#deggy

Twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three...

Breathe in, breathe out.

When he was back on Yaniv, Uncle Yar told him to count to ninety when he would get those... urges. Yeah, that's the best word. The near-primal urge to kill, to hurt, to tear apart and destroy.

The Monolith stripped him bare of all emotions and feelings and traits, all but the burning flame of fury and a choking feeling of devotion and loyalty. His politeness and, -- what do they call it, kindness? -- were just mimic and verbal reflexes build back up from traces of his blurry memories.

That's what he thought until something in his chest started fluttering upon the sight of Degtyaryov. The stalker was so... selfless. He put off his not-so-exciting escapade to Jupiter to help him. He even put his life on the line in his attempts of convincing Loki to take them in — Morgan's PDA was a dangerous bargaining tool that would have surely caused the conflict between Freedom and Duty to become even more severe and Strider was glad that Degtyaryov didn't have to use it.

Degtyaryov's selflessness and attentiveness and kindness were something he tried to imitate, fake it until the true emotions and feelings would come back. Some of his memories, like that one of him climbing a transformator near his home, came back, so maybe it was no harm to hope that the spectre of natural human emotions would come back.

But no. Even after all these years, there was only rage.

He felt crippled. The Monolith took it, took it all, his soul, his ability to feel emotions, his freedom.

Freedom's drugs helped.

A little. At first.

He had to give them up-just... had to. It was for the better. No withdrawal symptom, in theory, meant that he'd be calmer.

Unfortunately, just in theory.

Somehow... Degtyaryov helped the most. Just being in the same space as him had a calming effect. Sitting close, talking, maybe touching? There wasn't even the slightest trace of the rage that usually enveloped him.

Greed, on the other hand...

It was also Sasha that reminded him that this feeling even exists.

Strider just... wanted more. More of his attention, his presence, his kisses, his body, more of him. Himhimhimhim.

Sasha. Oleksandr. Major Colonel Oleksandr Degtyaryov. Deggy, in narrow stalkerly circles.

Either way, either name - all his. His to love, protect, cherish, to... worship.

"S-strider."

Don't squeeze so hard. Don't quench your jaw around his shoulder so tight. He asked you, remember?

Yeah. Right.

Strider's hold loosened. His teeth let go of Degtyaryov's collarbone, taking time to lick any blood away and kiss it better. One of his hands let go of his thigh, moving to instead trace the long scar across Deggy's abdomen. The scar almost perfectly led to where his other hand was: wrapped around Degtyaryov's — likely, already oversensitive, — member, and kept stroking it with gentle insistence.

It was from a bayun, right? Yeah, a bayun. He tended to that wound a few years back. Disinfected it, pulled out the tiny pieces left from torn clothes, stitched the wound close, and, later, well... took the stitches out with his teeth.

Sasha loved a bit of risk, a bit of danger, a bit of force, and a bit of pain. It... excited him. Excited them both, actually. Not too much though, just enough to get them invested. A little cussing eachother out here and there. A full strength sparring once in a while. Bodyslam into a wall instead of foreplay. It made his blood boil: to watch Degtyaryov try to struggle out of his hold, squirm and writhe, only to, eventually, give up and allow himself to be worshipped.

Yes, it was worship. Maybe, not in it's purest form, but certainly the most honest.

Forty four, forty five, forty six...

"Gimme one more."

"S-stride--"

He silenced him with a firm, unrelenting kiss that contrasted drastically with the gentle moves of his wrist.

"I know you can, baby," Strider whispered against his lips. He squeezed his hand around the reddened, glistening head of Deggy's cock slightly harder, to be met with a pathetically pretty whimper. "Just one more."

It didn't take him long enough. Degtyaryov's eyes rolled back once again, his nail dug in into Strider's shoulder. His body tensed up before shivering and going limb.

Sasha hid his face in his elbow. Always so shy. Always so tentative to let himself relax and feel.

He has no idea what those shallow, choked grunts and groans did to Strider, did he...?

Strider let go of Degtyaryov's, already soft and spent, cock, and dipped his head down. His hands grabbed his thighs instead, much to Sasha's soft grunt. He licked up his stomach, careful to pick up every singe drop of ejaculate that covered his skin. Strider took a while just dreamingly licking his scars. Degtyaryov grabbed him by the hair, making Strider moan.

Sixty three, sixty four, sixty five...

After cleaning him up, Strider crawled up, only to be squeezed into a hug by Degtyaryov.

"You're relentless," he muttered into Strider's shoulder.

Either way, there was way less tension in Degtyaryov now. He looked... content. And sleepy.

And smiling at him. Smiling that thankful, gentle, loving, adoring smile. His smile. His smile, that was reserved just for Strider.

"I didn't go too hard?" Strider nuzzled Degtyaryov's bitten shoulder.

Degtyaryov murmured something incoherent, but very pleased. He yelped and smacked him when Strider pinched his side.

"Talk to me," Strider demanded, gnawing at his shoulder again.

Degtyaryov sighed, raising a hand and combining through Strider's hair.

"That's the best I felt in mhmm—" he frowned, trying to remember— "in a while. But ease on the edging, it's pissing me off."

Strider rose slightly and now leaned over Degtyaryov, but just barely, making their foreheads touch.

"You make funny faces when I edge you," that earned him another smack, on the butt this time. "Wha... Here it is! That annoyed face."

Strider laughed, trying to simultaneously pinch Deggy's cheeks and kiss the annoyed expression of his face. Sasha was frowning at first, but then laughed. He grabbed him by the hair again, stopping and ultimately confusing out of his mind by pressing an unrelenting but thankful kiss to his lips.

"Sleep," Degtyaryov grunted when he pulled away, turning onto his side.

Strider chuckled, squeezing him to himself with one arm and pulling the blankets up with another.

Warm. Comfy. Deggy's shoulder wasn't the greatest pillow, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. It was hard, firm, and his neck would likely hurt in the morning, but, for some unseen reason, he didn't even think about it.

Eighty eight, eighty nine, ninety.

Hm. Maybe Lodochka was right. Maybe Degtyaryov was his Monolith now. Maybe he should be bothered by that.

But he wasn't. He was warm. Comfy.

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i d o n o t k n o w h o w t o w r i t e n s f w

i should go read cause my writing it degrading again fwjtwntwnwnwntgwbtwr fuuck