Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Why is it so dark?

You turned your head, slow at first, then faster in search for a shape, for a shadow, for any proof that the world still existed beyond this suffocating void. But there was nothing. No walls. No corners. No edges. Just blackness pressing against your vision like a blindfold sewn from night itself.

Your pulse quickened.

You looked up and there, a sliver of light hovered somewhere above you. It was faint and trembling, like a dying star seen through storm clouds. It was too distant to bring any relief, but it was something.

You locked your eyes onto it, clinging to that thin thread of light as your breathing began to spiral. 

You tried to move toward it, but that was when you felt it. Your wrists wouldn’t budge.

You pulled instinctively, once and twice. Only then a cold realization crawled up your spine. Your arms were stretched tight behind you. Your ankles were secured. Thick straps bit into your skin, as though they had been fastened with careful precision.

You twisted harder.

Leather scraped. The burn came quick and vicious and the restraints didn’t loosen, not even a bit. Every struggle only made them constrict, pressing into flesh, stealing circulation, carving panic deeper into your bones.

Inhale.

Exhale.

You jerked your body forward, straining with everything you had. Pain shot through your shoulders. Your muscles screamed. The distant light wavered in your vision as tears blurred it into a useless smear.

No. No, no, no!

The darkness felt closer now, pressing tighter around you. Like the space around you was shrinking, compressing your fear until it had nowhere to go but inward.

You opened your mouth and ripped a scream from the center of your chest, but it never made it out.

“MGHH—!”

The sound collapsed into a grotesque, muffled choke. Something thick filled your mouth. 

Cloth?

It was packed tight between your teeth, dry and suffocating. Your jaw ached from being forced open around it.

You tried again, but only a strangled groan answered you.

“Mmph!”

You heard footsteps. They were faint at first, then they became clearer.

Voices followed, low, casual, disturbingly calm for the situation you were in. They drifted through the darkness toward you.

Their tone wasn’t urgent, wasn’t angry. It was conversational. As if you weren’t here at all.

“Mmmphh!!!” you forced out, thrashing despite the pain slicing through your wrists.

The voices paused. For one suspended, terrible second, silence swallowed everything. Then one of them laughed, and the footsteps crept closer. 

The same voice drew nearer, harsh and unrelenting in a language you couldn’t understand. Still, the malice behind the words made your blood run cold. Then he barked a command and the person with him obeyed instantly, flipping on the light quickly as if his life depended on it.

“Bravo!” he said, his voice rich and sonorous, punctuated by a deliberate clap.

You had hoped to escape the darkness, but not like this, not in a blinding, flickering glare that seared your vision.

He spoke again, and the other person hurriedly left, the door slamming shut with a deafening thud.

“Time to wake from the nap, hm? Yes?”

Two hands slammed onto your shoulders, heavy and insistent, and the weight of them told you everything: this was not going to be casual conversation.

“Foreigner, right?” He gave your shoulders a mocking squeeze. “Not seeing many of you lately. It’s always nice to have tourists around here.”

You blinked rapidly, forcing your eyes to adjust, searching for shapes, but all you could make out was an empty room with green painted walls. 

“They’re usually more talkative,” he continued, stepping back and letting go of your shoulders. “Come around, tell me how to do things. Go do this, go do that… I don’t think I like that.”

His English was remarkably good, though thickly laced with a Slavic accent you couldn’t quite place. With so many Slavic speaking countries in the great Soviet Union, how were you supposed to know which one you were in? Even Alfred had worked hard to make the Soviet Union feel smaller, less threatening to the average American Joe, dividing the map just enough so it seemed less imposing.

“I understand it’s harder for you to speak with that thing in your mouth…”

You tried to look around, but he twisted your head forward from behind, keeping his presence just out of sight.

“If I take that off,” he continued, walking behind you, his heels echoing on the cold tile floor. “You promise I won’t hear any of that Western propaganda that’s been bombarding my front door?”

You nodded obediently, hoping for even a moment of relief as he stepped closer behind you.

“The last person who was here… proved so brave for their country that they pissed themselves and then died right in the seat you’re sitting in right now.”

Classic intimidation, nothing you hadn’t seen Alfred’s friends pull on supposed spies.

“We’ll see how this goes…” 

He stepped even closer, and you could feel the heat of his presence press into your back. One hand moved to your jaw from behind, tilting your head slightly, and the gag was yanked free.

Even if you were free, you didn’t speak. Every word felt like it could be used against you, as if you were standing before a jury.

His head got closer, his chin almost leaning against your shoulder just to whisper into your ear.

“If you don’t answer what I want, the next thing in your mouth won’t be as pleasing as a soft cotton cloth, okaaaay?” he said, dragging the last word with an exaggerated American accent.

An uneasy silence settled between you. Then, without warning, his hands returned to your shoulders, pressing down just enough to force the answer from your lungs.

“Okay! Y-Yes!” you blurted, the words stumbling over each other.

A quiet chuckle left his lungs. “Is everyone in your country as compliant as you? If so… I wouldn’t mind having more like you in here.”

“Here… um… where, if I may ask?”

“I make the questions,” he replied, the warmth slipping just slightly from his tone, cooled enough to remind you who was in control.

Silence settled into the small room once more before he spoke again.

“Great. Nooooow…”

His hands gripped the back of your wooden chair and slowly turned it. The legs dragged heavily across the tiled floor, the sharp scrape echoing in the confined space like a blade being drawn. The sound lingered until you were forced to face the wall behind you.

A metal table stood there, stark and deliberate under the harsh light. Its surface gleamed coldly, lined with instruments arranged in careful order.

“We’ll start with something simple. Yes or no answers only. Easy, right? Easier than American standardized tests.”

Your eyes moved over the display despite yourself. Scissors with narrow, pointed tips. Knives of different shapes, some curved delicately, others straight and severe. Slender tools built for precision, their edges clean, almost clinical. And then there was the pipe. Thick. Blunt. Rusty. It lay among the refined instruments as though it didn’t need a presentation, its blunt presence speaking for itself.

“What’s your relationship with Alfred F. Jones?”

The exam had already begun, though your attention was still fixed on the metal pipe. You stared at it, transfixed, as if it were the only real threat in the room, forgetting for a dangerous second, the man standing behind you.

“I’ll repeat it just once more…”

For the first time, he stepped into your line of sight, moving around the chair with unhurried precision. His gaze skimmed over the instruments laid out before you, as though selecting from a menu rather than a table of tools.

He wore a uniform suit, impeccably coordinated from head to toe, though a long scarf hung awkwardly, almost out of place with the rest of the outfit. But what struck you most was his height. Standing there, upright and composed, he seemed impossibly tall. Perhaps it was the angle, perhaps it was the way you were restrained and seated, but from where you were, he felt towering.

“Relationship with Alfred F. Jones?” he repeated.

“How am I supposed to answer with a—”

“Just answer.”

He turned fully toward you then, and you didn’t dare lift your gaze to his face, not when a pair of scissors rested casually in his gloved hand. The blades caught the light as he adjusted his grip, the faint metallic click slicing through the room.

“Oh! Mm. Yes… Relationship with Alfred. I—”

He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching as if suppressing a laugh. “Yes?”

“I’m not directly related to him.”

“Not directly related?” he echoed mildly. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Heat crept over you. It wrapped around your body like oppressive summer humidity, clinging to your skin despite the cold room.

“I, uh… erm…”

You winced inwardly. Of all the ways to respond, that was the worst. But your nerves were fraying faster than you could contain them.

“Do you work for him?”

“No, sir.”

“Sir?” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I like that.”

He set the scissors back onto the table with deliberate care, as though satisfied for the moment. 

Leaning back against the table, he was careful not to disturb the neat arrangement of instruments. His gloved hands rested lightly against the cold metallic edge, composed, patiently drumming against it.

“You said you’re not directly related to him,” he continued evenly. “Does that mean you’re friends?”

“I wouldn’t say that, sir. N–No,” you corrected yourself quickly, already regretting having said too much.

“But something like that, hm?” he replied, a quiet chuckle following.

He pushed himself off the table and walked back toward you. Each step was unhurried. And when he reached you, he bent down until he was level with your face, deliberately closing off any chance to look away.

“How do you call it?” he asked thoughtfully, gloved fingers sliding beneath your chin and lifting it just enough to force your gaze to meet his.

For the first time, you saw his face clearly. And absurdly you felt a flicker of relief. If this was how you were going to die, at least it would be at the hands of someone painfully handsome. The thought unsettled you almost as much as he did.

“Friends with benefits?” he repeated, studying your face with open curiosity. “Is that the way you say it?”

“No.”

“Did I say it wrong?” His thumb shifted lightly against your jaw, not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure your eyes stayed on his. “Instruct me. I don’t mind.”

“No, no! I meant… we’re not friends with benefits!”

“Ooooh…” 

His smile widened, cheeks rounding in an almost absurdly cute way, suggesting a softness that felt strangely at odds with everything else about him.

“How often do you… see each other?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual, touched with the faintest hint of amusement. “Or was it just a one time thing?”

“We didn’t have sex!” you blurted, the words spilling out too fast, as if they could shield you from whatever conclusion he was forming.

“Oh?” His brow arched slightly. “So you didn’t get the chance, you mean?”

“I didn’t—”

“But you tried, yes?”

“No.”

“Not even a quick hand job?” he asked lightly, as if clarifying a minor detail on a form.

“That still counts as sex,” you shot back, heat rushing to your face. “So no.”

“Hmm.” His head tilted slightly. “Not even a small kiss?”

“No!”

“On the cheek?”

“No…”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You are very defensive for someone so uninvolved.”

“I don’t have any relationship with Alfred.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then he laughed. Not a polite chuckle. Not a restrained breath of amusement. He laughed fully, head tipping back, shoulders shaking, the sound spilling out of him in bright, uncontained waves that ricocheted off the walls.

What startled you most was not the sound of it, but the realization creeping in beneath your panic. You were more concerned with making it absolutely clear that nothing had happened between you and Alfred than with the very real possibility that you might not leave this room alive.

The laughter stopped as abruptly as it had begun, like a switch flipped off. Whatever warmth had animated his face vanished, leaving something far more controlled behind.

“Would you care if he died?”

The question landed heavily in the space between you.

“I mean, he’s quite frankly an asshole and an idiot, but—”

“Just yes or no,” he interrupted smoothly, the softness gone from his voice before you could finish.

The silence that followed was heavy, and it turned suffocating when he reached for the metal pipe. It had been sitting there the entire time, waiting patiently, like a silent reminder of what he was capable of.

He weighed it lightly in his gloved hand before looking back at you.

“I’ll make it simpler,” he said calmly. “If I had a gun pointed at Alfred right now, and the only way to save your life was to let me pull the trigger… would you let me?”

“No.”

“Good choice.”

BANG

With a sudden, precise motion, he brought the pipe down on the back of your head. Pain exploded across your skull, and everything faded into darkness.

Chapter Text

A heavy blanket rested over you, its warmth gradually soaking into the dull ache of your body, as if it had been placed there with care.

You lingered in that hazy space between sleep and waking, unwilling to move even a muscle, as though the slightest movement might shatter the fragile calm.

Nearby, a chimney crackled softly. Firewood hissed and popped as it burned, the quiet sounds threading through the still air in a steady rhythm that was just enough to lull you closer to sleep.

Everything felt too soothing, too inviting. Whatever lay beyond the quiet confines of the room seemed distant, unimportant for now. Rather than forcing yourself to sit up, you let your body relax further against the sofa cushions, sinking deeper beneath the blanket as the stillness held you there.

“I wouldn’t mind letting you sleep a little longer…” a voice said softly from somewhere in the room.

The accent. The tone. The unsettling calm threaded through every word.

“But it is almost midnight, yes? I thought you should know.”

The voice was unmistakable, and the fragile haze of sleep quickly vanished.

You jolted upright, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as your mind rushed to catch up with your body. For a second everything blurred together. The firelight, the shadows, the unfamiliar furniture… until your gaze finally settled on the source of the voice.

“No need to be scared. The questions are over. I promise.”

He was sitting a few steps away in a wide armchair, leaning back into the cushions as if this were nothing more than an ordinary evening. One arm rested loosely along the armrest, his fingers idly tapping out the slow rhythm of some song you didn’t recognize. In his other hand, he cradled a porcelain cup, probably imported from China. Thin wisps of steam rose from the dark liquid, carrying the sweet scent of cherries. Every now and then he lifted the cup slightly, letting the heat drift toward his face before lowering it again, enjoying the scent of it and patiently waiting to take a sip.

“Where… am I?” you asked, your voice heavy with sleep.

The firelight danced across his face, its glow breaking into soft shadows along the curve of his cheeks. Only then did you register that the military uniform from earlier had disappeared. He had changed back into a sweater and the casually draped scarf he’d worn before. Stripped of the uniform, he looked ordinary, like any man unwinding by the fire after a long day at work. The scene felt both gentle and unsettling, as if the interrogation had been nothing more than a routine chore he had finished hours earlier and already set aside.

“Oh,” he murmured, flicking a glance your way, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “What I said about the questions… that goes for you as well, my dear friend.”

The tall man kept tapping a gentle rhythm along the armrest, humming softly under his breath as if the conversation had already ended.

You shifted slightly, trying to ease the dull ache thudding at the back of your head. Then the memory returned. The sharp pain, the flash of metal, the brutal moment when the pipe struck the side of your skull. 

“So… um,” you began, clinging to a few precious seconds, trying to say something without it becoming a question. “My head… it hurts.”

“Jet lag!” he exclaimed, almost without thinking.

The realization flickered across his face a second later, to which he gave a soft chuckle.

“Oops!”

For a moment, his attention drifted downward at the sight of a dark smear of cherry compote on his wool sweater. His brow drew together at the sight, not for the careless revelation he had just made, but for the sticky imperfection that dared defile his clothing.

“Where am I?” you asked once more, clinging to the hope that he might actually tell you now.

Instead, he looked at you like you’d made a mistake. “I said no questions. End of story.”

His eyes returned to the stubborn smear, tracing its edges with the careful attention of someone treating it as the most crucial task of his life.

“Jet lag,” you said, each word edged with irritation. “I heard you say it.”

Without lifting his eyes, he wet his thumb with his tongue and dragged it across the stain, as if mere contact could make it vanish.

“That’s what happens when you cross time zones,” he said, voice casual but edged, thumb still gliding over the stain in his wool sweater.

“So… I’m far from home,” you said quietly, the thought twisting uneasily in your chest.

“Quick to catch on, aren’t you?” he said, a sharp, mocking smile flickering across his face like a blade.

“How long exactly do you plan to keep me here, now that there’s nothing left to ask?”

He brought the cup slowly to his lips, sipping without breaking eye contact, his gaze fixed on you as though he could read your thoughts.

Right. Questions. He doesn’t answer those.

You hadn’t been offered a cup, and he seemed to find that entirely fitting.

“I just needed to know… to figure out if I need winter clothes… or spring ones too.”

“Spring doesn’t mean winter disappears,” he said calmly, leaning forward to set the cup onto the matching porcelain plate resting on the table between you, the soft clink echoing in the quiet. “Some days are colder than you’d expect.”

A faint smile curved his lips as he sank into the sofa, feet resting comfortably on the table’s edge. Your gaze lingered on his bright socks, the sunflower pattern looking almost incongruous with the rest of him and hinting at a playful side he usually kept carefully hidden.

“Though, realistically… you won’t be stepping outside much,” he said, his tone overly casual, as if delivering weather news.

You blinked, your stomach tightening, and a flicker of horror passed across your face. He caught the reaction instantly and let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if your response were more amusing than alarming.

“I should clarify,” he said, lifting a hand as if to ward off any wild imaginings. “It’s not because I plan on keeping you on a leash. I wouldn’t dare be that obvious.”

He took a moment, finger resting against his lips, puckering them slightly as if in thought, the gesture oddly endearing against the weight of his stare.

“I could tie you up, if I wanted,” he murmured, tilting his head just so, letting the words roll off his tongue like a caress. “But I think stepping outside will show you exactly why I haven’t bothered.”

Even as he spoke, his gaze held yours with a dangerous intensity, daring you to flinch under its weight.

Determined to shake off the suffocating, claustrophobic feeling crawling under your skin, you rose slowly to your feet, letting your eyes sweep over the room. It looked like an entrance hall, or perhaps a salon, with a single door you assumed led outside. But the careful rhythm of his earlier words lingered in your mind, a subtle reminder that nothing here was accidental and every detail had been deliberately arranged.

“Off already?” he asked, the question drifting lazily from his lips as your resolve set in place. 

Your gaze stayed fixed on the main door for a long moment, searching for a sign, a clue. Then you shifted to the window beside it, tugging the curtain aside just enough to peer out. Beyond the glass, night had swallowed everything whole, leaving nothing but an endless, impenetrable darkness. 

“I have to admit… I didn’t think you had that kind of courage.” The words brushed your ear and in the same breath his hands settled on your shoulders, firmly enough to stop you in your tracks.

When did he even slip in behind me?!

You stiffened, startled by the sudden closeness. His body pressed just slightly behind yours, the warmth and subtle pressure of his hands making it impossible to ignore him. The room seemed to shrink, and every sound, every heartbeat, felt magnified in the taut space between you.

“Are you going to stop me?” you asked, hand already grabbing the door handle.

“Stop you?” A quiet chuckle brushed the back of your neck. “No. I’m curious to see just how far that courage of yours goes.”

“Very well, then. If you please, step aside.”

“You say that like I’m the one standing in your way,” he replied, amusement threading through his voice.

He moved, but rather than stepping back completely, he reached past you and opened the door with a polite, almost formal motion, expecting you to step through.

The night ignored such formalities. A sharp gust of wind stormed through the doorway, carrying with it a swirl of snow that raced across the carpet in icy rivulets. The cold bit at your skin and with it came the crisp scent of winter and the oppressive quiet of the darkness beyond.

“Fuck…” you muttered under your breath, hugging yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to ward off the biting wind that had swept inside.

The wind that followed you in made your clothes cling to your skin, and a shiver ran down your spine. Only now did it strike you, you were dressed in nothing but a thin pair of pajamas, hopelessly inadequate for the winter chill. When had they appeared? Had he slipped them onto you while you were unconscious? Had he peeled your clothes away first, fingers brushing where they shouldn’t, leaving you bare beneath his hands before dressing you again?

The big man tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he caught you spacing out, lost in your own thoughts. 

“Do you want me to close the door, or are you really as reckless and certain of your freedom as the West likes to boast?”

“How do you even survive here?” you asked, nodding toward the endless void beyond the doorway.

He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the wind and the tiny icy rivulets that threatened to bite at your skin, yet the gusts howled around the room relentlessly, as if they wanted to claim the entire house.

“Concerned for me?” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Why do you ask? Do you… need something? Just say the word.”

You paused, studying his expression, unsure what games he was playing. Your gaze then drifted to the frozen expanse howling behind him, and you stepped back instinctively, making sure you weren’t venturing out today.

“I mean… you survive somehow, right? Hunt? Buy? Trade? Or… is it just you and the cold?”

“Hungry?” he asked, clasping his hands together in a surprisingly domestic gesture, avoiding yet another question with careful precision. “I could reheat some borscht I made today. Not bad, if I do say so myself… though tomorrow, it’ll be even better.”

Hunger gnawed at you, yet the thought of eating anything he’d made made your stomach twist. It wasn’t just unease, but a sharp, instinctive warning. What if it was spiked… not to kill, but to make you soft, helpless… unable to do anything but obey?

The tall man closed the door behind you with a soft click, shutting out the harsh wind that rattled against the windows. The cold slipped away almost instantly, leaving only the faint, watery trace of snowflakes melting against your skin.

“Soup will warm you up.” His voice drifted from somewhere nearby as he rifled through a closet, wood creaking softly under his search.

He returned moments later with a large, thick towel and draped it over your shoulders. The fabric was soft yet sturdy, radiating warmth as he rubbed it along your arms, chasing away the chill.

“What do you say?” he murmured, a smile threading through his voice as his fingers lingered on your cheeks, dabbing you with the towel with slow, gentle strokes.

“Oh… um, no thanks,” you muttered, hesitation creeping into your voice. “I’m not hungry.” 

For a heartbeat, his brow creased, but then a grin spread across his face. “Really? After a trip like that… and you’re turning down my homemade borscht?” 

Even as his tone stayed light, the intensity in his eyes pinned you, and you found yourself moving ever so slightly under his watchful gaze.

“Just try it. Then you can decide whether you actually want to eat or not.”

He kept patting the towel around your body, his face lingering far too close, his breath ghosting over your skin, close enough that it mingled with yours in the narrow space between you. 

The fabric swept over places it had no reason to touch, areas the snow hadn’t even reached, like the small of your back or the curve of your waist. A tight knot formed in your chest the moment he nearly brushed your backside. It also didn’t help that a sudden flush had spread across his round cheeks, vivid against his pale skin and impossible to miss. 

He hadn’t said a word about why he’d brought you here, but the way he looked at you was starting to make his intentions painfully clear. So you decided to do what he hadn’t: make your own intentions perfectly clear.

“I’m not having sex with you,” you blurted, pressing your hand firmly against his chest, forcing him back and halting him in his tracks.

The big man’s eyes snapped open, their strange color flashing in the light, as if your words had stolen the air from him. His mouth hung open, frozen, unable to shape a single word.

A lone “What?” was all he could manage.

He straightened abruptly, caught between disbelief and the simmering sting of offense. 

You drew the towel around yourself, tucking it close like an armor, a quiet declaration that some lines were not to be crossed. The soft fabric became a barrier against his lustful intentions and the way he seemed to want to dominate you.

“Where did that stupid idea come from?” he growled, his gaze piercing, fury coiled beneath a firm grip on his scarf.

“Listen,” you said, your voice steady now that the tables had turned. “I don’t trust you. So drop the false camaraderie and tell me exactly what this is about.” 

He raised an eyebrow, watching you instinctively recoil from his presumed lustful gaze, heat and anger flaring together, a dangerous edge threading through his eyes.

“Let me make this clear,” he murmured, the quiet authority in his voice far more unsettling than a shout. “I’m not a man who chases what doesn’t want him. I don’t bend, and I don’t beg. Not for anyone. Not for you. A man must keep his dignity. If you cannot be mine completely, then you are not mine at all. So don’t think I’ll fight for scraps.”

Arms crossed, teeth clenched, jaw tight, eyes ablaze… Every inch of him was coiled and ready to tear into you with words like claws.

“Besides… you’ve made your feelings about Alfred perfectly clear.”

“Alfred? What? Really? We’re still talking about him?” you snapped, irritation flaring at being paired with that ridiculous parody of a man when the real reason for your anger was far more obvious: him. “I told you I have nothing to do with him! Is that why I’m here? Tell me. Am I… your prisoner?”

“Prisoner?” he repeated, amusement curling at the edges of his voice, even as his anger simmered just below the surface. “A prisoner in a mansion with unlimited borscht? That sounds like a rather comfortable sentence.”

Oh, how wonderful! 

I’m a privileged prisoner!

“So, lucky me,” you said, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “Stuck here with you… and I still don’t even know your name.”

He arched an eyebrow, eyes darkening with interest, and didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Why do you need to know that?” he asked softly, a note of concern undercutting the question.

He leaned in until his face was level with yours, eyes tracing every line of your expression as if searching for more than you were willing to show.

“Trying to figure me out… or just finding an excuse to get closer?” he added, a teasing edge threading through his words.

“Never mind…” you murmured, rubbing your weary eyes as if seeking comfort. “I wish we could go back a few minutes, before all that stupid arguing, and just have that soup you mentioned.”

The towel slid from your shoulders, tumbling softly to the floor, as if your body had decided for you that you were no longer guarding yourself and were willing to give him a chance.

He drew a slow, measured breath, fingers tightening around the scarf as if it grounded him, keeping the anger from spilling over and letting him reach back toward you.

“Ivan…” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.

“What?” you asked, still caught up in your own thoughts, not realizing he was speaking to you.

“My name,” he replied calmly, a faint smile tugging at his lips like offering an unspoken invitation to bridge the distance between you. “Ivan.”

“Great… um, nice to meet you, Ivan,” you said, testing the waters.

He stared past you, scarf twisting between his fingers. “It’s been a long time since anyone has seen me like this…”

“Oh, um… well… I feel like we’ll be able to talk more from now on…” you said, really getting aware of your current situation.

“I’d like that… getting to know you better.”

Ivan took your hand in his, caressing it with more force than necessary, his gaze locked on the way his thumb traced your skin, watching every subtle movement beneath his touch. Perhaps… he just wanted you to feel him. To feel the ache of his craving, the hunger he’d carried for too long, the warmth and closeness he had been denying himself until now.

Then he looked at you, cheeks burning, eyes heavy with a mix of restraint and raw feeling, as if the intensity of the moment had nearly pulled him apart.

“I wanted to let you know… I’m really happy to have you here…” he said, his face now closer than it was before. “I’ll make sure you feel… very comfortable here.”

“Thanks… I, ah… really appreciate it,” you murmured, forcing a gentle smile, even as his closeness made your chest tighten, making you feel… as if a part of you was already his.

He studied you for a second longer than necessary, as though reluctant to let the intimacy slip away. Then, just as abruptly, his expression brightened.

“Come now, we still have the borscht to think about!” he exclaimed, shifting the mood entirely.

“I’d like to sleep now, if you don’t mind…” you said, your stomach finally settling after the whirlwind of emotions.

“That’s fine by me! I was getting sleepy myself, listening to all your questions,” he said, giving you a teasing wink. “Follow me. I’ll show you the bedroom.”

His hand still in yours, he guided you through the house, the space unfolding like something out of a storybook steeped in tradition. Despite the merciless winter raging outside, the house exuded a rare warmth to it. It felt cozy and familiar, yet there was an odd feeling you couldn’t quite ignore, as if the walls themselves were watching.

“Tomorrow, a full house tour awaits, yes? I promise,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

Even in its vastness, the house felt carefully curated to appear cozy. As you followed him upstairs, you noticed that the walls were lined with handcrafted floral embroidery, and shelves sagged under the weight of books whose titles you quickly scanned. Some in English, others in Cyrillic, and others in languages you could read but not understand, none giving the slightest clue as to exactly where you were.

On the second floor, long red carpets woven with folk patterns stretched along polished wooden floors, guiding you past row after row of closed doors. You couldn’t help but wonder why a single person would need so much space, but then again, there was so much mystery about this strange man that one night wasn’t nearly enough to answer all your questions.

“Here.” He paused at one of the doors, holding it open for you, then switched on the light, casting a warm glow across the room. “Make yourself comfortable.”

It looked strangely decorated, a curious blend of what he imagined your tastes might be and a touch of his own.

The shelves were crowded with books and handmade carved wooden animals that were clearly his, their detailed craftsmanship a contrast to the extravagant imported goods scattered among them, such as a jar of orange scented lotion or a tiny bottle of perfume with an expensive French fragrance, one you could not imagine how he had managed to obtain. 

Whoever he was, it was clear he had the kind of influence that made the impossible possible.

There was also a small collection of cassettes of The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, Madonna, and other famous singers, neatly stacked but without a music player, their presence alone hinting at a world you recognized but that felt oddly distant here. 

On one side of the room, a display of postcards showcased well known landmarks and cityscapes: the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Sydney Opera House, the Pyramids of Giza… You weren’t sure if he had ever been to these places or if he simply dreamed of visiting them one day.

The room felt gently cluttered, filled with these unnecessary trinkets and knick knacks, as if he had gathered each one with you in mind, trying to make the space feel more like home, carefully layering your world on top of his.

“Like it?” he asked, watching you roam the room, scanning every corner as if claiming it for yourself. “There are more blankets in the closet outside if you need them, but I think it’s warm enough in here.”

The big man paused to inspect the large heater, its paint peeling and rusting from years of use. He rested a hand on it for a moment, feeling the heat press against his skin before yanking it back just in time.

“We’ll wake up a bit earlier tomorrow, just so you can get used to the new time zone, yes?” he said, glancing at you expectantly, hoping for a response.

Instead of answering, you drifted to the window and drew aside the white curtain embroidered with delicate floral patterns, peering out into the quiet darkness beyond.

Through the window’s reflection, you saw him step closer, his face marked with quiet concern. Strong hands settled on your arms, gently stroking them from behind, trying to ease some invisible weight. His touch was meant to be comforting, intimate even, though he seemed unaware of how imposing someone of his size could feel.

“Rest well tonight.” A quiet smile touched his lips as he leaned just close enough for you to feel his presence even more. “You look much calmer when you’re asleep...”

He paused, as if reconsidering his own words.

“Well… perhaps not entirely,” he admitted quietly, as though there was nothing strange about the fact he had watched you sleep. “I’ve noticed you move a little… Your dreams seem rather intense. You make little sounds too.”

Does that mean what I think it does?

You didn’t say a word, still uneasy at how close he had come. He invaded your personal space with the ease of someone used to taking ground, as though he had been trained to assert control over everything in reach.

“Call me if you need anything… I’m right next door,” he murmured softly against your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

One hand moved to the back of your head, parting strands of hair in its path until it found the spot where he had struck you with the pipe, stroking it gently as if trying to ease the pain. The other hand stayed firmly on your shoulder, holding you in place, and even if he had let go, you weren’t sure you would have moved.

What happened next shocked you beyond reason. He leaned over the back of your head, his sharp, pointed nose pressing close, and for a moment you froze. Then, with a slow motion, he pressed his lips to the raw mark left by the pipe. It was gentle, but it also felt like a claim, a reminder that it was he who had left it there.

Yesterday, a metal pipe slammed against my skull. Tonight, an almost tender kiss. 

How could someone capable of violence also offer something that felt like care? 

What would come next?

“You’ll feel better by morning,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, brushing near the wound. “Trust me.”

Even after he stepped back, his presence seemed to cling to you, leaving your heart racing in ways that frightened you to acknowledge or to even put into words.

“Спокойной ночи.”

Chapter Text

Ivan was still asleep, stretched out across the wide expanse of his bed, the sheets twisted loosely around him. 

A faint stain of saliva darkened the pillow beneath his cheek, an obvious clue that whatever filled his dreams was pleasant. The satisfied smile on his lips only reinforced the suspicion… though you weren’t sure you actually wanted to know the details.

Then, a subtle but sudden twitch passed through him, his brow knitting briefly as if a fragment of a nightmare had slipped into his dreams. For a moment, it seemed he might wake, since his body was shifting as though he were about to roll onto his back.

But you weren’t afraid. No. If he woke up, you had your answer ready. You were hungry, that was all, just looking for something to eat. Simple. Innocent. Nothing that would raise any suspicion.

Luckily, you didn’t have to test your flimsy excuse. His soft snoring continued, filling the room with its steady and untroubled rhythm.

This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for. Every nerve was on fire. Soon, you’d slip out, leaving this place and him forever, tasting the raw thrill of freedom.

But as if drawn against your will, your eyes lingered on his sleeping form one last time, though you told yourself it was only to make sure he was truly asleep.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the soft morning light tracing the lines of his body, softening him into something almost harmless. It was hard to reconcile this quiet form with the man who held so much power over you, like a grizzly bear at rest, immense and dangerous even in stillness.

You should have been slipping out already. He was clearly asleep, and caution demanded it. But your eyes refused to move. His legs were slightly apart, relaxed in sleep, but as your gaze drifted lower, between his thighs, you noticed something different… something that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken.

Ivan, are you enjoying yourself in your dreams?

Wait. No!

This is… creepy. 

Don’t do that.

Stop!

Silently, you closed the door behind you, leaving him to his intimate dreams. Part of you ached to be there, while the rest clung to the comforting thought that you had more decency than he did. 

Don’t think about it.

Pressing your back against the wall, you drew a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts, though the vivid, forbidden images of him refused to fade.

He’s easy to look at. 

Too easy.

He’d steal every glance… if anyone were here.

Your heart raced, caught between fascination and something tender, your body reacting before your mind could catch up, as though it remembered or rather longed for something it had never truly known. Certainly nothing this large.

Really? 

Do I have to leave now? Maybe… it can wait a little longer.

It’s not so bad here. I could stay. 

He seems like a good host. And maybe… if I get to know him a bit better, things could get even better.

Besides, most of the basic needs on Maslow’s pyramid are already… well, practically covered.

And then, as if your own mind were facepalming at your absurd excuses, it drifted back to him, the real reason you questioned leaving this place at all.

Oh fuck, I need him so badly.

The thought came abruptly, him close, pressing against you, every inch of him fitting perfectly, stretching you wide, movements wild and unrelenting, holding you like you belonged to him. 

Fuuuck… am I seriously already at the Stockholm syndrome stage?

No… 

No, no, no.

Focus. 

You have to focus. 

Pull yourself together.

You smacked your own face, desperate to wrench a bit of rational thought back, since there was no bucket of ice water within reach to soothe the heat.

Leaving this place. Yes, that was the plan. 

He kidnapped you. 

That’s not up for debate. 

Remember that. 

No matter how inviting he tries to make it seem, no matter how carefully he dresses it up, this is a cell. And you are his prisoner.

With renewed resolve, you made your way downstairs as silently as you could, bundled in the winter clothes Ivan had thoughtfully left in your bedroom closet. 

Simply perfect. 

Hat, cozy fluffy jacket, tall boots, gloves, wool scarf… Everything I needed.

Did you really want me to leave so soon, Ivan?

But any hope of comfort vanished the moment you stepped outside. The daylight offered more visibility than the night, yet the wind howled like a living thing, slashing against you and threatening to bury you beneath the frozen snow at your feet.

In the distance you could make out a line of trees, but the longer you looked around, the more trapped you felt. Snow climbed up around your legs, making every step heavy and slow.

Where the fuck are we?

You were truly in the middle of nowhere. Some forgotten forest, buried under endless snow, hemmed in on all sides by mountains and an oppressive, echoing silence.

At least we won’t be bothered by neighbors. 

And winter can’t last forever. 

After all, it's already March… or maybe April?

Doesn’t matter. I can wait. 

It’s not that bad. It really isn’t.

Better than being with Alfred, at least… for now.

Maybe it wasn’t just resignation that drew you back, but the pull of warmth and the quiet comfort of being somewhere you weren’t entirely alone, a place that, compared to the endless scramble you’d known, didn’t feel quite so bad.

Once back inside, you hurried to your bedroom, methodically erasing any trace of your brief excursion outdoors. Even damp from the snow, every piece of clothing was shoved back into the closet. Every clue that you had been outside had to be hidden in order to preserve this fragile peace between the two of you.

Even the bright, synthetic underwear of your old world had to go. Not because they were soaked, but simply because you’d been wearing them far too long.

As if he’d left a ticket to your freedom or simply expected you to leave, there were no more clothes to change into. Apart from the pajamas you’d woken up in, there was nothing else.

That will have to do for now...

“Good morni—”

Ivan stopped in the doorway, having opened the door without bothering to knock.

“Ah, Ivan!” you blurted, hastily slamming the closet doors shut, more worried that he’d catch on to your brief venture outside than that you were standing entirely bare before him.

Oh shit.

It hit a moment later, and you hugged yourself tightly, though it was likely already too late. Ivan had a perfect imprint of your body burned into his mind.

You could tell by the way color flooded his pale cheeks, spreading so fast it was as if every drop of blood in his body had rushed there at once. Well… probably elsewhere too. But you weren’t about to look there. Not again.

It made sense. This was the first time he had seen you naked. Completely naked.

“I should’ve knocked,” he murmured, his casual tone doing little to hide the way he lingered, eyes tracing you as if hoping for another glimpse. “I’m… sorry.”

Then, as if realizing he’d stared for too long, he finally turned away. 

Trusting him to be a decent gentleman, you let your guard down for a moment and reached for the pajamas, but the mirror betrayed you.

What game are you playing, Ivan?

Does he think I’m blind?

I’m not stupid, Ivan.

From his vantage point, he still had an uninterrupted view, watching every motion as you slipped back into your clothes.

Is this just a ruthless display of power, a reminder that he can do whatever he wants with me?

Or… is he actually a gentleman, and I’m just imagining the worst?

No, no, no. 

He is no gentleman. 

He hadn’t even been polite enough to knock on the fucking door.

And he kidnapped me.

He hit me on the head with a metal pipe.

A metal pipe.

And he’s weird.

Very weird.

And… sexy. 

Somehow, that makes up for most of it.

The satisfied smile he wore as he watched you made it clear he knew exactly the power he held and had no intention of holding back.

Fuck you.

You’re not getting away with this just because of that pretty face.

“What could be so urgent that you didn’t even bother knocking?” you asked, trying to shield yourself, though every movement only seemed to draw his gaze closer in the mirror.

“I just wanted to know what you’d like for breakfast,” he said, crossing his arms, a sharper smile tugging at his lips as he caught you tugging on the pajama pants.

Breakfast. Right.

Though it felt more like he was devouring you with his eyes than anything else.

You’d offered him an unintentional view of your bare backside, and part of you couldn’t deny the strange thrill it gave you. 

Now he had nearly memorized every curve, every line of your bare body. All that remained was to lie back on the bed, spread your legs and let him complete the image in his mind.

Maybe I’m into this…

A quiet understanding passed between you, like an unspoken agreement. He feigned looking away, a practiced restraint in his gaze, yet you offered yourself anyway.

After only a single day of knowing him…

Am I a whore?

Alfred would have called me that at this point.

Maybe I am.

So what? I can’t help it.

“Hmmm, I’m not sure… depends on what you have,” you murmured, a playful curve to your lips as you lifted your arms to pull on the pajama shirt. “I usually go for fresh orange juice… though coffee will do just as well.”

“We don’t have that…” he said, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes as if your small request had slipped past him. “But I’ll make sure to have it next time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you murmured, straightening the pajama shirt and smoothing it down as neatly as you could.

“Can I turn around now?” he asked, his tone laced with mock restraint, as if he’d been valiantly looking away the whole time.

“Yup,” you replied, barely hiding the smirk tugging at your lips.

He quickly turned, cheeks flushed in a way that made his usual composure feel completely gone.

“I’ll eat whatever you decide to make,” you added, your eyes glued to him as you watched him try and fail to regain control over his lustful expression.

“Whatever? Always so obedient, aren’t you?” he said, a faint mischievous grin breaking through him.

Then as if second thinking what he’d just said, he pressed a palm against his hair, tugging his fringe back briefly before letting it fall forward again, every motion betraying his failed attempt at composure.

“Alright… something sweet it is. Can’t say no to that!”

“Great, thank you, Ivan…” you murmured, nervously scratching at the side of your arm. 

You watched him, barely holding back a laugh at the way he inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to appear calm, while a wide, almost awkward smile stretched across his face.

“Yes… I’ll get started then,” he muttered, shuffling toward the door, still flushed and a little tense. “Um… you can go down whenever you want… or, if you’d like, you could… stay and keep me company. Or, uh… whatever you prefer. I won’t complain.”

He turned to leave, but his flustered state betrayed him, and he walked straight into the doorframe. A soft grunt escaped him as he stumbled back, muttering something under his breath, curses, complaints, or maybe just nonsense… you couldn’t tell.

“See you!” he blurted, slamming the door a little too hard, the thud echoing like even the frame couldn’t hold back his fluster.

Well. 

That was weird.

…

“I thought you’d never come!” he exclaimed, a bright grin spreading across his face as you stepped into the kitchen. “I was starting to think I’d have to reheat everything!”

It made your heart sting for a moment, but you’d needed that pause to collect yourself after the whirlwind of that frantic encounter.

“Come, sit, sit!” he called, practically hovering as he pulled out a chair for you, his anticipation barely contained.

Only then did you notice the apron tied around his waist. It looked brand new, yet it was already dotted with small stains. Beneath it, he still wore yesterday’s cozy sweater, as if he hadn’t quite let go of the day before.

As you settled into the chair and he quietly pushed you in, your attention shifted to the table. A delicately embroidered cloth lay beneath a careful arrangement of small jam jars, while a teapot sat nearby, faint wisps of steam rising as if everything had been waiting just for you.

He disappeared for a moment, only to return with a large plate stacked high with pancakes, still steaming despite how long you’d taken to come down.

“Oh, I love pancakes!” you said, already hungry enough to finish the whole plate yourself.

“These are not pancakes,” he corrected, raising a finger with a hint of pride. “Blinis.”

He served a generous stack onto your plate before helping himself.

“Well, they taste just as good,” you replied, already taking a bite, speaking through the mouthful without much care. “Delicious.”

“Try them with a bit of marmalade,” he said, lifting the teapot and pouring the hot liquid into a delicate porcelain cup. “I made it myself.”

A gentle hush settled between you as the sweet scent of marmalade curled around your senses. Each bite sent a quiet thrill through you, your lips pressing against the soft pastry, a low hum of satisfaction escaping before you could stop it. 

“Ah, the tea is ready!” he said, lifting up the teapot’s lid to check the tea’s color. 

Ivan’s eyes kept finding yours, patient yet loaded with something unspoken as he poured tea into your cup. The faint clink of porcelain echoed like a heartbeat in the quiet of the kitchen, but it didn’t matter. You let yourself sink into the quiet, letting the gentle calm erase, for a moment, all the wrongs he carried. But of course, he wasn’t about to let you forget who he was. His eyes drifted over you again, lingering a little too long on your chest. Whatever thought had crossed his mind was clearly too strong to keep to himself.

“I couldn’t help but notice… you’re not wearing any underwear. Bold choice.”

You spluttered tea across the rim of your cup, eyes widening at his words.

“I don’t mind at all,” he added smoothly, leaning back slightly against the wooden chair. “Honestly, this… this should be mandatory. I might have to write a strongly worded letter to society about it.”

You tugged the pajama shirt a little tighter around yourself, but it did nothing to hide how the cold made your nipples hard. His eyes didn’t miss a thing, lingering far longer than they should have, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck in response.

“Was this on purpose… or are you just too shy to ask for clothes?” he continued, the easy smile still on his face. 

His gaze drifted briefly downward, lingering on your pajama pants, though with your legs crossed, there was little for him to see.

“You know you can ask for anything. Really.”

“Uh… I, um…” you stammered, shifting slightly and averting your gaze for a moment. “Do you… have any other clothes? You know, for… walking around the house?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Feel free to browse my bedroom closet anytime. I’m sure you’ll find something suitable.”

Then, he handed you a small slip of paper. 

Oranges.

Coffee. 

It was scribbled in a slightly uneven hand, as if written in a hurry or maybe that was just his handwriting and calligraphy had never been a priority for a kidnapper.

“Anything else you need,” he added, nudging a pen toward you. “Just write it down. I’ll take care of it.”

He set the pen firmly in your hand, his gaze following every movement as he took a slow sip of his black tea. You hesitated for a moment, then carefully scribbled down the bra you needed, cup size included, before adding panties. Plural. At that point, the specifics barely mattered, not with the way he was staring at you.

“I’ll be out today, so I’ll try to get everything on this list,” he said, tilting it slightly as he read through it, then flicking a glance at you with a sly smile. “But no guarantees, you know how shopping goes.”

You glanced at the window, where the gray drizzle blurred the view outside. “You’re actually going out in this?” you asked, incredulous.

He carefully folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, then turned back to the table, spooning a thick layer of marmalade over a warm blini.

“Somebody has to,” he said, taking a bite of the blini, marmalade gleaming on his lips. “Unless you want to starve all day.”

He leaned on the table, chin propped on his hand, a sly smile playing on his lips, convinced your grin was for him. Though in truth, it was for the thought that life still existed beyond this isolated place.

“Make the most of me while you can,” he said, a playful edge in his tone. “In an hour, I’ll be gone… and these halls echo like they’re hungry for company.”

“I’ll try not to get too lonely while you’re gone…” you said, a sly smile tugging at your lips as your thoughts wandered to what you could do in his absence.

Though without your usual… distractions, things might get a little dull.

“Actually… could I add something extra to the list before you go?”

“Of course,” he said, retrieving the carefully folded paper from his pocket. “Whatever you need, just tell me.”

You took the pen, adding item after item of a growing list of sex toys, each new addition making your grin stretch a little wider, the thrill of possibility flickering in your eyes.

“Not a necessity,  but… it can’t hurt to have it,” you said, sliding the paper toward him. 

He picked it up with an almost delicate touch, bringing it close to his face and squinting as he tried to make sense of the unfamiliar words.

“Wait… what is… all of this? Uh… I’ll need a dictionary!” he announced dramatically, throwing himself off his chair.

“Relax,” you said, laughing softly, savoring the little thrill of control. “I just wrote down a bunch of sex toys. If you can’t find any of those, a regular massager will do the trick just as well.”

“Sex toys?” Ivan’s eyes went wide, his face turning pink all the way up to his ears. “I… I… what?! No, I mean… yes! Of course! Absolutely! I can… I can handle that! No problem!”

He couldn’t help but wonder why would you ever need those when he was already here, ready and willing to be everything you could possibly want?

“So… um… I should get ready,” he mumbled, hastily yanking off the apron and tossing it onto the chair.

“Alright… I’ll clean up,” you said lightly, clearly amused by how flustered he’d become.

“No, um… don’t worry about it,” he stammered, fidgeting with the edge of the counter. “I-I’ll take care of it when I get back.”

“You made a delicious breakfast. It’s only fair I handle the cleanup.”

“Okay… yes, um… do whatever you want. I’ll… I’ll be going now. Ah… bye…” 

He didn’t even spare you a glance as he hurried out of the kitchen. But instead of letting it bother you, you reached for the remaining blinis, savoring the quiet moment.

…

Once you’d finished cleaning and stashing the plates and cups somewhere that felt vaguely right, you leaned against the counter, letting out a soft sigh as you scanned the kitchen.

The house felt enormous, and with Ivan gone, a sudden urge to explore took hold. Maybe you could even try on some of the clothes he’d mentioned. 

You edged toward the staircase, stepping carefully. The polished wood beneath your feet was slippery, and you silently hoped Ivan hadn’t noticed your little adventure. 

With every step, your heartbeat quickened, half from the excitement of sneaking around, half from the thrill of being alone in his house… or so you thought.

At the top of the stairs, you paused outside his bedroom door. You could hear something like ragged breathing, faint noises that made your ears prick up. 

Curiosity got the better of you, and you slowly, almost tentatively, cracked the door… then froze.

There he was. Ivan. Not gone at all, caught up in something clearly not meant for your eyes.

His hand wrapped around his cock, thrusting with urgent rhythm, the tip glistening with every movement. His face was flushed, eyes half closed, lips parted, and the moans spilling from him filled the room. 

Oh… fuck.

You couldn’t look away, mesmerized as he masturbated, completely oblivious to your presence. Every thrust of his hand, every shiver that ran through him, was a heady, erotic crescendo that made your chest tighten and your breath catch.

The moment he opened his mouth, dragging his tongue over his hand for more lubrication, he froze. His head snapped toward you, eyes wide and yours mirrored the same stunned shock.

Fuck.

Then, almost imperceptibly, his lips twitched, a flush creeping across his cheeks as he realized you’d seen… everything. Even in that moment of embarrassment, there was something feral in the way his gaze lingered on you, as if he weren’t ashamed at all, only enjoying how much he wanted you to watch.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You stole one last glance at his throbbing cock, unwilling yet unable to resist, before slamming the door shut as fast as you could, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring… again.

Chapter Text

Am I really worried about him?

Perhaps. 

Or perhaps it was more about you. The thought of being here alone, entirely on your own. No voice to break the stillness, even if conversation with him had felt more like an interrogation than anything warm.

Where the fuck are you?

The house felt larger the more you wandered it. You moved from floor to floor, even into the basement, telling yourself it was curiosity, though you were searching for him, or for anyone. A place like this was not meant for one person alone.

But there was no one. Only silence and dust. 

The rooms you had not entered before felt different, as though they belonged to another life entirely. And slowly, it began to make sense. He lived within only a fraction of the house, while the rest remained abandoned to memory. 

What had once been a place of excess now stood hollowed out, its grandeur neglected beneath pale sheets of dusty fabric.

The baroque ornamentation felt empty in its extravagance, like something that had never truly fit him. It remained only as a reminder of a life built on vanity, long since abandoned for something closer to the lives of ordinary people.

Didn’t realize this guy had a fucking hidden museum in his house.

You paused before a sculpted bust, the statue rising proudly from its pedestal at the center of the room. The cast iron surface gleamed with a modern clarity, setting it apart from the surrounding ornate trinkets. You studied the rigid lines of his face, each contour drawing you into a quiet admiration of its artistry.

Oh, wait. 

It finally clicked. 

That’s him.

That’s my guy!

Hey, Ivan…

Didn’t have you pegged as the narcissistic “have a statue of myself” type of guy, but maybe…

Actually…

Yeah.

It kind of fits him.

Once you realized it was him, every detail suddenly demanded your full attention. You reached out and traced the rigid lines of his gorgeous face with your index finger, letting yourself take in the craftsmanship up close.

There was no “do not touch” sign anywhere in sight, so why not?

Then, as if clumsy were your middle name, the figure slipped from its pedestal and crashed to the floor.

Shit.

Your look of horror didn’t last long. The bust lay there like it was showing off, still largely intact, though a thin crack now traced through the iron.

“Don’t say a word about this to him,” you muttered, carefully lifting the statue back onto its pedestal and brushing the dust from its creases.

Okay, enough exploring for today.

If the real guy ever shows up and notices this…

I really don’t know what would happen.

Would he just shrug and say, “Oh, never mind, I’ve got plenty of statues anyway”? Or would he reach for that magic metal pipe of pain again?

Honestly, I’d rather not find out.

Slowly, you closed the massive door behind you, eager to return to the more familiar part of the house, the part where, if anything got dirty or scratched, you were certain no one would complain.

Halfway down the wooden stairs, a sound rose from downstairs. You stopped. You were certain no one else was home.

The chimney in the salon was hissing faintly, like something had just been fed into it.

You were almost certain you hadn’t lit it.

“Did you miss me?” Ivan said, not even bothering to soften his voice, letting his sudden presence startle you a little.

Oh… actually, yes.

I was starting to talk to statues and everything. 

Might’ve even moved on to paintings if you hadn’t shown up.

He was slouched in the armchair by the chimney, legs apart, one hand pressed tightly against his cheek, the skin creased as if he might drift off to sleep right there, as if he had been waiting so long that boredom had begun to settle in. A gentle tapping rhythm against his leg punctuated his impatience, a subtle proof of just how dull the wait had become.

You’ve been waiting long? Really? How long are we talking? Three minutes? Five, if I’m being generous?

But it wasn’t his impatience that held your attention. No. What stood out was the uniform. He wore it as if it belonged to him as naturally as skin, perfectly tailored and heavy with insignias you didn’t want to know how he’d earned so many of.

I have to give it to him. He does know how to make a statement.

Gleaming red stars, military ribbons and sharp pins caught the faint light with every subtle movement as he drummed against his leg. You couldn’t tell whether he wore it to flaunt just how striking he could look in such regalia, or if he had only just come home and hadn’t had the time or inclination to change.

“Sit there,” he ordered, the tapping stopping mid beat as he lifted a gloved hand toward the sofa across from him, watching you with expectant stillness.

Am I in danger? 

Should I assume that uniform means I’ve officially run out of options?

Or are we about to go to prom and I just didn’t get the memo? 

He didn’t lower his hand until you stepped forward and sat down, letting an odd silence settle between you. With him, though, it felt almost… normal.

What did I do now? Had he uncovered yet another one of my highly questionable friends?

As you sat, you noticed a bag beside you, one you were pretty sure hadn’t been there before. Through the fishnet material, you could make out an alarming assortment of shapes and packaging that raised more questions than answers.

Ivan had really brought a bit of everything: dildos, a vibrating bullet, and a wide array of other toys you hadn’t tried before. Still in their packaging, each one sparked the same thrill of curiosity and excitement.

Wow. 

But… 

Where’s my coffee? And my oranges?

He simply smiled as you examined all the little gifts, his grin widening with amusement when your eyes landed on the pair of panties he had chosen for you. They were impossibly bright, shiny enough to reflect the faint light in the room and cut so daringly it looked like they’d been designed for a strip club rather than everyday wear.

Is this your way of saying you’re into me?

A bouquet of flowers would have worked just as well. 

“Thank you,” you said, carefully folding the sequin panties back into the bag.

So… you’re into this, then? I really thought you were the type to lecture about how oppressive sexy underwear is, then shrug and claim you just prefer women completely naked.

It was hard to take him seriously like that. The whole scene felt like some bizarre porno Alfred would have watched more than once. That fool would have even signed up for a monthly subscription.

Ah, Alfie. Hope you’re doing alright. And if this is being filmed… enjoy.

If he were watching, he’d probably throw one of his usual lame excuses at you, something like, “I was just keeping an eye on what those commies were up to behind the Iron Curtain,” or some shit like that.

“You like it?” he asked, his tone flat as he dragged a hand absently along the back of his neck beneath his scarf.

“I like it,” you replied, just as evenly, echoing his detached cadence so precisely it turned into a perfect imitation of him.

After being fed excess like it had been poured straight down your throat, no flashy gadget really excited you anymore.

Who needs a bunch of colorful dildos when the real spectacle is right in front of me?

A rush of something uncomfortably close to Stockholm syndrome washed over you, stronger now than it had been the first time you met him.

Back then, he’d been sharply dressed, but far more intimidating. He still was, in a way. But now, the shadow cast by the brim of his hat over his eyes only seemed to refine him into something more compelling than frightening.

“Are you going to use them?” he asked, leaning back into the armchair, the picture of boredom returning to his face as if it had never left.

“Of course,” you said, eyes flicking from the bag back to him. “I’m not going anywhere in this weather, so I’ve got plenty of days to get bored and try everything out.”

“Sure,” he said smoothly, then his tone sharpened. “But I meant now.” 

“Now?” you echoed, eyes widening in disbelief, your voice catching. “You mean… like, right this second?”

“Yes,” he said simply, his smile tightening at the edges as it briefly bared his teeth before settling back into place.

“Uh… right here?”

“Correct.”

“In this exact place?”

“Where else?” he replied, almost too casually, like this was all inevitable. “I’m waiting.”

He laughed. For a moment, you almost mistook it for a joke. But no. That was the laugh of someone who knew the power he held over you, and who relished it like it had always let him get away with everything he wanted. Yet, just as quickly, you realized there might be something more behind it too.

He might be a little drunk. 

Maybe that’s what gives him the extra courage to speak to me like that.

“Well? Are you going to decide, or should I decide for you?”

Are we really doing this right now?

The words died on your tongue before they could form, leaving only the weight of your silence to speak for you instead.

Oh, man.

This is happening.

Your hand moved almost hesitantly, brushing over the loose fabric of your pajamas as it slid down your body. The soft cotton shifted beneath your palm as you passed your waist, then your hip, each motion deliberate but strangely detached, as if you were following instructions rather than your own desire.

Your focus stayed outward, fixed on him, while your hand continued its steady descent, tracing over the gentle folds of fabric at your thigh. 

The movement carried a quiet hesitance to it, until your palm finally came to rest between your legs, the only point of contact you seemed to acknowledge.

There was no comfort in the gesture, no indulgence. Only compliance to the quiet expectation hanging in the air between you.

“Do you need my help?” he asked, his eyes following every awkward movement, clearly enjoying the little performance you were putting on for him.

“Don’t worry,” you murmured, drawing your hand back to your waistband. “I’ve got this.”

Unwilling to let his presence rattle you, you slid your fingers beneath your waistband, the stretch of the fabric giving easily under your touch as your hand moved lower.

That’s dry as hell. 

Confirmed by the two fingers teasing near your entrance. It was clear. 

I thought this would’ve gotten me a little worked up…

So much for charm doing the heavy lifting. The uniform was immaculate, the man inside it unfairly handsome, but the way his gaze locked onto you stripped the moment of anything that could be called sexy. 

There was nothing easy about it. No thrill. Just the suffocating sense of being watched too closely, like you’d been hauled back under the harsh lights of the interrogation room without warning. 

Once two fingers pressed against your clit, something in you shifted. A flicker of courage caught fire in your veins. If his confidence was soaked in alcohol, yours was fueled by horniness. And this was something far more dangerous because it narrowed everything until nothing else mattered at all.

As you rubbed a little more, something shifted in the way you looked at him. His gaze stopped feeling like pure judgment and started to change. Less scrutiny, more heat. And instead of pushing you away, it only seemed to feed the desire building in you.

“Enjoying this?” you murmured, teeth grazing your lower lip as the words left you before caution could catch them.

Oh. Wow. Did I just say that?

But he said nothing, only watched. 

That stupid little smile of his didn’t fade. Instead, it tightened at the edges, like he was holding something back. A laugh, maybe. Or worse… satisfaction. As if he’d already heard everything he needed to, and you were the only one still catching up.

It was clear now. This had been decided the second you walked in where you shouldn’t have and saw what was never meant for you. This was his way of settling it. An intimate kind of humiliation.

There was no anger in him, no outburst, just this calculated payback, the kind that left you fully aware you’d crossed a line the moment you opened that door.

His gaze stayed locked on you, as if he meant to make sure the moment didn’t slip away too easily, letting the silence do the work for him.

But you weren’t about to let him take satisfaction in it. No. He might think he set the terms between you, might even believe he had the upper hand now, but that didn’t mean you had to play along obediently.

If the rules were his, then you could still test their edges, just enough to turn the game back into something you could enjoy on your own terms.

Without thinking, you slid your hand out from beneath your waistband, slow enough to make it clear you weren’t flustered, just choosing your next move.

Your fingers rose to your lips without hesitation, almost absentmindedly, where you let your tongue glide over them, coating them in a thin sheen of saliva before lowering your hand again without a word.

If he was trying to corner you into a reaction, you gave him the opposite. Ease, composure, and the faintest suggestion that none of this was actually winning him anything, like his little act of revenge barely registered at all.

You sank back against the sofa, your fingers tracing restless patterns over your swollen clit, each touch sending shivers through your entire body. 

Maybe I just needed more wetness. Sure. That was definitely the issue. Absolutely nothing to do with his piercing stare boring into my soul like an interrogation lamp.

You dared to lift your eyes to his, searching for the same longing you felt, hoping to catch even a hint that he was enjoying this as much as you were. Maybe… maybe he had lost control too. Who wouldn’t lose it if a horny woman were giving a private performance meant only for his eyes?

But he still looked the same, his stare pinning you down, less interested in you than in keeping himself under control. Surrender didn’t seem to be part of his vocabulary. Or maybe it really did take those flashy panties to break through his restraint.

Wait… are you kidding me right now?

He just yawned. He didn’t even bother covering his mouth in time. His mouth opened wide, his eyes flicking away for a second before landing back on you like nothing happened.

Is he really trying to mess with me?

“I thought you needed toys to get off. If your fingers were enough, you could’ve said so. I wouldn’t have had to go out of my way to get all that…” he said, letting out a small sigh.

The toys. Right. The ones you were so insistent on getting…

Hey. Wait a second. 

Are you actually trying to make me feel guilty for not using them? 

That was a gift, not a performance I had to put on to prove I appreciated it!

But then again, with him, nothing worked quite the way it should have. The rules didn’t just bend here, they bent around him.

Even without anything there, the weight of an unseen chain seemed to settle at your neck under his gaze, tugging you quietly toward his will.

And like some obedient dog you hadn’t realized you’d become, your hands reached into the bag, rifling through it in a game of chance, grabbing whatever they landed on and accepting it without question.

A smooth giant purple vibrator with a perfectly rounded tip designed for precise G-spot stimulation with a velvety silicone finish, and not one, not two, but five different speeds and three teasing vibration modes? 

“These Americans… they really don’t hold back with their designs. I have to admit, I was impressed the first time I laid eyes on it.”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the smooth surface before you lifted it free of the packaging. A faint tremor ran through your hand as you studied it, bending it carefully to test its give and the size of it.

Tentatively, you pressed the button on its side, curious to see what it could do. It whirred to life immediately, vibrating sharply in your hand. Shocked, you realized this wasn’t even close to its strongest setting, this was only the gentlest mode.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

He was just as impressed as you were, though far better at keeping his expression in check. But the device didn’t care about either of you, it just kept going, louder than your thoughts.

“Well? Are you planning to use it, or just admire it?”

Patience, you had come to notice, was hardly one of his virtues.

He’s probably the type to yank your panties down without warning while you’re doing the dishes, pin you hard against the counter, and fuck you like he owns every inch of you. 

And when he’s done, his cum dripping between your legs, maybe… just maybe… he might press a tiny kiss to your cheek afterward. 

Honestly? I wouldn’t mind at all. Not even a little.

“I will,” you said, frowning and casting him a side eye for rushing you. “I’m just trying to figure out how it works. Starting on these modes is way too intense.”

“I think that’s the lowest it goes…” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he watched you press the button again and again, each time making the buzzing grow stronger.

Agh, fuck it.

You angled the tip of the purple vibrator between your legs, steadying yourself for what was supposed to be the gentlest setting, when Ivan’s impatience cut through the moment once more.

“Show me a little more this time, yes? I need to see what you’re actually touching. With the pajamas it is hard to tell.”

Of course, your majesty. Whatever you say, whatever you want, I’ll begrudgingly obey.

You eased the waistband of your pants down with the detached precision of someone at a doctor’s appointment. 

Ivan stayed perfectly still, expression unreadable, but the slow unveiling of your body seemed to pull him in, as if he were drinking in every detail silently.

He wanted more, and you couldn’t resist giving it. After all, removing your pants meant parting your legs just enough to give him a view that made his focus sharpen and his fantasies run wild.

The mystery of your body was finally unraveled, laid bare before his hungry gaze. 

He had known how to lose himself in solitary pleasure, but that belonged to another time. You knew that from this moment forward, masturbation would become a thing of the past. 

Why would he touch himself in solitude when you could give him far greater pleasure than anything his own hand could ever provide?

You let your pants fall gracefully to the floor. Then you settled back into the sofa, lifting your legs and making yourself comfortable, offering him an even more tempting glimpse of your bare skin. The posture was so seductive that he found himself leaning in slightly, momentarily forgetting the unbothered composure he had been so determined to maintain.

“Go on,” he drawled, voice lazy, eyes half lidded in feigned indifference, though the subtle curve of his mouth gave him away. “Show me… Don’t waste my time.”

I was going to, but not because you said it.

You fiddled with the monstrous device, fingers hovering over its buttons like a nervous scientist probing a new experiment, double checking it was on its softest setting.

You gave him one last nervous look, silently confirming he hadn’t somehow mistaken a torture device for a sex toy, before pressing it against your clit anyway. 

Immediately, electric fire danced through every nerve ending, your expression shifting in an instant as your composure unraveled.

“O-o-o-oh my god,” you yelped, jerking your hips forward like a puppet on a string, completely forgetting your very attentive audience. 

Ivan laughed under his breath at your expression, briefly looking up at the ceiling as if giving himself a second to recover. “You do know we don’t praise any god in this house, right?”

Your hand shot to your mouth, fingers pressed desperately against your lips, trying to stifle the tiny, helpless squeaks that kept escaping anyway. 

Ivan, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy every bit of it, like your struggle had just become the highlight of his day.

Meanwhile, the rest of your body staged a silent rebellion, hips twitching, back arching, muscles betraying every attempt at composure.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Too much for you already?” he cooed, voice almost affectionate in its teasing.

“Nnn-nooo…” you managed, voice trembling as much as your body, still holding the device close like letting go would somehow make it worse.

“I think you might need a break from it,” he said with a soft chuckle, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to process the spectacle in front of him.

“I-it’s f-f-fine—”

Your entire body jolted. 

“aAHAaaH!”

So much for dignity.

Ivan’s expression was pure surprise. Fortunately, he didn’t seem the least bit bothered that you’d soaked his precious sofa. In fact, he was more in awe than anything else, like an atheist who had just witnessed a miracle happening right in front of him.

Did I really come that fast?

Through uneven breaths, consciousness slowly returned to you. As you settled, you turned off the purple vibrator, still gripping it firmly like it might hold onto the last threads of clarity after the flood of sensation.

When you finally looked at Ivan, he was watching you with the expression of someone who had just fallen in love. As strange as he was, you knew him well enough by now that nothing about him could really surprise you anymore.

“дорогая…” he cooed, voice far too sweet for a man who had been thoroughly enjoying your downfall just seconds ago.

What does that mean? It sounds… affectionate.

As if reading your thoughts and noticing you hadn’t understood a word he’d said, he repeated himself, carrying a quiet want beneath it.

“My dear…”

Did he really call me that? Twice?

For a split second, you were convinced that was it, you’d been taken out by sheer overstimulation. Gone. Finished. Dead. And apparently, the afterlife included him too… acting like a loving teddy bear.

Hey. Ivan. Would you mind saying that again? A third time might make me melt.

“Come here,” he said softly, his hand settling on his thigh in quiet invitation. 

The look he gave you made it unmistakable. He wasn’t asking you to sit nearby, but to settle right where he could feel you.

As if tugged by an invisible thread, you set the vibrant toy aside with the rest, leaving it behind without a second thought for something far more compelling.

My dear.

дорогая.

My dear.

дорогая.

Such simple words, and yet they sent your pulse racing faster than the impossible to forget sound of the device you’d just abandoned. Your thighs pressed together instinctively as you moved toward him, watching his face, knowing it was those same lips that had shaped those sweet words. 

Once you were standing in front of him, a sudden thought crossed your mind. Pajamas suddenly felt far too ordinary beside a man who carried himself in a uniform that made him look even more striking than usual. If you wanted to stand on equal ground with him, bare skin felt like the only honest equivalent.

“I knew you were bold the moment you left the house…” he said, his face disappearing from view for a moment as you pulled your pajama shirt over your head.

Oh, so he knows about my little venture outside?

“You’ll want to be more careful next time,” he said, shifting slightly to make more space for you to sit on his lap. “The cold isn’t kind to people who don’t think things through.”

A brief pause followed, his gaze devouring you while your shirt fell to the carpet.

“It would be a shame if something happened to you out there,” he added, eyes briefly trailing over you before he made himself meet your gaze. “I’m starting to enjoy having you around.”

“Don’t worry,” you said slowly, as your knee slipped between his leg and the armchair, the rest of you following as you carefully lowered yourself onto his lap. “I don’t plan on going out in this weather.”

You adjusted your balance, ending up settled against him in the armchair, close enough to feel the space between you disappear.

“Besides…” You held his gaze under the visor’s shadow while your body brushed lightly over his clothed erection. “I’d rather be here with you.”

He had reached his limit and the façade of indifference had become absurd at this point. The second you showed a bit of skin, he should’ve lost it completely, fucked you like man possesed.

And like a man who could no longer pretend, his carefully held expression broke at once, composure collapsing as hunger surged in his gaze.

He pulled you in firmly by your waist, closing the space between you until your body pressed flush against his, holding you there as if he had no intention of letting go.

Even through the rigid structure of his military uniform, the taut lines beneath it strained against the fabric, pressing outward as if his hardness refused to be held back any longer.

You’ve been holding back this whole time, Ivan?

There was no point in hiding it anymore. He wanted you, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. If anything, he intended to make it unmistakably clear exactly how much.

He tilted his head and leaned in toward your ear, closing the distance without hesitation.

A gloved hand rose, fingers brushing through a few loose strands of your hair. He moved them aside from your ear with a careful gentleness that contrasted the firmness of his hold on you. 

From your ear, his gloved hand moved with no hurry, gliding down the curve of your neck, brushing along your spine, then settling firmly against your backside, anchoring you in place.

“I hope you still have a little energy left for me…” he murmured, his voice rough with need, warm breath brushing your ear and raising a delicate ripple of goosebumps along your skin.

His gaze never left yours as he pulled back slightly, still close enough that personal space didn’t seem to exist anymore.

But there was something searching in his eyes now. Less certain. Less detached. Less like he was merely observing you. Something had shifted. More intent lingered there, as if he was ready to show you more of himself, no longer just a spectator but a participant.

His hand drifted downward, until it reached his zipper.

He took his time.

Each small movement felt intentional, stretching the moment thin, like he was giving you every opportunity to react, to stop him, to say something, to break the tension building between you.

But you stayed exactly where you were.

Watching.

So he finished it.

The soft sound of the zipper seemed louder than it should have been, cutting through the quiet between you.

A knowing smile touched the corner of his lips as he tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on your face, reading every flicker of your expression, every shallow breath you failed to hide.

He noticed everything.

And it was getting to him.

Slowly, he freed himself from the opening of his unzipped fly, his composure tightening just a fraction as he exhaled, proof that even this small motion was already pushing his limits.

“Don’t act surprised now,” he murmured, voice quieter than before, edged with something less steady beneath the teasing. “This is what you wanted… isn’t it?”

Your breath hitched again, sharper this time.

I didn’t remember it being quite that large.

His eyes flicked down, then back up to your face almost instantly, catching the reaction before you could mask it.

“Was Alfred more romantic, hm?” he added, a faint smirk returning as his finger hooked lightly beneath your chin, guiding your gaze back to him.

Alfred. Don’t even mention him, please.

You exhaled softly, the name more irritating than anything else.

He seemed to catch that too. The smirk faltered slightly before he let out a quiet, almost self aware laugh.

“Well… I’m not,” he said, softer now. “I don’t think I know how to be.”

Silence. It stayed that way for a second too long. He broke it by leaning in, his voice no longer gentle.

“I take what I want.”

But the way his hands moved back to you didn’t feel careless at all. They were firm, yes, but careful all the same, as though he understood that giving in completely to that unrestrained freedom would only end up hurting you both.

“Tell me if…” he started, then stopped.

His jaw tightened faintly.

The sentence didn’t finish, hanging in the charged air between you.

Tell me… what? Tell me if it hurts?

Instead, he let out a slow breath, voice quieter now as he shifted you above him, aligning himself beneath you.

“Easy. Just… easy. Just… relax.”

The first brush of the tip of his cock drew a sharp moan from both of you, the sudden intimacy of it disarming the last threads of restraint.

His grip faltered just for a second before tightening again, fingers pressing in as if he needed something solid to hold onto.

Then he began to lower you.

Slowly.

Far more slowly than you would have ever expected from a man who seemed as rough as he was. 

“Think you can take all of it?” he murmured, the tease still there but thinner now, strained at the edges as his eyes stayed locked on yours, watching too closely.

He pressed in again, and this time your entrance finally gave. You let out a pained cry as you felt yourself stretching to accommodate his size. Desperately, your hands fisted in his uniform, catching on the pins as you dragged him closer, one of them popping loose and falling away under the pressure.

There goes his medal for battlefield bravery.

He guided you down inch by inch, his composure slipping in subtle ways. The tension in his shoulders, the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the way his hands tightened each time you adjusted…

“This is better than a plastic toy, isn’t it?”

“I-It’s, mmh… silicone… not plastic,” you managed, your voice unsteady.

That earned a quiet laugh from him.

“Right,” he murmured, lips pursing faintly. “Silicone.”

His hands settled more firmly at your backside as he finally pulled you fully against him, slamming in deeper than any man had ever reached, closing the last of the space with a groan he didn’t bother hiding. 

“I liked the sounds you made with it,” he added, his voice feeling closer now, less like a performance, more like a confession. “But I think I’ll like this more.”

He shifted his hips slightly, just enough to test you. 

A gasp slipped from your lips before you could stop it, and that alone seemed to undo something in him.

You saw it in the way his expression tightened, in the way his grip instinctively pulled you closer, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Nothing would please me more than hearing you like that…” he continued, voice rougher now, control slipping further with each shaky breath. 

His hips rolled forward once more, and you nearly sobbed as he slid in again, stretching you so nicely around his big cock.

“Especially when I’m the one pulling it from you, my dear.”

Your pulse raced, your fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulder as the air between you grew heavier.

That’s the third time he’s called me “my dear”.

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the moment. Neither of you wanted it to end.

Then he exhaled an unsteady breath and everything changed.

Maybe it was the feeling of you so tightly wrapped around him.

Your ragged breathing.

His throbbing need.

Your naked body.

Whatever it was, something in him gave.

His hands slid to your thighs, fingers tightening through the leather of his gloves as he drew you down against him again, not only needing the contact, but as if he needed it to survive.

He kept thrusting, slow at first, like he was still trying to keep control, but it didn’t last. The rhythm faltered almost immediately, turning uneven, instinctive, each motion a little less restrained than the last.

A low, strained sound slipped from him, quieter than before, like he hadn’t meant for you to hear it, but it escaped him anyway.

“God...”

Wasn’t this a non religious household?

His head dropped forward, breath hot against your skin, his grip tightening again, more possessive now, as if he didn’t care anymore whether it hurt. 

“Say it,” he murmured, not letting you see his face as he spoke, like he couldn’t bear what he was revealing. “Tell me you want this just as much as I do. Tell me you want me… just as much…”

He cut himself off with a sharp inhale as he bucked his hips again, harder this time, the restraint cracking further.

A gasp slipped from you before you could stop it, your hands finding his hair and clutching tightly, tugging him back until you could see his eyes, refusing to let him pull away.

“Yes, sir. Please. Don’t stop.”

Sir? The word landed like a switch flipping.

Something in him snapped into place, and gentleness was the first thing to go.

He went even deeper if that was even possible, beginning to hurt you at how rough he was being. He didn't care. His face was animalistic, teeth gritted in a growl as he continued to fuck you, skin slapping against skin the only sound accompanying both of your gasps and groans.

“Gooood,” he muttered again, dragging the word out like it hurt to hold it in, no longer even trying to hide it, his control gone thin, his eyes rolling back slightly as he lost himself in it.

One night with his cock deeply buried in you, and suddenly the man had found religion.

“Don’t…” he swallowed, jaw tightening, body ramming into you with more force. “Don’t look at... mmmh... me like that.”

You let out a breathless laugh in disbelief, and the sound seemed to hit him harder than anything else.

His rhythm broke completely after that.

Each movement pulled a sharp moan out of your lips and it only made it worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“You feel…” he started, voice low, almost wrecked now. “You feel… mmh… too…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

The way his grip tightened said enough. The way his hips moved said even more.

Then he paused abruptly, and you frowned at the sudden loss of rhythm. But rather than letting distance form, he wrapped you in his arms, his cock still throbbing inside you, as if he simply needed a little break.

His lips pressed closer against your neck, his breathing coming uneven from his nostrils, shoulders tense as his hands held you firmly in place.

“What?” he said, looking at you with amusement at your reaction. “Want me to get you pregnant and send you back to Alfred like that?”

And the worst part?

You were less afraid than you probably should have been, completely lost in the blissful feeling of his cock.

“Keep going…” you said, grinding against him, unable to hide how badly you wanted him to continue.

“Don’t give me ideas…” he muttered under his breath, eyes widening with awe, like he was falling in love with you all over again.

His gloved hand tightened, the leather pressing hard enough against your skin to still you completely, forcing you to stay where he wanted.

“Look at me.”

The command was immediate.

When you did, he was already watching you, eyes sharp, focused, not even trying to hide it anymore.

“That’s what you want, right?” he said, voice low, edged with something darker now. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

You tried to answer, but the next thrust knocked the breath out of you, your fingers tightening against his uniform in reflex at the sudden force of it.

Another condecoration lost, this one for his honorable service in leading successful operations against enemy forces.

“Say it,” he demanded suddenly, grip tightening as he rammed his cock into you. “Tell me you can take it.”

Your breath caught, your voice unsteady as you tried to respond. “I… I can.”

“Louder.”

The interruption was immediate, whatever was about to be said lost as a harsh thrust cut cleanly through it.

“Say it properly.”

His hands shifted slightly, forcing you to move with him, setting the pace instead of letting you find it.

“I can take it,” you managed, breathless. 

“Ahh, perfect!” he growled, pressing a firm kiss to your cheek, as though you’d just said yes to his marriage proposal.

And as if it were the first act of a wedding night, he shifted position, shoving your back against the desk behind you, his cock leaving your entrance with a loud pop.

As if he couldn’t pause another moment, he raised your leg above his shoulder, and your movement sent his hat tumbling to the ground with a heavy thud. It was lost in the moment, neither of you paying it any attention anymore.

His free hand braced against the table’s edge for support as he slid in with one forceful thrust, his rhythm coming back steady and unrelenting, not even giving you time to adapt.

“I’m going to cum inside you.” 

“Please…” you mumbled, your body bouncing from his thrusts. 

Every press of his hips was intentional now. He wasn’t just thrusting into you like a wild animal anymore. He had a clear purpose now. To fill you up until you were completely full of his cum and no longer able to hold it in anymore.

He even readied himself, pressing his hips against yours to lock you in place, finding the perfect angle so every movement hit that sweet spot. 

His breath came rough and uneven, chest rising and falling quickly. Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, and a sheen of sweat caught the low light across his skin.

You were in no better condition yourself. The air between you felt heavier, broken only by uneven breathing, moans and the wet sounds of movement as both of you tried to keep up with the new rhythm.

You didn’t notice the shift until a sudden, rough sound broke from him. His body tensed, breath catching as his cum climbed your inner walls, coating every crevice and threatening to push past your cervix, seeping into corners that seemed impossible to reach, until your stomach was taut and trembling, swollen with excess of cum.

Once he pulled out of you, his cock was still throbbing and some of the cum splattered across his uniform before he noticed it, leaving a trail of glossy white that contrasted against the green fabric.

He finally exhaled, moving back just enough to look at you properly, as if checking you were still there, still okay. There was something different in his expression now, like clarity slowly finding its way back to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice rougher than usual.

The question was aimed at you, but one look at him and it made you wonder the same about him. His fringe plastered to his forehead, uniform in a state of total collapse, chest rising like he’d just sprinted across the entire house… It made it hard to take him seriously.

“Me?” 

He nodded once, immediately regretted it, and casually leaned back against the table like that had been the plan all along, though his elbow nearly gave out for a nervous moment.

“Yeah. You,” he managed.

You lay on the table, cum dripping between your legs, your chest still rising and falling unevenly as the moment faded. 

“I’m fine.”

“Good,” he replied immediately, far too quickly. 

He straightened a little, as if that alone could restore his dignity, one hand fumbling with his zipper while he unsuccessfully tried to steady his breathing.

“Are you…?”

“I’m perfectly fine.” 

You raised an eyebrow.

He inhaled. Regretted it. Tried again.

“Can I…” he started, then stopped. Tried again. “Do you…” Another pause. 

His brain, apparently, had clocked out before his body did.

“Take your time.”

“Need a…” he started, then paused, swallowing, clearly fighting for composure. “Something. I can get you something. Water. Tea. A…” He exhaled sharply.

“Tea sounds perfect, actually,” you said, smiling as your hand came up to his face, your thumb softly tracing along his cheekbone.

He froze for a second, like your touch had just short circuited the last functioning part of his brain.

“Tea,” he repeated after a beat, as if retrieving the word from a distant place. “Yes. I can make tea.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He leaned into your palm without thinking, eyes slipping shut for a second as if grounding himself there.

“Tea. Immediately,” he added, with renewed conviction that did not match his physical condition in the slightest.

He made an attempt to leave, paused like he’d forgotten why, then leaned in again, pressing a poorly aimed kiss that landed somewhere between your lips and absolute chaos, his nose bumping your eye in the process.

Then gravity claimed him.

His forehead dropped against the desk with a muted thud.

You couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out.

“Just… give me a minute,” he added, voice muffled against the desk, fully committed now to being horizontal while pretending this was all part of the plan.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he breathed, as though that was the only reassurance he actually needed.

Chapter Text

Perhaps you had been too naive to imagine waking to a kiss in the morning. Even more naive to believe it marked the beginning of something deeper with a man named Ivan. Most naive of all was thinking he was capable of such tenderness.

After all, he had said it himself. 

“I’m not the romantic type… 

…I don’t think I know how to be.”

Not that he was entirely incapable of romance. He did have a romantic side… just very well hidden. 

“When spring comes, the first thing I’m going to do is fuck you in the flower fields,” he said in the early morning hours, calmly pouring tea into your cup. 

That’s romantic… right?

There are flowers. Plans for the future. Passion.

Or maybe he’s just eager to finally feel the sun on his pale skin again.

Or maybe he can’t wait for the snow to disappear so I’ll be out of his sight.

But then why go out of his way to bring me to his remote house in the middle of nowhere?

Maybe he’s planning something.

Something big.

Maybe… maybe… maybe.

Ivan wasn’t acting distant. In fact, he behaved completely normally. Well, normally, at least by his standards. Still, you had expected something different between you after the time you’d spent together in his now-in-need-of-repair-and-a-bit-of-cleaning armchair.

I should’ve listened to what my wise grandma used to say.

“Stupid men lose interest the moment you sleep with them. They get what they want and then they’re done. And if you can tell he’s stupid, you don’t go handing him your heart… or anything else. It saves a lot of crying and worry.”

But granny, I have to ask… does that advice still apply when the man in question has kidnapped you? 

It wasn’t like he was the typical heartbreaker you’d run into over the years, the kind who disappears the second he gets what he came for. No. 

You were going to be around him longer than you’d ever been around the same grandmother who gave sharp advice and didn’t care if it stung. 

He could have kept his distance from you. After all, the house was large enough for two people to avoid each other entirely.

But no. His eyes tracked you across the room, never quite letting you out of sight, as if looking away for even a moment might let something slip from his grasp. 

“Good morning,” Ivan said, his voice rough with sleep as he stepped into the main salon, looking more weary than usual.

“Morning,” you replied, lifting your eyes from the book in your lap to glance at him, a small spark of relief in your expression. “I was starting to wonder what took you so long.”

“Sorry. Work stuff. You know how it goes,” he said with a tired exhale, rubbing at his eyes as if it might shake off the sleep. “I had a lot to do last night, so I needed a bit of recovery time to get ready for today.”

Work stuff.

You weren’t entirely sure what he did for a living, since he rarely left the house. But whatever had taken him out at night seemed to have left a mark. A small one, easy to miss, but there if you knew where to look. The calm he wore so naturally wasn’t gone, not exactly, but it didn’t sit quite as evenly on him as it usually did. 

“Is today a special day, or did I miss something on the calendar?” you said, closing your book and marking your page before setting it down on the sofa, right over a stain you clearly remembered leaving there. It hadn’t quite come out, even after a thorough cleaning.

“It might not be marked on the calendar, but today is a very special day for both of us,” he said, his tiredness melting away at the thought.

“Really?” you exclaimed, excitement breaking through like someone who’d been stuck inside too long.

Maybe he will finally take me out. Play in the snow? Snow angels sound nice. Or maybe even go to a nearby town and see other people again. He’d mentioned cultural outings before, like the opera or something like that. Was he going to take me to the cinema? I’d kill for a movie… but the theatre would work just as well.

At this point, you’d be content with almost anything, even a guided tour of his house, like it was a museum. Anything to break the monotony. Anything at all.

“We’re going to film a movie!” he said, punctuating it with a loud clap, already in full director mode.

That was the last thing you’d expected.

“A movie?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With us as the actors?”

“Yes,” he said, already walking toward the nearby cabinet. “I’ll get something strong to drink to loosen us up a little, bring out that inner actor.”

“Well, I’ll never refuse a drink in good company.”

Not even in the morning. 

He opened the wooden doors of the vintage cabinet, revealing a surprisingly well stocked selection of alcohol inside.

Good to know. Mental note taken for future bad days. 

“Pálinka,” he said, lifting one of the unlabelled bottles, its orangish hue hinting at fruit. “I have an acquaintance in Hungary who makes it. It’s an excellent gift. You can’t really go wrong with it. You can, however, go very wrong with how much you drink.”

He set the bottle down on the table, on that same innocent surface you had so shamelessly defiled a few days ago.

A small smile tugged at his lips, as if he’d caught your thoughts. Then he turned back to the cabinet, clearly intent on impressing you with the full extent of his alcohol collection.

“Medovukha…” he said, presenting the next bottle. “If you want something sweet. I think it suits this weather perfectly.”

“Medovukha…” you echoed, watching as Ivan set bottle after bottle on the table, arranging them like a carefully curated collection he was oddly proud of.

Someone has a hobby…

“Are you going to take all of them out?”

“Yes. Probably. Until I find one I really like or you open one before I do.”

He kept placing bottles on the table, and you studied each one until a particular bottle caught your attention. It stood out immediately as it was more ornate than the rest, its glass rooster design unusually detailed for a liquor bottle.

“So pretty…” you murmured, lifting the bottle into your hands, which drew his attention at once. “Where did you get this one?”

“Wait, don’t open that!” he said, quickly taking the bottle from your hands, worry flickering across his face. “I haven’t tested it yet. There might be something in it.”

“What, like poison?”

“Who knows. My younger sister gave it to me,” he said, as if that explained everything, setting it back on the cabinet without much care for its delicate glass design. 

“Is this one of those I want to inherit the house and I don’t know how to get rid of my brother situations?”

“I wish it were that simple…” he said with a laugh, though his expression revealed more than his words did.

“Is that why you live so far away from everything?” you asked, watching him more closely as a faint tension crept into his posture. 

“Natalia is not my biggest worry right now. She’s one of many louder problems that make it hard to even notice her…” he said, then sighed. “But I’m not going to talk about my family in the movie.” 

He stood up, a bottle already in his hand, as if you had taken too long to decide.

“Now we have something more important in our hands.”

He then grabbed two small crystal shot glasses and handed one to you. He seemed eager to start drinking and did not bother with any kind of presentation, but the tall glass bottle, already half empty, made it clear it was a favorite of his. 

“Is that your breakfast?” you asked with a laugh as he poured the clear liquid into your glass. 

“What better way to start the day?” he said, smiling as he filled his own. 

He didn’t bother keeping any distance and simply dropped onto the sofa beside you, close enough that your knees brushed.

“You’re getting me excited with all this, Ivan…” you said, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Tell me more about this sudden artistic project of yours.”

“Yes, but first… hm. How do you say it?” He paused, squinting at the glass as if the word might be written on it. “Ah, yes. I’ve got it.”

He raised it high, then broke into an exaggerated American accent. 

“Cheeeeeeeeers!”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as you lifted your glass. 

“Cheers.”

The glasses clinked, a little liquid spilling over the rims.

“In one go,” he said, already challenging you. “Or I’ll keep refilling it every time you take a sip.”

You followed his lead, tipping the glass back and the sharp burn hit immediately, dragging a cough out of you as you swallowed, some of the liquid falling down your mouth.

“Woah…” 

“Too strong for you?” Ivan laughed, watching your expression with amusement as you tried to recover. “What were you drinking back there, hm? Sweet little juices?” 

“Certainly not this,” you managed, still feeling the burn trail down your throat.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said, already pouring another shot.

He knocked his own back like it was nothing and immediately reached for the bottle again, pouring you another shot before you had time to protest. He looked at you expectantly, already halfway through refilling his own glass too. 

You followed suit and drank again, the burn sharper this time, making you exhale hard as you set the glass down, only for Ivan to refill it immediately.

“That’s the third one in what… a minute?” you said, trying to rein him in before he finished the entire bottle.

“Fourth, when you finish that,” he corrected with a grin, clearly enjoying this a little too much. 

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“If I wanted that, I’d be more efficient. This is just to make you interesting.”

You scoffed, but you were already lifting the glass again. “Will the fourth one at least come with information about your movie?” 

“Perhaps.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, then drank anyway, faster this time to seal the deal. The burn was worse now, spreading warm and dizzy through your chest. You hissed under your breath when you finished, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Do I need to be drunk for this movie?” you asked, breath catching slightly as you watched him refill your glass again. “Because at this pace, I won’t remember a single line.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ivan said, voice dipping as he poured himself another. His knee pressed a little more firmly against yours. “It’s not the kind of movie you watch for the dialogue.” 

“Intriguing…” you said with a soft laugh, already feeling the alcohol blur the edges of things. “Where are we filming it?”

“Upstairs,” Ivan replied too quickly, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “I’ve got the set ready.”

“The set?” You raised a brow and turned toward him with a crooked smile. “So this is a professional production now?”

“Of course,” he said, leaning in slightly, close enough that you could catch the sharp scent of alcohol on his breath. “I take my art very seriously.”

“Mm, right,” you hummed, studying him. “And what exactly is my role in this very serious project?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just slowly smiled, like he was deciding how much to give away.

“That depends,” he said at last, tilting his glass toward you. “How well you follow instructions.”

You let out a quiet laugh, though it caught slightly in your throat, something about his tone settling uncomfortably warm in your chest. 

“And if I don’t?”

Ivan’s grin widened, his gaze lingering on you a moment too long.

“Then I’ll improvise.”

He stood before you could answer, already in motion, as though the decision had been made long before you were ever given a say in it.

“Come on,” Ivan said, turning back to you, hands on his hips. “It’s morning. Perfect light. Let’s film.”

You let out a breath that turned into a quiet laugh as you pushed yourself up from the sofa. The room had that drifting tilt to it, not enough to throw you, just enough to make everything feel softer around the edges.

“Careful,” he called back without turning. “I wouldn’t want my lead actress going down before we’ve even started.”

The stairs creaked beneath your steps as you followed him, one hand brushing the wall for balance. Ahead of you, he moved with quiet certainty, like he already knew exactly where this was going.

“Lead actress? You’re promoting me now?”

“You earned it,” he said, looking back at you for a moment. “Or you will.”

When you reached the top, he stopped at his bedroom door and pushed it open for you.

Inside, a camera waited on a tripod, pointed straight at the bed. Nothing about the setup felt incidental and yet it didn’t register as threatening. If anything, it quieted the part of you that usually asked too many questions.

“Oh,” you murmured under your breath, a crooked smile tugging at your mouth. “It’s that kind of movie.”

You stepped further inside, eyes flicking from the camera to the bed and back again.

“Is anyone going to see this?”

Ivan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer and tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Two people for sure. Maybe more. A few, even. Who knows…”

Then he let go and turned away with a casual shrug, like it didn’t matter either way.

Something in your expression shifted as he leaned back against the door, letting it settle shut behind him, his body casually blocking the way out.

“I’ll make a copy,” he said, glancing past you toward the camera. “The original stays with me.” 

“Um, Ivan. I…” Your voice faltered, the words catching somewhere between curiosity and hesitation. “Who is that copy for?”

“For a friend of yours…” he said, pausing just long enough for it to hang in the air, “...and an enemy of mine.”

NOT HIM AGAIN.

“Alfred?”

Oh. Wait.

Shit.

Yeah. That just gave me away.

He tipped his head, studying you with an easy, untroubled smile. “Yes.” 

“And what does he even want with something like that?”

“It’s not about what he wants, it’s about sending a message,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm, like this was all perfectly reasonable. “It’s about making sure he understands you have changed your mind about him.” 

“So your brilliant idea is to shove your cock down my throat on camera, just so he can see I’m your little bitch?” you snapped, anger cracking through your voice as you stepped closer to him, making it clear you weren’t someone he could just intimidate and expect to yield. 

If he wanted you, he’d have to earn it. 

“Are we finished with the questions yet?” he asked, squinting like you were wearing him out. 

“No,” you said, voice flat and sharp. “Did you plan on getting me drunk so I wouldn’t be fully aware when you filmed this?” 

“You’re conscious,” he said, lifting a hand and gesturing at you as if that proved his point. “I’d even say too aware of everything.”

“Then maybe your alcohol just isn’t as strong as you believe it is,” you muttered, sitting on the bed and crossing your arms, trying to hold onto composure even as irritation simmered under your skin.

Ivan let out a quiet laugh and closed the distance between you.

“Is that a no, then?” he asked, stopping right in front of you.

His hands settled on your thighs as he met your gaze without flinching.

“You know…” he said more softly now, his eyes flicking once toward the camera before returning to yours. “We could always send him a postcard. Keep the rest of the story between us.”

You hesitated, turning the situation over in your mind as if searching for any reason that might justify stepping back. But the attempt only lasted a moment before it fell apart completely.

“Take your pants off,” you said at last, your voice calm and arms still crossed.

Ivan gave a quick, breathless little laugh and moved right away, hands already going to his belt. He even muttered something under his breath, before fumbling at the zipper with obvious excitement, his urgency making it hard for his fingers to keep up.

“Get the camera on before that,” you said stiffly, nodding toward the tripod. 

He reacted immediately, moving in front of the camera, adjusting the tripod and tilting it just slightly until the framing lined up better, his focus entirely on getting the angle right.

A faint smile tugged at one corner of your mouth, subtle enough that you were sure he wouldn’t catch it as you turned your face away.

“And get my good side,” you added, shifting slowly into position on all fours on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath you.

“Both sides of you are beautiful, so that won’t be difficult,” he said casually, still making final adjustments until the zoom was perfect and the framing locked onto you.

“Shut up,” you cut in, your voice lower now, eyes flicking toward the steady red recording light. “Just come here… before I rethink this.” 

As the words left you, you lifted your hips a little, the air between you tightening with anticipation while he finished the final adjustments and stepped into frame.

“Is that your favourite position?” he asked, walking to the bed and disappearing behind you as the mattress shifted heavily under his weight. “I forgot the word… it is something with dog, yes?”

“Something like that.” You glanced back, catching the teasing curve of his smile as his fingers slipped to his zipper and drew it down. “Doggy style.”

His hands moved with confidence, brushing along your hips before finding the hem of your pants.

“Did you want to try it with me?” he teased, his voice low and playful. 

With careful precision, he slowly eased down both your pants and the elastic waistband of your underwear, revealing just enough skin to satisfy his needs.

“You seem eager… with your back arched like that,” he murmured, his hands gently parting your ass cheeks, as if confirming what was already certain: you were soaking wet.

“Just take me already,” you begged, desperate for the teasing to end and for him to finally take you.

“Are you sure you can handle me? First time you were whining like I was torturing you…” he chuckled, trying to sound concerned, though the amusement in his voice gave him away. 

“Just try, please… I’ll let you know if it hurts.” 

Ivan just shrugged, cock in hand, his tongue peeking out as he focused intently, trying to line it up right on the first try. But as soon as you let out a whine and he noticed your hands clutching the sheets, he stopped immediately, pulling back just enough.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, brow lifting, a knowing smile on his face as he carefully checked your entrance for any sign of discomfort. 

“It’s good… it’s good. Don’t worry, keep goinhmghaaaAH…” He listened closely, and the moment you flinched again, he pushed in only to stop immediately, holding still as if testing you and waiting for a reaction.

“You’re quite tight,” he murmured, keeping his hands at your sides to help you relax. “I think we should take this more slowly… you may not have fully recovered yet from last time.” 

Instead of saying no loudly, you pushed yourself back, pushing his hard cock in with a sharp thrust.

“Blyat!” he blurted out before he could stop himself, shock flaring across his face at how quickly you had taken him in. 

A brief sting of discomfort followed, but you steadied yourself, focusing on adjusting as you went some inches deeper.

“What does that mean?” you struggled to say, still adjusting to his size.

“Bitch…” he breathed, still dazed by the overwhelming warmth of being inside you. 

“Am I a bitch?” you turned your head over your shoulder to look at him properly. 

He laughed, like the question itself entertained him. 

“I don’t think so,” he said, lips puckering softly as he pulled you even deeper with a low groan. “But you act like a remarkably good porn actress.” 

Oh. Right. The camera.

You almost forgot about the red light that was focussing on the two of you.

Will Alfie ever see this? What would he think if he did? Would he come for me or leave me stranded in this forgotten place? And do I even want to be found? Or am I already losing myself to the best cock I’ve ever tried? But what if they could find me? Would I even want to be rescued? Would I resist? Fight to stay with Ivan? 

Come on, think. Morse code. You were taught this in training. 

S-O-S.

Blink. Blink. Blink. 

Bliiiiiiiiiiiiiiink. Bliiiiiiiiiiiiiiink. Bliiiiiiiiiiiiiiink. 

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Are you all right?” Ivan asked, uneasy at your sudden silence. 

“Yes, darling,” you replied a touch too quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed your hidden message. “Go on.”

Ivan did have a weakness and you’d chosen your moment perfectly. He was usually hyperaware, the kind of man who noticed everything, as if the walls themselves whispered secrets to him. 

Not this time. Lust had left him careless. He didn’t notice that his beloved darling, the one he trusted completely, was slipping a quiet plea for help to the one person he despised most. 

A satisfied smile tugged at your lips, pleased with how convincingly you’d played your part, only to be stolen away as Ivan surged forward with all his pent up urgency, pulling you into him as if he’d been holding himself back for far too long. 

“A-ah-ahhh-a-hh–ah!” The sound broke from you in uneven bursts, each one caught and scattered by the rhythm that he refused to slow. 

Ivan let out a rough exhale, like he was fighting to keep himself together. His grip tightened on your skin slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you he was barely holding back.

“Mm…” he murmured softly, almost involuntarily, before catching himself.

He held you firmly at the waist, his movements unrelenting and filled with need, drawing you into a rhythm that made your breath catch and your thoughts fade into the heat between you. 

You couldn’t ignore the camera or what it meant. Even glancing at it felt loaded, knowing everything was being recorded for later. Every moan that escaped your lips, every glance toward the camera, every forceful thrust of his hips, the shifting of the mattress, the way your body moved with each impact…

Alfred would see it eventually, and there was no telling how he’d take it. Would he be smart enough to catch the secret message?

At least Ivan hadn’t caught on. It was clear he’d been too lost in the moment to notice anything beyond it. He was so focused on sending a clear message to his enemy and on his own satisfaction that everything else faded into the background.

You couldn’t see his face from this position, but the moans that escaped his lips were enough to tell you how close he was and how little he cared that his number one enemy would eventually see him in such a vulnerable state. 

And the camera kept recording it all. 

“Nn… you really are…” His voice broke off as his thrusts turned uneven, control slipping through the cracks. “Too much.” 

The words came out strained, like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. His grip faltered for a moment before tightening again, not to pull you closer, but to try to steady himself. To last a little longer. 

But it really was too much.

57 seconds. A new record.

A little more for the camera’s full recording if you include him taking off his pants and your brief conversation.

What more could you ask from a homemade porn video?

It included everything the average viewer might expect: a very horny couple, a climatic ending, and even a hidden Morse code message. 

“моя девушка…” Ivan said, slipping once again into that mood you’d come to recognize, one that always seemed to appear after each creampie. 

You were about to ask what it meant, but he slumped against you, pressing you down into the mattress with his weight. He didn’t seem to have any intention of moving. He might even fall asleep and wake up to you still pinned beneath him. 

“Mylovemysunmydarling... my everything.”

He leaned into you, pressing gentle kisses along your cheek and neck, any place he could reach without shifting too much. 

“My beautiful… dear… lovely… loving… something.”

Love language wasn’t his first language, and neither was English.

Ragged breaths heaved from his chest, sweat dampening his hair and glinting across his skin, but you didn’t care in the slightest. The scent of effort clung to him, intensified by the fact that he had refused to shed his sweater or his ever present scarf even during sex. If anything, it only deepened your attraction to him.

When you really like someone, you even also love their sweat.

And I guess I never really liked Alfred’s all that much…

Or maybe it was because it was always masked by that Old Spice overly manly deodorant you never cared for.

Ivan, on the other hand, smelled completely natural.

“What are you thinking about, my dear?” he murmured, eyes closed, his voice drifting in that half asleep way that made everything sound submerged.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep, моя девушка…” you replied with confidence, entirely convinced you’d just spoken perfectly.

But there was a pause.

A very specific pause.

“That’s… not…” he started, then exhaled sharply through his nose, as if he were trying not to laugh or cry. “Mm… we’ll talk about that later.”

And just like that, he drifted back to sleep, choosing rest over linguistic commentary.

Chapter Text

“Look who finally decided to wake up,” Ivan murmured, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips the moment he saw you.

He was in his usual spot where you used to meet every morning, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea already warming him, one hand resting against his cheek as he gazed out at the snowy landscape beyond the window.

Your cup of tea was already waiting on the table beside his, prepared exactly the way you liked it. He always did that, lingering in the kitchen long before you arrived just so the two of you could share these slow mornings together. And judging by the way he looked at you, it was easily the favorite part of his day.

“You didn’t sleep well,” he said quietly, studying your face with that familiar attentiveness of his.

“Yeah… my head hurts so badly,” you admitted, pressing your fingers to your forehead as if that alone could make it feel more real… and maybe hide the truth of why sleep had refused to come at all.

“Oh, I know that feeling,” he said with complete confidence, already sliding a chair out for you. “Hangover.” 

“What?” you blinked, sitting down slowly and processing his conclusion.

Four shots of vodka and I’ve got a hangover?

You’d had that in the morning before and been completely fine. 

You really think I’m that weak? 

He looked at you for a moment, as if connecting with your thoughts, turning them over in his mind, and slowly convincing himself that must be it.

Of course, Ivan. Westerners aren’t as strong as they pretend to be. Don’t let them fool you. 

“…Sure. Yeah! Could be.”

“I sleep great after a drink,” he said, glancing off for a second. “But if your beverage history is mostly apple juice and milkshakes, then yes… my drink probably just left you regretting it in the morning.”

He has an infuriating ease with conversation, but they have a way of ending just as quickly as they start.

Unsure how to answer, you let your eyes drift over the table and they stopped on something you hadn’t expected to find there.

There it was, the reason you hadn’t slept at all the night before.

“You already have the tape?”

It sounded stupid to ask, but you still clung to the hope it was something else… like some old vacation recording or a random film. 

It was lying there far too casually, a label attached to it that marked it as important. 

Она и я.

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, only tapped the VHS tape with a finger and gave you a small, teasing smile.

I’ve never felt more empathy for Schrödinger’s cat than I do at this moment in my life. Though actually… that poor kitty might be luckier than me, because at least its fate is only uncertain inside a box. 

“There was this scene I kept watching over and over and over again…”

Is he always one move ahead? Because if the walls really do have eyes and ears, then frankly he has an unfair advantage.

“You know which one?” he asked, then turned to look at you, his fingers drumming against the tape.

For some reason, in that moment, if he had truly discovered your secret message, you found yourself hoping he wouldn’t laugh at how absurd it was.

Why did I do it? 

Blinking Morse code, really? 

What made me think I could outsmart him?

I should’ve stayed quiet, stayed careful. Just follow orders. Say yes to everything. Don’t give him a reason to look twice. 

Why couldn’t I just do that?

“I think I know you a little better after this…” he murmured, his gaze fixed on you as you looked away. 

Oh, please. Don’t kill me. I really like it here. I won’t do anything like that again, I swear. Just… let’s forget it happened. I know it was stupid, just the heat of the moment. Alcohol does that, and… God, I don’t know… impulse, maybe? I was horny. I don’t know! I promise, I’m not into Alfred. He’s attractive, sure, but he’s a total douchebag. I don’t even know what I was thinking. Please, please, please. Just don’t… please.

“Honestly, I think doggy style deserves… how do people say it…” he said, then leaned in and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper, as if the FBI might kick down the door at any second. “Five stars.”

But you weren’t fully relieved yet. There was something in his face, and that soft laugh, that felt like a warning disguised as charm, though you knew it was just paranoia talking. You relaxed only once he went back to his usual horny ramble. 

“Video makes it even better, yes, yes. I can see your boobs bouncing up and down,” he said with a confident nod, still staring at you like he expected feedback. “When I’m fucking you from behind I miss some details. Very important ones.”

Praise be. He’s too busy being horny to notice anything suspicious. 

“We could use a mirror next time!” you said quickly, trying to hide your trembling hands beneath the desk. 

Stupid body. Relax. He doesn’t know shit.

“Ooooh,” Ivan said, standing slightly, one hand on the table. “Yes. We should try it.” 

“Yeah, great idea.” 

Great idea.

You were going to think about that sentence forever. Not Ivan. He didn’t even register your awkward answer.

“Now.” 

Now? I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.

He watched you with that unnerving little smile like he was about to make you come without saying a word. 

“You have a mirror… in the kitchen?” you asked, your eyes already wandering the room as his hand slowly slipped beneath the hem of your skirt.

Overtaken by the moment, Ivan seemed to have forgotten that incredible idea as his fingers were clutching his favorite porn actress’s pussy.

“You don’t like wearing any of the panties I gave you?” he murmured against your ear, two fingers parting your lips as he tested your entrance, checking how wet you were.

With a man like him and knowing how easily he got worked up, you’d decided it was more practical not to wear any panties at all. Just in case. 

“I like them, but things don’t usually survive you for very long...” 

His hand suddenly clamped down on your pussy as though your words had struck him physically. 

“That bad?” he asked softly, tilting his head. “Hmmm. You make me sound like a villain.”

Ivan seemed unaware of his own strength, of how easily it tipped into something rough, something that left no room for doubt in its control over you. 

“You always look at me like I’m about to do something terrible…”

Your eyes dropped briefly to the hand gripping your pussy, fingers tight enough to bruise, before lifting back to him.

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not…” he said after a beat, his grip still tight around you before it gradually loosened. “You see? I can be careful.”

For a moment, the tension eased. The room settled back into something ordinary, as though you could still return to your untouched tea and pretend none of it had happened.

Then Ivan lost it. Again.

As if it were second nature to him, he grabbed your arm, spun you toward the table, and forced you forward, pinning you against it as if he were restraining you, your chest pressed to the hard surface as he held you in place.

You studied him carefully from where he held you against the table, trying to make sense of the contradiction between his actions and his words. 

The big man looked completely unbothered. He went ahead and unbuckled his belt like this was the most normal situation and he wasn’t actively making it even worse by smiling through it. 

“Is this your gentle side?” 

A quiet laugh slipped out of him, as if he were trying to smooth over the moment with the perfect comeback. “If you wanted me to stop, you would’ve said so. But here you are… and you don’t seem eager to leave.” 

He didn’t even need to keep you pinned against the table, and he certainly hadn’t been the one telling you to arch your back. 

“I was beginning to miss the view from behind,” he murmured tenderly, his hand tracing a slow path up your leg. “The video only let me enjoy the front view.” 

He lifted the skirt abruptly, with no pause or warning, the cold air cutting sharply against your exposed skin. 

“For fuck’s sake, Ivan, you really don’t know how to be gentle, do you?”

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re starting to know me too well.”

You let out a short laugh at his boldness. “So I shouldn’t expect soft eye contact and romantic missionary sex?” 

“That sounds exhausting. Not really my style.” 

Then his hand slid along your backside, down to your pussy, savoring the sight of the exposed skin.

“You do realize that style of yours comes with side effects.”

One of his brows lifted slightly. “Oh? Should I be worried?” 

“Yeah, keep going like this and I’m going to end up pregnant.”

If I’m not pregnant already. We should probably consider that a miracle. A miracle brought to us by too much alcohol and infertility. 

“I know…” he said, leaving you unsure what he meant.

“Do you want to accidentally start a family?” 

The words hung between you with heavy meaning, but he didn’t flinch. Not even once. If anything, his smirk deepened with confidence, as though it only excited him more. 

“That’s the idea.” 

And here I thought he was just being reckless…

When you stayed silent, Ivan’s hand rose to your face, brushing your temple gently as if to ease the tension there.

“Do you want me to go easy on you?” 

He leaned back just enough to study you properly, though his hand remained suspended near your cheek, like he’d forgotten to pull it away. 

“No.” 

Heat crept up your neck at how quickly you’d answered, but you held his gaze anyway.  

“No?” he echoed, amusement flickering across his expression. “I could pull out.”

“Right. The pull out method. The least effective birth control method known to history.” 

He chuckled. “If that isn’t gentle enough for you, I can try another way.”

“Why would I want that?”

The words barely left your mouth when his hand came down in a sharp slap against your ass, the sudden impact making you flinch and tense on instinct.

“You say that now,” he said, fingers tracing slow circles against your sore skin. “I can be a lot less nice than this.” 

“Stop treating me like I’ll break.” 

A low laugh escaped him and then another sharp smack cut through your breath, leaving you jolting against the table.

“Are you still with me?” he asked quietly, fingers brushing over the lingering heat before another sharp smack made your breath catch. 

“Yes.” You looked back at him through uneven breaths, gripping the table to steady yourself. “Again.” 

The next strike landed harder, making your fingers tighten around the edge. 

“That wasn’t enough for you?” 

“No.”

“You say that like it’s nothing.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” 

For a brief moment, Ivan simply looked at you. He had never understood people in Alfred’s circle and he couldn’t decide whether you unsettled him or fascinated him. Maybe both.

People in the West always carried themselves with such poise, such an illusion of freedom, yet beneath it all they seemed to crave the exact opposite. 

Structure. Control. Predictability. Something solid enough to lean on. 

“Eyes forward,” Ivan said, decisive as he guided your head forward with a firm grip in your hair. “Don’t look back.”

At least the view is pretty. 

Through the narrow gap in the curtains, the snowy forest stretched outside, its stillness settling in like a pause between everything happening in the room.

“If you turn your head there will be consequences.”

Consequences like… what? 

Then, slowly, he withdrew his hand, but with a different intent now.

You didn’t realize what he was doing until something soft slipped around your wrists and tightened, binding them together behind your back.

Wait. Did Ivan just remove his scarf?

That was the most exposed he had ever allowed himself to be around you. 

Oh, if only I could just sneak a look…

But just as you tried your luck, Ivan was already ahead of you, catching your hair and guiding your face forward again. 

The window. Of course. Very fascinating. 

“What did I say? No looking…”

“I wasn’t looking,” you lied badly.

“Good,” he said, tone firm but amused. “Stay like that.” 

Okay, big guy. 

“Yes, sir,” you said under your breath, more to tease than obey. 

But Ivan didn’t laugh. He didn’t even give you time to process what was happening before he was right there inside you. With just one thrust, he filled you completely, your pussy molding to his size and stretching around him with resistance. 

“Ugh… unf… oh, I… Ivan…” you breathed out shakily, voice catching as you adjusted to his cock. 

“…Yes?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with amusement.

“I… I need a second.” 

“Now you need a second? I thought you were into it…”

“Ahah... yyess.. bu-but it’s just mhh…ghj… I…” you gasped, breath coming in broken rhythms as he rocked his hips forward.

“What?” He stopped, one hand planting beside your head as he looked down at you. “Is this too much for you?” 

“Just… please. A bit slower.” 

He didn’t move right away, like he was deciding whether to tease you for it or actually listen. 

“Why’s that? Too big for you?” You could hear the grin in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” he teased, clearly expecting you to say it properly this time. 

When you didn’t answer quickly enough, he took hold of the scarf and firmly pulled you into a more upright position so you couldn’t look away.

Instead of meeting his eyes, your gaze drifted briefly to the newly exposed skin at his neck. A long healed scar stood out there, still visible enough to catch your attention. 

“Answer,” he pressed, fingers closing more firmly around the scarf as he forced your attention back to his eyes. 

“You know exactly what you’re working with…”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh, yes, it’s huge. The biggest cock I’ve ever seen. There. Your ego’s fed. Happy?”

“A little. Doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you, though.” 

“Are you threatening me or flirting with me?” 

Your teasing only sharpened his confidence, and he met it by driving into you relentlessly, as though he intended to force you to rethink what you’d said with each ruthless thrust.

“I…Ivan… mghh… ah… am… sorry!”

A slap came down on your ass. When you cried out, he spanked the other cheek.

“Shut up,” he cut in sharply, seizing your arms and pulling you in with a sudden, impatient jerk, like he couldn’t stand listening anymore.

The position arched your body into perfect alignment without meaning to, his cock hitting that sensitive spot and making the punishment all the more overwhelming and enticing.

“Mmhmh… a-aah… Ivan… y-yes!” 

Opening your mouth gained another spank, and a single tear streamed down your cheek, not sure how you were even feeling pleasure with so much pain.

There was nothing to grasp except yourself, so you curled your fingers inward and pressed your nails into your palms, chasing a small measure of relief.

“What did I say?”

Another spank. And then another. 

That’s certainly going to leave a mark.

His big cock glided along your inner walls, every thrust meeting with the sound of skin on skin and the wetness of your pussy. And you craved the intensity of it, the way he took complete control without a hint of restraint. Even when your voice shook with pleading, he only fucked you harder, and some part of you wanted exactly that.

“Don’t stop… claim me,” you pleaded under your breath, your lashes fluttering as pleasure surged through you. “I’m yours.”

How did I go from being scared of him to acting completely unhinged around him? 

“Моя и только моя…”

“Y-yes…” you replied, not noticing you had just agreed to something your future self was definitely going to complain about. 

He kept rutting into you in quick, short thrusts that left you bouncing in place and craving more of his roughness.

“Ты… моя…” he groaned, the words breaking apart as control slipped through his fingers, his tight grip faltering for a moment.

Oh, yes. I don’t even know what that means.

His legs trembled beneath him, barely holding his weight as he swayed on the edge of collapse. To avoid stumbling, he grabbed the table, catching its edge just in time, his grip tightening as he forced himself forward, refusing to let his weakening body give out completely before he finished.

“Моя…”

He kept thrusting even as he came, his hips still moving against you, unwilling to let go of the moment, desperate to stretch the bliss as long as he could.

“AHH…” he groaned, abruptly stopping, still fully inside you as he held you tight. “Fuck. Don’t move. Not even a little.”

“...Okay.” 

Then you pushed yourself up slightly, gripping the edge of the table for support, but Ivan immediately followed, not letting any distance form between you. 

“Umm… are we going to stay like this much longer?” you finally asked, confused as to why he hadn’t pulled away now that his cock was softening.

“More chances of pregnancy,” he said like he was proudly sharing a fun science fact instead of something deeply concerning.

Oh, great. Another one of his scientifically approved techniques. Probably just as effective as the pull out method.

You stared at him. “How long are we staying like this? 

“Ten minutes, maybe less.” 

“Ten minutes...” you repeated slowly, like your brain was trying to process the fact that he sounded completely serious. 

“Yes, I’d also recommend you to lay back down.”

“Sure. Why not,” you muttered, still staring at him in disbelief as you carefully leaned back against the table. 

“Relax and drink your tea.” 

Still keeping close to you, he reached across the table carefully, took your cup, and guided it into your hand with absurd tenderness.

A second later, he picked up his own tea and sipped it peacefully, like this was less of a life altering situation and more a quiet breakfast on an ordinary morning.

“Ivan.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I literally can’t drink tea like this.”

“Hm. A real tragedy,” he said, voice calm, before casually sipping his tea again, utterly at peace with your suffering. 

“Ivan!”

“Alright, alright…” he said calmly, slowly pulling back. “We can try again later. On the bed. Missionary style… hm?”

Before you could answer or even fully process his words, the doorbell rang, pulling your attention away. Surprisingly, Ivan didn’t react. He remained focused on you, intent on trying to fix what his roughness and carelessness had just done to your fragile bond. 

“Ivan.”

“My love…” he whispered with dramatic awe, gently caressing your cheek… not the one on your face.

You looked down at his hand, then slowly shifted up, finally feeling your back breathe a little in relief.

“Are you going to answer that?”

“Answer what?” he asked, all sweetness and innocence.

The doorbell rang again, longer this time, like whoever it was had limited patience and his expression finally flickered.

“…That,” you said flatly. 

He paused, still holding you like he was in the middle of a romance novel. “It’s probably not important.”  

Another, more impatient ring followed.

“Wait here, and if I don’t come back…” he said and paused mid sentence, looking at you for a beat as if reconsidering the dramatic weight of it. “…Never mind.”

His hands moved a little too quickly as he adjusted himself, the zip of his pants sounding louder than it should have in the silence. 

Another ring cut through the moment.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, but the tension never left his shoulders.

“It’ll be quick. Don’t worry,” he said, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

He cast you one last concerned glance before finally turning away and heading for the door.