anatole often finds soirées to be incredibly boring.

he lounges on an empty couch, slouching enough to be considered disrespectful. his head lolls slightly as he tunes out the sounds of forced pleasantries and uncomfortable laughter around him, staring at fedya out of the corner of his eye. he's talking to another soldier, a tall, lean man, who's standing far too close to him. fedya does nothing, just smiles again and continues the conversation. anatole knows that face well enough to realize the smile is nothing but a display of politeness, a show for someone he doesn't find to be to his taste.

anatole relaxes back agaisnt the cushions, bringing an arm behind his head and stretching out in a way that elicits more than a few whispers from people standing near him. he's used to it, the snatches of disdainful words as he passes. poor prince vasilly, stuck with a son like that. why he couldn't be as charming as his sister, i don't know, one woman would say. well, you know how it is, the other woman would reply, you always get one bad egg, and they'd titter and scurry off, skirts swishing as if in mockery of anatole. it makes him scoff. if they could see the things helene does gets up to! either way, he doesn't let it bother him. as long as he's handsome, he knows at least some people will bear with his company, and he delights in preening in front of all of the flustered, naive young women who flock to him.

a hand on his wrist, drawing him back to reality. painfully, he notes, yanking his arm away and cradling it protectively. he remembers, in vivid detail, exactly why his wrist hurts so much, and immediately sits up straight, his entire body at attention. he hears fedya's soft laugh behind him.

"i saw you looking." it's low, teasing, and anatole's hairs stand on end. "are you jealous?" anatole rolls his eyes, even though fedya can't see. "what kind of a question is that? of course you were. how are those bruises, eh?" fedya reaches toward anatole's sleeves and attempts to roll them up. anatole squirms away.

"fedya, not here," he hisses. fedya's faster, grabbing the hem and exposing fresh bruises littering anatole's wrist and forearm. anatole shivers, finally turning to look at fedya. he's smirking.

"come here." it's not gentle. it's a command. anatole feels his face grow hot as fedya grabs his wrist again, his swaggering public persona faltering with the feeling of fedya's breath on the shell of his ear. he's come to realize that he performs in society--even his actions that are looked down upon, said to be disgraceful, embarrassing, are in a way calculated, or at least as calculated as anatole kuragin can be. his nonchalant disrespect, his confident smirks--they all dissolve as soon as fedya so much as raises an eyebrow at him. with fedya- well, he's needy, to say the least. clingy. fedya can rip him open, dominate him, in the best way, baring anatole's deepest self all while holding him close and keeping him grounded.

he follows fedya's lead, a firm grasp on his tender wrist that sends prickles of electricity up his arm. anatole flushes pink as he feels the visible remnants of a night forgotten, of whispered orders and stifled moans. they reach an empty room that feels far removed from the world of high society's stiff decorum, a small, rather nondescript bedroom. the bed is crisp and clean, and anatole has to bite his lip to keep from letting out a noise at the thought of how fedya could push him down onto the mattress and ruin him. he draws in a sharp breath of air as fedya slams the door and presses him against it, his knee immediately finding its way between anatole's legs.

"fedya, wait," he gasps. he's already panting, as per usual when fedya so much as brushes against him. fedya pulls back, still smirking much too close to anatole's face.

"what, want me to stop?" fedya teases, he's always teasing (is this payback for the time anatole teased him when they were in public once? it's time to get over that), and anatole squeaks a little and shakes his head vigorously.

"no--wait, it's just..." anatole gestures behind him, as if some nosey woman is pressed against the other side of the door, eagerly taking in every sound. "people are going to talk, aren't they?" fedya scoffs.

"and why would you care?" anatole pouts, an expression that, for some reason, always manages to soften fedya at least a little bit. fedya lets out a huff of breath, but backs away a few inches all the same. "oh, come on, anatole, nobody expects fedya dolokhov, brave assassin, to be in an elicit affair with prince anatole kuragin himself. nobody will even notice we're gone."

anatole's nose wrinkles slightly. elicit affair, as if fedya is like one of the men helene pursues in her free time . fedya notices, the ghost of a true smile playing on his lips. "fine, tolya, fedya dolokhov, brave assassin, the suitor of one prince anatole kuragin." he strokes anatole's hair away from his face before he kisses him. anatole melts into his arms this time, making a tiny noise in the back of his throat as fedya deepens the kiss and presses his knee right there again.

anatole moans as fedya kisses a line down his pale neck, starting with a nip at the sensitive area behind his ear and ending at the juncture between anatole's neck and shoulder, sucking a new bruise into the skin there. he pulls back, maddeningly, and anatole scrabbles at the front of fedya's crisp uniform as if that will pull his lips back to his shoulder.

"anatole, people will talk if they hear you moaning like that. can you be quiet for me?" there's the voice that makes anatole shudder, the quiet questions that aren't ever really questions. anatole nods shakily. "good. here," comes fedya's voice as he raises his hand towards anatole's lips, and anatole knows enough to take several fingers into his mouth and suck. "good," fedya says again, and the blood flows straight to anatole's crotch. fedya moves back to the bruise that's slowly beginning to bloom with color, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to his handiwork, letting his lips ghost over anatole's exposed collarbone before reaching the top of his shirt.

"off. now. everything," he murmurs, making quick work of his own uniform while anatole fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. fedya skims his fingers over anatole's neck, his chest, running hands down his arms and pressing into the bruises as anatole struggles with the rest of his clothes. when he's finally free, fedya'a fingers encircle his wrists, and squeeze. anatole gasps. they're pressed against each other, and anatole buries his face in fedya's shoulder, already flushed and overwhelmed.

"over there. on the bed," fedya says, his gruff tone the only indicator that he's even close to as being as far gone as anatole is. fedya doesn't let him walk on his own. he all but drags him to the bed and roughly bends him over, tugging at his hair with one hand, still holding his wrists behind him with his other. anatole is completely and utterly powerless, and he loves it.

when fedya fucks him right there on the crisp, white sheets, anatole loses it. it often happens this way, anatole too overwhelmed with pleasure and feeling that he can barely make sense of what's happening, of fedya's fingers digging into his hips in a way that will most definitely leave bruises, of fedya's soft whispers and touches that are soft and firm at the same time. fedya often notes how silent he is when it's all happening; he can never stay quiet before, when he's being teased and bitten and smirked at; but now, when his face is pressed into the mattress, and his hands are searching for a grip on the quilt but never finding one, and his bare cock is leaking against the fabric...anatole finds he can't quite make a sound.

it's why he loves bruises so much. when everything has a tendency to blur together, a visible mark of his nights with fedya serves as a reminder the next day when he misses him, or is just plain bored. all he has to do is look at the darkened skin, wherever it may be, and it sends a jolt through his veins that's not unpleasant, though it does leave him missing fedya even more.

"hey, you still with me?" comes fedya's voice from above him. he slows his pace, maddeningly. anatole manages a tiny whimper in the back of his throat as he presses back against fedya, willing him to move again. and oh, he really is, going faster and faster and faster, his hands ghosting down anatole's back. he finally reaches around anatole to grasp him, and it only takes a few seconds of friction until anatole's coming, his cry muffled by the sheet he's buried his face into. he shudders through the aftershocks as fedya reaches his own climax, pulling anatole's back flush to his chest. he kisses anatole's shoulder before gently pushing away from him. they sit for a moment, catching their breath, anatole leaning on fedya with his eyes closed.

fedya turns to anatole and brushes his hair away from his face, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before standing up and tossing anatole's clothes at him. once they're both as presentable as they can possibly be, anatole rushes to the mirror to inspect himself. he's a mess, at the very least. swollen lips and disheveled hair are only the half of it. an obvious bruise peeks out from the collar of his shirt, and he flushes as he looks at it, even now.

fedya grabs him from behind, looking entirely more composed than anatole.

"all set?" he asks, between pressing kisses to anatole's neck. anatole shivers and squirms away. once is enough for a single soirée.

anatole turns around and presses his lips to fedya's, a small noise of surprise escaping the other man's lips. anatole pulls away as quickly as he can, leaving fedya with a small smile, then turns to the door. fedya rubs his shoulder before he steps out into the hallway. they stand side by side, the warm sounds of voices colliding still seeming like they're a world away.

anatole takes a deep breath and enters society once again.