Work Text:
Thick smoke enveloped the dank cave that Ancom called a bedroom. Laundry sat in heaps surrounding the unkept bed, littered with crumbs and empty food packaging, an overflowing ashtray set haphazardly on quis bedside table.
Ancom sat with quis legs curled underneath quem, a glowing spliff hanging loosely from ashy fingers. Ancom wasn’t doing anything, qui just stared at the wall, occasionally taking a drag from the poorly rolled paraphernalia.
That fucking Nazi.
Always so high and mighty, despite being only 3 inches taller than the anarchist he managed to make quem feel so small, so insignificant. Qui never usually let him get to quem- not letting a fascist hurt your feelings was the first step to becoming an anarchist after all. The state thrives off controlling your emotions, feelings, thoughts. That separation of feelings from them was the first bite of power, the first light of the molotov. Ancom knew this, lived this, breathed this.
But everyone has their limits.
One simple night, the four of them sat around the TV playing Call of Duty, taking turns in teams. They were laughing and indulging in playful banter; hell, they were practically getting along.
Until Ancap decided to switch everything up.
“Ugh, I’m tired of losing, this is horrible for my brand! These damned controllers are fucking horrible, Commie, give me yours,” the capitalist made grabbing motions in the vague direction of the communist whilst keeping his eyes glued to the screen.
“Ah ah ah, Kulak, don’t go blaming controllers when it is clear you are so unskilled” Commie laughed, “have you considered that I am simply better than you at this game? Maybe you ought to retire, hmm?”
Ancap gasped and whipped his head around faster than he could extort a profit margin, looking up at the other man who sat on the sofa, smugly grinning down at the capitalist.
“Ooh those are fightin’ words them,” Ancom set aside the controller and leant forward, resting quis elbows onto the soft material of quis skirt, “how ‘bout this? You two can sniper duel and then we can see who really is better?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” the Nazi began, “but I do like this idea.”
“Why yes, anarkiddy makes good suggestion,” Commie nudged Ancap with the toe of his boot, “you kulaks do love competition also.”
Ancap’s eyes practically transfigured into dollar signs at the thought of competition, and an almost reptilian grin spread across his face, “Now you’re speaking my language.”
The two set up a duel in a private lobby, best of five wins. Commie’s steely eyes glued to the screen as his fingers moved almost entirely systematically to aim flawlessly at the capitalist’s avatar. Ancap was completely bottling the duel, missing every shot and being about as subtle as a brick when it came to trying to hide around corners and in various shrubs. The communist won 4-1, and the singular loss was only because Ancom had convinced him he could probably win a duel with his eyes closed, purely to rile up Ancap.
“Well- I-” Ancap stammered and slammed the controller down beside him before crossing his arms, “I still think the controller is the issue!”
“Sounds like you’re just a bad loser, buddy,” Ancom stated, playfully flicking Ancap’s hat askew on his head,
“You think so? Why don’t you duel Commie then, then we’ll see”
“I’m not duelling anarkiddy, kulak, we are comrades after all,” the communist began, “besides, I am content in winning this evening.”
“Fine, what about Nazi then, he’s pretty much just as good as Commie anyway.” Ancap huffed and thrust the controller into the Nazi’s hand,
“Oh wow you really are a sore loser, Ancap, stop deflecting your losses dude- it’s only a game” Ancom laughed,
“No, Ancom, I’m being serious, duel the Nazi.” Ancap insisted, sternly,
“I really don’t want to-” Ancom started before qui was cut off by Nazi, who was silently growing increasingly agitated by the bickering,
“I have no interest in fighting the degenerate, I’ll win without any so much of a hint of a competition and he will sulk in his room like the pathetic little nihilist he really is- or he’ll run crying to Commie like a fucking child” He spat and pushed the controller back into Ancap’s hands, “or maybe that would be a good thing, I’m just sick of your fucking yapping- both of you.”
The room fell silent, what had been such a seemingly pleasant evening had, as usual, taken a sour turn. It was inevitable, really. But it still dampened spirits all the same.
“I’m going to bed.” Ancom said flatly before clambering off the sofa and heading down the hall.
“Nice one, Nazi.” Ancap rolled his eyes and powered off the television,
“What? What did I do wrong? I was right, he is sulking,” Nazi threw his arms up in protest.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝
A knock.
“C’min”, Ancom slurred monotonously from quis room.
Ancap peered round the door, the smell of green and something else immediately curled in his sinuses, making him involuntarily scrunch his nose, “just me!”
“What,” Ancom coughed, “the fh-huck do you want, capitalist?” That last word came out as more of a snarl than anything.
“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” the lanky man said as he sat himself atop the cluttered mattress. He shifted uncomfortably, not missing the dig of the springs that threatened to bruise. He felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite place, briefly thinking of his exorbitantly plush king-size bed in the room just across the hall.
“Why’d you care anyway, ‘ts you that caused that whole…thing”, Ancom replied as sternly as qui could, staring through Ancap.
“Well how was I supposed to know he’d blow up like that? I was only trying to increase competition, you know that’s how you stimulate growth in an economy.”
“Friendship isn’t a fucking economy,” Ancom muttered, stifling a cough as qui took another drag from the spliff still aglow in quis fingers.
“May I?” Ancap asked and gestured to Ancom’s hand, who wordlessly obliged and passed the spliff. Ancap took a long drag and sighed contently, “I can’t help it, Ancom. My entire being is centered around markets and business, everything is an economy. You get what I’m saying though, I just thought it’d be fun. Commie and I got along just fine, we might not see eye to eye but we can still sort of get along in a way.”
“But y’don’t get it, Ancap. When Nazi and I disagree it’s always so personal- he’s always misgenderin’ me and callin’ me things. It’s like he actually wants t’kill me, and before y’start I know Commie reaaalllly hates you and does sorta talk about you dyin’ and such but that's all economics, at least he respects who you are.”
“Commie and I do try to make sure he respects your identity, Ancom, but I just don’t think it’s compatible with his ideology,” Ancap scooted closer to the other anarchist, kicking his shoes off and sitting cross legged on the bed now to properly face Ancom.
“But what about Homofash? He’s fine with him, y’know the whole raging gay thing.”
“Ernst Röhm was gay, still a Nazi on all other fronts,” Ancap retorted, passing the spliff back to Ancom.
“I guess, I just-” the smaller anarchist sighed as qui took another hit, “dysphoria is real, y’know, and it just gets to me. It makes me feel small, that a dumb fuckin’ fascist can hurt my feelings so much- it goes against everything I stand for.”
“I don’t think any of us can understand dysphoria, and I’m sorry about that,” Ancap started,
“No, Ancap, you don’t understand. It’s me versus the world here, and it’s so disingenuous of you to be all nice to me now but tomorrow you’ll be all buddy-buddy with the fascist. You’re a fuckin’ snake.” Ancom raised quis voice, “should’ve stayed with An-queer, at least that lot respects me.”
“I respect you,” Ancap said under his breath, so soft it was almost a whisper.
“No you don’t.”
“He threatened to shoot me once, y’know,” Ancap started, pushing his sunglasses up his nose, “‘cause I threatened to sell his Xbox after he misgendered you to me.”
“Yeah, right.” Ancom scoffed,
“I’m not lying, dishonesty is often bad for business.”
Ancom raised an eyebrow, focussing quis eyes on Ancap for the first time properly now.
“I- uh- well,” Ancap stammered, flustered, “obviously untruths can help sell goods and services- well that’s just advertising- but I’m not lying about this. I really do stand up for you.”
Ancom didn’t say anything, qui continued to just stare, almost absorbing all of Ancap’s features.
“What I mean to say, Ancom, is I guess I care about you? In a way, why are you just staring at me?”
Still nothing.
Ancom leaned forward, holding the spliff to Ancap’s lips.
“What are yo-”
“Inhale.”
Ancap inhaled, still confused, and before he could do anything Ancom leaned and snuffed the stub of the spliff in the ashtray beside quem.
“Just shut up, Ancap.”
Qui grabbed Ancap’s face with both hands and pulled him in for a fervent kiss. Ancap froze, hands stone-like in stillness before melting into Ancom’s grasp. It was cruel and messy, an astute lack of tact and grace as the smoke intoxicated the two of them. Ancap broke the kiss, practically gasping for air as a thick string of saliva still connected their lips.
Ancom’s expression was still indistinguishable, Ancap didn’t know if it was the weed or his own deep-rooted attraction to the smaller anarchist, but he was inescapably lightheaded. Before he even knew what he was doing, a slender hand reached Ancom's waist, pulling quem onto his lap.
“Wanna know how much I care about you?” Ancap began, his hands sliding under Ancom’s hoodie, “y’really wanna know?”
“Capitalist scum.” Ancom groaned, sliding the capitalist’s glasses off his face, revealing deep set golden irises, borderline reptilian slitted pupils blown so wide Ancom swore qui could have fallen in.
Ancap gripped the other anarchist’s hips harder, mashing his lips into Ancom’s.
“Fuckin’ don’t call me that, piss me off” he said in between breaths.
“Think you’re lyin’, think you like it,” Ancom nearly growled and grinded into Ancap’s lap, eliciting a sharp whine from the capitalist.
“Fuck you.”
“Not yet.”
Ancom pushed a firm hand into Ancap’s chest, shoving him down onto the mattress. Qui brought quis face close to Ancap’s, breaths mingling; the all-consuming smell of cannabis drowning their senses entirely alongside how physically intoxicated they were.
“God- ngh- you’re killin’ me here Ancom, act like you hate me ‘n then doin’ all this,” Ancap gasped, “I can feel you want it too.”
“Do you ever just shut the fuck up, Ancap,” Ancom spat, “‘n don’t give me any of this ‘buy my silence’ bullshit, I really mean it.” Before he could answer, Ancom pressed quis hips firmer into Ancap’s crotch- noticing his rather unsubtle growing hardness beneath his garish mustard slacks.
“Fine, I- fuck- I’ll be quiet- agh- I promise Ancom,” he whined, his hands spreading his way up Ancom’s thighs, dipping under quis skirt and nearly clawing at the soft flesh.
“Y’know, I just don’t think I can take your word for it, capitalist,” Ancom continued, quis grinding becoming quicker, more purposeful; an almost demanding act. “I just think you talk too much, need t’put that mouth to better use.”
Ancom slid quemself off of Ancap and shed quis skirt, kicking it into an ever-growing pile of dirty laundry. Qui watched the other anarchist fumble with the buttons of his shirt and made a deliberate show of palming quemself through quis boxers, “think I know exactly how to shut you up.”
Ancap looked up at the lewd display Ancom was putting on for him, the outline of quis firm cock straining against the soft grey fabric of quis underwear.
“C’mere.” Ancom commanded, and almost automatically Ancap obliged; casting his shirt aside, sliding off the bed and dropping to his knees, gazing up in total awe at the anarcho-communist.
“God, fuckin’ gorgeous,” Ancap breathed and brought his hands up to the waistband of Ancom’s briefs, “can I?”
Ancom nodded, and Ancap virtually tore quis underwear off. Quis cock sprang upwards, slapping the soft of quis stomach, the soviet red tip already leaking.
Ancom tossed Ancap’s hat onto the bed behind him and grabbed a fistful of his mousy brown curls, causing the capitalist to moan. Ancom used this to thrust quis dick into Ancap’s mouth, immediately gasping at the vibration from the other anarchist’s sounds.
Startled, Ancap gagged on Ancom’s length. His eyes watered involuntarily as he adjusted to the feeling. Ancom nudged quis hips forward impatiently, “Show me how much you want me, scum.”
Another whine from the capitalist, and another shockwave sent through Ancom. Ancap began working his way along Ancom, his tongue gliding along the bottom of quis shaft as he hollowed his cheeks; earning a sharp hiss from Ancom.
“Fuck- this is a much better use of that- hng- mouth of yours, my precious whore,” qui purred, tugging gently at Ancap’s hair, “make me feel so good.”
The tightness in Ancap’s pants was becoming unbearable, rutting at nothing for any semblance of friction. He had always liked Ancom- or was at least attracted to quem. Deep down he knew he wasn’t a real anarchist, it was simply the closest descriptor he could use to analyse his hatred for the state. But Ancom, Christ above Ancom, so steadfast in quis morals and beliefs, unwavering in the face of oppression and authoritarianism. That was sexy. And no amount of gilded prostitutes could ever give Ancap the gratification he desired. The nasty little pervert he was, the only reason he even hung around Nazi was because of the heady rush that came from him throwing slurs at him and being a terrible, overbearing, domineering presence. Yet, in the dark of his room, when all was quiet, and Ancap was in the throes of self-pleasure, it was always Ancom’s name on his lips when he came.
“Fuck, Ancap,” Ancom’s ragged voice fired Ancap back to reality, “look so pathetic underneath me like that, takin’ me in like such a good slut.”
The degradation only spurred him on, cupping Ancom’s balls with a remarkably featherweight touch, earning a mewl from the leftist.
Ancap’s fruitless rutting became even more erratic, and he began palming his own torture, almost begging for any input at all.
“Ah ah, no touching, Ancap, you’ll feel good when I let you.” Ancom tutted, nudging quis submissive’s hand away from his crotch. Resplendent pleading eyes met severe, umber glares,
“Shit- agh- I suppose you deserve something at least, ‘m not a fascist after all.”
Ancom pulled Ancap’s head away from quis crotch, wiping saliva and precum from his puffy, darkened lips with quis thumb. Ancom re-positioned so that quis foot was between Ancap’s thighs, “can use my leg, but that’s it.”
“Fuck, thank you thankyouthankyou Ancom,” the capitalist sobbed, gripping quis foot with the plush of his inner thighs.
“So needy, so perfect for me,” Ancom cooed, maneuvering quis cock back into Ancap’s mouth, “so hungry.”
Ancap, fervently rolling against Ancom’s leg, groaned in satisfaction as he engulfed Ancom once again in quis entirety; swirling his tongue around quis head, making the leftist’s hips stutter as qui moaned, slack-jawed and lost in the ecstasy. The ability to form coherent sentences had abandoned Ancom, reducing quem to vulgar strings of curses and noises. Qui looked down on the splendid debauchery happening beneath quem. Reducing such a loud mouthed, obnoxious capitalist like Ancap to a quivering, begging mess.
“Close, ‘m so close Ancap,” qui keened, fucking Ancap’s mouth with such wanton ardency, “gonna swallow me?”
Ancap nodded, trying his best to keep pace while he felt his own orgasm developing, white heat in the pit of his stomach growing fiercer and fiercer with every cruel taunt Ancom hurled his way.
With one final thrust, and a delightful moan from Ancom, qui came; spurting thick ropes of cum down the capitalist’s throat. Qui clutched Ancap’s head as if it was the only tangible thing left in existence as qui saw nothing but stars as quis orgasm tore through quem.
Ancap released Ancom’s cock with a vulgar pop, licking one last stripe up the underside of the shaft, causing quem to shiver. Ancap continued his ministrations on Ancom’s leg, becoming more and more erratic as he drew closer to finishing.
“God, humping my leg like a fucking mutt, you really are pathetic,” Ancom panted, still coming down from quis high, “you gonna finish from that?”
“Y-yeah, fuck- feel so good,” Ancap whimpered, grinding faster and firmer, “wanna cum.”
“I think you deserve it, you’ve been so good for me,” Ancom tilted Ancap’s chin to face quem, sweat beading on his forehead, “Cum for me, baby.”
Ancap gripped Ancom’s thigh, that last comment sending him over the edge, a gutteral moan escaped his reddened lips as he spilled into his underwear. He felt the warm, sticky wetness on his skin, but he didn’t care. The release he was after for eons was his, under the spell of the anarcho-communist.
Ancom leaned down and kissed Ancap, tasting quis release on his lips, their salivas mingling as their tongues massaged each other, sloppy and ungraceful. Their teeth clacking together as they both hummed in contentment.
“Made such a mess,” Ancap sighed as he slumped back against the bed, “dry cleaning’s gonna cost a fortune.”
Ancom chuckled, “a problem for tomorrow, go grab a change of clothes and I’ll roll another joint.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝
Ancom was nestled against Ancap’s chest as they both passed the joint between each other, Ancap languidly stroking Ancom’s hair and tousling quis waves with his fingers.
“I don’t actually hate you, I was just angry at Nazi.” Ancom murmered, tracing lines against Ancap’s sternum as he blew smoke rings into the darkness of the room.
“I’m glad, I am rather fond of you too Ancom, maybe I’ll even lease one of my mansions to you at a discount,” Ancap smiled, “and I promise I’ll try harder to make Nazi gender you correctly.”
“Thank you,” Ancom pressed a kiss into the lean muscle of Ancap’s chest before holding quis hand out for him to pass the joint.
The two anarchists continued to rest in each other’s arms as they grew more and more stoned, sinking deeper into a state of blissful stupor, their embrace had been a battle, and their climax a victory.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝