “Just like that Till… so good for me…”

Through the white noise flooding Till’s mind, Ivan’s eyes remained painfully clear, his dark eyes fixed on the screen with an expression too naked to misunderstand. Satisfaction and reverence lingered there, tangled with longing and a fracture of something almost wounded, like watching Till fall apart had affected him far more deeply than he had prepared himself to admit.

The sight followed him through the last fading waves, keeping him grounded when the rest of the room seemed to want to slip beyond his reach. His body sank heavily into the mattress, every muscle that had drawn tight began to loosen at once, leaving his limbs weak and strangely distant. His breathing remained erratic, each inhale catching high in his chest before shuddering free. The phone shook above him until his arms could no longer support its weight, and he lowered it clumsily onto the pillow beside his head.

He took the opportunity to grab a rogue t-shirt and wipe his fluid-soaked hand on the fabric, grimacing at himself before scrunching it into a ball and throwing it across the room. It struck the floor with a soft, undignified thump.

He managed to prop the phone against the wall and turned onto his side to face it once more.

Ivan was still there, watching him, the earlier smirk now gone from his lips, leaving behind a softness Till did not know how to survive.

A tear slipped from the corner of Till’s eye and travelled over the bridge of his nose, before dripping down onto the pillow. Another quickly followed, and Till touched the corner of his eye with his finger, attempting to wipe it away casually enough that Ivan would not question it.

He wasn’t upset… at least, he didn’t think he was. There was simply too much inside him, the aftermath of pleasure and humiliation and disbelief all pressing against one another until his body had nowhere else to put them.

“Maybe that was too much.”

A cold chill ran down Till’s spine. He turned his face further into the pillow, too emotionally and physically spent to hide properly, but unable to endure the full force of Ivan’s concern.

“It wasn’t.”

And that was true. Till did not regret it, could not regret it.

Had this been what the years of their time together had been building to? The months of private conversations in empty classrooms, whispered late-night calls, glances that lasted too long, arguments left unfinished… had it all been leading them here?

Till closed his eyes, and another tear escaped beneath his lashes.

When Ivan spoke again, his voice was quieter, seemingly understanding that Till needed to be brought down gently from the impossible height they had reached. “You need to get up soon if you don’t want to be late.”

Till produced a weak, offended noise from the back of his throat, and opened one eye enough to glare at the screen.

A light chuckle warmed Ivan’s face. “I know, a terrible suggestion really. But you need to clean yourself up. Drink some water. Fix your eyeliner, if it can still be saved.”

Till dragged the back of his wrist under one eye and held it toward the camera, presenting the dark smear left across his wrist. “I think it’s pretty fucked.”

Ivan didn’t immediately respond, and in the stretched silence, Till was the first to look away. His heart was beginning to pound again, although his body remained heavy and boneless against the bed. He listened as Ivan drew in a slow breath, preparing to return them to the safer subject of Till’s neglected plans.

“Mizi will be wondering where you are soon.”

The thought of stepping outside his room felt ridiculous now. How was he expected to get dressed and go out to speak to other people after this? How could he sit beside Mizi and pretend Ivan’s voice was not still inside him, wrapped around his every thought?

“God,” Till muttered, pushing one hand through his fringe. “I look like a complete mess.”

Ivan rested his cheek against his fist. “You know what I think.”

 Till’s stomach fluttered at the memory, his lips parted, but no answer came. Ivan watched him struggle for several seconds before his mouth twitched.

“Get ready, Till. We’ll talk again soon.”

Till wanted to ask him not to end the call; the plea rose quickly, pressing against his ribs.

Stay with me.

But shame caught it before it reached his mouth. He had already given Ivan more than he had ever given anyone… Asking him to remain felt somehow more revealing than all of it. So instead, he nodded.

“Okay.”

Ivan’s gaze moved over him one final time, lingering as though he were committing the sight to memory.

“Goodnight again, Till.”

The call disconnected. Ivan vanished so abruptly that Till felt the loss physically, an empty space opening beside him where Ivan’s face and voice had been, leaving the room colder than it had any right to be. Till barely could recognize himself.

He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with both palms, his fingers pressed hard against his brow as he attempted to breathe, but every inhale shivered apart before reaching the bottom of his lungs. Tears continued slipping under his hands and running towards his temples. He laughed once, a small, broken sound born from disbelief, then bit down against his lower lip when it threatened to become something else.

This was supposed to have been about desire. A reckless and temporary moment shared. A private fantasy sharpened by proximity, by the thrill of wanting someone he should never have wanted… The greater thrill of discovering that Ivan wanted him too. Till could have understood that; he could have survived lust.

Lust demanded nothing after the body had finished with it. By morning, they could have collected their shame and pretended it had been a momentary failure or judgement.

But Ivan… Ivan had kept his drawings… read every lyric… watched his performances and stored the memory of him under stage lights somewhere safe. Ivan had seen him angry, exhausted and difficult. Had known him bruised and defensive, hair unwashed, eyeliner absent, every ugly thread exposed, and had called him beautiful in every version. He saw him, worse… even dared to try and understand him… in a way that no one else ever had.

He pressed his palms harder over his eyes as though darkness might undo the understanding now spreading through him… It did not. The truth had already settled around his heart, enormous and immovable, more frightening than anything that had happened during the call.

Oh shit.

He was hopelessly in love with him.