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Rainy days like this were best for sitting inside and playing chess, Fyodor liked to think. It was cold out. The ache in his bones was familiar and nostalgic, and the bite of chill in the air nipped at his nose and ears the same way his mother did when he had misbehaved in his younger years.
He rolled a lit cigarette between his fingers idly (this body had a nicotine addiction, how troublesome) as he looked out over the Yokohama skyline. This balcony was small and cramped, barely enough space for a chair and a side table with an ashtray. Fyodor exhaled, leaning against the half-wall of the balcony, and chewed at the scarred ends of his fingertips. The emptiness always followed the flicker of nostalgia.
A knock at the door drew him from his thoughts, and he sighed, crushed the cigarette on his palm, and left it in the ashtray as he headed to check who it was.
Peering through the peephole, he raised an eyebrow at whose face he was met with. Ranpo. The normal one from the agency. (The only one he truly held any respect for.) He had a paper stick in his mouth, a lollipop most likely, and a cloth bag hanging off his shoulder. It was awkward and cumbersome at the bottom.
Reluctantly, he undid the lock and opened the door a bit. He knew Ranpo wouldn’t be a physical threat to him.
“...Hello, Ranpo,” he started, but before he could say much else, Ranpo was pushing past him and kicking his shoes off in the genkan.
“About time,” Ranpo grumbled around the paper stick in his mouth as he slid Fyodor’s spare house slippers on, then pushed the bag into Fyodor’s hands. “Here, take this.” Once Fyodor had a hold on it, Ranpo slunk further into the apartment, looking through boxes of different chess sets on the shelf.
“And what is this, exactly?” Fyodor asked, nudging the door closed with his hip and following Ranpo to the book shelf.
“Take a look and see,” the man said coyly over his shoulder, pulling a box off the shelf and opening it, peering at ornately carved pieces. “I’ll get this set up, yeah?”
“...Chess,” Fyodor commented after a moment, tilting his head a bit. “You’re here for chess?”
“Hm?” Ranpo hummed as he headed for the table to set up the game board. “Yeah. Among other things. I figured a conversation was long overdue.”
Fyodor sighed and looked into the bag. He was met with a simple black box, which he pulled out and held in his hands, leaving the cloth bag on his coffee table. As he slid into the seat across from Ranpo, he flipped the box open, and-
His breath caught, eyes widening a bit in surprise. In the box, with a molded lining keeping it in place, sat a plug- light purple, sleek silicone. He hesitantly pulled it out.
“What is this?” he asked rhetorically, meeting Ranpo’s gaze. (Or, rather, trying to, but Ranpo seemed focused on the board. Fyodor corrected the position of the king and queen for him.)
“A plug,” Ranpo answered all the same. “Go on, put it in.”
Fyodor’s face heated. “Absolutely not,” he said definitively, and Ranpo’s eyes met his, a mischievous glint shining in them.
“Why not?” he asked teasingly, resting his chin on his hand. “Nervous?”
Fyodor narrowed his eyes, frowning, and after a short pause he spoke again. “What’s the catch?” he asked, crossing one leg over the other. Ranpo’s eyes practically sparkled.
“No catch,” he said, and if it weren’t for the look in his eye, Fyodor might’ve believed him.
He stood and excused himself to the restroom anyway. It wasn’t like he hadn’t used sex toys before. (It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this sort of thing with people he was less acquainted with.) It had been a few hundred years, and these new ones were… different, to say the least, but it wasn’t too much of a hassle to get the thing in.
Sitting back down at his spot at the table, he shifted uncomfortably. Ranpo hummed appreciatively. He had discarded his lollipop, Fyodor noticed.
“So,” he mused, idly tapping at his phone before reaching over and making the first move- white pawn to e4. “You know I learned chess in, like, 30 minutes on the train ride over here?”
“I surmised. Textbook opening,” Fyodor responded coolly, matching the move with a pawn of his own to e5.
Knight to f3. “Chess always seemed like something my parents would want me doing, y’know? They played a lot. I never bothered with it. Too much work,” Ranpo said.
“Ruy López?” Fyodor hummed appreciatively, ignoring the nonsense Ranpo was on about. Ranpo beamed.
“Mhm. Though, I guess that gives away my next move, huh?” he asked with a smile. His foot brushed Fyodor’s leg under the table, and Fyodor frowned, shrinking away from the touch. Black knight to c6.
White bishop to b5. Black knight to f6.
Ranpo was a surprisingly competent player. A few moves later, the first piece was taken- a black pawn, via white knight to e5, and his smile darkened a bit. He tapped at his phone, and a moment later, he giggled as the plug that Fyodor had been doing his best to ignore had begun to vibrate.
He inhaled rather sharply, sitting up a little straighter and shifting, but said nothing, not wanting to give Ranpo the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Everytime you lose a piece, I’m cranking that bad boy up a setting,” Ranpo said. “You take one of mine, I’ll lower it.”
Fyodor hummed, closing his eyes for a second before castling his king. Ranpo didn’t even wait a second before moving his knight to d3.
This was a battle of wits, Fyodor reminded himself with every move, under the guise of conversation over a game. A few more moves. Fyodor took a piece, and the vibrator shut off as Ranpo gave a mildly irritated tsk- only to take right back, and leave Fyodor right back where he started, with the vibrator buzzing away inside him.
The game was utterly silent. Off. On. Off again. On again.
Some two dozen or so moves in, Fyodor got two pieces taken right from under his nose, and he stiffened, leaning on his hands as the vibrations intensified, beginning to upsettingly curl into pleasure in his stomach.
He shifted in his seat, coughing to suppress a shaky breath, as he took a pawn with his queen. The vibrations lessened. A few moves later, he took a rook, and the thing switched off- but sure enough, Ranpo didn’t leave him wanting for long, and took back, and it was back on again.
The cycle repeated. Off. On. A few moves. Black in check. Off. Back on once again.
Fyodor felt as if he might go insane. This game was tipped in Ranpo’s favor.
Black in check again, Fyodor noted, dipping his head to try and regain some of his composure. (He couldn’t remember the last time somebody had put him into check at all, let alone more than once in one game.)
They were dancing around each other now- kings and knights darting between pawns, in and out of check insufferably as Fyodor felt his stomach grow tighter, the vibrator throwing him off his game.
He finally took a piece- a pawn- and he sighed in relief when the damn thing switched off again, only to again switch right back on.
Damn Edogawa Ranpo, truly.
Ranpo hummed as he took another piece, giggling under his breath as the thing buzzed more intensely. It lessened again as Fyodor took. He had tented his pants, he realized as he shifted in his seat.
A few more moves. He knew he wasn’t winning this, and reluctantly, he set his jaw and tipped his king, exasperated.
“Good game,” Ranpo said, smiling and extending a hand for a handshake. The moment Fyodor took it, he felt the vibrations crank up again, and his breath shook. “Another?”
“I- I’m not so sure about that,” Fyodor managed. He knew he was red by now. (He had always flushed easily.)
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Ranpo teased, guiding his foot to Fyodor’s inner thigh. Fyodor snapped his thighs shut around Ranpo, something akin to pleasure once more twisting in his stomach- slowly but surely bringing warmth to his face and tension to his stomach.
He hesitated. “...One more. I play white,” he said a bit shakily, moving to reset the board. Ranpo hummed appreciatively.
“You’re red,” he commented, something like affection lacing his voice, and he pulled his foot back to rest on the floor. “It’s kinda cute.”
“Don’t,” Fyodor ground out as flatly as he could manage. “And turn this thing off.”
“Nah,” Ranpo said. “Go on. Move.”
And Fyodor could only suppress a whine in the back of his throat and shakily open the most textbook way- king’s pawn to e4.
It was several moves before any pieces were taken, and Fyodor took the opportunity to breathe a shaky sigh as he leaned his head down against the table, bracketed by his arms, when the vibrations eased.
But that didn’t last long, because Ranpo took a handful of moves later, and the vibrations increased- then, a few moves later, increased again, and Fyodor let out an honest to God moan accompanied by a shiver, hiding his face against the table once more.
He took again. A few more moves, Ranpo took. Fyodor took back. And then again, and he relaxed a bit, able to ignore his body’s instinctive disappointment when the vibrator was back at the lowest setting.
Up again. Down again. Up, up- to a pitifully high pitched whine- right back down. White in check.
Once again, this game was a dance, one with no music, just the beat of blood in Fyodor’s ears and between his legs, and the click of wood on wood. He felt it resonate in the tension in his stomach, the steady build of warmth in his gut.
Black took, and Fyodor whined once more, and then black took again, and Fyodor twitched in his seat. And then, because he wasn’t suffering enough for Ranpo’s taste, a few moves later black took for a third time, earning a stifled whine as Fyodor tensed.
They were back to dancing, this time with Fyodor’s fingers shaking and his breath labored as he did his best not to collapse into a pathetic, whining mess. His pride wouldn’t let him.
More moves, and it became clearer (even through the haze of pleasure) that Fyodor still stood no chance. He surrendered after a while, and Ranpo smiled as he watched Fyodor’s composure melt into nothing. Fyodor hid his face on the table and in his arms, red and twitchy and whining, and Ranpo gently grabbed his hand and shook it.
“Good game, Kasparov,” Ranpo teased, and Fyodor’s head shot up, eyes meeting his. “Another?”
Fyodor took a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t have me on, Ranpo,” he managed with a frown- but as much as he hated to admit it, something warm did stir in his gut at the condescending air Ranpo held about him.
“Too late. Another game!” Ranpo decided with a bright smile, resetting the board as Fyodor squirmed in his seat, whining and trying to recollect himself.
Fyodor was white again. He moved a pawn, not really able to focus on what he was doing. Ranpo moved. He moved. Ranpo took. Fyodor let out a moan and melted all over again. He took back.
Ranpo developed. Fyodor developed, then castled queen-side.
Ranpo brought his queen into the mix, knights circled each other fruitlessly. Ranpo took.
Fyodor couldn’t think straight anymore. His fingers were twitching, he was overstimulated, and before he was even really aware of it, he was mumbling something- Russian, nonsensical, largely betraying his arousal..
“Hm? C’mon, Kasparov, speak up. Use your words,” Ranpo teased, seamlessly slipping into Russian to match Fyodor, and Fyodor shakily reached up and tipped his king over. He couldn’t do this.
“Turn it off,” he said, voice shaky, and he felt overstimulated tears pricking at his eyes. He glanced up to meet Ranpo’s gaze, whose eyes flashed with interest.
“Aww, poor baby,” Ranpo teased, leaning across the table a bit with an infuriating smile. “You really want that? You want me to turn it off and leave you like this? No, sweetheart, I couldn’t possibly.”
Fyodor whined, burying his face in his hands, and letting out a surprised yelp when the vibrations clicked up a setting. Ranpo giggled.
“Bastard,” Fyodor managed around a whine, and as much as he hated swearing, perhaps it was warranted here.
Ranpo gave him a cheeky grin, then rose from his seat to slide into the one right beside Fyodor instead. A hand found Fyodor’s thigh, and he- against his better judgment- allowed Ranpo to guide his legs apart.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Ranpo said, eyes shamelessly dragging over Fyodor’s frame, hovering over the tent in the front of his slacks. “You need some help there?”
Fyodor only whined in response, which Ranpo seemed to take as a yes, because he cooed and pulled Fyodor to a shaky standing position, before pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. Fyodor melted under his touch, unable to do much else, moaning into it when Ranpo pulled him into place by his hair.
When he pulled away, Fyodor was red and panting, and Ranpo was infuriatingly put together.
“Just fuck me already,” he said as Ranpo moved to trail kisses down his neck, to the collar of his shirt.
“Oh?” Ranpo mused, fingers finding Fyodor’s waist. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” he said, and in another moment, Fyodor was pressed face down into the table beside the chess board.
Fyodor hid his head in his arms as Ranpo set to work pulling down his pants and boxers, then pulling the plug out. Fyodor relaxed once the device was out, only to tense when he heard Ranpo fiddling with his belt.
When Ranpo pushed in, Fyodor gasped, which hitched up into a whine. He barely gave Fyodor a moment to adjust before he began to thrust up into him.
“Oh, fuck,” Fyodor managed, a shiver running up his spine as Ranpo’s cold fingers curled over his hip.
“Shh, you’re okay, sweetheart,” Ranpo hummed. “I’ve got you, Mommy will take care of you.”
“Mommy..?” he asked, a bit confused, but the way Ranpo twitched inside him told him everything he needed to know. He yelped when Ranpo picked up the pace to something damn near unforgivable.
“Yeah, hon?” Ranpo asked as he dug marks into Fyodor’s hip.
Fyodor was, understandably, a bit distracted, as he felt himself beginning to rapidly come apart under Ranpo. (How embarrassing.) The tension in his stomach grew, like a rubber band pulled tight, and he was babbling again before he could stop himself.
And Ranpo, smug bastard that he was, only cooed at him for how pitiful he looked and assured him that Mommy would handle it.
“Ranpo,” he started, as the tension grew to be too much. “Ranpo, I’m-”
“Hm?” Ranpo cut him off. “Think I misheard you there, sweetheart. Try again for me.” With a particularly harsh thrust, Fyodor yelped. His vision was beginning to spin (damn you, anemia) and his words were slurred with pleasure, and he shivered in his spot.
“...Mommy,” he tried, surprisingly flustered for such a small word, and Ranpo lightened his grip on Fyodor’s hip ever so slightly. “‘m close.”
Ranpo huffed a laugh, the breath fanning over Fyodor’s neck. “So sensitive,” he teased, voice deceptively affectionate. “You gonna cum for Mommy, sweetheart? Go on.”
That seemed to be enough, because Fyodor felt the tension snap all at once, and he moaned as he came, the sound embarrassingly high pitched and obscenely loud. What would the neighbors think..?
But in any matter, Ranpo wasn’t slowing down, and pleasure quickly bled into overstimulation.
“Too much,” Fyodor managed, words horribly misarticulated, but Ranpo seemed to understand all the same, because he laughed and slid his hands up to Fyodor’s waist.
“You can take it, baby,” Ranpo assured him, breath beginning to grow ragged. “Such a good boy for Mommy, right?”
Fyodor melted and whined, nodding after a moment. Ranpo could get away with this for now, but this was going to be a one time thing.