Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/11210427. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage Category: M/M Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス_|_Bungou_Stray_Dogs Relationship: Fyodor/OMC Character: Fyodor_Dostoyevsky_(Bungou_Stray_Dogs), Original_Male_Character(s) Additional Tags: Pedophilia, Necrophilia, Murder Stats: Published: 2017-06-15 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 2166 ****** Sweet and Sour ****** by Darke_Eco_Freak Summary Sugar sweet and painfully sour. He can be both, if you want him to. Notes In this work, Fyodor is 16 and having sex with a 27 year old whom he kills. There is sex and necrophilia, so please, heed the warnings here. ***** Sweetest Embrace ***** Darkling, I call him Darkling and he smiles Darkly. Always, and it is enchanting in his way. His eyes though, they remind me of a child’s There’s something innocent there to stay Darling, he calls me Darling and sighs Softly. Always, like it’s a secret Almost as though it’s a lie But he’d never be able to keep it. Does he really think me a fool? Yes. To him, I’m but a tool. And in these last moments And in these last breaths I do understand, and I do regret; Not seeing the darkness of his eyes Not hearing the twist in his lies Not tasting the poison on his tongue Not feeling as I was undone Darkling, please, show mercy for your Darling. Show what we had was something No? No. Was it an errant fling? I think, I know, I. Yes. Yes Dar- ***** Bitterest Euphoria ***** Chapter Notes Warning: pedophila and necrophilia in this chapter. Please read at your own discretion. Look at him, so handsome, so confident and lovely. He’s something good, something nice, sure he has his vices but who doesn’t in this world? What sweet little treat doesn’t have its bitter aftertaste? None I’ve found, none I will find I don’t doubt and it’s something to make peace with, something to admit and move on from. “Darkling,” he mumbles, voice soft around the edges and heavy with sleep. I pause but I don’t freeze and this is…unfortunate. I knew the risk, of course I did, a calculated risk and it always was but I did want to keep this toy around just a little longer, this one was fun, this one was nice. But, needs must and he needs to die now. “Darling,” I whisper, dropping the jewels to the floor, letting them thump on the carpet so soft under my feet. “Darling,” I croon as I move to him, just as softly as I ever have and know he’s confused, the scene is a confusing one after all and forgivable. Well not entirely forgivable but enough, enough. “Darling,” I sigh and he sits up, struggles out of the covers and shrugs off the sleep clinging to him just as tight. He’s handsome, he really is; the first born son of a diplomat who isn’t even corrupt. He works to make the world a better place, he’s a good man, a smart and incredibly intelligent man so it only makes sense for him to have some glaring flaw and this is it. I’m it. “Darling shh, go back to sleep,” I coax him, stroking the hair out of his face and leaning in close to press a kiss to his warm cheek. He’s twenty-seven years old and he has no problem picking up pretty boys from the streets, pretty boys with dark hair and light eyes and desperate prospects. He has no problem helping those poor boys into his home, into his bed, and fucking them until they can barely speak. “Where you going somewhere?” he asks as his voice rasps and the flicker of anger underneath it all is ugly, and exhilarating. Oh yes, he has no problem snatching up those pretty boys from the gutter, preferably too young to know better, or just too young to do better. He likes dressing us up in soft clothes, he likes having us perform for him, likes helping us become oh so cultured and successful. He likes having us all in his debt, ready and willing to do anything to repay him; sad for him to have taken me as his newest little project. “I was looking at the stars, they’re so beautiful away from the city,” I lie easily, climbing into the bed with him, throwing my leg over his waist and straddling his hips; pinning his hips. He is a smart man, smart enough to keep all his pretty boys a nice little secret from all the people who could spoil his dirty fun. He is a stupid fool, idiotic and hedonistic and only smart enough to fool himself and idiots like him; he disgusts me. “I knew you would like the country house, you look much better already,” he murmurs, reaching up to cup my cheek and I turn my face into his touch. I smile for him, look as innocent as I know he wants and rock back onto his cock. I know how he is, I know he always wakes up hard; morning, middle of the night, afternoon nap, the time never matters for him. “Never knew there was this much green in the world,” I groan, rocking against him in a slow steady rhythm, leaning down until I can kiss him. Or rather, until he can kiss me, he likes taking charge and it’s easy enough to let him do what he wants. He kisses into my mouth, I reach for the lube, he bites my tongue, I grind down on his dick. He’s easy to distract and easy to please, a simple sinner. “Please,” I whine against his lips as I pop the cap of the lube, always on hand, always nearby. “Please, Darling,” I moan as I slather the lubricant on my fingers, and all over the bed but he doesn’t seem to care. I cover my fingers as best I can with one hand, I keep rolling my hips for him, grinding my ass against his eager dick. I can feel the length of it along my ass, pressing hard, feel it twitch when I whimper for him and wonder how he never got caught before, he’s so fucking obvious it’s near painful. I don’t waste time teasing out the preparation, I stretch myself for him, take my time of course but don’t make a show of it. I let him tangle his fingers in my hair in the meantime, let him twist and turn my head as he pleases, let him fuck my mouth with his tongue in a parody of what he thinks he’ll do with his cock. “Darling, do you know what else I was doing tonight?” I ask him as he sits up properly, as he braces himself against the headboard and forces me up on my knees. “Reading books in the library?” he suggests as I wrap my hand around his cock, as I slather it in slimy, slick lubricant too. The quietest of hisses slips past his lips as I do and it’s too dark to see the bliss on his face but it’s easy to hear, easy to read in his body language and nearly as disgusting as his vice. “No, no I was doing something different,” I tell him as I raise myself up on my knees, as high as I can possibly go, holding his dick steady. The noise I make as I lower myself on his cock is contrived, fake and high pitched but he eats it up, I can hear his breathing turn shallow the lower I go until I’m sitting on his dick. I don’t look at him as I clench around his cock, I look past him and let the darkness hide the expression his face, I’ve seen it far too many times to care anymore. “What were you doing, my pretty boy?” he asks playfully, hands fitting themselves over my hips as they always do and my hands find his shoulders as they always do. I barely have to lift myself, he lifts me by the hips, and he fucks up into me. He uses me like an oversized sex doll, he uses me like I’m nothing but something warm and tight for his cock and I let myself be used. I let him lift me, I let him kiss me, I let myself get wrapped up in the lukewarm pleasure and throw my head back the way he likes. He’s such a controlling fool, he thinks using me makes him my Master, he thinks scattering bruises across my neck Mark me as his. He thinks reaching down to stroke my cock in time with the rough thrusts, he thinks forcing my pleasure to keep time with his makes me his. “What were you doing?” he pants after a fashion, after wild, rhythmless rutting that barely keeps me hard and brings me nowhere close to orgasm though he doesn’t guess it from the noises I make for him. “Mmmm? I was, ahh, I was,” I slur for him, letting the words spill over each other as I get my legs under me, as I lean forward so my chin rests on his shoulder. “Where were you pretty boy?” he repeats, half playful, half desperate and I know he’s close, I can feel it in the stuttering thrusts, can hear it in his uneven breaths and now, this. This is when and where and how. “I was eating your mother’s pussy, she tastes so much better than you and fucks me twice as good,” I tell him, letting the words dissolve into a teasing, mocking chuckle, letting the words come through in my real voice, letting all pretense of pretty gutter boy drip back where it belongs; in the gutter. He starts to say something, he falters in his fucking, he gets one breath in before I pull back and press my lips to his forehead. His clammy forehead wet with sweat but even the salt tastes sweet to me now. He goes limp, falls back against the head board with a sound that’s partway between a sigh and a gasp,  it’s pretty, it’s…lovely. “Oh Darling, oh sweet, sweet Darling,” I moan and it’s the first real moan I’ve ever given him and he’s not even here to appreciate it, good. He was useful in life, barely, he let me get in good with more than a few more corrupt politicians. He introduced me to a man who could get me where I needed to go and he gave me a nice stable home base which was nice. But in death, oh in death he’s so much better. No more simpering for him, no more pretending to be uneducated gutter trash, no more stalking through the hallways between his room and his mother’s because that, at least, wasn’t a lie. “Mommy was better than you, I liked Mommy,” I whine and he’s dead, he’s very dead but the body isn’t cold yet and well, well it’s time he let me use him for my pleasure. Sudden death didn’t affect his erection and though he never knew how to use it in life, I know just how to make it work in death. I don’t even have to brace my hands on his shoulders either, I can just roll my hips, I can just lift myself barely an inch off his cock and drop myself back down. I can actually make him hit my prostate now instead of missing every time he tried, I can wrap my hand around my cock and stroke myself at my own pace. I can take my time to savour every little sensation and build my own ecstasy the way I want it. I can even moan the name I really want to under my breath though it’s not so much a name as it is an identifier but semantics. I’ve been here, playing at his pretty thing for less than a handful of months, but in all those months and all the orgasms I had for him, this is the best one by far. I don’t appreciate explosive, earth shaking orgasms, I don’t want to cum and lose my senses for the next year and a half. I want to gasp and moan and buck but I don’t want to have my heartbeat racing in my ears, I don’t want my vision to tunnel or black or see any form of Heaven or the Planets. I cum on my own hand, I cum hard but not fast. The euphoria takes its time washing over me, lets me breathe slow and deep as I enjoy it. I let my eyes slip closed, my only concession to the pleasure, and moan as deeply as I please for the first time in months, oh finally. In a month, I’ll get to celebrate my seventeenth birthday which is probably seventeen more than mamochka thought I’d get. In a month, I’ll leave for America and another piece of the puzzle can be shifted and coaxed into place. In a month, I’ll need to be proficient at bowing a guitar and if nothing else, at least this idiot let me have a cello and practice as much as I pleased. “Mmm, this was lovely Darling, but I’ll take my leave now,” I whisper to his corpse and climb off of it, wipe my hands on the sheets and saunter over to where I dropped the jewels. His mother was more affectionate than him, much better at gifts and the purple gems on this necklace are one hundred percent real. They’ll let me get where I want to go, and they’ll give me the perfect excuse to disappear. Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!