Eat His Leftovers Cold

Explicit
M/M, M/F, Other
Daniil Dankovsky/Andrey Stamatin/Peter Stamatin, Andrey Stamatin/Peter Stamatin, Daniil Dankovsky/Peter Stamatin, Daniil Dankovsky/Andrey Stamatin, Daniil Dankovsky/Corpse, Necrophilia, Snuff, Gore, Murder, Trans Daniil Dankovsky, Voyuerism, Vaginal Sex, Cunillingus, Handjobs, Humiliation, Frotting/Humping, Cock Warming, Rigor Mortis, Explicit Descriptions of a Corpse, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Bloodplay (kind of).

This fic cannot be found anywhere else, this is the only posting of it. Do Not Repost Anywhere.

“Oh come now Danya, you have to admit she’s pretty.” Andrey says, nudging him and pointing to a red-headed student on the other side of the courtyard.

“I have to do no such thing, Dryusha” he says elbowing him and burying his nose more intently into his book, barely sparing her a glance, trying to avoid Andrey and all of his general lechery.

“Danya, be reasonable! She’s gorgeous, you’d be mad to deny it!”

“And yet, Andrey, deny it I do.”

Andrey looks at him, exasperated. Huffing, “I bet you’d be only too happy to rut against her if she wasn’t breathing, huh Danya?” He leans in, to whisper in Daniil’s ear. Tracing a finger up and around the shell of his ear as he speaks. “What’s that saying? ‘You’ll fuck anything with a pulse?’ Well, you’ll fuck anything without a pulse won’t you?” Drawing an arm around Dankovsky’s shoulders and draping himself around him. “We’re two opposite sides of the same coin there aren’t we? I good match I’d say.” Daniil shivers under his arm, feeling his face heat up. “Aw, look at how red you’re getting! You imagining her all cold on the slab Danya? You like her better that way? Think she’s prettier without a pulse?”

Daniil can feel himself begin to get slick. Can feel the heat in his gut growing as he imagines her laying there. A shudder runs up his spine and he barely manages to shake Andrey off of him until-

“Want me to invite her over? We can have our fun and then you can have the leftovers” is whispered directly into his ear, and all pretenses of ineffection are lost as a high needy whine slips out of him.

Pulling his book up to hide his face, shifting his stance, trying to subtly untick his underwear from where they’ve become damp with slick. He can feel Andrey’s grin against his ear. “You liked that idea didn’t you Danya? You’re getting all wet under all those layers, aren’t you? You know we can always tell Danya. When you start dripping for us.” And damn if that doesn’t make him squirm more in Andrey’s hold. “Well Danya? Make your decision, if you wait much longer, she’ll get away…”

Daniil so desperately wants to have this sort of fun at home for once, as opposed to rushed, in an open grave or a rotting abandoned kitchen or a drafty warehouse. “Yes. Damn you, yes!”

“Yes, what Danya?” Andrey’s grin is only growing, almost seeming at risk of taking flight off his face if it gets much larger.

“Yes, I want you to invite her over and let me have your leftovers.”

“What’s the magic word Daniil?”

“Fuck, please.” He almost screams it, so desperate now for the promised fun.

“Good boy.” Andrey breathes, hot against his ear before shoving off and beginning to walk toward his target, a confident swagger to his steps that Daniil has always found annoyingly attractive.

“Wait!” he calls, waving frantically.

Andrey turns around, looking disappointed, clearly thinking that Daniil has already chickened out.

“Just, let her sit out for a while before I get my turn, okay? I don’t want her too warm or too pliant…” feet shuffling as he asks, just shy of embarrassed to be asking. Andrey just laughs, smiling with a nod as he called Daniil a freak, and turns back to approaching the girl.

Daniil can see them talking, can see Andrey going through the motions, clearly only doing the minimum to tempt her into his bed. She seems more than interested though, hanging off his every word. Within a few minutes, the pair are headed back toward Daniil, arm in arm, the girl clearly enthralled by Andrey’s every little move. Daniil sticks his nose further into his book, ignoring her questioning glance. He has no interest or need to know her, or her name. He doesn’t care what the twins get up to with her. He only cares how she’ll die, and how she’ll stiffen into rigor.

He trails behind the pair on the way back home. Letting her get more comfortable. Relax into the repetitive motions of a hookup. Daniil still gets a thrill from this. Knowing that, in a few hours, she’ll be dead and laid out for him to play with.

She makes small talk with Andrey the whole walk back to the flat, mindless little nothings that only serve to make Daniil more excited to watch her die. He wonders how the twins will do it. Wondering if he’ll get to watch. His eyes are still in the book, but he hasn’t read anything in ages, too distracted to focus on any of the words on the page. Only when they get to the building does he finally tuck the book under his arm, climbing the stairs a little difficult with how damp his underwear has gotten. Andrey was right, he really is good and almost dripping at the thought of her, dead on the table, all laid out and cold to play with.

The door opens and Peter already has his easel set up. Somehow, having known they would be coming back with a muse.

“Oh, was he not going to join us?” she asks, indicating Peter at the easel, draped in a robe.

“Don’t worry in the slightest, he’s going to be a very active participant. He’s just got to get some painting in first.” Andrey replies. Daniil settles in to watch as he speaks, getting comfortable in a chair across from the table that Andrey backed the co-ed up against, her thighs bumping into the edge, boxing her in with his arms, and thighs of his own. She doesn’t seem worried, smiling up at him, lounging back against the table, almost putting herself on a slab.

Daniil finds himself, unsurprisingly, focusing on Andrey more than the girl. Gaze intent on his arms, as he strips off his shirt. His hands, littered with small nick scars, from quick movements, back when he had to practice, to learn to flick his blade around like another limb, graze over her arms, tearing her shirt off of her, throwing it off into the depths of the flat, uncaring where it lands. Scared hands grasping soft flesh as he plays with her tits.

Playing, squeezing, her breasts, rolling nipples with deft thumbs. Daniil honestly couldn’t care less about her pleasure, but every little twitch and grin that spreads across Andrey’s face at her gasps, makes both Daniil and Peter smile.

It doesn’t take long for Andrey to get her up on the table. Center, he’s braced above her, one hand played with her clit, lips locked, eyes dark and wanting.  Andrey’s hand, shifts then, and takes hold of his stiff, weeping cock. Gives it a few strokes before lining up and pressing in. Daniil really can’t be sure, but, from her expression and his own past experience, that she’s feeling deliciously full right about now. His own hand slips into his pants, sliding fingers into himself. Just wanting to be full, wishing it was Andrey.

 

Andrey watches, lets one hand slip behind him, taking hold on a handle, keeps working his other hand on her clit, getting her closer and closer, bringing her right up to the edge until—

The blade is swinging, carving through the air in an arc, to plunge into her gut, drawing a clean line from pelvis to diaphragm. Carving her up like a fish, red and meaty viscera now on display. The look on her face, one of betrayal, of mounting pleasure turned blinding pain. He

it seems she would be getting no little death, only the bloody and far more permanent one. Andrey pulls out, looking back at Peter and Daniil, bloody grin on his face, eyes blazing. “You want to come paint her face now, brother dear? She’s got the most… delicious expression. She was literally dying to cum!”

Peter moves the easel closer, betrayal on her face, the smell of organs, of blood, emanating from the body. “Her hair clashes with her blood,” Peter tuts, frowning as he mixes paints.

“Next time we’ll bring home a brunette.”

Daniil gets up then, pulling his slick fingers out of himself, coming up behind Andrey, slinging an arm around Andrey’s chest, playing gently with his cock. “Can I?”

“Certainly, dear boy. Go right ahead. You know where to aim.”

Daniil circles slick fingers around the half hard dick, thumb flicking over the tip for a moment before tightening his grip, starting up firm strokes. Bringing him closer and closer to his release. Andrey reaches behind himself, snapping his fingers until Peter presses a pack of cigarettes into his waiting hand. He shakes one out, lighting it up as Daniil continues to jerk him off.

He cums with a groan, spurting across the exposed organs and red mess of her entrails. He takes a long drag of the cigarette before holding it to Daniil’s mouth, blood staining the filter where his lips stuck, transferring it to Daniil’s own lips, painting them a faint red.

“That’s it Danya, good boy.” A bloodied hand pats his cheek. Andrey clambers off the table, walking over to look at Peter’s work.

“Clashing hair or no, you’ve made her into a work of art, brother dear. You’ll capture her death just splendidly.”

Peter just works, putting a few more brush strokes to canvas before stepping back to let that layer dry.

“She’ll do. Another for our personal collection.” He walks to stand over her, stroking himself to completion across her open torso as well, his spend comingling with Andrey’s and her blood.

“She’s all yours, Danya dear.” Peter drawls, scratching his head, Daniils face flushing.

“Can…. Can we leave her out a bit? I’d like her too cool, to stiffen up….” Daniil asks, timid, wanting.

“Of course we can pet. I’ll finish up my painting and you’ll just wait for your treat to chill.” Peter coos, running a paint flecked hand through Daniil’s hair. Brushing strands out of his face. Daniil leans into the touch, soaking in the warm scent of him, so different to that of the body on the table.

“Can…. I’d very much like to be your cock warmer, while you continue your work. May I?”

“That would be lovely. Danya. You’ll behave yourself for me, won’t you?” Daniil whines, leaning into Peter, he can’t help it. Anything to be good, be grateful while he waits. Peter settles in at his easel again, this time working on the background, on the last of her form. Daniil sinks down to his knees under the easel. Takes Peter’s softened cock into his mouth, holds in there. Relishing in the weight the taste, of it. The way he fills and smothers Daniil, the way he can’t think or taste anything but Peter.

They sit like that for hours while Peter finishes his painting, and does another few studies of the dead girl, or Andrey, nude and smoking, confident and unabashed with his people.

“Danya, I think your leftovers are nice and cold by now pet.” Andrey says, giving the corpse a poke. “Why don’t you come play with her now?”

Daniil pulls off Peter, spit trailing between his lips and Peter’s cock. “Thank you,” he says, voice horse, and crawls to his feet. Walking across the room to the table.

He hauls himself up, settling over the stiff body. She’s already begun to discolor. Pallor changing and dying shape stiffening into rigor, blood settling into dependent eras, Livor mortis going that reddish blue patch along her back. He could break rigor, if he wanted to. Will have to, somewhat, to get into the places he wants to be. Thank god Andrey had fucked her between her legs, giving him plenty of space to get too her cold cunt.

Daniil feels his mouth begin to water, staring at her glistening slick. Leaning over the table, taking a deep lustful inhale. ‘Fuck,’ he thinks, ‘it’s been so long.’ Too long, even. His head dips to make contact and when his tongue first gets wet with her antemortem arousal, he moans, loud and wanton, before digging in like a starving man. Tongue splitting her open, digging into the cold flesh, doing what he wishes he could with a cock of his own. It’s divine. Burying his tongue into the firm resistance of stiffened muscles, an intoxicating cavern of cold tightness. Licks and shoves into it with force. Digging all the slick and Andrey’s precum out with his tongue. Relishing in the taste in the feeling. In the tight press of her around him, his tongue. Daniil can’t help himself, he’s crawling atop the table, shifting the both of them further onto the wood surface, settling himself on his stomach, more solidly between her legs. Lifting her

Keeping his tongue buried inside of her. Sucking at her clit and knowing it won’t bring her any closer to anything, can’t bring her any pleasure, but merely to feel it in his mouth. His own cunt growing even wetter now, Tasting her dead flesh, seeing the beginnings of decomposition already present. He could stay here for hours, face already drenched in her cold slick. As lovely as it is to watch the look of horror on their faces when Andrey kills them just before orgasm, denying them both life and pleasure in one confident slash of the knife, but Daniil almost wishes he had let her cum so he could have more to clean out of her.

“Aw look, he’s getting some practice in!” he hears from behind him.

“Our Danya certainly needs it.” A quiet laugh, Peter almost definitely, in answer. Daniil feels his ears burn. His face heats up and burying it deeper in cold cunt is a balm on his blushing face.

“He’s getting embarrassed, brother dear. Look at how pretty pink he’s turning.” Peter again.

“I bet you’re just dripping from this, aren’t you, pet?” Andrey asks, voice growing louder as he moves closer. “If I pulled down your trousers, I bet we’d be able to see just how needy you are.”

Daniil whines into the corpse, thighs shifting at the words. Hands find his hips, fingers through the belt loops and Daniil cants his hips up to allow Andrey to pull the fabric off. Lay him bare from the waist down.

“I was right! Look at that, Petya, he’s practically an oil slick!” Andrey crows. Daniil shifts, squirms, growing even more red. “I think it’s time you took care of that, pet. S’not like she’s going to be able to cum anyway.”

Peter laughs, a low, cruel chime. Traces cool fingers up Daniil’s back, ghosting over flushed skin. Andrey gives one ass cheek a firm pat, sending a shudder up Daniil’s spine, jolting at the impact. “Come on pet, let’s get you vertical.”

Daniil’s pulled out of her cunt, straightened up to his knees, and set down straddling her thigh. Stiff skin is an icy relief against his hot, achingly aroused clit.

“You ‘ve got yourself something you wanted to rutt against there, pet. So go ahead. Rutt. Let yourself go, Danya. Enjoy yourself.”

Daniil whines, high, needy, and starts to slowly grind against her dead thigh. Indulging in the cold flesh against his warm, pulsing, live cunt. Hips puling as he speeds up, chasing his own pleasure in the dead meat. In the stiff muscles.

“Th- thank you…. for my gift, for letting…. Letting me have your leftovers….” Daniil sputters out around his moans, already losing himself. His hips more of their own accord, rolling and dragging across stiff skin, cool flesh, grinding against his wet cunt. Daniil can feel the trail of slick following each motion. Stiff, throbbing clit pushing, pressing up to cool skin when he cants his hips just right, pulling a strangled moan out of him.

The twins say something, but it’s unintelligible to Daniil. If he were to look behind him at them, he would see their locked mouths, wet and messy, paint staining the both of them on the loveseat. The perfect place to watch his little performance. To watch him debase himself on a corpse. It’s been a long while since they got to see this type of show.

But Daniil does not look behind him, no he leans forward, bracing himself on the body below, one hand slipping into the mess of now cool organs, blood slicking him up to mid forearm. This only makes him whine louder, groping around in the abdomen and enjoying the weight of viscera pressing against his hand. The coppery smell that permeates, that’s going to stain him, will linger for days afterward. Leans forward and presses his face to the red gore, painting half his face a deep crimson.

It’s heavenly, being so wholly inside another. To have his hand and tongue in her guts in a very literal sense. Daniil runs that tongue up and down across the organs. Lapping up blood and serous, humming pleased little sounds all the while. Still working his hips, rutting little thrusts back and forth against her thigh, but leant forward enough that he’s pressed down, lying on her face buried in gore. When Daniil comes across a spurt of Andrey’s cum, he eagerly licks it up, collects it in his mouth, holds it there, letting the flavour fully coat his palate. Keeps moving, keeping licking, dipping his tongue between organs, until the building heat in his own, intact, gut coils tight enough to snap, sending him over the edge in a shuddering, wailing cry.

“He really does like girls so long as they aren’t breathing, doesn’t he?” Peter says, melodical and a tad cruel.

“That he does. Danya, dear? Are you having fun with your lady friend?” Andrey calls, looking up from his brother only somewhat mournfully.

Daniil’s head lolls to face them, and he opens his mouth, showing off the bloody cum mixing with his saliva, full mouth of the stuff, dripping strands falling from his tongue.

“Aw, what a good boy. Cleaning up after me?” Andrey laughs. “Swallow it down, Danya. You know the rules.” Daniil does, dutifully, still shaking, and opens his mouth back up to prove it.

“Go on pet, go back to playing, we’ll be here a while yet and want to see you put on a show.” Peter coos, face pressed into the crook of Andry’s neck, hand wrapped around his cock.

“Yes, we got you your treat, you’d better keep eating it. I don’t want to see you stop until you physically can’t move anymore Danya.” The other twin, this time.

Daniil nods, unsteady, and presses his face back into the gaping, gory maw, hips starting back up with a whimper. It’s going to be a very long, and very bloody weekend, but he does so love when the twins let him have their leftovers.