All the next morning, Oleg is in a state of some kind of euphoria. He doesn't fully understand what's happening, but the fact that Vlad manages to flip his emotions to polar opposites within minutes, making each one maximally vivid, acts almost like a drug. Sheps wants more.
As the car inches forward in traffic, he thoughtfully taps his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to construct a new plan. Oleg is sure that with his dance yesterday, he achieved his main goal. Desire was clearly readable in Cherevaty's drunken eyes, and Sheps won't believe another cold word, knowing what lies behind that outer armor.
And although this brings Oleg incredible delight, intensifying the anticipation of the very thing he started this game for, Vlad is definitely becoming an increasingly bigger problem. Sheps feels himself losing control from the slightest proximity and has no idea how to keep himself in check to continue provoking. And Oleg realizes perfectly well that without his manipulations, Cherevaty will never submit on his own.
He flinches at a loud honk from the car behind and releases the brake pedal, glancing at his watch. It seems he used up all his luck at the bar yesterday, because now he is late for class, despite leaving more than an hour early. Sheps curses the morning traffic jams and damn Macroeconomics, which he has to attend because of an overly spiteful professor.
"Excuse me, may I come in?" Oleg asks reluctantly, peeking into the small classroom where the lesson has been going on for almost fifteen minutes.
The elderly woman purses her lips in displeasure and slowly opens the register.
"Surname?" she asks with a sigh.
"Sheps," the guy rolls his eyes and swears to himself.
He doesn't understand at all how, in several years, Professor Shevchenko hasn't remembered a single student's face. It's amazing she still remembers the subject she teaches.
"Well then, go straight to the board, Sheps," the professor finally looks up from the register. "You don't attend lectures, you're late for seminars..."
"What do you mean?" Oleg frowns, handing his bag to Artem. "I was at the lecture."
"According to the register, you weren't," Shevchenko parries in an indifferent tone and immediately dictates the conditions of a problem.
Sheps doesn't want to argue, because he had enough trouble with this subject last semester, but the sense of injustice makes him horribly angry. Oleg remembers perfectly well that he came to the university two days ago specifically for the Macroeconomics lecture, and he doesn't understand why the hell he was marked absent.
Despite handling the problem almost brilliantly, Professor Shevchenko literally buries him with additional questions. This makes Sheps even angrier, and he barely holds back from being rude when, at the end, the professor gives him a 'C' "at a stretch" with open contempt, and then continues to pick at him throughout the entire class.
"Wait for me outside," Oleg tosses to Krasnov after the bell and walks quickly out of the auditorium.
In the corridor, he catches up with Ignatenko and grabs her arm firmly, yanking her out of the crowd.
"What the fuck is this?" Sheps asks irritably.
"I have the same question," Ira frowns and tries to free her wrist.
"I was at the lecture. Where did the 'absent' mark in the register come from?"
Oleg finally lets go of the girl, feeling the sideways glances of students passing by, but continues to look at her with open anger. He knows perfectly well that it is the class rep who submits the list of absentees to the professors for most lectures, so he quite rightly believes that Ignatenko is to blame for his problems today.
"I probably didn't notice you," the girl shrugs indifferently and adds, narrowing her eyes slightly: "I thought you didn't show up anywhere."
"What petty and stupid revenge," Sheps chuckles, convinced once again that Ira isn't capable of anything more.
"I'll keep that in mind for next time," Ignatenko practically spits out and walks away immediately, her thin heels clacking annoyingly.
Oleg sighs heavily and heads to the smoking spot, hoping that at least Artem won't bug him today.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Vlad wakes up to the nasty trill of the doorbell and grimaces immediately, feeling his head splitting terribly from a hangover. He slowly trudges to the door, gradually recalling everything that happened yesterday.
"Good morning," Ilya smiles from the threshold.
"Why aren't you at work?"
To Cherevaty, this morning doesn't seem good at all; his friend's cheerfulness is even slightly annoying, and he has neither the strength nor the desire to greet him properly.
"What do you mean? I am at work," Larionov chuckles. "On a house call."
Vlad sighs resignedly and steps aside, reluctantly letting the guest into the apartment. He has absolutely no desire to discuss the situation, and in this state—even less so.
Images of last night surface in fragments in his mind, and for the first time in his life, Cherevaty regrets remembering to the smallest detail things he would most like to forget.
He shoots a grateful look at Ilya when he hands him a bottle of cold water, and immediately presses it to his head while closing the door.
"Did you fall asleep right when you got in?" Larionov asks solicitously, walking into the kitchen.
"Almost..."
Vlad answers quietly, hiding his eyes, and sincerely hopes that Ilya won't ask about the details of his evening activities, because he has absolutely no energy to lie, and he certainly isn't planning to tell the truth.
The only healthy thing in the fridge is milk, so Larionov fills a glass in the hope that it will somehow alleviate his friend's suffering.
"Here." He hands Cherevaty the saving drink and sits on the other edge of the sofa, examining the "patient" closely.
In moments like these, Ilya understands perfectly why treating friends is considered bad form in his profession.
On the one hand, it's much easier to find an approach to loved ones. Larionov knows all of Vlad's character traits thoroughly, can predict any reaction to his words, and therefore easily imagines how to build the most comfortable and effective conversation.
But on the other hand, it is much more complicated. Ilya cannot ignore both his empathy and his professional duty, and in this situation, it causes an internal conflict. The friendly advice he wants to give Cherevaty clashes completely with what Larionov should say as a psychologist.
"Did you cancel your classes?" he asks quietly, carefully trying to start the conversation.
"I only have evening students today," Vlad waves it off.
"Always wondered: are they different from ordinary students in the professors' eyes?"
Ilya's questions sound casual and sincere, but Cherevaty gets more irritated with each one, perfectly understanding where he is leading.
"Did you come to talk about all my students or a specific one?" he snaps slightly.
Larionov immediately catches the most important thing in his friend's reaction and exhales in relief. Behind the protective anger, Vlad is hiding a desire to figure out his problem, and Ilya is glad that somewhere deep down, Cherevaty still has that desire.
"Did you realize right away what he was after?"
Larionov sees no point in continuing to be cautious, knowing it will anger Vlad more. Since his friend is pushing the conversation to the necessary topic with his own question, he needs to speak plainly from here on.
But Cherevaty sighs heavily and is in no hurry to answer. He replays all of Oleg's provocations in order in his still-buzzing head and stops at that cursed practical seminar, where he first clearly saw the arousal in those light eyes.
"No," he says briefly.
"And how did you know? Did he do something explicit?"
"Yes."
Ilya didn't doubt the affirmative answer, because yesterday he saw for himself that this student is unlikely to act with modest hints. But the fact that Vlad answers in monosyllables still makes analyzing the situation difficult. Larionov sees that Cherevaty isn't even looking at him, understands his state, and is torn between two options for continuing the conversation.
The first would significantly soften the awkwardness but is unlikely to lead to complete frankness, whereas the second would definitely make Vlad explode. But the conversation would instantly cease to be comfortable for either of them.
"Do you think he's just playing, or does he really want to trick you into sex?"
Ilya speaks exclusively about Oleg on purpose, shifting Cherevaty's focus from his own feelings, and Vlad seems to genuinely lower his guard, missing the catch.
"He really wants it."
Cherevaty answers just as briefly, but with absolute certainty. He knows that every one of Sheps's provocations is part of a big game, but Vlad doesn't doubt for a second that Oleg's main goal is him. The way the student practically freezes every time they get too close cannot be interpreted any other way. And Cherevaty doesn't need to be an expert in psychology to realize this. Because, despite everything, he feels the exact same way.
Vlad instinctively licks his lips, recalling yesterday's encounter in the bar restroom, and Larionov latches onto this gesture, finally choosing the second option.
"How many times have you already imagined him underneath you?"
Ilya intentionally makes the question as dirty as possible, and Cherevaty flinches, snapping a shocked look at him. Vlad thought Larionov would talk about Oleg's manipulations, about how to cope with them and how to put such a person in their place, but Ilya, apparently, really is a cool psychologist. Because Cherevaty definitely didn't expect this question.
He is instantly thrown off, trying to pull himself together to put on at least some kind of mask, but the physical weakness after yesterday's drinking binge prevents him from doing so. And even more than that, the damn image in his head, which Vlad can no longer ignore, prevents it.
A trembling body arches underneath him, covered in a fine sheen of sweat; his hands firmly grip the other man's wrists, pinned high above his head; and his tongue slides with relish over hot skin. Cherevaty thrusts his hips forward harder, stares greedily into almost pleading eyes, and doesn't hide his victorious smirk at all, dissolving in his own euphoria from every quiet moan.
"Fuck!" Vlad almost growls, springing up from the sofa, and starts pacing the room nervously, clutching his temples with his hands.
He feels Larionov's expectant gaze and finally explodes at his friend's calmness:
"What are you trying to achieve?" Cherevaty breaks into a scream. "Want me to say it like it is? Yes, fuck, I want him. I want to fuck my student! Now do you understand what the problem is?!"
Ilya listens silently, not taking his eyes off him, and outwardly doesn't react to the emotional outburst in any way. But the psychologist inside him rejoices. Vlad is yelling profanities, having completely given up on his refined nature, and right now Larionov is sure he is seeing the real him.
"And I don't know what to do!" Cherevaty continues his tirade. "Because he isn't going to stop, and I'm not made of stone, for fuck's sake! You asked if I fell asleep right away yesterday? No, Ilya! I came home and jerked off to a video where he jerks off to me!.."
Vlad cuts himself off on the last phrase, realizing what he just said, and turns away, closing his eyes with a loud exhale. Cherevaty is impossibly ashamed of this confession, and he has absolutely no idea how to continue the conversation.
Larionov is shocked by what he heard at the end. He raises his eyebrows, shifting his thoughtful gaze somewhere to the side, trying to grasp the scale of the problem.
First of all, Ilya, not knowing the details of Oleg's manipulations, truly didn't imagine the student was doing that. Larionov imagined bold looks, gestures, provocative phrases with clear subtext, and at most—explicit touches. But the video Vlad mentioned just doesn't fit in his head.
Even more mind-boggling is the fact that yesterday Cherevaty already partially compromised his professional ethics, which means his friend has far less chance of holding back in reality than Ilya had thought up to this moment. He planned to press on exactly this side of Vlad, but it seems he underestimated the power of his attraction to Sheps.
Cherevaty is still standing with his back to him, afraid to turn around, and Larionov frantically tries to come up with a new strategy, realizing that first, he needs to restore Vlad's sense of safety after such a confession.
"Where's your chess set?" Ilya asks quietly, and Vlad slowly turns around, looking at him in astonishment.
"Over there..." he frowns and points a finger at a small chest of drawers in the corner of the room.
Larionov stands up calmly, takes a few measured steps, and pulls a wooden box from the top drawer.
"Care for a game?" He turns to Cherevaty and shakes the chess pieces in his hand slightly with a warm smile.
The sound of small pieces rattling inside the folded board fills the room, and Vlad nods silently, ceasing to understand what is happening.
They fill the board in complete silence, and Cherevaty feels the headache, which he had managed to forget in his rush of emotions, starting to return.
"The first moves are always made on autopilot," Larionov says softly, moving a white pawn forward.
Vlad mirrors his move and engages in the game, watching the next one closely. His brain slowly begins to calculate possible variations, and Cherevaty finally gets distracted from the previous conversation, focusing on the pieces in front of him.
"And then it's time to start thinking." Ilya calmly drops phrases that seem almost meaningless to Vlad, gradually tuning his friend into the right train of thought.
They make a few more moves, after which Vlad flinches again at an unexpected question.
"What's his name?" Larionov moves a bishop and rests his elbows on the table, looking up at Cherevaty.
"Oleg," Vlad answers without looking, hovering his hand over the board.
His eyes dart confusedly over the pieces, and a few seconds later, Cherevaty mindlessly moves a knight, leaning back in his chair.
"See here," Ilya smiles with satisfaction. "I pressed on what stops you from thinking rationally, and it made you make a mistake."
Vlad frowns and immediately notices he exposed himself. Dexterous fingers confidently grab the white queen and, with a light push, knock his knight off the board.
"If you want to play the opponent rather than the board, you need to know where to strike."
Larionov seems to be talking about chess, but an image of an absolutely lost Sheps, melting from his proximity, instantly floats before Cherevaty's eyes.
"And you clearly want to play..." Ilya adds, noticing the spark lighting up in the eyes opposite him.
"I'd get disqualified for games like that," Vlad chuckles bitterly, but for some reason sees not a drop of apprehension in Larionov.
"Depends on the stakes," he replies calmly. "Manipulating a manipulator might turn out to be way cooler than simple sex."
Cherevaty looks at his friend with genuine interest, replaying the phrase in his head, and feels an almost wild thrill waking up inside him.
"Make him submit to you," Ilya wiggles his eyebrows playfully with a smirk. "If you do it outside the bedroom, the way he wants, then you win in every sense."
Larionov understands perfectly well that Vlad doesn't have the strength to resist either himself or Oleg's frantic pressure, so he grasps at the only saving option. Redirecting Cherevaty's emotions toward their psychological confrontation with Sheps seems like the most logical way out of the situation. Ilya can just hope that his friend manages to pull the desire to dominate out of his erotic fantasies and transform it into control over someone else's emotions.
Vlad never answers the suggestion, but judging by how quickly he loses the match, it seems to Larionov that he at least made Cherevaty think.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Oleg is already on his second cigarette, trying to come up with a new provocation—one that is safe for him. There are still about ten minutes before class starts, but Sheps is already anticipating the new encounter with Cherevaty. Even though he's nervous, he is dying to see if the professor's behavior will change after their meeting at the bar.
"So you're never going to tell me your plan?" Artem glances with interest at his pensive friend.
"Why?" Oleg answers after a short pause. "So you can get in my way?"
Sheps has no intention of mentioning that he doesn't actually have a concrete plan anymore.
"I'm all for fair play," Krasnov shrugs and immediately smiles. "Besides, I'm interested in how far you're willing to go. The striptease—that was intense."
Oleg smirks silently, thinking that Artem has no idea just how far he has already gone. For some reason, he insanely likes the fact that most of his moves remain strictly between him and Vlad, even when they happen in plain sight. And the fact that even Krasnov doesn't guess the details of their game turns Sheps on more.
"You'll find out the result," he says calmly. "The rest is none of your business."
Artem rolls his eyes, and while not offended, he is a little disappointed. The guy is genuinely interested in which seduction strategy Oleg chose this time, but so far he doesn't understand some of his actions at all. What was the point of skipping the lecture if classes are the only place they interact? That coincidence of meeting Cherevaty at the bar is unlikely to happen again, which means Sheps, on the contrary, needs to seize every opportunity to catch the professor's eye.
Oleg glances at his watch and reaches into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes again, which finally drives Krasnov up the wall.
"Let's go already! It's cold!" Artem complains. "And anyway, if you smoke that much, you won't be able to get it up."
He breaks into quiet laughter, while Sheps just sighs, thinking that he definitely isn't at risk of that problem in the upcoming class, even if he smokes the entire pack. Oleg shivers from the cold wind and puts the cigarettes back in his jacket after all.
"Fine, quit whining. Let's go," he agrees, heading toward the building entrance, and adds right in the doorway: "By the way, today we're sitting in the front row, right in front of his desk."
Krasnov smiles contentedly and follows his friend almost with a skip in his step, hoping to see another piece of the interesting show that somehow dilutes the boring Statistics.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Cherevaty enters the auditorium looking calm, but tenses up immediately, noticing exactly where Sheps is sitting. Oleg stands up from his chair with the other students and, after the professor's gesture allowing them to sit, intentionally sits back down with a slight delay, drawing attention to himself.
Vlad sweeps a fleeting glance over him and starts the class in a level voice. Sheps is wearing a dark blue satin shirt, and Cherevaty feels a bit calmer knowing that this particular item of clothing isn't linked to any of his fantasies yet—although Vlad doesn't even try to deny the fact that he wants to take this shirt off Oleg just as much.
He briefly reminds the students of the last lecture's topic and immediately suggests moving on to solving problems, opening the register.
"Sheps, since you deigned to attend at least the practical seminar, come to the board."
Oleg raises his eyebrows, sincerely surprised by the professor's phrase, and slowly rises from his seat. He didn't expect at all that Cherevaty himself would create a situation where they would have to at least talk, but Vlad looks indifferently straight into his eyes, and this throws him off.
Sheps silently writes down the brief conditions of the problem and frowns barely noticeably, realizing he doesn't know the necessary formula. He doesn't want to look stupid, so he carefully turns to his groupmates, trying to catch at least some hint while Cherevaty checks the guide.
Artem is afraid to even move, sitting right under the professor's nose, so Oleg shifts his gaze to Ira, but she looks back mockingly, giving him the finger from under the desk. Sheps rolls his eyes and finally notices a cautious hint from the third row, immediately starting to write the required letters on the board.
"Have you tried commenting on your solution?" Vlad looks up from his notes, turning to him, and sighs heavily, immediately seeing a mistake. "Check the formula. With that one, you're unlikely to get the right answer."
Oleg tries to explain at least the part he understands, but the professor's gaze clearly communicates that his reasoning is far from the truth.
"Maybe you can help?" he gives up with slight irritation.
Sheps hopes this idiotic situation will finally be resolved, because more than anything, he wants to sit back in his seat and just fume. He watches Cherevaty cast a condescending look at him and stand up, heading to the board.
Surprise flashes in the light eyes when Vlad unexpectedly steps closer than he should, and in the next second, Oleg flinches from a jolt of electricity. Cherevaty ignores the second marker lying nearby and takes the one Sheps was writing with. And this situation seems absolutely normal to everyone in the room except Oleg himself, because Vlad looks him straight in the eyes and runs his fingertips along his wrist, gently removing the marker from his hand.
Sheps freezes, not taking his stunned gaze off him, listening to absolutely nothing the professor says about correcting his wrong formula, and desperately tries to breathe evenly so as not to betray his sharply beating heart.
But Cherevaty notices every detail and mentally applauds his composure, because his own fingers, tightly gripping the marker, seem to burn with fire from the light touch. Vlad clings to Oleg's confusion like a lifeline and tries to focus exactly on that, ignoring the air almost sparking with tension.
"Is that clearer?" He turns back to Sheps, holding out the marker to him.
Oleg almost lets slip a stupid "thank you" for the fact that the professor isn't placing the damn object back into his hand, but Cherevaty opens his palm a split second earlier than Sheps manages to take it.
"Can't even hold a marker," the professor smirks mockingly, watching Oleg crouch with undisguised anger to pick up the object that fell on the floor. "Amazing. Statistically speaking, single guys should have stronger hands."
Laughter ripples through the auditorium, filling Vlad with pleasant pride at his audacious joke, but Sheps exacts his revenge almost instantly. He snatches up the marker, stays in a crouch for just a couple of seconds, and looks up at the professor with a dirty gaze, fleetingly licking his lips.
And that is more than enough for Cherevaty. He swallows nervously, immediately looking away, but he can no longer shake the arousing image, because Oleg at his feet, looking up from below, is too powerful a blow to his self-control.
Sheps catches the flare of desire in the eyes opposite him and calms down immediately, realizing he won this round. He stands up as Vlad practically flees back to his desk, and turns away to the board, hiding a winning smirk.
Once back in his seat, Oleg replays Cherevaty's stinging phrase in his head and sees only one possible origin for such a joke in the professor's mind. He concocts a new move and pretends to be a diligent student until the end of the class, allowing Vlad to calm down and continue the lesson.
After the bell, Sheps lingers in the auditorium, nodding significantly at the door to tell Artem to leave, while Vlad waits for his move with a certain interest, slowly packing his things.
"So, you watched the video after all," Oleg speaks up, leaning against the desk behind him.
"Opened it out of curiosity," Cherevaty shrugs and shoots him an indifferent glance. "Nothing special."
"Oh, really?" Sheps raises a brow playfully. "Even the ending didn't impress you, Vladislav Vitalievich?"
He lowers his voice toward the end of the phrase, and Vlad tries with all his might to brush aside the moment from the video surfacing in his consciousness.
"I have more interesting things to do than watch cheap porn from an overly confident student," Cherevaty tries to sound mocking and continues putting his notes into his folder.
"I get it," Oleg answers with sarcasm, pushing off the desk with his hands and taking a step toward him. "Getting drunk in a bar and watching this student live is indeed more interesting."
Vlad snaps the folder shut and looks up at him with an angry glare.
"What I do in my personal time is none of your business," he grates out through clenched teeth.
"Well, for now..."
Sheps smirks in satisfaction, realizing that since the professor switched to informal "you", he definitely pulled the right string.
"Speaking of touching," he says in a sultry voice, stepping closer and noticing Cherevaty freeze in fear, trying to figure out what to do. "The unbuttoned shirt suited you better."
Oleg hooks a finger under the collar of his turtleneck, grazing the skin on his neck near the tattoo, and Vlad immediately grabs his forearm, his voice breaking into a shout from panic:
"Have you completely lost your mind?!"
There is undisguised anger mixed with obvious arousal in Cherevaty's eyes, and Sheps seems to feed on this explosive energy. He looks silently at Vlad, waiting impatiently for the next move.
"What's going on here?"
A familiar voice sounds from the doorway, and Cherevaty pushes the student away, turning in fright to a frowning Victoria.
"Nothing anymore," Oleg throws with disdain and walks out of the auditorium at a brisk pace, barely missing grazing Raidos with his shoulder.
The woman follows him with a contemptuous look and turns to Vlad with sympathy:
"Is he being rude, as usual?"
Cherevaty exhales barely noticeably and nods silently, pursing his lips. It seems Victoria isn't thrilled with Sheps either, and right now she is saving him doubly. She clearly didn't hear their conversation, and although it's only a small comfort, it calms Vlad down a little.
"I don't even know what to advise," Raidos continues with a sigh. "I just try to ignore him."
Vlad smiles weakly and thinks that for him, it isn't simple at all. He started this class confident that today he would definitely be able to control himself, but he snapped at the very first provocations. And the fact that, by some incredibly lucky coincidence, Victoria walked by at the exact right moment miraculously saved him from... Cherevaty himself doesn't know from what exactly. Because he wanted to smash that smirking face and do exactly what Oleg is trying to achieve with his provocations just as badly.
Raidos wishes him a good evening and tactfully withdraws, realizing the guy needs to calm down, and Vlad grabs his folder almost immediately, intending to get out into the street as quickly as possible.
The sound of a notification stops him at the auditorium exit, and Cherevaty sincerely hopes it's a message from Ilya, but reads something completely different on the screen.
Oleg Sheps
By the way, the jacket is shit too. If you decide to take it off, I can help ;)
Vlad grips the phone tighter in his left hand, turning off the screen, and with his right, he hurls the folder against the wall in fury, with a mindless gaze watching the papers fly across the floor.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Victoria catches up with Oleg on the stairs and spins him around sharply by the shoulder, meeting an irritated glare.
"What do you want?" Sheps throws discontentedly.
"Leave Cherevaty alone," Raidos says in a stern tone. "He just arrived, hasn't even settled in yet..."
"Vika," Oleg interrupts her unceremoniously, raising his voice, "who are you to lecture me?"
Victoria takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm, although this guy and his attitude annoy her to no end.
"Oleg, your rudeness..."
"Go boss my brother around!" Sheps practically spits out, cutting her off again. "And stay out of my business."
He jerks his shoulder, throwing off her hand, and quickly runs down the stairs, while Raidos closes her eyes wearily, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
Oleg jumps into his car in a rage, completely forgetting about Artem, who was waiting for him at the smoking spot. Damn Vika showed up at the most inappropriate moment, ruining a simply brilliant provocation, and then decided to tell him how to behave on top of it. Sheps is even surprised he held back and didn't say much more to her, although he understands that he definitely doesn't need extra problems right now.
He floors the gas pedal, pulling out onto the avenue, and tries to switch his thoughts back to Vlad to keep from drowning in his anger completely.
Oleg is insanely pleased that Cherevaty has definitely joined the game. But the fact that Sheps himself falls for other people's provocations doesn't please him one bit. Vlad, even though he received a deserved strike in return, exposed him in an unflattering light in front of the whole group, and Oleg sinks into thought, trying to figure out how to avoid ending up in the same situation next time.
He parks near his house and goes up to the apartment on autopilot, thinking about how to learn to handle himself. Still in the hallway, Sheps catches the scent of unfamiliar cologne and frowns, walking slowly into the living room. He hopes he just imagined it, but prepares for the worst option in advance.
"You're the last thing I needed today," Oleg utters with disgust, stopping in the doorway.
In front of him, in the middle of the room, with his arms crossed over his chest, stands his older brother.